Second Wind Part 2/6

A/N:

NO disrespect or "put-down" is implied or intended of women who choose to stay at home and raise their families, or those for whom circumstances dictate that they not work outside the home. Absolutely none. I admire you tremendously. Jan.

It is important to note that Part II takes place at the exact same time as Part I.

Glossary of military and other abbreviations for Part II

LSAT – Law School Aptitude Test

TAD – temporary Additional Duty (essentially the same as TDY (temporary duty). Official travel away from your permanent duty station, you then return to your duty sation.

PCS – Permanent Change of Station – refers to transfer from one duty station to the next (as opposed to going TAD or TDY)

SOFA – Status of Forces Agreement

1700

Rabb/MacKenzie Flat

London

13 October 2006

"Five hundred forty-seven days. Thirteen thousand, one hundred twenty-eight hours. Seven hundred eighty-seven thousand six hundred eighty… "Get a grip, MacKenzie! You are so NOT going there."

The dreariness of the dark day's sliding into dusk, coupled with the continuing misty drizzle, matched Mac's mood to a "T". Carefully aligning the three hundred forty three pages she'd just printed she scrolled slowly though her end notes one last time, then hit the "print" icon. She'd already burned two CDs of her. . .what? not a book, not a thesis or dissertation—her "project" of the last eighteen months was complete, edited, revised, proofed, printed. She'd dragged it out at least an extra week. Now only five hundred forty-seven. . .Slamming the door shut on those particular brain cells, Mac considered . . .not even a page a day. A dissertation she'd never defend for a degree she'd never be awarded. Is this all she'd accomplished in eighteen months in London?

Well, not QUITE all. Gently rocking the carrier next to the computer, her face turned luminous as she gazed at the sleeping child. Not quite her looks—not quite his looks. Her skin, his eyes—too soon to tell about the smile. The brains? Well, she wasn't late arriving, she kept on schedule—surely a good sign. All in all, a long-ago hand-shake deal successfully consummated. Mac's lips turned up at the thought of the fun they'd had working on it.

Immediately upon arrival in London, they'd consulted a fertility specialist. After an excruciatingly painful procedure and two rounds of fertility drugs, wonder of wonders—she'd conceived! Mac chuckled, remembering how she'd almost felt cheated as she breezed through the pregnancy and birth—no morning sickness, no cravings or complications! If it weren't for her expanding waist and stomach, she wouldn't have known she was pregnant! She and Harm were "head-over-heels" with their beautiful daughter, MacKenzie O'Hara Rabb. "Mahara." Knowing that this was likely their only biological child, she'd briefly held out for "Harmony" but Harm had worn her down. "She has my name; I want her to have yours and to honor your uncle. We wouldn't have met if it hadn't been for him." Mac had countered with "Liberty" referring to the stolen Declaration of Independence or "Rose" but had eventually agreed, secretly delighted that her darling daughter would have her beloved uncle's name. The news about Harm's lower-than-average sperm count and their motility had been a blow but they knew that their having even one biological child had indeed been a "miracle."

Mac sighed. If she had had any doubts at all about her competency, they had been dispelled when she discovered it actually took very little time to take care of one infant who mainly eats, sleeps, and wets. She loved her child fiercely but knew within days of her birth that her long-ago mantra of a "a good man—now expanded to encompass a lovely home and a darling daughter—a great career and comfortable shoes" was lacking the middle element. She'd thought to replace her career as Marine officer-judge advocate with the noble career of "mother." She envied Harriet, who'd apparently made the transition without significant angst—although, Harriet had mentioned in a recent email that with A.J. in second grade and Jimmy in all-day kindergarten, she was studying for the LSAT and seriously considering law school!

She sighed again. She'd promised herself never to have regrets, but …after the "congratulations" and good wishes, Cresswell had offered two weeks leave before she'd report to San Diego. His disbelieving stare as he'd finally realized that she really meant to resign her commission had quickly turned to a furious glare. He'd told her not to bother requesting a Reserve commission and left McMurphy's after a final icy snarl at both Mac and Harm. She didn't want a Reserve commission – given the continuing war, she knew that was the almost certain route to mobilization and a year in Iraq. Under all of the circumstances, and if on active duty she'd go if ordered, of course, that wasn't what she wanted at this point in her life. The general had refused to see her when she arrived at JAG HQ with her resignation letter the next day hoping to talk to him about alternatives – the on-line list of available billets included an 0-3 billet open at the Embassy with the Guard Force. She would have swallowed her pride and taken it, giving up her promotion and the chance to have her own command.

As she rocked the cradle, she mused on her current status. She had tried, she really had. It was the feminine equivalent of "no man's land." Had her generation been "sold" a "bill of goods" by either the feminist movement or, on the other hand, the much more conservative "stay-at-home—there's no more noble profession for women than that!" school of thought?

She carefully considered those particular stances. She had "come of age"—as had Harm, though he was four years older—during the conservative backlash against the "Women's Liberation" movement. One thing she had appreciated about her male colleagues—for the most part, her contemporaries in age—but especially Harm, even from day one—was their genuine acceptance of her credentials as both military officer and lawyer. Neither had blinked an eye at her being assigned to work that first investigation with them. Coming up through the Marines—as tough an organization for women as any—she had been used to getting ribald remarks and snide looks from the older men she had served under, and, as a result, when she had come to JAG HQ, she was totally on the defensive, looking for "chinks" in what she'd thought was a façade of acceptance. It took her a while to realize neither Harm nor Bud was putting on an "act" for her benefit. It was when she arrived at that conclusion that Harm started appearing in her perception as something more than an "arrogant, full-of-himself, Naval aviator-turned-lawyer". And it was her Uncle Matt, who had encouraged her to go into the Marines in the first place, who had seen past that "flyboy" act and saw the real quality of the man in those really early days when Mac herself was unsure of what she had encountered in Harmon Rabb, Jr. That had helped allay her fears, knowing her uncle was a good judge of character—not flawless in that regard, obviously, but still good.

She stood up and stretched, keeping a watchful eye on, first the infant carrier, then the window showing the foul weather outside. Idly, she wondered if it was going to turn to a solid rain, instead of this lousy mist. She would have welcomed that. She'd grown up in southern Arizona, where it never got cold and didn't mess around with things like fog and mist—but instead produced what were known as "gully-washers" when it did rain. It had taken her some time to get used to the weather in Washington D.C. when she'd first PCS'd there. She confessed to herself, she'd really never gotten used to it—Washington was "supposed" to be a southern city—yet it got cold enough to snow—sometimes lots of snow! And the humidity—she thought it was bad in Washington. It was much, much worse in England.

Thoughts of another cold, dreary winter in London brought to mind the cost of heating their spacious flat in the beautiful Georgian brownstone facing Cartwright Gardens. Neither she nor Harm had lived extravagantly in D.C., but living on one income had presented unexpected challenges. They had had a frank discussion about their finances. He'd used most of his savings to finance the trip to Paraguay and then to make the mortgage payments on the house Mattie had inherited from her mother. Harm had also brought in several Johns Hopkins consultants for Mattie that the State wouldn't pay for and a private duty nurse after she awoke from the coma and he had to return to work. As she prepared to leave for La Jolla, Mattie had insisted the house be sold. "My life is with you now. I'll never live in Blacksburg again." Mattie had been adamant and Harm had reluctantly agreed. They'd stored his Vette but sold the Lexus and her Corvette, which had paid most of the $25,000.00 bill for the fertility treatments. That was one bill she'd paid with pleasure. DoD didn't consider wanting to be pregnant a medical necessity, though after she conceived, the full costs of her obstetrical care and the birth were covered. Even though he knew Frank just deposited the money into a trust account for Mattie, Harm sent him a check each month. Mac knew he felt keenly that Frank and Trish were paying for so much of Mattie's care and expenses. He'd insisted she keep sending the small allowance she'd sent Chloe for years, as well as continue to fund the trust she'd set up after her return from Aceh for Lilyanna's school fees and future education. They'd worked up a budget that had them living on his income but saving almost nothing. She didn't want to dip further into her savings – that was for the down payment on a house after their return to the States and to help Chloe with college. Despite Frank's statement after Mattie's custody hearing, neither Harm nor Mac would ask him or Trish for money for themselves.

She knew Harm was getting restless and was unhappy and she supposed part of it had to do with the weather! She smiled a little—bless his heart! He didn't want her to be unhappy, so he kept his issues to himself. Like always. She sighed. He was often morose, staring out the window or at the TV in the evening. He worked long hours, including part of each Saturday, but never talked about the work and the few times she'd asked, he brushed her off with a "same old …same old …" They may have finally confessed their love for each other, but the patterns of behavior established during nine years weren't going to change overnight—and she had hoped for more progress on that front! She frowned. She knew she was just as bad, hiding her own discontent with her present day life. She made a point of not going to Harm's office unless she absolutely had to. She felt awkward and out of her element in civvies, feeling keenly the loss of her identity as a Marine. Mac grimaced, remembering the last time she'd gone there, bringing a file Harm had forgotten that morning. In jeans and a casual shirt, she'd been mortified to find the Commandant of the Marine Corps with Harm – he'd apparently stopped in while TAD to London. Feeling like a frumpy housewife, she'd mumbled an excuse and escaped as soon as possible. Maybe, just maybe, that was part of what was contributing to her moodiness and general all-around grand "funk"!

It was a "light bulb" moment. Her grand "funk" was due to lack of purpose, of meaning in her life separate from "wife and mother!" Those two "schools of thought" were extremes at either end of the "option" scale and she had been silly enough, as a young woman coming from the kind of background she had, to totally "buy into" the feminist position wholeheartedly and without much thought. It was ironic, her lips compressing together in a grim smile: when she was engaged to Mic, he had wanted the kind of wife she had inadvertently become to Harm, the total stay-at-home kind. And that had caused all kinds of friction between them. All-in-all, it was just as well that wedding hadn't occurred. Mic was a good man—and had been a bit "smarter" than she at that time. A marriage to Mic would have been disastrous from the get-go! All Harm wanted was for her to be happy! She suspected he had wondered at her "decision" to give up her career. In a conversation on the flight across the Atlantic, he'd asked her what kind of job she was going to look for in London, and had clearly been caught by surprise when she'd explained that she'd checked and found that under the SOFA, she couldn't get a work permit, so she'd be a "housewife!" The grim smile relaxed into a genuine smile. It had never occurred to Harm she was going to "stay at home" and be a "housewife." When she assured that him that it would be a sort of "sabbatical" and she'd find "something" to do, he had done his "turtle act" and said nothing further about his reservations regarding her "career" choice. Well, it wasn't her first choice – if she'd been able to work, she would have. But now, even with Mahara, here she was—a profoundly frustrated stay-at-home housefrau!

For 16 years, Mac had had the structure, stability and organization of the Corps to help her keep sober and focused. She missed the stimulation and challenge of her former life and the feeling that she was contributing to her country. "Mother" might be a noble career, but it just wasn't in her to be a stay-at-home Mom. Without "something to do" she knew she'd spiral into depression and regrets, or worse.

Yet to be fair, Mahara was still quite young—and once her personality started showing, staying at home might be more feasible. Certainly more challenging, anyway! That was the one thing the conservative school of thought didn't say—how boring being around an infant this young would/could be, especially if one were a person of "action!" The feminist movement had been addressing that very issue while the conservative school of thought—well, who knew what they thought! Who knew what their answer would be to the restlessness and discontent she felt. It occurred to her then—she should find her copy of Betty Frieden's The Feminine Mystique and reread it. She suspected it would make much more sense to her now than in her undergrad days when it had been required reading for one of her history classes. The problem was, to be really honest, she'd always seen herself "doing it all" – the husband and the baby AND the career!

What was it she had told Harriet over lunch that day after she and Harm had received their orders —and before that memorable time at Harm's loft leading to the gathering at McMurphy's? She thrived on a certain amount of chaos and found it exhilarating she didn't know what she was going to be doing 20 minutes from the current moment. She stared out the window, not really seeing the grayness that seemed to settle over everything. Yet—here she was, utilizing her Marine training to structure a very strict schedule of museum and library visits, and reading, research and writing, to keep from being discouraged and frustrated, not to mention depressed—which wasn't working very well!

It was time to get honest with herself. She wasn't happy with her choice—and damn Harm for suspecting that might be the case! Both his self-esteem and self-image had taken a severe hit as a result of the Paraguay mission—she made a face as the very word "Paraguay" stirred up certain memories she really had no fondness for revisiting—especially when she let herself remember what Paraguay had done to her best friend—and now beloved husband and lover—he was no longer the arrogant jet-jock full of himself. Indeed, he had come back to JAG as uncertain and insecure as she had ever seen him. And, she grimaced, she really hadn't comprehended the whole picture of that hit—not until that night when he had come to her apartment to ask her to vouch for him as guardian. That was a painful episode for her to remember—she had been harsh and critical. She shook her head—he had really changed, and changed in substantial ways that he had proven to her, time and time again in the following months. It had taken her a while—especially with the turmoil between her and Clay and Clay's betrayal—but he had finally convinced her, through both word and action, that he was hers, in whatever way she wanted him.

Their conversation at the Admiral's Dining Out had been overwhelming—a softer smile appeared on her face—absolutely overwhelming! Even then, it had taken her Christmas Eve car accident for her to comprehend just how deeply and thoroughly Harm had fallen for her! She supposed it was that love she felt—unconditionally for only the second time in her life—her uncle being the first—that made her think she could manage being a "stay-at-home" wife and mother.

She snorted. "Yeah. Sure." Paraguay had changed her, too, only in more subtle ways—or was it easier to see in Harm, since he was so obviously driven by his emotions—at least up until Paraguay? She remembered following him to Russia, for Gd only knew what reasons at the time, to be there for him when he found the truth about his missing father. It had been pretty much what she had suspected—it wasn't a total shock to her that Harmon Rabb Sr. had died years before—but the story was—hm-m-m, how shall we say this? unique. She just knew that she was extremely happy she had been "there" for him when the truth finally came out.

She had been the one with the dispassionate plan—she had been the one whom Harm had turned to in the investigation that had taken place on the Watertown when he had said he "kept tripping over reality." Yet, since her experience in Paraguay, she had been the one all over the board emotionally—and he had been her "rock", her "pole of stability!" She was, if nothing else, profoundly grateful for that, and she would have to make sure he knew it at some future point in time.

Recently, though, she had come to terms with everything that had happened in the last year and a half of Chegwidden's command, and she had reverted back to a more mature, logical, and analytical person. She had seen Harm's unhappiness, although she suspected he had been trying to "hide" it from her. And, a glint of soft humor appeared in her eyes, she suspected they would have to revert to early type—it would probably be up to her to come up with the "dispassionate plan" to get them out of the quagmire that was their combined lives now.

But in order to do that and be fair to both, she would have to have more information—and Harm, gentleman that he was, wasn't forthcoming about said information! She checked her internal clock—Harm probably still had a couple of hours before he'd call to let her know he was leaving his office. She had that much time to figure out exactly what she wanted to do to resolve their situation, both individually and as a couple. She moved Marara's carrier to the sofa, went to put the tea kettle on for a cup of English tea, and settled down with a legal pad to make notes and observations, much the same way she would do in preparing a closing argument.

An hour later, she stretched, and returned to the computer with the still-sleeping Mahara, In addition to resolving to question Harm and find out what was bothering him so much, she'd decided to investigate volunteer opportunities in London. After all, she had to do "something" for the next five hundred forty-seven days ….Laying her head on her arms, she tried to calculate what time Harm might call to let her know he was leaving NAVEUR HQ for home. Hopefully, it'd be soon.

End Part II.

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