| Subject: “Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement” - Part 7 |
Author:
Dancer
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 22:16:31 07/27/02 Sat
In reply to:
Dancer
's message, "“Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement” - Part 6" on 22:14:03 07/27/02 Sat
In the cold morning air of the mountains, as they waited for the small campfire to begin producing some useable heat, Harm was studying his partner’s face as she alternately rubbed her hands together and hugged her arms in close to her body in a losing attempt to keep warm. But, he still couldn’t tell what Mac was thinking, and that bothered him.
For most of the morning, they’d been discussing mostly mundane, intermediate subjects like whether they had enough water, or where they could get more wood, but as usual for them, there were a couple of subjects they simply didn’t bring up.
It’s not that they had nothing to talk about. They just didn’t know where to begin.
For her part, Mac was pacing nervously on the other side of the fire wondering what to do, and it was getting a little nerve wracking. As their silences grew longer, her old insecurities to began to flair anew, and she wondered if they were still all right.
Harm was looking up at her pensively through his eyebrows when she saw him watching her. “What?” she asked plaintively.
“Nothing,” he answered quickly, but he was still studying her face.
“Harm?” She prompted him again, but he had turned his eyes away shyly before he spoke.
“I was just thinking -- ,” he began quietly.
When he didn’t attempt to finish the answer but simply stared into the fire, Mac began to wonder if she’d ever know what was on his mind – although she could guess. They’d exchanged a few words – made a couple of jokes, but that was about it. They hadn’t really talked.
As she contemplated what she might say to him or where they might begin, she glanced up at the Humvee that had been their home overnight and sighed. Maybe there was nothing to talk about.
Harm was still trying to figure her out. He wanted to find out what she was thinking, but he didn’t dare say the wrong thing. Their circumstances were tenuous enough as it was.
The tension was growing between them, and he couldn’t see it getting anything other than worse unless one of them put a stop to it – and soon.
When he looked up and saw the wistful way she was gazing at the vehicle nearby, he could only hope he was reading her right. But, encouraged by what he saw, he called out to her softly. “Mac?”
Their eyes met across the short distance between them, and Harm couldn’t help feeling that, for once, they might be on the same page. The question he saw in her eyes was clear enough to prompt an answer. Maybe this time he could say it right; maybe this time she’d hear him.
“I like waking up with you,” is how he began. He said it plainly, sincerely, and without a trace of self-conscious restraint, but when the frank look in his eye said so much more than that, Sarah had to turn her head to avoid being caught staring at him. She knew he’d see too much.
Confused by her reaction, Harm was suddenly afraid he’d done the wrong thing by bringing it up – that he’d embarrassed her. “Mac, look, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. Harm, it’s all right,” she answered with a nervous half-smile. “It’s fine. Really.” But, she was embarrassed and terribly unsure of just how much of a response he expected from her.
She played for time while she tried to organize her thoughts, and fell back on the idle chitchat they’d been engaged in for most of the morning – in particular their supposed rescue plans. So when she made the remark, “I guess when it gets a little lighter, we’ll have to hike up that ridge and see if the cell phones work,” she thought they were all right. They weren’t.
The fact that she changed the subject, the fact that she chose that subject to go to told Harm more than he wanted to know about what she was thinking. He thought she was pushing him away again.
She heard the change in his voice first. He muttered, “Yeah, I guess we should,” with a sudden bitterness, adding, “They’re probably pretty worried about us by now.” But as she watched him angrily poking at the reluctant campfire with a long stick, she could see the change in his whole expression. His eyes had gone dark and his face had hardened into a mask of vaguely suppressed resentments. He was angry with her.
Mac quickly realized what he must be thinking, and wanted to reassure him, but now, she’d have to get his attention first. “Harm --.” When she moved closer to him, he glanced up momentarily before fixing his eyes on the fire as a means of avoiding the conversation. She sat down next to him on the fallen log he’d been using for a bench and intensely watched his face hoping he’d look her way.
“Harm.” The way she said it this time caught his ear. She was looking straight into his eyes now. Her gaze was careful, maybe, but still direct. “Don’t misunderstand me, Harm. I like waking up with you, too.”
His eyes softened at bit, and he turned up one corner of his mouth briefly before returning his gaze to the fire.
For a few moments, they sat there side by side in the gathering light of a Virginia morning watching the flames dance on a campfire, and thinking about what was ahead of them.
Mac gingerly looped her arm through his, gently leaning against him to move her face in closer to his. “Harm,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not going to tell Mic.”
He turned to her with a look of concern. “Well, you’re going to have to tell him something.”
“I know,” she sighed, “but not this.”
“What are you going to say?”
Now, she stared off into the fire. “I don’t know,” she answered slowly. “I never should have let it get this far.” She glanced up at Harm for a moment, and then looked off into the distance. “I should have told him a long time ago.”
“About us?” Harm asked with a wry smile.
She just looked back at him and smiled. “Harm,” she chuckled with a look of abiding patience on her face, “There was no ‘us’.”
“I don’t know,” he huffed in mock protest. “I think we do all right.”
She gently rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s why I’m not going to tell him.” Then, with a laugh, she added, “He’d never believe me, anyway.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t look up, but patiently advised him, “You know…”
“You mean, the part about last night?”
Mac let out a slow smile. “Among other things.” Tightening the loop of her arm through his, she playfully pushed herself against him. “I mean, if things were reversed, would you believe me?”
“Probably not,” he chuckled. When he turned to look, she was already watching his eyes expectantly. A sudden flash of doubt made him wonder. “Mac, I hope you don’t think…”
“No, Harm,” she whispered softly. “It’s all right.” She laid her head back down to rest on his shoulder and sighed, “I know.”
As he gently reached up to stroke the back of Sarah’s hand where it wrapped around his bicep, Harm was filled with a sense of growing contentment as the light of the breaking day began to seep down into their valley.
“I suppose we’ll have to start thinking about that ridge line soon,” he mused.
“I guess we should,” she muttered wearily. “But, it’s too cold out here.”
“Ah, give it a chance,” Harm said nodding toward the fire. “I’ll get you warmed up.”
“Don’t worry, Harm,” she assured him. “You already have.”
And at that, he smiled.
*****************************
Back in D.C., the erstwhile video princess and the reluctant bridegroom had awakened to find themselves exactly where they’d left off – in bed in a strange hotel room together.
They were both awake and increasingly aware of the other’s presence, but reluctant to acknowledge their mutual plight without further information.
It was one of those movie moments when two people wake up and find out who they are with only to spend the next few minutes trying to remember exactly how this happened and to figure out what they should do about it now.
Mic was the first one to speak. Well, not speak exactly. He cleared his throat as a sort of opening salvo in what promised to be a rapidly developing flurry of fears, lies, thoughts, concerns, gestures, truths and accommodations.
As much as she would have preferred to keep up the pretense of being asleep a little while longer, it was difficult for Renee to pretend she hadn’t heard Mic’s throat rumble. After all, he had his head so close to hers that if he’d stuck out his tongue, he would have touched the back of her ear.
She also wasn’t too interested in playing cute on the subject of who she was with. She knew it was Mic – maybe not in the first moments after she woke up – but very shortly thereafter. As close as he was to her, she could tell, and the way he held her just didn’t feel the same. It didn’t feel bad -- just not the same.
The tricky part for her was not in knowing who he was, but in trying to anticipate whom he was going to try and pretend she was. Should she let him get away with calling her “Mac,” and if so, how many times? Should she allow him to call it a mistake and profess his embarrassment or simply hold out a lock of her very blonde hair and say, “Does this look like ‘G.I. Jane’ to you?”
She hadn’t yet decided on which part to play in this little drama. A lot would depend on just how big a jerk Mic wanted to be about it.
The bleary-eyed barrister stirred beside her in the bed removing his arm from around her waist to reach up and scratch at his stubbly chin.
When she rolled back to look at him, she was surprised to have him merely yawn and say, “G’morning, luv,” as casually as if he’d done it a million times before.
“Good morning, Mic,” was her rather wide-eyed response.
“You sleep well?” he asked with a trace of a grin.
“Peachy,” she replied flatly. “How about you?”
“All’s well, luv,” he assured her with an impish grin. “A bit of crawler’s remorse, but other than that…”
“Crawlers?” she inquired warily.
“Pub crawlers.”
“That’s the punk band from Ireland, right?”
Mic laughed happily, “Dunno. Sounds right, though they’d probably be from Oz.”
He was so genial, so downright jovial, Renee was having a little trouble believing he was real. After all, in spite of what last night had turned into, she hadn’t lost track of the idea that Mic was about to be married, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be hiding from it confused her a little.
Looking at the badly misarranged bed covers scattered around them, Mic chuckled, “Seems things got a bit out of hand last night.”
“Kind of,” the blousy blonde answered with a shrug. She couldn’t believe he was so… so uncomplicated about everything. It was amazing. After watching Harm fret and worry his way through more than a few early mornings, the contrast was stunning.
Mic continued to laugh and joke and even give Renee “a bit of a pat” here and there as they slowly shook off the bonds of their overnight rest, and he seemed, in all regards, the very picture of well-adjusted, adult, sexual sensibilities.
It was only after the Sydney Cyclone swung his feet down and sat up on the side of the bed that “things” seemed to hit him head on.
His shoulders slumped first. Then, as he raised his hand to rub a sore spot at the back of his neck, the bemused blonde only heard him say one word, “Sarah,” before he spun around to gape at her with a wide-eyed expression on his face. He looked her over, head to…toe, and then muttered, “Oh, God,” under his breath.
“You all right, Mic?”
“Oh, God,” was all the suddenly guilt-stricken Aussie would say.
The way he was holding his head reminded her of a key grip she used to know who would show up on the set a 6 a.m. with a quart of tequila in a thermos bottle. He’d look that way until about 10.
Ever one to be helpful, Renee slipped out of the bed and made her way out to the suite’s living room.
When she reappeared at his side, the ditzy director had donned Mic’s blue shirt for a robe, and offered him a tall glass of a ruby-colored liquid.
“My dad always said the best thing for a hangover is a bloody Mary,” she said in a stage whisper.
“Bloody Mary? Bloody Hell is more like it.” Mic dropped his head into his hands pressing his palms against his forehead as if he were trying to push his regrets back in with them.
She set the obviously unwanted glass on the night table next to him, and crouched down in front of her disconsolate companion. “Come on, Mic,” she chided him. “How bad can it be?” She was trying to comfort him, but he’d have none of it.
“After all of this,” he groaned miserably, “Sarah’s going to kill me.”
Feeling a bit inadequate, the would-be comforter had stood back up and started to walk away when Mic reached out suddenly to grab her by the wrist. “Renee, I’m sorry about all this,” he said with sincere concern written in his eyes. “I wouldn’t like it if I thought I’d hurt you.”
She waved it away. “I’m all right,” she said evenly. They looked at each other for just a minute more before Renee confidently assured him, “and you’re right. She is going to kill you.”
“But, what about Harm, then?”
“I don’t know,” she answered flatly. She took her hand back from his grasp and walked back down the side of the bed. Then with an overly sarcastic sneer in her voice, she turned and added. “I guess we’ll just cross that gaping abyss when we come to it.”
Mic was still concerned about her. “Renee, I think you’re a fine woman, it’s just…”
“I know,” the bombshell shrugged. “She got there first.” There was an awkward pause as Renee gathered up her discarded underwear from the foot of the bed. “You want the shower?”
“No. Go ahead,” he muttered sadly. “I’ll be along.”
When Little Miss Hollywood returned a few minutes later, she was wearing a real robe; the big, white terrycloth one she’d found hanging in the bathroom. Mic hadn’t moved much. He was still sitting on one side of the king-sized bed staring vaguely into space, but he did look a little better. The Bloody Mary was gone, too.
As Renee sat down beside him on the bed, he reported sadly, “There’s no answer at Sarah’s.”
“You called?”
“Three times,” he said with a weary sigh. “All I got was the blooming machine. I even tried to call Harm’s.”
She was surprised to hear that, but thought it might help to explain, “The Boy Wonder goes jogging.”
They sat there in uneasy silence for a few minutes staring at the chaos their “night of passion” had wrought in the room. Piles of clothing and irregularly placed bed linen were everywhere.
Surveying the mess, a slightly wistful Wonder from Down Under remarked, “We did have a bit of fun, though, didn’t we?”
Swept in on a wave of sudden relief, Renee replied with enthusiasm, “I’ll say.” They looked at each other with an appreciative eye and a fond remembrance of the night just past. So, when Renee leaned in toward him provocatively. Mic was not unmoved.
“You know,” she whispered softly. “If you can’t get ‘em on the phone, you can’t do the right thing, so …” She let her voice drop into a husky, more sensuous tone as she leaned in closer. “…since she’s going to kill you, anyway…”
Mic received her message with an increasingly sly grin. Then, with a nod toward the pillows behind them, he asked, “Once more, for old times’ sake?”
She broke out in an impossible grin. “Love to,” she replied lushly.
And with that, they disappeared under the sheets.
To be continued...
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 