Conducts on a first date
AN: Wow! It's my 30th story! I never thought I'd get the hang of writing like this. And I never thought my stories would be read and liked as much as they seem to be. My statistics on this site are one enormous ego-boost. For which I thank all of you, truly.
So this story is FLUFF with capitals. Just felt like it. Enjoy...
Spoilers: None I can think of, really.
Disclaimer: Even in this story, they're not mine. Though I have a package waiting for me at home, could it be...nah...oh well...
On we go...
Mac's POV
It's been so busy as of late, I really have no idea how I kept myself going for so long. These past few weeks have been all about the Polenski-case. Petty officer Sandor Polenski was charged with owning and distributing child pornography, and if that wasn't bad enough, one of the kids in the pictures turned out to be the kidnapped (and later found dead) daughter of Nelson Cartwright, a New Jersey upcoming politician, who broke off his campaign for governor of said state when he learned of her death.
Needless to say, this case was about as high-profiled as they could get, with lots of media-coverage until even the SecNav had to meddle into it, breathing down everybody's neck to get this mess sorted out, YESTERDAY!
I was put on the defense counsel for Sandor Polenski, with Sturgis as prosecutor. Luckily, I got my hands on Bud as co-counsel, without his help I would have drowned. And with Harm TAD on the USS Seahawk for an alleged technical screw-up, I had nobody to divert my attention or to provide me with one of his famous rabbit-out-of-a-hat solutions.
It took all my influence, all my knowledge, all my techniques, not to mention all of my time plus the extra overtime to prove that even though my client was absolutely guilty as charged for spreading the (sickening) pictures (there was no way I could have gotten him out of that charge and frankly, I didn't wanna try), but that he didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping and/or murder of seven-year-old Julia Cartwright.
Luckily for the petty officer, forensics couldn't place him at the scene of the crime or even near the child and his alibi checked out, so he was found not guilty on those charges. But he got a sentence of seven years of hard labor at Leavenworth, plus counseling, followed by a dishonorary discharge from the US Navy. As a lawyer, I think that's the best I could do for him. As a woman, I feel he got away too easily.
And of course, so far, the real murderer has yet to be found. The thought of this person still being at large makes my stomach churn.
After this little rehash, I think one would agree I could use a break. Even the admiral has noticed the weary look on my face when I debriefed him. He actually offered me the rest of the day off. I guess the bags underneath my eyes are a silent testimony of the many sleepless nights I had this past three weeks.
Now normally, I would try to refuse, even just for conduct sake. I'm a marine, this was not the first politically charged tough case I had to wad through (disgusting as it was; I've seen worse) and it certainly won't be the last.
But the fact that this time, all I could say was "thank you, sir," before all but running out of the bullpen to gather my stuff and say goodbye should say how both physically and mentally exhausted this whole case has left me.
Just as I'm about to reward myself with a long soak in the bathtub with my favorite bubble bath oil, my favorite music, some fine Belgian chocolate (gift from Harm) and a horribly cheesy novel, my phone rings.
Damn! I surely hope the Admiral hasn't changed his mind or that something else hasn't come up that needs my attention. Right now, the whole world around me could fall apart for all I care, I'm having a selfish moment of pampering planned and I don't want to be disturbed.
That doesn't stop the phone from ringing, though. Sure, I can let the machine pick it up, but hearing bad news over the machine has never worked well for me. So, sighing, I pick up the phone anyway, without checking caller ID. If I had, I would have known there's no reason to be anxious.
"MacKenzie."
"Hi, Jarhead. What are you doing home on a normal Wednesday afternoon? Playing hooky?"
Harm. My annoyance leaves my body immediately, to be replaced by the warm and fuzzy feeling always appearing in my stomach when my handsome partner addresses me. I'm almost childishly happy to hear from him. Whenever he's TAD I tend to miss him, even if there's nothing special going on between us.
Of course, everything Harm and I share is special to me, but we're (sadly) not involved. Sometimes I think I would give everything I own to accomplish that, but most of the time, I guess I feel lucky to have such a wonderful friend in my life. My voice filled with happiness, I answer him, scolding him for his choice of words. Which sets off out usual banter.
"With permission, Squid."
"Isn't that spoiling the fun of playing hooky?"
"Harm, I wasn't playing hooky!"
"I figured as much. Too bad."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, too bad. You see, I am."
"You're what?"
"Duh. Playing hooky of course. I settled the matter on the Seahawk, caught the red-eye last night, haven't been in to see the Admiral yet. Officially, it means I'm playing hooky."
"It's called being UA, smart ass. And how's that too bad that I'm not?"
I try not to grin, knowing he'll get away with it. He always does. Hell, Harm flashes a smile and he can get away with firing an automatic gun in court. I know that for a fact. He did fire an automatic gun in court. And got away. Didn't even stop his steady rise on the promotions list.
His answer therefore shouldn't surprise me. But for some reason, it does.
"I just thought it would be fun to have an accomplice."
"Since when do you need one?"
"I don't, just makes it more fun when we end up in the brig. We could clang our tin cups against the bars in sync, get those cute matching overalls, no to mention letting our imaginations loose on a pair of handcuffs. Come to think of it…"
"Think of what, Flyboy? Do I even dare to ask?"
"Of course, you're a mean, lean, though, kick-ass, Semper-Fi Marine, of course you dare to ask."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but why do I dread the answer?"
"Because it's me, maybe? But, what's the question again?"
"Harm…"
I have to scold him, even if it's just because there's no way I can tell him how quickly I'm losing track of our topic myself. His low chuckle sets off a multitude of butterflies in my abdomen…what were we talking about again? Oh, right, I remember (AN: if I couldn't read back my own ramblings, I would have lost track. I almost did)
"You were saying something about me being an accomplice…"
"Oh, right. I just figured that since you know where I am during my period of being UA, you are already an accomplice, or at the least an accessory."
"Harm, you're on your cell-phone, you could be anywhere. I have no clue where you are."
"That's about to change, Ninja-girl."
That's when he hangs up on me. Just like that. For a moment I just sit there, blinking owlishly at my phone, before putting it back on its cradle, scolding myself for taking the bait. Again.
Harm's POVWhere normally there's nothing that can make me happier than being TAD to an aircraft carrier, this time it has left me wrecked. There's nothing funny about a mechanical defect on a ship like that, since any loose screw can literally put hundreds of lives in immediate danger, it's even worse when it happens so often people start to think about sabotage.
That's where I come in. To investigate any foul play and if so, get the suspects to court. Now I don't like playing bad cop with potentially good people, some of them kids with promising careers ahead of them, some young men or women with simply no other prospect. To bully them into witness reports and/or confessions is not my style, only when I get very frustrated…and I did get very frustrated.
Nobody could be happier than I was when the culprit was found. And when the whole incident turned out to be just that. Some anticlimax, but a very welcome one.
Our saboteur was just a rookie seaman who had simply tried to follow his orders, but had misunderstood his technical instructions and was never corrected, thus making the same honest mistake over and over again. A rehash of his studies for the kid, a reprimand for his instructor (he should have seen this kid failing) and that was that. Too bad I didn't get to fly a Tomcat…oh well, I'm gonna have to do my quals in a month or three anyways.
Too bad also that I didn't get to stand by Mac. I've heard about her case through the news and several grapevines and I feel sorry for the impossible position it got her into. Those mobs outside would have lynched her client and even though the guy is obviously a nasty pervert who deserves to be locked away, that kidnapping wasn't his job, so there's no reason to direct all the anger toward him. But tell that to the angry population or to the grief struck parents of the murdered child.
When it comes to handling cases where children are involved, we all take it hard, but sometimes I expect it shakes Mac harder than most. Maybe because she'd make such a wonderful mom, with her compassionate nature. Her brains, my looks…
She did well all things considering, as I expected her to, but right now, I think I should make sure she's okay. I've caught the red-eye home and even though I'm groggy and jet-lagged, Mac's well being is a greater concern to me than my own. Always has been.
I'm currently sitting in my car on the parking lot of the local Supermarket where I bought enough to restock three fridges. Maybe Mac wants to come over for dinner sometime this week, which means I need all the food I can get. Another thing that'll never seize to amaze me. She can eat like pig, yet she's skinny as a twig. A twig with beautiful curves in all the right places…down boy!
Well, no time like the present, why not invite her right now? At least it'll be a nice message for her to come home to tonight after work. I hope.
So before I even report back in to the Admiral (he doesn't expect me to be back until tomorrow and why give him a reason to think I am?), I pick up my phone to leave a message on my Marine's (yes, I think of her as mine) machine. To my surprise, she picks up.
Playing hooky too, huh? That changes the plan. During our usual banter back and forth, I turn the car not to my, but directly to her place. No time like the present and suddenly I can't wait to see her. So why would I?
Mac's POV
A knock on my door disturbs my thoughts. Without thinking I open it to reveal…
"Howdy, cellmate."
You gotta be kidding me.
A smile is splayed across his lips and the assortment of critters in my stomach do the boogie-woogie while I desperately bite back a grin of my own. He's goofy and endearing and I love him to pieces.
"Is there a warrant out for your arrest yet?"
I open the door further and he struts in like he belongs here. Which of course, he does. Unceremoniously, he drops three paper bags of food on my kitchen counter before turning on me to give me an answer.
"Shouldn't matter too much to you. You've harbored a fugitive before."
"Only because of the fabulous backrub he gave me."
Playfully, he grabs my shoulders and I can hear him wince as he does. All of a sudden, his whole tone of voice has changed when he talks to me again. It's sensitive, worried even.
"Wow, you're wound up like a Swiss clock, which you are, but still…you really could use another one of those backrubs."
I'm about to protest. He doesn't have to pamper me like this. I'm sure he's got better things to do on a beautiful sunny day like this one. Strange, by the way, I hadn't noticed it being this beautiful outside. Maybe because of my busy weeks.
Meanwhile, Harm has cleared a spot on the couch for himself and me and pats the seat next to him, eyes pleading.
"Come here, sit down."
I do as he orders me to and can't hold back the moan that escapes from my throat as he begins his firm but gentle ministrations to loosen the knots in my back and neck. Harm has amazing hands. It's a blessing I'm already sitting. And both blessing and curse that I still have my shirt on.
"Like that, Ninja?"
"Hmmm."
My vocal cords are shutting off and so is half my brain. I can only purr and moan. This is so much better than a bubble bath. Of course, both a bath and a backrub and Harm at the same time would be heaven…down, Marine!
"Tough case, huh?"
I almost want to strangle him for ruining my fantasy by talking, but his question is so sincere, it does deserve an answer.
"Awful. It was so hard to try and stay focused, unbiased, neutral. I was supposed to defend this guy while all I really wanted to do was to nail him to the cross. But what's worse, this little girl's killer is still out there somewhere. He can do it again, he…"
Firm hands hold me in my place. Without slowing down, he rubs my shoulder blades in soothing circles.
"Mac, you did all you could. The guy was found guilty of spreading those terrible pictures, but apparently he wasn't the one who took them, and he wasn't the one who took that little girl."
"But the guy who did is still…"
"Running free, I know. But he'll get what's coming to him, someday. He'll be found, they'll charge him and he'll be put away for a long time. Maybe they won't get to him for a while and it sickens me too knowing that there are people out there capable of doing these things. But you're not a superhero, Mac. You do your job very well, better than anyone, but this is out of your league. Let it go, Mac. You have to let it go."
He's right. Of course he is. And thanks to his magic, I feel myself relax.
Harm's POVShe's either very tired, or I'm very boring company. In order not to hurt my ego, I opt for curtain number 1 when after just a few more soft strokes her breath evens out and she's sleeping like a baby.
For a moment I just sit there, looking at her, while a wave of tenderness and love washes over me, so powerful it almost makes me pass out.
There's just no way she's gonna be comfortable lying there on her midget-sized sofa. It'll do more damage to her back than just a few rubs can cure, though if she would ask, I'd give it my best shot. I guess I'll just have to move her over to her bed.
I'm half hoping she wakes up, half hoping the opposite. If she wakes, she might actually see all the love I feel for her and enjoy the fact she's in my arms just as much as I already know I'll enjoy holding her this close to me. But on the other hand, if she wakes she might think I'm taking advantage of her fatigue and tired or not, she'll deck me, thus eliminating the possibility of our baby-deal taking place, in the near or far future.
As carefully as I can, I scoop her up from her resting place and carry my precious cargo to the bedroom. I take off her shoes, but dare not to take off more. If hopefully one day I'll be given a chance to undress my beautiful Marine, I do want her to be wide-awake.
With a tenderness I didn't know I had, I pull her quilt over her and tuck her in. I can't help myself as I bend over to push a lock of hair out of her face. She looks so vulnerable right now. Nothing Ninja about her. Just a beautiful woman.
Get a hold of yourself Rabb, before you can't control the urge to crawl in next to her. She'll do a lot more than castrating you if she finds you there when she opens her eyes. Pulling myself reluctantly away, I rummage through her desk to find a notebook and pen to leave her a message. The result of my poetic inspiration (yeah, right) I put on her nightstand. She'll find it there, I'm sure.
Before leaving her apartment, I take a look at my grocery bags and as I promised her in the note, I pile heaps of healthy food in her fridge, which as usual contains nothing more than pizza, frozen TV-dinners, pints of Ben & Jerry's and several variations of unidentified road kill. Even if she won't eat anything green other than an M&M that happens to have that color (claiming that by eating herbivores, she doesn't want to turn into one), she'll be pleased with the gesture. I know that much.
Catching one more glimpse of her lithe sleeping form, I close the door behind me and lock it carefully. Sweet dreams, Ninja Girl.
So far, so good? Let me know...