"I have received your request, Commander," said Cresswell.
Harm had never felt so nervous during a phone call in all his life. The General was still a new and unread book to him. The time he had spent in his company was minimal and all their interactions so far have been limited to accepting assignments. Furthermore what little he had witnessed of Cresswell allowed hardly any insight into his character and workings of his mind. Admiral Chegwidden was a man of quick temper and always honest about his emotions and thoughts. There was never a need to guess his mood because he made it abundantly known the moment he stepped into the office. And even though Harm had been on the receiving end of some of his most passionate outrages, he missed this dynamic with his new commanding officer. Cresswell was downright unreadable, his face stoic, his voice never rising, his demeanour composed without a fail. And one could never tell if there was trouble or not. He remembered making a similar comparison between Meg and Mac just a few days ago. Where Meg had no trouble hiding what she was thinking, Mac had, over the years, perfected the unreadable facade to the point where he sometimes had no inkling of what may be going on in her head. He wondered if it was a Marine thing and if Mac and Cresswell were competing in being enigmatic. It must have been exhausting. It sure was for him as somebody desperately trying to guess their next reaction.
"Yes, sir," he said now, eyes closed and inwardly praying.
"I decided to deny it."
Harm felt his heart fall into his stomach. Even though he had more or less expected such an outcome, he had been clinging to the faint hope Cresswell might feel like doing something nice for him. He felt like a complete fool now. Meanwhile, the General continued:
"I see no reason to terminate your TAD assignment a month early. The skipper is satisfied with your performance, there is no immediate emergency here at JAG, and let's not forget, Commander, that you personally profited by your stay at Patrick Henry since you could do your quals with no inconvenience involved. So it seems to me that your request is unreasonable at best and self-indulgent and lazy at worst."
"Sir, according to my knowledge Lt. Commander Gruen has been given the clean bill of health and personally called me to say he was eager to resume his responsibilities here. I thought given his wishes it might be to everyone's benefit to get him back here since I am just a temporary stand-in anyway..."
"Gruen will be given enough work to fill his remaining time here on land," Cresswell interrupted. "And I must say I expected more fortitude from you, Rabb. Instead, I feel like I am dealing with a home-sick whiner right now."
Harm swallowed. The stoic tone of Cresswell's voice "It is not like I am ungrateful or home-sick, sir. But it is important that I return to Washington as soon as possible."
"Why?"
That was the crux of the matter. What could he really say to the General? Sorry, sir, but I am freaking out because I cannot locate the woman, currently also in your command, I really want to have a romantic relationship with, even though you have indicated her personal life is not my business. That would bode well. Harm was painfully aware of the long and awkward silence he offered to the question.
"Rabb?" Cresswell spoke again. "Give me your real reason and perhaps I might reconsider. Is this a family emergency?"
"In a way."
"Explain. I am sure a man as eloquent as you can find the words. And I suggest you do it in a timely manner. You are far from the only item on my daily schedule."
Yeah, I am super eloquent, all right, Harm thought to himself. Except for when it comes to Mac and all things related. Anyway, he had to try.
"Sir, I believe a good friend... a very good friend of mine is in serious trouble and needs help. I cannot do anything if I am in the middle of the Pacific."
Cresswell let the words hang there for a few moments.
"This is about Mackenzie," he said finally and it was definitely not a question. "I thought I told Coates, and by that also you, that the Colonel's private life is out of bounds to you as a co-worker."
Harm finally snapped.
"It is not out of bounds for me as..." he nearly shouted but bit his tongue at the last second.
"Yes, Commander? Do continue."
"As her closest friend. Sir, you have to be aware she has no immediate family. Or rather that her only living blood relation who gives a damn has been in prison for nearly a decade now. I need to be there for her."
"To do what?"
Harm was battling his frustration and anger and had to remind himself that slugging his commanding officer was both impossible over the phone and a criminal offence. With Chegwidden, he would have known what to say. He knew him and his thought process, he knew his weaknesses and he was not above using them. In many ways, they were quite similar to each other, even if Chegwidden managed to keep his emotions in check most of the time. Cresswell, though... what did make him tick? Harm was quickly realizing he failed to do his homework when it came to his new CO. In the end, he decided that brutal honesty was the only thing he had to offer. The general may appreciate that. And if not, there was really not much that could get worse.
"To run her errands. To do the grocery and laundry. To brush her hair and hold her hand. To make sure she takes her medication, for God knows as well as I, she hates to do that. To drive her to the hospital for her check-up. And first of all to just find out where she is, because nobody seems to know and that is just not normal, sir."
Harm hardly stopped to take a breath before continuing, unwilling to let Cresswell dismiss him before he could play all the cards: "I am her emergency contact, so why was I not contacted when she was rushed to the hospital? Even if I wasn't able to come, I should have been informed! I should have known! Her condition is no laughing matter and if it got worse, which it would seem to me it did, she needs medical attention and care. Who is making sure she is getting it? Just because she doesn't come to work doesn't mean she is taking care of herself. She is the most damn stubborn jarhead I know and I... I am terrified for her right now."
"You know about her condition?" Cresswell asked and somehow his voice felt no longer cold and authoritarian.
"Yes, sir."
"How come you know but I had to pry it out of her during a crazy ambulance ride? Wait. Don't answer this. I really need to go and attend a meeting now, there is no time for this conversation."
"Sir, my request?" Harm almost cried out, getting a little desperate. If Cresswell just hung up on him now... He counted seconds of silence with his heartbeat.
"You have my approval to return to Washington as soon as you manage to organize Gruen's return. You will not get off that carrier a second before he makes his appearance. Furthermore, Commander, you are not taking a vacation. You will report to me and you will be assigned work. You will not neglect your job in any way and your conduct will be upstanding at all times."
Harm had to sit down as relief flooded him. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
"And Rabb? We will have a conversation about your relationship with Colonel Mackenzie soon. A very honest conversation. And very soon indeed. Do you understand?"
Without waiting for an affirmative, General Cresswell hung up.
Four days later Commander Harmon Rabb found himself in front of a red brick apartment building in Georgetown. The slim hope Mac may have returned vanished as soon as he rose his eyes to her darkened windows. Still, he made his way upstairs. Even though she wasn't there he had to start somewhere. Using his spare key, the one he had almost thrown away some time ago when anger was still too strong and a possibility of ever stepping into her home almost non-existent, he let himself in and switched on the light.
The apartment was cold and silent. And immaculate. Harm frowned. Mac was not the greatest when it came to keeping things neat. True enough, her working space always took the greatest brunt of her practice of "intelligent people know how to function in chaos" mindset, while her living quarters were kept tidy. But there was always something. Like a thrown away blanket crumpled at the end of the couch. A mug or two in the sink, waiting to be washed. Melted wax from an old candle still sticking to the mantlepiece. A drawer not completely shut. Make-up items haphazardly left along the bathtub edge. A half-empty glass of water on the night table. Her home had always been imperfect and cosy. Walking through it now he felt like nobody lived there. Everything was perfect and cold and impersonal. For whatever reason Mac cleaned her apartment before she left. And not only cleaned it but dusted, assorted everything, thrown out a lot of stuff and judging by the smell, disinfected it.
Wrong. Everything felt so wrong.
Eventually, he opened up her closet, just to see if, by any chance, he might figure out what clothes she took. His heart nearly stopped. The closet was empty. Opening her drawers he was faced with the same thing. Empty. It was impossible that she would take all of her clothes! After all, her shoes were still there!
It was then that he heard a key turning in the lock. His head jerked up. Could it be? Was she back? He was ready to shake the would out of her first and kiss her senseless second. Or maybe he'd do it in the opposite order. Or both at once if physically possible.
The door swung open. The person behind it froze and so did Harm. They eyed each other for a few moments, both trying to find words. Any words.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Harm finally erupted.
"I live here, Rabb," Clayton Webb said with a smirk. "And I would appreciate it if you would wait for an invitation next time."
