A/N: Okay, so I started another story. After reading the first chapter of Minimindbender's "Ricochet," a new idea formed. This one is AU, and like many ideas, it began with the question, "What If?" And that question lead to all sorts of possibilities… (No, there are no ghosts in this one, except maybe the ghosts of memories.)
Indifferent
JAG Headquarters
0800 Local
Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie strolled through the bullpen toward her office. Much like she had for the last six months, Mac didn't stop to speak to anyone. A few newcomers to JAG didn't understand her aloofness, but those who had been at headquarters for a while knew the reason for her indifference.
And everyone was wise enough not to talk about it in her presence or if the remote possibility of her overhearing existed.
She was never rude, but unless it involved JAG business, she didn't talk to anyone. If she wasn't in court, in a staff meeting, or out on an investigation, she stayed in her office with the door closed. Her skills as a lawyer hadn't diminished. If anything, she'd gotten better. She'd become adamant to learn the truth about each case, even if it meant discovering her client was guilty. Still, she staunchly defended them, as a good JAG lawyer should. Some said she was ruthless when she prosecuted, but most agreed she was fair, never resorting to unfair tactics in order to win.
Outside of work, she didn't associate with anyone. Everyone attempted to include her in social activities, all of which were met with a polite but firm, "no." She didn't take part in the company softball game, didn't attend Christmas Eve Services, and declined Harriet's invitation to a New Year's Eve party.
Rather than participate in the Jagathon, Mac donated a month's salary to the cause. (The first one had been so successful in raising money for 9/11 victims, Harriet, with the admiral's blessing, made it an annual event.) Admiral Chegwidden once gave thought about ordering her participation, but decided it was better not to.
As was her daily routine, Mac paused outside her office door to look at the one next door, now occupied by Cdr. Sturgis Turner. Everyone tried to decipher her expression—regret, sadness, anger, bitterness, guilt—a longing for something that could never be. Glancing at the place where the name Harmon Rabb, Jr. had once been, Mac went into her own office and shut the door.
Like Mac, the interior of the room had changed. She still had the Marine Corps poster and her law degree on the wall. But sitting on the corner of her desk, next to a framed picture of her and Harm in Afghanistan, was a model of an F14 Tomcat.
Before booting up her computer, Mac picked up the photo to lovingly trace her fingers over Harm's face. "Good morning, Flyboy." Blinking back the tears in her eyes, she began work on her next case.
An hour later, someone knocked on her door. Mac knew it must be important because no one ever disturbed her unless it was absolutely necessary.
"Enter."
Harriet stuck her head in the door. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but it's time for staff meeting."
Mac gasped, then looked at her watch. Her internal clock stopped working six months ago. The same time she learned… She shook off the thought. Refused to think about the worst time of her life.
"Thanks, Harriet. Tell the admiral I'm on the way."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am." The blond lieutenant closed the door as she left.
Mac quickly gathered her things and rushed to the meeting room where Admiral Chegwidden, Sturgis, Bud, Mattoni, and JAG's newest attorney, Lt. Cdr. Grace Armstrong, had already gathered.
"Decided to join us, Colonel?" Chegwidden's voice was firm but even-toned. He, like everyone else, treated her with kid gloves.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I was busy with a case and lost track of time."
"The Mullins court-martial?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to hand over your notes to Cdr. Armstrong. Since she's already second chair, I'm reassigning the case to her."
Mac's eyes widened. "Sir? No disrespect, but do you think I'm incapable of handling it?"
"Not at all, Colonel. I'm confident in your abilities. However, there's been a mishap involving the crash of an F-14. Lt. Lance Reaves has been accused of dereliction of duty and culpable negligence in the death of his RIO, Lt. Shane O'Malley. I'm sending you and Cdr. Turner to the Seahawk to investigate. There's a flight leaving Andrews at 1900 tonight. That gives you both plenty of time to hand off whatever cases you're working on. I want an impartial investigation. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir, but did I hear you correctly? The Seahawk?"
"Is there a problem with that, Colonel?"
"No, Sir, but…"
"Sir, maybe it would be better if someone else accompanied me." Sturgis's rich baritone voice filled the room.
"Commander, I decide what's best."
"Yes, Sir."
"Colonel, if you think you're incapable of handling this assignment, then maybe we need to discuss your duties here at JAG."
"I'm confident in my abilities to handle it, Admiral."
"Very good. The two of you are dismissed to get your cases in order. Distribute everything you're working on between Roberts, Mattoni, and Armstrong."
AJ Chegwidden went into his office, then sat behind his desk. He hated what he'd just done, but six months was more than enough time for Mac to get her act together. While he couldn't complain about the way she'd discharged her duties, he couldn't keep protecting her.
Sooner or later, she had to face reality. Harm was never coming back. Life had to go on. After much consideration, he thought sending her to the Seahawk might be the best thing. Now, after seeing her expression, he wondered if he'd done the right thing.
Oh, she'd quickly recovered to put on her tough "I'm a Marine" exterior. But he knew deep down inside she was hurting. Hell, he wasn't a shrink. Maybe he should have thought this thing through better.
He rubbed his hand over his bald pate. A headache had started to form. He pressed the intercom button. "Tiner! Get me some aspirin."
"Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir."
AJ turned to look out the window. Maybe he should start thinking about retirement. "I'm getting too old for this."
Mac gathered her files and placed them in a neat stack on her desk. Funny how she now had everything organized. Harm would be proud of her.
Harm. Why did you have to—
For the second time that day, a knock came on her door. "Enter."
Lt. Cdr. Grace Armstrong entered the room. The petite officer came to JAG five months earlier from Naples. She was about the height and size of Lauren Singer, but with a totally opposite personality.
Yes, she was enthusiastic and had no qualms in admitting she wanted to move up in the ranks. But unlike Singer, she didn't use devious means or step over others to get there. She was honest and had integrity. Mac thanked God (and Admiral Chegwidden) that Singer was gone and Armstrong was here.
Under different circumstances, Mac thought she might be good friends with Grace Armstrong. But now, she didn't care about being friends with anyone.
"I'm here for the Mullins file."
Mac handed her the folder. "Yes, of course. You're already familiar with the case, but if you have questions, I'll be glad to help."
"I don't at this time."
"If you do, you can contact me. I'm not sure how long Cdr. Turner and I will be away."
"I'll do that, Ma'am."
"Good."
Armstrong turned to leave but stopped at the door. "Ma'am?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Are you okay?"
Anger welled within Mac. No one, not even the admiral, dared to ask her that. She bit back a sharp retort, realizing that the junior officer meant well. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking. Close the door behind you."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Mac slumped in her chair, then picked up the photo of Harm. Rain fell steadily outside her window, signifying another gloomy day. But even when the sun was shining, her world was gloomy.
And without Harm, she couldn't imagine ever feeling happiness again.