From “Missing You”
By John Waite

Every time I think of you

I always catch my breath

And I'm still standing here

And you're miles away

And I'm wondering why you left

And there's a storm that's raging

Through my frozen heart tonight

I hear your name in certain circles

And it always makes me smile

I spend my time

Thinking about you

And it's almost driving me wild

And there's a heart that's breaking

Down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all

Since you’ve been gone

Away

I ain't missing you

No matter

What I might say

There's a message

In the wild

And I'm sending you this signal tonight

You don't know

How desperate I've become

And it looks like I'm losing this fight

In your world

I have no meaning

Though I'm trying hard to understand

And it's my heart that's breaking

Down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all

Since you've been gone

Away

I ain't missing you

No matter

What my friends say

And there's a message that I'm sending out

Like a telegraph to your soul

And if I can't bridge this distance

Stop this heartbreak overload

I ain't missing you at all

Since you've been gone

Away

I ain't missing you

No matter

What my friends say

I ain't missing you

I ain't missing you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2206 EST

FRIDAY, AUGUST 8, 2003

LOCAL BAR

NE WASHINGTON, DC

The last few weeks had taken their toll. The admiral had invited Harm back to JAG after seeing his miraculous landing of a C-130 on the deck of the Seahawk, and realizing that his identity had been compromised. But it hadn’t been a warm welcome; Harm was stuck with grunt work that normally would have gone to a junior officer, and, in some cases, even to enlisted personnel. Still, it was a small price to pay for the reinstatement of his commission, even if his “new office” had previously been used as the supply closet.

Harm had been through a great deal during his brief time with the CIA. He’d learned a few handy things, chief among them the piloting of an F-18. But more than anything else, his experiences had reinforced Harm’s distaste for so much of what the Agency did. It was a necessary evil, he knew; they did gravely important work. It was how they went about that work that he disagreed with.

He wanted desperately to talk to someone, if only to take his mind off it all. But things had changed while he’d been gone: Sturgis was being hostile and argumentative to everyone—for reasons nobody knew; Bud was busy with his sons; and Mac…well, Mac wasn’t there at all. Not long after they’d returned from Paraguay, she’d been transferred to the Naval Legal Services Office, Northwest, in Portland, Oregon. It was a command position for her, and certainly a step up. But, Harm found it impossible to be happy for her – she hadn’t even said goodbye.

Faced with a long night alone in his apartment, he’d even tried calling Skates. She’d always been very skilled at cheering him up, if sometimes at his own expense. But, the message on her voicemail indicated that she was deployed for the next few weeks and would be out of contact.

Terri Coulter had answered her phone, but, she’d been in the middle of a crime scene investigation with the Memphis PD, and promised to call back later.

Having exhausted so many possibilities, Harm had wandered around the neighborhood and happened upon a local bar he’d never been to before. The place had everything he could have hoped to find: dim lights, a good selection of beers on tap, a few people playing darts and billiards, and a low din of music and conversations to replace the white noise of loneliness humming in his mind.

Harm sighed and looked around at the unfamiliar setting. Normally, when he wanted a drink and some friendly company to take his mind away from things, he would go to McMurphy's, even though it meant driving from his apartment all the way to and from Falls Church. But, McMurphy’s held far too many memories: every song in the old jukebox, every sign on the wall. By the time he found this new place, he had fallen out of the mood for jokes and pleasant chatter. He wanted nothing more than to blend into the scenery, and be invisible and anonymous.

He was wary, at first, of going to a local place. His neighborhood wasn't one of the safest parts of the District. One rarely had to look for trouble around here; usually it had a way of finding you first. But the crowd here seemed tame enough: a few overly-muscled, tattooed tough guys for whom it looked like brawling was a hobby, but, some of the others looked much like he did - people who probably lived in the area for the apartment bargains, as a tradeoff to the high crime rate.

The ceiling fans rotated too slowly to dissipate most of the cigarette smoke. It lingered like a heavy fog. Through its haze, Harm watched two teams challenge each other at the pool table. Two men against a man and a woman, whom, Harm couldn't help but notice, had an extraordinary figure. It went along with a cascade of waist-length brown hair that shined even in the room's low light. Having had a double bourbon before his beer, Harm unabashedly enjoyed the view as the woman leaned over the table to line up her shot. She made the difficult shot, and Harm stared shamelessly until she turned around to hug her partner. He immediately recognized her face.

Harm's impure thoughts were instantly replaced by a deep sense of embarrassment. He had just spent the better part of two minutes ogling Petty Officer Coates! He hung his head low and stared down at the table, preferring to fix his eyes on the scuffed, scratched wood than to risk the young petty officer catching him in the act. What was he thinking?! He was an officer, not to mention almost old enough to be her father!

He continued drinking his beer, looking up every now and then to survey the faces of new people coming in, and also to follow the game. Coates and her partner, a man with a graying beard and a worn Harley-Davidson T-shirt, which did a poor job of concealing his beer gut, were way ahead, thanks to Coates' skill. Harm admired the seemingly effortless way she guided the striped balls into the pockets from all kinds of angles. Her low cut shirt left little to the imagination when she leaned down to make a shot, but now, knowing who she was, Harm averted his eyes. He did notice, however, that some men a few tables away were enjoying the free show.

When the game was over, the men on the losing team handed Coates and her partner both some money. It was then that Harm remembered the hustling and scheming in the petty officer's not too distant past. For a quick moment, he wondered if maybe she was reverting back to her old ways. But, he dismissed the thought quickly. Having been the recipient of more second chances and forgiveness than any man had a right to hope for, he, of all people, should be the first to offer others the benefit of the doubt.

The teams went their separate ways. Coates took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. Harm watched her say a few words to the bartender now and then, but, otherwise, she was quiet, and, like others at the bar, turned to watch the hockey game on the television that was mounted to the wall.

As Harm studied her, he wondered what she was doing there. This section of the city wasn't safe for a combat-ready commander, let alone an attractive, single young woman. She should be more careful, he thought, and he made a mental note to talk to her about it privately at the office the next day.

After a little while, a man approached Coates at the bar. Harm noticed the man was already unsteady on his feet, yet he ordered another beer. He watched him offer to buy one for Coates, too, but she lifted her glass to indicate it wasn't necessary. The man took a spot on the empty stool next to her, and fumbled his way through what Harm imagined to be a banal pickup line and a miserable attempt at flirting. The man was either too drunk or too stupid to see the signs of her obvious lack of interest.

Coates nodded absently at what he said, constantly checking her watch or looking up at the hockey game. The man started to lean in toward her, and Coates slid her seat a few inches away. He moved closer and closer, until she was trapped. If she moved over any more, she'd be in the next guy's lap. The man reached out to stroke her back, and she shuddered and pushed his hand away. Emboldened by the alcohol in his system, he tried again, and when he did, Harm stood up and rushed over.

"The lady's not interested," he said firmly.

Coates looked up, very surprised to see him there.

"I'm gonna *get* her interested," the man slobbered, reaching up to touch her again.

Harm grabbed his arm and held it hard. "Why don't you take a walk, buddy. I think you've had enough."

The man was intimidated by Harm's strong grip on his arm, as well as his height and ice-cold stare. He got up slowly, and, before leaving, said to Coates, "You're missin' out, babe. You don't know what you're missin!" He thrust his groin at her.

"Yeah, she'll kick herself in the morning, I'm sure," Harm muttered as he pushed the man away toward the door. He turned back to Coates. "You all right?" he asked, concern flooding his eyes.

She nodded. "Yes, sir. That's the second time you've saved me, now."

"Second?" He looked puzzled.

"Sure, sir. Come on, Christmas Eve, two years ago? If it hadn't been for you, I'd be serving time in the Frederick County Jail instead of working at JAG."

Harm smiled. "Which some days, probably doesn't even seem like a good tradeoff, huh?" He winked.

Coates laughed. "Well, sir, if I have to wear a uniform, I'll take my blues and chevrons over prison coveralls any day."

"Well, on behalf of the Navy, or at the very least, JAG, I have to say, we're much happier having you work for us than letting you waste away in jail." Harm stood there awkwardly for a minute, fearing that they had already run out of things to say to each other. "Care to join me?" he asked. "I'm at that table over there."

"Okay, sir, thanks." She took her almost empty beer and followed him to the back of the room. Always a gentleman, even in a dirty, smoky bar, Harm pulled out a chair for her before sitting down himself.

Coates was about to take a sip of her beer, but, just as the bottle touched her lips, she pulled it away. "Uh, sorry, sir. I...uh..."

Harm smiled. "Relax, Jen. You're over 21. Uncle Sam says you can drink, so, go ahead. You don't have to justify it to me. In fact, you're almost empty - next round's on me."

"Thanks, sir."

"Jen, we're having beers together, and, I just watched you wipe the floor with two guys at pool. I think you can call me Harm."

"I'll try. I didn't know you were here. I was just jonesing to play pool tonight."

"You're very good at it."

"Yeah, but, that's about all I'm good at. Well, that and stealing, right sir?" She smiled.

Harm's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "Your words, not mine."

"Well, fat lot of good it does me. I mean, it's not baking or sewing. My mom died before she could teach me anything like that…" She stared at her beer. “Anyway," Jen changed the subject, "I didn't see you until you came over to me. And, thank you for that. There's nothing less sexy than getting hit on by a guy who you just *know* is gonna puke after his next drink."

Harm laughed. "I wouldn't know about that, but I'll take your word for it."

A waitress in faded jeans and a T-shirt, with the bar's name on it, came by and Harm ordered another round for Jen and himself. When she left them, Harm studied Jen's face, debating whether or not the subject on his mind was any of his business. As her superior officer, and, he liked to think, a friend, he decided it was. "Jen, what are you doing in a place like this?"

"I could ask you the same thing, sir."

"Touché. Well, I live around here, and I didn't feel like driving all the way out to McMurphy's."

"Same here, sir. I live in the neighborhood and wanted to get out of my apartment for a little while."

"You live here?!" Harm asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Jen, that makes no sense."

"Sure it does, sir. I wanted to be in the city, and I've got a huge place for half of what I'd pay in Georgetown or Dupont Circle."

"Well, I can't argue with that, since I use the same reasoning, but really, Jen, this isn't a good area."

"I know that, sir, but, with all due respect, you've never had to survive on an E-5's pay."

"No, that's true, I haven't. But I still don't like this. It's not wise for *me* to walk around here at night, let alone a pretty girl like you."

She blushed. "I'm all right, sir. I can defend myself."

"Not against an armed gang, you can't. Listen, from now on, if I happen to see you leaving the office at the same time as me, I'll drive you home. Or, I'll even wait if you're gonna be late - there's always something on my desk to catch up on. I'd hate to think of something happening to you in this neighborhood."

“Sir, that’s very kind of you, but, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” Harm told her, “I’m offering. No, in fact, I’m ordering.”

“Sir…”

“Good, then it’s settled.” He raised his beer to Jen’s, clinking the bottles together, and he took another drink.

“So,” Jen said, “we’ve already established that you saved me that Christmas. And now this? How am I ever supposed to repay you? I hope you don’t think this is going to get you special favors with the admiral,” she teased.

"Have you forgotten your role in saving Lieutenant Roberts's life?" Harm asked. "That alone puts me in your debt for life.”

She waved her hand dismissingly and spoke quietly. "Sir, the doctors saved him. All I did was lose my lunch outside sickbay." She looked away.

Harm set his beer down. "Look at me, Jennifer." He looked into her eyes as he fished for the right way to explain. "I don't know where to start," he began. "You did so much that day. More than you'll ever probably understand. And I don't just mean for Bud. I mean for me, and…for Mac. And, for that matter, for Harriet and little AJ, and Mikey. If you hadn't forced them to transport him immediately, who knows how long he would have stayed there? He would have bled to death on the sand, surrounded by strangers..."

Harm's voice began to break with his last words. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "But, instead, because of you, he was taken to where he could get the best medical care in the region. When the skipper on the Seahawk told us about Bud’s injury, he said you were with him. Jennifer, that gave us great comfort. More than I can ever fully explain to you. Someone was with him. Someone we knew. Even if there was nothing you could do for him medically, you were *there,* and that knowledge kept the whole situation just this side of bearable."

When he finished, Jen had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, sir."

"No, thank *you*."

“Um, sir?”

“Yeah?”

“About Mac…I mean Colonel Mackenzie.”

Harm set his beer on the table with a loud thud. “What about her?”

“Why…I mean…Have you spoken to her recently?”

“Define recently.”

“I don’t know, the last few weeks, I guess.”

“Then, no.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why not, indeed.” Harm shook his head. “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“Sir, how can you say that?”

“Because, Mac said it first. Jen, she left without even saying goodbye. I had to find out from Sturgis, the day I came back to JAG, and saw a stranger in her office.”

“She didn’t say goodbye, sir?”

“’S’that so hard to believe?”

“Honestly, sir? Yes. I know things between you were…different…after Paraguay, but, I always thought…”

“What – that we’d end up together? So did I, but I guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“You sound so sure, sir.”

“I’m just following Mac’s lead. She was very sure about the way she wanted her life to be, and, evidently, part of that included severing all ties with me.” He downed a long gulp of beer.

“I can’t believe it,” Jen said softly.

“Neither could I, at first. But hey, it wasn’t the first time she’s run out on me, right? I should have been ready for it. Hell, I could’ve written the damn script.”

“But she always comes back, sir, right?”

Harm snorted. “Not this time, Jen. Not this time.”

Jen winced. She could hardly believe this was Commander Rabb sitting next to her – the same man who threw everything he had into his cases. The man who’d go through Hell and back to find the truth. And, here he was, utterly dejected.

“Do you…miss her, sir?”

“Heh, not for a second.”

“Liar. How many beers have you had?” When Harm raised an eyebrow at her, she was quick to add, “Um, *respectfully*, sir.”

“Right,” he laughed. “You know what I miss, Jen? I miss hanging out with her. I miss calling her when I finish a great book, and telling her about it until two in the morning. I miss us getting a pizza and renting movies on a Friday to de-stress after a tough week at JAG. What I don’t miss is the confusion, the insults, the chase. I’m too old for it, you know? I give up. I throw in the towel. I’m waving the white flag.”

“Why can’t you still be friends? I mean, if nothing else—“

“We can’t be friends, Petty Officer, because she moved three thousand miles away and chose not to leave me a forwarding address. We can’t be friends because I’m sick of it. And, we can’t be friends because, plain and simple, she doesn’t want to be.”

“But, you can’t…I mean, you’re over her? Just like that?”

“Jen, you can’t get over something you never had in the first place.”

“But you two *did* have it, sir.”

Harm smiled and shook his head. “No, we didn’t. I used to think we did, but, looking back, I can see we didn’t. I don’t know what the hell we had. Wishful thinking, maybe. But that was never enough.”

“I…I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll let me walk you home. It’s getting late.”

Jen smiled. "Sir, that's not necessary. I'm not afraid."

"Well *I* am," Harm joked. "You don't want me wandering around scared and alone, do you?"

Jen giggled. "No, but, sir, really--"

"Petty Officer! You will allow me to escort you home - that is an order!"

She snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!” As they headed out the door, she said, “Sir, if not for the fact that it would earn me a first-class chewing by the admiral, I’d tell you to bring that pizza and movie to my place any Friday you like.”

Harm smiled. “Y’know, Jen, if it wouldn’t earn me the very same chewing, I’d take you up on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From “King of Wishful Thinking”

Performed by: Go West

If I don't listen to the talk of the town

Then maybe I can fool myself…

I'll get over you…I know I will

I'll pretend my ship's not sinking

And I'll tell myself I'm over you

'cause I'm the king of wishful thinking

I am the king of wishful thinking

I refuse to give in to my blues

That's not how it's going to be

And I deny the tears in my eyes

I don't want to let you see.. no

That you have made a hole in my heart

And now I've got to fool myself.

I'll get over you…I know I will

I'll pretend my ship's not sinking

And I'll tell myself I'm over you

'cause I'm the king of wishful thinking

I am the king of wishful thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 2:

(ONE MONTH EARLIER)

0746 PST

MONDAY 07/07/2003

NAVAL LEGAL SERVICES OFFICE, NORTHWEST (NLSO)

PORTLAND, OREGON

Petty Officer Laurel Clark straightened the office supplies on her desktop for the fourth time this morning. The new CO would be arriving in just a few minutes; Laurel had come in extra early to make sure the office, in general, and her desk, in particular, were squared away. She didn’t know much about her new CO, only that she was a Marine lieutenant colonel. But that was enough to make her want everything in perfect order. The previous CO had been a Marine, too, and Laurel had been hoping that he’d be replaced by someone in the Navy. But it seemed that that was just the latest in a long string of wishes that weren’t going to come true. And, maybe it wouldn’t be all bad, she told herself. At least the colonel was a woman; that might count for something.

Finally satisfied with her arrangement of pens, pencils, and legal pads, Laurel picked up a shopping bag from under her desk and walked across the office to the coffeemaker. She didn’t even know if Colonel Mackenzie drank coffee, but she wanted it to be ready just in case she did. Laurel had stopped at a gourmet café on her way to work to get some special flavors and have the beans ground fresh. Figuring that all the flavors had an equal chance of pleasing the colonel, Laurel reached into the bag and pulled out the first package she touched. It was a coconut-infused Hawaiian blend; Laurel decided it would make a nice, exotic welcome. If there was one thing the people of Portland knew inside and out, it was coffee.

She started the pot brewing before stopping into the adjacent office kitchen to store the rest of the coffee in the refrigerator. Spotting the crumbs from someone’s morning muffin all over the counter, Laurel sighed and tore a paper towel off the roll, using it to sweep the mess into her hand before tossing it in the garbage.

“Just because we have janitors doesn’t mean you shouldn’t clean up after yourself,” she muttered. And, I may be enlisted, she thought, but I don’t recall housekeeping being part of my MOS description.

Checking the kitchen for spotlessness one last time, Laurel exited the room and nearly knocked into Sergeant Dennis Paul, one of the legal researchers and her best friend at the office. Dennis held a mug in one hand and was reaching for the coffeepot with the other.

Laurel promptly secured the pot back on its warmer. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him.

“I think I’m getting some coffee. You know, that hot, caffeinated beverage that’s been keeping the American office worker awake through the day for the past, oh, I don’t know, hundred years.”

“Try thousand,” a voice from a nearby desk offered. “I think the Incas, or Aztecs, or whoever, were harvesting coffee beans way before we filthy invaders annihilated them.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. Lieutenant j.g. Norm Barton’s random bits of trivia were usually a welcome source of comic relief around the office. But, Laurel was in no mood for them today. Not when their new CO would be walking through the door at any minute.

“Well stop,” Laurel told Dennis curtly. “I want Colonel Mackenzie to have the first cup.” She grabbed the still empty mug from her friend’s hand and placed it back in the cupboard above the coffeemaker.

“Why?” Dennis teased. “She’s a Marine – she probably got up at five this morning, went for an eight-mile sprint, and had a raw egg for breakfast. I doubt she needs your coffee to get her day started.”

“Must you always be so argumentative?” Laurel asked, her hands on her hips.

Dennis grinned. “Semper fi, baby.”

Laurel shook her head and sighed loudly. “Whatever.”

“Is that why you’re so edgy this morning? Because we’re getting another Marine in here?”

“Yes…no…I mean, yeah, it would be nice to look up and see more Navy blue around me than puke green.”

“Puke green? Dennis balked. “Do you have any idea what I went through to earn the right to wear this uniform?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Laurel answered, “’cuz you’ve only told me about a million times. And I still think you jarheads are only good for two things – lobbing grenades and bragging about yourselves.”

Recognizing the change in Laurel’s tone, back to the usual good-natured jabs they constantly took at each other, Dennis followed along. “Oh, yeah? Well you Navy girls are good for two things, too – dropping the anchor and lifting your skirts!”

Laurel’s jaw hit the floor, but before she could gather a witty reply, a deep voice boomed across the room.

“Attention on deck!” All eyes turned to the Marine security officer who had escorted the new CO into the office. “Presenting Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, new Regional Judge Advocate General, NLSO Northwest.”

“At ease, everyone,” Mac directed. She turned to her escort. “Thank you, Sergeant. Dismissed.”

“Aye, ma’am, and welcome to Northwest.” He turned and exited in crisp motions.

“It’s very nice to be here,” Mac said to the group who had assembled to greet her. “I’d like to get settled in my office this morning, but I look forward to getting to know all of you very soon.” She started toward her office but only made it a few steps before noticing the sudden silence, and that no one else was moving. She smiled to herself. “Carry on,” she announced. She shook her head as she walked into her office. This command thing is going to take some getting used to, she thought.

Mac stepped into her office and was immediately taken with an unexpected item sitting at the corner of her huge desk. She walked over to it, and, setting her briefcase down, she leaned in for a closer look at the bright bouquet of flowers. She lifted a lily to her nose and smiled at the pleasant scent. She reached for the note that accompanied the arrangement and was bewildered by something sticking out among the flowers. It was a dog biscuit, shaped like a bone, and it was wrapped in a ribbon that was the unmistakable, classic red of the Marine Corps.

Mac carefully tore the seal on the small envelope and gingerly removed the note inside.

~You’re a bulldog and don’t you ever forget it. Give ‘em hell, Colonel!

-A.J. Chegwidden

P.S.: We miss you already!~

Mac smiled, holding the note close to her heart. After a moment, she placed the small card right at the edge of her desk, facing her. She was ready for her first command position, but, still, catching the little note out of the corner of her eye would be a nice reminder that everyone she’d gotten close to in Washington, would always be nearby.

Just as Mac was about to take a quick inventory of the supplies in her desk drawers, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” Mac said. She looked up to see a young, red-headed petty officer step inside timidly. Mac waved her over. “Come on in, Petty Officer, I don’t bite.”

Laurel smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Petty Officer Laurel Clark, ma’am, your yeoman.”

A flash of recognition crossed Mac’s face. “Oh! Very nice to meet you, Petty Officer.” She stood up to shake Laurel’s hand. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, ma’am. I trust your flight out here was okay, ma’am?”

“Yes, it was, actually. I really don’t like to fly, especially for long periods of time, but it was all right.”

“Airsickness, ma’am?”

Mac grimaced. “Let’s just say I’ve had too many close calls with the ground coming up to meet me faster than I would have liked.”

Laurel chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. Are you finding everything you need at the base housing?”

“For now,” Mac nodded. “But, I hope to start looking for a place this weekend. I picked up a few of those free real estate guides they have on the corners near the newspaper machines. I had hoped to have some leads before I got out here, but the time kind of got away from me.” Mac hadn’t realized just how long it would take to pack up eight years of a life, and a career, and move both to the other side of the country. Of course, she had left a great deal behind; but those weren’t things that could have been packed. Intangibles. Invisible, but powerful nonetheless.

“Right,” Laurel replied. “Well, there are some good websites for that, too, ma’am. Just let me know if you’d like any help.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer. I’ll do that.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted some time alone to get your bearings, ma’am, or, is there’s anything I can get for you?”

“I’m a Marine, Petty Officer – we never lose our bearings.”

Damn, Laurel thought. Only five minutes, and look at you. You and your big mouth. Eric was right… She stiffened in her chair. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I mean…I didn’t -- “

Mac smiled at her. “Relax, it was just a joke. Well, no, it’s the truth, but, you know, just because I’m wearing green doesn’t mean I’m the dragon lady.”

Laurel relaxed a little, but was still not completely at ease. “Yes, ma’am. But still, it was a stupid thing to say, and you’re the new CO, and – “

“Petty Officer,” Mac chuckled at the girl’s fear, “please, forget about it. I Imagine you and I are going to be working pretty closely; if we can’t have a sense of humor with each other, I’m not sure either one of us is going to enjoy that very much.”

Laurel silently prayed that her face didn’t show the shock she felt. She couldn’t have been more surprised if Mac had said she was promoting her to master chief. She did her best to not let her face betray her – something she had been miserable at since the very first day of basic training years before. “Yes, ma’am. It’s just that Colonel Baxter – the previous CO here – he was by-the-book, one hundred percent.”

“Well,” Mac said calmly, “I think there’s a time to be by-the-book, and there’s a time to loosen up. When we need to toe the line, we’ll toe the line; and, when we can have fun, we’ll have fun.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maybe another Marine CO wasn’t going to be so terrible after all, Laurel thought.

“Now, tell me, Petty Officer, *what* was that wonderful smell when I stepped off the elevator?”

Laurel finally perked up. “Oh, that was the coffee, ma’am. A special kona-Hawaiian blend, with coconut.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Is that pure coincidence, or did I luck out like crazy and get a yeoman with ESP?”

“Ma’am?”

Mac smiled. “I love coconut. Almost as much as I love chocolate.”

Note to self, Laurel thought: chocolate and coconut. “We also have a mocha bean if you’d prefer that, Colonel.”

Mac shook her head. “No, coconut’s perfect right now.”

“Okay,” Laurel said, standing up. “How do you take it, ma’am?”

“Excuse me?”

“The coffee, ma’am. How do you take it?”

“Myself, usually. I’ll get it.”

“Ma’am, really, it’s not trouble.”

“Sit down, Petty Officer.” Laurel sank immediately back into the chair. “Tell me, Miss Clark, was fetching coffee something you dreamed of doing when you joined the Navy?”

“No, ma’am, but – “

Mac put her hand up to cut the girl off. “I didn’t think so.” Mac had spent far too much time making coffee for stuffy old men while she clerked her way through law school. And she had promised herself that no matter how much authority she might have in the future, she would never do that to someone else. “But, for the record,” she told Laurel, “I take cream and two sugars. Now, how do you take yours, Petty Officer?”

“Ma’am?”

“How do you take *your* coffee?”

“Um, skim milk and a sweetener, ma’am.”

“Yuck,” Mac said, more as a reflex than a true reaction. “I can see I have my work cut out for me. But, anyway, now that we both know how the other likes it, let’s say that whoever’s handy will get the coffee from now on.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Absolutely. And, how about we go get some right now? You can introduce me to whoever we pass along the way.”

They crossed the bullpen – having been at JAG headquarters for so long, Mac would always think of the open space of any office that way – and Mac met some of the people who were now in her command. They were mostly Navy, but there were a few Marines, one of whom was replacing a thick maritime law reference book on a shelf near the coffeemaker.

Noticing Laurel, and the new CO, out of the corner of his eye, the man turned around to introduce himself. He smiled warmly and extended his hand. “Staff Sergeant Cesar Hernandez, ma’am.”

Mac sized him up quickly. From his dark Latin looks and striking dimples, he reminded her of a young Victor Galindez. A warmth radiated from her heart. Whether Hernandez would be as efficient a staff member, and, more important, as loyal a friend, were yet to be seen.

Mac shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant.”

“Likewise, ma’am. I’m a bit of a guy-Friday around here, ma’am. If there’s ever anything I can assist you with…”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Mac smiled. “I’ll probably take you up on that so often you’ll regret having offered in two or three days time.”

Hernandez smiled. “Not at all, ma’am. I like to stay busy.”

“In that case, I’m glad to have you here. Carry on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned back to the stack of books before him and resumed shelving. He’d been doing it for so long now that on nights when he couldn’t fall asleep, he found Dewey decimal numbers bouncing through his mind, instead of sheep.

Mac reached for a mug, but before she got to the coffee pot, Dennis leaped up from his desk nearby and stood at crisp attention.

“Ma’am! Sergeant Dennis Paul, ma’am.”

Mac admired the young man’s perfect Marine stance, but his formality seemed out of place in the office.

“At ease, Sergeant, this isn’t boot camp.”

He relaxed. “No, ma’am. I just wasn’t sure what the colonel’s style would be. Colonel Baxter ran this place like a DI; I wanted to be prepared.”

Mac smiled. “This is the military, Sergeant, not the Boy Scouts. I certainly appreciate the protocol, but this is a legal office. You can save the other stuff for storming the beaches, okay?”

Mac was again about to pour her coffee when she caught a look of hurt on the young man’s face. Nice, Mackenzie, she thought. You’ve just insulted the entire Corps. She gathered the most casual voice she could muster and addressed the small crowd that had stopped their work to watch the scene.

“What I meant to say was, if everyone here does their job, and does it well, as Colonel Baxter has told me you do, then, we shouldn’t have any problems, and we shouldn’t have to act like every day is our first barracks inspection. Am I clear?”

Her gaze drifted across the faces of the personnel, who were frozen like deer in headlights. She shook her head and turned back to the coffeepot to finally pour herself some of the much-anticipated coconut brew. She was surprised to see Laurel one step ahead of her, already stirring in the cream and sugar.

“Light and sweet, ma’am,” Laurel said, passing the mug to Mac.

Mac smiled. “Thanks, Petty Officer.” She wondered for a second if the young woman wasn’t channeling Radar, the company clerk on M*A*S*H, who had always anticipated his CO’s every move. Mac hoped she was; foresight was an excellent quality in a yeoman.

Mac walked back to her office, with Laurel following close behind. As had happened earlier that morning, Mac stopped short when she noticed it was so quiet she could hear her heels clicking on the floor. She turned back to the staff. “As you were, people.” She continued on to her office, shaking her head and leaving a stunned, but very happy staff, in her wake.

She had always known JAG headquarters hadn’t been a model of propriety and decorum – how else could one explain the antics that seemed to go on there – and she’d sometimes wished the admiral would keep a tighter leash on everyone, well, no, not everyone, just one person, in particular. But, in the end, she decided that the more relaxed atmosphere was a nice juxtaposition to the stress of investigating and arguing cases. And, here, judging from the rigidity and the downright fear she’d seen in her staff, she suspected this office could benefit from a change in the prevailing wind. And she knew exactly how to do it. But she would have to be careful. She wanted them to loosen up a bit, but she didn’t want to compromise her authority in the process. She would run her plan by Laurel, who seemed to have her finger on the pulse of the office, and then she’d put it into action. After all, she hadn’t been a desk jockey for so long that she’d forgotten how to develop a battle strategy, like a good Marine. And if Colonel Baxter had really been the hardass everyone claimed, then this could be a long, uphill battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SAME DAY – 1052 PST

“Petty Officer,” Mac called to her yeoman in the outer office, “would you come in here, please?” It was but a second before Laurel appeared before Mac, with a memo pad and a pencil in her hand. Mac was impressed. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the notepad. “You must have been a Girl Scout.”

Laurel’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Ma’am?”

“Be prepared – isn’t that their motto?”

Laurel smiled. “I think that’s only for the Boy Scouts, ma’am.”

“Oh. Then, what’s the Girl Scout motto?”

“Umm…something about strong minds and strong bodies? I’m not really sure, ma’am. I never made it past Brownie. I couldn’t stand the uniform. Ironic, huh, ma’am?”

Mac chuckled. “I’d say so. Closest I ever got to Girl Scout was eating the cookies. Samoas – yum! And, of course, Petty Officer, you know those have no calories, right? Because they’re for a good cause.”

“Charity negates calories?” Laurel chuckled.

“Absolutely.”

“I like that theory, ma’am.” It had only been a few hours, and Laurel knew first impressions were rarely on the mark. But, so far, Colonel Mackenzie was quickly becoming her favorite CO. “If that’s true, ma’am, then, if you come across any girls with green sashes, I’ll take a box of tagalongs.”

“Aah,” Mac responded, “a peanut butter fan, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think I’d live on it if I could.”

Mac smiled. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? I called you in here because I was wondering what you’d think of me ordering some pizza.”

Laurel flipped to a clean page in her pad and sat poised to take the colonel’s order. “All right, ma’am. I know a good place near here that delivers fast. What kind do you like?”

“I have a better question for you,” Mac said. She tipped her head toward the door. “What kinds do you think *they* would like?”

For the second time that morning, Laurel found herself stunned that her CO was asking for her opinion – something that hadn’t happened even once during the entire two years she’d served here under Colonel Baxter. It was new, and strange, and very weird. Weird, but wonderful.

“Ma’am?”

“They do *eat*, don’t they?” Mac teased.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s just…you want to order pizza for the whole staff?”

“Unless you think they’d prefer Chinese,” Mac said. “That’s why I wanted to ask you. You know them much better than I do.”

Laurel tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal her surprise. “Wow…I mean…this is…Colonel Baxter never did anything like this for us, ma’am!”

“Well, I’m not Colonel Baxter, am I?” Mac smiled.

“No, ma’am, definitely not.” And, thank God for that, she added silently.

“I figure two slices per person, maybe more for the bigger guys,” Mac said. “How about three regular, three pepperoni, and two veggie? Think that’ll be enough?”

Laurel quickly scribbled down the order. “Yes, ma’am, it should be.”

“We should probably get some drinks, too. Get whatever you think is good – some regular, some diet.”

“Got it, ma’am. When would you like it delivered?”

“Better make it for just before noon. I want to catch everyone before they try to head to the cafeteria.”

“Yes, ma’am. Eleven-fifty it is. Should I take this out of petty cash?”

Mac’s eyes widened. “No! Absolutely not. Whooo….I’m glad you asked. Here, take my credit card. I don’t think the OIG would look too kindly on me using taxpayer money for a pizza party.”

“No, ma’am,” Laurel agreed. “I’ll get right on this.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer. Dismissed.”

Laurel got up and hurried out of the room. She was about to pick up the phone and place the order when Mac called out to her.

“Oh, and get an Italian sub, too, with the works! And extra salami!” Mac had realized that the staff might devour the pizza; she wanted to make sure she’d have enough for herself. Not to mention, she’d probably be there late, getting things in order, and she’d better have something to tide her over.

Laurel placed the order. As she went about catching up on some filing, she couldn’t help but wonder about this Colonel Mackenzie. Cream and sugar, subs with extra salami, and, the woman had a knockout figure. Where does she *put* it, Laurel wondered. Maybe I should have been a Marine, she thought, dejected.

Continue to Ain't Missing You, Part 2