By dunamis
Author's note: Why I've chosen the title "Beyond the Waters of Jordan", well…in case you're wondering, it has nothing to do with Jordan Parker, I'm borrowing from the Bible, book of Joshua. I haven't written in a long time, thought it would be easier to get started with something to go on. In the bible, the 'Promised Land" God had given to His people, was located beyond the river Jordan and they had to go through numerous battles to finally take the land for themselves. It was their destiny, but they had to grab on to it.
Hey, will reluctantly confess I'm a sucker for love stories and happy endings, but also for good plot, even those that end with sappy sappy sad endings. Not sure how I'll play this out, have some things in mind, but we'll see how it goes. Ultimately I'm gaming to hopefully do a reasonable piece of work.
Story takes place when? Well, won't give that away for now. It'll figure itself out long the way. Of course it'll probably differ here and there from the current situation of the series. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: All characters are sole property of CBS. Additionals are my own.
PROLOGUEJAG Internal Network
Log entry no: 20032138
"Sometimes…choices we make only delay what is inevidable."
User ID: Unknown
The Court House
Washington DC
1635 hours ZULU
It was a cool midday. And from the side of her eyes the blurred image of browns and reds and orange seemed to collage in a slow, soft dance outside the window. Her hand lay gently on the wooden arm rests, eyes staring straight ahead. She was not allowing herself to show the slightest hint of fear she felt. It could only threaten to consume her inside, only threaten, nothing more. What was it that she feared?
…I don't know. I don't.
A thousand thoughts strived to be unleashed in her head at one go, but her resolve bound them outside a glass Jericho she had locked herself in so they could not overpower her. Yet this blackmailed her into a paralysis, the result of this self made prison. She would neither allow herself to acknowledge their existence or power. She prided herself at being a strong girl. Yes, that she was, strong, resilient. Few girls had ever gained the kind of equal standing she had among men. Few.
Dammit, Sarah, you're such a contradiction. And she quelled the familiar ache that came.
Everything seemed dull and moved that much slower, the chatter of spectators behind, the voices of overrated reporters. They were like a distant rhythm all around. Only the occasional opinion and sharp critique would rise above the stoic drone, but only just barely. They would usually find their targets. Yet surprisingly, it wasn't those directed at her technique or resource that hit home, it was just the passing idle word and uninformed comments that would cut her to the bone. She could feel each like invisible blade, slicing through, but she gave not a twinge or even half of a sigh. The cool numbing was simply allowed to pass right through, and with each blow she felt small bursts of weakness ebb through her loins.
He, well he too remained composed, unmoving, unfeeling. But this one, he prided himself with showmanship. The occasional move of his right hand from the armrest to the top of his knee, then from there he fiddled a little with his left sleeve, to put in place a shirt button that was already in place. He finally settled into a dignified looking position. Legs crossed, shoulders relaxed. Weight leaning more on his left arm, which of course was comfortably settled on the armrest, Right hand was on the hardwood table in front, his fingers rapping lightly once or twice. His gaze finally fell in place ahead, and few if not none would be able to identify the remotely glazed look in his eyes as he allowed himself to focus on the inner turmoil. In a matter of a moment, he heard nothing but the echoes of the camera flashes in the dark black silence, and a part of him felt nauseated.
Just like that day, he remembered.
He wondered at how his confidence had so quickly left him, and he cursed himself for allowing himself to feel the way he did, confused and tumbling uncontrollably down that non-existent rabbit hole. And he marveled at her steel, at her calm. He didn't look at her, but he could feel her, she was always stronger than she gave herself credit. Unknowingly, his lips curved slightly, sadly. A part of him wanted to grab on, to find his peace in the storm. She had always been his foundation, but now once more…he didn't know. He didn't.
The movement behind the bench caused both to look up, and in that split second no one saw the identical fear that manifested in both eyes, or the jolt of tension that went through their muscles as they gripped their chairs in anticipation of the call to stand. Even they didn't realize it. They didn't hear the noise around escalate or the jury walking through their rows of chairs. They didn't see the heightened anticipation of all in the room as the judge looked at the small slip of paper or hear the quieting of the crowd as that same small slip was handed back. They did not hear the judge ask them to rise, but they did in despite. Every bang of the hammer resounded through the courtroom and every call of "order" echoed in the walls. The question whispered through their ears, and the verdict in reply, engulfed.
Hers eyes closed first, then his followed not far behind. They could have sworn the whole world heard their hearts whisper the same question, but they couldn't have. The crowd stirred, and the cameras flashed. But they saw nothing. Heard nothing. Except each other.
How did we get to this point?
I don't know
**********
At the other end of the courtroom, the rest watched in silence as spectators started out the two doors at both ends of the row where they were seated, right at the back, a whole row of about twelve. Reporters crowded the front of the courtroom firing questions all at once, cameras blazing. They said nothing, until the ranking officer amongst them shifted in his seat, placing his headgear where it belonged.
"Shall we?" he asked as he began to stand amidst the delayed movements and staggered replies of agreement from his crew. All were still numb from the proceedings. Then one beside him spoke, causing the rest of them to turn towards the two men,
"Sir…should we..?" and he hesitated for the response from the older. A.J. glanced to the left at the two at the defense table at the other end of the room, and then turned back to the younger with a look of understanding, smiling softly in controlled gratitude. He placed his left hand on the man's shoulder, and squeezed it for a while. He breathed a sigh and turned his gaze toward the nearest door then around at his crew, "Back to work, people. Back to work."
He remained steady and dignified as he started out the door, and the rest sheepishly began to follow. As though he knew each person's position behind his back, he called out to the man who had spoken up, "Come along, Mr. Roberts, come along."
Bud's lips crooked up a little and he followed after. "Yes, Sir."
Just like that day…