Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer E-Mail: dancersgrace@mail.com Rating: PG-13 Classification: Best Shipper Story Best Harm and Mac Romance Best Pairing Other than Harm and Mac Best Harm Characterization Best Mac Characterization Best Other Characterization Best Plot Best Original / Interesting Story Best Series Best Comedy Best Wedding / Wedding Proposal Story Spoilers: Season 5 and 6 up to "Retreat, Hell" and "Salvation." Summary: Harm and Mac miss her wedding rehearsal, so Mic and Renee go out to dinner together. Part 1 Renee was getting impatient. It was nearly quarter to seven and Harm had yet to even call her. As she pulled her car off the main road, she wondered what in the world could be keeping "her Commander" now. They were supposed to be at the rehearsal dinner by seven-thirty and she simply refused to be late. The whole idea that Mac should actually invite her to the wedding, let alone ask her to supervise the videotaping was still a little hard for her to get used to, but Harm said she really meant it. The small, suburban church was surrounded by a rather cozy parking lot out front with a slightly larger one out back. That's where Renee was planning on having the generator truck pull in along with the craft service wagon for the union guys. It wasn't going to be much. Mac said she didn't want a lot of fuss, so Renee had planned on a minimal crew - just twelve people including the boom operator. Of course, the teamsters would be separate. They always are. Tonight, during the rehearsal, Renee was planning on picking out her sight lines. The camera operators would have to be in on it, of course, but she could pick up with them later. For now, it was enough to see how the train of bridesmaids would enter and stand and how the hell Mic was going to get all those officers into one room without it turning into a fight. Bud was so cute in his dress uniform. Mess dress blue he called it. To Renee it looked like something out a headwaiter's closet - all those buttons! To think that Harm had actually considered being in this thing! It still struck her as strange that Admiral Cheggwidden had been so reluctant to stand in for Mac's dad giving her away, but then again, she always thought he took this rank business too seriously. As Renee pulled to a stop in the handicapped parking space out front, she could see the small crowd of attendants gathering outside the front door. All the women were on one side and all the men crowded on the other side just like some high school dance, and as Renee walked up to join them she could plainly hear a familiar voice exhorting the evening air with some sort of sports thing going on. "So I come around him feigning with jabs and he ducks down to try and open my mid-section. That's when I got him, " Mic was reporting enthusiastically. "Right cross to the jaw. He never saw it coming." Renee was standing in front of him staring blankly. "Just a bit of fun, Renee," he said sheepishly. "I was telling this lot how I knocked out Ian McReiger for the Queensland Cup. Did a bit of boxing, you know." "Oh," she replied distantly, "how --- manly of you." "Harm come with you?" Mic asked suddenly noticing she was alone. "Isn't he here?" she demanded impatiently. "No, luv. Sorry." "He's the one who's going to be sorry," she steamed. "He was supposed to be helping me with this thing, and I'll bet he doesn't even show." "Seems I'm having a bit of that myself," Brumby replied. "It seems my bride is a bit late as well." As Renee took in this news about Mac, her mind began to weigh the possibilities carefully. "You don't suppose..." "Maybe they're delayed at the office," Mic suggested hopefully. She folded her arms in front of her and began to tap her foot impatiently. "He better be at the office," Renee warned. "One more word about Iceland and he's going to be living there." ****************************** Harm was slowly fanning across the smoldering pile of pine needles and assorted forest debris trying to bring forth a flame he could feed. Speaking to his companion in a reasoned tone, he nodded toward the fallen tree trunk near him. "You can sit over here, you know." "I know," she admitted reluctantly, " but I was just trying to stay out of the draft." Harm smiled to himself. "You're already in the service, Mac. They can't draft you now." She rolled her eyes at him impatiently. "Very funny." "Come on, sit down," he chuckled softly. As Mac paced back and forth uneasily, she was scanning in all directions looking for some sign of civilization other than the disabled Humvee parked nearby. Aside from that cattle track they called a road, there was nothing around them for miles but trees. They hadn't seen anything on the way in - not even power lines. She hadn't seen anything on the way out but miles and miles of the same forest they were now stranded in. "You worried?" Harm asked quietly. "No," she said trying to sound sincere. "They're bound to come looking for us sooner or later." "Yeah. It's too bad the phones don't work down here." "I still think if we just hiked up over that ridge..." Harm cut her off. "Mac, it's too dark," he insisted. "We'll climb up there in the morning and see if we can get out." "In the morning ..." Mac's voice trailed off sadly. Knowing what she was missing "back home", Harm tried not to take her downcast attitude personally, but he couldn't help wishing she'd try to enjoy his company a little, too. As she made her way around the small circle they'd cleared for the fire, he turned his eyes up to meet her gaze, then dropped them back down. "We're going to have trouble explaining this one, you know." "I don't see why," she said firmly. "After all, it was an accident." The way he shifted his eyes around made him look guilty of something, but Mac couldn't imagine what that would be. And then, somewhere in her mind, suspicion met circumstance. "Harm?" she said with a wary caution. "It was an accident, right?" "What?" "Driving off without the fuel can. That was an accident, wasn't it?" "Of course, it was, Mac," he insisted angrily. "You don't think I wanted to get us stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, do you?" "I just don't understand why we had to bring that thing," Mac snorted in disgust glaring at the reluctant Humvee. "It gets zero miles-per- gallon." "Standard Marine transportation, Colonel," Harm advised her firmly. "Colonel Makepeace said the country up there was pretty rough. A staff car wouldn't make it." "If it was that bad, why didn't they just take us up there in a chopper?" "No LZ, Mac," was his answer. "The woods up there are pretty thick." Harm was finding her insistence on re-hashing the gloomier aspects of their predicament personally depressing. He was doing the best he could for her, but coming up short on all counts, it seemed. Although he continued to fan at the smoke, even his fire wasn't starting. Finally, as if she couldn't think of anything else to do, Mac reluctantly sat down on the log not too far from Harm, and let out a discouraging sigh. "I guess there's nothing else to do but make the best of it," she said glumly. "Well, I hope it's better than that," Harm offered sarcastically. "You make it sound like dental surgery." "I'm sorry, Harm," she said sweetly in response to the slightly injured tone in his voice. "I didn't mean it like that." He tipped his head sharply to one side in a kind of half-shrug. "I guess if you were going to be stranded," he began evenly, "you'd rather be out here with somebody else." "Not necessarily," she replied. When he turned to see her face, their eyes met for the first time in several hours. The look that passed between them went through several stages of development finally settling somewhere between mutual attraction and outright danger. It ended when Mac suddenly exclaimed, "Harm, look!" Following the direction of her gaze, he looked down to find that in the small collection of needles and dry leaves in front of him, what had become a warm, bright glow had now turned into flame. ********************************** (End Part 1 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 2 When seven thirty rolled around, the wedding party had become rather restless. The pastor tried gamely to pacify Mic with his contention that Sarah had simply been delayed somewhere, but Renee kept injecting her own little brand of cheer into the discussion. "If you ask me, she just forgot" or "why is it this scene looks familiar?" were two of her more noticeable contributions. Harriet, who would be Mac's matron of honor, had arrived shortly after seven and had spent almost the whole time since on the phone trying to locate Harm or Mac or even Bud, but to no avail. When she dutifully reported on Tiner's belief that Mac was at legal seminar in Alexandria, Renee readily summed up the feelings of many in the room when she repeated her over-all assessment of the Admiral's yeoman, "Tiner lies." When Harm had failed to arrive on time, Renee, herself, had called his apartment and his cell phone and gotten only a recording in reply. She knew he had never exactly looked forward to participating in this rehearsal, but she hadn't expected him to just ditch her. She was beginning to smell a rat. Mic, on the other hand, stubbornly insisted that Mac was on her way, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, and stuck to that contention until it was nearly 8 o'clock. By then the good reverend had decided to proceed with the rehearsal with or without the intended bride - or the groom as it turned out. At around 7:45, Mic had retired to the pastor's office to try Mac's apartment number one last time. When there was no answer, he gave up trying. However, on his way back out into the church, he'd encountered Renee briefing her video crew on her particular preferences for the set-up she wanted. "You got a minute?" the burly Aussie inquired. "Sure, Mic," the tart blond answered. "What's up now?" "I just wondered," he began haltingly, "I can't find mine and you seem to have lost yours as well. You don't suppose they've gone somewhere together, do you?" "Like where?" "Dunno," the man answered glumly. "If there were some investigation going, I think Sarah would've said." "Well, don't look at me," Renee countered. "If the Boy Wonder is on a case, he sure didn't say anything to me about it. If they were on an assignment, wouldn't Tiner tell us?" "Gunny'd be the one to know," Mic reasoned. "Is he that sergeant thing?" she asked dimly. "You mean Gunnery Sergeant?" "Whatever," she said with a dismissive wave. "The one with the sidewalls." "He'd be gone home by now," Mic looked about the vestibule thoughtfully, " and I don't see calling the Admiral." "So, what do you suggest?" Renee stared back at him like she was prepared to be totally bored with his answer, but he surprised her. "Where was that dinner supposed to be?" he said referring to the formal, informal rehearsal dinner they'd all been invited to that evening. "Some hotel around here, I think," the director replied. "What have you got in mind?" "We'll ask Harriet, then." Mic looked to Renee with just the merest twinkle in his eye. "Don't know about you," he snorted, "but I vote we go find 'em." "Absolutely. Let's blow this Popsicle stand!" She leaned over to thread her hand through the crook in his arm. "Need a ride?" "Don't mind if I do," she replied in a sweet sneer. "If Rabb thinks he can stand me up again, we'll just show him what a real gentleman can do." "Why, thank you, luv," Mic grinned as he held the door for her. "I take that as a compliment." "You should," Renee declared proudly. "It's not everyday I break up a wedding." Mic laughed slyly at the boldness of her defiance, but as he helped her into the passenger side of his car, he advised, "I don't think that was you." ********************* Back at a makeshift campsite in the deep woods, Harm and Mac were sharing a new discovery, but not happily. "I can't believe it. I thought you said you checked those cases," Mac wailed at him. "I did," Harm answered defensively, "but I didn't open them." They were standing in the half-light from the campfire discussing three large bundling boxes she'd found in the rear section of the Humvee near the back hatch. He explained himself by saying, "I thought they were ordinance boxes." Mac stared at him in frank astonishment. "You thought they'd send two JAG officers out on a trip over rough roads in a vehicle loaded with ordinance!" "They're Marines," he replied with a shrug. Harm already knew how that was going to sound to her, but it was the best answer he could muster at the moment. She shot him an icy stare before plunging her hands back down inside one of the impact resistant cases. "This is a squad survival kit," she reasoned. "Look at this stuff. We've got water and blankets and food." "If you call MRE's food," Harm added sarcastically. "All right, Daniel Boone," she snapped, "You got a better idea?" That shut him up. "Well, at least we won't have to go hungry," she said with a certain residual resentment in her voice. She scooped up three of the pre-packaged food trays and a bottle of water saying, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving." With that, she headed toward the campfire with Harm following close behind. "I don't suppose they have any vegetarian specials in there," Harm asked quietly. Mac set down the small water jug and read from the labels on the food packages. "Salisbury Steak, Spaghetti Marinara and Chicken A La King." "I'll take the spaghetti," he announced. "What? You don't want the chicken?" "If that's what they serve the king, that's a country I don't want to go to." That finally got a smile out of Mac. Harm had begun to think he'd never see that again. Ever since that Humvee ran out of gas this afternoon, Mac's anger with him had been barely concealed. He really never meant to drive off without the reserve fuel cans. When Colonel Makepeace had ordered the Humvee brought out, Harm just assumed it was ready for the trip. It never occurred to him they'd run out of fuel or daylight. Now, they were stranded until morning with only the provisions in those cases to sustain them and, as far as he could see, only one place to sleep - the Humvee. Mac probably wouldn't be too happy about that either. *********************** (End Part 2 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 3 The one dim candle in the thick, amber glass ball was beginning to flicker. It had burned down far enough for the wick to be nearly drowned in melted wax, but the tiny fire bravely pressed on. So, too, our intrepid fellow wanderers, Mic Brumby and Renee Peterson had persevered through appetizer, salad and main course to come to the after-dinner portion of the evening's entertainment. Their conversation had long since abandoned any semblance of formality. The Wonder from Down Under and the Video Princess were not predisposed to such rituals, anyway. A naturally free-spirited attitude and the judicious application of selected liquors had done wonders for the tone of conversation between the two. Even now, the erstwhile Svengali trapped inside the shapely, blonde dynamo from California was plotting and planning the next stage of Mic Brumby's life for him. "I think you'd be great in that," she offered eagerly. "What?" he sputtered in amazement. "Dress up in that ruddy hat and spiel on about 'shrimp on the barbie'? No thanks, luv." His disgust for such an idea was matched only by the public embarrassment he could see written all over it. He shook his head sorrowfully. "It'd be bloody humiliating." "Are you kidding?" the bombshell countered. "You have no idea what those commercials did for tourism down there." "What? Those?" "Absolutely," she declared flatly. Renee was fond of waving her hands when she talked, and this conversation was no exception. As she leaned in toward Mic to give her pronouncements the air of confidentiality, she spread the fingers of one hand and patted at the air as if she were demonstrating the qualities of some new nail polish preparation. "Listen," she began with a confident air. "I've done my share of advertising and let me tell you, if it sells, it soars. It doesn't matter what kind of dreck you put out there. It doesn't matter about the quality or anything. It almost doesn't have to be in focus," she added with a shrug before summing up her whole presentation by saying, "As long as it sells the product, they think you're a gold-plated genius. Kind of explains Pauly Shore." "Who?" "Anyway, I have some friends at the Australian Embassy, and I ..." "So do I, Renee," he added defensively. "I know plenty of people over there -- military people - - the kind who sit around making sport of Dundee and all the fools who think that's what Australia is." Renee cast a withering glance his way. "Well, they're not making fun of his bank account." "Oh, that," Mic snorted dismissively. "Look, the guy's a millionaire," she protested. "They can make all the jokes they want." Renee then waved her hand under Mic's nose. "If they don't like him in Sydney, he can move somewhere else. He can live anywhere he wants to." As she raised her glass to her lips, she leveled her best come hither / close the sale kind of look at her dinner partner. "Just think, Mic, you could be rich." He shook his head - unconvinced. "Thanks all the same, luv, but I think I'll stick to being a lawyer." "Talk about no respect," she muttered sarcastically. "Just my own." "You sound like Harm," she whined in that flat, almost nasal tone she could slip into when she was trying to emphasize her astonishment. "Oh, right," he moaned. "Thanks for the compliment," though his tone of voice made it clear he didn't consider it one. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather be Hogan." "All right, all right," she snapped impatiently. "I know what you mean. Harm can be a little too good for words sometimes." "A little too good for something," Mic muttered under his breath. Renee was scanning the room searching for their server, but Mic thought she was still seeking her wayward Commander. "He's not here, luv," the Aussie advised firmly. "Been watching the door since we got here and haven't seen a one of them." "A waiter?" "No. The others." As Mic surveyed the table before him, he realized their dinner dishes were still uncollected and from the way Renee was dangling her glass, he could only imagine what she wanted. "Would you like something else, then?" "You bet." Mic raised a hand to beckon a bus boy over. "Could you get our waiter, please? I think we'd like another round." "I'm sorry, sir," the boy replied. "We're closing pretty soon, but the Sky Room's still open." When Mic looked to her for an answer to the unspoken question, Renee just shrugged and said, "Why not?" To which Mic happily replied, "Why not, indeed." **************************** As Mac watched Harm squinting at the report folder he held in his hand, it brought to mind the look of bewilderment she'd seen on his face this afternoon when the vehicle they were riding in choked and coughed and sputtered to a stop out in the middle of nowhere. She wasn't sure if he was really that interested in the file or was just trying to avoid having to explain anything else to her. They'd been on their way to the site of a purported incident involving mistakenly discharged ordinance. A Marine F-18 Hornet, participating in an exercise over at Quantico, had supposedly fired a missile into a small, rustic cabin up in the mountains causing a fire that burned the structure to the ground. The pilot said it never happened. The cabin in question was owned by Senator Alfred E. Newman, a man known for his love of the environment and his distrust of the Pentagon. From his position on the Senate Armed Services Committee, he had been trying for some time to further restrict the Pentagon's use of federal lands for training exercises. Harm and Mac had been assigned to show the Department of the Navy's "level of concern" over the incident as reported by his son-in-law. It was a purely political investigation. Admiral Cheggwidden had as much as said that Rabb and MacKenzie would be there mostly to mollify the cabin's owner, but when NCIS and the Forest Service investigators came to believe that the cabin had been deliberately torched, a real JAG man investigation had been launched. Harm continued to struggle with trying to read the briefing papers by firelight, so Mac got up to wander around the campfire a bit. She thought moving might warm her up some. "I'm surprised there hasn't been anybody looking for us," she said to no one in particular. Harm didn't even look up. "It's a long way back to the base," he muttered absently. "They probably thought we wouldn't make it back before dark." "I suppose," she sighed. Getting up to the cabin was supposed to take a couple of hours. They'd never even made it there. The map they'd been given was fairly clear, she thought, but as Harm made one turn after another onto smaller and smaller roads, she'd found herself unable to place their position any more precisely than "somewhere in Virginia." As it was, they'd probably have to triangulate on their cell phone signal in the morning just to find out which way to send the recon helicopter. "Find anything interesting?" she asked trying to peek over his shoulder into the file that had absorbed so much of his attention. "Couple of things," he answered quietly. "For one thing, NCIS took samples at the site and found 'a significant pattern of accelerant residue in the general area of the point of ignition.'" "Don't missiles use some kind of propellant that would leave a residue?" "This was just plain kerosene, Mac," he advised. "Not refined enough for rocket propellant." "Maybe it hit a storage tank," she suggested. "Well, that's the other thing," Harm countered. "According to the report, they pretty much sifted the ashes all around the cabin and there's one thing they didn't find." He paused for effect. When Mac stepped closer, she stared down at him with an expectant expression in her eyes. "And?" "Missile parts," he explained confidently. "Even if it detonated on impact, the fire wasn't hot enough to destroy those alloys. There'd still be pieces of the casing lying around. They didn't find anything." "Looks like Major Paxton was telling the truth after all," the Marine Colonel observed wisely. "And Senator Newman's son-in- law's got some explaining to do," the sailor added. "I guess the only reason we're up here is to show the flag," Mac muttered contemptuously. "And maybe freeze to death," she added reflexively crossing her arms in front of her. "Mac, come over here and sit down," Harm said patting the seat beside him. "Come get warm." Mac shook her head. "That's ok. I'm fine." "Well, at least, get yourself one of those blankets in there," he said gesturing toward the Humvee. "I'm fine, Harm." She said it plainly as if it were a known fact, but when he kept looking up at her with those big, blue eyes so wide with obvious concern, she had to admit defeat. She sat down on the fallen log not too far from him, but they eyed each other warily. "You're right," she finally conceded. "It's is a little warmer over here." Warmer, perhaps, but she would still keep her distance from him. Harm kept getting the feeling he was being held responsible for something beyond what he could see. He knew she couldn't be happy about the way her plans for the evening had been disrupted, but he wondered if there might be more to it. "Mac, I'm sorry you missed your rehearsal," he offered sincerely. She shrugged. "I guess it couldn't be helped." "You suppose they gave up on us?" "Probably," she sighed with resignation. "The rehearsal was at seven. It's almost ten o'clock." Harm looked surprised. "God, is it that late?" "Yeah," she said with a soft smile. "Well, Renee's long gone," he said with a chuckle. "She'll think I stood her up again." "And I don't think Mic would wait around this long," Sarah added regretfully. Harm couldn't help it. Every time he thought of the beautiful woman sitting beside him spending the rest of her life with that slimy character from Oz, he just wanted to grab her and shake her. "I still don't know what you see in that guy," he muttered contemptuously. "Harm...," she cautioned. "I don't," he declared. "He's arrogant, he's opinionated, he's way too sure of himself, he's ---" "My fiancé," she replied flatly. That thought stopped him cold. He dropped his head down to avoid the look in her eyes. "I know," he said quietly. "I just think you could do better." "Like who?" It was a more or less reflexive response, but now that she'd asked it, she was interested in how Harm would answer. "I don't know," he said shifting uncomfortably. "Just somebody worthy of you." Their eyes met for a moment over that thought -- the sweet consideration of his gaze meeting the wary anticipation of hers. When the flickering of the firelight reflected in her eyes seemed to soften into a direct question aimed squarely at him, Harm looked away again. They didn't say anything more. They fell into silent reflection staring at the fire for what seemed like a long time before Mac finally got up to leave him to his own thoughts. She had to. She had some thinking of her own to do - about Harm. ***************************** The "Sky Room" turned out to be a smallish bar arranged on the top floor of this "palatial", five-story hotel with an up-close and personal overview of Interstate 395. If you liked lights, it was a real place to go. Beyond the side-by-side ribbons of auto lights, there were the wonders of suburban street lighting grids laid out at a low angle in the one of the two directions the windows faced. Some kind of avenue going on for ten or twelve blocks also adorned this vista on the other side of the freeway. It wasn't quite as stunning as the Mall downtown, but they did have liquor. Renee, who was enjoying her second Brandy Alexander, was currently expounding on the subject of Mic's intended bride, and was not entirely complimentary. "Mac's always so uptight," she declared grandly. "I mean, she must absolutely drive you nuts with all those rules and things." "Mac's all right," Brumby replied with a knowing smirk. "And she's not half as uptight as you think." "Oh, really???" Renee purred. "A little spitfire, is she?" Mic, who was in the middle of his second Irish coffee, nearly blushed at the lecherous gleam he saw in Renee's eye. "Blimey!" "Oh, come on," the buxom blonde exhorted her companion, "Tell!" Mic laughed a little nervously before clearing his throat to say, "No. I don't think I will," with a smile on his face. "Oh, hey. I'll tell you anything you want to know about Harm," Renee added with a wicked laugh. "He can be really..." "No thanks," Mic interjected suddenly. "Not what I live for." At that, the buxom blonde leaned forward over the table with her chin resting on her hand parting her lips sensuously just wide enough for him to notice. The look in her eyes was misty and she waggled her eyebrows for emphasis as she cooed, "What do you live for, Mic?" As he took in all the signals he was being offered, Brumby responded with an impishly sly smile and an appreciative stare in Renee's direction. Her message was rather clear and while he did consider it favorably, he did think twice about the timing. "What I'd really like right now," he said after due consideration, "is another bit of coffee." "Oh, you're no fun," Renee huffed at him pretending to pout. He replied with a satisfied smile and the words, "In due time, my girl. In due time." *********************** (End Part 3 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 4 The light from the campfire flared brightly for a moment shaking Harm from his reverie. The mixture of dried and unseasoned scraps of wood made for an uneven burn with the occasional, spontaneous outburst of flame and noise threatening to overwhelm its confinement. Harm stared down at the touchy construction resentfully. He didn't like the interruption, but more than that, he didn't like the facts he was having to consider. This time next week, Mac would be a married woman. The good part was that they had decided to stay in Washington for the time being, so she'd still be with him. The bad part was that she'd be someone else's wife. As much as he tried to tell himself it was what Mac must want, part of him just couldn't accept the idea that she wouldn't be his. They were running out of time. When he finally went to look for her, Harm found Mac crouched down inside the back hatch of the Humvee spreading out bedding by lantern light. The vehicle in question was originally built to carry a whole squad on maneuvers, but the extra seats had been removed on this one, to make it a cargo carrier. The "bed" of this truck was certainly big enough for both of them to stretch out in relative comfort with just the narrow benches along each side left to hem them in. From the placement of the mats Mac was laying out, she apparently felt there was enough room to leave an aisle between them as they slept. "I could only find one bed roll," she was saying, "so one of us will have to take the ground cover while the other one gets the sleeping bag." She heard Harm sigh and thought he looked a little distressed. "We've got plenty of blankets, though," she said to reassure him. There was something about the arrangement that troubled him. The two rows of mats - parallel lines with a carefully maintained gap between them -- were too much of a metaphor for their situation in general. Harm just nodded silently before picking up one of the flashlights. "I'll be back in a minute," is all he said before leaving. As soon as he was out of sight, Mac slumped down inside the small space she'd left herself to rest in, and finally breathed out. This was going to be a long night. As she looked at the twin rows of thick floor mats she'd arranged for them to sleep on, she couldn't help focusing on the empty space about a foot wide she'd left between them and shook her head sorrowfully. "It has to be this way," she told herself. "It has to." But with her left hand, the one that held Mic Brumby's ring, she still reached out to the other side of the gap and gently stroked the edge of the far mat. She gave one last, longing look to the vacant hatchway behind her, looked down at the bed she'd arranged and sighed. ***************************** Back at the "Sky Room", the slightly sloshed sojourners were leaving, bound for the parking lot before heading back to that little suburban church where Renee had left her car. At least, that was the plan. Mic was already reconsidering whether or not the blonde bombedshell should try to drive home by herself. After all, the lady had put away her share of liquid refreshment over the course of the evening, and as a former officer and something of a gentleman, Mic had to wonder at just what his responsibilities should be in that regard. As they stepped onto the elevator, the Cipher from Sydney draped the faux fur coat over Renee's shoulders, and watched the woman teeter just a bit on her heels as the car began to move. "You all right, luv?" Mic asked casually. "Oh, sure," Renee waved nonchalantly, "I'm fine." Her words were confident. The expression on her face was less so. There was a pleasant sort of disconnection evident on her face as she fixed her unfocused eyes on the elevator control panel, but something about it seemed to worry her. "Did you press the button?" she asked in a slightly more girlish voice than Mic was used to. "Course." "Then, why isn't it working?" she wailed. Brumby couldn't make sense of her question. In addition to sensations of movement he was feeling, there was also the vague sort of hum evident over the Muzak to tell him the elevator was operating, but Renee remained unsatisfied. As she stared into the stainless steel cover over the dimly lit buttons, she finally turned to Mic to ask, "Shouldn't it turn green?" Mic was about to laugh when he was cut short. Something was wrong with the elevator. There was a rumble, a click and a clacking noise just before the car slammed to a halt. In the jarring stop, Renee was finally thrown off the feet she'd been threatening to leave since they'd gotten on the car. Only a quick move on the Aussie's part saved the hapless heroine from tumbling to the floor. He'd caught her around the torso, about letter high in terms of a baseball strike zone, but in sexual harassment terms, it was very near the danger zone. His hands were all right. They were safely clasped around her far shoulder. His arms were another matter. If Renee had been dressed as she might have been in the cut down, boat neck sweater she'd almost worn that night, the blushing barrister might have found the evening even more starkly revealing than it already was. Renee quickly recovered herself, pushing her weight back onto her own feet and off of Mic, but his arms stayed as they were. "You all right, then?" he inquired breathlessly. "Sure. I'm fine," Miss Hollywood replied tersely. "But, what was that, anyway?" The shawl collar of the faux leopard skin coat she was wearing had hung itself over Mic's right arm so that when Renee turned to face Mic, the left side of her coat still hung down in front of Mic like a drape. She was about to relieve him of it when the car gave one more shove throwing them back together rather awkwardly. Hands and arms went flying involuntarily to new and interesting positions as they each tried to keep their balance in the lurch. As they righted themselves after the fall, Renee discovered she was holding Mic this time. Her left arm seemed to have snagged in the sleeve of her coat and sent it around behind his back. Her right arm had pitched upward to enclose his shoulders in her embrace. That was all right, but from the other side, things were a bit trickier. Mic's right arm had slipped around Renee's ribs and the left was...well, it wasn't the arm so much as his hand. If Renee had been wearing the aforementioned jersey of the local, major-league baseball team, Mic's hand would have covered the "O" in Orioles - or at least most of it. Truth be told, Renee had a bit more "O" than most women, but that was the shape her mouth took when she realized where his hand rested. She looked at his face with eyes as wide as the grin on his face. She didn't look angry with him, just surprised. "I - ah - I'm sorry, Renee," he stammered nervously. "I never meant for that to happen." He was having a bit of trouble suppressing that embarrassed smile. The smile she gave him back was actually rather sweet. "Oh, it's all right, Mic," she answered slowly. Their eyes met rather tensely for a moment before Miss Thang began patting nervously at her blond mane. The burly ex-boxer thought she even looked a little shy before the brass returned to her voice and her manner. "To tell you the truth," she proclaimed archly, "that's more action than I've had out of Rabb in a month." "Come on, Renee," Mic chuckled lightly. "Surely, that's not right." The befuddled blonde just shrugged. "Well, I don't think so, either, but it hasn't seemed to bother him much." ************************ What was bothering Harm was Mac. "Back at the ranch" out in the woods, Harm had reappeared in that hatchway suddenly, and found Mac rearranging her previous design for their sleeping accommodations. This time, she'd pulled the floor mats further apart, and was busily trying to find enough loose material to construct a makeshift barrier between them. That was too much, he thought. Now, she was afraid of him, or at least, it looked that way. "You want me to cut down a tree?" he muttered angrily. Mac nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't realized he was back. "I'm just trying to cut off the draft," she said quickly. "Well, you don't have to build a wall," he declared resentfully. "The way you had it before --." "I thought you might need more space," she explained calmly. "I was going to put down a row of blankets and top it off with the ground cover sheet over here and use the sleeping bag over there. You can choose whichever one you want." "Do we have to?" Harm was surprised at himself for saying that out loud. "I mean, those thermal blankets don't make much of a cushion," he added quickly, "but we could spread out the sleeping bag and just use the blankets for cover." When Mac seemed slightly alarmed by that idea, Harm offered another suggestion, "We could sleep head-to- toe if you like." The Colonel considered this suggestion within the confines of her current set of plans, and then let go a weary sigh. "No. As much as I like you, Commander, I don't think I want your feet in my face all night." Looking down at the heavy boots he'd worn with his utilities, he laughed lightly. "Probably a good choice." As Mac unhappily began the task of rearranging the mats again, Harm popped himself through the hatch and made his way over to help her. Seeing his approach, Mac regarded him warily, "Harm, I can do this." "I know," he said more cheerfully, "but you shouldn't have to." As he reached out to help her with the various pieces, he accidentally brushed against her hand as he sought to take hold of the mat she was already moving. She reacted instantly. "Harm!" When she shouted his name, he turned quickly, but the look in her eyes froze him where he knelt beside her. There was a plea in those deep, brown eyes of hers that gripped his chest like a vise. He couldn't breathe. "Please let me do this," she implored him. When he let go of the mat's corner and moved back, she seemed to relax a little. "I'll call you when I have it ready. O.K.?" "O.K.," he heard himself say numbly. She wouldn't look at him now and her hands had come to a complete stop where they held onto the zippered edge of the sleeping bag. The tension between them was so thick, Harm felt it had actual weight as if it could strain the springs and shock absorbers on the vehicle. To his mind, it had come upon them suddenly, but he recognized its connection to the floor mats and the sleeping bag and all the other pieces of the puzzle of where they were going to sleep tonight - and how. Surely, Mac knew him well enough to know he'd never try to take advantage of her in a situation like this, so why was she so upset? As he lowered himself out the back hatch and into the night air, he took one more look back at his beautiful partner, and wondered just what was wrong. The diamond on her left hand had gathered in enough of the diffuse light from the lantern to focus it like a beacon for one startling flash of light that struck Harm right in the eye, and he wondered if that's what was worrying her. Brumby couldn't possibly hold this against her, he reasoned. It was an accident. She had no control over what happened to them this afternoon. And even if Mic thought they did, he would blame Harm, not her. Still, as he watched Mac slowly unfolding that one, infamous sleeping bag they had between them, he began to wonder and worry. ****************************** * After consulting with the fellow from maintenance on the emergency phone, Mic and Renee had decided to make themselves at home for the duration of their confinement. According to the man named "Burt", they could expect to be hung there in mid-air for at least half an hour before anyone from the elevator company could even be contacted, so his advice was to get comfortable. As much as she hated to admit it, Renee needed to sit down. As with most elevators, this one had no seats available except on the floor, so with Mic's help the erstwhile explorer of such taxing venues as Niemann- Marcus and Versace spread her dreadfully tacky fur coat out flat on the floor in one corner of the car and rested herself against the back wall. "Well, this is great," she muttered unhappily. Mic, who had remained standing by the control panel, advised, "Cheer up, luv. It could be worse." "The least you could do is sit down," she complained angrily. "If I have to keep looking up at you, I'll get a stiff neck." "Ah, well, if you think I should." As he stooped down to place his bum on the makeshift carpet they'd laid, he did have to ask her to, "Shove over, luv. Give us some room." Once he'd settled, the face under the Hollywood hairdo pointedly asked him, "Do you say that to everybody?" "What?" "Luv." His sudden smile was a bit embarrassed. "No. No," he replied thoughtfully. "I don't suppose I do." "You call me that a lot," she reported uncertainly. "Only 'cause I like you." "You do?" The tone of her voice showed some genuine surprise. "And why shouldn't I?" the over- confident Aussie proclaimed. "You're a lovely girl, Renee." She sat looking at him quizzically as he looked back at her frankly. "Your taste in men could use a bit of improvement, but aside from that..." She watched him carefully as a sly smile crept across his face. Her lightening fast insights startled him as she leaned in on him to say, "You're one of those rogue types, aren't you, Mic?" "Am I?" he asked with amusement. "You know, the happy pirate sailing through blue water looking for some helpless treasure ship to plunder." As she described the scene, Renee took pains to try and demonstrate the mood with appropriate hand gestures including the flat, palm-down drawing of her hand across the vista to indicate the ocean. "Don't know," Mic replied after due consideration. "I suppose if it had some girls on it." Then, he winked at her. "I knew it," she exclaimed slapping her thigh for emphasis. "You are a rogue." She sat staring at him with some satisfaction at having placed him so accurately. "I know guys like you," she said waving a finger at him. Then, she tossed her head to one side and continued. "You don't want much -- just anything you can get. And you'll take the gold, all right. You just want twenty, naked, dancing girls to go with it." Mic chuckled out loud before offering a mock protest, "See here, Renee. I'm not that hard to please." He looked her straight in the eye with a devilish gleam showing in his own. "The girls don't have to dance." Renee gave him a playful shove on the shoulder before the two of them fell against one another chuckling as they leaned against the back wall of the elevator car. "My dad was one," she sighed wistfully. "A rogue?" "No. A CPA, actually, but he always wanted to be one of those cool guys. You know, straight out of the 'Rat Pack'?" She looked at her burly companion to see if he caught the references. Her eyes glowed with a peaceful nostalgia as she spoke of those formative years. "When I was a kid, every year we had to go to Vegas. The only natural wonder my dad ever heard of was the fountain at the Flamingo." She nodded at Mic again and found him surprisingly interested in her story. "I mean, the we were always that close, but the only way my brother and I ever got to see the Grand Canyon was one time when my mom stole the car." "Your Da was a real gambler, then?" Mic asked her plainly. "Nah, not really," she answered pensively. "He just wanted to be. It was just kind of a fantasy. If you ask me, I think he missed his calling. He really wanted to be a lounge lizard." She said that with a confident nod. "A what?" "Lounge lizard," she repeated with a touch of impatience. She'd finally caught Mic in a reference he didn't understand, but wasn't sure how to explain it. "You know," she said to begin, "someone who's always mooching off everybody, especially women. A lounge lizard is a guy who just kind of lays around all the time trying to charm his way out of everything." A light went on in Brumby's eyes. "Oh, we have those," Mic assured her confidently. "We just call 'em a brother-in-law." At that particular bon mot, Renee exploded with laughter, nearly doubling herself over with spasms of hilarity. When she kept going past what Mic expected for the duration of the joke's impact, he seemed concerned. "Steady on, then. It's not that funny." Still laughing as she rose and steadied herself against his chest, she managed to gasp out, "That's what my uncle said!" That one struck him, too. The thick- voiced sailor chortled in her ear, and Renee collapsed in breathless laughter burying her head against Mic's chest. As they laughed the joke through, Mic casually wrapped his arms around the buxom blonde gently passing his hand against the open plane of her back between her shoulders. When he lifted her up from his chest by her elbows, he noticed for the first time the way her crepe blouse had come to rest over her ample "Os". The top button had come undone somewhere in all the falling and flailing, and without much trouble the unabashed Aussie had gained a rather enviable view of the gifts God and Frederick's of Hollywood had given her. "You got something in mind, cowboy?" she asked archly upon seeing the gleeful glow in his eyes. With a wonderstruck expression on his face, Mic could only marvel, "I must say, Renee, you're quite something." With one eyebrow raised above the smoky look in her soft eyes, she purred, "I'll bet you say that to all the blondes." Much to his delight, this was a woman who didn't stand on the ceremony of "who first". Seeing the lustful way he eyed her, feeling the definite energy in the way he held her, she simply didn't see the need for it. Without any more hesitation than it took for her to consider the possible damage it might cause to her make-up, Renee plunged her lips down firmly on Mic's planting a definitive kind of kiss on the not-so- startled Aussie lawyer. When that first kiss ended, Mic could only stare into her eyes to try and confirm the intention he thought he saw there. When he was sure of what he saw, he only uttered the one word assessment, "Blimey!" before eagerly returning the kiss she gave and then some. By the time that kiss ended, the licentious lawyer and the video vixen had been wrapped together so long they barely parted. Renee looked up at him hungrily. "You're good at this." "I like to think so," he replied with a grateful nod. "You're not so bad yourself." While her eyes continued watching him hungrily, her lips had turned upward at the corners in an ironic sort of half-smile. "You always make-out with women in elevators?" He gave her the deadpan reply, "Every chance I get." "Well, then. Don't stop now, Big Boy. This is just getting interesting." ****************************** ** (End Part 4 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 5 Harm was starting to worry. He could see Brumby not trusting him. Under the circumstances, that was pretty much a foregone conclusion, but Mac was another story. If she didn't trust him, they were in a lot more trouble than just being stuck in the woods. He couldn't stand that. Although he did think the sleeping bag idea was a good one, as he sat in front of the slowly dwindling campfire, he was asking himself just what he'd been hoping to accomplish by bringing all of that up. She'd offered him his choice. He could have remade his "bed" anyway he liked, and yet, he'd practically insisted she do it his way. Why? It was times like these when Harm almost wished for a cigar. He'd given them up for good reasons, but at such moments, there was something about the companionship of a fine, hand-rolled panatela that helped to clear the mind. Right now, his mind was a mess - a veritable minefield of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Cold or no cold, if he had his way, truly had his way, Sarah would never be that close to him and not be in his arms, and that sleeping bag would simply be the cover they crawled in together while they kept each other warm. But, it couldn't be that way tonight; it couldn't be that way at all. The image of her engagement ring flashing in the dim light inside the Humvee and the pleading, almost desperate, look in her eyes when she asked him to leave haunted his thoughts even now. He'd hurt her, or he was about to, and that hurt him. Whatever thoughts she had in her mind, he couldn't stand to see that look again. He'd have to come up with another idea - something to keep them both safe - at least for tonight. It wasn't too long after that that Mac came walking up through the darkness to join him by the fire. She had her arms wrapped tight against the front of her parka trying to hold the heat in. "I think I've pretty much got everything set in there," she said evenly, "so you can go on in and get settled if you want to." The way she put that caught his ear. "Where are you going?" he asked with concern. "Take a little walk." He looked up at her with a puzzled expression on his face. She gave a half-nod and a "message look" through her upraised eyebrows to complete her thought. The roll of paper clutched in her hand was also a clue. "Oh," he said with an understanding nod. "You want me to wait?" "Ah, no," she answered quickly. "You just go on in and get comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes." "Whatever you say." As he watched her walking away from the campsite, a wave of somber realization swept over him. In a very short time, that smile and those deep brown eyes would belong to somebody else, and there was very little left he could do about it. He took one more look back at the Humvee and let go a bitter sigh. It was going to be a long night. *************************** By the time the elevator began to move again, some alterations had taken place. Both Mic and Renee were still in their clothes, but perhaps less so than when they started. It took a bit of hasty re-arranging, but by the time the door opened, both of the now hot-blooded occupants of the car had mastered the general appearance of propriety. Only the frank flushing of their cheeks gave away any hint as to what they'd really been up to. Of course, "Burt" might have a better idea than most. Both the demon investigator and the video princess had failed to notice the presence of the security camera in the car, but Burt wasn't talking. When the night manager greeted them, he was effusive in his apologies to the stranded pair. He addressed himself first to Mic. "I am so sorry about all this, sir," he gushed. "Please allow me to offer my sincerest apologies to you and your lovely wife for any inconvenience we might have caused you." "And who are you?" Renee demanded irritably. "I'm Mr. Harper, the night manager," the oily, little man replied as he offered Mic his card, "and this is Carmine Chiccio, my assistant." "Harper and Chiccio," Renee sniffed. "Just add Groucho, and we've got something." The little man rather pointedly ignored her to continue with Mic. "If you would allow me, sir, I would like to offer you a complimentary meal at 'Scolios' or, perhaps, an evening's entertainment in our lovely 'Sky Room'." Mic gave the man a visual once-over and came away decidedly unimpressed. "We have Douglas Consuelo and his trio here on Friday and Saturday nights through the 15th, and I'm quite sure..." Giving his clothes one last shake, Mic flexed his neck and began speaking in an even thicker Australian accent. "See 'ere, my good man, the lay-dy and I were on our wa-ay down to yooar lobby when all this staarded." The normal boom in Brumby's voice now sounded angry, and the little man trembled slightly at the prospect of an unfortunate confrontation. "We were intending on checking into your foine establishment here, but ah'm afraaid this incident has cullared our impressions of your 'ospitality." "Oh, but, sir," the fearful Harper pleaded, "please, allow us to make amends." He turned to his "assistant" standing beside him. " Carmine, do we have a room available for these fine folks?" As Chiccio began scanning a computer printout, the manager offered Renee a broad, indulgent smile that showed nearly all of his teeth, but she remained professionally cool to his efforts at persuasion. She couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't cast this guy in a dog food commercial - even as the dog - although he did seem to be honing his boot licking skills. When the assistant produced a number, the sniveling superintendent turned his dubious charms back to Mic. "341 is a lovely room, sir. A large bed, full size shower with tub, Cable TV with the option of pay-per- view..." Mic held his face still in an expression of determination meant to intimidate opponents in a boxing ring. "Of course, we would make the service available at no charge," the simpering manager continued. Mic did not move. "We have HBO," he sang out through an overly broad smile. When Mic's face hardened into the "round three stare", the manager gulped visibly and urged the assistant to find, "A suite. We have a suite available, I'm quite sure." "'The Executive' is free." "Wonderful," he beamed. "We have a most charming suite available for you, sir." His sighs of relief set Renee's hair moving. "It's one of our luxury suites, ma'am, complete with a king sized tub with Jacuzzi, and a fully-stocked wet bar right in the room." Mic remained unmoved. "Dunno," he said grimly. "This sit-u-waay- shun has upsit the laay-dee vere much. I'm nott sure she'd bay willin' ta spend the ni-ight 'ere." Realizing what Mic must be up to, the erstwhile director had cast herself in the role of overwrought female seemingly traumatized by their "ordeal" in that stuck elevator. "I don't know, darling," she replied in a breathy, oversexed version of distress. "Just what floor is this suite on?" The sound she was making was somewhere between Marilyn Monroe's voice in "How to Marry a Millionaire" and the hum of a Hoover upright vacuum cleaner. "I don't know if I can get back on that elevator," she sighed pitifully. "I - I just don't trust it." Then, she actually batted her eyes. "Theh, ya see?" Mic declared hotly. "My poor darlin is raather upsit by oll o' this. I'd really juss loy-ike to taake 'er somewhaw that she can rest fow a lit-le wha-ile." "Fortunately, sir, 'The Executive' suite is right on this floor. Your lovely wife won't even have to think about traveling in that nasty elevator." The assistant seemed a bit distressed by this representation, and tried to gain the manager's attention by raising his hand in front of him. With some impatience, the manager glared at his subordinate. Then to Mic, he said, "Would you please excuse me for a moment, sir?" "No worries, ma-ate." When the two men had adjourned to a doorway nearby, Renee pulled Mic in for a confidential word. "See, I told you you could do those spots. You were terrific." "Thanks, luv," he said in his normal voice, "but don't tell anyone you heard that." She was about to ask him why when the management conference seemed to break up nearby. "Sir? Madam? 'The Executive Suite' is actually on the third floor, but we do have a very generously appointed suite right here on the fourth floor. It's the 'Plaza Suite' and we're actually quite proud of it." He was giving them that do-it- yourself dental exam smile again. "King size bed, Jacuzzi and the wet bar, of course. The view is quite lovely this time of night. Of course, if you'd rather just relax and watch television, we have a complete cable line-up complete with HBO and pay- per-view - sports, if you're interested." He looked to each of them anxiously. "All complimentary, of course," he urged them on through that billboard of a smile. "I dunno," Mic wondered looking to Renee. "Theh sound faair, Luv?" "Oh, yes. Yes," Renee enthused dimly. "That sounds lovely." "Well, that's settled, then," the manager oozed. "Carmine," he said turning to his assistant. "Do you have the pass key?" As the manager turned to lead the intrepid explorers to their suite, a smaller, rounder man in the blue work shirt stepped forward to stand with Chiccio "You nail 'em, Burt?" Carmine inquired in a confidential whisper. "I didn't, but he was about to," Burt replied evenly. "I suspect that's why they want the room." Both men chuckled knowingly. "But, you did get the tape, right?" Carmine asked as he continued to admire the southbound view of Renee. Burt looked on noncommittally. "Might have. I can't remember." "Ah, come on, Burt," the younger man wailed. "A dish like that? I've got a bottle of scotch that says you did." "What kind?" the older man asked. "A good scotch," Chiccio offered defensively. "It's aged." "Well, you know, that VCR can be kind of temperamental. Doesn't always work right." "O.K., O.K., five-year-old scotch." The older man's eyes began to twinkle as he looked back toward the elevator car. "Can't remember if I loaded the tape or not." "Ten-year-old scotch." "Could be I did," Burt murmured absently, "but you never know" "Single-malt," Carmine added anxiously. "Single-malt scotch, Burt. The expensive kind." Burt let out a slow smile, regarding the younger man carefully. "All right then," he said mischievously. "You bring the scotch, and I'll see about the tape." *************************** As Mac made her way back through the campsite, she was wondering how she should handle what lay ahead of her. It was getting late, and she was hoping Harm would have gone to sleep by now, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he was bound to wait up until she got back. From the beginning, when she first realized that they were stuck here for the night, she'd been dreading the idea of this sleep over. If only they'd been prepared for this. If only there'd been a tent in one of those cases instead of that damn sleeping bag, she wouldn't have to worry so much. The back end of that Humvee had a surprising amount of space in it, but not enough to make her happy. Harm would still be lying too close to her, and she couldn't imagine getting much sleep knowing he was there. She was about to be married, for Pete's sake. She shouldn't even be thinking about Harm now. The fact that she was thinking of him made her wonder about a few things. She could understand it crossing her mind. After all, in these circumstances, it would be strange if she didn't even consider it, but why was it so much harder to put it aside this time. They'd been in tight spaces before, and he'd always behaved like a perfect gentleman. But this time, it was different. It wasn't even him she was worried about. When he touched her hand, it was like liquid fire being applied to her skin. She knew her bad case of nerves about the wedding had a lot to do with that. Still, when Harm touched her, she knew she was in trouble. If only it wasn't this hard, she thought to herself. He had been a perfect gentleman, a perfect companion. Not once had he said anything or done anything to give her the wrong impression of what this night might be like, but she was still worried. She couldn't escape the feeling that they were running out of time. When Mac reached the side hatch of the Humvee, she stopped to take one last, deep breath trying to relax before she went in. To her surprise, when she crouched down to enter the vehicle, she found the much talked about sleeping bag she'd laid out as a platform was empty except for the thermal blankets she'd left folded up for pillows. As Mac crawled over the sleeping bag and pulled the door shut behind her, she heard a rustle up front that nearly caused her to jump. Training her flashlight on a figure in the front passenger seat, she could see a man shifting fitfully trying to make himself comfortable and sighed, "Harm, what are you doing up there?" Her voice had a trace of impatience about it. "The bed - ah, the sleeping bag is back here." "I know it," he said amiably. "I just thought I'd take the first watch." "Watch?" she asked quizzically. "What do you mean watch?" "This is official Marine Corps. property, Colonel," Harm reminded her. "Don't we have to post a watch or something?" "Commander." The obviously irritated voice suddenly came from right next to him, so when she spoke, it startled him. "You want to tell me who's going to steal a car with no gas in it?" she demanded to know. "And if that weren't enough, we're not just going to be watching it, we're going to be sleeping in it," she declared flatly. "So, what do you think you're doing? There's plenty of room back here." There was a long pause before Harm finally nodded his head her way. "I just thought you might like some privacy." Looking at him with some impatience, she sighed, "We're stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, Harm. We've been here for hours and haven't seen another living soul. You can't even hear a radio or a car engine out here. I don't think it could get much more private than that." He turned to look straight into her eyes, "I meant from me," he said plainly. Mac went still upon hearing those words. She froze in suspense worried about what he might mean. Seeing the glimmers of outside light reflected in her suddenly widened eyes, Harm turned back to stare out the dusty front windscreen of the Humvee and slowly began to speak. "A man and woman," he said softly, " - you and me stuck out in the woods like this. People are going to talk, Mac." It took her a minute, but then, she shook her head thoughtfully, and sighed, "You sleeping up here isn't going to change that, Harm." "It might make it easier." He spoke to her, but he wouldn't look at her. After that, she couldn't imagine what he might say next, but she couldn't let him go on this way. "Harm, your concern for my reputation is lovely, but how's it going to look when I have to go back to the Admiral and explain how I let you freeze to death out here." "I'm not going to freeze." "But you are going to be a wreck in the morning," she protested. "That seat doesn't even have a back on it." She couldn't believe what she was doing. She was actually trying to talk Harm into doing what she'd been afraid of all evening. He was giving her an out, but she wouldn't take it. "I'll be fine, Mac." "Look, I went to all this trouble back here. The least you could do is tell me if it's comfortable." She was serious. There was something about seeing Harm trying to scrunch all six-foot-four of him under that wispy little blanket that just seemed so ridiculously cautious of him, she almost wanted to laugh. The very idea that he should turn his back into a pretzel trying to get comfortable in that iron maiden of a front seat when he could be stretched out on a relatively soft bed in the back of the Humvee just seemed too high a price to pay for propriety. "Harm. Please?" When he finally relented, when he finally made his way back to the "beds" she'd arranged for them both to sleep on, he still felt the need to ask her if it was all right. She just looked at him and sighed. She could trust him. She knew she could trust him. They'd done this before - well, something like it, anyway. She just couldn't let him suffer when the solution was so easily come by. As they settled themselves in under their separate blankets on opposite sides of the "no-man's land" she'd laid out in between them, Harm said softly, "I'm sorry about all this, Mac," and sounded a little sad. As she prepared to put out the light, Sarah smiled back sweetly. "Well, I know you didn't want to go to that rehearsal tonight," she offered agreeably, "but not even you would go to this much trouble to get out of it." He gave her a pale smile in the darkness. "Good night, Mac." "Good night, Harm." As the light in the compartment died, he found himself watching the shape of the woman beside him fade into oneness with the dark, but seeing her beautiful face still before him in his mind's eye. He had to keep his imagination in check. She was almost married, he reminded himself. If they weren't here tonight, they would have been at the rehearsal for her wedding - to someone else. She might as well be a million miles away. He had to keep that in mind. With a weary sigh, he rolled over, drew the thermal blanket over his shoulders and tried to go to sleep, but he missed her. What he didn't know is that she missed him, too. ***************************** The only thing they were missing in the Plaza Suite was yet another showing of "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" on HBO. They hadn't turned the TV on yet. They were still too busy with each other. Parts of the room were newly decorated with a colorful assortment of freshly removed clothing. Some of it was still warm. Mic had discarded his jacket almost as soon as the door shut behind that little weasel of a night man they'd had to deal with, and Renee had used her shoes for field goal practice against the upright elements of the scrolled wrought-iron headboard in the bedroom. When he saw the shapely siren standing at the foot of the king-sized bed, the Wonder from Down Under had charged up behind her, grabbed her by the waist and swept her down on the bed to the sound of her delighted squeals. "And just what do you think you're doing, counselor?" Renee playfully demanded. "Thought we'd scrum," he replied with a chuckle. The blonde bombshell's eyes flared wide in consternation. "Thought we'd what?" "Scrum, luv." Renee just gazed up at him blankly awaiting some further explanation, but none came. "Well," she said darkly, "I've heard it called a lot of things, but I've never heard that one before." Mic's hearty laughed filled the air around them as he rolled over with her toward the long row of pillows adorning the top of the bed. She whooped and hollered happily finally coming to rest with her exaggerated blonde mane arrayed over a convenient pillow while she felt her feet and, in fact, the lower half of her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Her rough-hewn lothario's face was hanging in space above her dipping slightly lower so that he might speak to her in a confidential tone. As if he were cooing the most sensual words of love to his paramour, the battling barrister from Sydney whispered, "It's rugby, darlin'." When Renee continued to respond with that deer caught in the headlights stare, Mic went on. "It's how they start the game. You get all your mates to line up, and then, some bloke throws in the ball, and everybody dives for it." Renee's expression suddenly went from impatiently uninformed to immediately concerned. "You want to dive for it?" she asked incredulously. "How big is that bathtub, anyway?" As Mic took her back in his arms so that he could roll her up onto his big, broad chest, he happily exclaimed, "Renee, you're priceless." Then, he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her again. Renee's long, slow smile was accented by the waggling of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she whispered, "I think we need to celebrate." When Mic finally stirred himself to follow his half-dressed companion of choice into the other "room" of the suite, he found Renee raiding the wet bar. Much to her delight, she'd actually found a split of fairly decent champagne already chilled inside the frig. "What's this, then?" the burly Aussie inquired as he watched her setting out glasses. "You'll see," the princess replied with a greedy gleam in her eye. As Mic slipped up behind her to nuzzle at her ears and begin re- loosening the buttons on her blouse, Renee held up her glass in a mock toast and grandly remarked, "I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight." The loud rush of Mic's thick laughter rang in her right ear as he quickly moved to whisper into the left, "I couldn't tell you." He gently brushed his lips against her cheek, and when she turned to see his face, he said, "and I couldn't care less." Renee turned to him with her arms raised to loop behind his neck, and leaned up against him in just the right way. Mic raised one corner of his mouth in an appreciative smile. "I've got mine," he whispered in that husky voice Renee had begun to relish. "Let 'em go get their own." ************************* (End Part 5 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 6 His breathing was rapid and a little ragged. She couldn't quite tell if he was dreaming, but he seemed agitated. A gentle hand on his shoulder only seemed to stir him, not soothe him as she intended. But when she inadvertently touched the side of his face, he puffed out a sound like a bear caught by surprise. It was almost a grunt. In the dark, she couldn't see the expression of distress on his face, but she could hear it in the little yips he made. She raised her hand to stroke his hair, and softly spoke his name into the night. Even in his sleep, he responded to the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. Shifting at the hips, he slowly rolled onto his back, and into her arms. His breathing was still shallow and he still gave signs (and sounds) of distress, but as she settled in next to him, her presence seemed to soothe whatever fevers had gripped his dreams. When she laid her head across his chest, she could hear the accelerated heartbeat begin to slow. The little bursts of sound became calmer more like sighs, and his breathing returned to normal. Whatever it was that haunted him, whatever had stirred his fears, finding her lying next to him, even in his unconsciousness, brought him peace. The warmth of his body resting next to her brought Mac a kind of peace, too. For so long, she had wondered what a moment like this might feel like, and now, at least in part, she knew. The paper-like thermal blanket made a crinkling, rustling sound when Harm drew his arms up around her, and his satisfied sigh sounded enough like that throaty chortle that Mac had to look to be sure he was still asleep. As she rested her head against his heart, the soft hum of his breathing all around her began to lull her to sleep. Wrapped in the warm circle of his arms, she felt totally safe and totally at home. Nothing she could have imagined would distress her now. She tightened her own arms around the sleeping figure beside her, and whispered a silent, "Thank you", into the night air. They were finally sleeping - together. ********************* (End Part 6 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 7 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. (End Part 7 of 8) Title: "Full Engagement -- Broken Engagement" Author: Dancer Part 8 Mic was picking up his visitors badge from the sentry desk when he spotted Mac streaking past him through the lobby of JAG HQ. He hurried to catch her, but barely made it to the elevator before the doors began to close. "Sarah, I've been looking for you everywhere," he announced urgently. Mac just glared back at him contemptuously. "Lucky me," she snapped as she pressed the button for her floor, "I missed you last night," Mic continued in haste. The Colonel turned a cold eye on him. "Oh, really?" she asked angrily. "I think I should tell you, Mic, I've already spoken to Renee." "What?" the stricken Aussie asked. When Mic looked at her, Mac could almost see the blood draining out of his face. "She was at Harm's this morning," she informed him. "Well, good," he stammered feverishly. "I mean, it's just that..." The bemused boxer's eyes danced wildly in his head as he tried to gather his thoughts. "That's great," he said finally. "Don't you see, Sarah? That's what I was coming to tell you." "Should I be grateful?" she asked archly. "Well, now, see here, Sarah. It's not as though it's a habit," he assured her firmly. "It was an indiscretion, a one- time thing. Sarah..." When she still refused to look anything but annoyed, he pressed on in his own defense. "It's not as if you've got nothing on your side, Sarah. You can't say you're blameless." The elevator doors spread open before them, and Mac impatiently strode out into the hallway with Mic clipping at her heels. As she passed through the glass doors that marked the JAG bullpen, the Sydney Cyclone was still arguing. "After all, you spend the night out there alone with 'Dan'l Boone' here," he wailed as they whizzed past a startled Harm and Bud. "'Dan'l Boone'?" Bud asked quizzically. "Why does everybody keep calling me that?" Harm wondered out loud. Mac's stride only seemed to quicken as she approached her office with Brumby in tow. He continued to plead with her in spite of the gathering crowd of on-lookers. "Darling, be reasonable, you can't say it's the same thing." The Admiral found himself passing by at about that moment. Like the others, he couldn't help but have his attention drawn to the bickering pair of barristers conducting their very private conversation in full, public view. "Last night just happened," Mic was insisting. "Nobody planned it. It was a lark, an indiscretion, a last fling." He held out his hands to her pleading, "Sarah, think of it as the last gasp of a condemned man!" At the use of the phrase, "condemned man" several of the male members of the crowd, including Gunny, Harm, Bud and the Admiral, visibly winced in anticipation of Mac's response. Knowing the Colonel as he did, A.J. even shook his head muttering sarcastically, "Oh, that'll help." The fire shooting out of Mac's eyes was enough to singe the hair off the backs of Mic's hands as he raised them slightly in self-defense. "See here, luv..." "Don't you 'luv' me, you worm," she hissed. "How do you have the nerve to stand there and tell me 'it just happened' like we were talking about a soup stain on your tie? I suppose you're going to tell me it was all Renee's idea and that you had..." She stopped short at the realization that her door was still wide open and all those eyes looking in had ears attached to them. "Sarah, be reasonable," the muttering milquetoast pleaded as she moved past him. "I was there -- at the rehearsal -- waiting for you." "And how long'd you wait, Mic? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?" She pushed her door shut with enough force to rattle the pane glass in its frame. "You spent the night with another woman," she said turning on him in a contemptuous rage. "You picked her up at our wedding rehearsal!" "And you were out with another man," he countered hotly. "How did you know that, Mic?" she demanded. "Did you even ask anybody, or did you just assume it?" He fixed her with a keen stare, "Sarah, you and Harm -." "Were on an assignment," she proclaimed resolutely. "Working." She glared back at him angrily defying him to try and blame her again. "Harm and I have nothing to apologize for." "But, Sarah," he protested, "When you didn't arrive - when I couldn't find you..." "When you couldn't find me," she complained scornfully, "you grabbed the next, best thing you could find, and took off with her. You never even stopped to think what it might mean to us, did you?" "I did stop, Sarah. I did think," he wailed. "I knew you must be with him. I just didn't know how to find out." Mac threw up her hands in disgust as the bull-headed Brumby continued, "After all, the Gunny can be rather closed-mouthed." "And you can be rather closed- minded when you want to," she stated flatly. "What makes you think you know anything about what happened last night with Harm and me? For all you know, we could have been hiding out from some Russian assassin or maybe tracking down some renegade elements of the Shining Path." "Shining Path in Virginia?" "It doesn't matter, Mic," she muttered dismissively. "The point is you don't even know where we were or what we were doing, but the fact that we didn't show up for that rehearsal is all you need to justify whatever the hell you and Renee decided to do afterward. It's hardly the same thing." "Well, you and lover boy out there can't exactly claim to be innocent," the benighted barrister grumbled. "What am I to do with that?" "Do whatever the hell you like, Mic," she cried in utter contempt. "It doesn't change the facts. And the fact is you spent the night with Renee. You slept with her. You volunteered for it." Her disgust with him was now complete. "Disregarding whatever statement that makes about your taste in women, it at least tells me you're not too sure about this marriage." "See here, luv," Mic was taking a corrective tone with her. "See here, nothing," she snapped back disdainfully. "You've got a lot of nerve coming in here trying to defend yourself by accusing other people of doing what you did." "Sarah," he argued, "after all this time, you can hardly blame me." She stared at him in disbelief totally lost as to what he might say next. "With you and Harm..." "Oh, stop it!" she commanded him angrily. "There's no comparison." She was just about to let him have it on the subject of making assumptions and jumping to conclusions when she caught sight of Harm's face just as he looked away from her window. He was across the bullpen from her over by the Gunny's desk seemingly having a conversation with Bud, but she knew he had to be worried about her. Their eyes met for just a moment across the distance, but when they did, everything came rushing back to her in a flood. She could still see him pictured in the half-light of the very early morning with that sweet, incredible expression on his face when he first saw her there. The breath caught in her throat just thinking about it. Suddenly, instantly, she knew she didn't care what Mic thought. It didn't matter anymore. Whatever else did or didn't happen last night between them, Mac now knew for certain that that one minute alone with Harm meant more to her than all the days and nights she'd ever spent with Mic Brumby. All this business with Renee was just a distraction. They could have each other for all she cared. If Mic intended to justify himself by accusing her and Harm, maybe it was for the best. If that was the excuse he wanted, he could have it. Win or lose, she made her choice. "Sarah, be reasonable," Mic was moaning again. "Reasonable?" she whispered to herself. "Reasonable?" she repeated out loud. "Are you one of those Neanderthals who think that anything a man does is fine, but if a woman slips a little bit, she ought to be burned at the stake?" "What?" Mic was a little stunned wondering if he'd heard her correctly. "But, Sarah, I thought you said..." "I said we had nothing to apologize for," she spoke in an angry whisper, but as her resolve strengthened, so did her voice. "and I don't think we do." She tried to look him right in the eye when she said that, but a brief flash of uncertainty made her hesitate. Instead, she settled for a quick glance punctuated by the impatient posture of a prosecutor on cross-examination. As her flustered fiance tried to absorb the meaning of this new attitude, Mac took one more look out across the bullpen hoping to catch Harm's eye for just a second. She did, and the message she saw there only served to quicken her decision. Mic just made it easier. Finally making eye contact with her as she turned back from the window, the Wonder from Down Under tipped his head to one side and simply said, "You know, Sarah, I'm prepared to be big about this," with all the grand bravado he could mutter on such short notice; but under the circumstances, his "gesture" fell flat. Mac couldn't believe he would have the gall to come into her office with the blonde hairs still clinging to his coat and Renee's perfume on his shirt and offer to be magnanimous about someone like Harm. She just shook her head. "You know, Mic," she sighed as she began to slowly pace the office, "You shouldn't have to put up with someone you can't trust." Her tone was that of a lawyer giving a courtroom summation. "You deserve someone who will always consider you first, without reservation." She stopped and regarded him carefully as she told him, "I don't know if I can do that anymore." "But, Sarah..." "No, Mic," she cooed sweetly as she came to rest by the desk. " I couldn't put you through that." Then all at once, her eyes became a cool stare of defiance as she announced, "Harm and I are going to be working together for a long time, and I just don't think you could handle that." ************************* Out in the bullpen, many of the casual gawkers had gone back to their jobs when the door closed, but those more concerned with the outcome of the battle had stayed to stand a post. Bud seemed decidedly ill at ease with the situation, but, as always, he would make the best of it. While he and Gunnery Sergeant Galindez had no real idea what the particulars were, one look at Commander Rabb's face as he watched for signs of movement in Mac's office told them all they needed to know about the emotional stakes. The man was clearly touched by some deep and abiding connection to the woman behind that door, and he wouldn't leave her until he knew she was all right. A short time later, when the door to Mac's office opened again, a rather subdued version of Mic Brumby stepped out into the bullpen, and with a long, last look back, pulled the door shut behind him. As he made his way across the office, he gave a friendly acknowledgement to the Gunny and Bud, but when he came to Harm, he simply glared at him with a look that would boil the paint off a '56 Buick. There was hate in those eyes, but maybe a touch of guilt, too. Harm stared back, but gave no response. Mic was leaving, so Harm let him go. By the time the Aussie turned to leave through the glass doors, Harm's attention had already turned back to the woman he saw through the blinds. Mac was standing behind her desk staring out the window on the back wall of her office when she realized she was being watched. She turned and was surprised to find Harm standing in the half opened doorway leaning against the jamb. "Do I need a white flag?" he asked cautiously. She looked up at him warmly and shook her head. "No. It's safe." He stepped inside the office and approached her somewhat hesitantly. "I suppose the whole office heard us," she whispered shyly. Harm gave her an impish smile. "No, I think there were one or two who missed it." She flashed a tiny half- smile before turning back to her window. "You O.K.?" he asked her tentatively. "Yeah," she answered with a slow nod. "Just a little lighter." Then, she held up the back of her left hand to show him the ring was gone. His smile got smaller as he searched her eyes for clues. "Should I say I'm sorry?" "Not if you want me to believe you." She actually smiled when she said that. They each took a minute to consider that exchange before Mac quietly asked him, "Did you finish with Renee?" "Well, that's one way to put it," Harm laughed nervously. Embarrassed, Mac hurriedly added, "I didn't mean it that way." Harm nodded and spoke in an even tone, "Let's just say we came to an understanding." "Oh." Mac looked down at her desk hoping Harm didn't see the expression of disappointment in her eyes. "She wants to go back to California," he offered evenly, "and I understand." Mac looked up sharply meeting Harm's gaze straight on. The exchange was short, but the meaning was clear. Then, a suddenly nervous Mac glanced around the room idly, unwilling to meet his eyes. "If Mic ever asks you about last night," she suggested haltingly, "just smile and don't say anything. O.K.?" "Why?" came the concerned reply. "What did you tell him?" "Not much," she sighed in resignation. "He'd already made up his mind, so --." She met his eyes once, then looked away quickly. "I just stopped arguing with him." "Mac --." Dipping her head to one side, she shrugged, "It's O.K." Then after a moment to collect her thoughts, she finally looked Harm in the eye and said, "It's probably better this way." Harm never took his eyes off her gently asking, "Are you going to be all right?" Mac nodded. "I will be," she assured him with a sigh. "I think I just need a little time and some good friends around, that's all." "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that," he said flashing a slightly flirtatious smile. Mac was still watching the gleam in his eyes when a knock at the door broke her concentration. "Colonel, Commander, the Admiral would like to see you in his office, ASAP." "Thank you, Gunny." Still standing on opposite sides of the desk, Harm and Mac gazed at each other silently for one more minute before Harm asked, "Are you ready?" "I'll be along in a minute," she replied. Then, she smiled at him. "Just don't go too far." ***************************** When Mac turned the corner to pass in front of Tiner's desk, she knew Harm was already behind the paneled door of the Admiral's office. She could hear him inside attempting to give his report. As she stepped through the doorway, Harm was reluctantly admitting, "We had a mechanical, sir." Mac nervously cleared her throat bringing the Admiral's attention to her. "Come in. Come in, Colonel," the obviously irritated Admiral beckoned. "The Commander was just trying to explain to me why you never got to the mishap site yesterday." "Transportation problems, sir," Mac offered bravely. "The Commander and I --. That is the vehicle..." "Yes, sir, we ah - that is we." Harm and Mac exchanged nervous glances hoping to find a better explanation than, "We ran out of gas, sir." The Admiral regarded them skeptically. "You ran out of gas?" "Yes, sir." When neither officer would meet his eyes directly, the Admiral attempted to apply his most patient tone of voice to the question, "And where was your reserve?" Harm looked up to answer. "Unknown, sir," he said slowly. "There was a can lashed to the side of the vehicle, but it turned out to be empty." "I see." The Admiral looked first to the Colonel, then the Commander, then the Colonel again as he tried to assess the level of guilt that should be meted out to each party, but other than a pronounced discomfort, he saw very little in either one of them. He decided to press on. "Did you radio for help?" Harm looked away suddenly leaving Mac nervously clearing her throat again before she reluctantly informed him, "Apparently, the field radio was also missing from the vehicle, sir." Torn between the notions of gross incompetence at Quantico and willful disobedience by his staff, A.J. sat back in his chair with his arms folded in front of him and regarded his two senior aides with disdain. "What about your cell phones?" "We couldn't get a signal out until this morning, sir," Harm explained quietly. "We had to hike to the top of a ridge." "I see." As the litany of circumstances was recounted for the Admiral, each one began to sound more and more like excuses for something else until Mac was nearly blushing with embarrassment. Harm shifted uneasily beside her as they both awaited the judgment of their C.O. The Admiral began slowly saying, "Now, let me get this straight, Commander," as he rose from his chair. "I send out two of my senior investigators to inspect the site of a possible missile strike involving property owned by a United States Senator, and you're telling me that the Marine Corps. sent you out into open country in a vehicle with no fuel and no radio!" "Sir, I admit it's a little hard to understand, but..." "You're damn right it is, Commander," the Admiral bellowed. Instinctively, both Harm and Mac snapped to full attention. The Admiral angrily poked at the button on his desk phone. "Tiner, get me General Mendez on the phone, ASAP." "Right away, sir," the yeoman's voice answered crisply. "We'll get to the bottom of this." As the Admiral continued to express his marked unhappiness with this turn of events, Harm could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form on his upper lip. "Commander," the senior officer growled. "I'm sure you're aware that when I give an order, I expect it to be carried out." "Yes, sir," Harm barked out firmly. "I wonder if you fully appreciate the position you've put me in. I have Senator Alfred Newman due here in less than an hour to discuss the findings of an investigation," A.J. roared. "Now you're telling me that that investigation did not even take place because you ran out of gas??" "Yes, sir." The Admiral glared at each of his officers in turn as he passed before them, then turned back to Commander Rabb. "What did you tell her father," A.J. demanded, "that the movie ran long?" At that, Mac could no longer suppress the cough that had formed in her throat, and the stifled burst of noise brought the laser-like stare of their commanding officer back her way. "Is there something you'd like to add, Colonel?" Mac glanced around uncertainly. "No, sir. Only that I believe Commander Rabb did the best he could under the circumstances, sir." "Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Colonel," barked their outraged commander, "because you and Daniel Boone here will be going back out to that mishap site, and you will produce a report I can present to Senator Newman by tomorrow morning, or you may well be spending the next few years handling legal complaints at the solid waste disposal plant on Guam. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir!" they answered quickly. Having made his point rather forcefully, the Admiral took the mental step back from severe to merely harsh when he said, "I want that report on my desk by 11:00 tomorrow morning, and I don't want to see either one of you back here without it. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir." "Very well. You have your assignments," the Admiral declared impatiently. "I expect you to leave for Quantico within the hour. That'll be all." "Yes, sir," they called in unison. "Aye, sir." The now thoroughly chastised pair had nearly made it all the way to the outer office when the Admiral called, "Commander, a word please?" After a series of nervous glances exchanged with his partner, Harm whispered, "You go on. I'll catch up," before dutifully turning to face his commanding officer once more. The older man gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk offering the Commander a chance to sit down. He, himself, remained standing - well, pacing was more like it. "Commander, if I understand you correctly, this situation with the vehicle left you and Colonel MacKenzie stranded in some pretty rough country last night." "Yes, sir. It did." "How'd you get along without food or water?" "Actually, sir," Harm was pleased to report, "we found some MRE's" "MRE's?" the Admiral asked in amazement. "Yes, sir," Harm answered with an amused smile. "It turned out that we had some cases in the back of the vehicle. The Colonel described them as kind of a squad survival kit." "Survival kit?" "Yes, sir." Rather than be pleased, the Admiral seemed rather disturbed by this news. "Commander," he asked in an irritated tone, "don't you find it a little strange that there's someone out there who was thoughtful enough to include a survival kit in your vehicle, but still dumb enough to send you out without fuel or a radio?" "Yes, sir," Harm replied soberly. "I suppose it is strange." "Damn right it is," A.J. declared flatly. When Harm looked up at him with some surprise, the Admiral folded his arms and seemed to accuse the Commander when he asked impatiently, "I don't suppose you'd have any idea how that might have happened?" "N-no, sir," Harm stammered uneasily. "The motor pool chief said the vehicle was fine. He said he'd made the arrangements personally. I just assumed..." "Well, this time, don't assume anything," the Admiral advised sternly. "As it is, I'm torn between commending you for your ingenuity and investigating you for personal misconduct." "Sir?" Harm asked anxiously. The buzzing sound erupting from his phone drew A.J.'s attention away momentarily. The yeoman's voice announced, "Sir, General Mendez on line four." "Thank you, Tiner." "I need that report, Commander," the Admiral repeated. "I suggest you get a move on. I expect to see you back here bright and early tomorrow." "But, Admiral," Harm offered respectfully, "there's no way the Colonel and I could possibly make it all the way up to that cabin today. I - -." "Commander, at this point, I would not be telling me what you can't do," the Admiral counseled. "If I were you, I would get as far up the mountain as you can tonight, and do the rest in the morning." "But, sir," the Commander asked plaintively. "Won't we need someplace to sleep?" A bit irritated by the question, the Admiral couldn't resist the comment, "It didn't seem to bother you last night." Harm dropped his eyes bashfully. "We - ah - made provisions in the back of the Humvee, sir" The Admiral's eyes softened with a suppressed amusement. "Made provisions..." he repeated somewhat wistfully. He nearly cracked a smile, too, before remembering himself. Then, as the Admiral took his place behind his desk, he chuckled, "I wouldn't worry about it, Commander. I'm sure Colonel Makepeace will be more than happy to supply you with proper gear for an overnight bivouac," then he glanced at Harm through his upraised eyebrows, "if that becomes necessary." The Admiral was reaching for the phone when he added simply, "You have 24 hours, Commander. I suggest you use it to your advantage." "Yes, sir," he answered suppressing a sly smile. "Aye, aye, sir." ****************************** * When Harm had left and the door shut behind him, the Admiral turned his attention to the phone call from General Mendez. When he picked up the phone, he called out, "Gary? A.J. Cheggwidden... I just thought I'd call and see how things went on your end this morning...Good." "No, they got back here fine, but it turns out they never made it up to the crash site. I guess that map you gave them sent them halfway to Delaware." "Oh, by the way, Gary, before I forget. I spoke to Gunnery Sergeant Galindez about that non-com shindig out at Pearl. He informs me that your motor pool chief is one of the finalists...That's right. This time next week, he could be sunning himself in Hawaii. Wish I were. I hope you will convey the news to the Master Sergeant with my compliments. Tell him I appreciate his assistance. He did a great job." "I'm sending the same two officers back out your way this morning. I hope you can fit them in," the Admiral chuckled. "Well, I know, Gary, but I still need that report...No, I don't think that will be necessary. Once was enough." "You know how it is with officers. Sometimes they just need a little attitude adjustment." His friend stated his agreement, and A.J. smiled. "You know it... I just thought a little time alone in the woods would be good for 'em. I think they got the message." ********************* Whichever one of them was supposed to "get the message" of the Admiral's arrangements, both Harm and Mac had hastily passed on their most urgent case files in anticipation of another day lost in court. As Harm stood in the doorway of his office giving it one last visual inspection before departing for home, Mac sidled up behind him and playfully announced, "Thirty-four minutes, Commander. If we're going to get to that cabin today, we'd better get moving." "O.K., Colonel," he smiled with a gesture toward the hall. "We take my car or yours?" "What's wrong with the staff car?" she asked. "Nothing if you like stately progress," Harm allowed, "but I thought you wanted to move." With a flash of impish delight, Mac suggested. "We could take my 'Vette." "You sure you want to chance it on those roads?" "Harm," she laughed. "I didn't mean to the cabin - just to the base." She sighed and shook her head. "I imagine they're going to put us in another Humvee." At the mention of "the vehicle", the two officers exchanged knowing glances as they stepped onto the elevator. The Petty Officer, second class who was getting off, had no idea what Harm meant when he smiled and said, "You sure you want to chance that?" "I don't know," Mac answered with a thoughtful gleam in her eye. "We seem to have survived the last time." As the Petty Officer turned back to see what that might be about, she heard Harm advise, "Who knows Mac? Maybe this time they'll give us a tent." Then, she saw the Colonel take one step closer to Harm on the elevator car and lean in. She couldn't be sure what Mac said, but to her it sounded like, "Or maybe just a bigger sleeping bag." Whatever it was, when the doors closed, both officers were smiling. The End Or maybe the beginning. . . (End Part 8 of 8)