Author: Laurie

Story Title: Scrambled

Classification: Drama and angst. (But a happy, shipper ending!)

Posted: June 2006

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Paramount, CBS, et.al. No infringement

is intended.

---------------------------

Part 1

August 21, 2005

"… and God bless Aunt Mac and Uncle Harm. Amen," 6-year old A.J. Roberts said, the final word and sign of the cross signaling he had concluded his solemn litany of requests.

"And God bless A.J. Roberts," Mac quickly added on his behalf before they both got up from their knees.

Pulling back the colorful covers, Mac waited while Harriet and Bud's oldest child slid into bed. Tucking the blanket around the little boy, she tussled his thick head of hair and planted a goodnight kiss on his forehead. "Sleep tight."

"Don't go."

"You need to go to sleep. I'll be right downstairs with your parents."

"Wait…"

"Did I forget something? This night light maybe?" she asked, flicking on the small lamp shaped like an F14 Tomcat.

"No. I just wanted to …"

Seeing tears pool in his eyes and hearing his voice quiver, Mac settled herself on the edge of the bed. "What is it A.J.?"

"Would you tell Uncle Harm I'm really, really sorry about the baseball bat."

Smiling kindly, Mac used her fingertips to brush away the warm tears trickling down the red cheeks. "Don't worry. He already knows."

"Listen to your Aunt Mac, A.J. She's always right."

Mac turned around as Harm entered the bedroom. "I am?"

"Sure."

"Since when?"

Harm lowered the ice bag from his face as he bent down to give Mac a kiss. "Since we've been married," he answered, the accompanying smirk inadvertently igniting the pain he was failing miserably to hide.

"Then why aren't you taking it easy like I told you to?"

Harm grinned at A.J. and answered, "I didn't say I always listen to you."

"Uncle Harm!"

Before Mac could continue the banter, A.J. threw back the covers and jumped up, undoing his unofficial aunt's bedside work. Preparing to launch himself into his equally unofficial uncle's arms, his outstretched arms fell to his side when Mac cautioned, "Easy A.J., Uncle Harm's nose is broken."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to … It was …"

Letting the ice bag fall to the bed, Harm pulled A.J. into his arms and finished "… an accident." Hugging him tightly, Harm carefully positioned his chin on top of the boy's head as A.J. burrowed his face into his shoulder, his tears seeping through Harm's t-shirt. "Hey, it's okay, buddy. I know you didn't mean to."

"Momma is really mad and daddy took the bat away," he cried.

"I know. But things will be better in the morning, you'll see. And my nose will be good as new in a couple of weeks."

"Promise?" A.J. asked, squirming loose to get a better look at the molded plastic splint covering Harm's nose. The white adhesive tape holding it in place highlighted the already forming purplish bruises beneath each eye. Despite the cold compress, the area remained puffy and swollen.

Lowering his friends' son back onto the bed, Harm grinned. "Yeah, I promise. Now you need to go to sleep. Otherwise, you won't be awake when we say goodbye in the morning."

Exhausted from the long day and its frightening turn of events, A.J. could offer little resistance as his heavy eyelids pulled downward. Tucked in once more, his last words trailed off, "I was so scared …"

"Me too," Mac whispered, pulling Harm down beside her on the bed. After grazing his temple with a tender kiss, they sat quietly for a few more minutes. Once A.J. was sound asleep, she pulled her husband to his feet and exited the room with him secure in her grasp.

----------------

Returning to London, Mac studied her husband as he slept fitfully in the first-class airline seat. Married now for nearly three months, they had spent the time abroad in 'connubial bliss' as Mac liked to call it.

Checking in this morning at Dulles Airport, their seating assignments for their return flight had been a surprise to both of them. Evidently the expensive upgrade was a wedding present of sorts from their friends, who no doubt had relished the opportunity to have the last word.

There hadn't been time for a formal wedding in late April when the sudden turn of events and a coin toss had decided their fate. Nevertheless, one glance at Harm's face when the quickly-arranged minister proclaimed them 'husband and wife' was enough to obliterate any importance Mac had ever placed on the pomp and ceremony she thought she had always wanted. And though he finally stated his love for her explicitly, it was the depth of emotion conveyed by his eyes that spoke volumes.

Having consummated their union in Washington, they were swiftly bundled off to London. And while they arrived alone, separated from family and friends, they more importantly arrived together as Mr. and Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr.

It wasn't until late August that Harm's job as Force Judge Advocate had required he return stateside for a personal briefing with General Cresswell. Bud Roberts, still at JAG headquarters, had casually mentioned Harm's impending visit to his wife. And that's all it took for the capable and experienced Christmas Eve-Baghdad-concert-organizer to undertake plans for an extravagant Rabb Reception for which there had been no time before.

Having got wind of the surprise event via a slip of the lips by young A.J. Roberts, Harm and Mac insisted on it being scaled back to a small, 'picnic-type affair' at the Roberts' residence and further negotiated a 'no-gifts' policy. Outranked, there was little Bud and Harriet could do but accept the fact that the lack of formal pageantry went hand-in-hand with Harm and Mac's entire relationship – a relationship most would agree could never be defined as traditional.

All-in-all, the party in their honor had proven fun, but Mac could have done without the broken nose incident. If Harm had slept better the night before, she might have awakened him now. But knowing that he had gotten little rest, she figured any sleep was better than none. Seeing him grimace when his head lolled to the side, her thoughts returned to 24-hours earlier.

---------------------------

Hoisting himself out of the pool, Harm quietly made his way towards his wife. Catching her from behind, he encircled his arms around her as his body molded perfectly against her fully-dressed form.

"Harm! You're soaking me!"

"That was the idea. You said you were coming in."

Mac tilted her head back for a kiss then snuck out of his embrace, not wanting to get any wetter. "I was having too much fun getting caught up with Tiner and Gunny."

Harm feigned hurt. "I've been shoved to the back of the line."

"Where you belong," Sturgis piped in good-naturedly, also having exited the pool, but toweling off first before grabbing a seat next to Varese.

"There are more dry towels by the deck," Harriet informed Harm.

Harm grinned widely. "Okay, okay. I can take a hint. Can I get anyone anything while I'm up?"

"A burger with the works," Mac replied.

"You're eating again?"

"Harm, that was hours ago. It's now dinner."

"I'll take a beer," Sturgis put in his order.

"I'm ready for another too," retired Admiral Chegwidden and General Cresswell replied in unison.

"I'll take a hotdog with—"

Sensing a conspiracy, Harm chuckled and hurried off towards the deck before he forgot the orders that had already been placed. He was amazed how many people had showed up for the picnic, some having to request leave and fly in from other parts of the country. Looking back over his shoulder at his best friend, who was finally his wife, he felt totally content, blessed, and grateful.

Even so, he couldn't deny the feeling that sooner or later the other shoe was going to drop. He didn't know what that shoe entailed, but history had proven time and again that his life was destined for bumps in the road. Kicking himself for such pessimistic thoughts, he pushed them away when he came upon A.J. Roberts tying off a bright red monster at the nearby water spigot. "Water balloons!" he chuckled evilly, winking conspiratorially at the youngster.

"Yep."

"Do you have an extra?"

"Sure. Hey, Uncle Harm, watch what I can do."

"Harm, skip the relish," Mac yelled to him from the picnic table, situated 50 feet away beneath a large shade tree.

Harm's attention was divided between his wife's revised order, the potential uses of the water-based ammunition, and the exploits of his favorite, unofficial nephew.

"Uncle Harm, watch!"

"Harm, on second thought, I'll take the –"

Trying to hear what Mac ultimately wanted on her burger, Harm turned his head.

"—relish."

Turning his attention back to A.J., he bent forward to grab a towel from the lowest rung of the steps leading up to the deck. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the red balloon being tossed in the air for batting practice.

A.J., his attention having been focused on striking the water-filled balloon with his bat, didn't see Harm enter the picture until too late. Swinging and missing the makeshift ball, the aluminum bat instead came around and solidly impacted with the bridge of Harm's nose.

As the balloon's contents exploded at Harm's feet, his face erupted with pain and tears. Blood, spurting from his nostrils, followed. The liquid immediately engulfed his senses. He smelled it first and then tasted the metallic fluid as it passed his lips. Wiping the coppery brew away, his eyes saw nothing but red as he felt the sticky, warm mixture between his fingers. But while his mind made sense of all that, it could not grasp the sound of it flowing in his ears.

Confused and dazed, Harm stumbled forward, trying to stay upright. His hand sought purchase on the condiments table, but it gave way beneath his weight, launching its contents into the air and sending him to the ground.

The commotion had everyone running towards the deck and Harm's now sprawled body. Minutes later, it was a somber group that watched as his limp body was strapped to a backboard, his head and neck immobilized as he was transferred to the ambulance.

Just before Mac jumped in the emergency vehicle, someone thoughtfully exchanged the bloody towel in her hands with a pair of Harm's sneakers, shorts, and one of his t-shirts. Hoping the gesture was a good omen, Mac clung tight to the clothes and sent up another prayer that he would need them sooner than later. As it turned out, that looked more promising when Harm regained consciousness en route to the hospital.

Mac moved closer when the paramedic made room. No longer able to see his misshapen nose buried beneath a clump of white gauze and ice, she grabbed his hand. "Harm, I'm here."

Opening his eyes, Harm focused on her concerned face then moved his eyes slowly around until he identified his current surroundings. "What did I do now?" he groaned, his words sounding stuffy, like he had a massive head cold.

"We're guessing you ran into A.J.'s bat."

"Oh yeah … I sort of remember."

"The backboard and cervical collar are just precautions. But your nose is definitely broken."

"I guess I ruined the party."

"Some people were leaving soon anyway. Others are meeting us at the hospital."

Hearing Harm groan, Mac gently laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath her fingertips. "What is it?"

"I hope this doesn't affect our leaving tomorrow … We both have to get back to work."

"Don't you dare worry about that."

Giving in to the relentless hammer pounding behind his eyes and the blazing pain still encompassing his nose, Harm managed an 'Okay' before closing his eyes.

When they arrived at the hospital, the Emergency Room was overflowing with activity typical of a hot, August weekend. Having been previously unconscious, Harm was sent to the front of the line of those with non life-threatening injuries.

Carefully assessing Harm for head and neck injuries, the doctor found neither. Moving on to his nose, more good news followed. The doctor had been able to deal with the displaced fracture in the ER with just local anesthesia, eliminating the need for surgery and a hospital stay. Thus it was with a great sense of relief that Mac updated their friends and began tackling the mountain of discharge forms.

Three hours after arriving, the examinations, repairs, and paperwork were completed. Equipped with prescriptions for an antibiotic, pain medication, and nasal decongestant, Mac retraced her steps in search of her husband who still occupied a curtained-off cubicle in the ER.

"Are you ready to—"

Expecting to see Harm dressed and anxious to leave, Mac stopped short when she saw him still clad only in swim trunks. The eerie stillness of his splayed body, lying vulnerable and exposed on the cold gurney, was a frightening contrast to the perspiring head rolling wildly from side to side. His face was contorted and his eyes were tightly clenched as he mumbled incoherently to no one but himself.

Alarmed at the sight, Mac hurried into the cubicle. Her hand first contacted Harm's chilled foot which immediately jerked away, as if burned by her touch. Coming to rest next on his forearm, her hand felt the tremor wracking his body. Realizing he was caught in the throes of some dream, she gently shook his shoulder with her free hand.

"Harm, wake up. It's a nightmare … Harm …"

Hearing Mac's increasingly frantic tone, a nurse from the crowded confines of the adjacent compartment appeared. Nodding to the neatly folded clothes on the chair, she frowned. "He was going to get dressed when I left him. He must have fallen asleep … Mr. Rabb, it's time to go. We need this area."

Already frustrated with the long and hectic day, the nurse reached around behind her. Before Mac could protest, the woman broke open a small ammonia capsule and waved it under Harm's splinted nose. The sharp smell of the fresh capsule immediately overpowered similar traces of smelling salt odors drifting over from the other side of the curtained partition.

An alarmed grunt immediately communicated Harm's displeasure as his bruised nasal membranes protested the irritating effect of the respiratory irritant. Recoiling from the stimulus, his head thrashed aside. His left arm protectively covered his face while his right hand swiped at his nose. Instinctively wanting to avoid further exposure, his body turned away, curling into a fetal position.

Infuriated by the poor judgment, Mac positioned herself between Harm and the ammonia-capsule-armed nurse. "Damn it, what were you thinking!"

Rather than answer the rhetorical question, the chastised woman quickly disposed of the smelly irritant while Mac continued efforts to break through the dream's unusually strong hold.

"Harm."

Still curled in on himself, his breathing shallow and fast, his words became clearer. "No … no don't! … NOOOOO! …"

Holding Harm's rigid body in a tight embrace, her biceps straining, Mac's face was mere inches from his. "Harm, wake up. You're safe. Harm, please--"

Suddenly Harm's eyes flew open. A second later he went limp, an unrecognizable whimper escaping his throat. Still in her arms, Mac watched his face for any signs of comprehension. For far too long, she saw eyes that could only be described as black, empty, and despairingly cold.

"Harm? Talk to me, Harm."

His chest heaving and glistening with sweat, Harm unfurled his tightly wound body. "Mac. What happened?"

Seeing confusion but recognition, it was Mac's turn to sag. "Thank God."

"Mac?"

Still not ready to break contact, Mac placed a soothing hand on Harm's forehead and answered, "Nightmare. Do you remember?"

For a second he considered the question. Then like a flipped light switch, his eyes shined with fear.

"I don't remember … I don't remember … I don't remember …"

Its tone a blend of abject fear, utter confusion, and debilitating despair, the repeated declaration trailed distressingly off into silence.

Disturbed by everything she had witnessed, Mac offered assurance as much for herself as for her husband. "It's okay, Harm. It was just a dream."

Calm restored, both spouse and attending physician nevertheless insisted the departure from the hospital be delayed until they were comfortable the episode would not be repeated. Emotionally exhausted and physically hurting, Harm adamantly refused a sedative but accepted the bolster of pain medication to quiet his burning nasal passages and pounding headache.

No matter how hard he tried during the hour of imposed observation, he could neither remember anything of the nightmare nor offer any insight regarding why he reacted so intensely to his failure to recall it. Realizing the concern the entire incident had generated, he diffused the worry by lightheartedly chalking it up to his newlywed status. But in truth, both shortcomings left him uneasy. And that sense of apprehension accompanied him as the Rabbs returned to the Roberts' home and, having calmed A.J. Roberts, eventually to the privacy of the spare bedroom.

Too wrung out for any intimate behavior, Mac instead massaged Harm's back in an effort to relieve the tension in his shoulders and neck. Following the therapy, neither of them managed much sleep. But when they did, it was in each other's arms, both grateful for the comforting presence of the other.

In the morning, the Roberts and Rabbs enjoyed breakfast on the deck. With an hour to spare, Harriet insisted on solely clearing away the dishes and took charge of her youngest children. Meanwhile Bud, after a gentle reminder about safety, pitched to a happy and restored A.J. who consistently made contact with the plastic wiffle balls. Laughter ensued as Mac and Harm, albeit it gingerly, scooted about the yard in an inevitable but friendly competition to field the most hits. Thus, it was a tired but happy pair that was delivered to the airport and sent off with promises to stay in touch.

Once in the air, the drone and vibration of the jet engines worked their magic, lulling Harm to sleep while equally tugging at Mac's eyes. Rather than give in to the strong pull, Mac turned on her side and watched Harm. Holding his hand in hers, she relished the feel of their gold wedding bands touching. Studying the symbolic rings, she smiled recalling how yesterday Jennifer Coates made Harm replay his philosophy on the entire notion of matrimonial traditions.

H: Are you following me Coates?

C: Just a little, Sir. I'm hoping for some insight. I'm planning the Admiral's wedding.

H: That's a losing proposition.

C: I'm finding that, Sir. They don't agree on things and they are shooting the messenger.

H: Let me tell you something. Some day, some guy is going to fall madly in love with you, buy you a ring, and ask you to marry him.

C: I hope so, Sir.

H: He'll spend the equivalent of a down payment on a house on a party that your friends will all go to out of obligation; and you'll wake up the next morning with 15 toasters and a champagne hangover. You'll look at the lump next to you in bed and you'll go 'Oh my God, I could have bought a house for the amount of money I spent to tie myself to this for the rest of my life.

Despite the Chegwidden-Meredith debacle, the short shtick had everyone in stitches, including Admiral Chegwidden and Mac. But while yesterday the memory produced tears of laughter, today's were due to love.

Wiping the evidence away, Mac whispered emotionally, "You're no lump and tying myself to you is all I ever wanted."

Harm chose that moment to groan, his nostrils flaring beneath the protective splint as if scoffing at the 'all I ever wanted' part; or perhaps in response to the strong smell of cigarette smoke permeating their seats.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the flight attendant asked quietly, noticing her clearly uncomfortable passengers.

"I'm fine. But a fresh bag of ice might help my husband," Mac answered.

"Sure thing."

"Also, is there anything you can do about the smell?"

"It's from a gentleman who had this seat on the prior flight. I'm told his clothes reeked of smoke. Fortunately, it was only a ninety-minute flight. Otherwise I don't know how he survived being unable to light up. I'll see if there is any Febreze in the galley. It might help."

"Thanks."

Already in a reflective mood, the mention of a chain-smoking addict evoked memories of an investigation conducted with Harm on the USS Gilcrist. It wasn't too long after his return to JAG, following his stint in the CIA -- a period of his life about which she knew little more today than she did back then.

H: This is just like old times -- me and you, sea duty. We ought to get out of Washington more often.

M: It sounds to me like you got out of Washington plenty when you were off playing spy…You'll never tell me what you were doing with the CIA, will you?

H: I can't imagine Clay brings his work home with him.

M: I thought we decided to travel light—leaving the baggage behind.

H: I left my baggage in Paraguay.

M: Yeah and some deep, dark secret you left stateside. But I'll respect your privacy on that.

H: Oh, I guess there is a first time for everything.

Coincidentally, the case occurred during the same time frame that Coates was serving as Admiral Chegwidden's wedding planner, hence Jen's knowledge of Harm's less-than-romantic stance on marital pageantry.

In any event, the investigation on the Gilcrist precipitated Mac and Harm going head-to-head in the courtroom. Harm ended up defending Petty Officer Yates. The young man who, in order to ease his nicotine craving, had neglected his responsibility at the radar array console to have a cigarette, which led to the fatal electrocution of Seaman Duncan. Mac, in turn, was prosecuting Yates, pursuing not only a dereliction of duty charge, but manslaughter as well.

During the proceedings, the truth came out that Petty Officers Miles Yates, Steven Atwood, and Anna Ferrier were involved in a lover's triangle, such as it was or wasn't depending on each of their views.

Prior to the truth being uncovered, the case had brought out the worst in both of them. Mac's own inner turmoil and history of alcoholism drove her to lash out and take the extreme prosecutorial stance. Meanwhile, Harm resorted to flinging hurtful, verbal barbs about her addiction. While he later apologized and they mended the worst of the rift, or at least agreed on a truce, tying herself to Harm never seemed more impossible.

M: Petty Officer Atwood confessed to sabotaging the tag out sheet. I preferred charges and he's being moved to DC to await trial.

H: Well this whole court case pretty much proves your point, doesn't it?

M: (Mac gives Harm a questioning look)

H: About how badly things turn out when co-workers cross the line.

M: Well that wouldn't have happened if they just stayed good friends.

H: Well good friend, how about a sharing a platonic bowl of pasta?

M: I'd love to, but I'm having dinner with Clay.

And that's how they finally parted that day. She riding down alone in the elevator, after Harm suddenly became more interested in taking a private phone call. It wouldn't be until much later that she would learn the caller had been Mattie Grace, and not the mystery woman Harm might have wished her to believe. Even so, thinking back on it all, it was Mac's turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat. For yes, it was true she had dinner plans with Clay. But a wave of guilt descended, knowing there was an element of spite involved when the evening culminated with one of their more successful forays in bed. But then again, when it came to her, Clay, and bed, things weren't always liked they seemed.

----------------------

(((The Company is filled with misfits and unwanted transplants.)))

Harm woke with a quiet gasp but kept his throbbing head against the small window. He couldn't recall who had spoken the thought in his dream, but he remembered driving a cab around the Union Station section of Washington. When he turned around to see his passenger in the back seat, he saw himself wrestling an alligator.

No doubt the weird remnants of the dream were a byproduct of seeing old friends and commanding officers the past weekend. And though he couldn't recall anything else of the dream, he felt as if his mind was processing at a mile a minute, but just what it was processing he couldn't say. And that thought was as dark and unsettling as the wide-open ocean 30,000 feet below.

Sensing the difference in his breathing, Mac rubbed her thumb over Harm's hand. When he returned the gesture, she relaxed a little and handed him the fresh bag of ice. He toyed with it in his free hand. Meanwhile, Mac rested her chin on his shoulder and looked down at the same cold water in which Harm had once been physically adrift and was now mentally lost.

"He's dead, you know."

"Who?" Mac asked, lifting her head, clearly taken aback by the sudden declaration.

"Admiral Spencer."

A shudder ran up Mac's spine realizing the eerie parallel between Harm's answer and her thoughts of him being alone in the vast Atlantic Ocean below. For Admiral 'Spoonbender' Spencer had headed the Navy's Stargazer program -- a program which tried to harness ESP until a volunteer in the program died under experimental conditions. Again, Mac had prosecuted; while Harm, more open-minded about the possibilities, had defended the Admiral.

Skeptical of the theories to say the least, Mac had come around a little when a paranormal vision had helped her find Chloe, her 'little sister', who was lost in a wooded area. Later, she set aside any remaining doubts about paranormal possibilities when, in order to save her best friend, she had put her mind, or perhaps more accurately her heart, into finding Harm in the vast ocean.

Consequently, she was grateful to Admiral Spencer for having played an indirect role in saving the two people she cared most about. News of his passing and the strange vibe she felt added to the dark cloud that seemed to be following them home.

"How?"

Harm laid the small ice pack on the bridge of his nose, letting it cover his eyes. "What?"

"How did Admiral Spencer die?"

When he didn't answer, Mac asked again. "Harm? How did he die?"

"I … I don't remember."

The words were spoken so quietly and with such despair that Mac felt compelled to move the ice away from his battered face.

"When did he die?"

When he could only shake his head, she saw the same look of rising panic he had experienced in the ER. She never felt so helpless. And for whatever reason, she was reminded of Admiral Chegwidden's counsel that feelings of helplessness were the nature of love.