A Worthwhile Trip to Annapolis
Author: Tulip
Rating: R, I guess, for discussion of oral sex
Category: Vignette
Spoilers: Through Valor and probably a bit beyond, although I don't believe there's anything specific. The reality has been altered, though, a bit, along with the time line, so not everything is completely in canon.
Disclaimer: They ain't mine. They belong to Bellisario et al. I'm just borrowing them and not for profit. Y no tengo dinero.
Feedback: Sure
Archive: Tell me where
Notes: The latest in the Worthwhile series. Harm-bashing ahead--you've been warned!! Actually, this particular installment isn't all that bad. And the "pitcher and catcher" case I discussed below was, in case anybody cares, resolved against the guy because "Both persons are necessarily engaged in that act, involving the penis of one and the mouth of the other, and therefore both are performers." It's Starkey v. State, from the Maryland Court of Special Appeals, and, believe me, every lawyer I know is talking about it, for the reasons you will see.
About six weeks after Harm showed up to my door to apologize for his behavior at the Navy Ball, things are still kind of strained between us, because he never apologized to Clay. Harm can't understand why I don't think that "Clay never returned my phone call" is an excuse. They're even more strained when we get back from Bahrain, after the Steele case. Harm and I
got into a bit of a spat after he accused Clay of not doing enough to find her after she disappeared from the restaurant, and when he implied that Clay's "people" were less valuable than her.
"Harm, would you send a bunch of people running into the street after her, overtly, like that? Give me a break! For someone who is completely unpredictable and completely OFF the reservation? Harm, she brought this on herself!" Clay is looking at me with an open mouth.
"Mac, you can't seriously think..."
"And what makes his people less important than 'ours.' All life has value. Even people who are working for the CIA, at considerable risk to themselves, I might add." I have to leave the room. Harm is sputtering. He pretty much stops speaking to me for a few days, and Clay gets me on the Company plane with him for our return, leaving Harm to take the transport. I know we should probably work it out, but, frankly, Harm is being irrational. He always has to be right, and I'm just getting fed up with him. We need a few days apart. Clay is much better company.
When I get back to the office, the Admiral calls me in and asks if I'd be interested in handling an appeal before the Maryland Court of Special Appeals, even if it would be on my own time. It seems he owes Admiral John Greene a favor, and Admiral Greene has presented his chit. On the down side, it's a divorce case. On the upside, Admiral Greene won in the trial court, making my job a little easier. I decide to do it, and I'm actually glad the Admiral has given me this
opportunity. The Admiral gives me the due dates, and dismisses me after handing me a box containing the information I'll need. Of course, this development serves to piss Harm off even more.
Oral argument isn't until September, because there's no more oral argument slots in the current term. This is a good thing, so I can have plenty of time to work on it, since I'll have to do it on my own time. I need to re-familiarize myself with Maryland family law, which has some peculiarities, if I recall correctly from studying for the bar exam. I have to
get the brief to the court well before September, and I spend the next six weeks' worth of weekends preparing it. Between Harm's problems over Jordan's murder and my own need to prepare a lecture for the Naval Academy, it wasn't easy. I do, however, find time to fill out Clay's "where are they now" statement for his reunion, which he is now definitely probably
not attending. I make him seem like the perfect guy and the stud of the East Coast, and totally exaggerate a number of different things. He gets a kick out of it, and I get quite a laugh. I also get dinner at the Willard.
Despite our joking around over the reunion thing, Clay's clearly under a tremendous amount of pressure at work, particularly after Bahrain. Frankly, he's getting a little cranky, and I finally get him to admit how many hours he'd been working. When I uncover the truth, I tell him he needs to de-stress, and I make him start working out with me that same
day. We start off running, which works out fairly well since we're almost the same height and have more or less the same stride. When I find out he knows some martial arts from field training, I talk him into sparring with me. He agrees, on the condition that I learn to fence. I like to try new things, so I agree. When we first start sparring, I'm a lot better than
him, but he's improving. Usually after a sparring session, he teaches me the footwork for fencing. He finally decides it's time to start fencing with the epee, and it totally throws me off balance. I really suck at first, but I'm slowly starting to improve. We also started riding together about once a month or so, although I'm very careful not to do it when Clay and Porter have their regular rides. I know Porter likes me, but I don't want to intrude on their time.
I go to a couple of events with Clay, mostly for work, and I spend the Fourth of July at his mother's party. She has THE party every year, and it's a really nice, albeit enormous, affair. I'm completely shocked at all the people they know. I mean, I know from other events that they know a lot of people, but people seem to make an effort to come to this party, and, frankly, it was a little bit intimidating. I had gone early to help her out, and she had me promise beforehand to stay the night. I'm really glad I agreed, because the party went on until all hours. Clay had been sneaking up behind all night teasing me about pushing me into the pool. At 0234, however, my guard's down, and my evening ends with him following through and dumping me in the pool. I grab for Clay's belt when I feel his hands on my waist, knowing what's about to happen,
which ensures that he gets pulled in was well. It was incredibly hot that day, and the water actually feels really good, even though this dress is now leaving nothing to the imagination. I can tell Clay is trying not to stare, and he covers the fact that he's looking by splashing me. We horse around until we're told to come inside.
Porter is faithful about having her party on the Fourth itself, and, because it was on a Wednesday, Clay and I had both taken the next day off, knowing we'd be up late. We spend it lazing around the pool. As I lay there, dozing, it occurs to me that I'm probably better friends with Clay than I have been with anyone else in my life.
When Porter comes out with lemonade, Clay's swimming, and she starts asking me some strange questions. Like, about my career, how it would work with family, along those lines. I was beginning to kind of wonder what she was getting at, when it occurred to me that she was trying to push us together. Clay had just swum over to where we were sitting, and when he heard
her ask me how many kids I wanted, he said, "MOTHER!!!" She just shrugged. I know she's up to something.
I guess our conversation had the desired effect, because I start to kind of think about it. I was getting kind of lonely and contemplating, you know, sex in my life at some point. What I have with Clay though was so precious to me, that I'm terrified to screw it up. I just have such a bad track record with men, and, even though he's nothing like the others, I'm paralyzed by fear. It's not that I don't find him attractive, I do. There've been times that I stare at him, or have to not stare at him, when he's in his tight riding pants, or at the pool--but I just can't let myself go there.
Clay goes out of town for a couple of weeks in August, and I only hear from him by e-mail, and only then a few times, although he sounds kind of miserable. I miss hearing his voice. I miss him so much, actually, that I really began to consider that maybe my feelings for him had moved beyond friendship. I can't really contemplate my life without him in it. He calls me a little after midnight the night he gets back from wherever he was.
"Sarah, I hope I didn't wake you." He did, actually, wake me, but I don't care. "Sarah?"
"Sorry. Hey," I say softly.
"I did wake you. I'm sorry, I'll just--"
"It's good to hear your voice."
"Yeah? I just needed to talk to someone who doesn't hate me."
"Was is that bad?"
"How should I put this. People were not cooperative. And I WAS trying to not be, you know, myself." Clay's always aware of how he's acting and how other people perceive him, and he usually knows just how far to push.
I start giggling. "Are you at home?"
"Yeah. I don't want to keep you. Can we have lunch tomorrow?"
"Mmmm. How about dinner? We have one more witness and closing arguments in a case, and I need to be around for the verdict."
"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." He sounds kind of depressed.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm better, now that I've talked to you." I wonder if maybe he's feeling the same way I am, about our relationship. This isn't the kind of conversation one might normally have with a friend. Although, maybe I'm reading too much into it. I know he can't tell me what's wrong, because it's classified.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. See you tomorrow, Sarah. I'll make reservations someplace."
"Someplace good?"
"Of course." Good, I can hear him smiling. "Good night."
"Good night, Clay, I'm glad you're back," I say, hanging up.
The next day, Harm asks me if I want to grab some dinner, and he gets highly incensed when I tell him I'm meeting Clay. He angles for an invitation, but I got the feeling Clay needs to talk, and he won't do that if Harm's there. Besides, I never know what's going to come out of Harm's mouth when Clay's around, and I'm not up to dealing with that. Harm's and my
relationship has been improved lately. We're both making an effort, because it does make things easier at work, particularly for everyone else. Harm and I both got talked to, separately, by the Admiral, and I think I ended up telling the Admiral a little more than he wanted to hear. I don't think he necessarily takes Harm's side over mine when things get rocky, but I do think that, sometimes, he has this idea of women being overly dramatic about things, and I thought it was time to let him know where I was coming from. He's been a lot more understanding since then.
I get a voice mail from Clay telling me to meet him at this Turkish restaurant in Virginia at 8 o'clock. I decide to do a little shopping beforehand, because I want a new outfit. I end up going into a store full of very funky looking clothes, and I find a pair of black pants that ride low on my hips, and I find the perfect top to go with them. It's low cut enough to
be suggestive without being trashy, and it just skims the top of the pants, so I know it will show a little skin when it rides up. I then find a fabulous pair of boots at a different store, and I decide I should probably leave the mall before I spend even more money. I do need the boots though. Really. I do.
I change into my new outfit, and get into my car to meet Clay. I end up being glad that I chose pants, because we end up sitting on the floor. He looks really haggard. I just let him talk, and he's clearly had a very rough couple of weeks. I feel bad that I couldn't be there for him and make it better. Again, the thought occurs to me that these feelings extend
beyond friendship. I'm getting some similar vibes from Clay, particularly when I noticed him noticing what I'm wearing, although I'm not sure if it's just wishful thinking. I'm not good at reading signals, I think, if my past with Harm is any indication. We're at the restaurant a really long time, lingering over coffee. Porter has booked Clay for Saturday and
Sunday, and he's not all that happy about it.
"I love her, but I just got back from an overseas trip, I need to do laundry and all that, and she's got me running her to Annapolis tomorrow, and then to Montpelier for a fundraiser on Sunday."
"You're not riding?"
"No. Wanna go on Monday? You're off for Labor Day, right?"
"Okay. I'll bring lunch."
"I was hoping you'd say that." He finally gives me a genuine smile. I hug him before he leaves. "Thanks," he say softly.
We have a great time riding, and I make another good lunch. I made sure to make chocolate chip cookies again, since Clay had a bad few weeks, and we both pig out. I make him promise to meet me to spar the next day. Working out really is much more pleasant with someone else, and it's not that easy to find a sparring partner. Despite the occasional temptation to use Harm as a punching bag.
There's a great gym facility at Langley, and we often meet there, but he calls and says he needs to get away from the Agency. After Clay's arrival, we head to the gym, change clothes, and start sparring. As we warm up, I make him listen to my presentation for the oral argument in Admiral Greene's case, which is scheduled for the next day. It's really not very long, and I'm almost done as we start sparring, so I continue. Harm walks in and says my name. I stop talking and look over, and Clay, who apparently didn't hear, clocks me. He grabs my arm before I fall, but he splits my lip.
"What the hell are you two doing?" Harm asks.
"Oh my God, Mac, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? What a dumb question, your lip is bleeding." Clay says.
"It's okay, it was an accident."
"What's going on?" Harm demands.
"I'm going to get some ice. Is there some up in your office kitchen?" I nod, and Clay runs out the door.
"MAC!! What--"
"Harm, don't yell at me. We were working out, as I'm sure you could tell. And thanks, by the way, for opening your mouth just as he was throwing a punch." I hope I just said that sarcastically enough to let him know I really don't blame him. It was an accident.
"I'm sorry, Mac, but I didn't notice--"
"Harm, it was an accident. I know you didn't do it on purpose. I was teasing."
"I can't believe you let him beat on you."
"Harm, it's called SPARRING. Come on! As I have told you before, Clay and are friends. Don't start this again, I can't take it! We've just gotten to the point where we were working well together again."
Clay saves me from further conversation by coming back in with some ice wrapped in a towel, which he hands it to me. He looks at me, then Harm, then back at me. Harm's eyes are blazing, and I'm sure mine are too. I cannot believe the conclusions he just leapt to. Maybe I need to think about a transfer. No, Harmon Rabb is not going to force me to transfer. I may, however, need to talk to the Admiral about how we can work around this situation. I'm very glad I won't be in the office tomorrow.
"Shall we go?" Clay asks. His perception is one of the things I really do like about him. He can sense that I'm really uncomfortable, and, although I'm sure he is as well, he's decided to get us out of this situation. "Meet back here in ten minutes?" I nod and head to the dressing room.
Clay's waiting for me when I come out, holding the ice to my lip. I jerk my head towards the door and he follows me out. As soon as we hit the outside, Clay asks if he can buy me dinner. He feels REALLY bad about smacking me.
"Sure. If we can have Indian."
"Whatever you want. I know a place not too far away."
"I'll follow you so we don't have to backtrack."
After we sit down, he says, "I am really, really sorry that I ended up hitting you. I feel just awful about it."
"Like I said, it was an accident. I've been bruised before from our sparring before. It's the nature of martial arts, I'll be fine."
"I suspect I've been far more bruised than you, actually, all things considered. But I still..." I give him a look, and he doesn't finish his thought. "May I ask what was going on with Harm? I thought you were about to knock him down when I came back with the ice."
"He implied that we were actually fighting each other."
He rolls his eyes. "I don't know how he gets through life sometimes. I also don't know why I bother with him. Whatever. Enough about Rabb."
"Okay. Then you can listen to my oral argument again, after we order. And ask me questions. Interrupt, you know, that sort of thing." There's no way he can say no, and this is as close as I'm going to come to a moot court on this case. I haven't had that much experience with appellate practice, but I hear the Court of Special Appeals is generally polite in
questioning. I guess I'll see tomorrow.
We order, and I give him my spiel, timing it. He asks me some good questions, actually, and I feel about as prepared as I can. I'll be reading over my brief one last time during other oral arguments in the morning.
We part ways after dinner, after Clay apologizes like 15 more times. It's actually quite endearing, and I find myself thinking about him all the way home. I get to bed early and fall straight asleep, but I bolt awake after an incredibly erotic dream prominently featuring Clayton Webb. Geez. Wow. It's almost time for my alarm to go off, so I get myself out of bed, dress in a regular suit, try to cover the prominent bruise on my face as well as I can with makeup, then head to Annapolis, residual images from my dream flashing through my mind the entire way there. Every time I come here I just fall in love with it. Although I can't say much for the appellate courthouse.
Anyway, I check in and sit in the lobby, reviewing my brief and my notes one last time. Admiral Greene is currently deployed, which may not be a bad thing, if his ex-wife shows up. She apparently has anger management issues. I'm fifth on the list to go, and I decide to sit in on other oral arguments to get a feel for the questioning. The first two arguments seem to be fairly standard, but I'm trying not to laugh hysterically at some of the arguments being made by appellant's attorney in the third case. Then the fourth almost degenerates into a shouting match between the Chief Judge, who was presiding, and appellant's attorney. It's like watching a tennis match. I am so glad I'm not going first in our case,
because I think I'd be thrown off my stride after these past two arguments. And, all four arguments prior to mine have gone pretty much the full forty minutes each, and I'm kind of starting to get hungry. Listening to Mrs. Greene's attorney though forces me to get my head in the game without having to cope with all this stuff.
When my case gets called, I can tell the judges are all staring at my oversized lip. When I get up, I start off with, "Good morning, Your Honors, Sarah MacKenzie on behalf of appellee Admiral John Greene. I apologize for my appearance, I had a little accident while working out last night." I point to my lip.
"I'm sorry, counselor, I know it's not our business, but what exactly were you doing?"
"Martial arts with a sparring partner who was unfortunately distracted." They all laugh, and I launch into my arguments, responding to Mrs. Greene's arguments and making the points I had wanted to.
I think things go very well for Admiral Greene, although one never knows about these things. I'm able to answer all the judges' questions, and I'm comfortable that I found all the relevant case law and that it's on our side. I take off after I'm done and give Admiral Chegwidden a call to let him know I'm finished. I realize it's 0135, past lunch time really, so I head down to the harbor and eat at Pusser's. The name of this place isn't all that appetizing, but the food is absolutely fabulous. I head to JAG when I'm done. I'm not in uniform, but I do need to get in touch with Admiral Greene, which will be much easier from the office. It takes me a while to get there, and it's 1550 by the time I get in the door.
While Tiner gets the call set up, I check my voice mail, and Clay tells me to call him to tell him how it went. He's probably more familiar with this case than anyone else, actually. I talk to Admiral Greene, who is pleased with what I have to tell him, and afterwards I arrange to meet Clay later. "Have I got stories for you!" I say.
"Can't wait," he says. We decide on Italian, and he gives me directions to a little place on Capitol Hill called Maria's. I get a few paperwork-type things cleared off my desk before I take off straight for the restaurant. It's a tiny place, actually, and I arrive ahead of Clay. When he comes in, he smiles and comes over. He still seems to be very tired.
"How'd it go?" He asks as he sits down.
"My argument went fine, although I got a question about the bruise on my face. I didn't name names though."
"Thank goodness. Not that I know any Maryland appellate judges. At least, I don't think I do."
"It was quite an entertaining morning, though, with two of the other arguments. The one that happened right before mine was just unbelievable. It was also a divorce case, but, in Maryland, you can get a limited divorce before an absolute divorce goes through. Like I told you, Maryland isn't really a no-fault divorce state, and this case was about the grounds for the limited divorce the lower court granted."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Why would you appeal that?"
"That's the million dollar question. So, the wife got her petition for limited divorce granted for excessive vicious conduct, and the husband was pissed because his adultery claims fell on deaf ears. So, the husband's attorney gets up--the attorney's a woman by the way--and starts telling the panel that the lower court incorrectly decided credibility, that the
appellate court could go back and decide issues of credibility on its own. It can't, of course, do that. It's like the number one rule of appellate practice--the trier of fact below is the one that sees the witness testify and can best assess those things. The Chief Judge, who was on the panel and who wrote a book about evidence, informs her of this, and she just
won't let it go. She's firmly convinced the panel can decide credibility on their own. I thought the Chief might come over the bench and strangle this woman. Then she starts in on how courts don't listen, blah blah, and, I swear, the two of them were practically in a shouting match. I've never seen anything quite like it.
"So, one of the other judges finally decides to try to change the subject, and asks about a point raised in the brief that wasn't clear. Which was, was she arguing that that the definition of excessive vicious conduct wasn't clear so that it needed to be further defined or that the husband's behavior here didn't rise to the level of excessive vicious conduct? I
don't know that the attorney really understood the question, because then she launched into how her poor client was unduly pasted with this excessive vicious conduct thing because, after all, he only hit the wife once a month, and, even then, it was only with an open hand."
"You've GOT to be kidding. She actually said that? Is that supposed to be persuasive?"
"She apparently thought so. This woman was way too wrapped up emotionally with her client, and she came off looking a little psycho."
"Just a little?"
"Well, that, plus she seemed to have no clue what she was doing! It was incredible. And, then, to top it off, the wife's attorney gets up and starts talking--by the way, I forgot to tell you the, the absolute divorce was apparently scheduled for a hearing next week--if that had been me, I would have just said, 'Your Honors, you've pretty much covered all the ground
I had wanted to cover in my argument, so unless you have questions, I'll sit down.' There was no need to make any argument, but he just started talking. Anyway, I was glad I wasn't up first when we our turn came, because I was a little flustered by all the back and forth between the husband's attorney and the Chief. She was a dipshit though."
He starts laughing. "And people think law is boring."
"Well, and that's not the half of it, but this is more funny than pathetic."
"Do tell."
"Okay, the argument before this limited divorce case involved a statutory rape charge. It was I think a 22-year-old guy with a 15-year-old girl based on his receiving oral sex for twenty to thirty minutes. Like I believe that."
Clay laughs and says, "You don't have very much faith in men!"
"Come on, Clay, this is an immature 22-year-old if he feels the need to be with a 15-year-old girl. You think he could last that long?"
"I guess not. Please continue."
"So, his argument was that, because the statute required him to 'perform' oral sex, he couldn't be convicted, because he wasn't actually 'performing' it. He was idly sitting there, receiving it, without, you know, doing anything." I burst out laughing.
Clay starts laughing. "I find THAT very hard to believe."
"I know. And get this, his attorney actually used this analogy with a straight face--'my client was the catcher and not the pitcher in this case.'" We both get totally hysterical.
"God, how'd you like to have to write an opinion in that case!"
"I don't know, but I hope it gets published. I'd love to see the outcome. I suspect that the holding will be that receiving is also performing, no matter how passively."
"I don't think there's any such thing as passive when it comes to oral sex," Clay says absently as he grabs a piece of bread. My mouth drops open. He's never said anything like that before. And the way he said it--he might well have been thinking about it. I feel a little tingle in the pit of my stomach. "Oh, shit, did I just say that out loud?" He asks, turning beet red.
"I'm afraid so," I say, laughing a little.
"I'm sorry."
"Why? You think it would shock me that you think about sex? Everyone thinks about it. Men more than women, I hear, but, well, anyway." I'd better quit while I'm ahead, and, ultimately I'm saved by the arrival of our entrees. "So, how was your day?" I ask finally, completely changing the subject.
"Frustrating. Just like the last several months. I think I might be called out of town again." He looks so depressed, I feel so bad. I take his hand, and he surprises me by holding on for dear life, looking down. "I just have a really bad feeling, but I can't really tell you why. I mean, not that it's classified, I just don't know why. I just can't seem to shake it, and the stuff I'm trying to figure out ends in frustration at every turn." After a few minutes, he squeezes my hand and lets go, and we finish our meals.
I watch Clay as surreptitiously as I can while we eat. He looks extremely pensive, like he's a million miles away. He's kind of worrying me, actually, but I don't know how hard I should push. His phone rings as we're waiting for the check, and the conversation doesn't seem to go well. "God DAMN it," he says as he hangs up.
I almost ask if everything is okay, but I realize it's not, so I decide not to ask the stupid question. I don't even know what to say, but I stop the waitress and give her enough cash to cover our bill and the tip. Clay doesn't even seem to notice. He would normally argue with me, even though he's paid the last few times we've eaten out. I wait a few more minutes as he's lost in thought, and I finally touch his hand and say, "C'mon, we can go."
"What about the check?"
"Taken care of."
"Sarah..."
"No argument. Penny for your thoughts?" We walk out the door and down the street. It turns out that Clay is parked across the street from my car. We talk on the way.
"I have to go out of town. And I have to be at the airport in two hours."
"Geez. That's shorter notice than we even get sometimes."
"I just... There was something... Oh, never mind. I guess I should go."
He seems very nervous, but I don't know whether I should press the issue with him or not.
"Listen, Clay, I don't know where you're going, but be careful, okay?" It's suddenly vital to me to make sure he knows I care. I pull him into a hug, and he holds me tight. I repress the sudden urge to kiss him.
"I will, Sarah. I'll call you if I can."
"I'd like that." He squeezes me and then lets go. We drive away, and I think about the situation all the way home. Maybe he was wanting to talk to me about "us." I can't get a fix on how he feels about the whole thing. I'm becoming more sure of my own though, and I have a feeling that this time apart may help me get off the fence.
