Title: TV Style
Author: Navygirl
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Harm/Mac
Spoiler: Capital Crime
Summary: Surprises all around.
Disclaimers: All characters of JAG belong to Donald Bellasarius and Bellasarius Productions; no copyright infringement intended.
0813 hrs. ET
April 5, 2002
"We are here in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, interviewing pilots who fly security over the Southeast US borders, some of them borrowed from other stations across the country," the ZNN reporter started her broadcast, explaining why the TV crew was in Gitmo. Earlier in the week, they had spent time reporting on the condition of prison cells holding Al-Qaeda prisoners and upcoming plans for military tribunals.
The ZNN reporter shoved the microphone in the face of the first pilot she saw, a young, sandy-haired jet jockey, steaming along to his plane. "Can't talk now, ma'am sorry," the pilot said. The helmet he carried was labeled; "Fastball," and he sped away that quickly as he rushed to the plane and proceeded to climb aboard, leaving the reporter in the dust.
"We have permission to do this, don't they know that?" the reporter exclaimed in frustration. The young woman, her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, grabbed the arm of her cameraman. "They've seen me here for three days. Christ, I ate lunch with them in the mess."
"Well, Shelby, maybe they have bigger fish to fry," the cameraman replied. "I mean, we are in a war, ya know."
"Right, but what'll it take, five seconds? We aren't in the way. We were told we could do this." But as she said it, another pilot appeared, and she spun on her heels to hurry in his direction. She had a hard time catching up to him, as his long legs propelled him quickly across the pavement.
"Sir, Commander? I saw you in the mess yesterday, remember me?"
"Yeah," he said, stopping to look back in her direction, remembering that he had been told the reporters were going to be looking to send "messages to home." They were told to cooperate, as the public appreciated meeting the men and women in uniform, and obviously it was a chance to say hello to family. Most were happy to oblige, with at least a "Hi Mom." But not brash, arrogant young pilots like "Fastball."
Harmon Rabb Jr. did have something he wanted to say to someone in particular waiting back in the States, so he smiled at the young woman.
"Before you go off on your mission, um…" the reporter started, but realizing she didn't know his name, stumbled.
"Cmdr. Rabb," he said. "My call sign is Hammer." He halfway held up his helmet to show the label it carried.
"Hammer, do you have anything you want to say to anyone back home?" She shoved the mike up to his face.
"Yeah, actually I do want to say something, I mean, of course I want to say hi to my mom and step father. But uh, there's something else. Should I go on?"
"Of course," the reporter laughed. He is so polite, she thought, and good looking, but older than most of the pilots.
"Well, I want to say to something to one friend in particular. Um, how's this, you know who you are and here's the message. Um, I think it's about time to let go, both of us, I know I'm ready for that. So I'll see you when I get back, count on it." He winked at the reporter and walked away, then turned slightly to flash a thumbs up sign at the camera.
Back in JAG headquarters, standing in the bullpen, staring up at the overhead television sets, Col. Sarah Mackenzie felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Surely no one would understand the message. She could hear murmurs among the others in the bullpen, watching the screen, so she tried to slip into her office quietly, but one individual felt the need to track along after her.
"Ma'am, do you have any idea what he meant by that?" Lt. Singer asked Mac who had almost succeeded in getting into her office before being accosted.
When Mac just shook her head no, Singer walked away muttering, "I wonder who he was sending the message to?" Mac sighed, thinking if Singer discovered the truth, it would not bode well for them.
Cmdr. Sturgis Turner rushed up to Mac's door as she tried to close it. "Colonel, not so fast."
"Okay, come in, but close the door behind you."
He slid into the guest chair as Mac walked around the desk, stopping to fiddle with a stack of papers, uncomfortable and yet a little excited. Could the Admiral have heard? Could anyone discern the meaning of Harm's message? She tried to reassure herself that no one could, but then looked at Sturgis and wondered.
"So, Sturgis, cat got your tongue?" She needed to know his take on the message.
"No, I'm just thinking."
"Thinking of a way to get me to reveal MORE of my personal life," Mac said, but she was smiling.
"Oh no need when the clues just keep falling into place," he smirked. "By the way, Mac, you can relax, the Admiral probably never heard Harm's comment. As you know he left early, so he's probably in Cuba too by now. I doubt they have cable."
"Yes, but given some of the loose lips in this office, and I don't mean you of course, but given some of the troublemakers we have here, I'm sure what Harm said will be spread around and eventually end up in the Admiral's ear, with some kind of dim-witted explanation to go with it." She tapped a pencil on the desk, thinking of Singer.
"So, my theory would seem to be correct. That message was directed at you. Best to spill it and clear up any misconceptions, Mac."
"I'll tell you, because I trust you." She sat down at the desk and contemplated how to explain the situation. "Harm and I had a conversation some time ago, about his difficulty in, well, letting go of the control he keeps over his feelings, in particular, his feelings about me. It was a conversation that I initiated, and it did not go well. And a lot, I mean a lot, happened after that conversation. Let's leave it at that. But, I think the comment he made this morning was a reference to that. Well, I'm sure of it."
"So he is apparently ready to relinquish the tight control he keeps over his feelings about you. I think I'm beginning to understand a conversation we had awhile back now, he obviously wanted to tell me something about being involved with you, but chose to do so by denying that anything was going on, and denying it and denying it, until it was painfully obvious that he was only kidding himself. Well then, this is certainly a positive development, wouldn't you say? You should be feeling pretty good about this."
She started to deny it, but gave up. "What's the use in hedging, yes, I am." She even grinned as she said it. "I'm a little at a loss about how to respond to it. I mean, he's up in the air, email won't reach him there." She laughed.
"I would offer a bit of advice that is as simple as it gets, Mac, play the cards you're dealt." He paused, then nodded to himself. "You know, I knew from the start that you two were involved. Denying something that much only peeks my curiosity."
"We weren't involved, haven't you figured that out yet?"
"Oh, I think you were. Maybe not in a traditional,'dating' scenario, but you had something, and now I think you may have come to a point where you can recapture it again and move forward."
"Aren't you the optimist?"
He looked at her with his mouth open. "And you're not? Excuse me, but the man just opened the door to his heart in front of millions of television viewers. What more do you want?"
She gave a studied smile. "Am I being a pessimist then, Stugis?" She really wanted an answer.
"When it comes to Harm, yes I think you are. If you don't work this out now, well, it's only because of a lack of courage on your part, in my opinion." He stood and walked to the door. "Mac, it's time to go for it." With that he walked out and closed her door.
Sitting at the desk, trying to work, she found her mind constantly drifting to the message transmitted from hundreds of miles away. After all these years, when you were right in front of me, Harm, why did you wait until now to make this pronouncement? I can't even respond. But, she realized that dwelling in such thoughts would only lead them into murky territory, and she had had enough of that. Taking a deep breath she turned to her computer and fashioned a simple email. It would at least be waiting for him after his flight.
"I saw you on TV and heard your message.. My answer is, me too. I'm waiting. Be safe so you can come home. To me. " She hesitated at the send button, thinking twice about the last two words, but remembering what Sturgis had said about courage, she sent the email winging its way to him before fear could get the better of her.
Feeling a wonderous new sense of hope, she forced herself to get back to work, saying a silent prayer for his safety, as she did every day he was away, but especially when he was flying.
Several hours later, a commotion in the bullpen caught Mac's attention and she looked up to see an old familiar figure standing at the door.
"Mic?" She exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" The noise in the bullpen died down to a murmur. Harriett stood within earshot and so she waived him in. "Close the door."
"I'm meeting with Cmdr. Sturgis and Lt. Singer about a case, but I'm going back to Australia tomorrow. Can I buy you lunch?" He gave a forced, hesitant smile.
He was trying to be nice, she could tell, but she didn't know how to respond. She wouldn't feel comfortable having lunch with him, but if she refused, it would seem callous. Thinking briefly of Harm, glad that he was not in the office, she started to accept but she was surprised when Tiner rushed up to the door.
"Call for you, ma'am. It's," Tiner looked at Brumby and stopped before he blurted out that the call was from the Commander. "It's important."
She eagerly picked up the phone and waved at Mic to sit down. She wanted the call to be from the Admiral, considering Mic's presence. It was not.
"Mac," he said and her heart skipped a beat.
"Hi," she said back. "You weren't out long."
"You saw?"
"Yes, didn't you get my email?"
"Not yet. I got off the plane and found a phone. Is it something good?"
"Sure is," she replied. "I was happy about what you said."
"Good," he said softly, and she could hear the relief in his voice.
"Wish I was there or you were here to, um, talk about it."
"Maybe we should stop talking and just act."
She raised an eyebrow at that, and smiled into the phone. "Hey, I like that idea, but you're hundreds of miles away. Why'd you have to think of it now? I'd rather you were at least in the same room, you know?"
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"So you miss me like you missed your Tomcat, is that it?"
Harm chuckelled and she wondered if he was smiling his bright wide smile.
Mic grew more uncomfortable listening to the conversation, completely certain that the call was from Rabb. Mac was practically rubbing his face in it, and he was getting madder by the minute. Quickly he decided it was time to leave and stood up.
"You don't have to leave, Mic," Mac said, and then panicked as she realized her mistake. She tried to explain to Harm. "Mic is in the states today and dropped by the office."
Harm was silent for several moments. "Well, at least you told me." She could hear in his voice both disappointment and jealousy. "You were going to tell me right?"
"Of course. "
"I'll try not to jump to conclusions here, Mac, but part of me wants to get in a plane and fly straight there. I'm still in my flightsuit."
"Harm, there's no cause for concern. I promise."
Mic just shook his head, it was Rabb on the phone. He stood by the door, one hand on the frame,
unsure whether to stay or leave. He noticed that heads were turning in his
direction, as those in the bullpen could barely contain their curiosity.
"Alright, Mac, I'll keep the faith." He paused and she could hear a voice in the background, obviously someone had approached him and spoken to him. He came back on the line. "Hey, the Admiral just walked up and he wants to talk to you." Harm was gone before she could say anything more.
"Colonel?"
"Yes , sir?"
"Colonel, as discussed you are in charge, but please check with Tiner, I think I neglected to re-assign the Thompson case, would you see to it that it is assigned to Singer. It's just her cup of tea."
"Yes sir. Isn't that the case about the lieutenant who stole files from her C.O.'s office in order to try to get information she could use to feather her nest?"
"That's the one, Colonel. I'd like her to defend, of course."
"Yes, sir."
"We will talk to you later, then," the Admiral said and the line went dead.
Harm's reaction to the news that Brumby was in the office bothered her. And she could do nothing to correct any concerns he had.
"Mac, I'd still like to take you to lunch," Brumby said from the doorway. "Unless you need Rabb's permission. Wouldn't want to hurt his flyboy sensibilities."
Mac turned her attention back to her ex-fiance and frowned at the statement about Harm. Why should she go to lunch with him? If she did, everyone in the bullpen would be aware of it, and the news would get back to Harm. If she failed to go to lunch with the Australian, would she hurt his feelings, and did she care? If she went with him, would that encourage him or hurt him further. What really mattered? Was a lunch worth the risk? Remembering, in a flash, the pain she had inflicted on all concerned after a fateful ferry ride in Sydney, she quickly decided on the safest course of action. "I'm sorry, Mic. I have so much work to do with the Admiral out of the office. I really can't go to lunch with you."
She had learned a few things in recent months, and she was not going to make obvious mistakes any more. If she could help it.
"No need to make excuses. I'm perfectly aware of where I stand." He gave her a faint smile. "Besides, I was only asking as a courtesy. I'm hoping Lt. Singer will go to lunch with me. I'll see you around, luv." He walked out of the office and into the bullpen, headed for Singer's office.
Mac sat stunned watching him. Then her focus shifted on the bullpen where various heads dropped quickly. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax. Not going to lunch was the right decision. "Learned a little I guess," she said to herself.
Moments later she watched as Lt. Singer strolled out of the office with Mic Brumby. It was such a peculiar sight, seeing them together. She felt pity for Mic, nothing more. Her mind shifted back to more important matters. A certain flyboy. A televised statement and a phone call. She had reassured him. She had been honest. And she could only hope that the beautiful bridge they were crossing was not swaying in the wind.