Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
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2003
- Arlington National Cemetery, the Columbarium
Lieutenant Loren Singer had served her country and no matter how questionable the circumstances of her death had been the Navy had taken its responsibility for one of their own as no one had stepped forward and claimed the body when it had been released. But due to these circumstances the honor of a ground burial had seemed to be inappropriate. So - after a check on her religion in the service record - the easiest way out had been a silent cremation of the Lieutenant and her unborn child. In fact it had caused a little disturbance within JAG headquarters that her true religion had been listed as Methodist. But Commander Turner had had a simple explanation for the discrepancy and so it had soon been shrugged off as one of those Singer-things. And after everything had been over, life had returned to its normal chaos.
Clayton Webb looked up into the sky and narrowed his eyes against the sun. He still couldn't believe it: they had actually allowed the Navy to cremate a Jew. It would have been so easy to set something up - a distant relative, an old friend who would have been able to claim the body but no, Kershaw had played it safe. Foxhound was still out there, tearing Senvealda's organization apart from the inside, little by little, his cover had had priority. It still had priority. And yes, Loren had never lived her religion but anyway ... it wasn't right.
Webb sighed. The sad thing was he understood Kershaw's reasons. He wished he could be sure he'd have acted differently but he couldn't. Too much had been at stake to pay regard to one person's life ... or soul. Hopefully, God - by whatever name he was called - had more mercy on a brave woman who had paid the highest price.
Pulling the cover deeper into his face he considered again the silent surroundings of the Columbarium. He had first learned what had happened when he had returned to the States to prepare for the mission in Paraguay. That Loren had never left the Seahawk the way it had been planned, that she had been pregnant and that she had then disappeared months ago without a trace. That, when her dead body had surfaced, Harmon Rabb had been brought to trial as her assumed murderer and that the NCIS had finally managed to convict the true culprit, Theodore Lindsey. That she had just been burnt.
He had lost his temper when he had found out all these things. He should have known better. Kershaw was no man to talk to like that, even - and especially - by one Clayton Webb in disgrace. And so he and Mac had ended up in Paraguay without any back-up except Victor Galindez ... and a dangerous but well planned mission had turned an awful mess.
But with that Kershaw had overstepped the line too - and he had known it. For no other reason he had allowed Harm to go down to Paraguay and save them all.
Webb shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It had been a very awkward visit Kershaw had paid to his hospital room. But - they had reached a quid pro quo: He would keep his mouth shut, cover for Kershaw in front of the DCI ... and Kershaw would get him his old position back. Of course the big boss had known or at least guessed what had been going on but as long as everything had been settled with as little noise as possible ... who really cared.
The first thing Webb had done back in the saddle had been sending two of their best interrogators down to Leavenworth where Theodore Lindsey was locked away. He had had no doubts that the mysterious woman, who had tried to call Kershaw that day in January, had been Loren. And he had been sure she had had a reason, very likely connected with Lindsey.
Lindsey. Darn it, if it wasn't so sick he would admire the way the man had maneuver through his trial with a wild mixture of lies, truth and leaving things out. Who knew, he had probably stimulated the jury's sympathy by telling them how much Loren had threatened his family. Not that it had helped him much. And he had yielded quickly to the pressure of the two interrogation specialists who had simply bluffed his socks off. Although the outcome hadn't been very promising at first sight.
But life was cynical sometimes. The interesting thing hadn't been the name of the Lieutenant whose case Lindsey had dropped but that of the Lieutenant's elder brother's friend. A friend who had a friend himself: No one else than one of their suspects in the Pentagon - who had obviously provided the dirty money Lindsey had been paid with. The circle had been closed. Naval Intelligence had arrested the traitor within two weeks.
"Commander?"
Webb snapped out of his thoughts and stared at the man who had stepped in front of him, holding out an urn. His mouth was suddenly dry. He reached up but paused before his fingers could touch the smooth surface.
"Sir?" The man looked puzzled.
Webb forced himself to finish his movement, surprised how heavy the urn was and how cold to the touch. For a moment he stared down at it. Cold, yes. Just cold. Well, what had he expected? To find a shadow of the presence of the strong and yet so vulnerable woman he had known and guided and used for more than three years? Had he hoped for understanding? Forgiveness? Absolution?
Because it had been the role, the character he had created that had killed her in the end? Because, if she had been a little less Singer, if she had taken her duty a little less seriously, if she had pressed a little bit less ... would have Lindsey just left her, unconscious from her fall, or even called an ambulance instead of throwing her into the river where she had drowned?
But there was nothing. No, the dead were the dead. This was just an urn holding the ashes of a mother and her unborn child. And nothing else.
"Commander, is everything all right?" The cemetery employee considered the man in a Navy Commander's uniform with concern in his eyes. His look brought Webb's feet back on the ground.
"Yes, it's fine," he answered shortly and turned away from the curious eyes. As he walked away he still felt them in his back. It didn't matter. Uniforms tended to distract the attention of most people and his sunglasses masked his features additionally. If ever questioned, the man would remember a Navy Commander who had had all necessary paperwork to prove his legal claim on removing Lieutenant Singer's ashes for a few days and soon another man would be able to testify that the urn had been returned correctly to its place. Maybe a strange incident but it was very unlikely anyone would ever ask any questions.
There was no one in this world who had interest in Singer's fate - well, at least in the States and Sergei he would be able to handle. No, no one cared ... not after what she had allegedly done to help Lindsey in discrediting JAG headquarters. There Kershaw had stayed out of trouble too but the SecNav's own spy had solved the matter anyway. The man had learned quickly to copy their methods for his own purpose ... and he had a quite calculating mind. There was no doubt he had used Lindsey's hatred for shaking JAG up, breaking their self-confidence ... and then he had stepped in and played the fair superior who punished the fraud.
Webb ignored the glances he got frequently on his way through the cemetery. Officially Loren - the real Loren - had died when the private plane with her, her new boss and a pilot on board had crashed into the sea somewhere off the coast of Australia. Her body hadn't been found. The story had been launched rather soon after her disappearance to avoid desperate questions about her whereabouts. Then, after the NCIS had confirmed her death, someone had paid another visit to her husband.
But Webb knew too well that without proof - hard, solid, cruel proof - the hope never died. The hope that the missing person would some day just walk through the door or give a phone call or stand on the other side of the road, smiling. The least he could do was to end the uncertainty. To give the man - and the family - the chance to go on. For the family Loren's body would have finally turned up in the sea. Or what the sharks had left of it - a perfect explanation for the cremation. For her husband ... the knowledge that his country was sorry.
There would be no honors, no flag from a grateful nation. Not even a nameless star on a wall.
Loren's cover had resisted a NCIS investigation and her cell phone - which's extraordinary technology would have been the only link with any intelligence service - had disappeared somewhere in the Potomac. And no matter who had asked whom to help out or who had done whom a favor ... the whole operation had always been a shade of grey. And too many people had an interest in burying the past. Permission to bring her remains back to the family had been the best he could get under the circumstances.
Reaching the quiet colored car he had chosen for this occasion Webb unlocked the door and slipped into the seat. Carefully he settled the urn into the basket that was placed in the leg room of the passenger's side. For a moment he stared blankly at its contents.
It's very special to me.
The orchid had turned out to be a grateful plant in his mother's hands. It was in full flower the second time since he had removed it from Loren's apartment. A double row of white and pink and sparks of silver, four flowers in each line. Not the best time to transport an orchid, especially considering the long ride up to Chicago. But it seemed right to give it to her husband. And Loren deserved better than to be buried any longer under a name she had hated, under an identity she had despised.
Slowly Webb took his sunglasses off and placed them on his lap. He rubbed his face with both hand then stopped, pressed the fingertips against his tired eyes. Why hadn't she called? Damn it, damn it, why hadn't she called? Not from the Seahawk, not from Washington... Hadn't she trusted him anymore? Had she thought he had let her down? Had she thought he would refuse to help her or that he had no longer the power to? If she had called, maybe - just maybe - he would have been able to do something, anything to avoid what had happened. But he would never know.
Sighing he dropped his hands and put the sunglasses back on. No, he would never know.
Webb turned the ignition and backed the car out. As he reached the highway he threw the cover on the passenger's seat. A few miles ahead he knew a gas station where he would be able to change his clothes.
The End
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Author's Note: I've tried to write a story as close underneath the surface of the real show as possible (successfully?). And unfortunately there has been too much evidence of her death + an inconvenient timetable + a lot of other things. I also considered telling the "JAG family" who she had been but that would be a story of its own ... and this was about Loren.
A big thank you for the reviews.