This is a story that I have been working on for quite a while and have finally convinced myself to post it. The version found below is the edited version, meaning that the smutty parts have been taken out so that this fic meets ratingsstandards and regulations.
The complete version can be found in the crossover fiction secotionon my web site:
http/ a chapter of a portion of a chapter comes up that has been cut for this site I will post a note at the start of the chapter along with a link-esk thing that you can copy and paste if you wish to read the full story, smut and all.
This is a crossover between JAG and the X-Files, though I'm mostly just borrowing Scully, Mulder, and Bill Scully for what is really a JAG fic.
This story is definitely Harm/Meg, right from the beginning. There are hints of Harm/Scully (in the past), and some strains of Mulder/Scully, but, as this is written in First Person POV from Meg Austin's eyes, there isn't much beyond Harm/Meg.
It wasn't often that the pilots hung with the senior staff on or off a carrier and it was even less common for a couple of JAG lawyers to join them in their celebration—JAG is treated a lot like the Internal Affairs Bureau in civilian PD—but one thing that I've had learned over the course of my life, especially in recent years, is that the unexpected often happened when you expected things to go as normal.
Of course, it didn't hurt that the Skipper of the carrier that was currently in port was an old friend of my partner and that he and Bill had pretty much grown up together.
Or the fact that the JAG lawyers were none other than my partner, Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb Jr and myself.
I didn't like Bill, felt he was condescending and basically a jackass, and I know Harm agreed with me on that. Bill was old-school Navy, despite being raised in the new military where a woman is just as good as a man. But Harm and Bill were old friends and the JAG investigation had wrapped up early that morning, unfortunately ten minutes after the daily transport left the ship, so we were stuck there until morning. I would have normally just gone my room at the VOQ and blocked out the chauvinistic comments from the seaman who, it seemed, believed that women belonged in the home and not on aircraft carriers or even around a base. And I really wanted to just go to the room I was assigned when we arrived and to hide behind battleship gray walls until morning. But I knew that, when Harm got around old friends he tended to either piss them off royally or talk his way into the cockpit of an F-14. Neither option appealed to me one bit.
I hate it when he flies in those things.
I hate it even more when he starts drinking.
The scotch had gotten too pricey two hours before and the beer had been brought out of hiding moments later.
Harm was fighting hard, but he was keeping up with the other sailors drink for drink. Knowing Harm as well as I do, I knew that he didn't drink much, usually just some wine with dinner or a beer or two while watching a game at a friend's place—he didn't own a TV, though he did use mine quite often, especially during baseball season—and I honestly hated the fact that my highly warranted I told you so the next morning would be drowned out by the helo's blades, but, hey, that the hangover should be punishment enough.
All I can say is that it was a good thing Harm didn't get airsick.
"You don' havta hang out here if you don' wanna, Meg," Harm said when he noticed that I was checking my watch again.
"Someone's gotta get you back to your bunk in one piece," I said, not caring that he was my superior officer. The moment his drink count passed three he became just another drunk sailor in the Officer's Club. "Knowing you, you'd probably try to get into a Tomcat to run some traps before bed."
"Mmmmeeegggg," Harm whined, "you know I don' fly at night," he said with a deep, pouty frown.
"I don't think that was her point, buddy," Bill said, draping a drunken arm over my shoulders. I immediately pushed him off. The stench of alcohol on his breath was too much after the day I'd had. I probably would have felt a little better if he was drunk, too, but the man seemed to be able to hold his liquor. I was feeling slightly drunk just from all the alcoholic smells in the air, and Bill had downed god knows how much.
Damn him.
Harm frowned for a moment, his brow furrowing adorably, then he realized what I mean and he shot me a glare. It's been a while since I'd seen him good and drunk and I'd forgotten how he couldn't discern sarcasm from honesty in his inebriated state.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw an attractive waitress heading over to the room the officers of the USS Titon had commandeered. She was clearly intent on taking more orders, hoping for a bigger tip or maybe a few minutes alone with a sailor that'd been away from home for too long to remember the kind of lovin that comes from someone other than their own hand, and I knew that it was time to get Harm out of there while he was still somewhat functioning and alone in his bed for the next four hours.
"Okay, Flyboy, time for you to start sleeping this off," I said, motioning for Harm to get to his feet.
"Yes ma'am," Harm said, sounding like a little boy being told to do to bed by his mother. If he weren't so deep into pink elephant territory I probably would have hauled off on him for acting like I was his mother. If he were any more intoxicated I probably would have called his mother.
Which reminds me that we've been within an hour's drive of his mother and stepfather for over a week and he hasn't so much as called her to say 'hey mom, I'm on your side of the country at the moment, wanna come down to the base for dinner?' like he usually does when we're in the SoCal region.
Crossing a base at night is usually not so bad, especially the bigger bases. They're well lit, streets are clearly marked, and the BOQ is usually close to the O Club for obvious reasons. Crossing a base at night with a drunken sailor who is at least a foot taller than you and is leaning heavily on you while singing some random country tune about a lost woman or possibly a piece of sugar free gum—he's slurring too much for me to be sure—is not fun.
"Harm, where's your key?" I asked when we came up on the beginning of the rows of motel-like housing for unmarried visiting officers.
Patting down his pockets sloppily, Harm kept singing. He ran out of pockets, though, and stopped. "Dunno," he said with a frown.
And then he started to fade.
As a rule I don't pick locks, especially on bases. Uncle Ollie taught me how when I was little because I kept losing the keys to the house whenever I went riding. It's much easier to make sure you have a bobby pin in your hair than to make sure you have a set of keys in your pocket. But, since we were on a base and the Public Relations Officer had promised a personal wake-up call at 0600, I figured it wouldn't be wise to let Harm crash in my room. There are already enough rumors flying around about our relationship and whether or not we're 'screwin'. I'm sure his key is in his coat pocket, it usually is, but I don't bother checking because, once again, the last thing we need is someone going around saying that I was groping my partner outside the Bachelor Officer's Quarters in the middle of the night.
I settle Harm against the wall, praying that he stays standing long enough for me to do this, and I crouch down low to pick the lock. It's an old one, and relatively easy to pick, but I'm nervous and I keep looking up to check on Harm every few seconds.
Within a minute I'm in and I helped Harm over to the bed. He flopped down, cover and all, and I took his cover off, tugged his shoes and coat off, and lifted his legs up onto the bed. It was too hot to bother with covers, so I didn't worry about trying to get them out from under his body.
"Don' go," Harm said in a whiny voice, reaching out as I turned to leave.
"Harm, you know I can't stay," I said softly. I knelt down so I was at his eye level and I stroked his hair soothingly.
"I know," he said sadly. "Wish you could, though," he added, his eyes meeting mine for a long moment before his body shut down and he passed out.
"Me too, Harm," I whispered as I leaned in to place a tender kiss on his forehead. I quickly made sure that he wouldn't fall out of bed and I moved the garbage can closer to the bed, just in case, and then I left, more than a little reluctantly.
Even though the transport wasn't due to leave for another two hours, I was dressed and packed shortly after six. The base PRO had come by my room at 0600 on the dot and I'd managed to convince him to get me to spare key to Harm's room after explaining that he would be very hung over and was not known for being too friendly early in the morning anyway. Apparently the young Public Relations Officer didn't have a death wish and was all too willing to leave my partner in my hands.
Of course, he didn't leave without giving me an envelope.
The contents?
A fax from Admiral Chegwidden stating that we would have to take civilian transportation back to Washington since we had missed the transport the day before we were supposed to go out on and that we would be paying our way home.
That means he's had another fight with Sydney.
Of course, that also means that I have to sit next to Harm on a 747 or whatever we end up on and watch him wish he were up in the cockpit rather than leaving the flying of the 'friendly skies' to a couple of air force drop outs.
And, to top it off, he'll be hung over.
My day just keeps getting worse and worse.
Using the key provided by the PRO, I let myself in and found Harm in basically the same position as I left him a little over four hours ago. He's lying on his side, his left arm thrown over his eyes, his right arm dangling off the side of the bed with his fingertips brushing the dusty floor. The bathroom light is on, though, so I know he's moved at least as far as to the toilet and back, which is a comfort, albeit a small one.
Putting the large water bottle and the bag of bagels I'd brought with me down on the dresser, I took a calming breath before going to wake Harm.
"Hey, Flyboy, time to get up," I said gently as I wiggled his shoulder a little. Harm is always such a bear in the mornings, and, though the thought of bringing a Marine in to sound off with his trumpet is alluring, I know that my life will be much easier if Harm is awakened slowly and gently. "Come on, Harm, we're going home soon, and they might let you fly," I said, though I knew the Navy had no intention of letting him fly. Hell, I had no intention of letting him fly. He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled his shoulder away from my fingers.
"Go away," Harm mumbled, swatting blindly at me.
"No can do, Harm. We've gotta go," I said while tugging on his arm. I was about two failed attempts away from dousing him with ice water. "Come on, Harm. If you don't get up I'll have to call the Admiral and explain why we're not on our way back… and you know that he'll probably put you on desk duty for a few months until he's forgiven you… long hours sitting in the office, no chances to fly, forced to eat from vending machines… I know you won't be able to stand it. And I really don't want to have to break in a new partner now that I've finally got you right where I want you."
Harm frowned and lifted his head a little, his aqua coloured eyes meeting mine. "And where would that be?" he asked in what would have probably been a seductive tone if he didn't sound like he'd spent the night digging in the desert with his mouth.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," I replied with a smile. "Now get up. I've got water and bagels and some news that you may or may not like, depending on how your savings account looks right now."
Harm groaned. "I don't think I want to know," he said before rolling out of bed and stumbling toward the bathroom, grabbing the bottle of water along the way.
I stayed where I was until I heard the shower start up and then I started packing up Harm's things, leaving him one civilian outfit to wear on the way home. I was dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans and a light sweater instead of my uniform because flying across the country in uniforms is not the most comfortable thing in the world and, since we're going to be taking civilian transport, we won't stand out in civvies, which is always a plus.
Plus Harm looks mouthwateringly good in civvies.
True, his uniform is just as sexy, and don't even get me started about him in dress whites, but when Harm wears jeans and a tee shirt and he steps out of the 'officer and a gentleman' cliché role that he lives ninety percent of his life by, there's something so seductive about him that it makes my head spin.
After I'd tidied up I wrote out a note and left it on top of the neatly folded clothes I'd left on the foot of the bed for Harm. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to hear me over the water and the pounding in his head, I left the room silently and headed for the mess hall where I'd asked Harm to meet me.
I'd just sat down with my food when Harm came through the door. He got in line and got his own breakfast and then came over and joined me.
"How're you feeling now?" I asked tentatively.
"Headachy, but otherwise functional," Harm said. "What's with the civvies?"
"The Admiral is pissed we missed the transport yesterday so we're flying civilian," I explained. "On our own dime."
Harm groaned. "Great," he muttered before tentatively tasting what passed for oatmeal. It passed muster, it seemed, because he kept eating it.
"So I was thinking that after breakfast we'd head out. There's a flight leaving at noon that we might be able to get on if we're lucky," I said, fighting a frown as Bill headed in our direction.
"Yeah, sure," Harm said dismissively.
His attention was elsewhere.
Craning my neck to see what had caught his attention, I spotted a beautiful redheaded woman standing next to a gorgeous man who was the definition of the sexy 'tall, dark, handsome, and brooding' type. Both we wearing dark suits, and neither carried themselves like military, which was puzzling.
What was even more puzzling was the fury that came over Bill's face when he saw the pair.
Dropping his tray onto the nearest surface, Bill made a beeline for the suited couple who were speaking to a young Ensign. Harm tensed up and swore under his breath before jumping to his feet and hurrying after Bill. Not wanting to leave him without backup, I followed Harm.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Bill demanded of the man, poking him in his Armani-clad chest.
"Damn it, Bill, cut it out," the redhead snapped, grabbing Bill's wrist and pulling it away from the man. Bill isn't a small man but the woman's grip seemed enough to hold him off for the moment. I was impressed and intrigued. "We're here on assignment. We were just asking the Ensign where we could find Admiral Jakobs."
Bill turned to the Ensign who didn't back down under the murderous glare he was getting. I reminded myself to commend the Ensign later. "I was just telling the Agents that Admiral Jakobs will probably be arriving at his office before 0700, sir," he said, his voice strong and steady.
"There are no little gray men on this base, Mulder," Bill said, turning his fury back on the suited man. Agent Mulder, my mind filled in. CIA, maybe. Possibly NCIS, though I felt that wasn't quite right. FBI seemed likely. The little gray men comment threw me, though.
"We're on the tail of a serial rapist, Bill," the man, Mulder, said. "This isn't an X-File. We're on loan to Violent Crimes."
Ah, so it was FBI. I'd heard of the X-Files. A two-person department hidden away in the basement of the Hoover Building. Investigations into the paranormal. The Bureau didn't like advertising the department, but I've got some friends there who have lips that could sink ships.
"Why are you looking for Admiral Jakobs?" Harm asked.
The woman stood up a little straighter. "Harmon Rabb?" she asked, a slight frown coming over her soft features.
Harm nodded.
Mulder and I frowned.
Bill turned and walked away, frustrated that no one was paying attention to his righteous indignation riff.
"Scully?" Mulder asked his partner.
"Um, sorry," the woman, Scully, said, shaking her head after breaking eye contact with Harm. "Mulder, this is Harmon Rabb, Jr. We grew up together. He's a Naval fighter pilot. Harm, this is my partner, Fox Mulder."
"Nice to meet you," Harm said, shaking Mulder's hand. "And I don't get up much anymore. I'm actually with JAG now." I cleared my throat slightly. "Oh, and this my partner, Meg Austin. Meg, this is Dana Scully. Bill's baby sister."
Scully lined Harm up with an icy glare that would have stopped Admiral Chegwidden cold.
"Bill's younger sister," Harm amended quickly. I smiled. "What happened to the whole 'med school' plan?" he asked Scully.
"I went to med school. I just decided that I could help more people at the FBI than I could becoming a GP," Scully said. "When did law school happen, though? I thought you would be commanding your own squadron by now."
Harm chuckled softly. "Yeah, so did I. Unfortunately the Navy doesn't like it when their pilots can't fly at night," he said.
"Night blindness," Dana said with a thoughtful look on her face. "That explains so much," she said with a pointed look. Harm blushed. My curiosity soared.
Mulder motioned for me to follow him and I did, knowing that we wouldn't be missed. "You getting the feeling that we're not getting the whole story?" he asked me once we were a safe distance away from Harm and Scully.
"Definitely," I nodded. "And I'm also guessing that there's not exactly a warm and fuzzy relationship between you and Bill."
"That would be an understatement," Mulder said with a lopsided smile. He looked over at our partners and then he looked back at me. "Any clue where I could find Admiral Jakobs? I've got the feeling they're gonna be traveling down Memory Lane for a while and we've already pissed off the SAC and our AD today."
"How industrious of you," I said before motioning for him to follow me.
"Hey, I piss more people off by noon that you probably will in a lifetime," Mulder said.
"You've obviously never seen me in a courtroom," I replied.
Cognizant of the fact that I was wandering around a naval base in civvies, I made a quick detour and changed into my last remaining summer-whites uniform, grabbing my cover before heading back out with Agent Mulder loping along beside me.
"So… the whole X-Files thing isn't a myth?" I asked lamely. Mulder shot me a confused look. "Sorry. I have some friends at the Bureau and they've mentioned some cases… I believe they called them 'insane'."
"Insane is one of the terms commonly used, yes," Mulder nodded. He didn't seem at all phased by this. "Who do you know?"
"Amanda Peters and Thomas Royle," I said.
"Violent crimes," Mulder nodded. "I know them. Worked a case with them last month. They're good agents."
We walked in silence for another minute before Mulder spoke again.
"Do you believe in the existence of extra terrestrials, Miss Austin?"
"Meg," I corrected. I hate being called 'Miss'. If people are going to be formal with me I prefer that they use my rank. "And I believe that it's possible that there are more things in the universe than is generally accepted. I don't know exactly what is out there, but I believe that we're not as 'alone' as everyone thinks."
Mulder held his hands over his heart. "I think I may love you, Meg Austin."
I rolled my eyes and laughed.
We had just reached the building where Jakobs' office is housed when my cell phone started ringing. I uttered a quick apology and then turned away to answer it. "Lieutenant Commander Austin," I said.
It was Admiral Chegwidden. "Did you get my fax this morning, Commander?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I got your fax."
"Then you understand that you and Commander Rabb are a day late both in returning to Washington and turning in your final report on the investigation."
I cringed. I knew there was something I was supposed to have done before I went to bed last night. The report was saved to my hard drive, waiting to be e-mailed to the Admiral. "Yes, I understand that we are a day late.
"And you realize that you once again went over your budgetary limitations."
I cringed again. We'd been given this case to try to keep our budget in line. Unfortunately circumstances got away from us yet again. "Yes, I realize that we went over budget again."
"Is Rabb there?"
"No, Commander Rabb is not with me at the moment."
"Tell him that you two are to stay in San Diego for another investigation. This came right from the top, Commander."
"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to pass that along, sir," I said somewhat reluctantly. The last few cases we've received that have come 'right from the top' have not gone well.
"I've already sent the files you will need to get started. The courier should arrive by 1200 your time. I expect a report by 1900," Admiral Chegwidden said. I cringed again. That didn't give us much time to go over everything. So either there wasn't much to the case—which wouldn't make sense if it came right from the top—or the timetable was incredibly tight. Another bad omen.
"Yes, I'll be waiting for the files to arrive, sir. You'll have a preliminary report by 1900."
"Tell Rabb that there are to be no heroics this time. You'll be working in conjunction with outside agencies. Let them do the dirty work. You two are only there to ensure that the Navy's best interest is represented," Chegwidden said.
"Yes sir. I'll be sure to tell Commander Rabb you said so, sir," I said. I was starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, what outside agencies will we be working with?"
"I don't know," Chegwidden said honestly. "I expect daily updates on the progress of the investigation."
"Of course, sir," I said.
"That's all, Commander," Chegwidden said.
"Aye, aye, sir," I said, standing a little straighter—not completely at attention but close enough. Some habits are hard to break.
Admiral Chegwidden hung up and I sighed heavily. I'd been looking forward to getting home.
So much for those plans.
"Bad news?" Mulder asked as I turned around.
"Depends on your point of view," I replied nonchalantly.
"And what's your point of view?" Mulder asked casually.
I felt like screaming in frustration. "Look, Agent Mulder, I've heard about you. You were Patterson's surrogate son, the golden boy of the BSU. It's probably instinct for you to profile everyone you meet. That's fine. If you're gonna profile me, I'm not gonna stop you. But I just found out that I'm going to miss my godson's birthday because I'm going to be here. I promised him that I would be home for his party. I've never broken a promise to him before." I looked at the time and sighed. "Admiral Jakobs office is at the end of the hall, past the bullpen, second door on the left after the copy machine. Think you can find your way back to the mess hall after you're done here?"
"Photographic memory," Mulder said, tapping his temple.
"Handy," I commented bitterly.
Mulder sighed softly in frustration. "Look, I'm sorry if I've offending you in some way—that was not my intention," Mulder stated delicately. It was clear he wasn't used to apologizing for his less-than-tactful actions. "I just… find you intriguing."
"Like a specimen under a microscope?" I frowned.
"Microscopes are my partner's thing," Mulder replied. "I deal in human emotions. Human nature."
"And I intrigue you?" I asked, still frowning. "What exactly am I supposed to make of that?"
Mulder shrugged.
"You are incredibly frustrating, you know that?" I said.
"It's been intimated more than once," Mulder said casually. "Second door after the copy machine?" he asked, nodding his head toward the bullpen.
"Just let the Petty Officer know why you're here and you should be okay," I nodded. Mulder executed a sloppy salute that made me cringe and then he turned on his heel and headed inside as I turned and started to head back to the mess hall in hopes of finding Harm.
TBC...