:: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas ::Part Five Then will you tell me, you’ll never more roam; 25 December 2002 With his hands on his hips, Harm stood down his mother’s husband. "Would you go on and get out of here, Frank? You made me leave to shower and change." "Yeah, but you stank," Frank joked. "And you’ve been wearing those clothes a heck of a lot longer than I did," Harm retorted. "Come on, Frank. I swear I’ll call you if anything happens. I won’t leave her for a moment -- you know that." All joking aside, Frank’s voice turned sad. "I can’t leave her, Harm." Harm put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. "Yes you can. I’ll be with her. You need to get out. You’re doing her no good in the state you’re in. You know I’m right. Hell, you used the same argument on me. If she wakes up, I’ll be here, and I’ll call you right away." Reluctantly, Frank stood. "If you can, lay down and get a few hours sleep." Frank shook his head no and walked to the door. "I’ll be right back." "Showered and clean-shaven!" Harm called after him. Harm had done what he could to straighten the house while he was there; well, what he could, considering his cast. At least their bed was made, and Harm had laid out Frank’s robe as well as a full change of clothes for him so he wouldn’t have to think about anything. He’d learned a lot about the man in the last few days, about their marriage and his mother. It really sucked that it took a tragedy for Harm to get this far with his mother’s husband. He sat in the chair that Frank had vacated and took his mother’s hand. "Well, Mom, now’s as good a time as any to tell you about me and Mac." He kissed her hand. "If you can hear me, at least you won’t be able to yell at me." He rested her hand against his cheek. "And if you can’t hear me, I’ll just consider this a practice session. Okay?" Since the machines continued to beep and hum at a normal rate, he continued. "We’ve split up, Mom. We tried to make it work, but we couldn’t. Remember how you and Dad never seemed to argue? You were always just so happy. Basically, like you and Frank now. You get along, you’re good together, and most importantly, you don’t yell." Harm suddenly realized a tear had fallen down his cheek and he wiped it quickly. "Well, Mac and I can’t do that. We tried, but as much as we love each other we just can’t stop fighting. We split a little over two weeks ago, Mom. Actually, Mac tossed me out. But don’t blame her -- I’m just as much at fault if not more so. She was angry and she was just so tired of feeling that way all the time. Believe it or not, we’re much better together now. And it’s better for Haley Marie." Harm put his mother's hand on her stomach but rather than letting go of it, he carefully placed his cast on the bed and held her hand with the fingers of that hand. Then he lay his head on her shoulder. "We’re going through some really rough times right now, Mom. But we’ll get through it. Just like you somehow managed to get through Dad not coming back. We’re going to move on, and we’re going to do the best we can for Haley Marie. I promise." Harm eventually sat up with a sigh and picked up her hand, this time to hold it in both of his. "Do you want to hear about Haley Marie’s first Christmas? I talked to Mac this morning and she told me all about it." :: :: ::
25 December 2002 "Sir, you wanted to know when Lieutenant Barker’s team came in. They’re entering the camp perimeter right now." "Thank you, Corporal. Please let the Lieutenant know that I need to see Galindez right away." Major Paul Dominguez was mad as hell. He didn’t want to do this. He wanted to be the one going home. But nooo, some admiral was taking away the best NCO he had. The Gunnery Sergeant worked well with the locals, helped season the young lieutenants better than any of the other Gunnys, and Dominguez never had a problem sending him out with a team for routine recon. That trip wasn’t Galindez’s fault -- they were ambushed, plain and simple -- and Dominguez had already filed the paperwork to see the Gunny commended for getting his team back. He couldn’t blame Galindez for this, though. The Gunny had been due for rotation out two months ago. Why he stayed was beyond Dominguez. The Major had been ready for rotation after his first month here. Again, he looked at the message that he’d had on his desk for more than twenty-four hours. Rear Admiral A.J. Chegwidden wanted Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez in front of his desk on Friday. And, what a two-star admiral wants, he gets. A knock on his door interrupted his reverie. "Enter." "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez reporting as ordered, sir!" "At ease, Gunny. What happened to your arm?" "It’s nothing, sir. A minor sprain. The corpsman said I should be out of the sling by Friday." "Well, that’ll be just in time, then, won’t it?" "Sir?" "Merry Christmas, Gunny. Get yourself cleaned up and pack your gear. You’re being shipped stateside." "Sir?" "You’ll be in a jeep out of here tonight and on a transport to the states first thing in the morning. There’s a two-star in Washington who has decided your services are needed there." "Which one, sir?" "Which one what?" "Which two-star, sir? There are a lot of them in DC." "And how many do you know?" "Just one, sir -- Admiral Chegwidden. I worked for him for more than four years." "Well, Gunny, he wants you back. You’re to report to him at noon on Friday." The Major stood to shake Gunny’s hand. "It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Galindez. Pick up your paperwork from Corporal Winger on your way out. Oh, and I’ve included a letter you’re to pass on to the admiral. I don’t know what the admiral wants you for, but I did want to make sure he knows you’re one of the finest soldiers I’ve ever had serve under me, Gunny. Dismissed." Dominguez noticed Gunny was looking a little pale as he left, so he called out. "Gunny, if you need painkillers, get them from the corpsman. It’s going to be a long trip home." "Thank you, sir," Gunny said, pausing at the door. Then, as though suddenly remembering, he stood at attention and saluted. Gunny was going to miss Major Dominguez. As he walked across the compound toward the clapboard buildings that served as the NCO barracks, he thought about how much the man hated this place with a passion. Dominguez’s Spanish was barely passable, but the Major had one thing going for him -- he did not want to see any more men die. And the Major did his damnedest to make sure casualties were minimal. The previous CO got himself killed because he was an idiot, and five good men died with him; the captain who temporarily replaced him wasn’t much better, but at least he didn’t try to go out into the jungle. When Dominguez showed up, he lined up all the officers and senior NCOs and reamed everyone royally for the camp’s lousy casualty record. He then informed the NCOs that they were to ensure their officers got the best possible advice and he ordered the officers to listen to their NCOs -- who had a hell of a lot more experience under their belt! And lastly, even though seventy-five percent of the men there spoke Spanish, the other twenty-five percent, by god, were going to learn some phrases to get along better with the locals. Yeah, Gunny was going to miss the Major. He had no illusions about what the Admiral wanted. Mac must have told him. Suddenly, it hit him: the tests came back. "Son of a bitch! I’m a father." A horn beeping startled him out of his reverie. "Hey Gunny, out of the road," the private driving the vehicle yelled at him. When Gunny moved, the private pulled up next to him. "You okay, Gunny?" "Yeah," he replied. "I’m being sent stateside." "Damn! Merry Christmas, Gunny!" "Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, Private." Gunny showered and shaved as quickly as one could with a sprained arm. As he packed up his gear, he wondered what the Admiral was going to do. <<<Other than ream me a new one.>>> Court martial? Retirement? Dishonorable discharge? All of the above? A month ago, leaving this place would have bothered him -- he just wasn’t one to leave when he was needed. Leaving JAG had been easy, knowing he was going to do what he’d trained all his military life for. But a month ago he didn’t know he had a kid. He’d been so sure when he’d first laid eyes on Haley Marie, but Mac’s reluctance put a seed of doubt in his own mind. With the Admiral’s summons, though, Gunny just knew Haley Marie had to be his. There was just something so different about that night. Sex had never felt so good, so right -- hell, it felt downright holy. How could she have ever thought Haley Marie was Rabb’s? OH SHIT! Rabb! <<<He’s gonna kill me.>>> To hell with what the Admiral was going to do to him, Commander Rabb was going to do him some serious bodily harm, and Gunny didn’t blame him one bit. <<<He’ll see me in Leavenworth before he’ll let me near that little girl.>>> Gunny threw his duffel over his shoulder and headed out to find the jeep that would take him to the nearby airfield. The few who watched the Gunnery Sergeant leave couldn’t understand why a guy who was heading home looked like a condemned man on his way to his execution. :: :: ::
25 December 2002 Harm looked up from his book at the sound. "Mom?" This time he saw her head move. "Frank! Wake up -- Mom’s awake!" Frank quickly threw off the blanket that covered him and sat up in the chair. "Trish?" he called out, still slightly disoriented. "I saw her move her head, Frank. She’s waking up!" Frank picked up the hand that lay next to him and squeezed it hard. "Trish! Trish, sweetie. Wake up." "F-Frank?" The voice was weak and both men leaned close. Trish opened her eyes and looked at Frank. "Frank -- what are you doing here?" Frank placed the hand he was holding next to his cheek and lightly stroked her hair and face with the other. "I love you, honey. Where else would I be?" "You need to get out of here, baby. What if Harm wakes up?" Her voice turned into a harsh whisper. "He might find out you spent the night." The two men exchanged confused glances before Frank finally spoke. "It’s okay, Trish." "No, honey. Not until we’re married. No matter how much I want you here. Oh Frank, I do want you here." She leaned her face into his hand and her voice took on a husky quality. "Baby, you were so good last night. I loved the way you just spread my legs and held me there. If I hadn’t grabbed that pillow in time I just know I would have woken Harm." "Uh, Trish?" Her eyes began to close. "You better go, Frank. I love you." "I love you too, Trish." Harm just sat there in shock. He didn’t know how long he’d been blushing. He’d always known his mother was a very sexy woman -- men had given her appreciative glances his entire life -- but to hear her describe a sexual act, well, that was something no son should have to hear.He looked over at Frank, who still held his mother’s hand and continued to stroke her hair. "Frank?" "That was the only time I ever spent the night before we were married." "Frank...." "She was so scared you’d find out that she made me promise we’d never do that again." Harm really, really didn’t want to hear this, but he was afraid to stop the man because he looked on the verge of breakdown. "I really don’t...." "Do you know how much it means to me that she said that just now? That she would remember that night? That she would speak of it that way?" "No, Frank. I don’t." "When she thought you were your father on Monday, you can’t possibly know how much that hurt, Harm." He still did not look at the younger man, only at his wife. "But just now she told me that she loved me in a way that means more than any other time she’s ever said it." Harm watched as a tear traced its way down Frank’s cheek. He’s been here too long, Harm knew. The man needed a decent night’s sleep. "Frank -- look at me." Frank reluctantly took his eyes from his wife to look at her son. "Go home, Frank. You need a good night’s sleep." Frank opened his mouth in protest, but Harm forestalled him. "I promise, when you get back, I’ll go do the same, but you need some decent rest." Harm got up and moved around the bed to stand near the older man, then put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. "I’ll tell the doctor all about this when he comes by in an hour, and I’ll call you if there’s any change. But you need some sleep." "But if she wakes again...." "If she wakes again, I’ll tell you all about it. Look at her -- she’s resting comfortably. Probably for the first time all week. You need to do the same, okay?" It took Harm awhile, but he finally managed to get Frank to agree and he left. Harm picked up his book and this time, sat in Frank’s chair. He picked up his mother’s hand and he kissed her fingers. "Please don’t do that to me again, Mom. That was just more than I needed to know." One thing good about his Mom having spoken to Frank, though, was that maybe since she’s seen his Dad and Frank, maybe when she woke up next, she’ll actually see her son. :: :: ::26 December 2002 Harm took in all the people and new equipment surrounding his mother. "Frank? What’s going on here?" Frank took the younger man by the elbow and led him from the room. "Let’s go talk where it’s a little quieter." Harm felt a sense of panic rise along with confusion. "What the hell’s going on, Frank?" The older man led him to the floor’s sitting room and gestured toward two chairs that were secluded from the rest. "We need to talk." "What’s going on -- those people aren’t regular hospital staff." "Sit, Harm," Frank said more firmly than Harm had ever heard him speak. Harm sat in one chair and Frank took the other. "You were right last night. I needed some rest, I haven’t been thinking straight these past few days." "What did you do, Frank!" The older man’s tone was placating. "I spoke to the doctor this morning. We had a long discussion about her prognosis. It’s not good, Harm. And because of that, I’m taking her home." <<<Is he nuts?>>> "She needs a doctor’s care!" "No she doesn’t, Harm. I’ve hired a full-time nurse to administer all medications and monitor her vital signs. But I have to tell you, son, she’s not going to get better." <<<The man’s lost his mind!>>> "If she stayed in a hospital maybe she would!" "No she won’t, Harm. She’s just too weak, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her die in a hospital where there’s a chance I might not be there." Frank knew this wasn’t easy on Harm -- hell, he wasn’t having an easy time of it either -- but certain things needed to be said. "I’ll see she’s well taken care of at home. I want her to be as comfortable as possible. But you have to face facts. She’s been sick for a long time, and she and I have discussed this." <<<He’ll take care of her? What about me?>>> "What are you saying, Frank!" "Trish and I talked about this a long time ago. I want you to go home, Harm. I want you to be with your wife and child. That’s what she wants, too." "No." <<<This is not happening.>>> "No!" "I told her to tell you months ago but she just kept putting it off." Harm could feel the tears prick his eyes. "Don’t do this to me, Frank." "No man wants to hear that his mother is going to die, Harm." "Damn you, Frank. No!" Frank ignored his stepson’s outburst. "The private nurse is in there right now supervising the move. She comes highly recommended and has done this many times. For now, your mother’s sedated, but you can talk to her when we get her home." "WHAT?!" "Harm, last night was not a fluke. She’s been awake off and on. She’s still not very lucid, but she understands she’s going home." "Why didn’t you tell me she’s been awake!" "Because it was more important that I tell you why I’m taking her home. As I said before, your mother and I have discussed this. With any luck, she’ll be aware enough to discuss this with you before you leave." "Then I’ll stay until she can!" Frank stood indicating their conversation was over. "She may never be aware enough, Harm. Now, if you’d like, I’ll follow in the car and you can ride in the ambulance with her. They were almost finished when you arrived, so they should be placing her on the gurney soon." Frank held out his hand. "Come on, Harm. Let’s go take her home." :: :: ::
26 December 2002 Gunny was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Not that he really wanted to. He was dead tired and wanted some serious sleep. But the last thing he wanted to do was start dreaming again. <<<Ten months in Peru, not one nightmare.>>> He hadn’t had a restful moment of sleep since he started this trip. From a bumpy ride in a jeep to crash on a beat-up couch in the hanger. Sitting in the back of the first transport with the equipment crates. Another hanger in Florida where he waited for four hours in a plastic chair for his next hop to a base in northern Alabama where he only waited three hours -- no chair for him there. Now this plane, which was going to take him to Kentucky, where he would catch his last hop into Andrews. None of this was exactly conducive to sleep. Fortunately, on this plane he actually had a seat, and this seat was pretty comfortable. But he was just so damn tired of those dreams. The worst one was when he trekked through the jungle and came upon Mac tied to a tree with a bullet in her brain and Haley Marie nowhere to be found. Gunny shook himself again to try to get rid of that image. Some of the milder ones had him coming upon buddies in Peru who didn’t belong there and were wounded or dying. A few actually took place in DC, but the damn FARC would show up with guns blazing and mow down everyone in sight. <<<Not one nightmare in ten months! Not one!>>> Gunny felt his eyelids droop again and this time didn’t have the strength to fight it. He kept telling himself -- no dreams, no dreams -- and he thought he succeeded. Until he found himself back at JAG. "Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez, reporting as ordered, Sir!" He remained at attention waiting for the Admiral to order him "at ease," but he didn’t. Instead, the Admiral continued to sip on his whiskey and periodically puffed on a cigar. A cigar? "Well, Gunny." The admiral took a large puff off the cigar and rose to approach him. "I don’t think there’s a hell of a lot of hope for your case. You see, we’ve all discussed it and everyone’s agreed on only one form of punishment." "What’s that sir?" Gunny ventured. Suddenly he heard a whip crack and Gunny spun to see what the heck was going on. Unfortunately, the sight didn’t give him any comfort. Lieutenant Commander Roberts stood in the doorway with a horsewhip. A horsewhip? "We’ve all come to decide you need a good whipping," the Admiral explained. "Mr. Roberts. Will you please take the Gunny outside for his punishment? Leave the whip here for now, though." "Aye-aye, sir." Roberts neatly coiled the whip and tossed it onto a chair. "Would you come with me please, Gunny?" "Are you nuts?" Gunny protested. He turned back to the Admiral. "Sir, you can’t...." Gunny’s sentence just stopped as he lost the power of speech. The Admiral was no longer in uniform -- he was dressed in a suit straight out of the mid-eighteen hundreds. "Boy, you best get a-move-on or your punishment will jes’ get worse the more you dawdle!" he told Gunny. Gunny just shook his head and turned back to Roberts, who was now attired as a southern plantation’s overseer. "Move it, boy," Roberts said, gesturing with the rope in his hand. "Time’s awastin’ and there’s people who wan’ta see you get jes’ what you deserve." Gunny’s jaw dropped as he followed Roberts out into the bullpen. But it wasn’t the bullpen anymore -- it was a courtyard, and there were three posts on one side of it. There was a crowd of people nearby. Suddenly a tall form strode out from the center of it dressed in the garb of a southern plantation owner. "That’s him! That’s the bastard who fathered my little girl!" It didn’t take Gunny long to recognize the man as Harmon Rabb. "Sir, I...I...." "You jes’ shut yo’ mouth, boy!" Rabb yelled at him. "That little girl was suppos’ ta be mine!" A woman rushed from the crowd to join him. "Please, Harm. Let it go. It’s done." She grabbed his arm to try to pull him away. "Best be you get yo’self home, woman," Rabb told her as he shook her off. Unfortunately, Mac tripped and fell backward, landing on her rump. Gunny’s arms were restrained, but he tried to rush Rabb anyway, only to be sent reeling with Rabb’s fist. The next thing Gunny knew, he was leaning chest-first against the center pole in the square and his arms were tied with long ropes to the other two posts. Rabb and the Admiral stood in front of him. The Admiral took a sip of whiskey before he began. "Boy, you have been tried and convicted of illegally fathering this man’s little girl. Now, as the injured party here, he gets to decide your punishment. Mr. Rabb -- please inform the prisoner of your decision." The hatred was quite visible in Rabb’s eyes as he spoke. "I want that man whipped to within an inch of his life, then I want him tossed in irons!" Rabb walked up to Gunny and got right in his face. "By God, I swear you will never see that little girl again. So help me, she is mine! She was suppos’ ta be mine, and I intend to do everythin’ in my power to keep her mine!" "Get yo’self over here, Harm," the Admiral said before he took another puff off of his cigar. When Rabb had joined him, he said, "Mr. Roberts? You may begin the sentence as ordered!" Gunny heard the crack of the whip before he felt it. And sat bolt upright in his seat. "You okay there, Gunnery Sergeant?" the colonel sitting across from Gunny asked. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks for asking, sir." "Where’d you just come from?" "Just finished a tour in Peru, sir -- ten months." The colonel let out a long whistle. "I heard it’s pretty hot down there. I guess you’re due a few nightmares then." Gunny nodded and leaned back in his seat. <<<Ten months down there without one nightmare!>>> :: :: ::
26 December 2002 The house was a typical cliff dwelling that overlooked the Bay; it was one-story in the front, but Meg figured it probably had at least two levels that overlooked the water. She wasn’t sure why she was doing this. Heck, she’d almost called him twice to cancel. She still couldn’t believe he actually called her this morning, or that he’d agreed to let her pick the restaurant as well as pick up the check. Even still, as she approached the front door, she thought about turning around, but somehow she managed to get herself up on the porch and ring the bell. A good-looking older gentleman opened the door. "Yes?" Meg’s instincts to run took over. "Oh, I’m sorry -- I must have the wrong address." She wasn’t fast enough, though, because the man asked her, "Who are you looking for?" Meg turned back to him. He seemed like such a sweet man, and she couldn’t be rude to him. "I’m looking for an old colleague of mine. Harmon Rabb." "Well, you have the right address then, miss. Please come in. I’ll get Harm for you." He opened the door wider for her to enter as he called over his shoulder. "Harm! There’s someone here to see you." Harm came out of a hallway to the side of the front foyer. "Who would.... Meg! Omigod -- I forgot. With everything that went on today, it completely slipped...." "What did you forget, Harm?" Frank interrupted, and his look told Harm he was forgetting his manners. "Oh...Frank...I’m sorry. Frank -- this is Meg Powers. She and I worked together almost seven years ago at JAG." Meg held out her hand to the older gentleman, amazed that he could handle Harm so skillfully. "Pleased to meet you, Mister...?" "Please, call me Frank. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Meg." He turned back to Harm. "Well, Harm, this lovely lady looks like she’s ready to go out to dinner. Did you forget you were joining her?" "Frank...um...considering we just brought Mom...." "Nonsense! Your mother and I will be fine. Now go get dressed and have a pleasant evening catching up. Do you even have a suit? No, of course you wouldn’t. Go to my closet, get the grey one on the right hand side. Oh, and the blue silk shirt and the tie with grey diamonds. And the black dress shoes; socks are in the top drawer of the dresser. Go on now. I’ll keep your friend entertained." Frank gestured toward the living room and Meg reluctantly followed. "You’ll have to forgive my stepson. He’s been having a rough time of it lately, what with his wife leaving him and now finding out about his mother." <<<His wife dumped him?>>> Meg cleared her throat. "If this is a bad time, he and I can always reschedule dinner." "Not at all! Harm needs to be out among friends. Besides, he’s flying home in the morning, so now is really the only time. Now tell me, what did you and my stepson do together? Are you a lawyer too?" "Not anymore. At least, I don’t practice law now. I’m working for a security firm, and my department specializes in tracking paper trails, usually in cases of money laundering of embezzlers. We’ve recently branched out into tracing money of drug traffickers and for a while we tracked money used by terrorists." As Meg continued to talk, she found herself taken in by the charm of this gentleman. Harm was a lucky guy, she decided, to have such a nice stepfather. :: :: ::
26 December 2002 Gunny tiredly dragged himself to the pay phone the corporal had indicated on the wall. He wasn’t going to get out of here for at least another six hours, probably eight. Some idiot had rescheduled the flight he was supposed to take out of here at 2100 to 2000. So, unless he wanted to rent a car and drive all night, he was stuck. So much for grabbing a bunk at Andrews for a decent night’s sleep before seeing the Admiral, he thought with a sigh. He pulled out his address book from his duffel and began thumbing through it. After three phone calls with no answer, Gunny leaned his head against the wall and tried to think. Nick, Marty, and Julian were his best shots, and none of them were home. All he needed was a place to shower and an ironing board. Why must life be so damn difficult, he thought ruefully. He really hoped Lieutenant Sims and Commander Roberts wouldn’t mind. He dialed Harriet Sims’ cell phone from memory. "Lieutenant Sims." "Ma’am! Hi. It’s Victor Galindez...." "Gunny! Where are you?" "I’m not quite sure. Somewhere in Kentucky on an Army installation." "You’re back in the states? That’s wonderful, Victor! Which way are you headed? Please tell me you’re coming here. With all the stuff that was going on when you were here last, we didn’t get to give you your Christmas present." "Ma’am, you know you don’t have to do that...." "Of course not, Gunny, but you can’t stop an officer from giving her favorite office manager a gift." "I’m not your office manager anymore, remember?" "Details, details. So, when are you coming out here?" "Actually, ma’am, I’ll be there in the morning." "That’s great! Oh, wait a minute. Please tell me you’re not bringing someone home to his family again." "No ma’am! Not this time. The only sorry butt I’m bringing is my own." "Oh thank goodness. Now, when will you get here and when can we get together?" "That’s what I’m calling about. I was supposed to get there tonight and I was just going to grab a bunk at Andrews, but I missed my hop. I won’t be getting in until about 0500 now. I’ve already called several buddies of mine and none of them are home -- probably out of town with their families. I’ve got a real important meeting tomorrow and, well, I really hate to ask, but if you wouldn’t mind, I was wondering if I could use your shower to get cleaned up and your ironing board to press my uniform." "Of course you can, Gunny! Do you need someone to pick you up? I can call Sergeant Miller -- she lives out near Andrews." Gunny had heard about Sergeant Miller from Commanders Roberts and Turner. A decent gal, but a real motor mouth. "Not necessary. I don’t want to put anyone out. Besides, I’m not sure when this flight’s going to arrive. It all depends on when it gets here, and the corporal tells me it hasn’t been on schedule in weeks. I can just take a cab to your place. What time would be best to get there?" "Just as soon as you can get here. You know our morning schedule, Victor. Insanity, plain and simple. Get here when you can and don’t you worry one bit about it." "Thanks, Lieutenant. I really appreciate it." After he hung up, Gunny dragged himself back to the corporal’s desk. "You said you had a place for me to wait?" "Yeah. You’re gonna like this. I sleep there all the time during bad weather when I’m stuck in the hanger. It’s a real nice recliner that one of the officer’s gave us a few years back." Sleep was not what Gunny wanted right now. Maybe when he got to a real bed, but not now. "You mentioned some books?" "You bet! We’ve got Star Trek, Babylon 5, Stephen King, Tom Clancy, and even a couple of murder mysteries. Some of them aren’t in the greatest of shape, but they’re still readable." Gunny headed toward the door the corporal pointed out. Tom Clancy put him to sleep, but if they had "The Stand" he had a good chance of staying awake for the next six hours. :: :: ::
26 December 2002 AJ was once again pretending to be asleep. You would think that in First Class you’d sit among a better group of people, but not this flight. His row mate found out that AJ was in the Navy and then proceeded to bore him for six hours with tales he’d read in bad fiction about pirates and shipwrecks and sea monsters. The man has no clue about survival at sea; a man could never survive adrift at sea on a barrel for 16 days. AJ rearranged his pillow and found himself floating comfortably. That is until someone hit him with an oar. <<<Huh?>>> He sputtered and thrashed out as the men in the small boat tried to grab him. " ‘E’s alive, yer Grace. Waddaya won’ us to do wi’ ‘im?" "Pull him aboard, lads. If he’s as useful as the barrel he’s been floating on, we’ll keep him. If not, we throw him back." "Aye-aye, yer Grace!" AJ continued to thrash about. It was dark and foggy and he couldn’t get himself loose to swim away. He heard loud cursing as his boot connected with something soft. Unfortunately, right after that he heard more than felt the oar hit the back of his head. The water was cold, jerking AJ back to consciousness. "Hit him again, lads." <<<Who is this woman?>>> The bucket of seawater was icy on his back. He yelped at the contact as he struggled to his knees. "He’s awake, laddies. Back to your duties." AJ felt a boot toe his side. "Get up, man. Let me look at you." AJ slowly made his way to his feet, then turned to face.... <<<What the hell?!>>> Her hair was a fiery red even in the low light from the on-deck lamps. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and the tight bodice nearly pushed her chest out of the thin blouse she wore. She wore loose-fitting trousers that were tucked into high-topped boots. <<<Where the hell am I?>>> "Well, you look fit enough, man. What’s your name?" AJ shook his head, hoping to clear this hallucination. "You got a name, man. What is it!" AJ felt a prodding in his side and he turned quickly and lashed out with his boot, knocking the man with the wooden dowel painfully to the deck. Three men brandishing swords seemed to appear from nowhere. "At ease, laddies. The gent here is just a little unnerved." The men immediately lowered their swords, but continued to stand at the ready. "That was a nice move, man. Maddy isn’t taken down so easily. We could have use of a man with your reflexes." Her voice had been appraising, but suddenly turned cold. "Now, sir, I asked you your name." "AJ Chegwidden," he said gruffly. "And you?" "Grace O’Malley. I’m the captain of this ship. And as your rescuer, I’m going to give you two choices -- serve me and earn your keep, or back to the fishes with you." "And why would I wish to serve you....your Grace?" The last he said mockingly, causing the three men with swords to growl at his insolence. "A man with spirit as well. I might like that. Or I might have my master at arms administer a few lashes to temper that mouth a little. I do believe I told you why you should serve me. Are you so eager to return to the water?" "You’re a pirate, are you not?" Laughter greeted him from all around. "Why, I’m an entrepreneur, sir. I travel the seas in search of opportunity. Tell me, sir, are you an opportunity?" The laughter changed to guffaws and hoots; these men knew what their mistress wanted from this one now. And what their mistress wants, she gets. She spoke to the three men who stood near AJ. "Clean him up and bring him to my quarters." She turned her back on him and headed toward the upper deck. "Come along, laddie," one told him as he gestured roughly with his sword. "Her Grace wishes yer services, and I fer one don’ wan’ta incur her wrath if ye ain’ serviceable." The other two laughed and hooted as they brandished their swords, leading him reluctantly below deck. <<<What the hell have I gotten into?>>> The three men forced him at sword point to wash and change into a pair of clean breeches and a fresh shirt. They also gave him a strip of cloth to use as a belt to hold the breeches in place. Then they gave him a straight razor and mirror and, with a sword firmly pressed against his back, he was told to shave. Once finished, he was led from the small room down several short hallways to a fairly large door, which considering its opulence could only be to the captain’s quarters. One of the men knocked once and at the sound of her firm "Enter," they opened the door and shoved him through. "Stand up, man," she told AJ, who had fallen onto her bunk. "I don’t need you there...yet." He quickly got to his feet and fixed her with a glare. "And what the hell do you think you’re going to do with me?" Grace O’Malley pulled a long knife out of her belt and had its point underneath his chin quicker than AJ could have believed possible. Her voice was firm, but syrupy sweet. "Why, whatever I want to, Mister Chegwidden." She moved closer to him, her eyes locked with his. The blade of her knife was sharp against his skin. AJ could feel the heat of passion blazing from her eyes penetrating deep into his soul. Closer and closer she moved toward him -- until she had to move to his side or press her body into him. He felt a strange response in return, an answering passion, and his eyes and face followed hers. He gasped in surprise as he felt her hand roughly caress his cock. Suddenly the world jerked around him. The plane bounced twice before all three wheels settled to the tarmac. The loud noise of the brakes as well as the whining of the engines covered AJ’s startled gasp. "You okay there, buddy?" "Fine...fine, thanks," AJ muttered. Where the hell did that dream come from, he wondered as he leaned forward to get the large bag out from under the seat that Francesca had put the delicate gifts in. :: :: ::
26 December 2002 AJ had been surprised when Ellen had offered to pick him up at the airport. But she had insisted that she was working late on the next exhibit anyway. "It’s no problem, AJ." She took a sip of her Starbucks Grande eyeing the latest information on the arrival of the Alitalia flight 622 and sighed. Ten minutes late usually meant it was going to be a lot longer. For such a late evening flight the small makeshift waiting area by the baggage claim area was awfully crowded. A plane must have landed because people rose from their seats to meet new arrivals -- she was finally able to sit for a bit. Her feet hurt, her clothes were the worse for wear and no amount of patting and tucking would help with her disheveled French braid. But then she really hadn’t planned on crawling about helping erect the damn thing. It had invigorated her to get her hands dirty again. She stretched out and closed her eyes, just for a second. :: :: ::
Men yelling in fear and anger combined with screams from the dying provided a soundtrack for the smoke-filled afternoon. She huddled in a corner of the ship along with several men she didn’t recognize. Her long frock dress was soiled with dirt and blood. The cabin boy lay dead at her feet. The battle had lasted nearly six hours. The captain of their small ship had been brave, but he, too, had died hours ago. "Abandon Ship!" The cry rang out and as they struggled to their feet to flee to the boats, she saw the pirate ship close to their port side. It was so close she could see the staring lifeless eyes of one of her sailors on the starboard gunwale. She ran to the starboard side of their ship only to find that everyone had left her. The last lifeboat was pulling away and even if she had jumped she knew they wouldn’t save her from the water. Rough hands grabbed at her, throwing her to the deck. She slowly rose up to her hands and knees, her head hung down. Soft black leather boots appeared within her sight. "Stand up wench. Let’s have a look at you." The English accent was strange somehow. She couldn’t recognize it though she had traveled extensively throughout the hated land. <<<Hated Land? Where had that come from?>>> As her eyes traveled up the calves past the boot cuffs that ended just below the knee she admired the fit muscled thighs and snarled. "An’ just who would ye be callin’ a wench, you English dog." A roar of laughter filled the air. "Ah, I see we have a Irish lass, men. So demure, the Irish. Go on, stand up." A broad, tanned hand with blunt fingers reached down to haul her upright. As she tried to resist, she came so close to the bulge at his crotch. Gulping she struggled more, but she was firmly held. A stark white shirt, completely free of soot or blood, and open to the waist, offered a glimpse of his broad chest. Rich salt and pepper hair peeked out from the gap. The muscles rippled from his laughter or barely suppressed passion. She felt a strange attraction to this man, whose face she hadn’t even seen yet. Carefully arranging her face into an angry mask, she lifted her eyes and gasped, "OUCH!" :: :: ::
"Oh sorry, missy, I’m just a clumsy oaf." The big florid man blushed his apology. She shook her head trying to clear it and yet trying desperately to retain the memory of the ship and it’s captain. "Well all right then," she huffed sleepily. The crowd had grown but she finally heard the announcement, "Alitalia flight 622 deplaning. Kindly meet your party at baggage claim carousel 6." Only an hour late. Not bad, she thought as she struggled to her feet. AJ was one of the first people off the plane. He had checked his one large suitcase, but carried a small overnight bag and the delicate gifts onboard. What a mess that had been. If he had been smart he would have FedEx’d them back. With the heightened security the guard at Rome had insisted that he explain the glass paperweight he had gotten for Bud Roberts. AJ kept his temper -- just. He had patiently presented all his identification. He had patiently shown all the paperwork and the custom forms for everything. He just shrugged when the guard questioned his wisdom in paying so much money for glass. However when he tried to smooth the waters by responding in Italian, the guard demanded to know why an American Admiral spoke Italian. Throwing up his hands, he had demanded to see his superior. Fortunately, the captain of the security force had some sense and AJ had made his plane. Then he had been stuck next to the obnoxious box salesman who obviously watched too much bad television. To top it off he had that weird dream. He picked up the gaudy green gift bag and trudged down to the carousel to find his other bag. Ellen was waiting for him near the kiosk. Guilt joined his fatigue. She looked tired and disheveled and she had the most peculiar look on her face. A slow blush suffused her face and she glanced away quickly. Her hair seemed to halo around her head and a sign overhead flashed on and off and lent a red cast to her hair. The memory of his dream danced across his mind before he firmly tamped it down. "Nah." He muttered sternly as he came up to her. "Ellie, I am so sorry. You should have let me take a cab." Ellen glared at the carousel as if willing AJ’s bag to appear. Of course, she had no idea which particular black suitcase was his. She could feel how red her face was. <<<For goodness sake, Ellie Mae would you get a grip? He has blue jeans, a sweater and cowboy boots on. Oh man, I never appreciated how nicely he fills out a pair of blue jeans. Not for years, anyway. Besides, you know why you had that dream. That’s what he’s going as. Well then, you should have left him in that stupid Sir Francis Drake outfit instead of letting the kid give you the Pirates of Penzance costume.>>> "Huh?" "I said, there’s my bag. You okay?" "Yeah, fine." She shook some sense into her head and smiled up at him. "Just a little tired, we put together the memorial exhibit today. A couple of the people couldn’t handle it so I was drafted." She didn’t want to talk about how emotional a time that had been for her, but she also didn’t want to talk about her little dream either. "Come on. I’ll buy you dinner." "You sure you’re okay?" He reached out and grabbed his bag off the carousel. "Why don’t you let me drive." "Huh?" <<<Jeez, she’s more tired than she realizes.>>> "Come on, let’s go find your car." :: :: ::
27 December 2002 They’d both seen the lights as Meg drove up to the house. As apprehensive as he’d become at the knowledge Frank was still up, Meg still managed to convince him to give her a goodnight kiss before she headed home. And they’d necked like teenagers. Why stop now, he’d thought at the time, considering they’d just spent nearly two hours all over the interior of her car in various positions and states of undress. How the hell he did all that with one arm in a cast was beyond him. <<<I am such a prick.>>> Harm used his key, then opened the door to face the music. Frank’s voice came from down the hall. "Harm? Come on back -- your mother wants to talk to you." <<<Mom!>>> His latest indiscretion forgotten, Harm rushed toward the back bedroom. He stood at the bedroom door. "Mom?" "Come in here, Harm. She can’t talk to you when you’re over there." Frank rose from the low chair next to the bed he shared with Trish and gestured for Harm to take his place before he left them alone. "Hey Mom." He smiled broadly as she looked up at him. <<<She recognizes me!>>> "F-Frank tells...." The whisper was barely audible, so Harm leaned close as he sat down. "He tells me you don’t want to go home." "I don’t want to leave you, Mom. Not while you’re not well." He picked up her hand in his good one. "Why would you want me to go?" She sighed heavily and lightly gripped his hand. <<<So many reasons you don’t need to know about.>>> "I’m fine, Harm. Frank has always taken good care of me. Trust him to take care of me now." "Why, Mom? Why don’t you want me here?" "Harm, honey, Frank is my husband and he loves me very much. I know you love me. But you’re my son. I’m fine for now. I want you to remember me that way. Oh, honey, it’s all right. I’ll be okay. Frank and I have talked about this for a long time." "But...but why didn’t you tell me?" "You had enough to worry about, dear. You and Mac had just found out she was pregnant, then you had to get married, set up a house, and prepare for a baby. Something was always going on with you, Harm. I just didn’t want to add to your worries with something you couldn’t do anything about." "But I could have spent more time with you." "Oh Harm. You’ve always been a good son. I’ve never felt you neglected me. I know you love me, honey. I know how much you want to be here. But this has more to do with my dignity. Can you understand that?" He wiped an errant tear from his cheek. "No." "Yes you do. You just don’t want to." She squeezed his hand again. She was tired, and her future wasn’t something she wanted to talk with her son about. "Enough of this conversation, dear. Tell me about your date with that nice lady Frank was telling me about." "Um...Frank told you about me and Mac?" "Actually, you did, dear, but since I barely remember that, Frank filled in the details." "You’re not mad at me?" "Good grief, no. It’s your life. I raised you well -- I trust your judgment and that you did what you could. Besides, Mac is a good woman. If you say your marriage isn’t working and that you’re concerned about your daughter’s welfare, then you must do what you must." She closed her eyes for a moment. This was taking more out of her than she expected. "Harm, I’m getting a little tired now. Why don’t you go and let me sleep. Tell Frank all about your date and he can tell me later. Okay?" "I’ll just tell you in the morning, Mom." "Not if I’m not awake, and you have a flight to catch." Her voice was all the more hushed. "Now, give me a kiss and let me get some sleep." He leaned down and complied. "I love you, Mom." When she closed her eyes he headed for the living room in search of Frank. He was sitting on the couch and had poured two glasses of scotch. He gestured for Harm to join him. "Take a seat, Harm." "Actually, I was just going to say...." "This will only take a minute, son. I need to get back to your mother and get some sleep myself. Join me." What now? Harm wondered. Frank took a sip from his glass and gestured to the other he’d poured for Harm. "You know, when faced with death, a person often seeks life. It’s a basic human need." "I don’t und...." "You have no reason to feel guilty, Harm. And Meg seems like a very nice young woman." He gave Harm a sly smile before commenting, "I take it the sex was good?" Harm found himself sputtering on the scotch. This was NOT something he expected from Frank. "Excuse me?" "It’s all right. Seeking comfort from someone you care about, and who cares about you, is a perfectly normal reaction to what you’re going through right now." "Well...I...um...." "She’s a lovely lady, Harm. And it was obvious to me that she’s very attracted to you." "We...um...went to dinner." "Of course you did, Harm. And since it was such a very pleasant evening, the two of you went for a drive afterward. The stars are particularly clear tonight. I told your mother as much when she became concerned about you being late. Don’t worry, son. She and I have been on many a drive, although since we’ve been married we haven’t had a reason to take that road down to Palmer Ridge." Harm coughed as the scotch burned his throat. "Careful, now. This is for sipping, not gulping." The younger man cleared his throat. "You’ve been there?" Frank nodded. "I grew up in this area. I do believe there is more latex scattered along that ridge than beer cans," he said with a wink before he tossed back the last of his drink. "Uh, Frank, why are you telling me all of this?" "Your mother and I agreed we would celebrate life, and encourage others to do so. While you were out celebrating I trust that you at least used a condom?" Harm shook his head. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and he felt like doing both. "Well...um....actually several," he finally admitted. "Good man, Harm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some sleep. And so do you -- your flight leaves at eleven, and we have to be out of here no later than nine. Good night, son." As he finished the last of his drink, Harm wondered once again at the strangeness his life had become. He hadn’t planned to do anything with Meg last night. When he called her that morning, it was just to get together with an old colleague to catch up, to share the good news that his mother was doing better. Meg had been surprised at his call, but she assured him that her live-in housekeeper had returned from vacation, that she was definitely free for dinner, and that in fact she’d love for the evening to be her treat. He was expecting fast food. Well, vegetarian fast food for him. But when she showed up dressed to the nines he’d been thrown for a loop. He’d been grateful that Frank had loaned him that suit, and Harm had to admit that the grey suit he wore nicely complimented the dark blue dress she’d had on. They’d gotten appreciative glances from all around as the maitre de led them to their table at Quintanos. Harm told her about his brief stint at flying again, and she told him all about her job at Marcus & Evans. Jeez, Chief Consultant in charge of Computer Fraud! "It’s really not that big a deal," she’d blushed. "We just track money and property that people try to hide by shifting it through various banks and corporations, dummy or otherwise." She’d then gone on to tell him that after becoming department head three years ago, she convinced management that the company needed a little community goodwill, as well as a tax write-off. They’d agreed to let her set up a division that tracked down dead-beat spouses who owed sometimes upward of hundreds of thousands of dollars in back child support and alimony. Within six months her little project had helped the police capture and prosecute eighteen "deadbeats" and uncovered more than two million dollars in cash, investments, and other hidden assets. Those assets had been passed on to the twenty-seven families those guys had left destitute. "We even had our fifteen minutes of fame, on "60 Minutes" no less!" she’d smiled proudly. The company enjoyed the PR but didn’t think much else of it, until the US government hired them to help track terrorist monies. "We’d been doing contract work for the State of California for awhile tracing drug-running money, but after September Eleventh, Uncle Sam wanted our help. We didn’t net as much as we would have liked, but after three months the FBI was pleased enough with us to recommend our work to DEA. We get individual contracts with them periodically and, even though it’s not much, like our CEO says, it’s excellent PR." Harm had been impressed. Little Meg was all grown up and battling the scourge of the world. Kinda made his accomplishments seem pretty insignificant. He’d been in such a funk most of the evening that Meg insisted she drive him around. In fact, he hadn’t even realized that Meg had been coming onto him until she parked the car in an alcove on Palmer’s Ridge. "Come on, Harm," she’d told him as she got out of the car. "You need some fresh air." Harm got out to follow her. "I really think I need to get back, Meg." Meg turned and stopped Harm with a look that brooked no discussion. "Frank told me, Harm." Even in the low light, he felt himself fixated by her eyes. "What did he tell you?" he asked nervously. "He told me that you and your wife just split, and now you’re losing your mother. He also gave me strict instructions to get you out of yourself." Her smile was warm. "So come stand next to me in the starlight and for the next five minutes talk to me about nothing but the night sky and forget about everything else." "Have you lost your mind?" But his words came out jokingly. "Not yet," she smiled at him. He moved to stand next to her. "And just exactly what were Frank’s strict instructions?" "I just told you. He left implementation of those instructions totally at my discretion, however." She took a hesitant step toward him and his hand tentatively touched her elbow. "And just how do you intend to implement those instructions?" Her reply was husky. "Come here." Harm poured himself a second scotch. He wondered if he could bruise his brain with all this mental kicking. <<<Why am I such a prick?>>> First Allison, now Meg. This is like old home week...month. Shit! And Meg was just so soft and sweet. God, hot and slick. And energetic. He felt warmth spreading throughout his crotch just thinking about the way she "dressed" him; how her hands would first caress him, then unroll the condom over him, then squeeze him firmly as she smoothed it down. Because of his arm, she insisted on doing everything. At one point she helped him into one position and he couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do, until she slid into a seemingly impossible pose herself -- dear god, what an incredible angle that was! And when she wasn’t doing stuff herself, she was telling him exactly what to do and how to do it. What she did to him was intoxicating. And he was totally sober. Unlike when he was with Allison. <<<Am I ever going to stop feeling like a heel?>>> :: :: ::
27 December 2002 Gunny was amazed to see a light on. He paid the cabbie, grabbed his duffel, and headed for their front door. After knocking several times, quietly, just in case the whole house wasn’t up yet, he was amazed to see a half-asleep Lieutenant Sims answer the door. "About time you got here, Gunny. Come on in," she said tiredly and gestured him in. Victor knew she must have been waiting up for him -- she didn’t have to do that! "Ma’am...." Harriet closed the door. "Oh, shut up and give me a hug," and she lifted her arms to him. "Uhm...." "Come on, Victor -- I’m not your commanding officer anymore, and I missed you. And what’s more you look like you could use a hug." He reluctantly let her put her arms around his neck and he embraced her as well. "Uh, thanks," he muttered. She was right, though -- he really did need the human contact. With all the disorientation he’d experienced in the past few days, she was the first stabilizing force he’d come into contact with. "Thanks," he said more firmly as he let her go. Unfortunately, the room chose that moment to start to spin on him. Harriet quickly grabbed both his arms and helped him lean against the door. She was suddenly all business. "Gunny? Are you okay? Are you injured in any way?" the questions came quickly. "Sorry, ma’am. I’m fine. Just haven’t had much sleep lately. I’ll be fine once I jump in the shower and get some coffee in me." "No, you’re not fine. You need some sleep. What time is your meeting?" Gunny knew when a tactical retreat was in order. "Noon." "Well, that will give you at least four hours sleep, possibly five if your meeting’s not too far away. Where is it?" Although Gunny was used to parrying with the Lieutenant, her firmness was making him wary. "Really, Lieutenant, I’ll be fine. I’m used to living off of no sleep." She gave him a glare she only used on her husband. "You are no longer in a war zone and you don’t have a gallon of adrenalin pumping through your veins." She kept her eyes locked with his and repeated, "Where, Gunny?" He swallowed. "At JAG, ma’am. With the Admiral." She straightened as she spoke. "Well, then. You’re in no shape to meet with the Admiral like this. I’ll speak to him and get him to reschedule it for the afternoon." "No! Um...I mean...No ma’am. It’s important." Her tone seemed to soften. "How important can it be?" "Real important." "Well, all right then. But you are going to get some sleep." She led him to the living room. "On the couch with you. I need to get another hour myself and I’m not going to bed until I see you sleeping." Victor knew he’d lost, so he lay his duffel next to the couch, then removed his shoes and stretched out on it. Harriet took the blanket and pillow from the easy chair and handed him the pillow. Once he’d placed it under his head she arranged the blanket over him. He figured that if he closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, she’d think he was asleep and go to bed herself. Harriet smiled to herself as she headed to join her husband in bed. She knew Gunny was going to try to fake it, but she also knew he was just too tired to maintain the illusion for very long. She figured him for a minute and a half, but he was out in under a minute. What happened to him down there? she wondered. The man had almost been afraid to go to sleep. And what was this meeting with the Admiral about, and why was it so important that it couldn’t be delayed a few hours so Gunny could get some decent rest? Harriet’s first thought was that Gunny had to brief the Admiral about something going on down there, but she had the feeling that wasn’t it. She hung her robe up on the hook in the closet door and crawled into bed next to Bud. She’d make sure Gunny got as much sleep as possible. Even if it meant being a few minutes late for work, ironing his uniform wouldn’t be too much trouble. Bud’s arms went around her as she spooned herself next to him. <<<Nope. No trouble at all.>>> Home :: JAG Index :: e-mail Paula :: e-mail TheLadyT |