Author: Timer

Title: Birthday Treats

A/N: This is my first FF attempt. So I’m just closing my eyes and taking the leap. I’ve set this for Harm’s 40th, but disregarded the Season 9 angst that was going on then. More like Season 7, just the usual UST, not post-Paraguay pod people. No beta reader, so all errors are mine.

All the usual disclaimers apply: I don’t own these characters, Bellasario Productions and Paramount does. What a shame.



Rating: R for sexy thoughts

Harm’s Apartment
North of Union Station
Saturday, October 25, 2003
1100 Local

It’s Harm’s birthday today. The big four-oh-oh. I’d been hinting around for weeks about what we could do together to celebrate, or mourn the whole getting older thing. But Harm kept going into his self-protective cocoon. Well, I had other plans for him and they are just about to start. The decorations are up, the presents are arranged, the food’s on the table, the gang’s all here. All we need is Harm, and whoever he’s out with this morning, to show up. Show up, cancel the whammy he put on me and break my heart.

JAG Ops
2 weeks earlier
0900 Local

“Really, Mac,” he implores, “I don’t want to do anything. In fact, I don’t even want to notice it myself. I’m just gonna stay home and pretend it’s not happening.” The last said with a trace of defeat.

That’s all it took to kick me into action big time. No way was this Marine letting him hunker down and pout. A flyboy needs to soar in joy during big occasions. And no matter how much he wants to ignore it, his 40th birthday is a big occasion. Marching out of his office and into the bullpen I know just what to do: Time for battle plan Harriet.

“Harriet,” I whisper conspiratorially, “I need your help on a special project.”

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you need.”

“Meet me in the conference room at 1200 today.” She nods. “Harriet, this is a ‘need to know’ mission and Harm does not need to know,” I say to her, watching her eyes go wide.

Meeting in the conference room, I lay it out for her. “Harriet, Harm’s 40th birthday is in two weeks and I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what he wants to do, but he’s doing a big turtle imitation.” Noticing her quizzical look I explain, “Pulling into his shell, shutting me out, being a hard lump, throwing himself a pity party!” I exclaim, each phrase getting a little louder as I pace around the conference table.

“Ah, ma’am. If you don’t want him to hear you, you might want to keep your voice a little lower.”

Right. Better remember that.

“OK, so I want to throw him a surprise party and I’d like your help in planning it.”

After planning her wedding and the USO Christmas show, Harriet can plan anything. Not to mention her logistical experience in dealing with two kids, a husband, a house and a job on a daily basis. How does she do it? I have trouble keeping up with myself and an apartment. I mean I even had to give Jingo to Chloe because it was too much for me to handle. Guess that dream of a husband and kids is beyond me. Wait, maybe the Marines have advanced training in logistical support that I could take. Yeah, maybe.....


“Ma’am?” Harriet’s waving her hand in front of my face. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“What, oh, yes, I guess I just drifted off there for a second.” The look on her face said “drifted” and “second” weren’t the descriptives she’d have chosen.

Shaking my head and taking a sip of coffee (when all else fails, go for the caffeine) we start planning in earnest. As I hoped she would, Harriet basically took over and all I had to do was make sure Harm would be out of his apartment for at least an hour the Saturday morning of his birthday.

Wickedly I assure her I can handle that assignment.


JAG Ops
1 week later
1000 Local

“Maac...what is it? You’ve been giving me strange looks for a week now.” Harm is clearly exasperated. He tried the “what’s up” look for a few days. Then the “you’re puzzling me” look for a couple. When the “I’m getting worried about this” one didn’t work he pulled out the big guns: exasperation with full body language. He’s standing in my doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, hands on his hips, chin tilted a little bit down, sending a laser beam stare at me.

I manufacture a, hopefully, realistic sounding sigh of resignation. “Harm, maybe you should come sit down... oh, and shut the door.” As his brow furrows in consternation, he does so.
I look down at my desktop for a moment, I’ve got to get this just right and it’s been a long time since I was a cat in my grade school’s play. “Harm, as chief of staff you know I have to monitor everyone’s service record to make sure all the standard requirements are met.” He nods. “Annual medical exams, flight quals for you, marksmanship tests for the Marines, continuing education for some of us...”, Harm’s looking at me like he’s wondering what the point is. Oh boy, this is gonna hit him like a -- dare I say it? -- hammer. “Physical Fitness Tests.”

“I know that Mac. What’s the problem? What does that have to do with the weird looks you’ve been giving me for the last eight days?”

Wow, he’s been counting the number of days? He noticed that much? Hhumm, maybe I should rethink this Marine/lawyer thing and go into acting.

I lean forward on my desktop a little, upping the concerned-friend sincerity level a notch. “Harm, I’m not sure how to say this diplomatically, but I’ve noticed that your fitness level has, uhumm, ‘dropped’ a bit.”

Dropped is what his jaw does as his eyes turn into saucers and a wash of red shoots up his neck to the tips of those adorable ears.

Bingo. Target acquired. Now, to make sure this goes in the right direction.

“Harm, I know we haven’t been running together lately. Are you still running?”

Nervously, he lowers his eyes and mumbles, “Not as much.”

Time to press it home. “Maybe we should start doing that again,” I offer sweetly. “I’m available Saturday mornings.”

“Uh, no Mac. No need for that. I have a running partner. I’ve just been a little lax about keeping up with my schedule. I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry about me failing my PFT next month. Just ‘cause I’m turning 40 doesn’t mean I’m decrepit.” He’s a trifle defensive, well, I can certainly understand. “Is there anything else Mac?”

“No Harm, that’s all. I hope you know I’m looking out for your own good.”

As he draws that gorgeous 6’4” frame out of the chair and turns with a grace few men his size possess, I get a most lovely look at his sculpted six. I intently watch for the telltale traces of muscles that ripple under his trousers as he walks out. Darn, much as I like how he looks in winter blues, the summer whites don’t hide his six under a jacket. I ought to know. I’ve spent years surreptitiously studying his body. Furthermore, I could swear under oath as an expert witness that I haven’t seen one iota of loss in fitness level. In fact, the man seems to get better every year.
What was once ‘Stickboy’ is now ‘Adonis’, or maybe Michelangelo’s David. Not that I’ve seen him in that state. I only dream about it. I really need to reconsider this acting thing if I’ve actually been able to convince him that I think he’s getting out of shape! Hoo-rah, Marines rule!

Feeling most self-satisfied I step out of my office to get a fresh cup of coffee only to be stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of Harm’s voice. “Cindy? Hi, it’s Harm. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. I know, I know, I’ve really been uhmm...unreliable. But can I make it up to you? I promise I won’t let you down again. OK...then, tonight? And Wednesday night? Saturday morning? Oh thanks Cindy. You don’t know how much this means to me. Yeah, I want to be back on track with you, too.”

Cindy!?! Who’s this Cindy? His running partner? Some new blond bimbo no doubt. Great. And he promised! I know how Harm feels about his promises. Damn! I’ve insured that he’s gonna be seeing this one at least three times a week. I’ll bet she wears tight t-shirts and has big bouncy boobs.

I’m furious with myself as I storm into the coffee room, almost running over Harriet.

“Oh ma’am. I was coming to see you,” she bubbles. “Everything’s all set. I’ve got the decorations, the drinks and food that can be bought in advance, the cake’s ordered -- they even said they can make an F-14 in the icing!”

“Wonderful, Harriet. Wonderful.” Where’d those acting skills go? I know I haven’t contained my distress.

“Is something wrong ma’am?” she asks, obviously seeing there is. “Are you having trouble making sure Harm’s gone Saturday morning?”

“No Harriet. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, Harm will be out running Saturday morning.”


JAG Ops
Wednesday, October 22
0800 Local

I walk into the break room to see Harm nonchalantly leaning against the counter, long legs crossed in elegant relaxation. Waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, he’s toying with a stir stick in his mouth. Good God. Fred Astaire in top hat and tails never looked so poised. A panther in attack crouch never looked so dangerously sexy.

A slow smile spreads across his face. Not the megawatt flyboy grin. Not the sheepish little boy forgive me curled up at the ends mouth. This is a new one on me. Somewhere between a riverboat gambler and a python about to wrap itself around its next victim. Why do I get this feeling he thinks he’s getting away with something and probably will?
“Good morning Mac. Coffee?”

Nodding is my best reply. I’m mesmerized by that sly smile and his eyes. Now I’ve got the image of a mongoose and a cobra. Guess which one I am.

“You know, I really need to thank you for getting me back into my, uhumm ‘fitness’ schedule. I’ve been pounding it real hard with my new partner.”

Did he just say what I think I heard him say?

“Yeah, we’ve really been going at it. I’d forgotten how good it feels to do it so often. I might just see if she can take it even more frequently. Three times a week doesn’t seem quite enough.” I’m standing in the middle of the room dumbfounded. “You know, Mac. You might want to take your own advice. Spend some time breathing heavy, working at something hard. Certainly has improved my outlook.” With that he saunters out of the break room, leaving me speechless, mortified, turned on and unable to ignore the image of Harm pounding hard with his new partner.

I think that acting career is a nonstarter. I think I need a vacation. Maybe a permanent one.


JAG Ops
Friday, October 24
1300 Local

OK, I can do this. I’ve successfully avoided Harm since what I’ve come to think of as ‘Harm’s sexual exploits briefing’. All I have to do now is get through the next 24 hours (surely I can leave the what-a-stupid-idea-Mac surprise birthday party after two hours) and I’m home free. Arranged for two-days leave, so I’m heading out to the shore. Maybe staring at the sea will get him out of my mind. Right. Focusing on the sea is gonna help me forget a Navy man. When is my brain going to reengage? I haven’t had a coherent thought since seeing that coffee stirrer caressing his lips. Or were his lips caressing the stirrer? Can a plastic straw caress? I’m losing it. No, I’ve lost it.

Harriet bustles into my office (do you have to be born in the South to know how to bustle? strays through my mind). “Everything and everybody is ready for ‘Operation Four-Oh-Oh’, ma’am. Bud even got this neat periscope thingy so he can watch out the window for Harm without actually being in the window.” What? If it’s a periscope what’s it doing in Harm’s apartment? And shouldn’t Sturgis be manning it? He’s the submariner. Wait, she can’t mean a real periscope. Can she? Now what is she saying?

“So everyone knows to park a block away and to be there by 1000. I guess that’s it. If that’s all, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, ma’am.” She’s positively chirping.

I realize I need to drag my thoughts away from the coffee stirrer and give her some semblance of a reply. Thanks would probably be in order too.
“Thanks, Harriet. You’ve done a great job. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” See, that wasn’t so hard. Oh oh, ‘so hard’. Did I have to think those words?


Later that afternoon

A knock on my door frame breaks my train of thought. I was thinking about how Harm’s six looked when we used to run together. He’d get ahead, long legs and indefatigable competitive spirit had him ahead most of the time, and I’d just get to watch. Even with baggy sweatpants or gym shorts it was a most enjoyable view. Close to a national treasure I’m beginning to think.

Damn, who’s intruding on this important rumination of mine? Whoops, it’s Harm.

The look he’s giving me is even deadlier than the one from the break room two days ago. I’d swear he knows what I was thinking.

“Wow Mac, you sure were deep in that daydream. Must have been a good one.”

When did his voice get deeper, his cadence a hair slower, his volume intimate? ‘Suck it up Marine!’ I tell myself.

“I was not daydreaming. I was...” I struggle for an appropriately professional word that will imply lofty thinking. “I was cogitating. Ruminating. Reflecting.” I state emphatically.

He makes this little noise that’s somewhere between a snicker and a snort yet is maddeningly sexy. “Right. Looked more like head-in-the-clouds daydreaming or juicy fantasizing from here.”

He does know what I was thinking! Oh, I am so busted. No, he couldn’t really know. I can bluff this out.

”Harm, did you need something? If not, I’d like to get back to what I’m working on.”

“Sure Mac. I’d love for you to get at what you were just working on,” he smirks. I cringe. He most definitely busted me. “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving for the day. See you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

Leaving? What time is it? Oh my god, I don’t know what time it is! Exactly what kind of whammy did he put on me Wednesday morning? And how do I get rid of it? Who do I go to to exorcise it? A Catholic priest? I hear they’re pretty good with the devil. A voodoo priestess? Nah, I don’t want to put pins in a Harm doll. A fortune teller? But I don’t need to know my future, I need to be able to handle my present. (Oh damn, did I think ‘handle’ and ‘Harm’ in the same sentence?) Maybe I can find someone who specializes in this kind of thing on the Internet. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get Bud to help me with an Internet search. Oops, I can see how that conversation would go: “Bud, would you help me find someone on the Internet that will help me stop thinking lascivious thoughts about Harm and let me get my brain back?” “Ma’am?”
None of those options seem viable. Well, at least I can still come up with words like “viable”.

I’m gonna die tomorrow morning when he shows up with his new partner. I’m sure he’ll bring her upstairs for a little more ‘training’ after their run. And there we’ll be, his friends and his girl-next-door best friend who he’d never think of pounding it hard with. Maybe that will break the spell. Seeing him with another blond, big-boobed (bet they’re fake), bimbo will snap me out of this whatever-it-is.

That’s it. I resolve that’s the way it’ll be. Hoo-rah!


Harm’s Apartment
North of Union Station
Saturday, October 25
1100 Local

Everything’s ready. We’re all here. Bud’s got his periscope thingy pointed out the window watching for Harm to come back from his run.

“Quiet everybody” he says excitedly. “Harm’s coming down the block.”

An expectant hush falls over the gathering. I can’t help myself. “Bud, is he running alone?”

“Oh no, ma’am. He is clearly not alone. Boy, his running partner is really something!”

Great. Precisely what I need to hear, Bud Roberts salivating over Harm’s latest conquest.

Why can’t I stop myself? “Blond?”

“Very much so. Wow, what a dog!”

“Bud!” Harriet, Stugis and I all exclaim at once. “Bud Roberts what’s gotten into you, you shouldn’t talk about someone you don’t even know like that!” Harriet lambasts him. Sturgis chimes in with “Bud, true beauty is inside a person.” All I can do is stammer, “A dog?”

“Yeah a dog, like Lassie. Well, no, not like Lassie ‘cause it’s not a collie. Maybe some sort of retriever. Not a Golden. Maybe some new breed of Afghan Hound. But why would Harm want anything remotely reminding him of Afghanistan...” while Bud babbles I grab the periscope from him.

Yep, sure enough Harm’s running partner is a huge blond dog of some kind. As he stretches the dog is running circles around him and a teenage girl comes slowly up the street, a walking cast encasing the lower half of her right leg. I watch as Harm gives the dog a few last friendly cuffs and waves goodbye to the both of them as the girl walks back up the street.
My heart soars like an eagle! He isn’t pounding it with a new blond bimbo. He’s running a huge dog ‘cause its owner’s been injured. I do a little mental jig, momentarily forgetting whammies, the need for an exorcism and my recent inability to think.

Quietly we wait for Harm to open his door.

“Surprise!” We all chorus as a magnificently sweaty Harm stands in his doorway. Everybody except me that is. There is no way I could get out a squeak, much less a shout.

Oh my god. When did he start wearing spandex running pants? They fit him like a second skin. No, a first skin. And now he’s laughing and taking his sweatshirt off over his head. Eecks. It’s his chest. Wooah. That’s very nice. But what’s really impressive is his, uhumm, package. Jeez. I’ve seen him in boxers but they hide too much. How could they hide that? I wonder. He goes out in public like that? Does an ambulance follow behind to revive all the woman who faint in his path? Hey, it’s kinda cold out today. Isn’t it supposed to shrink in cold weather? If that’s shrunken...no, no way!

I keep staring at that package, and I slowly realize it’s getting closer. “Hey Mac, are you OK?” rumbles out of the chest I’ve forced my eyes up to.

“Oh yeah, Happy Birthday Harm,” I stutter, blushing. I get my eyes up to his. Yep, I knew it. The riverboat gambler, Fred Astaire, a panther, a python and a cobra have all somehow morphed into this man standing so exquisitely close to me.

“Thanks, Mac.” It’s almost a whisper and I think I sigh. There goes my reputation. He makes a most sexy sound that’s somewhere in the neighborhood of a growl but just barely audible.

Harriet walks up sing-songing “Lordy, Lordy look who’s forty,” and pecks him on the cheek. While I don’t actually tear her limb from limb while screaming “hands off, this is mine!” I consider it. I briefly congratulate myself on my restraint, vowing to never tell her how close to death she came.

“Hey folks, I gotta take a quick shower. Be back in 10.” Harm walks up the steps to his bedroom as I stare transfixed first at his retreating form, then his path partially obscured by the glass louvers that separate his bedroom from the rest of the loft. The light goes on in his bathroom. Oh, the glass block wall!

I’m wondering if I should call the paramedics now or let someone else do it after I pass out.

No one else seems to be paying attention to the fact that Harm is stripping off his running pants and turning on the shower. They’re all standing around laughing and joking, drinking sodas and eating Harriet’s finger food.

I’m drinking in the sight of Harm through the glass blocks (damn that obscured vision thing) and imagining eating him up. Chocolate sauce a la Harm. Sounds good to me.

By the time he’s turned off the shower I’ve managed to get in the vacinity of reality and am having what I hope is a coherent conversation.

Harm returns dressed in wonderfully well-worn Levi’s and a just right-tight t-shirt. Spiky wet hair completes the picture and I know I’m a goner. I suddenly realize that while I thought I was manipulating him he’s outmaneuvered me at every step.

“Hey Mac, penny for your thoughts.”

“Just thinking about your package, I mean presents.” No, no, no I did not really say that. Oh, damn. Yes I really did.

There’s that sound again. I’ve known this man for years, how come I never heard these sounds or seen these looks before the last two weeks?

“I’m thinking about my birthday presents too. I really hope I get what I wish for.” With that he ambles over to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

After a while Harriet brings the cake to the table, complete with 40 candles lit. “Don’t worry buddy, we have the fire department on standby,” Sturgis ribs.

“Don’t forget to make a wish, sir” Harriet says.

“Harriet, you can be sure, I know exactly what I’m wishing for.” As he leans forward to blow out the candles I swear he takes their fire into his eyes and transfers it to me. So the candles are out but we’re both ablaze.

“Way to go, sir” Bud exclaims. “Now you’ll get your wish.”

“I can only hope, Bud. I can only hope.” He looks at me and there is no doubt what his wish is, and there is no doubt that I’m going to grant it. It may be his birthday, but I think I’m going to have a most memorable time unwrapping a package.

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