Old Endings, New Beginnings

1620 EST
Friday May 27 2011
Pennsylvania Avenue and Fourteenth Street
Washington DC

She was bored, and hot and uncomfortable, and although the cab's air conditioning was on she could feel the damp heat growing beneath her thighs as her body heat burnt through her skirt and interacted with the cheap plastic seating in the cab. Now they were stuck in traffic on Pennsylvania because as far as she could see, Fourteenth Street up ahead was solid and the whole areas seemed destined for gridlock. Idly, in the hope of alleviating her boredom she glanced out of the side window of the cab. The cab was halted just outside the Willard, so she amused herself for a few seconds watching people entering and exiting the famous hotel, until just as she was becoming tired of her occupation her breath caught in her throat.

It couldn't be! Not him, not here! But it was! That tall figure would have been unmistakeable in any attire, but in Summer Whites and with the four rings of a Captain on his shoulder boards, it couldn't be anyone else! But he was supposed to be in England – wasn't he?

She could still hear the JAG – the last JAG – General Cresswell's voice, "I hope you like Yorkshire Pudding." She shook her head it had seemed almost innocuous at the time, but in retrospect she had come to think that she had heard more than just a touch of malice in his voice. Certainly he had seemed smug enough at the time, and then after the coin toss when Colonel MacKenzie had announced her resignation and her intention to marry the now Captain, the General's "Outstanding!" had seemed forced, and she had thought she had imagined it, but the way he treated both them afterwards convinced her that he had not been at all pleased, the expression that had flitted across his face had been anything but pleasant.

So he should still have been in London, if it was him! And it was! As he reached the top of the steps to the hotel's main entrance he stopped and turned, and looked across the street, his head and eyes carrying out a slow sweep of the area, almost as if he could feel her eyes on him, and wanted to see just who was taking an interest in him.

She sank back into her seat although she knew it was unlikely he could see her and as she did so she could feel her heart pounding. The last person she had anticipated seeing in DC was Captain Harmon Rabb.

Harmon Rabb, with whom she had shared both pleasure and pain, with whom she had shared the joy-filled guardianship of Mattie Grace, and with whom she wept when after her crash Mattie had slipped silently away without ever waking from her coma, and for whom she had shed further tears when in January last year the Navy Times had solemnly reported the death of Mac and their unborn child.

She had, of course, written to him offering her condolences but had received no reply, and multiple attempts at 'phone calls had either been unanswered, or intercepted by his Yeoman who had obviously been briefed to refuse to accept personal calls. Even Harriet Sims and her husband Bud Roberts had given up trying to reach him. She knew what he'd done of course; he had done what he always did when overwhelmed by his emotions, he had retreated and erected his defences, trying to shield himself from further hurt. Suddenly she was angry. Angry at him. Who the fuck did he think he was? Did he think that he was somehow special, that his grief was so special that it couldn't be shared? She had loved Mattie as much as he had, and she had liked and respected Mac and she too had felt her loss, as had Bud, and poor Harriet had literally wept for weeks, to the point of making herself ill, and yet that selfish egotistical, arrogant… jet-jockey… had turned his back on all of them!

Ignoring a quiet inner voice that warned her she was making a mistake, she slid the panel between her and the driver open and thrusting a fifty through it, she said, "Let me out here, please!"

The cabbie looked up into his mirror and saw the bill being thrust at him, "Yes, ma'am!" he replied and pulled over to the side.

"Here, take it, and keep the change!" she flung back over her shoulder as she almost tumbled out of the cab, straightening her own Summer Whites and squaring her shoulders. Placing her cover squarely on her head she threaded her way through the stalled traffic and marched determinedly up the steps to the Willard's main doors.

It was cool and dark in the hotel lobby after the heat and glare of the late May mid-afternoon and she could feel the chill of the damp patches on the back of her thighs, under her arms and between her breasts as she crossed the marble floor to the receptionists' desk.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" asked the blonde, and to her eyes, absurdly young woman behind the desk.

"Good afternoon," she replied civilly, "I'm looking for a naval officer who just came in, a Captain Rabb, is he staying here?

"One moment, please…." The young desk clerk checked her VDU, "Yes, he is, but I can't give you…"

"No, that's alright. If he is in his room could you call him and tell him that there's a Lieutenant Philips to see him?"

"Certainly, ma'am." The call was made, and then replacing the telephone in its cradle the reception desk clerk smiled and said, "He says to go on up, he's in eleven thirty two. The elevators are…"

"Yes. I see them. Thank you."

The elevators in the Willard had the reputation of being the fastest and smoothest elevators in the whole of DC, but today it seemed that the ride up to the eleventh floor was as slow and as jerky as the unreliable old freight elevator that had been at the old converted warehouse a couple of blocks north of union station where the three of them had shared the two third floor apartments. And even the short, but long seeming, ride she could feel her anger ebbing and had to concentrate on his past behaviour that had at one time nearly broken her heart.

At last the eleventh floor. The doors hissed open and she stepped out into the hall her eyes looking left and right, searching for some indication as to which way the door numbers ran, at length she decided to turn to her left, and with odd numbers to her right and even numbers to her left she found herself only a few doors from his room.

Stopping in front of eleven thirty two she drew a deep breath and rapped smartly, twice, on the door. The door opened and he stood framed by the doorway, almost exactly as she remembered him, tall, aqua-marine eyes deep set under dark brows and dark hair, now showing silver pigeon's wings at the temples.

"Lieutenant?" he said questioningly, peering at the shadowed figure standing before him.

"Sir! You bastard!" she snapped at him.

He took a step back, surprised at the unexpected verbal assault, and then his face clouded and in a voice of cold anger he snapped, "Stand down, Lieutenant! Who the hell do you think you are…?"

"Just what I was about to ask you!" She paused deliberately, "Sir!"

The cold anger was still on his face and his body language screamed outrage, but the apparent non-sequitur of her answer, or maybe something in her voice gave him pause.

He peered at her more closely, "Do I know… ?"

"Yeah, that would be about right!" and the cold contempt in her voice flayed him, "So, you did forget your friends, you bastard!"

He hesitated a moment more and then with dawning recognition he asked in a tight controlled voice, "Jen…? Jen… Coates?"

"I used to be!" She snapped.

Still stunned by her attack and the unexpected revelation of her identity, he stepped back from the door, "I… I… I was expecting a… a… Lieutenant Phil… uh Philips", he stammered.

Jen nodded once, "That would be me… sir!"

"You… uh… you better come in…" he said somewhat lamely, turning away from the door.

Jen stepped in through the doorway and as a reflex put her cover and purse on the side table just inside the door. Her host turned to a cabinet standing against the wall next to the bed and she could hear the 'chink' of glass against glass.

"Can I fix you a drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Jen replied, beginning to wonder why she had come here.

"Well, considering your already stated opinion of me, I'm sure you won't mind if I have one?" he said with a hint of a sneer in his voice as he turned back towards her, a shot glass, two-thirds full of an amber liquid clutched in his hand.

Jen looked at him more carefully, he was still as handsome as he ever was, well nearly so; but there was a puffiness around his eyes, and the eyes themselves showed signs of being bloodshot. He stood steady enough and his words were clear with no slurring, but there was something…

"How many of those have you had?" Jen demanded.

"These?" he held the glass up to the window, seemingly mesmerised by the light shining through it, "Oh… now… let me see… this… this… this will be my… third. Yes, my third!" he ended triumphantly as if pleased he could remember how many drinks he'd had. Then he frowned, "But that Lieutenant is by the bye! What the hell do you mean by hammering on my door and then calling me a bastard when I open it! That is gross insubordination and showing disrespect to a superior commissioned officer, and by rights I should charge you!" He drained the glass and seemed to shudder for a second before turning back to the drinks cabinet.

Jen gasped silently, and sneaked a horrified glance at her watch. By her reckoning that last drink had only been poured less than two minutes ago. And that was so not like the Harmon Rabb she remembered.

"Don't you think you've had enough, sir?" she asked cautiously, "it is still early…"

Harm appeared to give the question serious consideration, "Nope, not enough yet!" he declared with a hint of his trademark grin showing.

Jen was now appalled and scared for her one time superior officer, and… yes… and friend, and in desperation cried out "Sir! What would the Colonel say?" and then bit her knuckles in dread-filled anticipation of his reaction, once again she had let her too-ready tongue run away with her.

Harmon Rabb stared at her and the deliberately and slowly he raised the glass and drained it. Lowering the glass he looked at her his expression grimly desolate as he said simply, "But she's not here to see it, Jen. She left me, Jen, they left me, they left me alone…" and then to Jen's horror the tears ran down his face.

At first he didn't sob he just wept and then swayed slightly on his feet as if the alcohol he'd consumed had finally taken its effect on him, and then after a minute with a heart-rending cry, he began to sob, great, deep chested, racking sobs that sounded as if he was being torn apart.

Jen put her anger, fear and doubts behind her. In front of her was a friend in need, a friend in pain, deep, soul-searing pain. In an instant she was across the room and her arms were around him, leading him to the bed where she sat them both down and cradled his head against her breast as he cried for his lost love and their child.

Harm sobbed long and bitterly, thoroughly soaking the front of Jen's uniform blouse as she held him, soothed his hair and murmured almost motherly words of comfort. From time to time it seemed as if he might stop, but after taking in a great gulp of air the awful sobs would re-start as he clung to her with all the desperation of a drowning man clutching at a straw. At last she it seemed that his tears had ceased and she murmured his name, "Harm?" but received no answer or acknowledgement.

In mounting disbelief she realised that he had cried himself to sleep and she also became aware that her back ached from supporting his weight against her while she was unsupported and further that it was now dark outside. In surprise she looked at her watch, it was nearly nine in the evening

"Harm?" she murmured again, but again received no reply. Easing him off her breast she gently laid him down on the bed and unlacing his shoes she gently tugged them off his feet, and drew the comforter over him.

She collected her cover and purse from the table and moved towards the door, but caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror as she did so. She stopped; she couldn't possibly go out in public in the state she was in. Her blouse sported a huge, damp, and faintly discoloured stain practically all the way from her shoulder to her waist and both it and her skirt were horribly rumpled. No, she could never take the metro in her present condition, and the chances of getting a cab at this time on a Friday night were zero. Dammit! She was stuck!

Or maybe not… retreating to the luxuriously appointed bathroom she fished her cell 'phone out of her purse and punched in the number for Andrea Jackson, her room-mate at the hospital's BOQ. After four rings her friend answered, "Hi, Andrea here…"

"Andi, hi, it's Jen. Listen, I need a favour… I'm stuck in a dirty uniform at the Willard. Can you get me a change of clothing from my closet and bring it to me. I'll pay you back for the gas. My red sweater and tan pants would be great…"

"Oh, Jen, hun… I'm sorry; I'm not at the hospital… I'm halfway to Freds'burg. I told you, it's Marty's birthday party tomorrow…" The apologetic note in Andi's voice changed to one of curiosity, "Jen… what are you doing in the Willard… and in a soiled uniform… have you gotten lucky… And who's the luckier guy?"

For some reason Jen felt the blood rise to her cheeks, "No… it's nothing like that!" she half-snapped.

"Oooh!" came the frankly disbelieving reply.

Jen sighed, and despite herself found that she was grinning, "Andi, you're incorrigible! No, seriously, it is nothing like that, but it is a long, long story and if you're sober enough when you get back from your brother's birthday, I'll tell you all about it!"

"I'm holding you to that, Jen!" her friend warned her.

"Yeah, I said if you were sober! Go on, enjoy yourself have fun, and take it easy on the men down there!"

"Jen, honey, they ain't gonna know what hit 'em!" and with another burst of laughter Andi clicked off her 'phone.

Her spirits lifted by the brief conversation, Jen considered her position. There was still no way she could be seen in public in her uniform's present stet. So she was stranded after all.

Quietly walking through into the bedroom she saw that Harm was sleeping peacefully, his emotional storm, helped no doubt by the alcohol he had consumed, she thought caustically, had dropped him into a deep pit of slumber. Still, no sense in making unnecessary noise that might disturb him. But what the hell was she going to do. Even if she could manage to get to sleep in one of the armchairs, she couldn't sleep in what was left of her uniform, that would only be making matters worse… she needed something comfortable… and a grin of remembered larcenies crept over her face.

Crossing to the chest of drawers she silently slid open a couple of the drawers and smiled in satisfaction. She snagged a pair of items from the depths of the drawers and stealthily retreated to the bathroom, casting a wary eye on the sleeping Captain as she did so. Once safely in the bathroom she quickly stripped off her uniform blouse, skirt and panty-hose and stepped into the clean boxers she had taken and then unclasping her bra and putting it to one side, and with a fond smile of remembrance she donned the old faded, blue 'Raptors' squadron sweat shirt she had 'borrowed' so many times in the past.

Carefully rolling her uniform, she tucked it into the laundry bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she quietly walked back through into the bedroom and called housekeeping. OK, the bill for cleaning and pressing her uniform would go on Harm's room bill, but, she figured, that was the least he could do for her, and if he kicked off about it, well… she probably had sufficient cash left in her purse to pay that part of the bill.

Looking around the room, she hesitated. There was plenty of space left on the bed, but… and another thing, she checked the room again, this time looking for a trash can, and as she'd expected, it was next to the desk and even better, it was lined with a disposable plastic bag. Crossing the carpeted floor on silent feet she placed it alongside the bed, fervently hoping that the sleeping sailor wouldn't need it…"but better safe than sorry!" she told herself.

However… that had only postponed the decision she had to make. Although it wasn't a cold night, - May nights in Washington very rarely were – the Willard's efficient air-conditioning made the prospect of sleeping without covers an unappealing prospect. Shaking her head she crossed the room again to the closet, and opening the door nodded to herself in satisfaction; as she she'd hoped extra blankets were neatly folded and stacked on the top shelf. Jen turned off the main room lights, leaving only the lamp on the nightstand to illuminate the room and marvelling at their softness, a far cry from the coarse navy-issue bedding to which she was accustomed, wrapped herself in a couple of the blankets and lay back in one of the armchairs and composed herself for sleep.

0620 EST
Saturday May 28 2011
Room 1132
The Willard Hotel
Washington DC

Jen awoke to a once-familiar but now almost forgotten feeling, that of a warm body pressed against her back, a heavy forearm draped across her rib-cage and a large hand gently cupping her breast. Luxuriating in the sensations she felt her nipples harden and pushed her six back against the body behind her, and was surprised not to feel her husband's erection throbbing against her butt-cheeks.

Wait a minute! Husband!? She didn't have a husband anymore! What the fuck!? In a paroxysm of fear she twisted free of the arm that was no longer a reassuring comfort, but an object of terror, and sat upright in bed trembling with an adrenalin surge, and holding the comforter up under her chin.

She looked down at the now partially uncovered man with whom she had unwittingly – unwillingly? – shared the bed. He was, or appeared to be fully dressed, although his summer white shirt would probably never be the same again… and if he was fully dressed… She checked herself... Oh, thank God, so was she… and then as the last remnants of sleep and panic faded away into full consciousness, memory of last night's events returned.

With a sigh of relief she recalled that the man lying next to her was Harmon Rabb, Captain, United States Navy, and however he might have changed in the years since she'd last seen him she knew in her heart of hearts that he was not, and could never become, the type of man who would press unwanted attentions on any woman. Quietly slipping out of bed she crossed to the room door and opening it sighed with relief. There on the door-handle, hung a garment bag and a swift check revealed that it held her freshly laundered and pressed uniform. Carefully laying it across the arm of the chair she saw the two blankets that she had wrapped herself in before going to sleep, and looking back and forth between chair and bed, a frown creased her forehead. She had definitely settled down in the chair to go to sleep… so how the hell had she ended up sharing a bed with Harmon Rabb?

Not, she reminded herself with wry grin, that in years gone by she hadn't fantasised about that same event, and her fantasies had had a damn sight better… well, different, anyway… ending than her leaping out of bed in alarm. In fact some of them had been quite romantic. Oh, hell, girl. Tell the truth and shame the devil – some of those dreams had been the most vividly erotic that she'd ever had! But they were dreams, this… this was reality. So… just how had she ended up sharing that bed?

Taking her uniform in one hand, she pause d on her way to the bathroom, to look more closely at Harm. To all appearances, and although it was getting late in the day by naval standards, he was still asleep, Just as well, Jen thought, he'd not only looked like he needed to sleep, but while he was asleep he was also, albeit unconsciously – she grinned at the unintentional pun – granting her a degree of privacy, of which she was determined to take advantage.

Making sure she locked the bathroom door behind her, she turned on the shower and checked the contents of the bathroom. Yes, there was a hair dryer – permanently wired into the wall so that light-fingered guests couldn't 'accidentally' pack it when they checked out, and yes, thank God, there was a selection of shower gels and shampoos in the cane basket on top of the vanity. Spreading the contents of the basket out on top of the vanity, she considered her choice as she unpinned the French braid in which she wore her hair while on duty and shook it loose, allowing it to drop in a glorious, shining fall almost to the small of her back.

Ten minutes later enveloped in the aroma of vanilla and almonds, she stepped out of the shower and taking advantage of the huge, fluffy, white Willard Hotel bath sheets, patted herself dry and then wrapping a second towel around her body she took he hairbrush from her purse picked up the hair dryer and started to dry her hair.

She wasn't too sure how long she'd been engaged in this exercise, when she became aware of a thunderous hammering on the bathroom door. After a moment's pause she realised what the probable cause of the disturbance was grinned mischievously, and switching off the hair-dryer and composing her expression into one of innocent inquiry, she crossed to the door, and opening it, she asked innocently "Yes? Is there a… eeek!"

Her words were interrupted by a squeak of alarm, as Harm bundled past her into the bathroom, and urgently but not ungently turned and pushed her out into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Jen sat on the bed, carefully making sure that the towel, her only garment, was still secure and then hearing a deep sigh of relief followed by the sound of rushing water coming from behind the closed bathroom door she couldn't resist a mischievous chuckle. As the bathroom sounds ceased, she carefully re-arranged her expression once more, this time into one of angry impatience and stood silently tapping one bare foot on the carpet as the door opened and a somewhat shame-faced Harm entered the bedroom with a mumbled, "Sorry. Emergency."

Jen gave a haughty sniff, and swept majestically past him once more emphatically closing and locking the door behind her. Taking her seat in front of the vanity she switched on the hair-dryer and picked up her brush, pulling it in long, smooth strokes through her hair as she let the stream of warm air dry the moisture from it while she turned her mind to the question of how she was going to face Harm, and what she was going to say to him

At length, her hair dry, she, with the ease of long practice re-braided it and pinned it into place, then she carefully applied the minute amount of make-up she customarily used, before with a grimace of distaste she discarded her towel and stepped into her panties and panty-hose and then shrugged into her bra before donning her uniform. Now, after a final check of her appearance in the mirror she gave a nod of satisfaction and drawing a deep breath she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped through the doorway into the bedroom.

Harm was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a bathrobe. He stood as she entered the room and taking note of her appearance, he bit his bottom lip, averted his eyes and said, "Jen I need to take a shower, and then we really need to talk, so please don't go before I'm finished in the… the bathroom."

"Harm… sir… It's better that I do go… I think," Jen replied, thinking 'God, look at him! He can't even bear to look at me!'

'I've disgusted her so much, she can't even stand being in the same room with me!' He thought, but mustered a weak half-grin and managed to say, "I've ordered a room service breakfast for us both… please, Jen?"

As he spoke, he finally raised his eyes to hers and there was something in them that made Jen not only catch her breath, but think furiously for a few seconds, and as she thought she looked into Harm's eyes seeing doubt, desperation and even fear growing in them. At last she made up her mind, she wasn't on duty or on call today, and all she had to look forward to was some grocery shopping and the empty room at the BOQ to which she would return.

"Very well," she replied coolly, sitting primly in the chair she had gone to sleep in last night, noting that Harm had picked up the blankets, neatly folded them and placed them across the foot of the bed.

Harm nodded gravely, "Thank you." He paused before he added, "My wallet is in the drawer of the nightstand, so if breakfast arrives before I've finished, take a twenty from it and tip the waiter, please."

Jen nodded and watched as Harm turned and left the bedroom closing the bathroom door behind him.

He returned to the bedroom about fifteen minutes later, still wrapped in his bathrobe, his eyes going straight to Jen, a smile of pleasure and relief on his face as he realised she was still there . He crossed to the closet and took a pair of jogging pants from the shelf, and then turned to the chest of drawers. With his back to Jen and still wearing the bathrobe, he stepped into his boxers and then the jogging pants before slipping the robe off his shoulders and diving into a t-shirt.

It wasn't the first time that Jen had seen Harm without a shirt; there had been occasions when they had shared the loft apartments when she had caught him bare-chested, and had then been impressed with what she had seen (and what she had seen had fuelled her erotic fantasies for months) and now she cast an appraising eye over him. He was slightly thicker through the waist than he had been before his PCS to London, but the muscles on his back still rippled effortlessly under his skin as he pulled the t-shirt down and the arms that were doing the pulling still looked as firm and as strong as they ever had…

But before Jen's thoughts took her over completely, they were interrupted by a knock at the door and a cheerful hail of, "Room Service!"

Harm crossed to the nightstand and retrieved his wallet before opening the door for the waiter who pushed his laden cart into the room. "On the table, please," Harm directed and he stood in silence as Jen, equally silently sat and waited for the breakfast to be arranged on the table.

With the table set, Harm discreetly tipped the waiter and as he left the room, he drew one of the chairs back from the table and said invitingly, "Jen?"

Jen moved to the table and allowed Harm to seat her. He moved around to the other side of the table and took his own seat before removing the cloches from the plates.

"Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon," he informed her, "I hope that's OK? I remember you used to like eggs for breakfast… but I can order something else if… if…" his voice trailed off as he stumbled to a halt, uncertain of how to proceed.

"Yes, thank you, sir. That's fine…" Jen saw the uncertainty in his eyes and smiled reassuringly, "Honestly, sir. It's fine… I do still like scrambled eggs, and I do like smoked salmon – not that I can afford it very often – it's just that I'd never thought of combining the two…"

Harm tried a grin, "It's a habit I picked up in England… it's a popular breakfast dish in good hotels… As is the toast and marmalade!" he indicated another cloche, "And of course there's OJ and coffee… you still take it with creamer and sweetener? And I'm babbling now, aren't I, so I'll just shut up now, shall I?"

"No… don't shut up, sir," Jen told him gravely, "I think we do need to talk… about last night, if nothing else," she added hastily as she saw his eyes harden. She could almost see his defensive walls going up too. "But before we talk about anything else, I know went to sleep in that chair last night. So how the hell did I end up sharing a bed with you?" she challenged him.

Harm shrugged and looked her with a puzzled frown on his forehead, "I don't know Jen… I don't even know how I got to bed…"

"That was easy, I pulled your shoes off and threw the comforter over you… but that's not the point, so stop dropping chaff! I want to know how I got from the chair to the bed and ended up waking up being spooned by you and with your hand on my…" Jen's brain caught up with her mouth at that point and she blushed fire-appliance red.

Harm shook his head, "All I know is I fell asleep at some stage last night… the last thing I remember is you holding me, and I woke up this morning alone and heard you in the bathroom…"

"You didn't carry me from the chair to the bed?" Jen challenged him again.

"No! I would never do that! I thought you knew me better than that!" he protested.

"So did I!" Jen retorted, "but the Harmon Rabb I knew would never turn his back on his friends nor would he turn into a lush!"

"It's… it's not… It wasn't like that Jen!" Harm stammered.

"No?" Jen's voice was icy, "Just how was it then!?"