Subject: NEW: "If I'd Known You Were Coming...." Date: Mon, 04 Oct 1999 21:22:36 -0700 From: Maureen O'Brien Organization: Ceann Coradh To: shipper@onelist.com References: 1 Title: "If I'd Known You Were Coming...." Writer: Maureen S. O'Brien Rating: G Spoilers: RoE Author's note: The details about Navy culinary practices are _made up_. No doubt there is a way to wangle these things, but probably it isn't this way. The oven mitts actually exist; my brother Kevin gave them to my mother for Christmas last year -- but they were Air Force surplus. Suggestions for a better ending would be appreciated; I am quite rusty on the subject of _finishing_ fanfic. -------------------------------------------------------------------- "He looks kinda macho, don't you think?" Mac had to laugh at the look on Harm's face. Finally she took pity on him and explained in a low voice, "Harriet's telling Bud what she's planned to welcome him home." "Oh?" Harm's eyebrows rose and a thought skimmed across his forehead like a Tomcat on final approach. She could see the moment when it caught the hook. "Ohhhhhh. Oh ho." His ears turned a little bit pink when he was embarrassed, and when she saw that telltale, she almost laughed again. "So how do _you_ know about this, Colonel?" "A little lovebird told me." "So Colonel Cupid had nothing to do with it." "Nothing at all." Their eyes met and twinkled. Funny how their little matchmaking project wasn't over yet. "I'll have to apologize to Bud." "Later." "Yeah, much later." Harm's ears had faded, but he still sounded a little embarrassed to Mac's. "Which reminds me. Come on. There's something I wanted to show you." She got up and followed him out of the wardroom. Instead of heading for Vulture Row, as she'd expected, Harm led her deeper into the maze of ladders and companionways. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?" "Red light, Colonel." For the first time in what felt like months, her laughter rang out at full volume. She looked up. Harm was carefully maintaining a serious expression on his face, but his crinkling eyes made her laugh even harder. Then, in the middle of a laugh, she saw the look in his eyes change to a steady glow of admiration. Her laugh caught in her throat along with her breath, and she choked on it. "Mac? You all right?" Harm pounded her back a little. She nodded and cleared her throat with one final cough. "Just need a drink of water." And less imagination. "Well, the kitchen's right down this way. We'll get you one there." The Pat's kitchen was quiet that time of night. In fact, there seemed to be only a single crewmember on watch while the smell of baking bread filled the air. "What can I do for you, Commander, Colonel? And don't ask for bread, because I can't let you have any." "The Colonel here needs a glass of water." The crewman blinked, but got her one. "And I need to file a little complaint." "What kind of complaint, sir?" "My birthday was last week, but I didn't get any cake." Mac's eyes widened. The crewman walked across the kitchen to a clipboard and flipped through it. "Huh. No, your name's not on the list. What day was it?" "September 13th." "I'll look again." Mac managed to catch Harm's eye and mouthed "Your birthday's in February!" "Just go with it," he whispered. "Nope, nothing. Hm. Well, we can give you a belated birthday cake tomorrow," the crewman offered. "Well, actually...I've got another sad story to tell you." "What's that, Commander?" Harm indicated Mac with his hand. "Look at this woman. She's even worse off than me. She got promoted to lieutenant colonel earlier this month, but everybody was out of the office or on vacation. Her wetting-down party was attended by all of two people, I understand." And how did he find that out? Mac wondered with irritation. Bud, of course. I'm going to have kill him one of these days. "And that's even worse than missing a birthday party. I mean, you get a birthday every year, but how often do you get promoted?" "Not often enough," agreed the crewman. "And I'll tell you what's even sadder. I wasn't there, because I was out at sea. So that's two parties I've missed. Two. In a month." "Damned shame." "But you can help repair this horrible damage to our psyches." "Now, how can I do that?" "That's what I'd like to know," Mac chimed in. "It's very simple," Harm explained. "Just let me bake my cake. Tonight. That way, it can be a birthday cake and a promotion cake in one. Plus, I'll owe you a favor." "Does that include legal advice?" "Legal advice?" "Yeah. We were watching you two on the closed circuit this week. It was better than Court TV." "Well...yeah. That includes legal advice." "Cool! Well, the ovens are already hot, so I can start baking it for you now." "No, that's okay," Harm said quickly. "I know how to cook." The crewman looked at him dubiously. "He's a good cook," Mac testified. "Great spaghetti, good bread. Though I'd avoid the meatless meatloaf if I were you." "Gee, thanks, Mac." The crewman shrugged and got down a few supplies and utensils. "Go to it, sir." For the rest of her life, Mac could call up at will the memory of that night in the kitchen. It was the first time since her childhood that she'd actually sat and watched someone bake a cake, and the fact that she was watching this homey ritual across a huge gleaming counter struck her as slightly surreal. So, even years later, she could still remember the smell of the bread and the comforting hum of kitchen noises and conversation as Harm measured out a tiny amount of cake mix from a giant-sized bag of it, and mixed it together in a bowl meant for salad, not mixing -- because the mixing bowl was both enormous and full of bread dough. Harm greased the pan and poured in the mix as calmly as if he cooked there every day, then got out a pair of massive silvery oven mitts from somewhere in his flight jacket. When he put them on, they covered not only his hands but half of his forearms. She stared, fascinated. "What are those?" "Navy surplus. Firefighters' gloves." Harm grinned. "You should get some," he told the crewman. "They're meant to handle up to 3000 degrees, so you can't even feel the oven." "Sounds good, sir." Then all they had to do was wait and talk. The crewman told them about his cousin who was getting sued for negligence, and they told him as much as they remembered about the applicable bits of civil law, which as they freely admitted wasn't much. He had to start taking the bread out of the oven then, so he borrowed Harm's gloves and got to it. Then it was just her and Harm and not a case to consult about; just catching up each other and new stories and old jokes brought out anew. She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward to talk, until suddenly Harm's watch alarm went off. The crewman handed Harm his gloves back and he went to get the cake out of the oven. Somehow, all the bread had been taken out and she hadn't even noticed. "That's going to have to cool for a bit, sir." "That's all right. I still need to figure out how to cut this thing." "With a knife would be good." "Everyone's a comedian." They found a knife and a plate, and upended the cake onto the plate once it was cool enough. Then Harm started cutting the cake into triangular wedges that went from one outside edge to further than halfway across the cake. "What are you doing to that poor thing?" she asked "Watch and learn," he said in that maddeningly smug voice he had. He cut out five wedges and rearranged them on the plate. And suddenly she saw what he was making. An oak leaf. "Sorry it's so messy," he said as he set it before her. "Probably a real baker could make this look a little more realistic." "It's beautiful!" she said quietly. "Nobody ever.... You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, just for me." "Yes, I should," Harm objected. "And besides, it's not just for me. It's also for my birthday." She looked at him and saw that glow in his eyes again. She wondered if it was in her eyes, too. Without breaking eye contact, Harm asked quietly, "Aren't you going to eat it?" Reluctantly, she dropped her eyes to find a fork. It was the best cake she'd ever had. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Maureen S. O'Brien mobrien@dnaco.net http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/fanfic/