AN: Welcome to the season finale of JAG - Retold (Season 2). I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far, and I wouldn't mind hearing if you did.

This is an original episode, one I hope lives up to the awesomeness of a real JAG episode and hopefully makes you want to see what Season 3 has in store for us. :)

And now, I bring you...


Episode 14:
Bloodlines (Part 1)

1830 ZULU
YAROSLAVSKY STATION
MOSCOW, RUSSIA

A lone train sat on the platform under positively utilitarian steel, brick and sheet metal. While much of Moscow's splendid architecture thrilled tourists on the outside, building interiors were as attractive as communism ever was to the people who suffered under its rule - not at all.

The locomotive at the platform had a small flag painted on its nose, that of the new Russian Federation - perhaps a vain indication, and hope, of better times ahead.

This was the train heading to all points west of Moscow, the overnight train that serviced the distant and now open furthest reaches of Western Europe thanks to the end of the Cold War and the rise of the European Union.

Passengers, both of the patient and impatient variety, waited on the platform as inspectors and drug sniffing dogs made sure the train was clear of any stowaways or contraband. This was just standard rule of life in everyday Moscow - a remnant of old Soviet rule that the new Federation hadn't gotten around to relax.

Among the crowd was a beautiful blonde dressed in Paris' finest. She had her arm draped around a tall older gentleman, old enough to be her father, but who was most probably not.

"Europe in summer is wonderful, my dear." the blonde beauty whispered into the ear of her tall male companion.

Her voice was accented, Eastern European, or at a stretch, Scandinavian, but she spoke perfect English otherwise. A glance at her would make her out as nothing more than a beautiful young woman with blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and the curves of a swimsuit model suggested at but not revealed underneath her very expensive designer coat.

"Anywhere at anytime with you, my dear is even better." the tall man whispered back. He was in his late-fifties with dark hair kissed by streaks of white at his temples, giving him the aristocratic air of European royalty, if not for the very thick Russian accent that came forth. His face was hidden, dark lenses covered his eyes while a scarf hid the rest of his features.

A chill wind whipped around the platform, making the beautiful blonde wrap the coat around her tighter. While summertime in Moscow promised warmer temperatures, rain and the late hour - a little over 9.30 P.M local time, also meant that the warming rays of the sun had long since disappeared.

They were standing on the platform of the Trans-European Express waiting to board. It was crowded, too many people found travel westward enticing and exciting. With the fall of the Soviet Empire and the eventual easing of European travel restrictions, all of Europe was now open to all wallets, not just those of wealthy Russians.

"Think they found what they were looking for?" the blonde asked as she noticed the drug dogs and the inspectors began leaving the train.

"If they did, we'll be very much dead." the Russian man responded.

"Then we'll have to hope wherever you hid the list fools them." she smiled with an ease that her voice didn't reflect.

The dogs and inspectors cleared the train and all the passengers rushed towards the door, as if afraid that their seats would be stolen otherwise.

"Stick close to me, my love." she said with a smile while placing his hand on her hip, and was reassured by the slight squeeze he put there that signified his compliance.

The blonde and her man were jostled by the crowd, hemmed in on all sides as they made their way to the door of their train carriage. A sudden surge of the crowd pushed her forward.

And just as suddenly, the blonde felt the hand on her hip let go. She whirled around in panic to be faced by numerous faces trying to edge in past her. She scanned the crowd, holding up the line to the annoyance of the other passengers, so she stepped out to get a better look. Her eyes darted around the platform when she heard the piercing scream of a terrified woman. She ran towards the sound and found her worst nightmare come true.

On the floor lay the body of her companion. Russian police were already crouching over his body so she couldn't get near. She had to escape. She calmly joined the crowd and boarded the train.

Once on board, the blonde quickly returned to her private cabin, locked the door and removed her coat. Feeling along the inside lining of the coat, she found a tiny hidden seam, unravelled the stitching there and pulled out a tiny cell phone. Switching it on, she keyed in a sequence on her keypad - too short for a phone number, too long to be anything but a key code. She held the phone to her ear.

"State Department, how may I help you?" said the voice on the other end.

The blonde spoke in English. Gone was the accent, not even the slightest hint to who she was or where she was from. She spoke clearly and precisely, "Clayton Webb please."

"And whom may I say is calling?"

"His wife."

oxoxoxo

Following in his father's footsteps as a Naval aviator, Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. suffered a crash while landing his Tomcat on a storm-tossed carrier at sea.

Diagnosed with night blindness, Harm transferred to the Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps, which investigates, defends and prosecutes the law of the sea.

There, with fellow JAG lawyer Major Sarah MacKenzie, he now fights in and out of the courtroom with the same daring and tenacity that made him a top gun in the air.

oxoxoxo

1030 ZULU
ROMANIAN ROYAL PALACE
BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

Sensing the rising frustration in the room, the man who everyone listened to without question, calmly and clearly said, "Gentlemen... and ladies, before we continue further, I believe it is time for lunch."

Those words spoken by anyone else might have seemed comically plain for the opulent setting of an imperial court but when said by King Josif of Romania, it was to be taken as what it was meant - an order to take a break.

No one disagreed as it was half-past noon local time and the morning sessions had once again proved fruitless. King Josif stood up from his seat at the large round table, prompting everyone else to rise as well as a mark of respect.

Once the King had left the hall with his ministers, the military men from various branches of NATO, all in their dress uniforms came together to discuss their views on how best to proceed with the afternoon session. It was again a purely academic exercise for they were merely engaging in small talk to fill the minutes before they were summoned to the royal banquet hall.

For the last two weeks as guests of the King, they had enjoyed well prepared if not overly indulgent fare. And for the last two weeks, no progress had been made over the request of where exactly to put the NATO naval base.

Lt. Cmdr. Harmon 'Harm' Rabb Jr. did not have a seat at the main round table, even if he was a guest of the King. He didn't have the requisite cache, rank, expertise nor an impressive enough fruit salad (military breast patch) to sit in with the big boys.

He was merely a lawyer - not a flag officer, not a strategist, not even an architect or geologist. His job was similar to the one performed by the numerous other military lawyers that sat behind their representatives - mostly to read and decipher legal documents as dished out by all the other parties and occasionally to advise which words a speaking general or admiral could or should use in negotiations.

While most of the faces at the meetings had been unfamiliar to him, two though stood out, and both remembered him fondly. One of which spoke to him now.

"Hi, Harm. Trying to sneak out again?"

Her playful tone belied her actual station. He turned towards the now familiar voice, familiar for she had been insistent that he be her escort for the entire duration of his stay in her country.

"Good afternoon, Princess. And no, I am not sneaking out, and before you ask, I'm not sneaking out with you either." he said with a easy smile.

"I thought I told you to call me Alexi." she pouted. The Royal Princess Alexandra of Romania was a beautiful young lady of 21, who was the very specimen of poise, charm and regal bearing except when it came to Harm. With him, she replaced poise, charm and regal bearing with open flirtatiousness. "You know, if you just took a tour of my room, you wouldn't actually be sneaking out."

"I think starting an international incident is worse." Harm replied with his smile still firmly in place.

"Well, it beats having to sit around listening to musty old men talk about rocks all day."

Harm's smile widened at her concise summation of the last two weeks. Indeed, they had spent most of it listening to geologists debate the suitability and stability of each site to build the NATO base.

"Besides, why does that Navy hag get to spend all her time with you?" Alexi said with mock hurt.

Harm noticed the Navy hag in question approaching, her long legs covering the distance between them with an effortless sexy ease.

"Princess. Commander Rabb." she acknowledged them with a slight upward lilt, unsure if she was interrupting something personal. Harm turned towards the second familiar face he knew, hoping to finally formally introduce them to each other.

"Princess Alexandra, please meet Lieutenant Commander Caitlin Pike, NLSO Naples."

"Your Highness." Kate greeted her while giving Harm the same all-knowing and suggestive smile she always gave him. The one that always made it seem like she had just caught him doing something naughty.

To her credit, Alexi shook Kate's hand, her diplomatic training kicking in over her inner brat even as she eyed her 'competition'.

"So, Miss Pike. How do you know Harm?" Alexi said with a voice that could make ice, deliberately dropping Kate's rank.

"The Commander and I were once partners at JAG, your Highness." Kate ignored the chilliness.

"But not any longer?"

"Unfortunately no." Kate looked ruefully at Harm. "But based on my recommendation I think they found him a good partner. Meg says hi by the way."

"Meg?" Alexi asked, unfamiliar with the name and eager to take stock of all possible competition for Harm's attention.

"Lieutenant Meg Austin. She's another of Harm's former partners at JAG."

"Another? Do you tire of your partners so easily, Commander?" Alexi asked, returning to his formal title - an indication that she was now serious even if her tone was still light.

"Not at all, Princess. But I might be driving them away somehow."

"Well Commander, if I remember right, your investigations had a knack for taking a turn for the exciting." Kate grinned.

Alexi sensed there was something more between the two of them. Not to be outdone by their history, Alexi went into her own tale, "I agree. The Commander himself saved my life from an assassin. He earned that medal right there for it." she smiled proudly, pointing to one of the two medals on his chest.

Kate turned to Harm, again with that all knowing smile. "The Military Virtue Medal, I'm impressed, Commander." she noticed the other medal pinned on his chest.

"And Princess, we might have something else in common. Harm, wasn't our first case together the very one you earned your Distinguished Flying Cross?"

Harm realized there was something going on between the two women, something unsaid and he was missing it. All he knew was he was somehow in the middle of it. He needed a gracious way to extract himself but one wasn't presenting itself at the moment.

So an ungracious one intruded instead. Unfortunately for Harm, it was named Clayton Webb.

"Princess, Commander," Clay acknowledged both women before turning towards Harm, "Rabb, if you have a minute."

Webb's interruption set off warning bells in Harm's head. Clay was not one to interrupt a member of the Royal family, unless it was a matter of life and death. Keeping calm, Harm excused himself before following the man from State to one of the connecting rooms where they could talk in private.

oxoxoxo

The room Clay chose was a stateroom - which after years under Communist rule was utilitarian rather than impressive. Still, there was an attempt to return things to glory - evident in the plush and modern styled furnishings as well as other modest creature comforts.

Once inside, Clay locked the door and his normal facade of arrogance fell. He looked genuinely shaken up.

"Webb, what's wrong?"

"My wife called."

Harm was surprised, "I didn't know you were married."

"I'm not." Clay said as he moved to the small bar set up in the room. He poured himself some liquor from a decanter.

"I don't understand. What's going on, Clay?"

Taking a deep breath and a nip from his drink, Clay dove in to his explanation, "My 'wife' is an agent named Angela Ward. She and I have a code. How she defines our relationship denotes how bad things are on her end."

"And wife is bad?"

"Wife is really bad."

"Why?"

"It's code for tell my loved ones goodbye."

Harm observed Clay take a longer swig of the brown liquid. No adulteration, just pure scotch and a lot of it. There was more to this than Clay was telling.

"She's your partner?" Harm asked, wondering if the woman may be more than just a coworker.

"She's my agent. I'm her Operations Chief."

Meaning Clay was responsible for helping her finish her missions, though not for keeping her alive. Hence his concern for her was surprising. "Can't you get her out?"

"No. We don't work that way."

It was the closest admission Clay would ever give to admitting who his real employers were.

"But you came to me."

"My hands are tied. Yours aren't."

Harm couldn't believe the gall Clay displayed. He was going to use his favor on this? "You want me to risk my life to get one of your agents out? I don't work for the CIA, Clay."

"I'm going to tell you something that is above your security clearance, Harm. And believe me, it's something you'll want to hear."

Clay sat in one of the plush chairs, playing with his now empty glass. He was staring at nothing in particular as he started to talk.

"In 1969, the Kremlin discovered that the abilities of American pilots to evade Surface-To-Air-Missiles was far superior to anything their pilots were capable of. At first they believed it was due to our technology, hence why they supplied the North Vietnamese with all the weaponry they needed to take us on - in exchange for everything American they shot down."

Harm took a seat as well as he listened to Clay's tale.

"By 1971, they found that we had no space age materials on our jets that fooled SAMs. So they began looking into other areas..." Clay looked at Harm, "Most notably pilots."

Fear began to grip Harm. He was starting to suspect where this was going.

"In 1972, the first shipment of US pilots captured in Vietnam was delivered to Siberia."

Harm jumped to his feet, ready to throttle the CIA agent in front of him.

"You're telling me that the CIA has known that American POWs have been trapped in Russia for almost 30 years?!"

"We had suspicions but no proof. And no way of finding them even if we did."

"My father could be one of them."

"Yes he could be. So do you want to listen to the rest now?"

Still seething, Harm sat back down.

"Angie was bringing in an ex-KGB... or FSB or whatever they're calling it nowadays, double agent. He was one of ours posing as one of theirs posing as one of ours. Vilen Lagunov."

Clay set his empty glass down and resisted the urge to top up. "Lagunov had compiled a list of all the American POWs shipped to the Soviet Union. He stayed after the fall to continue compiling that list. He was killed just as he was about to step on a train to be extracted. That's why Angie called. She knows that if someone got to Lagunov, then she's probably been made too."

"What happened to the list?"

"That's what we need to find out. If we have it, we can look to bring some of them home. But if the FSB finds it first..." Clay looked Harm dead in the eye, "... the POWs will disappear, and we'll never know if they even existed."

Harm glared at the man from State even as he cursed internally. He could say no, he was well within his rights to. But he also knew that Clay had him hooked.

oxoxoxo

Major Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie found her mind wandering as she sat patiently, waiting. She wasn't in uniform, wasn't there on official business.

In the intervening 60 second period since she had been shown in the visitation room, she found that she had thought about her handsome partner at JAG for exactly 48 seconds. Here she was about to see the most important person in her life and she was thinking about her best friend instead.

The buzz of the door broke any further analysis of her state of mind. She stood up and a great big smile broke out over her face when she saw the man she was here to visit enter the room.

"Hi Uncle Matt."

"Sarah!"

They hugged briefly before taking their seats.

Visitation at Leavenworth wasn't entirely the same for all its inmates. Even though it was a maximum security prison, most of its inmates belonged to branches of the Armed Forces meaning there was a less constrictive environment imposed.

And as not all criminals sentenced here were created equal, those who were deemed less dangerous were allowed to meet their visitors without chains or forced to sit separated by thick glass. As was the case now with Matt able to sit at the same table as his niece.

"How are you Uncle Matt? Is everything okay?"

"Same old, Sarah. It's looking better now that you're here. What brings you out this way? A case?"

"No. I just figured it's been a couple of months since my last visit..."

"No exact time for me?" he teased, knowing full well of her uncanny ability to keep time.

"I try not to think about it. I'm so sorry Uncle Matt, I wish we could have gotten you a lighter sentence."

Matthew O'Hara stared at his niece. She and her JAG partner, Harmon Rabb Jr. had been his defense counsel during his trial for the theft of the Declaration of Independence.

They had done a mighty fine job in his mind. First, they had beat Congress at their own game by turning popular media in his favor - painting him as a patriot and a hero of the people. Matt had been shy about that tactic, but Harm had convinced him that making him too popular to take on was the only way Congress wouldn't want to take their shot at him.

Washington however insisted on a military tribunal, and while it wasn't ideal, it allowed them to highlight his service record and his Medal of Honor, reminding everyone what Colonel Matthew O'Hara fought for and believed in. If they had gotten a civilian court date, Harm had said they might have gotten a better result.

That is if Matt hadn't changed his plea to guilty, ready to accept whatever punishment the UCMJ was ready to throw at him.

However, the tribunal was lenient in light of Matt's role in the return of the Declaration, his years of proud service to the uniform and his current advanced age.

"Eight years is plenty, but it sure beats having to break rocks for the next forty, Sarah. I'm surprised they even let me keep my benefits."

Mac smiled, "Well, I did tell you Harm was really good at the impassioned plea."

"Indeed he is." Matt laughed, remembering the Lieutenant Commander's passionate arguments - even Matt had been convinced that this Colonel O'Hara character was as great as Harm made him out to be. "So how's the Commander? He didn't get you shot again did he?"

"No." she laughed. "And besides he got me out safely."

"He got you in trouble in the first place."

"Well, I'm all better now, so stop worrying. How about you?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Matt thought hard about his days. "Last Tuesday we had fried chicken."

"Uncle Matt." she was not amused with his answer.

"No, Sarah, that was the extent of the excitement in here. Granted at my age, it probably is for the best. And besides, I write to you often enough so you know all about my days. I want to know about yours. Any new cases?"

Mac grew quiet, the trial two weeks prior still fresh in her mind. "Not really..." she lied.

Matt knew his niece too well. She was a fine lawyer, and a fine Marine but the one thing she wasn't was a fine liar. The fact that she had tried to deceive him was enough to let him know it was a biggie.

But he let it drop for the moment. He hadn't seen her in over two months and he didn't want to jeopardize his limited time with her by forcing her to open up when she wasn't ready to talk - another thing he knew about her - if she was pushed too far, she'll close herself off or worse, run.

"You never answered my earlier question. How is the Commander?"

Mac sighed. It didn't go unnoticed by her uncle. "He's fine, uncle."

"Then why are you sighing, Sarah? A Marine doesn't sigh for a sailor."

His playful tone and subsequent grin cheered her up. "Yeah, I guess I need to remind myself that."

"He's very handsome."

"Uncle Matt!"

"I'm just stating the obvious." Matt's grin widened when he noticed the blush creeping all over his niece's pretty face.

"Can we not talk about him? I came to see you."

"And I came to talk about you. I can't exactly watch out for you from in here, MacKenzie."

"I can watch out for myself, sir." she replied in the same tone. It harkened back to their exchanges when she was a recruit and he still a Colonel. Even though those were hard times, it brought back good memories, but mostly it was a reminder of how he kept her sober when she felt herself faltering.

"I know, but you shouldn't be pulling 24-hour shifts. It'll make me feel better if you had someone watching your back."

"I know. Don't worry Uncle Matt, I'm still on the wagon."

"Big milestone last month, Sarah. Ten years."

"Has it been that long?" she looked genuinely surprised.

Matt knew she was finally ready to share. He prodded gently, "Sarah, what happened?"

"There was a case..."

"Tell me about it."

"No, forget it, Uncle Matt."

"Sarah." he said in the tone that always got her to spill her guts.

She resisted, but eventually her resolve crumbled, "It was a murder case in Norfolk."

oxoxoxo

1530 ZULU
CENTRAL RAILWAY STATION
SOFIA, BULGARIA

The Trans-European Express waited on the platform, its big diesel locomotive tainting the air with the familiar smell of exhaust fumes and hot steel. The platform itself looked decidedly deserted, just a large entourage of well wishers sending off their one relative with a train ticket - as if he carried their dreams of a better life with him. Perhaps he did.

Onboard the train, Angela Ward was methodically peeling back the leather upholstery of the seats of her luxury cabin, searching for the list hidden by Vilen Lagunov before he was killed. It was a spacious room - narrow but two cabins long, One end housed a sitting area of sorts with a small overhead TV and a mini fridge. The other end housed the honeymoon suite - a queen sized bed with a private bathroom small enough for one person to get stuck in. It was the height of luxury on this train with the ticket price to prove it.

Angie was on instant alert when she heard the knock on the cabin room door. She heard the repeating tune the knock played - there was no mistaking the signal - Clay!

But she was no dummy and she didn't relax her guard. She grabbed her gun - a small caliber with a lengthy suppressor - and flicked open the lock before sitting near the window, keeping the gun trained on the door.

"Come in." she said in a lilting voice - a mistress calling to her lover.

The door opened to reveal a tall man she didn't know. He was handsome, she could admit that but it was not a familiar face - and that was never a good sign.

Harm heard the cock of her gun and saw that it was aimed at him dead center. He held his hands up.

"Angela?"

"Close the door." she said with her fake Eastern European accent and he did as ordered. "Lock it." He did that too.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

"Harmon Rabb Junior. Clayton Webb sent me."

"Who are you?" she asked again more forcefully.

Harm frowned before realization dawned, "United States Navy." he answered this time.

"Damn. He sent a sailor?" she said dropping her accent for good. It surprised him a little but he took it in stride.

"Well, actually I'm an aviator."

"A flying sailor. Much better." she rolled her eyes even as her gun remained trained on him.

Harm eyeballed her. She was anywhere between 5'7" to 5'10" (it was hard to gauge with her sitting down) and that dress, while not form fitting also didn't give her much wiggle room to hide any unsightly pounds.

She had silky blonde hair tied up into a neat bun and was definitely attractive enough to be a cosmetics model, though she actually was more attractive this way now with her face completely devoid of make up. She looked young - somewhere between her early to mid twenties and hardly a day older.

She was sizing him up similarly. 6'4", dark brown hair, ramrod straight posture marking him out as a military man. "You don't look like an assassin." she hazarded a guess.

"I hope not." he smiled and flashed his baby blues at her.

"Damn." she cursed again, but this time in appreciation. He was gorgeous, the kind where he was every woman's type.

"Do you mind if I put my hands down so we can talk?" Harm asked.

"Depends. You said Clay sent you. What did he say?"

"He said... I want you to get my wife back." before adding apprehensively, "And tell her I want a divorce."

For the first time she relaxed. A wide smile broke across her features as she put down the gun. "He really said that?"

"Yeah. But there was one other thing." Harm said as he put his hands down.

"And what's that?"

"He wants custody of the children."

"Damn." she cursed for the third time in rapid succession.

"Look, I've no idea what I've just said." Harm hoped her reaction wouldn't result in her aiming the gun at him again. Or pulling the trigger.

He was relieved when Angie put the gun away, hidden so quickly and completely Harm didn't even know where she had it stowed.

"Clay really didn't tell you anything about our code, did he?" she asked.

"He explained a couple of things."

Angie decided to improve his education, "The code is pretty simple. I'm his wife means..."

"He explained that."

"Okay. He wants a divorce means, after this mission, I get a break from the field."

"Right. And custody?"

Angie sighed a little heavier on that, "Custody of our children means I have to give him the list."

"Lagunov's list."

"Hmm... he must really trust you to tell you that much. Yes, Lagunov's list. But there's a problem with that."

"You don't know where it is."

"Oh no, I know where it is. I just don't know where it is."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's on this train. Somewhere." Angie explained, "Lagunov hid it. He didn't trust the retirement package the Agency was setting up for him, so he decided to provide a little extra insurance for himself."

Angie continued, "Once we got him back Stateside safe and sound, he'd mail us a copy of the list." Angie snorted at the irony, "Of course, he didn't take into account the FSB getting to him first."

Harm stared at her, "How can you be sure he hid it on the train?"

"It's on the train. Lagunov wouldn't risk sending it ahead to anybody, and he wouldn't risk carrying it on himself either."

Harm nodded. "So how are we going to find out where he hid it? We can't go about ripping the train apart." Harm said, as he looked around their room and noticed the slightly ripped seats. "Though, I can see you've tried."

"Lagunov only visited three rooms while he was alive. One, this one. Two, the private bathroom in suite, and three, the dining car."

"The dining car?" Harm asked.

"Yes, where we have our meals. Apparently room service does not exist." she said wryly.

"Could he have passed off the list to any of his contacts there for safe keeping?"

"Again, Lagunov had to have control of the list's location. Handing it to someone else would have negated that." Angie surmised, finally sounding like a spook. "What's your cover?"

"Cover?" Harm asked suddenly thrown by her change in subject.

"Your identity. Who are you to me?" Angie asked as she took a closer look at him. He really was good looking. Stunning in fact.

Harm pulled out his passport and read from it. "Mark Thomason."

"Really?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I'm traveling as Maria Thomason. Guess that means you're my new husband." she gave Harm a dazzling smile. She added though, "But I gotta warn you hubby, we might not survive the honeymoon."

"Well, lucky me." Harm said in a tone that stated that he found it quite the opposite as he moved to stow his luggage. Just then, the train whistle blew and Harm felt the train start to move.

Harm saw that the scenery outside the window had begun to move as the train pulled out of the station. Harm also noticed Angela taking a seat before she notified him, "Oh, and I sleep on the left."

Harm glared at her and then at the bed behind him and then back at her. He caught her smile.

"Don't worry, sailor." she said with a wink, "You'll get used to it."

Harm wasn't sure what exactly he would have to get used to, but he had a feeling sleeping arrangements weren't all she meant.


Continued in Next Chapter

AN: Wouldn't mind reading what you think of the story so far. :)