| Subject: Parts 12-14a |
Author:
TT2
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Date Posted: 21:34:17 07/27/02 Sat
In reply to:
TT2
's message, "Parts 9-11" on 22:48:54 07/21/02 Sun
PT 12
1556 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
Harm and I are hunched over in the law library, trying to discover some miraculous, hidden precedent that will really nail Sorenson’s ass to the wall. So far it’s been a rather fruitless search. He’ll get some time, but not nearly enough.
A few piles comprising roughly two dozen books are in the middle of the table we’re seated at, some open, others closed, with yellow post-its marking a page of interest. We’ve been at this for two hours now. Bud and Singer are busy preparing for their own courtroom battle, thus relegating Harm and I to do our own research.
It’s been kind of nice actually; just Harm and me, and occasionally Harriet or Tiner bustle in, with a note or a file, or a message. I watch Harm flip through a law book, running his finger along a line on the page that he thinks might help our case, his profile rapt in concentration, the smooth line of his jaw firm, his brow pensive as he considers the words before him. Then he turns his head, giving me another wonderful view of his shiny, black hair, the bangs styled slightly over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance as he marks down some notes on his yellow legal pad with his silver pen. He continues with his task, and I try to focus my attention on my share, but I am drawn to the windows. I gasp in surprise as I see a very heavy blanket of snow covering the ground, with more fat flakes falling steadily.
Harm looks up, first at me, then follows my gaze to the windows.
“Wow. The forecaster said we were in for some snow. I guess it’s here.”
“Yeah,” I reply softly. Great. It’s looks like there’s enough already to make the roads hell, and my slippery, fiberglass car was not made for snowshoeing. As it is, it’s just before noon, and it looks as though we have not even half of the predicted amount.
“I can give you a ride back to your place. You shouldn’t be driving your car in this weather,” Harm offers, as though he can read my thoughts. I wonder sometimes if he can.
“Thanks.”
He smiles in answer and resumes his research. I don’t know how he can be so intent on work, when everything—well, with exception to the fact we’re here at the office—is conspiring for a romantic day. The snow. He and I. Alone together. With romance on the horizon. I sigh melodramatically.
“Suck it up, Marine,” he responds immediately, eyes still on the page.
“What?”
“You know what,” he replies smiling as he scribbles more notes.
“What?” I insist.
“I know you’re wishing you were home alone with me, snuggled together on the couch under a nice warm blanket, watching Steel Magnolias or some other sappy love story, but face it—we have work to do.” This is said in a drone, as though he’s reciting some age-old fact about me.
“Excuse me?! First of all, Steel Magnolias isn’t a ‘sappy love story’; it’s a very moving drama, I’ll have you know.” He snorts. “And secondly, you just assume—arrogantly, I might add--that I have spent the last twenty minutes wishing I were home alone with you!”
“’Arrogantly,’ but not ‘erroneously.’”
True. I bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to hide my smile. “You’re the one who brought it up. Something tells me that it’s more your dream scenario than mine.”
“No, in mine you would be wearing that nice little lacy black number you were wearing last week…or maybe that one you wore when we were in Russia.”
I knew he’d like those. Money well spent, MacKenzie.
“Really, Harm. You don’t know me at all. You actually think you’d be wearing anything underneath that blanket?”
I swear he blushes as he checks to see if I’m serious. I’m half-serious. He quickly resumes his task, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Maaaac,” he drawls warningly, but he doesn’t make any further comment.
“Yes?” I prompt innocently.
“We’re working.”
“Suck it up, Sailor,” I retort sweetly.
“Unfair, Marine. Unfair.”
I roll my eyes. I slip off my pumps and rub my heels. My shoes are new and they pinch a bit. An idea forms in my mind and I smile slyly as I stretch my legs out under the table and place them in Harm’s lap. He looks down at them in surprise. He looks up at me.
“Yes?”
I smile benignly as I wiggle my toes. He tosses his pen onto the table and leans back to look at me and my feet. He’s slow to respond with the foot massage I want, so I rub my foot suggestively along his thigh. He shoots off his chair so fast it tips over.
Damn, he’s so much fun to tease.
He rights the chair, and starts stuttering some excuse about an idea he’s going to check on, and quickly escapes to a stack at the back of the room.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
I stand up and follow, padding along in my stocking feet. His back is to me as I approach, and he appears to be engaging in some Lamaze, or yoga breathing techniques.
“Find what you were looking for?” I purr, slipping my arms around his waist, and laying my head against his back. We’re well hidden back here, there are no blinds open to the prying eyes of the bullpen, and I feel like a little fun with my favorite flyboy. Harm must realize the advantage of our position here, too, because he spins around and plants a solid kiss on my lips.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he grins triumphantly.
Hmm…I think I may have just been played by my favorite flyboy. He can’t win in the seduction game though. I already know he has very weak defenses when it comes to my persuasions.
I consider the consequences of entertaining the fantasy of making it here in the law library with Harm. I always imagined it would be on one of the study tables, but back here, between the rows of books could be nice, too. Cozy. Really, with so many people still at headquarters neither is a viable option.
If the look in Harm’s eyes is any indication, I don’t think he’d be all that adverse to either notion right now, and it’s almost enough incentive to knock him to the floor and start having my way with him. He bends down a little and pulls me back onto my toes as he captures my lips again. I love tall men. I let out a throaty moan as we deepen our kiss, both of our tongues jockeying for position with the other. After a moment in each other’s arms, I realize that we are slinking slowly to our knees. Harm’s reach the floor first, and he pulls me onto his lap, without ever breaking contact with my mouth. This is shamelessly irresponsible and I’m sure I’ll care if—when—we get caught, but right now, consequences be damned.
The sound of the door slamming echoes like a gunshot and we break apart as if stung. We’re both panting heavily, and I realize that if anyone’s going to rescue us from certain disciplinary action it’s me. Harm won’t be able to argue anything without giving us away.
I stand and quickly smooth my skirt and suit jacket, and run a hand through my hair. I borrow some of Harm’s Lamaze/yoga techniques in an effort to regulate my breathing. I run my fingers through Harm’s hair and bend down to place a kiss on his head. Harm nods in understanding as he tries to regain his composure. I hurry to head off whoever inteÿ
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