What’s Bugging You?

by: Timer

A/N: Hello new readers, welcome back ones who’ve read my little stories before. Returning readers are rewarded by small references to previous stories, but absolutely no need to have read them to understand this one.
Usual disclaimers apply: don’t own them, only play with them, no money is changing hands due to this effort.

Timeline note: This one’s in suspension. Every May since Season 3 ended with a cliffhanger. So I’m taking the Perils of Pauline away and replacing it with something else. Try to let your suspension of disbelief flow.

Oh yeah, all the stuff about bugs and insecticides is true.



Chapter 1: If You See One....

JAG Ops
Mac’s Office
0830 (local), Thursday before Memorial weekend

I’m watching Bud work his wonders on my computer. Of all the many regrets I have about my younger life, one of the biggest is that I was hanging out with the tough guys rather than the computer club geeks.

The men I pick.

Oh well.

Speaking of which, here comes one now. Harm stops at my door, looking a little worse for the wear.

“Morning, sir.” “Hi, Harm.”

He just looks at us. “I’m gonna get some coffee.”

What, he wants me to alert the media? What’s with him this morning?

Bud returns to clicking away at my keyboard. I watch the screen in awe. He’s tracked down that pesky bug in no time and ‘poof’ it’s in the trash and outta my life.

“Thanks, Bud. You’re a life saver. Could never have done that myself.”
“Done what, Mac?” Harm asks from my doorway, now fortified with a cup of coffee.

“Oh it was really nothing, sir,” Bud replies modestly. “I just got rid of a couple of bugs for the Colonel.”

“BUGS?”

Jeez, Harm looks almost panicked.

“Computer bugs, Harm. Not the spy kind.” I assure him. Man, he goes into super hero protector mode faster and faster these days.

“Oh, OK. Mac, do you have a minute?” Why does he have his little boy lost look on?

“Sure, Harm. But I’ve got court in half an hour.”

Bud stands up. “We’ll, if you’ll excuse me sir, ma’am.”

“Bud I owe you...let me take you to lunch?”

“Thanks, ma’am, but Harriet’s filling in on phones today and I promised I’d have lunch with her.”

“OK. But I still owe you,” I say to his retreating back, earning me that sweet Bud smile over his shoulder. What a nice man. Why couldn’t I have found a nice computer friendly guy in high school?

‘Maybe ‘cause you were too busy riding Harleys, stealing cars and planning your great escape from your father’ reminds the black leather clad she-devil sitting on my right shoulder.

Well, when you put it like that.

Harm’s still lurking at my door. I wave him in. “Sit down, Harm. What’s up?”

I watch him carefully close the door, scrutinize the activity in the bullpen, then, seeming satisfied with what he saw, he sits. He takes a deep breath in and blows it out. I get a glimpse of the miserable look that’s captured his face before he raises a hand and scrubs said baleful visage.

What ever’s going on, it’s got my flyboy by the wings and it looks like he’s afraid it’s gonna yank them off.

“Harm, talk to me. You look like you’ve barely slept.”

“I didn’t. Well, not after I woke up at 0100 this morning. All I wanted was a glass of milk.” He sounds so sad.
OK, we’ve got 25 minutes and 43 seconds before I have to be in court. If he’s gonna make me drag this out of him we’ll be cutting it close.

Prompting sometimes works. “So, you woke up and wanted a glass of milk...” Come on, Harm, fill in the blanks.

He fixes a resolute look on his face. He’s done a quick-change from sad little boy to determined military man. Leaning forward he sets his coffee mug down on the edge of my desk. Then, sitting up straight, squaring his shoulders he discloses what his body language is screaming is very important.

“I think I have bugs.”

Quickly I mentally review his current and recent cases. Although I haven’t been co- or opposing counsel on any of them, as Chief of Staff I’m familiar with the basics of all the cases that come through the office.

Humm. Terrorist cells? No, the closest Harm’s gotten to cells was a ring of enlisteds who were cloning cell phone numbers.

Spies? Not unless you count the middies who got caught sneaking into the visiting team’s locker room the night before a big rowing meet. (A heinous crime in my book but since it was when the locker room was empty, they were caught with lipstick and multiple rolls of toilet paper and confessed their plan to ‘graffiti and TP the showers’, they got off with letters of reprimand.)

Arms dealers? Well, there was that kinda strange group of women who were trying to lure sailors to a motel near Norfolk called The Manly Arms. But I saw them when they came in for the hearing. Once you got past the fishnets, stiletto heels and blue feather boas, they were nice middle-aged women. Who just happened to have a thing about sailors. Gee, I can’t really blame them for that. I have a thing about sailors too, well, one sailor in particular. As I recall, we let them off, so why would they be bugging him now?

“Harm, who do you think might be bugging you?”

He throws his hands up and sinks back in the chair. “How should I know, Mac?”

“Well, far as I know, your recent cases didn’t involve anyone who would bug you. Why do you think you have bugs?

“I saw them, Mac!” he’s nearly hissing in his struggle not to shout.

“OK Harm, that makes it easier. If you know where at least one is, we’ll get a team in to sweep your loft. They may be able to backtrack where the signal’s going to...”. I don’t get why he’s so unnerved by this. It’s not like we haven’t been bugged before.

“Not that kind of bug, Mac.” He puts either fist along side the top of his head, extends his forefingers and wiggles them. “*This* kind of bug.”

Fortunately my hands are in my lap and he can’t see me digging my fingernails into my palm.

“Like roaches?”

He jumps up and starts to pace. When Harm paces in my office the space seems to shrink. He covers it in two and a half of his ‘I’m agitated’ strides, thumps a fist onto the top of a filing cabinet and heads back across.

“Not the baby seal, Harm!”

He looks into the innocent face of that too cute baby seal picture on my wall and stops, spins back to me and says with the utmost gravity: “Mac, I don’t like bugs.”

I should have called the media at the coffee announcement; they’d be here already for this proclamation.

“Not many people do, Harm.” I know *I* don’t, but there’s no way I’m gonna be admitting that right now.

“Harm, sit down, relax, we can handle this. They’re bugs, we’re humans. Better than humans, we’re military lawyers. We can sue them for wrongful occupation. If that doesn’t work, we can go in with flame throwers.”

He’s not buying my attempt to lighten his mood. “Maac, this is my home we’re talking about.”

“Call the building owner. Isn’t it his responsibility to keep the building bug-free?”

“I tried. Got his answering machine. He’s gone for the holiday, won’t be back ‘til next Wednesday.”

“You sure you can’t catch him before he leaves? It’s still early,” but getting closer to my court time by the minute.

“Nahh, he’s already gone. That’s the message I got when I called last night.”

“You called him at 0100 this morning?”

“On his emergency number.” He looks at me so matter-of-factly. “It was an emergency.”

“OK, Harm. Here’s what we’ll do. I have to get to court. No doubt you have work to do. After work we’ll go to my apartment to change clothes. You’ve got a sea bag in your car, right?” Please, Harm. Tell me you have finally gotten into this sensible Marine habit.

“Yes, Mac. After years of you and Gunny drilling it into my head, I’ve started keeping a sea bag in my trunk.”

“Good. So we’ll change, we’ll go by a hardware store and get some bug spray then we’ll go wage war with the little guys. They don’t stand a chance.”

His eyes brighten. “Wow Mac, you’ll really help me battle bugs?”

“That’s what Marines are trained to do, sailor. Hey, are you sure these aren’t waterbugs instead of roaches?”

Good, that coaxes a smirk complete with not one but two raised eyebrows out of him.

I gather my files as I stand. “Harm, I’ve gotta get to court, but don’t worry. Everything will be alright. We’ll smoke the bastards.”


Later that afternoon

Walking across the bullpen toward my office I notice Harm scowling at his computer. He types furiously, scowls again, hits a key and virtually runs to the central printer. I watch him hover over it like a mother hen. Or a football lineman who will rip the arms off anyone who tries to get close to it.

“Harm.” He jumps, turning around to me.

“Oh, hi Mac. How’d court go?”

“It went. What’cha doing?”

“Just printing some stuff.”

He’s got that ‘no, really, I’m not hiding anything, honest’ look going.

“Sensitive state secrets, Harm? You know you’re only supposed to print those on the secure printer in the vault.”

“No, Mac.” Damn if he doesn’t almost shuffle his feet. “Some information for me, personally.”

His look is pleading with me to let this go, and I will. In just a bit.

“Harm, you know this is a military printer, filled with military paper, in a military facility and you,” I touch his right shoulder board, “are a military officer. Where does ‘personal business’ fit into that equation?”

The printer has stopped spitting out paper. He grabs what’s in the tray with his right hand and puts his left on the small of my back, firmly directing me towards our offices.

“Mac, could I have a word with you?” he asks for the benefit of the ears in the bullpen.

“Certainly, Harm.”

As soon as his door is shut he growls, “cute Marine, real cute.”

“Harm, you think I’m cute?”

“Sometimes; mostly I think you’re beautiful. But that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He’s so worked up he doesn’t even realize what he’s said.

Whoops, there’s that Harm-in-the-headlights thing. Guess he realized what he said.

We stare at each other for a moment. Now what?

He runs his left hand through his hair as he shakes the stack of papers in his right at me. “Anyway, Mac, I did some research on bugs and bug sprays this morning while you were in court.”

OK, I’ll give him a pass on the ‘beautiful’ comment for the moment, but no way am I letting him act like Googling ‘insecticides’ is more important than my court appearance.

“Harm, I was defending an innocent man. His military career is on the line. I think that’s at least as important as you running after roaches on the Internet.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he charged with?”

Damn, he had to ask, didn’t he. “Misappropriation of government property.”

His eyes narrow. “What’d he steal, Mac?”

I press my lips together, trying valiantly not to laugh. “Ten flats of ready-to-be-planted pansies.”

“Pansies? You’re defending a pansy thief?”

“An enlisted man who *allegedly* misappropriated pansies. But they were for his mother’s garden, Harm. She’s sick and he couldn’t afford them and....”

“Save the mitigation for the judge, Mac. I still say he’s a pansy. And that makes my bug spray research every bit as important as your defending a sticky fingered gardener.”

“OK, Harm. Let’s agree that they were both equally important. But if I were you, as someone who couldn’t sleep last night after seeing a bug, I’d watch it with those ‘pansy’ remarks.”

Direct hit. Time to move on.

“So, what’d ya find that has you even more upset than you were this morning?”

He plops down in his chair. “Mac, the world of bugs is frightening. They’re far more resilient than us humans. Do you know roaches have been around since the dinosaurs? And they survived Hiroshima? They can live a week after their head is cut off! What chance do we have?”

I’m not sure exactly when Bud’s brain took over Harm’s body, but much as I was wishing earlier this morning I’d met someone like Bud when I was in high school, I’m not in high school now and I’d prefer Harm’s brain in Harm’s body.

“What did you learn about how to get rid of them?” Maybe forcing some analytical focus will reawaken the slumbering Harm inside this otherwise familiar body.

“Well, insecticides are roughly divided into organic and inorganic. A couple of organic types are interesting. There’s this one made out of tropical chrysanthemums. Another out of some kind of tree.”

“Harm, did Bud help you with this research?”

“No, Mac. I did it all myself. You’re the only one I’ve told about this, uhm, problem. Except for leaving that message on the building owner’s answering machine. Ya know, Mac, it’s embarrassing. I’m afraid if people find out, they’ll think I live in a flophouse. Or I don’t keep my place clean.”

He really looks worried about that. I know what he means. One time in Okinawa scabies ran through the base like Sherman through Atlanta. I was *so* glad everyone else had it. If it’d just been me, I’d have been mortified.

“OK, Harm. But I don’t think your local hardware store is gonna have a roach-killing tropical chrysanthemum potion in stock. So what’d you find out about regular insecticides? The ones we use here in America on good old American roaches?”

“Ah ha, Mac. It’s obvious you don’t know your roaches!”

All of a sudden he’s gleeful?

“Most roaches aren’t American, well except that since they were born here they could claim citizenship status. But anyway, there are Asian roaches, Oriental roaches, German roaches, Cuban roaches...” his lecture dies away when he finally notices my look.

“Citizenship status, Harm?”
“Hey Mac, the way these guys reproduce? Some female roaches only need to mate once and they reproduce continuously the rest of their life. Imagine, Mac. One roll in the hay and you’re knocked up forever.”

“Red light, Commander!” Good god, what a horrific thought. No wonder most women automatically jump back with a little scream when they see a roach.

“Oh, sorry Mac. It’s just that this stuff is scary. I mean I couldn’t sleep last night after seeing those bugs and I didn’t even know all this.”

“*Those* Harm? About how many did you see?”

He looks away. Not a good sign.

“A few.” He looks back at me; sees ‘no sale’. “Several.” I deploy eyebrows. “OK, a bunch. I didn’t stop to count.”

“But you’ve never seen any before last night?” His head shake is so solemn it’d make the Chief Justice look giddy.

“OK, what’d you learn about stuff we might find in your hardware store. You know Harm, Raid, DeCon, Black Flag. Stuff like that.”

“I thought Black Flag was a punk rock band.”

Jeez Harm, stay on point. If it’s not Bud’s brain, the bugs have crawled in.

“Nationally available insecticides, Harm. What’s best?”

“Mac, they are biochemical agents! Remember that case a while back? Bug spray is just a dilute form of biochemical warfare. Are you suggesting we disregard the Geneva Convention in my loft?”

He’s bouncing around so much I can’t keep track. Does he want to get rid of the roaches or help them petition INS for citizenship?

“The Convention does not apply to insects and yes, Harm, if you want to get rid of the roaches biochemical warfare is exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“Well,” I can see he’s considering options as he leafs through the pages of Internet roach information, “there are some solids that when they walk through it doesn’t kill them right away. Then when they die in the nest and the other roaches eat them -- did you know roaches were cannibalistic, Mac? -- they die too. Takes a little longer but at least we wouldn’t be deploying airborne agents.”
Cannibalistic eternally pregnant foreign bugs?!?

“Harm, did you get *any* work done this morning?”

“Mac, what do you call all of this?” he gestures to the various printouts, replete with highlighted paragraphs and notes in the margins.

“I meant JAG work. Case files, investigations, discovery, depositions, you remember. Lawyer stuff.”

“Uhmm, no, not exactly. Been kinda busy with this.”

“Harm. Put the roaches to rest for the time being and get to work. We’ll follow our original mission plan.” Sometimes I have to use that Marine command voice on him; it’s the only thing that gets through.

“OK Mac, I’ll just make a few phone calls to see if anyone in the area carries this stuff,” he waves a paper. “It disrupts their reproductive cycle.”

“NO HARM. We are not buying birth control pills for your roaches. We are buying the most potent chemical warfare legally sold. We are fumigating your loft. We will prevail. We will give no quarter. We will take no prisoners.”

I leave him sitting there, looking a bit dazed.

Sometimes that man really bugs me.


Chapter 2: Once Is Never Enough

JAG Ops
1700 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

He probably thinks I don’t know he’s out there. Lingering like a young tough on a street corner. Or, then again, just waiting like any other working stiff looking down the street for the next bus.

“Harm,” I call out. He’s at my doorway in an instant.

“Yeah, Mac?”

“I take it you’ve secured for the night?” He’s not normally a clock watcher. But here it is not 30 seconds past 1700 and he’s standing in my doorway with briefcase in hand, cover tucked smartly under his left arm.
“Yeah, Mac. I kinda wanted to get home before it got dark.”

Any other time I’d skewer him with that. Fearless flyboy, legal legend, lady killing hunk wants to get home before dark? But I think I understand.

“They come out at night, eh?”

He shifts his weight uneasily from side to side. “No, Mac. That’s a myth. But they do tend to stay away from the light when they’re living indoors.”

As opposed to when they’re camping out, mountain climbing or relaxing on their yacht? I’m not gonna take the bait on this one. “Just give me a minute.”

He nods and stands there waiting for me. Or should I say *shifts there* waiting for me? Normally Harm has an exceptional economy of movement. I think it’s a pilot thing. Control bleed-over to his gestures and body language. This shifting back and forth is truly out of character. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do it before. Wow, those roaches are really eating at him.

Yuuck!!! Oh why did I have to conjure up that image??


Mac’s apartment
Georgetown
1745 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

We’ve both changed into jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes.

“Uhmm, Mac. Those aren’t your favorite jeans or tennies are they?”

A very tiny bell goes off in the back of my brain. I try to ignore it. No chance. Harm’s hiding something again.

“What if they are?”

“Then I’d tell you to change into something else.” He sees my ‘Marine’ look. “We’re gonna be working with pesticides. I don’t know if they bleach fabric or leave a smell that won’t wash out...” realizing he probably shouldn’t have added that last part, he shuts up.

“No Harm, these are not my favorite clothes. And I have a change with me so after we’re done I can get out of them.”

“That’s great Mac. I’d like you to get out of them when we’re done.”

We’re walking down my hallway as he says that. I stop dead in my tracks while he keeps blithely ambling along.
“Mac. You forget something?” He’s turned back waiting for me.

Me? No, Harm, you’re the one who’s apparently forgotten your brain today. Good god if he’s like this now, what’s he gonna be like after we inhale a little insecticide?

“No, Harm. Coming right up.”


Jack’s Restaurant Supply
North of Union Station
1825 (local) Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

Harm pulls his Lexus into the parking lot. A restaurant supply place? Getting out I see the sign on the door. ‘Restaurant sales only; no retail sales. Hours 7AM-6PM, Mon.-Sat.’

Harm sees me looking at the sign. “Don’t worry, Mac. I bought most of my kitchen stuff from Jack. We’re fine.”

“Harm, are you planning on baking your roaches or cooking them a special dinner?”

“Mac, come on. You don’t think restaurants have to battle roaches constantly? Not to mention mice and rats. Ants and...”

“That’s enough, Harm.” I may never eat out again.

“It’s almost as bad as grocery stores. They never win, they basically just fight a holding battle.”

“Stop Harm.” I beginning to think this is a plot to change my eating habits. To like never eating at all.

“Anyway, Mac. I talked to Jack today and he said he’s got some really good stuff.”

“I thought we wanted bad stuff.”

“Good for us. Bad for the roaches.”

He opens the door for me and we walk into a cavernous warehouse. Long rows of open shelving fill the space. Everything from measuring spoons to floor-standing dough mixers vie for attention. Good thing this isn’t a shoe store or I’d be in trouble. Then as Harm wanders off and picks up some gadget, virtually caressing it, I realize this is *his* shoe store.

Gotta nip this quick.

I take the gadget (heavens knows what it’s used for) gently out of his hand, firmly clasp my hands around his forearm and walk him away from the shelves and toward what looks like a service desk.

(‘Sir, step away from the kitchen ware. Sir, this is in your best interest. Step away from the kitchen ware. Sir, your family loves and needs you. Step away from the kitchen ware.’)

Seeing a bell, I tap it. Seems to break through Harm’s trance. It’s a good thing the local PBS doesn’t air old Julia Child’s anymore. Harm’d never make it to the office. I briefly wonder if there are private clinics for treating this kind of disorder.

A door in the wall behind the desk opens and out pops a small, middle-aged man. “Harm! Good to see ya!” he exclaims.

“Hey Jack, good to see you too. Hope you can help me out. This is my partner from the office, Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie.”

I smile at the bantamweight. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Harm! Now I know why you always say you put in long hours at work. If I were you I’d bring my work home with me!”

We both give him indulgent smiles. After so many years of cracks like that, unless it’s coming from a military type inappropriately, we just let ‘em go. Hey, if I was a woman looking at Harm, I’d say the same thing to me.

“About those insecticides we talked about.” Harm gamely tries to get the conversation back on track.

“Sure, sure. I’ve got just the thing for you. High tech, high kill ratio, fast acting, long lasting, yet broken down easily in the environment. It’s a suspo-emulsion. Really great stuff. And pretty easy for a do-it-yourselfer to use. But if you want to go with the old-school methods, I’ve got a variety of sprays like your parents used.”

Why do I get the feeling we’re negotiating with an arms dealer here? Or maybe sitting in on a weapons treaty discussion.

Jack lowers his voice, and shifts his gaze, sweeping the area. “Or Harm, since you’re a good customer, and I know you want to get rid of these buggers as fast as you can, I have a limited supply of shall we say ‘special’ insecticides. Very effective. Not entirely kosher by current EPA standards.”

Oh good god. He *is* an arms dealer.

“Thanks Jack. But I think I’ll take the emulsion we talked about. I already got the other stuff we’ll need.”
“OK fine, Harm. Just remember what I told you about it. And if you need to come back, I’ll still have my ‘special supply’.” He goes through the door into the back.

“Harm, what ‘other stuff’ will we need and when did you get it?” Why am I feeling this mission is spinning out of my control?

“Oh, just some gloves, safety glasses, respirators, disposable coveralls and booties.”

What, no moon suits with self-contained life-support?

“Picked ‘em up this afternoon.” He sees my look. “They’re just precautions, Mac. Like a smoke detector in your apartment.”

Right. I normally don’t wear my smoke detector. “Harm, did you get *any* work done today?”

Jack’s back and Harm’s paying him (in cash I notice).

“Sure, sure Mac. And I’ve got the long weekend to catch up.”

I knew it. He got absolutely no work done today.


Harm’s loft building
North of Union Station
1840 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

Harm stops me just outside his door. “Why don’t we put on the coveralls, shoe covers and the rest of the stuff out here?”

“Why should we Harm? We haven’t even opened the containers yet. We can put them on inside.”

He does that funny shift thing again. “But Mac, the bugs are in there. I’d really rather be armed and ready before we walk into a free fire zone.”

I’ve got it. He doesn’t just ‘not like’ bugs. He’s scared of them; they give him the creeps. OK. Big pass for the flyboy on this one. Me too. But there is no way this Marine is gonna let him know that now. Or ever.

I set the gym bag with my change of clothes down. He sets the bag with our ammunition down (gently I notice), followed by another shopping bag. He dumps the contents of the second on the floor and in minutes we look like rejects from a low-budget sci-fi movie. Disposable coveralls and booties, safety goggles (not glasses, goggles which Harm made a point of cinching snug to my face), respirators, hair covers and heavy rubber gloves.

The things I do for this man. Following him to Russia starts to pale in comparison as I watch him carefully read the labels on what I’ve begun to think of as private stock Agent Orange.

He briefs me on the application method and our “target zone”. OK, we’re spraying in the kitchen, with special attention under cabinets and refrigerator.

Harm has turned into a Terminator-like morphed combination of GI Joe meets the Orkin Man. Using hand signals (hey, Harm, remember we can talk, the roaches can’t?) he moves us in.

He takes point, sweeping his sprayer like it’s an AK-47. He slowly approaches the kitchen island and signals ‘hold’. What I would give for a helmet-mounted camera right now. I could blackmail him for the rest of his life with footage of this.

He peers over the island, does a thorough recon scan. Signaling me forward, he indicates he’ll go right (the longer route, brave warrior that he is) and I should go left around the island to begin our strafing run.

OK, I know we’re not in airplanes, but if you factor in relative size and heights, roaches to the nozzles of our sprayers, I think the analogy holds up quite well, thank you.

As I attack under the refrigerator, I have this absurd impulse to do a Marine yell. (Hey, Harm may have taken the longer route around the island, but he left me with what is no doubt the more target rich environment.)

A few foot soldiers crawl out from under the fridge. That’s it. Full bore Parris Island mode now.

“Die you filthy scum!” I scream as I spy them.

“Arrgh!! Take that for invading my homeland, you bastards!” comes roaring out of Harm.

“I’m gonna rip out each one of your hairy legs and shove them down your throat!” Top that, squid.

The floor vibrates as I hear a loud thump. I look over to see Harm has obviously squashed a roach and is brandishing his sprayer over his head.

“I have not yet begun to fight!”

I wonder if these respirators are working?

I keep spraying; Harm resumes spraying. We meet in the middle of the cabinet run and exchange high-fives.

“Mission completed,” he says with a grin I can see despite the mask covering most of his lower face.

Oh, given the way things have turned out since our revered Commander In Chief used that phrase a couple of years ago (who’s idea was it for him to land on an aircraft carrier?), those were not the words I’d’ve picked. But, whatever.

“Hoo-rah!”

Leaving the kitchen area I’m half surprised to see Harm’s not doing it walking backwards. Whoops, thought too soon. He’s turned and made a final sweep.

“We’re outta here, Marine!”

Back in the hallway we strip off our protective clothing, gloves last as Harm loads the spent weapons and them into a bright orange bag that I notice has the universal biohazard symbol on it.

I’m not gonna think about this.

“Harm. Where can I change clothes?”

“Oh, use the elevator, Mac.”

The elevator?

“Just close the door. As long as the gate’s open, it won’t move.”

I don’t want to know under what circumstances he’s become familiar with this routine. But it works as promised and he does the same.

“So, ya hungry? I’ve always heard a good fire fight makes Marines especially hungry.” We’re standing in the elevator, actually going down this time. He leans forward. “For a lot of things.”

My eyes say it all. I just wish I could have seen them so I knew what they said. ‘Back off’ or ‘Bring it on’?

He simply straightens up, puts his hand on the small of my back and says nonchalantly, “Or so I’ve heard.”


Wang’s House of Hunan
North of Union Station
2045 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

Harm reaches over the table and puts his hand over mine. He looks at me with a sweetness I didn’t think was possible to live in a man his age, of his life experience.

“Mac, I don’t think there’s another woman on the planet like you.”

Ooooh. This is starting good. Keep going big guy.
“Brilliant lawyer, kick ass Marine, beautiful woman,” YES!!! HE SAID IT AGAIN!!! “loyal friend, dependable partner,” hold on there, this is starting to sound like Lassie’s resume. “And now you faced the roaches with me.”

With that he draws my hand up, turns it over and gently kisses my palm.

“I can never thank you enough, Mac.”

As soon as I catch my breath I’m gonna try to figure out what that message was.

“I have some of your favorite double-dutch chocolate cake back at my place. Don’t worry, it’s been in the fridge ever since I brought it home last evening and Jack assures me that *they* can’t get into refrigerators with good seals.”

“Gee Harm, what about all that spray? Won’t it smell?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Nahh, that’s one of the things that’s so great about those suspo-emulsions.” Then, with a lower, huskier voice, “Come on, Mac. Let me take you home.”

OK. Another perfectly mixed message. Does he want me to feast on chocolate cake because I helped him spread biochemical agents in his loft or does he want to feast on me...because?

I’m willing to find out.


Harm’s loft building elevator
North of Union Station
2100 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

I’m standing at the back of the elevator. There’s nobody other than Harm in here with us, it’s just that I always stand at the back of the elevator, given a choice. He turns, stepping in front of me and puts his hands on the wall either side of my shoulders.

Leaning in he barely whispers, “Mac.”

YES, YES, YES!!!

“There’s something I want to tell you.” He grazes my forehead with his lips. He better tell me soon or be in good standing with his CPR certification ‘cause I’m not breathing.

He’s moved to my ear and his breath is like a warm summer breeze against it. Maybe he can breathe for both of us?

“I hope this doesn’t frighten you. I’d never want to scare you, Sarah.”
I’m at maximum meltdown. I can repeat by heart and replay in detail each time he’s called me by my given name. Thank god not many people live in this building ‘cause the elevator’s been at his floor for 45 seconds now. But who’s counting?

With another gossamer kiss, this time on my cheek, he pulls back to draw me into those impossibly-hued eyes of his.

“We may find a number of dead soldiers in there. Jack said they might crawl out after the initial attack. If you want to wait out here, I can go in and mop up.”

The breath I take in is great fuel for my instantaneous rage.

“YOU, A SQUID, ARE OFFERING TO ‘MOP UP’ A GROUND BATTLE???” Am I gonna leave it at that? Hell no! “You want me to call Mortuary Services as well, Harm?”

“Well, gee, no, Mac. I just thought I could clean up the dead bodies before you came in.”

No, I’m not letting him get away with this. It’s ‘third strike’ time...he got a pass on ‘beautiful’ and getting me ‘out of my clothes’. He doesn’t walk on this one. Go directly to Jail.

“And you felt you needed to tell me this while kissing me?”

No, Harmon Rabb, Jr. The little boy shuffle and grin is not gonna carry a spoonful of water this time.

“Well, no Mac. Not exactly. I just wanted to kiss you. And then I remembered I needed to warn you about the bodies.”

“So, you’re admitting you wanted to kiss me and used dead roaches as an excuse?”

As soon as I used the word ‘admitting’ I knew I’d made a major mistake. Harm the lawyer snaps to attention.

“No, Mac. I’m not ‘admitting’ to anything other than a desire to kiss you that was rudely interrupted by my recalling that there might be a bunch of dead roaches inside my loft.”

He pulls me toward him. I resist for about a nanosecond (my clock stops at seconds) before resting against his chest. I feel his chin settle on the top of my head.

“OK?”

“OK, but you’re not going in alone sailor. We started this mission together, we finish this mission together.”

Brave words since I’m secretly creeped out thinking about a bunch of dead roaches. But I guess that’s better than a bunch of live roaches. Suck it up, Marine. You can handle this.

He gives me a little squeeze, then we part so he can open the elevator gate.

I notice we both get quiet and go on alert as he slowly opens his door. I also note that he leaves the door wide open as he silently enters his darkened loft. I’m right behind him, a little to his left. We both halt as we hear a noise. A scuffling sound.

We turn to each other and there is just enough street light coming in through his windows that I can see his eyes are showing more white than I’ve ever seen.

I motion for us to split up. Once again, he goes to the right of the island. But that means I will have to throw the light switch. When we’re both in position I give him the three finger count down and flip the overhead lights on zero.

The kitchen floor is alive with roaches. Not littered with dead roach bodies. Alive with roaches scurrying under cabinets.

“Acckkk!!” “Eeeck!!” We scramble far faster than the roaches out the door, down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

We are both gasping for breath. I’m jumping up and down a bit. Harm’s kinda rocking his upper body back and forth. Guess we all have our coping mechanisms.

A minute goes by. Another starts. My heart rate has dropped below 100, I think, and I’m starting to get embarrassed. Jeez, they’re just bugs. I’m a Marine.

Time to go on the offensive.

“Harm. Did you do something to make Jack mad at you? Stiff him for a bill, bounce a check, promise him a ride in the plane then not follow through?”

“No, Mac. Why would you ask that?”

“’Cause it looks like we sprayed roach food in there, Harm!”

“Maybe it takes little longer to work.”

“Not the way I heard it described today. I think your friendly neighborhood spider man sold you something guaranteed to rustle up business for his ‘special EPA-banned’ supply. At special rates too I’ll bet. And given the way you ran out of there, I’ll bet you’d pay just about anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

“The way *I* ran out of there? Might I point out to you that you beat me out the door?”
“I’m a Marine, Harm, I know when to effect a strategic retreat.”

“And then I guess that was the traditional Marine retreat ‘eeeck’ I heard?”

I turn around, jumping up and down a little bit. Harm does a few more upper body bobs.

We look at each other.

“OK Harm. I’ll come clean. Bugs give me the creeps.”

“Hey, I thought Marines learned how to live on bugs if they had to.”

“We do and I did. And I’m fine with bugs in the wild.”

“The wild, Mac? Like Borneo?”

“Outdoors, Harm. Where they’re supposed to be. It’s just when they’re indoors....”

“They creep you out. Make your skin crawl. Trigger the flight response, jumping right over the fight part,” Harm adds.

I nod.

“Yeah, me too,” he says. “Always have.”

I figure this is a good time for a hug. He seems to think so too.

“Harm, did you by any chance shut your door as we retreated?”

“Um uhm.” His response is a little muffled by my hair seeing as though he’s got his face pretty much buried in it.

“And you’ve still got a sea bag in your car?”

“Um humm.”

This conversation’s going great so far: Harm’s holding me in his arms and agreeing to everything I say. What could be better? I know.

“Let’s go to my place. You can stay there tonight.”

“Um humm. Good idea, Mac. Thanks.”

Doesn’t get much better than this. (Well, except for the roaches part.)

Chapter 3: Confessions

Harm’s Lexus interior
On the way to Mac’s apartment
2115 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend

“It’s not that all bugs creep me out, Mac.”

Oh boy. I can hear the back peddling start. And he’s not gonna admit to being ‘scared’.

“Me either, Harm. Outdoors I’m fine with them. Well, I certainly don’t go looking to socialize and give critters like brown recluses, black widows and wasps their due respect. But I don’t jump up, squeal ‘eeek’, turn tail and run.”

“Ah ha, you admit you ran.”

If I give him this I think it’s gonna make it OK for him to admit to his behavior too.

“Yes, Harm. I squealed and ran. Now, if you tell anyone else that, I will be forced to kill you. So, please don’t.”

He looks at me longer than he should have, considering he’s driving. “Your secret’s safe with me, Mac. As long as mine’s safe with you.”

“Always, Harm.” I take his hand. “You can always count on me to cover your six, keep your secrets and save your soul.”

“OK. Great, thanks. Well,” I just heard the arrival of Harm’s alter ego. The one that’s about 8 years old. “I don’t mind bugs outside. Just like you.”

He gives me that ‘I want approval’ look that usually has exclusive residence on children under the age of ten.

I give him an encouraging smile.

“And even indoors I’m OK with most. Like flying things are OK.” Why am I not surprised? “Ants are OK; not great, not like I’d invite them in, but they don’t creep me out.”

“I feel just the same way, Harm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, even when it’s a bee or, even worse, a wasp inside. It doesn’t freak me out like the crawly things do.”
“Yeah. But what do you do when you’ve got a flying thing in the house? I’ve never quite figured that out. I usually just leave, go see a movie or something and generally, when I come back they’ve figured out how to get out the same way they got in. Or whatever. They’re usually gone.”

Good god. This is the man who has been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross not once but twice and he doesn’t know how to handle a flying insect?

Gently, gently I tell myself.

“I like to let flies and moths off easy. As soon as it gets dark outside, I turn off all the lights, then turn on one near my French doors. They can’t help themselves, they *have* to come to the light. Soon as they’re there, I turn on the porch light outside the doors and switch off the lamp. They’re bumping against the screen door in seconds. I crack the door open and out they fly.”

We’re at a red light. Harm turns with a look of astonishment. “You’re brilliant.”

I’m not gonna tell him otherwise, but I can’t believe he didn’t know this trick.

“OK. What about bees and wasps?”

“Well, that’s a dogfight, Harm.” Wow, that got his attention. “Yep, it’s me against them, Marine-o a insect-o.”

The look says, ‘cut it out and spill’ so I do.

“Hair spray.”

“Hair spray?”

“Yeah, sticks their wings together, or to their bodies and they auger in. Crash and burn, bye bye bogie.”

His look says he’s not totally buying this.

“No really, Harm. I’m not kidding. Buy some hair spray for the upcoming wasp and bee season. Get the aerosol kind, gives you better range than the pump ones.”

“Better range? I’ll remember that,” he says as we pull into a parking space remarkably close to my apartment.


Mac’s apartment
Georgetown
2140 (local), Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend
I walk into the kitchen as Harm drops his sea bag in the living room. “I’m gonna make us some ‘Sleepy Time’ herbal tea. Why don’t you take the first shower? You know where the fresh towels are, right? Plenty in the bathroom closet.”

“Sure you don’t wanna go first?” he calls from the living room.

I’m setting the tea kettle on the burner when I hear him say close to my ear. “Better yet, wanna conserve water?”

The kettle hits the burner a lot more forcefully than normal, seeing as though I’ve dropped it.

He rests his hands on either side of my waist and I can sense the strength of his body behind me.

His hands don’t move. He doesn’t press up against me. He lets me know it’s up to me. But he also let’s me know what he wants.

“I promise I’ll wash every inch of you. I’ll make sure none of whatever Jack sold me today is on you.”

“Harm...”

“Mac....”

“Harm, we’ve been in combat situations before. You know about the adrenaline rush. Don’t confuse that with anything else.”

Those sensuous big hands of his tighten their grip just enough to spin me around and pull us closer together.

“Mac, tell me you’re not equating spraying insecticide with getting caught in a bombing strike in Afghanistan are you? Pathological poachers or crazed militia in Appalachia? Spies in Russia? Assassins in Chechneya? This is *not* post-combat stress reduction. If I wanted you for that, don’t you think I would have asked you before now?”

He’s got a point there. He’s also getting one somewhere else. I can feel it starting to press just below my belly button.

“So why now?”

“I’m ready to let go, Mac. If you’re not, I’m ready to wait. But I need you to know how I feel.”

Is this insecticide-induced insanity?

“How do you feel, Harm?”
“Like I told you earlier, you’re the most wonderful woman on the planet.” He smiles. “And you aren’t afraid to face your fears. We’re both scared of roaches. We’re both scared of *us*. We faced one tonight. How ‘bout the other?”

A good Marine never runs out of fear. A smart woman runs toward what Harm’s offering just as fast as she can.

“I guess the tea can wait,” I say, reaching behind myself to turn off the burner.

“But we don’t have to anymore?” He’s so hopeful, earnest.

I take him by the hand and walk him toward the bathroom. “No, Harm. We don’t.”


Later
Mac’s bed

We’re sprawled across a bed that is almost stripped as naked as we are. Whoo. Guess I don’t have to worry about missing my daily stint at the gym. I’m thinking another shower and clean sheets would probably be in order, but that would assume I could walk.

I don’t think I’d bank on that assumption.

“Maaac,” it’s almost a moan, just above a whimper.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I can move, but something’s really been bugging me for a long time.”

Did he have to use *those words*?

“What is it, Harm? I’m not sure I can move either.”

“S’at’s OK. Just wanted to be sure you know I love you.”

I might end up liking roaches after all.


Chapter 4: What A Difference A Day Makes

Mac’s apartment
Georgetown
0630 (local), Friday of Memorial Day Weekend
I wake up tangled in the sheets one of us found the strength to pull over us last night before sinking into oblivion and, much more enjoyable, Harm’s arms and legs. I feel so wrapped up in him I’d swear he had more than two of each.

Whoa, wait a minute. I’m not going down some weird roach comparison road here. Am I? Well, they do both have hard shells to protect them. Finely tuned antennae. An amazing capacity to survive. And I’m stopping right there.

I let my eyes drift over what I can see of him without moving.

I let my mind drift over what I know of him as a man, without dwelling on our difficult times.

I let my memory replay the last few months, going with slow motion on last night.

I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

As that thought brings a smile to my face, his eyes slowly open.

“Hey.” “Hey.”

“You’re beautiful in the morning.” He kisses me. “And I love the smell of sex in the morning. Come here.” He pulls me eagerly against his body.

“You’re handsome in the morning.” I kiss him. “And I think you’ve outdone Robert Duvall’s classic line, but Francis Ford isn’t our director today. Admiral Chegwidden is. And we need to hit the shower.”

A momentary look of disappointment is replaced by eagerness. “OK, let’s take a shower.”

Under the spray, his eager 8 year old and my latent 6 year old have a wonderful time snapping washcloths and diverting streams of water for a while. Then the randy teenagers show up and well, you know how *that* goes. If you don’t, you should find someone who’ll help you find out.

JAG Ops
0755 (local), Friday of Memorial Day Weekend

In the elevator I’m trying to get his attention as he’s trying to cop a last feel of my six.

“Harm, you’ve got court most of the day. Get on the phone right now and call at least three exterminators to check out your building. Leave another message at the owner’s emergency number. It’s not normal to go from no bugs to something out of Twilight Zone in two days.”

“Yeah, OK. But I can stay at your place, can’t I?”

Oh my yes, can you ever.
“Of course, Harm. But we don’t want to let them have the whole weekend to reproduce, do we?” Hey, he’s the one who spent yesterday in roach research, he should know this. “Besides, think of the other tenants in your building. Those roaches aren’t gonna just stay in your place.”

“Hey, what makes you think they *started* in my place? I think they came from somewhere else.”

Germany, Cuba, Asia, yeah, yeah, I know. Sometimes even the most dedicated warrior has to pacify.

“No doubt.”

The elevator arrives. We arrange ourselves in appropriate business attitudes and walk into the bullpen.

“Sir, ma’am, so good to see you. I missed you yesterday.” Harriet has not lost one bead off her bubble despite having to wrangle two children and being pregnant with two more.

“Harriet, you look wonderful,” Harm is beaming his biggest megawatt smile at the oh-so-obviously-pregnant Lieutenant.

She titters. She actually titters. There are some things women born in the West will never be able to do. Never saw the need for it until right now. Maybe she could give me lessons?

“Commander, you’re too kind. I look like a beached whale and feel like an out of shape Sumo wrestler.”

“Harriet, you look like a queen carrying the future of the kingdom with magnificent grace.”

Harriet and I both drop jaws as he turns and walks to his office.

“Ma’am?” Harriet asks in a tremulous voice. I shrug. Was it the sex? Was it the insecticide? I hope this doesn’t turn into an ‘only the medical examiner knows for sure’ thing.

“Harriet, I wish we could have lunch, but I’m tied up in court all day. Maybe next week?”

“Sure ma’am, just give me a call.”

As I sit down at my desk my incoming e-mail signal beeps. Haven’t even set down my briefcase and it’s beeping at me. God I hate that thing. Should’ve had Bud dismember it when he removed the other bugs...jeez, was that just yesterday? My world has changed this much in 24 hours?

I scan my ‘unread’ file. From Harm? He’s sitting next door. I open it up. “Mac, will you be my queen someday?”

Thud. My briefcase hits the floor. He’s walking across the bullpen as the sound echoes by. A quick look over his shoulder. A smile. A wave you’d never know happened unless you know how he doesn’t let his hands wave around.

I swivel around in my chair, pretend to look out my window and try to breathe slowly enough that I won’t need to resort to a paper bag to avoid hyperventilating.

If this is a side effect of the pesticide, I need to get that bag of our protective garments and spent weapons out of his car and into a lab pronto. Then I need to figure out how to find a scientist greedy enough to synthesize it but not mad enough to go completely bonkers on me.

I turn around and read it again.

I try to come up with other interpretations. I Google ‘queen’. Forget it; 125,000,000 hits is far more than I’m ready to deal with.

I’m startled by a knock on my door frame. Looking up I see Harriet standing there; in her full queenly glory she nearly fills the doorway.

“Ma’am, you’re due in court.”

I am? Oh shit, yes I am!

“Right, thanks Harriet. Uhmm, what’s that case again?”

She does a credible job of hiding her astonishment.

“Buggs Electronics vs the US Navy, ma’am. You know, the one about the avionics on the Hornets?”

How could I forget? Buggs vs Hornets. Today, of all days. Which side am I on?


JAG Ops
1500 (local), Friday of Memorial Day Weekend

The Admiral strides out of his office and Petty Officer Coates follows a half-step behind.

“Admiral on deck,” she intones proudly.

AJ looks over his command. A good crew; better than good. Some are great. Some are heroic. Some don’t realize how heroic they are. He thinks of Coates and Mac, who overcame what would have crushed most young people. He thinks of Bud, who nearly died then saved a little bit of them all by coming back to full duty. He thinks of Harm, who has fought against his own early loss and his inner demons to become a good man. Not yet great. No, AJ thinks. Harm won’t be great until he admits he has needs like everyone else.
Not that AJ doubts Harm could get his ‘needs’ met. Anytime, anyway he wants. But he suspects Harm is way too straight-laced for doing the pilot one night stand routine. Maybe twenty years ago, although he doubts it even then, but certainly not now.

Damn, AJ thinks to himself. If I’d had his looks at his age, anytime between 21 and now, I’d’ve been hard pressed to not take at least one willing woman to bed with me every night.

He snorts at his own thought.

And he suddenly realizes that Harm must have had to come to a decision about that issue a long time ago.

Why did I never consider that before, he wonders. The man is extremely handsome, then you pile jet jockey on top of that. He must have been swarmed by willing women wherever he was. Although that might sound like nirvana to some men, how many could handle it and not go nuts? Or become a total ass.

The Admiral begins to get a whole different perspective on Harm’s life. He realizes that while losing his father might be the bricks, being made to feel like an object rather than a person is the mortar in Harm’s wall.

These reflections taking all of about 20 seconds, AJ is still well within acceptable command attention time.

“At ease,” he intones. “I notice that the work schedule is up to date, the duty schedule is light and the weekend honoring our brave, fallen brothers and sisters at arms is at hand. With that in mind, I urge you all to use your best judgment on finishing what needs to be done for the week, securing your duty stations and having a very good weekend.”

A ripple of appreciation washes across the bullpen.

“Remember folks, fit reps are coming up. Use your best judgment.”

Jennifer hears him chuckling to himself as he walks into his office. She turns to look out into the bullpen. Every person out there is furiously clicking, typing, filing, copying, faxing away.

At this rate she figures the office will catch up on it’s three day filing backlog in about, she glances at the clock, two hours.

Guess that’s why he’s an Admiral, she thinks.


JAG Ops
1630 (local), Friday of Memorial Day Weekend
I’m seriously dragging as I walk across the bullpen. With the exception of two 15-minute ‘comfort’ breaks and one 30-minute lunch break (boxed lunches delivered cold and stale from just 3 floors down -- military efficiency at its finest!) I’ve been in court all day.

Buggs vs Hornets. Oh yeah, I remembered, I’m on Buggs’ side. The irony is just killing me.

Despite how tired I am, I see him and he takes my breath away.

He’s on the phone, clearly not happy, but all I can see is the man I love. Hummm. Have I told him that yet? Number one on my agenda for tonight.

I walk to his door and knock on the frame. He waves me in, “But sir, certainly you understand how delaying treatment will only make matters worse. If you can’t get there ‘til Wednesday or Thursday,” he gives me a desperate look as his voice almost cracks at the word ‘Thursday’, “then the nest will have been able to increase its reproductive power.”

Reproductive power? It’s now a power? Oh Harmy. We may have made a little too much love for you last night.

“Yes I understand it’s a holiday weekend. Yes I understand it’s late in the day. I know you returned my call this morning, sir. But I was tied up in court all day.”

Doesn’t take much imagination to guess what the guy on the other end said as Harm goes into full bristle.

“NO, I’m a lawyer. For the United States Navy.”

I would have taken cover if I thought he could throw those porcupine quills.

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, you have a good weekend too, sir.” He sets the phone down forcefully, just short of a slam.

“Let me guess. No luck?”

“On the contrary. Plenty of luck. Just none of it good. What’d’ya say we blow this popsicle stand pretty lady?” By the time he’s finished that, he’s standing deliciously close to me. So much so that neither of us see the Admiral, at least until he’s blocked the doorway to Harm’s office.

We snap to attention.

“Colonel, Commander. I assume there is some reason you’re still here. I let the rest of the watch go at 1500.”

“Sir, I was in court until 1627.”
“Sir, I was in court until 1600 and wanted to button down a few things before securing for the night.”

AJ has his arms crossed over his chest, his classic ‘I will take no bull, don’t mess with me’ stance.

“Yes Commander, I’ll bet you do want to ‘button some things down’. Tell me, when exactly did you decide that I, as your Commanding Officer, didn’t need to know about your situation?”

I’d love to steal a look at Harm but I don’t dare. Why on earth would the Admiral want Harm to tell him about roaches in his loft?

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t seem that important, sir. It’s really a personal matter.”

Somehow that seems to get AJ riled up even more.

“Commander, Colonel, follow me.” He charges out of the bullpen, down the hall, turns left and puts some sort of security device into some sort of security device reader I’ve never seen before.

Hey, Bud may have joked about nobody knowing ‘what’s beyond the last left turn’ but I think Harm and I are gonna find out.

Chapter 5: Buildings and Buggings and Boys, Oh My!

Wow, who would’ve known this was in our building? Jeez, it’s like Star Wars. If I tell Bud about this he’ll explode.

Better not do that.

“Commander, Colonel, keep your eyes to yourself, your mind on my questions and first and foremost remember you can never tell anyone, *anyone* what you’ve seen here.”

Well, yeah, sure. But then why did you drag us down the dreaded ‘left corridor’? Hey, we weren’t doing anything wrong.

“I’m going to ask you some questions. I want short answers. Yes or no will do. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.” Not sure how the Parris Island beat and the Annapolis beat ended up being the same beat, but I think it’s so sexy when Harm and I say ‘yes, sir’ at the same time while standing at attention. OK, call me a traditional Marine. I don’t care.

“Colonel, did you ask Lt. Roberts to help you get rid of a bug in your computer yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”
“Commander, did you tell the Colonel yesterday morning that you thought you were being bugged?”

“Well, not exactly, sir.”

“Commander.”

“I told the Colonel I thought I had bugs in my apartment.”

“And the difference being?” He’s so good at glowering sometimes he forgets it’s not necessary.

I look at Harm and he’s tipped his head to my side, got that quirky little smile he sometimes gets and turns his left palm up. Message received and read.

“Admiral,” I say. Given I’m his Chief of Staff I think he ought to get the news from me. “While it is true that the Commander’s loft has bugs, I can personally attest that they aren’t spy bugs.”

I see him take a breath, step a half a step back, reconsider what he’s heard and the context. Yes, there is a good reason the man is an admiral.

I nod to Harm and we both bring our fists up next to the top of our heads, forefingers extended, wiggling.

“They’re these kind of bugs, sir.”

He sits down and motions for us to do the same.

“Insects?”

“Roaches, sir. I believe they’re German roaches, but they might be another kind. I’m not an expert, sir.”

“Then what was all this about you two buying chemical weapons?”

“Sir, I think I can explain,” Harm wades into the muck we’ve somehow managed to create.

“I did some research about roaches on the Internet...”

“You were researching roaches on your computer from your office.” Somehow when he puts it that way it sounds so incriminating.

“Yes, sir. It seemed important at the time.” Wait a minute, where is Harm’s backbone? And skills as a JAG lawyer? I see him gather himself and think ‘Get ready to watch this catapult off your deck, sir.’

“After scanning Internet sites for less than five minutes, I realized that the extent of my loft’s infestation was no normal occurrence. No nest could establish itself and replicate that fast. My loft harbored no conditions that would foster a nest’s growth. So I naturally assumed the roachs’ appearance in my loft might have darker implications.”

AJ’s still skeptical but I’m rapt.

Somewhere in my head I hear Harm’s voice. ‘Hey, wake up Mac, I’m making this up as I go along and you might need to help.’

Harm stands up and walks around the conference table, taking the opportunity to kick my foot. I stifle my reaction (very well I must say), nod to indicate I’m on board then telegraph a micro burst of “you better not do that again, mister.”

As far as Admiral confrontations have gone, this one has gone pretty well. Looks like he’s buying our explanations, hasn’t asked any questions we don’t want to answer.

“So after the two of you determined Harm’s loft was overrun with roaches, where did you spend the night, Commander?”

Damn, thought too soon.

“I offered my couch to the Commander, sir. It was late, he had a sea bag and it seemed a reasonable solution to his housing dilemma.”

“Your couch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And can I assume that the Commander’s gonna be sleeping on ‘your couch’ for the rest of this long weekend?”

“I don’t know, sir. We haven’t addressed that yet.”

“Colonel. Are you telling me you let the Commander sleep on ‘your couch’ without first determining how long he intends to *keep* sleeping on ‘your couch’?”

Oh damn. I just got his code. This is not about Harm’s roaches.

“Commander. Have you adopted the habits of those insects that have infested your loft? Do you intend to scuttle away at first light?”

“No sir.”

“Very well. Good luck with the roaches. Have a good weekend.”
We snap to, turn and exit this room we’ve never seen. It’s not ‘til we get to Harm’s office that we feel safe saying anything.

“That had to be the weirdest meeting I’ve ever had with a CO, Harm.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders, but maintains the proper military distance. “Yeah, Mac. But wasn’t it great? He’s basically ordered us to spend the weekend together.”


Mac’s apartment
Georgetown
0800 (local), Saturday, Memorial Day Weekend

I feel something creeping up my side. I feel a warm rush of breath at my neck. I think I’m gonna like the way this day starts.

“The ittsy, bittsy spider went up the water spout,” Harm’s voice even at a whisper and sleep groggy makes me shiver. His fingers mimicking the words he’s singing render me helpless.

“Down came the rain and washed the spider out.” He whooshes the covers off us and rolls me on top of him in one smooth move.

“Up came the sun and dried up all the rain.” He’s grinning as he spider walks his fingers up my body.

“And the ittsy, bittsy spider came up the spout again.” Holding my head between his hands, he regards me with an amazing combination of mirth and seriousness.

“You know, Colonel, I think I love you more today than I did yesterday. I didn’t think that was possible. But it’s true.”

Yes, this is a most wonderful way to start the day.

“You know Commander, some people think actions speak louder than words.”

The look I get tells me no further encouragement is needed.


Later that morning

I surface from the sex-drenched sea I’ve been so happily drowning in long enough to know that it’s almost noon.

I grab the nearest part of Harm (hell, he’s all over me, any part I want is here. Wait, why do I want to get out of bed? What could possibly be more important than this?)
Oh yeah. The bugs.

“Harm, time to wake up.” I caress the side of his face, then rub his upper arm. God, he’s so gorgeous I can hardly stand it.

“Mmmuhmmuffuf.”

“Harm,” I kiss his cheek and his eyes slowly open.

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

“I’m in your bed? We’ve made love, a couple of times, and now we get to spend a long holiday weekend together?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you wake me up?”

That’s it. No more Ms. nice Marine for this squid. “Because it’s almost noon. Because you have a loft where the enemy has taken hold. Because it’s .... unseemly to be lounging around in bed at 1147!”

He flips me over. Drat. Gotta remember he has an impressive height and weight advantage on me. Not insurmountable. Just need to be prepared. I wasn’t this time.

“Mac,” good thing I’m lying down ‘cause when he says it like that I just melt.

“The roaches can have my loft. I just want you.”

I like the sentiment. I like even more the way he’s following it up with kissing and such. But the Marine in me won’t let us leave a ... loft? ... behind.

But then Marines always know how to pick their battles, and right now the most pressing one is on top of me.

God, I love the military.


Mac’s apartment
Georgetown
1345 (local), Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend

We’re out of the shower, drinking coffee and have managed to keep our hands off each other for three minutes now. Major accomplishments I think.

“What about your answering machine?”

“Humm, what?” Harm’s got that ‘I’ve been rode hard and cleaned up nice, but can’t think right now’ look.

“Your answering machine. At your loft. For your telephone. Can you access it from here? Do you remember your code?” I’m thinking that if I break it into short sentences, he’ll be able to process the information.

“Code?”

On the other hand, I could probably just lead him back into the bedroom and have my way with him. I wonder if anyone would question my filing his request for terminal leave?

“Answering machine! Of course, Mac. How could I be so stupid?”

Damnit, he woke up.

Harm snatches my phone, punches in more numbers than any one human should be expected to remember, and listens.

And listens.

And listens.

“Holy shit, Mac. We’ve gotta get to my place right away.”

He’s headed for the door even as he says this.

I grab my purse, and the gun from behind my armoire, just in case.


Harm’s loft building, outside
1415 (local), Saturday, Memorial Day Weekend

We pull up to a scene out of a disaster movie. Harm’s building is surrounded by every type of vehicle that carries a flashing light. Those that don’t are in the second tier.

His building. Good god. The whole building is covered in some sort of wrapping. Like Christo got bored yesterday.

“Ma’am, sir, you need to move on. This is a police scene here.”
A kid not much older than a kid I could’ve had (scary thought that) is using his police uniform to try to influence us. Sorry kid, you are way outta your league.

“Officer, my name is Harmon Rabb, Jr. and I live in this building. I’m a Commander in the United States Navy, an active duty pilot during a time of war and a lawyer with the Judge Advocate General’s office. Would you like to rethink your recommendation to us?”

Oh, I get all gooey inside when he does that. No, seriously. I love it when he pulls rank and yanks the chain of weenies that richly deserve it. Like this one.

I see the callow kid swallow three times before he tries to speak. Harm, god is he good, just impassively watches the kid quickly go from pompous to pathetic.

I’ll let this go on another 30 seconds, then mercy will step in. At precisely 25 seconds Harm says, “The officer in charge?”

“Lt. Bigley, sir. Let me take you to him.”

As we approach a huddle of suits on the north side of Harm’s loft’s building, I see one break away.

“I told you to keep the press away, officer!”

“Yes sir, I have sir, I will sir, I understand sir.”

Enough of this abuse of subordinate officers. I clearly need to intervene and I do.

“Is it Detective? Special Agent? Or are you just a ‘State Department’ employee?” I address the offending officious man in no uncertain terms.

“Who are you?”

God, I hate pugnacious replies.

“Your worst nightmare if you don’t start talking about what’s going on here. For the record, I am Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, United States Marines, currently billeted as the Chief of Staff to the Judge Advocate General. My partner here, who owns the loft on the northeast corner of the second floor of this building, is Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., United States Navy, two-time recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross and also currently billeted at JAG. So are we gonna get answers or are we gonna strip blouses?”

Both Harm and whoeverheis raise their eyebrows at that.

Damn, I hate getting mad at civilians; they never get the inside jokes.

He folds. They always do. “It seems a sewer pipe has collapsed and it’s made this building uninhabitable for awhile.”

“The bugs?”

“Yeah, bugs, and well, ma’am, you really don’t want to know all the details, do you?”

I see he has pegged his squeamish meter.

“How long ‘til it’s ‘habitable’?”

“At least a week, maybe more.”

“Can I go in and get a few things from my place?” Harm asks.

“I don’t think you want to do that sir. We’ve started pumping in the gas and, well, no you can’t.”

Harm and I look at each other. “Hey Harm, there’s a mall not too far away, what’d ya say we go buy you some new clothes?”


Mac’s apartment
1600 (local), Saturday, Memorial Day Weekend

It’s so great to just be here with Harm. Stretched out on the couch. Not making out. Nothing overtly sexual. Just lying next to each other, sorta napping, sorta just drifting together.

My phone chirps and we both rouse from our semi-sombulent state.

“MacKenzie,” I answer.

“Colonel, I’m so glad I caught you. Harriet and I were wondering, we know it’s late notice and all, but would you like to have dinner with us tonight? Just at home. No big deal. Give you a chance to spend time with AJ and Jimmy before the twins arrive.”

Having held the phone away from my ear enough for Harm to hear most of this, he gives me his non-verbal assent.

“Bud, I’d love that. What can I bring?”

“Nothing other than the Commander, ma’am.”

Harm and I look at each other over the phone. Clearly we have been busted.

“OK, Bud, Harm and I will be there at what time?”
I figure just going with the flow is the best plan right now.

“Anytime around 1830 ma’am, and sir.”

Gee, I didn’t even need to tell him Harm was listening in.

“See you then, Bud.”

I disconnect as Harm connects with me.

“Mac, you know that people would find out about us, eventually. But I don’t want to keep ‘us’ a secret.” He shifts a bit under me, my left hip sinks between his legs as he pulls my chest higher to his.

He draws his legs a little closer together as he gathers me into his warmth.

“Mac. I want the whole world to know that we’re one. A package. A combo 2 for 1 deal. We’re together. Have been for years ‘though we never admitted it. Now we have. End of that part of the story.”

He’s saying this as he’s drawing very interesting pictures on my abdomen. And lower. And lower. And......

The Roberts House
Rosalyn, VA
1845 (local), Saturday, Memorial Day Weekend

“Harm, god, give it a rest!” I playfully slap his hand away from my waist. “You know too much will make you go blind.”

“Folk lore, Mac. Besides, I’ve already had night blindness and got it cured.”

Damn if he doesn’t have an answer for everything and I’m starting to lose control. WAIT A MINUTE! Jeez, we’re in Harm’s SUV parked right in front of Bud and Harriet’s house. It’s still light outside. And we’re making out like sex-starved teenagers? Apparently.

“Mac...”

“Harm...”

Guess we came to the same conclusion.


The Roberts home
2030 (local), Saturday
I set down my coffee mug and turn to Harriet. “Thank you for a wonderful meal, Harriet. May I help you pick up the plates?”

She pushes herself up. Good lord, what must it feel like to carry two babies?

“If you’d like to ma’am, but it’s no problem. I can take care of it.”

Harm jumps in. “Harriet, you’ve blessed us with a wonderful meal. You’ll soon be blessing us with two new people to love. Why don’t you sit down and let us take care of things for you?”

Harriet looks at me and I return in the best encrypted female code I know: “haven’t got a clue.”

Harriet and I are sitting in the family room, relaxing on the couch with cups of tea at our elbows as Harm and Bud clean up.

“Bud,” I hear Harm’s command tone.

“Yes sir?”

“Don’t ever let your wife down. Don’t ever let her worry about your love for her. Let her know every day, especially now, that you love her and cherish her and realize what she’s going through to make a family for you.”

Listening to this I seek Harriet’s hand and we share a squeeze.

She’s crying. Hell, I’ve got tears running down my cheeks too.

Instinctively I turn toward her and she gathers me into a hug. I’m nestled against her pregnant belly and it feels so good. Her hands start to soothe me. One stroking my hair; the other rubbing an arm.

“Colonel, it’ll all be fine. Just give him a little time. He’s not used to this yet. But he loves you. He wants a family. Heavens, Colonel, he just about came out and said it today. He wants you to have his children.”

Jump back from that. I sit up straight, wipe my face and attempt to regain my dignity.

“Yes, Harriet. The Commander and I have had some discussions about our future.”

“Really!? What kind of ‘discussions’?”

What I thought was a way to short-circuit just turned into ‘girls night out’.

“We’ve just been exploring the terrain. I think we’ll manage to negotiate the” -- I stop myself before I say ‘minefield’ -- “territory.”

“But ma’am, isn’t that gonna be a little dicey with the Commander staying at your place this weekend?”

How does she know this??? Who else does??? Damn.

She sees my questioning eyes.

“I worked the phones the last two days, ma’am. I took all the messages from the city departments, the exterminators, the building owner. The Commander won’t be able to stay in his apartment for at least a week. Lord, I don’t know if I’d ever want to stay there again after this. But he didn’t put in for emergency housing, and you guys came in together this morning, much earlier than he normally does. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out.”

I smile at her. “Don’t let Harm know you know. He’s kinda funny that way.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know.”

As we sip our tea in silent conspiracy, Harm and Bud come in from the kitchen.

“All done. Need some more tea?” Bud’s bubbling again as Harm plops down next to me on the couch.

“Not for me sweetie, thanks.”

Harm pulls my mug from me, takes a sip and says, “I think I’ll get us some more.”

He walks into the kitchen, leaving Harriet, Bud and me open mouthed.

He did it. He announced we’re ‘us’. In the usual unusual Harm fashion he has proclaimed we’re a couple.

The three of us exchange glances. I shrug. What can I say? He’s always gonna do things a little differently.

“So, how do you all feel about watching a movie?” Bud’s starting to rummage through a box filled with tapes and DVDs.

“Sure Bud, what’dya got?”

“Well, I have a couple that I think you two,” he gives me a look, “would appreciate.”

“Like what?” Harm’s sitting back down next to me with a fresh mug of tea. What’s this? He’s putting his arm around me? Whoa. OK. No mistaking this now. If we can avoid the neon sign I’ll be happy. Though I’ve always kinda liked neon.
“I finally got a copy of a classic sci-fi pic from 1955. Black and white, it’s from the ‘nuclear fallout’ genre. James Whitmore, James Arness, Fess Parker even has a small role. It’s called ‘Them’ and it’s about mutant giant ants that attack....”

I feel Harm shift. “What else you got, Bud?”

Bud lifts up a tape. “This is a good one. John Goodman, Jeff Daniels. ‘Arachnophobia’. A South American killer spider gets loose and...”

“Bud, we just watched that last week,” Harriet says.

Good. That way I don’t have to weigh in on the ‘no’ side.

“Oh, right. How ‘bout this? I got it for AJ but it’s one of those Pixar animation flicks that are as funny for adults as they are for kids. ‘A Bugs Life’.”

Harm’s fallen suspiciously quiet during this last bit.

He clears his throat. “Bud,”

“Yes sir?”

“How much do you know and what do you want to know that you don’t know?”

“I’m so glad you asked, sir! Tell me all about the roaches.”

Harriet and I roll our eyes, stand up (well, I give her a little hand with that) and move into the kitchen.

“You boys let us know when you’re done talking about bugs.”

“Yes, sweetie,” comes the chorused reply.

Yeah, he did. And it didn’t bug me at all.


Finis, thanks for reading.


A/Ns:

For those unfamiliar with his work, Christo is an artist who does massive installations using fabric. Wrapping buildings, a running fabric fence 18 feet tall and 24 miles long through Sonoma and Marin Counties in California, he’s the one that recently did the ‘gates’ in Central Park. Google ‘Christo’ for his web site with pics that’ll blow your mind!
Also, anyone who has spent time down South will recognize “tenting” a building to fumigate it. Drastic times call for drastic measures!