Author: Teacup
Subject: Stranger at the Halloween Dance (Part 1 of 2) HBX Challenge - Oct 2008

First of all, some (mostly good) messages from Teacup:

The bad news: As I may have mentioned to some, my muse has been having major commitment issues in recent times. Thus, although I am overdue to post the next part of ‘F’ is for Fundamentals on the Fourth, … it’s still not ready.

The good news: My muse opted to concentrate on a new story for the October challenge lines. It's only two parts, and I just have to smooth over the ending yet, so you should not be left hanging very long on this one.

The bad news: My life is becoming more hectic, so I’m not sure if too much of my time will be taken up for me to do much writing in the future.

The good news: The reason my life is busier is that I’ve finally found and started a new job!! :0) That makes me happy, which means I am more likely to get the writing juices flowing.

--
Now, regarding this story:

A/N: This work is a little different for me. The POV is that of some unknown character, but I promise that this does get to be very much a JAG story … and a shipper one at that. I hope you like it … or at least find it amusing.

This is in response to the Oct. 2008 HBX challenge. And yes, I know it’s very late for a Halloween story, but you can pretend to be back in the Halloween spirit for the duration of this story, right? By the way, I hope my fellow Americans enjoyed Thanksgiving yesterday!!


Stranger at the Halloween Dance
by Teacup

Part One

What am I doing here?

I ask myself this for at least the twentieth time this evening. Oh, yes. My friend’s insistent words come back to me. ‘You need to get out; you’ll have a good time,’ she had suggested. ‘It’ll be fun.’

Sure, dressing up in a costume for Halloween when I was a kid was a blast, but as adults … the whole thing seems to have morphed into something … a bit perverted.

Not that wearing an outfit or pretending to be someone else is always bad. I mean, it’s one thing for an actor playing a part to don the appropriate attire for the role. That’s perfectly respectable. … But my experience with people dressing up for adult Halloween parties is, … well, … sickening. … And I’m not talking about blood and goriness.

Guys usually have some cheap, lame-o outfits that allow them a few themed pick-up lines early in the night. As the evening wears on and they have more drinks, the guys usually lose the extra outfit pieces and accessories, leaving them in the regular clothes they had on underneath anyhow. Not much to be impressed with there. But hey, given that most of the guys are inevitably unattractive, … as long as they’ve still got another layer of clothes on … I really shouldn’t complain.

Alternatively, there are the guys who wear a mask that they never take off the whole night. Am I the only one who finds it creepy to be approached and possibly hit on by someone that I can’t see and have no way to identify?

Meanwhile, why is it that it’s not enough for a woman to dress up as a nurse or a pirate or Snow White, … but she’s got to be a ‘naughty’ nurse, or a pirate ‘vixen,’ or ‘saucy’ Snow White, … all of which look like variations on the ever-so-skimpy prostitute outfit?

Well, I refuse to cheapen myself in such a way, and if guys aren’t interested in me because of that … then they’re too shallow for me anyhow. This is why I hate most adult costume parties.

My friend had assured me that this would be a respectable party though, … and, while no date is required, it is thankfully not a singles event. She insisted that these people are mostly military officers and high-ranking officials. It would be a sophisticated crowd … dressed in silly outfits.

My own costume is, of course, no exception, and I am hiding in the shadows silently cursing my overenthusiastic friend who got me into this. … My friend, who called me five minutes ago, saying that she was sick and wouldn’t be able to come after all, but who suggested that I should still ‘stay and have fun.’

Ha! First of all, my friend is probably not really sick – just overdosed on the Halloween candy that she keeps sneaking. I swear, the kids in her neighborhood are going to go without sweets from her house, because the only place her chocolate supply is likely to go … is straight to her hips and thighs.

Secondly, … I’m not going to have fun staying here. … Given that I’m new to this government circle, I hardly know anyone. I’m not exactly outgoing, so it’s not likely that I am going to meet people, … and I’m not sure I even want to meet anyone while I’m wearing this stupid outfit!

I sigh and decide that I’ll stay for half an hour, take in enough information to give my friend a respectable report, and then be on my way. In the meantime, I’ll just continue to lurk in this dark corner and hope to go unnoticed.

Speaking of staying unnoticed, I especially don’t want to attract the attention of the strange guy in a gorilla suit who seems to grab unsuspecting victims in something of a big hug and then pulls them across the dance floor in directions that the people don’t necessarily seem inclined to go.

I’m sure the big guy means it all in good fun and entertainment. My bet is that he wants to be mixing things up to keep the night interesting, but I don’t think he realizes how he’s ruining the whole experience for many who just want to be left alone to enjoy the party how they choose and with whom they choose.

Oh, there he goes again! I am witnessing yet another incident of the King Kong wannabe pulling a woman by the hand and thrusting her into the arms of some guy that she sure did not come with. I am again tempted to leave. Do I really need to stay just to tell my friend that I made an effort to mingle and have fun? -- Especially since I have no intention of actually doing either?

But oh … What is this? My eyes suddenly fall upon what can only be described as a handsome specimen of a man. As he heads in my direction, my heart rate momentarily jumps, but after a second I manage to calm myself.

He’s not coming over here to talk to me, and I need to be realistic; the man is good-looking and, just from the way he carries himself, I can tell that he’s successful – not necessarily rich, but he’s good at what he does. And what he does is important and purposeful. A guy like that is surely taken, because if there is one absolute truth in this world it is that a good man like that is always snapped up by some lucky woman very quickly.

So, even without hope that there is some magic spell that’s going to make this ‘god among men’ notice and fall madly in love with me, I decide that there’s no harm in appreciating the view. And so I do.

He’s a tall man. Dark hair, but light-colored eyes. He’s in costume, but it’s relatively ‘normal-looking.’ Not silly at all. Quite attractive, I must say.

He is wearing dark blue pants tucked inside his nearly knee-high black boots. Hanging from his waist is a brown utility belt of some sort with a holster slung down from his hip. The holster, carrying what I assume is some sort of accessory prop gun, connects to another strap circling his right leg just above the knee.

My eyes travel up to his torso. He’s wearing a simple, long-sleeved, off-white pullover shirt with a black cargo vest over top of it. But the thing about the collared shirt that keeps my attention is the open v-neck slit baring the top of this man’s beautiful chest.

I am so mesmerized by this handsome hero coming my way that I am startled when he calls out, “You’re here early, Admiral. … Oh, … I guess I should call you ‘coach’ tonight.”

It’s then that I notice the older man who is being addressed. He’s wearing a baseball cap, … actually a whole baseball uniform, though I would be hard pressed to know what team he’s supposed to be from, … much less what player, … er, coach, he’s supposed to be.

I probably shouldn’t eavesdrop, but … they’re close enough that I’d have to try really hard to not hear them. And I am not moving away from the safety of my shadows.

“I’m hoping to make an early exit as well,” answers the ‘coach.’ “I’m surprised you’re the first one here from my staff.”

“Well, I am occasionally capable of acting responsibly and following orders, sir.”

“I know, Commander. I know.” The response is almost apologetic, and I wonder what prompted the exchange.

Whatever it was is quickly put behind them. In a friendly voice, the younger man states, “It’s actually ‘Captain’ tonight, sir.”

A handsome grin overtakes the hunk’s face. He is so adorable!

“Is that so?” asks the older man, seemingly amused.

“Yes, sir.” Although the grin of the ‘captain’ lessens, his eyes remain alight with the clear message that he is pleased. “I’ve got to hand it to Bud for picking this costume for me. I mean, what could be more perfect than being captain and pilot of my own ship? -- A flying ship that I can take into hyperspeed, no less.”

The ‘coach’ chuckles. “That would make you happy. Knowing Lieutenant Roberts, I’m surprised you aren’t stuck in an alien costume.”

“Oh, I gave Bud a direct order to keep me out of anything involving tentacles, green skin, or the Enterprise symbol – unless it’s of the Navy’s aircraft carrier.”

This time the older man’s laugh was more of a snort. “So, you got out of ‘Star Trek,’ but not out of ‘Star Wars’ …”

“No, … but as I said, I’m not complaining,” the ‘captain’ answers.

I don’t know who this Bud guy is, but I’m certainly not complaining about the costume he picked for the ‘captain’ either.

“Speak of the devil,” says the ‘coach.’ “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. …”

“Jetson,” replies a cheery woman in a knee-length, purple dress that flares out in a conical shape at the bottom. Her tights and ballet-type slippers are also a light purple, but the most notable feature of her costume is the stiff, white triangle collar around her neck.

My favorite eye-candy asks the couple, “Hey, how did you two end up with matching costumes? I thought we were each supposed to have our outfit chosen by whoever drew our name?”

The couple glances at each other, but it is the ‘coach’ who answers. “Commander Turner had to be pulled out of our arrangement since I had to send him overseas. He had originally drawn Harriet’s name from the hat, while I had gotten his name. With him out of our little game, Harriet needed someone else to choose her costume.”

The ‘captain’ looks at the baseball figure. “Well, that task would have gone to you then, sir, wouldn’t it?”

“I deferred to Colonel MacKenzie. Since she had already picked Lieutenant Roberts’ name in our little costume lottery, I figured it would be convenient for her to choose for his wife as well.”

“So you got out of selecting a costume?” the ‘captain’ notes with a raised eyebrow.

The ‘baseball coach’ smiles. “Admiral’s privilege.”

“So, Mac gave you guys the Jetsons, huh?” the tall, handsome man then asks the couple.

‘Mr. Jetson,’ is dressed in a white shirt which has a small block of three horizontal black lines printed on the front and the collar turned up. He has a bright green belt on over his light blue pants. But, of course, what makes his outfit are the space boots … and the orangey color spray that is temporarily tingeing his hair.

“Yeah,” the embodiment of the cartoon man from the future replies, “the Colonel thought I’d like it because of the science-fiction connection.”

“And it’s a bonus that we get to have matching costumes as husband and wife,” adds ‘Mrs. Jetson.’

“Considering she outranks you both, Mac was very kind to you,” the gorgeous ‘captain’ notes.

“The Colonel is always kind, sir,” responds ‘Mr. Jetson,’ slightly defensive of the absent Colonel.

“I know, Bud,” concedes the ‘captain,’ before amending, “… Unless you’re opposing counsel.”

There is that wonderful, jesting smile of his again. … Did he say ‘opposing counsel?’ Does that mean these are people are lawyers?

“Yes, sir,” the shorter man happily replies. “She had actually teased that she would dress me as a pirate and replace my prosthesis with an authentic wooden peg leg.” He shakes his head. “As if dancing wasn’t already nearly impossible for me … even before my accident.”

By this time, I have picked up on the fact that this ‘Mr. Jetson’ is actually named Bud, but now I am really curious as to what kind of accident he had.

“Look at the bright side, honey,” his wife jokes, “no one can accuse you of having two left feet anymore.”

With a smile, he responds, “Considering that my right foot is missing altogether, that is definitely true. I only have one left, … literally.”

The group chuckles at that.

Wow, I would never have guessed that this Bud guy was missing a foot. Yes, he has a limp, but who could tell that under one of those space boots was a prosthetic limb? I find myself glad that he can joke about something like that.

It seems like he has a very supportive wife, too. You know, I envy the happy couple: Bud and Harriet. I know her name from the conversation too. I haven’t figured out the name of the ‘baseball coach’ yet, other than ‘Admiral,’ but maybe that is the extent of how he is referred to.

Which leaves my beloved ‘captain’ nameless. I’m still not even sure who he is supposed to be in that costume. They mentioned ‘Star Wars’ though. I’ll bet he’s that guy that Harrison Ford played. Was he a captain? He flew a ship, right? What was his name?

“Is Ms. Cavanaugh here, sir?” Harriet asks the Admiral.

“No, one of her colleagues is giving a Shakespeare lecture that she has to attend.” His eyes, with what seems to be some concern, dart about the room. “She said she would meet me here if it finished early.”

“No sign of her?” ‘Mrs. Jetson’ follows up.

“Mmnn.” The Admiral shakes his head. “I could have sworn I saw her earlier though, … over with the guy in the gorilla suit. I must be getting delusional in my old age,” he chuckles with a self-deprecating smile. “I haven’t seen her since. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me.”

“Probably just wishful thinking, sir. That happens at any age,” Harriet assured him.

“What’s the story with that gorilla anyhow?” my beloved ‘captain’ asks.

“Scuttlebutt is that he’s a very powerful man in this circle,” answers the Admiral. Then the ‘baseball coach’ seems to warn, in almost a whisper, “Keep your eye on him, Harm.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harm? His name is Harm? Well, that’s unusual. I wonder if it’s short for something … or if it’s a nickname because he’s somehow dangerous? He is military, after all, so being dangerous could be a compliment. Or maybe it’s because he’s a heartbreaker, … because I am certain that he has women falling in love with him all the time, whether he encourages it or not.

Harriet interrupts my thoughts, as she asks Harm, “How about you, sir? Did you bring someone tonight?”

“Nope, I’m solo tonight.”

That’s surprising. His girlfriend or wife is brave enough to leave this guy unaccompanied?

“Sir,” Bud interjects, “Harriet knows that you’re Solo tonight, but she wants to know if you brought a date.” The Mr. Jetson look-a-like is obviously proud of his joke.

“Funny, Bud.” Harm shakes his head and silently laughs. “By the way, thank you for picking the Han Solo costume for me. As science-fiction characters go, this one isn’t half-bad.”

Han Solo! That’s the name I was trying think of. And now I get the joke.

“It seemed like a good fit,” Bud admits. “But strictly speaking, ‘Star Wars’ is actually more of a myth or a fantasy story than science-fiction.”

The comment earns Bud some strange looks, and he defends his statement. “Science-fiction is about the possibilities of the future, with development of technology and the discovery of new worlds … or human capabilities that are … unnatural as far as we know so far.”

“Isn’t ‘Star Wars’ full of space aliens, super Jedi powers, and advanced technology - like hyper-speed and light sabers?” asks the Admiral.

“Yes, sir. But it’s not futuristic,” insists Bud. “It takes place ‘a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.’ That’s just another way of saying ‘once upon a time.’ ‘Star Wars’ is really just a fairy tale that happens to be set in space. The Jedi powers aren’t that much different than the magical powers of wizards in those fairy tales, and the strange alien characters are just like … ogres or trolls.”

“Huh. I never thought of it that way before,” remarks Harriet.

Yeah, me either.

“It is kind of a romantic fairy tale,” decides Bud’s wife.

“Bud, do me a favor,” insists Harm, “and don’t spread it around that I’m dressed as a fairy tale character tonight.”

A new male voice enters the conversation. “Why not? You’ve always liked playing the hero and saving the damsel in distress.”

I almost laugh at the primitive costume of the new arrival. I respect homemade outfits created with care and creativity, but this … is a white bed sheet with disproportionate, uneven, and misshaped eyeholes cut in it.

“Mr. Webb?” Bud asks of the ghost.

“Not a word,” the man under the sheet cautions against any teasing comments.

“No, it’s … a classic,” Bud assures him.

“One I have Harm here to thank for,” the ghost replies with what I am sure is a glare under that sheet.

“Hey, this party was your idea,” replies ‘Han Solo,’ “and you agreed to the picking of each other’s costumes based on drawing names.” There is clearly some underlying tension between my hero and this ghost-man.

“It could be worse, Webb; he could have put you in tights,” the Admiral points out.

“I thought about it,” admits Harm, clearly enjoying this. “But in the end, I figured that this was most appropriate … since you are a spook and all.”

Spook? I’m not sure what he means by that, but it sounds like an insult.

The Webb guy adjusts the sheet over his face again. “Yeah, this costume is perfect,” he says sarcastically. “It’s difficult to see out of, the eyeholes keep moving, and I’ve nearly tripped over the damned sheet three times already! Not exactly an ideal outfit for doing surveillance.”

“But your identity is well hidden,” Harm argues.

“Not if someone steps on my sheet while I’m walking and I end up uncovered. The last I thing I need is certain bad guys coming after me.”

“Well, then you’d better be nice,” says Harm, “if you expect me to play the hero and save your butt. … Despite your earlier statement, it’s not only damsels in distress that I tend to help out. Although, I do admit that I have always found it far more satisfying to save a gracious woman than any of the numerous times I’ve had to come to your rescue.”

I find myself suddenly inclined to put myself in a position of distress just to get this man’s attention, … but then I remember my stupid costume. Embarrassment gets the better of my desire to meet this hero, and I remind myself that I should just be happy enjoying the view.

I notice that it is an awkward moment among the group that has been entertaining me.

Apparently Bud decides to help get past the moment with some more science fiction trivia … or is it fairy tale?

“You know,” he offers, “Han Solo’s character actually saved Luke more than he saved Leia. And in ‘A New Hope,’ it was Luke who literally got to play the role of the ‘white knight in shining armor,’ when he went to get the princess. He even got to say the ‘I’m here to rescue you’ line.”

“That’s right, Leia was a princess, wasn’t she?” Harriet seems to realize. I think she is trying to help her husband bring the conversation back to safe topics. “‘Star Wars’ really does have a lot of fairy tale elements.”

Harm makes a funny face at that. “Princess Leia wasn’t exactly a conventional fairy tale princess.”

“That’s true,” Bud acknowledges. “It was actually Princess Leia who went to rescue Han after he was frozen in the carbon chamber. And she’s the one who kills Jabba.”

“Speaking of unconventional princesses,” the guy under the bed sheet interrupts, “has anyone seen Colonel MacKenzie?” Mr. Webb presses the holes in the sheet close to his eyes in an attempt to look around.

“Not yet,” Harm quickly answers. “… And why do you say, ‘speaking of princesses’? … You didn’t …?”

Mr. Webb apparently doesn’t care about people recognizing him after all, because he pulls the front of the sheet up and over his head, letting the white material drape around his shoulders. Is that a three-piece-suit he’s got on under that bed sheet?

“I drew her name; I chose the outfit,” the man says, a bit snidely in my opinion.

Bud seems surprised. “You put Colonel MacKenzie in a princess costume?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mr. Webb responds.

“Nothing,” Bud answers. “She’ll be beautiful. It’s just … she’s a Marine.”

I am trying to imagine a female Marine dressed as a princess. I picture a big, stocky woman stuffed in a pink, flowery dress, and a cone hat with a scarf hanging from it. The thought makes me silently giggle.

“The kind of princess with a tiara?” asks Harm.

The response does not come from Mr. Webb, but from Harriet who is looking at the doorway with an expression of awe. “Not exactly.”

I follow her gaze to see who she is looking at, and I am shocked. The woman coming into the dancehall is no stocky, awkward woman. She is nothing short of gorgeous. And her outfit, well, … I take a quick overview of the people in the room and find that every man looking her direction is salivating.

Normally, this kind of outfit, primarily designed to appeal to men’s sexual appetites, would sicken me, but something about the sophistication of the woman wearing it brings a certain amount of class to the metal and leather costume. Although her bearing is confident enough, she is visibly uncomfortable with the eyes upon her, and I immediately know that this is not a costume that she would have ever picked on her own.

It is not the armored aspect of the attire that bothers her; it’s the sheer sex appeal that is making her self-conscious. In a way, I don’t blame her. I don’t think I would be caught dead in that outfit; I’d be way too embarrassed. On the other hand, if I had a body like hers … Well, there is certainly nothing for her to be ashamed of. And it’s not as if she’s really flaunting anything.

The basis of the outfit is a skimpy, brown leather dress, with a very short Roman pleated style skirt. Her breasts are adorned by metal armor that accents her cleavage. Her arms are bare with the exception of several leather armbands. The knee-high boots also appear to be made of dark brown, leather material. Between the two elegant shoulder guards is a metal back piece to which a weapon is attached.

The woman approaches the cluster of people who I’ve been watching.

“Wow, Colonel.” It is Harriet who speaks. I’m not surprised. The men in the group are still trying to restart the cognitive portions of their brains.

The stunning woman looks at her apparent colleagues and lightly complains, “Why does no one else in this group have a costume that leaves them half naked?”

After a beat, Harm kicks himself into responsiveness. “Because no one else had Webb pick their costume?” he ventures a little snidely, an obvious dig at the other man.

“… Which is probably a good thing,” says Bud. He suddenly gets a panicked face and quickly clarifies, “A good thing that none of the rest of us are half-naked, … not that Mr. Webb didn’t pick our costumes. … It’s just that us being half-naked is not a sight others want to see.”

Oh, I beg to differ. I have no objections if the ‘captain’ wants to rid himself of that vest and shirt.

Bud seems to realize that in making sure his comment didn’t offend Mr. Webb’s choice of costumes, he may have inadvertently insulted some of the others about their physique, … namely his own wife, so he quickly adds, “… At least, no one wants to see me half-naked. …”

Before he can stick that one foot he’s got in his mouth anymore, he is interrupted by a comment being made to the new woman.

“You look wonderful,” observes the man with the bed sheet around his shoulders. “I knew you would be beautiful in that costume, Sarah.”

“And cold.” She rubs her hands over the uncovered portions of her arms.

“I could warm you up.”

Oh, please. Could this ‘spooky’ man be any more obvious?

Apparently, I am not the only one annoyed by the forwardness of this man, because a moment later my hero tells the guy, “I guess you’ve made me a lucky man this evening, Clayton.”

“How is that?” Mr. Webb asks, seeming disturbed at the suggestion.

“With this costume, she has to stick with me tonight.” At the confused looks, Harm explains, “I’m Han Solo. She’s Princess Leia.”

“No, she isn’t,” protests Mr. Webb.

The woman, herself, is shaking her head no in confirmation.

“Well, she looks like it. Bud, help me out. That, … what, … third movie? … Doesn’t Leia wear something like this?”

“Uh, … her slave outfit. It’s similar in its … uh, sparse … um … metal … coverings.”

As Bud awkwardly stumbles through the sentence he makes things worse by cupping his hands over his chest, indicating breasts. He quickly puts his hands down in embarrassment. “But, um, … if she were Leia, her hair wouldn’t be down like it is …”

“And if I were in a slave outfit, … I wouldn’t have one of these.” The Colonel reaches over her shoulder and pulls the costume sword out from its sheath on her back.

Playfully, she brings the weapon up to the chest of the handsome ‘captain.’ She slowly draws the blade upwards, outlining the deep, v-shaped slit in Harm’s shirt. … Yeah, she’s noticed that asset of his gorgeous chest peeking out, just as I have.

Even from here, I can see Harm swallow hard when the fake blade reaches his neck. But, he quickly covers over any of that nervousness, … nervousness which I am sure has nothing to do with the innocent costume accessory and everything to do with the woman holding it.

He puts his hands part way up in mock surrender, but verbally defends himself. “Webb said you were dressed as a princess. What princess, other than Leia, has been dressed like … that?”

“She’s Xena,” Mr. Webb reveals impatiently. I get the feeling he is not too pleased at the attention the woman is bestowing on the handsome ‘Han Solo.’ But who could blame her? The ‘captain’ versus sheet boy? It’s no contest.

“Xena?” Harm questions.

“The Warrior Princess.” Webb is smiling at Harm arrogantly. “It’s perfect for her. Shows her beauty, her royal presence, and her … fighting ability.”

“I don’t need an outfit like this to show that I can handle battle,” says the woman. “There’s a reason Marines dress in inconspicuous uniforms.”

“I don’t know, Colonel,” the Admiral playfully muses. “If we dressed up all our female Marines in uniforms like that, I’m sure it would give us some kind of advantage over the enemies. … A good distraction to throw them off their game, if nothing else.”

“Respectfully, sir,” she smiles in amusement, “I think it would do more to throw off the concentration of the red-blooded, American men in our own troops.”

“Touché, Colonel.” He smiles in acquiescence. “You’re probably right about that.”

Mr. Webb makes a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got a rendezvous to make.” Looking at the Colonel, he tells her, “I’ll try to make sure to get at least one dance in with my date tonight.” He kisses her on the cheek.

“Oh, well, you’ll have to bring her by,” the Colonel purposefully avoids the man’s obvious meaning in referring to herself. “I’d love for you to introduce me to her.”

I’m just trying to figure out if she really is supposed to be going out with this guy or not. I simply can’t picture her with mister-three-piece-suit.

“Sarah,” Mr. Webb objects.

“Don’t ‘Sarah’ me, Clayton. … We are not dating.”

Aha! I knew she couldn’t be involved with this man. My eyes, naturally returning to look at my favorite man, notice some relief on his face. And something more.

If I’m not mistaken, I have figured out why ‘Captain Han’ came ‘solo’ this evening. I modify my earlier assumption that he has a wife or girlfriend somewhere else. He is taken. … Whether the Colonel knows it or not, it’s by her.

“Excuse us, a moment.” Mr. Webb tugs on Sarah’s arm and pulls her a few feet away from the group, but inadvertently closer to me.

“You’re mad,” he states flatly. Then, with a slightly miffed expression, he says to her, “… I thought you understood that being involved with me means that things can’t always be ideal.”

“I’m not mad,” she says, and I believe her. She continues, “You and I are not involved, and … a date usually consists of two people coming to an event together and sharing each other’s company throughout the evening.”

I glance over at Harm. He is eyeing the exchange with special interest, and I do believe that he is pleased with the Colonel’s obvious abruptness with the ghost-guy. Mm-hmm … This supports my theory.

“I came alone,” she states, beginning to apply the facts. I recall Harm’s earlier mention of being counsel, so I can only assume that this is her very effective closing argument tone. “And I will be spending the evening with my friends and colleagues.” She firmly concludes, “I’m not on any date tonight.”

She has said this last part while stepping back to the group, which causes Mr. Webb’s reply to be louder than their previous exchange.

“I’m working,” he insists, arguing as to why he can’t spend time with her. He must realize that his comment was rather loud, because he suddenly looks embarrassed that he has attracted attention.

“I know,” is her simple response.

For a moment there is silence among the group.

A throat clears. “Speaking of working … What are we doing here, Webb?” The question comes from the Admiral.

Very quickly the mask of all business falls upon the man in the three-piece-suit and bed sheet, who I can only conclude is an agent of some sort. “As I told you all earlier, the details are ‘need to know.’ We just require your presence tonight and ask that you keep your eyes open.”

“Anyone in particular we should watch? That gorilla, perhaps?” the Admiral asks as a follows up.

“No.” Mr. Webb’s answer is adamant. “Don’t interfere with him; just ignore him the best you can, but if he should approach you, listen to him.” His eyes flick to Sarah.

Harm’s eyes, on the other hand, glare at the agent man suspiciously. “You work for him, don’t you?”

Mr. Webb dryly answers, “In a way, we all do.”

Well, that’s cryptic. Who the heck is in that gorilla suit?

The man in the suit and the white sheet gets a message on his phone. “I’ve got to go.” He reminds them, “Keep yourselves visible.”

“You mean vulnerable,” interprets Sarah.

“They tend to be one in the same,” is the answer.

“Is that really what you want?” Harm asks the ‘spooky’ guy.

He is met with a harsh stare from the agent, who responds, “What I want? No.”

I get the feeling the ‘ghost’ is not talking about these people staying visible. This suspicion is confirmed a second later.

“I’d rather be enjoying some time alone with Sarah tonight,” complains Mr. Webb.

“But with her in that outfit, no doubt,” Harm accuses.

“I’d be happy with her out of it.”

“Clayton,” Sarah responds sternly. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

His name is Clayton?

“What are we doing here, Webb?” asks Admiral, trying to get back to business.

“I told you. Need to know. But believe me, you are serving a greater good, … a greater purpose, this evening.”

The ‘baseball coach’ starts to look like he’s about to go after an ump for a bad call. “How the hell are we supposed to accomplish anything if we don’t know what our purpose is?”

“Because I’m telling you,” says Mr. Webb, “– just stay visible and accessible.”

Clayton puts the sheet over his head and disappears into the crowd.

Okay. Another awkward moment.

“Anyone want to dance?” asks Harriet, clearly attempting to move things along.

Bud looks at his wife apologetically. “… I can’t.”

“Well, my since my date is not here,” says the Admiral, “I’d be honored to have a dance you, ‘Mrs. Jetson.’ … If it’s ok with your husband?”

“Of course, sir,” answers Bud.

The Admiral leads Harriet to the dance floor. Bud looks between Harm and Sarah, and probably sensing some of the same tension I am picking up on, he decides to excuse himself. “I’m going to take this opportunity to get a drink. I’m a little thirsty,” he says. “Can I get either of you anything?”

Harm answers, “No thanks, Bud.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Just get whatever you want,” Sarah agrees.

Bud leaves the two very good looking people alone in front of me.

Sarah breaks the silence. “I can’t believe you put him in a bed sheet.”

Harm shrugs, and explains, “Webb said he needed to be ‘under cover.’”

My dear ‘captain’ is a comedian too, I see. I am impressed, and although the Colonel rolls her eyes, I believe she enjoys Harm’s sense of humor as well.

I think that she is hung up on Harm as much as he is hung up on her, so the mystery to me is why they are not together. I wonder if they were an item, but had some sort of falling out? I’ll bet it was some kind of misunderstanding blown out of proportion.

After another moment, Sarah suggests, “Maybe we should dance, too? No place is more visible than the dance floor.”

“You’re sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? … For the sake of tonight’s mission, right?” I wonder if he can tell that she is rationalizing. She wants him to dance with her, but doesn’t want him to know that she does.

“Whatever that mission may be.” He scans the room. “Let’s head over to the entrance area. That’s where King Kong seems to be focused.”

“Webb asked us to leave the giant primate alone,” she points out.

“Exactly. … Following Webb’s instructions is never a good idea. I want to know what the gorilla is up to. The ape has been rather aggressive in ‘embracing’ people, especially women, and leading them around tonight. We should head over and see if he grabs you.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Are you trying to throw me into his arms, Harm?”

“What? Can’t ‘Xena’ handle an oversized orangutan?” he teases.

She sighs and relents. “Alright.”

---

TBC ...

A/N: The rest should be posted within the next few days. I've just got to firm up the ending. What do you think so far?

By the way, if you haven't checked out my website lately, three stories have been added this month by other authors for the JAGged lines challenges. www.geocities.com/teacupofjag/
It would be nice to leave them a comment if you like the stories (so they are encouraged to write more!)