0730 local time rilla Normal rilla 1 0 2001-11-07T05:47:00Z 2001-11-07T05:47:00Z 4 1970 11232 home 93 22 13793 9.2720

0730 local time

Jordan-Saudi border

Marine encampment

Captain O'Rourke stood outside the med tent pacing nervously and awaiting further word on the patients.  The CO had already radioed for transport evac for the three officers who had taken up temporary residence in the canvas cocoon, sending word ahead to JAG headquarters as well as to the Commander-in-Chief himself concerning the military personnel and their current condition. 

Except for dehydration and some very minor injuries the navy Commander seemed to be in good health.  Colonel MacKenzie was only slightly worse off than her partner.  It was Colonel Caldwell who had the doctor and medics concerned.  She professed to being malnourished and neglected, but the newly recovered colonel's injuries went well beyond the surface. 

The dubious question of a possible return to active duty was racing through the encampment eliciting a wide variety of responses. Captain O'Rourke didn't care whether Gypsy Crow returned to active duty or not, her return from the dead was miraculous enough for the time being.  It wasn't every day your hero was raised from the grave.  She just wanted to see her once more before the Marine Corps packed her back off to the States.

Her thoughts in turmoil, she continued to pace, unable to relax until she had been told something.

Tension was running high within the confines of the medical tent as well as Colonel Caldwell repeatedly refused to cooperate with the physician.  Intractable to the end, she systematically rebuffed a thorough examination, insisting that she was perfectly healthy, just a bit malnourished.

Mac watched Gypsy Crow as she continued to argue with the doctor. They had tried everything they could think of to convince her to agree with the exam but none of their ideas had been the least bit successful.  The woman remained huddled on the cot, viciously lashing out at any medical personnel who dared to broach her personal space. 

Major Parker at last admitted defeat.  "At least I know you're not without some strength," he remarked rubbing his jaw where Gypsy Crow's left hook had landed solidly just minutes before.  "I think I'll leave you to your friends and go find out how much longer that transport is going to be."  He backed slowly away from Gypsy Crow's cot, reaching for the tent flap before suddenly remembering his anxious comrade outside.  "Captain O'Rourke, the officer who led the team that brought you in last night would like to speak with you.  But if you're not going to be any more civil that you've been with me I'm not going to let her in."

Mac continued to observe her friend and wasn't surprised when she straightened up and smirked at the doctor, murmuring her agreement for visitors.

"It's good to see you haven't lost that sparkling personality I've heard so much about, Colonel." The teasing sarcasm in the doctor's tone brought a genuine smile to his patients' faces. "I'm send Captain O'Rourke in, but I'm warning her that she's on her own. Anyone who enters this tent does so at their own risk, at least until that transport gets here."

Captain O'Rourke listened impatiently to the doctor's instructions and warnings, finally nodding her acceptance and slipping into the stuffy tent.  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the muted sunlight that had managed to push its way through the canvas weave.  The Mac looked up at her entrance and glanced over at Gypsy Crow, curious to see what her reaction would be to the newcomer while Harm jumped at the opportunity to exit the tent on some fabricated errand of the utmost importance.

Mac chuckled over his hurried exit.  `Afraid to stay in the same tent with three of us; I guess three marine officers are just too much for one sailor to handle,' she thought irreverently.

"I brought you something to change into if you'd like," the nervous captain began.  She extended a neatly folded field uniform to the woman who was still crouched on the cot.

"Thanks."  Gypsy Crow accepted the uniform, unfolding it slowly and reverently placing one hand against the rank insignia.  It had been such a long time since she had even thought about what it meant to be a colonel.  Pushing aside the rush of melancholy she felt cresting, she returned her attentions to her visitor.  "So, you've made captain now.  Congratulations."

Mac watched the flush of embarrassment that colored the captain's face.  Gypsy Crow always amazed people with her knack for remembering names and faces and Captain O'Rourke was no exception.

"Yes, ma'am.  I'm surprised you remember me at all, ma'am," she stuttered.

"Don't be, you impressed me when we first met.  I had wondered how far up the ranks you'd gotten."  Gypsy Crow gingerly unfolded her legs and began to stand.

"Gyps…"

"Mac, I'm fine.  And if you sound the alarm and send that doctor running back in here I'll demonstrate to you just exactly how fine I am," she warned pointing a finger at her friend.  "Just you remember what I did to Hanaker in Bosnia when he tried to stand in my way."

Mac grinned broadly at the memory and decided to bring Captain O'Rourke back into the conversation and possibly switch Gyps' concentration long enough to get a better look at her injuries.  "So who'd you steal the uniform from, Captain?"

"A marine never reveals her sources, Colonel," Captain O'Rourke chuckled.  Moving her gaze from Mac to Gypsy Crow she asked, "Are you sure you're alright, ma'am?"

"Always."

They all heard the helo approaching at the same time, a welcome promise of their impending return to western civilization.  Captain O'Rourke slipped from the tent to seek out Commander Rabb and provide the newly recovered colonel a chance to shed her tattered gown and don the pilfered uniform.

Mac smiled at Gypsy Crow as she stood smoothing the uniform to her body, trying unsuccessfully to eliminate its baggy appearance.

"I feel like a kid playing dress-up," she stated at last, giving up on her pitiful attempt.

"Well you look terrific."

"Oh yeah, that I believe."  She moved closer to her friend to take a seat next to her on the lumpy sagging cot.  "This is all just so unreal, Mac.  I keep expecting to wake up and find out it's all been some crazy dream, to find myself locked in the storage shed again."  She paused before finishing her thoughts.  "In a way I wish it were just a dream.  I mean, what do I really have left to return to?  My family's gone, they died in a car wreck before I was captured.  Andrew's dead, anything I might have at one time owned is gone… I've lost everything I once held dear."

"You still have me," Mac interjected.  "And, while I don't know exactly what it is that you're going through, I do understand what it's like to be alone.  But what about your people?  They'll welcome you back."

"Maybe they will at first…"

"Gyps, don't worry about any of that now, there'll be plenty of time later to figure things out.  I would like it though if you'd agree to stay with me once the let you out of Bethesda."  Eager to get as far from the Middle East as she could, and to do so as quickly as possible, she rose to her feet and reached out to take her friend's hand.  "Come on, let's go home."

(9 days later)

Gypsy Crow settled into the cushions of Mac's couch, the remote control in her hand and a steady stream of disjointed words and images flashing across the television screen as she rapidly changed channels.

"You're as bad as a man," Mac observed, nodding her head toward the television, "channel surfing."

Gypsy Crow laughed but continued to scroll through programs.  She tucked her feet beneath her and pulled a velour afghan across her knees.  She was silent for a long time, seemingly content to remain as she was.

Finally Mac spoke, "You're going to be late-"

"I'm not going," she interrupted, switching the television off with the same rapidity with which she had been changing channels.

"Gyps, they're honoring you.  They're presenting you with the Medal of Honor."  Mac watched the wary expression that swam in her friend's dark eyes.  "It's okay.  No one blames you-"

"That's only because they don't know the whole story."  She pushed herself even deeper into the couch drawing the afghan protectively around her.  "If even one of them knew about Andrew, about what I did to him…" she trailed off sadly.

"They, like Andrew himself, would understand and agree that you had no other choice," Mac finished for her.

They still had an hour and a half before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, and it would be another hour before anyone would notice they were still at large.  Mac sat down next to the friend she had once believed was lost to her. 

Bethesda had released Colonel Stormy Caldwell after only three days of observation partially due to the doctor's orders but mainly because of the woman's own determination to get away from the facility.  She'd been discharged with strict orders to increase her weight slowly and return in a week for the first of several follow up visits.  The enormous amount of media attention surrounding her miraculous return had swamped the hospital switchboard and flooded her room with flowers and cards.  She had never been a public person to begin with and the entourage of well-wishers was quickly driving her ever further into herself.

Gratefully she had left the hospital and retreated to Mac's apartment and had managed to elude her ever growing fan club for five quiet peaceful days, preferring to spend her time in the company of Mac and Harm.  Admiral Chegwidden had stopped by to meet the woman who had lured two of his lawyers into a hostile desert and Bud had brought Harriet and the baby for a visit but no one else had been allowed an audience with the self-isolated marine.

Mac was becoming increasingly concerned with Gypsy Crow's state of mind but was unsure of how to proceed without scaring her.  "I got a call at the office from a Joseph Hicks.  He wanted to arrange to have dinner with you after the ceremony if you were free."

"The u-gu-lu?"

"I couldn't say; you never finished teaching me your language."

Gypsy Crow smiled.  "The chief; just a figurehead really with no real power but lots of prestige nonetheless."

"He left a cell number."  Mac handed her the memo she had jotted down while she had still been in her office that morning.

She accepted the slip of paper and looked imploringly at Mac.  "I can't do this, Mac.  I don't deserve it."

"But you do."

"No," she replied vehemently, crumpling the memo in her fist.  "My very actions were an abomination to the moral code I profess to so stringently adhere to.  I desecrated the vow I swore to uphold," she paused briefly, gasping for breath, her expression turning wild-eyed and tragic.  "My God, Mac," she choked out, her eyes pooling with hot tears that streamed down her cheeks unchecked, "Andrew died by my own hand.  I plunged the knife in that ended his life, it was his lifeblood that stained my hands, that stains them still."

"You're the one who told me he was going to be killed anyway, that you had no choice.  You tried to help him escape.  It just couldn't happen."

"I should have found a way or died with him.  I'm a marine. I never should have given up so easily; I never should have remained there.  I should have tried to escape again."

Mac cocked her head at the last of Gypsy Crow's statements. "Again?"

"Yeah, I did try to get away once early on," she sighed and shook her head against the memory.  "I wasn't exactly in great shape physically.  I didn't even get away from the compound before I was caught.  They made sure I never forgot the repercussions of trying to flee."

Mac's brow furrowed as she tried to decide what her friend was alluding to.

Slowly Gypsy Crow reached over her shoulder to grasp a handful of the soft knitted sweater she wore, drawing the material up to expose her back.  She eased forward so Mac could see what had been done to the once smooth skin.

The golden skin that stretched across still prominent ribs and vertebrae was badly scarred.  A lasting reminder for a woman who had never before given her own natural beauty a second thought.

"I don't know what to tell you, I really wish I could say otherwise.  You just need to take it one step at a time, just deal with the present and leave the future alone," Mac soothed.

Sudden unrestrained giggles interrupted Gypsy Crow's self-loathing and Mac cocked her head questioningly, which only served to intensify the laughter.  She waited for the other woman to restrain her inappropriate response.

"I'm sorry," she got out between chuckles.  "It's just that, umm…"  She dropped her voice and octave and tried to assume an air of mock seriousness, "The twelve steps to POW recovery…" she lost her control and broke into another peal of laughter.

"You've gone over the edge haven't you?"  Mac grinned and added, "I'm glad to see your smile though even if it is at my expense."  She rose from the couch as Gypsy Crow dried her eyes on the back of her hands.  Lifting a freshly laundered and pressed dress uniform from the hook it had been hanging on; she held it out for a cursory inspection.  "What d' you say? Wanna give it a try?"

"Alright, you've talked me into it.  But let me call the u-gu-lu first."  She paused at the doorjamb.  "Do you think Harm would like to join us for dinner with an ancient Indian chief?"

"He wouldn't miss it for the world," Mac assured her.

"Good, the more people who are there, the happier I'll be. I'll be ready in just a minute.  I guess it would be bad form for the guest of honor to be late for her own ceremony."