I have to give credit for the inspiration of returning to a simpler time, to the writer of a recent story that took Harm and Mac back to the revolutionary war. I wanted to explore in present time, their relationship under the influence of a more youthful innocence. Yes, they are arguably more mature now, but that maturity comes with the price of so much baggage.

Going back to the very beginning would have meant mere playful seduction so I chose a time when they knew and respected each other enough that it was possible for real love to bloom. There’s something to be said for the effortlessness and enthusiasm of hormone drenched young love.

Search your hearts and minds for the young, cocky, confident, high-spirited Harmon Rabb and the more open, hopeful, sensual, and passionate Sarah Mackenzie. Let’s make a wish they can rediscover some of the youthful exuberance that escaped them.

Storm Warning
One

The penchant for naming hurricanes after men as well as women was, I suppose, the result of extended lobbying by some overzealous gender group. In hindsight, one could say it was altogether appropriate that the storm that hit us was named ‘Mac’.

If I were completely honest, I’d have to admit the clarity of hindsight would have changed nothing. From the beginning, we were as freight trains in the night on a collision course, tracking so perfectly towards each other that the outcome was inevitable. What I had not counted on was the timing or the emotional impact.

I seemed to be making a habit of that in my life. I’d returned to flying with the zeal of someone regaining a lost treasure, completely oblivious to the effect it had on my friend. In that instance, hindsight informed me I might have tried an explanation.

Unfortunately I didn’t know what I’d lost until it wasn’t there. I honestly didn’t know she felt more than friendship for me. Until contact with her went from courteous, to professional, to non-existent, I didn’t know anything was wrong.

When she landed on the Seahawk and I discovered her promotion, I not only realized something was terribly wrong, but that I might have already missed the chance rectify it. Immediately, I was embraced by the cold chill of discovery. I suddenly understood how very much she meant to me, and very possibly, how much I had once meant to her. The dark recesses of my mind gathered the phrase ‘Hell hath no fury’. The ‘hell’ part was emphasized by the fact that I’d done it without even recognizing my error. I had no idea how to repair the damage.

Now that I’d returned to JAG, I wanted to try to regain our friendship and perhaps more. If this were the fallback position whispered among my co-workers, I would have taken the CAG’s offer of a few more years flying, before being kicked to the curb when there was no longer a place for me. I’m a good enough pilot to have competed for a job in the private sector. But by that time I knew I needed to go back, I needed the Navy, and I sincerely hoped to find her again.

What I found was that slobbering Australian drooling all over her at every opportunity. At first, I was completely disheartened; I thought I’d lost my chance. In a fit of loneliness, I tried contacting Jordan, but she shut me down so fast it made my head spin. Somehow, it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. Well okay, it bruised my ego a little.

So I pouted a bit, and watched. I couldn’t help watching. Mic Brumby was like a big sloppy dog, on her tail wherever she went. How did he get any work done, how did she? I’m as good at my job of lawyer/ investigator as I was an aviator, and slowly I recognized little indications that she wasn’t completely captivated by his attentions. At first she turned away from personal interaction with me, but as time slipped by, I discovered if I handled it just right the friendship thing could return.

Hell I wanted more than friendship, lots more. Dammit, I wanted that beautiful woman in my bed, but friendship was a good place to start. The very thought of him touching her intimately, turned my stomach and added fuel to my decision. There was just no way I was going to let it happen. I had to find a way to make her mine, and I had to work fast, I’d already lost six months.

I should have questioned why Brumby hadn’t made his move in my absence. I guess, if I thought about it, I would have to say that he, like everyone, never expected me to return. There was a more accurate reason, but my mind wasn’t ready to accept it just yet. With new resolve, I squared my considerable shoulders and set to the task before me. Brumby didn’t stand a chance against the Rabb charm if I turned it on full force.

end one

Storm Warning
Two

Hurricane Mac changed its mind at the last possible moment with all the arbitrariness of a woman, completely oblivious to the fact it was named for a man. Forecast to continue out to sea, it suddenly turned landward and covered everything in its path with millions of gallons of water and low category five winds.

Unfortunately for us, its path was our path, as we traveled to a training camp in the hills of North Carolina for a mishap investigation By the time the leading edge of the storm hit us, it still contained far more water than normal, the heavy winds made driving difficult and walking was nearly impossible. What should have been a six or seven-hour drive, turned into a fight for survival that was successful, and a battle with personal ethics, the result of which is still questionable.

If I wanted to make excuses, I could site the fact that I’d flown a combat mission the day before in a completely different time zone. After four hours sleep and another stay-awake pill, it was my task to transport one of the carrier’s fighters to Pax for computer upgrades. I made the obligatory trip to the base doctor for the routine post flight check-up, explained I was expected to report for duty, and a small packet with another pill accompanied me and an ageing government sedan, back to JAG HQ.

My CO, eager for a report of my investigation, was even more eager for a few new combat stories. He tolerated the intermittent flying assignments that appeared almost every time I set foot on a carrier, but he was not of the appropriate frame of mind to give me the day off. No problem. I’d take the other pill, and I could last until quitting time. It was too late for coffee to do any good. I’d just have to tough it out. The effect of the meds plus only four hours sleep in the last thirty, did nothing to encourage good judgment. I did what I was ordered to do, and hoped my instincts would keep errors to a minimum.

However, the much needed reprieve was not to be. At 1545 we were called to the Admiral’s office, and given immediate assignment to investigate a nasty training accident at a remote encampment. Swell, no sleep for nearly two days, and now I have to bunk in the field with a bunch of gung ho Marines, all of whom would be hostile to my presence. On top of that, it was beginning to rain.

At least I was once again partnered with a Marine of my own. Not one I could share a tent with, but a Marine nevertheless. I was assigned lead on the case, there to investigate, assess guilt and then, if necessary, protect the rights of the accused. Lt.Colonel Sarah Mackenzie would investigate as well, and add knowledge on conditions, procedures, and expectations of the training environment. I suspect the Admiral put me out front to give the Marines a target, enabling Mac to slip up their flank and under their guard. It was too bad the Admiral couldn’t spare the new gunny. This was right up his alley.

After checking out another blue sedan, we made a quick trip home to repack my sea bag. A fast glance at the Weather Channel assured us the progress of the storm would not be a threat, and we were under way. Snagging a couple of heavy duty coffee drinks from a popular chain, I recklessly assumed we would reach our destination close to the same time the residual effects of the meds, the caffeine, and no sleep for thirty-eight hours wore off. I doubt if I will ever fully comprehend how I can miscalculate so seriously on the ground, when my timing is so perfect in the air.

We bypassed the Hampton roads area in southern Virginia, heading southwest toward the Carolina foothills at Richmond. Before beginning our climb into the mountains, we stopped for dinner. Though extremely rainy and windy at this point, I judged the storm to still be following its projected path, completely unaware it had changed direction shortly after we left D.C. In another perfect example of hindsight, I should have taken the time to recheck the weather forecast.

I ate lightly, as my stomach was beginning to rebel against the effects of masked fatigue. Mac, on the other hand, ate like a Marine. I know other Marines who eat like that, but they are all men. It must have something to do with the green uniforms; nothing interferes with their appetite.

I truly intended to remain in command and control of this storm tossed excursion for the remaining three and a half hours of our trip. However, Mac’s strong, capable handling of the car was enough to lull me into a feeling of security, stripping me of the unneeded sense of responsibility. As we headed into the mountains, I dozed, blissfully ignorant of the increasing wind and rain.

End two

Storm Warning
Three

I have apparently slept rather soundly for more than an hour, for I don’t remember feeling the storms fury magnify. I awake suddenly, to the sound and texture of the car being buffeted by winds. Sheets of rain lash at the windshield making visibility of more than a few feet impossible. Wave after wave hits us, slowing our progress as the ever-increasing wind pushes at us, now forward, now back, now side to side, like a child’s toy. I would certainly have flown my larger and heavier fighter over or around a gale of this intensity. It’s apparent that before long we could be claimed as victims of one of the God’s most furious creations. The storm has obviously turned landward thirsty for more casualties, and it’s found us.

Uncertain what happened until the car stops moving, we find it has suddenly floated sideways on a wash of water pouring from the rock faced cliff. Oddly enough, in one of those quirks of motion dynamics, and an abnormal application of good luck, we are safe. Instead of being thrown over the edge of the road and down an embankment, our forward momentum coupled with the bank and climb angle of the tight S-curve, spun us inward across the opposite lane, and against the rock wall.

My door is blocked shut, but Mac easily exits her side to assess the damage. With no real desire to become toast should the car catch fire, I scramble over the console and climb out right behind her. It takes mere seconds for us to become drenched by the wind driven rain.

The damage to the car is less severe than we thought, but more severe than we need. The right rear tire is shredded. Off the edge of the road, it’s stuck firmly in the mud. The trunk is deeply dented, jammed by the crushed rear quarter panel. Fortunately, there’s no gas leak, and when I restart the engine, it purrs to life. The oversized, underpowered vehicle has been no match for a hurricane, but at least it has been tough enough to remain in one piece. If we don’t find a way out soon the tempest will claim us as well, and we may not be as lucky.

Just in the time it takes to assess the damage, we are soaked through to the skin. Changing clothes now will be pointless waste of time. More importantly, our bags are trapped inside the trunk with the spare and the jack. The storm subdued natural light is fading fast, there’s very little time to waste.

Perhaps at another time, with more sleep, I would have found the solution to our dilemma unaided, but at the moment I’m willing to follow any reasonable lead. I’ve learned to trust Mac in the years we’ve been partners. If I gave her due credit, her instincts in a tight situation often exceed my own. In my current condition, I have to admit a two year old could out think me.

Male pride be damned, I know when to turn the job over to my more lucid partner. I just have to make it feel like I’m in control, even while acknowledging she is the senior officer. Wrapped in our personal by-play, we’re comically oblivious to the sluicing rain and punishing wind. I struggle to keep a neutral expression, and contain my laughter as the rain pours off her head and down her face. Placing my hands on my hips, I draw up my full height. Standing with my legs slightly spread, I raise an eyebrow to indicate I’ll take suggestions.

She smiles tolerantly at my ‘officer in charge’ pose, in complete opposition to the water beating about my head and dripping from my eyebrows. Her head cocks saucily in charmed amusement of my defensive male posturing; she gives her instructions.

“Okay Harm how about this? You take your hat as a flag, take a flashlight, and go stand at that curve. Wave off anyone coming down the road, so I don’t get hit while I pry open the trunk,” she refers to the position of the car against the cliff face. It’s a target, and Mac would be the bulls-eye.

“Fine Mac, except you hold the light, and I’ll pry open the trunk.” I haven’t lost all my testosterone; it’s just a little groggy. My chest swells with unexpected pleasure when she reacts to my next move. “Instead of my hat, use my shirt, it’s bigger” I add, quickly slipping the buttons and peeling off the sodden garment.

For a moment, she stares numbly at my chest, covered only by a very wet tank top and my dripping dog tags. Almost trance-like, she nods silently, and walks backward several steps before turning towards the corner. That was the easiest argument I’ve ever won with Mac. I chuckle lightly at the thought of taking off my shirt the next time she’s beating me silly in court.

End three

Storm Warning
Four

Whistling a cheery tune to myself, I set to work. I’m so wet and cold now, I’m not feeling the effects of fatigue creeping up on me. I scrounge a large sharp rock, and a piece of downed hardwood from the muck, and pry on the already damaged car.

Quicker than I anticipated I’m successful in my efforts to pop the damaged trunk, and I signal her. With a few hand movements I instruct her to tie my shirt to a tree branch at the turn. It will provide precious little warning for an oncoming car, but we have to gamble that no one else is out in this mess. In any case, I need our combined strength and leverage for the next move.

Working side by side in the mud until my uniform no longer resembles anything white, and her normally smartly pressed khakis are a soggy mess, we set the jack on a large flat rock, raise the car, then shove it back towards the road praying the rocks we set against the tires will hold. It’s a dangerous move, but our options are limited if we want to survive. Fishing the jack out of the mud, we raise the car once more and quickly change the damaged tire. Aside from the broken trunk, a dangling taillight, and a destroyed quarter panel, the tire seems to be the only casualty, unless you count our now soggy garment bags lying beside the road.

I struggle with the choice of letting her test the car, or stand here in this gathering tempest, and decide the lesser of evils is she will dry off a little sooner inside the warm car. As she cautiously drives the car fifty feet down the road to make sure everything works, I gather my shirt, the tools, and our two bags, and meet her across the road when she returns. There’s little sense in tempting fate by remaining on the wrong side. It would be a dangerous place in perfect weather, now it’s simply deadly.

By the time everything’s reloaded, and the trunk secured with a stray bungee cord, my uniform has nearly been pounded white by the rain. Buttoning my shirt without much thought, I step to the side of the car and open the door for what little shelter it will provide, as I unfasten and unzip my pants to tuck in my shirttails. I’m suddenly assailed by a sharp awareness of her eyes on me as I stand exposed, trying to arrange myself back into some vestige of a proper Naval officer. What I do next is not proper at all.

Why in that moment, in that horrible soaking storm, do my hands slow in their task, rather than hastening at my exposure? This is only one puzzle from that night I will never fully understand. There is simply no appropriate way to excuse my behavior. She can see nothing, but the fact that her gaze rests on me nearly immobilizes me.

What am I thinking at this moment, drenched with rain, cold, exhaustion and adrenalin; what can she be thinking? Is either of us actually thinking? Could this really happen? Coming to my senses, I turn to the side and quickly finish the task of fastening my pants, noticing a little more resistance than usual. Folding my long frame into the car, I look straight at her. “What now?” I ask the loaded question.

“Now Commander” she stares back with a slight smile playing about her lips, “Now we find someplace to sleep.”

I know my eyes widen perceptibly, because her smile increases fractionally. “We can’t go much further in this, it’s getting worse” she amends with a playful twinkle that borders dangerously on flirting.

“How much further do you think we ought to go?” I deadpanned back, my voice a shade deeper.

She stares at me for a minute obviously caught off balance, before she orders breathlessly, “Search the sides of the road for any sign of light or habitation. Maybe we can beg a room for the night,” her voice contains an element I can’t quite identify.

“Mac, this hill country isn’t always the friendliest neighborhood for the military, we’ve been here before, remember?” I caution, my own breath struggling to get past this new tension building between us.

“Then, flyboy” she instructs, having regained a modicum of aplomb, “I suggest you use those fighter pilot instincts of yours and find us a ‘friendly’.”

End four

Storm Warning
Five

As luck would have it, just as the escalating wind and rain make it evident that parking the car and camping for the night is too dangerous to consider, Mac wrestles the car around a sharp turn, onto a small plateau. Through storm tossed trees fighting for their life, we see a gas station and a small convenience store. The most blessed of all, is a small sturdy motel. Nestled into the protection of a natural curve in the rock wall, the small compound looks as though it has withstood this type of battering for more years than Mac and I combined have resided on this earth.

She pulls into the semicircle drive and sets the emergency brake, but doesn’t kill the engine. We smile at our good fortune, hoping we can find shelter and safety here.

“Not sure I trust the car to start again,” she explains. “Why don’t you see if you can raise the base and let them know we’re alive? I’ll go see if they can rent us a dry spot and a clean blanket. We may be bunking in the storeroom, but at least it will be dry.” Marines! I almost think she’s enjoying our little adventure.

“Yuk! I think I’d rather sleep in the car,” I reply testily, making a face. Fatigue is making me cranky.

“Yeah,” she looks at the sky, “unless this wind gets worse, and the car gets shoved over the cliff and down the mountain.” She points across the narrow road. “Suck it up Commander.”

“Go ahead, see what you can do,” I shrug in grudging agreement, and start punching numbers into my cell. There must be a repeater somewhere nearby, but the signal to the base won’t stabilize, the storm gives too much interference. I’m able to hold a connection to JAG HQ though. The j.g. on night duty promises to contact the Marine base Commandant and let him know we’re safe, but stranded. God only knows where. I promise I will reassess the situation in the morning. I’ll let them know if we need help, if I’m able to get through. I describe where we are as precisely as I can, in the event they have to come dig us out.

I’m soaked through again, because I’ve walked to the edge of the road, clearing the surrounding rocks in an attempt to get a signal. She’s also wet, but not soaked, and triumphant as she hops back into the car, with two plastic bags and a room key in her hand.

“You got us real rooms?” I exclaim. “What’s in the bags?” okay, maybe the adventure stuff is looking a little more promising.

“Sorry, only one room Harm.” She shakes her head as she tosses the big bag into the back seat, she doesn’t sound apologetic, only wary. “That one has extra towels, the lady said we looked like drowned rats. This one has food and drinks. Hot dogs, side of chili, side of cheese, your choice,” she offers. “I know you don’t usually eat this stuff…,” she continues.

“Right now Mac, I’d eat a live cat,” I growl.

“Well, at least it’s dead,” she smiles. “And if it wasn’t, I’d kill it for you,” she pats my arm soothingly.

“Maaac,” I groan in exasperation, trying to look grateful. Convenience stores aren’t famous for gourmet dining. “I’ll take the cheese,” I sigh.

End five

Storm Warning
Six

The car is still warm and we’re exhausted, cold, and wet. It doesn’t take much genius to decide to eat first then venture back into the storm. She pulls around to a parking space near the stairs to our room. We have the last unit on the second floor. I hungrily distribute the hot dogs, juice and toppings, from the bag, too tired to care that my stomach might refuse food all day tomorrow.

“I’ll trade you some of my chili for some of your cheese,” she bargains.

“Good grief, Mac,” I smile indulgently, and hand her the container, “isn’t a hot dog bad enough without chili?”

She slowly dresses her hot dog with all the condiments, before she looks up at me through her lashes. “A hot dog can never be bad enough Harm,” her voice holds something I’ve never heard before. Then she wraps her tongue and lips around the dripping concoction.

Jeez, what the hell did she mean by that? My pants are suddenly three sizes too small. Defensively, I attempt to completely ignore her as she daintily finishes her food. I, on the other hand, manage to shovel mine down in three or four large bites. Now who’s acting like a Marine?

Allowing ourselves to back away from another foray into unknown territory, we repack all the empty containers in the plastic bag and leave them on the floorboard. They’ll wait for disposal ‘til morning. Then looking at each other and counting one, two, three we leap from the car.

In what resembles a buffoon routine from an early cinema, we run to the trunk to retrieve our bags. It’s silly really, we’re already wet, muddy, and exhausted, but I guess at times human nature just prevails. To our chagrin, we discover the bungee cord has slipped. The trunk is half-open and swamped with water. Our bags are awash, and soaked through. They’re meant to be water resistant, but not waterproof, not under these conditions. Wresting the cord off the broken latch, we end up soaked again in mere seconds. We grab our bags and I struggle briefly to secure the trunk for some unknown reason, before we dash up the stairs.

With a modest amount of fumbling, we open the lock and together push desperately into the room, the need for warmth overwhelming ingrained courtesy. Finally we’ve found relative safety from the storm. The very good news, the room is clean, dry, and located on the leeward side of the building. It takes us only seconds to realize the bad news is that there’s only one double bed, and no chairs or couch adequate for a substitute.

I’ve slept in tight places before I tell myself. There’s more room than a carrier bunk. This is no different. But I know it’s very different. There’s been something strange in the air all evening, and it has built exponentially, using the power of the storm for its foundations, and the adrenaline of our struggles for its fuel. The soft snick of the door latching behind me, hits me on the back of my head, knocking me from my reverie.

“It appears we’re sharing very close quarters, Harm,” her soft hesitant voice crawls down my spine, grabbing parts of me I’ve refused to think about her touching, ‘til now.

“Ah…it appears so,” I laugh nervously, momentarily abandoned by the Rabb bravado.

End six

Storm Warning
Seven

She moves to one corner of the room as I move to the other, to inspect our saturated bags. Quickly I discover that everything I have is wet, except the spare uniform packed deeply in the center. I’ll need it if we’re rescued tomorrow, so the thought of sleeping in it is out of the question. Even my jeans, sweats, and BDU’s are too wet to wear. I look up to see her spare garments in apparently the same condition, as she uses various pieces of furniture and light fixtures as improvised drying racks. My mind goes to the bag of bath towels and I hope one of them will provide her adequate coverage. I’m startled by this intermittent protective streak.

Taking out some folding travel hangers, we hang our uniforms in the tiny closet. We each carry a small collapsible drying line. It isn’t meant for a load, but it will hold a few essentials to provide dry clothes in the morning. I send up a small prayer that the huge generator out back continues to work, and gives us the comforting heat our chilled bodies require. I’ve warmed up just enough for my mind to return to other ideas for increasing body heat. Appealing as the ideas are, I’m painfully aware this isn’t the time to have those thoughts. A more pressing issue is the exhaustion that is rapidly overtaking me. I need rest and I need it soon.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower Mac,” I offer stepping close behind her. “I’ll run down and get the extra towels. I forgot to grab them from the back seat.” The offer is genuine, but something I’m not in control of is driving my reactions, and the suggestion is delivered in a predatory purr.

“I can do it,” she offers nervously.

“No you go first.” My voice purrs again, but my chivalry isn’t completely dead. Who knew I could purr. The sound sets my nerve endings trembling, and I see a faint pattern of tiny bumps on her skin that may or may not be from the cold. Then an idea hits me, this may be just me, perhaps I’m imagining this. It’s no more than our normal banter, and teasing brought out by the situation in which we’ve become entangled. Slowly I reach for her shoulders and turn her gently to look into her eyes, confident I’ll be reassured that my suspicions are baseless.

What I see there takes my breath away, literally, I stop breathing.

End seven

Storm Warning
Eight

She’s not only thinking what I’m thinking, she may be anticipating everything I couldn’t, and wouldn’t allow to form into full pictures in my brain. Her overlaying level of trepidation, keeps me from pulling her close. Then I notice the minor lines and puffiness around her eyes, the dark circles beneath, all evidence of several sleepless nights. I let out the breath with a soft whoosh.

“You look tired Mac,” I comment, and my voice sounds normal, sympathetic, and questioning. My hand cups the side of her face as my thumb brushes tenderly over her cheek. I have no idea what’s making me do this.

“I’m ok Harm. Just a little trouble sleeping, and it’s been a hard day,” she tries to turn from my gaze.

“How long?” I ask, knowing the answer before it is given.

“How long what?” she counters.

“Maaac, how long haven’t you been sleeping?” I insist, holding her face towards me.

She shrugs then finally mumbles, “Three or four days.”

The amount of time I’ve been gone. The time I’ve been flying.

I nod and turn her towards the bathroom.

“Go on now,” I urge gently, “go get a hot bath. It will make you feel better. You need a good nights rest.” I turn quickly to retrieve the towels. As the door closes, I’m momentarily freed from the spell, and rush down the stairs. Grabbing the bag of towels, I notice our briefcases on the back seat and retrieve them. It wouldn’t do to have them disappear even if it’s unlikely anyone is out in this mess. After all, the motel is apparently full of other refugees like us.

Its takes my remaining strength to travel back up the stairs, with what should have been a light load. Stacking the laptop bags in the corner, I hear the shower, and smell the hot steam from the bathroom. I knock on the door, and open it a crack

“Harm?” she reacts in alarm.

“Just me, Mac. Here’s a fresh towel, and a big bath sheet to wrap up in afterwards. It should cover you like a dress.” I feel very noble providing her with this protection, and more so for not peeking at her naked, wet form through the glass shower door. After all, if I don’t win my quest with her, I have no right to see her, and if I do, I will see her often enough to make up for this missed opportunity.

“Thank you,” she replies gratefully. Why am I uncomfortable with the idea we may be on exactly the same page, or is it exactly the same? I’m not even certain which page it is. Perhaps because the precise situation makes it difficult for us to take advantage of the opportunity, the timing definitely isn’t convenient. I wonder if it’s something that will last until our situation is better.

A few minutes later, she steps from the bathroom looking like a roman goddess wrapped in the white sheet. It’s not as heavy as the regular towels, and drapes lightly on her form. She smiles shyly at her vulnerability, and waves her hand, “It’s all yours Harm. I think you need it worse than I did.”

I haven’t heard a reference to our rank since we entered the room. Well I’m not about to spoil things by bringing it up. I watch for a moment as she moves towards the bed and folds down the blankets. Almost reluctantly, I leave the sight of her, and step into the still foggy bathroom. Stripping down, I’m under the reasonably hot spray in seconds. She was right; I do need this. Collapse is mere moments from overcoming me.

Our small cocoon of safety will not last long, but every moment is precious and I intend to savor the time we have here. She has dared to touch me with her eyes and her thoughts. She has touched me with everything we will do, everything we must do. I’m apprehensive yet excited by the idea of possibly taking advantage of this natural disaster to further the level of our relationship. Yet, I wonder if there is a solid basis for our future in the outcome. In spite of my misgivings and total exhaustion, my wishful anticipation for that moment has me rock hard.

End eight

Storm Warning
Nine

As I feel the pale light of morning brush against my eyelids, my mind grasps clumsily at several indisputable facts. I’m not at home, I can feel that, the sounds of the storm are wrong, and the bed is wrong. Yes, the bed is very wrong there’s someone with me, and not just with me, but curled tightly against my side. Her head rests on my shoulder, tucked against my neck, and her hair is tickling my nose. My arm is wrapped tightly around her body, my hand resting in a barely acceptable place. It’s an exact replica of my dream. I’d struggled so hard not to leave it just minutes ago.

But was it a dream, or was it real? How much was real? It’s easy to see the part that placed her in my arms was real. I lay there for several minutes afraid to move, trying to unscramble my memories. I don’t want her to feel me move, I don’t want her to move. This feels so wonderful, so right. I don’t want to lose the sensation of her warm length draped against me, her leg cast over mine. I want to stay here forever.

My mind, reluctant to be still any longer, begins a slide show of the last few days. Snippets of information ricochet in my brain. The assignment to the carrier….the mission…the flight home. AJ ordering us on the investigation….yes, the investigation, We’re stranded, stranded by a hurricane, with coincidentally, the same name as the woman resting against me. I recall the damaged car, finding the shelter of this small room, the emotions of the evening before. God, those emotions, so hot, so raw, so scary, and so very, very important. I’m not sure what they meant then, and I’m not sure what they mean now, but I have to discover what I did about them before she awakens.

Nothing. I remember nothing. That is, nothing substantial. I showered, dried, and wrapped myself in another towel, to maintain whatever decency was possible. She was asleep; at least she appeared so. Her body relaxed, her breathing even. I slipped quietly in beside her, not wishing to disturb her. The raging passion of mere moments before, dulled again by my depleted reserves. I remember stretching flat, casting an arm over my head, and nothing more.

Not until the dream started. Was it a dream? I remember so vividly the cracking sound, the thunderous roar, like a freight train passing in the night, then the sound of rending metal. I remember my arms gathering her, and rolling her beneath me for protection, at the first indication of danger. I remember in the very dim light, pulling back when the perceived danger had passed. Her eyes met mine, and the world dropped away. I remember a slow, deep, loving, kiss. Then I remember carefully unwinding the towel from her body, I remember touching her and kissing her more, Caressing every inch of her, I remember the heat, the power, the explosiveness of joining with her and then I awoke. But what of it was real?

Still holding her against me, I sort the memories the best I can without moving, without opening my eyes. The towel is still wrapped firmly around my waist. Her breasts, pressed against my chest are still completely covered by her towel. So it would appear that part was a dream. I feel a sense of loss with this discovery. But what of the kiss. I have her held close to me, at some point I have taken her into my embrace. Did I take that extra step?

End nine

Storm Warning
Ten

I feel her stir slightly, and my entire being objects to the moment she will pull away. Automatically, my arm tightens around her. I roll towards her, opening my eyes and surrounding her with my other arm. She moves back, but not away, and looks up at me.

“Harm?” Her voice carries invitation and desire, permission and apprehension, and that other indefinable something I felt last night.

“Oh God Sarah,” I breathe, my hand searches for a place to touch her, to caress her, instead, without direction from me it travels up the outer edge of her body, across her shoulder, and surrounds her neck and face. It continues its path to brush the sleep-tousled hair from her eyes, then once again returns to frame her beautiful face.

As my lips lower slowly to meet hers, I’m suddenly aware that the tender gesture was not one of seduction. Her body presses up to meet mine, and I move against her in reply, as the kiss grows ever more in intensity. I soon discover that this is not merely the mutual response of two bodies fueled by idle curiosity or empty passion. There is no mistaking her sensual surrender, nor my instinctive arousal, but the reason behind it exists on a level that my mind is just beginning to grasp.

I can no more stop the kiss than I can stop the hurricane raging outside, but I bless whatever power brought us here that we’re securely wrapped in our towels. They will not melt away as easily as in my dream. Even with complete co-operation, removing them will entail an awkward struggle. I immerse myself in the luxurious pleasure of our kiss, the texture and delicate swell of her lips against mine, the touch and taste of her tongue as it teases me. I allow this to continue, savoring every moment, because I know I can go no farther. To go farther means to stop, to think, it will require an effort that will halt the activity. Perhaps not indefinitely, but at least long enough to think, to consider, and to make a conscious decision based on more than hot momentary passion.

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a kiss more. I doubt I’ve ever considered the amount of complete pleasure possible from the contact of one mouth touching another. Undoubtedly, if there were no barriers, resistance to take it further would be difficult, perhaps impossible. Every nerve in my body is responding to her touch, the movements of her body beneath me, my answering movements. The threads of our restraining towels tangle with one another, as we attempt to occupy the same place at the same time, in open defiance of the laws of physics. I pull her closer, holding her as though I’ll never let her go. Our legs tangle and her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me to her, and still we can’t get close enough, can’t feel enough. Our only protection is the firm barrier of the towels, and they hold their place.

I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to give this up, but I have to see her eyes. I have to show her what I’m feeling.

Gasping for air, I lean my forehead against hers before pulling back. I search her eyes as she searches mine.

“Not yet Mac,” I breathe still taking air into my lungs. I feel her pull back as I knew she would. “Not never Mac, just not yet. I want you, God knows I want you, but there’s something else. I don’t know what. This is no longer about just having you,” I confess my original motives. “This is about wanting you and needing you. I don’t know where it came from, but it’s different. Do you understand?” I’m breathless and nearly frantic. I hold her tighter; she has to understand. God, please make her feel the same way.

I search her eyes for an answer and finally she nods, her eyes soften. “I know, I feel it too, I just wasn’t sure you did.”

“I’m sorry, Mac.” She stiffens slightly again. “No, wait, please. I’m sorry because I didn’t know until just now.” I can’t find the words, so I take the only way I know, I kiss her again, longer and deeper than the first time. My mind wanders to all the things we will do, as I allow my body to slide against her in promise. I know I’m safe from losing control for now, and I allow us both the luxury of physical indulgence in this kiss to replace what we still can’t express with words.

She’s not an encounter I will walk away from in the morning, wondering why I ever wanted to do this. Nor is she someone I can easily cast aside or leave behind in a few months, seeking a new adventure. She will be with me when our bodies soften, and our hair grows gray. There is no doubt within me; I know this to be true. It excites me beyond belief, and it scares the hell out of me. All I can do is kiss her; I have no words yet to tell her.

End ten

Storm Warning
Eleven

An hour later, the sound of a chain saw brings us both straight up out of bed. We had lain together, kissing and snuggling, still allowing the demonstration of our emotions to speak the words we couldn’t find. However residual fatigue had eventually overtaken us, and we’d drifted back to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

In less than two minutes we’re dressed in the driest clothing we can find. The only concession made to modesty and discretion is that we’ve turned our backs. Grabbing our field ponchos, I hit the door half a step before her. Shoving my shoulder into it, I prevent her from opening it, possibly getting hit by flying debris. I take her arm and half drag her to the window for a quick look, to determine the reason and situation for the activity outside.

A massive, long dead, tree blocks most of the view. It covers half the parking area, and intrudes on the walkway outside our door. The cutting noise is coming from the ground below. I decide it’s safe to have a look, and poke my head out, carefully opening the door. The next step is to test the safety of the landing, and I push her behind me before stepping gingerly outside. I know she’s a Marine and right now she’s a very angry one, but it’s the way I was raised. Some things don’t change easily.

Shifting my weight onto the second level platform, I test the stability to make certain it’s solid. Most of the area is filled with broken tree limbs, and using the nearby stairs is impossible, they’re blocked and damaged. We have to walk to the other end of the porch and take a second stairway to ground level. The sight that greets us explains the noise I’d heard in the night. A large tree has been dislodged in a mudslide behind the building; rubble and dirt from the hillside above litters the open area in back. The tree trunk rests squarely on our blue government sedan and the limbs block the doors on two of the lower units.

I feel her seething ire as we make our way down into the open, and decide I’m in for the tongue lashing of my life, so I’m surprised when I hear a small chuckle from near my shoulder. Looking down I stare into a merry twinkle residing in Sarah Mackenzie’s golden brown eyes.

“So Harm what do you think? This should fit in your service record somewhere between the bullet holes in the courtroom ceiling and stealing the Russian MIG,” she waves generally in the direction of the destroyed car.

Shaking my head I glance at her ruefully, “Well at least this time I didn’t almost take out an aircraft carrier and my partner is safe,” I reply with bitter irony. This is the closest I’ve ever come to commenting lightly about my ramp strike, I intend it to be a distraction but it doesn’t play well.

Her face sobers instantly, “I’m sorry Harm I didn’t mean…,” she falters.

I quickly wrap an arm around her shoulder squeezing tightly, “No Mac, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to…it wasn’t meant as a joke really, just ….I’m sorry.” I explain inadequately, squeezing her again for emphasis. She has no idea I’m mentally calculating the odds and angle of that tree so narrowly missing our room. The image of what could have happened scares the hell out of me.

“The guy with the chain saw looks a little busy,” she nods in his direction. “Maybe we can round up some coffee and offer to help,” she expertly detours the rough spot between us, as we walk to the front of the building.

The owner is adamant that her husband prefers to work alone. He intends to do no more than free the people who are trapped, and shore up the second level porch supports with some scrap lumber. When the storm stops, he will cut the tree up for firewood, and sell it, she explains firmly.

There’s no question our sedan is a total loss, so there’s no point trying to free it, and the two other vehicles nearby only sustained minor damage.

Mac hands me a cup of coffee and a breakfast burrito. My immediate reaction is to agonize over staying isolated with her forever, or hiking back to civilization where I can get some real food. Somehow, given the first choice I think I could adapt to the second.

The burrito turns out to be surprisingly good. Rather than a conventional convenience store, we have stumbled upon a mom and pop grocery store with a small deli section. A way station on this lonely stretch of road has become our refuge in the storm.

Accepting the storekeeper’s word that her husband would not welcome help, I finish my burrito and coffee. I hand my cup back to Mac with a soulful, pleading, puppy dog look, and beg a refill. She raises an eyebrow, but listens as I explain.

“I’m going to have to report in Mac,” I shrug an excuse, then smile broadly, handing her the phone. “Unless you’d like to tell the Admiral about the car and I’ll get the coffee,” I suggest brightly.

“No thanks Harm,” she smiles, knowing I’m in for a bit of a hard time, “I think I’ll just do the ‘little woman’ thing, and round us up something for lunch later, and extra drinks to take back to the room. You go right ahead,” she flutters her fingers dismissively. “Of course, I’d give anything to hear what the Admiral has to say about it,” she mentions with elaborate casualness.

“I’ll give you a play by play,” I offer indulgently, accepting her teasing with good grace and patting her shoulder. “I’m going to have to go to the end of the driveway, like I did last night, to get a signal. I hope the repeater is still working.” I remark, as I move quickly through the door and pull the poncho tight around me. The rain hasn’t lessened, but the wind isn’t blowing as hard, when I finally raise JAG HQ.

End eleven

Storm Warning
Twelve

After explaining to the Admiral where we are, based on the road we traveled and the amount of elapsed time after our last stop, I provide him the name of the establishment where we were staying.

His next questions are more general. “What’s your situation Commander? Are you and the Colonel safe and uninjured?”

“Yes sir, we’re fine. The Colonel’s a Marine sir,” I remind him unnecessarily, “She’s having a wonderful time.” I’m trying to lighten his mood.

A small chuckle greets my comment, “And you Commander?”

“Nothing a little more sleep won’t fix sir, you know us flyboys,” I joke, “we need a warm shower and a clean rack after a mission.” This time he laughs out loud.

“But you’re in a motel, aren’t your rooms clean?” I don’t correct his assumption of the plural. I don’t think my nerve would hold up to convincing the Admiral that sharing a room isn’t presenting a problem. It is a problem, but not one I wish to either avoid or explain.

“No sir everything’s fine. There’s a large generator out back, and we even have heat and hot water. There’s a small grocery store here as well, with enough food for a week if necessary,” I try to reassure him.

“So just what aren’t you telling me Commander? I don’t hear an ETA to your destination in that comment.” The Admiral didn’t get his stars by accident, and I hope I can detour his questions about our situation. The inquiry covered a lot of territory, but since he qualified it, I have an opening to explain about the car. “Yes sir, you see there seems to be a little problem there, a tree fell on the car. I’m afraid it isn’t going anywhere.” I wince fully expecting an explosion. Instead, there’s stunned silence.

“You wrecked the car Commander?” His voice was tight and quiet.

“No sir that was last night, when we almost went over a cliff by hitting a flashflood. But that was just a dented fender.” I purposely give a convoluted explanation, relying heavily on the old ‘if you can’t dazzle them with brilliance’ technique.

“Is there anything else I should know Commander?” his voice is resigned. I can visualize him rubbing his head in frustration, but he’ll not regain the scent of our shared quarters.

“No sir, absolutely not,” I reply firmly. There is nothing else he should know, of that I’m certain. “Is it possible for someone to come after us sir? We’d like to get back and help with any emergency work caused by the storm?” I offer with genuine concern. This is the second major storm to hit the coast in two weeks. Resources are thin; the military might be called upon to render assistance.

“I’m afraid not Commander. FEMA isn’t likely to miss the assistance of a couple of lawyers, and it will stretch everyone’s resources to come after you. Unless someone there is hurt or sick I’m afraid you’re stuck. Maybe tomorrow or the next day someone can come for you, but that will depend on the roads. Do what you can to help there, and keep me informed of the situation. Until you can get back to work consider yourselves off duty.”

“Yes sir,” I reply with mixed emotions. My sense of duty is still straining to be somewhere, helping with something, but I can also see the logic if not wasting resources to retrieve us. The other side stretches my ethics as an officer with my need and desire to explore the new relationship that is growing between Mac and me. I feel rather ashamed taking advantage of this natural disaster to further my quest, when I never had the balls to do anything about it in the past.

I disconnect the call and glance to the back of the property where the man with the chainsaw is making some progress on the fallen tree. He has one door cleared, but the other is still blocked. Stopping, to continually move the cut branches, is slowing his work. The people still trapped inside are very likely feeling uncomfortable by now. It’s clear what I have to do.

End twelve

Storm Warning
Thirteen

Taking my CO at his word, I tighten the poncho closer around me, square my shoulders, and march up the drive to help. I don’t even pause. I just start hauling tree branches from behind him, stacking them away from the building. After I’ve moved three large limbs, he realizes I’m there, cuts back the power on his saw, and turns to face me.

Nailing me with a noncommittal stare he challenges, “Didn’t my wife tell you I work alone?” His voice is soft but strong, over the exaggerated purr of the throttled back tool.

“Yes sir,” I reply respectfully, “she did, but I have my orders from a higher authority.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Higher than my wife?” his voice is disbelieving.

There’s a ridiculous incongruity to standing here in pouring rain, arguing about a job that needs doing, but a protocol is required for him to accept my help. “Yes sir, my Admiral,” my demeanor remains respectful.

He nods slightly looking me over, “Peggy said you showed up last night in one of them pretty white uniforms. Navy huh?”

“That’s right,” I assure him, the rain pouring on my head and into my eyes. “But it wasn’t so pretty, after digging our car out of the mud and changing the tire.” I smile slightly at the picture I have painted for him.

“Huh!” He snorts. “Don’t look much like the Navy now,” he gives me a grudging nod towards my well-worn field boots, jeans, and poncho.

I nod in recognition of his acceptance, “I’ve been a few places,” I understate. “We don’t always get to ride around in a nice clean ship.”

He looks at me hard, and sticks his hand in his pocket. Fishing out a pair of leather work gloves, he tosses them to me. The bonding process is complete. “Can’t field strip an M-16 if your hands are full of slivers,” he comments dryly.

“No sir,” I agree pulling on the gloves.

“Name’s Hank,” he offers. I nod.

“Name’s Harm,” I adopt his abbreviated style. He nods in return and fires the chain saw, then turns back to the offending tree.

We work together for over an hour without further conversation, when I feel her eyes on me. Looking up I see her standing almost close enough to touch, the rain spilling off her covering.

At the same time that I stop, Hank cuts power to the saw and watches our byplay. I almost believe he could hear the unspoken words.

“I took lunch upstairs, it’s there when you’re ready,” she gives me an odd smile, “or would you rather have it here?” She’s unquestionably as Marine as ever, but she’d been in enough places where women have a traditional role to make the appearance of adapting. The look in the back of her eyes reassures me it’s nothing more than a concession to our situation.

“Thanks,” I respond, “but I’ll wait a while. We still have a bit to do.”

She nods and can’t help prodding a little. “Anything I can do to help?” she tests the water.

“Not really,” I reply telling her with my eyes that she’s assessed the situation correctly.

A teeny smirk crosses her face so briefly I almost believe I’ve imagined it. “Would you like me to bring you a beer?” she asks, her voice sounding completely sincere.

“Too early for beer,” Hank speaks up for the first time. “Could use a big cup of hot coffee though, if you’d be so kind ma’am.”

She turns to him with what I know to be a genuine smile, and answers, “It would be my pleasure sir,” then she looks back at me. “Harm?” she cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes please,” I reply. She nods and walks quickly towards the storefront.

She was back in less than three minutes with two steaming cups and a couple of large donuts. Handing them out, she explains. “Peggy says to eat these it will keep your strength up.”

Hank nods obediently and finishes the donut in several large bites washing it down with the hot brew. I can do no less than emulate him. I have an image to uphold.

“Thanks, Mac,” I offer around the mouthful of donut, it did taste good.

“Mac?” Hank asks speculatively. “Understand you’re a Marine.”

“Yes sir,” she replies.

“I imagine you’d have no difficulty helping us with this mess.” There’s something in his look that tells me he read everything that passed between us.

“No sir,” she answers straightforwardly.

“It would go faster with more hands,” he offers, “but my experience is every time I get around a power tool I manage to hurt myself. I usually need someone available to apply the pressure bandage when I do,” he grins broadly. In that sentence he explains a self sufficiency that sometimes requires logical portioning of the workload. It dawns on me that as on a carrier, not everyone can fly the plane or drive the ship. In order to make it all work someone has to man the fuel lines or cook everyone’s dinner.

Mac grins too, she understands back-up, “Harm has similar experiences with equipment,” she agrees waving to the car. “I guess we better muster a first aid kit.”

He drains his cup and hands it back to her; I do the same. “Thanks again Ma’am,” he adds, before turning the power saw back to full throttle and attacking another tree limb.

End thirteen

Storm Warning
Fourteen

We continue to work for another two hours or so, removing all the branches from the motel side of the tree, and freeing the other two cars. After another coffee break, again courtesy of Mac, this time with sandwiches, we cut some branches from the other side to stabilize the tree and keep it from rolling to the now bare side. Raiding his scrap lumber pile, we shore up the porch supports, and replace a few broken steps on the stairway before calling it a day.

Finally, the worst of the damage is under control and we stop for a moment to reflect on our hard work. I feel a sense of satisfaction in having helped tackle what looked this morning to be a nearly insurmountable task. It’s now late afternoon and I extend my hand to offer, “I don’t know if they’ll get through for us tomorrow, but if not I’ll be glad to help with the rest.”

He nods, accepting my outstretched hand, “Rain should let up by tomorrow, it’ll be easier working. Have a good night.” He waves, then turns and disappears into a storage shed where he keeps his tools.

I take the stairs two at a time, tired from the work and weather, but the physical labor has exhilarated me too, and I feel an undefined need to be near her. I hope the lunch offer is still good, even if it is almost dinnertime.

I have no idea what kind of a mood she’ll be in, so I figure if I disarm her with humor it might work in my best interest. I still have a shaky feeling about everything that happened below earlier. Mac has often exhibited the ability to do what was needed in the moment then react to the situation afterwards.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” I call out as I rush through the door, trying to keep out as much weather as possible.

Her eyes lock on me over the rim of her book. Stretched out on the bed in a t-shirt and knit shorts that don’t quite meet in the middle, they leave a two inch wide path of her flat tummy exposed. She’s never looked more delicious. Her gaze tells me I’d better not make mention of that right now. She impales me with a spine-chilling glare, and I stop cold in my tracks. ‘Uh oh,’ I think, ‘I’ve messed this up before we really got started’. Then I see the tiny ripples convulsing her body, and the twinkle burst into her eyes.

“Marine,” I breathe a sigh of relief. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She laughs a sultry laugh. “I take it you don’t need pressure applied anywhere,” she looks me over slowly and thoroughly.

I return the look, up and down her lithe frame, searing the vision of her long tanned legs and lush curves into my mind, before I reply in a hoarse whisper, “I wouldn’t put money on that, Sarah.”

Her mouth forms and ‘O’ and the book slides from her hands, as dripping wet, I take a step towards the bed. She squeals and tries to roll off the other side, but I’m an instant faster and land on top of her. Pinning her beneath me I bury my face in the back of her neck, nibbling and kissing the soft skin stretched along her shoulders. I’m beginning to anticipate the little sounds she makes when I kiss her, and she doesn’t disappoint me. With the feel of her body wriggling and moving against me, I realize I could easily learn to live for these moments. I allow her to move only far enough to turn her over.

“Harm you’re making me wet,” she utters a breathless protest. She probably means the rain soaked poncho, but I ignore it preferring to assume a better inference.

“Perfect,” I murmur, as I cover her lips with another kiss, allowing one hand to slide up her ribs and under her shirt to rest just below her breast. I take my time to enjoy this newest sensation, the weight and shape of her against my outstretched fingers. With the barest control, I resist taking the caress further, as I wait for her to fully accept and respond to this new touch, then reluctantly, I pull back. Half teasing our anticipation, half out of necessity, I take her hand and pull her with me as I stand up. If this thing between us is anything near what I think it will be, it has to be better than perfect.

A look of disappointment covers her face just an instant before I cup it between both my hands. Bringing my lips close again I whisper, “Soon Sarah, believe me you don’t want what’s under this poncho until I have a shower.” I kiss her softly, then again on the nose, smiling to myself, as I release her and turn towards the bathroom.

End fourteen

Storm Warning
Fifteen

I shower, shave and dress in a t-shirt and my cargo shorts. They are heavy enough to provide a barrier if necessary, but not that difficult to remove. My heart and my hormones are waging a battle in my head, and I’m not sure I have any control over which is going to win.

In the mean time however, my hormones are keeping my options open, as they pound around my system like the chariot race in Ben-Hur. All powerful, headlong towards a goal, and barely restrained. There are moments when I just want to toss her on the bed and have my wicked way with her. But I know that will never do.

On the other hand, my mind wants to slow down; she’s suddenly become as precious as the last best Christmas gift. I’m terrified if I unwrap it, the magic will disappear. I have to find a way to make these emotions work together, and I don’t know how to do that. It’s never happened to me before. Something tells me that it’s very important though.

I only once really cared if a woman returned to me. Not that I didn’t like them, not that I didn’t want them around, it just wasn’t going to destroy me if they didn’t return. There were always others. I’m strongly aware that after Sarah there will be no others. If she doesn’t stay, if she doesn’t return, there will be nothing left inside me. It’s a fearful thought.

Since I returned from flying I’ve recognized that my feelings towards her had changed, yet I’ve never moved my quest from the classification of seduction. Never changed my intentions to include anything other than winning her. Never allowed the realization to intrude on the pursuit. In the last few hours her importance to me has moved dramatically into another category. I simply haven’t named it yet.

I don’t know if it’s because I can’t find the name, or if I simply can’t make myself say it. Hell, I can’t even make myself think it. Having her under my hands, feeling her body against mine has given her a place deep inside me that I had no idea existed. I step from the bathroom full of trepidation, hoping for some stroke of brilliance that will lead me do the right thing.

The minute I see her, lounging comfortably on the bed with her book, the inner war resumes. I feel myself responding to her as never before. I’ve often felt this way about her, but not this strongly. We’ve worked together for over three years. She’s drop dead beautiful and I’m a healthy man, I’d have to be nuts not to respond to her. But I’ve always pulled myself back with the memories of her shooting me down on our first assignment and frequently after that. She didn’t feel that way, she didn’t want me, and I wasn’t going to torture myself. Somewhere between our first meeting and my change of designator, she must have changed her mind. She didn’t tell me, but why would she? I’d given up trying, she must have thought I was no longer interested.

This situation, being stranded in the storm, has given us a safe place to explore those feelings. It’s like we’ve slipped out of time, it almost isn’t real. Except, what I feel is very real, and if this is just a game, something we’re playing to while away the hours, I’m not sure I want to play. Once, before I knew her well, when we first met, I could have had a casual relationship with her. When I returned from flying I still thought I could, I tried to convince myself it’s what I was doing. Now I’m not at all sure. I think deep inside I knew it would be like this, I could only feel this way with her.

I stow my dirty laundry and hang my Levis to dry, before turning to the bed.

“Feel better?” She asks brightly glancing over her book. Is she using it as a shield?

“Yes I do,” I answer, moving over and stretching out beside her. I want to think for a minute….but I’m so tired from working outside….so relaxed from the hot shower….I just need to close my eyes…. just for a minute. I’m vaguely aware of rolling on my side and placing my hand on her stomach.

End fifteen

Storm Warning
Sixteen

It’s almost dark when I awake. I’m tucked closely against her side, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. It seems such a natural response, my hand still on her stomach tightens in a kneading stroke, my head moves to nuzzle deeply against the side of her breast, before my mind clears and I realize what I’m doing.

Rolling to my back, I cover my face with my hand and groan, “I’m sorry Mac,”

She carefully lays the book down, and scoots down to eye level with me. My arm automatically enfolds her with no instruction from my brain, holding her, touching her just seems so right. “Why,” she asks seriously, “didn’t you want to do it?”

My hand falls away as I open one eye and then the other, almost glaring at how ludicrous the question is. “Of course I wanted to,” I reply in exasperation, “that’s not the point.”

“What is the point Harm? What are we doing here?” a slight anxiety creeps into her voice.

“God I don’t know. All I know is every time I get within a few feet of you I lose all control.” I have no idea why I’m saying these things to her. I only know they’re true.

“Quite an admission for a Naval aviator,” she comments softly. She’s teasing me but it isn’t the normal bantering tease, it’s a seductive, sensual tease. “Does it happen often?” Her beautiful, full lips are so near, I only have to move a little….

“Only with you,” I answer, and close that small distance, pulling her against me. At least this time she’s on top. If she wants to stop, she can. But she doesn’t. Just like this morning, her kiss matches mine in intensity, giving and taking all those little sensations we discovered hours ago.

This seems so silly and so earth shattering important. We are adults, in our thirties for God’s sake; we’ve both had relationships before. Why has just kissing her become as monumentally important as anything else we could do? And why does she taste so good?

Slowly I pull back, releasing her. If I’m not going to do those other things, we have to stop now.

“Mac, what are we doing here? This started….I thought ….,” I struggle for the words, repeating her question. My mind is dithering, my blood racing to satisfy my body’s conflicting requirements.

“Flyboy, if this is your idea of a seduction you aren’t very smooth.” Her face is serious, her voice sultry, but her eyes dance merrily.

“Dammit Mac,” I explode, rising up I push her back and roll over her. “That’s just it,” I declare, looking down into her face, cradling her head in my hands. “This isn’t just a seduction. I can’t deny it’s how it started….God it started years ago, but I thought….,” no, I’m not going back over old news. “Mac, when I came back…,” I start again, “…I couldn’t let him have you, I wanted you to be mine.”

She nods, listening, but doesn’t speak.

“But now, I told you this morning, now it’s changed. I don’t know how, or why, but this isn’t just for here, just for now….not with me anyway.” I have no idea if any of this is making sense to her.

“What will we do Harm?” she looks puzzled and concerned.

“I don’t know,” I cast about, “wait maybe, until we get back. See if it’s still there, if we can take it home.” I try to find agreement in her; I have no idea what she’s thinking.

“Okay,” she shrugs defensively, “if you think its best. It won’t change anything, but it won’t bother me to wait if you’re uncertain. Would you like your lunch now? It’s almost dinnertime,” her smile is hollow, and she changes the subject as easily as if we were talking about the weather. She tries to scoot from under me but I won’t let her go, I can tell there’s something wrong.

End sixteen

Storm Warning
Seventeen

“Oh Mac, you didn’t have any lunch. I’m so sorry,” I respond, chagrined that she’s waited for me all day.

“Sure I did,” she replies, with strained cheerfulness. “While you were cutting trees, I was making lunch for eighteen people.”

“Eighteen people?” I’m puzzled, but grateful the diversion has made her stop struggling.

“The rest of the units Harm,” she explains dryly, but I notice her eyes slide away. “There’s eighteen people stranded here with us. Peggy needed help.”

I never thought about it, but she’s right of course. Cutting up a large tree can provide an amazing distraction. I can’t help smiling at the mental image, “You? A short order cook?”

“I have a lot of talents you don’t know about, Harm,” she replies with a soft defensiveness, still not meeting my eyes.

“I’ll bet you do,” I speculate, “and I can’t wait to find out about all of them.” Now what am I doing? And what part of me is doing it? Good lord, I can’t even keep up with my signals, it must really be messing with her. “Mac?”

“Hmm?” She’s quite still beneath me. Her fingers pick nervously at my sleeve and her gaze wanders to the window.

“About …about what I said…what I suggested, could we kiss on it? I want you to know how I feel, how important this is to me,” this is the closest I’ve come to the admission I haven’t yet formulated in my brain. I’m still trying to show her with my actions, why can’t I just find the words?

She nods hesitantly. “Okay. Maybe we should,” she shrugs, meeting my eyes reluctantly. “I want you to know too.” I wonder if she’s struggling with the same words.

I can’t stop looking at her, but somehow I move slowly closer and closer, until my eyes drift shut just as our lips touch. It’s everything we’ve had before and more. I pull her on top of me, again allowing her the option to move away. She only moves closer. I’m losing control of this. My hands drift up and down her back, caressing lightly, wandering too far down, pulling her against me, feeling her respond.

We both moan softly at the contact and I roll over her again, something is tapping me on the shoulder, telling me to stop this, to stop it now, but I fight it. I know I need to pull away, but just as I gather courage for the move, her hands slip under my t-shirt. Her fingers slide up my spine, gently stroking my back, her fingertips walk lightly down my ribs. My willpower disintegrates with that contact. I’m lost. My hand slips beneath her, my leg slides between hers. Our lips separate only enough for a breath, “Mac what are we doing?” I ask desperately.

“Changing our minds Harm,” she replies, before her lips settle against mine, and her fingers slide under the waistband of my shorts, trailing just beneath the fabric edge, teasing the skin of my lower back. I surrender, and sink willingly into the kiss, fiercely demanding everything I want from her, I promise to return it double.

The kiss builds in intensity, then at some point morphs into a gentler version, one where we explore and taste each other, teasing and nibbling, taking pure joy in the contact. Pulling back once more, I study her closely. “Are you sure Mac? Please tell me you’re sure?”

“I’m very sure Harm. This isn’t going away,” and I believe her.

It’s all I need; I can resist no longer. Her words disperse the last clinging shreds of my control, and slowly, one piece at a time our clothing disappears. Dinner will have to wait. I refuse to hurry, this is too important. I want to fully investigate each part I uncover, before I go on to the next. I intend to have her forever, but it will only happen for the first time once. I want us both to remember every glorious moment.

She is giving herself to me. I have this beautiful woman to explore, to please, to make scream my name in passion. There isn’t a square inch of her body I intend to leave untouched or unkissed. I can’t even remember why I hesitated. My dream, my fantasies of being with her are a pale shadow compared to this soul deep enchantment, this earth shattering reality. Not only does the ground move, but I believe the planets realign with the power of our joining. I will cherish this for the rest of my life.

End seventeen

Storm Warning
Eighteen

Pre-dawn darkness shrouds the room when my eyes drift open. We are both sleeping on our backs, in a position that suggests complete exhaustion. Her head rests on my outstretched forearm and the covers have slipped away from her. I gently free my arm and bring the blanket up to protect her from the morning chill.

After answering a call of nature, I watch her for a few moments before walking softly to the window to look out. I need to collect my thoughts, something I’ve done little of in the last twelve hours. The storm named Mac was nothing to compare with the force of nature contained in this woman. Not only did she completely consume me emotionally she was physically my equal, giving and taking, initiating and responding, in every possible way. And God help me I want her again.

If I lay back down I won’t be able to resist touching her, reaching for her, but she’s sleeping and it wouldn’t be fair to wake her. In my experience, women don’t usually care to be awakened in the middle of the night. I’ve learned to control myself, but I’m not at all sure I can this time, not if I lay beside her. I respect her and love her too much to treat her as an object for my pleasure, but dammit that’s not what she is at all.

I want to touch her, to make love to her because of who she is, because of what she means to me, not just because she’s a woman, and in my bed. Well, our bed. And then it hits me, flat across my stomach like a well swung bat. All the air rushes from my lungs as I realize I’ve put a name to the feeling. The name I’ve not identified, not accepted, not given substance or form to, has slipped easily into my mind as I stand thinking of her, here in the dark and cold. I love her.

For long moments I remain, looking out the window, watching the steady rain fall. It’s lighter, and the wind is nearly gone, but it’s still very much rain. It hasn’t lessened to the sprinkle or the heavy mist it will become in the hours to come. The more I consider what my mind has revealed, has accepted, the more comfortable I become with the thought. Soon it’s as though I can’t remember ever feeling any other way. Why has it taken so long? I shake my head slowly wondering if I’ll ever find that answer.

It finally becomes uncomfortably apparent that I must either return to the bed, or get dressed, because I’m getting cold. If I dress she will awake and feel rejected, I know she will, and that’s the last thing I want. Somehow, I have to lay back down, and either try to sleep or lay quietly until she wakes. And I must summon every ounce of steely control I’ve ever possessed to accomplish the task.

Quietly I walk to the side of the bed. Knowing my large frame will cause excessive movement, I lower myself as gently as possible, using every muscle in my body to control my actions. With great care I position myself on my side facing her. Perhaps sleep will come, but if not I will watch her sleep in the dim light filtering in from outside. Unable to resist entirely, I reach the tip of my finger to barely touch her delicate shoulder. Straining my neck slightly I place a gentle kiss on the spot, then withdraw.

A deep sigh precedes her soft voice. “I wondered if you would come back.”

Startled, I hesitate to reply, almost too long. “I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help touching you.”

“Why?” her voice is quizzical, fearful, in the darkness.

“Why what? Why did I want to touch you? Because you’re you,” I reply.

“Why didn’t you want to wake me?” She’s still curious, still almost afraid of my answer.

“Because I know…that is I thought…I didn’t want you to think…” I stumble unwilling to reveal the source of my hesitation. “Why did you think I wouldn’t come back?” I finally realize what she said, and I raise up, propping my head on my hand, so I can see her when she answers.

She turns to look at me, I can see the light reflected in her eyes. “You seemed so far away, like you didn’t want to be close. Are you sorry it happened?”

“No, never!” I answer immediately, fervently.

“Then why didn’t you want to wake me?” She seems genuinely puzzled.

“Because I didn’t want you to think it was only that, there’s so much more Sarah. Please believe me,” she has to know, she must know. Somehow I need to tell her, but I’m uncertain if she feels the same. On some level I hope I’m making sense.

She searches my eyes for a long time, the minutes move with agonizing slowness before she finally nods, apparently satisfied with what she finds. “Then don’t ever be afraid to touch me.”

Carefully my hand moves towards her, I haven’t ordered it to move, it just does. Lightly the tips of my fingers barely skim her silky skin, drawing long, lazy, lines on her body

“When did you change you mind about me?” I ask, as I indulge in the sensation of caressing her, avoiding the more intimate places in favor her graceful arm, the edge of her torso, or raising her knee so I can stroke the length of her leg.

“What makes you think I did?” she asks; her voice shudders slightly.

“You wouldn’t give me the time of day when we first met. Now you’re here,” I point out.

“You weren’t ready for me. Not this way. Not the way I wanted, and I wasn’t going to be some casual conquest.” Then she admits, “I wasn’t ready for what I wanted either.”

I nod, allowing my hand to trail where it would, unbidden and uninterrupted by instructions. “So when did you change you mind?” I ask again, not entirely realizing what my hand is doing until she gasps and whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” I pull away. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! God no, but I can’t answer questions when you do that,” her breathing is quick and irregular.

“So?” I ask in a thick voice, allowing my hand to move back to its task, “would you rather answer questions?”

“Not right now,” she murmurs in my ear as I nibble the side of her neck. She wiggles against the contact until her lips meet mine, and we move together as though we’ve done this a million times, instead of only twice before.

Dawn is breaking through the clouds when we fall asleep again.

End Eighteen

Storm Warning
Nineteen

The pale yellow light from a watery sun filters through the turgid air, left saturated by the storms passing. Its rays of hope fall welcome on a battered land that nature has tried to reclaim. The heavy air swirls through the slowly rotating blades of the Huey UH-1 sent to retrieve us. Order and discipline is once again being restored. The government will eventually retrieve its broken car, and compensate Hank and Peggy for the inconvenience of its presence. Mac and I are reclaimed by our duty, and rank is reestablished.

Mac has moved to the end of the driveway, to access the cell signal for her report to the Admiral; the pilot is reporting to his superior, as he makes his flight check preparatory to lifting off. We are to be delivered straight to the encampment for the continuation of our interrupted investigation. Arrangements will be made from there for our return to DC.

The co-pilot helps me load our bags, and I make a final personal ‘thank you and farewell’ to Hank and Peggy, speculating silently on the possibility of Mac and I ever returning for a personal weekend.

As Mac climbs aboard and I help her with her seatbelt she seems distant, a trace of desolation shrouds her features, and I wonder nervously if the personal storm we have weathered has actually cleared the landscape of our lives for new growth, or if it has just left devastation in its wake. The fearful thought suddenly assails me, of what adjustments await us when we return to JAG.

The chopper lurches slightly and lifts itself skyward. As we pass from the small cove in the rock wall that has been our haven in the storm, the destruction on the opposite face of the mountain can be clearly seen. Trees and power lines are down; roads are washed out.

She breaths a cautious sigh at the damage, and turns her head slightly flashing me a weak, uncertain smile. I have no idea what it means. Is she as worried as I. Is it possible we could misplace the good we’ve found in this overwhelming force that’s engaged us, occupying many of our waking moments the last three days? Or has she already decided that it can’t be recaptured? Is she willing to leave it behind, contained as a small bubble in time?

Nature will restore the landscape eventually, and man will repair his ‘improvements’. What will it take to stabilize the changes to us, to our relationship, by this storm tossed encounter? I can’t make the decision unilaterally, but I have no intention of allowing this to easily slip away. I need to find a way to let her know that. I wonder despairingly if it would have been too soon to tell her, if it would have been too bold. Perhaps she was waiting to hear me say those words.

Damn. I scrub my face with my hand and turn to look out my window. There’s no way to say it now. When I get the chance again, will it be too late? I don’t need the Huey to get me to the top of the mountain I can kick myself there. We finish the trip in silence, each wrapped in our thoughts. Does she wonder what I’m thinking as I wonder about her?

As we enter his tent, Colonel James looks up and greets us informally. “Stand easy people. Just give me a moment.”

He studies a few more papers briefly, before inquiring, “So Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb, that couldn’t have been the easiest trip you’ve ever made for an investigation?

“No sir,” we answer together.

He smiles and hands the stack of papers to Mac. “Here are the interviews we conducted immediately after the incident. Feel free to re-interview anyone; they all have been instructed to give you full cooperation. I’m sure after spending three and a half days in a hurricane you’re not looking forward to spending too many nights in the field,” he smiles.

“We’ll do whatever it takes sir,” Mac responds, back in full Marine mode.

“I have no doubt you will Colonel, but it must have been a bit harrowing. I understand you were almost thrown over a cliff, then had to spend three days in a small motel. Everything all right there?” he inquires conversationally.

I’m not sure what he means, but Mac takes the simplest answer. “Yes sir, everyone is safe. I believe arrangements have been made for them to be re-supplied until the road is repaired. No appreciable damage except to our car. A tree fell on it,” she explains succinctly.

“So I’ve been told. The report I received was that it was big enough to take out a good part of the motel, if it had fallen the wrong way.” The pilot must have included this information in his report, while I loaded the bags and Mac called the Admiral.

I hear a small gasp and Mac glances at me briefly, I think she’s just realized the danger we were in, and the reason for my comment.

“Yes sir,” she replies a little dazed. “I….I suppose there was that danger.”

“Probably be best to just forget about it Colonel,” he advises. “Things happen for a reason you know. When it’s your time….,” he let it trail off with a wave of his hand.

“Yes sir, it already seems like a dream. I guess in time it could all fade a way.” She muses half to herself.

“And you Commander?” He turns to me casually. “Do you agree with the Colonel?”

“Not entirely sir,” I reply, a worry close to panic flooding me. “The entire experience was very real to me. It was an event I won’t soon forget. The sort of thing you carry with you forever.” I’m not concerned about his interpretation of my words; I’m speaking to Mac.

“Hmmm,” he responds, “Yes, well I guess you’d like to see what’s left of the accident scene after the storm.” He points outside the tent and up the hill. “If you follow that path there’s a lance corporal at the top who will act as your guide. He’s been instructed to give you every cooperation. Dismissed.”

We come to attention, turn smartly, and leave the tent

“Mac….Sarah,” I reach for her arm as we turn to walk up the hill. “I love you, you know,” I swallow hard, hoping it isn’t too late, not caring who hears me.

She doesn’t turn immediately, only hesitates a step before nodding, “I know, I love you too,” her voice sounds low and shaky, as though she’s crying. She takes a deep breath and repeats a little more firmly, “I love you, too.” Then she turns slightly and gives me a brief smile over her shoulder, before she continues up the hill.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I’m not completely certain, but I think there was a bright ray of sunshine behind the tears in that smile.

End

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