TV or Not TV, That Is The Question

Author: Timer

Part 1: It’s Only A Movie


Adm. Chegwidden’s office
JAG HQs
0800 (local), Thursday, July 19

“Oh come on Webb, this is too outlandish even for you,” I exclaim, looking to the Admiral for support. I mean Webb’s come up with harebrained missions in the past but this goes beyond the pale.

“Rabb,” I hate it when Webb uses that condescending tone of voice, “we’re talking National Security here. And there’s nothing outlandish about it.” I watch him smugly push his hands in his pants pockets and wish I could quietly pummel him into oblivion.

“Admiral, the ‘mission’ Webb’s proposing has virtually no intel to support it, no back-up to speak of and would put Colonel MacKenzie and me at risk for what...Webb’s ‘suspicions’?” Surely AJ will back me up on this.

“Commander,” oh no, I hear AJ’s ‘we all have to sacrifice’ tone of voice -- or is it the ‘I hate this too but I got a call from the SecNav’ one? Either way, it’s not good.

I shoot a look at Webb. His smirk is even more repulsive than normal. He knew he had a lock on getting Mac and me assigned this caper (I refuse to dignify it by calling it a ‘mission’ or an ‘op’). As he rocks slightly back and forth on his heels in a most disgustingly self-satisfied way, I begin to see him in a whole new light. One which makes him look an awful lot like Alfred E. Neuman.

No wonder he always makes me so mad.

“You know, Webb, the reason your ops go sour so often is you have this ‘what, me worry’ attitude.” I know I’m treading on thin ice speaking like this in the Admiral’s office, but damnit, it’s true. Glancing at Mac I see the reference is lost on her. Looking over at AJ valiantly trying to stifle a smile, I see it wasn’t lost on him. Webb is impassive. Well, at least two of us in this room read the appropriately adolescent material when we were growing up.

“Commander, you and the Colonel will give Mr. Webb your complete cooperation on this assignment,” AJ says, but I can hear the tinge of regret hidden below the surface. “You will go undercover as two criminals who want to make contact with this,” AJ consults a folder on his desk, “Addams for the purpose of buying military secrets for a foreign government.”

“You’ll be posing as husband and wife,” Webb explains. “We’ve secured an invitation for you two to the Addams' home tomorrow night. They apparently have a kind of cocktail reception every Friday night. Your mission Friday is to get to know them, recon the house and wrangle an invite to the party we understand they’re holding the next afternoon.”

Well, this mission won’t be a total waste of time if I get to spend the weekend with Mac. And more...after all, won’t we have to spend the day today, and probably the evening tonight, preparing? We will if I have anything to say about it.

“What’s the uniform of the day, Webb?” Mac asks. Trust it to a woman, oh I mean a Marine, to focus on op specifics that we need to know (just love it when I can use those words against Webb).

“Cocktail dress, suit, Friday. It’s an afternoon pool party Saturday. So bathing suits and appropriate cover-ups.”

Bathing suits?? Oh boy, I’m beginning to like this mission more all the time. Mac in a bathing suit posing as my wife? Doesn’t that mean I get to have my arm around her, give her the occasional kiss on the cheek, maybe even a playful slap on the butt? On second thought, I probably should not indulge in the butt slapping if I want to survive long after the mission is over. Well, hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?

“What more can you tell us about the Addams?” I ask Webb.

He hands me a file. “Here’s all we have on them. They live remarkably below the radar for a couple who’s so prominent.”

What the *hell* does that mean? “Come again, Webb?”

“Well, they’re clearly quite wealthy and have cultivated a wide group of what we in the company call ‘interesting characters’ as associates, but we haven’t been able to pin anything definite on them.”

I start to argue about why we’re going in if they don’t have anything on them, but a vision of Mac in a bikini short-circuits that thought. OK, they don’t have anything, this is probably nothing and I’ll get to spend some quality time with Mac. Good, I need that. We need that...still hoping there can be a ‘we’ that’s much more than just working partners and friends.

That’s a great place to start, but not where I wanna stop.

“Commander, Colonel, I suggest you take the rest of the day to review the file on this case and prepare yourselves for this mission. Hand off what you can about your current cases to Commanders Turner and Mattoni. Let Lt. Roberts help in whatever way you see fit.”

We know a dismissal when we hear one. “Aye, aye sir,” Mac and I chorus. Webb just walks out. What a jerk. You’d think even he would exhibit some courtesy to a 2-star.

Harm’s office
JAG Ops
Later that afternoon

I’m so ... what? Astonished? Befuddled? Weirded out? Perhaps beginning to get so pissed off that I don’t hear the knock on my door frame.

“Harm, earth to Harm,” Mac is laughing as she walks in and sits down in a chair facing my desk. “Wow, are you suddenly taking this ‘mission’ so seriously that you don’t hear me knocking at your door for 28 seconds?”

God, she is so cute when she does that little one eyebrow up thing she’s doing right now. Kinda reminds me of what I always thought a pixie would look like.

“Mac, what day is it?”

Quizzically she responds, “Thursday, Harm, has been all day.”

“And what date is it?”

“Harm, I have an internal clock, not an internal calendar, but I can tell you it’s the 19th of July.” She gives me a look. “Why?”

I don’t know how, or where, to start with this. Here goes. “Mac, you’ve been reviewing the file Webb gave us, right?”

OK, I deserve the withering look she just gave me.

“And it’s not April Fool’s Day, right?”

Withering has gone to “stop wasting my time, buster”.

I can see she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen in this file. “Mac, when you were a kid, how much TV did you watch?”

She literally pulls her head back a bit and blinks at the sudden change in conversational direction.

“Not much. Why?”

I can tell she is not going to be easy to convince about what I suspect this case is really about (although I’m not quite sure either). But if she’s not familiar with TV sitcoms from the ‘60’s and ‘70’s....

“Oh nothing, Mac. Just a random thought.” Her expression says she’s not buying that but won’t pursue it right now. Whew. Need time to work on my explanations. “How ‘bout I cook dinner for us and we compare notes about the case.” Oh no, there goes that eyebrow again. “You know, Mac, impressions, thoughts about how we’ll act tomorrow night....”

Sweet thing that she is, she saves me from my linguistic stumbling. “You know, Harm, I thought we should rent a couple of movies that might help us with our undercover roles.”

“Movies? Mac, this is a serious mission with National Security at stake. Webb said so. How would movies help us prepare?” OK, part of that was sarcastic, but part of it wasn’t. Surely she doesn’t really think Hollywood can help us prepare for tomorrow night (on the other hand, if what I suspect is true, what better preparation could there be?).

“Gee Harm, I don’t know. I seem to recall that an idea I got out of a movie saved your six in a minefield not too long ago.”

Well, when you put it like that. “What movies did you have in mind?”


Rabb’s Loft
North of Union Station
1900 hours (local), Thursday, July 19

“Come on in, it’s open.”

She walks in wearing jeans, a v-neck t-shirt and a smile that melts my heart while ramping up its pace a bit.

“Good security, Harm. I could have come through that unlocked door with an Uzi on full-fire.”

I scrutinize her face while stirring the pasta sauce. She’s at least semiserious. “But Mac, I don’t have a date with a terrorist tonight and I do have one with you at 1900 hours. Guess what, it’s exactly 1900 hours. Thought the odds were in my favor.” I give her my ‘winning’ smile. OK, I’ll admit it. I *do* know about my smile. I mean smiles. Although they are almost always sincere, I do know how to moderate them, use them a little (OK, a lot) to achieve my desired goal.

Just like earlier today with the ‘nothing’, she’s not buying but not pressing either. Wow, twice in one day I escape Marine interrogation. Let me mark this on my calendar!

“Date?”

Whoops, guess I can forego marking my calendar. “Well, whatever.” Lame, Harm, really lame. Her look back to me confirms my assessment.

“So hey, what movies did you bring?” I gesture toward the bag she’s placing on my desk.

“The classics Harm. Topkapi, Entrapment, The Thomas Crown Affair (both versions), Public Enemy Number 1,” she reads the titles as she pulls the DVD’s from the bag.

“Woah, Mac, I know you hardly ever sleep but I do. I think we need to weed it down a bit...I’m just not prepared for a 10 hour movie marathon.”

With a huff of superiority she declares, “should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to go the distance, squid.”

Why do I get the distinct impression that comment was directly linked to my calling this a ‘date’? Oh no, not even Mac gets away with impugning my virility. WAIT!!! ‘Stop this train of thought, ignore the double entendres, step away from the danger zone,’ screams one part of my brain. The other one is equally loud: ‘here’s the opening you’ve been too scared to make for yourself, take it man, don’t be a fool!‘

“Oh I can go the distance, Mac. I just think we both ought to be able to ....” that’s right, drag it out as I walk the pasta pot from the stove to the sink to drain...”function in the morning. Not to mention tomorrow night.”

From under my eyebrows I see her fill in the implied word “walk”. Ah ha! Got her! She’s blushing a bit.

As I put dinner on the table, I adopt the most reasonable tone I can, under the circumstances (exactly what those circumstances are, I’m not entirely clear). “Let’s look at these movie’s in light of our mission. Public Enemy Number 1 is set during Prohibition and doesn’t feature a man and woman criminal team. I say it’s out of contention for viewing tonight.” I see a look of disappointment on her face. What, this a favorite of hers? Always a new layer to discover.

“We could save it to watch later this weekend.” That earns me a smile. Wow. The movies this woman picks. Most women I have known are more in the “When Harry Met Sally” mode. But then, no woman I have known has captured my heart like Mac has.

I chew on a forkful of bowtie pasta with a broccoli, sun-dried tomato, clam and caper sauce. I must admit, I am a good cook and I enjoy the results of my kitchen efforts. But I really like watching Mac eat them. She gets so totally involved in her food. Almost like she enters her own little Fortress of Solitude to focus completely on the taste sensations she ingests. On some it might look like gluttony. On Mac it looks like the sexiest thing on earth.

I begin to wish at least part of my body was a broccoli spear.

“Entrapment, Mac?”

She swallows and gives me a look I’m not certain how to decipher. “Harm, Zeta-Jones is hot, they carry off a tough heist against amazing high-tech security, I think it fits perfectly.”

OK, I’ve got this now. Her look is far too innocent. “Yes, Mac, Catherine Zeta-Jones is very hot in that movie. And Sean Connery is also about 35 years older than her.”

“Your point being...” she lets it drift off like she doesn’t know. I’d throttle her if it wasn’t such a good jab. Gotta admire a well-placed punch, even when it hits me.

“Maac,” I hate it when I whine, but that just came out. “Connery was the brains and had the experience and I’d go with that, but I am NOWHERE NEAR that old.” She just smiles.

I need to regroup. Quickly.

“Topkapi was a great movie, Mac, but it was a farce. I don’t think patterning a mission with ‘National Security’ implications after a movie that starred Peter Ustinov is a very good idea.” From the look on her face I can see she’s at least a little bit down the road with me that perhaps this mission isn’t the most serious one we’ll ever tackle.

I watch her examining me. This is either gonna be agreement or another zinger.

“Well I’ll have to bow to you on that one Harm. Topkapi was made five years before I was born. You know it well, do you?” So sweetly she inserts the knife.

Two can play this game. I stand up from the dining room table and lean forward to take Mac’s now empty plate. Lean very forward, get very close. I hear her slight intake of air as my cheek stops just about three inches from her face. I pick up her plate. Then I turn to face her. Our lips are now a mere inch apart. I whisper “Saw it on TV, on the late show, Mac. You know, reruns, old movies, watched at night while laying in bed. Ring a bell?” I see her eyes go wide and try to ignore the reaction it sparks in me.

Standing up with the dinner dishes I admonish myself: don’t win the battle and lose the war.

I start loading the dishwasher and putting away leftovers. Give me anything to cover up the heavy silence that has just draped itself over my loft.

No, no, no, do not let me have blown it again!!! I’ll salvage this if it kills me. (And if I don’t, Mac might kill me.)

“Now, The Thomas Crown Affair has possibilities, Mac. Both were professionals, top of their field. Both were good looking,” I try the eyebrow waggle...it’s not getting me much response tonight. Guess I’m in a deeper hole than I thought. “But they weren’t on the same side. She was hunting him.”

Oh boy. All that got was a double raised eyebrow stare. Or was that a glare? Or was that an invitation? Ohhh myyyyy, was that an invitation???? How do I explore this without scaring the bejeezus out of both of us?

“On the other hand, they did seem to be working together quite well in that scene on the staircase.” I’m hiding behind the kitchen island, loading the dishwasher, just in case I’ve misinterpreted this.

“So, you’re talking about the Brosnan/Russo version?” Mac asks quietly as she takes a seat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the island.

I jump in, hoping this is her opening for me to salvage the night, maybe our whole lives. “Well yeah, Mac. You gotta admit that was a really hot scene. Not to mention the dancing at the black and white ball, then there’s the...”

Oh my god I can’t believe I almost mentioned the topless beach scene! Sure, just exactly what I need to bring up right now: a cinematic re-enactment of the prelude to the most awful, misunderstood moment in our entire relationship.

Thanking whatever gods held my tongue long enough for my Mac-fogged mind to catch up (hey, doesn’t a guy get any slack for just staying sentient around the woman he loves so much he can’t tell her?), I trail off with “the, you know, burning the crate at the beach house on the island.”

I peek above the counter top, feinting filling the dishwasher’s detergent cups. She seems to be considering the point. I watch her come to a conclusion. Or maybe a strategy. I hope it’s a conclusion.

“So you don’t think any of the movies I brought to watch tonight will help.” I know arch when I hear it. This is a strategy and I’m in trouble.

“Perhaps you have some other suggestions?”

“True Lies,” I blurt out. Ohmygod, do I really want to die tonight? I know Mac has seen every Arnold Swarzenegger movie ever made. Several times.

Her eyes narrow and I know she knows where this is going. Or, to be more precise, where I was hoping it was going. Just like that pathetic character in the movie. “You think we need to practice pretending to be married?” Not quite a hiss, but there are certainly deadly overtones in her voice.

RETREAT! REGROUP! Listen to your inner Admiral, Harm. Feel the force and find a way to diffuse this.

I straighten up, hoping to project an image of benign intent. “Well, Mac, maybe we should. We’ve been Butch and Sundance so long I don’t have a clue how to behave as your husband.”

“Yes, Harm, we have been Butch and Sundance for a long time.” Her voice is getting a little lower now and it resonates in my lower parts. She is gonna kill me tonight, whether she means to or not.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Harm, that they’re both men?”
“Really good looking men, Mac. I mean Robert Redford is a great looking guy, especially back then.” I see her eyes widen a bit, her head tilts and a funny look comes across her face.

“So you think Redford’s handsome, eh Harm?”

“Well, yeah Mac. Who wouldn’t?”

Her eyebrows lift just slightly. What’s surprising about me thinking Robert Redford’s good looking? Sometimes she is such a total mystery to me.

“Harm,” what’s with this quasi-menacing inquisitor tone I’m hearing? “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m a woman?”

What!?! Oh damn. ‘Mayday, mayday’ rockets through my brain. She’s leaning over the island, which somehow, coincidentally, gives me a fabulous view of her cleavage. Even a little hint of lace. Is she doing that on purpose?

Oh god, my jeans are suddenly intolerably tight. Why does she have to do this now? Give me a break. I can’t go after her; I can’t survive without her. This is becoming painful. Women have it so much easier. They can hide it when they’re aroused. Well, mostly. But there is that pupil dilation thing. The telltale arterial pulse in the neck if you know to look for it. The often unconscious parting and licking of the lips, the lowering of the eyelids, the sharp intake of breath.

What on earth am I doing to myself?? It’s bad enough I have a raging hardon just because she said ‘Has it ever occurred to you I’m a woman?’ Now I’m adding to that by listing the ways I’ve watched her for signs she responds to me as much as I respond to her? I must be crazy, or a masochist.

“Of course, Mac. Why would you even ask that?” Dropping chaff furiously, praying she goes for it.

“Because Sundance is a man, Harm.”

“Hey, you were the one who claimed him for your alter ego. I remember quite clearly. It was your idea.” Good misdirection I think. Whenever you have no defense, go on the offense I always say.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be a good looking man anymore. Maybe I want to be a woman.”

Just what is she doing with her voice now? I’m not sure but I do know what it’s doing to me. Good thing the kitchen island is blocking her view of my lower half.

“Oh, OK Mac. So we need to think up a woman criminal with a male partner. How ‘bout Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Harm, you do know that rumor has it Clyde was impotent...right?”
“Warren Beatty can’t get it up?” Wow, I never knew.

Mac releases a sigh that screams ‘I’m exasperated with my idiot partner.’ “I’m sure that would come as a big surprise to Annette Benning, Harm. Not Warren Beatty, Clyde Barrow, the real Clyde. You do know the difference between an actor and his character....right?”

Hey, my turn to be indignant. “Oh course, Mac.”

”Yeah well it just sounded like you confused Robert Redford with Sundance and Warren Beatty with Clyde within the space of 1 minute and 13 seconds. Or is it that you’d prefer me to be a handsome man?”

Her eyebrows raise just a bit as she leans further forward on the counter. She *has* to know what that move’s doing to her chest, breasts, v-neck t-shirt. Damnit, I’m drowning here.

“Of course not Mac. You can be a woman whenever you want.”

‘I don’t believe I just said that’ ricochets inside my head as I see the same sentiment momentarily cross her face. Only to be replaced with a look I have come to fear. I’m not just thinking I might be a dead man; now I’m hearing ‘Taps’.

“Well Harm, that’s mighty accommodating of you, seeing as though I’ve been a woman all my life.” She slowly, sensuously curls her body up from the counter and starts walking, no, slinking, around it. Towards me! Gotta stop this or I’m gonna be so busted and so embarrassed.

“OK Mac, wanna be Ma Barker?” The transformation of her face is instant and unmistakable. I may be lucky to survive the next few seconds.

“Harm,” this is no longer quasi-menacing, this is downright life-threatening, “have you ever seen a picture of Ma Barker?” Man, she’s really pissed off. “And that would make you, what, MY SON?”

Boy, I really did luck out having the island between us. I congratulate myself briefly at throwing chaff that buys me enough time to unwind my over-wound engines. I know, kinda tricky and deceitful to get her mad so I won’t be embarrassed by my suddenly too-tight jeans, but hey, a man has to preserve his dignity. Trying to make amends now that I’ve calmed myself down by riling her up I agree with her, “Well, now that you mention it....Ma Barker probably isn’t a good choice.”

Her eyes narrow and I swear I hear the stream of nasty epithets she’s thinking of hurling at me. Then her eyebrows raise up even higher (didn’t know she had any elevation left in them). “How ‘bout Boris and Natasha?” She suggests way too innocently.

Hey, maybe she’s onto something here. They were spies, Natasha was statuesque and stacked. Wait a minute! Boris was like 4 feet tall and totally incompetent. A well-aimed glower is all it takes to convey my feelings about that pairing. “I think not, Mac.”

“Just a suggestion, Harm.” I recognize her offer of detente and gladly take it.

“How ‘bout I make some tea and we kick back a minute. I think this thing has us both a bit uneasy.” I know I am. On the one hand it seems too absolutely ridiculous from reading Webb’s file (didn’t anyone in the CIA watch TV in the ‘60’s?). On the other, it could be far more dangerous than any of us has suspected.

I bring the tea in and settle next to Mac on the couch. I’m not sure how to bring this up, but as partners I have to tell her my suspicions. “Mac, after reading Webb’s file today I have a theory about this, whatever it is.”

“I think it’s called a mission or an op, Harm.” She gives me that ‘Marine’ look.

“Yeah, yeah. But I don’t think it’s what Webb thinks it is.” I twist my tea mug on the coffee table, wishing I had a stir stick to chew on. They always seem to help me think through things when Mac’s so close I can smell her.

“It’s just there are things that seem a lot like stuff from old TV shows.” I can hear exactly how ridiculous that sounds.

“Really, Harm. Kinda like the stuff from that old Arnold movie you wanted to reenact tonight?” She’s scooting closer on the couch, has turned her shoulders towards me and’s placed her right hand on my chest. Am I finally gonna be able to hug her without a friend losing his leg or is she getting ready to kill me with her bare hands in any one of the umpteen ways she’s been trained? Please, please, please, let it be the former.

Totally not sure how to play this but here we go.... “Well Mac, as geeky as the guy was, and as gnarly his attempt to seduce her by posing as a spy was, his basic premise was valid. If we’re going to a party tomorrow night posing as husband and wife, we better be able to convince people we are husband and wife.”

OK, I think that sounded reasonable.

“Harm, do you know how many husbands and wives barely talk to one another, much less ‘relate’?”

I hear the pain behind that. Damn. Of course, Rangle and Bugme and her father. Damn. If I could do it without getting locked away from her for the rest of my life, every man who ever hurt her would be dead. Fortunately for me, most of them already are.

Taking my hand away from fidgeting with my tea mug, I place it as gently as I can on her upper arm. With my other hand I draw her slowly in towards my chest.
“Mac, we’ve hugged each other before. We’ve held each other and comforted each other. I’m not suggesting anything more right now,” (I sure hope she caught that ‘right now’ part). “I’m just saying that we might need to practice a little before we are convincing as husband and wife.”

She settles onto my chest. I feel her relax. Even hear a hint of a sigh I think. (Or hope.) “You remember what happened to the fake spook in ‘True Lies’ that tried to seduce Jamie Leigh Curtis?” She says this in an almost sleepy voice, but I remember that movie all too well.

“Arnold held him over a hydroelectric dam and he ended up wetting himself,” she says with a little chuckle as she snuggles in deeper, wrapping her arms tighter around my waist and shoulders.

Can we say ‘mixed messages’ here? Like I’m supposed to know what to do now??

“Mac, I’m not trying to seduce you with a cheesy re-creation of an even cheesier part of a movie.” Not that I wouldn’t love to seduce you. Want to seduce you. Have wanted to seduce you for the last couple of years and can’t seem to get the courage.

She sighs in a way that scares me. I’m not sure if it’s acceptance of me not trying to seduce her or affirmation that she thinks she’s not the woman I desire most of all. Neither of which I’m gonna let stand in her mind tonight.

“Just keep relaxed against me, like you are right now, Mac. Let me hold you a bit, stroke you a bit. Tomorrow night I’ll have my arm around you, my hand at the small of your back. I’ll give you little touches on the forearm, or the back of the hand. Maybe the cheek. Remember, we’re so in love we can barely be apart.”

Our cover story is just a little too close for comfort for me, but Mac seems to be relaxing into it, into me even more. Good god. If I could meld this woman into my body and soul even more than she is right now I would.

“So, Mac, you think you’ll be OK, I mean you won’t give us away, if I give you a little nuzzle tomorrow night?” I wait for her physical response. I can’t see her face, but her body gives her away more often than she’d like to know.

“Harm, why would you need to ‘nuzzle’ me tomorrow night?” she asks very quietly. She’s still relaxed in my arms, snuggled into my embrace.

OK, here we go. I can still claim “mission” as cover-up if this turns into a disaster.

“Because Mac, you’re my wife. The woman I sleep with every night. Who I’ve made love to hundreds of times...you can’t get tense if I just nuzzle your neck a little.” As I nuzzle and caress I feel her framing her response.

“And you’re my husband. The man whose snores wake me up at night. The one who leaves his dirty socks on the bedroom floor. The guy who doesn’t shave on Sunday because all he’s gonna do is sit on the couch, watch sports, drink beer and burp.” This said as she traces little patterns on my chest. Ouch.

Is that really what kind of a husband she thinks I’d be? “Maaac, you know me better than that. I don’t snore, I’m obsessively tidy and until recently didn’t even own a TV. I’d be a good husband to you.” I feel her tense briefly (maybe I went a bit too far with that), then relax.

“In your dreams, flyboy,” she laughs.

“All the time, Mac.” Well now, that did just kinda pop out there didn’t it? She slowly lifts her eyes to me. This is what they call ‘the moment of truth’ isn’t it? I give her my most sincere, open, honest and (I hope) non-threatening look. Her eyes dilate, her lips part minisculely, she takes a short but sharp intake of air...yes!!! These are all most excellent signs. She doesn’t have to say a word. Message sent loud and clear.

She knows it too. We both slightly raise our eyebrows at one another, lower our chins a bit and continue to plunder the depths of the other’s eyes as our foreheads meet.

“Well,” she says in a slightly amazed tone, “that will make it easier for us to act like husband and wife, won’t it now.”

I simply nod. We’ve turned a corner, but I have a feeling the speed limit on this next stretch is gonna be kinda slow.


continued in part 2: Mr. Addams I Presume?


A/N: OK I dare you. Google Alfred E. Neuman and you’ll get a picture. Tell me he doesn’t bear a striking resemblance to Webb (and visa versa).