Mac rubbed a hand over her face, allowing herself a deep sigh of exhaustion. She couldn’t remember a time she’d been more tired. Arriving at the end of the chow line, she held her tray up to the apron-clad chef, receiving a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf.

She found a table and plopped down. She really wasn’t that hungry. Poking at her meatloaf, she absently wondered where Harm was. Then she heard a soft groan.

Curiously, she turned. Harm was walking carefully toward her table, and she noticed that he was wincing every few steps. She tried to suppress a knowing smile as he sat down beside her.

Harm managed to make himself comfortable on the metal chair, shooting her a dirty look when he saw her smirking behind her Coke. “Don’t even say it, Mac.”

“What? That the cocky flyboy is saddlesore?”

She never saw the rolled-up napkin ‘til it hit her nose.

- Finish -