A/N: Chapter 4! One more to go.
A JAGmas Carol
Chapter 4: In Which We Meet the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
"What the hell?" Harm shouted as he hit the ground on his six. His ghostly companion, as translucent as the last two, was eyeing him with a smirk.
"Welcome to your future, Commander."
Harm stood up and needlessly dusted himself off. He looked around, noting his building seemed to be in complete disrepair. The street was full of snow, and Harm had the impression no one would be coming by to plow anytime soon.
With a bit of false bravado, he motioned to the surrounding area. "Doesn't look too bad."
The female ghost tossed her head back and laughed. "This is only the beginning, Commander." She took his hand in her cold, sickly one, then dragged him to the door of the building, eventually leading him up the stairs to his apartment.
"Gee, Future Girl, if we were just going to stay here, why did you have to pull me through the window?" Before Harm could finish his sentence, he was suddenly thrown up against the wall. He hung there, held by an unseen hand, while his ghostly guide glared up at him.
"I thought I told you not to call me that," she said, and then he was dropped to the floor.
"Ouch, dammit! Okay, what should I call you, then?" He pushed himself up and slowly rose.
"Well, my full name is The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, but you may call me Loren."
"Loren. Well, I don't get it. I've known all the ghosts that have come around here, but I have absolutely no idea who you are."
"Because I'm from the future. Your future. Somewhere out in the world, there's a Loren Singer asleep in her bed next to a total hunk, but they borrowed my spirit just to come here and teach you the meaning of Christmas. We'll meet in the future, and then I think you kill me. Wait, no…someone else kills me, but they're going to blame it on you."
"Well, that's just ridiculous," was all Harm could think of to say.
"Think again, Harmon. But maybe if you don't stay such a Scrooge, you won't get yourself into that mess. Maybe if you aren't such a bitter boy when we meet next year, you may do something to keep me from dying."
"What? How in hell would I have anything to do with you dying?"
"Nothing really, but maybe with your guidance, I'll make better choices."
Harm just stared at the spirit of Loren Singer until he finally snorted and threw up his hands. "Whatever."
Loren nodded with obvious amusement. "Now, we have to hurry. This spirit has a bit of a curfew. She'd better be back to her body by midnight, because if she's not, her boyfriend is going to wake up to pee and think she's dead, all right?"
"Fine," Harm snapped, and then she led him to his apartment door. It was slightly ajar, and when Harm stepped inside, he was appalled to find it was an utter mess. Empty beer bottles lay on the floor in front of his old couch. It sagged in the middle, and Harm was sure he could see the imprint of his ass on the middle cushion, though it was a bit wider than he would have expected.
"Holy crap! Do I still live here?"
"No, not really," was the ghost's cryptic response.
"Huh? So those aren't my beer bottles?"
"Oh, they're yours."
"So, do I live here or not?" Harm demanded, and the annoying spirit of in front of him smirked at him again.
"Not anymore."
"Well, thank goodness for that," Harm mumbled, irritated when Loren just laughed. "So, why are we here?"
"I just thought you'd like to see it again."
"I see—" Harm was then interrupted by Loren taking his hand. He shuddered at the cold moistness of it but allowed the ghost to drag him down the hall and back down the stairs.
When they left the apartment, the snow seemed even deeper than before. Loren made the two of them traipse down the block, stopping when they noticed a group of people standing around some object. One of the individuals moved to the side, enough for Harm to see the object was someone's lifeless form lying on the ground. His first instinct was to go over there and help, but Loren held him back.
"They can't see you. I would have thought you'd already know that, seeing as this isn't your first rodeo when it comes to ghost traveling."
"Yeah, well…who is it?" he asked belligerently.
"Don't know," she shrugged as she led him a bit closer to hear what the people surrounding the body had to say.
"Do any of you know who this is?" A man with a tan wool coat and a plaid scarf asked. The woman next to him shook her head.
"No, but I think I've seen him walking into the liquor store down the street."
"He must have just come from there. Look—there's a broken bottle…Walt's Whiskey? Shit, that's the cheapest shit out there."
Another man, dressed in a heavy grey parka came up to the group just then, cursing when he saw the body.
"Damn. I know this guy. He lives in that shithole down the street. He only goes out to get booze, I think. Poor bastard." He knelt down next to the body, who Harm could now see was face down in the snow and wearing a too-thin jacket and torn, stained jeans. The man then reached out and touched the prone man's neck, then nodded. "Yeah, he's dead. On Christmas Eve, no less. Poor bastard," he said again.
Harm stepped forward, this time intent on seeing who the dead man was, but Loren once again dragged him away.
"Leave it," she said. "We have a few other places to visit. That guy is beyond help. Doesn't matter who the poor bastard was."
"Hey! I still want to know!"
"No, you don't." Loren grinned wolfishly. "You really don't."
"Wait, is that—"
"Say buh-bye, Commander!" his guide sing-songed, and then Harm found himself inside Chloe Madison's house again. He could hear Chloe crying and it broke his heart, but when he heard her stepfather shout at her, he was furious.
"Dammit! That son-of-a-bitch." Harm moved to intervene but stopped, for this time he didn't need to be reminded they wouldn't see him. "Shit," he mumbled.
"Yeah, shit. Of course, that girl is a huge brat, so who cares?"
"I do," Harm protested. "I mean, it's Christmas Eve, and she's spending the night with a man who doesn't even care about her. Jeez, he's been around her practically her whole life, and he can't muster up even a little affection?"
"Well, not everyone is the kind, noble man you are, Ebeneezer. Besides, what difference does it make? You think Christmas is crap, so why shouldn't she?"
"She's a kid…"
"So were you, once, and boy you were a pain in the ass. Your mother must be a freaking saint to put up with your sorry six."
"Hey! And another thing, this isn't exactly the future, or Christmas yet to come. It's Christmas now."
Loren looked thoughtful for a moment "Good point. Let's go then, shall we?"
The two disappeared in the blink of an eye, and then Harm found himself in an unfamiliar room. An older man and woman sat on a couch in front of a fireplace, arms around each other. Three little girls and one little boy played at their feet, while a strangely familiar woman about Harm's own age sat in a chair next to them.
"Grandma!" the youngest child called as she stood up in front of the older woman.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Her voice also familiar to him
"This is the best Christmas ever!"
"You think so, Sarah?"
The pretty little girl-child gave her grandmother an exaggerated nod as she was picked up to sit on her grandma's lap.
The man who was obviously her grandfather ran his hand over the little girl's hair. "It is the best Christmas ever, isn't it, luv." The man had an obvious accent, and Harm instantly disliked him.
"Yeah, he's Australian," Loren murmured, while Harm thought to himself, who cares.
It was then that the woman handed off her granddaughter and stood up.
"Mac?!"
"Mac? Is that what you called her? Jeez, no wonder you too didn't get together. He calls her Sarah. Or luv. Disgusting, but it's better than Mac. Especially when his name is Mic."
"So, when did they get together, and how did she meet him?" Harm asked, now completely disturbed by the scene in front of him.
Loren smiled knowingly. "He came to JAG as an exchange officer, and after a whirlwind courtship, they got married on Christmas Eve. We were all there, although I think you spent the evening three sheets to the wind. You were pretty upset. You two didn't talk much after, and, hey, hey, are you crying? There's no crying in time travel!"
Harm lifted his hand and touched his face. Sure enough, there was moisture on his cheeks, the result of the tears dripping from his eyes. "I just didn't think she'd…Diane said…"
"That you loved her? Yeah, you did. Do. But you're an idiot. You let your bitterness about Christmas make you bitter about everything. Or maybe you were just an idiot. Of course, her getting married on Christmas Eve didn't make you like Christmas any better. Turned you into a real ass. I think I remember her saying something about…let's see…I think it involved the words 'asshole' and 'bastard.'"
"You remember? You haven't even met her yet!"
"And I don't. She moves to Australia the spring after they marry. They then have a whole litter of kids and eventually move back to the States."
"No…"
"Yeah. Ooh, they're about to get a phone call."
Sure enough, a phone rang and then that Mic person leaned forward and grabbed a little phone off the coffee a lovely end table. "Hello? Just a moment." He handed the phone to Mac. "It's for you."
"Hello?" she said. "Hey, Bud. Merry Christmas! How are you and Harriet? That's great, but you sound a little—oh, you have something else to tell me?" Mac listened for a moment and her face fell. "He did? Where did they—on the sidewalk? Did he have a heart attack? Oh, he smashed his head? On a bottle of—and there was another one beside him? Oh, that's too bad…no, I don't think I'll be able to make it to the funeral…Yeah, Mic and I are going on a cruise to the Caribbean. Fourteen days…no, don't postpone it…he's being cremated…well, that's nice of you to provide the urn…what are you going to do with the ashes…Bud, you don't want him on your mantle. I mean, did he even ever call you? He did? Just last week? Oh…no, Bud, we can't make it, but thank you for letting me know. Buh-bye." Mac hung up the phone and tossed it back on the table, and suddenly Harm had the sickening feeling he knew who was found lying dead on the sidewalk.
"What was that about? Who died?" Mic asked.
Mac shook her head. "No one important."
Harm stood next to Loren, mind reeling. He was sure he knew who Mac had been referring to, but he needed to see it for himself. He needed to get back to that sidewalk, but instead, as the scene of Mac and her family faded, he found himself back in his apartment.
"Loren, wait," he called as she started to disappear. "Take me back to that sidewalk. I need to know who died."
Lauren sighed in exasperation. "Look, it's almost midnight." She tapped the watch on her wrist. "Curfew, remember?"
"Come on. We have a few minutes. Please!" he begged, and Loren rolled her eyes.
"Okay, fine. But you're not going to like it."
"I haven't liked any of this!"
"Fair enough. Here we go, Commander!"
And then Harm was back on the snowy sidewalk. The same people he'd seen before still stood around the body, along with a couple of policemen. This time Singer allowed him to go closer, and Harm could see it was a tall man with dark hair liberally peppered with gray. There was some blood on the snow around his head, and a smashed bottle of cheap whiskey lay next to him.
"Is that—" Harm started to say, but then the cop flipped the body over.
"Oh, no," Harm gasped, though had already known what he'd see.
There on the snowy ground lay a much older version of himself, although, judging how Mac looked when he'd seen her, he probably wasn't that old. It must have been bitterness that made this man a wrinkled shell of his former self. This man wasn't fit, and Harm couldn't help but remember the center cushion of his couch. Yes, this man's ass would have fit that imprint perfectly.
"See, I told you, you wouldn't like it. I mean, your face latterly was smashed on that bottle! And two bottles? Really, Commander? Seems a bit excessive."
"Apparently, I was really thirsty," Harm answered sarcastically. "So, all this—you spirits, my best friend marrying a total wank, my dying violently—all because I hate Christmas?"
"Oh, Harmalade—that's what Diane called you, right? —it isn't that you hated Christmas. It's that you let all those things about family, like Christmas, make you a bitter turd. A lonely, bitter turd."
"I don't want to be alone," Harm murmured. "I don't want to be alone," he said again, louder this time.
"Yeah? So, what are you going to do about it?" Loren asked rather snidely.
"You're going to take me home, and I'm going to tell Mac I love her and that I want to spend Christmas with her, and in the morning, we're going to go get Chloe and go to Bud and Harriet's to celebrate."
"Really? You've changed your mind already? Wow. We ghosts are pretty good."
"Shut up, Loren. Take me home."
"I don't take orders from you…yet."
"Hey, don't you have a curfew?" He tapped his wrist like she had tapped her watch, and then, as he looked down, he was reminded he was naked. "And I need to put on some damn clothes!"
Loren looked him up and down. "Nah, this is a good look for you. Pity you let your self go." She motioned to the old, overweight, dead Harmon Rabb on the ground.
"Well, I'm not going to do that now. Take me home!"
Finally, Loren did as he asked, and the scene on the snowy sidewalk disappeared. A moment later, he was back in his apartment, standing in the middle of his bedroom.
"So, you get it now?" Loren asked.
"Yeah, I do. Thank you."
"Can I go now?"
"Yes, please go," he replied, anxious for the irritating spirit to leave him be so he could start his life anew.
"If you insist," she said, then started to fade. "You know, I think I'm not going to die so young now. Just think, even though you're still an ass, you're a better ass, and you'll make me better."
Harm grinned and nodded. "All part of the service."
"Goodbye, then, Harm. Until we meet again." She had all but disappeared.
"Until we meet again…Future Girl."
Suddenly, an almost fully solid Loren appeared in front of him. Her hand shot out and she viciously slapped him. He stumbled back, falling gracelessly onto his bed, stunned.
"I thought I told you not to call me that!"
And then she finally disappeared.
Harm jolted awake, confused. He'd had the strangest dream…
Wait. Harm rubbed his cheek, and it stung.
"No…couldn't be…"
Surely, he couldn't have seen the ghosts of his dad, Diane, Dalton Lowne…and Loren Singer…
Who the hell is that? he said to himself. He slid out of bed and logged onto his computer. He remembered this Loren telling him they hadn't met yet, but she would eventually serve with him. No way was that real, he tried to convince himself.
As soon as he was able, he typed a few things which led him to a database. He searched for one Loren Singer, feeling foolish that he was looking up a dream woman…but then he found her, and she looked exactly like the bitchy woman who'd appeared to him.
"Fuck, it was all real, and that means—" He looked over at his clock to see it flip to midnight. It was now officially Christmas Day.
It was real. All of it. "And I need to do something about it," he said to himself. I can't wind up dead and alone and bloody in the snow. And he most certainly no let Mac marry that bloody annoying Aussie.
Harm quickly dressed and grabbed his wallet and keys. He practically flew down the stairs and out into the cold darkness, then ran to his Lexus. He hopped in and moments later he was racing toward Mac's apartment.
Harm pounded on Mac's door, certain one of her neighbors would hear him and call the police. He couldn't stop, however. He needed Mac to open this door. Now.
Harm knocked again and again, until that yippy dog next door to Mac started to yip. He thought about using his emergency key, but then figured she had engaged the chain lock. Still, if he could open it just a little bit, maybe he could call out to her.
Harm pulled his keys from his pocket and found hers, but just as he was about to slide it into the knob, the door was yanked open to reveal Mac, clad in a gauzy pink robe, which accented her red-rimmed eyes. Jesus, has she been crying? Harm was about to ask before she roughly pulled him inside.
"What the hell are you doing, Harm?!" she demanded. "It's after midnight."
Harm could only stand there speechless. Even with her puffy eyes and mussed up hair, she was beautiful.
"Well, Harm? Why are you coming in here at 12:17 in the morning?"
"Um…I wanted to…um, wish you a merry Christmas?" he answered stupidly, and she rolled her eyes.
"I thought you didn't do Christmas."
Harm stepped forward, wanting to pull Mac into his arms. She, however, stepped back. "What, Mac?" he said absently. Damn, she's so gorgeous.
"I said, I thought you didn't do Christmas."
Her words finally penetrating, Harm's face split into a huge grin. "I do now, Mac!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, see, I had these visitors, these three, no, four ghosts…and they told me—"
Mac threw up her hands. "Cut the crap, Harm. This isn't the freaking Christmas Carol."
"I know. I know, but Mac…"
"Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas." With that, he moved forward, pulling her into his arms before she could escape, and kissed her.
End Chapter 4
