Moving Forward

By Bernadeen

Disclaimer: I don't own and claim no rights to any of the JAG characters. This story is only for entertainment purposes.

Classification: Romance (H/other)

Rating: T

Summary: Beginning six months after the series finale, we see what life has in store for Harm.

A/N: Warning: this is not a H/M shipper story. I'm a shipper and I loved seeing Harm and Mac together in the last episode. But sometimes I just can't see "happily ever after" for them. This story came to me in nearly complete form and compelled me to write it down. I have not had that experience with any other story, and it was a little disconcerting, though not unpleasant. And it's written in first person – a style I have not tried before. I am very interested in readers' opinions. Here we go ….

Moving Forward

I have never been a strong believer in Fate .. in the idea that things happen for a reason. In the relatively sheltered 34 years of my life, there have been no catastrophic events .. bad events, that is .. that I have had to overcome. That is not to say that life always went in the direction I intended. But when that happened .. even when at first it appeared that life was taking a negative turn .. things have always turned out all right. As I have gotten a few years past my naive youth, I have come to realize that things turn out all right because I don't dwell on the 'what if's' and the 'might have been's' .. I don't rail against events beyond my control. I have told my friends that I don't worry about anything. If something is beyond my control, there is no point in wasting energy worrying, and if it is within my control to change, then I don't worry either .. I plan on how to make that change. So if there is such a thing as Fate or Destiny, I have gone with the flow and never thought very deeply about it.

But on a cold November evening in London, a life changing event, for me, occurred, and there is no other explanation as to how it happened except that it was Destiny. I will always wonder what made me stop by the pub that evening. I have concluded that my actions could only have been directed by Fate.

It had been a tiring day in my job as advisor to the diplomatic staff at the American Embassy in London. I am an attorney specializing in international law. London is a relatively new assignment for me. I've spent time in Washington, D.C., Tokyo, a short stint in Paris, and now, for the last four months, in London. This day had not included any one matter that drained my energy. It's just that in a U.S. embassy on foreign soil, there are a wide variety of situations that require legal advice. There's a senior attorney who handles the really big cases, which just means that I field all the others. Today it seemed that more situations demanded my time than usually happened all at once.

So, while I seldom drink, and generally don't like bars, and can't actually remember the last time I ventured into one alone, I felt almost a physical tug toward this pub as I drove past. The street was narrow with cars parked on both sides and I had been driving slowly, cautious lest a pedestrian step into the dimly lit street. I saw the pub .. the 'Release Your Cares' Pub .. I had to squint and stare to be sure I read the name right .. then saw the small parking lot next to it and, without conscious thought turned my car into it. It was that time between the after work crowd and the evening partiers, so the lot was only partly full. I pulled into a parking space, put the transmission in park, and pondered the action I seemed about to take. I very nearly turned around and drove away .. but for some reason that I do not understand to this day, I decided that a glass of wine in a quiet, dark bar, might be all right, just this once.

So here I am, stepping into the dimly lit pub. Warmth, cigarette smoke .. though not as acrid as in American bars, and soft, rhythmic music envelop me. The woodwork is dark and looks old, as everything seems to be in London. A well worn wooden bar in the shape of a semicircle is straight ahead of me, at the front of the room. The tables scattered around the room are about two-thirds occupied. I see all this in my quick nervous glance, as I walk toward the bar.

I order a glass of merlot, knowing that if I drink all of it, my empty stomach and lack of resistance to the effects of alcohol will require me to stay here for some time, until I feel I can safely drive home.

I take my wine to a small table at the side of the room where I can sit and watch the other patrons in relative anonymity, if I choose. Some tables are occupied by couples, casual acquaintances or lovers, the difference clear from their body language. At a couple of tables are men swapping stories over beers .. or perhaps ale is a more correct term. As I survey the occupants, my gaze wonders to the back of the room to a dark corner just two tables from mine. A man sits alone, nursing a drink that appears to be whiskey or bourbon, a cigar smoldering in the ash tray in the center of the table. What catches my attention is the man's dejected posture. His broad shoulders are slumped, his head hangs slightly .. sorrow and pain are almost a visible shroud around him. He stares at the table, lost in gloomy thought, as he habitually twists his wedding ring around and around on his left hand.

It doesn't take a mind reader, I decide, to know that this man's sorrow is related to his marriage. I indulge in a game of imagining various background stories that could cause such sadness .. feeling slightly guilty at this game using a real live person's obvious tragedy. His wife could have died. Some fatal disease, like cancer. She could have been killed in a car accident. Perhaps she was alive but had left him. She had cheated on him because he worked too long hours and neglected her. Still, from what I could see of the man, unless he abused her, I couldn't imagine a woman finding someone more attractive. But appearances and first impressions don't tell the whole story. I don't know whether we ever know the whole story where other people are concerned, even though we know them for a long while. It has been my experience that people I thought I knew well surprised me with their actions, some of those surprises were unpleasant ones.

Shifting my attention back to the man, I strain to see him better in the dim light. He looks familiar somehow. Even though he is slumped slightly, he appears to be used to holding himself strongly upright .. perhaps military training. His dark hair is cut short, again perhaps indicating a connection with the military. He is strongly built, appears to be in excellent physical shape. Even sitting, he looks to be taller than average. It's difficult to judge his age, though I can see no gray in his dark hair, yet there are maturity lines on his face. Early to mid-forties, probably.

Suddenly he looks up, as though he has sensed my stare. In the dim light I can't see his eyes very well, but he is looking straight at me. I smile shyly and look away. I know from experience that my looks are not the kind to attract and hold men's attention. My body is slim and athletic. My slightly curly, light brown hair is a cap around my head that is easy to care for but not a style to attract the opposite sex. My eyes are hazel and my face is unremarkable, neither homely, I hope, but certainly not pretty. I am well groomed, and in the right setting, I can be attractive, I think, but a dark pub after a long, tiring day isn't that setting.

Yet when I cautiously glance back his way, he is still staring at me. The feeling that I should know who he is tickles the back of my mind. Finally he picks up his drink glass, and on the path to his lips, he lifts it in a slight salute towards me. I'm surprised at the acknowledgment, and I nod in response, hoping that he doesn't think I'm trying to pick him up.

He tosses back the remainder of his drink, stubs out his cigar, and stands up. Oh, oh! Apparently he does think I wanted his attention .. he's coming towards my table. I was right .. he is tall. I have to look up a long way as he gets closer. For whatever reason, my heart is pounding in my throat .. too many stories these days about serial rapists and killers picking up women in bars. I knew coming into a pub alone was a bad idea!

"Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to intrude, but you work at the American Embassy, don't you?" he inquires politely in a voice like rich cream. And he's American.

I stammer a bit. "Yes .. I. I do. And forgive me for staring, but you look familiar. I just can't place you." Oh, God, does that sound like a pick up line, or what?

"I'm a Navy lawyer," he responds but doesn't introduce himself further, as though he's just giving me a hint to see whether I'll get it.

And I do. His identify clicks in my memory. "Now I remember. Captain Harmon Rabb, Force Judge Advocate." and I laugh a bit as I add, "A bit of an understatement, don't you think? Saying you're a Navy lawyer."

An almost genuine smile curves his lips .. and what a smile it is! He holds out his hand. "You're right .."

He pauses to allow me to introduce myself, which I do, as I return his handshake. "Christine Montgomery."

"Pleased to meet you. It's always nice to meet another American."

I jump into the conversation nervously. "I should have recognized you right away. At the Embassy, we need to know who are the prominent Americans in the U.K. You're on the list."

A teasing light enters his eyes. "I'm glad to be on the list .. I think." He indicates the chair across from me. "May I?"

"Of course."

"Now I'm the one who should know this, because I've seen the staff list for the Embassy, but what's your role there?"

"I'm the junior diplomatic advisor. Actually, I'm a lawyer specializing in international law."

He leans back with raised eyebrows. "Well, well, another lawyer. And one of my specialties is also international law. We'll have to talk shop sometime .. but not right now," he smiles.

"Yes, we've probably both had some interesting cases." Suddenly I feel my stomach growl and hope he doesn't hear it. I realize that I've been in the pub nearly an hour and I should be getting home to my supper. I glance at my watch and say, "I really should be going. It was nice meeting you."

As I begin to gather my purse and gloves from the table, he notices my nearly full wine glass. "You've hardly touched your wine."

"I have to drive home and it doesn't take much wine on an empty stomach to impair my reflexes."

His eyes seem to glint in the dim light. "Since you haven't eaten, would you join me for supper?"

I stammer quickly, feeling an embarrassed flush in my cheeks, "Oh, I.. I didn't mean that .. about my empty stomach .. to be a hint .. really. It was just a statement of fact." Unable to meet his gaze, I look downward to the table and to his hands resting on it .. and to his wedding ring. "Besides, it wouldn't be appropriate. Appearances and perceptions are very important here and you're married."

He looks at his ring and gives it a couple of twists with his right hand. "I'm not sure why I'm still wearing it. I guess technically I am still married, at least until the divorce papers I signed today are filed with the court," he says in a soft, sad voice.

"I'm sorry, Captain." Without knowing the circumstances, I don't know what else to say. But I add, "Even more reason for us not to be seen dining in public late in the evening."

His intense gaze captures my eyes and I shiver, for no apparent reason. "You're right. It's too bad. I would have enjoyed the company." He reaches for his coat draped over the back of a nearby chair and pulls out his wallet. Removing a business card, he slides it across the table toward me. "Christine, here's my card. You're the diplomatic advisor." He smiles slightly as he says it. "You decide how long it's appropriate for me to wait until I can be seen in public with an attractive woman. Then you call me." He can feel me hesitate and adds with even more urgency, "Promise me you'll call," and he places his card in my hand.

I look down at it, then meet his eyes. I feel compelled to tell him what he wants to hear. "Yes, I'll call," I agree, though I'm not sure in my mind whether I mean it. I can see that he's aware of my doubt, but he says no more about it. Instead, he reaches for my coat and asks if I'm ready to leave. I nod and stand up while he holds my coat for me to slip on.

"I'll walk you to your car," he offers. As we weave our way between tables which are much more crowded than an hour ago, I feel his hand lightly touching the small of my back. It's a message to others that he is my protector until I reach the safety of my car. I like the feeling.

As I get into my car, he simply wishes me good night, then stands back and watches until I have left the parking lot.

It's the middle of the night and I should be sleeping. I just can't get his face and his voice out of my mind. And he called me attractive. 'You're not some silly teenager with a crush,' I scold myself. But tonight I felt such a strong attraction .. stronger than I've ever felt for anyone else. I'm 34 and have certainly known a lot of men .. not in the Biblical sense .. but I've been acquainted with, and friends with, a lot of men. Law school was male dominated so most of my study partners were men. I have always enjoyed the company of men, though early in life I reconciled myself to the fact that men usually want me for a friend, not a lover. I'm not sexy, I'm not provocative, I'm not feminine enough, I guess. Perhaps I could be more that way if I try, but that's just not me. And who am I kidding .. I don't have the looks to be sexy and provocative. Oh, I've had a couple of semi-serious relationships. I even thought one would lead to something more permanent. But neither of us seemed compelled to move things forward, and we finally realized that what we felt wasn't strong enough to build a lifetime together.

Will I call him? And if I do, how long should I wait? I don't think there is a Miss Manners book for the U.K. that lists how long a person must wait after their divorce is final to begin dating. It's not like his wife died and there is an appropriate period of mourning. Yet in this case, if I read the situation right, it was not his idea to split up. She left him so he is in mourning. He is the one hurt and he must recover from his loss. So how long? Certainly nothing less than a month. Yes, at least a month.

Will I call him? The situation scares me. I'm afraid that I could fall hard for this guy, and that can only lead to frustration and disappointment for me, for I'm not sophisticated enough, not poised enough, not pretty enough to be of romantic interest to a hot guy like Harmon Rabb. Besides, after a month, he won't remember me anyway.

Still unable to sleep, I get up and turn on my laptop. A quick search on his name brings up an interesting list of articles and notices. The first one on the list is an article from the Washington Post about his promotion and appointment as Navy Force Judge Advocate for Europe, effective May 1 of this year. The article lists highlights of his career and awards he has received. Two Distinguished Flying Crosses … Distinguished Flying Crosses? I thought he was a lawyer. Reading further I find that he is also a fighter pilot. Interesting. He also received the Silver Star. I wonder what the awards were for. This article lists no wife, so she must have been a recent addition.

I keep clicking on links, and find a marriage announcement just two weeks after his assignment to London. It looks like he married a Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, USMC retired. The marriage must have hit the rocks almost immediately. I suppose hasty marriages and high failure rates are common in the military. A transfer can accelerate a wedding where the couple are not ready and may never be ready to be married.

I find articles on high profile cases he handled while at JAG headquarters in Washington. He was lead prosecutor at the military tribunal of a terrorist. I remember that case .. the first tribunal in 50 years. His name appears in several Congressional investigations. It appears he was advisor to a Congresswoman Bobbi Latham for a time. The articles are fascinating and begin to paint a picture of a distinguished military officer who is far more than a lawyer.

Having exhausted the Google search, I turn to a source that I use as diplomatic advisor. I'm curious about his soon-to-be-ex-wife and type in her name. The listing comes back: Lt. Colonel, USMC, commanding officer of Joint Legal Service Center, San Diego. So, she didn't retire after all. Her name appeared in some of the articles about his cases. They worked together at JAG HQ. Did he expect her to give up her career in the military to marry him? As a professional woman who has worked hard to achieve a successful career, I can understand if Lt. Colonel MacKenzie didn't settle in well as a wife without her military career. And finding work as a civilian lawyer in a foreign country probably wouldn't have been easy.

Next I search on his name .. it's funny ... I'm not quite sure how to refer to him, even in my own mind. The meeting was quite formal, though cordial. Should I think of him as 'Captain' or as 'Harmon'? His friends probably call him 'Harm' just as mine sometimes call me 'Chris' or 'Tina' but I actually prefer 'Christine'. If I actually do see him again, I'll have to ask him his preference to be addressed.

I type in his name and his bio comes back. Born October 25, 1963. So he just turned 42 last month .. I wasn't far off in my estimate of his age. I scroll down the page of information: born in La Jolla, California. Father deceased. Emergency contact: Patricia Burnett, mother. Next-of-kin: mother, brother whose name and address are Russian .. must be an interesting story there. No mention of a wife .. sometimes it takes six months or more for personnel information to be updated so his marriage isn't shown here. These records still show his rank as commander and his location as Judge Advocate General Corps, Falls Church, Virginia.

Having learned what I can about the man I met tonight .. actually last night .. I sit back with a sigh. The question still remains .. will I call him and, if so, when? OK, that's two questions, but if the answer to the first is no, the second doesn't matter.

I reach for a plastic basket I use for odds and ends on this table where my laptop sits .. it's a semi-permanent work space .. my apartment has a small breakfast bar in the kitchen where I usually eat so I don't need this table for that. Quickly shuffling a few items, I find what I am looking for .. a 2005 calendar of all months on cardboard about half the size of a sheet of paper. OK, so today .. ah, yesterday was November 4 so if I wait a month to call him, that's December 4, a Sunday. His card had all his phone numbers .. office, cell, home. Where would be appropriate to call him? Perhaps his cell .. then I will be sure to reach only him or his voicemail. When to call? Not Sunday. Monday afternoon would work ..

I shake my head, amused and frustrated with the direction my thoughts are taking. But, like a kid excitedly waiting for a special day to arrive, I circle Monday, December 5, on the calendar. I'll just have to make up my mind by that time whether or not to actually make the call.

The weekend turned cold and wet so I spent most of it cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, catching up on some work I brought home and some personal financial items, and cooking a few things I can freeze for quick meals on evenings when I'm too tired to cook. On Sunday evening I took out the calendar and carefully marked an X through November 5 and 6. I felt foolish doing it .. it was so juvenile .. but no one would ever know and we can all be silly once in awhile, can't we?

November days passed much as other days had since I arrived in London, except that the weather had deteriorated. During weekends in my first few months here, there had been sight seeing with co-workers, shopping trips, and occasionally a Saturday morning coffee gathering. But as my position in the Embassy hierarchy was established, an invisible barrier seemed to form between me and some of those co-workers because they were support staff and I was in the professional ranks. It was not my choice and I didn't really realize what was happening until the invitations diminished.

Still, I usually attended the occasional after work gatherings at a local pub .. not the Release Your Cares pub .. but at the Henry Higgins Pub, which everyone at the Embassy referred to simply as "Henry's". It's now Friday evening two weeks after my stop at Release Your Cares, and a group of Embassy employees have gathered at Henry's. A young attorney whom I know from the Defense Attaché Office, David Chandler, brings with him a friendly and perky Navy lieutenant from the JAG office, Catherine Graves. David asks to join my table .. we are the only lawyers there and he probably feels the need to close ranks .. and introduces me to Cathy. I like David and I am immediately charmed by Cathy. Her enthusiastic chatter fills any pauses in the conversation. She is a fan of mystery writers and movies, but clearly enjoys solving real life mysteries. Apparently her recent transfer to JAG allows her to do research and assist in investigations that she enjoys immensely.

I casually ask how many people work in the JAG office. My question produces a reference to the name I wanted to hear. Cathy doesn't answer my question directly, but talks about all the recent changes beginning with the new Force Judge Advocate, Captain Rabb, who took command in May. Of course, Cathy is quick to say that she didn't arrive until July, but she knew the Captain from an earlier investigation when he was stationed at JAG HQ in Washington, and she is thrilled to be working for him at JAG. She praises him as an investigator and as a commanding officer. Seems she has a case of hero worship .. something I can certainly understand, even after my brief meeting with the Captain. In spite of Cathy's talkativeness and openness, she is very discrete about the private lives of anyone in her office, especially about Captain Rabb. Not a word slips out about anything related to his personal life. And as I listen carefully, she really doesn't say much about any case or incident either. My respect for this young woman increases. She's quite clever at appearing candid and so inviting others to speak freely, though she really isn't sharing any secrets of her own. Whether she has consciously developed this style or it comes naturally, I can understand why she does very well as an investigator.

I don't learn any more about Captain Rabb this evening, and the non-partying types, like me, begin leaving for home.

The beginning of another work week. This one will be shorter because Thursday is Thanksgiving. Even though it's not a British holiday, the American Embassy still observes the holiday by closing for the day. I don't have family in this country but I plan to make a nice traditional dinner. Full breasted frozen turkeys that are so abundant in the U.S. at this time of year are hard to find here. I finally settle for a plump duck and scour my cookbooks for the right way to prepare it. As I go about these tasks, I wonder whether Captain Rabb .. Harm .. is alone for Thanksgiving, too. I'm very tempted to shorten my self-imposed waiting period and call him. But if he has plans .. perhaps he does have a family .. children from a previous marriage for instance .. it would be awkward. He might think he should include me in his plans. Very awkward. Even if he will be alone, spending Thanksgiving together is a little too much for a first date! So I continue to cross days off my calendar and eat roast duck alone on Thanksgiving.

While days moved along at their normal pace for most of November, suddenly they are racing by. On Monday after Thanksgiving I realize .. well, I hadn't really forgotten, so I should say I focus on the fact that it is just one week until the date I set to call Harm. Now the days of this week are flying by and I have to make a decision .. will I call him? Most evenings, for at least a little while, I sit in my apartment doing mental lists of pros and cons. As the weekend approaches, I haven't been able to find strong enough cons to break my promise to call.

And so here it is, Monday morning. I made sure his card was in my wallet before leaving for work this morning. I will call after lunch. I will … I will … of course I will … and if I don't reach him, should I leave a message? At first I'm thinking 'no' but if I do, then it's up to him to call back. I'll know whether he remembers me and whether he really wants to see me again, or it was just loneliness and pain talking that evening a month ago. And as much as I've looked forward to this call and possibly seeing him again, if I do have to leave a message and he doesn't call back, then this entire month of anticipation will turn into a huge disappointment. Nuts .. I hate this .. this is why I don't date much .. relationships are complicated and hard work and in my experience just not worth it. And as I think this last, a little voice in my mind reminds me that Harm might be worth it.

All right .. it's now 2:30 .. mid-afternoon. I can't stall any longer. I close my office door and dial his cell number. It immediately goes to voice mail. I had made up my mind to leave a message so I do. "Captain Rabb, its Christine Montgomery from the American Embassy." I hope that makes this sound less personal, I think to myself as I say the words. "We met at the Release Your Cares pub about a month ago. I promised to call you so I have. If you'd like to continue this discussion, you can reach me at the Embassy." I hang up the phone, feeling that the message is suitably impersonal and low key. Now I'll just have to wait to see whether he calls back. How long before I give up hope and resign myself to never seeing him again? Darn .. a whole new question. 'Captain Harmon Rabb, you better be worth it,' I think just before I firmly put his face out of my mind for the remainder of the afternoon.