Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

A/N: This one's so completely farfetched, just having some fun. Please note that I don't know anything about horticulture or police procedure, so don't take me to task on any inaccuracies. And wow did I have to dig deep in the ol' noggin to find some of the nouns used here. It's amazing what a brain accumulates after a couple of decades of paying attention...

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Secret Admirer

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The gifts had started coming to his office exactly two weeks before Valentine's Day. One gift every day for fourteen days, accompanied by a note that simply said: 'Will you be my Valentine?'. Every gift was different, ranging from stuffed animals to brain teasers to those joke-a-day calendars, but each came with a single long-stemmed, red rose. With the thorns still attached. He supposed, with the benefit of hindsight, that the thorns should have tipped him off. They hadn't though, at the time. Not even slightly. He'd been too busy feeling just a little bit embarrassed – especially given the teasing he'd suffered at the hands of Mac and Sturgis – and just a wee little bit smugly self-satisfied, to question the presence of thorns. It wasn't every day one found oneself being admired by a generous giver of gifts. He really hadn't any idea as to who this admirer could be, although he would admit that he'd given it some thought. Well, a lot of thought.

And then today, Valentine's Day, his gift had come with its customary long-stemmed red rose – thorns included – and a note asking him if he was willing to meet his admirer. Of course he was, he'd thought. Stupid question. He was nothing if not curious; he hated unanswered questions on an almost personal level. And he really wanted to meet the woman who'd been sending him sweet little gifts and one long-stemmed red rose – thorns included – everyday for the past two weeks.

A tiny little part of him had, for all of five seconds, contemplated the possibility that Mac was his secret admirer before categorically rejecting it. Mac was not the kind to give roses and gifts as tokens of love. At least, he didn't think she was. Besides, she'd have to be a really good actress to be able to pull it off, which he didn't think she was: she still did that lip upturn thing. So he'd ruled Mac out, after about five seconds of serious consideration. Imagine his surprise, then, when the note asked him to show up at her apartment at 1900 sharp that very night.

He'd read the message and automatically looked towards Mac's office. She was out for the day, a fact of which he was completely aware, but he couldn't help his automatic response. Nor could he help the stupid, smug, happy grin that'd lit his face like a string of Christmas lights. He'd carried that stupid, smug, happy grin around all day, and his wee little bit of arrogance had morphed into a gargantuan beast of arrogance; an uncontrollable, riotous fiend that could not be tamed.

Sitting here on a chair in the middle of Mac's apartment, he could admit that his intractable, exorbitant arrogance may have fed into his somewhat abundant ego. He could also admit that his ego had led him to devise wonderfully devilish strategies to tease Mac well into their graves – he planned on reserving neighbouring plots for them, of course. How could he not tease her? Sending him little tokens of affection and long-stemmed red roses every day for the two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day! It was such a ... girly thing to do. Not something he ever thought his no-nonsense, practical, fiery, take-no-prisoners, kick ass jarhead would stoop to.

She thought he was arrogant – or as he liked to call it: 'took pride in his achievements and capabilities', really a minor semantic point – and had often called him on it. In fact, she did her level best to keep him, well, level-headed. That in itself should have tipped him off. But he'd been too busy smiling like the Rockefeller Christmas tree, trying to find ways to needle Mac for being such a girl, and imagining the many ways this night could conclude – all of which included a bed and an absence of clothing. Well, all of which included an absence of clothing; he wasn't that picky. As he now sat in the middle of Mac's apartment, a dull pain throbbing at the base of his skull, a blindfold over his eyes, hands tied behind his back, ankles bound to the legs of the chair he was sitting on, it occurred to him that perhaps the thorns really should have been the first tip-off.

Hindsight.

But, no matter: this wasn't the first time his pride and arrogance had gotten him into a sticky situation. And it wouldn't be the first time his quick wits and Houdini-like ability to escape sticky situations would save his skin. He wondered where Mac was, and hoped it was someplace very far away so he could extract himself from this sticky situation without putting her in any kind of danger. Women who blindfolded you and tied you to a chair were, he would hazard to guess, not the friendliest people. Mac would be safe as long as she was far, far away.

Harm heard the soft thudding of feet slowly nearing him. It sounded like there was only one other person in the apartment with him. He listened carefully as the footsteps halted in front of him. To his relatively untrained ear this woman, whoever she was, had a heavy step. He'd been hit from behind as soon as he'd entered the apartment, so he hadn't seen his assailant.

He felt the blindfold loosen, then drop around his neck. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light. What he saw when his vision focused didn't exactly give him a heart attack, but it did make him wish he'd already reserved those plots at the cemetery. It wasn't wise to leave that kind of thing to the last minute.

Harm studied his apparent admirer, unsure how to react. It was a man. A man who was perhaps even taller than Harm and incredibly burly. A man who was also, Harm noted, hairy. In fact, he was very very hairy. His eyebrows ... well, it was more of a unibrow: his unibrow was a thick tuft of dark brown hair that was set in a straight line above his eyes. His hair sat in thick, messy clumps on his head. Harm would guess that the Godzilla in front of him hadn't brushed his hair in at least a few months, and his fingers twitched at the sight of the unruly mess. He wondered how many combs the man had lost in there. His arms were also very hairy. And his knuckles; Harm tried not to visibly cringe. The stranger had a thick nose, even thicker lips and the thickest eyes – if eyes could be qualified as thick – Harm had ever seen. And, to boot, he was wearing a full suit with a rose pinned to the breast pocket. Harm wondered, in an oddly detached sort of way, if the thorns had been removed.

That's when the reality of the situation hit him full force.

A man had been sending him sweet little gifts and long-stemmed red roses – thorns included – for the past two weeks? Ew. Harm suddenly needed to take a very long, very hot shower and scrub off a few layers of skin.

Harm cleared his throat, swallowed once and prayed he was stuck in a horribly terribly bizarre dream from which he would wake any minute now.

"Ah, you're not my type?" He voiced the first thought that came to mind. He couldn't decide whether to be worried about the situation, or laugh at the absurdity of it. A man had sent him those gifts, then lured him to Mac's apartment? He could feel the bruise left by the blow to his ego.

The Juggernaut's brows lowered in a frown, his eyes narrowed in a scowl, and his lips lifted in a menacing grimace. It was not a pleasant sight.

Harm had never quite been at such a loss. Why the hell did Bigfoot want to meet him in Mac's apartment? It didn't make much sense. For the first time since he'd surfaced from the daze he'd unceremoniously been thrust into by a blow to the head, it occurred to Harm that Mac might be in the apartment. He searched the room, trying to appear unconcerned. He noted with relief she wasn't here: her winter coat and boots were both absent. She was out. Thank god. At least he didn't have to worry about her.

Now he just had to get himself out of this sticky situation before she came home. Or wake up from this strange dream.

"Ah," he gave a nervous laugh he hoped would ease the tension, or at least loosen the disconcerting expression of malice pasted onto the other man's face. "Why don't you untie me..."

An ominous snarl rumbled in Encino Man's throat. It was not a pleasant sound.

Harm kept his smile firmly in place. He would wake up any minute now. He really hoped Mac was far, far away.

Harm tried again. "Alright then. Why don't you tell me what you, eh, want, and we can discuss our options, man to man."

No reply. Now Harm was just getting pissed. Did Jabba the Hutt ever speak? He could at least do Harm the courtesy of telling him why the hell he'd tied him to a chair.

"Look," Harm kept a tenuous grasp on his patience, "I can help you, but first you need to tell me what you want."

"The lady who lives here," the Orc began, his low growl somehow managing to boom in Mac's apartment.

Harm stiffened in his seat, an angry glare instinctively setting his face to stone. Hell would freeze over and the devil would sell timeshares to a ski resort before that ever happened.

"Ms. MacKenzie." The Gargoyle stated.

Harm's only response was to deepen his glare.

"She is nice to me, she always smiles," Hammerhead's face had taken on a dreamy expression that seemed oddly out of place amidst all the unruly hair and thick features and the rolling thunder of his voice. "She has a pretty smile," He praised, before his eyes fell on Harm. His expression transformed into an alarming glower, and his words stampeded through the room like a herd of angry hippos. "Except when you are with her. Then she doesn't notice me."

Harm swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the motion. Oh, boy. This was not going to be pleasant.

"I followed Ms. MacKenzie to work..." The stampeding hippos picked up their pace.

Harm's eyes widened. Turk Fezzik here was following Mac around and she didn't even notice? Some Marine. They were going to have a long conversation, the two of them, once he extricated himself from this sticky situation.

"...and you work together. And you," The Troglodyte spat ferociously, "Come home with her..."

"Ah, look." Harm decided it might be best to interrupt the man's fulminating fury before the stampeding herd of angry hippos trampled him. "I'm not involved with Mac—"

"I'm not stupid!" Gigantes bellowed, his voice echoed in the room and Harm tried not to cringe under the auditory assault. Who the hell was this guy? At least he hadn't made any move towards violence.

"Listen—" Harm tried again, but was again interrupted.

"I'm here every evening and every morning," The Oaf thundered, "shovelling the snow off Ms. MacKenzie's walkway! Clearing the ice! She always smiles! Except when you are here! You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have come." He warned ominously.

Harm stared at the man, his jaw hanging open. So the man was seriously unhinged, apparently. He took Mac's friendly greetings to a stranger who shovelled her walk as a sign of romantic interest. Although, Harm could concede that Mac's smile – even the one she usually gave to strangers – was warm and friendly and simply stunning. But that was nothing compared to the smile she sometimes gave him: slow and sweet, full of wonder and affection ... he sighed happily. That was some smile...

Harm realized that Stay Puft was looking at him askance. It was only then that he realized his thoughts had wandered somewhat from the issue at hand. He cleared his throat and put his angry glare back in place. It was then that his captor's words sunk in.

"Wait." Harm frowned, "Then why am I here?" He asked. It was a perfectly reasonable question, Harm thought. What kind of psycho would lure his main competition to the object of his affection's apartment on Valentine's Day – hell, on any day for that matter – of all places?

"Because you came here," The Behemoth pointed out, frowning his confusion, looking at Harm as though he was the lowest common denominator in this equation.

Harm stared at the man. What the hell kind of answer was that? The Hulk looked right back at him, engaging him in a silent staring contest.

"You told me to come here." Harm said testily.

"Did not." Bezerker retorted.

"Did too –" Harm shook his head, refusing to let this conversation degenerate any further. "In that note you sent me this morning," Harm clarified.

"I sent notes to Ms. MacKenzie. Not to you." The hippos were once again getting restless.

Oh. That explained quite a bit. Harm felt an inexpressible sense of relief at the fact that Cronus here was a few prongs short of a rake. Otherwise Mac would have come home alone to find an intruder waiting for her in her living room, and Harm would've been the one who was far, far away.

Harm opened his mouth to say something, even though he wasn't quite sure what to say, when he heard the slight click of a key being inserted in a lock. They both turned to look at the front door. Shit. Mac was home. Harm began to panic. He inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to warn her, but before even a sound could escape, Rocksteady hurled himself at Harm, yanked the blindfold around his mouth to keep him from saying anything, and then threw the throw that lay across the back of the couch over him, completely covering him. After chocking on his words for a moment, Harm stared in shock at the patchwork throw that covered him. What the hell was Bebop up to? Did he really think that a blanket would suddenly make him invisible to Mac?

Harm heard the door open, and Mac enter – he could recognize her footsteps anywhere. He tried his best to warn her, a little belatedly, but couldn't see with the throw covering him and couldn't speak beyond muffled groans due to the cloth tied around his mouth.

"Adam!" He heard Mac exclaim. He could detect the suspicion and confusion in her voice, but not a hint fear; that was his Marine. "What are you doing in my apartment?" Her tone was cautious.

Harm tried to pull his wrists free, without much success.

"Hello, Ms. MacKenzie." Harm rolled his eyes at the reply. Who knew Thor here could actually rein his thunderous voice into a syrupy, lovesick simper.

Harm rocked back and forth in his seat, causing the legs of the chair to scrape and knock against the hardwood floor. He heard Mac's sharp intake of breath, and could picture her eyes narrowing. He wondered if she carried a gun in her purse, but the thought seemed ludicrous, even to him.

"Uh, Adam: what's that?" Harm thought she sounded more curious than anything else, and wondered if it was an act. Wasn't she concerned for her safety?

"Nothing, Ms. MacKenzie." The not-so-jolly, not-so-green Giant said with an adoring giggle. If Harm wasn't gagged, he would've gagged.

He heard Mac's lighter footsteps quickly near him, followed hastily by Beast's heavier tread. He prayed that Hagrid wouldn't hurt Mac.

In a quick move, the cover was pulled off of Harm and he came face to face – well face to chest but he respectfully looked up – with a very surprised Mac.

"Harm? What are you doing here?" She asked with genuine confusion. Harm fought his automatic eye roll. What the hell did she think he was doing here? He was about to ask her that very question, when he remembered that he was gagged. Mac noted his predicament and immediately rushed to untie the piece of cloth. Harm opened and closed his mouth a couple times to re-adjust his jaw, then glared at the Colossus standing behind Mac.

"He tied me up." Harm accused impatiently. "Untie me." He demanded.

Mac looked to the two-eyed Cyclops who, much to Harm's surprise, was shuffling his feet contritely under her questioning gaze. It occurred to Harm that the Goliath in Mac's living room was largely harmless – at least when it came to Mac. It was a comforting thought.

"Adam?" Mac said in her most matronly voice, which corroborated Harm's conclusion: she didn't seem in the least afraid of Adam, just worried.

"He's trouble, Ms. MacKenzie." The Minotaur stated with bowed head. "He stole the gifts I sent to you." He threw an accusing glare at Harm.

"Gifts?" Mac questioned, looking from Harm to Megatron.

"For Valentine's Day." Gargantua replied, looking bashful.

Harm watched Mac blanch, looking very uncomfortable. "Uh..."

"My thoughts exactly," Harm muttered. Then, a bit more loudly, he again demanded, "Untie me."

Mac started from her daze and glanced at Harm before looking at the Ogre.

"I'm going to untie my friend, okay Adam? Then he can leave, and you and I can have a cup of tea together. Is that okay?" She asked carefully. Harm was about to protest when Mac squeezed his shoulder and threw him a pointed glare.

"Okay, Ms. MacKenzie. But," the Troll pointed a threatening finger at Harm, "He has to leave."

"He will, Adam," Mac assured as she finally untied Harm. Her look was enough for him to hold his tongue, but he wished Elephantine Man would leave the room so he could have a word with Mac about being on a first name basis with dangerous strangers.

"All done. Now my friend is going to leave," She emphasized the last word – more for his benefit than the Whale's, Harm guessed, "And you and I can have some tea."

She took Harm's elbow to help him stand. Once she was certain he wasn't going to fall – those binds on his ankles had been rather tight – she shoved him towards the door.

"Go call the super." She whispered to him as they walked towards the front door, all the while smiling at the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

"What?" Harm tried to keep his tone equally quiet.

"Do it." And with that, she pushed him out the door before shutting it on his retreating back.

Once outside, Harm ripped out his cell phone and called the cops, ignoring Mac's order. Call the super? He sometimes thought he'd never figure out what went on in that head of hers. Harm kept an attentive ear on the door, ready to charge in at the first sound of trouble.

After waiting for hours with his ear to the front door – his watch, oddly, indicated only six minutes had passed, he'd have to have it checked – a handful of uniformed officers finally arrived.

Harm waited another few hours for the cops to get their asses inside the door and apprehend the Brogdingnagian in Mac's apartment. This time, his watch indicated only three minutes had elapsed – he definitely needed to have it checked.

Once the cops emerged with the cuffed Blaberus, Harm rushed into the apartment to make sure Mac had survived the encounter none the worse for the wear.

He found her being questioned by a police officer, standing by the now empty chair. He walked over to the pair and stood beside Mac who was in the middle of answering a question.

"...Adam's gifts were accidentally delivered to the Commander," she waved a hand towards him, "So Harm came here tonight thinking ... uh..." She suddenly trailed off and threw a curious, surprised glance at Harm.

"Colonel? It's alright." The officer, misinterpreting Mac's hesitation, tried to be supportive, "Take your time."

"Huh?" She turned back to look at the officer – to Harm's immediate relief – and shook her head absently. "No, I'm okay. Where was I?"

"Adam sent you gifts, or tried to," the officer prompted.

"Right. Well, you'd have to talk to the Commander about the gifts. Adam's the super's son. I see him around all the time. He shovels the walk in front of the building, rakes the leaves, mows the lawn; that kind of thing. I'm telling you: he's not dangerous. I really don't think he intended to hurt me, or even thought that I saw him as a threat. I mean, he did ask me to come to my own apartment. I could have easily called the cops instead of showing up. Or called his father for that matter."

Harm tried to keep the vein in his forehead from bursting. Ginormasaurus lived in her building? Was her super's son? For the love of god. And she told him that he attracted danger like flies to honey. Hypocrite.

"The thorns were still on the roses, Mac." Harm pointed out irritably; would she ever acknowledge that she wasn't invincible.

Mac and the officer both looked at him with slightly confused expressions. Harm sighed.

"That's an implied threat," he elaborated with exaggerated patience, for the benefit of the class. Mac rolled her eyes in response.

"While you were in the hallway calling the cops instead of the super like I'd said," She began, mimicking his tone, "Adam told me he cut the roses from a backyard greenhouse that's between here and the courier's a couple of blocks north. I don't think he gave the thorns much thought, Harm."

Harm was about to point out that Mac tended to make huge assumptions about the level of danger she faced on a regular basis, and that she should at least step out of the glass house before throwing rocks, when the cop cut in.

"Ah, thank you, Colonel." The officer looked from Harm to Mac, obviously sensing the undercurrent of tension. Welcome to the club, thought Harm testily, throwing Mac his most disapproving frown.

The officer cleared his throat uneasily. "He's never made any threats to you, Ma'am, or entered your apartment without your permission before?"

"No and not that I know of. He's always been a bit shy." Mac turned to the officer.

The cop flipped to a new page in his notebook. "Commander, can you tell me what happened in here before the Colonel arrived?"

"I knocked on the door at 1900—"

"That's an approximate time?" The officer asked, not looking up as he scribbled down Harm's account.

"Uh, No. The note I received today asked that I be present at exactly 1900. So I, um..." He could feel Mac's eyes on him. He cleared his throat, "It was exactly 1900."

"Alright. What happened next?"

"The door opened, I walked in, got hit in the back of the head with ... something. I think it may have been the umbrella stand by the door. When I woke up I was blindfolded and tied to the chair. The suspect—"

"Adam hit you?" Mac asked him, sounding genuinely shocked.

"Yes," Harm tried not to roll his eyes. They'd definitely be talking about Mac still referring to Argus by his first name. "Adam said he'd been expecting Mac. That's when Mac walked in."

The officer closed his notepad. "Thank you both."

Harm and Mac both nodded.

"Oh, and Commander: Do you still have the gifts?"

"Yes. They're at the office. I can bring them to the police station tomorrow."

"Great. Have a good evening. And don't worry Colonel: We'll be taking Mr. Bellimont to the station, and we'll have a word with your super about his son's activities. It's best to take this seriously, whether you think you were in danger or not: Mr. Bellimont did attack the Commander. CSU will be here shortly – we're a bit backed up tonight – to survey the scene. It will take a couple of hours before they clear your apartment. You'll have to wait outside."

"Thank you, Officer." Mac replied.

They both silently made their way to the door. Mac handed Harm his coat, which he shrugged into while she slipped on her boots. Once he was done, he helped her with her coat and they then made their way down the stairs to the lobby of her building.

Without a word, they stepped out of the building and into the frigid February air. Once they were outside, Harm looked at Mac. She was staring up at the night sky, her breaths hung in the air in tiny white puffs before dissipating.

"You're moving." Harm stated.

She turned to look at him, startled. "What? I am not."

"Mac. Don't argue with me on this. You are moving." He knew it wasn't quite his place – yet – to tell her she had to move, but that kind of thing had never stopped him before, and it wasn't about to start now.

"Harm, you're being unreasonable."

"Mac." He warned.

"I'll change my locks, but I am not moving." She crossed her arms, daring him to contradict her.

"Fine." He huffed, crossing his arms. He could feel her eyes on him; he pointedly ignored her.

"How's your head?" She placed her hand on his forearm.

"It's alright." He replied shortly.

"We should get it checked out, Harm." He could detect the patient concern in her voice.

"I'm fine." He wasn't deterred.

"Fine," It was her turn to huff. She removed her hand.

After a moment's silence during which she glared at him and he avoided looking at her, Harm finally gave in.

"I've been hit on the head enough times to know when it's serious and when it isn't." He reasoned with her.

She contemplated him for a moment before shrugging. "Alright. But if you show any signs of a concussion..."

"Yes, mom."

She smacked his shoulder. "Don't be a smartass."

They exchanged a warm smile. He could pinpoint the exact moment when her warm smile turned cautiously teasing.

"So, Harm. You showed up at exactly 1900, huh?"

He sighed, and stared at the cars lining the street as he braced himself for the imminent onslaught. "Yes."

"I see." He could hear her barely contained grin, but she didn't say anything else. Harm glanced down at her from the corner of his eye; her head was bowed and she was toeing the snow bordering the walkway.

"So: Adam." He wanted to see if she was more affected by what happened in her apartment than she was letting on.

She sighed, not lifting her head. "Harm. I'm fine. He's not dangerous..." She began, then relented, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised. "It's a good thing you showed up on time."

He gave her his full blown smile. "You're welcome." He chuckled when she rolled her eyes, smiling.

"You know, Mac," He decided to try and take a mile out of the inch she was offering him, "You really should be more careful."

"Harm." She cut him off, the warning clear in her voice.

He held up his arms defensively. "I'm just saying, Mac."

"I think you've said enough, Harm."

The moment stretched as they stared each other down. Finally, he relented. Discretion was the greater part of valour after all, Harm reasoned. He'd subtly bring it up in conversation during the next few months, and then she'd eventually see things his way. The right way.

"Come on," Harm said suddenly, gesturing towards his parked car. "No need for BFG to ruin our plans. I'll take you out for dinner."

"What?" She looked up, startled. He watched her search his face for his intentions. "But..."

"But?" He feigned confusion. Just because they didn't really have plans ... A minor semantic point.

"Ah, well..." She was flustered. He congratulated himself.

"I thought I was spending the evening with you anyways." He pointed out.

Her expression turned pensive as she eyed him. "Harm?" She asked tentatively.

"Yeah, Mac." He waited, hands fisted in his pockets while she debated the merits of voicing what was on her mind.

"Did you really think I would send you gifts and roses?"

"I..." While he debated how to answer her, tried to determine how much to say, big heavy snowflakes began drifting down from the ink-black sky. He watched them flit and float in the slight breeze before gently settling on her nose and hair and eyelashes. He decided to take it as a sign.

"No. But I'd hoped," He was slightly dismayed by how wistful he sounded, but was too busy waiting for her reaction to worry much about it.

Astonishment transformed her face. "Oh."

He rolled his eyes even as he grinned good-naturedly. This woman was something else. He could see the hope and disbelief written all over her; he could see how much she actually wanted to believe him. It gave him a sudden surge of reckless arrogance.

"If you'd prefer," he teased, "I can ask the cops to grant Don Juan there a furlough for the night so he can take you out for dinner."

That effectively snapped her out of her daze. She shook her head at him, and he watched that slow, sweet smile, full of wonder and affection spread over her face. "You mentioned dinner," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice as clearly as he could hear the doubt holding her back. "What'd you have in mind, Sailor?"

It was the sound of her holding back that made him reconsider his offer.

"There's this greasy spoon a friend took me to once..." He trailed off

Her entire demeanour seemed to relax, and that wonderful smile was suddenly downgraded to a friendly grin. He felt the loss keenly. He realized that he even detected a hint of gratitude – and what seemed like a smidgen of regret. It gave him pause. What the hell did she think of him that the idea of a romantic dinner with him raised her defences and made her doubt? He wasn't that bad ... Was he? No, he convinced himself, he was not. And now he had to prove her wrong, just on principle ... Although, if he were to be honest, it might have more to do with how much he preferred being on the receiving end of that wonderful smile rather than a mere friendly grin.

"...but I'm taking you somewhere else." He finished with determination.

Her defensive distrust returned, and all of a sudden he realized the effect he had on her. It took all his strength not to visibly swell with pride at the revelation: perhaps his arrogance hadn't been completely tamed by the Lovesick Yeti. Oh well, he could live with that. Then again, this was the one woman – beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman – who'd seen him at his worst and still stuck it out. The gargantuan, riotous beast of arrogance returned.

"There's this really romantic place I know of," he leaned forward, and lowered his voice to an intimate timber, "Candles, soft music, great food. We can eat and talk and," he grabbed her hand, twirling her around once before pulling her lightly to him, "Dance the night away."

She looked up at him, mouth gaping slightly, eyes full of questions. He gave her his full-blown grin and leaned down to kiss her. When his lips where an inch away from hers, he looked into her eyes and winked, then kissed her nose. She blinked, then blushed. His grin widened; he hadn't had this much fun with a woman in ... well, maybe ever.

"What do you say, Marine?" He asked for form's sake, already convinced she wouldn't refuse his offer.

"Ah, um, reservations..." She stuttered; he watched her fumble around for her composure.

"I have a standing reservation here..." he twirled her again, mainly so she wouldn't notice the fun he was having at her adorable awkwardness, then brought her back into his arms. "So?" He caressed her cheek with his before pulling back so he could take in every nuance of her reaction.

She studied him for a moment. Her solemn brown eyes seemed to be seeing things he didn't think he was showing. He tried to return her unwavering scrutiny, but was overtaken by a sudden nervousness. His pride and arrogance, apparently, had decided to go UA. He wouldn't admit it, especially not to her, but it seemed they did so quite a bit whenever he really needed them around her.

She freed her hand from his grasp and rested it on his shoulder, using it as leverage so she could lean up to kiss him. When she was an inch away from his lips, she looked him in the eye and winked. Then she kissed him full on the lips.

Now it was his turn to fumble for his composure. A few seconds after he realized that her lips were no longer in contact with his, he opened his eyes to find her grinning up at him, looking very pleased with herself. He chuckled, feeling a tad sheepish that he'd actually believed she'd let him off the hook so easily. Some things, thankfully, never changed.

"So," There was a playful, carefree sparkle in her eyes. "Where're you taking me?"

Everywhere he went for as long as they both shall live. "This cozy little nook called Chez Rabb."

She laughed, linking her arm through his. "Sounds wonderful."

"Well, it's nothing compared to what the Abominable Snowman had planned for you."

"Forward march, Sailor," she threw him a slightly warning, slightly amused look and began walking towards his car, tugging him along.

"Seriously, though. I don't want you to settle for second best here ... I think he had plans to sculpt you into ice, maybe carve you into a shrub..."

"Are you done, yet?"

He unlocked his car and held the door open for her.

"I'm reserving us neighbouring plots, Mac. I'm nowhere near done." He stated, shutting the door on a puzzled Mac. He whistled and twirled his keychain around his finger as he strutted his way to the driver side. Still got it, Rabb. Arrogance patted him on the back.

--

End