DISCLAIMER: in the first chapter...
A/N: Here I am! Hope you guys aren't disappointed with our mysterious man's identity. Let me know what you think; don't hold back. ;D
CHAPTER 26: Understanding comes with knowledge
He had been tired, he remembered.
Tired and sleepy and just wishing the minutes and miles would go a little bit faster, so he could finally go home. Ally had sounded discontent the last time they had talked over the phone. Too long, she had said. You're gone too long. And what could he have responded to that when she had been absolutely right? Driving a truck up and down the USA had kept him away from his beloved wife more than half the year. It had been his job, though. There had been nothing beside that that he had known how to do and he had been plain too old to learn anything new.
His mind had been elsewhere, he admitted.
So, maybe it was his fault that the truck had been leaning toward the opposing lane. Who knows. Perhaps he shouldn't have been using that road to begin with; it had only been a way to cut a couple of hours off his route. But, dammit! He hadn't meant to cause an accident. He really hadn't.
It had all happened so fast.
The red convertible's lights had flashed before his eyes, snapping him back to reality. Too late, though. There had been no horns, no sound of tires against the asphalt or brakes screeching. What chance could a tiny car stand against such a monstrosity of a vehicle? Spikes had broken from the frame of the truck and the last thing John could say he remembered was the vivid red blood staining the glowing white of the driver's shirt and a light so bright his eyes had been burned.
After that…
Darkness.
When he had finally awaked, there had been a soft bed beneath his frame and light coming from an uncurtained window. It had actually taken him some time to recognize the room. And only a fraction of that time for him to bolt upright, confused. It had been his childhood room, in a house that should have no longer existed, in a state he hadn't been in since he had finally reached his eighteenth birthday, many years prior.
Those first few days had been a blur of uncertainty, filed with questions no one seemed apt to answer. How could people believe his story when he had seemed unsure of his own sanity by then? A forty-three year old trapped in the body of his sixteen year old self with nothing from his old life but the torn and bloody t-shirt he had awoken with.
Plain crazy.
Except, it had been true.
For about a year, he had tried to relive his life exactly as it had been before. It hadn't been so simple, though. How could you bring yourself to turn left, when you knew there would be an accident just a few cars ahead and you would be stuck in traffic for hours? Daily, John had been faced with these small – and sometimes not so small – decisions and daily had had chosen to repeat it all. His life hadn't been perfect, but it had been his. Until the day he had tried to recall the name of his wife, whom he hadn't met yet and found he couldn't. Worse, her face had been starting fade around the edges.
John had been angry for about two seconds. He had cried for a whole day, despair eating away his hope. And then he had remembered, more clearly than anything else his memory could conjure: the face of the red convertible's driver. Surely, he hadn't been the only one affected.
Without a name, it had been hard.
His plan to relive the years until time reasserted itself had been abandoned. John had left his mother's house – a place he had never thought of as home – and moved to Washington, D.C., working odd jobs to pay the bills. His time had been spent scouring newspapers from around the world every single day and walking the streets, gaze searching for that one face on a younger man's face.
Years had passed.
So many years without success…
Until that cold Christmas and that dark marble memorial. There he had seen the face he had searched. The young man had been wearing military garb – Navy he had thought – and he had been fingering a single name carved on the wall. It had taken all of John's self control not to jump him then and there.
Calmly, he had approached the familiar stranger and had stood beside him, surreptitiously glancing sideways to catch a glimpse of the name he had come to honor.
Harmon Rabb.
Your father?, he had asked. Yes, the man had answered. John had noticed a bracelet he kept fingering and hope had swelled unbidden. Here had been a man who knew the meaning of waiting. Could he have really been transported back in time, too? Some days, John doubted himself; he had no proof the man had been affected as well. And the passenger? John didn't have the slightest idea who it had been and had no way of finding out.
How did he die? Determination had appeared on those light blue eyes. No, he's missing in action and I know… I know he's not dead. He can't be. He's just... just waiting for me to find him. It hadn't taken John long to realize that the man's word hadn't been borne from knowledge, but from hope.
He had felt his crash down to earth like a bird hit by a hunter's bullet.
What to do when all plans had been exhausted? When all hope had been lost? How to proceed when uncertainty had been the only thing he had been sure of?
John had chosen to wait.
And wait he did, for twenty-three years, preparing himself for the day he could have his answers. The day he could finally go home.
------------
And Jonathon Spiel refused to believe he had waited in vain.
It's just couldn't be…
"Why is nothing happening? How did you do it when you were in the car?" He stopped, looking carefully at the Commander's every reaction. "How did you go back?" And the Commander's face betrayed him; he knew what his captor was talking about. He said nothing, though.
What was there to say?
"HOW?!"
The Commander's heart skipped a beat.
Sarah…
The gun was up again, pressed to Sarah Mackenzie's temple; the passenger he had taken so long to discover. John had done his homework well and knew she was the best way to get to his target. Because the truck driver turned soldier had spent so many years fixed on Harmon Rabb's son, had wasted so much effort on the only face from his former life he could clearly recall, he hadn't stopped to consider Mac capable of being anything but a tool to get to his real target.
"How did you do it? And how can I take it back?" His cool demeanor from before evaporated, the desperation he had strived to push out of his mind since his first encounter with Rabb resurfacing. The gun wavered. "Please…"
"How…" The coarseness of his own voice surprised him and Harm breathed in deeply. "How do you know that?"
Who are you?
The gun dropped to the man's side, forgotten like everyone else on that room.
"I was driving the truck that hit your car. I… " He took a step forward. "I remember your face. The next thing I knew, I was young again. Really young and I started forgetting things and I… I just…" There was no faking the tears that flourished on the man's brown eyes, Harm noticed, and the nagging feeling that he had seen his face before returned.
"How long ago was that?"
"Twenty three years."
All that time waiting… for what?
"I only returned a couple of months ago."
A nod. "I know. I searched for you. I talked to you before." Harm had a hard time remembering. "At the memorial wall… your father's name on the marble stone…" John prodded.
And just like that, the memory resurfaced. "I remember…"
The sad young man with old eyes…
The conversation had been so innocent; he hadn't given it a second thought.
"So… how did you…" Harm was shaking his head. "What?" The man before him hardily seemed like the same man who had, moments before, pointed a gun at Mac's head.
"I didn't do anything." Harm could see the man was unconvinced.
"But…"
"I remember the truck coming at us – I didn't have time to steer – and then pain and darkness and the next thing I knew, I was here, at JAG, at this very office."
"No." John's hand gripped the gun harder, while his head shook from side to side, incredulous. "No. You did something. It was you, it had to be you!" He retraced his earlier steps, going backwards and raised the gun to point at Mac's head once again. "You know! Tell me!"
"I don't know!!" John was beyond listening to reason, though. "I… I went back. To the future or the alternative universe, or whatever it is we came from. I went back. I was in the hospital, hurt. I spent months there. And you were dead!"
"No. You went back, so can I."
It's not that easy!
Harm was shaking his head. "No, no, no… Listen to me! I went back, but Mac didn't. She was dead there as well, so she couldn't. And I don't know how I did it! One minute I'm there and months go by and the next minute I'm here and no time at all was lost…"
"He's right." Mac's voice was firm, collected, maybe more than she should have been considering the imminent threat pressed tightly against her temple. "I saw it myself. It's like your consciousness traveled back, but your body didn't."
"Shut up!" He was sweating and all pretences of whispering had been put aside. Tiner was bound to hear the disturbance and Harm hoped the gun man didn't fire upon the yeoman should he enter unexpectedly.
"She's right. No body, no going back. But it's still your life. You can do whatever you want with your life."
"No, I can't." John removed the gun from Mac and pointed the nuzzle to his own temple. "My memories… they disappeared, one by one. I can't remember my wife. I can't remember her name or what she looked like!" The gun dropped. "And it's all your fault."
Harm remained silent, trying to control his racing heart. His gaze was firmly locked onto his captor's, weary of his every move. Gone was the calm man from before. There was desperation on his eyes now, sweat on his forehead and Harm realized he had no alternative plan. No escape route. He had bet his everything on this moment and Harm felt for him.
Truly.
Only heaven knew what he would have done if this time traveling had taken him to a moment before Mac had entered his life. And to watch your precious memories fade away… That must be what falling into madness would feel like.
Breathe.
He had to believe all would end well; it was the only way to keep his cool.
"Hey, man. Tell me your name. I don't even know your name."
Brief hesitation. "John."
How many times did I see you, John?
How many times did our paths cross and I didn't spare you a second though?
Just another enlisted amongst many….
The dispassionate man from before was returning and that worried Harm more than any rage could. He opened his mouth to try to keep John occupied, when he felt Webb shift a bit. He considered that perhaps the screaming from before had managed to rouse the unconscious CIA operative, but quickly dismissed that thought. Both he and the Admiral should have woken long before then.
Harm returned his attention to his captor.
"Okay, John, let's think this through together. Maybe we can make sense of it if we combine what we know." John said nothing and didn't move, which Harm took to mean as agreement. He hoped so, at least.
"Tell me what you remember from moments before the accident. Did you see anything unusual? What were you thinking about?"
The seconds it took John to answer stretched like a small piece of eternity for the tied up Commander. When he finally spoke, Harm sighed, relieved.
"I was on the last leg of my route. I wanted to go home as fast as possible, so I took a short cut." Pause. "That wasn't the road I usually drove through, you know. If I had just…" Sigh. "Anyway… I was thinking about my wife. I, I didn't see anything strange. I didn't even see…"
Wait a minute…
John continued talking, but Harm's attention was diverted to Webb. They were so closely tied that every time the other man breathed, his back pushed against Harm's tensed up muscles. In fact, most of Webb's weight was pushed against him. And the breaths, though calm, were far from being even.
Webb was up to something.
But what?