Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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THE PRESENT

I sigh at the memory and take a few steps back and forth to calm down. Walking back to her crib I'm bending over my daughter again. I can't resist and trace one of her tiny fists with the tip of my finger. Her skin is so smooth - softer than anything I've touched before. Maybe I should have told him. Maybe I should have screamed the reason why I was pushing so hard directly into his face - but that would have been a mistake. Oh, I have no doubt he would have been willing to marry me. Maybe he would have been delighted to marry me ... but it would have been out of a sense of duty. Harmon Rabb is and always was an honorable man. He'd never bring a girl in trouble and walk away afterwards. It's just ... a kid is a good reason for a marriage. But it should never be the only reason. I couldn't load this weight onto our relationship. It would have been as wrong as my intentions as I started it - or better as I let it happen. I complained my fate bitterly over the following weekend. Harm made no move to contact me - I don't hold it against him, not after the shock I'd confronted him with - and it was the darkest hole of my life. I bought a bottle of alcohol on my way back home. I don't even know what kind of. For hours I sat in front of it, crying, fighting the daemons hunting me. I even poured a glass. I even lifted it to my lips. And I dumped all into the toilet. Then I crouched down and threw up for dear life without having tasted a single drop. I couldn't do it - as much as I wanted it right at that time. There was a new life growing in me ... and it deserved better than that. Much better. Yes, that weekend was hell and beyond that - but I think it made me stronger than ever before. On Monday I still hadn't decided what to do - except for *not to drink* - and again this strange thing called life threw me into a loop. It just included somebody else this time. Or maybe I should say again. It was the day Admiral Chegwidden came back from his honeymoon and Harriet brought us this newspaper...

***

FLASHBACK

- JAG Headquarters

"Welcome back, Sir. I've put the important cases on the stack to your right. The notes you should read are lying over there," Mac pointed at the manila folders and Chegwidden nodded. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Mac, is everything all right? You're looking a little bit pale."

"It's nothing, Sir. It just wasn't such a pleasant weekend. Nothing I can't deal with."

"If you say so - Yes, Harriet?"

"Sir, Ma'am, I - have you read the newspaper this morning? Have you read this?"

"What?" Chegwidden took the paper out of her hands, read in silence and cursed. He handed it over to Mac. She quickly looked the page up and down, a headline caught her eye. First the article made no sense to her then her jaw dropped.

Porter Webb ... part of Washington's social life ... suddenly ... funeral at the ... the heir asks to...

"Oh my God," she gasped, "No. He's been through so much." She looked up to Chegwidden. "Sir, I want to express my condolences in person. It's the least I can do."

The Admiral nodded immediately. "Of course we do. Harriet, please inform Commander Rabb about this matter. I think he's the only one who really met her in person and I expect his presence. Please also inform everybody else you think is suitable."

"Yes, Sir. Sir - Bud and I, we want to come with you too."

"I'm glad to hear that. Colonel? You wanted to say something?"

"No ... No, Sir, it's nothing." Mac suppressed the uncomfortable feeling. She'd see Clay again - and Harm would be there too.

***

- Webb residence

Astonished the JAG staff - consisted of Admiral Chegwidden, Mac, Harm and the Roberts - watched the crowded rooms of Clayton Webb's home. It was amazing how many people wanted to express their condolences after the privately held ceremony of the funeral. Or - as Mac couldn't help thinking - they just didn't want to miss the exquisite finger food buffet that was served for the guests. Slowly they drifted with the slightly moving groups of people, sipping at the drinks, offered by some very young waitresses and waiters in demure black clothing. Finally the movement gathered to a loose queue in one large tasteful furnished room opening to the garden.

Throughout their steady approach Mac kept her eyes on Webb, standing with his back to the windows. His features were hidden in shadows against the bright afternoon light - no doubt a well considered circumstance - but the light also framed his slender, nearly skinny figure and pronounced it. The black suit, so dark that it was an almost dead color, underlined the paleness of his skin. He seemed to have lost even more weight since she last saw him and it concerned her. While they came nearer in the queue she noticed the almost invisible lines in his face, sometimes red, sometimes white, reminders of the cuts he had suffered in Paraguay. The two months since the beating had left no evidence of the bruises he had been covered with, but Mac realized now how good the theater make-up had been. Some people asked questions about the scars and she heard him explain that he'd had a car-accident.

She saw him talking to the guests, nodding, shacking hands. From time to time he reached sideways and took a sip out of a glass, obviously holding mineral water. And in all his gestures was something ... mechanical and lifeless, so totally different from his normal energy. He watched them step up to him with a distant gaze. Mac wondered briefly if he really realized who they were because he seemed to look right through them.

"Excuse me a second," he murmured suddenly and turned to the waiter refilling his glass. "I haven't seen your cards on the tables, Thomas. Where are they?"

The young man looked surprised and cleared his throat before he answered in a low voice. "We - It didn't seem to be appropriate, Mister Webb."

"What are you talking about? Mother always saw that you got new customers in her lifetime and I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you make some profit out of her death. Put the cards up."

The young man squirmed. "We just wanted to show our respect, Mister Webb."

"I appreciate that and now put them up." Webb sounded monotone, almost cold.

"Is something wrong?" A tall man with calm features appeared suddenly out of nowhere. The young waiter seemed relieved.

"Almost nothing, Harrison," replied Webb, his voice still a little hard and cold, "I just told Thomas to put their cards up. The people should see whose food they're eating. Take care of that, will you."

"Of course, Sir." Harrison signaled the younger man with a sharp motion of his head to obey the order. Webb watched them go away and turned back to the waiting JAG staff. He stared somewhere over Chegwidden's left shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but they haven't put their cards on the tables. Their catering service is very good - they opened their own service not long ago ... mother helped them to ... she would have wanted the cards up." He shut his mouth abruptly as if he regretted having said so much.

One after the other they murmured some sentences of sympathy, sharing troubled glances within the group. Webb nodded and thanked them calm and steady. Chegwidden looked around.

"I haven't seen Tim yet - he is somewhere, isn't he? Representing your employer?"

"He's in Europe and couldn't make it - unfortunately. And by the way, I don't work for the Company any more. They don't want me back."

Five pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief. Mac was the first to find her voice.

"You're kidding!" she blurted out, "They can't do that to you!"

"Of course they can," stated Webb matter-of-factly, "It isn't unexpected."

"But - but you've worked for the Company at -"

"I was just helping out. You know the reasons why it was necessary," Webb interrupted sharply. He gave her a warning glare.

"But what - what are you going to do now? It isn't fair! You should fight for it!"

Webb shrugged. "What for? The NSA offered me a job that's as good as anything else." He was already turning to his next guests. "Thanks for coming- to all of you. I appreciate it. Try some of the food. It's a good catering service."

Stunned they walked away. Bud finally broke the silence.

"Excuse me, but - was that really Mister Webb? That was like - like 'Invasion from Mars' or something like that!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bud, but no, that wasn't Webb. I've known he was close to his mother but it really threw him off stride," agreed Harm.

Mac ignored them both and looked back to Clayton. She made a quick decision.

"Sir, I want to stay a little longer. Maybe I can be of any help."

Before the Admiral was able to answer Harm cut in: "You can't stay here!"

"Excuse me?!" Mac's hiss clearly showed her disapproval. Harm ignored the warning and took hold of her arm.

"There's no need to stay. There are enough people to help if necessary."

"He's a friend, Harm, how can you talk like that? I'm staying!"

"You don't! Mac, you can't!"

"We'll see what I can do and what not. Let go!" Mac struggled angrily to get free but Harm jerked her back, his fear got the better of him.

"Mac!"

"Harm!"

"That's enough! Stop it this instant! Commander! Colonel!" Chegwidden was fuming. "Your behavior is unacceptable!"

Ashamed Mac and Harm stepped back from each other. People were staring at them. Mac smoothed her uniform jacket.

"Sir, I'm staying - with your permission."

"Granted. Commander, follow me!"

Mac ignored Harm's pleading look and glanced over to Webb. She met his eyes and held them for a long moment. His features were once more hidden in shadows and she wasn't able to read his mind.