Chapter 7

Tuesday
December 24, 2001
2331 ZULU (1831 local)
Roberts' Residence
Rosslyn, Virginia

Letting the tepid water wash over my hands, the quiet atmosphere of Bud and Harriet's powder room is like a soothing balm for my nerves. The party tonight has been amusing, hectic, and frustrating all in one, and I'm relishing the opportunity to take this small moment for myself.

When Tiner first asked Harriet if he could turn the television to ZNN, I'd wondered why he'd been interested in watching the news instead of joining the rest of us in enjoying some non-alcoholic eggnog. Since I'd taken yesterday off and had been running around earlier today, spending some last-minute quality time with Chloe before schlepping her to the airport, I'd completely missed the whole fiasco with the corralled herd of reindeer at NAS Keflavik.

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Rudolph, et al, versus the United States Navy…

It probably hadn't been too funny for the admiral, having to deal with the press and the general public outcry at the captivity of "Santa's" magical sled-pulling team. But shoot, from where I'm sitting now, the whole situation was so completely ridiculous that any person in their right mind can't help but laugh aloud. Chuckling once again at the memory of the base chaplain's creative solution – posing as Santa Claus despite the fact that he's a Jewish rabbi – I squirt some liquid soap into the palm of my hand and begin working it into a lather.

The situation in Iceland has been just part of this evening's gamut of craziness. With everything else that's been going during my six-week sojourn back in time, I'd nearly forgotten about Singer's bracelet – the one she'd gotten from her own serial Santa – and her erroneous accusations against Petty Officer Coates when it mysteriously disappeared out of this very same bathroom. That's where 'hectic' comes in: as before, the rest of the group had gone on a mad hunt for the misplaced jewelry, while Coates had seized the opening and made a run for the proverbial hills. If I'd thought facing the admiral's wrath for letting the petty officer slip away was nerve-racking…

Hell, just seeing Lieutenant Lauren Singer alive and well again has certainly been a completely mind-boggling experience.

The first time I encountered her in this timeline, when I'd returned to work the week following Thanksgiving, was a terrific shock. I think I managed to cover my reaction well, but it was difficult. She certainly didn't say anything if she did notice, which was probably a good thing. After all, how often have I come face-to-face with a colleague who's going to suffer an untimely and brutal death in little over a year? After that initial encounter, I've managed pretty successfully to avoid the junior attorney around the office; it hasn't been too difficult, considering our differing caseloads and schedules. Until tonight, that is. Tonight someone seems to have a wicked sense of humor, because I've been unable to avoid the lieutenant at all.

I look up at the mirror before me. Even though the party has progressed pretty much exactly as I remembered it happening 'before,' when I lived through it the first time, this whole evening has seemed more vivid, more hectic… and all the more frustrating because Singer's still got a nasty way of pissing me off!

A small part of my being feels guilty about wanting to throttle her, considering what she'll face down the road, dying pregnant and alone. But despite knowing what Lauren Singer's future holds, her behavior tonight – from the moment her bracelet disappeared to when Harriet found it on the floor behind the bedroom dresser – has reminded me just how much I disliked the woman. Hearing her harp about her boyfriend's disloyalty and watching her throw baseless accusations at Jennifer Coates, the familiar urge to shake some sense into the witch has come roaring back with a vengeance.

And yet, I now think as I study my reflection, another part of me wishes I could be more sympathetic towards the ill-destined lieutenant. In my past, after Singer was killed, most everyone in the office felt horror and shock upon learning of her death, each of us grieving in our own way despite the conflict she'd thrived upon throughout her time at JAG. She may have been a bitch and a frequent pain in the ass around the office, but she didn't deserve to die the way she did.

Heaving a sigh, I shut off the water and quickly dry my hands. Sometimes you simply have to accept that you'll never like a person and move on. When the time comes, if I'm still in this reality – and to be perfectly frank, I don't want to go back to the future I've already lived through once – I'll say something to Lauren, try to keep her from getting involved in the events that ultimately lead to her death. Until then, though, I might as well enjoy myself a little.

Pinching my cheeks to give them a smidgen of color, I take one last look in the mirror before heading back out into the hallway. It's after six-thirty, which means Harm should be back any minute with Coates. He's not going to know what hit him. I smile to myself.

As I pop into the master bedroom to grab my coat and scarf, I hear Harriet's voice from the other room: "Okay, you guys. Let's not be late."

Sure enough, Harm's standing in the living room just as I remembered he would be. I indulge in a brief moment of admiring how sharp he looks in his civilian suit and coat before taking a step forward.

"Hey, you made it." My heart starts pounding in my chest as I step into the room, but I can't help but beam at him. He's my best friend, and he's tall, dark and seriously handsome. How did I ever get so lucky?

His eyes brighten as he sees me, and I'm pleased to see him returning the smile. "Yeah… oh, here. Let me."

It takes an instant before I realize he's offering to help me with my coat. "Oh, thanks," I murmur as he holds it so I can slip my arms into the sleeves. "Great."

"Let me get that," he says softly, and straightens one shoulder for me.

"Thanks."

"Sure." He follows me to the doorway… where we're both standing directly underneath the little sprig of green that's been tacked to the frame. Again. Bless you, Harriet.

Is it technically déjà vu when you know for a fact that you've done this before? Then again, I don't remember having felt this flood of warmth, both from the fluttering in my heart and in other parts of my anatomy, the first time he and I stood here. I love this man, but I'm not kidding when I jokingly tell him, "Uh-oh, awkward moment number three-hundred and ten."

I'm barely breathing.

Together we look upward at the small branch of mistletoe. Then, returning our eyes to each other, we both shrug and exchange small, knowing smiles. After all, who are we to argue with a hallowed Christmas tradition, right? I lean towards him, my gaze dropping to his lips. Those beautiful lips…

The next I know, those same lips are pressing wonderfully against my own and I'm in heaven. I can't get enough. Whatever plans I'd made before walking into the living room a few moments ago have flown out of my mind, leaving me helpless to control what's now happening between us. Without conscious thought I find myself melting into him, relaxing into the solid wall of his body as the kiss deepens, my lips parting slightly of their own accord.

A small moan of pleasure wells up inside as Harm takes advantage of that brief opportunity, his tongue slipping past my defenses to lightly taste my own. It's not a wholly consuming, no-holds-barred passionate kiss, but it's a hell of a lot more intimate than anything he and I have shared before. His long fingers weave their way up my shoulders to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as my own arms begin to snake around his waist, the scarf in my hand forgotten as I lose myself…

And then he's pulling back, his hands dropping back down to my shoulders, gently but deliberately widening the space between our bodies. The chilled air against the nape of my neck and my sensitive lips leaves me feeling bereft. My eyes flutter open.

Harm's looking down at me, his expression quizzical and awestruck all at once, mirroring the tumult of unexpected emotions coursing through my own hammering chest. We stand there for the briefest of moments, simply staring at each other.

"Harriet's going to wonder where we are." His voice is nothing more than a throaty whisper, but the soft twinkle in his eyes and the trace of curving at the corners of his mouth reassure me like no words can.

"We should get going," I agree, my own voice scratchy and hoarse as we smile at each other. Why am I suddenly feeling so shy?

Because that kiss lasted about two full minutes longer than you remembered, I think to myself. Having an internal clock that's accurate almost down to the second can be a serious nuisance at times.

Fortunately, further words are unnecessary as we step out into the hallway, Harm closing the door securely behind him before following me down the two flights of steps. I can really only speak for myself, but I can imagine that he's grateful for the silence as well since it gives us both time to compose ourselves before we emerge from the building to face our friends, who are undoubtedly wondering what's taking us so long.

Sure enough, Lieutenant Harriet 'Eagle Eye' Sims is waiting on the sidewalk outside, along with Petty Officer Coates. No one else is in sight.

"Everything all right, Commander?" Harriet approaches us as soon as we open the door.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was locked up," he covers nicely, giving both her and Jennifer a friendly smile.

Harriet smiles in thanks and looks between the three of us, pausing only to say, "See you at the church, then." With one last grin she disappears off in the direction of the street, where I spot Bud waiting patiently with little A.J. in the family minivan.

"Shall we?" Gesturing to Coates and myself to go first, Harm falls into an easy step behind us as we make our way over to where his Lexus is parked.

"I can't remember the last time I set foot into a church," Jennifer comments absently as we climb into the car.

"Been a while, huh?" Buckling my safety belt, I twist around from the front passenger seat to look back at her. "I understand your father is a minister."

She snorts. "Hence why I avoid churches."

Although Jennifer has never mentioned her father to me, either over the last two days or over the course of our whole working relationship in my 'other' life, I get the impression that most of her childhood was spent rebelling against organized religion. From Harm's brief explanation last night of his encounter with the Reverend Coates, and from Jennifer's own tone of voice now, I find myself wanting to provide her with some reassurance.

"Well, Chaplain Turner – he'll be giving the sermon tonight – is the father of one of our colleagues at JAG. I've never met the man himself, but if he's anything like his son, I have a feeling you'll find tonight's service different than those you've been used to in the past."

I don't expect an acknowledgement from her as I turn back to look out the windshield, and sure enough I don't get one. The three of us spend the rest of the car ride to the church in quiet, contemplative silence. A light snow has begun to fall, dusting the world around us with a pristine blanket of white, fluffy flakes.

Will we have a white Christmas this year? I wonder. There's just something special about a white Christmas.

Soon we're entering the sanctuary, filing in along with the other military personnel and civilians alike who have come to hear tonight's Christmas Eve sermon. To my surprise, the rows closest to the altar have been reserved for our party, probably thanks to Chaplain Turner. I allow myself to be ushered into the second pew on the right, next to Singer, while Admiral Chegwidden, Harm and Coates take seats directly in front of us. The rest of the group is seated directly across the aisle.

But where's Sturgis?

The service is about to start when he finally arrives. Sliding over a few inches to make some room in the pew at his "Hey," I can't help smiling warmly when Harm turns to shake his hand.

It's so nice to see the two of them on friendly terms. Whatever happened to their friendship? I ask myself, reflecting on the changes that have separated them… or will separate them… in the not-so-distant future. Seeing each of them now, in December 2001, with their welcoming smiles and amiable banter, a pang of regret pierces my happy mood as I think back to when things started to go downhill. It all started with Paraguay, or rather after Paraguay, when the admiral staunchly refused to reinstate Harm's commission and instead forced Sturgis to take his good friend's office…

I close my eyes and give my head a sharp shake. No, I'm not going to think about this, not now, and not here. Opening my eyes again, I look up at where Chaplain Turner stands regally at the pulpit. There will be time soon enough for me to figure out how I might repair some of the damage that has, or will be, done.

"When God revealed Himself to us, He did so through a family…"

That's what we are, a family, I think, listening as the chaplain begins his annual Christmas sermon. All of the people here sitting around me are my family. There's nothing more important… and I want it to stay that way.