Disclaimer: The standard disclaimers apply. JAG is owned by Bellisarius Productions and Paramount. I do not profit from borrowing any of these characters.
Author Notes: Feedback of all types is welcome. Eventually this will be archived at Jagnik Fanfic Central and Ex Libris.
Thanks again to my marvelous beta reader AeroGirl.
Friday, Feb 13th
It was only 9 am and Sarah Mackenzie had already had a thoroughly crappy day. It wasn’t bad enough that a power failure had disabled her alarm clock on the same day that her usually keen sense of timing had decided to take a powder. Already 26 minutes late waking up, she had wasted an additional 12 minutes and 10 seconds searching for just one pair of pantyhose that didn’t have a run in them. In her haste to make up for lost time she had slammed her foot on the edge of her dresser. That had cost her an additional 9 minutes of cursing and icing. Her little toe and the side of her foot, swollen to twice their normal size, would not fit into her pumps, forcing her to change out of her class A uniform and into her uniform pants and black oxfords. Another 7 minutes wasted. She rushed out of her apartment, 48 minutes behind schedule and realized, too late, why her power had gone out. As she hit the icy steps, her feet flew up in the air and she landed unceremoniously on her backside on the sidewalk, her ankle throbbing in tandem with her toe. She limped to her car and drove out of the parking lot, knowing that the roads would be awful and that she had absolutely no chance of making it to JAG in time for staff call. She should have known better than to expect anything would work on Friday the 13th.
Deciding that it didn’t matter what road she took to work, since they would all be parking lots, Mac opted for the scenic route. The sun shining through the ice on the trees gave DC a luster it sometimes lacked in the winter. It was pretty to look at, she conceded, if not easy to drive on. She called JAG headquarters to inform Tiner that she would be late. He assured her there would be no problem. The admiral, too, was stuck in traffic, so staff call had been postponed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she felt herself relax. Maybe the rest of the day wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Crawling along, she found herself behind a yellow mini van with a wheelchair lift, packed to the gills with kids. Two of the kids in the back smiled and waved at her. She returned the smiles and waved. One of them made a funny face and she did the same, delighted at their laughter. As they waited for the light to turn green the game continued, further lightening her mood. The light turned and traffic moved slowly forward. Mac waved to the kids and started to turn left, but a flash of color grabbed her attention and she slammed on her brakes, barely controlling the subsequent skid. As she watched, horrified, a black sports car fish-tailed into the intersection, slamming into the van and propelling both vehicles over the embankment.
Without hesitating, Mac grabbed her cell phone and got out of her car. She tossed her cell phone to a bystander. "Call 911!" she ordered, hurrying across the street to where the van had disappeared. She plowed her way through the crowd to look over the edge and was dismayed to see the van submerged on its side in a shallow pond about twenty feet below the road. For a moment, she just stood there like everybody else, mesmerized by the tragedy unfolding just a few feet away. But unlike the other bystanders on the road that day, Mac had been trained to respond to a crisis, and within a few seconds her training kicked in.
She slid, tumbled and scrambled her way down the icy slope to the pond, landing in a heap against a retaining wall. She climbed up onto the wall, and steeling herself for the cold, jumped into the water. As soon as she hit the water, she was disoriented. Everything hurt and she couldn’t remember how to breathe. She resurfaced gasping for breath, momentarily unsure of what she was doing. She whirled her head around and caught sight of the van. Her task suddenly in focus, she staggered toward the children.
The water was shallow, but the cold was already taking a toll on her. By the time she got to the back door of the van, she was numb. She could barely get her fingers to work to open the latch, but somehow she managed to wrestle the doors open. She reached blindly inside the van, grabbing the first body part she encountered. She emerged with a tiny girl, shaking uncontrollably but conscious and breathing. Mac cradled her in her arms and moved toward the bank, setting her gently on the retaining wall.
She slogged back to the van, emerging with another little girl, this one unconscious. Mac checked her breathing and wrestled her up onto the wall. She turned back to the van, only to find that the van had sunk a little deeper and that the doors were now completely submerged. Intent on only one thing, she plunged under the water and through the open doors. She grabbed a tiny arm and tugged, but the child wouldn’t budge. She felt around for the body attached to the arm and discovered a belt. Her lungs burning, Mac was forced to leave the van. She broke the surface, took a quick breath and went back in. She found the arm again, undid the harness and carried the child to the surface. As she struggled toward the bank, a pair of hands reached for the child she cradled.
Meanwhile, at JAG Headquarters
Harm, delayed by the weather himself, walked into Jag Ops, 90 minutes late. He hurried toward his office, hoping to avoid the admiral. He hated being late, especially when it wasn’t his fault. He would never understand how just a little bit of winter weather turned Washingtonians into complete idiots on the roads.
He had nearly made it to his office when he noticed a number of people gathered around one of the large tv’s. He wandered over.
"Hey," he asked Harriet, "What’s up?"
Harriet turned to him. "A school bus went off the road into a pond, and a Marine jumped into the water and has been pulling the kids out."
Harm shivered involuntarily, remembering how cold the Atlantic had felt in the spring. He could only imagine what that half-frozen pond would be like. "He’s going to need a trip to Bethesda when this is over."
"Yes, sir. The water must be pretty cold."
Harm turned toward the screen and watched, fascinated, as the Marine carried a small child toward the wall and handed him to a man standing waist-deep in the water. The Marine went back to the van and submerged. Three more times he went back, dove under the water and returned with a child. Each time the crowd cheered loudly as if urging the hero onto victory. The fourth time he submerged, the Marine came up empty handed. He submerged several more times, coming up empty each time and then turned toward the bank, clearly spent. One cameraman lucked out and got close enough to focus on the hero's face as the Marine collapsed against the retaining wall and bystanders reached down to pull him onto dry land. Harm and Harriet stiffened simultaneously as Tiner shouted, "My God, that’s Colonel MacKenzie!"
Georgetown University Hospital, 45 minutes later
A sharp sting inside her elbow brought her almost to consciousness. She tried to pull her arm away but it was held fast. A soothing voice called her name from far away and then faded as she slipped back into the abyss. Sometime later, a painful tug on her ankle interrupted her slumber. Another sting, this time in her hand, pulled her closer to the surface. Somebody gently called her name, urging her to rejoin the rest of the world. She resisted. In the dark she was warm and safe, nothing bothered her, nothing bad would happen. She liked it there. Something pressed on a sore spot on her ribs and she squirmed, trying to get away. She cried out and then opened her eyes, her connection to the world reestablished, at least for the moment.
A face appeared in her field of vision. "Colonel MacKenzie, do you know where you are?"
She knew she was in a bed and there were personnel all around her. It looked like a hospital. Mac opened her mouth to speak but could not summon her voice. She settled for nodding her head in the affirmative. She was pretty sure she was in the hospital.
"Do you know what happened to you?"
Mac considered the question for a moment and realized that she had no idea what had happened after she left her house. She remembered being late and falling on the steps, but the rest of the morning was a complete blank. The next thing she remembered was clinging to a wall, shivering uncontrollably, gagging and gasping for air. She couldn’t remember where that was or how she got there. Was that even today? She had a memory, more like an impression, of strong hands pulling her out of water, a blanket thrown over her body and a gentle voice telling her that she would be all right. But she couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Her confusion must have shown on her face because the nurse -- at least Mac thought the woman was a nurse -- patted her shoulder and reassured her that it was normal to have some memory loss due to hypothermia. This explanation, rather than clearing up her confusion, only made things more foggy, but before she could ask any questions, Mac felt herself drifting away again.
"How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"
Mac managed to force out one word. "Tired," she mumbled as she drifted back into the warm, comfortable darkness.
In another part of the hospital about the same time
Harm moved quickly through the busy ER with the grace and skill of a man who had spent his life navigating the unfriendly skies. He had one goal in mind: someone, anyone, who could tell him how to get to Mac, and that she was all right. As he made his way through the throngs of patients and emergency personnel, he spotted a young woman in blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck. He made a beeline for her.
"’Scuse me, Ma’am. I’m looking for a patient, Sarah MacKenzie. I was told she was brought in here this morning?"
"I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask at admitting," she answered tersely as she moved past him.
"Where is that!?" he asked, his frustration growing.
The young woman stopped, turned and answered, more patiently this time, "Down the hall to your left. You can’t miss it. I’m sure they can help you."
"Thank you," Harm answered more effusively than really necessary.
Thirty minutes later, Harm walked toward the room but stopped as he got to the door. Mac was completely covered by a warming blanket pulled up to her chin, an IV line snaking out from under the blanket to the bag hanging over her head. Her hair, apparently dried hurriedly, stuck out randomly. She was pale with a slightly bluish tinge around her lips. A dusky discoloration was just visible around her right eye.
He walked slowly into the room and sat gingerly in the chair beside her bed, trying not to wake her. He stayed in the chair, elbows resting on his knees, for the next hour, simply content to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest. Before they let him in to see her, the doctors had told Harm that she would be all right. Her temperature had come up to nearly normal and her injuries, though numerous, were all minor. She would be sore for a while, but there would be no lasting damage. She could probably go home tomorrow if her temperature stayed stable.
The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket broke into his thoughts. He opened it, whispered, "Rabb," and walked out into the hallway to update the Admiral. Giving his CO an update was the least he could do after accosting him in JAG OPS to get permission to come to the hospital.
[Is she all right?]
"Yes, Sir. The doctors said she would be fine. She has a laceration on her hand and a pretty nasty sprained ankle, some assorted bumps and bruises and ah, the hypothermia, of course."
[Have you spoken to her?] AJ asked, his relief obvious.
"No, Sir. She’s still sleeping. I can come back to the office if you need me, Admiral."
[We can last without you for a little while longer, Commander, but I will need to see you before the end of the day.]
"All right, Sir. I’ll stay a little longer to see if I can speak with her and I’ll be back in the office. Goodbye, Sir."
He walked back into her room and was surprised to see her eyes were open. She was gazing intently at him. "Hey," she said, softly, as if it hurt to talk.
He walked in and retook his seat in the chair next to her bed. "Hey, yourself. How’re you feeling?"
"Not great. My head hurts and I’m really cold." She shifted in place and winced. "Did you get the number of that truck?"
Harm chuckled. "I heard it was a school bus?" he prompted her gently, wanting to see what she remembered but not wanting to push too hard.
Mac paused and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as if searching her memory. She sighed, "I remember being really late for work and falling down my front steps. I think I hurt my ankle. I remember the bus and being in the water, but the details are pretty fuzzy." She paused, swallowing audibly.
"Hey, you ok?"
"Yeah," she answered warily. "Oh my god!" she cried out as she tried unsuccessfully to extricate herself from the bedclothes. "The kids! Are they ok?"
Harm sprang from the chair and gently held her down. "Easy there, Marine. The kids are fine. You got them all out. They’re all going to be ok."
Mac struggled with him for a minute and then sank back onto the pillow, groaning, her eyes closed against the pain that even a simple movement caused. She took a couple of deep breaths and opened her eyes. "Are you sure? They’re really ok?"
Harm leaned back in the chair. "I’m sure. They’re fine, Mac. All of them."
"Good. That’s good. I was afraid they hadn’t gotten out." She stifled a yawn. "Damn, I’m tired."
Harm, taking his cue from the patient, and remembering how tired he had been after his accident, stood and placed a gentle hand on the side of her face. "You rest now. I have to get back to the office. I’ll see you later. Ok?"
Her eyes had already closed. "’Kay. See you later," she mumbled.
The next morning, early
Mac lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her internal clock, finally working again after thawing out with the rest of her, told her she had been awake for two hours and that it was 07:00: too early to ask a doctor to release her and therefore too early to call Harm to come get her. She had been lying here, bored out of her mind, counting the ceiling tiles in every language she knew. She had counted 97 of them in English, Farsi, Russian, Japanese and German, but had only counted 39 tiles in French. (She was a little rusty.) She had carefully but systematically stretched every one of her sore muscles. Most of her felt better having moved around a bit, except for her left ankle and her right hand. On closer inspection she discovered her hand was wrapped in a heavy white bandage and her ankle, a victim of her icy steps, encased in an air cast. As she gingerly flexed her hand, she wondered, idly, how she had injured it, and another piece of her memory slid into place. When she had reached in for one of the kids there was a piece of glass or metal and she had cut her palm. She shivered involuntarily as memories of her unscheduled swim came rushing back.
She jumped sky high when Harm called from her doorway.
"Cold?"
"Geez, Harm. Scare me to death, why don’t you?" She hit the button near her left hand, raising the bed into the upright position. To her relief, she managed the maneuver without any noticeable pain.
He walked toward the bed, chuckling. "Sorry. You seem better this morning."
"Yeah, I feel a lot better. The fog seems to be lifting and I’m not so cold, but every muscle in my body hurts."
"Yeah, I remember that feeling. I think it’s from all that shivering."
"Maybe…um, why are you here so early?"
"Wweelll," he answered slyly, drawing a bag from behind his back, "I thought you might like some real breakfast." He held the bag, from a local deli, dangling just out of her reach.
"Hey, no fair. Gimme. I’m a sick woman," Mac whined, laughing. God, that food smelled good.
Harm stalled a moment longer, as if trying to make a decision.
"C’mon, Harm. I’m starving here. I slept through dinner."
"Oh my god! This is an emergency!" He relented, handing her the bag.
She opened it and hauled out a foil-wrapped breakfast sandwich. It smelled heavenly. She unwrapped it and had it halfway to her mouth when a thought occurred to her. "Am I supposed to be on a bland diet?" she asked, chuckling.
"It’s ok. Dig in. I asked your doctor last night."
He opened a matching bag and pulled out a coffee for each of them and a bagel and cream cheese for himself. They ate in companionable silence.
Just as they were finishing up the doctor came into the room. "Good morning, Colonel MacKenzie, Commander Rabb. How are you feeling this morning, Sarah?"
"A lot better, now that I’ve had some real food. When can I get out of here?"
"Let me take a look. If everything checks out we’ll talk about springing you. How’s that sound?"
"Good. Let’s get this show on the road." She hated hospitals.
The doctor took his stethoscope from around his neck and looked pointedly at Harm.
Harm chuckled awkwardly. "I’ll, ah, just be out in the hall if you need me." He left the room. He was so easy to embarrass when it came to her.
"OK, Sarah, let’s take a listen to your lungs, shall we?" He helped her sit forward and put the stethoscope against her back. "Take as deep a breath as you can."
Mac’s attempt to breathe deeply ended in an ugly sounding cough that left her gasping. The doctor moved the stethoscope to her chest and asked for another breath. This time she managed a deep breath without asphyxiating herself.
As the doctor took the stethoscope away, she looked at him expectantly. He remained silent. He took out a light and shined it into her eyes. To her relief the light didn’t make her headache worse. The doctor continued to poke and prod her and even unwrapped and examined the nasty looking line of stitches on her palm.
Finally she couldn’t take any more. "Well?" she asked, impatiently.
"I think we can release you today."
"Yes! When can I get out of here?" Mac asked gleefully.
The doctor held up his hand, hoping to temper her enthusiasm. "Your release is dependent on certain conditions, Colonel." He walked to the doorway. "Commander, you can come back in now."
When Harm had come back in, the doctor turned toward Mac. "As I said, you can be released this morning as soon as you can get yourself suited up and ready to go. However you’re not going to be released until I’m convinced that you’ll abide by the conditions of your release."
"She will," Harm answered decisively, preventing Mac from voicing the objection on the tip of her tongue.
The doctor looked from Harm back to Mac, who reluctantly nodded her agreement. Did they think she was a child?
"OK. You have a pretty badly sprained ankle, a cracked metatarsal and broken toe, a minor concussion and a nasty laceration on your palm. You’re also probably feeling pretty run down from the hypothermia and the congestion in your lungs. If I release you this morning, you will spend the next 48 hours in bed or on your couch. Hot baths are ok, walks in the park are not."
"But…" Mac tried to interrupt but a look from Harm and the doctor silenced her. "I’m listening," she continued sullenly. She was not feeling particularly cooperative.
"Because of the concussion and the ankle injury you are going to be unsteady on your feet. That, coupled with the potential for pneumonia, is not a good combo, so I want somebody staying with you for the weekend."
"That’s no problem," Harm answered, a bit too enthusiastically for Mac’s taste. She shot him a glare. To her annoyance, he smirked back.
"I have prescriptions here for pain medication and an antibiotic. You lungs are a bit congested and that’s a deep cut on your hand. Lord knows what was living in that frog pond. The pain medication is optional, but you need to take the antibiotics until the bottle is finished. Do you have any questions?"
"Do I get a say in any of this?" Mac asked tersely. They were really starting to tick her off.
"No!" exclaimed Harm and the doctor simultaneously.
"Colonel, even though this isn’t a military hospital, we are required to file a fitness report with your CO. The conditions will be included. Or you could just stay here for the weekend."
"No, that’s ok. Bed for the weekend? No problem," Mac answered, capitulating suddenly. She would agree to almost anything to get out of the hospital.
"Any other questions?" the doctor asked, trying to smother his laughter.
"What about work? Do I have any duty restrictions?"
"Well, your chart says you’re at JAG. You’re a lawyer, right? Well, I would say you can go back to work Wednesday, but only to desk duty for the first couple of weeks. I want to give that ankle a chance to heal some. After that you can resume courtroom duties."
Mac gaped at him, speechless, while Harm nodded his assent. "We often do field investigations, carriers, remote air bases, crime scenes. When can Mac get back into the field?"
"I don’t think she’ll be ready for field investigations for six weeks, conservatively. We’ll have to wait and see how her foot heals."
Mac jumped down his throat. "Wait a minute, here. I thought it was just a sprain?" She knew she was overreacting, but she hated being discussed like she wasn't even in the room.
"Not JUST a sprain, Colonel. There’s a small crack in one of the bones in your foot. I think you said you kicked a dresser? The original injury was exacerbated by your rescue of the children. Not that I think you shouldn’t have done that, but you have to live with the consequences, unfortunately."
He waited for some reaction from Mac, but she decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping to expedite her release. The doctor stood and moved toward the door. "OK, Sarah. I’ll sign your release order and forward the fitness report to JAG. If you don’t have any other questions, I have sick people to tend to."
Harm stood and shook hands with the doctor. "Thanks, Doc. We appreciate everything you’ve done. I’ll keep an eye on her this weekend."
Mac snorted sarcastically. His light, conspiratorial tone annoyed Mac to no end. He was enjoying this way too much.
Both men glanced toward her, as she glared at them. The doctor leaned in and whispered, "Good luck, Commander."