Mobius Strip
Prologue

Early April 2022
US Naval Academy

Morning sunlight slanted through the window, laying a silvery sheen on his iron-grey hair, as the tall, slender Captain leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the open bottom drawer. His sea green eyes traveled in slow measured movements across the paper. From time to time, something he read brought a crinkle of delight to his care lined face.

His life consisted of simple pleasures now, and one of the best was the papers submitted by his students detailing, their interpretation of Maritime law to the combat situations he posed. The inventiveness of their solutions made him savor these essays, and he was in no particular hurry to finish the task.

For over six years, he’d taken great pride in guiding class after class of bright, dedicated, intelligent young men and women, as they learned to be the finest officers offered to any branch of the military. It was with great satisfaction he indulged himself in the results of his teaching.

“Captain you have a visitor,” his speakerphone interrupted his thoughts,

“Who is it?” he touched the reply button, wondering if he could put this off, or if he would have to interrupt his morning routine.

“It’s General Galindez, sir,” the somewhat awed voice of the young man carried clearly over the line.

“The JAG?” he asked, having no idea why she would be calling on him. He’d never met the woman. Since he’d left for California nearly eighteen years ago, he’d had little more than cursory contact with the main office, and since he’d taken this position six years ago, there had been no contact at all. His interest in anything that happened outside this small town was selective. Those he’d once called friends had made new paths in their lives, and none had crossed his again.

“Uh….yes sir,” he was clearly getting nervous at the delay. It didn’t do to keep a general officer waiting for permission to see a Captain. The young officer understood his Captain’s surprise, but still…..

“Sorry, Ensign, it’s just…..Bring her in immediately,” he ordered somewhat embarrassed by his wandering thoughts. The woman would probably have him removed as unfit to teach young minds, if he couldn’t even respond to an audience with a senior officer.

Immediately he jumped to his feet and shoved the drawer closed. Grabbing his coat from the chair back, he slipped quickly into the sleeves. Snugging up his tie, and buttoning the last button on his jacket he was ready to come to attention, when the door opened.

“Sir may I present…..” his ensign started

“Mac???” came out in an astounded gasp, masked only slightly by his assistant’s hiss of breath at the breach of protocol.

Immediately grabbing his senses from wherever they’d fled, he came sharply to attention. “Ma’am,” he greeted her properly. He was faintly aware his young ensign had fled, closing the door behind him.

She smiled faintly, “At ease Captain,” she said, then more softly added. “How are you Harm?”

End prologue

Mobius Strip
Part one

Early April 2004
JAG HQ

There’s a hesitant knock on my door and I look up. I’m not exactly interested in being interrupted, but when I see who is there, I relax.

“Hi Harm,” I greet him with the warmest smile I can get away with at work.

“Hi,” he says on a soft breath. “Can I….uh, talk to you for a minute?” He indicates my guest chair.

“Sure, what about?” I ask, wondering if someday we might still have the other talk. If he might be nearly ready to suggest it again. I know I said ‘never’, but I’ve been trying to show him in subtle ways that it was a truly dumb mistake.

“Well it’s just…I wanted to say how glad I am that you’re happy,” he starts cryptically.

“Happy?” I respond with a funny little smile. “Yeah I guess I’m happy enough.” I’m trying to not feel the forewarning flutters in my stomach.

“Yeah, everyone says so, and I’ve noticed too. So I just wanted to tell you I’m glad for you. It’s been sort of a rough year. I guess it’s about time, huh?” He has something on his mind, and in typical Rabb fashion it’s taking him a while to get to it.

“What’s this all about Harm? Did you just take time from your busy schedule to tell me you’re happy I’m happy?” Nerves are putting a hint of a bite in my tone along with the bewilderment.

“No, not entirely. I have some news Mac, and I wanted to tell you first.” He’s sort of rubbing his hands now. ‘Uh oh,’ I think, ‘here it comes,’ but I’m completely unprepared for what it is.

“It’s just that….well, Catherine and I have been seeing each other,” tumbles out quickly.

“Catherine,” I repeat dumbly.

“You know, Catherine Gale?” he adds innocently.

“Yes, Harm, I know Catherine,” I reply, ignoring the volcanic action in my abdomen.

“Well we’ve been seriously dating since just after Christmas, and….well….you know…. she was pregnant.”

I nod now, unable to speak.

“Well, I asked her to marry me, and she said yes, now that the baby’s been born.” There it is; he just dumps this bombshell in my lap as though it had little more importance than a weather report.

I think he said something after marry me, but I’m not sure what. My ears are ringing and my heart just drained out of my body.

Somewhere in the rush of sound I pick out the words, “tell you first… hear it through gossip…invited to the wedding….happy for me.”

“Mac….Mac,” I finally hear him calling my name. “Mac are you okay, can I get you something?”

‘No’, I think, ‘only a new life’. “No Harm, I’m fine, just haven’t been sleeping well.” My standard pat answer plays automatically.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “I know that one. It’s nice to have someone again isn’t it?” His comment, which is meant to be a buddy-like bonding, a sharing of experience, merely exacerbates the pain of having my insides torn to shreds. He really believed it all along. He really believed I was with Webb. He thinks even now I’ve found my perfect someone, when that person just locked himself off from me for all time.

I can’t let him see how I feel. I take a slow calming breath and agree. “Yes it is, Harm, it’s wonderful.” Nothing I can do now except get him out of my office as soon as possible.

“Well, congratulations,” I offer as stoically as possible, hoping he’ll go now. I keep telling everyone I’m tough, I’m a Marine. But the things Marines are trained to handle are child’s play compared to what just happened.

He smiles that huge Harm grin, “Thanks Mac. I guess,” he hangs his head a moment, “I guess it wasn’t meant to be for us, but at least we can both be happy now. And we can still be friends.” He’s babbling, “You and Clay will have to come to dinner. Catherine has been asking about you,” he continues.

My ears are ringing again. “Sure Harm,” I try, “Next time he’s in town,” I promise with a wan smile.

“Mac, are you okay? You look kinda pale,” he looks properly concerned.

“I’m fine Harm. Just a little bug. Maybe I should go to the ladies room for a minute. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?” I brush past, barely glancing at his puzzled frown.

“Sure, I’ll send someone to help you,” he offers.

“No,” I say harshly with my back turned. “I’ll be fine in a minute.” Then I rush off and leave him standing there.

I can imagine the confused look, mingled with the heartbreaking smile of happiness, that’s plastered on his face. I should have known just having Mattie wouldn’t put a smile like that on his face. I’ve been a fool. I waited too long and he’s gone. I also know this won’t be like Mic and I. Harm has taken half of forever to make a commitment. He will never back out. Nothing will change his mind. I reach the ladies room door and disappear into a stall, just as the floodgates to my soul open.

I nearly have my sobbing under control when I hear a soft knock, “Ma’am, Ma’am are you okay? The Commander said….”

“I’m fine Jen. I think I just have a touch of the flu. I’ll be okay. Go on now.” The tears are still falling, but I have them nearly silenced for now. I pray she hasn’t heard. They’ll return when I get home; I know they will. But for now, I just have to stop them from falling and I’ll be okay.

“Would you like some wet towels ma’am?” she asks. Probably thinks I’m losing my lunch. Perfect, maybe, she can’t know what’s really wrong, so that will do as an excuse.

“Sure Jen,” I reply, “thanks,” as she hands them over the door. “I’ll be ok now, better get back to work before the Admiral has a fit,” I caution.

“Okay, ma’am, if you’re sure.” she is uncertain, reluctant to obey.

“I’m sure, Jen. I’m fine.” ‘Just please go,’ I pray silently

“Okay I’m going now.” She opens the door, and I hear her say, “She says she’s okay, sir, just the flu,” before the door closes.

I stay there for another few minutes, until I’m sure the room is empty. Then I creep out and wash my face with more cold water.

Composed, I make my way back to my desk and call PO Coates. “Jen will you tell the Admiral I’m not feeling well. I’d like to take my work home if he doesn’t mind. I don’t have court today.”

“Sure ma’am,” comes the perky reply, and a few minutes later, she calls back. “The Admiral says it’s okay, Ma’am. Do you need someone to drive you?”

“No Jen, I’m okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow. Thanks,” I hang up and gather my files. Quickly, I stuff them into my briefcase, then head for the door before I can be intercepted by anyone else. I make the elevator just as someone is stepping off and jump in, not to be delayed by waiting for the next car.

I can’t get out of the parking lot fast enough, and I head for a small river overlook near Arlington. I know I sit there for at least half and hour, maybe more, staring at the water going nowhere, just like my life. Finally, I start the engine, put the car in gear and drive home. I navigate the powerful car carefully through the early commute traffic, unconcerned for my own welfare, but not wishing my despair to damage anyone else’s life.

There are several messages on my machine when I get home. One is the Admiral telling me to take the next day off as well, and to take good care of myself. That was strange.

I call back and leave a message thanking him. Jennifer’s perky reply of, “No problem Ma’am, are you sure you don’t need anything, if you need anything at all just call,” makes me think she had something to do with the decision.

The others are from Harm. Painfully I listen to the first. “Hi Mac, are you okay? Jen said you left pretty quickly. Just checking.” The next was even worse, “Mac you can’t ever know how happy I really am for you now. If you need anything even in the middle of the night, and Clay isn’t there, just call. I’ll always be your friend. Take care now.” That one really didn’t make sense.

I wander around my apartment aimlessly trying to decide if I can get any work done. Alternately crying and just staring out the window, wondering where it all went astray. Finally I wind up in my bathtub for a long soak. I’ll get to bed early and start on my cases tomorrow. Working from home with no disturbances, I can accomplish much more than I can at the office. It isn’t until I almost fall asleep that I realize the meaning of everyone’s concern. They think I’m pregnant. Oh God, Jennifer must have made some comments about me throwing up and crying, and everyone leaped to exactly the wrong conclusion.

I want to scream. In fact I do. I pull the pillow over my face and just scream in desolate frustration. Everyone in that office is convinced I’m in a happy relationship with Clay and we’re having a baby. What we really have can’t even be termed as casual dating. We have lunch or dinner from time to time that’s all. And because of those beliefs I’ve lost Harm permanently.

Maybe if I’d tried harder, if I’d tried to talk to him, even when I was still tied in knots and couldn’t make sense of it myself, but he wouldn’t answer my phone calls, and when he came back he was so cold and distant. I remember seeing Catherine at his apartment even before he came back to JAG, but I never thought it meant anything, at least not anything that serious. Now I waver in my conviction about her baby. Maybe it is Harm’s after all.

I turn over on my side, curl into a ball, and cry until nothing more will come. Until my entire stomach hurts too much to breathe, and my head feels like it will explode, then I drop into a completely solid, but unsatisfactory sleep. My last thought is at least the mistaken pregnancy will cover my reaction to Harm’s announcement. Any erratic behavior on my part will go unquestioned for weeks. By then, I can either, tell anyone who asks they were wrong, or maybe if it becomes a big enough issue, I’ll just tell them I lost it.

No, I can’t do that; it would be too terrible. Something like that could haunt me later. I’ll just say I don’t know what gave them that idea. Perhaps no one will remember the reason.

End of One

Mobius Strip
Part Two

Mid July 2004
JAG HQ

As I walk across the bullpen, I notice Clayton Webb lingering near Mac’s office. Deep inside, a tiny spark of resentment flares for a brief instant, but it’s doused immediately by the knowledge of Mac’s happiness, and my newfound love.

“Clay,” I greet him with cautious friendliness. “How’s everything going? What are you doing here?”

He looks at me rather suspiciously. “Looking for Sarah, do you know where she is? She isn’t answering her phone or email,” he inquires, with what appears to be more curiosity and less concern than I would anticipate from an expectant father.

“Very funny, Clay. I’m sure you, of all people, know where she is. Isn’t her assignment with you?” I’m a little puzzled, but he could just be jerking me around. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Assignment!?” comes out in his dry dismissive tone. “What the hell are you talking about Rabb? I don’t know where she is, and I don’t have any assignment, at least not one that involves her. I’m just back in town for a few days and wanted to touch bases.” It’s then he spots my ring. “Oh, I see, you finally got up the nerve to marry her, and I suppose you’re still afraid I’ll take her away from you.” he sneers scornfully. “Don’t worry Rabb, she was always yours, and always will be.”

My world suddenly tilts off its axis. It takes me a minute to catch my breath, and another to process the consequences of what he’s just said. He’s obviously not with Mac, and he thinks I’m married to her. Oh God, what have I done? What moment of blazing stupidity led me into this heartbreaking situation?

“No, Clay,” I struggle with my dry vocal chords. “No. I….that is….I’m not married to Mac.”

“You’re not,” he repeats in a flat tone of disbelief. “Then who the hell….?”

“Catherine…uh, Catherine Gale. I….I married Catherine. I thought you two…and the baby….I thought….,” I can’t form a coherent thought. What have I done to Mac, and what am I now doing to Catherine? Jesus, Rabb when you mess up, you really mess up.

“Catherine!!!” He repeats astounded, his voice trembling with deep anger. “She married you? How dare she?” he finishes incredulously just under his breath. Looking away, he distractedly runs his fingers through his hair.

“Clay?” I’m trying to get my head around my own actions, there’s no way I can keep up with his cryptic thoughts.

“What do you mean baby?” looking up at me urgently, he pounces on one of my statements. “Who’s baby? Catherine’s?”

“No. Mac’s and….uh….we thought yours,” I answer, my voice still constricted.

“Never happened, Rabb. Not even possible. She never allowed me so much as to hold her hand. Not that way at least,” he snorts ruefully, then his eyes narrow.

“So you took off and married Catherine, because you thought…..” he lets the sentence dangle, as I just nod dumbly, my eyes probably the size of saucers. “Rabb,” he shakes his head, and takes two steps turning away as though to calm himself. Gathering a huge gulp of air with his back to me, he returns in two more steps to face me. Starting again, with what looks suspiciously like a glimmer of a tear in his eye, he growls, “Rabb you are without a doubt the biggest horse’s ass on the planet.” He barely chokes the sentence out, before whirling abruptly and leaving the office. I stare dumbly after him. Without waiting for the elevator, he heads directly for the stairwell and disappears from view.

Still stunned, I’m paralyzed to the spot with the ramifications of my actions. I love Catherine, I truly do, and I know she loves me. She’s pregnant again, with our child, but if I had only known. There’s no way I can ever make this right. But I have to know where Mac is, and only one person here can tell me.

It was one of the first assignments he made when he took over as acting JAG. She left just before my wedding. He wouldn’t elaborate, but I figured at the time it was none of my business. That it was for something highly classified, a case or an assignment, perhaps. Now I have to know. I mean how much worse can it be? I have a terrible feeling I’m about to find out.

Unceremoniously, I burst through the doors without waiting to be announced, and stride up to his desk under full power.

“Where is she, Sturgis, and why?” I demand without preamble.

“Harm, if you can’t respect me, you should at least show respect for the office,” he looks up at me calmly.

“Can it, Sturgis. Have me arrested if you want, it can’t get much worse. Now tell me where she is, and why did she go,” I demand.

He lays down his pen and folds his hands in his lap. Leaning back in the chair that many think is too big for him, he looks me straight in the face.

“You don’t need to know that, Harm. You have your own family to worry about. Mac is well taken care of.” he answers with infuriating calm.

“No she isn’t, Sturgis. She’s not with Webb. Never was, there is no baby,” I raise my voice slightly.

“I know,” he inclines his head calmly.

“You know? Why the hell didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me before….” I can’t quite bring myself to say it….to dismiss my new family that easily. Pleadingly I look into his eyes. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“You never asked, Harm, and by the time anyone actually knew what you were thinking, they were all convinced of the same thing as you.” His explanation, while covering the basic facts, is completely devoid of the essential emotions.

“’They,’ as in the rest of the office?” I ask specifically.

He nods sagely.

“But not you?” I conclude shrewdly. “You knew all the time didn’t you?”

“About you and Catherine? No. I had no idea that’s what you were thinking, but I assumed it was what made you happy. When I found out how far it had gone, you were already committed.” Damn, he is so pompous. Apparently more so, because of my unreasonable, barely contained ire.

“No,” I correct him, leaning over the desk. “You knew about her. Her and Webb, you knew it wasn’t true. You had a reason for knowing didn’t you?”

His eyes slide from my face. “Perhaps,” his answer is noncommittal.

“Sturgis, this is me. Don’t mess with me on this. How did she convince you to let her run? That’s what she did, isn’t it. She couldn’t take it, and she ran, because what everyone thought about her and Webb wasn’t true. Am I right?” Christ, the clarity of hindsight could blind a person.

He takes a deep breath, stands up, and turns to look out the window.

“Am I right, Sturgis?” I insist, emphasizing each word.

“Essentially,” he replies, glancing briefly over his shoulder.

“So how did she convince you to give her this assignment? Whatever it is, oh God, it’s not dangerous is it? Please tell me she isn’t in any danger.” At least let that much be true, I pray.

“No more than you or I,” he answers, turning back to face me.

“Then where the hell is she?” I’m losing patience, and I know I’m mostly angry with myself, but I can’t stop.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he replies a bit sharply, “not to you at least. It’s a legitimate assignment. She’s not in danger. She’ll return in about five months, or she’ll be offered an opportunity to stay, that part is uncertain.”

“I repeat Sturgis, how did she convince you to let her go. It had to be a hardship on you, running an office this size with no assistance. How did she do it?” I press on.

“Blackmail, sort of,” he answers with a wry smile.

“Blackmail? You? Her?” I look astounded.

“Harm, don’t be a complete fool,” he sighs tiredly. “There was a secret. A confidence we shared. I understood her feelings. She needed to go, Harm. She couldn’t stay here and watch you …uh….” I know what he’s saying. She couldn’t tolerate attending the parties, the wedding. I think I want to die now. Only I can’t. I have responsibilities, someone I care about and who cares about me. What a f****** mess. I have to know the rest.

“A secret? Something ….? She told you…? Oh, no. No. She told you? You knew all along and you let me do this?” I could almost strangle him

“If you will recall Harm,” he reminds me again, “None of us knew what you were doing until you announced it as an accomplished fact. I doubt anyone even knew you were seeing the woman. You’ve kept to yourself pretty much ever since you returned. It wouldn’t have done anyone a lot of good to tell you afterwards. Besides, as I said, it was a secret. Only hers to tell. She didn’t mean to tell me, and I swore I’d keep her confidence. Now, it hardly matters.” His voice is cool with disdain, as he adds that last little twist of the knife. Certainly for what I did to Mac, and very likely for the fact that at this very moment I’m not giving much thought to Catherine.

He’s right of course. I’d replaced Mac when I believed she was gone, without ever really trying to find out where she was. I’d jumped to a dangerous conclusion based on the most miniscule evidence, then convinced myself it was fact to assuage my hurt feelings and justify my actions. I’d chosen the rest of my life, and I had to take care of it honorably. There was no way I could go running off across the world after Mac. Heroics wouldn’t cut it this time. The place for grandstand tactics fled when I asked Catherine to marry me. There was no respectable way I could even apologize.

If I’d never known I could have been blissfully happy in my ignorance, but given the actual circumstances it was only a matter of time before the facts intruded. Somehow, I have to keep this from Catherine. If she ever finds out she’ll know instantly what happened. It will make her miserable. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but she must never know.

I have nearly five months to figure it out. Perhaps Catherine would like to raise our family on the west coast, maybe there’s a comfortable place for us in Hawaii. I know with every last shred of my sinking heart, that Mac and I will never be able to work in the same office again. It’s my turn to run.

End of Two

Mobius Strip
Part Three

Mid October 2004
JAG HQ

This place hasn’t changed much, yet it’s completely different. There’s hardly a face here that I recognize. I exchanged a few words with the guard at the desk when he made out my visitor’s pass. He told me that Harriet Roberts went on reserve status to raise her growing family, and Sturgis Turner, who I only met briefly before I left, is now in the Persian Gulf as a battle group JAG. The Lance Corporal downstairs said the Commander was ‘happy as a pig in….’ well never mind, he was happy to be going back to sea.

After I arrived stateside, I reported to Quantico. Yesterday, I was ordered to report to the new JAG. Something about my job performance on that last assignment. I understand he’s a Marine. Received an accelerated promotion to the position. I’ve heard of him, but never served with him. Never knew anyone who did. His rep says he’s pretty straight arrow. I’m more curious than worried about what he wants.

“Gunnery Sergeant Galindez?” the young petty officer inquires politely. “The General will see you now.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer,” I reply, following her to the inner office. I remember it as being occupied by a gruff Admiral.

Coming to attention, I give the standard greeting, “Gunnery Sergeant Galindez reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Gunny,” he looks up briefly, “have a seat.”

“Yes, sir.” I sit.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asks, looking significantly at his yeoman.

“No thank you, sir,” I reply, unsure why I’m here specifically.

“That will be all Petty Officer,” he addresses her. “And close the door ‘all’ the way.” He emphasizes the all.

I hear the door shut firmly behind me, and suppress a small smile.

“You worked here before, Gunny?” he asks rhetorically.

“Yes, sir,”

“Did you know her?” he nods in the direction of the outer office.

“No, sir.”

“Hmmm, Navy people,” he muses to no one in particular.

“Yes, sir,” I answer just in case.

He looks sharply at me, not exactly smiling, but there’s a small glimmer in his eyes. I’m sure it’s in mine as well. We understand each other.

“Gunny, since you don’t strike me as a stupid man, I assume you’re wondering why you were sent here.” He leans back in his chair, and his tone sets a less formal mood. Okay, that means it isn’t a reprimand.

“Well, sir, the thought had crossed my mind,” I agree.

“You’re leaving the corps?” he asks, again with full knowledge of the answer.

“Yes, sir.”

“You were offered a promotion and a good job at Quantico. I take it that wasn’t to your liking.” I’m not sure if it’s disapproval, or just surprise I hear in his voice.

“No, sir. I spent a little time there. Once about two years ago, and also the last five weeks. It’s just not what I want to do.” I answer forthrightly. He asked a straight question he deserves a straight answer.

“It would get you your thirty. A better pension. What…eight more years?” He’s being conversational, but he also has something on his mind.

“Yes it would, General. I have a month to reconsider, but I’ve pretty much made up my mind.” I haven’t too many doubts left about this.

“You did a terrific job on that last case. Colonel Mackenzie said you brought them nearly everything they needed for a clear conviction.” Since he doesn’t strike me as the type for politically correct flattery, I take that as sincere praise.

“Thank you, sir. The Colonel’s an outstanding attorney. I’m sure she used what I gave her to the best possible advantage in making the case. It was a pleasure working with her again. She’s a true professional, but I’m sure you already know that, sir.” Okay Galindez, you got a little carried away there, but watching the Colonel work has always fascinated you. Not just because she’s beautiful, that has nothing to do with her skill. It’s because she’s just so damned good.

The General lifted an eyebrow a little, but didn’t seem to attach any special importance to my comment. I think shutting up now would be a good tactic.

“Good,” he says bringing himself around square again. “Since you’re on terminal rotation for the next six months, would you consider an assignment here at JAG? I could make it an order,” he shakes his head, “but I prefer that you want to be here. If you change your mind, and want the job at Quantico that’s fine. In the meantime, I’m short staffed. I can’t afford to send two attorneys out on investigations. Your skills make you a good choice for this office. You have a good, established, working relationship with the Colonel; I want to assign you to her.”

“The Colonel, sir? I thought she was in Naples,” shutting up isn’t working. That sort of blindsided me.

“She was. She just returned home last week. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to secure the position for her permanently. On the other hand, the early return of the officer she was replacing leaves me less short handed than I expected.” The explanation is totally unnecessary, shutting up isn’t working for him either. I get the feeling the General knows the value of a trustworthy Gunny, and he may just be a little uncomfortable surrounded by so many Navy people. He may also believe I’ll settle in and stay with the corps.

“Colonel Mackenzie could have handled it, sir,” I over speak my self again. This is not like me; I’m usually quite good at keeping my opinions to myself. Perhaps retirement isn’t such a bad idea.

His look bores a hole into me for a brief minute, “You haven’t answered my question Gunnery Sergeant.”

“No, sir, I haven’t,” I stall for a moment. “I accept, sir.” I have no idea what I’m doing, but being here in DC may give me an opportunity to find what I want to do in six months.

“You can always change your mind about the other position Gunny, the Marines would hate to lose you,” he reminds me.

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I’ll think about it some more,” I promise this knowing I’m unlikely to change my mind. I don’t quite know why I’m so determined to shed the uniform. I’ve been so proud to wear it and defend it; but something deep inside tells me it’s time.

“Report for duty at 0730 tomorrow. If you need anything, let PO Coates know. In the morning she’ll get you acquainted with your duties, assign you a work area, then arrange an appointment with the Colonel for you. That will be all,” he dismisses me.

“Yes, sir,” I come to attention and turn to leave the room.

“Gunny,” he says as I reach the door.

“Sir,” I turn.

“I won’t give up, I’m pretty stubborn.” I know he’s referring to my retirement.

“Thank you, sir.” Not much I can say to that. I’m pretty stubborn too.

End of Part Three

Mobius Strip
Part Four

As I pull the door closed behind me, a pair of mischievous eyes meet mine.

“Would you like that coffee now, Gunnery Sergeant?” She asks. “It’s about time for my break.”

“Sure,” I shrug. “Do you have anything for a Marine to drink?” I return the smile, and follow her to the break room.

“We work for a Marine now, remember?” She laughs lightly over her shoulder.

I spot Commander Rabb across the room talking to Lt. Commander Roberts. Apparently Bud got a promotion. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to Rabb before I leave. I’m curious about the Colonel. When I saw her in Naples, everything about her, the part that wasn’t ‘by the book’ Marine, gave off the same kind of emotional distress she carried to the ‘Guadal’ two years ago. I can’t ask him anything directly, but if he has answers, I might be able to figure them out from what he doesn’t say. She’s a good officer, and life just keeps messing with her. Maybe it’s the Paraguay thing. Perhaps it was just too much, but somehow, I don’t think so.

“So,” she says once we’ve poured our coffee. “What makes you want to work at JAG, Gunny?”

She’s flirting. I’m not miserably vain, but it happens enough that I know when a woman’s flirting. “The General,” I answer cryptically.

“Excuse me?” She almost chokes on her coffee.

“You know,” I nod my head in the vague direction of his office, “the General. He said he wanted me to work here. You ever argue with a General?” I shoot her with a pointed look. Actually, I get the impression she’s had a few dustups with the General, probably had even more with Chegwidden. He was a lot softer.

She has that secret catlike smile that tells me I’m right, and tilts her head slightly, “I see your point,” she says. “Would you rather be somewhere else?”

“No, I like it here,” I sip my coffee, absently watching through the door for anyone else I know.

“Already?” She is about to read something into that, so I put a stop to it. I’m not going there with her. She’s about the same age as my youngest sister and it’s not my style.

“No. I worked here before, for more than two years,” I explain, giving it no inflection whatsoever.

“I see,” she sounds intrigued. “Why did you leave?” she’s backed off, and now she looks genuinely interested.

“There were things that needed doing other places.” I keep my answers short, slowly sipping the heavy-duty brew.

“Like where?” She isn’t going to leave it alone, so I close up a little.

“Let’s just say I’ve had more than my fill of gunfire in third world countries,” crumpling the empty cup, I toss it towards the wastebasket. When she gasps in surprise, I miss.

“You’re him,” she says with embarrassing awe. “You’re ‘that’ Gunny, the Colonel’s Gunny.”

“Excuse me?” I‘m taken aback. Bending down, I reach for the errant cup while I gather a reply.

“The one from Paraguay, you were with her and Mr. Webb. And the Commander,” she seems a bit awestruck by Rabb too. “I should have known the name.”

“How do you know about that?” I nail her with a stern glare. “Most of that’s classified, and the rest didn’t officially happen.” No one’s supposed to talk about it.

“Well,” she brings back the secret smile, “I’m the Admiral’s yeoman, or I was, and it happened to you, so it’s hardly a secret between us.” I shake my head slowly at this example of female logic. “Besides I don’t have any details,” she shudders. “Just general information, and seeing the effects on the Colonel and the Commander afterwards was more than enough for me.”

“Was it bad for her?” I ask, worried that no one looked after her. It crosses my mind that I’m not as concerned for the Commander.

She looks at me and reads the genuine concern. “I guess it was. The Colonel’s pretty tough, but sometimes you could just see…. And of course with the Commander getting fired and going to work for the CIA, then getting fired from there….I guess it affected both of them,” she lowers her head and stares at the floor.

“The news report got him fired?” I ask, suspicious now that there’s a whole lot more.

“Uh huh,” she nods her head absently. “Then the Admiral finally sort of gave in and took him back. The Colonel and I were working on him for months. He finally gave in,” she repeats distractedly.

“Colonel Mackenzie isn’t easy to say no to, even for an Admiral,” I muse, half to myself. We both know it’s against regs to discuss the officers, but there just isn’t any way to keep things running smoothly if the sergeants and the petty officers don’t know what’s going on with their officers. Especially the good ones. If you know, you can compensate.

“I saw the Colonel six weeks ago in Naples, worked a case with her. She seemed okay then,” I probe further with a half-truth.

“I don’t know,” the young woman answers. “We all thought things were wonderful with her. She had Mr. Webb, and….well, somehow everyone thought she was going to have a baby,” she shrugs. “After she left, we found out we were wrong all along. No one even knew where she was. Commander Rabb talked to Commander Turner one day, after Mr. Webb came looking for her, but we didn’t find out where she was until she returned. Commander Turner was the acting JAG then, he’s the one who gave her the assignment.”

“Well,” I move on with feigned indifference, putting an artificially professional face on our conversation, “she seemed okay to me. She did a good job on the case I was involved in.”

“She always does, doesn’t she?” the young petty officer remarks wonderingly.

“What? Seem okay, or do a good job?” I ask.

“Both,” she smiles knowingly. I’m beginning to wonder if she knew what I was doing all the time. “See you in the morning,” she tells me and abruptly leaves the break room.

I stand there for a minute thinking over what I’ve learned. Everyone thought she was with Webb, but she wasn’t. Hell, I knew that. They fought like cats and dogs in Paraguay, mostly over Rabb. And they thought she was pregnant with his child. Another unlikely event. No that still wasn’t the answer there was something else.

I turn to leave the break room just as Commander Rabb suddenly strides through the door. We startle each other.

“Gunny,” he gives me that ever-friendly grin. “Good to see you again. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, sir. I’ve been reassigned here.” No need to go into the details of the conversation with the General, everyone will hear what they need to know soon enough.

“Good!....that’s wonderful. You staying with us this time?” He asks, there’s something nervous, guarded in his tone. A forced cheerfulness.

“For a while, sir. I’m exploring my options.” I explain noncommittally. Then I see it, the ring on his finger, as he reaches for the coffee pot.

I take a quick five count, fighting for control, as all the pieces fall into place. I’ll bet my pension it isn’t the Colonel.

“You’re married, sir?” I ask more archly than is polite, and I quickly cover it with, “Congratulations.”

He responds with the look he always used when the Admiral caught him doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh….thanks, Gunny,” he stumbles.

“Do I know her, sir?” I push a little, using the advantage while the Commander is off balance.

“No. No, I don’t think so. She’s an attorney for the CIA. Her name is Catherine.” He sounds proud and sad at the same time. This is the meat of what I was looking for, and I think it just may be a real mess.

“I see,” I respond. “Mr. Webb told me about her. Isn’t she the one who helped you find the Colonel?” I ask innocently, anticipating his response. The look that passes over his face makes me want to call the medics. For just a fraction of a second, I think he’s going to pass out. Then he recovers.

“Uh…yeah Gunny, she is. We sort of became friends when I worked for them….the CIA.” He’s lying I can tell. “And, well,” he looks away, “one thing kind of led to another…..” Suddenly, he changes tracks. “Say, does Mac know you’re back? I’ll bet she’d love to see you. What are you going to be doing? Same as before?”

“No, sir,” I go along with the ruse, no more to be gained here. I have my eight by ten glossy of the situation. “I haven’t seen the Colonel,” I reply. “I just decided to take the offer a few minutes ago.”

“Well why don’t we see if we can find her,” he suggests, once again he’s a good imitation of his hearty, jovial self.

I follow him out of the small room, and trail him across the bullpen.

“Mac. Wait up, Mac…uh, Colonel. Look who I found,” he quickly corrects his address then steps to one side.

“What is it, Commander?” she replies in an uncomfortably cool tone before she spots me. “Gunny?” her face lights up. Then she continues with what appears to be both enthusiasm, and maybe relief, “What are you doing here? Do you have a few minutes?” Barely waiting for an answer she moves ahead. “Come into my office and tell me what you’re up to. Where are you going to be stationed?” She brushes past the Commander as though he doesn’t exist, and points me towards her door.

“So, what’s going on, Gunny? Have a seat,” she offers, as she turns and seats herself behind her desk, pointedly not inviting the Commander to join us.

Now I know why she was in Naples. It’s a carbon copy of two years ago, only worse. I know what I have to do. Give her reliable backup, be a rock, and keep….uh, ‘people’ away from her when….‘things’ are going wrong. Right now, what she needs most, is a good strong Gunnery Sergeant at her back.

End of part four

Mobius Strip
Part Five

Late November2004
JAG HQ
Senior Staff Meeting.

“Colonel, I have a job for you. This just came across my desk. Unfortunately, it could take several weeks. You may be out of the office and out of town, over the holidays,” he qualifies unnecessarily.

“No problem sir.” I could have jumped in his lap and kissed him. I struggle to maintain a straight face at the thought of his reaction. I know his comment is gratuitous; the assignment, as always, is an order. I appreciate his consideration in phrasing, but there is nothing I want more than to be away from everything that reminds me of what I’ve lost. Especially during what should be the happiest season of the year.

I’m feeling better lately, regaining some of the ‘me’ inside, some of what was torn away. I don’t dwell on it any more, barely even think of it, unless I have a case that brings me into a close working situation with Harm. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. However, I don’t think Christmas will help my recovery much. People are no longer walking on eggs around me, making it easier for me to interact and to forget. It’s almost as though there is an invisible line in the sand. On one side we can all be very comfortable and friendly, but the other side is off limits and accepted as such. I just have to wonder who drew the line.

“You’ll be working with NCIS, coordinating their effort to put a stop to a flow of stolen weapons from Fort Bragg,” he continues interrupting my reverie. “There are leaks from several bases, stuff disappearing without any trail, but this is the first batch to be identified as coming from a particular place, so the investigators are starting there. Some evidence seems to indicate all the thefts can be attributed to the same people”

“Sir,” Harm leans forward urgently, “that sounds dangerous. She shouldn’t have to do this alone.” I glare at him. I already know he’s suspicious of the NCIS element.

The General impales Harm with an icy stare. “I don’t intend to send Colonel Mackenzie alone, Commander,” he reprimands.

“Yes sir,” Harm backs up, but I can tell it’s only slightly. What the hell does he think he’s doing anyway?

“As I said Colonel, it’s a joint effort with NCIS. Agent Gibbs has the lead on this, and he asked for you,” he is watching my reaction closely. I can’t control the look of displeasure that must pass over my face.

“Is that a problem for you Colonel?” He picked it up.

“N….no sir. I won’t let it be a problem.” I pull my inner Marine to the front, using her as a shield.

“Colonel” he says a little more harshly, “I need to know if there’s going to be a problem, here and now.”

Now I’m being stabbed by that look. Harm may tower over the General in height, but when he pulls out that look, he’s as powerful as an Abrams tank.

“Well, there was an investigation, sir. It was almost two years ago. Someone was falsely accused; it almost ruined H…. uh…that person’s life. I feel….” I can’t continue in the face of that look. I take the barest glance at Harm, but I don’t really want to see what he’s feeling, so I look away.

“You feel Gibbs may not be trustworthy in a dangerous situation?” He queries with raised brows.

I nod halfway, “Yes….yes sir.”

“Well, Colonel,” he says brusquely, “I read that file, and I don’t see it the same way.”

“Sir?” I look up quickly.

“Gibbs was a Marine, a gunnery sergeant, and a damned good one. I worked with him for a while. Seems the chain of command took some pressure in that case. It filtered down to Gibbs. Like any good Marine, when he discovered he’d been manipulated he dug around in the dirt and found the answer. That’s why Marines wear brown and green, Colonel, we aren’t afraid to get dirty if a job needs doing.” It’s a clear cut shot at Navy whites and Navy politics, but he’s obviously done his homework about everyone in the office.

“Yes sir,” I accept this statement. There’s a lot about that case I don’t know. The briefest glance at Harm’s face tells me he took that blow full force. Both the remark directed at the Navy, and the fact that someone pulled some strings in his case.

“I believe the Commander suffered no permanent damage to his record for ‘that’ episode. He was completely exonerated.” His emphasis makes it clear the jury is still out on the rest of Harm’s exploits.

“Yes sir,” my agreement is still shaky.

“And if he suffered personal damage, I would look to the relationships he had maintained with his friends and colleagues for the reason. Trust is a two way street, Colonel,” he cautions. Harsh judgment, but it’s at least partially true. Harm had shut everyone out. But, we should have had more faith in him.

Harm and I look at each other for a brief moment, both taking the force of that assault, but we soon look away. It’s probably where all the misunderstanding started. Our trust took a detour in both directions, and by the time we were able to return we had lost our way. But that door was firmly closed now, it was pointless to go back.

“I ask again, Colonel,” he’d hesitated a moment, perhaps to let me reflect on his statements. “Do you have a problem with this assignment?”

“No, sir,” I answer firmly.

“Do you have a better understanding of the situation?”

“Yes, sir,” the response is solid and strong.

“Good, then take Gunny Galindez with you. Gibbs’ team is good, but these people are going to be dangerous. You can never have enough reliable back up. I can’t think of anyone better.” He sorts through the files in front of him.

“Yes, sir, I agree.” I have a sudden new perspective on the events of that case, but having Gunny with me will remove any lingering doubts about reliable assistance.

“Sir, I…..” Harm begins, sometimes the man just doesn’t know when to shut up. “I really think another senior…”

“Well I don’t, Commander. I realize you are anxious for your transfer after the holidays, let’s not make it punitive shall we?’ The veiled threat hangs in the room like a dark cloud.

“Yes.…uh, yes, sir,” he swallows hard. I have to wonder if I’ve heard the last of this.

After the holidays, Harm is transferring to Pearl, and we’re scheduled for three new senior attorneys, but for now, Harm and I are the only ones at the meeting. The limited attendance has encouraged a more relaxed atmosphere than would have prevailed with others present.

The office will be very different with him gone, but if he doesn’t go, I’ll have to. I can’t hate him for his happiness, but I can’t watch it either. It may be unkind, less noble than his attitude towards Mic, or even Webb, although he was wrong about Webb, but I haven’t his strength. I need to heal and I can’t do that if I have to see him every day. When I returned from Naples I asked for a transfer, but I was told he was already scheduled to go. He must feel it too.

Dragging us both back to business, the General moves a file in front of Harm. “This is your assignment Commander. It’s at Norfolk. Shouldn’t take you more than a week.”

“What is it sir?” Harm is still stunned by the General’s words.

“Airplane tech was sucked into a jet engine when someone turned it on. Sounds like a monumental screw up, but it needs to be investigated,” his tone is once again dismissive of what he considers laxity among Naval personnel.

“Who turned it on, Sir?” Harm asks absently, paging through the file.

“If I knew all the facts, Commander, I wouldn’t need you to investigate would I. Since your assistant is on leave, take PO Coates with you, she needs more field experience and you shouldn’t need trained back up for this case.” Abruptly he rises, picks up his folders, and barks, “Dismissed,” catching Harm and I off guard. He’s out of the room before we can fully come to attention and reply.

I grab my files, ready to make an end run from the conference room to my office, but Harm is remarkably fast for such a large man. He catches my arm at the end of the table just as I reach for the door. “Mac….please, Mac, I’m sorry,” then in the barest whisper, “so very sorry.” For a minute I think he might be referring to something else, but I won’t let him go there. I look down at the hand on my arm.

“I don’t appreciate the inference that I can’t do my job, Commander,” I tell him, ice falling from each word.

“I didn’t mean to imply….I was concerned….I don’t want.…” he stumbles. I could finish each of those sentences, but there’s no point. I can’t take the pain. I won’t allow him the relief. Maybe someday, somewhere, but not now.

I’ve built a wall around this, and I won’t let him breach it. It won’t help me, and it’s unhealthy for him. I still care about him at least that much. Whatever happened, for whatever reason, he needs to move on, to use his energy to make his family happy. He has to stop worrying about what might have been. I have. Almost.

“Well that’s what it sounded like, since there could be no other reason. You have no business concerning yourself with my assignments, Commander,” I stress the point firmly. “Please don’t do it again.”

I turn as abruptly as the General, and leave the room with the dignity of a measured pace.

“Mac, please….” he tries again as I walk away.

I can feel him following me back to the bullpen. He watches from a distance, as I collect the Gunny from his task at the photocopier.

“Gunny,” I sing out with anticipation as I approach him. My voice has a forced cheer I don’t really feel. “We have a new job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he falls in with me.

“We’ll be gone for the holidays is that a problem?” I ask, assuming it’s not. As I turn into my office and take my chair, I feel more than see him hesitate and glance briefly towards Harm. It happens so quickly it was almost unnoticeable, before his attention refocuses on my question.

“No, ma’am. If I can’t be in New Mexico with my family, it doesn’t really matter,” he states honestly.

“Oh, Gunny,” I look up from the file. “Did you want to go home? I can arrange it,” I tell him, a little envious of the big family waiting to see him.

“No, ma’am, that’s all planned for next year,” he smiles down at me. “What’s the assignment?” he asks eagerly, taking the chair I’ve indicated.

“Well, it looks very interesting,” I tease him a little, “it’s going to take most of the weekend to prepare our current cases to be passed off to the others.” I find a strange sense of relief in having a valid excuse for avoiding all of the holiday celebrations.

As I signal for Gunny to close my office door, I realize Harm is still standing there, stopped by some unseen force. He hasn’t moved as he watched us. Hmmm, I wonder?

End of part five

Mobius Strip
Part Six

NCIS HQ
Monday a week later

At exactly 0855 the elevator doors slide open onto a large room, the operations center for NCIS, and we walk in following several steps behind Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. He’s carrying two large cups of what I assume is his favorite blend of coffee. He strides purposefully towards a partitioned space a little larger than that of the other agents present.

The Colonel told me about the incident with the Commander, and how uncomfortable she felt about this assignment. When we encountered him in the lobby downstairs, it appeared to me there was a trace of nervousness in Gibbs as well. I have to wonder why he specifically asked for her.

Setting the coffee cups in the middle of his cluttered desk, he turns to his staff. They are recognizable only from the file photos we pulled. The Colonel wanted to get an idea who we would be working with.

“Uh oh,” Special Agent, Tony Dinozzo, groans as he stands to face his boss, “it’s going to be a two cup morning.”

“Looks like it,” Special Agent Kate Todd agrees. “What’s up Gibbs?”

“You two read your profiles for the case?” he looks at them, asking without greeting or preamble.

“Yes sir,” the woman responded, in typical good child fashion.

Dinozzo, is a man who obviously amuses himself. He falls into his character and answers with a slouch and a surly, “Yeah boss, so what?”

Gibbs gives him a hard look, which only holds tolerance in the very back of his eyes. The banter is faintly reminiscent of the way the Colonel and the Commander were in Afghanistan. Stressful jobs tend to make people blow off a little steam in familiar environments.

The fact their attention is so focused on Gibbs that they haven’t noticed us, worries me a little. These people are supposed to be professionals. Gibbs was a Marine; he wouldn’t tolerate incompetence.

“We’re leaving at 1400. Use the rest of the morning to get acquainted with each other’s cover. This could be a long operation, possibly several weeks. You have to stay dead on with your own character, and you have to respond properly to the other’s assumed personality if necessary. The people we’re after are dangerous. Don’t underestimate them. They are likely affecting simple, possibly country, mannerisms, but it’s a carefully cultivated façade. Give them a chance and they’ll cut your heart out.”

“You will also be interacting with the two additions to our team,” a small wicked smile brushes Gibbs face. The third agent, Tim McGee, is standing to one side and has spotted us. He’s holding his features in neutral anticipation of Gibbs next move. The other two agents still seem oblivious to our presence several feet behind them. “We have two people from JAG on special assignment to the team,” he announces. “Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez…..”

He lets his voice trail off, raising his eyebrows and waiting for a response. He isn’t disappointed.

“What?” Dinozzo remarks dismissively, “a lawyer and a file clerk? C’mon boss what good will they be?” Tony whines.

“Evidence, Dinozzo,” Gibbs warns him, with no expression.

“Evidence of what?” he asks, somewhat cluelessly.

“That you’re an idiot, Tony,” the female agent replies mirthfully.

“Cute, Kate,” he replies with a childish twist to his features.

“Tony,” McGhee says mimicking Gibbs’ dead serious tone. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘its better to stay quiet and let people think you’re a fool, than open your mouth and remove all doubt’?”

“Are you referring to me ‘probie’?” Tony tries for menacing, but falls short of his goal.

“Colonel Mackenzie, Gunnery Sergeant, you now have a fair idea of what the rest of the team is like,” Gibbs deadpans over their shoulders.

Tony’s stiffening form telegraphs the realization that his boss has set him up. I take it that occasional practical jokes are not uncommon with this team. My hope is that in the field they function flawlessly regardless of their differences. But I’m not counting on it until I see it. I’m glad I’m here to watch her back. One look at the Colonel and her return glance tells me she sees it too.

Slowly the two agents turn to face us. Agent McGhee just stands there with a gleeful look that reminds me of Commander Roberts several years ago.

“Special Agent Kate Todd, this is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie.” Gibbs makes introductions.

She extends her hand with a warm respectful, “Ma’am.” Unsurprised, she must have somehow noted our presence. I’ll have to ask how, when I get a chance.

“Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez,” he continues.

“Gunny,” she reaches for my hand.

I take it and greet her with, “Ma’am,” as we assess each other on at least two levels. She’s a beautiful woman. Next to the Colonel, she’s probably the second most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And she was a secret service agent assigned to the President. Impressive.

Gibbs continues, “Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo.”

He takes the Colonel’s hand and asks, “May I call you Sarah?”

She smiles sweetly, and replies, “You may call me Colonel, Agent Dinozzo.”

Crestfallen, but not defeated he turns to me and tries a power shake. His attempt doesn’t last long.

“And Agent Tim McGhee,” Gibbs finishes.

He extends his hand and greets her with, “Colonel.”

“Call me Mac,” she replies.

McGhee’s face lights up with that. He turns to me, “Sir,” he says, offering his hand.

“Just Gunny,” I tell him, taking his hand in a socially acceptable manner.

“You could have warned me ‘probie’,” Dinozzo hisses, and cuffs McGhee lightly on the back of his head. Then turns and grins his superiority at me.

I answer his look with one that tells him if he ever tries that on me, I’ll break his arm in so many places they’ll have to cut it off. His smile falters, and he takes half a step away.

“Colonel, I’m happy you could join us on this mission,” Gibbs actually looks a little uncomfortable.

“Thank you for requesting me Agent Gibbs. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the effort you made to clear Commander Rabb.” She immediately disarms him with a sincere smile.

I’m guessing Gibbs is seldom speechless, but that comment stops him in his tracks and the smile makes him swallow hard. I’ve seen her do it before. This is the Colonel at her charming best.

“I wasn’t aware you felt that way Colonel,” he replies, only allowing a bare touch of surprise to show in his voice. Nice recovery.

“I didn’t, not always,” she admits. “I…I received new information recently, and it shed a different light on everything.”

“I see,” he says, as if he really does. “Did you receive the profiles each of you will assume?” Immediately he turns the conversation to business.

“Yes, sir,” she replies. “I’d like to know, if I may, why you asked specifically for me.” She has that look of caution she gets when something doesn’t compute with her.

“I didn’t,” he states flatly. “I asked for the best in your office. The choice was the General’s.” It was the Colonel’s turn to be speechless. “And don’t call me sir, call me Gibbs. Let’s go people, we have work to do,” he breaks the moment. “Everyone into the conference room. You’re all pro’s. I want these roles perfect by noon.” he orders as he makes herding motions towards the elevator. This is obviously a man who wants things done yesterday.

End of part six

Mobius Strip
Part Seven ‘A’

With a sense of urgency, Gibbs continues the briefing as we trail him out of the elevator. I see Gunny scan this new environment quickly. He still carries the combat ingrained sense of caution that makes him hesitate before relaxing. I’m sure it’s what kept him alive these last few years. It will take time for him to be completely comfortable, if ever. I still do the same thing, but to a lesser degree in controlled surroundings.

We enter a large room, occupied only by a massive conference table and an enormous flat screen monitor mounted on one wall. A sideboard is set with a coffee pot and cups.

“Dinozzo you’ll be with me.” Gibbs doesn’t pause with his instruction; the former Marine Gunnery Sergeant rightly assumes he has our undivided attention. “We won’t actually make our appearance until several days from now. I’ll be a disgruntled factory worker, disabled on the job and cheated by the system. You’re my not too bright son who does what he’s told, but has a rebellious streak.” The corner of Kate’s mouth turns up slightly at this description.

“We will hang out in local bars, and poke around for other people with an axe to grind. I’ll generally stir the local pot of dissatisfaction. You’ll be watching carefully to see who pays too close attention to my diatribe. Eventually we’ll connect with Gunny and Kate, if necessary. I’ve lined up a small house on some forested land.” He looks around at us to emphasize the point. “We can use it as a safe place to touch bases if necessary.”

“Colonel, you and McGee will go to the base as independently contracted inventory specialists,” he continues. “The two of you go in first. Be very careful, the base Commander is the only one who knows of your presence. I don’t want you getting shot by some overzealous MP who doesn’t know what you’re doing. I need you to find each incident when firearms disappeared as close to the actual dates as possible, and what specifically is missing. I need this information as quickly as you can get it so I can assess it for any pattern. All we’ve known up to now is that there are weapons missing, this is the first indication we’ve had of a specific location.”

“After you get what I need, you are to pretend you can’t find anything for as long as possible. In other words, you have to act as stupid as you are smart. Plod along, make it look like an impossible task, bury yourselves in paperwork and computer printouts, wander around with manifests, whatever it takes. You have to maintain a presence on the base, and watch for anything that could indicate further movement of weapons. We strongly suspect they will take advantage of the holidays to make their next move. Got it?”

“Got it,” we answer in unison.

“Kate, you and the Gunny are a couple. Weapons buyers looking for firepower with no questions asked, especially about their intended use. He’s the firearms expert, recent ex-military, which will be obvious by the haircut. There wasn’t enough lead time to let his hair grow out. You’re the brains of the outfit, you make the deal, handle the money, and have contact with the buyers.”

“You’re inseparable, partly because you’re in lust,” Gibbs delivers this with a perfectly straight face, “but mostly you don’t trust each other for a minute. Kate you need to flirt some, enough to make Gunny angry. Gunny you have a temper and you’re jealous. You won’t let her out of your sight. It’s a good way to be sure you don’t get separated.”

“You’ll be living in each others pockets for the duration, I trust that won’t be a problem,” he asks. They look at each other a moment then shake their heads in the negative. “Fine,” he continues, “Your contact has already been established through emails and those phone calls you made last week. All you have to do is show up and act the part. Got it?”

“Got it,” they answer together.

“Aw boss, why does he get to be her boyfriend?” Tony whines again. He could get on my nerves real fast.

“Because, Tony,” Kate answers, “no one in their right mind would believe you are,” she smiles at him sweetly, then glances quickly at Gibbs.

“Because ‘Tony’,” Gibbs explains with forced patience, “you and I are going to stay on the outside as controls. We’ll be in town, but we haven’t a clue who the others are, or what they are up to. By being so overtly obnoxious, we can go nearly anywhere without arousing suspicion. Nobody’s going to think someone undercover would draw that much attention to himself. We’ll generally observe the overall situation, and cover everyone’s back. Got it?”

“Got it, boss,” he answers, a little mollified at being Gibbs right hand. If Gibbs trusts him, perhaps he’s not as incompetent as Gunny’s first assessment. However, I’m not counting on it, not yet anyway. I saw the look Gunny shot me, and read it loud and clear.

All right folks you have exactly three hours to get your act together. We break at 1230 for a quick lunch. We’ll have one more brief dress rehearsal, I assume you’ve all packed appropriately for your character?” He looks for agreement all around. “Good. After lunch you’ll change. We’ll travel in character just in case we’re spotted by anyone when we get close to town. Colonel, Gunny I want you to leave your uniforms here. I’ll have them delivered back to your office,” he orders.

“By 1345 there will be three vehicles in the lot to fit our cover. The auditors will get a functional, old, non-descript sedan, our weapons buyers get a high end sports car that reeks of illegal operations, and Dinozzo and I get a beat up old SUV. Don’t let the cars fool you. Under the hood they are all in top shape, you can rely on them if you need to.

We want to arrive under cover of darkness. We’ll regroup at the cabin for the night. The Colonel and McGee will leave for the base in the morning. Kate and Gunny will hit town the following afternoon, and Tony and I will hang back a couple of days before we begin socializing with the natives. Abbs will have your IDs by the time we’re ready to go. Get on with it.” He orders and disappears back into the elevator.

Surprisingly, the rest of the morning passes quickly. The job is before us. We know how we have to prepare, and we know we have to be there for each other, or someone could die. It’s no different than a combat mission. The time for nonsense has passed. Together we refine and critique the character each has been assigned, then practice conversations staying within the parameters of those people we are to become.

We take turns stepping outside the group, observing the others as they rehearse. Many refinements are made, but ultimately we feel confident that our hard work has made us a cohesive unit by the time our bag lunches are delivered at 1230. We use the opportunity for extra practice, and continue working our characters while we eat.

End part seven ‘a’

Mobius Strip
Part Seven ‘B’

1330

We’ve changed into our cover clothing, and what a group we are. McGee and I are dressed in rumpled, inexpensive, discount chain store clothes that smack of underpaid employees of marginal talent and less taste. McGee wears a tie that he must have bought at the Good Will outlet, and an old tweed sports coat that sags at the hemline and pockets. He’s even added a pair of cheap looking glasses with one earpiece held on by black electrical tape.

Tony is in well-worn jeans, ancient beat-up motorcycle boots, and a tattered rock concert t-shirt, under a battered windbreaker. The appearance of his outfit suggests an infrequent acquaintance with a washing machine, but the staining and marking has been carefully cultivated for effect. His baseball hat is pulled low over his now surly features. In most bar crowds he will blend into the background.

Gunny is in new, sharply pressed jeans, shiny black dress boots, and a black silk shirt. The shirt is tailored and open one extra button at the neck. A religious medal hangs from a modest gold chain around his neck nestling in the black curls below his throat. The outfit is enhanced by a black leather jacket. It all fits him like an expensive glove, and he looks very dangerous.

Kate is in a short leather skirt and knee high boots with three-inch heels. The neckline of her low cut silk jersey top is filled with half dozen gold chains of different lengths and textures. Huge gold hoop earrings and several rings and bracelets complete the look. She too wears a black leather jacket, similar to Gunny’s but with a fake fur collar. With the addition of an extra layer of make-up her look runs along the lines of expensive hooker.

The swish of the opening elevator doors, gathers our attention, as Gibbs strides purposefully into the room. He’s followed closely by a quirky young woman in a lab coat sporting a modified Goth persona. I have to admit I’m impolitely fascinated. He introduces her as Abby Sciuto, the team’s forensic specialist.

She politely shakes my hand, then slowly turns to Gunny with a somewhat playful, predatory grin.

“Victor?” she squeals as she launches herself into his arms, pulling him into an enthusiastic hug. “I haven’t seen you in over three years, what have you been up to?” she pulls back but not away. “You get more gorgeous every time I see you,” she exclaims, squeezing appreciatively on his rock hard arms. “Hmmm, very sexy,” she murmurs with unashamed admiration. She stands virtually plastered against him, with a thoroughly delighted look, staring straight into his face. It is one very disconcerted Gunnery Sergeant, who remains with his arms firmly encircling the woman, searching for the correct next move.

“Abbs,” Gibbs cautions with a small smirk, somewhat more patiently than I’d seen him with other members of the team. “Work first, reunions later.” The rest of the team watches this scene unfold with dropped jaws.

“Oh, sure Gibbs,” she replies glibly over her shoulder. “Later,” she purrs, leaning close to Gunny. “We have a ‘lot’ to catch up,” is delivered in an indiscreet and faintly suggestive whisper the entire room overhears. A red glow creeps up the back of his neck, as her actions nearly cause Gunny to blush, not quite, but nearly.

I immediately identify this unusual person as Gibbs Achilles’ heel. She obviously can get away with much more than any of the others. Although his tolerance doesn’t hold elements of a personal relationship, I decide she is probably some sort of daughter figure, and more than likely extremely good at her job. If I correctly remember the file I was given, she was responsible for the forensics that cleared Harm.

As she passes out IDs and explains the background that she’s placed in various databases for each of us, I notice Gibbs eyeing Gunny thoughtfully. Gunny is holding his own, but I’d love to hear the circumstances that brought the very straight-laced Marine together with this eccentric, counter culture, scientist.

Before I have a chance to give it much thought, I’m startled from my musings to find Gibbs is standing directly before me.

“This is wrong,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I’m a little taken aback.

With a small sense of unease I glance quickly towards Gunny, he’s watching guardedly. It’s silly for me to feel this way, but an unfamiliar environment, surrounded by people I wouldn’t have trusted with my junk mail a week ago, signals a deep need for contact with someone I completely trust. Gunny’s slight nod is firm, so I take a deep breath and face Gibbs. I’m beginning to understand the presence that’s allowed my recent feelings of security to emerge. I recognize the source of the invisible wall that surrounds me and reinforces my strength.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, only a little defensively. It’s not as though I’ve never dressed for undercover, and I certainly spent enough time in that store to see how the people were dressing.

“I’m not really sure, but it’s wrong. The clothes should be right, but….wash off all your makeup,” he demands.

I look at him narrowly, “I already did. I don’t wear much. I used a little lipstick is all.”

He shakes his head again. “Something…..” he mutters, “untuck your shirt and let it hang.” he tugs at my shirt waist and I pull it out. I understand the problem now; at least I think I do. Somehow, my character does not appear the way he visualized.

Looking up, I notice Gunny bristle protectively, and I narrow my eyes slightly, backing him down. I think Gibbs noticed this exchange. Gunny’s response was subtle and instinctive, but he won’t interfere, there’s no threat here. The eye contact we use for this conversation is similar to what we used in the prisoner compound in Afghanistan, an unquestionably dangerous situation.

“That could be very useful, Colonel,” Gibbs observes quietly.

“What?” I reply for his ears only.

“That silent communication,” he raises his eyes to mine with a small smile.

“It has been,” I smile in return.

He continues his assessment, shaking his head as he walks around me. “No, that’s not it either,” he grumbles loud enough for the others to hear.

“What exactly is the problem?” I ask, with a touch of exasperation.

“You’re supposed to be a low-level auditor in a second string accounting firm. Someone awash with inadequacy and lost in the system,” he remarks peevishly. “You’re too beautiful, it shows through. Not believable. Take your hair down,” he orders, his voice flat with clinical assessment. “Make it messy.”

Quickly I remove the pins and let it fall, tossing it about in an unkempt fashion.

His eyes flare for a moment, and his voice catches, before he bursts out with, “Damn, that’s worse.” I look towards Gunny again, and catch a brief flicker of the same look Gibbs just gave me, then his eyes narrow. That was puzzling.

“Abbs,” he raises his voice, “you have ten minutes. Take her into the ladies room and get the Marine Colonel out of her. Make her into a frumpy middle-aged woman.”

“Giiiibbbbbs,” she protests.

“Do it Abby, a lot depends on it. You ‘can’ do it can’t you?” he adds with a challenge.

“Of course I can,” Abby answers his challenge. “Kate I need you.” After a whispered request, Kate heads for the elevator and returns with a small case in three minutes.

With a half minute to spare, I return to the room and everyone there does a double take. Abby has tucked the shirt back in, but loosely and unevenly, then buttoned it up to the neck. She found a ghastly mis-matched jacket among my fake wardrobe that’s a size too large. The skirt has been twisted slightly so the seams are crooked. My small heels have been replaced by a pair of worn, old, loafers, that I usually wear around my apartment to do housework.

The effect is cleverly enhanced by the application of a lighter blend of mascara that almost makes my dark eyebrows and lashes disappear. Some ghastly shade of pink-lavender lipstick, and a very sloppy ponytail held in a plastic clip completes the picture. But best of all she’s taught me how to take the Marine out of my walk. I shuffle indifferently into a room of questioning looks. All wondering if it’s the same woman who left ten minutes ago.

“Perfect,” Gibbs smiles. “Now you’re invisible, Colonel,” and he turns to the elevators with a self-satisfied grin. Abby watches triumphantly, the lucky recipient of Gibbs’ sparse but well deserved praise, as we all pile into the elevator and head for the parking lot.

End of part seven ‘b’

Mobius Strip
Part Eight

NCIS HQ
1400

Kate and I are several steps ahead of McGee and the Colonel. Walking through the lobby towards the glass outer doors, we are departing precisely to the minute as planned. Gibbs and Tony trail somewhere behind, quietly working on last minute details of their cover.

I feel McGee’s fragile detachment crumble behind me, before he speaks. Leaning close to the Colonel he tries to whisper confidentially, “What do you suppose they have in common, Ma’am?”

At that moment, I reach the big glass door, and pull it open for Kate. Stepping aside, I allow the Colonel to pass before looking straight at McGee. With the most serious face I can muster, I confide, “We both have tattoos.” I flash a small wicked smile that appears to fluster him more, before following him outside. Tony and Gibbs bring up the rear, and I wonder briefly just how much of that exchange Gibbs has overheard. He’s exhibited a proprietary concern for Abby and I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.

McGee wanders in stunned and sullen silence towards the car. I quickly decide it will be best if Colonel Mackenzie drives, he’s way too disturbed by this disclosure. Apparently, there is something not happening between him and Abby that he very much wants to happen. And he believes he has a rival for her attentions that he isn’t sure he can challenge. Now that I’ve figured out his reaction, I won’t let his discomfort continue too long, it could affect the mission. He’ll be working with the Colonel, and I won’t allow a misunderstanding to put her in danger.

I take the keys dangling loosely from his hand and give them to the Colonel. Catching her eye I give her a very strong look. I’m not certain of the entire meaning, but I need to make a final connection in case we have no more time to talk. I find myself doing things I have no valid reason for, and it’s a little confusing, but there’s no time to examine them now. I can’t afford the distraction. I need to let her know I was only messing with McGee, but it’s also a warning to be careful.

I can see the question in her eyes, she’s curious about the relationship between Abby and me. Finding her here was a complete surprise. She was my middle sister’s roommate in college. I’m a little uncomfortable with the urgent need I have to explain this to the Colonel. I don’t understand why it’s necessary, and I don’t like things I don’t understand.

11:40
Near Ft. Bragg, NC

It’s nearing midnight when we pull into the long dirt road leading to Gibbs rental. It’s well situated and difficult enough to reach that spotting a tail will be easy.

Gibbs gives the large bedroom to the women, and he takes the smaller one. The one tiny bathroom presents a bit of a problem, but we’re only bunking together for one night. Tomorrow the Colonel and McGee will check into a mid-rate motel, and later Kate and I will have a room at a more expensive one.

Dinozzo, McGee, and I bed down with sleeping bags on the floor. Dinozzo complains a bit, then moves to a small aging couch and winds up dangling over the edges. He’s soon snoring. McGee takes it like a trooper, not willing to complain no matter the discomfort. That may have a little to do with trying to compete with me. He’s a good man; I’m beginning to trust him.

“McGee?” I call softly, “you awake?”

“Yeah,” he answers suspiciously.

“She was my sister’s roommate in college,” I smile a little hearing the deep breath he takes.

“And?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I reply

“Oh,” he accepts that and turns on his side.

He’s soon snoring lightly too, but neither of them are going to keep me awake. After some of the places I’ve been, this is heaven. I quickly fall into a deep heavy sleep.

Three weeks later
1630 Christmas Eve
Gibbs’ cabin

It happens suddenly, after all the waiting and role-playing. Gibbs has acted out as the local crank, raising hell about big business, the government, lawyers, and anything else that smacks of money or control, showing definite militant tendencies. Tony has followed him around pretending to drink copious amounts of beer, and watching for any one paying too close attention to Gibbs. Or for anyone watching Kate and me, whenever our paths crossed.

Kate and I have had several meetings with the sellers, but we kept being put on hold. To fill the time and validate our cover story, we’ve staged a few personal battles in very public places that looked like they would continue later between the sheets. We aren’t sure at this point whether to be suspicious of the delay, or if they are waiting for the right moment themselves.

Half an hour ago, we got a call to report to Gibbs. As Kate and I walk in, Gibbs immediately begins his briefing.

“The Colonel has informed me that something is moving at the base. A CPO and a Corporal came to the warehouse and announced it was being shut down for the holiday. Our team was instructed to pack up and not come back until 0800 Monday morning.”

“I’d say they have played their covers well.” Gibbs says with satisfaction. “Before they had their briefcases packed and the computers shut down, significant types of inventory were being shifted for no apparent reason. Our thieves are probably taking advantage of the distraction caused by everyone scheduling short staffs, so more people can have family time over the holiday.

“We’re changing plans. They’re moving now, so are we. I have a security team standing by, but I don’t want to go in there with an army. If they discover we’re coming they might dig in, and it would result in a very one-sided firefight. The worst case is they could blow up the stockpile and we’d recover nothing. I’d like to secure the area first.

Instead of staging a buy, we’re going to try to follow them when they leave the base. Dinozzo and I saw your sellers with two other men. They were heading out in a heavy-duty pickup and a large panel truck an hour ago,” he tells Kate and me. “Both vehicles were marked with the logo of a local ground’s keeper contracted to the base. I don’t know what permission they’ve obtained to get back in tonight, but it’s not going to take them long to get what they want and be out of there.

“I received another brief call from the Colonel about fifteen minutes ago. It’s likely she took a risk she shouldn’t have,” he looks at me significantly and I meet his accusing stare. Knowing her as I do, I’m sure he’s right. “However, she managed to discover they will be leaving by the small west gate. We’ll meet her and McGee a mile outside the gate and split up. Dinozzo, you and Kate will pick up McGee and take the car they’ve been using on base. It’s less recognizable. You tail them, stay as far back as you can. We’ll tail you farther back using a GPS signal. Gunny and I will pick up the Colonel in the old SUV I’ve been driving. Gunny and Kate’s car is too well known by now, we’ll leave it here.”

“Once they get to wherever they store the weapons, we’ll call in the Marines,” he finishes. “I want all the weapons back. I want anything they have stockpiled, and I want all their records. Any information we can find that will be helpful in discovering who their contacts are, both for taking the weapons from the base, and who they are selling them to is important. We can’t give them a chance to destroy anything. Let’s do it.”

“Question Kate?” He sees the puzzled look on her face.

“Gibbs, why are you re-dividing us?” It’s a valid question, it’s not standard procedure to divide a team that’s been working together.

“Because, Kate, you and Gunny know some of the players. Tony and I can recognize others, and the Colonel and McGee will recognize anyone from the base. If I divide you, then both teams have all the information without wasting time briefing each other. It’s a better chance nobody will get away.”

She nods, “I’m ready,” she offers.

“Me too,” Dinozzo joins in.

I just nod my agreement to Gibbs, and we head out the door.

Twenty minutes later, we rendezvous with the Colonel and McGee, splitting up as planned. The first car, with Kate, Dinozzo and McGee, pulls out to follow the two suspect vehicles when they leave the gate. It’s barely light, but it’s fading fast, and it’s starting to rain. They will have to be careful.

We follow several miles behind, tracking them on Gibbs’ GPS equipped handheld PC. As we turn into a small river valley about fifteen minutes later, the hair starts to crawl on the back of my neck. Instinctively, I have a bad feeling about our position. It’s like a funnel. On the right is a steep grade covered with thick forest, on the left the ground drops quickly to the small river a hundred feet below. There’s something familiar about this setup, it has all my survival sensors buzzing. We have no place to go.

“This feels like a trap,” I mention to no one in particular. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Colonel nod.

“Something’s not right,” Gibbs agrees from the back seat.

I kill my lights, and continue ahead cautiously through the growing downpour for ten more minutes, watching every tree, rock, and turn in the terrain.

Suddenly, we get a sharp call from Kate, “Gibbs we’ve been spotted, we’ve lost the pickup. Look out!” then silence.

“Turn around Gunny,” he orders. “Let’s find cover.”

I’m already on it as I swing the old SUV in the tightest arc I can, but it requires backing up slightly to get all the way around on this narrow road. That takes time I don’t have. I’m just pulling away, when I catch sight of the pickup in my rear view mirror. It’s coming fast from behind the next turn in the road.

“Down,” I shout as I see muzzle flashes from the truck, but before Gibbs can return fire the tires blow in back and I lose control, sliding wildly across the rain-soaked pavement. There’s nothing we can do but ride it out. I feel the SUV skid off the road and turn over. Sliding thirty feet down the embankment, it comes to rest upside down, balanced precariously against a tree. The tree is too small to hold the heavy car for long and the rest of the trip is a steep, straight shot into the deep, narrow river.

Gibbs urges, “Take cover,” and I turn to look at the Colonel. She hangs limply, suspended from her seat restraint, blood dripping from her head.

“She’s out, head wound,” I answer tightly. A knot of fear ties up my stomach as I struggle with her seat belt.

“Is she alive?” he asks, as he crawls cautiously out the rear door.

“I don’t know, but I’m not leaving her,” I tell him. Gibbs was a Marine, he’ll understand.

“Get her out fast or you’re both dead.” His observation is unnecessary.

I can see up on the road that the pickup overshot where we wrecked, and now they’re slowly backing up to find us. Gibbs climbs along the uphill side and tries to balance the teetering car with his weight. I make sure the Colonel is not tangled or caught in any way, she has to come out of her seat smooth and fast.

“Hurry up, Gunny,” he says urgently. “I can’t hold this thing for long, and that tree is going to give way as soon as you shift you weight.”

I release her from the belt, and she drops into my arms. I can feel her breathing and that at least is a relief. With my arms firmly around her, I dive backwards through the driver’s side door, realizing too late we are barely sitting on a small precipice. We drop about four feet in an unexpected fall and roll away. With what little control I have, I try to take the brunt of the impact, and roll us out of the path that the car will take when it breaks free. As we come to rest against a large rock, I hear a sickening crack that tells me one of us has broken something. The absence of more than minor pain tells me it wasn’t me. The Colonel is underneath me, wedged against the rock, her arm is twisted under her.

I hear the exchange of gunfire, but I can’t see anything through the rain. With a heart-stopping scream, the dying tree gives way, and I hear the screech of tearing metal as the car hurtles past. I grab for my gun. Stretching my body full length to cover her, I give her the best protection I can, as broken glass showers down around us. Bouncing off the boulder that protects us, it continues to roll down the slope. It cuts a ragged path through the forest below, before I hear it splash into the water. I’m working to convince myself that any injury the Colonel has sustained is better than landing in that water.

During the time it took for the car to sail over us, the gunfire has stopped. I wait silently, peering intently through the rain, only allowing my eyes to move. The seconds tick slowly by as I listen for movement, unsure who will come for us. I only pray now she stays unconscious for a few more minutes. If she wakes up and cries out in pain, it could get us killed.

I hear a faint movement to my right and shift my aim in that direction. “Gunny?” Kate’s soft voice of comes from the rain soaked darkness, somewhere off to my right. “Gunny it’s all clear, where are you? Is the Colonel okay?”

“Over here,” I answer, as I roll slightly away from her, still trying to protect her from the rain. “I have her, but I’m not sure if she’s all right. I hope Gibbs can get a chopper with medics in here. We need it now,” I insist, as I feel Kate’s warmth move to my side.

Taking me at my word, Kate keys her radio, “Gibbs we need medics down here, now.” Reaching around me with a flashlight, she moves closer. “Let’s take a look,” she says, with every indication she has practice assessing injuries in the field.

“I only know she’s breathing, but she looks terrible. There’s blood all over her head and face, her clothes are torn, and she’s scratched and bruised. I know something’s broken but I’m not sure what,” I catalogue the damage I’m aware of. My concern wants to gather her up and carry her someplace warm and dry, my first aid says to protect her from the elements and try to stop any bleeding until the medics arrive.

I peel off my jacket to cover her, grateful for the deeply scraped leather that protected my back as we slid over the rocks. Kate pulls her jacket off to add to the effort. Tearing a piece of fairly clean cloth from the bottom of her already shredded shirt, I press it to the wound on her head and bless the sound of rotors approaching in the distance. It’s only a minute or two before I hear the soft plop of the medics hitting the forest floor. Kate calls out to them, signaling with her flashlight.

“Hang in there, Colonel,” I whisper, then I feel the firm hand of the corpsman on my shoulder, urging me out of his way.

End of eight

Mobius Strip
Part Nine

Monday AM
Bethesda Hospital

I’m finally awake now. Completely awake. And hurting. Everything hurts. They told me yesterday I have a simple fracture of my right wrist, three cracked ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and a concussion from hitting the door frame, with too many scrapes and bruises to count. I fight taking the pain meds, they make me sleepy, and I hate being out of control even if I’m too achy to move. At first they wouldn’t give me anything for the pain because they needed to monitor the concussion, but now they seem to be in here constantly trying to make me take them. I can’t seem to make them understand, I’m a Marine; I’m tough.

The doctor said I’ve been sleeping for the better part of three days. I don’t remember. He said I only woke up long enough that they were reassured I was going to recover. He wasn’t certain why I was sleeping so much. I was lucid when I awoke, but I’d thrown up a couple of times the first day, and that had him worried. The CT scan was clear showing no discernable damage, and my sleep appeared normal, so he diagnosed it as exhaustion and kept me here for observation. Maybe I just needed the rest.

Funny thing is, I usually fight hospitals. This isn’t like me at all, but now I’m ready to go. I’ve already started to annoy every living person who crosses my sight. The doc told me as long as I sleep normally tonight, and haven’t thrown up for forty-eight hours, I can go home in the morning. I guess I’ll just have to behave for another day. I’m not as sleepy as I was, but I’m still achy, and it makes me tired. Staying so still makes me drowsy, but I’m going to try to read a little until they bring what passes for lunch.

Afternoon

Well lunch was about as remarkable as I expected it to be. The doctor wants me to do some moving around. He’s afraid I could get pneumonia. I’m not breathing normally with three cracked ribs, and I’ve been lying down too much. At the very least, that would be uncomfortable on the ribs, and it won’t help the concussion either. If I start coughing, it will not only be very painful, but the scarring on my lungs could have a lasting effect on my overall health.

Oddly enough, his solution is to have the nurse take me in a wheelchair to the PT room, so I can walk on the treadmill for half an hour and get my fluids and air moving. He wants me to do this twice today, and continue twice a day when I get home. Weird, I could have just walked up and down the halls, or out in the grounds. It’s what I’ll do when I get home, I don’t own a treadmill. Doctors! Go figure.

He’s making me keep the cast in place for six weeks, because one of my co-workers ratted on me and told him I tend to push too hard. Imagine that. I wonder who told him. He said I had several visitors over the last two days, some who stayed for hours on end. They only left because they had to. With no actual blood relatives, the hospital doesn’t let people stay beyond visiting hours.

I’m beginning to get little glimmers of memory back. I remember waking in a helo and the medic talking to me, asking me ridiculous questions that made my head hurt more to think of the answers. He made me stay awake until we got to the hospital. They poked and prodded on me for several hours, casting the fracture on my arm and sewing up the split in my scalp. They did ex-rays and cleaned my bruises, but eventually they decided since I’d thrown up, the concussion had to be treated at Bethesda. So I found myself in another chopper heading for DC.

After several more hours of poking, prodding, and not being allowed to sleep, after all the examinations, re-ex-rays, and a CT scan , after replacing all my bandages, after re-examining my scrapes and bruises, I was taken to a room and allowed to sleep.

I’ve been sleeping for most of the last sixty hours. I know I’ve been awake some, because I remember visitors. Bud and Harriet came the first day, then only Bud after that. Harriet’s too close to term for too much activity. Gunny and Jen were there. I remember asking him what happened, and I remember him telling me. I just don’t remember what he said.

Jen of course graciously offered any assistance necessary. Somewhere in there I recall seeing and speaking to the NCIS crew. They were worried, but glad to hear I would recover.

For all these visitors I stayed awake briefly, then drifted off to the familiar sound of their voices as they conversed among themselves. At some point, I remember waking to find Harm looking down at me. I remember sleepily asking what he was doing here. He said he wanted to see for himself that I was okay. I nodded, and when I awoke again he was gone. I think I must have dreamed it. Harm wouldn’t come.

Here comes the nurse, time for my second therapy session. They are also evaluating my shoulder, naturally the ribs and shoulder are injured on the opposite side from my broken arm. I’m not sure what hurts worse, the injury or the examination, but I’m not letting anyone know. I’m a Marine, I’m tough, I can do this

I’ll do whatever will get me out of here. Later I’ll pack my bag. I can’t wait to get to my own place, and sleep in my own bed. I guess I can be thankful no one else got hurt. The few details I remember are fuzzy, but somehow, I have a clear feeling if it weren’t for Gunny I’d be dead now, instead of just injured.

Tuesday AM
Bethesda Hospital

They actually brought me a pretty respectable breakfast this morning eggs, bacon, toast, and my first cup of coffee. Until the doctor was comfortable about my concussion, he wouldn’t allow me any caffeine. I’m all packed now and waiting for the doctor to sign my papers. Jennifer, Gunny, and Bud all came by to visit again last night. It was nice to feel cared about.

Gunny tried to apologize for letting me get hurt, but I wouldn’t hear of it. From what little I’ve put together, he saved my life and that’s good enough for me. A few months ago I wouldn’t have cared one way or another, but I’m starting to get over the things that I can’t change, and look towards finding something or someone new. I don’t know who, it’s too soon to think about it, I’ll just relax and let life have a chance to find me. I feel confident there’s someone, somewhere, and I’m not looking back any longer.

The doctor just signed my papers and reminded me that all the restrictions have been faxed to my CO. Damn. I won’t get away with anything. I wonder….now that Mattie is gone….maybe Jen can come stay with me for a week or so. No…that would be an imposition, and she’d feel obligated even if it wasn’t convenient. I’ll find a way I always do. I’m not entirely certain why I suddenly feel so positive. I haven’t in eight months; even longer than that if I really think about it, maybe it was the bump on the head.

As I’m getting my things organized, Kate Todd pokes her head through the door. I like her. I hope we can remain friends. She’s a good agent.

“Hi,” she says, “how you doing?”

“Fine,” I reply, I’m not a whiner.

“You took some pretty hard lumps,” she remarks on the obvious. I wonder what she really wants to say.

“Yeah,” I respond, “I’ll be okay though.”

“Your Gunny is quite a man,” she blurts out. What does she mean by that? Their cover story put them in a pretty intimate situation, is she saying something. And furthermore, why do I care?

“Well,” I try not to be too defensive, “he’s not ‘my’ Gunny, but yes he is very reliable.” That sounded curiously stiff.

She smiles a little. “It was a job, Colonel, nothing happened,” she offers. I frown a little at her implication.

“Kate I….” what can I say, its like that old ‘have you stopped beating your wife’ question.

“What I meant was, he risked his life to save yours, even when he didn’t know if you were alive,” she explains.

“We’re Marines,” I hide behind the façade. “It’s what we do.”

“Yeah,” she says wistfully. “I know all about Marines.”

“Someone you cared about?” I ask.

“I thought I did once.” She admits in a strange voice.

“What happened?” I ask. This is me prying.

She looks around the room for a minute then blinks rapidly several times before taking a deep breath, “He was killed,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Kate, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my business to ask,” I apologize.

She shakes her head, “It’s okay,” she tries a shaky smile. “Gunny’s special, you should, uh….”she hesitates suddenly, embarrassed at remembering our relative rank, “you should stay good friends,” she finishes with a wry expression, indicating perhaps, she sees more.

I’m discomfited. I never thought of Gunny that way….not really….well, not out loud….in my mind, I mean. Why would she bring it up?

“I’ve always appreciated Gunny’s loyalty and ability,” I say stiffly again, covering my unaccountable reaction with a full layer of Marine Lieutenant Colonel.

“Yes, well, I’ll let you pack, Colonel. I’m sure you want to get out of here.” She’s dropping the subject out of courtesy I can tell. The former Secret Service agent’s eyes tell me she believes something different.

“There’s nothing I want more,” I tell her fervently, gratefully accepting the change of subject. Then with a conciliatory smile, I offer my hand, “Please, if we meet again call me Mac.”

“I will, Mac,” she smiles too, then she’s gone. I shake my head at the odd conversation. Where did that come from?

Brushing it off as an unnatural interpretation brought on by a mild headache, I check to see if my keys are in my purse, so I can get in when I get home. I can tip the cab driver enough to bring my bag up. The doctor says I can’t lift anything heavier than a coffee cup with either hand for six weeks. Trying to use only my left hand to lift heavy objects could aggravate the shoulder and create a compensating injury.

If I can’t carry my briefcase and laptop I’ll have to stay later at work to catch up. And of course with my hand in a cast up to my elbow, there won’t be any typing or writing either. Why couldn’t we have landed on my left hand? Oh well, I’m alive. I keep telling myself it could be worse. At least he said if I behave I can go back to work on Monday, if I can catch a ride. No driving either. Maybe I can do it one handed, I mean with power steering and all….

The nurse is here with her ever-present wheelchair. I wonder whimsically if this nurse is personally assigned to this chair, or if it’s just a coincidence. I’m beginning to feel a little giddy about surviving, so I dismiss this thought as light headed silliness on my part. It just feels so good to be alive. I know there’s more to the story, but still, I don’t remember feeling like this for a very long time.

As we exit on the ground floor I turn in the chair, “Why don’t you just leave me here in these chairs. I can call a cab and wait for him. It shouldn’t take long.”

“No Ma’am,” she answers, “your driver is here to get you.”

“My driver?” I ask almost falling out of the chair. “What are you talking about, I don’t have a driver.”

“I guess you do now, Ma’am,” she nods her head towards the curb.

Coming towards me with a nice welcoming smile is Gunnery Sergeant Galindez. He takes my bag and falls into step beside us.

“Gunny? What’s going on?” I ask just a little flabbergasted.

“The General said I’m assigned as your driver until you get well. He can’t afford for you to be away from the office, and you aren’t allowed to drive. If you need anything or need to go anywhere, I’m to drive you. The doc’s orders, no driving or lifting anything but your coffee cup.”

Wow! news travels fast, “Oh Gunny you don’t have to do that,” I plead. “It’s such an imposition. I’ll talk to the General.”

“No, Ma’am,” he answers. “It’s not an imposition I’m just glad you’re alive. We all are. And anyway I sort of volunteered. I guess I feel responsible you were hurt so badly.”

We’ve reached the curb and he helps me into the car, getting me settled, then fastening the seat belt. I’m grateful for his strong arms and hands; between the wrist and the ribs lowering myself into a car would be difficult without help.

After he closes the door, I hear him thank the nurse, before he walks to the driver’s side of the standard Navy sedan. Tossing my canvas bag in the back he settles himself and fires the unremarkable engine.

“Gunny you shouldn’t feel responsible. We’ve already discussed this. No one could have anticipated the ambush, or rolling the car off the road. It was no ones fault.” I try insisting.

“Colonel,” he replies, as patiently and politely as his frustration and proper protocol will allow, “there were two Marines, a former Marine, and two trained field agents, one who is a former secret service agent. Everyone feels they should have noticed something sooner.”

“Maybe, Gunny,” I suggest, “if we hadn’t been so experienced, no one would have survived. I’m just sorry I missed the fun.” He shakes his head at that. “By the way how did it go down? I know I asked the question before, but I don’t remember the answer, I was a little woozy.” I’m intensely curious.

“It was McGee, Ma’am, he pulled it out.” Gunny relates, with respect in his voice.

“Really how?” that surprises me.

“Who knows? A psychic moment, a little bird, something told him to bail from Kate and Tony’s car just a split second before they were rammed,” he explains.

“Were Kate and Tony hurt?” I worry even though I’ve seen them since.

“No Ma’am, but they were shaken long enough for the other guys to take them at a disadvantage. McGee got them free by coming up behind their captors. He laid one out with his gun barrel across the back of the man’s skull, and shot the other one in the shoulder. He’s quite a little trooper ma’am,” he shakes his head, snickering in appreciation. “They handcuffed the men to the bumper of the car, and took the panel truck to come backup Gibbs and me. Gibbs was able to surprise the two in the pickup, because they thought we were all in the river. We got everyone, along with enough information from their files and computer to put a very serious dent in the illegal weapons trafficking from at least ten bases.” He finishes proudly.

“Well,” I sigh “I’m happy for that, even if I did miss out on the take down.”

“If you hadn’t bird dogged the whole thing Ma’am, we wouldn’t have been able to get it all. They were all packed up in two trucks ready to move out,” he says with an odd note of pride in his voice.

We are in traffic now and well on the way to my apartment. “Did you need anything special from the store Ma’am? Petty Officer Coates stocked your kitchen with fresh food, and some first aid stuff for your scrapes, but if there’s anything else….” His voice trails off.

“No Gunny, I’ll be fine. Just drop me off, and you can get back to work. I appreciate the General thinking of this. It’s not easy to find a DC cabdriver who will carry your bag up for you,” I admit ruefully.

“No Ma’am,” he agrees. “I’ve never heard of one.”

Gunny carries my bag up for me, and makes sure I get settled in. The headache is returning, and I easily make the promise to nap this afternoon. After checking the kitchen, I reassure the worried Gunnery Sergeant that there is plenty for me to easily prepare a good dinner, even one handed.

With a well meaning, “Take care Ma’am,” he checks my door lock and leaves. Without even pausing to question that last move, I immediately head for the bedroom. Taking half the dose of the pain medicine prescribed I lay down, clumsily pull my comforter over me, and fall asleep.

End of part nine

Mobius Strip
Part Ten

It’s 1830 when I awake. I wonder how I’ll manage a shower in the morning with the cast on my arm. I wander to the bathroom to splash cool water on my face, managing one handed. I practice brushing my teeth left handed, and brush my hair. I check the kitchen cabinet for plenty of plastic wrap. I decide I’ll have to get more, but my supply of grocery bags will suffice for a few days, to keep the arm dry. I’m a little hungry, but nothing in the fridge appeals to me so I grab a yellow SoBe, and head for the couch to turn on the evening news. Maybe I’ll feel like eating in a little while.

Fifteen minutes later the doorbell rings. I’m not really in the mood for company, but it seems everyone’s been so thoughtful I can hardly be a grouch. It’s a slight struggle to get up off the couch with my arm in a cast, my cracked ribs, and a little residual dizziness from the concussion, but I manage about the time I hear a more urgent knock.

“Ma’am? Colonel? Are you okay?” It’s Gunny, that’s a relief, at least I won’t have to sit around and go through explanations of what happened.

“Gunny?” I ask pulling the door open. “What’s up?” His arms are full of stuff but he won’t let me help. “It’s okay, I have it, just get the door, Ma’am.” He sidesteps me.

“What’s going on?” I ask again just as the aroma of fresh enchiladas assails me. Before he can place the items on the table, my stomach growls. Suppressing a smile, he turns to me.

“I thought you might be hungry, Ma’am, and the general wants your after action report by tomorrow morning. So he sent me over here to type it for you.” He explains.

Okay that explains the briefcase, laptop and the food, but there’s another package. It’s small and gaily wrapped in holiday paper.

“What’s this, Gunny?” I pick it up.

“Oh that,” an odd look crosses his face. “That’s your Christmas present from the office party, but since we weren’t back on Christmas Eve, you didn’t have time to get it. Go ahead and open it if you like. I’ll just get this all set up.” He delivers this with uncomfortable nonchalance, while he busies himself laying out files and setting up the laptop.

Curious, I unwrap the small gift and find a cardboard box with a shipping label from New Mexico. When I open the top I discover a large coffee mug like those you buy in museum gift shops. The lettering says Dinosaurs of the Southwest and it has footprints of various creatures embossed all over it.

“Oh, Gunny, how did you know I like dinosaurs?” I ask, delighted and more than a little surprised.

He shrugs concentrating on the computer, “I asked Commander Roberts, Ma’am.” Then typing a few more commands, he freezes. “How did you know it was me?” I almost feel bad for embarrassing him, but it just popped out.

“The box, Gunny.” I show him, “It has your sisters return address on it,” I try not to smile when I show him this.

“Oh,” he replies. “I guess I should have found another box, I don’t wrap a lot of Christmas presents, Ma’am,” he admits a little sheepishly.

“It’s okay, Gunny, it’s a very thoughtful gift. Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.

He nods his head, then I see him mentally shake himself before he says, “The computer is all ready now. It just needs your password so I can get to the files.” He moves from the chair.

I place the mug on the corner of my desk before I look up at him. He steps aside and out of view while I enter my password, then I close the top decisively. I think this is a good moment to change the subject.

“Whatever you brought smells delicious. Can we eat before we work?” I look a little pleading. For someone who wasn’t even hungry fifteen minutes ago, I find I’m suddenly starving.

“Yes Ma’am,” he replies, on more comfortable ground now, and moves to the table to unpack the bags. “I just got two complete dinners instead of a la carte. I thought it would be easier if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfect,” I answer. “I’ll get silverware, what do you want to drink? Sorry I don’t keep beer.”

“This is fine,” he answers, picking my drink up from the coffee table and placing it next to one of the take out containers. “They’re both the same,” he explains. “I just got what I like, the combo plate. It’s just about enough for a hungry marine,” he flashes me a quick smile.

Startled by the effect his smile has on me, I cover by asking “What color?”

“Ma’am?” he looks perplexed.

“Drink….uh…. what color? I have yellow, orange, and red.” I explain quickly.

“Oh,” he recovers, “red thanks. Where’s the silver?” I point him towards a drawer, and after we collect everything, we head for the table and our dinner.

While we’re eating, I ask, “Tell me Gunny, how did you get stuck doing all this? I mean driving me around, typing my reports and all?

“I don’t feel stuck, Ma’am,” he answers seriously. “The General wasn’t happy about you getting hurt, he read me the riot act. Said you were my responsibility until you could take care of yourself again.”

“I’m so sorry for that, Gunny,” I tell him. “I’ll speak to the General.”

“No, Ma’am,” he’s quite firm. “Please don’t, Colonel. The General and I understand each other. We’ll work it out.” I think Victor Galindez just surfaced for a moment, and he’s not about to let me intervene on his behalf. “We both feel you shouldn’t have been injured,” that’s his assessment, and he has to work it out for himself. I do think he accepts what I said on the way home from the hospital, about the team’s combined skill saving us all.

Changing the subject, he fills me in on more details about what happened after I hit my head. The surprise in it all was, of course, McGee. Apparently Dinozzo is having difficulty accepting that he was rescued by the ‘probie’. The bottom line is, instead of more people getting hurt, McGee’s quick thinking probably saved all three of their lives, and our thieves were captured instead of getting away. It’s doubtful that Gibbs and Gunny were ever in any serious danger. They knew who and where their enemy was. It would have taken more than two men to threaten a pair of combat hardened Marines. We still have to laugh a little over Tony’s reaction afterwards.

“One thing puzzles me though, how did they know, Gunny?” It’s been bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Obviously it was a trap, and they were ready to pull out you said. But how did they know?”

“It was Kate, Ma’am, one of them recognized Kate,” he replies.

“Kate? How? Was it someone she’d arrested before? What?” This is crazy. And a major coincidence.

“She used to work for the President, Ma’am. Secret Service,” he reminds me. “One of them kept yelling his cousin was killed because of her. I gather the cousin worked for the President, too. It wasn’t her fault, according to Dinozzo, but this nutcase wing, of his family still blames her. He was a Marine, Ma’am,” he finishes quietly.

“So this was Kate’s Marine…?” I muse, not intending to say it out loud. This explains her reaction yesterday.

“What was that, Colonel?” Gunny asks.

“What ….uh…. oh, nothing, Gunny. She just….that is, she said she used to know a Marine.” I try to hide the heat in my cheeks, when I realize the extent of the rest of what she was saying. Especially since the subject of that conversation is sitting next to me.

“Sounds personal, Ma’am,” he observes.

“Yes, Gunny, it was,” I reply, trying not to give a double meaning to my words.

Very deliberately, we move the conversation back to the facts of the case from my perspective. As we talk, he makes notes for me of things I want in my after action report, I’m going to have to learn to write left-handed for a while. I can’t have him following me around with pencils stuck behind his ear, and a pad under his arm like a secretary. The image makes me smile slightly, but a better answer occurs.

“Gunny I want you to do me a little favor, if it’s not too much trouble?” I hate to impose on his time, but somehow, I think in the end it will make everything easier.

“Of course, Ma’am, I’ll do anything. What is it you need?” he agrees quickly.

“I’m going to give you my credit card,” I tell him. “Tomorrow after work, I’d like you to stop in Best Buy, or somewhere like that, and pick up one of those little voice recorders. That way I can make notes on my cases. Will you do that for me?” he nods but looks puzzled. “That way you won’t have to follow me around taking notes, until I can learn to write left handed,” I explain.

“Yes ma’am, I can do that,” he answers. “But I don’t mind helping any way I can,” he reassures me again. The way that takedown happened is going to eat at him for a while.

“I know, you’re a big help already, but unless you lived in my pocket….I mean…. things sort of come to me….at odd moments….of the day and….uh…night.” I feel another small blush coming up my cheeks. This is perplexing, I’m never usually this sensitive. And the look on his face is odd to say the least.

“The dinner is delicious, Gunny,” I change the subject quickly.

“There’s a small cantina over in Alexandria, I found it years ago,” he seems caught for a moment in another world. “The family reminds me of my own. When you’re better we’ll have to go there….” he starts then stops suddenly. “Sorry Ma’am, that was out of line. I’m not sure ….I.…uh…. forgot my manners.” He back peddles quickly.

“It’s okay Gunny, it was a nice thought,” I reassure him. I have no idea why my response wasn’t to read him the riot act.

Perhaps it’s because I don’t want him taking off for Afghanistan again, and he’s getting that look on his face. The General and I have hoped we could convince him to stay with the corps, and perhaps with JAG. Or maybe it’s because I’m finally forced to admit to myself that I’ve had a wandering thought or two that I’ve severely curtailed. I can understand the slip. It can happen to healthy people working closely together.

I stand quickly and pick up the food containers preparing to clear the table, but he reaches to take it from me with a cautionary look. Bringing the rest of the stuff, he follows me to the kitchen. Quickly we rinse the bottles and silver and discard the take out containers. Grabbing another drink, we head back towards the living room to start on the report. It doesn’t matter if you’re dying, as long as you’re conscious, Generals want reports on their desk ASAP.

“Gunny,” I remark, as I stop suddenly to reach for the notes we left on the table. “as long as the General has you babysitting me,” I try for as much humor as I can put in my voice “It might be easier if you call me Mac, at least when we’re out of the office and out of uniform. It’s a little difficult to carry on a casual conversation with someone who calls you Ma’am all the time.” Now where the hell did that idea come from, I ask myself?

I busy myself gathering up the notes, but my breath stops when he replies, “I don’t think I can do that, Ma’am,” his voice has an unfamiliar, almost strangled sound to it.

Slowly I turn, and find my abrupt stop has placed us in each other’s personal space. For some reason I’m unable to move. I raise my eyes to meet his and find an unprotected door opening into his soul. In that very instant I’m suddenly merely a woman. I feel beautiful, desirable, and deserving of a good man’s love. He just as quickly becomes simply a man, strong, sensual, and bold. The moment accepts no uniforms or insignias, no rank or regulations. It’s the depth of this idea that I’ve never allowed to consciously touch me. Unexpectedly, I realize it’s been struggling for freedom for weeks.

My mouth is suddenly too dry to form a word, “Why?” comes out in a hoarse whisper.

“Because,” he answers, his fingertips slowly rise to touch the side of my cheek, his thumb brushes lightly at the corner of my mouth. “Because, if I ever allow myself to call you Mac, I’ll begin to wonder what it feels like to say Sarah,” his voice deepens softly. “And if I ever call you Sarah, I’d have to do this.”

Gently, with only the tiniest pressure of his fingertips, he draws my face closer until my lips touch his in a delicate, but deeply sensual kiss. It lasts for only the briefest moment, but it turns my world upside down. Pulling back we stand stunned by what just happened

“Oh God,” I whisper, as realization washes over me and I understand why he’s taking my injury so hard.

He nods slowly. “That’s why I can’t call you Mac. Not yet,” he murmurs as his fingers slip gently away, and his hand falls to his side. He takes two cleansing steps back, when I hear a knock on my door. The shutters on his eyes close, and he becomes Gunny again.

“Shall I get that for you, Ma’am?” he asks with perfect formality, only the barest twitch at the corner of his lips betrays the previous moment ever happened.

“N…no, Gunny.” I mentally shake myself. “I’ll get it, here, take the notes. I shove the folder at him somewhat flustered. “Start a file in the computer so we can get this report written,” I order a little too abruptly. Then I quickly turn towards the door, as the knock sounds again.

The opening door reveals the unlikely appearance of Harmon Rabb Jr. We stare at each other in silence for a moment, as I gather my wits. He recovers first, and I watch fascinated, and perhaps with a touch of fear, as his eyes collect details of the scene before him. His quick mind assesses the information he gathers from my face, before his wandering gaze reaches over my shoulder to fall on the presence of Gunny. I recognize the instant their eyes lock. Turning slowly to look between them, I almost can feel the unspoken words of their silent male language. I can guess the meaning of what passes between them, but only they will ever know.

Shifting his eyes to me, he finds his voice, “What’s going on, Mac?” A hard edge of something…a touch of fear perhaps, weaves through the words.

“Nothing, Harm,” I answer quickly…too quickly. “Cresswell wants his report and sent Gunny to type it for me. Why? And what are you doing here?” I turn the question on him.

We’ve been doing this as courtroom adversaries for years. We know each others game.

He straightens slightly and a hooded look comes down over his eyes. “I wanted to see how you are, and to say good bye. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you for your concern, Harm.” I try to soften the words with a small smile, we can’t erase the history that easily. “I hope you have a good trip, and enjoy your new post,” the sentiment is sincere.

“Mac…you and,” he glances over my shoulder again. “Mac, don’t….” his voice is low and urgent.

“Gunny,” I turn into the room, “will you go ahead and get started on those notes. We can sort them out in a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” I give the order in a firm voice that even the most discerning ear couldn’t question.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies echoing my protocol, as he starts typing.

I pull the door closed then turn to face Harm full on. I have to stop what he’s thinking, if only to protect Gunny. Gunny….I have to keep thinking of him that way, it’s the only defense I have.

“What makes you think I’m doing anything, Commander?” I question sharply.

“Maaac,” he drags the name out the way he used to. He isn’t put off by the bluff of using his title. “I’ve seen that look…the one on your face. I’ve…..uh….” but falters, he can’t quite bring himself to say it, to call up that tragic moment in time when we both made the wrong next move. The moment on the Admiral’s porch when he put that look on my face.

I pull harder at myself straightening my shell. His hesitation gives me the opening I need. He won’t follow through. I can bluff him now.

“I think you’re mistaken, Harm,” I say less defensively. “It’s the medication, remember? Broken arm here, and then there’s a little matter of a concussion. Residual dizziness,” I add dismissively. I don’t even go into the cracked ribs and multiple bruises.

“He almost got you killed, Mac,” he points out sharply. Barely controlled anger causes his voice to tremble slightly.

“On the contrary. He saved my life,” I reply as sharply, hoping to snap him back to the reality of our relationship. “They blew out the tire on our car, it rolled down a hill. If Gunny hadn’t pulled me out, I’d have been at the bottom of the river. A broken wrist is a small price to pay,” I insist vehemently. This conversation is rife with emotions as mixed and forbidden as the one in my apartment moments ago.

He places his hands on his hips and looks at his feet, another Harm-like stalling tactic I recognize. I wait for it. I’m surprised by what comes next.

He nods his head thoughtfully. “Be careful Mac,” is all he can say, then he adds pensively, “I’ll miss you.

I’ll miss him too, but if I allow myself to say it, we will never end this, and it must end. “Have a good life, Harm. Take care of your family.” I don’t want it to sound harsh, but my voice is rough with emotion. Nine years of friendship isn’t that easy to give up.

He looks at me hard once more, before he nods sharply, turns, and walks away without looking back. Strangely, seeing him go doesn’t affect me as much as I expected. I’ve had eight months to get used to it. I accept now, that he’s made his life. He has a growing family that needs him, all of him. He can’t give them that if he’s still dwelling on what might have been. None of this is their fault, they deserve the best he has.

I guess he tried to do it for me when I was determined to marry Mic, even though we both knew it was for the wrong reasons. The least I can do is release him completely.

I turn back to my apartment. Inside, as expected, I find the quintessential Marine non-com, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez, typing my notes as though the world depended on his actions. Perhaps for the moment our world does.

He glances up at me, and for only a fraction of a second Victor Galindez raises an inquiring eyebrow. I shake my head and he nods, returning his attention to the computer. This form of silent communication particular to us, this connection we’ve used and reinforced in our daily work and in dangerous foreign lands, falls firmly into place.

We are in complete agreement, the structured roles of our current existence resume as though they were never interrupted. For now at least, they must remain constant.

End of part ten

Mobius Strip
Chapter Eleven

Friday
One week later

This has been the hardest week of my life. We overcompensated. Gunny and I were so stiff and formal when I went back to work some of the staff thought I was angry with him for allowing me to be injured. He was getting very cold treatment among his co-workers. Yesterday, I had to find a moment when Gunny wasn’t nearby, to explain to several people the complete meaning of those very small words, ‘he saved my life’.

We’ve tried to temper our response to one another in the office, and make it more like a normal working relationship, but it’s not been easy to find a middle ground. Although no one can possibly have a reason to suspect anything, its difficult to hit upon a level of interaction that’s benign without sounding indifferent, friendly without sounding unacceptable. If it weren’t for the way we have of speaking to each other with our eyes, I think we’d have both gone crazy by now.

We have worked long hours at the office to get caught up, staying an hour or two extra each night to avoid bringing much work home. Gunny picked up the small recorder for me and it helps tremendously. I can leave the laptop at work, only bringing home a few case files, then he transcribes my voice notes the next day.

By tacit agreement we’ve avoided any private moments at my apartment. If he has to bring anything up I leave the door open until he sets it on my desk. But his eyes are still telling me things, and I’m answering. How are we ever going to do this? Should we do this, isn’t a question that crosses my mind regularly.

He hasn’t hidden the fact that it was his intention to leave the corps. A decision he was seriously considering before he arrived, but neither has he announced it as a definite plan. He hasn’t mentioned specifically what he plans to do.

I know the job at Quantico is still available, they are having trouble filling the position and call him about it weekly. Everyone who is qualified is deployed in Iraq. It also worries me that the tension around here might get to him, and he’ll decide to go back to the fight. A good clean firefight is sometimes easier to deal with than office politics. I don’t want to lose him, not now that I realize what we might have, but if it’s what he wants, I can’t interfere. These are things that can’t be said with the eyes.

We’ve just pulled up in front of my apartment. With Friday night ahead of us, it’s too dangerous of a choice to ask him in to talk. If this conversation goes the way I hope, we have to do it before public eyes, just not public ears. We’ll have to do it here in the car.

“Gunny?” I begin hesitantly

“Ma’am?” he answers stoically.

I take a breath and try, “Did we…?” Was there….?” I find I can’t say what I want to say, ask what I want to know. I imagined it all, I know I did. But that can’t be true, his one brief touch was too electric. I’ve never known anything like it. I have no point of reference for this feeling. I couldn’t have imagined it.

“It’s there,” he answers my incomplete question. “It’s real,” he grips the wheel a little harder. Breathing deeply he looks at me, then letting out the breath, “Unless you don’t…..”he starts.

“I do….it’s just such a….surprise” I stumble. “I needed to know if it was real.”

“Very much so.” he insists. “But there’s no way on earth I can show you how real for ten more weeks. It’s not that I don’t want to. Maybe if my uniform were different…..” he begins.

“Don’t. Please,” I tell him, “no uniforms. They’re here, and they rule us for now, but don’t try to make yourself different. We’re people under the uniforms. You’re you, that’s what’s important.” It’s funny, even knowing how much against the rules a relationship would be, I’ve never caught myself wishing he were an officer. Maybe it’s because I’ve tried three times with officers and had disastrous results, but more, I think it’s just because Gunny is who he is, and I care about him as this person.

He nods his head. “Ten more weeks then. I have to protect you from this until then,” he states resolutely.

I think I understand what he means. “Ten weeks?” I ask to clarify.

“My enlistment is up. It was the General’s idea that I stay in, not mine.” He smiles at me. “I decided there was something else for me in life before I came back. I just didn’t know what it was until I got here. Now I know. We can’t touch this again until I’m out of uniform. I have only so much control,” his smile is promising everything he wants between us. I return the smile and the promise. His decision is firm.

I take a deep breath and look out the window, then I slowly turn and nod, “You’re right of course,” I meet his eyes.

“Believe me, I wish I weren’t,” he says fervently.

I smile a little at this sudden passion in his voice. It was a bold move, for him to approach me the way he did. My mind brushes gently over the idea that he must have wanted me very much to take such a chance. If it had been a misstep, he could have caused himself a lot of trouble. But I think he realized even if he’d miscalculated, I wouldn’t have made and issue. I’d have simply turned him down. Instead, we both found something strong, and wonderful, and forbidden. Something that for now must remain an untouched, treasured, secret.

Quickly he reverts to business again. “Let’s get you inside and settled. Do you have everything you need for the weekend?” Questions like that make me wonder if it’s Gunny asking, or Victor.

I nod quickly. “Jen’s taking me shopping tomorrow.”

“Does she understand about you not carrying anything?” he asks, as he helps me from the car.

“She understands, Gunny,” I reply, smiling at his protectiveness.

“Good, Colonel,” he accepts this with the proper words, even though his tone and his eyes carry a more personal note. The control has returned for both of us. He’ll bring up my briefcase, place it on my desk, and leave, ever the unflappable Marine. But I know deep inside, he’s as unsettled by this as I am. Ten more weeks.

Mac’s Office
JAG HQ
Early February
Five weeks later

Five weeks have gone by. Everyday the very correct Gunnery Sergeant has been at my door to pick me up for work. Every night he’s returned me home with the proper level of military decorum never staying more than a minute or two inside my room. We’ve conversed during the drives to and from work. Light things, such as our families, our likes and dislikes, our hopes and beliefs, but always on an impersonal level, as two friends sharing thoughts and ideas. Never as people who are battling a deep desire for something completely forbidden.

Every conversation could have been heard by the entire office, with no one suspecting more than co-workers killing a few minutes in idle chat. You can hear similar words in the cafeteria at noon. At staff meetings in the moments before you are called to order. At the water cooler. They’ve been words that sometimes informed, but never delved to a level too personal to be appropriate.

This is how we’ve made it through five weeks. The closeness of our arrangement is about to change. The time for my need of assistance is quickly ending. In another week or so, I’ll have a full release from the doctor. The fact that this will put another distance, another barrier between us, concerns me. Yes, it concerns me very much.

“Ma’am, Ma’am….uh Mac?” Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts gently touches my shoulder

“Huh? Oh….what Bud. Sorry, daydreaming here,” I apologize.

“I’m sorry, I….I could come back,” he smiles hesitantly, then looks a little worried. “Is something troubling you, or is it your head? Are you still getting headaches?” he shows his concern.

“No Bud, my head is fine, physically that is,” I tease a little. “It’s just a few things on my mind, nothing serious. “Please sit down. What can I do for you?” I reassure him and change the subject.

“I sort of have a favor to ask, but I need to sort of explain it, okay,” he stumbles hesitantly.

“Okay Bud,” I answer humoring him.

“Well…it’s sort of like this.” he stumbles some more. “I have to be gone for several days….over the weekend….and well…” he trails off nervously.

“And Harriet doesn’t want to be alone this close to term,” I finish for him.

“Something like that,” he smiles. “You won’t have to do anything, or lift anything,” he hastens to supply, “I mean with your arm and all.”

“Its all right Bud, I get the cast off late this afternoon. They’re putting on a temporary. I’ll be able to start exercising, and I can use a pen again, maybe even type a little.” Gunny has stepped up to the doorway behind Bud, and I see his face darken as he hears the last comment. I have to make myself call him Gunny, even in my mind. I wouldn’t be able to do this otherwise.

“Right,” Bud continues, “but your arm….its still not completely healed. It’s okay though, Harriet has a young cousin staying with us to handle the boys. Harriet can’t lift them anymore either. It’s just….”

“She wants someone there to make sure you get called if she goes into labor. Right?” I finish for him.

“Right Ma’am,” his face clears. “Joanie is wonderful with the boys, and really helps Harriet a lot, but she would feel better knowing there’s someone to…well take charge, I guess,” he finishes.

“When is she due, Bud. It’s soon isn’t it?” I ask.

“Not for two weeks, but twins can be early,” he worries.

“Well I don’t see a problem. I’ll just curl up on the couch and make phone calls if anything happens,” I reassure him.

“That won’t be necessary; we have a nice guest room.” Bud takes my little joke seriously, “I’ll have Harriet pick you up later today….say around 1800, if that’s okay with you,” he beams his relief.

“Bud it’s not that far, the cast will be gone by then. I’ll be able to drive,” at least I think I will. With power steering it won’t be that difficult.

“Drive where, Ma’am?” Gunny steps through the door and asks in his most respectful tone, as though he just walked up. His eyes are speaking to me on several different levels. He knows I won’t challenge him, the General has made his orders clear. The entire office is aware by now that if anything happens before I get a full doctors release, Cresswell will have his head.

“It’s not a problem,” Bud interrupts, a little startled. “Harriet has a late appointment at Bethesda, she can swing by your place afterwards. It’s almost on the way home.”

“All right, if you’re sure, Bud,” I soothe everyone, but I’m still worried about Harriet driving. I have to yield to the champion worriers though, Gunny about me, and Bud about Harriet. If there was any danger to her, Bud wouldn’t allow it, and if there was any problem with the arrangement, Gunny would insist on driving me. With the General backing him up, I couldn’t refuse.

“Between 1745 and 1800 okay with you Ma’am,” Bud asks.

“That’s fine,” I smile at him, as he stands and slides past Gunny with a curious expression on his face.

1730
Sarah Mackenzie’s apartment
Georgetown

“It will be okay I promise,” as I unlock the door and step inside. “I promise not to do anything I shouldn’t. The doctor set me up for my physical therapy starting next week, and he gave me some exercises to do in between. They will start strengthening my hand and arm again. I’ll be good as new soon. I promise not to lift anything.” He follows me in and closes the door.

Instantly I’m concerned. We’ve made a solid practice of not allowing any private moments except during the drive home, for fear we will have trouble controlling them.

“Gunny?” I turn questioning, and search his face. He has something serious on his mind, I can tell. And I’m suddenly afraid, terribly afraid. I know he’s decided to leave, I just know it. It’s an irrational thought, but it assails me so strongly I can’t control my reaction.

“Victor,” he corrects, stepping unusually close. “Sarah, just for a moment please, it’s Victor. I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it?” I’m trembling so hard I have to force myself to breathe. In a completely absurd moment of absolute panic, the words tumble from my mouth before he can say anything.

“I know. I waited too long. I should have resigned my commission, I can’t….” I blurt in despair, searching his eyes. I don’t know what made me say that, or what he was going to say, but I suddenly realize I can’t lose him.

“No you should not,” he says firmly. “You aren’t leaving the corps,” he looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

“Why not,” I demand hotly, my anger coming mostly from fear.

“Because I’m leaving,” he explains in what appears to be a completely reasonable tone of voice.

“No,” slips from my throat in a strangled whisper.

“Sarah it’s what we…” then he pauses and looks at me for a minute, reading my face, before slipping into an even more intimate form of address. “No, babe, you don’t understand. Not you, I’m not leaving you,” he takes me by the shoulders, “there’s no force on earth that could make me leave you now,” a small sob escapes from deep inside me, and he pulls me into a deep hug.

It’s the first real physical contact we’ve had, except for that fragment of time the night I came home from the hospital. I find I need it desperately. His touch gives shape and form to the reality of our secret feelings. Resting his head against mine, he holds me close, like something very precious, before he continues, “It’s what I told you before. I was looking for something else,” he pulls slightly back, smiling, “besides you, I mean. I needed to find a new job. You understood that, didn’t you?”

I look up at him. I guess somewhere in my head I assumed that’s what he was doing. “I can’t do this any more, it’s too hard,” I tell him.

“Yes you can,” he looks so serious, “and so can I. It’s hard for me too, but its only five more weeks. We’re Marines, we can do anything,” he teases me.

I smile, attempting a brave agreement. “So,” I try to sound positive, “did you find something?”

“No,” he grins now, “it found me.”

His grin is infectious. He’s usually so stoic that when he does smile, the entire world lights up. I can’t help grinning back. “What? Tell me?”

“NCIS,” he says. Serious again, he looks hard into my eyes.

“NCIS?” I look at him stunned.

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “Gibbs called Cresswell. They have several new openings, and with my experience and background, as well as my veteran’s preference, I was top of the list.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Four weeks ago,” he answers. “Right after the weapons theft operation.

“Why…why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, and I can see the uncertainty in his face. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him, I’m sure he hasn’t felt for a long time. This is new territory for him. “I still had to pass the interview, then the psych eval. And after that a written exam, and the physical. I didn’t want to say anything unless I was sure.”

“But you did, you passed. You’re sure now, right?” I prompt.

“I’m sure now,” he replies more relaxed.

“So when do you start?” I think I’m still in shock.

“That’s the last test,” he tells me. “Is it okay with you?”

“With me? Why?” I’m not sure what he means.

“I know how you feel about NCIS, and after that last operation….what happened to you,” he allows his voice to trail off.

“You’re really asking me? You’d leave this all up to me?” I ask in astonishment.

“Sure, the interview experience alone was good for me.” He replies bravely. I know he really wants this. “I can always get another job I want, but I’ll never find another woman I want.”

What can I say to that? The tears start to fall again. Until this very moment I hadn’t quite realized there was so much man, so much heart, inside this Gunnery Sergeant package.

“Take it Victor,” I whisper, “it’s perfect for you.” He pulls me against him, in another encompassing hug that leaves a trail of damp spots on his uniform from my tears. I feel him pull back slightly, aware he’s about to kiss me, when we hear a knock on the door.

“Go wash your face,” he cautions, “and pack your bag. That’s probably Harriet.” I just stare at him for a moment. “Go on, you don’t want her to see you like that,” he turns me by the shoulders, and nudges gently at my waist to send me on my way. I smile secretly at this little familiarity, and redouble my resolve to be very careful outside this room. This is getting too easy too fast.

“Go on,” he urges again, and walks towards the door.

If I had any lingering doubts about the connection we’ve established, they’ve all been shattered. I know I have just found a whole lot more of the Victor inside that I never knew existed. I know I have a lot more to find, but I’m as sure as my name that what I find will all be good. As I close my door and quickly peel off my uniform, I hear the front door open.

“Gunny?” Harriet’s voice comes to me, carrying an element of surprise and curiosity. “Where’s the Colonel?” she asks.

“She’s getting packed, ma’am.” the very correct Gunnery Sergeant replies. “We were running a little late. I’m just waiting to carry her bag down,” he supplies the answer to the question I know is written on the young woman’s face.

“Oh,” she says, “of course.” I know that tone. Harriet doesn’t entirely believe him. I’m going to have a tough time with her this evening. Then she continues, “Don’t worry Gunny, Joanie will carry it in for her when we get home.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate that. Doctor’s orders, nothing heavier than a coffee cup,” he tells her in his stone faced voice.

“Yes Gunny, I know. I’ll see to it,” she reassures him, as I finish throwing stuff into a bag and dash to the bathroom to soak my eyes with cold water. Fortunately I’ve never been one whose face goes all red and blotchy when they cry. I’m sure there’s someone I need to bless for that.

I run a quick brush though my hair, grab my spare bathroom bag and toss it into my overnighter before pulling a jacket from my closet. I sling the small duffel over my good shoulder. When I pull the door open, Gunny is standing there reaching for my bag.

All business, he hangs the bag over his left shoulder, then turns to Harriet before I can protest. Offering his right arm, he says, “Allow me ma’am.” It’s the perfect thing for him to do. I had no idea how big she was, but I’m sure the support of a strong arm is welcome. It also provides a needed distraction to the situation.

“Thank you Gunny,” she beams, wrapping her hands around his strong forearm. Whatever she was thinking is replaced by her reaction to his gallantry.

End of eleven

Mobius Strip
Part Twelve

Saturday 0520
Bethesda Hospital

“Galindez.” his voice is groggy with sleep.

“Victor?” my tired voice whispers.

“Sarah. What’s wrong?” he is immediately alert with concern.

“Nothing really. I’m at Bethesda, in the lobby. Harriet had her babies.” I try to sound reassuring, but I’m too exhausted to give it much effort. I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours. The last eight supporting Harriet, until Bud could arrive.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Harriet? The babies? All okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Bud just got here. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I….I’ll just get a cab,” this is just the kind of thing we have to avoid.

“No,” he says firmly. “No, go back to her room. I’ll find you. Be there soon,” he states in a voice that looks for no argument.

“But I….”

“Don’t argue; just go back to her room. You sound exhausted. I’ll find you.” I’d get angry if I weren’t so tired, and he wasn’t so right. This is a big hospital; the easiest place to find me is in her room. He’s already on his way, I’m sure of that. He’s a Marine; he was dressed before my second sentence. I might as well wait.

I return inside, up to the fourth floor room that holds Harriet, Bud, and the two newest members of the Roberts’ clan. She is dozing after her delivery, and Bud is sitting in a chair beside her bed with a huge grin on his face. One baby girl is asleep in each of his arms.

“May I hold one?” I ask timidly. If anything his smile gets bigger.

“Of course, Ma’am,” he beams.

I pull another chair close, and he transfers the sleeping bundle from his right arm to my left one. For a time we both sit cuddling the newborns

Twenty minutes later we’re still watching the babies sleep, when Victor pushes through the door and peeks inside. I smile up at him and he smiles back, shaking his head as he walks quietly over to where I sit. The baby starts to squirm, nuzzling at me. She’s looking for her breakfast.

“This looks heavier than a coffee cup,” he scolds mildly from behind a soft smile.

“Not much, if it’s a full cup,” I answer, teasing back, as our eyes lock.

“I think she wants her breakfast,” we hear Harriet’s voice from behind him.

“I think you’re right ma’am.” He gently lifts the infant from my arms without breaking eye contact, and turning places her along Harriet’s side. The baby Bud is holding still sleeps.

I watch him, captivated by the scene, as he handles the baby with such exquisite gentleness. He turns back to me and suggests firmly, “Let’s go Colonel, you need some rest too.” He might as well have used my name.

I move over to say good-bye to Bud and Harriet, and I can see they have taken in every intangible nuance that passed between us during those brief moments. Harriet is watching me closely, and I feel a faint blush touch my cheeks, but I hold her gaze steadily. Leaning over I kiss her cheek.

“Congratulations, Harriet. I’ll come by and see you on Sunday if it’s ok? Congratulations, Bud,” I bend down and kiss him on the cheek too.

“I’ll come and pick you up for a visit, Ma’am,” Bud offers.

“No need, I’m sure you’ll be busy,” Gunny speaks in a kind tone, nodding to the babies. “I’ll see that she gets there,” turning towards the door, I can feel his hand hover protectively near my waist. As we walk from the room, he barely resists the urge to encircle me with his arm. We allowed the mask to slip for a moment. I know what my longtime friends are thinking.

“You must be exhausted,” he says, as we walk towards the car.

“Yeah, a little,” I admit climbing into his truck, and fastening my seatbelt. Something just happened in there. It feels like our entire relationship shifted again. Each of these precious encounters thrusts us forward in large steps. It’s like watching a flower grow and bloom in a time-lapse film.

We ride to my apartment in comfortable silence. I know what I’m thinking, but I have no idea what he’s thinking

I know he won’t drop me at the curb, so I don’t even suggest it. It’s not going to happen. He walks beside me up to my door, and takes the key to unlock it. Pushing it open for me, he follows me in, firmly closing it behind us.

“They’re beautiful babies aren’t they?” he turns to me, repeating the words in my head.

“Yes, they are,” I reply with a wistful sigh.

It seems the most natural thing in the world, to allow him to fold me into his outstretched arms. There’s no hesitation in his touch. This has moved him on a primal level. There’s a distinct difference in the way he holds me.

“It won’t be long, Sarah,” he murmurs against my hair.

“For what,” I ask against his shoulder. A new kind of tension drifts from him in waves.

“You want that too, don’t you?” he inquires, knowing the answer.

“Uh huh,” I nod my head against his chest, daring to have hope about his meaning.

He pulls me closer, murmuring, “Only five more weeks. Then we can start making our own.” He moves back slightly, “That is, if you’ll have me. I guess I just got so caught up in what I wanted….”

On a deep level matching his own, I feel myself answer his excitement. I’m stunned by how intense this emotion has grown in such a short time. It’s like all the pieces are falling carefully into place. “It’s….well….it’s been strange to get used to. It almost seems like this happened suddenly, but when I think back, maybe it wasn’t so sudden at all.”

“That’s the way it feels to me, too,” he agrees. “Like it’s a brand new idea, but it’s been there forever, I just didn’t see it. So, will you?” he smiles

“Have you?” I ask. “Only if it’s forever.”

“It’s forever, Sarah, believe it,” he replies, and brings his lips down to mine. Holding me closer, kissing me more deeply and tenderly than the first time. I feel the faint trembling that runs through his muscles as he fights for control.

Minutes later, we pull back, stunned by the impact of this kiss. “This is so hard, Victor, how can we wait?” I ask looking into his eyes.

“We have to,” he says. I can tell he nearly succumbed to the temptation, but he’s regained a tenuous control.

“I know.” I have to pull away; my body is beginning to scream for him. “I.…uh.…I’ll try, its just so….”

“You have no idea Sarah. This is just as hard for me,” he says, pulling me back against him. Whispering into my hair, “It’s killing me not to be with you.” His lips brush my ear and trail down my neck before he raises his head to claim my mouth again. His hands pull me tight against him. I feel his tongue probe deeply, and I answer it with my own. His body swells against me, and his hand slips low on my back to hold me against the hard evidence of his need.

I completely stop thinking, my insides boil, and my knees weaken. He pulls me closer still and continues the kiss as though there will be no tomorrow. Finally, with an effort of pure will drawn from somewhere deep inside, we force ourselves away from each other. Our breath comes in ragged gasps, evidence of the discipline summoned for our denial. For a long moment, we stand there looking at each other in the first rays of morning light. Helplessly paralyzed by the power of this new and unexpected love, we concentrate solely on the instinct of breathing.

“Lord, I’d love to have you right now, this very minute.” This is a telling statement, Victor never swears; never at all. “But we can’t babe, we just can’t. Please help me stop. I can’t do it alone this time,” he pleads. The rise and fall of his chest tells how desperately he is fighting to keep his hands at his sides.

“Why? Just tell me why? No one would know,” I reason. I know this is wrong. I’m being needy and insecure, I hate it when I do that, it’s just that I’ve lost so much, lost so many. Perhaps they weren’t the right one, perhaps it wasn’t the right time, but this is. I’ve already mentally discarded the uniforms. It’s a weakness I can ill afford.

“Our friends already know, at least they know something, and we would know,” he answers. “When the question is asked, Sarah, and it will be asked, make no mistake, but when it is asked, you have to be able to look anyone in the face and state honestly and with a clear conscience that nothing happened. Nothing until I was out of that uniform. It’s important for your future, for our future. Do you understand that?”

I nod reluctantly, mulling his meaning. “Yes, I understand,” I agree.

“Are you sure?” he insists. “When you ask for leave in a few months, so we can be married, so we can visit my family, the General will ask, and he will know if you aren’t being honest. I’m not talking about this. About what just happened. It’s wrong by the rules, but a kiss and a promise is one thing. Full intimacy and a complete relationship is quite another. And believe this too, once I have you in my bed, we won’t sleep apart again. We can’t do that now,” his resolve is adamant and his reasoning is sound. His promise only serves to relight the flame.

I nod more vigorously, I understand. “I see what you’re saying,” then I look at his eyes reading the depth of his feeling. “You really want it all?” Mesmerized, I step slowly back with renewed and profound respect for his concern. His need to protect me is awesome. I can do no less than help him. I should have known this wasn’t just an experimental flirtation. Feeling how deep and serious his emotions run, I look past my long-standing walls and permit my battered hopes to grow. It’s my turn to be strong.

“I really want it all Sarah.” He bends forward and kisses me gently on the cheek, then pulls reluctantly back another step too. “I’m going now. Get some sleep,” he says softly. “Call me later, so I’ll know you’re okay. And call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” I promise following him to the door. I almost think he’s going to kiss me again, as he leans slightly towards me, then he takes a deep breath.

“I can’t. If I do, I might not leave,” he looks sad, but resolute. Then he smiles and whispers very softly, “I love you, Sarah.”

I smile and nod understanding. “I love you, too. Good night, Victor,” I answer.

“Good night, Sarah, sleep well,” and he pulls the door tightly shut.

Mid March
Five weeks later
Friday
JAG HQ

“C’mon Ma’am,” Jen coaxed, “he’ll be here any minute.”

“I’ll be right there, Jen. I just have to finish up this brief,” I tell her, trying not to appear fraught with nervous anticipation, as I obviously am. I know the minute I walk into that conference room for his going away party, it will be written all over my face. I need a few more minutes to compose myself.

He’s been at BUPERS for the last two hours doing his final out-processing, and he promised the staff he would return for a sendoff. Of course, his official going away party with his peers will be tomorrow night at McMurphy’s. It’s remained a favorite among the enlisted, even though the officers moved their party functions to Benzinger’s a few years back.

Funny, though, that didn’t last long. After some of the things that happened around here, the officers just sort of stopped socializing together at all. There have been a few functions at Bud and Harriet’s, but Christmas two years ago was the last time it was something everyone was invited to. After that, it was just a few here, and a few there. The thing with Harm and Singer, the feud between Sturgis and Bud, then the mess in Paraguay, took the life out of all our relationships. I just never again felt like going to a party. I went to a few functions of Webb’s, as a friend just to not be alone, but I even stopped doing that, it was artificial fun, just not pleasant.

I won’t go to the party tomorrow. It would be too much like sending up a red flag in everyone’s face. We aren’t ready for that, and it would definitely not be prudent. Also I’m still an officer and they will all be enlisted. It wouldn’t be appropriate to socialize that way. Even if I was asked, and I was as Gunny’s direct CO, but it would put a damper on things. It would make everyone stiff and formal.

Even with the uniform technically gone, and the official paperwork signed, we have to handle this carefully. Legally, we can now have our private moments, but we have to wait a certain amount of time before making it public.

I close my computer and hurry to the conference room. I hope now, I’m not too late. It’s just occurred to me, it will make a bigger fuss if I arrive late and make an entrance, than if I’m there in the background.

Opening the door I find I’m on time, most of the staff has gathered, and a few stragglers are coming in behind me. Someone hands me a glass of punch, and I find another attorney, one of the new ones, to chat with for the remaining moments.

I was frankly surprised when Cresswell allowed Jen to plan this party, it was obvious and understandable that he was displeased with Gunny’s decision to leave the Corps, but he accepted it graciously enough. He even allowed his pride to show when Gunny won perfect scores on all the tests for his new job. Somehow, knowing this calmed his disappointment.

There’s a stir at the door, and I lose the train of conversation I’m having with the young Major when he walks in. His eyes immediately seek mine, and with the barest nod he lets me know it’s done. Then his attention is taken by a member of the staff, and I excuse myself for having not heard the last of what the officer next to me was saying.

I continue around the room, casually talking to this person and that. I talk with Bud about Harriet and the babies, for a few minutes. He tries to keep his face neutral, but it keeps revealing the conclusions he and Harriet drew when the twins were born. Even though our trip to their house was done with the utmost attention to protocol, they had seen the slip in our façade the night at the hospital. I think they were confused about the depth and level the relationship had reached, but the fact of its existence was clear to them.

I continue to socialize, working my way towards the door. I need to say a public farewell to him, in fact I’ve been selected to give a short speech. However, I’m still anxious to return to the safe privacy of my office, to deal with the mixed feelings that will assail me, now that he’s also gone from JAG. If it weren’t for the certain knowledge of what awaits us for the future, I’d have to say my luck with partners has been no better than my luck with men. At least this farewell has a bright future.

At that moment Jen catches my arm, “It’s time ma’am,” she informs me. Time for me to send Gunny off with our best wishes, and the gift the staff bought him. A small leather folder for his new ID and badge, and a PDA.

She drags me to the center of the room and another petty officer brings Gunny to the spot before me.

“Gunny,” I start a little nervously.

“Ma’am?” his answer is strong, giving me the chance to collect myself.

I clear my throat. “Well, Gunny, you’re leaving us again. This time I hope the job you’ve chosen isn’t as dangerous as the last time. We all worried about you,” I express everyone’s sentiments.

“Thank you Ma’am,” he replies.

“We didn’t get off to the best start as you remember. Your first job interview here included you telling me you didn’t find officers universally trustworthy.” I deliver this with a soft smile, and a pleasantly joking manner. Everyone laughs, and he smiles back remembering the boldness of that statement.

“Well Ma’am, I’d never had the chance to work with JAG officers before,” he fires back at me with perfect aplomb.

“Score one for Gunny,” someone in the back of the room yells, and everyone laughs again.

“Yes, well, once we had the privilege of working with you, I think we all learned something about Gunnery Sergeants as well,” I return.

“You’ve done dangerous work in dangerous lands the last few years, and those who know you will be forever grateful for your service. Some of us will never know all the details, but it doesn’t lessen our gratitude.” He’s looking a little uncomfortable so I hurry on.

“Nevertheless, that job is done for you, and you have a new task ahead of you. We all wish you every good fortune in your new position. Since your skill and mettle has been proven time and again, luck and this small gift is all we can send you away with,” I present him with the package, and a very formal hug.

Stepping away quickly, I allow the others to add their congratulations and good wishes. Giving him time to open the gift, to thank the staff for their thoughtfulness, and to say more goodbyes, I wait until he works his way around the room.

As he comes close, I reach out my hand. “Don’t be a stranger in the office, Special Agent Galindez,” I give him his new title.

“You can count on it, Ma’am,” he replies, and I see the secret look in his eyes.

“When do you start your new job?” I ask, unwilling to give up the moment, still a little sad I won’t work with him again.

“Monday morning, ma’am,” he answers. “I have three weeks of formal training in NCIS procedures then, I report to the DC office for training. With my background, they said I wouldn’t need to go to the FBI academy first. I can start right away under supervision,” he finishes. His eyes show he’s pleased with his accomplishment. I know most of this, but there are people who are listening. Perhaps it’s a matter of my personal pride in him, that I want others to be impressed with this information.

“Well I’m happy for you, Gunny, just don’t party too hard this weekend. Gibbs won’t tolerate the smallest slip,” I tease him.

“No, Ma’am, he won’t. My plans for tonight are fairly tame by Marine standards,” he begins, suggesting something with his eyes he can’t say with words.

I just raise an eyebrow and tease him. “Let me guess, you’re ordering in a pizza and watching Marine movies all evening.”

“Not quite, Ma’am. I’m having dinner with a friend at this little cantina I know. The people have been like family to me since I moved here years go. I’m taking someone I just met,” he says with a small smile.

“I…uh, I hope you have a good time, Gunny,” I reply. I understand his meaning, we have only a few more hours before the line we’ve held will shatter.

“I believe I will, thank you, Ma’am.” That slight smile that no one else can see, is the only indication our conversation had a deeper meaning.

“Good luck, Gunny,” I say, excusing myself to return to my office.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he says as I turn to leave.

When I enter my office there’s a small piece of folded paper taped to my computer. Opening it, I read “1900?”

End of twelve

Mobius Strip
Part Thirteen

2200
Sarah Mackenzie’s apartment
Georgetown

I don’t think I’ve ever had a better time in my life. It wasn’t like a date. Especially not like a first date. It had none of the nervousness, the posturing, the uncertainly about the other person. This was Gunny, Victor that is. I have to remember to change how I see him in my mind. He’s changed. In just those few hours, he’s a different person. Or perhaps not so different, maybe this is the person who lived inside that uniform, and under the protocol all these years. The person you saw in his eyes, if you looked deep enough, or caught him in and unguarded moment.

In any case, the difference is a good one. For years, he was the perfect Gunnery Sergeant. The things he did, the things he had to do in the service of his country, are part of who he is, but not all. There is, as Kate suggested, quite a man inside the uniform. Now that the uniform is gone, the man is reachable, easy to know, and easy to love.

His adopted family welcomed me as if I were a long lost relative. Instead of going to a restaurant, the evening progressed as if we had gone to their home. The food was delicious, the music was lively, and the conversation was fun. Not just pleasant, not just polite, but fun. They even helped me practice my somewhat rusty Spanish, although no one ever spoke around me. It was actually my idea to try to follow, and Gunny….uh….Victor, and Rosa the owner, sat with me for over an hour, feeding me words and phrases until some of my childhood memories returned.

As we approach my door, I feel a nervous tingle run up my spine. Will we give in to the terrific force of our attraction tonight? We’ve waited so long and so patiently. I’m suddenly very nervous. The thought comes to me that this is the last time I will feel this uncertainty with a man. The feeling of absolute comfort that washes over me, more than overshadows the nervous edge I feel. Still, will it happen now?

He takes my key and unlocks the door. Stepping inside, he leans back against the door and pulls me close. Not into a kiss, not at first, he just holds me. Allowing his face to bury in my hair, his arms to gather me against him. I feel the effort he’s putting into the deep even breaths he takes. I think I understand. He’s savoring the moment, and I join him. Just to feel the freedom to hold each other with no constraints is overwhelming. I sink gladly against his hard body, softened only by the gentleness of his touch.

I feel his fingers run through my hair, playing among the strands, his arm circling my back holding me close at the waist. His entire body is in contact with mine, and we stand there just allowing the sensation to travel through us.

Slowly he pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Victor?” I ask.

“You’re mine, Sarah? Really mine now?” It’s a question, asking permission, not presuming possession.

“If you want me,” is my reply.

“If you’ll have me,” is his answer.

I nod, “It’s what I want.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees smiling broadly. Then his smile becomes very serious, his eyes burrow into mine, he’s touching my soul with his look. With agonizing slowness, he brings his lips to mine, sweetly, softly at first. The kiss progresses to passion and desire before it erupts into a flaming need that flashes through us both. We allow it to burn for several moments as our bodies respond to our need before pulling away to look at each other again.

“As soon as you’re ready, Sarah,” he says. I know what he means.

“I’m ready,” I tell him.

“For everything?” he asks. “Remember what I said? Once you’re in my bed, I won’t sleep without you again. I’m sorry, I can’t do that kind of relationship, a night here, a night there, your place or mine. I want you, but when it happens, I want all of you. I can wait until you’re ready. I want you to have time to be sure.”

I look at him for a long moment. How is it possible for a man to read my thoughts so clearly, to find all the right ways to allow me to be myself, and still possess me so utterly?

I think it’s because he accepts that I have to give myself, it’s not something he can take, “I’m ready,” I assure him, knowing I am.

“Good. Okay,” he accepts this looking at me closely for verification. “But not here. If you’re really ready to come with me, to leave this behind and stay with me,” he emphasizes, “then go pack a quick bag. I’ll wait here. Go on,” he urges the way he did the night I went to stay with Harriet.

“But where? Where are we going?” I’m thinking a hotel, but somehow that doesn’t fit his style, and he’s been living in a weekly rental motel. I know he won’t take me there.

“My house,” he flashes me a self-satisfied grin. “Our house, if you like it,” he shrugs diffidently.

“Your house? Our house?” I look at him stunned. “You….uh….we….we have a house?” It’s a little much to take in, but I’m even more surprised that I’m not displeased. He’s thought to get a house? “I thought you were living in a motel,” I ask in confusion.

“I was, until I got the job with NCIS. When I saw I might really be able to have what I want,” he shrugs, “Well I didn’t want to take you home to a dingy motel.” He looks around my apartment. “We need to start making our own memories. No more living with the ghosts of the past. Do you mind?” he asks, then asks once more. “If you’re not ready we can wait.”

“No,” I shake my head slowly, surprised to find it’s the truth. “No I don’t think I mind at all.” I look slowly around my apartment. I’ve lived here for nine years, and yet I can’t seem to remember a time I really felt as alive as I do tonight. It’s time to go. “So, what’s it like? Your house,” I ask, “Our house,” I amend, when he cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Hurry up and pack; I’ll show you. It’s only a lease, unless you really like it of course. The furniture is subject to your approval, too. If you don’t like the house, we’ll find someplace else. If you don’t like the furniture…”

”Furniture?” I interrupt him.

“You need furniture, Sarah” he explains seriously. “I mean, I know we’re Marines, but I wasn’t looking forward to spending our first night on a cold floor in an empty house.” He smiles, teasing me.

“A house,” I muse. “With furniture, real furniture?” I wave my hand around, “not just someone else’s furniture?”

“Real furniture,” he swells a little at my pleasure. “The kind you said you liked. It’s not fully furnished, but there’s enough, a bed, a sofa, and a table and chairs, some other stuff,” he shrugs, “and we can shop for the rest. Hurry up, go get your bag so I can show you,” he nudges at me.

If I thought his reaction to my pleasure over the dinosaur mug was sweet, this is astounding. I’ve found a side of this man that no one ever knew existed. He found a house which I’d bet next months pay is perfect, and he furnished it. Again, I’ll bet not a piece goes back. He took the time to do all this so I would be comfortable.

Now I understand all the casual questions he asked, when we were driving back and forth to work. How he let me ramble, about stuff I liked and didn’t like. He listened to it all, actually listened. He was planning this all the time.

And not only did he do it, but once again he did it subject to my approval. He didn’t just go out and get a place, and say ‘here it is, this is what I bought, live with it’. He found out what I liked, and still is leaving the final word up to me. He did this as a surprise so we could spend our first night together in a place of our own. These thoughts tumble over each other like puppies in my mind, as I pack my bag.

I return to the living room, and he takes the bag.

“We’ll come back for the rest tomorrow. Will your landlord let you out of the lease?” he asks.

“Are you kidding? That rental agreement is nine years old, and he has a waiting list,” I laugh. “What do you think?”

He chuckles, knowing the rental agent can now raise the rent at least thirty percent. “Good,” is all he says, as he pulls the door solidly shut behind us.

“Uh….Victor?” I mingle timid flirtation with suggestive curiosity as he hands me into the truck. “How big is the bed?”

He looks me up and down with a stare that practically melts my clothes. “Just barely big enough, I’d say” he replies with a heart stopping smile, before he closes the door.

Two months later
The General’s office

He was right about the bed, it was just barely big enough, but it’s my guess no bed on earth has ever been lucky enough to see so much absolute pleasure. Our awkwardness was momentary, and completely dismissed with laughter and repeated attempts. I was startled to discover for the first time in my life, that lovemaking wasn’t meant to be hidden, nor was it a contest, it was meant to be fun.

We moved boxes all weekend, and on Monday, I released the apartment to a very grateful landlord. Since I took out the last box, I haven’t looked back for even one second. I had no idea it was possible for one human being to be so happy. Our pleasure in each other continued through the weekend and even now shows no sign of dwindling. I catch myself almost giggling out loud during the day. I have to remind myself sternly that Marines don’t giggle.

He was right about another thing as well.

I’ve just requested leave, and the fateful question was asked. Not just asked, but demanded.

“You’re going to marry who, Colonel?” He stabs me with an icy stare.

“Special Agent Galindez, sir,” I answer, standing at the most perfect attention I’ve ever held in my life.

“Colonel,” he walks around the desk to stand precisely in front of me. “Is my command going to be compromised by a fraternization case?” His voice carries a threat that is unmistakable, and I bless every minute of the ten weeks Victor and I denied ourselves.

“No, sir!” I answer firmly.

“You’re going to stand there and tell me that all the time you spent with the Gunnery Sergeant, all the cases you worked, all the time he was assigned to drive you when you were injured, there was no intimate relationship between you.” I could cry in relief for the answer I can give to this question.

“No, sir! Absolutely none, sir,” I reply firmly.

“And this just hit you both suddenly, after he was released from the Marine Corps?” The quiet intensity of his voice emphasizes the incredulity of the question, and the importance of my answer.

“No, sir,” I answer honestly.

“Come again, Colonel,” his stare hardens.

“I said, no, sir.” I’m still at attention. It’s a little difficult to answer in detail this way.

“At ease, Colonel. Now, look me in the eye, and tell me nothing happened between you and the enlisted man under your command,” he challenges me.

Thanks to Victor, I was able to do just that.

I assume the ease position, and look my CO square in the eyes.

“No, sir,” I tell him with every ounce of verity I can put in my voice. “I did not have an intimate relationship with Victor Galindez while he was under your command, or at any time while he was under the command of the US Marines.” I assure him vehemently.

“You’re telling the truth, Colonel,” he inspects my face and remarks thoughtfully.

“Yes, sir.” I concur just as positively, but less forcefully.

“Then what was the nature of your answer to my other question?”

“It did not hit us suddenly, sir. In fact, the attraction was apparent to both of us. However, we refused to act upon it. It would not have been a good thing to do. Not for anyone, sir,” I explain.

“Hmmm,” he still eyes me. “So you’re saying you felt a pull of attraction, but resisted any temptation to indulge in it.” Perhaps he questions the small hesitation in my voice, caused by the fact that Victor was the stronger of us in that respect, but when I realized his reasons, my resolve became as strong.

“Yes, sir. It would have hurt Victor, it would have hurt you…uh… your command, that is, and it would have hurt me,” I explain, still wondering if just the suspicion that we might have done something will be enough.

“I see. Is that the reason he left the corps?” He asks cannily.

“No, sir, I don’t believe so. He told me he had decided to leave before he returned to JAG.” I believed Victor when he told me this, and I believe it now.

He nods his head and paces a few steps before me, his fist to his mouth in concentration.

“All those times he drove you home and picked you up, Colonel?” He asks.

“The door remained open, sir. He placed my bag on the desk and left,” I explain. We had been fanatically circumspect in this.

He nods again. “No other socializing at all?” He asks further.

“He drove me to see Harriet Roberts’ new babies one time, sir. The day after they were born. But he picked me up at the curb of my apartment, and dropped me off there.” This had been extremely difficult for us, but we knew this was the only way we could handle it.

“Yes. You were staying with her, weren’t you?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. Bud, that is, the Commander, was in Norfolk, and she was near term. She asked me to spend the weekend with her. The babies were born that night.” I was not going to volunteer the moments after Victor picked me up at the hospital. It was the nearest we ever were to breaking out resolve. If I heard the story, I wouldn’t believe the strength we exhibited. I didn’t expect anyone else to.

“And after he left the service?” he requires clarification. He’s holding his own investigation.

“After he left we were no longer constrained by those rules. We’ve been seeing each other.” I admit.

“Marriage is a very serious step for having only a few weeks of social interaction, Colonel,” he still isn’t convinced. It’s understandable.

“Yes, sir. Normally it would be, but I’ve known this man for years. I’ve worked with him. I’ve been in some very dangerous places, and some very dangerous situations with him. I never had a single moment’s doubt he would be there when I needed him. He never failed me. The NCIS investigation was probably one of the least dangerous of them all.” I explain.

“But you were never this badly hurt,” he states.

“No, sir, but I still believe it was just bad luck. If I hadn’t hit my head, the rest of it wouldn’t have happened. That was no ones fault. I’m just very grateful he was there to pull me out. Although I have to say I’m sorry I missed all the fun.” I try a small smile, hoping for understanding.

He smiles back, “I understand, Colonel. I’ve read your record, you do seem to have a habit of getting into trouble.”

“Yes sir. Something I’m going to try to avoid in the future, if at all possible. I never really expected to have so much…um…adventure...as a lawyer at JAG HQ,” I tell him hesitantly.

He nods his head and looks at me. “Nothing’s going to make me regret not pursuing this, is itm Colonel? Nothing’s going to hit me in the back of my head?” he asks, reaffirming my declaration.

“No, sir, nothing. Nothing happened, so there can be no proof. An accusation can be made on the basis of pure suspicion, but there would be nothing to back it up. I can assure you, General.” I’m thrilled to be able to say this with no hesitation. “Sir, aside from the night the gunny came by to type my report, we’ve only been alone together for ten minutes on two occasions. I swear it.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Were you the first to suggest this …attraction, Colonel?” his eyes scrutinize me sharply. Finally, he’s covering the possibility of command influence.

I understand his meaning. “No, sir,” I answer.

“Colonel, did I precipitate this by having the Gunnery Sergeant watch over you while you were injured?” he asks with an odd look in his eye. He can’t possibly believe he was responsible for this, yet it appears to be the question he’s asking, and quite uncomfortably.

“No, sir,” I say as firmly and kindly as I possibly can. “As I said, the gunny and I have worked together off and on for years. We’ve worked here in the office, and we’ve been under fire in unfriendly places. A respect developed between us years ago, and a kind of affection that comes from sharing life-threatening situations.”

“This office has seen its share of emotional turmoil over the years, the interaction between the people here has always been deep, complex and unpredictable.” I take a deep breath, wondering if I’m making sense, but he nods slightly. I think he truly understands what I’m saying. “So,” I continue, “I think…I think what happened was just a question of timing. There was a moment when some word, some event, made us realize the possibility of something more. Once the idea was formed, it grew. It was impossible to stop. It was also difficult to control. I won’t try to make you believe otherwise. I only ask you to believe that we did control it.”

He walks to the window and looks out, standing for several agonizing moments with his back to me. Then he turns, and if the look on his face is an indicator, he believes me.

“May I ask a personal question, Colonel?” his tone changes slightly.

“Of course, sir,” I reply quickly. “Anything that might help.”

“Are you happy?” he looks me straight in the eyes again. “Really happy?”

“Yes, sir.” I tell him softly. “More so than I ever thought would be possible.”

I think he understands the full meaning of that. His eyes tell me he does.

“Good,” he says with a curt nod and a deep breath. “All right, Colonel,” his demeanor is completely professional again, “You can have your leave. It might be best not to advertise the situation for a while though,” he suggests.

“No, sir, I hadn’t planned to.”

End of part thirteen

Mobius Strip
Part Fourteen

Virginia, 2022
Early morning

This is such a beautiful house, I’m glad we decided to keep it. I’ve been happy and comfortable here. This large porch overlooking the small pasture and tall trees is a perfect, peaceful place for morning coffee.

Located on a small private lane, the house was originally built for the caretakers of a large estate. Once it was part of a huge farm. Belonging to absentee owners, it had been occupied by four generations of a family who maintained the original larger house, and ran the farm.

When Victor found it, most of the acreage had been sold for subdivisions and shopping centers, but a rather large area of pastures and forest were retained as a buffer to the original home. A few acres were deeded to the smaller house when it was offered for sale. It was nearly a hundred years old when we purchased it.

Although remodeled several times to provide for a more modern lifestyle, it still retained its turn of the century charm. An interesting acquisition with the deed was the discovery of the original house plans, and the subsequent changes the house underwent. We spent hours in detailed examination of the drawings trying to find telltale signs of the various stages in the house’s history.

Built in an era when central air was unavailable, it had a wide hallway running the length of the house on both floors. French doors at each end of the house could be opened to catch the prevailing breeze, and the roof was cooled by several large, ancient trees.

Once there had been eleven small rooms, but over the years walls had been moved or removed and now the floor plan is more open. Two bedrooms with an adjoining bath, and a master suite connected to a small office or nursery, occupy the second floor. The ground floor is divided into a large living area, a smaller formal dining room, large country kitchen with a family area to one side, and a nicely sized office/library, which could double as a bedroom if necessary.

It isn’t a large house, nor is it small. Its primary charm lay in its craftsmanship, its location, the large casement windows in every room, and the wide comfortable porch that surrounds the home on both floors. Despite the country feel, due to its location in the small private woods, the house was not much farther from JAG than my apartment in Georgetown, but in the opposite direction.

I remember being curious about the location, the night Victor first brought me here. Even now, as I think back, the memories and emotions of those first moments and hours alone with him threaten to overwhelm me. I’d have worried about the isolation if it had been another man, but for some reason I wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with him. Although our relationship had never reached the level it was about to attain, as long as I’d known him, I’d always felt a sense of safety in his presence. I was firmly convinced I would enjoy whatever he had in mind.

****

2005

Instantly, I’m enchanted as we turn into the unpaved lane and travel half a mile to the little house hidden in the trees. Being mid March, the trees aren’t quite ready to spread their spring canopy of soft green, but there is suppleness about the branches that suggests a gentler time is very near.

He pulls into the short drive in front of the house, and all I can do is stare. It isn’t grand, but it’s perfect. I know before he opens the door to coax me from the truck that I will never want to leave here. The moon is bright and it’s easy to see that the yard is full of many established plantings. It will be fascinating to see each of them come to life over the months, to find out what colors and flowers they will bring us.

I can feel his sense of delight as he guides me up the steps and into the place that is to be our home, but in my awe I don’t consciously recognize it as I wander from room to room. The large kitchen has a nice country style table and chairs, but the old glass front cabinets are nearly bare of cooking utensils and dishes. A problem we will easily remedy in time. Soon discovering neither of us is much of a cook, we decide it will be fun to sign up for a class together at a nearby kitchen store.

The formal dining room is empty of furniture, aside from some beautifully crafted built-in cabinetry. It’s sure to be an adventure finding furniture to compliment this room. The living room has an expensive looking couch, loveseat, and deep chair. All three pieces are upholstered in overstuffed caramel colored leather, piled with pillows and woven throws. The earth tones of the leather and fabrics, glow with an odd shimmer in the bright moonlight spilling through the windows. The only other items in the room are a few plastic crates used as side tables, and an old TV set. There are no lights, so lamps will top our list of immediate acquisitions.

The office is furnished with a nice oak desk. Matching bookcases line the walls with space left for my display cases. He has matched this new furniture to those few pieces that belong to me.

As we return to the hall, I finally find my voice.

“Victor it’s breathtaking,” comes in a hushed whisper.

“There is still a lot to do Sarah. I wanted some comforts here, but I thought it would be fun to do most of this together.” He admits.

“You’re right, it will,” I agree distractedly glancing up the stairs.

I feel as shy as a new bride for some reason. It isn’t the first time I’ve been with a man, but it’s easily going to be the most important time ever in my life. Uncharacteristically, I find myself uncertain of pleasing him. I’d never really cared before. In the past, I’d had relationships based largely on my insecurity that had demonstrated various degrees of need for someone in my life. The importance of this moment tells me how little I’d cared before.

“Me too,” he murmurs softly. He had stepped very close to me while my mind wandered.

“What,” I jump slightly, and turn to look into his eyes.

“I’m a little nervous, too. This is very important,” he acknowledges, and I nod. “Do you still want to stay,” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. As long as you’re here, I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.” A warm chill runs through me as the truth of this statement fills every corner of my heart. I’ll go back for my things, but I won’t be able to get out of there fast enough. This is heaven, having it with this wonderful man is going to be more than I ever dreamed.

He watches closely as all the emotions play across my face. The moonlight on his eyes shows me levels I never realized could exist in a human soul. Now, in this very minute, we are crossing the line. Never mind there are more intimate moments to come, more easily defined actions. It’s now that we are committing to everything we will do.

Slowly, very, very slowly he brings his lips to mine coaxing, tasting, and caressing. His hands hover near, not daring to touch me, as mine tingle for want of contact, hesitant to break the magic of this simple, deeply sensual kiss. For several minutes, we fall helplessly into the intense emotion found only with that single point of contact. As my body responds to this newly bared hunger, I find my legs will no longer support me. Leaning into him, I wrap my arms slowly around his neck and bury my fingers in the velvet covering the back of his head. His arms immediately surrounded me, greedily he drags me hard against him, as we continued exploring the pleasure of a kiss and touch so recently forbidden to us. The need, the desire, the passion, are undimmed, waiting their turn to play a part in our lovemaking. Only the urgency is held tenuously in check. Impatiently awaiting its moment, it no longer rules our actions.

“Let’s go up, Sarah,” he suggests as we slowly pull apart, awed by the increased power of each successive contact. “I have more for you to see.” A twinkle in his eye shows me that while serious, he is playing, there is an unexpected tease to his words. He reaches for my bag, retrieving it from where it was dropped near the door, and takes my hand to walk up the stairs beside me. I’m grateful for the moment to stop and savor the emotions raised by his passion. I want the chance to remember every single caress, every inner response.

First he guides me to the two unfurnished rooms. We acknowledge with a silent promise, they will be filled with our children. Then turning, he leads me across the landing to a large, beautifully hand carved door. Years of white paint have softened the detail of the original wooden moldings. I wonder fleetingly if it would be worth removing the paint and exposing the bare wood underneath. The thought is immediately moved aside as my gaze shifts to the man who stands beside me, and I decide that tonight I will be occupied with more interesting activities.

Opening the door, he pushes slightly, and its well-balanced weight carries it wide. He reaches inside and flips a switch, then steps back as I take in the scene before me. The furnishings could have come from an old plantation in the deep south. The only thing that suggests well-crafted reproductions is the size of the matching bed. Antique beds do not come in king size. The intricately carved posts at each corner rival those made by hand one hundred and fifty years ago.

It’s a perfect picture. Exactly the kind of bedroom I’d always dreamed of having. I vaguely recall one afternoon when we were stuck in traffic. I’d been paging through a magazine and was stunned when I came across a photograph. I remarked distractedly that once I was healed I would try to find a shop that sold this brand. I honestly didn’t think he was even listening. He did this for me. Quite obviously, it’s not the type of furniture a man would choose for himself.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper in awe, “just beautiful.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as the woman I want to share it with,” he murmurs. I can feel his warm breath tickle the back of my neck, and I lean back against him for a moment of brief contact. There is little doubt that he’s unconcerned what the bed looks like, as long as we are together.

The walls of the room are painted a soft cloud white, and the hardwood floors have been refinished to a perfect shine that glow a deep gold in the soft light. Straight across the room, double doors open onto the second floor porch. The brilliant moonlight illuminates the intricately carved railings. To the right through an open door, I glimpse a modern looking bathroom.

The interesting part of the room is the colors. The rugs, the bedding, and drapes all echo the colors of the southwestern desert. An indistinct pattern includes the dusty colors of the sage, the deep red bluffs, and the heat soaked azure skies. They are tamed by a predominance of the desert sand, and the cloud white walls. Clearly though, everything that gives the room color is removable, so the mood can be changed to suit the season or whim.

I stand speechless, surrounded by the colors that bond our personal history. Victor moves in closer behind me, surrounding my waist with his arms.

“I had a little help with this room,” he admitted. “The decorator at the store said this way you can change the colors if you want.”

“I love these colors; it reminds me of Red Rock Mesa,” I muse.

“I know they’re the same colors that remind me of home, too,” he confides.

He steps past me to place my bag near the bathroom door, then turns to look at me. The invitation is clear the next move is mine.

We stand there for a minute, suddenly overcome by a surging uncertainty. I can’t stand it; sheer delight overcomes my insecurity. A delicious giggle escapes my throat and in three flying steps, I’m in his arms. His lips immediately find mine, surrounding me with waves of unleashed passion. We surrender to the desperate desires so long denied, as he scoops me effortlessly into his arms and walks to the side of the big bed.

“If you want to change on your own say so now,” his voice is warm and gravelly with emotion, “otherwise I’m going to help you out of everything you’re wearing,” he gives me an interestingly wicked grin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before. “And then I intend to kiss everything I find underneath.”

A warm shiver of anticipation rolls through me, vibrating on the waves of his promise. “I can’t think of anything Id like better,” I breathe lightly in his ear.

He places one knee on the bed, lowering me to the soft surface, bringing himself gently but firmly over me. We slowly lose ourselves in the pleasure of a deep kiss as our lips experiment with the marvelous sensation of touch. Straying to my cheek, he returns for another taste, then trails along my neck, nibbling at my ear before once again recapturing my lips.

I return the favor, eager to become familiar with the flavor, and scent, and sounds of this man who will be mine forever. Rolling slightly to one side, he frees our hands and arms to surround and explore each other. Time marks its way though this once forbidden landscape of tangled desire, first with the disappearance of my sweater, then his shirt. Later my skirt slides away, then his jeans. His promise surrounds me with a golden cloud of sensation, as he slowly and deliberately kisses each part he finds, only to return repeatedly to feast on my lips. Every gesture every touch is made slowly, almost hesitantly at first, as we indulge in this exquisite voyage of discovery.

I lose myself completely in his sensual playfulness. Though his touch is never timid, his strength is subtle. It supports and surrounds me, with never an attempt to overpower. Firm and direct in his passion, he never demands submission. His caresses excite me, inviting me to lose myself in the joyous sensations of the moment. His kisses inflame me and my response unleashes a burning need from deep in my soul. Every step in our loving, he allows me to give myself, carefully drawing my response to his fiery need from deep within. Until ultimately he offers me the full force of his love, and I accept, equally returning the force of mine.

****

2022

In all the thousands of times we made love in this bed, and in this room, his ardor never dimmed, his desire was never indifferent. Though the first time will always remain a special part of my heart, each time after carried the same incredible excitement. We never lost the sense of wonder we felt in each other.

Two months later, we traveled to New Mexico to visit his family and be married. I had expected a small quiet ceremony. Dinner with his family, perhaps at a local restaurant, as there was neither the time nor the money for a large affair. Victor had initially put a lot of money into making the house comfortable, and together we had decided a better beginning was to invest in owning this special place and turning it into our home.

Victor’s mother had other plans. I was welcomed as a daughter the minute we arrived. She repeated to everyone who would listen that she thought her son would never find a woman he wanted enough to marry. Then she proceeded to organize a feast that required special dishes from all members of the family. An antique wedding gown was carefully removed from its tissue bed, and meticulously fitted to me.

Five days later, we were married in a small local church, and our union celebrated at a party that must have included half the county. The festivities brought back early childhood memories of my mother’s family. With my grandmother’s Iranian background, and my grandfather’s Irish one, there were family traditions, special dishes, and holidays to celebrate frequently. We lived with my grandparents for six years while my father was deployed. After we moved away, life became less and less joyous, and I had repressed those memories. This was like returning to that time again.

The following morning we left early for our honeymoon. Eschewing exotic locations, we decided on the quiet and comfort of spending our week together in our new home. We’d discussed the usual tropical islands, and even toyed with the idea of a few days at Red Rock Mesa. However, in the course of our service we’d seen countless exotic locales, and spent more than enough time sleeping in the sand to last us a lifetime. Most of our adult lives we’d spent in a transient status, even my apartment had always been temporary. The temptation to hide away in a place of our own was too overwhelming.

Daytimes would find us prowling through local home furnishing stores, and even a few antique stores, looking for just this right piece or that. We never purchased anything for the house unless it spoke to both of us.

I hadn’t expected this level of patience from him. Shopping isn’t usually an accepted pastime for most men. But Victor was fired with a nesting instinct that hit him hard in the wake of his combat experience, and he seemed nearly obsessed to make our home comfortable as soon as possible. Once he made up his mind that he wanted a home, and children, and me to share it with him, he was unstoppable. He wanted it now.

Evenings were spent learning and exploring more of our new relationship, both personally and intimately. On a personal level, I discovered that Gunny was a collector. He secretly enjoyed the fact that I dragged him into every antique shop in a fifty-mile radius, because he could add to his collection. In the soft light of day, on our first morning, I found his books and old photographs detailing the history of the Marine Corps. He’d left plenty of room in the office for my books and dinosaur collection but some of the shelves and one wall were covered with Marine history.

During out first year together, our sons were brought home to this wonderful house, before Victor was transferred to Spain and I took an opening to be near him. It turned into an unexpected opportunity when two years later my CO took an early retirement and recommended me for his job. Oddly enough, someone listened and as ranking officer in the department, I was given the command six months after Megan was born.

We stayed for four more years before I was offered the Command in Naples and Victor found a position in the NCIS office nearby. We were there for two years before he was transferred back to the States. Once again I thought my career would suffer for the move. I was eventually proven wrong, but at the time, the chance to come back to this house was worth it. Though we’d found reliable people to lease the place for eight years, never once did either of us suggest selling it. Now it was to be our home again.

I remember the first time Victor opened the door for us as a family. The boys barreled through the house and found their way out the back door before we were inside. Megan wasn’t far behind them. By the time we made it to the back porch, they were exploring the expanses of the large yard and looking for likely hiding places to ambush each other. It wasn’t long before Victor had to pull Meggie out of the nearest tree and lecture her on the inconvenience of broken arms. It didn’t do much good though, even after she broke her arm several years later falling from the same tree.

Christmas was my favorite time here. Because of the slightly higher ceilings of the old architecture, we always had a tall tree, gaily decorated and centered before the large window in the living room. Living and working in Europe for eight year had given us the opportunity to collect special ornaments from many unique locations. The children always enjoyed stories, however vague, about the cases we were working on when we found each particular decoration. It was always part of the tree trimming tradition to tell these stories as each piece was given its special place on the tree. Best of all were the stories of family trips, when we found ornaments together. Especially the three times we traveled to visit Victor’s family for the holidays.

It’s a beautiful house and we’ve made it a home filled with warm and wonderful memories.

Rinsing my coffee cup, I leave it on the drain board and walk to the door. I pick up my purse from the small table in the front hallway, grab my cell phone, and take my keys from the hook by the door. I’ve taken the day off for this errand, but I still don’t know how I feel about seeing him after all these years. I didn’t make an appointment for fear he would refuse to see me. This is too important, and it isn’t about me. None of that quells my nerves, as I start my car and head down the lane towards the main road. I repeat to myself what Victor often said to me ‘We’re Marines, we can do anything.’ I force myself to breathe past the lump in my throat, as I turn my car in the direction of the US Naval Academy at Annapolis.

End of Fourteen

Mobius Strip
Part Fifteen

U.S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, Maryland
April 2022 mid morning

“I’m well, General, and you,” I inquire, more uncertain about this encounter than anything in my life.

“Mac. Please call me Mac, Harm,” she looks somewhat distracted. “This is sort of a personal visit.”

My eyebrow shoots up, “I see,” I tell her, even though I don’t.

“It’s about my sons,” she adds to the confusion.

Both my eyebrows go up. I don’t know what to say.

She suddenly shakes her head visibly withdrawing from me. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry,” she states, turning to leave the room. Something’s wrong. She came to me; I can’t let her down. I’ve done that too often.

“No, Mac, please, wait. I’m sorry, how can I help?” I ask, nearly pleading.

She stops half turned, and takes a deep breath. Resetting her shoulders, she responds, “Well you could stop raising your eyebrows at me, and reply with words,” she suggests, with a pale half-smile.

I return a discomfited smile. “Fair enough,” I agree. If she’s even trying humor at this point, if she’s not running, she needs something badly. I know Mac, and no one can change that much.

“And you can ask me to sit down,” she smiles a little more.

“I’m sorry,” I shake my head, “I was just startled. Of course, please sit down. Tell me how I can help?” I’m more than anxious to know what brought her to me after all these years.

“Mostly just by being you,” she explains with less than crystal clarity.

“I don’t understand. What made you think it was a mistake to ask my help?” She came all this way only to want to back away, I should be thinking more deeply, but I’m not.

“Because you don’t know. I thought you did. I thought you’d know all of it, but you don’t,” she weaves an enigma.

“Oh, Mac, just a small favor here,” I beg. “None of this is making the least bit of sense. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking a bout.”

“You didn’t know I was the JAG?” she asks with an affirmative nod. “That it was me, who was that Sarah Galindez?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry….I lost track….”

“And that was because you didn’t know I’d changed my name?” she continues in the tone of a question.

“You disappeared from the JAG email roster. I wasn’t sure what happened to you. I never put it together. When I called HQ there was no one left that I knew, no one I could ask discretely,” I explain.

“You watched the email roster?” she asks a little startled.

I nod. “I tried to write to you. There were things I wanted to say, things I wanted to tell you. I even tried when Amanda was born. I wanted to share the news,” I duck my head. “But every time, I erased the letter. Nothing came out right. Nothing I could say…was ever the right thing to say.” I look out the window letting the thought hang.

She nods, “It was for the best, Harm. For everyone.”

“I know,” I agree. “Still….” There’s just no way I can tell her now, that I missed her friendship most of all.

“Please tell me you’ve been happy, Harm.” She looks to my eyes for the answer. I give her an honest, albeit incomplete one.

“I was. It….” I hesitate, how can I say what I really mean? “It wasn’t the same,” I look at her, “but I was happy.” It’s the truth, for a while we were happy.

“Good,” she seems to relax and accept that without question. “I’m glad.”

“So where did you go?” I ask, changing to a less difficult subject.

“Spain…” the distraction is back. “We went to Spain. Victor finished his probation, and a few months later, I got my promotion. In the spring, he was reassigned. I changed my name officially then. We transferred to Spain….” she trails off absently.

Something is very wrong here, but knowing Mac, it won’t be easy to get to it.

“Don’t take this wrong, Mac, but, well….” I hesitate. She is a General now, after all.

“How did it work?” She reads my thoughts, “A Colonel and a Gunnery Sergeant?”

I nod, seriously trying to read her face.

“He wasn’t a gunny any more, Harm. When he returned to JAG it was a terminal assignment. Didn’t you know that?” she seems surprised.

I shake my head ruefully. “We didn’t exactly go out for beer and pool, Mac. The rumor mill didn’t work as well as when Harriet and Chegwidden were there.”

“I guess you’re right,” she concedes. “The General thought he could convince Victor to stay with the Corps, but he’d pretty much made up his mind before he came to work for us.”

“And?” I ask

“And what?” she looks puzzled.

“You’re wearing a ring, you have his name, you referred to your boys. Something else must have happened. Was I right the night I came to your apartment?” I look at her closely. I knew then she was sandbagging me, but I wonder if even now she’ll admit it.

“Yes and no. A lot happened, Harm,” she says thoughtfully. “That night was just the beginning, the first tiny recognition. Nothing actually happened until much later, until he took off his uniform for the last time.” She’s looking in my eyes, and I can see the truth. “Victor went to work for NCIS. We were married. We had the boys, twins, Ricky and Robbie, although you’ll never call them that, mother’s privilege,” the corner of her mouth twitches slightly. “Later there was a girl Megan. Meggie, we call her.”

Her face lights with an unguarded smile, when she mentions her children. I forgot how glorious her smile is. I once mentioned I’d forgotten how beautiful she was, but it was long before that her smile had slipped away from me.

“Why did you come to see me about your boys, Mac?” I’m still puzzled by this visit.

“As a friend….that is….a former friend,” she corrects quickly.

“A friend, Mac.” I reassure her. “I’ll always be your friend. We’ve gone separate ways, but that will never change.”

“Thank you for that, Harm. I’ll always be yours,” she promises softly. “Then as a friend,” she continues, “and as a mother….” her voice drifts again.

I need to encourage her a little. “Again Mac, how can I help?”

“The boys will be here, Harm,” she blurts. “They’ll be here soon after they graduate from high school, at the end of May. They’ll have classes with you.”

Suddenly it hits me. I search my desk for a stack of papers, the roster of new students. There they are, “Eric and Robert Galindez, Law of the Sea I and first year Leadership,” I read from the sheet.

“That’s right,” she affirms.

“What is it, Mac?” I can’t believe the suspicion that assails my mind, but I’ve never been my best with her when I’m puzzled. “Do you want me to make it easy for them?”

Her eyes flare for a moment, and I’m certain I’m about to garner the full wrath of a very angry General. Then she sinks back into her chair with an expelled breath.

“No, sorry,” she shakes her head. “I should have explained better. Just the opposite. They’re good boys, Harm. Victor taught them to be good men. They’re strong and honorable. I only want you to teach them to be good officers. Like you,” she finishes

“Like me?” There goes that eyebrow again

“Yes, like you. Some bad things happened to you in your career. You weren’t always treated fairly, but you were always the quintessential officer. The very essence of honor. No other man I ever met, no other officer, could have pulled off that situation with Mattie and Jennifer, without a hint of a question about your intentions or appearances.”

I’m going to have to put tape on that eyebrow, but she reads my unasked question.

“Apples and oranges, Harm. Victor could undoubtedly have done it, with as much honor as you. But as a Gunnery Sergeant, a Force Recon Marine, no court would have allowed him the opportunity. It was too likely he might have been recalled to a combat zone. He’d never have gained custody.”

“You were a senior officer at JAG, and a high profile one at that. You were permitted the guardianship, but you put yourself in such a precarious position doing it that one misstep would have not only ended your career, but probably landed you in Leavenworth. Yet no one I knew ever questioned the situation, or your motives. Certainly I didn’t,” she finishes.

“Thank you, Mac, that means a lot.” I tell her sincerely. She’d never told me that at the time, but if I recall correctly, we didn’t have a lot of personal conversations. I have to be brutally honest and admit it was mostly my fault. If we had, things might have been different. But that’s all over now. I can’t rewrite the past.

“You honor me with your request. I’ll try to live up to it,” I promise.

“Don’t coddle them, and don’t let them get away with anything, Harm. I’m not asking you to be more severe, but make them live up to the standards you would expect of your own sons. Please.” Her voice trembles slightly with a trace of desperation or fear, something. I wonder if it was as hard for her to ask, as it was for me to hear, but I won’t let her down. Though there’s something more here. I can feel it.

“So both your sons are going Navy,” I try a little tease to change the mood.

“No, actually not,” she smiles ruefully, “only one, Robbie. Ricky wants to be a Marine JAG lawyer. He’s always wanted to be a Marine. The way he and Victor drilled, he could probably pass boot camp tomorrow without breaking a sweat. He’s practically committed the UCMJ to memory, and now he’s working on the nuances and interpretations,” she reveals with no small amount of pride. It isn’t surprising, his mother has always been a brilliant attorney. Why not the son?

“I see. Following in Mom’s footprints?” She nods, there’s a hint of trepidation in her eyes. She’s going to run if I don’t find the answer soon. “And Robbie, what does he want?”

“He’s not certain of the actual career designation, as long as it’s Navy,” she replies. “Generally, something in engineering, design, anything that allows him to build things. He’s brilliant Harm. I think he has the entire schematics of every piece of equipment the Navy owns all in his head. Every ship, every plane, everything, and what each piece is made of. He’s been part of a summer intern program twice at Northrup-Grumann. He’s had offers of full scholarship to the best schools, and a six-figure income on graduation. But he’s decided he has to serve in the Navy.”

“I take it this is a recent decision,” I’m getting to the bottom of this.

She just nods, looking out the window. “I’m worried about the discipline, Harm. It’s all so new to him. He wants it badly, but he’s…. well…..I don’t know, a bookworm I guess you’d call it. He’s more likely to say ‘Ummmhmmm what can I do for you’ without taking his nose out of the computer, than he is to jump to his feet at attention if you address him. It was just never going to be important. It wasn’t something he learned.” She trailed off again. There are hints here, if I could only see it.

“What does Victor say about this? His son suddenly going into the Navy?” I ask. Maybe, just maybe.

“He always supported his sons in whatever they wanted to do, as long as it was honorable,” she glances at me quickly then looks away, her eyes darting around the room. A sudden chill hits me.

“Where is he, Mac?” I ask softly.

There it is. It’s all over her face. It almost crumbles. She blinks looking at the ceiling, bites her lips to hold together. A deep shuddering sigh goes through her. “I lost him,” she says simply, a tiny sob shaking her voice.

I take a deep breath. Damn. “The job?” I ask, silently swearing every word the Navy ever taught me, and some I picked up from Marines.

She just nods, then shrugs.

“Gunny wouldn’t have been easily surprised,” I remark absently. I don’t want to upset her more, but I’m not sure what to say here.

“You can’t stop…” she hesitates choking on another broken sob, then takes several deep breaths, “…stop a broken airplane from falling out of the sky,” she finishes, tears running down her face.

“The transport in December?” I ask. Understanding washes over me.

She nods quickly her misery building.

“It was sabotage. They caught the men responsible,” I offer, not knowing what else to say.

She nods again. Then in a shaky voice on the verge of cracking, she adds, “It doesn’t give me my Gunny back.” The tears come harder.

“Oh God, Mac, I’m so sorry.” I lunge from my chair, and round the desk in three strides kneeling before her. The use of that title as an endearment tells me the depth of her loss. Her thread of control is almost gone now; the tears refuse to stop. Her breath is coming in irregular gulps.

“Harm?” her voice is tiny and helpless. She just looks at me through those drowning eyes asking if I can fix it for her, knowing I can’t.

“Oh, Mac,” is all I can say as I rise, pulling her with me. “Permission to hold the General,” I whisper, and without waiting for an answer, I pull her into my arms. With a heavy heart-wrenching sob, she breaks completely, shuddering as though she will fall into little pieces. I hold her tight, supporting her, as her body trembles convulsively under the full weight of her sorrow.

If I know Mac, she’s been holding this in, clinging to her tough facade since it happened, barely shedding a tear except perhaps in private. I doubt she’s allowed herself this absolute outpouring of grief.

This was always my biggest fear with her, the barrier that always held me back. That someday I would die in a crash and leave her alone. And now, it’s happened to her anyway. Yet in a way I envy Victor for having the courage to give her the happiness they’ve shared all these years. Her abject pain is an easy indicator of the extraordinary joy she’s had in her life. In this very minute I would change places with him if it were possible and give him back to her. If only I could make her happy again.

Faintly it occurs to me that I’ll lose another dress shirt. This has happened before. I should have learned long ago not to make her cry. My only consolation is this time it wasn’t something I did.

I’m overwhelmingly gratified that she would still trust me enough to share this with me. I can only hold her close, offer her what comfort I can, and give her my support as her oldest and best friend.

End of fifteen

Mobius strip
Part Sixteen

1515 Friday
Mid August
2022

Exiting the southeast gate, I turn down Randall Street towards the Market square on the harbor. Town will be a zoo with plebe weekend drawing parents here to visit their new sailors. I won’t get any work done in my office, so I’m leaving early to try to get it done at home. It’s the end of this segment before regular classes start in a week, and I only have some finals to grade. Still, it won’t be easy to have the grades ready by Monday.

Rather than bothering with a restaurant tonight, I’ll get some fish--whatever is fresh--and take it home. I was never very happy in crowds and now I’m even less patient with them. The school grounds will be crawling with happy strangers till late Sunday afternoon. In addition to my assigned duties for the event, there will be the frequent casual meetings with every kind of parent. The blustering self-important fool who wants to tell me in detail which dignitary recommended their precious child for appointment to the academy and why. As well as the direct opposite, the humble but proud people who are grateful for their child’s extraordinary opportunity. The latter is much easier to interact with than the former. I never was very good at politics. Guess that’s why I’m here.

I love this town, no matter the time of year. The sea is so near you can smell it in the air. There is always a bit of humidity, but the light breeze usually keeps the temperature pleasant. Further inland, the heat and humidity is harder to take. I’m not particularly fond of the frigid winters, or the hurricanes, but anywhere you go on the East coast you are subject to them. And everywhere in the world has some weather pattern that isn’t especially pleasant.

There is something shiny and sparkling, yet old and solid about the town. Once again, I take great pleasure in my surroundings. I delight in every step of the two blocks to my destination. It’s one of the few places I’ve been, that have given me anything akin to peace.

Rounding the corner into the main square, I head for the little coffee house/book store behind the fish market. It’s late in the afternoon, but I have a lot of work to do tonight. A cup of coffee won’t hurt me much.

As I reach the end of the short street, I see her. Sitting there serenely, reading her book, and sipping absently at her cup of coffee. She looks so composed, yet there is an aura of pain and desolation about her. The sea breeze off the water plays tag through her soft curls. There are only a few strands of silver present in the mahogany tangle that frames her face.

I’m hesitant to approach her, but powerless to resist. I’d hoped she would keep in touch after our meeting in April. She cried on my shoulder for quite some time, before pulling her Marine around her again, and thanking me formally, with a brave mustering of warmth and appreciation for my sympathy.

I’d given her my card with all my contact information. It would have been easy enough for me to find her, but I couldn’t contact her. She hadn’t invited it; it would have been intrusive and inappropriate. So I waited and hoped. Hoped I would see her tomorrow at the ceremonies and festivities. Perhaps a short, if public visit, any kind of contact at all, I just wanted to see her, to talk to her again.

Slowly my feet turn in her direction and I have no will to stop them. In a moment I’m standing across the table from her, leaning my hands on the back of a vacant chair.

“Hi, Mac,” I say softly.

She starts slightly, quickly looking up. “Harm, I didn’t hear you walk up,” she smiles. It’s genuine, but veiled.

The pain still resides in the deepest recesses of her eyes. What I wouldn’t give to wipe it away, but I have no power to do that.

I’m unsure what to say next, so something awkward comes out as usual. “I see you came for the fun.” It’s a throwaway line, but it’s better than silence.

A faint flickering of her long lost merriment passes briefly over her face. I think for a minute she’s going to tease me about my discomfort, but all she says is, “Yes. I wouldn’t have missed it.”

She hesitates uncomfortably, and I decide it would be better if I go. I’m apparently not the company she would like this afternoon.

“Well, I guess….,” I start.

“Sit down, Harm,” she interrupts suddenly. “Please,” she adds, when she realizes it sounds like an order.

I can’t help it, the old flyboy smile surfaces, if not in full force, then in a respectable representation at least.

“Thanks,” I reply. I’m fifty-nine years old, and once again in my life, this woman is making me feel like a schoolboy. I try to be dignified in my acceptance, but I find myself scrambling into the chair across from her with decidedly undignified alacrity.

She hides the hint of amusement behind her book, then allows a distraction in the form of a waiter to take my attention. I order another small carafe of coffee hoping she won’t mind my presence while I sip my way through the hearty brew this place is famous for. I’ll probably be up all night, but just the thought of having her to myself for a few minutes will do that anyway.

“So….uh,” I begin, “are you staying in town for the weekend?” I see her smile soften as she glances over my shoulder and nods, but when I turn there’s no one there.

“Yes, we are. Just up the street,” she tilts her head, indicating one of the oldest and nicest B and B’s in the area.

“We?” I ask, trying for all I’m worth to sound neutral, struggling to keep something unsuitable from creeping into my voice.

She gives me a very odd look, like she has read my mind and it puzzles her. The look that creeps across her face is akin to a cottontail trapped by a pack of wild dogs. I need to back off. I don’t ever want to be one of the wild dogs in her life. I hasten to apply a reassuring smile, and she relaxes.

“My daughter, Harm,” she explains, the same soft smile of a moment ago quickly returns.

“Oh,” I say, swallowing the hollow sound of my stupidity with dry gulp.

“Hi Mom, who’s your friend?” I hear a strangely familiar voice touch my ear, from the direction of the shop doorway. I would turn, but I’m fascinated by the look on Mac’s face. There’s a tiny blush touching her cheeks. She almost looks like she’s been caught at….at….well, something.

“Meggie, this is Captain Rabb,” she begins, and I rise, turning to greet the owner of the voice.

Somewhere from another universe, I hear her say, “Captain, this is my daughter Megan.”

“Meggie,” the young woman says firmly, and reaches her hand to greet me. Déjà vu makes me light headed, as I stand open-mouthed, staring at her. For the second time in my life I’m struck dumb by the same vision. She’s the absolute image of her mother, minus a few inconsequential years.

My mouth tries to work. Finally, I choke out something that sounds like, “Meggie, I’m…I’m pleased to meet you,” I answer still holding her hand.

“Are you okay, sir?” she asks, a look of concern on her face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Meggie, mind your manners,” Mac corrects mildly.

“Yes ma’am,” she replies. “I was just worried.”

“I think I have,” I reply looking at Mac. Still stunned, I see the recognition in her face.

“The Rose Garden,” she breathes.

I can only nod, “She’s….uh…Meggie, I’m sorry. This is a very long story; please forgive me if I’ve been rude.” Quickly I recover, and pull a chair out for her. “Sit down. Please.”

She looks hard at her mother, who I know is looking hard at me. I continue to focus on this absolute image of a face that has both pleased and haunted my life.

“Okay. You guys are either going to have to tell me the story, or stop now. You’ve got me scared.” Meggie insists half joking, but I hear the concern in her voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. As I said, it’s a long story. But it’s not scary. Well, not all of it.” I try a small laugh to lighten the mood. Looking back at Mac, I see that she’d rather not go into it right now, so I demur. “Perhaps some other time I can explain it, Meggie,” I offer hoping it will foretell of future meetings.

“Yes,” Mac agrees, “some other time.” Her voice is puzzling. I can’t tell if the idea pleases or disturbs her. There’s an emotion there, but so deeply hidden behind other emotions it isn’t identifiable.

“So how do you two know each other?” Meggie asks with typical teenage curiosity.

I start to answer, but Mac speaks first.

“He’s one of Ricky and Robbie’s instructors,” she rushes in.

Meggie cocks a disbelieving glance at her, and then looks to me for verification. I just flash my flyboy smile. She doesn’t seem any more impressed than Mac used to be, and she guesses there’s more, but I’m not getting between Mac and her children. No sane man would.

“So,” I try a distraction in a neutral voice, “are you enjoying Annapolis?” I inquire politely, hoping I don’t sound too…well, Mattie used to call it doofus.

She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “You’re kidding right?” she asks in that same ‘duh’ voice teenagers have used throughout the years.

“Meggie,” Mac warns.

“Sorry, sir, but…” she starts

“Meggie, don’t call me sir, okay?” I invite. “Call me Captain if you wish, or with your mother’s permission, you can call me Harm.” I’m hoping a reduction in formalities will relax the moment.

Mac stiffens slightly.

“For now, let’s leave it at Captain,” she suggests.

I nod acceding to her wishes. “Now miss, I think I asked a question,” I tease. Mattie did try to teach me how to talk to teenagers.

“What’s not to like?” she gives me a sideways glance. Her eyes reveal to me that Mac probably has her hands full with this young lady. “I’m almost sixteen and the town’s full of brand new baby sailors. It’s heaven,” she admits in a saucy voice.

“Meggie!” Mac responds quickly, appalled by her daughters audaciousness.

I have to laugh, but inside I feel a small chill as well. Is this what Mac would have always been like, if not for her childhood? Obviously, Mac’s children are all well cared for, well trained, and deeply loved. They are stable and secure enough for their true personalities to shine. The thought makes me sad for Mac, but also very, very happy that she was able to fulfill her dream of giving the very best to her children.

“What do you teach, Captain?” she asks, undaunted by Mac’s attempted formality.

“Law of the Sea, Leadership,” I provide. “I also lecture on some engineering courses and a few other areas.” I downplay my role a little with a shrug, I want to know more about Mac’s current life, and her charming daughter, and I won’t find that out talking about myself.

“What are you studying?” I ask thinking it’s an innocent enough subject.

“Well, I’d like to be a pilot, but Mom keeps trying to talk me out of it,” she says looking a little defiantly at Mac. Then she looks back at me and notices my wings.

“Wow, are you a pilot?” she asks.

“I was, a long time ago,” I answer uncomfortably. I think I just opened a can of worms, and I try desperately to stuff all the wiggly tendrils of this conversation back inside and close the lid. I look pleadingly at Mac trying to apologize for stepping into this family issue. She’s looking down at her hands.

Slowly her eyes raise to mine. “I used to think it was a very bad idea, it’s so easy to lose people that way. I’m not so sure any more. I’m beginning to think it’s more important to enjoy what you have while you have it, than worry about what might happen.”

“Does that mean I can?” Meggie interrupts, unaware of the moment of introspection that’s just occurred.

“That means we’ll talk more about it,” Mac says with an indulgent smile.

Meggie appears to accept this small concession for now, and turns back to me, “You have some awesome medals. What are they for?” she asks boldly.

“Don’t be nosy, Meggie” Mac cautions.

“Mom,” the endearment draws out in exasperation. “How can I carry on a conversation without asking questions?” she inquires with scathing logic.

I laugh under my breath, and shake my head. “Precocious,” I comment. “She reminds me of Mattie.”

“Doesn’t she just,” Mac agrees.

“Who’s Mattie?” Meggie immediately inquires.

This is an easier story to share, “She was my ward. I was her guardian for a year when she was fifteen. Her mother had died, and her father had some problems. She needed adult supervision, so I sort of adopted her temporarily.” I try to keep it simple.

“So where does she go to school? Does she live here?” her inquiries tumble out enthusiastically.

“No,” I shake my head. “That was almost twenty years ago.” Smiling proudly, I add, “She now owns a small commuter airline. It’s quite successful here on the East coast.”

“What’s her name?” she looks at me curiously, and with a hint of anticipation.

“Mathilda Grace,” I answer, “although she’s married now so her…”

“Mattie Grace? Grace Air?” She squeals in delight, “You know her? Wow!” Meggie practically jumps from her chair.

“Yes,” I smile. “Why?” I’m a little puzzled.

“Oh wow! Mom you never told me you knew her,” she turns back to me. “She’s my absolute hero. Do you know she built that airline one plane at a time, starting with crop dusters and giving private rides off season,” she is bubbling now.

“Yes, as a mater of fact I do. I flew for her for a short while,” I add, then instantly regret it. That statement will open another can of worms.

She latches on with a vengeance.

“Yeah? When?” she asks, obviously aware that would be difficult with a career in the Navy.

I run another red herring past her, “It’s another long story. But I’d like to introduce you sometime, if your Mom will allow it.” I look inquiringly at Mac.

Mac nods, not nearly as reluctantly as I had expected.

“Oh wow, can I, Mom?” she bubbles. “Wow, that would be so…. wow. You really know her?” she finishes in breathless disbelief.

“Yes, I really know her.” I smile another of my flyboy smiles at her.

She smiles back, noticeably more impressed this time, then plunges forward, “So when do I get to hear all these long stories?” she asks, once again the forthright teenager.

“Well, maybe we can start by having dinner,” I take a chance, lifting an eyebrow at Mac.

She’s getting that cottontail look again. “Maybe sometime,” she agrees.

I take that as my cue and start to rise. “Well, perhaps I’ll see you ladies tomorrow?” I offer politely, taking my voice to a more detached level.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other this weekend, Harm,” Mac replies. I can feel Meggie’s eyes follow us like an observer at a tennis match.

“Miss Megan, it’s been a pleasure,” I address her. “Mac, I hope to see you tomorrow,” I add, trying to diminish the stiffness I feel at the perceived dismissal.

“So do I, Harm,” she responds, fighting something behind her eyes.

I step into the small shop to pay my bill and theirs, and as I wait my turn I hear Meggie’s voice ask with canny insight. “So who is he really, Mom?”

Mac replies somewhat defensively, “I told you, he’s one of your brothers’ instructors.”

“Right, Mom. Are all my brothers’ instructors in love with you?” Her voice drips with the full extent of teenage disdain for her mother’s diversion.

“Megan Galindez, behave yourself,” Mac fumes, then turns, to gaze out at the harbor.

I take advantage of this pause, to pass behind Megan and give a little wave. “See you later,” I offer casually, as I step into the narrow street.

“He’s not in love with me,” I hear Mac say in a quiet voice, as I begin to cross the street.

“Bet me,” barely carries to my ears, as I walk out of earshot.

A few minutes later I step out of the fish market, and turn south towards the side street that will take me home. I nearly run into her, before I see her standing in my path.

“Meggie,” I say startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“My mother has reconsidered,” she blurts bluntly.

“What?” I don’t quite comprehend.

“She’s reconsidered. We…uh…discussed it. We will be happy to have dinner with you. I sort of have to come as a chaperone. You understand don’t you? It will be a while,” she supplies conspiratorially.

I look deeply into the eyes of this child, wise beyond her years. “Yes. I understand. Believe me Meggie, I completely understand.”

“Good, then where?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

“Where what?” I’m still stunned by this unexpected ally.

“Where for dinner? The town is full,” she looks around at the people milling about the streets, “and it wouldn’t be appropriate to come to your house since you’re not married. Mom thinks you are, but you’re not, are you?”

“No Meggie, I’m not. Not for a long time,” I smile at her a little sadly.

She nods, “I didn’t think so. Another long story I suppose,” she glances up at me through her lashes. I can remember so many times when Mac did that, times when she was one step ahead of me.

“Another long story I’m afraid,” I sigh. And mostly classified, I add silently.

She nods her head again, “So where?” she pushes.

I wave my hand towards the corner. “The Crab Shack,” I suggest. “It’s nice and informal. The owner’s a friend of mine. He’ll find me a table. One by the window so you can watch the sailors,” I tease, knowing well her mother has her on a very short leash. I hand her my card. “Call me in an hour, and I’ll tell you what time to expect me.”

She gives me a glistening smile that’s mostly her mother, but contains an element of her father. His smile was rare but powerful. It usually made a deep impression when he used it. She has the same quality about her.

She turns to go and I stop her, “Meggie why?”

She turns back and looks at me, studying my face. She knows what I mean.

“Because she’s always been very, very happy. I hate it that she’s not. It will take some time. It will take all of us some time, but I want her happy again.” She says, and then she’s gone.

I fight the small layer of moisture in my eyes, arising from the trust this child has instinctively placed on me. I turn, and walk quickly up the street, towards my home overlooking the smaller harbor three blocks away.

End of sixteen

Mobius Strip
Part Seventeen

U. S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, MD
Annual Christmas Ball
Early December 2022

I’ve looked everywhere for her. I made certain to arrive early, knowing she might feel uncomfortable, might feel alone. Meggie told me this is the first social occasion she’s attended in over a year. December will always engender a complex mix of emotions for her. She will want to celebrate the joys of the season, for and with her children, but it will also be a time of great loss. I hope she will remember I understand how she feels. Perhaps the fact we’ve gained some comfort in our renewed friendship, will allow me to help her in some small way.

She seemed reticent when I arrived to pick her up for dinner that evening in August. Meggie’s face, on the other hand, carried the look teenagers usually have when they are plotting something either very naughty, or very good. Though it was mixed uncomfortably with a healthy dash of indecision as to which her mother might judge it to be.

“Captain, I’m in here. Mom will be down in a minute,” the young woman greeted me, as she rose from the sofa in the small front sitting room. Walking towards me with her hand outstretched, I extended my hand in return. Suddenly, the hairs tingled on the back of my neck, as I felt Mac’s presence on the landing above. My attention was immediately torn. I wanted to give my unexpected ally the consideration she deserved, but my eyes fought my will on every level, desperate to gaze upon the woman descending the stairs.

Fortunately, Meggie proved to be exactly as precocious as I’d earlier estimated, and she winked conspiratorially before squeezing past her mother. Over her shoulder she mumbled, “Meet you outside, I forgot my sweater,” as she plunged up the stairs.

“Harm,” Mac welcomed me uncertainly, as she arrived at the bottom step. She was dressed simply, but she looked quietly beautiful. Try as I might, later I could never recall what she wore. Only her face returns to my mind, in those few fleeting seconds before a frown wrinkled her brow.

“Mac,” I answered, more than a little spellbound, before reacting belatedly to her secondary expression

“Where’s Catherine?” she looked around and out the front door.

“She isn’t here,” I replied cryptically.

“Where….where is she, Harm?” I could see the look of flight in her eyes, as I formed my answer softly.

“I lost her a long time ago, Mac.” I searched her eyes for whatever I might find. Mostly, I found sorrow and trepidation.

“What happened?” she asked, over the sound of a certain female teenager descending the stairs.

“For now, I’ll just say she didn’t return from a carelessly executed operation with a certain spook.” My answer is not without profound bitterness, but it was so long ago I have stopped dwelling on it.

“Clay? How? She wasn’t an agent,” she pressed, as Meggie joined us.

“Classified,” I answer with a curt nod and a shrug, giving the only information possible under the circumstances.

“Is this another long story?” Meggie piped up, overhearing only the last few words.

‘Fraid so, squirt, and some of it’s a secret.” I responded automatically, reaching to touch her shoulder. I quickly glanced at Mac from the corner of my eye to see if she was offended by the familiarity. She only seemed a little surprised.

“I think I’m gonna join the Air Force. I bet they don’t have all these long stories and secrets,” Meggie fumed histrionically, as she marched out the door and down the steps.

Mac and I could only stare dumbfounded at each other. Her remark brought a chuckle from me, and an exasperated shake of the head from Mac. In spite of Meggie’s unexpected depth for one her age, she was still a typical teenager in so many ways.

It took merely a few short minutes to walk to the Crab Shack, and fortunately Meggie was never out of earshot. I wasn’t forced to either explain to Mac, or prevaricate in avoidance of the story. It wasn’t a tale I relished telling her in light of her recent loss. It could wait ‘til later. Much later.

As the evening wore on Meggie did manage to pump me for more information about Mattie, and I told her all I thought would not betray a confidence. We spoke in depth about Grace Air, and how Mattie had built the small, solid, local service.

Meggie confided that her real desire had always been to fly large transports, and not the fighter jets her mother seemed to fear. She looked forward to retiring to a job with a small airline such as Mattie’s. It was a very well thought out goal for a young person of fifteen.

A bit later, she wrangled the tale from us of how we first met, by asking with an air of angelic innocence, “Captain, why do you call my Mom, Mac?”

Mac relented, graciously accepting defeat in this issue. It was apparent she would get no sleep that night, if she didn’t share at least one story with Meggie, and we co-authored the telling of the tale.

Mac recounted seriously, “Harm and I met when I was suddenly transferred to JAG HQ. I was instructed to meet my new CO, and his staff, in the White House Rose Garden. I was secretly impressed to learn my new partner was there to receive a Distinguished Flying Cross,” she smiled a little shyly at this admission. “He’d saved the life of another pilot injured in battle.” I’d never realized that she’d given any of my awards a second thought. I was pulled back to the present by her next remark.

“On the other hand, I’d heard from mutual acquaintances, that the man I was to work with was more than a bit full of himself,” her lips quirked devilishly. “Later, Meggie, I learned it was a façade that hid a very kind and honorable human being,” she revealed, “But I didn’t know that at the time. I asked him to call me Mac. It was a nickname I’d earned in boot camp. Somehow it made me feel tough and strong.” It was a revealing admission. One I’d suspected, but was never sure of.

“Harm’s reaction to me when we were introduced was odd, uncomfortable” she mused, “and it left me off balance for a long time,” she added. The way she looked at me made me think the statement was more for my information than Meggie’s.

Her rueful comment revealed more of the hidden emotions that charted our relationship for the first few years. More than long enough for us to lose, from that very beginning, what we might have had. I was fully cognizant of the fact that Mac neglected to mention the case we were assigned to, and the reason for her transfer, so I avoided it as well. I wasn’t at all sure what part of this family history had been shared, and again I didn’t want to interfere in her family dynamic.

“So how did you save the pilots life?” Meggie asked, nearly bouncing the conversation in a different direction.

I took up the story and diverted it away from this touchy subject. Mac’s face had already darkened significantly recalling the circumstances of the damaged plane. It would seem there were no easy references between us. Everything revolved in a twisted circle with a second and third meaning.

“Sorry Meggie, that’s another story for another day,” I demurred, with a quick smile. “The reason I reacted so strongly when I met your Mom, was that visually she was the image of someone I’d known for years. It took very little time to realize her personality, everything about her really, was nothing like Dianne. But at first it was a bit of a shock,” I allowed.

“Sort of like this afternoon?” she asked perceptively, raising an eyebrow in direct imitation of Mac.

“Exactly,” I smiled, then finished sincerely. “You look very much like your Mom.”

“Thanks, my Mom’s beautiful,” she replied, ignoring the fact that the subject of our remarks sat right next to me.

“I agree,” I answered, glancing furtively at Mac. The expression on her face was priceless. One of startled puzzlement, mixed with the faintest blush of pleasure.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Admiral set us up at that first meeting,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe just to put us off balance.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit either, however, I doubt he’d ever admit it, Mac,” I joined her assessment.

“No, you’re probably right,” she added, as her gaze traveled out the window.

It seemed an innocent enough story, one that should have provoked few questions. Or so I thought, until Mac went to the ladies’ room and left us alone. I wouldn’t wish the life on anyone, but Meggie would make a great CIA agent. She could get a rock to spill its guts.

The minute Mac was out of earshot she blindsided me with, “You’re in love with my mother, aren’t you?”

Stunned, my eyebrows hit my hairline, and I was speechless for a moment. “Why do you say that?” I countered uncomfortably.

“Why are you denying it? It’s written all over your face,” she retorted with a hint of indignation. In that moment, she may have believed I was patronizing her.

“Meggie this is very complicated. I can’t…,” I tried to divert her. I’m not sure I’d even consciously gone there yet.

“Captain, I saw the pictures. I knew it was you the minute I met you,” she confided with creeping exasperation for my diffidence.

“What pictures?” I asked, getting that same cottontail feeling that Mac had shown earlier.

“The one’s that are sealed in a box in the attic,” she explained patiently.

“Pictures of what?” I was a CIA agent too. I wasn’t giving up anything.

“Of the two of you together. Dancing, holding a baby, one in your uniforms. It looked like maybe a ceremony of some sort. You were wearing a medal on a ribbon. Several others were in a desert somewhere. Dad was in two of those, probably the Middle East the way you were all armed,” she deduced perceptively.

“Meggie your mother loved your father very much,” I hastened to assure her.

“I know that,” she drug the statement out, as the ‘duh’ voice reappeared. “But this was before they were together. The box was sealed and dated almost a year before they were married.”

“Then how did you see them?” I inquired sternly. “You shouldn’t go snooping in people’s stuff young lady,” I scolded.

“I didn’t. Dad and I were cleaning the attic about three years ago, and this box sort of fell apart in my hands. The tape was old and the plastic box just crumbled. I asked him about you. He told me you and Mom were close friends once.”

“Did…did it bother him, that Mac….uh….your mother had the pictures?”

“No. I don’t think so. In fact, he seemed pleased,” she mused.

“Pleased?” there went the eyebrows again.

“Yeah. He said if she threw them away, she would have been running away from something that had been special to her. The fact that she just sealed them up and kept them meant she could handle the memories and they were no longer important. I think he was extra pleased that she had sealed the box so long before they got together though,” she confided.

She must have packed them away as soon as I told her about Catherine and me. My gut wrenches, when I think how she must have felt that long weekend, home alone. We all believed she was out with the flu or perhaps pregnant. That was a very stupid deduction for an office full of smart people. But I guess I’d been the stupidest of the lot. I turned to gaze hard out the window for a minute, fighting back tears I had no right to shed.

“Your father was a very secure man. He must have been a wonderful father. I truly wish we could have kept in touch,” I finally told her, when I found control of my voice. I had always respected Gunny….Victor, but my guess was I had never met the depth of him as a person that Mac had found. He was a rock for her, and he obviously loved her as she deserved.

“He was,” she looked me firmly in the eye, with a hint of question for what my face must show. Then her eyes wavered, and she too glanced out the window. “He was wonderful. We all loved him so much.” A small moist glimmer formed in her eyes.

“Then why, Meggie?” I asked gently.

“Why?” she looked back at me.

“Uhm-hmmm. Why?” I reiterated.

“Why you?” she caught my meaning.

I nodded.

“Because you’re still in love with her. She needs to be loved. Dad was the greatest. Absolutely the most special. He’ll be with me, with all of us, forever. He loved her with his whole heart, but he’s gone now,” her voice fell to a whisper, and a small tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. “You seem….um…like someone who could love that way too. The only time I’ve seen even the smallest smile on her face, since…since we lost him,” she faltered again, “Is when she talks to you. Except for me and my brothers of course,” she finished her voice still quivering.

“Of course,” I agreed. “But that’s an awfully practical outlook for a young lady who’s lost her father.” I spoke softly to her, ashamed to remember my severely juvenile reaction when my own mother became involved with Frank.

She shrugged, “I still have my mother, and I need to take care of her. She needs….she deserves to be loved. We’re in the military, Captain. I think ….well…it just sort of rubs off on you as you grow up. Sometimes you lose people. It isn’t fair, and I hate it, but a lot of my friends have lost someone. Some of them lost their dads before they were even born. At least I had mine for fifteen years.” She turned her sad, dark eyes on me.

“You’re a very brave girl, Meggie,” I moved my head in acknowledgment. “How is your Mom? Is she going to be okay?” I couldn’t help asking.

“In time. She was pretty rocky for a while, but then she got a little better. It started in the spring. I know she came down here. Did she talk to you then?” She asked ingenuously.

“Yes. She came to see me about your brothers,” I didn’t elaborate.

“I see,” is all she said, and I somehow think maybe she did.

“You’re wrong about one thing, Meggie,” I found myself reluctantly confiding in this young woman. She reminded me so much of Mattie, but I felt closer to her than I should for only having met her four hours ago.

“What’s that?” she broke from her thoughts.

“I’m not still in love with her. I lost that long ago, I had to put it away. I had my own family, she had hers. We grew apart.” It’s the truth, I was no longer ‘in love’ with her before I saw her in April. But I suddenly realized I do still ‘love’ her. It’s a distinction I’ve held in my mind that torments me in quiet moments.

Meggie looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, I just thought….the way you look at her.”

“I’m not ‘still’ in love with her Meggie,” I reiterated, gaining her full attention. “But I think I could easily fall in love with her again. For a whole new set of reasons, and for some of the old ones. There’s a difference, do you understand?” I asked, wondering if the difference really made a difference. It’s another imponderable to dwell on in the wee small hours.

“Yes, I think so,” she agreed, less than completely certain of this twisted adult logic.

“I just don’t know if she feels the same, or if she can. As you said, it’s too soon. But I will be her friend. One thing we always were was best friends, and I’ll always be that, no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay, Captain. That’s a start,” she agreed seriously, then turned to look out the window again. “Holy cats, who is that?” she exclaimed several long moments later, pointing to the street below.

“Oh no,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Not him again.”

“Who again?” Mac asked, as she re-joined us at the table.

“Him, Mom, isn’t he gorgeous?” Meggie pointed again to the street below. “Have you ever seen a more gorgeous man?”

“Yes I have, Meggie,” she glanced at me fleetingly. “Twice to be exact.”

But Meggie wasn’t listening, “Who is he, Captain?”

“You, young lady, are to stay as far away from that young man as possible,” I warned her.

“But why?” she wailed.

“Because, for one thing, he’s a senior classman, he’s five years older than you.”

“And,” she challenged.

“And you’re much too pretty to risk coming up on his radar,” I cautioned, father genes bristling all over me. I already went through this with Amanda.

“He wants to be a pilot,” Mac concluded intuitively.

“Oh yeah, and he will too. There isn’t a barrier high enough to keep him from his goal. There’s nothing he hasn’t mastered. He goes straight from here to Pensacola next spring,” I added, exasperated at dealing with cocky young fighter jock attitudes from the other side of the coin.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Meggie inquired of no one in particular.

“Sounds familiar. You suddenly have something against jet jockeys, Harm?” Mac deadpanned.

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked, wondering what she’s up to.

“Not at all,” she answered, but the glimmer of a smile that brightened her eyes, and tugged at the corners of her mouth, told me she might be playing me. Something in the past hours’ conversation had relaxed her noticeably.

“Maaac you should know, you worked with one for over eight years. We’re the worst scoundrels on the planet,” I reminded her. I hadn’t done that with her name for years. It felt good.

“Oh yes. I do seem to remember some dastardly behavior on your part from time to time,” she answered sternly. “Things like saving peoples lives, saving their careers, rescuing children, and damsels in distress, your crusade for the truth at any cost, terrible stuff like that,” she smiled again.

“You, General, have a very selective memory,” I accused, shaking a finger at her.

“And you, Captain, are far too modest,” was her retort.

“That isn’t what you used to call me. The words cocky, arrogant flyboy come rushing to mind,” I replied, noticing the impish grin on Meggie’s face as she listened to our banter. Before Mac had a chance to respond, our dinner arrived and the conversation took a different turn. I think we both sighed in relief that we could pull back for a minute and regroup. Things had slipped too quickly, and too easily, back in time.

After dinner, I escorted them back to their Inn and told them I would look forward to seeing them the next day. I don’t actually recall my feet touching the ground, as I walked home in the warm summer night.

Saturday was a casual day. The plebes were allowed passes to visit their families, take them around the school, and introduce their instructors. Then on Sunday afternoon the formal events were held.

Mac was amazed how Robert had taken comfortably to his new lifestyle, achieving an exemplary rating from the plebe advisor in his platoon. Even Eric’s presentation had tightened up a bit. My friend, the General, was more amazed when she discovered the person to have effected this change was not only female, but my daughter Amanda, now entering her second year.

I recall listening to Andie’s initial rants about Robert’s complete lack of familiarity with discipline, but I’d refrained from offering any information about either of the young men. I simply allowed her words to swirl though the air until she ran out of steam, then figured out for herself how to handle it. It was obvious her techniques worked. She’ll make a fine officer.

I couldn’t conceal a small amount of personal pleasure when Mac spotted me in my dress whites after the ceremony. Funny, her eyes widened very briefly, but the secondary expression that flitted over her face was strikingly reminiscent of the moment long ago, when she told me dress whites were overrated. Nevertheless, as the formal luncheon progressed that afternoon, I caught her glancing at me several times when she thought I wasn’t looking.

We had little more opportunity for contact until the very late in the day, as all active military personnel were dressed in uniform, and strict protocol was observed. The tables were set for a late lunch, and place cards assigned for each seat. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the faculty member assigned to General Galindez’ table.

I was surprised and inordinately pleased, after that weekend, when Mac kept in touch. We exchanged emails once or twice a week. On the three occasions when her sons earned a yard pass for Sunday afternoon, she called me before she came to town. Each time Meggie, Mac, and I would enjoy dinner together.

Last month, when the committee needed extra chaperones for the Christmas dance, I asked her if she was interested. She immediately contacted the committee leader and volunteered.

Now if I can just find her in this throng of people. The chaperones are only permitted two dances for the evening, the second one, and the last one. I’d like to claim both if I can.

End of seventeen

Mobius Strip
Part Eighteen

U. S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, MD
Annual Christmas Ball
Early December 2022

Halfway through the first dance I find her standing in the main doorway, Meggie by her side. Mac is stunning in her formal dress uniform. Her left breast is adorned with service awards, and her long skirt skims gracefully over her slender legs.

Meggie looks lovely as a spring flower in a softly enchanting long gown chosen to suit her age. It’s given an added air of sophistication by the travels and experience already part of her young life.

I’m thrilled to see Mac’s eyes light visibly with my approach.

“Captain,” she acknowledges. Tight, formal protocol isn’t observed for this occasion, but rank is always a factor.

“General,” I greet her. “And Miss Galindez. How are you both this evening?” I take each of their hands in a gentlemanly greeting, holding Mac’s just a little longer than necessary.

“Fine,” Mac murmurs, allowing the lingering touch.

“This is going to be such fun,” Meggie bubbles, verbally wringing her hands in delight. “Thank you for inviting us Captain. Oh look there’s Robbie and Ricky,” she squeals and dashes away.

I look pointedly at my watch. “Lose your sense of time, General?” I tease, cocking my eyebrow at her.

“Not at all,” she responds, lightly accepting my playful taunt. “I’ve been here for over an hour. The committee leader wanted to brief those of us who aren’t part of the Academy staff.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you accepted the challenge to ride herd on a bunch of sailors for an evening.” I joke with her nonchalantly, knowing I have to ask her quickly. The music from the first dance is ending, and I see two senior officers closing in. It’s now or never.

“You know Marines, Harm, they never back away from a challenge. Especially when it involves sailors,” she returns lightheartedly.

“Then would a dance with a sailor not prove too big a challenge?” I request warmly, just in the nick of time, while I move slightly to block her view of the impending suitors.

“Not at all,” she smiles and takes my arm, apparently oblivious to my motives. Quickly, I whisk her away, leaving Megan flanked by her two brothers for protection, and two very perplexed senior staff members in our wake. The formality of the occasion does not welcome intimate dancing, but just the act of taking her in my arms, of touching her, brings every memory of loving and wanting her flooding back through my system. I have no idea how I will do it, but I’m more determined than ever to win her heart this time.

As we glide through this one treasured dance, I use every instinct I’ve ever possessed to keep us away from several hovering officers, hungry to cut in on this unfamiliar beauty. If I win her heart permanently, in time I may be generous enough to share an occasional dance, but not tonight. Not until she either refuses me outright, or becomes my own.

The dance ends, and we separate to attend to our duties for the evening. Leaning towards her, I whisper, “Save the last dance for me?”

She turns her warm brown eyes on me, a flicker of question in their depths. Nodding once in assent, she unconsciously passes her tongue over her lips, biting uncertainly on her bottom lip, before she slips from my arms. That small gesture gives me more hope, more fuel for my fantasies, than anything that’s ever passed between us. I know it was not deliberate, and I think that makes it all the more significant.

Wandering partway around the room, she finds a likely station near an outside door. Obviously, this isn’t the first school dance she’s chaperoned. I watch furtively, with a small twinge of unwarranted jealousy, as others stop by to speak with her. She addresses everyone with her own innate charm and animation, but still graciously maintains the proper reserve due her rank and station. Mac has always handled the politics of military functions with grace and assurance.

I lecture myself sternly on the need to take control of my emotions, and follow her wise example in this very public forum, but it all rushes from my head when I notice him move towards her. The one person on campus I fear most as a rival. Cautiously, I watch the approach of Captain Randall ‘Ran’ Martin, as he moves close to her, too close.

Captain Martin commanded a destroyer in the Gulf for years, and is head of the Surface Warfare department. In his early fifties, he is the campus playboy. Giving the man his due, he never misbehaves towards the students. However, he has cheerfully charmed his way through nearly every available female officer in a hundred mile radius, and most of the unattached civilian women in the area. According to the women I’ve heard discuss him, he’s quite handsome. I don’t see it; but what do I know? His string of conquests is legendary. Mac could be very vulnerable right now, and I’m worried.

As I watch them talk, the temptation to move closer tugs at me, but I know Mac, any hint that I’m protecting territory she hasn’t granted will result in disaster. She smiles charmingly at him. She laughs several times, at what I know to be lame jokes. She gives him a bit of a coy smile at what is almost certainly an even lamer pick-up line. My breath comes in shallow gulps. I agonize that she will fall victim to his charms.

Finally, I know he has asked…something….no telling what, but he’s made his move. My eyes lock on the scene as she smiles sweetly, shaking her head. I lip read a ‘no, thank you’. He presses the issue, leaning into her slightly. My mind screams ‘not this time’, and automatically threatens to launch me across the room. I hesitate for less than a heartbeat, when from beneath her veil of beauty and charm, the Marine General surfaces. Her face darkens with a look that clearly says ‘back off, now’. Martin instantly gets the message, and the situation defuses. With a sigh of relief, I realize she is well protected by the instincts of her inner Marine. The moment passes, unnoticed by any but the players.

As he saunters away, undaunted, to continue his unquenchable hunt for companionship, Mac glances my way, catching my fixed gaze. I flash her a guilty grin and find myself on the pointy receiving end of a hard stare, followed by a raised eyebrow, and finally the tiniest flicker of a smile, before she returns to her duties. I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure I’ll find out in time. At least, I think the smile means she’s not going to kill me.

The chore of chaperoning the dance hardly proves difficult. The attendees are all well disciplined, accustomed to following rules, but they are young, full of themselves, and subject to an occasional infraction.

Not far into the evening, as I watch over the heads of most everyone present, I notice Mac catch an outside door in mid-swing, motioning a couple back inside. It doesn’t entirely surprise me to find its Meggie and Austin McGuire, the fast track fighter jock she’d seen in the town square in August. They’d been dancing earlier on the opposite side of the room, but they were behaving themselves, so I had no cause to interfere.

What does surprise me, is seeing Mac disappear through the same door an hour later. Within a heartbeat, Meggie scrambles back inside, but Austin doesn’t reappear for several minutes. When he does, he has the look of a whipped puppy. He’s just learned a few valuable lessons. Most notable, is never to underestimate a Marine guard on the door.

Meggie hurries to my side, possibly thinking her mother will be easier on her in my company. The young lady has more to learn about Generals, especially Marine Generals, and most particularly this Marine General.

“Wow,” she remarks quietly, “do you think she really gave it to him?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I answer, somewhat bemused.

“Me either. You ever been on the bad side of an angry Marine General?” she asks nervously.

“No, but I have been on the bad side of an angry Marine Lieutenant Colonel, and it isn’t pretty,” I admit with a shudder.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs, then adds impishly, “Well, at least I got his email address and he has mine.” She shows me a small slip of paper, before tucking it into her tiny decorative bag. Looking up from this task, she ducks to my other side when she sees Mac steaming in our direction.

I just raise an eyebrow at her, and respond with, “Do you think that’s wise?” before Mac is upon us.

Arriving with all the presence of a full platoon, the look on her face speaks volumes. All she says is, “We’ll discuss this when we get home, young lady.”

A meek, “Yes Ma’am,” is Meggie’s answer. I’m torn between a deep desire to protect Meggie, and betraying her confidence regarding the possibly harmless email address, but I find out quickly it’s a moot point.

“And don’t count on using that email address anytime soon,” the General adds. “You’re grounded from the computer for a month, except for homework.”

“Mom,” she drags it out with a typical teenage whine, but cuts short when a look from Mac tells her it could get worse.

Soon after that incident, the last dance is called, and with no further discussion, I presume upon her earlier answer. It’s a clearly territorial move, but I’m counting on the element of surprise. Reaching informally for Mac’s hand, I lead her onto the floor, and into my arms.

She doesn’t say anything, but a look of astonishment floods her features. We dance for several minutes in silence, before I feel a light sigh that signifies she has something to say.

“Harm, can I ask you something?” she ventures quietly.

I look down at her easily from our formal position. Though I’m holding her closer than before, I’m still maintaining the bounds of propriety. Smiling, I offer gently, “No Mac, I still don’t think of you as my sister.”

She looks startled, and I watch her face as her memory banks search for the source of this comment. Then finding it, she blushes softly. “That wasn’t the question.”

“Oh. Sorry. What then?” I answer, not certain whether to feel uncomfortable for my comment, or pleased with the reaction to it. Being a newly converted optimist, I decide to settle for the latter.

“Aren’t you battering protocol a little by taking both dances with me,” she doesn’t look offended, just curious, and a little amused. While not directly mentioning my attitude of over-protectiveness while she dealt with the excessively amorous Captain Martin, I’m certain it’s an unspoken part of the question.

I hesitate thoughtfully, deciding how best to respond to this comment. I might send her running with my answer. On the other hand, she told me once I should state my intentions, and dithering was my downfall. Taking a deep breath, I go for it. “Once I observed protocol strictly, Mac, and I wound up someplace other than where I’d planned. Things always seem to work out better when I bend a few rules.”

I smile fleetingly and look straight into her eyes, letting her feel the weight of my intent, and assuring her it will be exercised at her discretion. She looks back searching for the depth of my meaning. Her brief nod only accepts my declaration; it doesn’t acquiesce to my offer. I understand that, but more importantly, I realize she isn’t pulling away. She hasn’t said no. She isn’t running, and that is more significant for now than anything. As long as I can keep her close, we can move forward.

The dance finishes on a very successful note, and I wait at a distance while Mac and Meggie bid a heartfelt farewell to Eric and Robert. Now that the party is over, they must return to their assigned schedule. Whether standing a watch, studying, classes, or rack time, every activity is strictly controlled for Academy plebes.

We collect their coats from the check room, and I escort them to the portico where their car will be returned to them.

“Mac,” I turn to her quickly as I see her SUV join the end of the line. “I’m having a casual little celebration on Christmas Eve. I’d love it if you and Meggie could come. That is, if you have no plans.”

Meggie looks hopeful, but doesn’t dare speak up. She’s desperately trying to keep under Mac’s radar at the moment.

“I don’t know, Harm,” she vacillates.

“You’re coming to spend Christmas day with your sons aren’t you?” I know she won’t miss the Christmas Day mess.

“Of course,” she replies.

“It’s just a small gathering, Mac,” I coax, “nothing formal. A few friends from the staff and their families, my daughter Amanda will be there, and Mattie with her husband and new baby,” I ambush her shamelessly. Lowering my eyes I cut a barely concealed glance towards Meggie.

Meggie makes a slight, close to whimpering sound, but remains stoic.

Though Mac notices the child’s reaction, she maintains a firm stance for several minutes. Anxiously I watch her car creep closer in the line. I almost lose hope, almost think she’s going to refuse my unabashed manipulation, when finally, at the last possible moment, she relents.

“Okay, Harm, we’ll be there,” she lets out in a breath.

“Wonderful,” I grin widely in relief. “Dress casual,” I hurry to explain, handing her into the car. I know I have mere seconds. “No ties, jackets, skirts, or high heels. Everyone comes in jeans and sweaters, and very likely snow boots the way the weather has been lately. 2000 hours, see you then.” I close her door quickly, knowing she has to pull out to make room for the cars behind her.

Her window rolls down as she pulls away and she waves, “We’ll see you then, Harm,” and she’s gone. Quickly, I step out of the way of the other guests waiting in line, and rush back inside to collect my coat.

I’m looking forward to the long walk home tonight. The air is cool, a storm is threatening, but my head is full of warm thoughts and unspoken promises. I want to speak to Andie for a minute, to tell her we have additional guests for the party. I also need to see if she has anyone she wants to invite. It’s unlikely though, both my girls have concentrated hard on their studies; I’ve not had to worry about more than a passing interest in members of the opposite sex.

For now, she will return to her quarters, until she gets leave on Christmas Eve. Then she will stay with me for two days, before we fly to California to join Shannon and my mother for the rest of the holiday.

As I walk across the porch I catch sight of Austin McGuire, still gazing in the direction of Mac’s departing car. I don’t ever recall seeing that expression on his face. All his cockiness and brash demeanor is gone. He looks positively forlorn.

‘Join the club, Buddy,’ I tell him silently, ‘and if you ever get a legitimate chance when she’s old enough, don’t screw it up.’ He isn’t a bad young man by any means, just a bit full of himself. He has just encountered the first hurdle that a flyboy smile won’t overcome. Satisfied that he’s learned another valuable lesson, I pull open the heavy door and move back inside.

End of eighteen

Mobius Strip
Part Nineteen

Rabb residence
Annapolis MD
2035 Christmas Eve

I must have looked out the window at least ten times in the last half hour. I wonder where they could be. If Mac were going to cancel, she would have let me know. Her email yesterday said they’d be here. I finally called her hotel fifteen minutes ago, and they told me she hadn’t checked in yet. She was supposed to be there by 1800. I tried her cell, but it’s not responding. That could be caused by the storm, but still I’m becoming very concerned.

The snow has been falling since early afternoon, melting as it landed. In the last two hours, it’s become heavier. Now it’s coming down in big soft fluffy flakes that are rapidly covering the saturated ground, and building a soft slippery mess on every surface. Particularly the roads. I’m afraid if she doesn’t get here soon, she won’t be able to drive down my street. It’s one-way, very narrow, and difficult to navigate in daylight on dry pavement. In the snow and darkness it’s close to impossible. It won’t be long before it’s completely unsafe.

“What are you doing, Dad?” Andie asks, moving to my side. Her resemblance to Catherine is subtle, mostly her body type and coloring. But she has Cat’s compassion, buckets of it. On the other hand, she inherited my green eyes, the Rabb smile, and my ludicrous sense of humor. I reach out to give her a gentle hug, and her half-amused smile convinces me I’m busted.

“Looking for Mac and Meggie….uh the General and her daughter,” I tell her sheepishly. She has graciously seen to our guests, while I worried myself silly over these two new additions to my life. “If they don’t show up soon I’m calling the state troopers,” I remark absently. “Not that they’ll pay much attention in this mess,” but I need to do something.

“And that would be the same General who’s captured the elusive heart of my handsome Father?” she inquires teasingly. I know she refers to the fact that I’ve seldom dated, and never done so successfully, since we lost her mother.

“Andie it’s not like that,” I start, knowing by now that’s exactly what it is.

Shortly after Mac left my office in April, I realized she had done just that. Captured my heart. She wasn’t ready to even think of such a thing, nevertheless, she had walked away with it tucked deep in her pocket, and she didn’t even realize it. All I could do was watch it leave with her, and hope she would find it there soon. When she didn’t contact me my expectations dimmed. Then, after we shared that first dinner in August, I knew I had to do everything possible to help her find her new possession. I had to discover a way to make ‘us’ happen this time. Andie clearly read my determination.

“Oh no?” she challenged. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” she’s always seen through me, ever since she was old enough to effectively communicate.

“We’re just friends. I’ve known Mac for 30 years,” I deny again, not meeting her eyes. Am I once again unwilling to admit to my feelings only because Mac hasn’t offered hers?

“Uh huh,” she replies humoring me.

“She was my partner at JAG for years,” I explain. It sounds lame even to me.

“I’m sure she was, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re crazy about her. Everyone sees it,” she informs me.

“What makes you say that? We’ve done nothing.” I’m quickly defensive. I can’t mess with Mac’s reputation. I’m too shaken to even question who’s been talking about us.

“I know, Dad, relax. I didn’t even see it at first. It was all just a blip in August, during plebe weekend. You flew under the radar for quite a while. But that action at the Christmas Ball, you really buzzed the tower with that,” she smiles tolerantly.

“What do you mean?” I continue to deny the obvious.

“Well let’s see; taking both chaperone dances with her, and right under the noses of two senior officers. Hardly taking your eyes off her all evening; and several people thought you were going to invite Captain Martin outside when he tried his charms on her. Not exactly stealthy Dad, you really twisted protocol,” she reminds me, although her tone and expression hold understanding and love.

I hesitate for a moment and take a deep breath.

“I….uh….I tried strict attention to protocol once, and it didn’t work,” I admit, wondering just how deep this conversation will go.

“You were in love with her before, weren’t you? Before Mom, I mean?” she asks quietly.

“We tried, it just never worked,” I tell her, looking through the curtains again.

“Why?” I might have expected resentment, but she seems only curious.

“Who knows?” I shrug. “Circumstances, rules, timing, there was always a reason, a million of them and really none at all. It just never happened.” I’m still helpless to understand our history; I haven’t a prayer of explaining it to my daughter.

“Is that why you married Mom?” she inquires frankly.

“No. And yes. I loved your Mom. She was a fine and honorable woman, beautiful, strong and caring. I loved her very much.” I look directly at her so she can see the truth of the statement. I had loved Mac, and it just didn’t work. When I came to terms with that, nothing stopped me from giving Catherine my whole heart, while I had her.

“But Mom wouldn’t have happened if things had worked for you and the General?” Andie pursues. She’d make a fine lawyer.

“No it wouldn’t,” I sigh heavily. “But then I’d have missed out on her company, her companionship, her love for the years I had her, and I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have had the chance to watch her love you and Shannon,” I finish sincerely.

“But you lost her just like the General lost her husband,” she muses sadly. Then after a long moment of introspection she asks, “If she loved us so much why did she go? Why did she do what got her killed?”

“It’s because she loved you she went. She believed somehow it would make the world a safer place for you,” I tell her, uncomfortable with trying to explain something I don’t entirely accept. I know the Company has a mission, but I’ve never entirely agreed with their method, or their disposable attitude towards personnel. Referring to an agent as an asset just intensifies the expendability of the person.

“It isn’t,” she protests with a hint of bitterness.

“You don’t know that,” I reply with shaky conviction. I can’t entirely dissuade her; I understand and share that particular feeling. It would be hypocrisy not to recognize or allow it.

“There’s still war, terrorism, but she’s dead, they both are,” I see a small glimmer in her eyes. I know it lays there both for our loss, and that of Victor Galindez, a man she only knows through his sons.

“I know. But Andie, we can only count those lost to us, we can never know how many they saved. It’s just the way it is,” I try gently. She knows this, but right now she needs a father’s compassion, not a commanding officer.

“I suppose, it’s just harder when it happens to you,” she sighs deeply, pulling herself back together.

“Yes it is, baby. It’s always harder when it happens to you. But we do our best and hope that sometime, somewhere, one of us will make the difference, and things will change.”

“I guess you did really love her a lot, huh?” It’s not an entirely surprising question. I suspected that along with her sister, she doubted this at some point. They were very young when Catherine was lost to us. Perhaps they blamed me for letting her go. Now, I think she understands.

“Your Mom? Yes I did, but I also respected her enough to let her make her own decisions about what needed to be done.” Much as I hated it, and tried to dissuade her, I don’t add.

“She was trying to save Shannon’s Dad, wasn’t she?” Andie asks with new insight.

“He fought longest and hardest of us all. Try not to forget that baby. Shannon needs to remember him that way, even though she never met him.” I try to give her what I don’t have; a basis for believing there was some acceptable reason for what happened.

“You do. You forget, don’t you, Daddy?” she penetrates my mask perceptively.

“Yes I do. Sometimes I do.” I wrap her in my arms. She hasn’t called me that for years, for a moment she’s still my little girl. This conversation has accidentally delved deeper than we’ve ever gone. Strangely, we’ve never fully discussed this before. From time to time I told the girls parts of the story, as they were old enough to understand, but we’ve never actually addressed the complete picture.

Perhaps I should have. I think when we get to California I should talk to Shannon too. What I won’t tell them is how much I resented the fact that Clay’s inattention and personal agenda cost me my wife, and the mother of our little girls. Andie doesn’t need to know that, nor does Shannon. Some things must be handed down selectively.

I laugh mirthlessly to myself at the thought of how Webb would view this version of the truth I’ve given them. One of our biggest battles had been fought over the legacy of memory allowed to survivors. If Shannon had her way, she’d see to it in the future that everyone knew how, and why, their loved ones died. But as long as there are conflicts that just isn’t always going to be possible.

“I hope she gets here soon,” Andie says quietly, hugging me, and adding her concern to mine. “I’m worried about her too.”

Just then I look up to see Mattie walking across the room, the same worried look on her face as Andie, and I know my own face radiates concern.

“Where’s Mac? I thought she was coming tonight, Harm.” she asks.

“She’s supposed to be here,” I tell her “but I can’t raise her on her phone, and she hasn’t checked in at the hotel. She doesn’t answer at home, so I know she’s not there,” I tell Mattie, trying not to sound as frantic as I feel.

As soon as the last word leaves my lips, the phone rings, and Andie slips from my arms to grab for it.

“Just a minute, Ma’am” she beams into the phone, handing it to me.

“Harm?” I hear her sweet voice, and relief floods me, weakening my legs, before worry takes charge.

“Mac, where are you? I’ve been worried sick. The Hotel said….” I start but she interrupts.

“I know, Harm, I’m sorry. The traffic is hideous. We left home at 1630 and just got here, but I’m afraid my car won’t make it down the street,” she details fast and simple.

“Where are you?” I ask. Wherever she is, I can get to her.

“At the top of the street, where it’s still flat,” she explains. “I found a place to park up here. Meggie and I are going to walk down. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“No! No, Mac, stay where you are. I’ll come get you. It’s too treacherous,” I practically order her. In this moment, rank isn’t relevant.

“Harm, I’m…”she starts, but I cut her off. I’m in no mood for her Marine speech.

“Don’t start, Mac,” I warn, then Mattie tugs at my sleeve. “Just a minute, hang on.”

“Bryan will take you in the Humvee,” she offers. “It will go anywhere.”

“Mac, stay there, we’ll be there in five minutes, tops,” I instruct her. “Just stay in the car, we’ll find you.”

“It’s okay, Harm,” she argues, “I can make it.”

“Don’t argue for once. Please believe me; I’ve walked this street in the snow. Just wait for us,” I use my best courtroom voice.

I hear her hesitate. I know she wants to disagree, but I can also read her concern for Meggie in her silence. I’m not above using anything I can get.

“You don’t want Meggie getting hurt,” I shamelessly sandbag her.

“Of course not,” she replies indignantly. She knows my playbook, but she won’t risk possible danger to her child.

“Then wait there,” I tell her. “Bryan has a Humvee, we’ll be there before you know it.”

“Okay,” she agrees, reluctantly allowing me to win this round. I don’t even begin to suspect that Mac has mellowed over the years. I will hear about this.

In less than five minutes, we reach her parked car and jump out. Pulling open her door, I help her out. The snow is over our ankles and viciously slippery. Even Bryan and I have trouble keeping our balance. “I called your hotel, they said you weren’t there.”

“I know,” she says ruefully. “We lost our reservation because we were so late. We’ll have to drive back to DC tonight, and return in the morning.” I can tell by her determined voice, this is exactly what she plans to do. It’s precisely what I’m not going to allow. Here goes round two.

“Not gonna happen, Marine. Give me your keys; I’ll get your bags. I have a nice large guest room,” I explain flatly.

“Harm, we can’t…” she starts to protest, as I move her into the warmth of the car’s interior.

“Yes you can, Mac. Look around, Bryan’s vehicle is the only thing that’s going to get through this stuff for a while. Now give me the keys,” I tell her, as Bryan helps Meggie into the car. “Besides,” I flash her a small flyboy smile, “we have your daughter and mine for chaperones. You’ll have to behave yourself, Marine.” For just a breath, I think I’ve pushed her too far. Meggie sits stiffly, watching us, waiting for her mother’s reaction. Then Mac chuckles, a low throaty sound I’ve waited years to hear. It breaks the tension.

“In your dreams, flyboy,” is all she says, but her eyes twinkle as she hands me the keys. Just before she pulls the door shut, she catches the look that floods my face. I remember my answer the last time she said that to me.

I work my way to the rear of her car and we retrieve their bags from the hatch, tossing them into the back of Bryan’s car. Slamming the back door closed, we hurry to jump in the front seat, as quickly as safety allows. We are already covered with a heavy layer of frozen white flakes.

I can’t help the tingle of anticipation that travels my spine, at the thought of having Mac under my roof for an entire twenty-four hours. As Bryan engages the low-gear, all-wheel drive, I feel the aggressive studded tires dig through the mess on the roads, returning us slowly, but safely, to my warm welcoming home.

End of nineteen

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty

Rabb Residence
0700 Christmas Morning

Something woke me. I’m not sure what. It’s early, but it’s not a workday, I know that much. From somewhere deep an audible groan escapes, as I roll away from my pillow. A bright light assails my eyelids and I force one eye open, it instantly closes against the brilliant glare of sunlight glistening on new fallen snow. My eyeballs feel like bags of sand, and it takes a concentrated effort to open them again. Snow! Yuck, snow! It means something to my foggy brain, but what? From what I can see through my window, the entire world is covered in the stuff, thickly covered, with a deep blanket of sparkling white. The sky is the most startling shade of blue I can ever remember.

I groan again, rubbing my gritty eyes, annoyed with the poetic meanderings of my mind. My body feels like I was hit by a Mack truck, but some unknown force compels me to get out of bed. I lie on my back for a minute sorting through these conflicting instincts and realize the battle is just waking me up. Surrendering, I roll the rest of the way over, and allow my feet to hit the floor.

Still more asleep than awake I sit on the edge of the bed for a minute, and groggily try to make sense of my disordered thoughts. From outside the unearthly quiet assails me; everything is muffled. Is this what woke me, the utter silence? Pushing off the mattress, I reel unsteadily to the door, and lean against the wall with one hand, pulling on the doorknob with the other. Whatever is causing these aches, I vow to get to the gym more often. I hate getting old.

I stumble halfway down the stairs, before finally realizing what interrupted my sleep, what day it is, and who is here. The soft murmur and light musical laughter of feminine voices drifts to my ears, swirling brightly among the aroma tendrils of fresh coffee.

Freezing in my tracks, I take stock of myself, praying desperately no one will see me from the hallway below. There is no doubt my hair is standing on end in at least twenty different directions. I can feel the bags under my eyes with my fingertips. To my utter mortification, I glance down at my body. I’m appalled to see only a worn, stretched tank top, and a pair of twisted, sleep rumpled shorts, derelict in their task of keeping private the parts of me that don’t deserve public view.

The mental image rapidly propels me in an about turn. Double-timing back up the stairs, I lean against the inside of my door breathing heavily, and allow the momentary panic to subside. ‘Thank you God’ I send heavenward. No one saw me. I think I’ve lived alone too long.

Galvanized into action by the near miss, I move to the bathroom. I need to brush my teeth and douse my head with cold water to complete the waking process. Then I repeat the action with warm water to help control my unruly hair. Sniffing at my armpits, I verify I’m suitable for a brief morning sojourn among female company, and recall I took a hot shower just before I collapsed last night.

The previous day and evening suddenly floods my memory in a rush.

**~~**

Andie and I went shopping in the morning, raiding several favorite markets for their best supplies, then prepared the food for our friends all afternoon. She has inherited my love of cooking and when we have time, we often cook together. Later we shoveled the walks in welcome, just prior to the arrival of our first guests.

Soon the snow began to fall heavily, and I was deeply worried about Mac and Meggie’s safety. Andie challenged me on the topic, and a rather emotional conversation ensued. I recall the phone call and subsequent rescue. I was so grateful for Bryan’s help, and the use of their modified military vehicle. Mattie had purchased it years ago, because running an airline often took her out at all hours, in every kind of weather. Last night it was a godsend.

Once everyone was safely in my home, warmed by the fire with food and drink, we had a wonderful visit with our friends for a couple of hours. All the while, the weather got worse, and the snow deeper.

Meggie nearly drove Mattie nuts with questions, but Mattie didn’t seem to mind. Though Mattie has never learned more than the basics of flying, she and Meggie seemed to bond on a common love for aircraft in general. My new friends were thoroughly enchanted with Mac. She relaxed easily after a few minutes, and several times during the evening I found her looking my way. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Only Mattie and Andie knew of her recent loss, or our ancient history. We simply introduced her as an old friend and former co-worker. It was easier for her to socialize from this position of anonymity. The rest can come in due time.

When everyone started to leave around midnight, we realized that things were more difficult than expected. Mattie and Bryan were untroubled. Their vehicle was of the older variety, with high undercarriage clearance. They had only to drive around the corner, and follow the lower road to their hotel. I assisted them into their car with the baby and gear, and they graciously offered to drop off a couple who lived too far away to walk home in this mess. Then we waved goodbye, promising another visit soon. That part was easy.

My close neighbors also needed some help. Mac and I assisted the older couple that lived next door, then returned to lend a hand to younger couple with several small children. Their house was around the corner on the next block.

On the way back, we were chilled by a fresh wind that suddenly blew in, drastically dropping the air temperature.

“Here, Mac,” I offered gallantly. “Walk on this side of me, away from the cold.” I tried to position her on the lee side, when a misstep took my legs from under me.

“Harm, are you okay? Harm talk to me. Oh God, Harm, please,” she begged. I’d hit my head, but not hard, mostly it just knocked the wind out of me. She was kneeling in the snow next to me getting soaked

“I’m okay, Mac,” I answer, “just give me a minute.” I sat up. “Stand up before you get soaked,” I instructed her.

“Here take my hand, Harm, you’re getting wet, too. Let me help you,” she offered, and foolishly I reached for her before getting my feet solidly planted. I was down on my back in the snow in a heartbeat, only this time with Mac stretched out on top of me. Although the snow was now a foot and a half deep, it was wet and loose. It didn’t provide much cushion for the fall. On the other hand, my mind instantly targeted her warm body pressed against mine. The intense distraction I experienced from the intimate contact caused me to disregard the wet and cold just long enough for her to pull out her cell phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as I slowly regained my sense of priority.

“I’m calling 911. You’re hurt, Harm,” she worried, pulling away and kneeling beside me.

The loss of close contact cleared my brain. I rolled sideways and struggled to my feet, this time with her hand supporting my arm. “I’m fine, Mac, I was just stunned for a minute.”

“I still think we should call an ambulance, Harm. You might have a concussion or something broken,” she insisted.

“No really, I’m fine. Just cold and wet,” I shook off as much snow as possible, then proceeded to dust her off, before good judgment and propriety cautioned me to stop.

“Uh, sorry, Mac. I just didn’t want you to be wet,” I stumble an apology.

“It’s okay, Harm. Let’s just get home before we both get hypothermia,” she suggests, only mildly unsettled by the familiarity.

We walked cautiously the rest of the way across the deserted street, and up my front walk.

As we came tumbling through the door, bringing half the snow in Maryland with us, Andie noticed our condition first and immediately called to Meggie. With the girls help we stripped out of our coats and boots, only to find we were soaked to the skin.

“Let’s get this mess cleaned up so we can get to bed,” I suggested. I was exhausted from the cold, and Mac was starting to shiver, too.

“Its all done,” Meggie piped up.

I looked around, and the room was back in order, the food put away. “Thanks,” I smiled at the girls, “that’s a big help. Let’s show Mac and Meggie their room and get them settled,” I addressed Andie.

“All done, Dad,” she answered. “Fresh bedding, fresh towels, and their bags are in there too.”

“Good,” I’m relieved, and feeling the effects of the cold. “Then maybe we’ll just say goodnight.”

“Oh no,” Mac turns on me. “Into the shower with you, Harm. You’re chilled to the bone.”

“Maaac, I’m fine. I’ll just get into some dry clothes,” I dodge her suggestion. I’m too tired to shower.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Captain, that was an order,” she pulls rank on me. “You’ve been there before, Harm, you know what getting chilled can do,” she reminds me in a softer tone.

“Really, Mac, I’m okay, just some dry…”

She’s looking at the floor, her arms folded, and I know that isn’t a good sign. “All right, I’ll put it this way, you either go upstairs and immediately get into a hot shower, mister, or I’ll strip you and put you in there myself.” The look on her face tells me she’s fully prepared to carry out the threat. The look on Andie’s face is stunned disbelief, and I believe Meggie is awaiting the outcome of this disagreement with gleeful anticipation.

Mac in dead serious commanding officer mode is an awesome force. Although the prospects of challenging her to carry out the threat had interesting overtones, I decided at this time compliance would be a prudent response. After all, it will snow again. Maybe the next time we won’t have an audience.

I nod my head and sheepishly reply with, “Yes ma’am,” before turning for the stairs.

I’m almost to the top when she calls up the stairs. “I mean it, Harm, I better hear that shower in two minutes.”

“Aye, aye General,” I call over my shoulder and close my door. I smile, very satisfied with her unexpected display of concern.

**~~**

I finish dressing and return down the stairs in respectable sweats, a fairly new t-shirt, thick socks, running shoes, and a flannel shirt, against the early morning chill. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, when I move into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, before heading for the door to the sun porch. The coffee is a special blend I found in Hawaii. I keep it for Sundays and special occasions. I’m glad Andie made it for our guests.

As I move to the open door, I hear Mac ask Amanda, “Are you planning to follow in your father’s footsteps, Andie?”

“In what way Ma’am?” her answer is formal, her manners impeccable, but the warmth of tone tells me they have found comfort with one another.

“Are you planning to be a pilot or a lawyer, like Harm?”

“No Ma’am” she replies. “I don’t think I could sit still all day and dig through books. No offense, but it just isn’t for me”

“No offense taken, it isn’t for everyone,” Mac allows generously. “Do you like to fly?” Macs question was innocent, but I know it touches a small nerve in my daughter, one where she feels she has failed me. The Rabb flying tradition is long.

“No Ma’am” she answers a little uncomfortably. “You see, I get airsick.” I lean back against the doorframe to watch this interplay between my daughter and my oldest friend. The way they are seated, only Meggie notices my presence, but she just smiles and looks away.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mac responds.

“It’s all right Ma’am. I guess you had to fly with my Dad to understand” a quick apologetic smile flashes guardedly across her face.

Mac actually laughed out loud at that. “I have” she admits ruefully “and I had exactly the same reaction. Several times.”

“Honestly?” A startled laugh from Andie breaks the tension forming, and I shake my head in amusement. Pushing off the wall, I make my presence known

“Anyway she has something bigger in mind,” I intercede moving to stand beside her chair. Amanda looks up smiling carefully when I lay my hand on her shoulder, then relaxes noticeably at my words, wrapping her arm around my waist as I continue. “She wants to command a ship,” I tell Mac, with all the pride I can put in my voice.

“What ship, a carrier?” Mac asks. I nod to Andie to continue the tale.

“Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s the biggest, the best, and the newest one the Navy has Ma’am. But eventually, yes, I’d like to Captain a carrier,” she replies, exuding the supreme confidence I’ve watched form in her since the day she was born.

“Good for you!” Mac exclaims. “If you have half of your father’s determination, the Navy will be very lucky to have you.”

“Thank you Ma’am,” she looks up at me again, and for the first time I think she honestly accepts that this is not a problem for me. That I’m proud of her no matter what she does.

It’s amazing, having Mac return to my life has allowed me to identify and deal with problems I never fully recognized before. I love my daughters, and they love me, I know that, but there were always little things unsaid. I’m beginning to think that maybe this Christmas we can address some of those hidden issues.

After smiling deeply at Andie, and allowing her time to accept this idea, I turn to Meggie. She’s been sitting quietly, observing her mother and my daughter.

“Well Miss Megan,” I tease, sliding into the chair nearest the door. “Did you and Mattie decide your future last night?”

“Yes sir, as a matter of fact we did,” is her firm answer.

Mac looks startled and turns to her daughter in surprise.

“Meggie, you didn’t tell me about this.”

“Gee Mom, there was hardly time. I mean after you and the Captain had your snowball fight,” she grins impishly, “and then you threatened to strip him and give him a bath…”

“Meggie!” Mac blushes, aghast at the spin Meggie has deliberately put on that conversation.

“Well the worst part was when we got to our room, and I nearly had to do the same thing to get you to take a shower and warm up.” At that, Mac blushes harder, caught out at being as stubborn as I am.

I can’t help it, hearty laughter bursts forth, and in a heartbeat everyone joins in. The situation was ridiculous, and there is no other way to remember it except in fun.

Once Mac stops laughing, and wipes the tears from her eyes, she asks again around a few erupting giggles. “So just what do you and Mattie have in mind for your future?”

“Well….,I think I ‘will’ join the Air Force,” she announces to her stunned audience.

“Really,” Mac responds, more curious than upset. “What made you decide that?”

“They have all the really big planes. I mean the Navy has some, but not the ‘big boys’, not like the Air Force. And Mattie says if I want, I’ll always have a job with her, once I serve my ten years. So it’s all set. Now I just have to find a way into the Academy in Colorado Springs,” she finishes decisively. “That is if it’s okay with you, Mom,” her voice suddenly drops uncertainly.

“Meggie darling, it’s your life. I have no objection to you fulfilling any dream that makes you happy. The Air Force makes perfect sense if you want to fly large planes. We’ll start working on your application when we get home, if that’s what you want.” Mac leans forward and takes her daughters hand to emphasize that she’s happy and proud of her goals.

“Well,” Andie announces standing up. “Meggie and I are going to go shovel the steps and sidewalks. We want to do the sidewalks next door too, Dad.” She says, referring to our eighty-year-old neighbors. “Maybe we’ll even make a snowman if there’s time.”

Meggie bounces up and kisses Mac on the cheek, following my daughter from the room.

I lean back and look around the corner, “Just remember the dinner is at 1300,” I remind them.

“We will,” they call back in tandem, as they run up the stairs to Andie’s room. Meggie is undoubtedly without heavy snow clothes, so I suspect some borrowing with happen.

I walk into the kitchen to get the coffee pot, and return to refill our cups, before sliding into the chair next to her.

“Like some breakfast?” I offer, delighted in her company, but not entirely certain where to go next with the conversation.

“Sure, in a little bit,” she replies. “Quite a view,” she indicates the small harbor below us, now frozen and covered with snow.

“This is my favorite spot in the house,” I confess in order to keep the words flowing. “Andie re-designed it, and Shannon picked out the furniture. We all remodeled it together,” I smile. “When the weather warms up, I remove the windows and put in screens.” It’s small talk, but its talk. It’s better than silence.

“It must be lovely in the summer,” she muses.

“It is. All the little white boats, bobbing in the dark blue water, the warm blue sky with the fluffy white clouds. It’s very peaceful. I hope you’ll come back and see it,” I offer, waxing poetic again. I hide a secret smile, half amused by my sudden tendency to think like a Hallmark card.

She hesitates for a minute, then turns to me, smiling with unexpected radiance, “I'd like that, it sounds wonderful,” she accepts.

Just then a sound engulfs us that can only be described as a herd of stampeding cattle, or two teenagers descending the stairs. We listen as they tear out the front door, and rummage in the box on the porch where I keep the snow shovels. Soon we hear the diminishing sounds of laughter, and snow being scraped, as they work their way towards the street.

Before the silence gets too heavy, Mac speaks up. “She’s a beautiful young woman. You must be very proud.”

“I am, I just wish you could have met Shannon,” I tell her.

“Where is Shannon, Harm?” her face darkens expecting to hear something bad.

“Its nothing like that, Mac,” I hasten to reassure her. “She gets two weeks at Christmas, Andie gets only one. Shannon spent last weekend with us, then she flew to California to help my mother with the holiday preparations. Mom still insists on a big Christmas for the family, and Shannon always worries she’ll overdo it.”

“Sounds like both of your girls are special, I hope I can meet Shannon some day,” she ventures. “You speak of them with so much love in your face.”

“As you do of Meggie and her brothers,” I return the sincere compliment.

“Ricky and Robby are doing so well, Harm. I appreciate the help you’ve given them,” she turns serious for a minute.

“If there’s any improvement beyond the excellent job you and Victor did, then it’s thanks to Andie, not me. I haven’t had that much contact with them. They are in my ‘Law of the Sea’ class but ‘Leadership’, where I might have any input, isn’t until next semester,” I demur. “They are doing most of it on their own. They have good solid values. So does Meggie,” I tell her.

“Yes,” she answers. “She’s a good girl. She’s bright, but also intuitive, like her father.”

“What happened with the young jet jockey and the email?” I ask.

She smiles. “I let her off the hook after three weeks,” Mac replies. “When she opened her inbox there was an email from him every day since the dance.”

“Are you going to let her write to him?” I inquire neutrally.

“I asked her if I could read the letters and she agreed,” Mac admits. “After one or two, I wrote and told him he could write to her as long as he understood I would read the letters. I reiterated she was too young for anything more than friendship with him. It was a point I’d stressed rather strongly at the dance.”

“What did he say?” I’m curious about her response to this friendship.

“He replied quickly, that he had nothing but respect for Meggie and her family, and he was sorry for how he appeared to behave at the dance. He admitted that he had neglected to ask how old she was. He had made the error of assuming, but that he never intended anything dishonorable in any case,” she smiled in rueful amusement.

“He promised if I allowed him to write, he would treat Meggie as a little sister. He further promised he would ask my permission if he wanted to contact her in another way. It was funny, he said he liked talking to her because she shared his love of flying.” Mac seems amazed by this.

“Did you?” I ask, watching her over the rim of my cup.

“Did I what?” she looks puzzled.

“Read the letters,” I supply.

“No. Well, only a few of them, here and there, it wasn’t necessary to read any more. They were mostly about flying. Meggie said that was all they talked about at the dance. Of course, I reserve the right to spot check from time to time, but I doubt that will prove necessary. I have their word to keep it on a friendship basis, and I trust them. Austin has his goals, and Meggie has hers. Having a friend to see them through the tough parts is good. If it turns into more later….well…we’ll just see then,” she allows the concept to hang.

“You’re a wise woman, General,” I tell her.

“Thank you, Captain. What would you have done?” she seems a little uncertain of her decision.

“Not the same,” I admit. “Andie had a crush on him her senior year in high school. He was a second year midshipman. I reminded her that getting involved with a classmate at the Academy wasn’t a very good idea. She pouted a while and called me stuffy, but it wore off quickly during her first summer. The workload was too hard, and the discipline too strict to pay much attention to anything else. She found she didn’t have the energy to sustain any interest in romance.” I shrug.

“It seems funny he would look farther than his classmates for a kindred spirit,” Mac muses. “What do you know about him Harm?” she sounds mildly concerned in afterthought. I can at least put her mind at rest on this issue.

“He’s good at what he does, almost too good. He’s driven to succeed. He gets along with others, knows how to play the game, be a member of the team, yet in some ways he’s a loner. Never lets anyone too close,” I tell her.

“Sounds like someone I know,” she suggests.

“Yeah I guess in a way. It’s a mistake I made for a long time. He’s Meg’s son, Mac,” I inform her.

“Meg?” she sounds puzzled.

“Meg Austin my first partner at JAG. His full name is James Austin McGuire. For some reason she was adamantly opposed to his becoming a pilot. I know she loves him, but she refused to discuss this goal with him,” I have no idea of the significance of that. I lost track of Meg after she transferred to Pearl years ago. She was no longer there when Catherine and I arrived.

“What about his father?” she inquires.

“Businessman. Importer. I think he really doesn’t ‘get’ the military at all. He and Meg broke up when Austin was ten, he’s an only child.” I know I’m sharing a confidence, but there isn’t much I’d keep from Mac. Especially where Meggie is concerned, she’s become very dear to me.

“And you know this because?” she wonders.

“I counseled him for a while. He’s an overachiever. He was in danger of burning out. I tried to help him…um…lighten up a little, to help him find balance,” I give a self-deprecating little grunt. “On the other hand he has a noticeable effect on the young women around him. He appears to behave honorably, as you’ve discovered, but he has left a string of broken hearts lying around.

“That must have been a bit like talking to yourself at that age,” she observes.

“Hey, who better to know?” I grin in acknowledgement. “He doesn’t open up easily, but I know he’d never do her any harm, or I would have jumped in. You know me; I just can’t stop myself from interfering sometimes.” I glance her way, this is a side of me she’s all too familiar with.

I saw something in his face that night after the dance that gave me a whole new insight into the young man. It was a very private moment. Maybe someday I’ll share it, but not yet.

“Initially, I wasn’t pleased to see her attraction to him,” I admit. “But I have an idea her friendship could help him a lot. Meggie’s levelheaded; I think she can handle his ‘charm’ just fine. Maybe he can help her too, let her know what it’s like out there, a heads up on what to expect. Training to be a military pilot isn’t easy; she has a lot of work ahead of her. It’s damn hard work,” I remind her.

“I imagine once Meggie gets to Colorado Springs she’ll find her time limited. Maybe it will help both of them. Sometimes it’s nice to have a friend out there, when life seems a struggle,” she comments.

I hope that’s how she sees our friendship. I hope she will find herself able to talk to me, to come to me when life seems too difficult to handle alone.

End of part twenty

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty-one

Christmas morning
Rabb residence
Annapolis, MD

We sit in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought. I’m about to offer breakfast again, when she suddenly blindsides me with, “What happened to her Harm?”

“To who?” I know exactly who she means, but I’m not certain she’s prepared to hear it.

“You know who. Catherine,” she pushes. “Tell me.”

“Maaac. It’s…uh…it’s not a really…,” I try to dissuade her. There are too many levels attached to this story. She looks at me hard, and I stare back, then shake my head. I don’t think it’s the right time, but it may never be the right time for this story.

“You said she was involved with Webb. How? She wasn’t an agent. She didn’t…I mean….she wouldn’t have… It….it wasn’t personal was it? I’m sorry Harm, maybe I shouldn’t have asked,” she backpedals uncomfortably, immediately realizing she may have stepped into something private.

“No. It’s okay. It’s not the way you’re thinking,” I sigh, rubbing my head. I knew she wouldn’t leave this alone. “You know Webb was Shannon’s father don’t you?” I ask by way of preamble.

“No…I…I didn’t. He never said anything, we….uh….we really weren’t that close,” she replies quietly.

“I know that now. I didn’t know it then.” I murmur. I really don’t want us to return to that time, but…. “Mac there was so much…this is going someplace maybe we shouldn’t go.”

“I know,” she stops me quickly. “Harm, some of the water that goes under a bridge just has to stay there,” she declares firmly. Perhaps she’s right, we can’t change what happened. At this point, I don’t think we would even want to; we would change too much that was good. Although it may be time to sort through all that’s happened and put it to rest.

I can only nod in relieved agreement. “I didn’t know it either, not for almost three years,” I say abstractly.

“Didn’t know what? About Webb? And Shannon?” she asks puzzled.

I nod again, “I thought she might be mine. Catherine kept saying no, but still….” I let the thought trail, gazing absently out the tall windows. It had taken me years to understand Webb’s angry response in the bullpen that day. He had taken it personally because to him it was personal.

“You were with Catherine before Paraguay?” she stiffens slightly.

“No,” I shake my head. “After. After we got back. I…I was depressed, lonely, at loose ends. I felt like I wasn’t worth much, I couldn’t find a job. She seemed to need comfort too. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t question it too closely. We spent a little time together, but it was the wrong reason for a relationship and we drifted apart. After I finally took the job with the Agency, I was away on assignment a lot, and she was never available when I was in town.”

“Wasn’t Shannon born in early February, Harm?” she asks cannily.

“Yeah, why?” I’m puzzled.

“Didn’t you do the math?” she inquires.

“No, not really,” I shrug. “I guess I just figured…I don’t know….after she accepted my proposal the second time, I figured she’d tell me when she was ready. I just did my job as father, and let whatever happened happen.” It was so long ago, I no longer recall whether I didn’t believe her, or if I didn’t want to believe her about Shannon those first few years.

“You proposed twice?” Mac inquires, her face devoid of apparent emotion.

“Yeah, the first time was when I found out she was pregnant. It was right after the Company fired me, but she said I was just looking for stability, and I had to find that for myself. Later we sort of drifted back together, I was back at JAG, things were more settled, that’s when she accepted.” God, I really don’t want to go through this with her. It’s taking us too far back. Everything that happened in that hellish quadrangle is like the old chicken and egg question.

She reaches to touch my arm. “Go on, Harm,” she urges.

“Then, while you were in Italy, I ran into Webb here in the office, he was looking for you. I….uh….I said some pretty dumb things, told him everything we all believed. He set me straight so fast my head went into a flat spin. After he called me the biggest horse’s ass on the planet, I never saw him again,” I remember the pain and confusion of that meeting as if it were yesterday. I think it was worse than when I first believed I’d lost Mac to Webb. To find out I’d lost her to my own stupidity was a hundred times worse than hearing her say never.

“I never saw him again either,” she muses. “I think the last time was a little after Christmas. We had dinner in early January just before he left on an assignment. Then in July, he called me in Italy and said he had another assignment out of town. He said he’d stop by if he got to Naples. That was the last I ever heard from him,” she finishes.

“It was the last anyone ever heard of him, at least for a long time,” I remark ruefully.

“But you took care of Shannon as though she were your own,” she looks at me warmly.

“Yes I did, it never occurred to me to do less. In my heart she was.” I recall exactly how I felt about Shannon. I still feel that way.

“And you were truly happy with Catherine?” she asks holding her breath, without telling me what answer she wants.

I settle for honesty, it’s all we have to work with now. “Yes. I was, I…I admit I had a rough spot after….after I found out about….well, you and Webb…I mean about there not being anything …..,” I falter.

“Don’t Harm. I’m glad for you,” she fills in quickly. “I’m glad you found that happiness.”

“You were right to cut me off like that, Mac. It hurt at the time, but not nearly the way I hurt you, I think.” I’m fighting the memory of what I’d done to her and the disquiet of revisiting these events.

It’s her turn to nod; her eyes are a little moist. “More water under the bridge, Harm,” she smiles weakly. “There was something we could never get right between us. At least, we both found genuine happiness. I’m so grateful you had her to love you.”

“And I’m grateful for what you did. It made me turn away and give my life to my family, and to her. It took me years to realize what you did for me. I’m so happy to know that Victor loved you as you deserved,” I admit. At the time, it was hard, not knowing what would happen to her, to leave town with the suspicion forming in my mind. But I’d made the mistake of giving her up. She made it clear I’d also given up the right to interfere.

At times I almost felt guilty over how much happiness I’d found with Catherine and the girls. It bothered me later, after Catherine was gone, that I had never discovered what happened to Mac. By then I had no idea where to look for her. And no reason to believe she would want me to.

When she came to me last April I could feel every ounce of her pain and loss, but my heart was filled with profound gratitude that she’d found the kind of love that made her loss so deep and terrible. She had been very well loved.

We fall silent for a minute pondering these revelations, searching for a way to prevent them from trampling the new growth of our feelings. Those fragile little shoots just now beginning to sprout on the dormant stump of our former friendship.

“He was out there, somewhere, for a long time,” I finally break the silence.

“Tell me, Harm,” she says simply.

“We’d been in Hawaii about three years when Catherine received a letter from Porter Webb through an attorney. At first, she didn’t tell me what it was about. I only knew she was troubled, uncertain how to handle it. Finally after several days of worry she told me about Shannon,” I rigidly try to hide the anger I felt when she told me.

“It bothered you, did it change how you felt about the child?” she asks going to the heart of the matter. Although I think she knows the answer.

“Yeah it bothered me, the fact that Catherine hadn’t told me right away. She actually did tell me, but she knew what I believed, and it would have been easy enough to just tell me the whole truth. I think she subconsciously allowed me to believe what I wanted.”

Her questioning look asks ‘Why?’ but she remains silent.

“I believe she was actually trying to cut Webb out entirely, in the beginning. She was pretty bitter about their breakup. Webb had refused to stay stateside, and Catherine refused to stay with him if he kept working in the field. I don’t think she really meant to deceive me. She just wanted to make that part go away, to try for us to be happy as a family. Probably hoped it would be better that way. She was a brilliant attorney but she was a little naïve sometimes.” I try to excuse her actions, but much as I loved her, I’m not entirely free of bitterness about this situation either.

“If it weren’t for the daily reminders of Catherine’s love, the constancy of it, I would have felt a pawn, but I honestly think she had moved on in her mind and heart. It just returned to hit her in the back of the head,” I explain.

“Unfortunately, Webb knew Shannon was his, he’d challenged her on it at some point. But then he left on another of his missions. He probably expected her to wait for him, until he returned to find out we were married. That was when he disappeared completely. At some point he must have told his mother about Shannon,” retelling this story is a strain. If I go much further, I know my feelings about Clayton Webb will become unpleasant. I don’t want to lay that on Mac.

“And Shannon? What about her, she must have been just a baby?” she is still inquiring cautiously.

“She was three almost four. But that part didn’t matter to me. She was my little girl, even if Webb was her biological father,” I tell her honestly. “I never wavered for a second in that feeling. As for Shannon, she looked at it with a child’s eyes. Having an absent father didn’t really have immediate meaning for her, having another grandmother to dote on her and buy her presents was the only fact she grasped. It wasn’t until much later she started to ask the hard questions.”

“Mrs. Webb welcomed Shannon with overwhelming warmth….both girls actually….said they were sisters and that made her a step-grandmother as well. Rather sentimental for the Porter Webb we all knew,” I shrug and Mac smiles happily at this part of the story. I guess it’s a female thing.

I hesitate for a few minutes hoping this will be enough for her, but I know better.

“What happened then, Harm? What did Webb do?” She is quietly insistent.

“Mac, are you sure, this is…it’s…um…unpleasant,” I try to dissuade her again.

“I won’t insist, Harm, but something tells me….I think maybe you need to share this with a friend,” she looks up at me, and her eyes penetrate a part of my soul I’ve guarded fiercely. Once again, since we’ve renewed our friendship, she is helping me find a way through an issue I hadn’t acknowledged. I feel a deep sense of relief knowing its safe to share this with her

“We didn’t hear anything more about him for years. It was almost five years later. After we’d we moved back to the states….San Diego….to be near my Mother and Frank,” I ramble.

“About a year after we moved to California….” my mind wanders back in time.

***~~***

“Harm where are you?” Catherine called, as she walked through the door forty-five minutes late.

“I’m right here sweetheart,” I answered coming out of the study. I pulled her into my arms and gave her a welcoming kiss, before reverting to mock sternness. “Where have you been? You’re late.”

“I had a meeting with my boss last thing. I have to go out of town tomorrow,” she tried to sound nonchalant, “but it’s only for a day,” was the hurried follow-up. All the hair on my neck stood on end.

“Where?” I asked. This is the agency after all. I’d tried to get her to quit, but she loved her job. It hadn’t proved a real problem, it was just my personal prejudice we argued over.

“Mexico City,” she said brightly. “I have to pick up some papers,” she still tried to snow me.

“A dead drop,” I cut to the heart of it.

“It’s perfectly safe Harm. It’s just some papers and stuff,” she protested a little too quickly.

“Catherine, nothing the agency does is safe, and you aren’t trained. Why can’t they send a field agent?” I wasn’t in any mood to be reasonable about this.

“There is no one else, everyone’s busy, and we’re short handed. Look Harm it really isn’t a big deal,” she tried again.

“I don’t want you to go,” I told her firmly

“Harm, it’s my job,” she insisted.

“No, it’s not your job. You’re a lawyer. Catherine, you aren’t trained for this.” I fired back.

“How much training does it take to get on a plane, take an airport limo to a hotel, check into a room, retrieve some papers, return to the airport, and fly home,” she asked in exasperation.

“Catherine I have never in my entire experience had an agency operation go as planned. I don’t want you to go.” I raised my voice through clenched teeth.

“Well I have to,” she flared as well. “Look if I were going to DC you wouldn’t object. I’ve had to make trips there several times,” she tried to reason with me.

“Not the same. This isn’t DC, and it isn’t just files or documents, this is ‘intel’. Someone stole it, and someone else doesn’t want us to have it. That makes it dangerous,” I wasn’t accepting reason.

“It’s important, Harm. We need this material,” she replied stubbornly not wanting to budge.

“Of course it’s important, that’s my point Catherine,” I concluded with exasperation.

“And that’s exactly why it has to be retrieved. My boss feels I’ll be invisible, because I don’t look like an agent. I look like an attorney. No one will suspect me,” she argues with agency logic.

“Catherine that’s just lame. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? It isn’t what ‘you’ look like, it’s what you are ‘doing’ looks like, that the other side looks for,” I argue, but I suspect I’m losing the battle when she steps into my space and wraps her arms around me.

“Oh Harm, I promise to be careful. Please don’t be angry. I don’t want to leave in the morning with you angry with me.” She allowed the full force of her huge blue eyes to come into play with the plea. It wasn’t a move I could easily resist. And if she had to go I couldn’t allow anger to distract her. She’d need her wits about her, even if it really was perfectly planned and perfectly timed. A fact I sincerely doubted.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, this first mission went without a hitch. I was both surprised and relieved when she encountered no difficulty whatsoever. However, it only convinced her that this whole spy thing was a piece of cake.

Over the next year there were more little trips, San Juan, Miami, Boston, Minneapolis, Toronto, Vancouver BC, and San Francisco of all places. Each time it was the same scenario and the same result. She was gathering a false sense of security about it, and I was becoming more concerned with each trip. I think I only went along with it as long as I did because they were staying in North America. It gave the missions a veneer of safety. I didn’t have any idea what the agent was trailing, but no one can do these things indefinitely without being noticed, especially when they look like Catherine.

After San Francisco, I tried to talk to her again. I wanted her to give up the agency and take a job she’d been offered with a private law firm. She mentioned she would lose her pension if she quit before her twenty years were up, and I told her it wouldn’t do her much good if she wasn’t around to collect it. I was truly becoming concerned for her safety. We were fighting too much for the good of our relationship.

Finally she relented, and said she’d talk to her boss. That lasted a month. I could tell when she came home that night that she’d changed her mind.

“You’ve changed your mind haven’t you? You’re going out again.” It wasn’t a question it was a statement.

“I have to, Harm,” she answered, more subdued more distracted than before.

“Why Catherine? We’ve had this discussion. You aren’t an agent, you’re a lawyer,” I reminded her for about the hundredth time.

“Harm, I work for the Agency, we’re all agents. You know that. You were a pilot. How many times did your job include the duties of a field agent because no one was available?” she threw at me.

“Yeah, and I almost got killed several times,” I reminded her.

“Well that won’t happen here. I’m just a courier, but I have to go.” She was adamant.

“Why? Tell me one good reason why,” I challenged her

“Because the packets are from Clay,” she dropped the bomb. “They’ve all been from Clay. They told me tonight. They said they needed me, and I said I wouldn’t do this anymore. Then they explained it all to me. This is important, Harm, very important. He won’t leave them if anyone else picks them up.”

“What do you mean he won’t leave them,” I almost scream. I didn’t want her within a hundred miles of Webb. Nothing that man did ever turned out right.

“He doesn’t trust anyone else. He was burned last year. He left a drop and the agent servicing it had turned. They almost caught him, and it ruined nearly six months worth of work. Harm this is important.” She pleads. I’m really starting to hate that word ‘important’.

“It’s always going to be ‘important’ Catherine, the only variable is who they send to do it,” I was angry bordering on livid by then.

“I know you don’t like the agency or how it operates, I know you have even less use for Clay and his ability to run an operation, but the ‘intel’ he’s bringing in is vital. I don’t know enough about it, no specific details, but over time, it could make a very big difference to whether our girls grow up in a safe world or not. Please Harm, we both have a job to do. Yours hasn’t always been safe either, but you’ve always given it a priority. Please, I need to do this,” she was resolute, but she also wanted my blessing.

It was nearly impossible to give that, but I did promise not to fight with her about it any more. If she insisted on doing it, she had to give it her entire attention. It was the decision I’d made in the beginning, with the first mission, and it was still valid. It was the only way I could help her. I took her into my arms, “Just promise me you’ll be careful and it’s essential to follow the plan exactly, please Catherine,” I bargain with her.

“I will Harm, I promise. I want to come back, I want to be with you and the girls for a long time,” she was crying softly. “But I want us all safe too, and if I can help in some small way…..”

I tried to volunteer to go along, or go in her place, but her boss wouldn’t hear of it, and neither would mine. They felt she was less noticeable alone. I had a worse feeling about the whole thing once we knew Webb was involved, but trying to dissuade her at this point would only distract her. So I did the only thing I could, I tried to give her a crash course on everything I knew, and every possible step to take if anything went wrong. We talked far into the night, about the details of her exact movements, what could go wrong at every point, and how to respond. After that, I prayed.

The next drop oddly enough was in LA, and she started talking about the possibility of seeing him, possibly convincing him to come out of the field. He was here in the states, there should be some way to contact him, she thought.

“Harm, I know if I can just talk to him, I could get him to come home,” she was excited.

“Catherine, he won’t do it. If what he has, the connections he’s made are that important…well you know Webb, he’s like a dog with a bone where intelligence is concerned. He never could leave it to others. He always has to be in the middle. He’s following something or someone, that’s obvious by the pattern, don’t you see? Funny thing is, the only time he’s safe is when he’s working alone. The minute he involves someone else it all goes to hell. Stay away from him, for your sake and his,” I warn her sternly.

“I know, I’ve heard stories. I won’t try to find him, I just thought…..” she seems chastened.

“Catherine sweetheart,” I gathered her close. “Do you know why his missions fall apart when others are involved?”

“No,” she shakes her head against my chest

“Because Webb has a one-track mind. All he thinks about is the job. He doesn’t consider anything else, just get what he wants and get out. It doesn’t allow him any perspective, any concern for anyone he’s working with. He’s a lone wolf and it works for him, but don’t get too close,” I warn her.

“I felt…uh…sort of that someone was watching me, on the drops. It must have been him all along. Maybe watching out for me,” she suggests

“That’s just my point Catherine. You had this feeling, yet said nothing. You should have told someone. It may not have been him; it may have been someone dangerous.” I don’t want to always be angry with her, but I just can’t get this through to her how dangerous these ‘errands’ are. She’s too trusting.

“It didn’t feel dangerous,” she excuses. “Even though I didn’t know it was him at the time, I still felt safe,” she protests.

“He may have been watching, but don’t count on him to rescue you. Like I said, he was guarding his information, not you. Look, darling, I know that sounds cold. You once knew him differently, but believe me Catherine, I’ve worked with him in the field. It’s how he operates,” I insist.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll stay clear.” With a heavy sigh, she sunk against my chest and held on tight, “I promise,” she whispered.

End of twenty-one.

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty-two

Christmas morning
Rabb residence
Annapolis, MD

She meant what she promised, I believe that, but in the end her emotions about the situation betrayed her. There was one more drop after the Los Angeles trip, about a month later, she was sent to Mexico City. After that they heard nothing for almost three months.

Then she came home one night in a rush of excitement. Her tears were very close to the surface, and I challenged her.

“What’s going on Catherine? You’re upset?” I stated the obvious, waiting for more information.

“Oh, Harm. It’s just like I’d hoped, they’re bringing him in,” she seemed both delighted and frightened, I was instantly on guard.

“Something’s wrong,” I could see it. “Why are you so upset? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I can’t ignore the fact I was a little resentful over this sudden change from her original desire to keep him away from our family.

“Yes, of course. Shannon should know her father, and I don’t want him dead. Harm you can’t want to see him dead either,” she looked at me, picking up on my aggravated tone. I know she can’t believe I would think of such a thing.

“Of course not, Catherine,” I responded a little more harshly than necessary. “I just don’t see how this involves you. When he gets back, after he’s been debriefed, we’ll set up a meeting. It’s no problem,” I tried to reassure her.

“He’s in danger Harm. They say…from his dispatches he’s….well….he’s beginning to sound very stressed. They think he’s too close to his subjects, and the Agency’s afraid he’ll be caught. That he won’t be able to escape and that… that what they will do to him…he… he won’t be able to hold up. That he’ll give up the whole operation, that he hasn’t the strength to resist any more,” she tried to remain stoic, present it as an agent would. Then her voice cracked, “I don’t want him hurt or….if they catch him, Harm….” she dissolved in tears.

“Catherine he’s been out a long time, much longer than agents are supposed to stay in the field. I’m sure they’re right in their assessment, let’s hope they can bring him in before that happens,” I tried to be reasonable, but I wasn’t sure where her head was on this.

“Harm, we can’t let that happen to him. Please believe me this isn’t personal, I don’t love him, I love you, but he’s a man, a colleague, and he’s Shannon’s father, I want him safe for her sake,” her tears still fell, and I didn’t understand why.

“I agree. No one wants to see that happen to another person, but if they’re bringing him in, he’ll be safe soon. Don’t worry; I’m sure the Agency knows what they’re doing. Catherine, he’ll be home before you know it.” Something was pricking at my brain. I was getting a bad feeling.

“That’s just it, Harm,” she said in a rush, turning her watery eyes up to me. “I have to go after him.”

“You what?” I exploded. this was just too much. “No. No way, Catherine! You are not going within a hundred miles of this operation. It’s too damn dangerous! It’s not gonna happen.” I think I went on for five minutes.

She kept trying to get a word in, and every time she did, I’d start up again. I wouldn’t hear of it. Finally, I wound down enough for her to interrupt.

“Harm! Just listen for a minute.” I took a deep breath to begin all over, and she held up her hand.

“I know how you feel, believe me I understand,” she tried to placate.

“Understand? Catherine you haven’t the first clue!” I declared incredulously.

“Please Harm!” she raised her voice over-shouting me. “I do, I know, but this is Shannon’s father! I can’t tell her I didn’t do everything to help save him.”

“I wouldn’t care if it was my father! You don’t have to tell her anything,” my fear for her was making me furious.

“I would, in time I would. I couldn’t lie to her if she asked. I’d have to tell her, I had the chance to bring him home and didn’t do it. Besides Porter will find out, she knows everything. What would I tell her? Please just listen to me. Please, just for a minute,” she had lowered her voice trying to penetrate my anger.

“All right. I’ll listen, but it won’t change my mind,” I told her resolutely, bringing my ire down barely a notch.

“It’s going down the same as the dead drops,” she started.

“What do you mean the same?” I asked sullenly.

“I mean the same. I’m to go to the hotel. Only instead of finding a package in the room, I’ll wait for him. He’s to come in when it’s safe. He’ll make sure he isn’t followed, but he’ll only make contact with me. If I’m not there, he won’t show,” she explained.

“Why? Surely there are other agents who can do this,” I was still wildly suspicious.

“There are plenty of agents. There will be three of them ready to protect us, and get us out of there, but I need to be there to reassure him it’s legitimate. I told you before he was burned, he doesn’t trust anyone. He’s bringing the final information they need. My boss said it has the possibility of stopping the movement long enough to break it up forever.” She was probably telling me more than she should at this point.

“I find that hard to believe,” I sneered cynically. “Catherine these people are scattered all over the world, their operation isn’t centralized enough to interrupt it that way.”

“Part of it is, and that’s the part he finally found,” she told me.

There’s only one part that could cripple them that badly, and his obtaining the information would be a coup that the agency could only fantasize about. But if he had it, the importance would overshadow any danger to a single individual. At least it would if that individual wasn’t my wife.

“Harm,” she saw my hesitation. “If your CO told you to go contact an agent, maybe Mac for instance, and she had this kind of information to bring in, wouldn’t you go? In fact wouldn’t you go if your commanding officer ordered you without any enticement at all?” She was playing me; she already knew the answer. I’d hate it, but I’d follow orders.

“It’s not the same,” I sulked, but I knew it was. “I’m in the military, I’d have to go. I have to follow orders, you don’t,” I turned away, looking out the window to hide my hollow justification.

“And if you didn’t go?” she pushed at me.

“You know the answer to that. Disobeying a direct order on something like that, it would mean dishonorable discharge at least, maybe Leavenworth,” I verified disdainfully. She was perfectly aware of the consequences.

“Is it any less dishonorable for me to refuse because I didn’t sign my life away in a contract with the Navy?” she asked softly.

I turn to look at her. I knew she was right. I had no argument. “No. But….no, I can’t argue with you, Catherine. I still don’t want you to go.” Something about this just didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I know Harm, but I remember everything you told me. Follow the plan. Have a backup plan I make myself. Have a way out, and watch every movement from any direction,” she recited the bare essentials, successfully placating my nerves for the moment. If that was the plan, and she followed it exactly, she should be safe. There was just something…..

Very early the next morning I drove her to the airport. I hadn’t given up. I talked half the night trying to find a way to convince her to leave this to others, but she was adamant. And so confident that Webb had deep value to the agency, that she was completely assured the plan was foolproof. Perhaps it would have been.

I stayed with her for an hour before she had to go through the security gate. It was the hardest thing I ever did, letting go of her. Logically I couldn’t find a valid objection, it was just a gut feeling.

On the way home from the airport it finally hit me. She was going hours earlier than she’d ever gone before for one of these rendezvous’. There was something wrong something didn’t match up. I was nearly home when I figured out the entire plan. Webb didn’t know, and Catherine was both bait and distraction. The three agent s weren’t there to protect them, they were there to trap him. They were forcibly removing him from the field.

Catherine had always gone to the hotel in the afternoon. Webb obviously waited until the room was cleaned by maid service, before slipping in and delivering his drop, then he waited somewhere out of sight to make sure she found it. How he managed to get keys to the rooms, how he accessed the hotels computer system to assure that Catherine remained assigned to the room, is anyone’s guess. Webb always was excellent at that sort of spook craft.

This time they were putting Catherine in the room early so she’d be there when he showed. They probably had the room wired and were close by. The minute he arrived they counted on his surprise, and Catherine’s enthusiasm, to distract him long enough to take him.

Catherine would be devastated, but the Agency would mark it off as a small price to pay. She wouldn’t make too many waves. Someone would convince her it was in Webb’s best interest. That he would forgive her, once he was debriefed and had some counseling. The part she wouldn’t know until it was too late was she would never see him again.

If they could control him, they’d put him in a Federal program with a new identity. If not….

God, what an underhanded mess.

I hurried home, gathered the girls, and took them straight to my mother. Giving them a free ticket to get out of school for one day quieted any questions they had. A simple explanation to Mom that I had a sudden out of town assignment didn’t assuage her worries, but she wouldn’t let me down. She’d care for the girls until I brought their mother back. Failure didn’t occur to me, that sense of immortality that made me a successful fighter pilot for years had kicked into high gear.

After that, I headed for the Agency office, and Catherine’s boss.

His secretary announced me, and he tried to put me off, but I told her in a voice that I rarely used with women, and seldom even with lower ranking personnel, that I would see him and I would see him now.

She took me in.

“What do you want, Rabb?” he asked impatiently.

“I want a ticket to Acapulco on the next flight,” I told him flatly. No point playing word games, we had each other’s number. He knew I wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t figured it out.

“Can’t do it, Rabb. Stay out of it.” He stonewalled me.

“You can and you will,” I insisted. “You have ten minutes to arrange it.” I told him

“Or what? I can call your CO and have you arrested,” he suggests harshly.

“And let the entire Navy know you set my wife up for one of your little spy games,” I asked sardonically. “The brass isn’t big enough on this coast to make that kind of cover up work,” I pointed out. “You can only get away with that stuff in Washington. Out here they’ll ask too many questions before someone from DC shuts them up. By then the word will be out,” I state what we both know.

“Fine, I can just ignore you until it’s over. It’s unlikely you can find a ticket before then,” he dismissed me.

“Yes, I can,” I told him. “I’ll go to the airport with a hand lettered sign on a piece of cardboard. ‘My wife is in danger by the CIA, I need to get to Acapulco immediately’.” I quoted drawing in the air for emphasis. “I’ll not only get a ticket from some sympathetic stranger, I’ll probably get a front page headline on every newspaper in the country.” It was a brass balls move, but in a situation like this, I wouldn’t make an empty threat.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he glowered.

“Try me,” I growled back. We stared at each other for a long minute or two before he folded. He knew I’d do it, and I would have. It would have killed my career, but it wouldn’t be the first time, I mused.

“I’ll have a car around front in five minutes,” he agreed.

“Fine. I’ll follow it to the airport.” I didn’t entirely trust him. Hell, I didn’t trust him at all. “And listen Bradley, this better be on the level.” I shot my last round at him.

It was a game of bluff, and somehow I’d won. I’ve never been certain, but I doubt this was entirely his plan. He may have had his own agenda in allowing me to get involved. Certainly he knew my record, he knew I could handle being part of a field operation.

In the time it took for his secretary to cancel someone’s ticket for a vacation, and rewrite it in my name, he briefed me on who my contacts would be, and why this had to be done. In essence, I agreed it had to happen, just not this way. I wasn’t surprised by the information, but I was livid at how they were using Catherine.

He sighed deeply at that. “It was meant to keep her safe believe it or not,” he excused. “She’s a bit naïve, and her compassion is sometimes misguided. We’ve thought for some time she was going to try to contact him. Webb is no longer the man she used to know,” he confided. Jesus, is there anyone on the planet who doesn’t know about her and Webb?

Maybe their intentions were in the right place where she was concerned. Maybe they were even genuinely apprehensive about Webb’s safety. I could think of a hundred better ways to do it though, and that was while driving in freeway traffic.

I didn’t bother with luggage; I was traveling on a government pass. I’d go through the checkpoint like a hot knife through butter. Jamieson my contact was notified, they would have a weapon for me just in case. I was to go to their room, not to go near Catherine, but I’d be near enough to protect her. I agreed to go with his plan conditionally. He knew what would make me take action on my own, and guaranteed it wouldn’t go down that way.

I arrived about two hours behind Catherine, and went straight to her hotel. As instructed, I was on my way to the command post, when she suddenly rushed out of her room and straight into my arms.

“Harm what are you doing here?” she looked puzzled, then angry.

“I’m here to protect you Catherine. This isn’t going down as you were told,” I informed her.

“That’s nonsense Harm. Everything’s in place you’re going to ruin it,” she lashed back.

“Where are you going?” I asked her.

“What?” she hesitated a moment, then started towards the elevators

“Wait a minute Catherine, where are you going?” I grabbed her arm.

“To reserve a rental car,” she answered, sullenly jabbing the call button

“What for? That’s not part of the plan. You aren’t supposed to leave the hotel. Where are you going?” suddenly alarm bells were going off

“There’s plenty of time to change the plan, Harm,” she protested as we stepped into the elevator. “I’m not leaving until 6:00 this evening.”

“Where are you going?” I insisted, yet again, as the doors slid shut, “And why?”

“I don’t know yet. He called me, said it wasn’t safe to come here. He told me to go down and reserve a car for this evening, then he’d get back to me on where to go,” she answered. She actually sounded as though she believed this was reasonable.

“You’re kidding,” was all I could respond with. “You don’t have to go to the lobby, you could call a reservation from your room,” I pointed out.

“I tried; they said they needed to see my driver’s license for some reason. It will only take a minute.” This was wrong, it was so wrong, there were enough bells going off in my head for a three-alarm fire.

“You aren’t going alone. I’m going with you,” I told her, as the elevator reached the ground floor.

“No you aren’t, Harm. I’m going alone, just like the plan,” she raised her voice noticeably. “Now go back home and let me do my job,” she stalked off the elevator.

I reached to grab her arm, “That wasn’t the plan, Catherine,” I remind her firmly.

Suddenly two burly security guards pinned me from behind. “What the hell!” I struggled.

“Come with us sir, we have a report of a domestic disturbance,” a much smaller man looked at me, deadly serious.

“You’ll have a disturbance if you don’t let me go,” I bluster. “Catherine come back here!” I called to her, feeling desperate now. But the more I struggled the tighter they held me.

Catherine made her way to the concierge desk, while I tried to break free of the oafs holding me.

“Let me go! That’s my wife! She may be in danger,” I tried to reason, but I knew my tone was anything but reasonable.

“So it would seem,” one of the guards retorted. I looked up just in time to see the concierge point out front to a waiting car, and saw Catherine disappear through the door.

“Catherine, don’t!” I screamed across the lobby, but just as the door closed on her the next elevator car arrived loaded with the three agents. Jamieson, my contact, flashed a badge at the hotel security, and ordered, “Let him go.” I’ll never know what warranted this courtesy, they could have left me there to rot, but they didn’t.

Immediately, I was released, and we raced across the lobby toward the car they had parked in front. Piling in, the driver took off before the doors were closed.

“It’s Webb isn’t it?” I asked, my voice thick with anger and exasperation.

“Yeah. I guess he’s still sneakier than they give him credit for,” one of the agents said ruefully, reaching under the seat and handing me a 9mm Sig Sauer. “Trouble is we think he has someone on his tail. Close. We just don’t know how close.”

“Damn!!” I swore, “Damn him to hell! Where is he taking her?” I asked nearly panicked by then.

“Probably not far. He wants to pass the information without being picked up,” the man in front shot over his shoulder.

“God this traffic is a mess. How are you going to find them?” I worried.

“She’s carrying a company cell, it has a transponder. Webb must be slipping, he hasn’t thought of it and it’s still moving, they just turned the corner.” I worried we might be following a false lead, but there was no time to explain about the trick we’d pulled in Ireland years ago.

“There they are,” the driver called as they turned the next corner ahead. They appeared to be headed for the back entrance to the hotel. He was taking her back. Then we heard it, the sickening thud of heavy metal against metal. A car crash.

I started out the door, but the agent beside me held my arm.

“Hang on Rabb, we don’t know it’s them,” he hardly had the words out when the rapid sound of automatic weapon fire rent the air. I was out of the car and running, before the first burst stopped.

They were all on my heels, but I reached the car just as the second burst died away. Firing at the first person I saw with a weapon, I dropped him in his tracks, before pulling open the door to the car that had carried Catherine and Clay away from the hotel. Vaguely I heard a second shot, then several more, but I couldn’t bother myself with who was hit or why, with the scene before me.

She was slumped in the seat, blood was everywhere. I screamed for a medic hoping someone was nearby to help. It was a fruitless attempt, but it was automatic. Turning back I gathered her into my arms urging her to be alright.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. A crooked smile lit her face. “I guess I was wrong….” she said.

“Shhh. Catherine don’t talk, you’ll be okay,” I gave her false reassurance.

“No, Harm,” she said weakly. “I won’t. I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I love you, take care of our babies….” then she was quiet. I screamed her name, but she could no longer hear me. In fury I reached for the man beside her. With a fist twisted in his clothes I began shaking and cursing him, until two of the agents pulled me a way. “He’s dead Rabb. Leave him. He’s dead.” They repeated, pulling me away.

I held her, and cried until I couldn’t cry any more.

***~~***

Tears of frustration and loss threaten my control. Memories of that horrible moment when she left me forever pour through my mind, and I tremble in virtual pain. It gave me no comfort when the investigation revealed she’d been hit by a ricochet off the door frame. Every single bullet was intended for Webb. All thirty of them. I never even heard if they recovered the intel. Standing quickly, I walk to the window, trying to regain my composure.

I’d locked this away, never relived it. I’d protected the girls from all but the simplest parts of the story, if there is any simple way to justify losing a mother at that age. Now I feel it breaking loose. Like a giant glacier falling into the sea, an overwhelming chill cascades through me. I turn to leave the porch, I need the privacy of my room I can’t do this here. I can’t make her live my pain too.

But as I turn, she’s standing in my path, tears streaming down her face. She takes another step towards me and slides her arms around my waist.

“I know Harm,” is all she says. “I know,” and she holds me close.

I bury my head in her neck and release my remembered agony. Wracking sobs that send tremors through my entire frame shatter any hope of control. I can’t help it; I’ve held it inside too long. It’s just a reverse of what happened in my office in April. I had no idea there was so much I’d held back all these years.

I stand there for long minutes clinging to her, allowing my heart to finally cry out its pain. Eventually I raise my head looking down into her swimming eyes. I know she’s crying for me, and again for herself as well. Perhaps I’m doing the same. Crying for both of us

Slow motion intercedes for a fraction of a breath, I almost do it, almost allow myself the stolen pleasure of a comforting kiss. Very deliberately my mouth drifts down, seeking her warmth. Our lips are separated by a fraction of an inch when I stop. She’s willing, I can tell, but there’s a small place in her core that is still tense and guarded.

“No, Mac, not yet. Not like this,” I murmur, pulling her close. I feel a quick, soft nod before I bury my face in her hair, only allowing the light kiss to land on the top of her head. I hold to her for dear life, and allow her to hold me.

We stand there locked in a gentle embrace of mutual grief, allowing quiet tears to fall, for perhaps five minutes, possibly ten, giving and receiving comfort, before a heavy sigh from each of us signals our spent emotions.

Reluctant to let go, I pull away slightly and look down at her. “Thanks, Mac. I guess I needed that more than I knew. I’m just sorry to lay it on you. You’ve had enough sorrow,” I apologize, realizing what an incredible thing she’s done for me.

“Yes, I have Harm, but we’re friends. You said in April that we were always friends. You’ve helped me so much, helped me survive and begin to live again. I’m glad I could help you,” she says gently. The look in her eyes shows me she means every word. I see an inner strength there that’s been missing. She’s telling me I helped her regain that, and no other words she can say would bring me more joy.

I pull her against me in another deep hug, before releasing her slowly, “How about that breakfast now? The girls ought to be frozen,” my smile is noticeably more stable.

“Sounds good. I think I’ll just go wash my face quick, and get dressed,” she looks a little self-conscious.

“Me too, meet you in the kitchen in ten.” I answer a little sheepishly, faintly discomfited by the aftermath of emotion. I’m also unsettled by my deep reluctance to release her from my arms, and the very personal reaction I’m having to her. I hadn’t even noticed before that under her sweats she is still in her PJ’s. At least, not until I held her in that last hug. Then suddenly I became aware of her warm, supple body beneath the unstructured clothing. I think I need a cold shower and some nice heavy Levis.

“Five,” she answers with a huge dose of the old Mac in her smile. “I’m a Marine remember? I can conquer a small country in ten,” she tosses me a saucy grin, and moves down the short hall to her room. I smile after her, shaking my head. If she noticed my response to her, she isn’t going to let me know, at least not now. I continue to watch as she reaches the door to her room, and glances back at me. The smile on her face tells me she noticed. This wasn’t the right moment for a step forward, yet somewhere in the turmoil we’ve taken another step. More than ever, I want this woman for my own, and I think she’s beginning to want me too.

We’ve shared our losses and mourned our history. In comforting each other, we’ve stored our warmest memories for thoughtful reflection, but they have released us to find a new future. I believe our hearts have been lightened this beautiful morning.

End of twenty-two

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty-Three

US Naval Academy
Annapolis, MD
Monday morning

It’s amazing, the impact she’s having on my life. If someone had told me in April that something like this could happen, I would have said they were crazy. But the minute she walked out my office door, I knew something inside me had changed, she had once again touched my heart. I didn’t fully recognize it, nor did I completely accept the label it required, not until this past week. But it was there, and it’s been working on me ever since.

I was put off in the beginning because she didn’t reconnect with me. Then when it happened by accident, I was unprepared to pursue it immediately. Oh, I knew after that first dinner with her and Meggie what was happening. I just didn’t know how to handle it. The difference from our time so long ago, is that I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I was determined to find a way.

Now, I admit it. I’m in love. Yes, by God, I’m head over heels, completely and hopelessly in love. I was in love with her before, but not like this. I’m not even belaboring the question of why it didn’t work then, it just didn’t. But this time, I’m not letting her get away. Not if I have a single thing to say about it.

We lingered over breakfast on Christmas morning. Conversation came easily, but we avoided any further difficult references. The four of us just took pleasure in the company of the others as we talked about things that had already been discussed. It should not have been a surprise, but it was, when we found that Meggie had coerced stories from Mac and me that Andy had never heard. So in fun, we added small corrections here and there as she repeated these tales to my youngest daughter.

Later I found the snow had melted enough to easily make my way to Mac’s car. I drove it back to the house so she could load it with her bags, leaving only her uniform and Meggie’s dinner dress for the afternoon.

To our surprise, Mac made it plain during the morning that she expected Andie and me to join her at dinner with her sons. I tried very hard not to read anything into that, but how could I not. These were her children, and she wanted us together for this important family holiday. I was nervous to say the least.

Suddenly, something had shifted again, and we took another step closer. It happened much faster than I expected. This time she had precipitated the move. I tried not to think of this as the defining step in our progress, there were still a lot of baby steps we had to take. Something like this couldn’t be rushed. I did want to believe we were both taking steps in the same direction now. It was just a question of pace. I had to match my pace to hers. But I wanted to see to it we never got out of step again.

Dinner with her sons gave me a disquieting moment or two. The boys were such an image of Victor that it was like looking at two ghosts, except for the uniform. The biggest difference was in personality. While Robbie had his father’s sense of the order of things, he also had a healthy dose of Victor’s sense of humor, and he was much more like Meggie than not. Just not as outgoing.

Eric on the other hand would be a challenge. He was Gunny Galindez squared. He had Victor’s sense of absolutes, unaltered by any life experiences. If possible, I would try to instill a few shades of gray, to help remove some of the boulders he would encounter with this mindset. However, the issue of personal involvement might possibly hinder the process. He picked up immediately on the interaction between Mac and me, and I knew at some point there would be a confrontation. He was going to want answers.

Robbie busied himself between his attention to his little sister, and his total captivation with Amanda. And why not? She’s beautiful, accomplished, brilliant, and she’s going to be a damned good officer. However, on closer inspection, I noticed it wasn’t merely the interest of young hormones, but one of total awe for a person you had never imagined could exist. If I’d thought about it at the time, his fascination would not have surprised me. It was the same thing I’d always seen in Mac, but then she was his mother. I guess it’s not the same.

I spent the following week in California with my daughters and my mother. Seeing my Mom again reaffirmed my hope for the future. Grams had run her farm alone well into her nineties, and Mom at eighty-four was still very active. She retained control of her gallery, and even drove herself to town two days a week for an on-site review of its progress. It would seem that barring accidents, the family genes promised a long and healthy future.

The conversation with my girls had settled a lot of buried issues, but I still felt a certain discomfort that Shannon and I weren’t on the same page about some things. I knew it was my fault. I couldn’t turn loose of my feelings about Webb, and I dreaded the fact that this issue of her father would forever remain between us. I hoped not, but it was there and I knew she felt it. I vowed to try again soon.

I barely slide into the chair behind my desk, when the Ensign that assists several instructors is on the line.

“Sir, the Commandant wants to see you ASAP,” the disembodied voice comes over the line.

“Did he say what it’s about?” I ask rising again. I’d hate to be unprepared, and I don’t remember any unresolved issues from before the holidays.

“No, sir,” is the brief reply.

“Thank you, Johnson,” I tell him walking to the door, ready to make my way down the hall to the lions den.

“Captain Rabb,” I remind the young Lieutenant j.g. who assists the Admiral, with an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“One moment, sir,” she responds with a blank face that could only hide a pretty good idea of why I was summoned. Oh well, I’ll find out soon enough.

“Captain Rabb reporting as ordered, sir,” I enter the room after being announced, and come to attention with perfect time-honed courtesy.

“As ease, Captain. Have a seat,” he smiles benignly, as he sorts a few papers, then looks up at me over the rims of his half glasses.

“Yes, sir,” I take the offered seat, and wait patiently for him to speak.

“It’s come to my attention Captain, that you seem to be pursuing a personal relationship with a senior officer,” he delivers this in the same tone as he would ask about the weather.

“Sir?” I ask, momentarily puzzled, not quite grasping his meaning.

“This isn’t true?” he looks at me hard.

“No, sir, I….uh….oh, you mean General Galindez?” I asked rather stupidly. Somehow, I’d never really allowed the rank difference to enter into my thoughts. Not in that way. Amanda’s comment at Christmas made more if an impression from the standpoint of her being the mother of my students, a fellow officer, and ultimately just Mac, who I’ve always felt a need to protect.

“Exactly, Captain,” he looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

“It’s not quite like that, sir,” I reply cryptically.

“Hmmmm. Well just how is it, Captain?” he looks bemused by my protest.

“Well, it is….sort of….but it isn’t, sir…I mean… that is…” I’m sounding stupid here and I can see the cloud of impatience darken his face. “We’re old friends,” I blurted out.

“Excuse me?” He wants clarification and I’d better make it good.

“Yes, sir. If you could have someone check my file you’ll see,” I explain. “Mac, that is the General, and I worked together years ago. At JAG HQ. We were partners for about nine years.” I supply hurriedly.

“I see,” he says in a way that indicated he doesn’t.

“Yes, sir, and her sons Eric and Robert just started at the academy in the fall. It sort of reunited us. She takes a strong interest in their careers, and well…we’ve just sort of kept in touch.” I explain. It seems perfectly clear to me. I’m also perfectly aware that I’m throwing down a bit of chaff.

“A strong interest? As in influence?” he asks with raised eyebrows

“Oh no, Sir. Nothing like that. Mac wouldn’t ever do that. That is the General. I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that years ago we were very close, and I’ve always called her that.” I know it’s an inexcusable gaffe, so I just shrug. I may be dead any minute now.

“Very close?” he inquires.

“Well, not that close, sir,” I know a slight flush colors my face. But there is still a difference between what you want to happen and what really happens.

“Hmmm, I see,” he repeats, looking at me hard. I can do nothing but meet his eyes. Basically, I’m guilty as charged, if someone wants to make an issue.

“Well, I suppose if you got out of line the General would let me know, wouldn’t she, Captain?” he asks cannily.

“In a heartbeat, sir,” I assure him. He smiles.

“Fine, then lets just keep it a little more low key than the Christmas ball, shall we?” he suggests.

A sheepish grin colors my face. “Yes, sir, I guess I wasn’t exactly diplomatic,” I can’t stop a deep sigh of relief that escapes.

“No, you weren’t, Captain,” he remarks. “Dismissed,” he goes back to his paperwork, and as I reach for the door, I hear his last comment

“Good luck, Captain.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” I smile to myself without turning, and hasten away from this encounter. I’m not sure why I dodged the bullet on this one, but maybe it’s just because it doesn’t make an iota of difference. Most likely, whoever brought it to the Admiral’s attention had an axe to grind, and this Admiral isn’t stupid enough to allow himself to be used as someone else’s club. The man is surprisingly free of political motive.

None of it matters though. If I had to I’d simply resign. I have more than enough years, and God knows it wouldn’t be the first time.

The rest of the day went smoothly, so I was unprepared after my classes when Ensign Johnson appeared at my door.

“Sir you have an appointment scheduled for 1615.”

“Who is it? Can it be rescheduled?” I’m feeling drained. Starting my first day back by being called in to see the Admiral, after ten hours of travel yesterday, was enough. Add to that a full day of new classes for this semester, and I’m wishing for the solitude of my sunroom and a cup of tea, maybe even a beer.

“No, sir, it’s two of the plebes, and their time is limited. They especially asked for the earliest appointment,” he informs me.

“Okay,” I sigh heavily. It’s 1600 now, I won’t have long to wait. I can grade a few pop quizzes. “By the way, who is it?” I remember to ask.

“Its Plebe Eric Galindez, and Plebe Robert Galindez,” he informs me, with the same deadpan face as the Admiral’s assistant. Jesus what have I started? Apparently everyone in the entire school knows what’s happening, or imagines they do.

Due to class schedules and the fact that plebes have a remarkably limited amount of discretionary time, this fifteen-minute slot was probably the only time available. I owe it to them to meet with them.

In the back of my mind I’d expected this. I doubt they will be as easy as the Admiral. I had an idea at Christmas that a confrontation might be brewing. A multitude of emotions and speculations run through my mind in jumbled order as I consider the ramifications of a meeting with the Galindez twins.

At precisely 1615 I hear a knock on my door, and my shared assistant pokes his head in the door. “Sir, Plebe Eric Galindez is here for his appointment.”

“Send him in,” I order, hiding a nervous smile. I search frantically for a way to remain in control of this interview, without actually pulling rank.

He marches firmly into the room with the completely serious demeanor of the purest form of Marine. “Plebe Galindez reporting, Sir,” he comes to ramrod attention.

I swallow a smile of approval. His presentation is perfect. My smile is caused by an unnatural pride in this young man. He is Mac’s son, but she’s permitted me an interest in the outcome of his life and career. It’s a request I take very seriously. The thought flashes briefly that there was a time he might have been our son.

“At ease, plebe,” I instruct. “I was under the impression your brother…” a slight frown darkens his face, but at that moment another knock on the door interrupts.

“Enter,” I call knowing it can only be Plebe Robert Galindez. Uncharacteristic of either of his parents, military protocol is still just a shade off perfect for this young man.

“Plebe Galindez reporting, sir,” he comes to almost as perfect attention as Eric. Almost, but not quite. Without the brother for comparison, no one would ever fault him. The glare on his brother’s face shows his displeasure. Robert will hear about being thirty seconds late, I’m certain of that.

“At ease, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” I’m confident I know why they are here, but I’m going to let them handle this.

“Sir….” Eric starts.

“Well you see, sir….” Robert speaks at the same time. Eric turns and gives his brother another hard look.

“Sorry,” Robert yields the floor.

“Sir, a situation has come to our attention,” Eric presents his case stiffly, even at ease

“A situation, gentlemen? What sort of situation?” I try to keep my response neutral.

“Sir, it involves our mother,” Eric approaches head on, his eyes narrowing slightly. This young man will be a force in time, once his view of the universe is tempered by experience.

“Your mother?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is she well?” I’m playing dumb here, buying a little time for my response, but I also need to see just how they handle this.

“Yes, sir. So far, she’s very well,” Eric replies pointedly, not swayed by my tactics.

“Then I’m not certain I understand. If she needs anything, if I can help with anything….” I leave the thought hang.

“Oh, no, sir, it’s nothing like that,” Robert starts, taking a softer approach. It’s not that he’s less determined, just that he wants to be more diplomatic than Eric. He needs to gain some strength in his delivery.

“We want to know your intentions, sir.” Eric blurts unceremoniously.

Robert lends his full support, adding a nod and, “Yes, sir.”

“My intentions, gentlemen?” I stall a moment more. I thought this was what they had in mind. I just wasn’t certain how they would approach it. Certainly, I didn’t expect this level of bluntness.

“Yes, sir,” they reply in tandem. “What are your intentions towards our mother, sir,” Eric repeats defensively. He fully expects to be thrown in the brig for his temerity, but that’s not going to stop him.

“I see,” I reply smiling slightly, but not enough to make them think I take the matter lightly. The time has come to give the issue the serious consideration it’s due.

They both just stand there stiff and determined. A sense of deja vu doubled comes over me. I can remember seeing the gunny look like that when he thought the officers he served needed a little adjustment.

After a moment of thought for just the right words, I raise my eyes to meet first Eric then Robert. “Nothing but the most honorable, gentlemen,” I assure them. “I have nothing but the utmost respect for your mother. She a very old, and very dear friend. Your father was once a good friend as well,” I add.

“Our father was enlisted, sir,” Eric reminds me unnecessarily, a slightly puzzled look flashes over his face.

“Nevertheless I assure you, he was a trusted friend. There is no way at this time I can tell you why I say that, but believe me it’s true. I had nothing but respect for Gunnery Sergeant Galindez. I would not dishonor his memory, or your mother,” I give them every ounce of sincerity I feel.

“I see,” they reply, once again speaking in tandem, but relaxing visibly. If they were ever stationed together, that could make a commanding officer crazy, but since that’s unlikely, I pass over it. “We just thought….” Eric starts. “Well, sir, since we lost our father we feel we need to protect our mother from unwelcome advances. We don’t want her hurt,” there’s still a mistrustful glower hidden deep in his eyes.

“A natural response,” I allow. “You thought I might have less than honorable intentions towards her?” I question without rancor.

“No, sir,” Robert replies hastily, “in fact, Meggie said…” Eric silences him with another hard look. It seems to be an automatic reaction between them.

I nod in silent agreement. “And she’s right. I care very much for your mother,” I assure them. Eric bristles again slightly. “But I would never coerce her into any relationship that she wasn’t comfortable with,” I tell them both. “I respect her as a fellow officer, and as a woman, but she is also my dearest and oldest friend. If she chooses not to spend the rest of her life alone, I intend to present a strong case for her spending it with me.” I fix them with a firm stare.

“I would hope, gentlemen, that if it’s in line with your mother’s wishes, we could count on your blessing.” In an understated way, I want them to know I’m asking permission to pursue my quest. I don’t want them feeling the frustration that goes with helplessness in this situation. It’s not what I want for any of us.

Robert let out a deep sigh, and Eric relaxed only enough to be visible. “Thank you, sir,” Robert took the lead. “I knew we could count on your honor.” Eric tried another hard stare, and it became suddenly evident that Robert could be the stronger of the two when necessary.

“Knock it off, Eric,” he reprimanded his brother. “We found out what we wanted to know, so quit being such a…a Jarhead,” he burst, with exasperation. I had to hold my breath to control the burst of laughter threatening my composure. After a thirty second staring contest Eric finally relaxed.

“We’ll count on you to see that she is well cared for, whatever she chooses, sir,” Eric nods to me in a small final challenge.

“You can count on it,” I assure them, meeting his eyes and his challenge. “Now don’t you have somewhere to be?” I remind them

“Yes, sir,” they both snap to attention.

“Dismissed,” I tell them. They both turn smartly and rush from the room.

I sink into my chair. Of all the interviews in my life, I think that was the hardest. I smile to myself, not in jest, but in appreciation of their concern, and the strength of character that would lead them to challenge an officer on a subject of honor. Once we get to know each other as people, we’ll get along just fine. They are Gunny’s boys with Mac’s influence. How could they be less than they have proven themselves to be.

Two weeks later
Friday afternoon

Mac and Meggie returned from their Christmas trip to New Mexico a few days after I returned form California. She emailed me, but I withheld the information of her sons visit. If my courtship is successful, perhaps it will become a treasured family story. If not then she will only hear if they tell her.

I’m planning to be in the DC area. Shannon and I have plans for the weekend, but I’ll be free on Friday night. I wonder, I just wonder, as I pick up the phone.

“General Galindez speaking,” she answers. She’s given me her personal line, and I decide it’s time to use this privilege.

“Mac, it’s me,” I address her informally.

“Harm, how are you?” she sounds warm and happy to hear my voice.

“I’m fine. How was your trip?” I know the answer, we’ve exchanged emails, but it starts the conversation.

“Fine,” I hear the smile in her voice she knows my tactics. “How was yours?”

“Good. I had a chance to talk to Shannon and Amanda some more. Some of the things we discussed at Christmas,” I fill her in.

“That’s good, Harm. How did it go?” she is instantly concerned. She knows the issues that were troubling me.

“Okay I think, Amanda’s okay at least. Shannon….well, I still feel there’s a level I haven’t reached,” I admit with a bit of despair.

“Give it time, Harm. Just keep the conversation open,” she advises wisely.

“I will,” I hesitate, then add. “Look, are you busy Friday? I’d like to take you and Meggie for dinner. I’ll be in the area,” I cross every digit I have hoping I’ve not misread our direction.

“Oh, we can’t, Harm. Meggie won’t be here,” she replies.

“I see,” I take this as a rejection at first, then an idea occurs. “Where is she going, Mac?”

“Just a weekend school trip. Actually, it’s sponsored by the Air Force for students interested in a career,” she explains.

“She’s not wasting any time is she?” I offer with a slight lilt in my voice.

No, she’s not. She’s like….um…..more like her father in that,” she comments ruefully. I wonder if I’ve read her meaning.

“Mac, will you be free? That is, if you’ll go out with me alone,” I venture.

“I’d love to, Harm,” she replies quickly. My heart soars at the smile in her voice. Maybe we won’t waste any more time either.

“Good, I’ll pick you up at 1830 next Friday. Is that okay?” I ask, knowing I’ll wish this week away until Friday night.

“That’s perfect Harm. I’ll see you then,” she smiles again. I can’t see her, but her voice still has that sound when she’s smiling.

“See you then. Bye,” I tell her. I’m so pleased with myself that I may be insufferable for the next week.

“Bye, Harm,” I listen until the line goes dead. I’m finding any kind of connection with her hard to break.

End of twenty-three

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty-Four

Friday Evening
Mac's driveway
18:26 hours

Actually, if I allow myself to think about it I’ll feel silly. I’ve never before had trouble dressing for a date. I mean, what’s the problem? You put on clothes, pick up the lady, and go have fun. Except this isn’t just any lady. This is Mac. Sarah. Hopefully, soon to be my Sarah.

In the past, a first date never really held this importance, because I’d never wanted to spend the rest of my life with any other woman before I’d even taken her out once. Mostly I’d dated casually. A few came close to being more important, even with Catherine we’d known each other a while, and been with each other before we made it serious. But in all the years I’d known Mac, I’d never really been on a ‘date’ with her.

When I packed last night I couldn’t decide how I wanted to present myself: serious, casual, relaxed, laid back, sophisticated. Every label was artificial and uncomfortable. Why couldn’t I just be me? The problem was, I didn’t know which me to be at the moment. Which me would she want. The question had me tied in knots. So, I’d taken half the clothes in my closet.

Shannon helped me unload several bags when I arrived this afternoon, and asked how long I was planning to stay. After I dressed for the third time, she saw the trouble I was having and sent me out of the room while she laid out an outfit. Exasperated, she instructed me to go put it on and not to ask questions. I did as I was told, and the effect was perfect. Dark slacks, a gray jacket, and a pale blue cashmere sweater. The clothes were both warm and comfortable for the chilly January evening. It was also just the right note of well-dressed casualness to present an image of relaxed comfort. While I dressed for the fourth time, Shannon went to her computer and printed a map with directions from her town house to Mac’s place.

As I pull into the driveway and approach the house, the sound of my tires crunching on the gravel is like a heard of thundering elephants. The trees part, the small, neat, perfect home comes into view, and I panic. I nearly turn the car around and run. How can I ask her to leave this? The home projects an aura of loving care that speaks of a long and deeply happy family life. My own temerity in thinking I can expect her to give this up overwhelms me. I nearly back my car around and drive away but she chooses that moment to peek through the curtains. I can’t leave now; she’s seen me. I don’t really want to leave. But I despair of any reason to stay.

Waves of trepidation pour from me as I alight from the car and walk up onto the porch. She swings the door wide in welcome and smiles at me, framed in the warm light spilling from the interior.

She may have spotted the look of panic on my features, and perhaps she’s trying to soften an awkward moment. She’s been to my home, but it was never shared with anyone else. We lived in California when I lost Catherine. The home in Annapolis has never been occupied by anyone but my girls and me. It needs no mention that this is the home she’d shared with Victor for many years. There is no way anyone else can ever fit into these walls. She’s had the perfect life I failed to offer her. Why would she ever leave?

“Hi, Harm,” she teases. “When did you learn to be on time?” Even though it’s an ancient truth and historic hot spot with us, her merry smile indicates the remark is meant as nothing more than a light jest.

“Hi, Mac,” I reply a bit breathlessly, stepping inside I’m awed by my surroundings. “I’ve had a CO or two who didn’t have the patience Chegwidden had. I had to learn some new habits,” I joke in return. The truth is I had to fight my impatience to be early for this, but I’m afraid that bit of information will make her uncomfortable. Given my track record, being on time is eager enough, being early would have created unnecessary pressure.

Rather than prolong a moment she quickly perceives as awkward, she turns to retrieve a deep red wool coat from the back of a comfortable looking chair. I reach for it as she turns, and suddenly realize how absolutely stunning she looks in the simplest black dress I’ve ever seen.

“God, Mac, you look gorgeous,” I blurt like a fool. Of course she looks gorgeous idiot, how could she look anything else. I kick myself.

“Thanks, Harm,” she smiles at me. “You look very handsome too.” I’m no longer sure who’s in charge of this evening. I’m only sure at the moment it isn’t me.

As I slip the coat on her shoulders, she turns to look up at me. We stand there for a moment, our gazes locked, before her smile widens and she suggests, “Shall we go?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, I don’t know where my head is,” I tell her, even though I’m perfectly aware of its location, the place is very dark. C’mon Rabb pull it out, I warn myself, this is no way to impress a lady. She flips the lock on the door, and I pull it shut as we step onto the porch.

“It’s….uh….a lovely home, Mac,” I tell her awkwardly. It’s the truth, but I’m dwelling again on the fact that it would be the height of arrogance to think she would consider giving it up for me.

She looks it over slowly, as though seeing it for the first or maybe the last time. I can’t tell which. “Yes it is, Harm, living here has been wonderful,” she says as she slides into the passenger side of my car. I wonder what that meant. I hurry around to my door and quickly slip into place.

Glancing at her face, I start the car and back from the short parking drive. Her expression is both disquieting and puzzling. She studies the scene out the window while we move away down the long driveway.

I take her to a small restaurant in Old Town Alexandria, a place Shannon and I found during her first year at Georgetown. I have no idea what we order. I’m too captivated by her presence. Somehow, we manage to find more than enough to talk about; the waiter has to diplomatically alert us to closing time. It seems only minutes since we arrived, and yet it’s almost midnight when I drive back up the tree-lined lane to her home.

A bright full moon filters through the winter bared tree branches, lighting the snow covered yard with a soft glow. I hold out my hand to help her from the car, a courtesy she’d repeatedly resisted when we worked together. I’m glad she allows it tonight, somehow it makes a difference. The impact of her remark when we left this evening weighs on me, but I have no idea how to reintroduce the subject for further exploration. I will just have to wait for the answer to come, but waiting is going to kill me.

Walking slowly up to her door I feel the urge to seal the evening with a light kiss, but there is such a coil of tension between us, I’m not sure I can make it happen gracefully. Instead I choose to open my big mouth.

“Um….Mac, Shannon wants to know if you’ll join us for dinner tomorrow after the exhibit.” It’s Shannon’s first show. Although she’s a pre-law, her avocation as artist is the product of lessons and encouragement provided by my mother since she was very small. She’s good, but lacks confidence, or I think she would have invited Mac for the show. Her curiosity was piqued by Andy’s teasing at Christmas. My younger daughter was merciless in embellishing the effect this mysterious new woman was having on their Dad.

She looks at me a long minute, perhaps trying to read something about my invitation that isn’t apparent.

“That would be lovely, Harm,” she finally accepts. “I’d love to meet Shannon, shall I meet you somewhere?”

That’s when I’m struck by stupid lightening. “It’s at Webb’s old townhouse,” I toss out casually. “Porter gave it to Shannon when she started school.”

“Harm,” she says, looking at her feet then off into the yard. “I’ve never been there.” This last is said in a barely there whisper of hurt. It hits me like a load of bricks. Of course, she had never been there. She told me they were only friends. This is the essence of that last wrong turn we’d taken, so many years ago. We’d gone so far in leaving the past behind, sharing the grief of our loss, and the gratitude for what had been given us. And like a complete fool, in one small phrase, I dump it all over her like a bag of ancient garbage.

“Oh Christ,” I whisper in near terror, knowing in my heart I’ve just killed it all. Not just the moment, but everything. The look on her face, though stoic, holds a threat of something important crumbling behind it. I step back and turn away, struck by the specter of fear and loss. Defensively my hands move to my hips. I feel all my fight or flight responses welling inside. Leaning my head back, I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain. I can virtually feel the warmth drain from all we’ve shared these last five months. “I’m sorry,” I say in a barely audible tone. “God, Mac, I’m so sorry. I should have thought….I didn’t think….” I can’t face her yet, but I have to make her believe I didn’t mean it as it sounded. I know they had only been friends. I can be so stupid sometimes.

“I know,” she says, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know, Harm.”

I turn at the sound of her voice, and look closely to see if there is even the tiniest spark of forgiveness in her eyes. I see no anger at all, a little pain, but no anger. I wonder how that can be. I’m not certain I want to question it too closely.

“Am I ever going to quit doing that, Mac? Shoving my foot in my mouth?” I ask imploringly.

“I doubt it, Harm. It’s a gift,” she smiles up at me. Her reply holds the tiniest laugh. It’s soggy, it sounds almost like a cough, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

I return the expression of ironic mirth, my eyes have filled as well, and my laugh is just as soggy, but I can’t control it. The relief is too overwhelming. I didn’t ruin everything. How that happened I’ll never know, but I think I have some heavy praying to do before bedtime tonight. Somehow, Mac has learned to read my intentions behind my ill-conceived words. I don’t know why she bothered. Maybe it was just being separated all those years, when it didn’t matter any more, that gave her an instinctive insight. All I know is I have someone to thank for it, and I’m going to start with her.

I pull her into my arms holding her deeply against me as we laugh and cry together. We’ve cried for her loss, and we’ve cried for mine. I think this combination of tears and laughter is for all those ridiculous circumstances that colored the tragedy of our former relationship. As she relaxes against me, a deep sigh of contentment fills my frame and her small soft body rides on it. In a moment, we pull back, and our eyes lock. My fingers slip into the curls framing her face, and I use my thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Why do I do that, Mac? Why did we always say things that….” I’m at a loss, I search for the right words.

“I don’t think it was what we said, Harm. It was what the other heard, and how we reacted in the instant afterwards,” she suggests wisely.

I just nod and rest my forehead against hers. Then I smile at her, not a grin, just a soft smile, and she returns it. Only the smallest movement is needed for our lips to meet in a soft sweet kiss. A touch so light it’s barely there, yet it’s more powerful than the wildest display of passion. I don’t try to deepen it, this isn’t a seduction it’s….well I’m not sure, a beginning maybe, if I’m lucky. Thank you is certainly too formal, I love you is too soon. I guess its somewhere in between. My lips move lightly and gently over hers tasting the pure sensation of giving and accepting what she returns.

As we pull apart, we both have to remind ourselves to breathe. It’s a shameful admission I’ll never voice out loud, but I’ve never experienced a kiss that effected me like this one. Not even the one we shared on the Admirals porch. I don’t ask for or expect the same declaration from her, so I keep it silently in my thoughts. A short uncomfortable moment holds us, and I look for whatever is in her eyes, telling her with mine how I feel. The words are not right for this moment, but I want her to know.

We search each other’s heart and soul for a minute or two longer, giving and accepting unspoken and evolving promises. Finally, she speaks.

“Would you like some coffee, Harm, or maybe a cup of tea?” she waves vaguely towards the interior of her home. I know she’s offering nothing but refreshments, however I have to refuse.

“I can’t, Mac,” I plead with my eyes.

“Okay,” she replies, but a shadow crosses her face.

“Mac, please understand, I can’t be alone with you. Not right now, not yet,” I try to explain.

“Harm,” she says half dismissively. “You aren’t some hormonal teenager, you won’t try to do any thing I don’t….” she begins

“That’s just it, Mac. Don’t you see? When I’m near you, I feel like a hormonal teenager, I always have. This is all too new, I have to learn to control it again, and being alone with you….Mac, I don’t want to ever do anything you feel you have to say no to. You aren’t ready for another step, maybe I’m not either, and that’s okay. I think we both know where this could go, but we have to go there slowly,” I search her eyes to find agreement. It’s there, as well as understanding.

“Thank you, Harm. Thank you for understanding that,” she nods, then steps closer lifting her face. It’s an invitation I can’t refuse. Even if its just goodnight for now. I can tell her with this soft touch of our lips all I feel and all I want. As I wrap her gently in my arms, I know I’m doing the right thing. It’s the only way.

Slowly I release her and I hear the barest hint of a whisper in my ear, “Just don’t control it too much, Harm.”

A raised eyebrow and a hopeful smile lights my expression as I step back, my hands on her shoulders. “Good night, Mac. Thank you for joining me this evening. I hope we can do it again.” I hesitate then add, “Soon.”

“That would be lovely,” she agrees. I think I see a strong new beginning grow in her eyes.

I let my hands trail down her arms as I step away, backing from her till her fingertips fall from mine. As I reach the edge of the porch I remember, “You will still come tomorrow won’t you?”

“Of course Harm, I’d love to meet Shannon,” she looks happy. I mean truly happy again. Not just the surviving each day kind of happy I’ve seen on her face for so many months. God, please let me get this right. If I’ve made her happy, don’t ever let me screw it up again, she doesn’t deserve it. I send a small prayer towards heaven as I hurry to my car glancing back.

Opening the door, I turn and motion her inside. “I won’t leave until you’re safe inside,” I tell her.

She grins saucily, “Harm, this isn’t your old neighborhood you know.”

“Humor me,” I smile.

She rolls her eyes and opens the door, but just as she steps inside she turns, “Harm, about tomorrow. How do I….?”

“I’ll have Shannon pick you up…” I tell her.

“You don’t have to do that. I can drive.” I feel a Marine coming on.

“I’ll be cooking, Mac,” I reply obliquely. “Shannon will be here about 1800. See ya then,” I motion for her to close the door and jump in my car. She can’t argue if I can’t hear her. I start the engine, and the glare from my headlights catches a last glimpse of her as she shuts the door. I won’t fall asleep easily tonight, but I’ll sleep well when I do.

End of twenty-four

Mobius Strip
Part Twenty-Five

Saturday Evening
1600 hours
Mac’s Home

We’ve always had a dog. One who announced guests so loudly that I never noticed the noise of crunching tires on the gravel driveway. I often wondered how an animal who was sleeping soundly on the back porch, could suddenly sense the arrival of a car, spring to life wide awake, and go tearing into the front yard to voice a greeting or challenge, whichever was warranted.

Now with the dog laid to rest in the pasture, the boys away at Annapolis, and Meggie often involved in school activities, the house was so quiet I’d become acutely aware of the approaching sound.

I look out the window to confirm my ride, then realize I won’t recognize the person I’m waiting for. The car will be unfamiliar as well. Slipping into my jacket, I pick up my keys from the hall table and step out into the cool evening mist. The day has been warm, the snow is melting, and the air is saturated.

I hesitate for a moment on the top step as the driver brings the car to a careful stop. Through the windshield I can see a strong yet delicate countenance, beset by trepidation in the reflected light from the porch. She is as uncertain of this meeting as I am.

Taking the four steps, I alight on the path leading to the short parking drive. She opens her door, standing to greet me. A brief smile lights her serious face. Momentarily frozen in place, I look at her longer than is usually considered polite, stunned by the presence of Clayton Webb’s eyes dominating her fine features. Her hair is the same warm brown, and it waves and curls below her shoulders, but her fleeting smile was nothing like his.

On the rare occasion we saw him smile, it was usually a sardonic smirk. A harsh commentary of sorts on whatever situation had developed. Around Clay, situations always developed, usually they were uncomfortable at best.

“General,” she asks, “Is there something wrong?

“No. No, nothing. You must be Shannon. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to stare; it was rude. Please forgive me,” I try to put her at ease.

“Do I look that much like him?” she asks perceptively. “You did know him didn’t you?”

“Yes and No,” I answer, confusing her more. “Yes, I see him in your face, mostly your eyes, but no, you don’t really look like him. You have his eyes, but still they’re not.” I know I’m not making sense, so I plunge ahead. “And yes, I knew him. We worked together occasionally for over nine years.”

A slight shiver brushes my skin as I think of Clay’s darker side. How it would affect this gentle young woman to know the things her father was capable of, and required to do. I cared for Clay, and respected his dedication to job and country, but some of his methods and means were difficult to accept when viewed from the security of hindsight. Some of them didn’t even set very well in the moment.

“Please, General,” she interrupts my thoughts, “Let’s get in the car, its chilly out here. I doubt my dad would forgive me if I let you catch cold,” she looks uneasy and pops the lock on the car door. Leaving the spot by the front bumper, I walk to the side of the car and climb into the passenger seat.

Don’t worry, I’ll just tell him I’m a Marine. That will make him back off. Anyway, Harm’s a very forgiving man,” I smile my thanks, but offer no explanation. “I’d like it if you would call me Mac,” I suggest. “General is a little formal in jeans.”

She smiles briefly, “Thank you…Mac,” she tries the name thoughtfully. She may ask about the other comments later, but I can see she has something on her mind. We fasten our seat belts, and she backs into the main driveway. Almost as an afterthought she puts the car into park and turns to me. “Will you tell me about him?” she asks quietly.

“Clay?” I stall. “Have you asked Harm?” I don’t want to step on family toes, but he already told me he’s puzzled by a miscommunication he doesn’t understand.

“Yes, but he won’t tell me much. I think maybe Dad’s afraid.” She ducks her head, the picture of despair. My heart hurts for her, but other emotions take over.

“Of what?” I’m stunned by this assessment.

She shrugs uncertainly, “Maybe he’s afraid I won’t love him any more if I know about my father. I wish I could make him see he’ll always be my Dad,” she confides miserably.

“Oh no, Shannon, you couldn’t be more wrong. Harm isn’t like that; he’d do anything to make you happy, regardless of the cost to himself.” It amazes me to think she could believe this. However, the events Harm described, when seen through a child’s eyes, could have taken this color. Especially for a child who had endured the trauma of finding she had a second father, only to have him taken away unseen, then losing her mother too. It was very possible her mind perceived the events this way. Harm would have withheld much to protect his girls.

“You know him that well?” she inquires warily.

“Very well, Shannon, we’ve been friends for years,” is the easiest way to explain our relationship. I’m sure she has heard stories from Andie, but she’s never met me herself. She is still figuring out who I am and how I fit.

“Then why did I never meet you?” she was more direct than Andie.

“Because we lost touch for many years. It was a shame, but sometimes that happens.” I try to explain something Harm and I are still having difficulty understanding. There is no simple explanation.

She nods absorbing this information. I know she’s older than Andie, but in some way, she is less strong, less ‘street wise,’ although that’s not the exact corollary.

“Then why won’t he tell me?” She pleads with her eyes.

“I think …well, Harm has a habit of protecting those he loves.” I try to help her.

“Why do I need protecting? Was my father a bad person?” She is deeply concerned now.

“No, not bad,” I assure her. “He was a very special person, but he had a very difficult job. It put him in contact with some despicable people. The things he had to do Shannon….well….they weren’t always pretty, effective, but not pretty. If anything, Harm may not know how to tell you both sides, so he tries not to tell you anything.” It’s the only way I can explain this.

“I see….I think,” she put the car in gear and began driving.

“Was he kind?” she muses after a few minutes of silence.

“He could be very kind to those he cared about,” I answer honestly. “He would have moved heaven and earth to protect you.”

“Then why didn’t he protect my mother?” She asks the bombshell question I had been dreading.

“We don’t know that he didn’t try,” I hope this comforts her somehow. I can’t tell her the things I shouldn’t know.

“But she died and so did he,” she states flatly.

“Yes, that’s so, but the Clay I knew would have done anything he could to protect her. Believe that Shannon.” I know from personal experience this is the truth, and I still believe that something went terribly wrong for him to be trapped that way. Even though Harm was there, he may not know everything. For that matter, the Agency may not know everything, though I find that harder to believe.

“Why wouldn’t Dad tell me that?” she wails softly in frustration.

“He loved your mother,” I tell her. “Losing her was a deep blow. Sometimes it can be hard to accept a loss without blame.”

“He blames my father?” she’s concerned.

“That’s another yes and no answer, Shannon. I’m not trying to mislead you, but I believe, in all honesty, the Agency in general would take more of Harm’s blame. It’s unlikely any of us will ever know the whole story. From the little I know, the mission was under deep cover. It’s the way they operate. Some of us aren’t in their loop for information, so we’re left to speculate when this kind of thing occurs.” I have to prepare her for the fact that not all her questions will have an answer. I’m not going to tell her that some of Clay’s actions may not have been sanctioned.

“Someday that will change,” she speaks strongly now. “I’ll see to it.”

“How will you do that?” my curiosity about her is aroused.

“I’m going to join a survivor’s advocacy group, or maybe I’ll form my own after I graduate. People shouldn’t have to guess how their family members were lost.” So this is her cause. I let the thought travel around my mind touching all the aspects of the situation. It’s ironic that Clay and Catherine’s own daughter would return to this cause.

“No, they shouldn’t, I agree. But in a perfect world people wouldn’t have to do the job your mother and father were doing,” I warn gently. “Maybe not even the job that Harm and I have done, or the one my husband was doing. Unfortunately, the world isn’t perfect, and in order to keep doing those jobs there have to be secrets.

“But what difference does it make? They’re dead now. It’s over,” she insists.

“Not necessarily, there’s no way we can know that. There may have been others involved, others that are still at risk, or the ones who came later to continue the work. Possibly the families of people involved would be threatened. If knowing the details put your Dad, or your sister, or your grandmothers in danger, would it be worth it?” I ask her.

“No, but I don’t see how,” she persisted.

“That’s just it. I don’t see how either, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason. I can tell you this: your father was a good man doing a very nasty job. Not everyone could have done it and remained a decent person. Clay was very strong. Your mother…”

“My mother was a lawyer, she shouldn’t have been involved.” she interrupts. I have to assume that at some point she heard this opinion voiced by Harm.

“Your mother worked for the Agency, Shannon, and unfortunately they use any means to achieve their ends. It’s a very results oriented organization. They will use anyone to get what they need.” She’s old enough to understand this. Harm would have told her long ago if they could have reached this place.

“How can we let them do that? It’s not right,” she protests altruistically.

“Bottom line,” I look at her harder than I intend, “Because they protect us, or give us the information we need to protect ourselves. It’s a dirty, ugly business. People like your father keep a standard of operation that’s almost impossible, and still get what they need. But make no mistake, we wouldn’t survive without them. It’s easy to sit back and moralize about what you perceive as right and wrong, it’s a lot harder to make it work and remain a whole person.”

It really isn’t my place to tell her this, but she’s asking me. I believe she needs this lesson on the difference between a detached discourse on high morality, and the harsh reality of the world situation. The truth and the answers lie somewhere deep between those poles.

She sat quietly for a minute, mulling what I’d said. “But he was good, and kind?”

“Yes, Shannon, he was a good man, and very kind to the people he held dear.” I assure her. I actually think she understands.

“But why couldn’t Dad just tell me all this?” she repeats, confused by the conflicting motives of someone she loves deeply.

“Was it hard for you to hear, Shannon? Did it make you like me better to hear these things?” I take a chance.

“Y..yes…uh no….I….I guess it was hard. I don’t dislike you, but I don’t like some of the things you told me,” she stumbles.

“Do you believe me?” I push.

“Yes. I respect you for having the courage to tell me, and I believe you,” she allows.

“How would you have felt if Harm had told you these things?” I want her to figure this out for herself.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, but I think she’s getting the point.

“You said you thought he was afraid you wouldn’t love him, if you found out your father was a good person,” I remind her.

“Uh huh,” she agrees.

“What if he had told you that Clay also did a very ugly job? That he sometimes did things that were difficult to accept. Would you have believed him, or would you have blamed him for giving you information that wasn’t so nice, maybe questioned his reasons for telling you,” I nudge her conscience.

“I see your point,” she admits. “I guess I would have thought….that wouldn’t have been very fair. I guess I wasn’t very fair to him, he was trying to protect me.” I relax a little. This is a sharp young lady; she’ll work out the rest.

“Sometimes the hardest, nastiest job is protecting someone or something we care about Shannon, and we seldom get the credit we deserve. Sometimes we even have to keep what we’ve done a secret,” I remind her.

“Just like the CIA,” she makes the connection. It’s interesting that she saw the comparison.

“In a way I guess you’re right,” I agree.

“You like my Dad a lot don’t you?” she switches tracks suddenly, eyeing me shrewdly.

“Yes I do, I always have,” I tell her.

“Do you love him?” she challenges me.

“Why do you ask?” I waffle.

“I need to know. Andie thinks you do. He hasn’t had many girlfriends, and most seemed only interested in how he looks in his uniform. They were pretty shallow,” she says derisively.

“Should we be talking about this, Shannon?” I caution.

“If you love him we should,” she informs me. “I just want to know what…um…what you think will happen. Between you, that is.”

I’m both amused and startled, is she asking my intentions? And what is the truth of them? Can I even be honest with myself?

“I’m not sure. At first, I would have said nothing,” I begin slowly. “Maybe we could go back to being friends, but now I think…maybe more.” I know that Harm has talked to Andie; they wouldn’t be sisters if Andie hadn’t shared with Shannon. “I’m wondering if we can find something we lost a long time ago.”

“Were you….were you together then?” she almost said lovers, but she didn’t push it that far.

“No Shannon, we never even had a real date. We worked together for a long time. There were times we thought something might happen between us, but something else always got in the way. Quite honestly I’m not sure either of us knows why, but we’ve settled on the time wasn’t right. It’s the best we can do,” I finish. It’s an insufficient answer, but too much time has passed.

“And now?” she asks. “Is the time right now?”

“Maybe….I think….I’m beginning to hope so. Does that make sense?” I ask her.

She looks thoughtful, and turns down a street of older, well-kept, town homes. “You had a good life and a good man,” she states not requiring and answer.

I simply nod, certain she has most of the basic facts about me.

“But it’s gone now, and suddenly Dad shows up.” I nod again. “You aren’t just taken in by his looks are you?” she’s suddenly very protective.

“You mean how drop dead gorgeous he looks in uniform?” I ask, a small twinkle lights my eye. She catches the fact I’m teasing her. “And that killer smile?”

“You know, I can’t take him anywhere,” she remarks in exasperation. “He always ends up with women trailing after him, even my classmates.”

“He’s always had that effect,” I assure her casually.

“Well if you really love him, I wish you’d do something about it,” she requests sternly, her voice alive with vexation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise, smiling quietly to myself. That takes care of our girls I muse, and wonder fleetingly how my sons feel.

At the end of the row, she pulls into the driveway of a tall brick townhouse, and hits a remote button in her car. The garage door opens, and Harm is standing there waiting to greet us. He has an impatient worried look; we must have taken longer than we should for the trip from my home. Her face lights up like a thousand candles as she carefully parks the car.

Before the engine has stopped purring, she’s out the door and flies into Harm’s embrace, “Oh Daddy, I love you so much. Thank you for taking care of me,” she tells him, her arms wrapped around his waist. Harm’s eyebrows go up about four inches, as he looks to me for an answer.

I just shrug and nod with a smile. “Its okay,” I tell him silently, as he gathers her close, a huge happy grin on his face. I feel that in a small way I’ve helped him today.

I wait another moment or two while he holds her close, then he reaches out one arm to me and I slide under his shoulder. He bends to place a kiss on top of my head. I think he may understand some of what transpired, and why we’ve kept him waiting.

With one of us on each side, we walk back indoors for a dinner that smells delicious. There’s a warm, welcoming fire crackling in the fireplace, and I recognize the aroma of my favorite seafood fettuccine. I used to love Harm’s cooking. They were always the most special meals we shared. Tonight will be no exception.

End of twenty-five

Chap 26 - 33

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