Disclaimers in part I.

1815 Zulu/1315 Local
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Tiner's voice came over the intercom.  "Admiral, Commander Rabb to see you, just as you predicted, sir."

AJ laughed before he replied.  "Send him in, Ti – "  Harm strode through the door before he could even finish.  "Commander," he acknowledged, breathing deeply to keep his amusement under control.  As Colonel Mackenzie would no doubt be amazed to know, it had taken her partner exactly seven minutes and six seconds to appear at his door from the time Commander Turner called to give the five-minute warning.  That meant Turner and Mackenzie had started talking two minutes and six seconds ago – and that Rabb had probably set out for the command suite 11 seconds ago; even his long legs couldn't make it from the bullpen in less than 10.

Harm launched right in.  "Sir, I don't understand.  Mac is my partner."

"Have a seat, Commander."  When the man had lowered himself into the nearest chair, the admiral continued.  "I'm not even going to tell you what emotion I heard behind that statement because you'd deny it three ways from Sunday anyway.  And until you can magically transform yourself into something other than the All-American flyboy from California, there's nothing you can do to assist the case I've assigned to Commander Turner and Colonel Mackenzie."

"But, admiral, husband and wife?"

"Commander Rabb, is there something going on between you and the Colonel that you and she have neglected to tell me about?"

"No, sir.  It's just – "  The man really did look lost and forlorn, as though his best friend – or wife? – had just left him.

But business was business and until Commander Rabb had a reason to think the order unlawful, the assignment would stand.  "Then there's really nothing you can complain about.  I'm not asking your significant other to be unfaithful or even to pretend to be unfaithful because you aren't significant others.  I'm asking two dedicated military officers to undertake an assignment of the utmost importance.  That you are not qualified for this assignment is just an unfortunate circumstance over which none of us had control, and before you object further, let me assure you that Congresswoman Latham has been notified and agreed to the cover story in the interest of truth.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see that Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Turner are properly covered for their case."

"But sir," Harm persisted even as he stood.

"What is it, Commander?"  AJ took his glasses off and twirled them absently in one hand in a sure sign that he was near his limit.

"Who's going to watch her six?"

And that plaintive plea, in a nutshell, was the psyche of Harmon Rabb, Jr.  If something – anything – happened to Sarah Mackenzie, he would hold himself responsible, either because he was there and didn't stop it or because he wasn't there to stop it.  "I am sure," the admiral began slowly, "that you will impress upon Commander Turner just how important it is for him to 'watch her six', and lest you forget, the Commander does hold a brown belt in Jujitsu." 

Harm had no formal schooling beyond basic hand-to-hand; his style of fighting was hit 'em till they're down and once more for good measure.  The verbal reminder of his lack obviously threw him because it took a good ten seconds for him to reply.  "Yes, sir, and Mac has her third degree black belt, but that only helps when your attackers make themselves known.  What if they find out something and the bad guys come in the middle of the night and Sturgis can't protect – "

"Harm."  AJ waited for the man to look at him again.  "You are borrowing trouble.  And wearing your heart on your sleeve."  He mused aloud after a moment's thought.  "You're due for a joint-duty tour…"

"Sir, I don't want to leave JAG."  His reply missed being a shout – and insubordination – by about 3 decibels.

AJ Chegwidden made a conscious decision to interfere in the personal lives of two of his officers for the good of his unit, his sanity, and his officers themselves.  "Commander, you are aware that Lt. Sims is seconded to this office, correct?"

"Yes, sir, because otherwise she and Lt. Roberts…"  Several high wattage light bulbs clicked on inside the mind of Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  "I think I see your point, sir."  He came to attention with a smile that he couldn't hide.  "Permission to return to my office, Admiral, sir?"

"Dismissed, Commander."  Only after the door closed behind the junior officer did AJ sit back in his chair, stretch his arms behind his head, and prop his feet up on the desk.  Sometimes, no matter how awful the cases that came through the door, the day was worthwhile anyway.

=====

1850 Zulu/1350 Local
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Sturgis Turner was looking forward to his assignment with the Colonel.  After she inadvertently revealed her feelings about Harm to him almost a year ago, they had built a friendship based on mutual admiration and respect – and common concern for the aforementioned Harmon Rabb, Jr.  Sturgis approached Mac's office with his arms loaded, surprised to see the door open.  He cleared his throat so as not to startle her and asked, "How are you coming with a name, Colonel?"

Mac looked up at him with a smile and pushed some hair off her forehead.  "Well, I'm torn between 'Kalila', which means 'sweetheart' or 'beloved'; Zafira, which means 'victorious' or 'successful'; and 'Zahira', which means 'shining' or 'luminous'."  She motioned for him to come in and cleared off a space for the books.  Then she pointed to her computer screen.  "I found this great website with Arabic names and their meanings."

"Why don't we give Harm those three definitions and let him pick the one he thinks describes you best?"  Sturgis pulled the guest chair into a position from which he could see the screen.

Mac snorted.  "He'd probably substitute 'stubborn' and "willful', for which I find no matches."  She scrolled slowly so her temporary partner could see the entire list.

"Or perhaps 'beautiful', which would leave us with 'Bahiya' or 'Zaynah'; he could also come up with 'intuitive', which gives us "Ilham' or…"

"He who?"  Harm's voice interrupted from the doorway, where the aviator/lawyer stood with his arms folded and his back against the open door.

"He you, in fact."  Sturgis grabbed a piece of Mac's notepaper and wrote out the three definitions.  Enjoying the horrified look on Mac's face as she refused to look toward her usual partner, he passed Harm the paper.  "Which of these phrases do you like best?"

Harm took the sheet as he asked, "In reference to?"

Sturgis looked his Academy roommate in the eyes.  "Mac."

Harm almost smiled, but Mac missed it as she pushed away from her desk.  "I'm leaving now so I don't witness something to which I'll have to testify later.  Sturgis, if you're still standing when you finish, I'll be in the conference room writing dispensation and status memos for my JAG trainees and my replacement."  She got to the door, moving to stand as close to nose-to-nose as she could with her much taller partner.  "Harm, hurting Sturgis won't get you assigned to this case in his place, so don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Sturgis could tell that the look on Harm's face was one reserved only for Sarah Mackenzie.  "Okay.  For you."

Mac's quirked up little smile was fairly common, but Turner would have bet good money that her eyes said everything the stubborn commander in front of her needed to know.  He waited until Mac stepped out into the bullpen, then prodded his long-time friend, "Well?

Harm looked down at the list, sucking in a deep breath as he saw the choices.  "If you're trying to bait me into revealing how I feel about Mac…"  He closed the door behind him, moving to sit heavily in Mac's desk chair.

"I already know how you feel about Mac, and I'm pretty sure everyone else who's ever met you does, as well.  I think you even know how you feel about her, you're just scared to death of that feeling."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because if you weren't terrified of screwing it up, you'd do something about it."  That one struck home, by the pained expression on the face across the desk.

Harm sighed and looked down at the list again.  "She'll know, won't she?"

"That you picked the name?  Yes."

Harm squirmed a bit.  "If I'm going to act on these feelings – and that's as much of an admission as you'll get from me that I even have feelings for the Colonel – it's going to be much more obvious than a cover name.  Show me where this came from and tell me what you've got so far."

Sturgis pointed to the computer beside his fellow officer.  "She's got the site up.  We will be Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim Yassin.  My family is third generation Sudanese American on my father's side and descendents of slaves on my mother's; she is my bride of seven years from a small Farsi-speaking enclave in Bahrain and we met when her older brother brought me home from the mosque during Ramadan while I was on liberty from the U.S.S. Tarawa.  We're Sunni Muslims, of course, and although I am fairly liberal in my interpretation of a woman's role, she is more comfortable living with a headscarf as a modest married woman would in her village.  She drives and will work part time at the NCIS office at Pearl covered as a junior investigator to cover her part in the investigation.  We will attend services at the Islamic center on base."

"So you're saying that you'll be interacting occasionally with people who might know the meaning of her name but most people won't.  Okay."  Harm studied the list for several minutes in silence while Sturgis read from one of the books he'd brought in.  "I've got two.  Tell me what you think."

Sturgis looked up and waited for Harm to go on.

"Akilah Yassin or Azizah Yassin?"

"What, are you trying to make me pick in the end?  Not happening, my friend.  Your choice, through and through."

"What's the custom about middle names?"

"A lot of men have them.  I suppose we could give her one and say that her father was so besotted he couldn't pick just one name for her."  He stressed the word "father" in such a way that the quotations marks were audible, earning a glare from Harm.

"That sounds okay," he relented after a moment.  He looked away toward the wall and whispered to himself for several seconds, then grinned broadly at Sturgis.  "Azizah Akilah Yassin."

Commander Turner stood and leaned over Mac's desk to look at the website.  He found that he could completely understand and endorse Harm's choices for himself.  Azizah means esteemed, precious, and cherished, while Akilah means intelligent, logical, or one who reasons.  And those described Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie just as well as "Princess", the meaning of her given name, ever could.

=====

2120 Zulu/1620 Local
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"That was sweet," Mac said from his doorway.

Harm looked up to see her smiling at him in that way she had, the one that made his heart flip-flop in his chest.  "What was sweet?" he came back as innocently as he could.

She surprised him when she shut the door, closed the blinds, and came around his desk to perch in front of him on the uncluttered top.  "The name," she murmured.

He shrugged.  "Only the truth about my Ninja Girl."  It had been a long time since he called her that, even though he used it internally rather often.  He knew for a fact that no one else called her by that pet name; Brumby had nearly lost a vital piece of his anatomy for trying it once and if Mic hadn't earned the right, no one ever would except its creator.

Mac's eyebrow went up.  "'Your' Ninja Girl?"

"Just like I'm 'your' Flyboy.  I certainly don't let anyone else call me that."

"Really?"  She shifted on the desk and Harm got a glimpse of more leg than he had seen since that god-awful day on the beach in Australia when he thought she'd been topless with Mic.  As a result, he missed part of what she was saying.  "…normal nickname for you pilots."

He took a few seconds to fill in the blanks with what he hoped were the correct words.  "Aviator, Marine, I'm an aviator."  That was a longstanding point of familiar needling between the two of them, as well.  "And yeah, some people use 'Flyboy' pretty freely.  But not with me."

She sat with that, seemed to accept it.  Then in a low voice, looking down at her short, buffed oval nails, she asked what he knew she'd really come to learn.  "Harm, are you okay with this?"

He sighed heavily.  "Honestly?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want the truth," she confirmed, meeting his blue-green eyes with her own chocolate brown pair.

Harm could look away and lie or hold her gaze and hand her his heart with the truth.  Remembering the Admiral's words earlier, he took a deep breath and opted for the latter.  He took both her hands in his and curled them gently together.  "No, Sarah, I'm not."

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she brought their joined hands into her lap.  "I wish – "

"Hey, it's not your fault.  I know that I'm not the best person for the job and I know that Sturgis is.  I just don't happen to like the idea of you going off again after you just came back from the Seahawk.  I miss you when you're gone and e-mail just doesn't cut it now that we're back into our groove."

Mac smiled at that.  "Groove or rut, Harm?"

"Groove, just like on an old LP.  It takes the needle to the logical conclusion of the record, just at its own pace and if it goes too fast or too slow, it's messed up."

"Nice analogy, Squid.  We are to our relationship as the groove is to the needle.  And you said the Miller Analogies Test nearly killed your chance at Law School."

"Especially since I found out later I only needed the LSATs.  Nice try, Colonel, but you're not going to sidetrack me that easily."  He squeezed her hands and gave her his trademark smile.  "I really don't want to let go at the moment."

She laughed.  "Who said I wanted you to?"

Harm was sorely tempted to move his chair over 18 inches to put his arms around her waist and his head in her lap.  He would have if they were alone in the building, but he wouldn't jeopardize either of their careers with so blatant a display of affection when even a remote chance existed that someone would catch them.  "How much time can we cram in together between now and your fake PCS date?" he asked, trying to be content with the soft hands in his against the shapely legs he wished he could see in their entirety.

"Well…there's tonight, tomorrow night and this entire weekend, then the nights next week.  You are going to Harriet and Bud's for Thanksgiving, right?"

"Would I miss Thanksgiving this year with Bud?"  His soft tone held all the worry and anger and relief he had felt during Bud's ongoing recovery.

"No."  It would be just the core group – the Roberts, including Mikey and possibly Big Bud, the Admiral, and the two of them – this year, which under the circumstances was just as well.  "And then Sturgis and I leave early Friday morning for Honolulu."

"What about Christmas?"  Harm knew his voice sounded a little squeaky, but the thought of a Christmas without Mac made this even worse.

"Relax, Flyboy.  If we are still at work out there, we've already gotten approval for leave under the cover of attending a family wedding on the mainland.  And even if something happens that Sturgis can't come, I can because I'll be under civilian cover."

"Good – I mean, hopefully Sturgis will be home, too.  Either way, stay at my place after services on Christmas Eve, will you?  Please?"  His fingers began of their own accord to caress her hands. 

He could tell that his actions affected her; she flushed a bit and had to take a deep breath before she could speak.  "As long as you promise to put up a tree and have a stocking for me, you're on."

He was about to reply when a discreet knock sounded on his door; Mac rose smoothly as he dropped her hands, then he waited the two or three seconds it took her to move a step away before he acknowledged the interruption.  "Come!"

"Excuse me, sir, ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you both before you leave for the day," Petty Officer Tiner said.  "Not immediately, just before you head out or before 1745, whichever comes first."

"Thank you, Tiner," Harm replied with a nod.  "Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir."  Jason Tiner smiled at the two officers before he closed the door.

Harm and Mac looked at each other in silence for a long moment before they laughed, her chuckle sounding as self-conscious to him as his own.  "So, what say we have dinner tonight and you pass on all your hard-earned wisdom regarding adjudicating a trial to the neophyte, Jarhead?"

She gave him that smile again.  "That's Colonel Jarhead to you, Commander Squid.  My place, Chinese, 1900."  And with that she was gone, her business-like questions and answers to other staff members carrying through his now open door as she made her way across the bullpen toward Turner's small office.

=====

2210 Zulu/1710 Local/1210 Hawaii
Chaplain Isaiah Turner's home, DC Metro Area

Captain Isaiah Turner, USN (ret.), heard his phone ringing from the front porch and made his way as quickly as he could to answer it before his machine picked up.  "Chaplain Turner."

"Isaiah!  I'm so glad I found you at home," a voice on the other end said.  "It's John O'Neill."

"Ah, the good Father O'Neill calling from sunny Hawaii," Turner greeted in return, affecting a bad Irish accent.  "Unless you're back home for a Georgetown reunion?"

"No, I'm definitely in Hawaii, although at the moment it's raining.  I wanted to check in with you about something that has to remain on the QT."

Something in the normally effusive priest's voice told the retired chaplain that O'Neill wasn't planning a surprise party for anyone.  "What's going on, John?"

Chaplain O'Neill told his mentor about the regimental commander and about the hate crimes.  "I had a conference call with CINPAC, the Commandant, and the JAG early this morning.  I guess JAG is going to investigate but I haven't been informed how yet."

"It sounds like you've done everything you can for the moment.  How's it sitting?"

"Not well," the man in Hawaii admitted.  "Not because I think we're overreacting, though.  I just have this fear that we're missing something and that whatever we're missing will come back to hurt – or worse, kill – someone."

Turner recognized the thought process from 5,500 miles away.  "John, you can't do any more than you've already done.  Your designator is CHAPLAIN.  Let the men and women who are investigators and lawyers do what they do best."

"Isaiah, I can't live with myself if something I could have prevented happens."

Turner sighed.  "You and 99% of the rest of the human race, Father.  Listen, my son is at JAG HQ now.  Let me talk to him and see if he knows anything about the plan.  In the mean time, just keep documenting the incidents you hear about and start getting written consent from as many of the subjects as you can so that any defense can't claim they're privileged communications under confessional rules."

"I've only reported what was outside the confessional!"

"I'm sure," the retired officer soothed.  "But unless it's written and signed, the defense may have standing."

"There is no defense," the priest growled.  "If what this man is doing is what we think it is, he's…he's…"

"He's a child of God, John, and nothing you or I can do will change that.  And as one who happens to have been fortunate enough to be an American citizen, he's innocent until proven guilty and entitled to his day in court."

Another growl traveled across the Pacific Ocean and the North American continent, but the voice that followed was gentler.  "Yes, sir, you're right.  It's just hard to accept this kind of inhuman bigotry as worthy of the same protections."