Title: TV Style pt 5
Author: Navygirl
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Harm/Mac
Summary: Includes my speculation on upcoming episodes.
Disclaimers: All characters of JAG belong to Donald Bellasarius and Bellasarius Productions; no copyright infringement intended.
0930 ET
Saturday
Harm's Apartment
The ticking clock sounded like Big Ben; the birds outside the window were having a riot; and the dripping shower was Chinese water torture to the waking Commander. Funny he didn't remember hitting his head against the side of a two ton truck. And his mouth tasted like he'd been sucking on the end of a tomcat turbine. But the worst part - everything was still spinning a little, just as it had been the night before when he finally went to bed.
It wasn't the four or five malt liquors at the bar that had left him with such a nasty hangover, at least not alone. It was what he added to the mix when he got home, a couple of shots of bourbon, at least. "Bad idea, Rabb," he said outloud and forced himself out of bed. "Thank God for Saturdays."
Still in his boxers, he wobbled into the kitchen and stood in front of the coffee pot for a few minutes. After the world stopped spinning from the mere act of bending over to pick up a dropped spoon, he started the coffee and grabbed cereal and milk. Flipping on a news channel on the little TV he kept tucked in the corner for just such occasions, he sat at the counter, eating cereal and trying to remember the night before. Brumby came to mind, and he had the distinct feeling they had nearly come to the blows. Something had put a stop to that, but he wasn't quite sure who or what. He had smoked a cigar, he knew that much. And, he'd fallen getting out of Turner's SUV, which is why his chin was scraped, he felt certain of that. "Or did I throw a few punches at Bugme? Man, no more booze for me."
Putting the empty bowl in the sink, he stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, pausing to look in the mirror. "Oh god, you look like hell," he said, pondering the scraped chin and dark circles under his eyes.
After a shower and a shave, he threw on an old T-shirt and shorts, retrived the newspaper and, with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, paddled back to the couch, but his mind was not on the news. He had stopped trying to remember the night before. Only one thing came to mind. One missing face, one beautiful lady.
As he sat there sipping the coffee, his mind was wrapped around their goodbyes. We are getting too good at saying goodbye, Mac, he thought. But, at least this time there is reason for hope. For a moment, he remembered the night on the Admiral's porch, and the weeks after his crash, how he had felt that all hope for a relationship with her had vanished. "We wasted so much time," he said aloud to himself. "But I have only myself to blame."
Others had seen it before they did, before he did anyway. The jealousy Renee exhibited at the mention of Mac's name, and Brumby's similar reaction towards his own presence spoke volumes about the unacknowledged relationship. Why had it taken him so long to get off his six and do something about it. And why now that they finally had a chance, did fate have to interefer yet again?
Dwelling on this will do you no good, he told himself between sips of the coffee. He looked at the newspaper headlines, and as he focused on a story about Gitmo, the phone rang. Wincing as his headache intensified, he found the phone under a pillow on the couch.
"Rabb," he said, by habit answering as he did in the office.
"What happened to hello?" She said, barely able to contain her joy at the sound of his voice.
"Ah, Mac."
"Yep, it's me."
"Where are you?"
"That's classified."
"Hey, I'm cleared, I have it on good authority."
"I'm joking, Webb just needed me in Gitmo."
"That place is getting to be very popular for us, have you noticed?"
"Yeah. Too bad we can't get our assignments down here in synch."
"So what's the scoop?"
"I can't say too much over the phone, but there's no cause for alarm."
"That's a miracle, with Webb involved," he said, then he could wait no longer, could chit chat no further. "I miss you, you have no idea."
"So what did you do last night?"
"Sturgis and I had a few drinks. How long do you think you'll be there?"
"Only a few days, I hope, but it could be longer." She paused. "Harm, I want to be back there with you."
"Well, we can dream."
"Yeah. But I've had to settle for dreams for far too long."
"Oh really. You're going to have to share some of those with me sometime."
"Oh, I plan on it," she said. "But, the other night was better than any dream."
"Well, it could have been, but you had to up and leave…"
"I know, I know, it's the life of a Marine, Harm, what can I tell ya?"
"Better get your green Marine butt back here soon," he said. "Or I'll be down there with a team of Seals."
"Ork ork."
"What was that?"
"Static I guess."
"Using those cheap cell phones again, Colonel?" He laughed. "Really, Mac, be careful. I mean it. I need you back here."
"Yeah and this time I do know the reason."
"Ha, ha."
"Harm, I have to go now. Don't worry about me, I'm here more as a translator than anything else."
"Why am I not so sure I can believe that."
"Just don't worry. Bye."
"Bye." He put the phone down on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. He couldn't contain a laugh, "You know the reason." Well, at least they could look back and laugh at themselves. It was progress. It was all progress, given where they were only months ago. He sighed and thought of his favorite Marine as he drained the last of the coffee.
1445 ET
Monday
GITMO
It was boiling hot where Mac was sitting, under the shade of an awning near the front door of the H.Q. It had been her first break all day, and she was exhausted, having been up late discussing strategy with Webb. But, she didn't have time to think about the heat. It's Cuba, Marine, just suck it up. She walked back in the door, into the interrogation room, to wait for the prisoner.
Many of the prisoners spoke Farsi, and Webb's goal was to have Mac, a Farsi speaker, around them as much as possible, near their cells, in the interrogation rooms, walking with them in the exercise room, any opportunity to glean information from their conversations, conversations they assumed were private when they spoke in a language unfamiliar to most of the Marines at Gitmo.
Mac had found one prisoner who seemed to be more talkative than the rest, Ahmad Nasini, and several things that he had said had piqued her interest. Earlier in the day, she had walked Nasini around the exercise yard and, listening when he spoke to his brother, in Farsi about transactions, exercises, and the movements of the leader, she had made mental notes. What she had learned was disconcerting. If correct, Osama Bin Laden was no longer in Afghanistan, something that had been speculated upon in the press. But she also learned about money being gathered and training being conducted, and it was troubling to say the least. She wanted to confront the prisoner, but she also didn't want to give away the fact that she understood the language, so she had to be content with listening, reporting, and waiting.
In the interrogation room, she observed only, since her role was as his guard, and little information was gleaned from Nasini. He seemed to have a working knowledge of English, enough to understand and answer some questions. It was hard to tell if he was evading the other questions or simply didn't understand. Either way, little was learned.
She walked him back to the makeshift holding area, and noted that his brother was there to greet him. The brother spoke first asking if the "Infidel" had learned anything of their plans. Catching snippets of their brief converstaion, Mac understood that the training was in explosives, that money was being funnelled from sources in Iraq, and that something was being planned for a date obviously not too far in the future, given the excitement in their voices. She needed to meet with Webb again, and after securing the prisoner, rushed back to the H.Q. to call him on his cell phone, wishing he could be reached on a more secure line.
"Webb here," he said.
"It's me. I've got more." She was cautious..
"Well, we can discuss in a short time." He echoed the caution, hanging up quickly. He was in Gitmo, but they were trying not to be seen together, at least not where prisoners might observe them. They would meet just before dusk at a training course, near the mud pits, a spot Mac had suggested the night before as remote and as secure as possible.
Mac needed to seem to the prisoners to be an inconsequential guard, although these prisoners found a woman guard particularly offensive, they also overlooked her intelligence, accustomed as they were to treating women as cattle. The possibility of a woman being intelligent enough to dupe them apparently had not been considered, and, for that reason, they were less guarded around her, more apt to speak freely in their native tongue, not suspecting that she was both intelligent and able to understand their conversations.
What made her role even more important was that the CIA, the State Department, the Marines, the country, desperately needed combat-trained individuals with such language skills.
"Colonel?" she heard a voice as she walked away from the H.Q., towards the mess hall. It was Sgt. Galindez.
"Gunny, it's good to see you." She threw aside protocol and gave him a hug. "Don't salute, I'm trying to be low profile."
"I understand, ma'am," the embarrassed Gunny said, stepping back and appraising her. "If I may say so, ma'am, you're looking ship shape."
"Thank you Gunny. You too. I'm relieved to see you here."
"Well, ma'am. We Marines go where the action is."
"Damn straight," she replied. "Walk with me." She started out towards the mess hall and explained her mission as they walked, knowing she could trust the Gunny with the information, could trust him with her life if necessary.
"So, that's why I'm here," shje said then looked at him again. "We miss you back at JAG."
"How is everthing there?"
"About the same," she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am."
"Yes, Gunny, of course."
"Did you and Cmdr. Rabb finally figure it out?"
She blushed. "Were we that obvious?"
"Yes, ma'am, to anyone paying attention." He smiled slightly.
"And you were?"
"I'm trained to pay attention, ma'am. Tiner on the other hand wouldn't have a clue," the completely confident Gunnery Sergeant said. "But, ma'am, I was beginning to think we'd have to lock you two in a closet or something to get you together."
Mac laughed heartily, the best laugh she had had in days. "Gunny, I wish you would have done just that."