'EVER AFTER, AFTER ALL'
Authors: Daenar and Steph
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: PG-13, getting NC-17 in the last chapter
Category: Romance (Harm/Other), Drama
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Close Quarters' (9x07)
Summary: Sometimes, "Happily ever after" seems a lost cause. And just then, it's waiting somewhere you'd never have expected it to lurk...
This story assumes that Harm did return to JAG after Paraguay and his CIA intermezzo, but the rest of season 9 never happened. Mattie doesn't play a role in his life.
Authors' notes: This is a special story for both of us, but for one of us in particular. Each of us takes one person's POV and we alternate POVs with each chapter, because what we want to tell needs to be told from both sides. It's a story of devotion and passion, of surprise and new perspectives, of pain as well as of happiness. But most of all, it's a story about the spirit and strength each of us carries inside him/herself. All we need to do is set it free.
Please, note that this is not a Harm/Mac shipper story. Although we are both still fervently hoping for those two to get together on the show (Never doubt that!), we felt we might as well try out a different scenario, and we like what's come out of it. So, if you don't want to read about any other pairings than Harm/Mac, you might want to refrain from reading this story. We don't have any problems at all with readers who choose not to go for this, but we decidedly do with those who write disrespectful mails just because they didn't get the ending they would have wanted. If you want to tell us what we might have done better within the story we made up, you're always very welcome to let us know. But if your only concern is to rant about Harm being with someone else than Mac, then please, do it in private, okay? Thank you.
Another disclaimer, just to avoid any misunderstandings: we don't intend to imply that Georgetown University discriminates against handicapped people. We just wanted this story to take place in existing locations. The events are entirely fictional and if anyone should feel offended, we sincerely apologize. Also, we are very aware that nowadays, in most places, handicapped people are well integrated into society. However, experience has shown that sadly, this isn't always the case. But we don't want to blame society in general. We know that in the last decades, the situation and general acceptance of handicapped people has improved a lot. So, please, take our tale for what it is: a description of what problems can still occur – but, fortunately, less and less. Let's hope things will continue that way.
And on a personal note...
From Dae: Steph, this has been a great experience. I've learned a lot about different perspectives on the same facts, and – most important of all – I've once again gotten a proof of how great a friend you are. Thank you so much, chérie! And I'm incredibly proud to see just how much our writing process has influenced you, too! Way to go!
From Steph: Dae, this has been a great experience for me, too! You've taught me a lot with *your* way of seeing life. I'm very proud and thankful that you allowed me to write this with you. Knowing you has made me become a better person and realized what I've always had: my strength. And I want to tell you once more (though I know I've told you this a million times already): thank for being such a great friend, chérie! Having you as a friend is a gift from heaven.
Many, many thanks to Heather for beta-reading!
CHAPTER ONE
***************
0423 ZULU
Harm's apartment
North of Union Station
Washington, D.C.
How long have I been lying here, trying to sleep? I haven't got the slightest idea. Mac's sense of timing might come in handy right now. But what use would it be anyway if I knew how long my thoughts have been circling around what happened today? I'm sure if I knew, it wouldn't be any easier to go to sleep. So I'll just try to relax and let my thoughts flow any way they like.
It's not that I don't know this feeling. Thinking and thinking and thinking about something... someone to be exact... looking at the mental image from every angle imaginable, and yet, always arriving at the same conclusion in the end:
Wow.
I think I'm in danger of falling in love. Who knows – maybe the feeling is just due to the absolute lack of romance in my life that has existed for so long now. Okay, not exactly, but ill-fated romance is even worse. So maybe my mind jumped at the possibility of something so entirely positive as this seems to be.
No, Rabb, don't go there. You're not thinking straight.
Okay, I'll take a deep breath and try to think of something – someone – else. Mac. She's gone. For good. Reassigned to Pearl Harbor. Conveniently, a certain spook just moved over there as well...
Why the heck doesn't this bother me? I have to admit that since Paraguay, I've come a long way when it comes to getting over her. And I know it's for the best. Moving on is what's best for both of us. In every relationship, there is one point where trying to make amends is a fruitless endeavor. We definitely crossed that line. Maybe we were nearer to it than we thought all the time anyway. I don't know. But her 'never' and my subsequent silence just did it. And strange as it seems, once I had drawn that line, I felt... free. Okay, I cried a few tears on my own at first. But then I became aware of how easy it was to breathe all of a sudden. It was as if a superhuman burden I hadn't even been aware of had suddenly been lifted off my chest.
There's just one thing you can compare this feeling to: flying.
I'm feeling so light, so free, so blissfully renewed to life... At first, I had one hell of a bad conscience. I did cause Mac a lot of pain during the years we spent as best friends. And I did aspire to something with her. Badly. And now, all I can feel is relief?
Yet – I can't help it. That's just the way it is. I don't have to understand it. I'll just savor it best as I can. And the most wonderful thing about it is that Mac is feeling the same way! It's too good to be true. In a moment of honesty we finally had 'that' talk we always tried our hand at, and this time it worked – via email.
Maybe it's just the distance that we really needed to be happy with each other. She wrote first, telling me that she and Clay are engaged. That she hoped I could bring myself to be happy for her despite everything, because that was what she wanted. For us to stay friends, no matter what.
Her email breathed happiness. And this time, unlike when she was with Brumby, her happiness is real. I can see it shining through every word she writes. Maybe I'm just a little envious of Clay because he achieved in no time what I couldn't in eight years. But be that as it may – I am truly, honestly happy for her, for both even. As I said, I absolutely can't explain it but it's true. We are exchanging emails on a daily basis and this is exactly what I keep telling her:
I wish her every happiness imaginable.
And maybe this peace of mind I've found was what was needed to make it happen. To make "today" happen.
God, I'm thinking about her again.
Karin.
No, I won't try to define what I'm feeling for her. I'll just admit that she impressed me to no end. There was no adventure involved, no heroics, no... whatever. Just someone I met whose attitude and spirit alone managed to knock me off my feet.
If someone had told me when I got up that instead of the ordinary lonely Saturdays I've gotten used to, I was going to have the time of my life, doing nothing spectacular at all – I wouldn't have believed a word of it. But apparently, being at peace with oneself and the world in general can work wonders.
It was gray and rainy when I woke up, and all I could think of was, 'Oh, man, what a waste of flying time!' So, from my morning coffee up to well after lunchtime I contemplated what I was going to do with my no-flying day instead. And to my complete surprise, at some point, without knowing what had taken me there, I found myself at the Smithsonian.
It's not that I never go to exhibitions or museums. On the contrary, natural history has fascinated me ever since I was a little boy. One of my favorite memories I have of my dad is of the day he took me to a geological exhibition for children in L.A. Maybe if I hadn't already been infected by the Navy virus, geo-sciences might have been something to choose for a profession. Every time I'm up in the air, I'm awed by the unimaginable energies nature holds. Our own attempts to equal or let alone tame it seem so insignificant once you have felt what a single storm cell can do to your 40-million-dollar bird.
Anyway, without a clear aim as to which department I wanted to visit, I just took a long, comfortable stroll through the institution, looking here, reading there, once again in awe of our planet.
I was in a world of my own... until at one point, I all but ran into a group of visitors that had formed around an exhibit I was unable to see because of the crowd. Now, normally, what do you expect when you see a lot of people gathered together? Noise, most of all. Chatting, laughing, arguing, whatever. Or, in a museum, you'd expect people with bored or stressed expressions on their faces, listening to the monotonous drone of a tour guide who has told the same stories too often.
However, this group was the exact opposite. About thirty people in between ten and seventy were obviously hanging on someone's every word, listening with pure fascination to the voice that was telling a story that's 4.6 billion years old.
And then it happened. 'It' – what's 'it'? I don't know. Subjectively, something inside me changed. Objectively, it was just a voice. But its tone was so unique it made me jump.
For this voice, the word 'contrast' didn't exist. It was joyous like a sunray breaking through the clouds - but at the same time it seemed to have ripened by having known the real pain and hardship of life. It was as strong and as clear as any anchorman or speaker in front of a large crowd could have wished for - but at the same time, it felt like a warm, velvety breeze, caressing my ears and my mind. It sounded young, eager and full of dreams and expectations for life - and at the same time it sounded wise, prudent and serene in a calm way. What its owner was telling were mere scientific facts - but from the way they rang in my ears, they could have been something in between a thriller and a fairy tale. The voice was pure passion, overjoyed to be able to share with other people what the person it belonged to loved exploring.
"...and the deeper a rock is within the Earth, the hotter and denser it is. Both temperature and pressure increase with depth. With every kilometer in depth, the temperature increases by about 45°F, and the pressure increases by about 250 atmospheres. One atmosphere means the average pressure of the atmosphere at sea level. Now, the weight of all the rocks above squeezes those below-just as pressure from overlying water crushed this plastic foam cup..."
Gasps of surprise were heard as the speaker apparently pointed something out to her audience.
"...and pressure from the Earth's atmosphere makes your ears pop when you change elevation."
"Will my ears pop when I take the elevator?" a little voice anxiously asked. Stifled laughter rippled through the group, and I couldn't help grinning myself. Curious, I stepped nearer and merged into the group as if I belonged to it. If anyone asked for a ticket, I'd just offer to pay for any extras.
Now, the mysterious voice rung with merriment, but it was clear the speaker took the question absolutely serious. "No, honey. You can take the elevator as often as you like. But maybe you know that funny feeling you get when a plane takes off? As if you'd put cotton in your ears and stuff in more and more of it all the time? And then you need to swallow again and again, right? Now imagine you couldn't swallow. And imagine the plane would rise higher and higher and never land again. Then eventually the air would press so hard on your ear-drums that they'd burst. Boom! Just like that. Can you imagine? Air is so light you almost can't feel it and yet it's so powerful it can even squash objects made of thick metal if you put too much of it into too little space. Or it can rip things apart! Think about storms, for example. You know, this is the true secret of the universe: never take things for what they seem to be. There's magic inherent in everything. We only need to keep our eyes open to see it!"
Silence followed this animated speech. I became aware that I was holding my breath and let it out slowly, my heart beating a little faster than before. Hearing my own sight of nature's wonders told this way to a child, in this voice that was so unsettling in such a positive way...
In short, I was dying to see the person it belonged to.
I rose on tiptoe to get a better look. Sure, I was taller than almost everyone in the group, but with four rows of people standing in front of you, even 6'4 will only get you so far. I looked around, scrutinizing everyone present, but no one struck me as the type to command such magic. But then I followed people's awed gazes. And saw her.
My first reaction was shock. The voice belonged to a young woman, 25 to 30 years old, I estimated. Brown hair, a little shorter than shoulder length, slightly curled, a captivating smile on her face, telling of her deep, passionate belief in what she had just told us.
And she was sitting in a wheelchair.
I think my first thought was something along the lines of, 'Oh, God, what a pity! Poor girl!' or something of the kind. But she immediately made me understand just how stupid my reaction was.
While I was still gaping at her in a rather un-gentlemanlike way, trying to squeeze her voice and her handicap into the same mental folder in my brain, she suddenly stared back, grinning, until I became aware of my lack of behavior and immediately felt my ears turn red.
"The tall gentleman at the back of the class agrees that nature is the most fascinating of things?" she asked ironically, disarming me completely with her sweet grin.
Boy, was I ever embarrassed. Of course, every face in the group instantly swiveled around to look at me, and I think my complete horror must have hung tangible in the air.
'React. React, Rabb, dammit. Somehow. Anyhow. Just say something, you moron!'
"Uh... sure!" I agreed lightly, using the one weapon she had left me, blissfully unaware of its existence. So I charged full force and... smiled back. "I was just contemplating how wonderfully you'd summed up what I'm completely unable to explain to others."
Bless my dad for passing his features on to me. It worked. Her smugness faded just a little, enough to turn her expression genuinely pleased at my praise, a little shy even. And I had to will myself not to lose control of my face again. The smile she gave me went right through to my heart.
"Thank you, sir," she said simply, sweetly, and almost immediately turned her attention elsewhere where another question had arisen.
To everyone else, it may have been two seconds. To me, the moment our gazes held felt like time had frozen. So, when she happily summoned the group to follow her to the next topic she wanted to tell us about, I hung back a little and desperately tried to clear my dazed spirit. What the hell was wrong with me?
Obedient like a shepherd's flock, the group followed the young guide as she swiftly wheeled her chair out of the hall, through a corridor and into the next hall. I had casually snuck in front and was now walking just a little behind her, observing her. I could see that in her hand, she had a remote control but whenever we neared one of the many glass doors and she had just placed her thumb over the button marked 'open', someone had already opened the doors for her. A faint frown would cross her brow but vanish immediately after, as she forcefully renewed her smile and was all happiness again.
In front of an oversized satellite image of the Americas, she stopped, wheeled around and waited for her group to assemble. "All right," she began, and the magic of her voice was there again. "Speaking of nature's energy: there are few things where it's so evident as it is in the phenomenon we call 'weather'."
"Don't I know it," I agreed before I could stop myself.
She halted, the slight frown again for a millisecond clouding her face. Then she turned to me and again smiled as disarmingly as the first time.
"Oh, do you, sir?" she asked, cocking her head. "Don't we all forget our umbrellas from time to time?"
"I'm sorry," I apologized, not really knowing where to look, "I... I got carried away."
An elderly lady addressed me sternly, "If you join our group without paying for a guided tour, you could at least listen and hold your tongue, young man." A few people nodded and murmured consent.
"Sorry," I mumbled again, trying to step back a little when the guide's voice made me stop.
"Actually, sir," she said sweetly, just the slightest hint of a challenge swinging in her tone, "I get the notion it wasn't just a forgotten umbrella in your case. What was it?"
I felt inclined to accept her challenge but all the eyes resting upon me were making me feel uneasy. "Oh, nothing really," I lamely tried my escape, wanting nothing more than to let her be the center of attention again.
Big mistake. She immediately picked up on my lie. "If you say so..." she said, considerable doubt as well as suppressed chuckling audible in her words. "Well, time for applying my 'tour guide's privilege' once again," she said boldly, exchanging a few merry glances with her smirking group, and then meeting my eyes again. Hers - blue behind small, elegant frameless glasses - were sparkling. "You know, sir," she explained, "My poor group is already acquainted with the rule. You only joined us now that the tour is almost over so I can't blame you for not knowing. It's quite simple: anyone who lets show that he or she might know something that could be of scientific interest to the group will be required to tell it if I say so. We already had interesting contributions today on the topics of maritime sediment layers and the coastal volcanic mountain ranges around Juneau, Alaska. So, now it's your turn, Mr..." she expectantly looked at me.
"Rabb," I supplied a little hoarsely. The group was openly enjoying my embarrassment.
"Mr. Rabb," she repeated happily, "Your choice: do you want to tell us why you know about the energies of meteorological processes, or would you rather like to tell us something about the El Niño phenomenon because that was going to be our last topic for today?" She pointed to the satellite picture behind her and indeed, I recognized the notable absence of clouds over the South-American Pacific Coast, West of the Atacama desert.
Still unsure if she really meant it, I looked down at her again. Her sweet, mocking grin was in place (fully mirrored by her group's expressions, by the way, all directed at me, the infamous intruder). At that moment, I decided that this was my chance to do two things: deprive the people around me of the chance to gloat at my failure and, strangely, more important to me, impress this young woman who, with her spirit, her enthusiasm and her refreshing frankness, had made this gray and rainy day something to remember.
I flashed her my most polite smile. "I'd rather explain El Niño than bore you with my stories," I replied in the most charming manner I was capable of.
Her eyebrows went up a notch. "Okay," she looked at the group while making an inviting gesture with her right hand, "So here's Mr. Rabb for you, concluding today's tour with a few words on El Niño." Her eyes invited me to join her in front of the group. I did.
"So," I clumsily cleared my throat. 'Okay, Rabb, you can do this. This is your chance, don't screw it up.' "El Niño," I began a little stiffly, "Spanish for 'The Child', is a meteorological phenomenon that manifests itself every few years around Christmas. It's known to cause devastation with its heavy rains in normally dry regions and long draughts where people are counting on the rain. It's connected to storms and other phenomena, occurring not only in South America where El Niño was first described, but even as far away as in Europe, Asia or Africa." I had talked myself into the right spirit and turned to the satellite image to point out what I was about to explain. "The interesting thing is that it doesn't generate solely in South America but draws energy from two large-scale atmospheric circulations over the Eastern and Western Pacific..."
I don't know how long I talked, but I do know that I dug up every remaining bit of my last meteorology course back in flight school, finding I remembered a surprising amount of data and noticing our guide's spirit was contagious. Unused as I was to this kind of activity, describing the unimaginable effects of a phenomenon based on non-linear equations and the butterfly effect made my adrenaline level rise. I longed to pass on to my listeners the very thrill I felt when I read about the seemingly never-ending energy flows the phenomenon procreated in the atmosphere and about just what unbelievable chaos and damage it could cause. I talked and talked, underlining my explanations with my hands, trying to charge my voice with enough passion to make meteorology seem to my audience the most thrilling matter on Earth.
When I finally thought I had reached a point that was suitable for a conclusion, I dropped my hands, actually panting slightly from excitement and exhaustion and completely awed again as I thought about just how tiring the job of a guide had to be - if it was done the right way, like in our case.
Only now did I dare take a look at the young woman's expression. And what I saw immediately filled me with deep contentment and joy. She didn't do anything to hide her astonishment at my performance. Her cheeks were a little flushed and she was openly smiling appraisingly.
Encouraged, I cocked my head. "Did I pass the test?" I asked her.
"You sure did, Mr. Rabb," she acknowledged warmly and then started to clap her hands, inviting the group to join in. Once more I was longing for an invisibility cloak. Luckily, just a few moments later, she raised her hand and the group fell silent again, looking at us expectantly. "After this brilliant conclusion I can only state that the tour is now officially over," she addressed the audience with a smile and then turned to me again. "But before we part, please, Mr. Rabb, give us just a hint as to why you're such an expert in meteorology. Just a hint," she repeated. It sounded almost like she was pleading with me to appease her curiosity. And, to be honest, wasn't that exactly what I had wanted to achieve?
I shrugged. "I'm a fighter pilot," was the only info I supplied nonchalantly.
New interest lit up her face. "Then your initial remark referred to something you experienced in connection with the weather, right? What was it?"
"Just the mother of all storm-cells, forcing me to take a three-hour marathon swim in the Atlantic at night."
"Good God..." the young woman gasped in a low voice. "Well," a rather unsettled but still genuine smile appeared on her features again as she turned back to the group, "With this fitting final statement, I thank you all for coming and listening today and... take care and keep your eyes open for the wonders of the world! Good-bye!"
She waved a general farewell, people clapped, me included, and quite a few tipped her generously before they left. I pretended to study the satellite image, just to have a reason to linger and maybe get to talk to her. I couldn't really explain it to myself but I knew I absolutely didn't want to just part ways with her and run the risk of never meeting her again. She had too much positive energy not to be someone to get acquainted with.
Love, pre-mature symptoms, beginning first stage? I have no idea. And frankly, I'm trying to exclude that possibility. I'm simply not sure if I can be sure about anything I feel after the Mac ordeal. But whatever it was - is, hopefully - it made my day.
Anyway, she eventually addressed me from the side. "You've stared for so long at that photo - don't you think you could draw the coastline by heart by now?"
I lifted my hands in defense, chuckling at her disarming frankness once again. "I plead guilty, Your Honor," I replied with a grin. "I admit that I was just waiting for the opportunity to talk to you."
She pursed her mouth. "That sounded more like a lawyer than like a pilot, Mr. Rabb," she observed.
Now, I was laughing openly. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"
She grinned. "I'm an empiric scientist. My job is to watch things. So, what is it, pilot or lawyer?"
"Both," I replied, drawing myself up to full height. "Allow me to introduce myself properly," I said pompously, a mocking grin belying my attitude, "Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., naval aviator and Judge Advocate. I just wanted to ask when and how often you do those tours, Ms..." I stopped, looking at her questioningly.
"Hansson," she helped me, holding out her hand, "Karin Hansson. Four days a week," she added, only to continue with a frown, "It's not that I've got anything better to do now."
"What do you mean?" I asked, sensing I had involuntarily hit a sore point. "Something wrong?"
She shrugged fatalistically. "To cite your earlier statement: 'nothing really'. Just that the new administration of Georgetown University's geological institute decided I was 'unfit' to teach the students I was tutoring. You know, sometimes, when you're in my place, brains alone aren't enough."
"They fired you because of your handicap?" I asked, disgusted.
"They explained it more eloquently, but, yeah," she confirmed.
Rage began to rise inside me. How could the people responsible for this not see how great a tutor they were losing? Karin's enthusiasm and ability to explain things were all too seldom found in universities. And how could they be so unjust to this gorgeous, beautiful, captivating... That was when I reminded myself to stay on the carpet.
"Well, fight the decision," I encouraged her. "You've got all the anti-discrimination legislation on your side. The case is won from the start."
She made a face. "Theoretically, yes. But in reality, things don't always work that way. There are still people around who feel a wheelchair is the outward sign of a learning deficiency or something. I fought in court in order to be accepted at a private high school. They took me when they saw my votes - and they told me they had no openings when they learned about my situation, using some lame excuse that their learning program was too tiring for a handicapped person." A crooked smile crossed her face. "Well, once I was in, I did prove them wrong big time..."
The malicious joy in her eyes managed to soothe my anger to some degree. Giving her a conspiratorial grin, I waited for her to continue.
"In college, I didn't encounter any major problems, but when I applied for post-grad studies, the authorities were somewhat reluctant to accept me for geology, claiming a geologist needed to be able to access construction sites or caves. It didn't bother the courts at all that many geologists have desk jobs, and I ended up finishing my degree online."
"But until recently you had a job at the university?"
She nodded. "Once I had my master's degree, I moved to D.C. and re-organized my life. Feels great to be really independent." The moment the words were out of her mouth, her slight smile was gone again. "Felt great, I mean."
"So you were working with students?" I asked in order to get the whole picture.
"Yes, Georgetown employed me as a tutor for master students, and everything worked just fine. Until the new dean came and decided the building wasn't made for handicapped people. I never had any difficulties moving around but nevertheless, he decided I was 'unfit' for my job and the institute officially supports his decision." She heaved a sigh, and although she tried to wave it off, I saw she was hurting. And my anger was back in full.
"My colleagues tell me they don't agree with him at all," she went on explaining, "but everywhere budgets are being cut, and someone had to leave. It seems that in my case, finding an excuse was all too easy. End of story." Her gaze turned a little tired and pained. "You know, I'm beginning to get sick of courtrooms. I don't know if I can muster the strength again. If I could afford a good lawyer, I know I'd stand a chance. But as it is - no way."
Without thinking, I said the only right thing to say. "I am a really good lawyer, Ms. Hansson."
"Karin," she interrupted me.
"Okay, Karin, want to hire me?"
"I told you, I couldn't afford you."
Now drop the second shoe. "You can't afford inviting an old Navy lawyer to a nice chat over a cup of coffee, once a week?" I asked very smugly.
Her reaction was just the one I had secretly hoped for. Her eyes went so wide behind her barely visible glasses that I noticed for the first time how interesting they were, just like her voice. The blue was an intense color with just a shade of gray, and the expression in them could rapidly change from excited and eager to calm and, well, wise, somehow.
"You mean, you'd... do this for free?" she asked, aghast.
"Almost," I replied happily. "As I said, a cup of coffee every week is all it takes."
"I guess I can afford that," she said in a low, hopeful voice, her face glowing with sudden joy. "Thank you so much, Commander..."
"Harm," I gently corrected her. "And the pleasure is all mine. Are you here next Saturday?"
She nodded. "My last tour ends at 4 p.m."
All of a sudden, I felt like a teenage kid who had just asked a girl out for the first time. "Great, then I'll pick you up at four. Bring your files, we'll have a nice working dinner and enjoy ourselves while working out how we get your job back, okay?"
Laughing a little, she agreed wholeheartedly. I accompanied her to her car and then headed home myself. For the first time in months, I didn't feel lonely.
Okay, of course I'm still on my own, but I know that somewhere out there, there's someone who seems to run on a wavelength similar to mine.
Wouldn't that be nice for a change?
7
