Entanglements

Pairing: Mac/Gunny, some reference to Harm/Mac

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Adrift 2, minor allusions to Guilt and the Season 8 Singer story arc (really minor)

Disclaimer: DPB and CBS and Paramount own these characters, not me. Everything else is mine; don't touch it.

Feedback: Please send to stacey2545@yahoo.com

Author's Note: All right, so plot wise, this doesn't advance the story much, but Gunny wanted to tell his side, so … He's got ways of making me post. ;)

Much thanks to all the people who've sent feedback on the last few stories. You're the reason why this is here.

I wake up to find the sheets wet and sticky. They're twisted tight around me and I feel trapped. With a growl, I fling about until finally the sheet pulls free and I kick it off the foot of the bed. Fuck.

I lay back gasping, my heart pounding. More oppressive than the sheets is the musky smell of sex that hangs in the hair, smothering me. I stare at the ceiling. What the fuck is wrong with me? What am I, fourteen? I left the wet dream stage behind years ago, thank you very much.

My heart slowly returns to its normal rhythm. Shit. It's been over a month and dreams of that night still haunt me. She still haunts me. Sometimes I think she always has. I mean, even back before I came to JAG, when I testified in court on the Brimstone 2000. I hadn't even met her in person, just her voice on the phone when she initially interviewed me about the case, and I dreamed about her. She was faceless, but she was a perfect dream fuck with her gorgeous tits and legs that went on forever. Sure, it wasn't exactly what she looked like-the real life model is even better-but the voice was pure Sarah MacKenzie. Right down to the hitch in her voice when she whispered to fuck her harder-not that I knew that until years later.

God, I miss her. And it's not just the sex. Tonight, the dream was about the sex-the heart-stopping, nature-defying, would-absolutely-kill-a-man-with-heart-problems sex. But it's not always. About sex, I mean.

Even more haunting are the dreams that have nothing to do with sex. The ones where I just see her at HQ. The ones where we're back on the Guadal and the sexual tension that seemed to define our experience just isn't there. The way we work so well as a team… It doesn't mean anything to me in the dream, but when I wake up my chest is tight and my throat raw. And the dreams Mac's not even in. Where I'm out on Eagle Nest Lake fishing and there's a little boy beside me. Something nibbles on his line and he starts reeling it in and he turns to me and says… and says, "Daddy! I think I got something!" and I look at him and his face is all Mac from the line of his nose to the shape of his chin. I wake up from those with a chest so tight I swear any moment now I'll hear a rib snap.

I groan, roll over, and drag my naked ass out of bed. Yet another sign of how profoundly she's fucked up my life. I hadn't slept nude since before Parris. But ever since our sadomasochistic, fuck-me relationship really got started, I haven't been able to sleep with anything on. I adjusted back when I transferred back to Force Recon, but the moment I was back in the States, I couldn't sleep with so much as a stitch of clothing on.

I glance at the clock. Only 0433. Not enough time to go back to sleep. Too much time before my duty shift. Guess it'll be another intensive workout this morning. With a sigh, I drop to my knees and start tossing off push-ups.

Seventeen… Eighteen… I see her silhouette through the shower curtain, a curvy peach shadow in the clear vinyl. I join her and she leans back into me without hesitation, my hands replacing hers on her breast, between her legs.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five… She moans and I turn her around.

We kiss greedily and she stumbles back into the tile wall. She would have slipped if I didn't have her plastered so close.

Thirty-one, thirty-two. A drop of sweat rolls off the tip of my nose and I whip off another five.

She whimpers and my dick wants nothing more than bury himself inside her.

I tell her to turn around and she doesn't move. I growl impatiently and repeat myself.

Forty-four forty-five forty-six

She turns around and braces her hands on the wall and I place mine beside hers, my chest pressed against the hot, wet skin of her back. My thighs nestle against the backs of hers, my erection nuzzling her ass.

I bend over and whisper in her ear, "You know what I've been thinking about all day, don't you, Mac? Ever since this morning I've been thinking about how I was going to come here tonight…" I flick my tongue against her earlobe. "And then Lt. Roberts dragged me off to Norfolk and all I could think about was how I was gonna kill him."

My hips thrust, pressing her into the wall and she hisses. "Me too."

Fiftysix fiftyseven fiftyeight

"You know what kept me from doing it?" Her knees collapse and I hook an arm around her waist. "Brig time would keep me away from you even longer."

My hips grind into her, a finger lazily teasing her clit. "I'm going to fuck you, Mac,"I say, deliberately crude. I'm not far away from my own orgasm, but I want to drive her higher before I let her find release.

She groans as she takes my hand and shoves my fingers inside her.

I chuckle. "Eager, are we?"

"Damn straight," she moans. "Need you … now."

She reaches for me and I pull back. "Condom."

"Screw the condom, Vic. Pill. Need you."

sixtythreesixtyfoursixtyfivesixtysix

"Damn it, Victor. I need you in me now!"

Fine. I give up. She's on the pil and I don't really want to take the time out to go find a fucking rubber. She lets go of my cock and returns her hand to the wall. One hand on her hip, the other guiding myself to her entrance, I ask her the same question I ask every woman, especially this one, before I enter her.

"You ready?"

She nods, frustrated.

I slide into her and everything's more intense without that layer of latex between us.

She shoves her hips back against me and envelopes my entire length before I can slow it down. From behind she's even tighter. A couple of thrusts and we're both gasping, hanging on the edge. One. Two. Three more thrusts, I feel the spasm start deep within her and we hurtle over the peak, groaning in unison.

seventynineeightyeightyoneeightytwo

I'm still in the shower, standing behind her and nuzzling her neck when I completely and totally fuck up the best thing that has ever happened to me. "Have I told you how beautiful you are?" I ask.

She murmurs a negative. Still nuzzling her neck, I whisper, "You are. Sometimes I … sometimes I can't do this with the lights on, Mac." My hands drift down to her hips and I lean in close, my lips right next to her ear.

"Or at least, not so I can see your face. You're so beautiful that if I watch your face while I'm inside you… I'm afraid I might cry."

She starts shaking and it's not until she makes this cry like a wounded animal that I realize she's sobbing.

eightyeighteightynineninetyninetyoneninetytwoninetythreeninetyfourninetyfive

It wasn't until yesterday that I learned how truly I had fucked up. And while a part of me would give almost anything to make yesterday go away, to make all of it just go away, a larger and truly pathetic part was deliriously happy at the way I had utterly ruined her life. If anyone else had done this to her, I would be fighting Rabb at the front of the posse to be the one to eviscerate the bastard. I still might.

Ninety-eight, ninety-nine. My arms tremble so badly they just collapse and I land on the floor in a pathetic, sweaty naked heap.

Moving as little as possible, I twist my head so I can make out the glowing demonic numbers on my alarm clock. 0507. I bang my head limply against the floor. Fuck, I hate my life.

Yesterday started the way all my days had for the past month. Completely and totally miserably. I awoke exhausted, tangled up in my sheets, the victim of yet another restless night. Somehow I dragged myself to the head, and managed to shower only by spending most of the time propped against the wall. I deliberately turned the water as far toward the C as I could, but either there was something that Lt. Roberts would probably call a time warp or I was one masochistic son of a bitch, because by the time I got out the demon clock swore it was already almost 0723.

Thankfully, I was more awake by then, because my electric razor decided today would be a good day to kick the bucket and I spent way too much time rifling through the bathroom cabinets for one of those cheap throwaway razors. I didn't know how, but I managed to get dressed, brush my teeth, and shave, without slitting my throat, in less than three minutes.

Traffic was a bitch and I finally showed up at JAG over twenty minutes late. Other than Tiner, who made it a point to rag me about it, no one noticed. So my day settled into its usual routine. There was a rhythm to the humming copiers and fax machines that soothed my frazzled nerves. Tiner bugged the hell out of me, like usual, but that reminded me that everything was right with the world. Well, almost everything.

Then my day became a complete and total goatfuck.

Commander Turner passed by my desk on his way out the door. "Gunny, I've gotta be in court five minutes ago and the colonel needs these files ASAP." He pulled two manila folders off the stack in his arms and handed them to me. "Could you see that she gets them?"

I nodded. "I'll have Tiner take them by."

He paused and gave me a hard look. "No, Gunny, I asked you to see that she gets them."

Damn it. He hadn't actually said anything to me about it, but I knew he'd been less than pleased with the rift that had formed between me and Mac. And being that he was Sturgis Turner, he had to do something about it. I was surprised that he'd waited this long.

Turner stepped closer and not subtly looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was. "Look, Gunny. After the last fiasco with her and Harm, I promised her I'd stay out of her affairs, but people are starting to comment. And I really don't want to see her take another hit to her career on the basis of scuttlebutt. You two need to talk before it's brought to the admiral's attention and it goes through more official channels. And that's all I'm gonna say."

He waited for my nod before he looked toward her closed office door. The blinds were open and we both saw her hunched studiously over her desk. God, I missed her. By the time I looked away, Turner was gone.

I looked down at the files in my hand. Shit, I didn't want to do this.

Steeling myself, I walked over to her office and rapped on her door. She didn't even look up. I rapped harder. Still no response, so I opened the door and popped my head in.

"Colonel? Here're the files you wanted."

She looked up startled, her gorgeous eyes wide. "Uh, thanks, Gunny," she said, waving me in, distracted by her desk calendar.

I frowned. I took a step into her office and held out the files, and she looked up, but she just sat there, pen tapping nervously on the calendar on her desk. That was what she had been looking at so intently before I came in, because she had shoved every file on her desk to somewhere near the edge, and most looked like they would slide right off if someone so much as breathed on them.

She was staring at me like a piece of meat the whole time I crossed her office and yet still seemed surprised to find me at her elbow, dropping the folders in the middle of the calendar.

"Ma'am? You okay?" I forced myself to keep this professional. We had to keep it professional, because if it got personal, it would get very personal. Christ, almost all she had to do was smile at me and I'd probably slam the door, throw her across the desk and take her right there. And hell to anyone who dared try to stop me.

"Why is everyone asking me that today?" The weary way she said it made me cringe. She sounded like someone on the verge of tears. Like she was trying to make it look like it was just rolling off her back and failing miserably.

I threw a quick look over my shoulder at the bullpen. No one was paying the slightest attention. If they noticed that this was the first time Mac and I had been in the same room, talking to each other, in over a month, they sure didn't act like they cared.

Looking back at her, I took a deep breath. "No offense, Mac, but you look like hell."

And she did. God. I hadn't seen her this close up in weeks. She looked worse than I'd imagined. Almost as bad as I felt. The circles under her eyes were more pronounced, her skin looked a little sallow. Her eyes held this unbelievable longing that she tried to shutter away behind her impassive professional mask. But she couldn't hide it the way she watched me. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to reach out for me.

After a long moment, she swallowed hard, and tore her gaze away. She grabbed the nearest stack of folders and started straightening it, lining up all the edges and squaring the corners. "Gee, Gunny. You really know the way to a girl's heart," she muttered, half under her breath.

Shit. We were going to have to talk about this, weren't we. I snuck a glance at the bullpen again through her open office door. Everyone was going about their usual business. They could care less we were in here.

Fine. I could handle this. I cared about her enough to talk this out, no matter how much it might kill me. "Something you wanna talk about, ma'am?"

She glanced at her desk and bit her lip in that sexy way that made me wish I were a Neanderthal and could sling her over my shoulder and take her back to my cave. She nodded, and pointed at the door. "Close the hatch."

I raised an eyebrow but did as she asked without protest. It wasn't like anyone other than us would care we were alone in an enclosed space together. I went back around to her side of the desk. I shifted a pile of folders off to the side, saving them from the impending avalanche, and perched on the corner of the desk. "What's wrong, Mac?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest and crossing my legs casually at the ankles.

"I'm late. I'm never late."

I blinked at her in incomprehension for a moment. What did she mean, she was … late. Aw, fuck! She couldn't possibly mean… But it was clear from the look on her face that she did.

Fuck fuck fuck. I cleared my throat. "Um, how late? Like, a few days late? Or…"

"Two and a half weeks." Her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it, but the volume detracted none of their punch. The words hit my gut like a hammerblow.

I uncrossed my arms and gripped the edge of the desk, locking my elbows to hide their trembling. All right, I knew from growing up in a house full of women that it was possible for all sorts of things to throw off a woman's cycle. Stress, diet, illness. But two and a half weeks?

"I, uh, didn't want to say anything until I was sure." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossing and recrossing her legs giving me way too tantalizing glimpses of her thighs.

"Have you-"

"I bought a test," she said, her words overlapping mine, "but I haven't taken it yet." She squirmed guiltily and avoided my eyes.

All I could do was stare at her. Who the fuck waits that long to take a test when they're terrified they might be pregnant? Shit, maybe I'll never understand women. The silence stretched on.

Suddenly, she shoved her chair back and, avoiding me, squeezed through the narrow gap between her desk and the filing cabinet. She crossed the office to the window and stared out it, arms hugging her chest.

"I'm afraid of what it'll say."

I wasn't expecting her statement, so I asked the first thing that popped in my head. "What do you want it to say?"

She was as surprised by my question as I was by her statement, but she mulled it over before answering. "I don't know," she finally said. "Maybe that's what scares me." The last part she said on a sob. Discreetly, she brushed aside a tear.

I joined her at the window, already reaching out for her before I realized what a bad idea that would be. It was a bad idea period, much less here at JAG. Still, my fingers itched to touch her, to hold her. And I couldn't. Instead, I stood there behind her, so close I felt the almost feverish heat radiating from her tense muscles. When we were sleeping together and she was this tense, we'd break out the massage oil and I'd spend hours kneading her muscles. Within minutes she'd melt, and long before I was done she fairly purred. Then she'd repay in kind with…

My fists clenched at my sides and I sighed, my breath stirring the hair on the back of her neck. "Mac, whatever happens, no matter what the test says or what you decide, you know I'm here for you, right?"

She nodded numbly.

"Mac?" I dared to reach out and touch her. My hand on her arm drew her out of her reverie.

She turned away from the window and stared right through me. Shit. The last time I saw her this lost and alone she was in a bar contemplating trashing her hard-won sobriety. I saved her from herself that night, only to be unable to save her from the greater threat-me. It was only hours later that I had her pinned against the wall outside her bedroom, rock hard and aching to bury myself as far inside her as was humanly possible.

I clear my throat and the image from my head. "Mac, why don't I take you home?" I suggested, fighting hard to keep my voice even and gentle, the way I'd talk to an upset child, not the way I'd communicate SEX NOW to my lover. "I'll tell the admiral you're not feeling well, which is the truth, and I don't think you should be driving."

Dazed, she nodded mutely and started collecting her things.

I waited impatiently for her to finish in the bathroom. How long could it take to pee on a stick, for Christ's sake? I paced back and forth across her carpet, scratching the back of my head nervously.

Finally, my pacing drove me nuts. I sat down on the edge of the bed. Her bed. I ran a hand across the familiar quilt. Funny how I'd gotten so used to sleeping here. The bed in my apartment had felt so strange and lonely after …

When had I started thinking of this as our bed?

I groaned in frustration and lay back on the bed, rubbing my hands over my face. What were we going to do? I decided I might as well get comfortable. Odds were we were going to have a long talk when she came out, regardless of what the test said. Draping my uniform shirt over the chair in the corner, I stretched out on the bed to wait.

A moment later, the bathroom door cracked open. She stood there in the doorway for a moment watching me. Backlit with the light of the bathroom, she looked gorgeous. I swallowed hard at the sight of her.

She moved out of the doorway, arms crossed protectively in front of her. "Five minutes," she said brightly. Her voice wavered just a little. Her mouth was tight, her whole body tense. I just wanted to kiss her until she melted, hold her safe until she was ready to face the world.

I checked my watch to mark the time and patted the bed beside me. She flopped down, pillowing her head in one hand and resting the other on her belly. She absently rubbed a thumb across her stomach, as if caressing the child hidden inside her.

A lump rose in my throat at that thought. My child. I tore my eyes away and stared at the ceiling.

"What if I turn out like my parents?"

Her comment came out of the middle of nowhere. I didn't have a chance to answer before her rant went on.

"I mean, what kind of role models have I had? My father was a drunk; my mother walked out on us when I was still a kid."

"And yet you still managed to turn out all right," I rushed to reassure her. "You straightened yourself out, joined the Corps, built a promising career. Whatever mistakes your parents made, I'm sure you learned from them."

I rolled over on my side and cupped her chin in my hand, tilting her face until she looked me in the eye. "And I'll be there with you, Mac. I'm not leaving you."

"I know you want to do the right thing." Her voice was bitter. "But, honestly, Vic, I don't expect you to."

I wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or not, and I told her so.

"We had a deal, Vic. No-strings-attached, remember?"

Maybe so. Maybe we had. But somewhere along the line I fell in love with her. I wasn't foolish enough to think she felt the same way. Sarah MacKenzie was in love with Harmon Rabb. That's the way it had been since long before I came into her life. That's the way it would be long after I left. Again.

"I'm not going to let you throw your career away on this, Mac. Me, I've put in my twenty. My pension's safe. But you've got a promising career. You're up for promotion by the end of the year. You have another twenty, thirty years you could put into the Corps."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't see how I can avoid it. The Corps still frowns on officers having children out of wedlock. Especially when we refuse to reveal the identity of the father."

We both thought of Lt. Singer and the scandal that had caused.

"So, I either ruin my chances at promotion with a fatherless baby, or I admit I slept with an NCO in my chain of command and face a court-martial and possible confinement."

"It won't come to that," I assured her.

There wasn't a chance in hell I'd let her do brig time for this. I'd perjure myself if I had to, claim I'd seduced her, blackmailed her, raped her, whatever. She wasn't going to the brig for this. Not a chance. And I wasn't going to let her throw her career away. Not for me. I had no idea what she'd say. After all, our relationship had been about sex, pure and simple, right? No need to talk about marriage with a relationship based on immediate sexual gratification. Not to mention she was still in love with Rabb.

"What're you thinking?"

"Nothing," I said.

She chuckled and I couldn't help but think of all those other throaty chuckles she chuckled here in my arms, in this bed. Usually when we were both naked, the sheets hot and sticky with sweat and smelling of sex.

"I know you, Victor." She reached a hand up and traced her thumb along my brow. The smile lingered around the corners of her mouth. "Your brow doesn't wrinkle like that when you're thinking about nothing."

"You think you know me so well?" My tone was light and teasing, but there was a serious undercurrent. Her smile faded a little.

"I think I know you better than you think," she whispered. Her breath was light against my cheek and my chest felt tight at the casual intimacy of it. This was what I'd missed. "Tell me," she begged.

Nervous, I reached over and pulled her tags out from under her shirt. . It didn't seem very long ago that Mic's ring hung here but it'd been almost two years. I turned the tags over and over in my hand.

"I was thinking about marriage. How the Corps has no problem with a married officer having a baby," I said, turning her tags over in my hand. "I take a transfer, and I'm no longer in your chain of command. No court-martial. No confinement."

I held my breath waiting for her reply. I knew she'd shoot it down.

I expected her to say something like, "Thanks, Vic, but I'd sooner marry the SecNav." Or maybe, "It wouldn't be fair to you when I'm in love with Harm."

Instead she said, "Two problems: A, no one will believe we didn't break regs before you transferred, and, B, we'd never see each other."

Was that important to her? Seeing me? She'd certainly been happy when I took that transfer back to JAG. We fucked like rabbits that entire weekend when I got back. I'd figured she'd just missed the sex. But was there more to it than that?

I knew she thought I proposed because of the baby-the potential baby, I guess, since it wasn't official yet. I knew she thought I offered out of responsibility, because of the morals and the code of conduct the Corps had pounded into me for twenty years and Mac deserved a hell of a lot more than a man who married her out of duty. But that wasn't it and I didn't know how to convince her of it.

I dropped the tags and they clanked softly, sliding down the chain to hang between her breasts. If nothing else convinced her of my sincerity, maybe this would. I looked up at her and held her gaze as I said it.

"Then I get a discharge. Once I'm out of the Corps, they can't do anything."

She gasped and her jaw dropped. If I hadn't been so nervous about what she'd say, I might have been aroused by that breathy gasp and those sexy lips. I could practically see the wheels spinning as she turned my words over in her mind. Confusion and shock marred her face as she lay there staring at me.

"Why would you…"

I had to bite back a smug grin. I'd left her speechless. I had the strongest urge to kiss away her confusion. Instead, I traced a finger down the soft skin of her cheek. After that night in the shower, she had to ask?

"Because it wasn't the sex that made all this worth the risk, Mac," I said simply.

I saw it in her eyes when it hit her. Her dark eyes grew liquid and a tear slid down her cheek. I felt my own eyes mist up and I blinked furiously to keep from crying.

We spent the next several hours making love. I didn't plan on it. In fact, I knew it was one of the last things either of us needed at the moment. But, like always, this woman was impossible to resist. One minute we were scrounging in the kitchen for something to eat and the next we somehow started a who-can-come-up-with-the-most-erotic-use-for-whatever's-in-the-kitchen contest.

Afterwards, she cuddled close against my side, her hair tickling as brushed my collarbone. I drifted off only to wake sometime later with her feet trailing ice along my calves. Damn, her feet were cold. She shifted in her sleep and buried her face in my shoulder. I didn't think it was possible, but her nose was colder than her toes. I shifted, resting my chin on her head, which had the added benefit of keeping her icy skin off my neck. I was wide awake now but she looked so content, I didn't want to disturb her.

I stroked her hair, enjoying the feel of the soft locks under my fingertips. I liked her hair better this way. Long enough to wrap my fingers in. She might bitch about having to put it up for work, but it was a hell of a lot of fun to take down.

She slipped out of bed sometime before midnight. She was trying to be sneaky but I guess she didn't count on how attuned to her presence I'd become. When she slid out of my arms, it was like a piece of me just up and walked off.

I watched her get dressed through slitted eyes. I knew where she was going, even if she didn't know it yet. I didn't mind. Not really. I mean, sure it stung that she was leaving my bed to go see another man, but it's not like I didn't kind of expect it. She always ran to him when her life got turned upside-down. Except when he was the problem. Sometimes even then.

I lay there restless and wide awake long after the front door clicked shut. The smell of sex was all around me, on my skin, the sheets. It hung heavy in the air just like the guilt writhing low in my gut.

Mac trusted me. She trusted me to be her friend, her comrade, her… lover. Shit. I fucked up a perfectly good friendship by falling in love with her.

And now I was going to fuck up her life because I hadn't been able to keep it in my pants. It wasn't fair. She deserved better.

I dragged my ass out of bed and put on my pants and underwear. I didn't want to leave her with the scent of yet another mistake clinging to her pillow, so I changed the linens. I found the clean sheets in the same place they'd always been-on a shelf in the far back of her closet tucked away behind the clothes rod.

I set the fresh sheets on the dresser, some retro shit with abstract patterns of bright reds and yellows and a puke green that made my eyes hurt. But they had an insanely high thread count and Mac liked them. She called them her comfort sheets.

Her down comforter weighed a ton and there were endless miles of it. Finally I yanked it free and left it on the floor at the foot of the bed tangled with her million pillows. Stripping the sheets was a painful process in and of itself. Every rustle of the sheets threw the scent of her shampoo into the air. When the bottom sheet came loose, I wadded them all up into a ball and chucked them at the hamper by the closet. I missed.

I reached for the clean sheets and knocked a picture frame onto the rug. Muttering, I bent down to pick it up. It wasn't until I set it back on the bureau that I noticed. It was a picture of the two of us. Probably the only one in existence. I remembered exactly when it was taken. It'd been the day of the JAG-a-Thon, after the race. The sweat stained our tee shirts and her dark hair hung in damp curls around her face. It'd been too short then to pull back. Her cheeks were flushed and we were obviously both exhausted, but the look captured in that picture…

That's how she looked after sex. Tired triumphant. Like she'd accomplished something.

I turned it facedown and went back to making the bed. Mechanically, I went through the process. Spread the sheet. Tuck it in. Sharp creases and military corners until it was tight enough to bounce a quarter. Worthy of inspection.

I sorted the myriad of pillows out from the comforter, tossing the dirty pillow cases in the same general direction as the matching linens, and set them aside while I got the mountainous comforter back on the bed. I took great care in centering it. It had to be just right, coming down exactly to the bottom of the frame on either side.

The whole bed was made before I noticed I was one pillow case short. She'd complained once about how expensive pillowcases were but she hated not having enough to match the set, so I knew it had to be around somewhere. Probably in the closet.

While I was at it, I scooped up the discarded sheets and stuffed them into the hamper. Propping open the closet door, it was already overflowing, less from being full than from lack of aim. Mac was one of those people who figured it was good as long as her clothes landed near the hamper. Or maybe they were actually sorted according to her strange sense of organization; her office was just as chaotic but she always claimed to know exactly where to find everything.

I checked the shelf first. It wasn't hiding behind any of the other sheets or towels and it wasn't mixed up in any of the other sets of sheets. Damn. I looked at the bottom of her closet. It was populated with four or five loads worth of laundry. You'd think a bright red and yellow pillowcase would stand out, but since she took good care of her uniforms, most of what was left on the floor were civvies and skivvies. I nudged aside a lacy see-through, electric blue scrap of fabric with my toe. It appeared she was still wearing the more risque lingerie she'd started wearing under her uniform when our lovemaking had become more frequent and spontaneous.

If I thought taking care of her sheets was painful, sifting through her underwear was worse. Nearly every pair had some memory attached to it. I grit my teeth and waded in. After several moments of rubbing salt in the wound, I realized I wasn't gonna find it in the closet.

I finished getting dressed, leaving my shirt unbuttoned while I went hunting for my missing sock. I found it hiding under the dresser, in front of the missing pillowcase and next to a naggingly familiar sweatshirt. It was dark green, the blue silk screen all but obliterated from so many washings, and just as soft as I remembered. Damn it, I'd been looking for that shirt. Should have known it was here. I had been wearing it that night.

She'd obviously been wearing it. It smelled like her. Not her perfume and shit. Her. Like she smelled fresh out of the shower. My stomach clenched and I tossed it back on the bed. As much as I loved my favorite sweatshirt, I knew I couldn't wear it again. I just couldn't.

I went out to the living room and sat on the couch to put on my socks and shoes. I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. I sure didn't want to be here when she got back. And yet, I didn't want to leave. If I left I knew I wouldn't be coming back.

So I went to the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess we'd left. I washed the dishes in the sink, put them away, and wiped down the countertops. Finally, when I caught myself alphabetizing her soup cans to keep myself from picturing just what she was doing with Rabb, I buttoned up my shirt and got ready to go.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Goddamn it. I hadn't even heard her come in. I went back to buttoning my shirt without looking up. No point in stating the obvious.

"I thought you wanted to talk about this, Vic." Her hand covered mine and started undoing the buttons I'd just done up.

I gently moved her hand away. "We don't talk, Mac. We fuck."

I didn't have to look at her to see her hard glare. I could feel it boring into me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

I slipped past her out to the living room. She followed me. Fuck. She wasn't gonna leave this one alone, was she?

"Answer me, damn it!" She grabbed my arm and spun me around. She was trying hard to be all spit and fire and, yeah, she was furious, but she had the look of a wounded animal in her eyes.

Well, you know what? I was hurting too.

"Fine. You want to talk about this, we'll talk! Just remember you asked for it."

I guess I surprised her with the tight anger in my voice, because she backed up, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. But the tilt of her head and a shrug of her shoulders invited me to go on.

"We don't talk. We fuck."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, you said that already. You care to elaborate?"

I sighed. "Mac, what's the first thing you did just a minute ago?"

"You mean besides get pissed at you?"

Cute. Real cute. "Before that." She didn't answer. "Mac, every time you have a serious problem that you really need to work through, we have sex."

"Are you complaining?"

"Yes!"

She arched an eyebrow.

"For Christ's sake, Mac, the first six times we got together one of us was upset about something."

"There's nothing wrong with comfort sex."

"No, there's not," I agreed. "But we're out of control. We both need some space. We need to be able to have a mature, serious conversation about what we're going to do without lust clouding the issue."

"So now you're calling me immature?"

My jaw clenched. "No. I'm saying we're good at the sex part. But we don't have serious conversations. We've never had to. When you need to actually talk something out, who do you run to? It sure as hell ain't me."

"Vic…"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, I snagged my coat from the back of the couch and swiped my keys from the table. I kept waiting for her to stop me, but she never did.

I sigh and shove the filing cabinet drawer shut with a slam. For a no-strings-attached relationship, we've done a damn good job of getting it all snarled up. Or maybe I should say 'I have'. I'm the one who let her convince me to forget the condom. I'm the one that got her pregnant. I'm one who fucked it all up by falling in love with her.

When the hell did that happen? I guess maybe I've always been a little bit in love with her. Hell, according to Brumby, we all are. But we aren't all sleeping with her. I was the only one stupid enough to do that.

After our fight last night, I'm trying to give her space. She's made it easier on me by calling in sick, but I still have to fight the urge to call her. It gets harder the more I realize what a fool I made of myself. For Christ's sake, I proposed to her. I may not have had flowers and a ring. I wasn't down on one knee, but I did ask her to marry me. She never actually said yes. And then it was a matter of hours before she ran to Rabb. What does that tell me?

"Gunny? You okay?"

I jump half a mile at Lt. Sims's question. She's standing right there at my elbow with another stack of folders to be filed piled up in her arms. Thank God she's not a mind reader.

"Fine, ma'am," I manage to strangle out. I reach for the stack as they start an avalanche to the floor. "Just a little edgy today."

Since Mac told me about the baby yesterday, I've been jumpy whenever she's out of my sight. Which, so far, has been all day long.

Lt. Sims hasn't moved an inch. "You wanna talk about it?" she asks when the silence stretches just a little too long.

"Talk about what?" I ask, playing dumb.

"What's bothering you."

I bite back a groan. She's got that look on her face. You know, the one that says she knows something's up and she's not gonna leave it alone until she's set things right. Well, go ahead, Lieutenant. If you can make this one right, I will build a shrine in your name and worship you until the day I die.

I open the next drawer and continue filing folders. Masterpeters… Matthews… Mitchell…

She's still waiting for an answer. Damn. "I appreciate the offer, ma'am, but it's really nothing."

"If it were nothing," she says taking the folder from my hand and filing it herself, "then it wouldn't be bothering you, now would it?"

She looks up at me with those big brown eyes of hers. She's got everyone thinking she's so sweet and innocent, but I know the truth. Harriet Beaumont Sims-Roberts can be as ruthless, relentless, and resourceful as our resident barracuda. And from what I hear, she can be just as vicious when her ire's up.

Damn. Some other time I'd be able to figure out something to say to throw her off the scent, but I'm just too damn tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. To be honest, I haven't been getting much sleep since we "broke up." I should be used to it. I mean, those months when we were fucking like bunnies? I got a whole lot of sleep then, right? But somehow this is more exhausting, this worrying. And she did this for weeks before she told me.

I frown as I flip through the drawer, stalling for time. "You're right. It's not nothing. It's just not something that I want to talk about."

She keeps pushing. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the colonel, would it?"

"No." Yeah, that managed to come out totally non-defensive. I bite the inside of my cheek until I can taste blood. A lot better than letting the words spew forth that I want to say. She may be a sailor, but I'm sure the sweet little Southern belle has never heard those words before.

She doesn't have a chance to open her mouth before Tiner bursts in.

"Gunny, the admiral wants to see you," he says. I can't tell from his tone whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Just that it's urgent. It's a welcome reprieve.

"If you'll excuse me, lieutenant." I try and keep the relief out of my voice but I'm not sure how successful I am. Before she can say another word, I beat a hasty retreat and head straight for the admiral's office.

Struggling to act as normal as possible, I approach his open door and rap sharply on the doorjamb.

The admiral glances up from the file he's looking at and waves me in, still listening to Rabb's update on the Tischler case.

When Rabb finishes, I say, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes." He turns back to Rabb, who's standing casually in front of his desk. Rabb turns and nods a greeting. There's a sharp edge to his stare , a stiffness in the jerk of his head that makes my skin crawl. He fairly exudes animosity. Not that I blame him, all things considered.

I avoid his gaze and come to attention beside him. Eyes locked forward, I don't have to look him in the eye.

The admiral closes the folder and passes the file back to Rabb. "Good work, Commander. And good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're dismissed."

"Aye, sir." Rabb comes to attention and spins on his heel, folder in hand.

"Shut the hatch behind you."

Rabb throws me another glare, which I ignore, before continuing on his way out.

The admiral clears his throat.

Apprehension settles like a cold pit in my stomach, but I maintain my mask of innocence. For all I know there could be a perfectly innocuous reason for his wanting to talk to me.

"At ease, Gunny." He takes off his glasses and uses them to point at a chair. "Have a seat."

I sit.

The admiral sighs, staring at his glasses as he folds them up and turns them over and over in his hands. Pursing his lips, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. "I just got off the phone with Colonel Mackenzie. She called in sick today."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that, but I take a stab at it anyway. "I believe she mentioned something about seeing the doctor."

The admiral cocks an eyebrow. "She went of her own accord?"

I shift in my seat. "I strongly encouraged her, sir."

"Well, I don't want to know what threats it involved." He smiles. "Thank you." He tosses his glasses on his desk and settles back in his chair. "How's she doing?"

"She's hanging on the edge of burnout, sir." I figure I can safely say that.

He sighs. "I know. She went to see Rabb last night. According to him, she was very upset. 'Emotionally distraught,' I believe he said."

My mouth goes dry. What else did Rabb say? "Sir," I say cautiously. "Maybe you should try asking the colonel."

"I did. She clammed up. Claimed there was nothing wrong. Just feeling under the weather."

Sounds like Mac. When something's bothering her, the last person she wants to share it with is her CO. When's she going to realize he cares as much as the rest of us? He just has to pretend to maintain a command distance.

"I've noticed she's been stressed lately," he continues. "But she's had a light caseload and Rabb hasn't been pushing her buttons."

He regards me with frank appraisal. "You took her home yesterday. She didn't by any chance confide in you, did she? Marine to Marine?"

I lick my lips. "If she did, sir, what she said was said in confidence. I wouldn't-"

"I know. I know. You wouldn't break that trust." His chair squeaks as he leans forward. "This thing that's been bothering her, it wouldn't have anything to do with you, would it," he said in a tone that made it more of a question than a statement.

"Me, sir?" Please tell me my voice did not just squeak.

He leans closer and folds his hands on the desk. "More specifically the fight you two had."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

He doesn't buy it. Nodding absently, he plows right on.

"Gunny, you two have done a good job of keeping whatever your argument is from becoming public-and I appreciate that. Lord knows how many times Rabb and Mackenzie have interrupted the smooth functioning of this office with their spats-but while your dispute has been more subtle, it appears to have festered. Until yesterday, you'd barely said two words to each other in weeks. I was going to let it go, let you two work it out on your own…"

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives me a significant look. "But you've had a month."

I look down at my hands. "Sir, I…"

"Gunny, I don't care what it's about. I don't care who started it; I don't care how you fix it. But I would like my chief-of-staff back, in one piece, and not on the edge of burnout by Monday. Is that understood?"

My spine stiffens. "Yes, sir," I snap.

He nods sharply. "Good. Dismissed." He puts his glasses back on and starts sifting through the pile of papers on his desk.

I'm at the door when his words cause me to pause.

"If I were you, I might try Beltway burgers." He peers at me over his glasses. "They always work for Rabb."

My step falters, but I nod my thanks and leave. The comparison to Rabb doesn't sit too well with me right now. I don't know that it ever will.