Title: Dress Blues
Author: Anne
Email: [email protected]
Rating: G
Spoilers: Embassy, nothing after that, really
Disclaimer: I don't own JAG; I just wish I did.

:: :: ::

The old house was oddly quiet, forgoing its usual creaks and groans; even the squeaky stairs kept their peace as he unhurriedly made his way towards the attic. When he pushed on it, the oaken door at the top of the stairs swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges, revealing the dim interior to his inquisitive gaze. A tiny window provided the only light in the room, allowing in the rays of a late afternoon sun. Instead of flipping on the overhead light, he waited a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the muted light, and then began looking for her. He knew that she was hidden somewhere among the trunks, boxes, crates and other assorted items that filled the room. Before he could locate her by sight, however, he heard a soft thump that betrayed her presence, and he turned toward the sound, a smile lighting his features.

Carefully picking his way through the disorder, he stopped and looked down at her bent head of dark hair. Kneeling down beside the large open trunk next to her, he waited for her to acknowledge his presence.

Suddenly sensing him, Sarah glanced up, surprised at his unexpected presence. "Jeez! You startled me; I didn't hear you come in," she exclaimed, one hand coming up to her chest in surprise. Fine lines formed through exposure to the sun and laughing appeared around her eyes as she smiled a welcome to him.

"Obviously," he replied, smirking just a little. "Did you forget that sneaky stuff is my specialty?" He paused, looking at the piles of stuff littering the once neat floor. "What are you doing up here, Sarah?"

She leaned back a little, casually waving one arm to encompass the room. "Oh, I'm just sorting through some stuff; trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of."

"I see..." he muttered, looking around. After a moment, he looked back at her. "*Why*?"

She threw him a 'Don't ask stupid questions' look, and then an expressive shrug of her shoulders and toss of her head. "Why not?"

He laughed, shaking his head at her response. While they still found plenty of things to argue about, he'd learned to conserve his energy and wits for the important battles in life, and he was pretty sure that this wasn't one of them.

Remembering how many closets and chests of drawers Sarah had reorganized over the past two months, he decided that cleaning must be part of the 'nesting' phase that many pregnant women went through. Sighing a little, he wondered why Sarah's nesting had to take the form of cleaning. 'Why couldn't she get the urge to bake chocolate chip cookies instead?' Although, remembering Sarah's previous 'experiments' in the kitchen, he decided that maybe cleaning wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

Leaning over, he reached into the trunk, pulling out a small, carved teak box whose contents rattled just a little as he lifted it. "Would you like some help? It might move things along a little more quickly," he offered, handing the box to its owner.

She smiled again, reaching out one hand to gently touch his cheek. "Yes, I think I'd like that."

They spent the next thirty-seven minutes investigating the contents of the trunk, stopping every so often to reminisce over an item as it made a brief appearance. By the time they reached the bottom of the huge trunk, every item had been removed, and its fate sealed, although not without some debate. He'd been determined to keep the old, tattered sweatshirt from his college days; she'd laughingly agreed to that, in return for him disposing of an equally ratty T-shirt that she claimed still smelled like sweaty gym socks.

Finally, Sarah reached in and retrieved the very last object. It was a large, soft package, covered in a sturdy cloth wrapping.

"What's this?" she asked herself, and began untying the strings holding the package closed.

He carefully watched the process; as the wrapping fell away, a shimmer of dark blue flashed in the room, the metallic threads and luxurious silk fibers gleaming in the light from the rays of the setting sun.

Sarah looked over at him, her smile suddenly radiant. "Oh, my God," she whispered, and slowly raised her arms, the glimmering blue material falling heavily across her gravid lap. "Do you remember this?"

He nodded, an affectionate smile crossing his face. "Oh, yes," he murmured, "I certainly do."

Each time that he'd seen Sarah wear that particular gown quickly flashed through his mind...

:: :: ::

It was a fairly common phenomenon. The fact that Sarah Mackenzie was a beautiful woman -- exquisitely beautiful, in fact -- had become lost in the day-to-day minutiae of work. He'd noticed her attractiveness as soon as they'd met -- a man would have to been dead three days *not* to notice -- but he'd managed to push the initial flare of attraction he'd felt for her into a portion of his mind that was reserved for private reflection. It hadn't taken very long for her looks to become something that he took for granted, like the sun coming up every morning.

Besides, she'd been openly hostile towards him from the beginning, so it wasn't as if acting on that attraction would have done him any good, anyway. While their relationship had improved over the past two years, it was still strictly a professional relationship; a fact that he'd long since resigned himself to with only a brief flash of regret.

If only she hadn't been so different this time. In the past, there'd always been just a trace of hostility lurking behind the cautious smile and firm handshake. But this time she'd treated him to a genuine smile and gentle teasing, and all those thoughts he'd spent two years trying to ignore came rushing in, catching him unawares.

The shift in their relationship started with their discussion about her attending the party at the Sudanese Embassy that evening. He'd promised to supply her with the appropriate clothing and accessories, and she'd teasingly pointed out that he didn't even know what size she wore.

"Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six; five feet, eight inches plus; a hundred and thirty pounds." He'd deliberately added ten pounds to her weight, just to see how she'd react. She didn't disappoint him.

"A hundred and twenty, thank you very much!" she'd indignantly corrected him, before storming out of the room, muttering about getting her hair and nails done.

The results had been his undoing. Familiarity with her looks had bred, if not contempt, at least the ability to feign indifference. But that night the full impact of Sarah Mackenzie's beauty had hit him like a freight train, leaving him almost literally gasping for breath. He'd been embarrassed, later, to remember the way he'd just stood there, his mouth open, unable to speak for several long moments, as she'd sauntered, oh-so-casually, in his direction. It hadn't been until Chegwidden had cleared his throat in warning that he'd finally returned to his senses and somehow found his voice again.

Without knowing how, he managed to draw his mind from the sultry brunette beside him, focusing on the mission guidelines. After hearing his rundown on the various 'toys' available for their use that evening, Sarah had given him an approving glance, remarking in a semi-mocking tone, "You're a regular James Bond, Webb."

Although he'd known that it had been meant mostly as a joke, he couldn't help but remember that James Bond always got the girl in the end, which he hoped was a favorable omen for the future.

Later, despite the way things had gone, Sarah had still looked stunning. Even with a darkening bruise on one temple and across her collarbone, she'd presented a sight for sore eyes. It had taken all of his much-vaunted self-control to keep things casual and friendly.

"Well, it looks like I've missed one hell of a party," he'd remarked, trying to disguise the fact that he'd been staring at Sarah. A lustful glance at her very long legs revealed that her dark blue dress was now definitely the worse for wear. The lengthy slit in the silky fabric of the skirt had become even longer now, affording him an even better look at a pair of legs that many Broadway dancers would kill for. A brief glance at Sarah's face also told him that his appreciation had not gone unnoticed.

To hide his embarrassment at being caught, he'd sarcastically demanded, "What happened to your dress? That's government property."

Sarah, completely unconcerned at his tone, had simply shrugged, "So bill me."

Then, once again, he watched Sarah Mackenzie walk out on the arm of another man, leaving him to wonder if James Bond ever had a day like that.

:: :: ::

'Another day, another embassy.'

He took one sip of his drink, quietly observing the activity in the room, taking in the sights and sounds. The room was crowded, and the music flowed over the guests. He stood alone, wishing the night were over, his report written, a glass of his excellent scotch in his hand. A wry smile crossed his lips as he took another sip of the French Ambassador's mediocre scotch.

He watched a pretty brunette in a red dress glide across the floor with a handsome tuxedoed partner, and unconsciously, certainly unwillingly, he compared her to someone else, the woman he used as the 'Gold Standard'; a standard which no other woman he'd ever known had ever been able to meet or even approach.

'I wonder where she is?' he asked himself. One of the perks of coming to tonight's party was knowing that Sarah Mackenzie was also coming.

Turning away from the dance floor, he motioned to the bartender to give him a refill. He idly watched her as she filled a fresh glass, and then heard an unmistakable voice at his ear.

"Hey, mister. You come here often?"

Feeling his breath catch, he slowly turned and saw her, standing immediately in front of him.

"Oh, I was wondering where you were, Colonel. Take a seat," he suggested, keeping the tone casual, and gesturing at a nearby empty table.

She did so, and then he noticed her dress, shimmering and flowing, a deep, lustrous blue. He looked away quickly, hoping that she hadn't noticed his appreciative, lingering gaze. She looked just as beautiful in it tonight as she had the last time she'd worn it. He wondered if she even remembered that night, or remembered that he'd been the one who'd chosen that particular dress for her.

Giving his head a small shake to clear it, he carefully put on his façade of disinterest. Attempting a tone of nonchalance, he spoke, "Why aren't you dancing this evening? With... who is it tonight? Rabb?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She shrugged, even that simple movement a graceful one, as she looked out over the dancing couples. For a brief moment, he allowed himself the hope that something had happened between them, that they might have quarreled, perhaps creating a rift that couldn't be healed.

"Well, you know Harm. He's running late, as usual, but he said he'd be here." She turned to smile mischievously at him, and the small flicker of hope he'd allowed himself to feel was snuffed out. He silently berated himself for allowing it to ignite in the first place.

One of the waiters appeared, inquiring after her preference in refreshment. She answered, and turned away again, simply watching the other guests at the party, even as he continued to watch her. He drank in the sight of her, again awed by the transformation a change of clothes could bring about. He had seen her in almost every situation possible: relaxing among her friends and colleagues, at the top of her form in the courtroom, more than holding her own in the midst of a firefight, charming men right and left at social functions. He'd even seen her in her own environment, her own apartment, where just a hint of who she really was could tease at his senses. But somehow, he decided, he never saw enough of this woman, this Sarah.

And he realized that he no longer thought of her as just a colleague, a friend, a co-worker. The feelings he'd worked so very hard to ignore began to swell within him, and he had to turn away and close his eyes, to try and keep them locked away where they should be... but failing miserably in the attempt.

"Would you care to dance?"

He turned back towards her as the strange voice intruded on his private struggle. A tuxedo-clad man was smiling down at her, his palm outstretched hopefully. He stiffened, a wave of jealousy washing over him, followed immediately by guilt. He had no rights over this woman and no say in what she did. But his relief was almost palpable when she shook her head and smiled at the stranger, "No, thank you. I'm waiting for someone."

The man retreated back into the crowd, and she smiled at Clay, sipping at the drink that had just arrived. Barely a minute passed, and then another man approached and asked her to dance, an offer she politely refused once again. It happened several more times. After the fourth would-be suitor left, she looked over at Clay, her smile mischievous and glorious. He smiled back at her, simply happy to be in her presence.

"Colonel, you might as well dance with someone. At least until Rabb gets here."

She tilted her head to the side, gazing directly into his eyes. "All right, I will... if you'll ask me."

His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, deliberately, he sat his glass down, stood up, and offered her his hand. "Would you care to dance?"

She stood and took his hand in hers. "Why, Mr. Webb, I thought you'd never ask," she gently teased him.

His heart pounded as he led her onto the floor. As they took their places, his hand moved to rest on her lower back, while her hand slid up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The music currently playing was slow and romantic, and they began moving to the music, finding their rhythm, moving as one. From this close, he could easily look into her eyes, those sultry brown eyes in which a man could get lost forever.

'Those are dangerous thoughts, Clay. Stop it, right this minute,' he sternly told himself.

Sarah smiled up at him, bringing his thoughts back to where they should be. He held his breath as she moved in even closer to him, her face and lips now only a breath away from his. Then she turned her head and leaned in, resting her cheek against his. He had to make a conscious effort to breathe, his head reeling with the overwhelming effect she was having on him.

As they moved around the room, his gaze fell on one of the men who had asked her to dance, and he could clearly see the envy on the man's face. Suppressing a smile, he tightened his arm against her back just slightly, claiming his victory, short-lived though it would be. He closed his eyes as the dance continued, letting the feel of her, the scent of her, this silent communion with her to permeate his entire being. In his fantasy, they were here together, a couple, sharing the first of many dances to come -- and he smiled happily.

"Mind if I cut in?" the familiar voice intruded into his fantasy, dissolving it with a cold dose of reality. His eyes snapped open and he saw Harm's smiling face. Sarah stepped back, the pleasure and happiness evident in her eyes and glowing smile.

He stepped back as they began to dance. Seeing the happiness on their faces, he could feel his heart breaking. And, as he turned away, the façade of indifference that he used to protect himself fell into place, once more.

:: :: ::

He sat at the table and watched as she moved through the crowd, stopping to speak with first one person, then another. He smiled as she laughed at a remark he could not hear, feeling the surprising connection that they shared, even from all the way across the room. He leaned back in his chair, amazed by her beauty, her elegance, her ability to comfortably maneuver through the throngs of people.

She continued on her path, a cool breath of dark blue, shining, in his eyes, more brightly than any of the other women in the room. He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he'd seen her in that dress, and at the last time, too; recalling how very different the circumstances had been back then, totally amazed at the changes that had taken place in his life since then. The fantasies of years ago paled in comparison to what he now had.

The musicians in the corner of the room resumed playing, and the crowd thinned out slightly as couples headed for the dance floor.

'Should I ask her to dance?'

As if reading his thoughts, she turned toward him from across the room and smiled. He smiled back and nodded. She exchanged a last word with her companion, then came over to the table and stood, looking at him.

"Hey, mister. You come here often?"

He laughed softly at her words; they were exactly what she'd said to him the last time she'd worn the dress, although under much different circumstances.

He stood, taking her arm, and walked her onto the floor. The music was already playing, and they immediately began moving together in time to it.

She smiled into his eyes, her mood buoyant, as it should be on this special evening. Another couple danced past them, each person offering them their congratulations. She graciously nodded and thanked them, then looked back at him.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asked. "And, if I may say so, that's a particularly lovely gown you're wearing, Ms. Mackenzie."

She laughed, and slapped a hand at him. "Beast! Did you think I wouldn't remember just where this dress came from?" He just shrugged a reply, a small smirk gracing his lips. "And I think I'm smart enough to know that what you really meant was, 'How soon can I get that gown off of you?'"

He chuckled, and said, "I think I'm going to plead the Fifth on that one, counselor." He reached out and brushed back one strand of dark hair that had fallen onto her cheek during this exchange.

Her eyes were glowing, in his mind outshining the sparkling material of her dress. At his gesture, she hugged him tightly, her cheek pressing against his. He sighed just slightly, closing his eyes. He treasured the moment, knowing that it would be a fleeting one. She pulled away a bit and they continued to dance.

"May I cut in?"

They both turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Harm smiled at them, and Clay stepped back, releasing her and allowing Harm to take his place.

"Thank you, Clay."

Clay nodded and left the floor, heading back to their table. He saw a familiar face sitting in the chair next to his, and smiled at her as he took his seat. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she laughed softly.

"She's amazing, isn't she? I still find it hard to believe that we're getting married."

Porter nodded, her eyes glistening with emotion. She'd come to have a fine appreciation for her future daughter-in-law during the months of Clay's recovery, and this was, in her opinion, a fine ending -- no, a fine beginning -- to their relationship.

Harm carefully returned Sarah into Clay's care, and then took his leave. Sarah sat down, smiling at her fiancé and future mother-in-law.

Without speaking, he leaned over and softly kissed Sarah's lips, then sat back and took her hand, entwining their fingers together. He no longer had any need for the mask he'd worn the other times that Sarah had worn that dress.

:: :: ::

Reaching out one hand, he fingered the dress's material, an inscrutable look on his face.

"Sarah, how much do you remember about the first time I saw you in this dress?"

She looked off towards the distance, trying to think. "Not a whole lot. That was a pretty busy night!" She looked back at him and smiled. "Why?"

He just shook his head. "It was a long time ago," he finally answered.

She tilted her head at him, curious now. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Just that it was a long time ago, and a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. I'm not sure I remember everything about it myself," he lied.

She threw him a glance, one that told him that she knew he wasn't being entirely truthful. But she chose not to push him too hard right now, not wanting to pressure him to reveal more than he felt comfortable with at the moment. She'd learned that, in his own time, in his own way, Clay would tell her everything she needed to know.

"Well," she said, as she refolded the dress, "I can definitely remember the last time I wore it. Three years ago, at our engagement party. And I'm pretty sure that the last time I saw it, it was in a pile on the floor of your bedroom."

"Oh, yes," he whispered, a sudden flare of desire making his voice husky, "I definitely remember that."

"Good," she quipped, as she rewrapped the fabric covering around the shimmer of dark blue that was now barely visible in the growing darkness. "I guess you're not as senile as I thought you were," she teased, glancing up at him, her eyes dancing with mirth.

He just shook his head at her in mock exasperation.

She held the package out to him. "So, what do we do with this?" She glanced down at her expanded waistline, and grimaced. "I may never be able to squeeze into it again, after this," she laughingly lamented. "I'm certainly not a 'thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six' right now! Okay, that does it; into the trash with it, since it's at least partially responsible for me being in this condition," she continued, still smiling.

Smirking his agreement, he reached out and took the package from her hand, and gently set it back into the trunk. "I have a better idea; let's save it for our daughter," he urged, smiling. "One night she'll be wearing it, and she'll catch of the eye of some young man. Of course, he'll immediately fall in love with her. And, if she's very, very lucky, they'll eventually get married and be as happy as I have been with you."

Sarah smiled at him, "Well, let's just hope that little what's-her-name doesn't take as long as we did to figure everything out."

Clay nodded and rose to his feet; he held out one hand to her to help her up off of the floor. Sarah grasped it lightly, and rose slowly, still caught up in her thoughts. He slipped one arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.

His voice was soft. "Would you care to dance?"

His question brought her back to the present and she laughed. He tightened his embrace, drawing her closer. Even after all this time, her laugh could still take his breath away.

"I love you, Clay."

He brushed his lips against hers. "I love you, Sarah."

They began to dance, swaying together as one; the day's last lingering light softly illuminating the symbols of both the past and of the future that surrounded them.

:: :: ::