Disclaimer: The television show JAG and its characters were created
by Donald P. Bellisario. Both the show and its characters are the
property by JAG Productions, Bellisarius Productions, Donald P.
Bellisario, Paramount Television, Paramount Pictures, CBS Television,
Viacom Industries, et al. Characters used without expressed, written
consent of said owners, but no ownership is claimed by the author.
Author Notes: Dreamland is a work in progress. While it is not yet
finished, I hope you enjoy what's already here. I think I've left
it at a good "stopping point" for now. If you've already read it
or if you think you'd like to, thank you for your time and your
interest – and I hope you enjoy – Dreamland.
Chapter One
The NATO ball is on the horizon and because Admiral Drake's wife is on the committee, all ranking JAG officers have been requested to attend, or as Admiral Chegwidden puts it, “If you value your career, or even your life, you'll plan to be there.”
Mac has gone off to visit Brumby and, in her absence, Harm has had to face the prospect of life without her. He keeps “just checking” her office, etc., until he gets busted by Harriet. Their conversation turns to her advice about how to sweep a woman off her feet. She tells the story of how Bud danced with her at the NATO ball and she KNEW he was the one.
When Harm protests that he is “a pilot, not a dancer,” Harriet replies, “Oh, Bud couldn't dance either. It's just that he tried. He wanted to please me; he wanted to dance for me.”
Harm is still unsure about this, but is persuaded to take a few lessons from the “Queen of the Cotillions,” Harriet Beaumont Simms. Harm's assessment, “F-14s are easier,” becomes a running joke in their lessons.
Four days before the NATO ball, Mac returns to an office where “knowing looks” seem to follow her through the office. Harriet seems to be hinting at something, but won't say what. It's eerie. Even Harm is dropping cryptic hints about Saturday. When at last Mac announces she is not going to the NATO ball, Harriet flies into action, bringing all her persuasive hints to bear on a very puzzled Mac.
“It will be a surprise,” Harriet tells her.
“What will, Harriet?” asks Mac.
“You'll see, ma'am.”
On the Friday before Saturday's NATO ball, Mac spent her afternoon at work finishing up some filings for a court-martial she'd been assigned to next week and wondered just what had gone on while she was away. She'd enjoyed her time with Mic, but the travel was exhausting.
After 36 hours of jet travel in 8 days, she had hoped to catch up on her rest this weekend and completely dismissed any thought of going to what was essentially a diplomatic game of one-upmanship with a dance band and military officers for decoration. But, Harriet made it sound like she'd miss the moment of her life if she didn't go. The whole thing was too strange.
The whole office was strange. She felt everybody was looking at her. Oh, she'd expected all of them to search out her ring, checking to see which hand it was on, but not this much scrutiny.
Furthermore, she was reading something new in the eyes of some in the office, especially the Gunny.
Galindez kept checking on her, asking if she needed anything. He seemed to be searching her yes with – was it sympathy? And he wasn't the only one. Tiner was positively embarrassed, dropping his eyes every time he saw her coming and speaking only in tense, slightly sad tones. He was also treating Harm differently. Yesterday, she'd caught him glaring at the Commander's retreating form as if he were trying to bore holes clean through Harm.
What was going on? It was like some movie where a mutiny is brewing and all the non-Coms are grumbling behind the officers' backs. But this wasn't a movie and they didn't seem to have a problem with her, or the Admiral or Mattoni, for that matter. The hostility was directed at Harm. Why?
She wondered what they thought he'd done. Didn't anyone else see it? And then there was Harriet, chirping away like some happy, little bird, blissfully unaware of some of the looks she was drawing around the office. Was it the NATO ball thing? She seemed to be a one woman campaigner for the thing.
“It will be a surprise,” she said, “It's important to the Admiral that you go.”
As if the Admiral really cared if she went. He just wanted a good showing from JAG and Harm was obviously going. Harriet must've worked her magic on him while she was gone. He'd wander around the office, humming some tune she couldn't quite place and he seemed to be spending a bit too much time in the coffee room when Harriet was in there. She'd walked in once and found the two of them in heavy conversation that seemed to end abruptly when she entered.
Chapter Two
“What was going on here? And why was the office so intent, one way and another, on the NATO ball?” Mac mused to herself, “and why it seemed to have upset everyone so much.”
Her thoughts were of Harm and Harriet and not much on work when a knock on her door brought her back. It was Sgt. Galindez asking for help. It seems the Marine guard in the lobby had lost a visitor when she'd gotten off the elevator and they figured she was hiding in the ladies room.
“I'm really kind of busy, Gunny,” she lied. “Can't you ask Lt. Sims?”
“I would, ma'am, but she's not here.”
After checking out the ladies room and finding no one, Mac couldn't help but be a little irritated with the Gunny. The way he had said, “She's not here,” seemed to beg a question that Mac now decided to ask.
“Where did Lt. Sims go, Gunny?”
“She said she had to pick up her car, ma'am.” As he answered, he watched for her reaction like the sheriff he used to be looking for something inconsistent in her demeanor.
“Commander Rabb took her.”
That last was in a tone clearly meant to provoke her and Mac did not disappoint him. Whatever he was getting at, she was tired of this game and meant to end it.
“You're with me, Gunnery Sergeant!” she barked, as she strode into the empty courtroom down the hall. Settling herself against the prosecutor's table, she turned to the Gunny, with a look of impatient authority. “You want to tell me about it, Gunny?”
Galindez looked back uneasily. “About what, ma'am?”
“About what's going on around here. Or are you going to try and tell me you haven't been hinting at something ever since I came back?”
After the good deal of stalling and throat clearing, Galindez finally started to tell her. She knew Bud was out of town, at Quantico, investigating a sniper incident about a week ago, but now, she was in for the water cooler version. According to the Gunny, Harm had been spending a lot of time with Harriet lately.
“A lot of time,” he repeated with that same watchful appraisal of her. They had gone to dinner – twice and he was always driving her around places. The two of them were always together, he said. “Thick as thieves” was the quote. As the Gunny continued his list of instances in which Harm or Harriet or both of them were behaving differently, Mac began to get the point he was not making.
“Gunny,” she heard herself saying before she quite ready, “Are you saying that they are - they're having an affair?”
“I'm not saying that, ma'am,” was the cautious reply.
“Gunnery Sergeant, Har – Lt. Sims wouldn't cheat on her husband. And if she did, Harm wouldn't have anything to do with it.” Mac realized she'd momentarily lost her command posture and sought to regain it. “Cmdr. Rabb and Lt. Roberts are good friends, Gunny. The Commander thinks of him almost like a brother. I'm sure you've just misread the situation.”
He was looking at her with those sympathetic eyes again as if he thought she was the one not understanding. “Her car was in the shop, Gunny. Cmdr. Rabb has just been helping out a friend.”
“If you say so, ma'am.”
“Gunny...,” she stopped short at the realization that she was about to insist on Harm's innocence in the face of obvious information to the contrary. “You're dismissed,” was all she could say.
After Galindez left, Mac's mind went to that deep conversation Harm and Harriet were having yesterday and why they seemed to go quiet when she entered the room. They had been acting a little cozy lately. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be.
As she started out of the courtroom, her eye fixed on a small point of light near one of the chairs at the back of the room. It was a button - a Navy jacket button. How did that get here? Mac slipped the button she had found into the pocket of her dark green jacket as she left the courtroom for the passage back to the bullpen.
Galindez's words were rolling around in her brain like the ball bearings Jack Lemmon “planted” in the overhead above his hated C.O.'s bunk in “Mister Roberts.” “Mr. Roberts?” she thought, “what a coincidence.” Harriet would never do that. She was fond of Harm, sure, but she loved Bud.
As for Harm, it was just not in his make up. Besides being a junior officer, which would be an obvious red light, she was married – to a friend – to someone Harm treated like family – to his Godson's father, for Pete's sake!
It was ridiculous. The Gunny could think that if he liked, but she knew better. It would never happen.
Of course, there WAS something, she had to admit that. Harm was unusually chipper since her return. He never hummed around the office before. And what was that song he was whistling the other day as they made their way to their cars?
Mac's mind was racing off in at least four directions at once. In this corner, she had that list of so-called facts the Gunny had cited in explaining his conclusion – no, his suspicion – no, his fantasy that Harm and Harriet were having some kind of affair. Over here was her own list of inconsistencies in their behavior that she had yet to reconcile with any reasonable explanation.
Then, there was the part that was trying not to worry about all of the above and, finally, she was struggling to place that melody Harm had been whistling – whistling in the parking lot. It was so familiar, so recent in her mind and yet so distant.
With all this swirling around her, she never even saw the three people she passed near the elevator. Navy, Marine, male, female – who could tell – they were barely a blur. She certainly didn't catch the sound of whistling as he approached her. But, suddenly, clearly, directly in front of her, she saw two large, black, spit polished shoes; blue-black trousers with long, straight-edged creases; a Navy jacket: blue-black, three equal gold stripes on the sleeves, cuff level, a Commander, a full Commander, double-breasted front with six gold – no, five gold buttons, two rows of service ribbons a pair of gold wings and...a face.
“Hey, Mac. What you doing out here?” Harm said playfully. “I thought you were chained to your desk on that Carrow brief.”
She felt too stunned to speak sensibly, but “Harm” came tumbling out of her mouth almost by reflex. “You finish your errands?”
“What? Oh, yeah,” was the somewhat guarded reply.
“I was just on my way upstairs. You seen Mattoni anywhere? We're supposed to have a conference.”
Mac didn't answer. She was caught up in thought.
“Five buttons,” she said too softly for him to hear. The button she found in the back of the courtroom, the one she barely saw behind the door, the one that didn't belong there, it was Harm's.
“Mac?” his voice cut through her fog.
“Yeah, um, I think Mattoni's already gone up.”
She had no idea if that was right, but she had to say something. “Good. I guess I'd better get up there then.”
“Right.” As he stepped over to the elevator, she could feel him staring at her. He was wondering why she was so distracted, she knew it. A suitable question suddenly popped into her mind. “Hey, how was Harriet's car?”
He looked relieved. “I don't know,” he laughed stepping onto the elevator. “We've got to pick it up this afternoon.”
“Pick it up?” she said in surprise, but it was too late. The elevator doors had closed off any further discussion of that topic.
As she turned back toward the bullpen, her mind raced back to the Gunny and his list. She was taking mental inventory when she passed his desk.
“Gunnery Sergeant,” she said in her best warm-them-up-to-rip-them-up prosecuting attorney voice, “Didn't you tell me Lt. Sims had gone to pick up her car?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he answered plainly.
“And didn't you tell me that Commander Rabb was with her?”
“Yes, ma'am. I did.”
A new voice called out, “Is there a problem, Colonel?” It was Harriet. She had approached them from the other side of the bullpen – over by Harm's office. The concerned wrinkle above her eyes seemed a bit much for such a simple question.
Someone had made a mistake and not being overly sure of the situation, Mac decided to play it down the middle. “The Gunny and I were just discussing your car, Harriet.”
“They said it might be the transmission,” she offered anxiously. “They're supposed to call me this afternoon.”
“I thought you were picking it up this afternoon,” Mac said patiently.
Harriet shifted back and forth nervously, her eyes darting across the room, then to Galindez and then to Mac.
“Didn't you take it in on Monday, ma'am?” said the ex-deputy sheriff.
“Y-yes, I did,” Harriet stuttered. “They weren't sure what was wrong until today.”
Mac couldn't quite believe how nervous Harriet was. There was a lie in there somewhere and she was trying like heck to cover it up. But, why? What was so important?
“Ma'am, if you'll excuse me, I was on my way to look for something.” Harriet offered as she began moving toward the hall.
Mac gave a mental shrug, “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
As Harriet hustled down the hall, she'd left the Colonel as the one with the wrinkled brow. And, when she turned and quickly entered the courtroom Mac had just left, the questions were just too obvious for her to ignore.
Following Harriet's path down the hall, she began to hear a muffled voice as she neared the courtroom doors. Who was Harriet talking to? Upon entering the room, she found Lt. Sims on all fours, in the aisle of the back row of seats, sweeping the low-pile carpeting with her hands and murmuring, “It's got to be here. It's just got to be here.”
Reaching into her pocket, Sarah MacKenzie swallowed hard and prepared for the worst. Holding out the gold, Navy button that she knew belonged to Harm, she asked the flustered Mrs. Roberts, “Is this what you're looking for?”
Chapter Three
Harriet froze in place at the sound of Mac's voice. For just a moment, she continued to paw at the courtroom flooring as if she could find a suitable answer hiding down there, but the Colonel was not going to wait much longer. Harriet sighed audibly and turned to face her friend. Ever so slowly, she raised her head to look up and found a stone-faced Mac staring back at her. It was a prosecutor’s face; the Colonel's visage almost frozen into an accusation, but her eyes were softer, searching her friend's for reassurance. Harriet warily rose to her feet and assumed a posture of attention. “You wish to speak with me, ma'am?”
Mac was studying her friend's face and searching for clues. There was something going on that she needed to identify, if only to quiet her own mind. Once again, she held out the gold, Navy jacket button and asked, “Is this what you were looking for, Lieutenant?”
As she looked down at the object in Mac's hand, Harriet's expression was fascinating, nearly indescribable. At first, she looked anguished, caught out alone – almost frightened, and whispered, “No, ma'am.” But then, in a moment's time, she seemed to rally, wrapping herself in a new idea.
Suddenly filled with new confidence, Harriet flatly stated, “That is not my button, ma'am.”
“I know that, Lieutenant”, Mac replied with a touch of irritation in her voice. “Do you know who it belongs to?”
“No, ma'am.”
“And you weren't just looking for this under those chairs?”
“No, ma'am,” Harriet said firmly.
“At ease, Lieutenant.” Mac turned away for a minute to try and compose herself. She felt like a rat. Why did she have to treat Harriet like a suspect? Maybe they all just got their wires crossed about the car. It certainly looked bad, but what if it was just a simple misunderstanding? And the button? It was just a button. Why did this get under her skin so much?
“All right, Harriet,” she said in an easier tone. “What was so important that you had to go crawling around on the floor like that?”
“It was...,” Harriet gave a nervous glance to an upper corner of the room before continuing, “an earring, ma'am.”
“An earring?” Mac was looking right at her. Both of her earrings looked just fine.
Harriet caught the object of her glance. “Oh, not these, ma'am. It was a special pair. They're pearls. Drop earrings?”
Pearl earrings – Mac thought to herself – white pearls against a dark, flat carpet? She was sure she would have seen them – if they had been there.
“My mother gave them to me. They belong to a set my grandmother had.” Harriet was in full-out gush mode, now. All her words came rushing out in a single stream as if they were strung together with wire. “I only brought them to show Petty Officer Lopez. She's not going to the NATO ball and she wanted to see the turquoise beads between the pearls. They're real turquoise, ma'am. Antique.” As she hurtled on with the endless details of those pearl earrings, the Colonel stopped listening.
There were no pearl earrings under that chair, she would have seen them. There was nothing under any of those chairs except the button from Harm's jacket. And just what was he doing sitting in the back row of an empty courtroom? Why would he come in here?
Looking past Harriet, Mac tried to picture her partner casually seated in the back row and imagine what might have brought him in here. Was someone with him? Had they ducked in here for privacy? Why the back row?
When she had summoned Gunny in here, they were up front, away from the door and the casual ears out in the hallway. It didn't make a lot of sense – unless ... unless it was someone he didn't want to be seen with.
This was awful. Harriet was her friend and Harm was her partner. Now, she was suspecting both of them. Not Gunny's version. No. She refused to even consider that. But, there was something going on.
Harriet's explanation had dropped out of warp speed and was slowly winding to a close as Mac stepped over toward those chairs. Placing the button between her thumb and forefinger, she raised it against her vision of those chairs as if it were a talisman about to unlock some of the secrets this room had seen today. As she studied the view, a large hand suddenly appeared to pluck the gold from her fingers.
“You found it,” Harm exclaimed happily. “Where was it? We've been looking for it everywhere.”
Mac looked up at him in astonishment and then glanced toward Harriet just as her shoulders slumped.
Anger rising in her voice, Mac pointedly asked Harm, “Who's we?”
Harriet's face became one, bright red grimace, as she rolled her eyes heavenward in embarrassment. Mac saw it. Harm saw it, too, and knew he'd made a mistake. A big mistake.
Chapter Four
The three friends stood in impatient silence, each waiting for one of the others to say...something.
Harm made a clumsy attempt at a save. “Did I say ‘we’? I meant me - er - she. I meant she.” Harriet tried to wave him off, but it was too late. “Harriet has been worrying about this since she saw it this morning.”
Mac looked incredulously up into Harm’s eyes. “Is that so? She said she was looking for an earring.”
Harm shot a slightly panicked look toward Harriet who could only look back with chagrin.
“Which one is it, Harm?” Mac was staring directly into Harm’s eyes now daring him to explain himself – daring him to lie to her again.
Harm looked back warily, his eyes dancing on an ocean of nervous energy as he searched for a way to appease her. It was tough, F-14s were easier. If he was going to save any of his well-laid plans for the two of them, he had to regain Mac’s trust, soften that laser beam stare into the warmer, gentler gaze, and he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth. With a noticeable swallow that was more of a gulp, he launched his rescue mission.
“Look, I was in here this morning trying to get the jump on Mattoni.”
“What?” asked an incredulous Mac.
“Well, we’ve got this conference about the Ryback court martial and I thought if I could be here before that Article 32 he was doing, I could make it look like I had been talking to Harrison about it.” Harm hoped this seeming confession would satisfy her. “If he knew I’d been sitting back there for twenty minutes before he got here, it would kind of spoil the illusion.”
Mac flashed an inquiring glance at Harriet, “Is that what happened, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Well, Mac thought, she certainly looks miserable enough to be telling the truth. “Tiner said that Admiral Drake might be stopping by this afternoon.” That much was true.
“And Harm’s out of uniform.” The Colonel’s prompting sounded edgier than she meant it to.
“Look, don’t blame Harriet,” Harm ventured. “She was just trying to save me some embarrassment.”
“You deserve to be embarrassed,” she snapped. “Do you think tampering with a judge is O.K. as long as you only make it look like you’re tampering?”
“Slow down, Mac,” said Harm with a nervous smile, “I wasn’t tampering with anybody.”
“Just Mattoni – and Harrison’s reputation.” She turned away in disgust, pacing the aisle to burn off her anger. She felt sick. Did he really want her to believe that bilge?
With a nod of his head and a glance out the door, Harm tried to dismiss Harriet, but she had a request. “If you give me the jacket, I can get the button sewn on before the Admiral sees it.”
“Don’t help him, Harriet,” the Colonel barked, “He doesn’t deserve it.” She felt so sad to know he was lying to her, it hurt like hell. Hell is what he deserved.
As the door swung shut behind Harriet, the shirt-sleeved Commander waited for the lecture on legal ethics he hoped his partner was preparing, but the look on her face scared him. He’d never lied to her before, and he didn’t like the feeling. Had he gone too far?
The door had barely nestled back in its frame when Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie began her barrage.
“Are you really going to do that?” she demanded of Harm. “Are you really going to let her just walk out there carrying your coat like some sort of Geisha girl?”
“Geisha girl?” he repeated absently. In his mind, he was still preparing his side of the ethics argument he thought he’d started. He wasn’t taking her lead. “Mac, she’s just going to sew on a button.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” The expression on her face was so intensely plaintive, and yet, so angry. “You’re supposed to be her friend, Harm. Don’t you know what they’re saying out there?” she said making a sweeping gesture toward the door.
He missed it. “Mac, what are you talking about?”
“They think she’s having an affair!”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said flatly.
“All anyone can say is ‘Poor, Bud. It’s going to break his heart if he finds out.’ ” On some level, she was hoping he had no idea.
He dismissed it with a derisive wave of his hand. “Look, I’ve been with her all week. She hasn’t seen anybody.”
On the other hand, she was finding this dim bulb routine a little wearing. “You’ve been with her all week?” Mac repeated - pointedly.
“Yes,” was his innocent reply. “She hasn’t been with anybody.”
“Hasn’t been with anybody?”
“No.” He was still drawing a total blank.
“She hasn’t seen anybody?”
“No, Mac, there hasn’t been anyone around.”
She was getting exasperated now. “Except you!”
“’Cept me.”
“And...?” as she spoke, she dropped her head over to one side, her eyes attempting to bore a hole right through the back of that thick skull of his.
When he turned back suddenly, all he saw was the fire in her eyes. “What?” he whispered staring back at her uncertain of what she was asking. Then, the light began to dawn. It stunned him for a minute. “You think ...Harriet and ...” he slowly raised his hand to point at his chest.
She knew it - he really didn’t know. “That’s what they’re saying, Harm.”
He stood for just a moment longer, eyebrows shot up halfway to his hairline. “Me and...?”
When she nodded, his face folded down into an anguished knot and he stepped away. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Gunny told me this morning.” All at once, she felt sorry for him. He clearly had no idea what was going on and the thought of it made him heart-sick.
“It’s ridiculous,” he murmured mostly to himself. “They can’t be serious.”
“Harm, you’ve been spending all this time with her. I mean, you’re with her more than Bud usually is when he’s here.”
“Her car was in the shop,” he protested. “And A.J. had some kind of an infection or something. I had to drive her to the doctor.”
“When was this?” Mac hadn’t heard about it.
“I don’t know. Monday night, I guess.”
“You took her to the hospital?”
“We took him in on Tuesday morning.”
She just stared back at him for a moment in stunned silence. This was all new to her, and that bothered her. When she’d asked Harriet how A.J. was doing, she never mentioned any fever. They usually talked about that kind of stuff. And, wait a minute; didn’t Galindez mention something about Monday on his list of Harm’s transgressions? Yes, he did. It was something about dinner.
Yeah. Harm took Harriet out to dinner Monday night at that place his friend works. Dinner and dancing. They’d stayed late. Maybe a light was going on for her, too. In a slow, deliberate tone she asked her friend, her partner, “Harm, where were you Monday night?”
“I told you.” He was puzzled by the question, but her manner was too serious. It was the gravity in her voice. It was too intense.
“You were at the hospital?”
“No. That was Tuesday.” He studied her face for a moment trying to read her thoughts. “Look, Mac, I’m sorry I didn’t make it out to the airport, but you didn’t give me the flight number.”
Instead of ending her concerns, he seemed to be deepening them. He was lost. What was she worrying about?
“Where were you this morning?” She said it in an almost hushed voice. She wanted his answers, but, now, she was dreading them, too.
“Mac, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
She was starting to feel sick, but she tried to look commanding, stern. “A little while ago, I asked you about the car and you said you had to pick it up later. So, where were you, Harm?”
‘Where were you, Harm.’ Simple question. Simple answer. If only it worked that way. If he told her where he’d been, it would ruin everything he’d planned, but he was starting to wonder if it wasn’t wrecked already. “You can’t believe that crap!” he muttered sarcastically.
“Why won’t you tell me where you were?” she continued.
“What difference does that make?” He looked her straight in the eye, and declared, “I wouldn’t do it, Mac.”
She dropped her eyes, turned her head and walked away in a gesture of sadness that set his mind on fire. He grabbed her arm suddenly and spun her around.
“I wouldn’t do that to Bud.” On the surface, he may have looked angry, but on the inside he was in a flat panic. “I wouldn’t do that to Bud or to Harriet or to yo...” That last hung in the air when their eyes met in a long, searching gaze. “Mac, tell me you don’t believe it!”