A/N: It's kinda last minute, but I felt bad about not putting out any Christmas-themed story this year. It's going to be five chapters, but it still counts if I posted before the day is done, right? Anyway, this is a JAG take on Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and it takes place after the fourth season episode "Jaggle Bells." Hope you like it.

A JAGmas Carol

Chapter 1: In Which We Meet Scrooge

Harm hated Christmas, and he had ever since his father had been shot down over Vietnam. Oh, his mother had tried over the years to make Christmas a joyful, magical time, but it had never worked. He still didn't have his father, and he still hated Christmas.

This year was no different. He had no one to spend Christmas with, having realized going out with a client was stupid. Actually, that really wasn't accurate. He'd actually realized it was stupid to go out with a doctor who was apparently too stupid to know cough syrup had alcohol in it. Jordan Parker apparently also thought it was appropriate to dose cough syrup in "swigs." He'd driven her home, refused her offer for a night cap, then made his way to his own apartment. Alone.

And he liked being alone. He had no idea why he'd been working so hard to find a former conquest with whom to spend the holiday. He should have just asked Mac to do something. She was alone this Christmas too.

No, he'd only bring Mac down, besides, he'd rather be alone anyway. Alone was best, and he'd been rather irritated how she'd hung around him today, so curious about what he was going to do this Christmas. She had more things, bigger things, to worry about right now.

Harm unlocked his door and stepped inside his apartment. It was dark and quiet, just the way he liked it at Christmas. He loathed bright, twinkling lights, and he'd seen enough of them decorating just about every building he'd passed on the way here.

In a moment, however, he found himself regretting his lack of holiday illumination, for in his beloved darkness, he missed the box of cookies his grandmother had sent him. He'd carelessly tossed it on the floor when it had arrived, and now he was paying for that carelessness by tripping, nay, catapulting over it. He hit the ground hard, his head striking the hardwood floor. He immediately tried to sit up, but dizziness caused him to fall back, and this time he knocked himself out cold.

When Harm came to, he was surrounded by a soft golden glow that didn't seem to come from any of the various lights and lamps in his apartment. Confused, he tried to stand up, but was stopped by a black boot on his chest.

"What the fu—"

"Now, little Harm, I didn't teach you to say that, and I know your mother didn't either…"

"Dad?"

"That's right. Here," the man said, removing his foot from Harm's chest before reaching his arm out toward him. Harm's hand shook as he let his supposed father pull him up into a sitting position.

"Okay, little Harm, I don't have a lot of time, so I'm gonna just cut to the chase."

"Look, Dad, I'm sorry I didn't make it to the wall tonight."

"What? No, Junior, that's not why I'm here."

"I'll go tomorrow, I promise." And he would, because he always kept his promises.

"No—"

"And I'll go twice next year." He would do that too.

"Harm…"

"What do you want me to do?" Apparently missing his yearly Christmas Eve visit to the Wall was enough to get Harm Sr to haunt him, so he figured he'd better make amends. Do you want me to go now? Okay, I'll go. Just—I need my coat…wait, I should still have my coat on…"

"You don't need a coat in Hell, son."

"What? You mean I-I'm dead? I just tripped!"

Harm heard his father laugh and he scowled up at him. Death was a serious thing. So was Hell. "Hey!"

"Oh, Harm," his father chuckled. "You're not in hell, and you're not dead, but if you don't listen to me, someday you are going to die sad and alone."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, so, you need to listen."

"Okay."

"Well, little Harm, tonight you're going to be visited by three spirits—"

"Wait a minute. I know this story." Everyone knew this story.

"Oh, you think so, huh?"

"Of course. It's Dickens. Scrooge. Bob Cratchit. Tiny Tim."

"And who do you think is Scrooge in our version?"

"Not me," Harm replied smugly. Surely, he was Bob.

His father's laughter filled the room once more. "Think again. You've hated Christmas since you were six."

"But I'm not a greedy SOB."

"No, but you are kind of a prick about some things."

"Like Christmas?"

"Like Christmas. You won't eat Christmas food. You won't decorate your apartment. You won't go home to your mother. She misses you, Harm. And Frank's a good guy."

"I don't have time to decorate. I know Frank is a good guy, and I don't eat Christmas food because it's all full of sugar, fat, and, and meat!" he finished triumphantly.

"Yeah, well, anyway…you're going to be visited by three spirits tonight. Heed their words, son."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Because you said so…Dad, I don't think you can use that reasoning with a grown adult."

"Maybe not, but I can with my son. Heed their words, little Harmon. Goodbye, now!

"Dad!" Harm called out, but his father was gone, as was the golden light. He was once again lying on the floor, and he groaned as he sat up and rubbed his head.

"Shit," he mumbled. "That was quite the dream." He yawned, hefting himself off the floor and chuckling about his dad playing Jacob Marley in his Dickensian fantasy.

"Goodnight, Dad," he said in his darkened abode. "I'll go to the Wall tomorrow, I promise." He carefully took the two steps up to his bedroom, hesitating a moment before crossing to his bed. He could have sworn he'd heard his father laughing at him just now.

Shaking his head, he climbed under his covers and went to sleep.

Harm woke up shivering. A glance at his alarm clock told him it was only a little after 2100–too early to be in bed. Indeed, he didn't even remember going to bed, but here he was, naked as the day he was born, lying in the middle of his California king mattress. His teeth were chattering despite being entirely covered up by the quilt his grandmother had made for him when he'd graduated from the academy. That was all strange too. He couldn't remember changing out of his uniform, nor did he remember getting the quilt from his closet.

"What the hell," he mumbled, drawing the blanket more tightly around him. At least he tried to do that. As soon as he had hold of it, it was yanked out of his hands, and he was suddenly blinded by his bedside lamp.

"Hey!" he yelped, wondering who had broken in. Surely, he was being robbed. He thrashed around a bit, dizzy and disoriented, waiting for the intruder to knock him on the head, but then it didn't happen. He allowed himself to relax, only to be stunned by the sound of feminine laughter. Everybody was laughing at him tonight, it seemed.

"Time to get up, Rabbit."

"Huh?"

"Come on, Harmalade. Time's awastin'."

Harm was even more stunned. There was only one person in his life who had used those nicknames, but surely it couldn't be…

"Diane?"

End Chapter 1