A/N 1: This story was written in response to the HBX August 2009 Challenge, using the lines, "Did anyone ever tell you that you have great maternal instincts?" and "Not as often as I've been told I have a great karate chop."
A/N 2: This story takes place when Webb was still generally in my good graces (i.e. long before Paraguay ).
Chop Suey
by Teacup
“There you go,” the Commander said, carefully sticking the band-aid on the young man’s arm. “Good as new.”
“Thank you, sir,” the nineteen-year-old stoically replied.
“No problem. Now, I want you to go home, get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning at 0800 sharp.”
The young sailor stood, straightened his back, and saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.” While his posture was in perfect form, giving the lad the appearance of confidence, the trembling tenor of his voice belied any such impression of self-assurance.
“Dismissed,” Harm told the Petty Officer. The young man turned to head out of the Commander’s office and nearly ran smack into the gentleman standing in the doorway. The lurking figure, dressed in a business suit, did not flinch.
“Excuse me,” the sailor nervously murmured before he scooted past.
“So, Rabb, … did anyone ever tell you that you have great maternal instincts?”
Harm shot the spook a disapproving look. “Funny, Webb.”
“No, really. For a minute there I thought that you were going to kiss it and make it better,” Clay teased.
With fervor rather than embarrassment, Harm explained, “That kid is the material witness in a murder case set for trial tomorrow. He’s a little skittish. And his nervousness is making him a bit … accident prone. Hence the need for the first-aid. But, if I need to coddle him a little to make sure he testifies tomorrow so that I can get that scumbag convicted, so be it.”
With that explanation out of the way, Harm sat and turned his focus to the face of his visitor. “… Now, since I have a court case to prepare for, let’s just get right to the point about why you’re here and what you want.”
The agent fully entered the office and closed the door behind him. “I want you.”
“That’s flattering, Webb, but you’re not my type,” Harm joked. “Plus, we have policies against those kinds of things in the Navy.”
Clay sighed in frustration, but otherwise ignored the JAG lawyer’s response. “I need a favor.”
“What’s new?”
Webb scowled. “As if you don’t ask more than your fair share of favors from the Agency?”
“The Agency?” Harm’s eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “I thought you were the undersecretary of …”
“Rabb,” Webb cut him off. “I don’t have time for games. I need you to go undercover. It’s a simple assignment. Should only take one, … two days - tops, … after work hours.”
Harm eyed the agent dubiously. “Don’t you have people who actually work as operatives in your organization?”
“… Yes. They’re on other assignments.”
Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms knowingly, Harm remarked, “In other words, you’re working on a hunch, and the Agency doesn’t feel your plan is reliable enough to merit its resources.”
Ignoring Harm’s remark, Webb inquired, “You’ve got a background in martial arts, right?”
“Not really.” Harm sat up and picked up a pen from his desk. “I’ve been known to take down some guys who were trying to use jujitsu or something on me, but my combat style is a little more … unconventional.”
“I can live with informal training,” stated the agent, unruffled. “I just need you to pose as a martial arts instructor for a few days to see if you can collect some intel.”
“Really, Webb,” Harm insisted, “I’ve never taken a martial arts class in my life. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Picking up a police report, signaling his intent to return to work, the Commander suggested, “If you really want a martial arts expert you should talk to Colonel MacKenzie.
“She’s the resident ninja in this office. And,” Harm added, “she's not bogged down with a murder trial at the moment.” He gestured with his hand over his desk, indicating the ton of work he had to do. Attempting to dismiss the spy, Harm continued, “So, if you’ll just -”
The sound of a knock at the door interrupted him. “Enter,” he called out.
A female voice drifted in as the door opened, “Hey, Harm, have you seen …”
Colonel Sarah MacKenzie stopped short when she saw that the Commander had company … from the Company standing in his office. Surprised, she stepped back, “Oh, sorry. … I can come back …”
“No. Stay,” said Harm. “We were actually just talking about you.”
Mac cocked an eyebrow. “Why does that make me nervous?”
“Come in, and close the hatch.”
As Mac did so, her partner asked, confirming, “You studied martial arts, right?”
“A little. While I was stationed in Okinawa .” She took a seat across from Harm.
“Don’t be modest,” Harm lightly chastised her. “How many times have you been praised for your … kung fu kick?”
Fully aware that compliments from Harm in this scenario meant that he was trying to rope her into something, Mac scoffed before replying.
“Not as often as I’ve been told I have a great karate chop,” Mac emphasized the martial arts term to correct her best friend. “Karate and kung fu are two entirely different disciplines, Harm,” she explained.
Harm turned to Webb. “See, there’s your expert.”
“As much as I would prefer to work with the Colonel over you any day, Rabb, in this case, you possess a certain necessary quality that she doesn’t have.”
Mac could not help being curious. “Which is?”
Looking from Mac to Harm, Webb answered, “He’s a man.”
A brief moment of awkward stillness followed as the military officers attempted to interpret the meaning of the spy’s last statement.
After the few seconds of consideration, Mac responded, “I might be offended by that, … but since I know better than to be involved in whatever this is, I’m just going to see myself out.” She raised herself from the chair, but was interrupted by Webb before she could get to the door.
“The intel we need is from a woman who has a particular weakness for letting information slip when she is distracted by a man that she finds attractive. Rabb, here, is just her type, … except that she has a pattern of being drawn to men who she views as having some direct authority over her.”
“Like an instructor?” guessed Harm.
“Exactly. And she’s recently taken an interest in karate, … so if we can get you to sub for the regular instructor for a few days …”
Shaking his head, Harm insisted, “Find someone else, Webb. Not only do I not know how to teach karate, … but right now, … I have a murderer to prosecute.”
“Your case goes to trial tomorrow, right? How long will that take?”
“If I can’t get Sturgis to take a deal, it’s a three to four day trial.”
“So you’ll be done by Friday. Perfect. The Colonel trains you over the weekend, and we arrange for you to take over the class by next Monday,” Webb summarized his latest plan.
“Excuse me?” interrupted Mac, sounding offended. “Did you just volunteer my weekend?”
“He volunteered both of our weekends,” amended Harm with annoyance.
“No, just yours, Rabb. I really don’t care who brings you up to speed with the karate.”
Harm bristled. “And why would I agree to this?”
“Because it’s a matter of national security. The woman’s brother is a known arms dealer, but to bust him, we need to know where his next deal is going down. It’s your job, … your duty, to help us get that information. Here …”
Webb pulled out a business card from his pocket. “You can practice this weekend at this studio. It’s not currently being used, so it’s perfect for training in private with whoever you can get to help.”
“You’re not going to give her,” Harm asked, pointing to Mac, “the ‘national security’ and ‘duty’ speech?”
“No,” answered Webb. “I suggest you bribe her with dinner.” With that, the spook opened the door and took his exit.
“I don’t have time for this,” complained Harm.
Taking her seat again, Mac sympathetically offered, “I might be able to help you this weekend.”
“What’s with this double standard, anyway? You aren’t on the hook, but I am? Yet, he’d rather work with you over me ‘any day’ …”
“You jealous?” asked Mac with a smile.
“No.”
“Good. Besides, I think Clay only likes to work with me when he gets to put me in a fancy dress.”
Images flash of Mac in various formal wear while on dangerous missions. Someone in the CIA did have good taste.
“See, you always get to be spoiled. You get dresses for missions …”
“It’s not like I’ve gotten to keep any of them.”
“And now he tells me it is my duty, not only to help him, but to feed you?”
“Only if you want my help,” Mac pointed out with a grin. “Speaking of which, what do you say I teach you the art of the karate chop in exchange for a nice, homemade meal? I’m thinking … pork chop.”
“You’re kidding.” Harm’s brows rose in surprise. “A chop for a chop?”
“Why not? After a day of busting your chops, it would be fitting.”
“You’re supposed to be training me with the basics to teach, not fighting me.”
“Same difference.”
“Pork chops?” he verified.
She shrugged. “It’s the other white meat. What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” he dismissed her concern. “I do think I’m going to need more than one day training to pull off being an instructor though.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to come up with a second dinner.”
Watching her partner shake his head in dismay at her, Mac rose and stepped to the door.
“Oh, and Harm …” she paused with her hand on the knob.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck with tomorrow’s trial. Put the guy away for a long time, will ya?”
She was graced with one of the Commander’s confident grins before she turned to exit.
“Chop suey.”
The Colonel halted at the words and gave Harm a questioning look over her shoulder.
“Karate chops, pork chops, … and chop suey.”
Mac smiled, understanding his offer of a second meal. “It’s a deal.”
“Good. Chop suey just might get me through this undercover operation of Webb’s.”
“Chop suey is your motivation?” she inquired with confusion.
An image flashes of two sets of chopsticks reaching into a shared Chinese carton, grasping onto the same bits of bean sprouts and cabbage, but those thoughts are shaken off.
“Sure, because if you don’t teach me well enough to pull off this little karate ‘chop’ op, then I have grounds to ‘suey’ you-ey.”
Too bad to even warrant a groan, the attempt to get a laugh only earned him a bizarre, albeit amused, look.
“… Piece of advice?” offered Mac. “… Leave the comedy routine out of your opening statement tomorrow.”
His face sobered. “Only because there’s nothing funny about murder.”
For a few seconds, she joined Harm in the seriousness of his statement. When the moment of respect had passed though, she quipped, “Nothing funny about your jokes either.”
As she pulled the door open, Harm pointed out, “You know, most women find my sense of humor charming.”
“I’m not most women.” With that, she left, closing the door behind her.
“No, you are not,” Harm said to himself.
Then he made a sour face. “‘Suey you-ey?’” he echoed himself. The expression he wore clearly indicated, ‘What was I thinking?’ He momentarily closed his eyes in embarrassment. “That was lame.”
The door suddenly reopened, and Mac peeked her head back in. “So, uh, Friday after work? We go to the studio for training and grab some Chinese?”
“Sure,” Harm agreed. “It’s a date.” He blanched when he realized the word he had used, but he said nothing else.
“No, it’s not,” she solemnly mused, correcting him. Then she sighed. “But, I do have to cancel one now.”
She disappeared as quickly as she had popped in, leaving Harm to ponder who Mac had a date with, the finer points of his trial strategy, how Mac was going to teach him standard karate moves and principles, and whether he needed a new recipe for pork chops to make the best that Mac had ever tried. His mind was certainly on overload.
For the time being, he did, however, manage to avoid thinking about chopsticks and chop suey. There was a murderer to convict, after all.
The End