A/N: The rubber duck is an homage to a very accomplished FF author, who I hope takes it as the honest tribute I mean it to be. But actually, I’ve spent a night at a B&B in Wisconsin that had rubber ducks by the tub!

All the usual disclaimers (wondering if we all couldn’t just get over doing this on every story by putting a blanket disclaimer on the board? Not a lawyer, don’t even play one on TV, just an honest question.) Don’t own them, just play with them then put them back nicely. No money changes hands, just love and laughter.



Birthday series Part 10

Since We’re at the Shore, How ‘Bout We Storm the Beach?

Manly Arms B&B
Harm & Mac’s room
Sunday, Oct. 26, 2003
1730 Local

Wow, I’m drained. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation mean so much, do so much, touch me so much as that. I may need to rethink withholding detailed information about Harm-therapy from the psychiatric community ... I’m selfish but some treasures are not meant to be held for only the select few.

Vaguely I realize he’s gone into the bathroom. I hear water running. He’s drawing a bubble bath? Oh my god, I don’t care if it’s selfish, the rest of the world just needs to figure this out on its own. He’s mine, mine, mine all mine and I’m not sharing him with anyone!

Well, there is that whole Navy thing. I guess I’ll have to share him with them.

Uhmm, I’m starting to detect a wondrous fragrance emanating from the bathroom. Oh right, Harm bought that bubble bath on the way back. Gee, the guy doesn’t even have a bathtub in his apartment (but I’ve got to admit the shower’s pretty spectacular, especially when he’s in it). Who would have thought he’d like to take bubble baths?

It hits me like a safe falling on my head. IDIOT! GET A CLUE! He’s drawing a bubble bath ‘cause he knows you like them. Find them soothing. Take them when you need to pamper yourself. And he’s doing all that for me. He knows I need it. So he’s gonna make sure I get it.

How much more in love with this guy can I get?

The water’s still running, the aroma is fabulous and the man of my dreams walks back into the room.

“Hey Mac, there’s a brochure here about local everythings.”
He sounds so relaxed, so easy. In fact, he sounds more relaxed than I’ve ever heard him. And more into having fun.

Even after that psychic load I just dumped on him? Hhmm, maybe he doesn’t think of it that way. How does he think about it?

“Harm?” I need to know this.

“Yeah Mac?”

“Are you OK with the ton of psychic crap I just dumped on you?” Well now, that was certainly finely framed and eloquently stated.

He stops in his tracks. He turns towards me. Just like he turned toward me in his loft yesterday. He’s channeling the universe again (maybe that’s how he’s so good with the theoretical physics stuff).

“Mac, that wasn’t ‘crap’, well, maybe it was, but what I mean is it was stuff you needed to see for a long time. Remember, energy can’t be created or destroyed, so you didn’t dump it on me, together we just changed its form. Now its ours to use to make us both happy.”

Who is this guy?

I’m beginning to wonder again if this isn’t all a Clark Palmer ruse. Oh god, if I’ve had sex with Clark Palmer like I’ve had sex with the man -- body -- I think is Harm I’m gonna find that rusty knife.

He goes back into the bathroom, guess he’s checking on the tub.

“Hey, Earth to Mac? You there?”, Harm asks solicitously.

“Of course Harm,” I draw myself up. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking like you were thinking last Friday afternoon? Because I could help you out with those thoughts.” Riverboat gambler and python are back. But now that I know them, I think I know how to deflect them.

“Pretty much,” oh this is not the rusty knife, this is playful. I hope. “No, don’t need you. Just had to find a cobra that was on the loose in the Union Station area.”

“A cobra?”

I give him a look for the ages; are you stupid or what?

“Like a snake?”
Oh, poor Harm is way in over his head and doesn’t even know it.

“Yes, Harm,” I say with the patience of a 2nd grade school teacher. “An actual, real snake. And I saw it get caught.”

That was when I saw it. Jeez. No going back now. This mission has become ‘assets expendable’.

I can accept that. I just didn’t realize how often Harm was gonna pull this Caveman thing. Whee! I can’t say I dislike being pulled up into his arms and carried somewhere. It’s just that I’ll have to get used to it, I guess.

What am I thinking? ‘I’ll have to get used to it’!?! Woman, (I’m mentally hitting my fist to my forehead) if you don’t find this the most wonderfully romantic gesture on the planet you need to find another universe.

OK, I think I’ve got that straight now.

Where were we?

Oh yes, in the bathroom.

“You know Mac, I’m not gonna be your clothing consultant or anything (he knows about clothing consultants? he’s definitely metro sexual) but you think you could start buying blouses that have less than 20 buttons?”

Those expressive hands of his, those elegant long fingers are getting really pissed off at the many little buttons this blouse has. Hey, what can I say? It was in style and on sale so I bought it. Didn’t consider at the time that Harm might have a hard time getting it off me.

“Harm, why don’t you let me do this, and you can work on your own clothes.”

“Great, just hurry up, the water’s perfect.”

OK, I’ve got my 6-year-old girl, he’s got his little boy. I think they’re getting along quite nicely so far. Hope his guy doesn’t think girls have cooties.

Wooh, I think I’m trashing this blouse. No piece of clothing should take that much energy to get out of. Oh, now I understand the real reason women were made to wear all those corsets and crinolines and three layers of clothing. Well, I must admit it does give one time to reflect on one’s impending actions if it takes forever to get out of one’s clothes.

Where exactly do these strange reflections come from? Maybe I need to amend the ‘possible side affects’ section of the Harmy cure.

Oh, nice feeling that. Strong hands on my shoulders. Speaking of reflections, I look up and see I’m looking into the mirror, still holding that stupid blouse. But the best part of the picture is Harm standing behind me.

He’s naked. At least I hope he is. He looks like he is from what I can see (I don’t think he travels with a groin pasty). God is he beautiful. You know, Michealangelo was a really good artist (now that goes down as one of the understatements of the century) but his David has nothing on this man.

“Mac,” our eyes lock in the mirror.

I can barely breath. “Yes?”

“I bought you something special today.”

Something special? When did he find time? We were together the whole time, weren’t we? And what kind of ‘special’ is he talking about? He’s already proposed, I’ve accepted. Wait, is he gonna give me a ring? Right now standing naked in the bathroom???

Upon reflection, that doesn’t seem like an unsuitable situation. After all, married people are naked in the bathroom daily, right?

“Something we can share.”

Share? OK, this is not a ring. Share in the bathroom? Not sure where this is going.

“And both play with and enjoy.”

Now there’s more than a shade of concern running through my veins.

“Harm,” I keep my eyes locked on his in the mirror.

“Mac,” oh god when he whispers my name like that I have no control. I watch him in the mirror as he bends his head down to my neck, and breathes a kiss.

OK, that’s it. Whatever he wants us to play with, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for this man. I’d cross the world for this man (oh, wait, I’ve done that a couple of times). OK, trying to come up with new declarations of love. I’ll walk through fire for this man (yep, done that on the Hornet). I’d swim through stormy seas for this man (well, I haven’t actually, but I found him in one, doesn’t that count?). It seems I’m running out of heroic declaration of love scenarios because we’ve already done them all.

Remind me again why it took so long for us to finally ignore regs and get together.

Damn, the regs, this whole weekend, this potential career-killer weekend....

“Mac, I bought this for you, for us, to play with in the tub.”
I’m sure my face is the picture of shock. But I’m not looking at my face in the mirror, I’m watching that strong arm with that gentle hand pull in front of me holding a little rubber duck.

“What d’ya say? Ready for a little bath time fun?” Bud sure was right when he noted that Harm had a very well-developed inner child.

I look at the tub and at him. “Sure, but how are we gonna do this? It’s a big tub but we’re both pretty big people...”

I have ugly visions of cascading water funneling down the hall, torrenting down the stairs, ending up at the check-in desk where that nice woman who checked us in will realize we’re doing torrid things in her bathtub and (horrors of horrors) then she’ll discover we’re not really married.

Images of us hauled out in handcuffs (well, at least they let us put towels on...Harm always looks great in a towel) in shame flash before my eyes.

“Gee Mac, are you telling me you’ve never done this before?” Harm’s query is lacking no sincerity. He truly can’t believe I’ve never done this before.

“It’s just that I’ve dated ‘shower’ men”, I say, trying to defend myself against what I know is true.

“But Mac, you love to take bubble baths. I know it and we haven’t really been officially dating, although I think I could make a very persuasive case that we’ve been dating for years but that’s another argument. Why wouldn’t the men you’ve dated in the last 7 years take a bubble bath with you?”

Why indeed.

I do a mental shrug. OK, got this. Need to process. Later. Right now more important things to do.

“So, since you’re the expert, how do we do this without flooding the place?”

“Hey, it’s simple Mac. Do you want to get in first or do you want me to?”

The earnest eagerness of this part of Harm can not be denied. If he had said, “Hey, Mac, you want to go into the SecNavs office and tell him he’s a real ass?” I’d probably say yes.

“Maybe since you’re the seasoned pro, you should go first.”

“OK”

I look again at this man. This little boy in a 6’4” body. This hormonally-charged teenager that knows exactly when to hold back. This amazing specimen of mankind. He’s leaning over the tub, checking the water temperature once again. His whole back is on exquisite display...not just the back but the hips, the gluteus, the hamstrings. How I ever got this guy to believe for a moment that I thought his fitness level was going down...

Oh wait, he never really did believe that did he? He was playing me while I thought I was playing him. Whatever, as long as we play together from now on.

“Water’s perfect Mac.” He looks at me with such glee I can hardly stand it. OK, the 6-year-old can’t stand it.

I start to bob on my feet just a bit. (Why can’t I stop this?) “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, here Mac you hold on to the duck,” with this he gives me the little yellow rubber duck. He might have well given me the Hope diamond for as much as I cherish it at this moment.

He’s in the tub, standing in the tub, at the back of the tub. I’m trying to remember this in case I need to do it with someone else who doesn’t know how.

What am I thinking? Doing this with someone else? Not a chance.

OK, back to work. WORK? MAC, YOU’RE CALLING THIS WORK? My psyche is getting a little bent out of shape about that last, not that I can blame her. OK, OK, how ‘bout back to the present?

Psyche says that’s good.

I step into the tub, facing Harm, holding ‘our’ duck. “That’s good Mac, now, you need to turn around.”

He sees my question. “I’ll be right here behind you, covering your six like I always do.”

“But who’s gonna cover yours?” as if he needs that, it’s not like we’re in Afghanistan. We’re in a gentile, upscale B&B.

I feel him nuzzle my neck, his arms around my waist as he turns me around. “If they manage to get by you, I’ve always got the rubber duck patrol as backup.”

That’s it. I’m done. This man has me in a bubble bath and is soothing me with tales of rubber ducks? I have lost at least half my brain in the last 24 hours. At this rate, I’m gonna last, what, maybe another 4 or so?

“Now we’re sitting down,” Harm instructs. Why do I feel like I’m in kindergarten again?


“And you’re leaning back against me,” he continues.

Oh wow. This is way better than the bath pillow I bought at Blood Bath and Beyond (as I always like to think of it since I heard Homer Simpson refer to it that way).

For one thing, it cradles my whole upper body. For another, it has these great legs that alternately wrap around me or lay beside me. Then there’s the arms and hands feature that my bath pillow most definitely did not have. They are a major improvement on the item. Not sure I’m ready to share this with the consuming public at large. Finally, and most emphatically, the best difference is the head that’s attached to the shoulders that host the arms and hands that lead to the legs that encompass me right now.

No, not the head, the mind inside the head.

“Mac, you’ve drifted off again. Are you OK with this?”

“You have no idea how OK I am with this.”

“Well then, where’s our rear guard?”

Rear guard? My rear is firmly set against his crotch, and his rear is against the back of the tub. What’s this rear guard question, and why would he be asking it now, I thought we dispensed with the idea of terrorists coming into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

“Don’t know Harm. Which battle group were you expecting?”

“The rubber ducky brigade Mac! I entrusted him to you. Are you telling me he was left behind? Marines don’t leave men behind!”

God, he delivers that with such sincerity that if our community playhouse ever decides to do a production of “A Few Good Men” I will demand he audition.

“First of all Harm, one duck does not make a brigade,” I can’t believe this, I’m sitting in a bubble bath at a romantic B&B with Harmon Rabb, Jr. all around me and I’m marshaling courtroom arguments about how a rubber duck has been deployed???

And having a delightful time at it, I must add.

“He was not designated as our rear guard. His designation was ‘play toy’. He was not left behind, he’s right here.” I lift said rubber duck up so that the ace JAG investigator who’s sitting naked behind me in this tub can see him.

“Finally,” wow, I’m really saying this in my summation voice. “While Marines never leave a man behind, it doesn’t mean that they will occasionally leave a duck behind.”

With that I let our rear guard float away and I storm the beaches like only a Marine can.

fini for now...if you all keep asking, more later