A/N: Sometimes stories take you in a different direction than originally planned. Amazing what chatting with two fellow JAG fanfiction writers can do to fuel the imagination. Thank you, Radiorox and Minimindbender!

Yes, the idiot Mic is delusional and thinks too highly of himself. Yes, this chapter contains a little too much of the SOB but necessary for what is to come.

McMurphy's Tavern
April 4, 2003
1930 Local

The party was already in full swing when Mic walked through the doors of McMurphy's. He didn't want to be here any more than he'd wanted to attend the ceremony this morning. But Harriet came up with the idea the gang needed a party to celebrate, and his attendance was expected.

He thought about feigning illness, but like everything else since he'd arrived back at JAG, he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Mic was sure his presence wasn't wanted. It certainly wasn't needed. Maybe he could just blend into the background. Or better yet, put in the token appearance, then make some excuse to leave.

But he also knew Sarah would be here. No matter how she'd treated him the day before, he had to see her, if only from afar. His gaze scanned the room. It wasn't hard to spot Rabb. At 6'4," he was the tallest in the room. He stood near the bar, nursing a beer, and engaged in conversation with Sturgis Turner and Admiral Chegwidden.

Bud sat at a table with Tiner and another officer he didn't recognize. Periodically, Bud rubbed his right knee, as if he might be in pain. Mic had noticed the purple heart ribbon he wore and had wanted to ask, but like everyone else at JAG, Bud didn't talk to him about personal matters.

Mic continued to look around the room, finally spotting Sarah. She was with Harriett, Bobbie Latham, and another woman who he didn't recognize.

Sarah wore black slacks and a loose-fitting red top. She seemed relaxed outside the office, laughing with the other women. Her laughter rang out even above the noise of the crowd. He had never seen her quite this way. Even during the time together, she always seemed reserved, never quite letting loose from her military discipline.

Maybe it was marriage or her pregnancy that loosened her up. His Sarah. Married. To Rabb, nonetheless. The thought of Sarah being Rabb's wife left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Her laughter drew the attention of the men standing at the bar and they walked over to join the women. Rabb stood behind Sarah, and she leaned against him. His arms went around her, and his hands rested on her pregnant belly. She turned her head and raised it ever so slightly to look up at her husband. Rabb leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

Damn it! It should have been his baby Sarah was carrying. She should have been his wife. Sarah turned back to the group, saying something that made them all erupt with laughter. It was too much for Mic to take. He didn't care who he offended, he had to get out of here. No way was he going to stand around here listening to Rabb gloat about who got the woman. Damn shame because he could use a good stiff drink. It wasn't like anyone would miss him anyway. Besides, there were plenty of other bars in DC. Better yet, he could stop by a liquor store, take a stash home, and get smashed. That sounded like the best plan of all.

Having decided, before anyone could see him, he rushed out the door.

JAG Headquarters
April 7, 2003
0800 Local

Mic Brumby spent most of the weekend drunk. He started out with lager only to learn he needed something stronger. Whiskey provided the answer. Life wasn't fair. Rabb had the girl. He had nothing except for his navy career which had taken a setback when he reserved his commission to "be with the woman he loved."

And look where that got him. He'd be a full commander by now if not for that incident. Rabb, in the meantime, was looking at becoming a captain if the JAG rumor mill was correct. Apparently, the time he'd left JAG to go back to a fighter squadron hadn't hurt his career too much.

By Sunday afternoon, he realized he needed to sober up. Couldn't risk showing up with even the slightest hint of a hangover. But while drinking helped ease the pain, the alcohol also gave him a newfound sense of purpose. There was a reason he'd been sent back to DC. Fate, karma, or whatever you wanted to call it had placed him back in Sarah's world.

He was a better man than Rabb. He was the one who deserved Sarah, not the cocky aviator turned lawyer. He could love Sarah the way she deserved. He would never leave her to go flying like Rabb had. And sooner or later Rabb would do that, Mic was sure of it. And when Rabb did, he'd be there to pick up the pieces of her heart.

But he needed a plan. He had to become a part of the JAG world again, gaining the respect of his fellow officers. He couldn't show the slightest hint of impropriety. Looking back now, the way he'd come on to Sarah could have easily been interpreted as sexual harassment. This time he would treat her with the respect due to any officer. Their relationship would be nothing more than professional, and there wouldn't be the slightest hint that she was anything other than a colleague.

As much as it grated on his nerves, he needed to do the same with Rabb. Any feelings of hatred or resentment had to be squelched, at least on the surface. The man might have an ego bigger than the Patrick Henry, but he was also smart. He couldn't be easily fooled. Mic had to walk a fine line of showing respect while not overdoing the buddy thing.

As luck would have it, when he walked into JAG Headquarters that morning, Rabb was stepping onto the elevator—without Sarah. Now was a good time to begin putting his plan into action.

"Hold the elevator, mate." He rushed to the open doors.

"Brumby," Harm pressed the button for the second floor.

"Sorry I missed the party Friday night. Didn't feel well. Guess everyone had a good time."

"We did."

"By the way, congratulations on earning the silver star. Well deserved. I hear that was some feat."

"Thanks." The door opened and Rabb stepped off the elevator. Without another word, he walked through the bullpen, went directly to his office, then closed the door.

So much for trying to be friendly.

Harm's Office
April 7, 2003
0930 Hours

Harm wrinkled his forehead and tapped a pen on his desk blotter. What the hell was up with Brumby? The man had actually tried to act friendly this morning. He didn't buy that load of bull from Mic. The man had never congratulated him on anything—not for winning a court case, nor when he'd been awarded his second DFC.

On the contrary, the man acted jealous of anything Harm had done or achieved. When the admiral handed out assignments in staff meeting, Mic seemed to have accepted his case, a simple dereliction of duty, without reservation. Not that he'd ever argued with the admiral before. But Harm hadn't missed the expression on his face the week prior when everyone else got the "good" cases.

What was up? Had the man really changed his demeanor or was there something else? Harm didn't trust him.

After all, a leopard can't change its spots.