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

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Episode: Tribunal

- JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

"Oh, Theodore," Loren slowly wrapped the cord of her phone around her fingers and rolled her eyes, "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your assistance."

'You really don't know how much,' she added silently, 'I had no idea how many trifles a JAG has to take care of.' She considered the list she had jotted down with Lindsey's help and smiled wryly. The staff would hate her.

"I'm so excited. Finally the Admiral has noticed my value," she purred and grimaced. 'Because he was running short of lawyers.'

"It was about time, Loren, you've deserved it." Lindsey's voice was giving her a headache. "One last piece of advice: It'll be easier for you to coordinate everything if you take Admiral Chegwidden's office for the time being."

"What a wonderful idea, Theodore." - 'He's going to kill me.' - "But is this standard procedure?"

"Oh yes, of course, you're acting JAG."

Thankfully a knock at the door of her office interrupted their pleasant conversation.

"Theodore, I've got to go. I'll keep you updated. Bye."

"Bye, Loren. Hey -"

She quickly disconnected before he could invite her to dinner. Almost slamming the receiver down, she called out "Yes!" to the door.

Tiner poked his head in. "Lieutenant, there's a Mister Roland to see you."

"Send him in." Loren got to her feet. Roland? Roland as in -

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Singer, Ma'am."

- Martin Roland?

'Foxhound??'

Loren noticed she was staring and quickly pulled herself together.

"That'll be all, Tiner, thank you," she dismissed the Petty Officer coolly. "Mister Roland, I'm a little bit surprised to see you."

"I'm sure you are, Ma'am, but -" Foxhound turned his head as Tiner closed the door and stopped. Then he looked back at her. Their eyes met.

Loren swallowed. It was only a year since she had seen him last... How could a person have aged in this rather short period that much? These sharp lines in his face hadn't been there a year ago, neither had the shade of grey in his hair. Even his eyes had changed.

"Martin?" she whispered hesitantly. "What are you doing here?!"

He kept staring at her and finally sighed. "I need a little help, Loren."

Stalling for time Loren motioned him to sit down and took a seat herself. Then their eyes locked again.

"What kind of help?"

"To get four pounds of heroin out of this building."

Loren's jaw dropped.

He laughed out at her expression and suddenly she saw the lively man she had once worked with sparkling in his eyes.

"I knew I'd get you with that line!"

"Ooh, you -" Loren groaned and chuckled at the same time, remembered the open blinds and quickly flipped a pen off her desk so she could bent down and hide her face. Coming up again she glared good-naturedly at him.

"Mean bastard," she muttered.

Foxhound - with his back safely to the door - smirked. Then he grew serious again.

"How are you, Loren?"

She allowed herself a small grimace. "Wheeling and dealing. What about you?"

"The same." His gaze wandered out of the window. "Things are a little bit difficult at the moment."

She waited patiently until he looked back at her. He smiled again but not very happy.

"Truth to be told: I'm in trouble. I think I've screwed up."

Alarmed Loren sat upright. "Is your cover blown?"

"No but one of - well, them is giving me a hard time. My own fault, I couldn't keep my big mouth shut and he has taken it personal. I've blocked him so far but he keeps challenging me. And that's why I'm here."

She encouraged him with a nod to go on.

"Loren, don't freak out but there are really four pounds of heroin hidden within JAG headquarters. And I'm supposed to smuggle it out. Because I have been a Marine-," he formed quotation marks with his fingers, "- and this is the Judge Advocate General Department of the Navy. Fate."

"How should- Did you say hidden?" Loren suddenly started sweating. Should there be another rotten apple in here - and she had known nothing of it?

"By Westland."

"Westland?!" Loren almost screamed. "Impossible! He was a drug dealer and a mole but he was damn smart. He would never have taken such a risk."

"As far as I know it was improvisation. I'm not familiar with all details. It happened shortly before he - well."

She shook her head. "And they never tried to get the stuff back?"

"Four pounds sound much but for an organization as big as Senvealda's it isn't more than a tip."

"If they didn't care for so long then why do now?"

He scratched his chin. "It's kind of a test of courage. I've told you I'm in trouble."

Loren blew out. At least there wasn't another mole in here. She tried to focus. "You know where it's hidden?"

"It's in the suspended ceiling of a conference room. It shouldn't be a big deal to find it but it would be highly inconvenient if somebody walked in on me the wrong moment."

"Highly inconvenient," acknowledged Loren gloomily. "Do you have something like a plan? Did they tell you about me?"

"About Singer's past encounters with Senvealda's organization? No, not one word. They keep you pretty well under the hat ... or are using me to find out if you have been responsible for Westland's passing away and the bad luck they are experiencing lately. As I've said my cover is still intact. But you have been my lawyer so I've thought it'd look natural to come to you with a fake problem and ask for advice. Even if you got me fired the last time."

"Very funny."

"Isn't it." Foxhound grinned. "Anyway, it has been a reasonable plan to get me into the building and I've thought if we meet again in the evening when the office is empty..." He trailed off because Loren started shaking her head no.

"We would never be safe from the guards. Besides, a lot of people here work long hours. No, it wouldn't work - too risky."

"That's not good."

"No." Loren pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh boy, I'm falling from one crisis into the other at the moment. Sometimes I really feel like a fireman." She opened her eyes again and stared down at the top of her desk.

"What can we do," she muttered to herself. Her gaze swept over the list of Lindsey's helpful tasks and suddenly snapped back to it. A grin started to spread across her face and she quickly covered it with her hand. "Oh, who would have thought? Thanks, Teddy."

"Loren?" Foxhound frowned questioning.

She settled back on her chair and tapped her fingertips together. "I knew my codename would eventually come in handy. How long would you need to take the heroin out of the ceiling?"

He looked even more puzzled. "10-15 minutes maybe..."

"You shall get them." She gave her voice a graver, declamatory sound. "You may not be aware, Mister Roland, that I'm in charge of JAG Administration during Admiral Chegwidden's absence overseas. And in my position as acting JAG I really, honestly and strongly believe that we are unacceptable overdue for a fire drill."

Some seconds his expression didn't change then he flashed a full-scale admiration-grin.

"Miss Loren Singer - pardon me, Lieutenant Singer of course - have you ever been told that you have some extraordinary kind of brain in your pretty head?"

She bit back a smile. "Not lately, so thank you for the compliment." She got up and Foxhound followed. "Now. Have a stop in the men's room on your way out. I'm going to make a little announcement to the staff of the days of hard labor that are to come under my command and then start right away with the fire drill. Hide somewhere until the office is empty. You've got a bag?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good. You can boast about how lucky you have been to stumble into this in front of your buddies." Loren opened the door and continued on her way out: "I'm really sorry, Mister Roland, but I can't help you in this matter."

"I understand, Ma'am, thank you for your time."

She gave him a slight nod and headed across the bullpen. On her way she happened to pass behind Harriet Sims' back and got a glimpse at the computer screen. Well, well, instant messages with her husband.

"Lieutenant Sims..."

- JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia, Admiral Chegwidden's office

The little Lieutenant was really beginning to get to her. Loren sank even deeper into Chegwidden's chair and rubbed her face. Darn it, sometimes her words stung like needles. But sometimes...

It's what we have inside that makes us a leader.

How pompous. And how true.

Sitting forward Loren dragged the file Sims' had brought in in front of her. She grimaced.

'Unfortunately, my dear Harriet, I have no intention of being a leader. Neither in the Navy nor anywhere else. All I want to be is a happy wife and someday a good mother and if I could get a little satisfaction from my real profession it would be just perfect.'

The irony was striking. It seemed like she had just described Lieutenant Sims' nice little world. A pang of envy coursed through her body.

To distract herself she turned her thoughts to Foxhound. Everything had gone as planned and nobody seemed to have been suspicious that the civilian who had entered the building with empty hands first hadn't turned up outside during the fire drill and then had exited with a big bag. Luck in this case and she had done everything to keep anybody occupied ... but maybe she would hunt down the rules for the guards and make sure they'd learn them by heart in a few days. Not now. Now the memory was too fresh. But maybe towards the end of her acting JAG period.