Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
August 2007, Monday
- Emergency room of a hospital in Washington D.C.
"Where is that doctor, darn it?"
Annoyed Mac ran a hand through her slightly wet hair. She felt hot, uncomfortable and wanted to go and kick Johnson a second time real good or maybe just jump out of her itching skin.
"Mac..."
"Oh, shut up, Harm! It's one hour and seven minutes since he was seen last."
The nurse had really done her best to clean away most of the dust but Mac still wished for a long although not necessarily hot shower. Unfortunately that wasn't an option at the moment ... or anytime soon, considering and not only because she didn't even have a place to do that any more. Scratching her face - that was plastered with no less than five band-aids™ now - she tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed.
"Mac -"
"I've got no broken bones, no internal bleeding and only three cuts needed stitches." Mac shifted again and suppressed a groan. "I really don't know why it takes that long to-"
"Mac!" Harm rolled his eyes. "Could you please stop that? Just watching you makes me hurting all over and I don't even have all these bruises and abrasions. Or that concussion."
"Light concussion, please," Mac snapped irritably.
"And they've got more than enough to do out there," Harm continued as if she'd said nothing. "Be patient, most of the time you talked to the police and Rockwell anyway."
Mac muttered under her breath but lay back and Harm sighed with silent relief. A shaken, barely conscious Mac had scared him to death but the overdrive version was starting to get on his nerves. Not that she hadn't every right to be upset but nevertheless it was ... exhausting.
Some minutes passed. Mac stared at the ceiling. She didn't want to close her eyes. She knew when she closed her eyes there would be this vague memory waiting for her.
This vague memory of breathless silence after the explosion, the street frozen in shock; of a red corvette roaring backwards through the dust and coming to a screeching halt. The memory of doors flying open on both sides of the street, the noise of upset screams and questions ... of Harm running towards her through rubble and broken glass his face white with panic.
She remembered being cradled in his arms, shocked, confused, stunned, fighting to understand. Fighting to look around him and at the house and apartment that held anything she possessed, anything that mattered to her. Her own stammering voice.
She remembered the sound of sirens in the distance.
The picture of the ruins of the house burnt into her brain ... the front of the first floor almost completely missing, the second floor badly damaged, ceiling hanging freely. Looking as if a giant had taken a bite out of it. Smoke and dust and debris everywhere.
"Any word if they have found the woman who lived upstairs yet?"
Harm avoided her eyes as he shook his head. "Last thing I heard was that they were still searching for her."
A moment Mac cupped her face in her hands, gritted her teeth hard enough that pain shot through her jaw. But there was nothing - NOTHING she could do right now. And that was the worst thing. She looked at her former husband again.
"Harm, you shouldn't be here. Rockwell told you that Cresswell is expecting you back at JAG headquarters for a full report as soon as possible."
"Emphasis was on 'as soon as'. So there's room for interpretation."
"Harm... That's asking for trouble."
"I will not leave here until it's clear where you'll stay the night."
"Didn't we already have this conversation a few days ago?"
Harm smiled ruefully. "I guess my apartment is still out of the question?"
"Yes."
A short uncomfortable silence followed Mac's quiet answer. And both of them knew that while they had made the first step it would still take time ... lots of time for the wounds to heal. They jumped as someone cleared his throat at the door.
"Ms. Mackenzie is of course welcome to stay with us as long as she wants to. Her bag is still at the house anyway."
"Harrison!" Mac's eyes grew wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Well," Webb's domestic stepped carefully into the room, "Commander Rabb was kind enough to inform me of what has happened. Besides, it's all over the news."
"Oh." Mac shot Harm a glance who shrugged. "Well, I'm ... grateful for the offer but..."
"I'm sure it would be the best solution. If I understood correctly Commander Rabb is supposed to return to his office. At the house you would have company ... just in case."
"Well..."
"The doctor will probably agree easier to release you instead of keeping you for the night," Harrison insisted with somewhat unusual force. "Your room is still prepared."
"I...," Mac blushed. It had a rather strange effect on her bruised face. "Harrison, I really appreciate that you drove over and... But - but I don't know... I'm not sure if you know what - what happened ... between..."
"Ms. Mackenzie," Harrison interrupted sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The only thing that kept Clayton from dragging himself out of bed - despite fever, dehydration and all - was that I've promised to make you stay at the house until you are well again. And if you're not he will not be bearable for days and weeks. So would you please have some mercy on an old man!"
Mac stared at him, jaw hanging. A helpless look at Harm showed her that he was equally speechless. So she finally snapped her mouth shut and swallowed.
"Well, uhm, uh ... OK."
October 2007, two months later
- Webb residence, in the evening
And so she had stayed.
Mac put her chin in her hand and looked through the window into the dark and stormy night. Raindrops like shimmering pearls still covered the glass from outside, illuminated by the soft light of the living room. The long and unusual hot summer had finally turned a cold and rainy fall ... a constant source of complaints for people who had cursed the heat as long as it lasted. Mac pursed her lips as her mind wandered again.
It was one of life's little ironies that she had almost got killed by a man who had been arrested hours ago. The final police report confirmed that Johnson had placed the bomb in her apartment on Friday, just after he had invaded her office. That had been his first mistake. If he had left the room at JAG headquarters alone she would really have died that day. But as things were she never went back to her apartment ... and everything took a different turn.
Involuntarily Mac sighed. Johnson's trial would begin in two weeks and Ellis, Harm's assistant or better ex-assistant, would testify for the prosecution. Stupid, poor little Ellis who had been torn between incompatible loyalties ever since he had found out that his distant cousin was behind the letters Ensign Arden had told him about and which he had so innocently reported to his superior. Mac almost felt pity for him considering how Johnson must have rounded on the young man after his confrontation with Harm in the corridors of JAG headquarters. Almost. Because it had been Ellis' blind belief in his last living relative that had nearly caused Clayton's death. A relationship that was nowhere documented because it was - as some investigator had put it rather cruelly - 'the result of a fling'.
Vendell still insisted that he had never asked his friend for help or had ever known of his activities or even knew him that well. But this lie fell more and more apart because more and more evidence was found that the two men had been in the same high school although in different classes, had always kept in touch although they had never served together.
Johnson himself kept an iron silence. He didn't even tell where he had disposed of Webb's wheelchair, ID or cell phone. None of these things had turned up again, much to Clay's annoyance. The copy of the file had been found hidden in Johnson's own car. The psychiatrist who had talked to the former marine and ex-agent described him as intelligent, cold, calculating and lacking any moral understanding. For him she still had attacked his best friend ... reason enough to punish her.
"Check."
"Huh?" Startled Mac turned back around and met the eyes of the man who was sitting across from her. Then she lowered her gaze on the chessboard between them. "Oh dear."
Her black king was threatened by two bishops and a queen while a white pawn was just one step from reaching her end of the board and being transformed into a second queen. Three weeks ago Webb had announced that she was more than good enough now and had taken his queen back into the game. And although he still beat her most of the time she was slowly becoming a real match for him ... at least as long as she paid attention.
Staring down at the black and white stones Mac felt a strange pain in her chest.
She had got used to these silent evenings they spent in front of the chessboard, playing for hours without a word. She had got used to coming from the office, changing into comfortable clothes and settling down at his side, on the sofa in the living room or outside on the terrace. She had learned soon that a paraplegic was by no means in his wheelchair from dawn till dusk. Sometimes they talked about their day, watched TV or listened to some CDs ... or just sat together reading their respective books. Sometimes she worked on some fossils she had bought, cleaning them carefully while Webb played a little on the piano. Or she listened to him practicing for a take at the studio - now that they had started recording 'This time it's magic' - and gave advice how to read a tricky part best.
Except for the first two weeks they had been at the stables almost every weekend and much to her own surprise Mac had agreed to riding lessons. It had turned out to be fun although the huge difference between SITTING on a horse and RIDING it still amazed her. A few times she had accompanied Webb on his frequent visits to his mother. It was hard to tell if Porter Webb recognized her - or even her son. But the old lady seemed always pleased to see them.
Every now and then AJ came over and worked with Webb in the gym. Usually he stayed for dinner or even the night then and the three of them had had many interesting conversations. They had gone to a match of one of his baseball teams once. It lost.
Even Harm had stopped by twice. He and Webb still reminded her of two dogs carefully circling around each other with raised hair but at least they were talking. Besides, they had never been the buddy-buddy kind of friends.
She had made a careful truce with Harrison. Neither she nor Webb had ever mentioned that moment on the hill. They had never talked about the fight in the hospital.
She had never told anybody about the strange manifestation of her 'gift' while Webb had been locked into that trunk.
"Mac?"
Once more Webb's calm voice snapped her out of her musing. She looked up and found him smiling at her.
"Hard day at work?"
Mac stared blindly for a second. She knew she should tell him, had to tell him but nodded instead.
"You want to talk about it?"
It was an offer not a question and she knew Clay wouldn't press her. He never did. Mac looked at the chessboard. She opened her mouth and shut it again. Running her fingers through her hair she exhaled.
"Clay... Would you mind if I give up and go upstairs? I'm tired."
"Of course not. Have a good night."
Mac got to her feet and smiled at him and Webb smiled back. In the door she hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. He was quietly sorting the pieces in their start position an absent look on his face. The sure movement of his hands drew her gaze as he turned the stones so they were facing their counterparts across the chessboard. A little habit she had noticed for some time now.
And again a pain she hadn't expected shot through her heart. Biting her lips she turned quickly and headed for the stairs. The little things, yes. The little things were what made her so comfortable here in this house. Small, tiny gestures ... normally unnoticed but always there, giving peace, offering reassurance.
It had been the loss of the little things that had saddened her most after the destruction of her apartment. Clothes and furniture and kitchen equipment all that could be purchased again. It was uncomfortable and expensive and annoying but bearable. But the precious little things with lots and lots of memories attached to them ... they were gone forever. The drawing the little Indonesian girl Liliana had given her years ago. An ugly baseball cap she had bought together with an equally ugly twin on a trip with Chloe. And how they had laughed all day wearing them. All her books and notes about paleontology and the plaster casts of dinosaur footprints from 'her' rock in Arizona; plaster casts she had taken herself as a child together with Uncle Matt. Everything was destroyed, vanished, blown up in flames.
Her landlord had been visibly relieved when she had told him she would not go back into the apartment after the renovation. In fact there would not even be a renovation because the substance of the house was too badly damaged and the costs would be too high. Instead the building would be torn down and replaced by a new one. It was a miracle that no one had died that day; thank God the woman who lived upstairs had been at work. The various insurances and lawyers were having a feast putting together who would have to pay for what.
So Mac had started looking for a new home. She must have visited more than a dozen apartments so far but something had always been wrong. Either the rent was too high or she didn't like the neighborhood, another time the distance to JAG headquarters was inconvenient or the arrangement of rooms not suitable. But the one she had visited today had been perfect. Exactly what she had been looking for. Spacious, tasteful, a fair rent. She should be happy. She should have told Clay. Instead...
Entering her room and sitting down on her bed Mac stared blindly at the wall. She didn't know why she hadn't. It was beyond all question that she needed to find an apartment. She could not stay forever. It didn't matter that he had renewed his offer to stay as long as she wanted to. The whole situation was not right. It was impossible. It had always been. She knew that. But ... but tomorrow was soon enough to tell him. Yes, tomorrow she would tell him.
