<strong>Alex Macauley</strong><br/>Role: Tactical Officer<br/>Location: Intelligence Center<br/>Tag: Mari Prescott<br/><br/>Mac looked over the translation, and raised his eyebrows.  This wasn't half bad.  He took in a deep breath, then another, still fighting down the adrenaline surge from earlier.  He'd scared himself there, more than a little- not because the outburst had been particularly violent, but because it had taken him completely by surprise.  And the look she'd given him...it wasn't one Mac had ever seen before, but it had made his stomach and groin flush hot and red.  She hadn't expected or wanted him to step in, but once it was done something in her had reacted, as instinctively as a cat arches its back under a touch, and something in him had flared back.<br/><br/>Eight weeks of this.  He was so, so fucking screwed.<br/><br/>"Looks good.  Hey, Peters!"  A slightly built sailor with Coke-bottle glasses turned around from a radio console, blinking slightly in the dim light.  "Looks like one of our passengers speaks some Russian.  Skipper says they earn their keep, so see if you can get her up to speed.  Faster we can turn around the Red broadcasts, the better."  And then Mac leaned in, voice dropping, that hot flush coming over him as he whispered in a voice he prayed she couldn't hear, "And keep your hands to yourself, or so help me I will use your nuts as ping-pong balls.  You read me?"<br/><br/>Turning around at the man's nod, Mac managed a tight smile at Mari.  "See what you can pick up off Radioman Peters here, Miss Prescott.  I'll be back at the end of the watch.  Need anything or anyone bothers you before then, call the control room, but only if it's important.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to relieve the deck watch."  Mac turned to go, his collar flushing red again.  Suddenly he was only too glad to get a break from this woman.  If only so he could focus.