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Match Point
Author: Pixie AN: This part and the next (final) one will have to be a little less silly. After all…romance is serious business, right? Besides, I have a couple of loose ends to deal with, and serious attention is required. ;-) AN2: It's been years since I've been to Washington D.C., so any details I may get wrong about the area are the fault of that and the fact that I'm just not willing to do a bunch of research for what is basically an expanded fluff piece. Hopefully any errors you discover won't be glaring enough to ruin your enjoyment of the story. AN3: You folks have been leaving me some amazing feedback. I can't begin to tell you how much it's meant to me. My heart and my sensitive writer's ego thank you.
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The sunshine feels wonderful on my shoulders, and I lean back, locking my ankles beneath the stone bench and tilting my face to the warm rays. What a glorious afternoon. I sneak a peak at Harm out of the corner of my eye and catch him watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. What is that man thinking? "Having fun?" he asks, the corners of his mouth turning up. "Yes, actually, I am. It's nice to be out of the office for a while." He rolls a knot out of his shoulders, stretching his uniform blouse across his chest in the process, and providing me with a thoroughly enjoyable view. When he stands up, summer whites bright in the sunlight, gold wings gleaming, I temporarily forget to breathe. "Mac?" I shake my head sharply, bringing the rest of the world back into focus, and realize he's holding his hand out to help me up. With a sheepish smile, I take it and stand up, fighting down the urge to leap into his arms. Instead, I straighten my uniform and turn to gather the remains of my lunch, thankful for the excuse to look away from him for a minute. By the time I turn back to him, wrappers safely corralled, I've managed to force my wayward thoughts back onto the straight and narrow. He takes the trash from me and drops it into a nearby garbage trash can. Then we wander in the general direction of the Jefferson Memorial, but our steps are lazy, the mood relaxed. The cherry trees, no longer in bloom, are no less beautiful in their summer green coats, and the leaves rustle gently in the afternoon breeze. I cast about for a topic of conversation, settle on one, and look over at him. "When does Mattie get out of school for the summer?" He glances at me, then swings his eyes back to the pathway. "In a couple of weeks. She's getting ready for finals now." "Think she'll do ok even though she was out for the first part of the year?" "Mattie's smart. She'll be fine." "What's she going to do this summer?" He's quiet for a few minutes, and I've just about decided he isn't going to answer when he finally speaks. "She's going to spend the summer with her dad." I hear the pain in his voice and stop walking. Caught up in his own thoughts, Harm takes a few more steps before he realizes I'm not beside him. Then he turns and comes back to me. I wait until he gets close before I speak. "Are you sure they're ready?" "It's not up to me, Mac." There's no answer for that. He's right, and we both know it. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He frames my face with his palm, and the warmth of his touch shoots straight to my heart. "You're doing it," he says, the words quiet and sincere. I tilt my head into his hand, and in a moment of sheer insanity I press my lips against his skin – a gesture I've often contemplated but never before had the courage to try. Unaccountably shy, I glance up…and find myself snared in the heat of his gaze. Time stops. I feel my center of balance shifting and make a halfhearted attempt to stop myself from leaning toward him. Then I realize that he's leaning too, his head dipping toward mine, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. Laughter and chatter interrupt us as a group of school kids and their chaperones approach along the walkway. I pull away, automatically brushing my hands down the sides of my uniform to make sure it's tidy. I realize that while I'm a little embarrassed to have been a source of entertainment for a bunch of adolescents, I'm mostly annoyed. I was so close, so incredibly, unbelievably close, to feeling his lips on mine - only to be thwarted by fate once again. I'm beginning to hate fate. I fall into step beside him, both of us quiet as we walk down the trail. We pause under a cherry tree and turn to gaze out across the water. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively casual. "Have you heard from Webb lately?" I look at him sharply, but his eyes, when they meet mine, are merely curious. There's tension in him, though. I sense it emanating off of him in waves. It's time to put the specter of Clayton Webb to rest. "I haven't spoken to Clay in a couple of weeks." "Really?" "Really." I watch a family of ducks for a moment before going on. "We're not seeing each other anymore." One of the ducklings chases a water bug, tiny pinfeathers twitching. I smile at the whimsical sight. "Are you ok, Mac?" I expected him to be pleased at the news, so the concern in his voice throws me slightly off balance, and I glance over at him. "I'm fine. We weren't right for each other, anyway." I leave it there, not in the mood to get into long winded explanations on such a beautiful day. He seems content to follow my lead, and doesn't pursue it, but his shoulders relax and he smiles at me. "Want an ice cream?" "Sure." A few minutes later, ice cream sandwiches in hand, we're walking again, only now I'm struggling not to stare at him while he eats, and it crosses my mind to wonder if the person who invented the frozen concoction had the faintest clue how erotic it could be. I force my attention back to my own rapidly melting dessert and sweep up a dangerous drip just in time, fully aware that he's watching every move I make, but determined not to show how the knowledge effects me. Later, wrappers and napkins discarded in the trash, we walk back toward the parking lot. It's been a lovely break, but duty calls, and we both have overflowing inboxes back at JAG. But there's something I want to say to him before we leave, and I stop one more time, pulling him off the pathway out of the way of the tourists. "I owe you a thank you." He quirks an innocent eyebrow at me, and I laugh. "The roses are beautiful." He glances away from me for a heartbeat, and it occurs to me that the great Harmon Rabb Junior is feeling shy. The concept amuses me, so I decide to see what happens if I keep going. "The candy bar and sack lunch were thoughtful, too." "It was nothing, Mac." He gives a self-conscious shrug. "I know you've been having a tough time, and I thought I'd try to ease the way a little. That's all." "Ahh… I see." I consider that for a minute. "I know you thought you were being sneaky, but you gave yourself away." "Oh? How did I do that?" I tilt my head to one side, trying to decide if he honestly doesn't know. Apparently, he doesn't. He must think I told my life story to Webb, but he couldn't be further from the truth if he tried. "You know," I say, watching a young mother chase her exuberant toddler across an open patch of grass. "I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who know about my fascination with fossils." "Really?" I hear the curiosity in his voice. I know he's wondering if I discussed it with Clay. "Yes." "I see." He doesn't pressure me for more, and I turn from watching mother and child, waiting until I have his undivided attention before I go on. "Less than one hand, actually. In fact, for whatever reason, I can only think of two people who know about it." I pause for a heartbeat. Then… "And one of them is in Leavenworth." I see him take a deep breath, his chest expanding impressively beneath gold wings and ribbons. I continue talking in a useless attempt to keep my mind off of thoughts of what that chest would feel like beneath my palms. It occurs to me then that we'd better get moving or Coates will be sending out a search party. I turn and begin to walk briskly down the path, headed for the parking lot and my Corvette. Harm catches up to me easily, long legs eating up the distance in an easy stride. His hand comes to rest at the small of my back, casual and yet….not. The delightful signals it sends racing through my system push my legs into high gear – not so much in an effort to escape from him, as in a desperate attempt to provide an outlet for a sudden over abundance of nervous energy. He doesn't speak again until we're pulling out of the parking lot into the busy afternoon traffic. I know he's thinking hard, and I suspect I know what he's thinking about, but I decide to let him stew, curious to know how long it'll take him to work up the courage to ask. "Mac?" "Hmm?" "Was there…anything else?" "Anything else?" I'm playing dumb here. I know exactly what he's talking about, but it's fun to make him squirm a little. "Yeah. Did you find anything else?" "Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?" "No reason." He lapses into silence, and I swallow my laugh. I know. It's cruel of me to tease him like this, but I don't feel too guilty. After all, I'm sure he had a grand time watching me trying to figure out where the flowers came from. Turnabout is fair play, right? I wait until we arrive back at JAG before letting him off the hook. "Oh yeah," I say, as though I've only just remembered. "There was one other thing." "Really?" His voice holds all the eagerness of a five year old on Christmas morning. "Yeah," I look at him and smile. "I found a delightful bottle of bath salts tucked away in the back of my desk." "You did, huh?" "Sure did." I wait to go on, timing my final point carefully. It isn't until I pass him on my way into the building that I speak again, my voice carefully nonchalant. "Haven't tried it yet, though. I'm waiting for a special occasion."
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