Disclaimer: Don't own JAG—just playing with the characters to see what would happen if. . .

A/N: Thanks for all the very positive reviews. It's been a long, long time since I've tried to do any fiction writing and it's gratifying to see I can still be somewhat decent. (Of course, it helps to have the parameters of the characters already laid out and to be familiar with the "canon" of the series.) I had forgotten just how much positive reviews helps "keep the muse alive". Here is the latest "update"—I have a specific purpose in mind, although I don't know how many "chapters" there will be. Hope you enjoy the remainder as much as you have enjoyed the first installment. (And still working on "All's Fair," too.)

A/N: Notes about characters: Couldn't remember for sure what the situations with Tiner and Webb were—especially Webb, so made it up. (The last I knew about Webb, Mac had decided never to speak to him again. Which, given the situation, seemed warranted. Still, for a party celebrating two lives, it seemed appropriate to give him some space.)

2000 (Military time) (8:00 p.m. Civilian Time)
McMurphy's Bar and Tavern
Washington D.C.
Same Day

Greg spotted the JAG contingent towards the back of the bar. There was a mixture of both "old" and "new" personnel. He recognized almost everybody except for a tall (although not as tall as Captain Rabb—damn him anyway! Why did he have to be so tall—a human skyscraper is what he was!), bald-headed and trim figure. He made his way back to them, thinking it was amazing how different people looked out of uniform. All of a sudden, he spotted Petty Office Coates— "Jen"—at the same time she spotted him and waved to him to join their group.

"Vic!" She screamed over the music. "I think you know everybody except the Admiral."

Commander Roberts was standing by the tall figure, nursing a draft beer, and he did the introductions. "Admiral, please meet Lieutenant Gregory Vucovik, the next 'Commander Rabb' of JAG." Did Greg see a smirk lurking around the commander's face, as if to quietly tease the tall figure? And did he also hear someone in the crowd snicker, "You mean, the next 'Rabb wanna be'? "Lieutenant, this is Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, now retired, former JAG."

Greg held out his hand in greeting, ignoring the under-the-breath comment coming from somewhere in the crowd he thought he heard. So this was the formidable former JAG. "I've heard a lot about you, Admiral. All good, I assure you."

Greg felt like he was back in basic training when the Admiral's eyes raked over him in inspection. He felt his backbone stiffen automatically. "At ease, lieutenant." The older man snorted. "The next 'Rabb', huh? Well, I'm glad you're not my problem. One Rabb in a lifetime is more than enough." Greg couldn't believe his ears—did Commander Roberts giggle! The older man turned his attention to the commander. The near smirk lurking on the commander's face disappeared—but only for a moment. The admiral's attention turned back to Greg. "Lieutenant, Commander—excuse me, I understand it's Captain, now—Rabb is not a role model to follow, at least in some aspects."

Greg was trying to figure out how to discretely ask him why, when General Cresswell joined them and shook hands with the Admiral. "It's good to see you, Admiral." The general took the very dry martini that Jen handed to him. "You put together a great team. It's too bad it's being broken up."

"Yeah, I heard about that." The admiral took a swallow of his own draft beer. "Tell me about that."

Greg badly, desperately wanted to hang at the fringes of this conversation to glean more information about Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie from tidbits dropped by their former CO and equally important, find out what the current situation with the position in San Diego was, but Jen pulled him away from them. "Vic, you have to meet Tiner." She dropped her voice. "He was the admiral's yeoman before I got the position—and he's just graduated from law school. He's going onto OCS." Reluctantly, Greg let himself be led away from the "font of all important information"—the two senior officers.

Later. . .

Greg was nursing his beer at the bar listing to bits and pieces of conversation around him. His ears were purposefully tuned to special words, specifically "Rabb," "Mac"—and variations thereof. He winced inwardly. "It's like I'm on a reconnaissance mission—I should be enjoying myself." In fact, he was casually loitering near a group of women surrounding Lieutenant Simms. He was only slightly awed when he recognized Congresswoman Bobbi Latham on the House Arms Appropriations Committee. He vaguely wondered what her connection with either Rabb or Colonel MacKenzie was. He recognized he must have been more shook up than he initially realized by the news concerning Rabb and MacKenzie he had heard this morning—God! Was it only this morning? It seemed like ions ago!

" . . .she was almost literally at the alter with another man when Captain Rabb's plane went down at sea!" His internal radar picked this up and he edged as subtly as he could to the constellation of women at the bar. "Nobody, but nobody, expected the complete cancellation of the wedding; a postponement, sure, but not a complete cancellation. It was," and Harriet giggled a little, "something of a scandal at the time."

One of the women (whom Greg didn't recognize) sighed. "So romantic. . ." He saw the sharp glance Harriet gave the woman.

"Not so romantic as much as a headache. Canceling the wedding took as much of a checklist as did planning the wedding. And, of course, we were all concerned with Captain Rabb's physical condition. It was a very scary time for all of us."

Greg really wanted to ask a question but he wasn't about to insert himself into a gaggle of women, either. He decided he had to content himself with listening. Oh where, just where, was that notebook when he needed one, anyway?

Bobbi Latham spoke up. "You would have though they would have gotten together then, wouldn't you?"

Harriet fingered her ginger ale glass and frowned. "Yeah. But they didn't." She shrugged.

Another woman, one Greg didn't recognize, continued asking the questions Greg would have. "So, what happened?"

The frown from Harriet's face hadn't disappeared. "Captain Rabb was accused of murdering a pregnant lieutenant in the office."

Greg felt like he had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. This was the man who had taken the position in Europe that would eventually lead to becoming the JAG itself! How in the hell did the man's military career survive, let alone get a promotion?

Apparently, the rest of the women were equally shocked. "You're kidding, right?" After a deep breath restored some kind of perspective for Greg, he glanced at the cluster of women and saw a look of resignation on—was that Bobbi Latham's face? He leaned into the group of women an inch or two closer.

"No." Harriet turned to the Congresswoman. "You remember that, don't you?"

Bobbie nodded, fingering her glass. "Yeah. Not very pleasant." She paused, looked around. Greg quickly lowered his gaze, wanting very much not to be discovered eavesdropping. If Bobbi noticed his rapt attention to the group, she didn't say anything. She picked up the story.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. I went to see him." Greg heard a dry, low chuckle. "There are advantages to being in Congress. It took some doing—waving of ID and threats of appropriation cutting, but I was able to get in." She looked at everybody else except for Harriet. "JAG people were instructed to stay away from him for the duration."

Harriet nodded. "Yeah. We were told to not even give the appearance of trying to influence the investigation one way or the other."

One of the other ladies commented. "Comm-uh—Captain Rabb seems like such a heroic figure—who would have thought . . ."

Bobbi snorted, sipped her drink. Greg thought it might have been a cognac—maybe. "Well, people don't necessarily like heroes or legends, especially up close and personal. Anything to bring 'em down."

"Well, what happened to the investigation? He obviously wasn't convicted."

Harriet's face showed her distaste. "It turns out Commander Ted Lindsey was the guilty party. Heresented both the Admiral and Captain Rabb for years." She turned to the speaker. "He thought the admiral scuttled his chances at promotion." She shook her head. "I've never figured out just why he resented the Captain so much, though. But then I didn't know Lindsey that well, either." Her face turned thoughtful and she looked around as if to look for her husband. "Maybe Bud knows. I'll have to get him to tell me someday. . ."

Bobbi nodded. "After it was all over, I pulled some strings to make sure nothing showed up in his service record."

Greg took a sip from his drink and thought about that. It was helpful to have friends in high places, he decided—especially in places that controlled funding. It was something he was going to have to keep in mind, maybe cultivate himself, given the opportunity. But how in the hell did Rabb get those kinds of connections, anyway? Greg consoled himself with the thought Rabb had been "in town" for at least ten years, if not longer.

"Bet that was hard on the Colonel." The speaker got a sage look on her face, as though she herself was putting herself in the colonel's place. Then she added, "But why didn't they get together after that?"

Harriet shook herself. "One word: Paraguay." There was a pause. "That was ugly."

"Paraguay? What did Paraguay have to do with JAG Ops?" Greg wasn't the only one who was mystified.

Harriet signed. "Clayton Webb."

Who?

Just then, the door to the tavern opened and an average-sized man, with graying light brown hair walked in. He joined the men of JAG in the back, and Greg could see him shaking hands with the retired Admiral and Commander Roberts. He glanced back at Harriet just in time to see Harriet nod towards the newcomer. "That's him." Grey also saw the frown that just briefly crossed her face. "I've never figured out just how or why Mr. Webb had access to JAG in the first place."

Greg decided it was time to rejoin the men on his personal reconnaissance mission. He refreshed his drink and came up on the men just in time to hear the retired Admiral comment to the General, "I hope you have the good sense to keep this man out of your office. He was forever grabbing Rabb and MacKenzie for various missions. Damn near got both of them killed, too--several times." The last came out in a very low "bear" growl of displeasure.

Greg gulped. There was a certain implication of the closenest of death simply by virtue of wearing the military uniform; however, there was also a certain implication that went along with being a lawyer in the military. The thought that lawyers were as vulnerable to death at any time as any infantry man in the Army was a new idea, something he would have to consider later, for what it was worth. Gregwasn't a coward, but hedidn't think he was a complete fool either, to court death on purpose when sometimes the smarter thing to do was dodge.

The general's mouth twitched. Greg had the impression General Cresswell was not about to respond directly to that comment—to do so would be to implicitly criticize the previous CO of JAG. Instead, the newcomer lifted his drink in a mini-salute to the admiral.

"Sorry, A.J. I couldn't help it if you had the best people."

The admiral snorted. "Yeah, right." He glared in mock seriousness at the man. "The truth will out, Clayton. It seemed pretty obvious after you all got back and recovered, the real object was MacKenzie. Rabb was just part of the package."

Greg was surprised at the flush of pink/red that marched across the man's face. He was really, really curious—but he also knew it wasn't his place, especially if he wanted to keep his data gathering under wraps, to ask questions. It was Commander Turner who inadvertently filled in the gaps for Grey. "Yeah, Clayton. What was that all about, anyway? Seeing Mac when everybody knew there was a 'thing' between Harm and Mac?"

Greg almost involuntarily lost his low profile when he almost chocked. He managed to swallow discretely and clamped his lips together to keep from commenting. The longer he was on this "mission", the more startled he was getting. Although, he mused, I should be getting used to this.

"I never thought Rabb was the man for her." The man was definitely on the defensive. "He was so obtuse, oblivious . . ."

There was a surprise chuckle of agreement from the Admiral. "I'll grant you that, Webb." Then Greg saw the admiral bite his lower lip, as though he was pursuing a thought rambling through his brain. "I don't know if it was 'oblivion' as much as 'denial', though." The group of men paused, as if to collectively think about this, as though it was a new thought. "I remember when he resigned his commission to go down to Paraguay, I asked him what he was going to do to keep her. He was really surprised by that question."

Greg sighed. There were so many surprises coming to light, although all of this seemed to be "old history" to the old JAG group. He told himself, "Get used to it." He was beginning to understand just what the admiral had met when he had told Greg not to model himself after Rabb. He edged closer to the group, making sure he was standing next to Commander Roberts. He instinctively knew Commander Roberts would provide something of a shield against the older, higher-ranking officers—although he had no idea just why this might be so. Commander Roberts noticed, and being the gentlemen that he was, made a move to include him in the group. After all, it wasn't like Greg was the only one that wasn't circulating, "working the room", as the politicians would say.

"Clay, meet Lieutenant Vukovic, the next 'star' at HQ JAG." There was genuine warmth about his smile. Greg wasn't sure what to make of that. He had been aware during the case he had worked with then Commander Rabb, Roberts was astonished at appearance of complete cooperation between him and the new Captain. Nevertheless, he was not a complete fool and he was going to take advantage of every "gift" to come his way. He put his hand out to shake the other's hand and put a full-fledge smile of greeting on his face.

"Clayton Webb. I was the Under Secretary of State." From his side, Greg heard the admiral snort.

"Come on, Webb. Give it a break. Everybody knows it's CIA." Even Greg caught the undertone of deeply buried anger directed towards Webb. That anger received an acknowledgement when Clay's entire posture assumed a defensive stance. Greg made a mental note of that and, just to make conversation, asked the man, "So what are you doing now?"

"Retired," was the short answer. That brought Greg up short. He then noticed an embarrassed silence fall over the group as Clay moved to grasp Greg's outstretched hand. It was with surprise he noticed a trembling of that hand. He also noticed Commander Roberts glance at Commander Turner and lean into the admiral's ear to whisper something. The Admiral put his drink down.

"Gentlemen, it's been a fun evening, but we—I need to go."

Greg did not want his reconnaissance mission to end quite yet. He asked, "Where are you going? The evening is still young." He was the recipient of a fierce stare from the ex-Seal.

"Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie's plane departs in a couple of hours. I'm going to go see them off."

Greg stepped back and noticed a few select people starting to leave. He was profoundly frustrated. He had the sense he didn't have all the information he had discovered he needed so badly for personal satisfaction. How was he going to proceed?

He decided enough was enough. He could continue his "mission" at another time, in other places. This was a party, after all, and it was time he enjoyed himself. He mentally shook himself and made a beeline towards the cluster of ladies he had been next to earlier.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .