RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Harm/Mac
Disclaimer: I do not own JAG
Author's Note: Finally an update. I hope you all have enjoyed my story thus far. And may God Bless Us with a wonderful new JAG season. Reviews always welcome!!! Enjoy!
Chapter Title: Mountains and Valleys
Marine Base
Outskirts of Iraq
1900 Iraqi time
Corporal Sanchez leaned back in his chair, a little aggravated at the line of questioning coming from his lawyer. His lawyer was supposed to be on his side, right? Sighing slightly, he gazed down at his hands folded together in his lap, initially thinking of how to answer the question given. More accurately, he was searching for what his lawyer may want to hear. In all honesty, the more he spoke of the event, the more he convinced himself that he might have overreacted. Such an admission left a bitter taste in his mouth, hating himself for taking this to an embarrassing point for him and Captain Morris.
"I don't know. I'm not sure," he finally whispered, eliciting another tired sigh, looking over at the Colonel, cursing himself for noticing how beautiful she looked, even though she wore the same type of Marine camouflage garb common for such bases. He was a Corporal, many ranks below her, and unable to notice such things.
Colonel Mackenzie nodded slightly, gazing down at the files in front of her. Over the course of the past few days, investigating the case turned quickly into hearsay, a case that could not be won in court. Though she wanted the best for her client, Corporal Sanchez, Mac knew immediately the best-meant keeping him out of court considering the lack of the evidence concerning his claims. Though Sanchez was certainly shot at as he was walking around the outside of the base, and later Captain Morris admitted to have shot his weapon towards the general area in which the Corporal was walking, none of that circumstantial evidence mattered. Considering Morris' excellent service record, and the knowledge that the scare of locals intruding on the base was quite real, no one believed Morris' capability to shoot at one of his own on purpose. Morris claimed to have seen an intruder, with a gun, sneaking into the base. And everyone believed him.
In the end, Mac soon discovered the true reasons for Sanchez's actions; he hated his CO. Which, of course, was not a reason to blame him for something he didn't do.
How did I get into this? Mac asked herself silently.
"Well, Corporal, I have to be honest here. I'm not sure how much I can help you. Your case just isn't strong enough to warrant a court-martial for Captain Morris," Mac explained, with some sympathy. Though not much. Personally, Mac felt Sanchez's actions were hardly that of a Marine, but of a spoiled, whining child who didn't receive the present he wanted for Christmas. Such Marines Mac had trouble making time for.
Sanchez shifted uneasily in his seat, the overwhelming heat making droplets of sweat form across his forehead. "So, ma'am, you're saying that's it?"
Mac shrugged. "Well, generally. Admiral Krennick requires a report from me, a recommendation as to whether there is enough evidence to go to trial. As merely the investigator of the case, above all else, I'll have to recommend no action be taken. However, I would suggest maybe talking to your CO, find out what really happened that night. You're all in a war zone here, and the last thing you need is to feel distrust throughout the base. I'm willing to act as a mediator between you and Captain Morris, if need be."
Sanchez looked away a bit, his mind whirling from the information given. He knew Colonel Mackenzie was probably right, and pursuing this case would only make situations worse in a time when Marines needed to be strong and work as a team. Yet to admit defeat, which seemed inevitable, wasn't like him. It would be quite difficult for him to do.
"Is that what you think should happen then?" Sanchez asked, finally looking to the Colonel for a reaction.
Mac smiled inwardly, sensing immediately that her time in Iraq was coming to an end. It had taken quite a few interviews and talks with her client and others to make it happen. She could almost feel the chill of the winter air in Washington, the Christmas lights probably shining brightly throughout town as she walked down the street at night, hand-in-hand with Harm. The smell of snow, cinnamon, and Harm's cologne quickly filled her nostrils.
She would be home soon.
And they could talk and really discuss everything that has happened. They loved each other too much not to. She didn't realize how desperately she longed to see him, to even talk to him.
Overall, Mac realized then this would be their first Christmas together.
It'll all work out. Harm will understand, Mac thought.
"I really think that is what you should do, Corporal." Mac's voice displayed confidence and didn't waver in the least. This decision was surely the right one.
Suddenly someone slipped through the huge tent that Mac had been using as her office and for interviews. Immediately she turned to see a Lance Corporal standing there. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but Admiral Krennick requests to speak with you."
Mac immediately felt a pang of guilt, not wanting to leave her client at such a crucial time. They were finally getting somewhere, finally convincing him that he should drop the charges on a weak case. The Navy and Marines would keep their reputation untarnished, no one's career would be over, and life could generally go back to normal. Leaving right now was the last thing she wanted to do. "Can you tell the Admiral I'm extremely busy?" For some reason, Mac knew she might pay for brushing her CO off, but the overall outcome of this case warranted such a risk.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the Admiral insisted that it was quite important," the Lance Corporal urged quietly. Obviously, his orders were to not leave this tent unless she was with him. His voice suggested as much.
What could be so urgent that it couldn't wait? Mac thought with anger. Though she felt some concern that something was indeed very wrong, the most likely reason for Krennick's insistence on speaking to her at once would be for a first hand report of the case. Or, better yet, tell Mac that she wouldn't be leaving Iraq anytime soon for God knows what reason.
That's the last thing I want to hear, Mac grimaced.
Looking to her client with regret, she asked quietly, "Would you like to wait here until I get back?"
"Actually, ma'am, I need to get back to my unit," Sanchez replied, standing up. "If that's okay."
Mac nodded, standing up as well. "Okay. Have you decided what you're going to do?" She didn't want to push too hard, yet she felt an agreement had secretly been reached.
Sanchez responded quietly, "I'm dropping the charges, ma'am." He then saluted, Mac doing so in return, and he quickly left. Mac felt a sense of goodness rush through her entire body, happy that the Corporal proved himself a man worthy to wear the uniform of a Marine. Such petty problems only hindered success and companionship so dear to a unit. Mac smiled to herself, the words "Unit, Core, God, Country" quickly filling her conscience, the unwritten code.
"Ma'am?" came the Lance Corporal's voice from behind, quickly breaking Mac's thoughts. Mac nodded and followed him out.
Marine Base
Iraq
1920 Iraqi time
As Mac walked beside the Lance Corporal across the base to the command center, where Admiral Krennick's call was waiting, she observed the small touches of Christmas on the huge tent structures. Red, green, and white lights glimmered in the dusk-like sky, tinsel stretched across entrances, and a holiday cheer distinctly characterized the moods of many officers they passed by. Though still two full weeks before Christmas, observing the holiday gave those who served here a chance to think of something else other than war, than killing, or being killed.
It gave them a chance to think of home.
In that moment, Mac could think of nothing else save Harm.
They entered the huge structure, the Lance Corporal creating a hurried pace down the hallway toward command headquarters. Whatever was in need of her attention, the Lance Corporal didn't want her to be late for it. Or perhaps Admiral Krennick stressed to him to have her back as soon as he could. And even though the Admiral would have no idea if he did this or not, the Lance Corporal probably assumed that someway, somehow, he would be in a lot trouble if he didn't obey his orders to the tee.
The command center soon came into view, and the Lance Corporal headed quickly to a quiet office across the way. His strides were long, and Mac inwardly thanked God for creating her tall and able to keep up. Reaching the office, the Lance Corporal opened the door and moved to the side, allowing Mac space to walk in behind him. Moving to the desk, he gestured to the receiver off the phone, lying in waiting for her.
"You can talk to her in here, Colonel. The Admiral wanted privacy," the Lance Corporal informed, saluting quickly, and leaving her alone, the door closing quietly behind him.
In the silence of the room, Mac observed her surroundings, noticing she was in a high-ranking officer's space. A Colonel Richards, she thought to herself, looking to the small nameplate at the front of his desk. Immediately she saw the number of awards and plaques of achievement hanging from the walls, an office distinctly that of a Marine. Smiling inwardly, Mac knew how often people said that about her office, bearing the same type of pictures, and "aura", as her fellow colleagues liked to put it.
Picking up the receiver finally, Mac stated quietly, "Colonel Mackenzie."
"Colonel, good to hear from you," came the Admiral's response. Good to hear from me?
"You requested me, ma'am," Mac responded, anxious to get this over with. If she was lucky, Mac could wrap up this case by the end of the night, able to leave for home tomorrow, at the earliest.
The Admiral suddenly paused, the seconds ticking away with an uncertainty that Mac couldn't explain. Something was very wrong. "I wanted you to be the first to hear this, Colonel."
Mac blinked with confusion, her heart racing a bit involuntarily. "Hear what, ma'am?" It was the only logical question she could think of, now sensing her inward approach towards the edge of a large cliff. Would she be pushed over? How far down was the fall? Could she survive? Or maybe she was overreacting.
Yet a second pause by Admiral Krennick shot fear through Mac's entire body. "It has to do with Commander Rabb, Colonel. He didn't show up for work today. We called his cell phone, his home, no answer at either," Krennick informed, the difficulty of doing so evident underneath the surface of her strong voice. Mac sensed it immediately, only because the same fear raged through her own veins. The information seemed strange, out of place. So what if Commander Rabb hadn't answered his phones? For some reason, she didn't see where this conversation was going, even though the underlying mood made her shiver uncontrollably.
What was really wrong here?
Why was Krennick telling me this?
"Is there something you wanted me to do about that, ma'am?" Mac asked, though the question sounded instantly stupid the minute it came out of her mouth. But what else was there to say? It was all just too strange.
Krennick, however, ignored her question completely and continued, "Commander Turner went to his apartment, and with great suspicion, broke the door down ..." Again the pause. And again Mac felt her heart gaining speed. Broke the door down? Why? Was she to assume the worse here? Was anything going to prepare her for what was to come next?
"His apartment was completely in disarray, indicating someone else's presence there. I don't know if they were looking for something, or just wanted to terrorize ... that I don't know. But NCIS is there now, investigating ..." Krennick explained further, yet Mac quickly interrupted.
"How is Commander Rabb?"
Again that pause. And Mac didn't know why, but she felt her breath catch in her throat.
She needed to assume the worse.
Krennick sighed heavily, emotion thick and suffocating. "Commander Turner found a note and a picture. The note stressed demands must be met, otherwise this would happen again. The picture ... was of Commander Rabb. He was ..." However, Krennick stalled.
Was what? Mac asked anxiously to herself, her hand immediately reaching to cover her mouth in awe. No, it couldn't be ... she didn't know exactly what Krennick was going to say next, but wasn't good. The emotions switched between anger and despair deep inside her, unable to decide which one would do her the most good right now.
Before Mac could ask the obvious question, Krennick completed the statement, one in which didn't register right away. As if Mac wasn't really here, didn't really hear those words, the words that terrified her in their mere existence the day she admitted her love for Harm. She almost wanted to ask again, to ensure she heard the words correctly, if she should allow herself to comprehend such a horrific meaning. A meaning that dared to poison her, dared to suffocate her.
The words that took her breath away.
Again, however, the words came. This time there was no mistake.
"He was dead."
Harmon Rabb's apartment
North of Union Station
2300 EST
Well it's all in your mind
It's all in your mind
The air itself was dead.
Overwhelming.
Stale.
These words echoed through Mac's mind as she entered the trashed apartment, the apartment she knew so well. Merely stepping inside immediately elicited painful tears, though quiet and subtle. Actually, Mac had to admit since she heard the news, since Krennick gave her the immediate order to return home as soon as possible, she did nothing but cry, even though, since there was no body, there was a small inch of hope. Either way, she knew she might never see Harm ever again. In some ways Mac scolded herself for being so weak, for showing such raw sadness that caused many of her colleagues to show concern for her well being. Yet no one knew.
Nobody had any damn clue what she was going through right now.
Nobody.
Well it's all in your mind
It's all in your mind
That loneliness caused her to cry even more, the tears blurring her vision as she walked through the familiar space. The floors creaked a bit under her cautious steps, those hindered by the painful truth. She didn't want to go any further, didn't want to think about this any longer. The anger rose quickly inside of her, creating an image of herself that she did not comprehend, an image that seemed separate and lost. Mac barely knew who she was the more she endured the ache of losing Harm.
Oh, Harm ...
And I wanted to be
I wanted to be
Wanted to be
Fighting off the tears, she walked across the floor, seeing clear indications of NCIS' work here. It actually seemed as if they might have been here all day. Everything seemed unmoved, untouched, left completely where they had found it. Mac fought back the urge to clean up the mess, not because she was a Marine, but because this was Harm's apartment. Because she had done it for him before, especially when he was gone on assignment. Because Mac wanted to remember how it was, before the mess. Because all she could see was Harm ...
Cooking, staring back at her with a wide smile ...
Waiting for her to return home from work, asleep on the couch ...
At the top of the stairs, promising to hold her for the rest of her life ...
Holding her tight now as she wept ...
A ghost-like image ...
Why did you leave me?
Your good friendThe tears streamed down her face now. Mac couldn't stop them any further, even if she wanted to. Yet she didn't. She needed to feel this, needed to feel the pain, if only to remember him better. By feeling the pain did she see his face in the darkness of her eyelids, desperately reaching out to touch him, to comfort him, to feel his love. Yet emptiness responded.
That was the correct feeling now ...
The feeling she couldn't explain ...
Empty.
Well I cannot believe
You got a devil up your sleeve
"Colonel Mackenzie?"
The call of her name immediately split through her thoughts, causing her to gaze to the door. A person she didn't expect.
"Sturgis." No need to be formal now, Mac thought. No reason at all.
He stepped into the apartment, evidently surprised to see her here. Mac wished then she looked better, that the sadness didn't drip off of her appearance so noticeably. However, Sturgis knew how much she loved Harm, and perhaps the best person to catch her here was him. There was no explanation to be made, no stammering for correct words to explain her unprofessional actions. A friend wouldn't come to the crime scene, cry herself silly, walk around as if the apartment was her own ...
A wife would, though ...
Cry for her husband ...
And he's talking to me
And I cannot believe
Wiping the tears away from her cheeks, still attempting to hide her embarrassing emotions despite knowing there was no reason to, Mac replied quickly, "I just ... uh ... came to see ..."
Sturgis stepped up to her further. "I know." It was all he needed to say.
And I wanted to be
I wanted to be
I wanted to be
Mac nodded, smiling slightly, though more as a cover-up than as a reaction. Yet how could she truly hide this? For months she and Harm hid their relationship, and so often did Mac pray that it would end. If anything, Mac wanted to announce to the world that her soul mate was Harmon Rabb, Jr. That one day they would be married, have an enriching life full of memories, pictures of birthday parties, family vacations, and graduations. This never became a possibility in her mind. Sure, they feared for each other's lives, they feared they would never return home.
But they always came home.
This feeling ... this sadness ... these tears ... were they part of the deal?
So consumed by the happiness to come for their life together, she didn't allow herself to see the darkness, the valleys that were sure to characterize much of the journey.
Your good friend
Sturgis walked closer to her now, only a few feet away as they stood in and amongst the tragedy. They could stand nowhere else now, and Mac had no intentions to move. In that moment did she feel a link to Sturgis, both having lost someone they truly cared about. Someone that was so apart of both of his life and hers. Someone they would miss with every part of their being. "You heard."
Mac nodded, her gaze turning to a picture standing on a tall set of shelves. Reaching over, she picked it up in her hands, her control over her tears diminishing long ago. There was no control now. No need for it.
Rubbing her fingers across the two people in the frame, her smile staring back at her as Harm hugged her playfully from behind, the laughter dancing in Harm's eyes, a smirk crossed her tight lips. Yes, she remembered this.
Well you're all scared and stiff
A sick stolen gift
"You found it first?" Mac asked, her eyes still boring into the faces staring back at her.
Sturgis nodded, now moving right up to her, looking over her shoulder at the picture she held in her hands. Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, he whispered, "I knew."
Mac turned then to look at him, immediately realizing what he was referring to. A relief washed over her now, in that moment feeling the chains ripped away, her heart free to feel whatever she wished. Her heart free to mourn.
And the people you're with
They're all scared and stiff
It was all she needed.
Before Sturgis realized what was happening, Mac was in his arms, hugging him, crying to him, weeping for all that seemed lost. The motion was so quick, so shocking, that all Sturgis could do was wrap his arms around her, allowing her the time to let all emotions out in the open. There was no hiding now. There was no need for it.
And I wanted to be
Wanted to be
Wanted to be
Not knowing what else to do, Sturgis allowed his own emotions to catch in his throat, not only for his apparently fallen friend, but also for the mourning woman in his arms. He had not allowed himself the time to do such a thing ... to release all that was bottled up since it started early this morning.
And with this freedom, all he could do was cry.
All he could do was hold her.
And that's exactly what he did.
Your good friendVietnam Wall
Washington, D.C.
0100 EST
Harmon Rabb, Sr.
This seemed to be the only place to connect with Harmon Rabb, Jr., Mac's eyes never leaving the name engraved so proudly in the memorial before her. So long, so wide, so many men and women lost during a difficult war. And even though her Harm's name would never end up here, Mac felt oddly enough that it had, next to the father Harm never really knew. Next the man he wanted to be.
Reaching a gloved hand to it, she rubbed her fingers across the etching, the strangeness of being here melting away. It was where she needed to be in the deep darkness of the night, the only place that gave her light. Her mind seemed certain that Harm was dead, especially after seeing the photograph. She had cried all day as if it were true. All day she sensed that, despite not having Harm's body, even if they found it, he would still be dead. Something seemed certain about it. Perhaps she was unwilling to hope, unwilling to allow herself to travel that difficult road if only to be disappointed at the end of the rainbow.
She didn't want to put herself through that.
Sniffling slightly, mostly from the cold, Mac allowed her eyes to gaze down the length of the wall, the length of the memorial, seeing only two or three other people standing as stiffly as herself. At this time of night, she almost didn't expect anybody to be here. Yet her heart felt touched by the images, a woman finally moving slightly, setting a simple flower on the ground next to the tall memorial. Oddly, Mac felt herself soon doing the same, though not to this huge wall, but to a rather small headstone.
Mac knew she had lost him.
And that thought alone sent a lonely chill up her already cold body, switching her gaze from the woman to the sky, the stars twinkling in the cold, clear night.
"Saying goodbye?" a voice asked, a presence stepping up beside her.
Mac quickly looked, in that split second praying to God that Harm had suddenly appeared before her, only for her, waiting for her ...
But the man standing next to her was not Harm. He wore a bulky, blue, winter jacket over a tall, thin, yet muscled frame, rubbing his gloved hands together in the hope of keeping warm before he folded his arms tight across his chest. His eyes stared momentarily at the wall, and then drifted to stare at Mac, his face flushed red with cold.
Mac sighed and looked back to the wall, unwilling to offer good company. Today was just not the day. "Yeah." The answer came off more honestly than she wanted to admit, though the coldness was still there.
The man nodded as he looked back to the wall. The cold response didn't seem to faze him. "Harmon Rabb, Sr." he recited, his eyes squinting at the name.
There were a thousand names in front of them, so numerous that it often made Mac sick to think that so many lives were lost in such a war. Yet among all those names, the man beside her chose to recite the one name she was here to mourn. Perhaps lucky, perhaps coincidence, yet Mac didn't think so. "Who are you?" she asked, the anger rising in her voice as she pulled her own arms against her to ward off the chilling wind.
The man only smiled. "Don't be alarmed, Colonel Mackenzie."
Okay, Mac thought, now I'm alarmed.
"I don't know who you are, but if this is some kind of a joke ..." she began to reply in a highly angry voice.
But quickly he lifted a hand to stop her protests. "No joke, Colonel. I came here looking for you. I thought you might be here."
Mac huffed a little, eager to have this man leave her. Too much of her mind was consumed by Harm, his likely death. Hardly able to think straight, she certainly didn't need to deal with something like this right now.
Haven't I suffered enough already? Without having to deal with some jerk on the street?
"If you don't tell me who you are, and what you're doing here ..."
Again the man interrupted, turning towards her completely now. He almost seemed familiar, causing Mac to search frantically through her memory to remember where and when she may have seen him before. This man had essentially turned her emotions from alarm, to anger, to confusion, and finally curiosity. Who was this guy?
"My name is Daniel Winters, CIA. And I have some information for you, Colonel." His voice remained calm and collected, a true agent at heart. Mac searched his eyes, wondering then if she should believe him at all. Often did she credit herself for seeing the truth in someone's eyes, and right now this guy seemed quite sincere. Now finally looking at him through a clear lens rather than one clouded with anger, his demeanor shouted structure, a calm and subtlety she saw only in Clayton Webb. As strange as that was, his words seemed to top the chart of oddity. Information? For her? Maybe it did have something to do with Clay.
Intrigued, Mac asked quietly, though with obvious disbelief, "CIA? I can't wait to hear this." She was curious, but she knew better than to show that. Above all else, she needed to hide her true feelings towards him right now.
The man smiled warmly, a smile of confidence. A smile that spoke of a secret that he was only going to share with her.
Stepping a bit closer, his arms still tight around himself to fight off the cold, he bent down to whisper three words.
"Harm is alive."
...More to Come ...
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