Title: "Life Imitating Art"
Author: AeroGirl
Email: michaerogirl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Classification: Vignette, Romance (H/M)
Spoilers: no major ones - general season 7 stuff

Summary: So does life really imitate art, or is it the other way 
around?  A Friday night with JAG's senior staff becomes proof 
positive that Sturgis Turner can be one sneaky squid...

Disclaimer: Don't own the JAG crew, don't own Tom Cruise, don't own 
Denzel.  And I sincerely hope none of them comes looking for 
royalties, because ten percent of nothing is definitely still nothing.

Author's Notes: As the title is meant to suggest, this story is going 
to deal with some OTHER representations of the U.S. Navy in pop 
culture.  Specifically, you must, I repeat MUST, be familiar with the 
movie "A Few Good Men" for this to make sense.  (I'm a movie-quote 
freak, as previous fanfics may have hinted.)  Some of the quotes and 
references in here won't even be marked as such - inside-joke points 
to those who spot them.  "Top Gun" and "Crimson Tide" would help, 
too, but they're not as critical.  If you haven't seen the movie, 
you're going to be really, really confused by this one ... sorry ...


"Life Imitating Art"


	"I still don't get this whole 'icing' concept," Harm 
complained, studying the motion on the TV with a frown. "If the puck 
crosses that line without anybody touching it, they just stop the 
play?"

	"Typically, but international rules are different from the 
NHL," Sturgis replied, reaching for his beer.  He'd convinced his 
friend to come over and watch the Olympics with him, but despite his 
best efforts both at present and back at Annapolis, he'd never truly 
been able to get Harm hooked on hockey.  The curse of growing up in 
sunny California, he theorized.  "The goalie's allowed to tag it up.  
And the two-line pass rule doesn't matter, because there's no center 
line."

	"Why?"

	"How should I know?  Just watch the game."

	"Whatever.  Did you get the pizza ordered?  I'm going to need 
it if all you have is this dark Belgian stuff."  Harm examined the 
bottle in his hand suspiciously.  "I swear, I've had bourbon weaker 
than this."

	"The pizza's on its way, and you just don't appreciate good 
beer.  Either that, or you're turning into a lightweight in your old 
age."

	"I am not.  I just didn't have time for lunch today."

	"Holtzman case?" Sturgis asked sympathetically.

	"Bingo.  He's got me chasing down six different officers in 
his chain of command, trying to find one who'll say they gave the 
order."

	"You really think someone ordered Sergeant Holtzman to 
discipline his men like that?"

	"No.  Maybe.  I don't know."  Harm leaned back and rubbed his 
eyes wearily.  "I guess there could have been an order that he 
interpreted more liberally than his superiors intended, but I don't 
see how I can prove anything that way.  Forget it.  I don't want to 
think about Holtzman until 0800 Monday."

	"Yeah, like you've ever been good at leaving your work _at_ 
work.  You'll be up in the middle of the night with an idea for some 
new angle."

	"Jeez, did you invite me over just to hassle me, or what?"

	"Just an unexpected side benefit."  Sturgis smirked and put 
his feet up, returning his attention to the game.  "Hey, now that was 
a nice move."

	A blast of cheering came from the TV, and the American team 
gathered around to celebrate their goal.  "Who scored that one?  
LeClair?"

	"Brett Hull."  The lifelong Chicago Blackhawks fan rolled his 
eyes in contempt.  "He's such a punk."

	"Didn't his dad play for your team?"

	"He's a second-generation punk, then.  But at least we 
scored."  The last few seconds ticked off the clock, and the teams 
went to the locker room for intermission.  Sturgis turned his head 
with a self-deprecating smile.  "You realize that we're pathetic, 
right?"

	"Why, because we're both single and sitting around the TV on 
a Friday night?"  Harm shrugged.  "Well, not completely single.  At 
least you've got a chance with Bobbi Latham."

	"Don't jinx me.  And that reminds me - from what I hear, I'm 
not the only one who's seen the congresswoman's charms."  The other 
man fixed him with a knowing look.

	Harm squirmed uncomfortably, realizing he was trapped.  "Who 
told?"

	"Bud did.  But he didn't have much of a choice.  Mac made 
some sarcastic comment about the two of you, and I figured I could 
get the story out of Bud easier than I could out of her."  

"Remind me to thank Mac for that one."

Sturgis folded his arms.  "So all this time, you've been on my case 
about asking Bobbi out, and you weren't going to mention to me that 
_you_ had a thing going on with her once upon a time?"

"Come on, buddy, it was one week, and it was three years ago.  I just 
didn't want to make anything more complicated than it already was."

"Too late for that," he commented good-naturedly.  "Anyway, I 
should've known that you'd have made the rounds of all the strong, 
attractive women in the greater D.C. area by now."

"Not all of them," Harm answered under his breath.  His friend lifted 
an eyebrow, deciding not to pursue that particular topic any further 
for the moment.

"I'm going to grab another beer.  You want one?"

"Sure, what the hell."

Sturgis came back into the living room with a bottle in each hand and 
reclaimed his chair.  "You get the invitation to the reunion this 
summer?"

"Oh, yeah.  I don't know if I can handle all that concentrated 
nostalgia, though.  Couldn't they just wait until twenty years comes 
around?"

"That's only three years away."

Harm looked at him in disbelief.  "Christ, it is, isn't it?  We are 
so damn old, Sturgis..."

"The way of the world, my friend.  Look at us, though.  When we were 
kids rooming together at the Academy, we were headed in absolutely 
opposite directions.  You wanted to be above the water, and I wanted 
to be under it.  And we both ended up here.  Doesn't that defy all 
laws of irony?"

"To detours," he agreed, and they clinked their bottles together.  A 
glimmer of an idea crept into Sturgis's mind just then, and he 
grinned suddenly.

"Pop quiz.  Who do you identify with more, Tom Cruise in _Top Gun_, 
or Tom Cruise in _A Few Good Men_?"

Harm took one look at him and snorted in amusement.  "You're kidding, 
right?"

"Nope.  Come on, give."

"They're both unrealistic to the point of being ridiculous."

"You know that, and I know that, but that's what the general public 
thinks we are.  I mean, when some civvie off the street sees you in 
your spiffy white uniform, chances are he or she will automatically 
identify you with one movie or another."

"It works both ways," he retorted.  "I might as well ask you if you 
identify more with _A Few Good Men_ or _Crimson Tide_."

"Why, 'cause I look so much like Denzel?"

"You wish.  I should've said _Hunt for Red October_ instead.  But you 
know what I mean.  Are you more a lawyer or a submariner?"

"That oversimplifies the issue a little.  In the context of those 
particular movies, I still go with Denzel in _Crimson Tide_.  But you 
still have to answer the question, and not just from a 'lawyer or 
fighter jock' standpoint."

"What is this, Truth or Dare?"

"Fine, be that way.  You want to know what I think?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Sturgis calmly ignored the sarcasm.  "I think you've got more in 
common with Lieutenant Kaffee than you do with Maverick Mitchell."

"How do you figure?  The backstory with Maverick's father, and the 
accident with his RIO ... the guy's emotional baggage matches mine 
down to the tags."  He said it with little emotion, but his friend 
was already steering away from the topic.

"Only up to a point, and I'm talking about real characterization, not 
random plot junk the writers dreamed up in an attempt to make the 
story more interesting.  For better or worse, that movie had tunnel 
vision - it was all about the flying."

"You've never seen me fly," Harm pointed out.  "Sometimes that's the 
way it is."

"Yeah, but I know you.  You aren't the type to break rules just for 
the hell of it."

"Says you.  I boomed Pax River last fall when I was flying chase for 
the Stealth tests," he tossed back, mainly to be difficult.

"Nice try, but I remember that case, and it doesn't count.  
Maverick's a caricature - nobody really resembles him for long, or 
they wouldn't last.  Maybe that was you when you were twenty-five, 
doing the real Top Gun, but not now."

Harm spread his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.  "Okay, all-
knowing one, fill me in.  Why am I Lieutenant Kaffee?  Since you're 
obviously leaving aside the fact that I'm a foot taller than Tom 
Cruise."

"He's prettier, though."

He picked up a pretzel and chucked it at his friend.  "The guy was 
right about one thing.  I do hate the whites."

" 'Nobody likes the whites,' " Sturgis quoted, snickering.  "Granted, 
you're not a punk j.g. who plea-bargains everything, but that's just 
the beginning of the movie.  He's something completely different at 
the end.  He's prepared to risk everything to get to the truth.  
You've fired an HNK in the courtroom, for God's sake.  I don't think 
staring down Jack Nicholson would faze you for long."

Harm didn't respond for a minute, gazing off into nothing.  "Kaffee 
had issues with his father, too," he remarked quietly.  "He couldn't 
get out from under his father's shadow."

"Yes, he could.  And eventually he did, by doing exactly what he felt 
was right and making damn sure that he saw it through.  That has to 
be a familiar concept."

After a moment, he smiled.  "I really wanted to drop-kick Kiefer 
Sutherland's character throughout most of that movie.  Freaking 
Marines."

"You would've nailed him just like Kaffee did.  And I can just see 
you snatching that book right out of the prosecutor's hand."

"Except Mac would've killed me."

"Mac wouldn't be the prosecutor.  Mac would be Commander Galloway."

Harm shot him a look of disbelief.  "No, she wouldn't.  Galloway 
couldn't litigate her way out of a paper bag."

"Okay, ignore that part.  But she and Kaffee were a good team because 
of their different strengths.  And they didn't take any crap from 
each other."

"Which doesn't make any sense, considering she outranked him by a 
whole stripe."

"Could you let go of your perfectionist streak for two seconds, 
please?  Sheesh.  Besides, Mac ranked you for a while in there, 
didn't she?"

"For a grand total of three months, or something.  And given the 
multitude of other issues we had at the time, that one was only the 
tip of the iceberg."

Sturgis took a long drink of his beer before replying.  As much as 
his curiosity was pushing him to clarify that statement, he got the 
distinct feeling that heading in that direction would land him in the 
middle of a minefield.  Therefore, he simply took a different path.  
"What do you think happened to all those guys after the movie ended?"

"Tom Cruise made _Mission Impossible_, right?"

"Not the actors, genius.  Hypothetically, do you think Kaffee 
would've ended up staying in and becoming career Navy after a case 
like that?"

"You're going to tell me yes, I assume."

"I think he would've.  I think all three of them would've had a 
renewed dedication to the service.  They would've realized that it 
wasn't infallible, that it needs people to protect it just as much as 
anything else.  That's what we do, you know.  Some people stand on a 
wall and say - "

" 'Nothing's going to hurt you tonight.  Not on my watch.' "  Harm 
finished the line, and for once there was no sarcasm in his voice.

Sturgis nodded solemnly.  "We used to be the ones who defended the 
walls.  Now we defend those who still do."

Harm gave a short nod of agreement, but he couldn't pass up the 
opportunity to make another comment.  "And we sit at home drinking on 
a Friday night."

"God, you're impossible."  The former bubblehead rolled his eyes.  
"You know, I read somewhere that they did a version of the movie 
where Kaffee and Galloway hooked up.  There was some big climactic 
kiss in the rain after he chased her down and told her he was going 
to put Jessup on the stand."

"You know what always bugged me about that scene?  Kaffee was drunk 
out of his skull, and yet he was out driving in the pouring rain," 
Harm stated, missing the point entirely.

"Maybe Weinburg was driving.  Anyway, supposedly they did a screening 
of that version, and everyone hated the fact that they hooked up, so 
they ditched the end of the scene.  You think that would've totally 
ruined the movie?  To have them together at the end?"

"Ever heard of fraternization, counselor?"

Sturgis threw up his hands, exasperated.  "For the last time, Rabb, 
this is Hollywood we're talking about.  Can you please forget about 
the UCMJ, just in theory?"

"No, _Turner_," he responded in kind, "I can't.  The whole damned 
movie is about military justice, so you have to be consistent.  You 
don't just get to toss out the parts you don't like."

"What if they'd been on equal footing?  Would it still have been 
unreasonable?  There was obviously some kind of chemistry going on, 
and they obviously respected each other - "

"They fought constantly."

"Because they were both passionate about the case.  They both made 
mistakes, but they didn't use them as an excuse to give up and hate 
each other.  Maybe it wouldn't have been so great for the movie, but 
hypothetically speaking, I think they could've made it work."

"When did you become such a sap?  There's got to be a hundred 
different issues involved with making a relationship work within the 
chain of command.  The whole 'appearance of impropriety' thing would 
come knocking whenever they had to oppose each other on a case.  It 
could affect the decorum of the workplace, and other officers would 
always wonder if there were ulterior motives behind their 
decisions..."

Sturgis merely watched his friend carefully, not surprised by the 
rising intensity of his tone.  "So it's an issue of office decorum?"

"It could be.  We all do this job for a reason, Sturgis.  We believe 
in what we're doing so strongly that we don't allow other things to 
jeopardize our purpose.  You said it yourself five minutes ago.  We 
defend the service that defends the country.  You don't screw around 
with that responsibility, hypothetically or otherwise."

"I don't think that's the whole reason it didn't happen for them," he 
returned calmly.  "Part of the reason, maybe, but it's not enough for 
them to have turned their back on something they both wanted.  I 
think maybe Kaffee was afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of letting himself get completely involved.  He was a golden boy who 
was used to getting everything he wanted, with a few exceptions.  
Suddenly this woman storms in, and he can't get past her with a smile 
and a wink, and it throws his whole sense of reality off-balance.  
He's so accustomed to being in complete control that someone as 
strong as her seems like a threat to his whole outlook.  So he keeps 
ignoring and denying every single little sign, no matter how 
insignificant, that they might be attracted to each other."

"Can you blame him?" Harm fired back defensively, not stopping to 
realize that this discussion was beginning to lose all resemblance to 
the movie in question.  "How is he supposed to know what she really 
thinks when all they do is either tease or fight?  They trust each 
other in every other way, but as soon as things get too close for 
comfort, it's back to the best-pals option, because anything else 
would just be too complicated to even confront.  He has issues, sure, 
but so does she, and it's not like they can just wish all that away 
and start over - "

Abruptly he broke off, the faint buzz of alcohol slowing his dawning 
realization of just how personal this had become.

"We're not speaking hypothetically anymore, are we?" Sturgis asked, a 
little too innocently.

Harm fixed him with an accusatory stare.  "You son of a bitch," he 
said, more impressed than angry.  "You set me up."

"All the direct routes through this particular subject seemed to run 
into roadblocks," the other attorney replied, folding his arms in 
satisfaction.  "It's called leading the witness.  Remember the line 
in the movie?  'I think he _wants_ to say it.  I think he's pissed 
off that he has to hide from this ... So we put him on the stand and 
lead him right where he's dying to go.' "  He studied his friend's 
conflicted expression, the earlier smugness fading into compassion.  
"I think you want to say it, buddy.  I can keep a secret.  You do 
love her, don't you?"

"We are talking about Mac here, aren't we?"

"Sure as hell hope so.  Otherwise we'd have to be more drunk than I 
thought."

Harm sighed, and all the tension drained from his body as he 
collapsed back onto the couch.  "Of course I love her.  I'd be an 
idiot not to."

"You're still an idiot."

"Sturgis, there's five years of history there that you can't even 
begin to understand - "

"I'm not sure I need to.  From where I sit, you're both being idiots, 
but I think you're worse.  This isn't Shakespeare: there's no point 
in suffering through all this melodrama when you could just walk 
right up to her and figure it out, once and for all.  Don't worry so 
much about what's happened in the past.  Office decorum is what you 
make it, and as for the appearance of impropriety, you deal with it 
on a case by case basis."

Despite feeling very much like a deer caught in headlights, he raised 
an eyebrow.  "Are you trying to plea-bargain me into dating my 
partner?"

"Will it get me a set of steak knives?" Sturgis teased, but soon 
sobered.  "Listen, I realize I'm hardly qualified to give 
relationship advice, so I'll stay out of it from here on.  I just 
wanted to know."

Harm shook his head and tossed back the last of his drink, still 
annoyed that he'd been so easily tricked.  He'd managed to deny what 
he felt, even to himself, for so long - how the hell had Sturgis 
managed to work the truth out of him in twenty minutes flat?  "You 
know me too well, buddy," he admitted grudgingly.

"Ain't that the truth."  The doorbell rang then, and Sturgis got up 
to answer it.  "That'll be our pizza."

He opened the door to reveal a Marine colonel holding a pizza box and 
a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke.  "You squids order a half-meat, half-
rabbit food pizza?" she asked with a sly grin.

Recognizing his partner's voice, Harm only rolled his eyes.  "And the 
hits just keep on coming," he muttered under his breath.  Of course 
Sturgis would invite her without mentioning it.  It was crystal-clear 
just who was in control of this round.  He'd simply have to roll with 
the punches.  Twisting around to lean over the back of the couch, he 
drawled, "Wow, Sturgis, your pizza guy's hot."

Mac narrowed her eyes at him, tossing her jacket over a chair.  "You 
didn't get him drunk already, did you, Sturgis?"

"For Christ's sake, you two, just give me some freaking food..."

Sturgis reclaimed his chair, and Mac set the box down on the coffee 
table before elbowing Harm aside.  "Shove over, Navy.  Just 'cause 
you're tall doesn't mean you get the whole couch."

"Did somebody forget to tell me that the President declared a 
national day of harassment towards me?"  Harm grumbled good-
naturedly, sliding over to give her space.  She tucked her legs up 
gracefully and reached for a slice of pizza.

"I would've been here earlier, but the Richardson interview ran way 
late.  I think there's a rule about half the workload for the week 
coming in at 1600 on Fridays.  So who's winning the game?"

The two commanders exchanged a blank look.  "Um, it was 2-1 at the 
end of the first," Harm offered lamely.  Mac frowned and glanced at 
the TV.

"It's the start of the third!  What in God's name was so utterly 
enthralling that you guys missed an entire period?"

"The meaning of life," Sturgis deadpanned with a confident smile.  
"That, or a discussion of the finer points of various portrayals of 
the military in Hollywood."

"Give me a break," Mac replied skeptically, leveling a curious stare 
on her partner.  There was something different in his eyes, and it 
wasn't just the fact that they'd obviously been drinking.  But he 
simply shrugged and flashed a smile at her.

"It's a guy thing, Mac," he said easily.

Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the TV.  "Well, at 
least we're still winning.  What's the deal with there being no 
center line, though?"

"International rules.  There's no two-line pass."  Harm shot a 'so 
there' look at his friend, who merely watched the game without 
comment.

As the final period went on, Sturgis noted that Harm had given up on 
the beer in favor of sharing Mac's Diet Coke.  He rarely drank when 
she was around, come to think of it; did she ever drink?  _Stay out 
of it, Turner,_ he told himself firmly, but he couldn't help noticing 
that his two guests had slowly but surely gotten more comfortable on 
the couch.  Harm had one leg folded up, and Mac was leaning against 
it, her hand idly resting on his knee.  Occasionally they'd make a 
comment about the game, but mainly they just sat in silence, relaxed 
in each other's presence.

_Okay, so I shouldn't have interfered,_ Sturgis said inwardly.  _But 
they're so damn good together, and because they're not really 
together, they're driving the rest of us nuts.  In this case, 
interfering is practically an act of duty._

When Team USA had officially won the game, Mac stretched out and 
stood up.  "Thanks for having us over, Sturgis.  Since _someone_ had 
to go and miss the Super Bowl, this was a decent substitute."

"Hey, I go where the Navy sends me," Harm protested, rising as well.  
"What do you say, Marine?  What does a guy have to do to get a ride 
home?"

"Dangerous question, flyboy.  Tell you what - if you take a look at 
my car this weekend, I'll give you a ride tonight and spring for 
lunch tomorrow."

"Your engine knocking again?"

"You say that like it's my fault or something," she answered, pouting 
as well as a jarhead could.  It wasn't fooling him, but he simply 
reached for his leather jacket and shook his friend's hand.

"I'm going to find a way to get back at you, buddy, but thanks for 
tonight.  See you Monday?"

"As always.  Good night, you two."  Sturgis watched them leave and 
shook his head.  He had answers from both sides now, as clear as day: 
Harm loved Mac, and Mac loved Harm.  But that was as far as he was 
going to go.  From this point on, the rest was up to them.  

How could two obviously bright individuals be so amazingly dense?

... They were a few minutes into the drive back toward Union Station 
before Mac spoke up, with the inevitable question.  "So what were you 
guys really talking about for half an hour in there?"  She had that 
look on her face, the one that usually made him raise his hands in 
surrender.  He could withstand her piercing cross-examinations, but 
when she turned on that perfect, natural grin, reminding him of the 
depth of their friendship, that was the end of it.  "I know it wasn't 
the meaning of life."

"We really were talking about movies.  _A Few Good Men_, 
specifically."

"Hmm ... lousy in terms of accuracy, but good dialogue."  She glanced 
over at him.  "What about it?"

He briefly considered lying.  He could easily have brushed it off and 
found a way to steer them back toward a safer topic.  For some 
reason, though, the 'safe' path, the escape route that he'd taken so 
often, didn't seem nearly as attractive anymore.  In the back of his 
mind, he'd known it would all eventually come back to this point.  
Tonight was as good a time as any.

_Sturgis, if this blows up in my face, I'm going to kill you for 
putting the idea in my head._

"We were discussing a hypothetical situation," he answered 
cautiously, gazing out the passenger-side window.  "Whether or not a 
couple of dedicated JAGs like Kaffee and Galloway could have made a 
relationship work."

She didn't respond right away, warning bells immediately shrieking in 
her mind.  Had Sturgis betrayed her confidence after all?  No, he 
wouldn't.  Then what precisely was happening here?  "Really," she 
stated, her voice carefully controlled.  "Did you come to a 
conclusion?"

"Not exactly.  Sturgis thinks yes.  I'm not so sure."

They weren't looking at each other, but it was as if he could feel 
her wilt ever so slightly beside him.  That was all the reaction 
she'd allow herself.  It was enough, though, to strengthen his 
resolve.

Before she could find a response, he continued.  "Not the way they 
were scripted, at least.  The thing is, life doesn't follow a script."

As they pulled up to his apartment, she put the car in park and 
steeled herself to turn and fully face him.  "No, it doesn't," she 
agreed tentatively.  "I guess we're supposed to write our own."

"That's part of my problem, I think.  I've been trying to write mine 
completely on my own, without relying on anyone else's help.  And I 
don't want to do that anymore."  With a deep breath, he looked her 
squarely in the eye.  "I'm not sure I have any right to ask you for 
anything, given the way things have gone for us in the past, but if I 
did ask ... would you help me?"

As she began to understand what he was saying in his own awkward way, 
tears stung at her eyes.  "Harm," she said slowly, "where is all this 
coming from?  Just tonight?"

"No, of course not.  You know better than that."  He sighed, 
wondering if any explanation would really make sense.  "When I was 
arguing with Sturgis, trying to give him all the reasons why us being 
together would be a bad idea, I sort of stopped and listened to 
myself ... and I realized how weak they all sounded.  I guess I've 
been trying to convince myself for so long that I took it for 
granted, and I forgot what the real reasons were.  I still can't 
remember.  I mean, we could make it work at JAG, if we wanted to ... 
couldn't we?"

Still figuratively holding her breath, she managed a hint of a 
smile.  "Yeah," she said softly.  "I think we could."

"So what were the other reasons?  Just circumstances?  Other people?"

"Maybe fear ... fear of losing what we have now - "

"That isn't going to happen," he broke in firmly.  "I'll do whatever 
it takes to make certain of that.  I told you once that what I want 
most in this world is to never lose you."

"And I believed you.  I still do."  Fully aware of what a monumental 
step they were contemplating, she reached over to place a gentle hand 
on top of his.  "What were you afraid of?  Letting go?"

	She half-expected him to falter, to back off like he'd done 
so many times before, but he didn't.  "Something like that," he said 
honestly.  "I've never been good at letting myself feel that much, 
since it usually comes back to haunt me some way or another.  But 
somewhere along the line, between floating in the Atlantic and 
chasing you out to the Indian Ocean, I realized that I couldn't stop 
myself from feeling the way I do about you, no matter what I did to 
deny it.  It just took an outside influence to make me realize that I 
could do something about it."

	"Amazing how familiar that sounds," she replied, her voice 
falling to little more than a whisper.  "So where does that leave us 
now?"

	In response, he leaned in and captured her lips with a 
delicate but meaningful kiss, and in an instant, everything was right 
with the world.  "In a place where I can do that more often, I hope," 
he finally answered.  "I'm not sure how to start this, really ... but 
would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

	"I'd like that very much."

	They climbed out of the car, and despite herself, Mac found 
herself harboring the slightest of doubts about this new revelation.  
Why, after everything they'd said and done before, should she trust 
that this would suddenly work?  As they started toward the building, 
though, his hand instinctively moved down to catch hers, and she 
marveled at how natural it already felt to be with him.  It would 
work, she decided, if for no other reason than because they wanted it 
to.  They'd fought countless battles with nothing to rely on but each 
other.  This would simply be a new test.

	Lifting her gaze to meet his ice-blue eyes, she found a fire 
there that she'd never fully recognized until this moment.  It had 
been a long while since a man had actually made Sarah Mackenzie weak 
in the knees, but as they stepped inside out of the frigid February 
air, she found herself wanting much more than a cup of coffee.  
Better late than never?  Most definitely.


***************


	On Monday morning, Sturgis strode into the bullpen at his 
usual early hour and was surprised to see that his friend's door was 
already open.  Harmon Rabb was many things, but punctual, especially 
on a Monday, was not a word that could ordinarily be used to describe 
him.  Glancing around the bullpen, Sturgis quickly located him, 
leaning over Mac's shoulder from the safety of her office.  They were 
deep in discussion about the affidavit in her hand, and the other 
commander wondered how the ride home on Friday night had gone.  
Quickly, though, he forced the idle questions from his mind.  This 
was a workplace, for God's sake.  If he wanted intrigue, he could 
watch soap operas.

	"Morning, sir," Bud Roberts greeted him as he exited the 
kitchen with his coffee mug.  "Do you think you'll have any spare 
time this morning?  I'd like to go over the Hammacher case with you 
when it's convenient."

	"I'm free until staff call, Lieutenant.  Grab your files and 
come find me as soon as you're ready."  Sturgis grabbed his own mug, 
and headed toward his office.

He'd already stowed his briefcase and cover before he noticed the 
long, flat box sitting in the center of his desk.  Perplexed, he 
snatched up the folded note that lay on top.

"You definitely earned these."

It was signed with a familiar block "H" and a more graceful script 
"M".  Beginning to get suspicious, he peeked inside the box - and 
started to laugh out loud, hard enough that his eyes watered.  "Way 
to go, you two," he managed to say.

He was still laughing five minutes later when Bud came through the 
door, mildly surprised at the display of emotion.  "Commander?  
What's so funny?"  When the senior officer didn't reply, he lifted 
the box lid, and his confusion only grew.  "Steak knives, sir?"

Sturgis wiped his eyes and shook his head.  "Lieutenant, you wouldn't 
believe me if I told you."


*** THE END ***