Disclaimer: Don't own Jag—If I did, there would be TV movies about the new life and work in London (are you listening, DSB?)
A/N: For my reviewers: going to have to make a point of posting once a week for a couple of reasons:
The story is getting much more complex—and, therefore, more difficult to write to make it "work". I need to spend more time editing/rewriting than what I've been doing to keep it "authentic" and "within character" and still have certain things work out the way I want them. Thanks, by the way, for the hints on updating. Will try those and see if posting goes any better (I think I've pinpointed my difficulty: it's the "exporting" business that has me confused, at least at this point.)
A/N: Real life is beginning to intrude BIG time, meaning there is less time to spend writing. Will try to post every week at the same time—will advise when I plan to schedule that posting. And Thanks to all for the reviews!
A/N: About "Knocker House" later on—it's been 20 or 30 years since I've been to Washington D.C.—don't have a clue as to the local pancake houses—so I just made it up. It is supposed to be a combination between Village Inn and I-Hop, for those who are familiar with either and/or both pancake houses.
A/N: A word about "Greg": Throughout season 10, Lt. Vucovik was portrayed as a brash, arrogant, and aggressive very young lawyer—which are traits Captain Rabb displayed from the beginning. (If you don't believe me, review the very early episodes, including the series premier.) In this story, he is far from showing that bravado, except occasional. This necessarily shouldn't bother anyone, since he's doing what everyone else, regardless of temperament, does— comparing his actually feeling—and not necessarily showing them—with everyone's "public persona". It is my personal contention, with the possible exception of the Paraguay business, this is what the professional writers were doing with Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie. As unhappy as I was with the way the series went the last two or three years, from a human psychology stance, it made sense—especially after Paraguay.
A/N: Anybody know/remember Lt. Graves' first name, by the way? There is a purpose to the data-collecting Greg is doing (besides being a nice literary device to retell the history of the last ten years in a different way). The reason will be revealed later. Have faith, okay
Chapter Six—Into the Tiger's Den
2200 (Military Time) 10:00 p.m. (Civilian Time)
McMurphy's Bar and Tavern
Same Day/Same Night
Greg found, to his pleasure, Captain Krennick wasn't all that unattractive, even close up in a dance embrace. She was definitely older—she must be in her mid-to-upper 50s—but she was a very attractive 50's woman. He found much to admire in her—her drive, her ambition that had been banked but not extinguished. "So, you've been here three weeks. How do you like it so far?"
She shook her blonde hair and focused her mildly alcoholic-glazed eyes on him. She sighed. "It's different than when I left. A whole lot of newer, younger people about whom I haven't a clue." She nodded over to the table where the Rabbs were sitting. "I knew him when he first came to JAG. He was brash, impulsive, impetuous, and stubborn—and one hell of an attractive package, even without wings. Her—"she snorted, "Well, I wouldn't have pegged her as his 'type'—a Marine, for God's sake! He would really look good with a blonde—but I supposed that's rather superficial, isn't it?" He glanced over to them: Captain Rabb wasn't quite sprawled in one chair; the colonel was sitting as close as she could decently get, and his arm was draped on the back of her chair—not quite protective, but definitely a signal to other "alpha" males in the room. Their combined postures literally screamed, "He/She's MINE!" Greg saw Captain Krennick's mouth turn downward in a tiny frown of disapproval—just briefly—and then it disappeared. "I've never seen him look so—" Greg thought he could see her mental wheels spinning, looking for the right word—"possessive, at least in public."
Greg twirled her around the dance floor one more time. He laughed. "I never dreamed, in the short time I've known the colonel, I would see her so open with PDAs." Captain Krennick turned her attention on him, and he realized he blushed when those steel-blue eyes examined his face in detail.
"And how long have you worked with the colonel and Captain Rabb?"
"I've been here at JAG for a little over a year. The general told me the colonel was supposed to be my 'mentor'." He shrugged. "Never could get really close to her, though. She is one of the most 'private' individuals I've ever met. I did learn a lot from her about legal strategy and research." He grinned. "I'm beginning to understand just why she's so private." The Captain's eyebrows shot up in a questioning look. He stared right back into those eyes. He wasn't about to admit to a superior officer his data-gathering project. He also found himself thinking the captain in his arms wasn't nearly as intimidating as Captain Rabb had turned out to be, nor, at least for this night, nearly as "cold" as she was reputed to be. "As far as Captain Rabb, I've only known him by reputation—although we did work on a case together just right before their transfer orders came down. I found him—" this time, it was his turn to search for the right word, "a worthy and challenging colleague." Just right. He decided it was about time to not yield an inch to Captain Rabb, even in his own mind. Greg once again felt the speculative inspection look from those steel-blue eyes. "Tell me, Captain, what's the scuttlebutt in the field about the two of them?" He kept his voice light, mildly curious, and held his breath. Gossiping about superior officers was frowned on, although never defined specifically in the UCMJ like fraternization was, and gossiping with a superior officer about another superior officer definitely was not done. But, Greg justified in his own mind, this was a "wetting-down", a celebration of a promotion, and when was there a more appropriate time to talk about the same superior officer than that? In fact, he smugly thought, he could make a good case the "wetting down" custom was an unofficially sanctioned event to do just that.
Captain Krennick's face almost puckered into a sour-grapes grimace. "The legal team of MacKenzie/Rabb made their mark a long time ago. They were known as brilliant investigators and tigers in the courtroom, especially as a pair." The pucker straightened out into a simple frown. "A lot of what I heard bordered on hero-worship—and I find that both surprising and offensive, not just to me, personally, but to all the other JAG lawyers out there." A thoughtful look appeared on that face. "There really hasn't been too much of that sort of thing in the last three years or so. In fact," and Greg watched the surprise slowly take over as she thought about it, "there hasn't been much scuttlebutt for over two years. It's like—"and Greg saw her look long and hard at the couple—"they up and 'died!. I didn't give that much thought until now, but it's almost as if there was a breakup of the team." The surprise disappeared and she shrugged. "I can't imagine Admiral Chedwiggen letting that happen, though." She turned her full attention back to Greg. He was momentarily taken back by the full focus of those blue eyes and equally startled when she moved in closer to him. "Tell me about yourself," and Greg thought, if he closed his eyes, he could almost see her purr. If she were a cat, she would have been winding herself around his legs and meowing, in the manner of domesticated cats demanding attention and lavishing affection on their owners all at the same time—and by the way, marking their own territory. His mouth quirked just a little at the thought: he was sure, from what little he had heard of Captain Krennick, she wouldn't have minded either the feline analogy nor the thought of "feline multi-tasking", either, for that matter. He responded to her initiated closeness by automatically pulling her closer to him.
"Myself?"
"Yes. Career ambitions. Personal likes/dislikes, etc." There was a challenge in those eyes, as well as a demand showing through. He smiled at her—a certain part of his body was telling him he was thoroughly enjoying this challenging woman in his arms. Another one of those "epiphany moments" jumped into his mind—maybe that why he found Colonel MacKenzie so irresistible. When a personally powerful and authoritative woman "pushed" him in any way, shape, or form, be it in professional life or on other levels and in other places, he was really turned on. He was perceptive enough to realize he and Captain Rabb were enough alike to suspect the captain was challenged in like manner by the colonel.
"Are you pushing, Captain?"
"Damn right, I am, Lieutenant!"
Greg's grin grew wider, purposefully twinged with a small "dash" of wickedness. "I like older, more experienced women—especially when they get 'demanding' on me." A sideways tilt to the smile on her face and a startled and amused glance at him told him his double entendre had hit home.
"Be careful, Lieutenant. I could 'eat you' for breakfast.'"
"Keep pushing, Captain. I think you might find this 'meat' a little tough to swallow." Challenge issued and—challenge accepted. Greg became aware the music had stopped and they were alone, standing in the middle of the dance floor. He pulled away from her and gave her a little old-fashioned bow, "Thank you for the dance, Captain. I thoroughly enjoyed myself." That was for public consumption.
She leaned into him and said, "So did I. We'll discuss this later." Her tone left no doubt she had every intention of following up. He walked back to the group of men surrounding Captain Rabb and found himself the object of much scrutiny. He looked into Captain Rabb's eyes and found an amused interested expression, complete with warning signals, on his face. "Well, well, well. The sacrificial lamb survived his encounter with the tiger." There were muffled snorts from the remainder of the men. He flushed.
"Oh, she's not so bad once you get to know her," was all he said. Captain Rabb sat up suddenly and Greg found himself on the receiving end of a very intense stare. "Vucovik, not that it makes any difference and you'll listen, but watch yourself. You're literally 'playing with fire' there."
Greg felt a flush of real resentment flare up. "Captain, I didn't know you cared!" At that, Captain Rabb fell back and put his arm back around the chair where the colonel was sitting. She was smirking, as if she found all of this very funny. He saw them exchange still another glance and Captain Rabb shrugged his shoulders. "Don't say you haven't been warned!"
The colonel leaned back into Captain Rabb's shoulder and whispered into his ear. Captain Rabb's response was a reluctant, "If you want, babe." He watched the colonel disengage herself from the group of men. She tossed them all a dazzling smile. "Gentlemen, it's been fun—but the testosterone levels are getting a bit much. I'm rejoining the ladies." She grabbed her drink, which had just been replenished and walked over to the group of women at the other side of the room. In the meantime, Greg got tired of the constant intimidation this man was putting out. He remembered just in time, social and casual setting not withstanding, Captain Rabb was still a superior officer—and there were even higher ranked officers sitting there—and stalked off, angry and resentful. What the hell had he done, anyway, to earn animosity from either of the new pair? He went to the bar to order another drink and nurse his wounded male ego. He tried to pretend he didn't feel the intense curiosity of the other men's eyes following his every move.
Just then, Commander Austin walked up to join him. He continued to hunch over his drink and tried to pretend they were not there. "What's the matter? You look like you've lost your best buddy."
Greg straightened up and turned so he was facing her directly, with the bar at his side. Her sunny tone of voice inexplicitly cheered him up. "Na, it just got a little boring." He was astonished—it was the truth. He saw the skepticism come into Commander Austin's eyes, but she changed the subject. Greg was not sure he welcomed the change. "So, how did you like Captain Krennick?"
"The captain is a good dancer." He thought he had done a good job keeping his voice even, not betraying the flare-up of interest he experienced in Captain Krennick. He ignored Commander Austin's raised eyebrows. "I don't think she's as bad as everyone thinks."
"It's apparent she likes you, too." Innocuous enough, he supposed, but he heard the warning there, too. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"You, too?" He shifted so he could look at her more directly. "You've worked with both Captains before. What's your opinion?" Greg thought he saw a shield come down. At the same time, Commander Austin's response was also guarded.
"She used to be really driven by getting what she wanted when she wanted. That includes personal and professional life. And", Greg was startled by the hiss he heard in that otherwise-sunny voice, "she didn't care who got hurt in the process."
He tossed a questioning glance in her direction. "And, now?"
Commander Austin took a sip from her drink and let her gaze fall on Captain Krennick, who had rejoined the women. "I think she's mellowed with age." She shifted her glance to Greg and he was startled by the glint he thought he saw for just a second. "Just watch your step, lieutenant."
Greg wasn't sure he knew how to interpret that statement. In the manner of attorneys everywhere, he asked for clarification. "What are you saying, Commander?"
This time, Commander Austin's gaze fell on him. "I'll spell it out in black and white for you. There was a time when my loyalty to her was 'pro forma'—just because she was a superior officer. Since then, I've learned a few things about her—and I'm not going to 'go there'—but she's been hurt, too—badly. I don't think I would want that to happen to her—to get hurt all over again." The Commander put her drink down and sighed. "Nobody deserves that." She added quickly, "Not that she couldn't handle herself—she's proven that over and over again."
Greg was impressed with the Commander's compassion. He had sensed that from the first moment he laid eyes on her. He still knew only a little more than he did three weeks ago about the relationship between the two women. He was about to say something when he stopped. He realized that was as far as the Commander was going to go on that topic. He would have to make do with what information he had.
He looked around. It was very, very close to midnight and the crowd was breaking up, especially since Captain Rabb and the colonel were starting to make their rounds to say goodbyes. He was astonished when the Captain came to him and shook his hand.
"Lieutenant, thanks for coming." Greg stared up into those blue eyes as he shook the older man's hand.
"Captain, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." He paused. "If I didn't say it before, congratulations on your promotion and—"he fervently hoped Rabb wouldn't/couldn't see him swallow—"your marriage." He skipped a beat, then, "Good luck in your new position."
Greg saw the amused contempt in the older man's eyes. "Just be careful, lieutenant." And with that, Captain Rabb disappeared from Greg's personal radar screen.
With the Rabbs gone, the crowd was beginning to break up. He went over to the group of ladies. "I'm not sure I want to 'call it a night', yet, ladies. Anyone up for a cup of java or dessert?" He could not have been more pleased when Jen and Lt. Graves volunteered to join him. Between the three of them, they decided the best place for a very late night dessert and coffee was a pancake house just a short distance from the Tavern. He turned and headed for the door. "I'll meet you ladies there in a few," he said, heading out into the dark night.
0000 (Military Time) Midnight (Civilian Time)
Knocker House (a local pancake house)
Same Day/Night/Next Morning
The three of them settled into a booth by a window and placed their orders for coffee before pursuing the menu. Greg had decided he was really hungry, especially after drinking all evening, and needed something to "absorb" all that alcohol. He placed an order for the locally famous banana pancakes with apple-flavored syrup. He noticed Jen looking at his order as it was delivered. "Ugh! Captain Rabb most definitely wouldn't approve."
Greg's hand paused in the pouring of the syrup and he tossed her a frown. "Why do you say that?"
The wrinkle cleared from her face and a small grin settled there instead. "He's a health-food nut and THAT", she glanced down at the syrup pool the pancakes were swimming in, "would not be considered 'healthy.'"
"Well, it's my meal, after all." He forked a bite of syrup-coated pancake. "And he's not here. So, Petty Officer", he grinned, taking the sting out of the use of his rank, "cut it out." Just then, the ladies' orders arrived and Greg glanced over to see what they had ordered. And why wasn't he surprised when Jen started buttering her whole-wheat bagel with what was presumably fat-free cream cheese? Lt. Graves was digging into a full-fledge breakfast of steak and eggs—an ungodly combination in politically-correct Washington D.C. but considered a totally wholesome breakfast from where Lt. Graves grew up—in the western U.S. In between bites, he questioned Jen. "So now that San Diego's out of question, what are you going to do now?"
"Stay here, I guess." She shifted uncomfortably.
There was a pause, then Greg turned to Lieutenant Graves. "I take it your name wasn't on anybody's list."
The blonde's cheerful expression never dimmed. She swallowed the bite she was on and looked at Greg, fork still in hand. "Nope. I had kinda hoped Captain Rabb would take me, but so far I haven't heard anything—although I'm considered 'support staff' and nobody knows for sure about them."
Greg stopped chewing and thought about that for a little bit. That's true; whatever support staff had been chosen by the newly transferred people in either Washington or Paris Island had not been notified yet. Could this be one of the loose ends Captain Rabb was back in Washington for? He winked at his colleague. "There may be hope, yet." He chewed on another bite—God! He must have really been hungry. "It was on Captain Rabb's recommendation you were assigned to me in San Diego at that conference lo those many months ago and how you came to HQ JAG in the first place." He felt like that was the one thing he could speak with authority on and he watched as her face lit up from within. He chuckled inwardly. Her enthusiasm was fetching. Greg turned to face Jen. "How come you decided to go with the colonel instead of Captain Rabb?" He was astonished at the look of pain that momentarily crossed her face.
"Captain Rabb has been like a big brother to me—it was hard to make that decision when we all thought the colonel was going to San Diego."
Greg pursued the subject. This was not part of his data-gathering mission; rather, he was really interested in what made the petty officer, one of the few he thought he had a real, if somewhat tentative—bond with in the office. "So, why did you decide to go that way?
"The last year or so, Captain Rabb has been moody and uncommunicative. I can only guess why—", he saw a thoughtful frown grace her face. "About the only person he was really talking to was Mattie."
Greg leaned forward, grasping his coffee cup in both hands. "Tell me about Mattie. Nobody has said anything about how that came about." She shrugged and gave him what he could describe as a wry—and wary—glance.
"It happened after the colonel and Captain Rabb came back from Paraguay." She shook herself and then pierced him with what could only be described as a haunted look. "You do know he resigned his commission to go down after the colonel?"
Greg's hands clutched his cup so tightly his knuckles went white. At his relatively young age, he himself could not imagine give up the military lifestyle—and Captain Rabb was somewhere around twenty years older than he. What must that have cost the man? He closed his eyes in silent empathy for a couple of seconds, opened them, and asked directly: "I had heard that in passing. Why did he do that?" Greg mentally shook himself. He himself could not imagine doing such a thing under any circumstances.
Jen snorted. "Because he cared for the colonel. I hadn't been around the office as long as, say, Commander Roberts, but even I could see there was something going on there." She shrugged. "When he got back, the admiral refused to reinstate his commission. Nobody could figure out why. After all, when the colonel resigned, he took her back." Greg gulped. In the entire data gathering to date, he had not heard that. That service record must be something to read. There was still another mental note to ask about. He looked at Jen and got the feeling there was something else she wanted to say. It was Lieutenant Graves who had been hanging on every word who asked the next question.
"You think there was a double-standard, maybe?"
Jen thought about it for a second, then shook her head. "I don't think so. From my time there, I had the impression the Admiral was absolutely 'death' on that kind of stuff—no matter who or what was involved."
Greg took a sip of his coffee. "So just exactly what happened in Paraguay, anyway? All I've heard is it was ugly."
Jen shrugged her shoulders and then looked at Greg. "I don't know—except the colonel was really going off the deep end." She shivered. "There were times when she would either 'freeze' in mid-sentence, even in court or else she would really 'go off' on somebody. It got so bad, the Admiral had to call her into his officer several times." She paused. "I'm no expert, but I would guess it was post-trauma stress. Now what does that tell you?"
"That it was dangerous. That she had a near-death experience of some type."
Jen nodded. "I think the colonel had a really hard time coming to grips. She—and the Captain, for that matter—don't buy into a lot of the 'pop psychology' crap that's out there, at least as far as their individual lives are concerned." There was a tiny bit of authority to her voice and Greg remembered she was taking psychology courses after work. Her voice dropped. "I had heard she and the Captain really had some nasty quarrels after he came back to JAG."
Greg protested. "Jen, you're confusing me. You just said the Admiral wouldn't reinstate his commission and yet he ended up back. And that doesn't explain where his ward comes into play."
"Oh, pardon." Greg saw her bite her lower lip and a look of concentration coming into her face. She sighed. "There was a lawyer in the office who left after it came to light she hadn't passed the bar exam. I guess the Admiral thought he had no choice—we were really short-handed and they needed an experienced, senior litigator to sort through all her files."
Greg poured himself another cup of coffee and "doctored" it to his liking—two sugars, a packet of creamer. He thought about it. This was right before he took his own bar exam—he wouldn't have heard of the vacancy. "So how long did it take before the Captain was back?"
Jen shrugged. "Three months." She grinned. "We all were stunned when we learned he had gone to work for the CIA—of all things!" Inwardly, Greg sighed. The odds were very good—no, make that a damned certainty—Captain Rabb had a nice thick—and probably highly classified file—at Langley, as well as with the Navy. What was it the retired JAG had said—the man had more lives than a cat? He snorted into his cup as he brought it up to take another sip. From what he had learned, the admiral hadn't even covered the territory with that analogy. Jen continued, "You know those TVs we have in the bullpen?" Both of her companions nodded. "Can you imagine our shock when ZNN had a clip showing one of those big C-130s landing on an aircraft carrier—think it was the Seahawk, but I don't remember for sure—and the pilot turned out to be Captain Rabb!" Greg sputtered, coffee from his mouth spraying all over.
He was instantly apologetic and proceeded to try to clean everything up as he exclaimed, "That's not possible! Those birds are too big for a carrier."
Jen's grin got bigger as she remembered. "Supposedly 'not possible', but Captain Rabb proved it was." She paused. "I don't think it's become standard operating procedure, though. It was—and is—a very dangerous thing to contemplate." She took a sip of her own drink. "Anyway, the scuttlebutt was that little bit of publicity cost him his CIA job."
Lieutenant Graves was caught up in the story. Greg glanced at her as he continued moving silverware and plates on the table to clean up the mess he had inadvertently caused. It dawned on him he was doing an awful lot of this since he started his own little personal research project. His attention was caught when his colleague asked Jen her own question. "So what happened next?"
"He ended up crop-dusting in Blacksburg, Virginia. That's where his Steerman is stored." She frowned. "I don't know what's going to happen to that plane. Anyway," and Greg saw Jen pick up a fork and finger it, as she was done with her bagel. "It turns out the owner of the business was this fourteen-year-old who had everybody fooled. Trust Captain Rabb to find out the truth."
This time, it wasn't just Greg's jaw dropping and eyes popping. Greg thought about it—this must have been quite a comedown for the proud captain—reduced to flying a little crop duster plane. "Why didn't he go to work for a civilian law firm? With his conviction record, he might have even gone to work in the public sector as an assistant D.A. or even in the Public Defenders' office?"
Jen shrugged. "I don't know—except if he went into law, there was a very good chance he would eventually end up facing the colonel in court—be it civilian and/or military. With his background and experience, any civilian law firm here in D.C. would have assigned him cases dealing with the military—and I think it would have been too painful for him to see the colonel."
Greg leaned forward, elbows on the table, and thought about it. In a way, that made perfect sense, especially given the recent marriage. "But, what about Mattie? What happened after he found out she was the owner? And where were her parents?"
"Ah, now this is where I come in." Jen looked at him with what Greg considered a potent potential for mischief . "When the admiral called him back, he immediately filed for custody. It turns out her mother had been killed in a car wreck—which Mattie thought her father caused because he was drunk the night of the accident." She paused, seemingly to reconstruct the sequence of events. "Captain Rabb found out that was not true—but Tom Johnson is a chronic alcoholic and hasn't done real well with recovery. I understand," and Greg could see Jen fighting the reticence he had noted from his first days at HQ JAG, "the colonel helped him gain custody back at Christmas time a year or so ago when she went to the hearing to testify on his behalf."
Lieutenant Graves piped in, reflecting a question that was going through Greg's own mind. "So where do you come in?"
"The captain asked me to move into another apartment in his building, same floor, if I would accept a roommate. He even offered to pay her part of the rent." She shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
Once again, Greg was shocked. "A senior officer asking an enlisted person to live under the same roof! How did he avoid fraternization charges?"
"It was no big deal. I may not be a lawyer, but even I know it's up to the CO to press charges, and since I was the Admiral's yeoman, and since I was having my own roommate problems. . ." There was another shrug. "It was the perfect solution to a seemingly intractable problem." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, my gosh! I really need to be getting home. It's really, really getting late."
Greg held up his hand, palm facing out away from him, as if trying to stop traffic. "One more question, okay?"
Jen stopped her motions of grabbing her purse and looked at Greg. "Okay. One more question."
"Do you know what's going to happen to Mattie?"
Jen heaved a sigh of relief. "That's one of the reasons Captain Rabb came back so soon. Given the short time frame in the orders they were given, they had to leave Mattie at the hospital, but they've been working on getting her medical records transferred to London. I've been told Mattie told the captain to take the position—and I guess he told her he wasn't going anywhere without her. I think she's actually looking forward to the experience. Between the captain and the colonel, "and Jen actually chuckled, "I wouldn't be surprised if she eventually walked again." She turned serious. "In any case, the Captain and the colonel aren't going back by themselves. Apparently, the juvenile court speeded up the request for permanent status as guardian to the Captain, which, by the way, opens the door for adoption for him—I guess them, now—and they're actually moving Mattie this trip."
Lieutenant Graves nodded gravely. Greg could tell she was impressed. Hell, it would be hard not to be impressed. "I suppose that's one of those 'loose' ends everybody ends up in making a major move like this."
Jen only nodded and then, as she got out of the booth, waved to them. "I'll see you all on Monday!"
After Jen left, Lieutenant Graves and Greg looked at each other and decided it was time for them, as well, to go to their respective apartments. It was just as well—it had been a long night of shots and challenges. He had a lot to think about.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
A/N: I could have sworn I had seen all of the episodes, but apparently, I missed one. What was Mac talking about in the final episode when she commented about "the neighborhood doesn't look the same when your roommate tries to kill you." Anybody care to fill me in? Thanks. I really hope this last little bit answers some questions that have been raised about what happens to Mattie.