| Subject: Parts 9-11 |
Author:
TT2
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 22:48:54 07/21/02 Sun
In reply to:
TT2
's message, "Parts 5-8" on 22:34:32 07/21/02 Sun
********
I just finish my scathing email to Mac, promising much retribution for this…this…swell idea of hers to send me flowers, when there’s a quick knock at my door and Sturgis pokes his head in.
“Got a minute, Harm?” I nod yes as I click send. I’ll get you my little marine. And to think I had a nice evening planned for the two of us. That, of course, is shot to hell—I can’t let an opportunity to show my fun-loving, scheming marine who exactly she’s dealing with go by.
And maybe, in the process, we can start the application procedure for the ‘Mile High and Mach 2 Club’. No reason why our Valentine’s Day has to be a total waste.
“Harm!”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, Sturgis. You were saying?”
He gestures to my bouquet of roses, sitting on the edge of my desk. “Do you really have no idea who sent those?”
Honestly? I know exactly who sent those. She’s no doubt basking in her glory in her office. I swear if you just cock an ear, you can hear the faintest whisper of “Semper Fi!” pass through the walls.
Instead, I reply, “No, I haven’t the faintest, Sturgis.”
“You know…” he begins, and takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“Yes…?” I have a feeling I don’t want to hear whatever it is he’s trying to figure out how to say.
“Do you ever think—“ he begins again, and abruptly changes gears. “Look—I know this is really not any of my business, but…” he seems to lose his confidence again.
I’m losing my patience, as well. “What is it you’re trying to get at? Just say it, Sturgis.”
“You and Mac,” he blurts. Dammit, why did I encourage him? “You say there’s nothing going on between you, and yet…”
“And yet?” I prompt impatiently, furiously trying to think of a way out of this conversation without having to resort to outright lying.
“And yet, I always sense something…some undercurrent.”
“Tension,” I reply automatically.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What does this have to do with the flowers?” I ask.
“I just…maybe, maybe you don’t think of your relationship with Mac as anything that can go beyond friendship, but…I wonder…I mean…are you sure that Mac feels the same way?”
“Why, did she say something?”
“No, no,” he answers a little too quickly, springing my cross-examination skills to life. “Anyway,” he continues on just as hastily, “did you ever think of how those flowers might be perceived by Mac?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean…it’s obvious…that Mac cares for you…very much…and…”
And suddenly I get the eerie sensation that Sturgis knows something I don’t in regards to the convoluted mess that is Mac’s and my relationship. Something big.
“Did she say something?” I ask again. I suppose this is really all moot. Mac and are, well, dating, so obviously there is more than just friendship there—so if what Sturgis is trying so desperately to tell me (and not to tell me) is that Mac has romantic feelings for me, I don’t suppose I should really be all that surprised.
“No, no.” This is said in the same tone and haste as he previous denial. “I just—look, it’s Valentine’s Day. And Mac is, well, single, and just watching the two of you, maybe she’s feeling a little jealous. She looked kind of upset when you mentioned that girl from Vermont.”
“When you mentioned that girl from Vermont. She was the furthest thing from my mind.” Thank you, also, Sturgis, for reminding me to kill you in our next game of basketball.
“Anyway, my point is there’s no need to rub it in. Be sensitive.”
“Sensitive!” I don’t believe this. “And I wasn’t rubbing it in! It’s not like I sent those damned things to myself just so I could become the center of attention for a few minutes.” No, dear, fragile, “jealous” Mac did that. I’m going to kill her, too.
Sturgis holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just—think about it.”
My email notice dings, signaling the arrival of new mail, and Sturgis takes that as his cue to leave. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
I nod absently as I open the reply from Mac to my message. Down at the bottom, under my last threat, are two sentences, followed by two icons:
“Your face was as red as the roses! Ha, Ha!” A smiley rolling over and over, and another, sticking out his tongue, concludes her reply.
Sensitive indeed.
*********
I pulled the blinds closed as soon as I entered my office, so at least no one can see me grinning stupidly as I read Harm’s email. They might, however, be able to hear my stifled guffaws, but that just can’t be helped.
It’s relatively short in length—unusual for my usually chatty Harm—but it’s about what I expected. And just as I thought, he did have something planned for tonight—now allegedly scrapped in favor of whatever payback he is cooking up, to “punish” me, I suppose. I’ll have to wear something nice—and make sure I break out the good underwear—something lacy and racy. Just in case.
Below Harm’s last feeble threat, I type my response and hit send. I feel the corners of my mouth quirk up again in another smile before someone raps on my door and Sturgis enters.
“Sturgis,” I greet, trying to regain some of my professionalism.
“Hey, Mac.” He takes a seat in one of my chairs.
“What’s up?”
“I just wanted…to see…how you were doing.”
“Fine.” Why is he asking?
“You’re okay, about Harm and the flowers, and…mystery girl?”
Ohhhhhhh…I nearly choke on my coffee when I realize his implication.
At least it drowns out my laughter.
“Oh, that,” I reply, wondering how I can respond to this without outright lying.
“Yes, ‘that,’” Sturgis confirms. “You okay?”
“Yeah, you know, Harm getting flowers didn’t really bother me.”
Sturgis raises his eyebrow in doubtful concern.
“Really. And besides, I’ve decided, not to let stuff like that bother me anymore. The, uh, flowers, Caroline—I’m not going to give into petty feelings of jealousy. That kind of stuff--flirting, the attention from females--is just Harm—it’s always surrounded Harm. If you want to be friends with Harm, you just have to get used to it.” Ah, there, pretty close to the truth.
“And if you want to be more than friends with Harm?” he asks pointedly.
Great.
“Well, flying into a jealous fit won’t do anything to bring you closer to that mark. Harm’s not really fond of the jealous, clingy types.” Also not a lie. “Anything else?”
“I’m just concerned for you, counselor. I know how you feel about Harm. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with this. From that card, it sounded…well, not serious, but a serious threat to your relationship with Harm—the relationship you want to have with Harm.”
I smile softly at Sturgis, touched by his concern for my feelings in the matter. I almost feel guilty for the flower prank.
Almost.
“Well, I’m okay, Sturgis. And from Harm’s reaction, I don’t think we’re going to have any serious hindrances in our friendship,” I emphasize. I don’t want to give Sturgis any more reason to focus his attention on Harm and I then what already exists.
“Yeah, I don’t think he has a clue who sent him roses.” Sturgis chuckles.
Guess again, Sturgis.
“Well, as I said, I don’t think this will hurt Harm and I. So, have I satisfied all your concerns?”
He smiles. “Yes, I suppose you have. I’m glad to see you taking a positive approach to this, Mac. Well,” he says standing up, “I’ve got work to do, and I know you do, too. Later, colonel.”
“Later.”
Bobbi has to be a moron if she lets Sturgis get away.
**********
Judging by the way she sashays into my apartment, she has a pretty good idea what to expect tonight. She spins around gracefully, taking in the whole of my apartment, every book, light, and remote, a not too unattractive smirk on her face, and looks expectantly at me.
“Roses,” she says, indicating the dining room table. “How nice.” She grins widely. She makes a big show of going over to the arrangement and inhaling their scent. I’m still standing by the door, holding it ajar. She’s dressed to kill: a black lace cocktail-type dress, with a scoop neck that accents her perfect form, complete with a pair of very high high heels (which don’t look the least bit comfortable, for the record), and a matching purse, which she places next to the flowers. I finally close the door, and step towards her.
“Yes, somebody at work gave them to me,” I begin. I see her shoulders quiver in what I can only guess is quiet laughter. “A note, too.” I pull the card out of my pocket and begin to read aloud.
By the time I get to the ‘mile high and mach 2 club,’ which, through a miracle of God I am able to say with a straight, somewhat pale face, she’s given up trying to hide her amusement. In fact, she’s doubled over before me, laughing out loud.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” I say, placing both hands on hips—not that she can see me. She’s still facing the floor, grasping her side while desperately (but inadequately) trying to get her amusement under reign. She gives up and nods.
“…Your face…” she chokes out. “I’m not sure…if I ever…seen you…that red…before…”
“I can’t **believe** you sent something like this to the office.” I wave the card around down by her face. She finally stands erect, her face suddenly solemn.
“You’re very handsome when you blush,” she manages to get out before she starts chuckling again. I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious, Mac. I mean, the admiral, Bud, Harriet…Sturgis,” I add, thinking of his ‘helpful’ office visit. She only laughs harder. “What if they suspect something, Mac? I thought we were going to keep it quiet about us.” Again, she nods, the gesture punctuated by each spurt of laughter she emits.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask testily, growing tired of her frivolity. She shakes her head ‘no.’ “Fine. When you’re done tee-heeing over your ingenious prank let me know. I’m going to dinner.”
“Harm! Harm,” she gasps, the sudden absence of giggles replaced by a somewhat charming, I admit grudgingly, case of the hiccups. Her entire face, as a matter of fact, is aglow with happiness, and I feel my annoyance fade a notch upon looking at her. She’s quite beautiful. Her fingers, soft and delicate, wrap around my forearm as she gently tugs me back to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking somewhat sincere. If I ignore the mischievous glint in her eyes, that is. And her twitching lips. And those hiccups, which are really laughter in disguise, anyway.
“And besides, it was funny. Admit it.”
I give her my best ‘you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me’ look. “Which part? The part where I had to read aloud the contents of **this**”--I wave the card again—“or perhaps when the entire office—at **your** urging--went through my dating history to determine my secret admirer, or maybe when Sturgis came into my office and gave me a lesson on being ‘sensitive’ to your feelings.”
She sobers up a little at that. “He said that?”
“Yes,” I huff. She smiles a little.
“He’s just being a good friend,” she defends softly.
“And I’m not?” She smiles again, this time a weird expression flickering across her face, but it’s gone before I can really analyze it.
“You’re my best friend,” she affirms. “Maybe a little more than that,” she adds, stepping close enough to slip her arms around my neck.
“Well, I should hope you’re not doing this with Sturgis.” She gives me a sweet kiss on the lips that quickly intensifies as our mouths melt together. “Or that,” I add when we part, breathless. “Or any of the behavior we’ve been engaging in at the office.”
I’m not sure what’s funny about that, but it seems to set her off again. I heave a sigh.
She waves her hand around, indicating she’ll only be a minute. It’s about three before she finally calms down. Seeing my expression, she leans forward again, tightening her hold on me, and cocks her head to the side.
“I’m sorry.” She actually sounds like she means it this time. She toys with the hair at the nape of my neck. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
I grin inwardly. I’ve got her right where I want her. Everything’s going exactly as planned. Outwardly, I frown a little and gaze into her eyes as though I’m thinking.
Despite having already conjured a response to such a question, about half a dozen remarks flit across my tongue as I wrestle with control over my hormones. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman. A damn long time. Certainly longer than I care to admit to, but I don’t want to rush things too fast with Mac, so I manage to stay on my present course and reply with my predetermined response.
“Well…”
*********
“This is so frustrating!”
“Keep going, you’ll get it,” I advise. She flashes me a dirty look. I shrug. “Hey, I didn’t start this,” I remind her.
“I didn’t know you were going to be such a sore loser,” she taunts.
“Loser? Who said anything about losing? If you want to talk ‘loser’, might I remind you you’re still five clues away from redemption. Provided of course, you progress on to those, which, I must admit, doesn’t seem very promising.”
“You’re very irritating, you know.”
“I know.”
She picks up the seven slips of paper she’s accumulated so far and studies each message written on them. I take this opportunity to pat myself on the back. Commander, you’re a genius. There have been times, I admit, where I’ve suspected it (long since suspected it, if truth be told)—and okay, (if truth be told here as well) times where I’ve suspected I fall way down on the other end of the spectrum, but I really outdid myself here.
She quickly flips to the next message in line, and I pause in my reflection to admire the view.
She is lovely. And I’m in love with her. We’re not very far into this new phase of our relationship and I already know that. Hell, I suppose I’ve known it for a long time. But now…now it’s come clean or bust. I suppose it’s progress that I can finally admit my feelings for her to myself. For so long I refused to acknowledge even the possibility—okay, I refused to entertain the possibilities of loving her. It just seemed too hard and too complicated. And we both let so many things get in our way.
But now…
Now, I am so tired of fighting it. I spent too many long, draining hours in that icy ocean. Too long recovering and spending that time in recovery—three months—without her. Too long watching her become more involved with Brumby, while I did nothing, and maybe could have—hell, I know I could have.
The simple fact is I’m getting older; and while my career is going strong, it would be understating the obvious to say that my personal life isn’t. Or wasn’t, at any rate. I was about as close to settling down as Singer is to inheriting the admiral’s office. At any rate, it’s time for me to figure out what I want out of life, and go for it. And I want Sarah. I want a family. I want a family with Sarah.
“Harm…” she pouts, drawing me away from my thoughts. Dear god she’s pouting and she looks damn delicious doing it. I don’t care that she’s trying to sucker me. She’s indulging me, I know, with her coquettish behavior—this is something I won’t see too often--but I don’t mind.
“Yes?”
She bites her lip, as though debating. “At least give me a hint.”
“Oh no, marine, I don’t think that would be fair, do you?”
“Haaarrrmmm…” she whines. I chuckle. “Just a little one,” she pleads.
“I don’t know,” I say, in a tone that says I might be swayed. And I might not. “This is supposed to be your retribution for those flowers.” She raises her eyebrow. “And ruining the perfect Valentine’s Day dinner I had planned.”
“Please?” She bats her eyelashes and gives me an inviting smile. Screw dinner. This is better than anything I had planned.
“Why, Sarah MacKenzie, are you trying to seduce me?”
She grins even wider. “Commander, if I were trying to seduce you, I would have succeeded a long time ago.”
I suspect she’s right, but I have to put up a front anyway.
“Really? That sure, are we?”
The open-mouthed grin is replaced by a very seductive smile and I feel all my sense and good intentions rush out of the room, along with the blood in my head. She sets the clues I had scripted for her down on the end table, and inches towards me on her knees.
“Oh, I’m positive,” she whispers, sliding her hand just below my knee. The lawyer in me wants to point out that I’ve already resisted her overtures once—that damned ferry ride where she offered to go topless (and more) for me, if only I say the word—I found the strength (or the stupidity) to refuse her. Although, I wasn’t really refusing her, just asking her to give me a little more time to get the mess my life was then in order, but no since splitting hairs now. Bringing that particular incident up would undoubtedly kill her seductive spirit right now, and truly ruin my Valentine’s Day—and quite possibly any chance for something amazing with Mac, given my penchant for screwing things up in our relationship courtesy of the extremely vast synapse between my brain and mouth.
But if ‘a long time ago’ only includes maybe the last three or four months, then, yeah, I don’t think I would have given her too much flak.
“I’m not so sure, marine.” She’s on her knees between my legs now, staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes, her hands resting lightly on my thighs.
“Really?” She scoffs. She reaches up, hands pressing down on my legs to give her the momentum to halfway stand up, and presses her lithe body against mine. I feel her hot breath against my chin before she closes the distance between us.
Goddamn, can this woman kiss.
My hands slide along her back, my brain just focused enough to realize there’s no back zip, and I’m alternately annoyed and relieved by the fact. Well, relieved may be too strong a word, but I was serious when I said I didn’t want to rush things with Mac. Really. I mean, we’ve only been going out for a week or so.
The problem is that it’s been so long since I’ve had…relations, and I’ve wanted Mac for so long and so badly that if she doesn’t stop this, I can’t guarantee that I will. (I can’t even guarantee that I might make an effort—too much risk of her agreeing we should slow things down.) We haven’t discussed sex, yet. In the four cardinal rules we chartered out on exploring our relationship, sex seemed to fall under the “not rush things” and “just let things happen” guidelines.
Great. As if I don’t have enough opportunity for interpretation and debate in my life.
“Mac…” I manage to get out during a short break for breath. She doesn’t reply, just focuses her attention on the juncture of my jaw and neck. She traces her lips along one side before switching to the other.
“Uh, Mac, uh, maybe we should, you know…” what? Slow this down? Talk about this? Neither is particularly appealing. Move this to the bedroom? Dear god, I hope I didn’t say that out loud. I jerk nervously at the thought, enough to jar Mac out of her ministrations. She looks confusedly at me.
“Uh…” I say unintelligently, trying desperately to construct a few coherent sentences.
“Maybe we should—I should…I should check on dinner,” I finally choke out, shifting off the couch and taking her with me. She plops down in my stead, arms crossed and a genuine pout marring her face. “I’ll…I’ll just be a moment. One moment.” I hold up a finger, emphasizing my point, and quickly haul ass to the stove.
Okay, Rabb. Think.
Why am I here? In the kitchen, I mean. When I could be over on the couch satisfying my curiosity about that tattoo I always wonder about. Yes, Rabb, why are you here, instead of over there in her arms having the best Valentine’s Day in a long time. You’re debating whether or not you’re ready to progress to the next level with Mac, when all her actions indicate she’s more than ready and willing, and is just waiting on your sorry ass to get with the program—and she’s waited on you long enough in her life.
I quickly flip the burner for the pasta down to the lowest setting. After a moment, I slowly click it off. Checking to see that everything else is in order (and to see that there are no more interruptions), I hasten back to the sofa.
“Now, where were we?” I ask, flashing her my best smile. I take a seat next to her, eliciting another look from Mac before that wicked little smile surfaces again. Carefully, she leans forward and slowly eases me onto my back, our lips never losing contact. I wrap my arms around her again, and begin the apparently not-so-subtle search for how to slip her dress off. I’m just about to conclude whipping it over her head, when she stops and sits up. Smiling, she reaches for a zipper just along her side.
She has her fingers on it when the phone rings. We both tear our eyes away from each other to look at it, before returning our gaze to the other. She’s clearly as perturbed as I am over the interruption. Dammit, I should have remembered to turn off the ringer.
“Leave it,” she advises, echoing my thoughts. I nod wholeheartedly. Slowly, she inches the zipper down, the ringing of the phone becoming quieter and quieter with each centimeter of open zipper gained as I focus all my attention on her. She’s just about to slip the garment off her shoulders when the machine picks up.
“Commander!” Dammit, dammit, dammit. Should’ve turned that off, too. Nothing like a mood damper than your C.O. calling on Valentine’s Day just when you’re about to get lucky with the partner you’ve only ever dreamed about being with. I heave a **very** heavy sigh of disappointment. So does Mac.
“Commander, pick up! I know you’re there,” Admiral Chegwidden commands. How does he know that?! It **is** Valentine’s Day, and therefore conceivable I have a date. And why does he just assume I’m home? Alone. I did, after all, receive those damn roses—I could very well be out enjoying the company of the person who sent them. I sit up with another sigh and a look at Mac, who now has everything in order, before stalking over to the phone.
“Listen commander, when you get this message call me **imme--**”
Picking up the receiver, I cut in, somewhat testily, “Sir?”
“Commander?”
**Yes, you’re calling me at my home**, I jab silently, **who do you think would pick up?** “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I’ve been trying to reach the colonel, too. Is she with you?” he asks suspiciously. Or maybe that’s my oxygen-deprived brain. I panic for a moment, wondering how he knows, before a tiny voice of reason reminds me that he doesn’t, and is just asking after her whereabouts. I suppose it might be reasonable to assume she’s with me, since we generally are together. On any other day, I would have no hesitancy in answering him honestly, but to confirm his suspicions today—of all days—seems like I’m confirming too many of his suspicions. And I know he’s often wondered if there’s more going on between Mac and I than just our squabbles at work.
“Ahh…I think she had a date, Admiral,” I answer, once again patting myself on the back for not lying. I meet Mac’s eyes as I say this and watch her shift nervously.
There’s a moment of silence before he responds. “Hmph. Well, I suppose you can fill her in later. There’s been a new development in your case, and not a good one. I think you’ll want to see it for yourself. And thank Webb for digging it up,” he adds sourly.
Oh, christ. He wants me to come in. I stare hopelessly at Mac, who looks worriedly back.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be in…right away, sir,” I finish, saying the only thing I can say in this situation.
“All right, commander. Maybe you can try reaching the colonel. You might have better luck than I have.” He hangs up before I can respond.
Tossing the phone on the chair, I inform Mac of our change of plans.
“He thinks I’m on a date?”
“Yeah. So you don’t have to worry about coming in. I’ll go see what Webb has dug up. With any luck, it won’t take too long. We may be able to salvage our evening.” Even as I’m saying this, I know it’s shot. Nothing with Webb is ever neat and tidy and ‘won’t take too long.’ I’m liable to be there half the night.
“With Webb involved? Right. You’re liable to be there half the night.” I smile. “And there’s no way I’m going to let you go there by yourself—what if whatever Webb tells you sparks some damn fool idea that you should go investigate by yourself?”
“Mac—“
“Don’t ‘Mac’ me.” She picks up her purse. “I’ll go home and change, and meet you at the office.”
“Mac—“
“And you better not make a move without me, Harm. I mean it.” She gives me her best marine glare. She kind of ruins the desired effect when she pauses, on her way out the door, to give me a goodbye kiss.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mac.”
She gives me a ‘yeah, right’ look.
Well, I only have her best intentions at heart. “Mac!” I call, just as she disappears down the stairwell.
“Yeah?”
“I told Chegwidden you were on a date.”
“I know.”
“Yeah, well, you might want to take your time coming in. If you get there right after me, he might, you know, suspect something. And I’m supposed to be trying to reach you.”
She narrows her eyes at me, no doubt thinking I’m trying to ditch her so I can ‘run off half-cocked on some damn fool idea.’ After a moment, she nods her head slowly.
“You’d better be there when I get there, commander, or God help you when--**if**--you return from whatever it is you just **had** to go do without me.”
The tone of her voice reminds why I’m loathe to really piss her off.
“Yes, ma’am.”
*********
0223 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
“About time, Commander,” the admiral barks irritably. I feel my annoyance at him—and the world in general—increase. I’m still irked about my interrupted evening with Mac, so excuse me if I didn’t get the lead out to get here—but I’m here, and even without breaking any land speed records, I still made it in good time. I can’t say any of the retorts that bounce around in my head to the admiral, though.
So, naturally, I take it out on Webb.
“Well, Webb, you sure go all out. It wasn’t enough that the information you gave us before nearly wiped out any hope of nailing Sorenson’s ass to the wall.”
“I’m surprised at you, Rabb. I thought you enjoyed a challenge. I find it hard to believe that JAG’s poster boy can’t convict this sleazebag.”
“Well, you could make the job easier if you actually find some useful evidence, instead of just digging up more and more—“
“Commander!” The admiral interjects. I fall silent as I turn my attention back to him. He stares at me for a long moment, his brows knitted together in annoyance. His upper lip curls as he considers what he wants to say next. “Commander, I’m about as thrilled with this new development as you are, but let’s give Mr. Webb a chance to explain.”
I carefully take a calming breath. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Continue, Mr. Webb,” he directs, picking up his coffee mug and taking a long, slow sip.
“As I was about to say,” Webb resumes haughtily, “I’ve found some—wait a minute. Where’s the colonel? Shouldn’t she be here for this?”
Both he and the admiral look at me. “Were you unable to reach Colonel Mackenzie, Commander?”
“Uh, no, sir, I wasn’t able to reach her on her cell phone.” Well, I suppose it’s true, considering I didn’t even try.
“Is she avoiding your calls?” Webb asks, with the barest hint of a smile.
“No,” I reply testily. “She’s on a date.”
“I wasn’t aware that she was seeing anyone.”
“Well, obviously you’re out of touch, Webb. Maybe you’d better get some new sources to keep tabs on the colonel. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your ‘big brother’ concern,” I remark sarcastically. “I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business who Mac dates.”
“My source is you, Rabb. It’s been my experience you can generally tell when Mac’s got a new love interest because you start acting like an ass.”
I open my mouth to rebut, registering with indignation the snort of agreement that comes from the vicinity of the admiral’s desk, while Webb smoothly continues.
“However, the only thing I’ve noticed is that you’ve managed to keep a low profile—for you, at any rate—so one can only infer that you’ve been in good spirits lately—and, ergo, you and Mac have been getting along.”
“’Ergo’?”
“So, what’s this guy like?” Webb chugs on, without missing a beat.
“What do you mean ‘what is he like’?”
“You haven’t met him?”
“No.” Fear of being found out is taking away any hesitation about walking the fine line between honesty and dishonesty. Right now, denial is everything.
“But you know she’s on a date?”
“Yes.”
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t ask questions?” Webb asks, clearly surprised.
“What would you have liked me to ask?” I retort.
“You don’t know where he works, what he does for a living? How they met?”
I need to change the subject. Fast. “What’s with the third degree, Webb? I thought we were here to discuss the wonderful development you’ve dug up.”
“So you don’t know anything at all about this guy?”
“No, geez, does it really matter?”
Both Webb and the admiral stare at me incredulously.
“Harm, this is Mac we’re talking about here. Whatever else she is, she’s your partner and friend. You’re not the least bit concerned after everything she’s been through with her ex-husband, and Detective Connors, and Brumby, and--well, let’s face it, you--?
“Webb, Mac is a big girl. And I respect her privacy,” I emphasize, hoping he’ll back off. “And why are you so concerned about who she’s seeing anyway. It’s a date. One date. It doesn’t mean she’s going to marry the guy.”
I take a minute to regroup while Webb digests this.
“True,” he concedes. “I’m just concerned about her.”
“We all are,” the admiral agrees, “but the commander is right. The colonel has the right to see anyone she chooses, and it’s none of our business who she spends her afterhours with. Although, if she starts seeing whoever the hell this guy is and he does something stupid and hurts her I can’t guarantee I won’t kick his ass from here to Norfolk and back.”
Well, didn’t I say that there would be people lining up to kick my six if I screw this thing up with Mac? This declaration also reminds me why I’m loathe to piss off SEALs, too.
I manage a weak laugh. “I’m sure Mac won’t spare him any considerations either, Admiral.”
“Hmph.”
“You could try to be a little more supportive though, Rabb,” Webb pipes up.
“Supportive?!” What is this? Have I done something recently that’s set off the sensors?
“Sorry, I’m late, sir,” Mac interrupts before I can admit the truth of that to myself. Her eyes flick cautiously over each occupant in the room, taking in the ever-present smirk on Webb and my equally ever-present (whenever Webb’s around) annoyance, before settling on the admiral. “Commander Rabb didn’t get a hold of me until about twenty minutes ago.”
The admiral fixes me with a suspicious stare. “I thought you said you were unable to get a hold of the colonel, Commander.”
“Uh, not on her cell phone, Admiral,” I reply, recollecting what, exactly, I admitted to the admiral and thanking my quick memory. Mac tries to cover her worry by twisting her hands over her purse. I notice she’s thrown a thick sweater on over her dress. It’s buttoned nearly all the way to the top. I’m not certain, but I think she’s also changed shoes. They don’t look nearly as high or uncomfortable as the ones before.
“Well, if you were able to get a hold of her, why didn’t you just say so?” he grumbles. He turns his attention to Mac, and his demeanor softens just noticeably. “Evening, Colonel. Sorry to ruin your date. We have news.” He indicates Webb, who resumes his debriefing. Mac flashes me a brief look of contrition before focusing on Webb.
By the time he’s done explaining, Mac’s look of sympathy and compassion (for me, of course) has faded away and the statement on her face surely reflects my own annoyance and irritation at our favorite spy.
“You really know how to make my life hell, Clay,” Mac remarks sourly, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re going to be here all night trying to sort this out!”
“Sorry about your date, Mac,” Webb offers.
“’Sorry?’ ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. My evening is shot.”
“Must be some guy,” Webb comments casually. His eyes flicker expressionlessly to mine.
“Yes, well, duty is duty,” she sighs resolutely.
“Let’s just hope he understands that,” the admiral remarks kindly.
“He does,” she returns softly.
TBC
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 