like a psychotic rainbow (raindroproses) wrote,
like a psychotic rainbow
raindroproses

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I'm so funneh. Except not.

This "fic" is the first in a series I have planned. I really think that Mac was replaced by a pod person somewhere around season five. This takes place during Boomerang (part one, part two, I can never remember). You know, with the whole 'Harm rejects Mac's attentions and Brumby proposes' thing.


"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Sarah MacKenzie threw her hands up in frustration.

"Look, can we just finish this scene? We have other things to do," Harm shot back.

"Finish this...? Look, flyboy, there's no way in hell I'm going along with this."

"Sarah, there's nothin' we can do." Mic Brumby shrugged. "We just do what The Producers and The Writers tell us to do."

Mac scowled. "No. Hell no. Do I look like the type of woman to get involved in a love triangle of soap opera proportions?"

The other two characters studied her. She reached over and smacked them both. "Ow!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Stop ogling me and help me figure out what to do!"

Harm shook his head. "Look, Mac, as the Australian said, there's nothing to do. We're pawns in this little power game."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to do something. Right now. And that something is: see ya." She glared up at the starry sky, then stormed off.

Harm and Mic looked at each other in confusion. "Where'd she go?" Mic asked.

"Dunno. Wanna get somethin' to eat while she gets over it?"

"Sure. They should have food somewhere around here." They wandered off, searching for the galley.

"Mic! Harm! Wait!"

They turned around, disappointed. They were hungry, damn it.

"Sarah?" "Mac?"

"Don't we have a scene to do?" The woman looked at them quizzically.

"Uh... you just..."

"What, Harm?" She gave him a brilliant smile.

"N-nothing." He braced himself to get ready to reject her again. "Let's get this over with."

In the background, Sarah MacKenzie watched Sarah MacKenzie get slapped down.

She smirked and resisted the urge to laugh as she made her escape.
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