| Ann |
Loyalty And Betrayal |
October 20, 2003 |
Author Notes: Feedback welcome at aerm1@aol.com
Chapter 1
Chaplain Turner's Den
Several days after Harm's return to JAG HQ following his trial
"She said she needed to know that I was okay before she left." Harm walked slowly over to the window and stared, unseeing, at some distant point.
As the quiet ticking of the mantel clock marked the passing of what seemed like hours, Chaplain Turner finally asked, "And?"
"And before I could even try to answer, Mac changed the subject. Two minutes later, she was walking out the door, leaving to go who knows where with Clayton Webb." The rigid set of the younger man's shoulders and the dull gaze in his eyes never faltered.
"Are...you...okay?"
More long minutes passed as Harm tried to formulate a reply which he could give without completely losing his hard-won composure. Why was it that while he could come up with a passionate argument in seconds in the courtroom on someone else's behalf, when anyone asked him a personal question, his brain froze, his tongue got trapped between his teeth, and his larynx spasmed? As Mac had so smugly pointed out, he couldn't ever tell her how he felt, at least not when she wanted to hear it; and now he couldn't even answer Chaplain Turner, a man who had to be one of the easiest people in the world to confide in.
"Harm?" The chaplain's voice was gentle, concerned.
Still gazing out the window, intently staring at nothing, Harm took a deep breath. Maybe it would help to tell someone how he felt. It would have been nice to talk to Mac, but she was in South America. And even if she had been in DC, there was no guarantee he could have actually opened his mouth and made the words come out. "No. I'm not okay."
Stunned by the reply, Chaplain Turner took two steps toward Harm, before a torrent of words came out.
"I don't know that I'll ever be okay again. I can't sleep at night. When I do sleep, it's just to have nightmares. I can hardly concentrate at work because I'm so tired. I don't know why, but I thought it would work out. I thought that I could return to my life and pick up where I left off, but I can't. Chaplain, I lost a month of my life that I'll never have again. Everyone else went on with theirs. I've been out of the loop for four weeks. Yet when I went back to work the other day, people just acted like I'd been on a TAD or something. 'Good morning, Commander. Good to have you back.' And that was it." He turned abruptly and began to wander around the chaplain's den, still not meeting his old friend's father's eyes. "Sturgis tried to say something, but he accepted it when I told him I was going forward. That's what he wanted to hear. But you know what? I'm not....I can't....I can't get over the fact that people I thought were my friends, people that I thought knew me well enough to know that I would never have killed Loren, people that I honestly believed would have been there for me while I was slowly going nuts in the brig, deserted me completely for that month."
The chaplain interrupted him gently. "Harm, the admiral ordered them to stay away. He was under orders from the SecNav to keep JAG out of the process. Your friends had no choice."
The look Harm turned on him was anguished. "I know. I also know that I wouldn't have obeyed that order if it had been Sturgis, or Bud, or Mac in that brig. I would have been doing my damnedest to get to the truth. It wouldn't have taken a lazy, lousy, NCIS agent to finally realize that the whole case stank and to decide to reopen the investigation that wasn't done properly to begin with." He made another circuit of the room. "I would *never* have abandoned a friend like that. Not even if the President himself had told me to." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "And every single one of them knows that."
"Harm..."
"Do you have any idea how much it hurts? To know that they let me rot in that damn cell, let me sit there wondering how soon it would be before the defense attorney assigned to my case sharpened enough pencils to kill a hundred trees and then played her trump card in court? 'Your Honor, my client says he's innocent. The defense rests.' And then they would have shipped me off to Leavenworth. Hell, with my luck, I'd have had to room with Clark Palmer." He laughed bitterly. "No, I'd probably have gotten the death sentence." Another trip around the room punctuated his comments. "No one even sent me a postcard to say 'Hang in there. We know you didn't do it.' I can understand why none of them was allowed to be my defense counsel. But I find it very difficult to believe that no one was allowed to contact me at all." He blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill. Reaching for his cover, he turned to face the chaplain. "I'm sorry, Sir. I shouldn't have spoken as I did. I'll be going now."
Chaplain Turner put a hand on his shoulder. "Harm, sit down. There's no need to go anywhere. You obviously needed to say what you did. My guess is that you still need to say more. How about some coffee?" As he spoke, he maneuvered them back to the couch.
Shaking his head, Harm said, "Thanks, but no. I'm sleeping so badly these days that I try to avoid coffee after lunch." He sank onto the sofa, fiddling with his cover.
"Something else?"
"No, thank you. Really, I'm fine." He blew out a long breath. "Is it wrong of me to feel hurt? Betrayed?"
"No, not wrong at all. Even Christ felt betrayed by His friends, remember?"
"Yeah, but somehow I've never really considered myself in that league." Harm attempted a smile that failed in its execution.
Shrugging, the chaplain replied, "Perhaps not, but I think that it's normal to feel the way you do when your friends abandon you in your hour of need. You wouldn't be human if you weren't hurt." His decision made, he went on. "And I agree. You wouldn't have left any of your friends hanging in the wind like they left you. Of course, you might have found yourself charged with DDO, but when has that ever stopped you? So, yes, you have every reason to feel the way you do....Are you angry with them?"
Harm considered the question carefully. "No, not angry. Hurt. So hurt that I honestly don't know that I want to be at JAG anymore. Every face I see reminds me that I didn't see them when I needed them most. I honestly don't know that I can count on anyone anymore. And that hurts too." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How can I work with people that I no longer trust? People that obviously don't trust me? They thought I actually killed her. It's the only explanation." Rubbing his forehead, he continued. "No one even put my computer back together."
"You lost me on that one, son."
"My office--the NCIS people took every file, every book, every piece of anything for evidence. They took my model airplanes. What did they think I did? Bash her on the head with a plastic Tomcat? When I got back to work the other day, it was all still in boxes, piled on the furniture. I had to spend the better part of the first day back unpacking and putting things where they belonged. You'd think that Tiner or Harriet or someone could have at least hooked all those stupid computer wires back up. I'm lucky I didn't blow the thing up doing it wrong." He shrugged. "Coates, at least, had sorted my mail. And she did apologize for telling the court she thought I was abusive."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Harm." The chaplain's rich voice was soothing. "I don't know what to say that will make you feel better, other than that time does heal a lot of wounds."
"I suppose so." He stood and held out a hand to the chaplain. "Thanks for listening, Sir. I honestly do appreciate it."
"Any time, Harm. You know where to find me." The chaplain smiled as he walked to the door with him.
As he watched the commander drive away, Chaplain Turner shook his head sadly. Harm might not admit it, but the young man was depressed. Whether or not he needed anything more than a friendly ear was a question that could only be answered by time. Sighing heavily, he went to the telephone and dialed.
"Admiral Chegwidden's Office," Tiner said as he picked up the receiver.
"This is Chaplain Turner. I'd like to speak with the Admiral."
"One minute please. I'll see if he's in." Tiner pushed the hold button and buzzed his CO. "Admiral, it's the chaplain, on line one."
"Thank you, Tiner. I've got it." Raising one eyebrow, the admiral picked up the phone. "Chaplain Turner, how are you?"
"Fine, thanks," the deep voice rumbled through the receiver. "But I thought I'd pass on a feeling I have." He paused a minute to quell the feelings he had of betraying a confidence, reminding himself that Harm hadn't said not to share the conversation with anyone. "I had a visitor today."
"Let me guess. Commander Rabb." The admiral's voice left no doubt that it wasn't a question.
"Right. While I don't feel at liberty to share what we discussed, I do think that you should be aware that regardless of how well he seems to be handling the events of the past month and his return to JAG, looks can be deceptive."
The admiral pursed his lips. "I see. I don't suppose it helps that the Colonel has gone off on some hare-brained mission with Webb, either."
"No, probably not. I'm sure he's worried about her."
"So am I. Anything else you can tell me?" The admiral's tone left no doubt in Chaplain Turner's mind that the admiral was not going to accept a negative response.
"I've known Harm since he was at the Academy with Sturgis. While he's always been a fairly private person, there are a few things about him that have always stood out."
"Such as?"
"His sense of loyalty and duty. And his abandonment issues, for lack of a better term."
"Chaplain, are you trying to tell me that he feels like he was abandoned during his recent trial?"
"That is my impression. Think about it, Admiral. The boy's father disappeared when he was six years old. His mother had his father declared dead six years later and married someone else, despite Harm's belief that his father was still alive. And as it turns out, he was right. His father didn't die until five or six years after that. How many times has Harm laid it all on the line -- his career, his life, everything -- to help a friend? Sturgis told me how he risked court-martial to stay with Mac and Bud on the Seahawk last year. Sturgis also told me how you ordered all of Harm's friends to stay away from the brig while he was there. And how you denied them permission to investigate the murder, even though the NCIS rushed their investigation and rushed the case to trial, not even bothering to consider the possibility that someone else could have been the murderer. If you were Harm, how would you feel?"
"Point taken." The admiral rubbed his hand over his head. With Mac on TAD with Webb, he honestly didn't need any new problems with his other senior attorney. "Surely he had support from other friends and his family, though."
Choking back an incredulous laugh, the chaplain said, "You're kidding. What other friends? Harm's whole life revolves around JAG and the Navy. Clayton Webb and Bobbi Latham are probably the only non-Navy people Harm has seen socially in years. As for family, what family? His mother was out of the country the entire time this was going on. His grandmother is in her eighties. He didn't tell either one of them. He didn't want them to worry when there was nothing they could do. He was completely isolated throughout the entire ordeal. It would have broken a weaker man."
"So Rabb feels abandoned by his friends and colleagues. Perhaps he should have thought of that before he acted so strange when the murder was first discovered."
"Once again, Admiral, he was acting out of loyalty -- to his brother, who he thought was the baby's father."
"Misguided loyalty," was the dry response.
"Perhaps, but loyalty all the same."
The admiral took a deep breath. "I assume there is something you want me to do?"
The deep voice rumbled. "I think that it might be a good idea to facilitate his feeling part of life at JAG again. And I think it would be a mistake for people to think that just because he isn't going around complaining about the experience that it therefore wasn't an ordeal."
"You want us to give the man a welcome back party?"
"Not really. But I do think that people should keep an eye on him--make sure he doesn't seem too depressed. Invite him to lunch, that sort of thing. You know how in a month routines can change. People who aren't around get forgotten. He needs to be included again."
"I understand. I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the heads up, Chaplain."
"Any time. I'll talk to you soon."
"Good-bye, Chaplain."
The admiral slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle and rubbed his head again. What now? If the commander had been to see the chaplain, then Harm was in a lot worse shape emotionally than he had thought. Why in the hell did Mac have to be in Paraguay right now?
Chapter 2
Admiral Chegwidden kept a quiet eye on the commander for the next few days, trying to see if he agreed with Chaplain Turner's assessment of Rabb's emotional state. After noticing that Harm was holed up in his office if he wasn't in court, often staring blankly at his computer screen or a file that never seemed to get written in, the admiral reluctantly decided that Turner was correct. Harm was definitely out of sync with the rest of the staff. Lunch time would come and go, and the commander would still be in his office, emerging only to pull something from the break room's refrigerator after his friends had left to eat. The admiral occasionally caught a wistful look on Harm's face as he watched Sturgis, Bud, and Harriet standing by the elevator, engrossed in conversation. He never saw Rabb approach any of his colleagues unless it was related to a case. And none of them seemed to think to invite him to join them. For all intents and purposes, Rabb could have been part of the furniture when it came to interaction with the JAG staff.
It might have just been his imagination, but AJ was beginning to get the impression that the commander was avoiding contact with his friends as much as they were forgetting to include him. All in all, not a good situation for the long-term morale of the office. Harm had always been the epicenter of JAG. If he wasn't on top of his game, the whole operation would suffer. It might just be time to interfere.
To make matters worse, a reliable source at the CIA had called him to say that Mac and Webb had missed their last two check-ins. Something was wrong down in Paraguay as well. And 'the company' didn't seem to be planning to do anything about it. Losing Mac completely would probably send Rabb right over the edge. The admiral sighed heavily as he gazed through his office window.
A sharp rap on the door frame interrupted his musings. "Admiral, Commander Rabb would like to see you," Tiner said.
"Send him in." The admiral continued to stare at the trees beyond the parking lot. "Close the hatch, Commander."
"Yes, Sir." The soft snick of the door sounded, and AJ heard the crisp snap of the commander's heels as he said, "Commander Rabb reporting, sir."
"What is it, Commander?"
"Admiral, I'd like to take a couple of weeks leave. I've got the time on the books, and there is nothing really pressing on my desk right now."
"Commander, we're a little short-handed right now with the Colonel being TAD, in case you haven't noticed."
Eyes straight ahead, his posture stiffly at attention, Harm tried again. "I understand that, sir. But respectfully, I really need some time off to take care of some things that got a little out of control while I was awaiting trial." He swallowed painfully and went on. "It's not as if the cases I've been given this week have required any particular level of expertise. Tiner could have handled any of them."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Commander. Request denied." The admiral turned to look at his top attorney. What he saw on Harm's face shook him. There were new lines, and he wasn't sure he didn't see a few gray hairs near Harm's temples. His eyes, normally his most expressive feature, looked dead, as if he had seen more than he could handle. Chaplain Turner was right. Harm looked worn, tired, defeated. His intensity was missing; the spark of mischief in his eyes was gone. It was as if his body was in the room, but his spirit was UA. AJ ran a hand over his head. How on earth could anyone bring Harm's spirit back? Could anyone reach him? There was no way he could tell him about Mac and Webb. The news would devastate him.
"Sir," Harm began. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. You know that."
"What sort of things? It shouldn't take more than an evening to catch up on paying your bills."
Staring at his favorite focal point in the room, a knot in the mellow wood paneling, Harm replied, "I need some time to think, Admiral. I need to sort out some things in my life and my career."
"I know how you feel, Commander..."
"With all due respect, Sir, you do...not...know...how I feel." Harm's throat convulsed with his words.
"You think you're the only one in this office who's ever had their six in the fire, Mr. Rabb? Who has ever had their career on the line?"
"No, Sir....Yes, Sir."
The admiral got in his face. "Do you care to explain that?"
"Sir, when you had your flag mast, when the SecNav had Lindsey investigate the office and your performance, everyone here stood by you. Mac defended you. We all contributed to the rebuttal documents. The situations are entirely different."
"What is that supposed to mean?" the admiral snapped at him.
"Admiral, it wasn't just my career on the line this time. It was my life. And no one stood by me. No one. The only person I saw in four weeks was my lawyer." He took a deep breath. "I don't know who selected that defense attorney for me, but I hope it wasn't you. If Gibbs hadn't decided to reopen the investigation, I would have been convicted given the stellar performance she and her pencils put on in that courtroom. And then I would have either been looking at the death penalty or life in Leavenworth."
"You could have appealed, Harm, if you had been convicted."
Rabb gritted his teeth to keep from snorting in derision. "Sir, how long do you really think I would have lasted at Leavenworth? I might have decided to ask for the death penalty."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Has the admiral forgotten that Clark Palmer is in Leavenworth? A 'model prisoner,' I'm told. One who has all kinds of freedom of movement. The only thing I wondered about was whether he would have had me killed immediately or had me beaten or worse on a regular basis and kept me guessing as to when he would tire of toying with me and kill me. At least the government would have given me a last meal and a painless death."
"You really believe that?" The admiral got in Rabb's face as he snarled the question.
"Yes, Sir, I do. The man has tried to kill me before, in case you have forgotten. Please, Admiral, I really need some time to decide what I'm going to do with my future."
"Excuse me? What is there to decide?"
"I'm debating whether to ask for a transfer or to resign my commission, Sir." Harm's face was even bleaker than when he had entered the office.
"WHAT?!" Chegwidden's eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. Harm could not have astounded him more if he'd suddenly announced a desire to become an exotic dancer. "I trust that I misunderstood what I thought I just heard."
"No, Sir. You understood. Surely you can see that I don't belong here any more. My presence makes everyone uncomfortable--including me."
"I do not see that, Commander. You are undoubtedly imagining things."
"Respectfully, I disagree. And to be honest, Sir, I really want to get away from here. I'm tired of being ignored by people I once thought were my friends." He took a deep breath and went on. "This office obviously got along fine without me for a month. And if you truly needed me, you'd have given me at least one decent case since I've been back."
"I thought it would be easier on you to ease back into the routine." Chegwidden looked at the commander through narrowed eyes. "Mr. Rabb, you aren't considering..."
Suddenly aware of what his CO was thinking, Harm quickly replied, "No, Sir. Of course not. I wouldn't do that to my mother and grandmother. I just don't fit in here any more. I need to move on with my life, but I can't do it here at JAG."
"Denied, Commander. You need to stick it out."
Harm's shoulders slumped, proper military stance forgotten. "Then that settles it. You'll have my letter of resignation in fifteen minutes, Admiral. It was a privilege serving under you." He turned on his heel and strode from the room, ignoring the lack of a dismissal.
As the door closed behind Rabb, the Admiral slammed his hand onto the top of his desk. Damn. He had certainly messed that up.
A few minutes of reflection brought inspiration, however. If Rabb left the Navy, there would be nothing to stop him from taking a vacation, perhaps in Paraguay. It wouldn't take too many hints to send him flying down there to find the Colonel. If Rabb saved Webb while he was there, well, that would be all right too.
Back in his office, Harm looked around, a lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He had spent almost half his career here at JAG. He was going to going to miss it. Shaking his head to clear it, he reminded himself that he already missed it: it hadn't been the same since his arrest. The easy camaraderie in the bullpen, the light banter in the break room--it was all gone, relegated to a past that he couldn't recover. Opening up his word-processing program, he began to type. Tears threatened to blind him as he typed out the words of resignation, but he persevered. The sooner he left, the better. Ten minutes later, Tiner ushered him into the Admiral's office.
Standing at attention, Harm held out the letter to his commanding officer. "Here it is, Sir. My resignation. If it's all the same to the admiral, I'd like it to be effective immediately. I can be out of the office in an hour."
AJ's mouth twisted as he read the succinct paragraph. He really hated to lose Rabb; even at less than full performance, the man was better than anyone else on staff with the exception, perhaps, of Colonel Mackenzie. "It's probably for the best," he said dryly.
Hurt by the comment, the Commander continued to stand at attention, eyes straight ahead. "Will that be all, Sir?"
"No, it won't. Have a seat, Commander."
"With all due respect, Sir, I need to pack up my personal belongings and..."
"You need to obey orders. This hasn't been processed yet," the Admiral snapped. "Sit down."
"Aye, aye, Sir." The younger man lowered himself into his usual leather chair. He was surprised when the admiral got up and walked around the desk and took the other one.
"Harm, I owe you an apology. You were right. I don't know what you've been feeling; I can only guess. And right now, I think you are misinterpreting the actions of those around you. But I can understand why you might do so. The only thing I can tell you is that everyone in this office, from me on down, had explicit orders from the SecNav to distance ourselves from your case. I don't know that I expect you to believe me, but if you had been convicted, I personally would have pursued your appeal."
"Thank you, Admiral." Harm's tone was carefully neutral. The admiral was right. He wasn't sure he believed him or not. But it was a moot point. So he continued to stare at the wall.
"I realize that you just made the decision to resign a few minutes ago. I didn't expect you to." His eyes searched the younger man's face, seeing no emotion at all.
"No, Sir. You probably didn't. I didn't expect to make the decision that fast. But the admiral left me no choice." Harm wasn't about to make it easy on the man.
Chegwidden sighed heavily. "Harm, I couldn't grant you leave just now. Surely you realize that."
"No, I don't. But it doesn't matter. I have to get away from here, and I'm going to." The feelings of betrayal by his friends had been steadily growing stronger since his conversation with Chaplain Turner. The nightmares he'd been having since his incarceration had taken a particularly disturbing turn in the past few days, too. Instead of dreaming of being locked away with Palmer, he'd begun seeing Mac in peril, imprisoned, fighting for her life. If she'd been with anyone but Webb, he would have been able to dismiss the dreams as the product of too much stress; but she was on a covert operation with the man. And unfortunately, his covert ops had a way of going south. Harm couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to find her.
"Harm?" AJ's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You still with me?"
A ghost of his former smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Not for long, Sir."
"I was suggesting that you might find South America a nice place to visit this time of year."
Startled, the commander turned to look Chegwidden in the eye for the first time all day. His gaze steely, he ground out, "Any particular reason, Admiral? And please don't insult my intelligence."
"I was thinking that you might want to check out the local scenery in Paraguay--Ciudad del Este to be exact." AJ's eyes bored into the commander's. "There are rumors that a few old friends of yours are down there. Unfortunately, there are other rumors that they have run into a bit of trouble and might need help extricating themselves." He paused to let the information sink in.
"Are they there on business?"
The admiral nodded.
"So why doesn't their 'company' help them out?" Rabb asked, suspicious of where the admiral was heading.
"Harm, you of all people should know how that works. I don't recall the company helping a certain lieutenant commander who happened to find himself in a Chinese jail, do you?"
Deciding the question was rhetorical, Harm asked, "You said 'a few friends' of mine are in Paraguay. Not just Mac and Webb?"
"No, apparently the gunny is there too."
"Are you encouraging me to just take off and run down to Paraguay and see if I can find them?"
"Well, it would seem to be the best solution to the current problem. I know how you feel about Mac, Harm. Don't try to tell me that wasn't your immediate thought when you heard she might be in trouble."
He shrugged. "All right. I won't tell you that. It was. So what else do I need to know that you can't tell me?"
"I learned today that they missed their last two check-ins. So they probably ran into trouble night before last. As to what, exactly they were doing, I honestly don't know."
"Geez. Can it get any worse?"
"Yes. You can't take a weapon with you. You'd never get it on the plane. So anything you think you'll need, you'll have to acquire once you get to Paraguay.
Harm blew out an angry breath. "I can see me now, trying to buy a gun in Paraguay when I don't even speak Spanish."
"So get a phrase book." The admiral grinned smugly.
"I'll be on the first flight I can get, Sir." Harm rose from the chair and faced the admiral. "I'll see what I can do."
"Dismissed."
Harm turned on his heels and left the office to pack up his few personal belongings and to write one last letter.
"Admiral? Could I ask one last favor, please?" Harm sounded tentative as he stood in the doorway. "Tiner wasn't here, Sir."
"Come in, Commander."
Holding out an envelope, he asked, "If something happens, could you please see that my mother gets this?"
"Of course." AJ took the envelope and placed it on his desk. "But I don't expect to do so."
"Yes, Sir." Harm snapped to attention and saluted the admiral for the last time.
"Find her and bring her back, Commander."
"Aye, aye, Sir." He turned to leave.
"And do the same for yourself, as well."
Harm nodded briefly in acknowledgment of the comment and strode from the room. Two minutes later he was in the elevator, the box containing his model planes and pictures in his hands. He leaned his head against the elevator wall and sighed heavily. How on earth was he going to find Mac? And if he didn't find her, was there really any point in finding himself?