Title: Out of the Past--Ghosts
Author: Layla
Rating: R (language & violence, at the least)
Category: excitement, adventure, and ro-mance!
Spoilers: Everything up to Adrift I, I suppose
Summary: Back at work after his crash, yet another woman (and a blonde to boot) enters Harm's life when he is assigned to work with a local criminalist on a troubling case. But all is not what it seems.....
Author's note 1: For the purposes of this story, assume that: 1) the
wedding was postponed... indefinitely, for the time being. As time goes on, Mic is increasingly pressuring Mac to reschedule the ceremony, and becoming increasingly frustrated and upset with her reluctance to do so.
For her part, Mac is more confused than ever as to what she really wants. Why? see...
2) Harm and Skates both survived the crash, although she fared much better than he did. More dead than alive, he was fished out of the Atlantic courtesy of the Coast Guard. After nearly four weeks in the hospital, and another three off duty and in physical therapy, he returned to duty quiet and subdued, keeping to himself.
3) Renee and Brumby are most definitely still in the picture. For those of you who wonder why on earth I would do such a thing, well, .... you'll see.
All I'll say is that I wanted to have a little fun... so sue me.
Author's Note 2: This is my first shot at JAG fanfic and the first writing I've done in years, so please bear with me. Also, this particular tale may or may not end up being overly "shippery". Hopefully, though, this will be the first of several stories involving a character of my own creation who will hopefully spend some of her time pulling certain parties's heads out of their sixes. This all began because I, a natural blonde, felt compelled to defend my hair color. ;o) Yes, many blondes are ditzes...but those who aren't can be hell on wheels. EG
Disclaimer: All recognized characters are the property of DPB et al, and are simply being borrowed for fun. All others, unless otherwise stated, are the product and property of my own little twisted mind.
***************************
Approximately three and a half months after the crash
JAG HQ
1048 local
"Commander Rabb reporting as requested, sir."
"At ease. Have a seat, Commander," Chegwidden said, looking up from the file in front of him and gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. He watched as the senior attorney took a seat, not missing the slight wince as Harm settled into the chair.
The Admiral sighed. "Commander, I have a new assignment for you, but I have a question for you first, and I want a straight answer. I know the docs cleared you for full duty, but it's obvious you're still recovering. Do you honestly feel you're up to handling a field investigation?"
Harm paused before answering, choosing his words carefully. "Sir, I won't tell you I'm at my best. We both know I'm not. But I do feel I'm more than capable of handling any of my duties, including field work."
"I assume I have your word on that."
"Yes sir."
"Good." Chegwidden handed the file he'd been examining earlier to Harm. "Nine days ago, a Lt. Commander Suzanne Nichols was found murdered near Williamsburg. As you'll see, it was anything but typical. The local authorities are hanging on to this tooth and nail... seems they think there's a serial killer in the area and that the Lt. Commander was the second victim of three, the last being found two days ago. On the other hand, the Navy wants exclusive jurisdiction. As a compromise, you'll be working with a special investigator from the Virginia State Investigative Bureau. Now, as of this morning, they didn't know who that was going to be, but I was promised that they would be here around 1330 to brief you on the case."
"They don't know who they're sending?"
"Apparently the chief investigator is very busy with the other cases and is still deciding which of his people to assign this specific case to," Chegwidden clarified, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. "Commander, I am counting on you to insure this is handled competently, with or without the local officials. Is that understood?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
**************
JAG HQ
1317 local
The tall blonde stepped off the elevator, surveying the bullpen. Well, at least she was in the right general area. "Would've been nice if they told me who I was looking for, though," she muttered. Trust her idiot boss to dump this little surprise on her, especially after spending all morning in court crossing verbal swords with that damn fool of a defense counsel, the arrogant, egotistical snot. And what was her reward? Being assigned to work with some squid lawyer who probably didn't know jack about investigative procedures or forensics. Just marvelous. And on this particular case....? What else could go wrong?
She yanked at the starched collar of her prim white blouse. She was wearing her "court clothes", and hating every second of it. The ultimate result was effective, though, she had to admit, even if she did look like a schoolmarm in the strictly tailored black suit and heels. The bun and round, wire-rimmed glasses only added to the effect. Better a schoolmarm than a bimbo, though. What was it with people and blondes? If one's a twit, we're all twits?
Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her nose under the glasses, turning to begin her search for a friendly face.... and ran right into a harried-looking petty officer carrying a full cup of coffee.
"Oh! I am so sorry, ma'am!" Tiner sputtered. He couldn't believe he'd just dumped coffee all over...well, somebody important. At least she looked important, or had until her suit began dripping freshly brewed Sumatra Mandheiling. "Is there anything I can get you?"
She looked at him over the tops of her glasses. "Well, normally I'd say a couple of sugars and some half and half," she said dryly, "but I think in this case a towel of some sort might be more useful."
From the look on his face, she half expected him to smack himself in the forehead. Instead, it was a quick "Yesma'am" before he dashed off, returning a moment later with the requested item and apologizing profusely.
Making a few weak attempts to blot her suit, she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's all right-- it's just a suit. Despite what some might tell you, I am not the Wicked Witch of the West and will not melt," she finished with a grin.
The PO finally appeared to relax a bit, and was just about to ask a question when a voice from behind stopped him cold. "Tiner, what the hell is going on here?"
She never saw anyone spin around so fast. "Admiral! Sir! Um, I, uh.... well, that is..."
Taking pity on the poor man, she stepped around him, coming face to face with an extremely annoyed and rather fearsome looking Admiral in dress blues. "I'm afraid it's all my fault, sir," she stated, taking a closer look at the imposing officer. Heck of a salad bar of medals, she noted, and yup, those were admiral's stripes on the sleeves and two stars to boot... and *damn*, he was wearing a "budweiser." A SEAL. She was face to face with a two-star SEAL admiral. No wonder the petty officer was scared. Oh well, fools rush in...
"I'm here on business, but I'm not quite sure where I should be. Anyway, I stopped for a moment and was rubbing my eyes--I've got a headache--and I'm afraid I didn't open them before I started moving again. The petty officer here was the victim of my clumsiness--well, him and his coffee," she finished, babbling, her mind elsewhere. Waitaminit...wasn't the current JAG a SEAL? Oh, no.....it couldn't be. She was not meeting the man she was going to be working for standing in a hallway, babbling like a idiot and dripping coffee on his floor. Lieber Gott im Himmel....
The admiral in question surveyed the scene, responding with only a taciturn "I see." A minute or so passed before he added, "although I'm pretty sure that was my coffee."
She groaned, muttering without thinking, "Kill me now, Please."
"That won't be necessary," he responded, a slight grin sneaking out. "You are....?"
"Your V-SIB investigator, believe it or not. I'm here about the Nichols murder."
"Ah, yes. You'll be working with Rabb on that one, " he commented, before extending a hand. "Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, JAG."
His comment caught her off guard. Rabb? No way. It couldn't be. Yeah, he was in the Navy... and it had been almost 15 years.....she had to find out. So she lied.
She reached out, accepting AJ's handshake. "Mercedes von Kleist," she said, praying he wouldn't notice the name on her visitors' badge, since it was not the one she gave him.
TBC.....
Author: Layla
Rating: R (language & violence, at the least)
Category: excitement, adventure, and ro-mance!
Spoilers: Everything up to Adrift I, I suppose
Summary: Back at work after his crash, yet another woman (and a blonde to boot) enters Harm's life when he is assigned to work with a local criminalist on a troubling case. But all is not what it seems.....
Author's note 1: For the purposes of this story, assume that: 1) the
wedding was postponed... indefinitely, for the time being. As time goes on, Mic is increasingly pressuring Mac to reschedule the ceremony, and becoming increasingly frustrated and upset with her reluctance to do so.
For her part, Mac is more confused than ever as to what she really wants. Why? see...
2) Harm and Skates both survived the crash, although she fared much better than he did. More dead than alive, he was fished out of the Atlantic courtesy of the Coast Guard. After nearly four weeks in the hospital, and another three off duty and in physical therapy, he returned to duty quiet and subdued, keeping to himself.
3) Renee and Brumby are most definitely still in the picture. For those of you who wonder why on earth I would do such a thing, well, .... you'll see.
All I'll say is that I wanted to have a little fun... so sue me.
Author's Note 2: This is my first shot at JAG fanfic and the first writing I've done in years, so please bear with me. Also, this particular tale may or may not end up being overly "shippery". Hopefully, though, this will be the first of several stories involving a character of my own creation who will hopefully spend some of her time pulling certain parties's heads out of their sixes. This all began because I, a natural blonde, felt compelled to defend my hair color. ;o) Yes, many blondes are ditzes...but those who aren't can be hell on wheels. EG
Disclaimer: All recognized characters are the property of DPB et al, and are simply being borrowed for fun. All others, unless otherwise stated, are the product and property of my own little twisted mind.
***************************
Approximately three and a half months after the crash
JAG HQ
1048 local
"Commander Rabb reporting as requested, sir."
"At ease. Have a seat, Commander," Chegwidden said, looking up from the file in front of him and gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. He watched as the senior attorney took a seat, not missing the slight wince as Harm settled into the chair.
The Admiral sighed. "Commander, I have a new assignment for you, but I have a question for you first, and I want a straight answer. I know the docs cleared you for full duty, but it's obvious you're still recovering. Do you honestly feel you're up to handling a field investigation?"
Harm paused before answering, choosing his words carefully. "Sir, I won't tell you I'm at my best. We both know I'm not. But I do feel I'm more than capable of handling any of my duties, including field work."
"I assume I have your word on that."
"Yes sir."
"Good." Chegwidden handed the file he'd been examining earlier to Harm. "Nine days ago, a Lt. Commander Suzanne Nichols was found murdered near Williamsburg. As you'll see, it was anything but typical. The local authorities are hanging on to this tooth and nail... seems they think there's a serial killer in the area and that the Lt. Commander was the second victim of three, the last being found two days ago. On the other hand, the Navy wants exclusive jurisdiction. As a compromise, you'll be working with a special investigator from the Virginia State Investigative Bureau. Now, as of this morning, they didn't know who that was going to be, but I was promised that they would be here around 1330 to brief you on the case."
"They don't know who they're sending?"
"Apparently the chief investigator is very busy with the other cases and is still deciding which of his people to assign this specific case to," Chegwidden clarified, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. "Commander, I am counting on you to insure this is handled competently, with or without the local officials. Is that understood?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
**************
JAG HQ
1317 local
The tall blonde stepped off the elevator, surveying the bullpen. Well, at least she was in the right general area. "Would've been nice if they told me who I was looking for, though," she muttered. Trust her idiot boss to dump this little surprise on her, especially after spending all morning in court crossing verbal swords with that damn fool of a defense counsel, the arrogant, egotistical snot. And what was her reward? Being assigned to work with some squid lawyer who probably didn't know jack about investigative procedures or forensics. Just marvelous. And on this particular case....? What else could go wrong?
She yanked at the starched collar of her prim white blouse. She was wearing her "court clothes", and hating every second of it. The ultimate result was effective, though, she had to admit, even if she did look like a schoolmarm in the strictly tailored black suit and heels. The bun and round, wire-rimmed glasses only added to the effect. Better a schoolmarm than a bimbo, though. What was it with people and blondes? If one's a twit, we're all twits?
Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her nose under the glasses, turning to begin her search for a friendly face.... and ran right into a harried-looking petty officer carrying a full cup of coffee.
"Oh! I am so sorry, ma'am!" Tiner sputtered. He couldn't believe he'd just dumped coffee all over...well, somebody important. At least she looked important, or had until her suit began dripping freshly brewed Sumatra Mandheiling. "Is there anything I can get you?"
She looked at him over the tops of her glasses. "Well, normally I'd say a couple of sugars and some half and half," she said dryly, "but I think in this case a towel of some sort might be more useful."
From the look on his face, she half expected him to smack himself in the forehead. Instead, it was a quick "Yesma'am" before he dashed off, returning a moment later with the requested item and apologizing profusely.
Making a few weak attempts to blot her suit, she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's all right-- it's just a suit. Despite what some might tell you, I am not the Wicked Witch of the West and will not melt," she finished with a grin.
The PO finally appeared to relax a bit, and was just about to ask a question when a voice from behind stopped him cold. "Tiner, what the hell is going on here?"
She never saw anyone spin around so fast. "Admiral! Sir! Um, I, uh.... well, that is..."
Taking pity on the poor man, she stepped around him, coming face to face with an extremely annoyed and rather fearsome looking Admiral in dress blues. "I'm afraid it's all my fault, sir," she stated, taking a closer look at the imposing officer. Heck of a salad bar of medals, she noted, and yup, those were admiral's stripes on the sleeves and two stars to boot... and *damn*, he was wearing a "budweiser." A SEAL. She was face to face with a two-star SEAL admiral. No wonder the petty officer was scared. Oh well, fools rush in...
"I'm here on business, but I'm not quite sure where I should be. Anyway, I stopped for a moment and was rubbing my eyes--I've got a headache--and I'm afraid I didn't open them before I started moving again. The petty officer here was the victim of my clumsiness--well, him and his coffee," she finished, babbling, her mind elsewhere. Waitaminit...wasn't the current JAG a SEAL? Oh, no.....it couldn't be. She was not meeting the man she was going to be working for standing in a hallway, babbling like a idiot and dripping coffee on his floor. Lieber Gott im Himmel....
The admiral in question surveyed the scene, responding with only a taciturn "I see." A minute or so passed before he added, "although I'm pretty sure that was my coffee."
She groaned, muttering without thinking, "Kill me now, Please."
"That won't be necessary," he responded, a slight grin sneaking out. "You are....?"
"Your V-SIB investigator, believe it or not. I'm here about the Nichols murder."
"Ah, yes. You'll be working with Rabb on that one, " he commented, before extending a hand. "Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, JAG."
His comment caught her off guard. Rabb? No way. It couldn't be. Yeah, he was in the Navy... and it had been almost 15 years.....she had to find out. So she lied.
She reached out, accepting AJ's handshake. "Mercedes von Kleist," she said, praying he wouldn't notice the name on her visitors' badge, since it was not the one she gave him.
TBC.....