Gold Wings in The West Wing

A/N: It was nearly a decade ago that I started reading fanfiction. Similar to watching TV or reading a book I always think about what would happen the script writers or authors would have done this or that differently. I'm sure that some of you know the feeling.

Back then, I would sit down and actually write down those ideas and change parts of fics. I still do that. However, unlike 'American Crime Stories', those early works were never supposed to be published. They were for my own pleasure.

Anyway, I remember reading "Clearing Skies" from Aerogirl, and wondering how it could work if the author hadn't decided on a JAG canon shipper ending. I remember sitting down and outlining it in detail. I even started to write down several parts of it, but I never finished it.

However, during the Corona pandemic, I decided to work on it again and to actually publish my version of the fic this time.

It's a lot of work to get back in the mindset of the story, to edit pretty much all of it because a) my English was much worse back then and b) as I never intended to publish it, didn't care so much for correct spelling and grammar.

In addition, I have to update it because since then a lot has happened in American politics and some of those events, topics and slogans may appear in this fic. By the way, it was pretty surreal to see some of those actually come into real-life politics, or better said, to become a prominent part of US politics.

That said, I think it is important to point out again that I am not an American. I am only an interested observer of US politics. Or politics in general, as my major in political science shows.

Please keep that in mind when you read and (hopefully) review and refrain from accusing me off trying to impose my opinions on you. That's definitely not the case. My only goal is to entertain you!

A/N 2: This will be a JAG/The West Wing crossover. The timeline starts after The West Wing's third and after JAG's seventh seasons. Unlike the original work, it won't be a Harm/Mac pairing (no surprise there, since I never write canon shipper stories anyway…).

The pairing is Harmon Rabb and Claudia Jean "C.J." Cregg. Like the original author, I try to feature Harm in the West Wing setting. Although JAG canon will be a part of this fic, too. I am going to include several quoted sections out of the show. Not, because to add to my word count or anything like that. Rather, it's there to demonstrate similarities to the shows as well as to give a little background to some characters or story plots.

Timelines of several other TV shows will be adapted. Oh, obviously, it all happens in an AU.

While there will be some changes from "Clearing Skies" from the start, the deviation will be very slow. Updates will be slow, like they are in all my stories.

Disclaimer:

Unfortunately, I don't have any ways to contact the original author to ask for permission to re-write the story - unlike with my Castle fic for which I got permission from TheBlackHand724.

Therefore, I like to state that no copyright infringement is intended! In fact, you can see this as my way of honoring the original story, a homage at the original author – like a true 'fan fiction'.

I hope you enjoy it.

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington, D.C

Commander Harmon Rabb made his way to his meeting at the White House. He was a bit tired, as he had looked at his files about this meeting until late into the night. He wanted to refresh his memories of all the facts that the task force had gathered so far. He stood in front of the White House and looked at it for a moment. It had been several years since he'd been there last. It was the day of his awards ceremony for landing the Tomcat from the backseat with an injured Tom Boone in the pilot seat. It was also the day he had met Mac for the first time. He shook his head for a moment to clear his mind. He entered the premises and made his way up to a security desk. There he waited for a few moments until he was next in line. "Commander Harmon Rabb. I have an appointment."

"One moment, please."

The guard picked up the phone and made a call. A moment later he turned to Harm. "Someone will be down here to pick you up, sir. You can wait over there," the security guard told him and pointed to a waiting area on his right. Harm stepped to the side, sat down and waited. He used the time to observe the people going in and out of the White House. Some he recognized, most he did not. Some were important, others less so. But they all looked very busy. A few minutes later a woman walked up to him.

There was someone standing in the doorway of her office. C.J. was well aware of the fact, but she didn't immediately glance up from her computer. At five minutes before nine a.m., she was already behind her fully packed schedule. If her visitor had had something important to say, he or she would have already started talking. That was the way it worked around here.

When approximately thirty seconds had passed with no announcement, C.J. finally looked over her glasses to check out who was loitering in the doorway. "Donna, I don't mean to be rude, but isn't Josh's doorway your normal hovering position?"

"He's on the Hill this morning. Besides, he wouldn't fully appreciate the kind of information I have to offer." Donna tossed her blond hair with a conspiratorial look. "There's a hot-looking sailor in the lobby." The younger woman stated. C.J. looked at her impassively for about half a second, then shook her head and calmly stated, "Forget it."

This wasn't the response Donna had been expecting, so it threw her off stride. "Forget what?" She asked surprised.

"The last time my day started out with a line about someone in the lobby, I ended up spending the day before Thanksgiving babysitting a pair of Indians."

"Ironic…"

"Don't start, Donna Moss. Don't you start!" C.J. stood up from her desk and began to search the shelf for a file. A sure sign that she considered the conversation closed, but Donna wasn't dissuaded in the least.

"Anyway, I'm serious about this one," Donna said.

C.J. internally sighed. She recognized that tone. It signaled that Donna wouldn't be deterred so easily. So she did the only thing she could do, and continued the conversation. "A sailor in the lobby?"

"A hot-looking one, too. Trust me, you'd agree."

"Because you and I always share the same taste in men," C.J. suggested dryly.

Donna pouted. "You're ruining my fun. I saw him when I came in, but I didn't have the guts to ask him why he's here."

C.J. gave up looking for the file and threw up her hands, mildly exasperated with the assistant. "Donna, I don't have time for this. I have a meeting in five minutes."

"Who with?"

C.J. sighed again. If that damn file had been here like it was supposed to be, she'd have been able to provide an answer, and this wouldn't have felt like such a trick question. "With … with…"

"With one of the Judge Advocates from the Joint War Crimes Tribunal Task Force," Carol answered smoothly, entering C.J.'s office and dropping the requisite file onto the desk. "Leo wanted a firsthand update before the President commented about it in his speech, remember?"

Yeah, she remembered now. "Leo also wanted to display his Air Force feathers and bitch about the Navy some more."

C.J. stopped herself as she made the connection. "Hold up. My meeting's with a naval officer?"

Her assistant glanced down at the file to confirm. "Commander Harmon Rabb."

"The hot-looking sailor in the lobby?" Donna asked hopefully.

"You thought so, too?" Carol asked.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Laverne and Shirley." C.J. rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure anyone with a name like 'Harmon Rabb' can be classified as hot."

"You haven't seen him yet, C.J." Carol smiled. "You'll like him. Trust me."

C.J. looked suspiciously from one to the other, mystified by their enthusiasm. "I don't know where you two got the idea that you know my type. I'm not sure I even have a type anymore."

Carol gave her boss, and friend, a look, but decided not to get into that conversation right now.

"Anyway, that's why I came in here. I wanted to tell you that your next appointment is here. You want me to bring him back here?" Carol asked, making a few notes on her boss's blotter.

"No, I'll go get him. Cleaning drool off a uniform is tough." Shaking her head, she brushed past the two assistants, and strode through the busy hallways toward the main lobby.

Finding a naval officer in a busy room was typically a simple task, one made even simpler in the summertime. C.J. idly wondered what genius had decided that white uniforms were a good idea. The Navy certainly seemed to have gotten the short end of the dress-code stick. When her gaze fell on the only man wearing such a uniform, however, she rapidly amended that opinion.

He was probably about her age, with dark hair cropped short. Sitting ramrod-straight in a chair against the wall, taking in his surroundings, he looked both at ease and alert at the same time. He was handsome, certainly, but she didn't immediately see what had turned Donna and Carol into instant groupies. She shrugged inwardly and started to cross the foyer. "Commander Rabb?"

The commander stood up, moving to meet her - and suddenly she understood why the other women had been so insistent. He had mesmerizing eyes. Not only that, another striking feature was his height. She was quite accustomed to her role as the 'tall girl'. This was the first time in recent memory that she'd actually had to look up at someone.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered politely, shaking the hand she extended to him.

"I'm C.J. Cregg, the White House Press Secretary. Thanks for coming." She greeted him and gave his uniform a cursory glance. She was impressed with his awards and decorations, but then hesitated.

"My pleasure." His impressive smile faded slightly as an expression of puzzlement flitted across her features. "Is something wrong, Ms. Cregg?"

"No, I'm just surprised. You're a Judge Advocate - that's code for lawyer, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She glanced down at the gold wings that gleamed over his breast pocket, hoping to keep from making a fool of herself. "And apparently a pilot, as well?"

A hint of the smile returned, and she found herself just a little dazzled. "It's a long story, ma'am."

"If we have time later, I'd like to hear it."

The words were out of her mouth before she could even think about them, but she recovered quickly. Nobody, not even a sailor, or as Donna hat put it, a hot-looking sailor, was going to knock her off balance this early in the day. "Let's talk in the Roosevelt Room. If you'll follow me…"

"Yes, ma'am."

She led him past the communications bullpen, surreptitiously watching his reactions to the controlled chaos around them. Visitors' impressions of the West Wing were fascinating to study: it was easy to tell a first-time visitor, just from the sheer awe that invariably radiated from the person. This particular visitor was hard to read, because his expression didn't change at all.

However, eventually she caught his eyes flicking back and forth, taking in their surroundings. Gotcha, she thought. "Have you ever been in the West Wing before?"

"No, ma'am. The closest I've been is the Rose Garden, for an awards ceremony."

Those words surprised her a bit. Although, they had done a few of those over the past few years, holding awards ceremonies in the Rose Garden weren't that common.

"Then maybe we've crossed paths before?" She inquired.

"No, ma'am. The ceremony was during the previous administration," Harm replied, shaking his head and then added, "I wasn't able to stay for the reception, so I've probably seen less of the White House than the average tourist."

As they reached the Roosevelt Room, she opened the door and waved him in. "Who was getting the award?"

"I was," Harm simply stated, moving into the room as he said it. That's why he didn't see her eyebrows rise in restrained disbelief.

"I think I'd like to hear that story, too," C.J. commented.

Then she moved on to business. "Listen, this isn't a big deal. It's really more of a formality than anything else. As you probably know, the President is addressing a joint session of Congress in two days, and one of the topics is the state of our detainees at Guantanamo Bay. Leo McGarry had a few questions about the upcoming tribunals that he'd like to have officially answered before the final draft of the speech is written."

"Well, I'll do my best to give you the most official-sounding answers I can," Harm replied with a boyish smile, setting his briefcase and cover down on the table.

"Okay, first off. What kind of progress has the task force made since the trial of," C.J. looked down on her file to find the name, "Mustafa Atef?"

"Well, we're ironing out the final wrinkles. We've got a framework in place for the basic procedure. Preliminary hearings are still set for the beginning of October."

He paused, noticing her slight wince. "Is there a problem with that?"

C.J. sighed. "Not with the actual hearings - the DoD has our complete support on that front. It's just the timing," she said, folding her hands atop her notebook. "I don't think there's way to put this delicately, so I'm just going to say it. This coming September is going to be a complicated time. The one-year anniversary of the attacks will bring to the surface a lot of emotion that people really haven't had time to bury yet. If an entire year passes and no one has been convicted…"

"Ma'am, none of the detainees at Gitmo was on board an airliner on September 11th," Harm pointed out. "Mustafa Atef was a special case, as intelligence suggests that he was number three in Al Qaeda. He was known as 'Mohandese', The Architect. He was the head of their training program. He designed all those training camps around the world. He designed them, he set them up, and he even wrote the training manuals. That's training of roughly 4,000 enemy combatants. Those included the individuals responsible for the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. As I said, none of the detainees were on the planes, most weren't even involved in the planning. That makes the whole process very difficult."

"I understand that, but there's a very real connection. We'd like to be able to have at least a start on the tribunals before September, so that the public can see that someone is being held accountable."

Harm watched her impassively, while thinking about her statement. It sounded plausible, but his cynical mind came to a different conclusion. He thought about ignoring it, but as always, decided to go forward. "May I ask a somewhat blunt question?"

C.J. was a little surprised at the tone of the question. She realized that something she'd said didn't sit well with the man. But that didn't face her, she was well used to it. She had to face a horde of reporters every day. She could handle a single lawyer. So she only shrugged, "Blunt questions are all I usually get."

Harm nodded. "Is there a concern that starting the tribunals in October might be too late for any PR benefits to affect the November elections?"

Silence.

Although he had phrased it very polite, that was indeed a very blunt, and slightly disrespectful, question. C.J. narrowed her eyes. This guy played hardball. After three years in front of the press corps, though, she wasn't about to blink.

"Well, that is blunt, so I'm sure you appreciated when I'll respond in kind."

Harm nodded, he had no problem with that.

"I don't believe that the tribunals are likely to have an appreciable effect on the President's chances for reelection, but we'd certainly like to see some resolution on this issue while we're all still in the White House."

"You don't expect to win reelection?" Harm asked surprised.

"Are you normally this forward, Commander, or am I just lucky?"

Harm offered a self-deprecating smile. "My apologies, ma'am. I guess you can take the lawyer out of the courtroom, but - "

"Don't even try to finish that. I wouldn't believe it anyway, Commander. I think you say exactly what you want to say just about every day of your life," C.J. told Harm flatly.

"Thing is, my M.O. is awfully similar. So let me tell you this: I fully expect to not only win reelection, but to win it in a walk."

She met his gaze, challenging. "If you repeat that to anyone with a microphone, I know many, many ways of making you very, very sorry."

Harm's only outward reaction was a stoic nod. Inwardly, he smiled. He had met and sat opposite very dangerous men and women; killer, rapists and sociopaths like Clark Palmer. So, her threat didn't actually face him. But he appreciated her candid response, and the threat.

That woman has spunk, he thought to himself.

His internal musing were interrupted when C.J. continued to speak to him. "But that's not the topic at hand. Several months ago, the American people got collectively sucker-punched. The President thinks, and so do his advisors, that it is time to start hitting back. So why can't we start holding these guys up to the law right now? Why do we have to wait until October? Why do we even have to wait until next week?" C.J. asked exasperated.

"Well, quite frankly, because this is an entirely new procedure of unparalleled magnitude. First, we had to find an answer to the question whether the President could hold a military tribunal at all? Because deciding criminal liability is a matter for the courts. There is a precedent. During World War II, six German saboteurs were tried and hanged at a tribunal. A decision, the Supreme Court later upheld. On the other hand, during the Civil War the Supreme Court criticized military tribunals because they included U.S. citizens. That's why we're glad that the President decided to exclude U.S. Citizens at the planned tribunals," Harm started his explanations.

"Now, we're racking our brains for precedent, and like usual, we're tripping over our own red tape. If we push to start the tribunals any earlier, Headquarters will have a hard time getting prepared, and something might get missed. We just want to make sure it's done right. We want the outcomes of the tribunals to be upheld in the court of law. That's my only objection."

"But will you raise our concerns with your superiors?"

Harm merely tipped his head in acknowledgement and answered with a boyish smile, "I never ignore a directive from the White House."

They both knew that her telling him something wasn't really a directive, as she wasn't in the chain of command. But the implied message was understood, on both sides.

"All right. Then I suppose all I need is a way to argue that point and sound confident. There are a lot of people accusing us of stalling the issue, and they've got rather loud voices. What can the President tell Congress Wednesday night to reassure them?"

Harm considered the question carefully, mentally composing an answer. Finally, he replied, "He can tell them that the enemies of the United States will not now, nor will they ever, escape the reach of justice. The legal branch of the armed forces rarely gets the opportunity to directly act in defense of the country, but I can assure you that every one of us is more than ready to perform our duties. That much is a certainty."

Both the words and the fire behind them made an impact, and C.J. nodded resolutely. "Commander, your candor is refreshing, to say the least."

Harm smiled ironically. "That's probably the kindest possible way to put it, ma'am."

"The 'ma'am' thing really isn't necessary. Around here, we're lucky to get anything above 'hey, you.'"

"I doubt that, but I can be flexible. Would you prefer Ms. Cregg?"

"I'd prefer C.J., actually." C.J. said automatically, like she had done so many times in the past. But here and now, she instantly regretted making the suggestion. What the hell was she trying to do here? Make friends? She wasn't likely to ever see him again.

Fortunately, he wasn't put off. "Fair enough. I'm Harm."

"I think we're done here, but if you've got a few minutes, I could show you around."

Again she wondered at her suggestion. She never did that. Part of her hoped that he would decline, another hoped he wouldn't.

Harm checked the time and realized that he had enough time until his next appointment. "I'd like that," he responded, giving her a full blown flyboy smile - and C.J. felt time freeze for a second. This smile was a genuine smile, one actually directed at her, not just in her direction.

"Okay, let's go then."

They made a striking vision, as they roamed the halls of the White House, as C.J. offered her best account of the history of the building. The naval officer listened intently, with a kind of decorum born of years spent in the service. He wore the uniform for all the right reasons, she realized. He had a deep respect, almost a reverence, for this place and what it represented. She found herself feeling a touch of guilt for the indifference she so often displayed as she flew through six critical tasks at once. Her first reaction was to push it aside. Her second reaction was to decide that this man must have a fascinating history of his own.

"Thank you for the tour," Harm said as they returned to the lobby. "I'm sure you have a number of other important things you need to get to."

She glanced at her watch. "Yeah, like another press briefing, unfortunately."

"Well, enjoy your time with the vultures." That statement caught C.J. by surprised and she couldn't help but laugh about it. She has a beautiful laughter. That random thought surprised Harm.

He held out a business card. "If you need to follow up on what we discussed, all my numbers are on here. The pager's been on the fritz lately, so if you can't find me at the office, your best bet is my cell phone."

"You do owe me a couple of stories," she reminded him, tilting her head toward his wings.

In response, he gestured toward the card in her hand. "That's an acceptable reason to call, too. But you're the one with the crazy schedule, so I'll leave it to you."

C.J. just nodded, she understood what he was telling her, but didn't want to think about it at the moment.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, C.J."

"You, too, Harm."

She watched him put on his cover - perfectly straight on the first try - and stride through the doors. A Marine guard saluted as he passed, and he returned it automatically. So much of the military way of life seemed like that, she thought. Automatic, rigid, without a second thought. But he wasn't entirely like that. At least, not when you spoke with him.

Despite the sometimes blunt questions and argumentative tone, she could tell that he had in fact thought about his questions and answers. He didn't mind arguing with her, which wasn't usually the way to get a free tour out of her. But she'd given it to him anyway, without a second thought. What was it about Commander Rabb that made her react the way she had?

It wasn't until she was most of the way back to her office that she was able to put a label on it, and when the realization came, it stopped her cold. The military posture, the sense of being calm yet alert at all times, the way that he challenged her at every turn… After a split-second, she resumed walking, setting a course for her assistant's desk.

Carol heard her approach, as she always did. "CBS wants a minute to talk about Wednesday after the briefing," she reported. Receiving no reply, she looked up. "What? Did the hunk turn out to be an idiot?"

"Hardly." C.J. instantly replied, folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head. "You were so sure I'd like him."

"Well, yeah."

"Why?"

Carol shrugged. "I don't know."

"Carol."

"I really don't."

"It didn't cross your mind at any point that the commander might remind me of someone?"

After a moment of bewilderment, understanding flooded Carol's features. "I didn't really think he looked that much like – "

"He does to me. His entire bearing screams 'Simon' in flashing red letters, and I can't believe you didn't see that."

"I'm sorry, C.J. I wasn't thinking."

"It's all right. Briefing starts in ten?"

"Yeah. I'm just pulling up the market summaries for you."

"Okay. Give me five minutes." C.J. stepped into her office and closed the door, attempting to regain her equilibrium.

Carol was probably the only person on staff who had even an inkling of how deep her emotions ran on the subject of Simon Donovan. The Secret Service agent who'd protected her during the threats of the past spring had been well known among the staff. They'd all gotten accustomed to hearing his calm, wry voice in the halls, quietly taking all the misdirected frustration she'd thrown at him. They'd all expected him to leave as quietly as he'd come once the threat had passed. None of them had expected to be attending his funeral.

A robbery, Agent Butterfield had told her. A convenience store and a couple of scared, stupid kids. They'd found Simon with a rose lying next to his hand, a casualty of duty and a victim of being in the wrong place at the worst possible time. A few people had wondered who the rose might have been for, but she knew. 'Though she had no intention of enlightening them.

C.J. looked down at the business card in her hand, holding it over the wastebasket for a few moment. She didn't need to go through this. She didn't need to dredge up all the questions she'd buried over the past few weeks. There were too many other things to worry about.

There are always too many other things to worry about, part of her mind pointed out. That's why you keep pushing it aside. It isn't going to go away on its own, no matter how long you avoid it.

It had been most of four years since she last had a real friend outside of work - someone to talk to who didn't live and breathe this job the way she and the other senior staffers did. Maybe a Navy lawyer was as good a distraction as any.

Dropping the card into her desk drawer, she picked up her notebook and started to walk towards the pressroom. Before anything else, she had an economic crisis, a new medical research bill, and a possible autoworkers' strike to brief. Fun!