Title: Valor is Hope Author: LobsterDoc (ktleepitt@aol.com) Rating: PG-13 for language, violence Category: Angst, Action Disclaimer: The standard disclaimers apply. JAG is owned by Bellisarius Productions and Paramount. I do not profit from borrowing any of these characters. Spoilers: Anything is fair game. In my head, the story takes place sometime during the current season but could probably fit anywhere. Summary: Where is the line between valor in duty and heroism? You decide. AN: This story began with a conversation I had with my brother, a professional firefighter, while we were standing in front of the temporary Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville, PA. We were, quite naturally, talking about heroism and he told me he thought the heroes of 9-11 weren't the emergency workers killed, since they were fulfilling their duty, but the passengers who chose to fight the hijackers on Flight 93. It unnerved me to hear him talk about putting his life in danger so nonchalantly, but his take on duty versus heroism intrigued me. I wanted to explore the idea, using Mac and Harm, but in fiction, away from the obvious emotion of 9-11. I don't know if I succeeded, but I hope you like the story anyway. It's my second JAG fanfiction, so I expect it to be susceptible to "sophomore jinx" but I hope it's not too painful. I took the title from the quote on the back of a T-shirt I bought at the National Law Enforcement Memorial in DC. "In Valor There is Hope." I dedicate this story to my brother and thousands of others like him who may someday pay the ultimate price for "doing their jobs". Feedback, both negative and positive is appreciated. The story is archived in the usual places: Ex Libris, Between the Lines and the Jagnik Fanfic Central Archive. Oh yeah, many thanks to my Beta reader, AG, who finds all the mistakes. Day 1 0415 zulu Georgetown University Medical Center She was sitting on the edge of a gurney, her throbbing left arm cradled protectively in her right, her upper body rocking slowly back and forth and her legs swinging gently in tempo with her heartbeat. The hospital issue blanket draped over her shoulders did nothing to diminish her trembling, whether from pain or fear or anger or all three, she wasn't sure. She felt herself withdrawing from the chaos of the busy ER, trying to get control of herself before she fell apart completely. She jumped and gave a sharp gasp of surprise and pain when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Mac?" he asked, his tone loaded with unasked questions. She turned to look at him and quickly averted her gaze, the concern on his face threatening to destroy what little control she had. "I'm ok," she mumbled staring into space. "What happened?" he asked quietly, his gaze sweeping from her rapidly blackening eye, to the bloody bandage on her knee and her obviously broken arm. "I'm ok," she repeated more forcefully. He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward him, "Then look at me." Reluctantly, she raised her eyes, knowing they would be filled with tears of pain and frustration. She cleared her throat and swallowed before speaking again. When she spoke she was relieved to hear that her voice was strong and clear, her Marine persona tacked rapidly back into place. "I'm ok, Harm, just some bruises and probably a broken wrist..." "What..." he interrupted. She cut him off. "I know you want to know what happened but I haven't given my statement to the police yet. I'd really rather not have to tell the story twice." She hoped her tone conveyed that there would be no further discussion. "Ok," he relented, "I can wait. Have you seen a doctor yet?" She sighed, "Yeah, I'm just waiting for somebody to read the X-rays." She shrugged. "They're pretty busy." As if on cue, the curtain opened and a young woman in green scrubs entered the cubicle. "Colonel?" she asked. 0615 zulu an unused treatment room Georgetown University Medical Center Two hours later, Mac was sitting in a treatment room. Her pinky and ring fingers were splinted and wrapped together. The rest of her hand and her arm, to her elbow, were encased in fiberglass and suspended in a sling, protecting the broken bones in her hand and forearm. Her knee sported 5 stitches and her eye was swollen shut. If she had been honest with Harm and the doctors, she would have told them she felt like crap and that the police could wait until later for her statement, but she knew they needed the information she had. So there she was, sitting across the room from the sex-crimes detectives, waiting to answer their questions. Detectives Tate and Winston, white, 50-ish men, wearing the dark suits seen so commonly on law-enforcement officers that they seemed like uniforms, sat across from her in hospital issue chairs. Harm, insisting that she might need legal representation despite her protests, stood behind her, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. All of them sipped from Styrofoam cups of lukewarm hospital coffee. One of the detectives, Winston, she thought, cleared his throat. "OK. Miss MacKenzie, you want to tell us what happened this morning?" Despite her promise to herself to remain unemotional, Mac bristled, "It's Colonel MacKenzie," she snapped, emphasizing her rank. She took a couple of deep breaths, willing herself to calm down and then continued, "I'm at JAG Headquarters." Tate muttered, "Great, a lawyer," but then continued in a more conversational tone, "Who's your friend?" gesturing toward Harm. "Commander Harmon Rabb, also at JAG Headquarters. I'm a friend of the Colonel's, we work together. She called me when she got to the hospital this morning." Harm held out his hand, which both Tate and Winston shook. "He your lawyer, Colonel?" Tate asked, his tone mildly accusing. "Not specifically, but yes, he has acted as my attorney when necessary," Mac answered warily. Winston nodded sympathetically. "Look, Colonel. We just want to find out what happened in the park. Tell us what you saw or heard. We just want to get this guy off the streets." Mac sighed and took another sip of her coffee, grimacing. Time and cooling had not improved the taste. "I was jogging in the park, my usual route. As I rounded the old carousel I heard whimpering. I, I guess I thought it was an injured animal, so I went to investigate." "You always jog that route, Colonel? At that time of day?" Tate interjected, suspiciously. Mac forced herself not to take the bait, as she felt Harm gently squeeze her shoulder. The detectives were just doing their jobs, being skeptical just like she would be if the situations were reversed. "Not always. I have a number of different places I like to run. Usually I run earlier than 0-7 hundred but I slept in this morning." "OK, what did you find when you went looking?" Winston asked gently. "I followed the path around the restrooms and I saw a man struggling with a young woman. When I got closer, I realized that he had pinned her to the ground and had a knife at her throat. He was trying to undress her." She paused, waiting for some comment from either of her interrogators, but Winston simply nodded for her to continue. Mac continued, quietly, unemotionally, simply telling the story. "When I realized what he was doing, I ran toward him. I tackled him and managed to disarm him. I tried to subdue him, but his size and his skills were more than I could handle. He backhanded me a couple of times and had me on the ground." Her voice cracked and she paused, pulling herself back together as Harm's gripped tightened on her shoulder almost painfully. She could feel the tension radiating from him. She took another sip of the awful coffee, giving herself a few extra seconds to regroup and then continued, "I heard some voices, other joggers I guess. They must have scared him off. He ran into the woods." Tate was immediately on the offensive, "You took on an armed man…" but Winston cut him off. "Did you get a good look at him?" Mac stared at them. Good cop, bad cop. She and Harm had played this game. She took another sip of her coffee. "He was 6'1" or 2", 250; military haircut, blond or light brown. He was wearing a long navy or black trench coat, government issue and desert cammies." She took another sip of her coffee, replaying the incident in her mind's eye, when it hit her. "You know, he seemed almost familiar." "You think you know the guy?" Tate asked scornfully, still the bad cop. Mac sighed and looked down, examining her immobilized hand. "No," she said slowly, thinking out loud. She looked up at detective good cop. "Not him, but guys like him. I think he's military." Tate snorted but Winston leaned forward encouragingly. "Why do you think that, Colonel? His clothes?" Mac almost laughed out loud. They had the game down pat. "That, along with the haircut, but that's not all. His hand to hand skills were very good." "So, he watches Chuck Norris movies and works out at some Dojo." Bad cop again. Mac refused to rise to the bait. She wasn't a suspect, she wasn't going to act like one, no matter how guilty she felt that she had let him get away. "It was more than that. He anticipated my moves. He used standard moves to counteract them. He's well trained and it’s recent." "OK. I think we got what we need. Do you think you could identify him if you saw him again, Colonel?" Mac was surprised. Was the interview over? "Um, yeah. I got a good look at him. Do you want me to get with a sketch artist? Make a composite?" Tate and Winston stood. Tate spoke, for the first time not in his bad cop role. "No Colonel, that won't be necessary. We have a suspect. We just don't have enough on him. At least we didn't until today. We'll pick him up and put together a line up. Maybe we can get him for this one." "This one?" Harm asked. "Yeah, he's a suspect in a series of rapes going back three years. We been trying to get him. Now maybe we can." He turned to Mac and offered his hand. "Thank you, Colonel, we'll be in touch." Mac shook his hand and Winston's, and the detectives left the room. Mac sagged back into the chair. The adrenaline that had been keeping her going during the interview suddenly disappeared and she had no energy to even hold up her head. Harm came around the front of the chair and took her good hand in his. "C'mon, let's get you home and onto the couch with your feet up." Mac managed to raise her head to look at him. "No, I need to find out how she is." "Who?" "The girl, Harm. Mary. I need to check on her." "We can call her from your apartment, Mac. You need to get home." "No!" she protested, doing a feeble imitation of her best command voice. "I'm not going anywhere until I see her. I mean it, Harm." "OK. You sit here and I'll find out what I can, alright?" She nodded. "I'll be here." Within a few minutes, Harm was back to inform Mac that Mary had been treated and released and had gone home with her parents. In just that few minutes while she waited, fatigue had wrapped itself around her until she couldn't even conjure up feelings of disappointment at not being able to see the girl or relief that she was not badly hurt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed, curl up into a ball and moan softly to herself. She didn't tell that to Harm, of course. She even refused to let him bring the car up to the door of the ER, preferring to walk across the parking lot rather than admit how much today had punished her. Harm took her home and helped her up the stairs and into her apartment. He offered to help her get dressed and into bed, but she refused his help, insisting she was fine. He offered to make dinner but she begged off, claiming that she wasn't hungry. He offered to stay the night and she told him that wasn't necessary, she could take care of herself. As he persisted, searching for reasons to stay, she chased him out of the apartment. He promised, as she shooed him out the door that he would be back in the morning with breakfast. After Harm left, she struggled to change into something more comfortable than her tattered jogging outfit. She longed for a shower, but couldn't figure out how she would do it without getting her cast wet, or falling and hurting herself even more. What she really needed was some sleep, she finally decided, even if it was only 1500. The phone calls started as soon as Mac crawled into bed. At first they seemed innocent enough: a profusely apologetic young man who had dialed a wrong number and then a soft expletive followed by a hang up. The calls seemed timed perfectly; every time she fell asleep, the phone rang, but spaced 37 minutes apart she chalked it up to coincidence. Then there was another hang up and another wrong number. The fifth call in less than two hours made her uneasy. That seemed like too many calls for coincidence. The sixth call, eerie silence followed by a soft hang up, alarmed her. She crawled out of bed and roamed restlessly around her apartment. She briefly debated calling Harm and then wondered what she would say. She didn't need him to protect her from weird phone calls. The events of the day had spooked her, sure, but she was a big girl, she could handle this. The calls were kids getting their jollies. Soon one would tell her to let Prince Albert out of his can or suggest she chase her running refrigerator or they would ask to talk to Harry Butts. She had made dozens of calls like that herself as a drunken adolescent. By the time the seventh call came she had convinced herself that they were just crank calls. She didn't bother to pick up the phone but simply reached over and shut off the ringer. Anybody important could leave a message. Too keyed up to sleep, she tried reading but gave up after 31 minutes, unable to concentrate. She crawled back into bed but the tension had started her arm throbbing. With a sigh, she crawled out of bed again, poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher in the refrigerator and, desperate for some relief, took two of the pain pills forced on her by the ER doctor. She shuffled back to her bedroom, eased into bed and let the drugs take her. Day 2 0410 zulu Mac's apartment Mac opened her eyes slowly, enshrouded by the confusion typical after too little, chemical-induced sleep. This, she remembered, was one of the nice side effects of not drinking: no hang- overs. Her mouth felt like someone had camped in it overnight and her head was pounding. Check that. Her face was killing her. And her arm. And her knee. And her neck. And everything. She turned onto her back, slowly, groaning. She closed her eyes against the bright sun pouring into her room and rolled onto her side, burrowing into the pillows, never really coming fully awake. "Hey, sleeping beauty." The unexpected sound of a voice triggered something in her, something primal, instinctive, like flipping a switch. She neither knew nor cared who was in her apartment or why. Her subconscious perceived a threat and she reacted, bolting upright. She flung herself out of the bed, still tangled in the bed clothes, searching for a place, any place, to hide. Weak and sore, she could not untangle herself from the blankets and ended up in a heap on the floor. She struggled to get up, but somebody grabbed her arm. She fought, but he was too strong. Her training kicked in and she began to withdraw emotionally from the situation, hoping to regroup, when his voice penetrated her protective shield. "Mac? Mac? It's me, Harm. Mac! Stop it. Stop! You'll hurt yourself. Mac?" "Harm?" she whispered. "Yeah. You ok? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." She clutched his shirt, overwhelmed by relief. "N-no, it's my fault. I was only half awake, I d-don't know what happened. I'm sorry." She grunted in pain as Harm gently pulled her to her feet and lead her back to the bed. He helped her lie down and then tucked her in. "You ok?" he asked gently. "Yeah, I'm fine." "You don't look fine. Do you need one of those pills the doctor gave you?" "NO!" she answered, a tad too vehemently, "I just need to sleep for a little while more." "Ok," he said uncertainly, "But if you need anything…" "Mm, hmmm," she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep. Day 2 0817 zulu Mac's apartment The sunlight made her eyes water as she pried them open and lay staring at the ceiling awash in memories from earlier in the day. How would she ever face him? She couldn't believe she had lost it like that, though she shouldn't really be surprised. She had known as soon as she took those pills that she would regret it in the morning. But she needed them. Didn't she? No. She didn't. She was stronger than this. She could handle anything. She wasn't that scared teenager whose mother had run out on her, who had escaped to the bottle and to Chris Ragle's bed. She could handle this better. She would handle this better. She had too. She made a mental to do list. Get rid of the pills. Hound the police about the line-up. Call the admiral to let him know about her injuries. Call Harm…and what? What would she say to him? How could she explain that creature who had inhabited her body? She lay there a few more minutes trying to figure out how to explain her behavior until her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in nearly 27 hours. Her resolve reconstituted, however shakily, she eased herself out of bed and shuffled out of the bedroom. To her surprise, Harm was sitting on her couch reading the Sunday Post. He looked up and smiled tentatively. "Feeling better?" "Y-yeah, some," she stuttered, unsure how to react to his continued presence. "Um, why are you still here?" "I thought you might need something." She raised one eyebrow, unsatisfied with his answer. "Well, ok, I was a little worried about you, um, you know, after this morning." Embarrassed, Mac stared at her feet, trying to figure out what to say. "Hey, Mac, it's ok. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I should have made some noise or something so you would know I was here. I'm really sorry I startled you." Mac looked up at him. "It's not your fault, Harm. I don't know what came over me." She stood there for a moment, the voice telling her to be truthful warring with that part of her that wanted to keep her secrets. Coming to a decision, she walked to the kitchen and grabbed the pill bottle. "That's not true, Harm. I do know part of what came over me. These," she said, throwing him the bottle, which he caught. "I took a couple last night, even though I knew it was a bad idea. Get rid of them, please." She turned and opened the refrigerator, under the pretense of looking for food, but really trying to avoid eye contact with Harm. "But Mac," he protested, "these were prescribed for you. The doctor wouldn't have given them to you if they weren't safe." "None of that kind of stuff is safe for me, Harm. I'm an alcoholic. I react differently to narcotics that most people. I can take some Tylenol if I can't handle the pain." "But he knew that you were an alcoholic, Mac." "Am an alcoholic, Harm, present tense. I knew what happened the last time I took something like that - paranoia city - just like what happened this morning. I am so sorry about that. I'm sorry you had to see that." "Mac, it's…" He was interrupted by the telephone, but the look on his face told Mac everything she needed to know. He truly didn't think anything bizarre had happened this morning. Maybe she hadn't lost it as much as she thought. She felt herself lock the door to yet another room in her mind. "Mac!" The urgency in his tone broke into her reverie. She looked up to see him handing the phone toward her. "It's Tate." Day 2 1000 zulu DC Police Headquarters After some trial and error, and some relatively embarrassing help from Harm, Mac had managed to shower and dress and make it to Police Headquarters in plenty of time for the line-up. Harm had insisted on accompanying her for both moral and legal support and she had not resisted. She had only so much physical and emotional energy to spare and she wouldn't waste it fighting a losing battle with Harm in his mother-hen mode. Tate and Winston met her in the lobby and led her into a small dark room with several chairs and a window on one wall. Mary, they told her, had already come and gone, the suspect's attorney, who was waiting for them by the window, insisting that Mac and Mary have no contact. Mac ignored the proffered chair, opting to stand. Harm moved behind her and put his hand gently on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and then turned to smile at him, apologetically she hoped. She needed to face this alone. Harm backed away a bit, but reached for her hand instead. She did not resist. Once Mac was situated, the suspects entered the room on the other side of the window, single file. They were all dressed in cammies and trenchcoats. All had short blond or light brown hair and were the height and weight she had described. She had to hand it to them, they had done a good job putting together a line-up. Nobody was really distinctive, that was, until man number five entered the room to take his place against the wall. She stiffened involuntarily and felt Harm squeeze her hand. She extricated herself from his clutches and stepped up to the window. "That's him," she said calmly. "Number five." "Take your time, Colonel, they aren't even in place yet. Get a good look," Tate admonished her gently. Mac stood looking at the men. She didn't have to see them all. She knew her nemesis. That was him-- she'd stake her life on it. She turned to Tate. "I don't need more time," she stated calmly. "That's him. I'm sure of it." "Colonel, don't make any snap decisions, take a really good look," Winston implored her, clearly disappointed. The defense council added her voice to Mac's protests. "If Colonel MacKenzie is sure, then I think we're done here. She has ID'd a suspect, now let's move on." "She hasn't had time to really look at the line-up. Stop badgering her," Tate demanded. Mac glanced back and forth between the detectives and the attorney, like she was watching a tennis match. She was confused. Obviously the defense attorney was pleased and the detectives were not. She looked back toward the window, gazing at each of the suspects. Again, number five jumped out at her. That had to be him. That was him. Nobody else was really close. She was sure. She turned toward Winston who touched her shoulder in a gesture he probably thought was kind, but she found patronizing. "Do you need them to turn around, Colonel, or speak? Anything you want." Perplexed, Mac turned toward Tate, who was fuming, and Harm, who looked as confused as she felt. Before she could reply to Tate or ask any questions, the council for the defense jumped in. "That's enough. Your witness has made her identification. This is over. I expect my client to be released immediately." She turned on her heel and left as the men filed out of the line-up room. "Terrific!" Tate fumed, glaring at Mac. "I wish you had taken more time, Colonel and made sure of your ID." "Hey, Jimmy, take it easy. She did her best, here, ok? It happens," he said quietly, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. He turned toward Mac. "I'm sorry for the outburst, Colonel. We've been frustrated for months with this case and thought you really were our break. It's not your fault. Nobody has been able to id him." His words, apparently intending to comfort her, did exactly the opposite. She was reeling. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, "I ID'd the guy I fought with in the park. That was him. I'd stake my life on it." Harm tried to calm her, "Hey, Mac, take it easy. Nobody…" She whirled on him. "Back off, Harm. I know who I saw and who I fought with. That's him. I'm positive," she hissed. Tate could no longer control his frustration. "You're mistaken, Colonel. That's not the guy." He stalked out of the room. Mac stood watching his retreat, shell-shocked. It wasn't possible. He had to be the guy. She was so sure. She knew it was him. How could she have been so wrong? Winston touched her again, making her feel even smaller than she already did. "I'm sorry for my partner's behavior, it was out of line. We don't mean to seem ungrateful. Thank you for your help. We'll call you if we need you again for anything." He motioned toward the door and escorted them back to the lobby. He offered his hand, which Mac shook unenthusiastically. "You should remember what you did in the park yesterday. You saved that girl's life. For what it's worth, Ms. MacKenzie, you aren't the only one who ID'd a ringer in this case. Nobody has been able to finger the guy. But we know it's him. We'll get him, don't you worry. Commander, take good care of her." He shook hands with Harm, patted her shoulder one more time and retreated back into the building. Overwhelmed by shame and guilt at having let the monster get away again, Mac turned toward Harm. "Don't say anything, Harm, OK? Don't try to comfort me or tell me you understand. Just take me home?" She started to walk toward the car, dragging her feet, almost staggering, the day's events leaving her wobbly at best. Harm gently grabbed her arm. "Hold, on, I'll get the car." Mac started to protest but thought better of it. What was the use? He would just argue with her and she didn't have the stamina to fight with him over this. She just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. Day 3 Given her black eye and broken arm, Mac was not sure she could navigate well enough to drive, so she called a cab to take her to work. The day was exceedingly boring except for being punctuated alternately by gasps of shock and expressions of dismay over her physical condition. The admiral had been upset at her for waiting more than 48 hours to notify him of her injuries, and then alarmed when he finally managed to pry the details from her. Her messages at police headquarters had gone un-returned. By 1500 she was done. She was on restricted duty until she was cleared by Bethesda so her cases had been postponed indefinitely or passed on to someone else, and she had had enough of Harm's hovering. She requested a few hours off, which the admiral granted, and took a cab back to her apartment. Rebuffing Harm's offer to pick her up for work in the morning, she spent the evening icing her eye, hoping she would be able to see well enough to drive herself to work in the morning. A nagging feeling of unease from the back of her brain told her to keep the ringer on her phone turned off, so she did. She watched a little TV and tried to read the latest Nelson DeMille, to no avail. At 1613, she fell asleep on the couch waking an hour later when her answering machine picked up an incoming call. It was Harm, naturally, resubmitting his offer to drive her to work in the morning. She listened to the message and realized she would have to decide soon. She couldn't afford to keep cabbing it to work every day. She closed her good eye and tested the vision in the other. The ice had worked. She could open the eye enough to see. Her arm was feeling pretty good after a few Tylenol. Nah, she wouldn’t need Harm tomorrow morning if she was careful. Good. Project number one, successful. Next she had to get those boobs down at Sex Crimes to take her seriously. Her guilty feelings aside, she knew she had ID'd the right guy. She just had to convince T & W. Maybe their ringer had an evil twin? She chuckled at the idea, knowing how much it would enthrall Bud. She went to bed, sure that tomorrow would be a much better day. Day 4 0200 zulu Mac's parking space Having decided the night before that she was capable of driving herself to work if she was careful, Mac went out to her car with a sort of spring in her limp, relishing the feeling of freedom that even this tiny bit of independence was providing her. She hated to be dependent on anybody for any reason and Harm's propensity for mothering made it even worse. She knew he meant well and that he couldn't help it, but his hovering was driving her crazy. She was looking forward to driving to work, top down, enjoying the late spring sunshine and the wind in her hair. Her mood was radically altered as she stepped around the corner toward her car. She stopped, gaping and then shook her head, hoping she was having a hallucination. But the picture did not change. All four of the tires were flat and the ragtop had been mutilated. The windows had been smashed and the finish had been keyed multiple times. As she moved around the car to take a closer look, she realized that someone had taken a knife to the upholstery and had ripped the electronics from the dash. The car was totaled. She felt her eyes well up with angry tears. She bushed them away and fished inside her brief case for her cell phone. She set the bag on the ground and dialed 911, pacing angrily around the car. She told the dispatcher, testily, what had happened and hung up after receiving assurances that somebody would be by shortly. She continued to pace angrily, muttering expletives to herself. After several laps around the car, she had calmed down sufficiently to think rationally about the situation. She called JAG to let Tiner know she was having car trouble – an understatement, for sure, but not a lie, exactly – and settled down to wait for the cops. 0912 zulu JAG Headquarters Mac was valiantly trying to clear out her email inbox when she heard a soft knock on the door. She looked up and smiled tentatively at the woman standing in the doorway. "Can I help you?" she asked. "Colonel MacKenzie?" her visitor asked. "I'm Colonel MacKenzie," Mac said, rising somewhat laboriously to shake her visitor's hand. "And you are?" "Detective Jaime Seeger. I'm with DC Sex Crimes." She shook Mac's hand and smiled warmly. Mac motioned toward the chair in front of her desk and carefully eased herself back into her chair. Jaime sat and waited expectantly. She wore tailored light grey slacks with a matching jacket over a coral-colored shell. She wore glasses, no makeup and her shoulder-length strawberry blond hair was pulled back in a rubber band. Her appearance was pleasant and business-like but after looking into her eyes, Mac realized this woman was a force to be reckoned with. "Um, what can I do for you, Detective Seeger?" "It’s Jaime. I'd like to talk to you about your car." "Why does Sex Crimes want to talk to me about my car?" "I think the vandalism might be connected to a case I am working on." Mac stiffened, suddenly suspicious. "How?" Jaime took a notebook from her purse and made great show of consulting it. "You had an altercation in the park on Saturday?" "Yes," Mac answered warily. "And you identified your attacker on Sunday, is that correct?" Mac fought valiantly to hide her surprise and dismay. She knew that line-up would come back to haunt her. It wasn't bad enough that she couldn't identify the creep but she wasn't even a credible witness because she had positively identified a ringer. Whatever this woman wanted it couldn't be good. "Could you give me a moment, Detective?" she asked. When Jaime nodded, Mac reached for her phone and pressed one of the speed dial buttons. "Could you come in here, please?" she spoke into the receiver. Harm walked quickly into her office. "What's up?" he asked and then stopped short when he noticed Mac's visitor. He turned toward her. Mac did the introductions. "Detective Jaime Seeger, Commander Harmon Rabb… my attorney," she added pointedly. Jaime turned toward Mac, apparently surprised. "Colonel, you won't be needing an attorney. I'm here for your help." "My help? I blew a line up, Detective. I don't see how I can help you." "Could I ask you some questions about the incident? And about the line-up?" Mac turned toward Harm for guidance. "To what end?" Harm asked, from his perch on the edge of Mac's desk. "I think the Colonel can help me. She has important information about a serial rapist I have been trying to catch for several months. I believe he is responsible for the brutal rapes of at least 10 women over the last three years." Harm and Mac exchanged a look with each other and then turned back toward Jaime. "Look, Commander, Colonel, I don't have an ulterior motive here. I just want to get a monster off the street. This is my first real, solid break in the case." Mac started to answer, but Harm interrupted, preventing her from answering. "I’m still not sure what you're after, Detective. Colonel MacKenzie has been more than cooperative. She offered to work on a composite sketch, an offer which two of your detectives turned down. She went to the precinct and identified the attacker in a line-up and was treated in a less than professional manner. I don't see how she can be of any more help to you. If you want to know what happened in the park, you can read her statement." He stood as if to escort her from the room. Jaime appealed to Mac. "Please, Colonel. I think you have more information than you know. Have the phone calls started? And what about your corvette?" Mac gasped. How did she know about the calls? She hadn't reported them. She hadn't even told Harm about the harassment. "He is calling you, isn't he?" Jaime asked, barely containing her excitement. "Mac?" Harm sounded hurt. Mac made a decision. If this detective knew about the calls then they must be part of a pattern. A pattern she was now inseparable from. "Yes. I'm getting hang ups," she paused, and raised her eyes toward Harm's shocked expression, "And my car was vandalized this morning, but…" "What?" Harm blurted out, practically leaping from the desk to stand in front of her. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I'm a big girl, Harm," she argued, forgetting momentarily that they were not alone. "I can take care of myself. It's just annoying. I never even connected my car trouble with the phone calls. I just thought I was having a bad week," she laughed hollowly. "Car trouble! I thought you had a dead battery. Now I hear it was vandalized! You should have told me," he countered. "Maybe I could help. We should at least let the detectives know." "They do know," Jaime interrupted. "Or at least this one does. Sit down, Commander, and I'll explain what I think is going on. Then maybe you and the Colonel will see how she fits into all of this." Harm eased himself back onto the desk and Mac sank into her chair. "Colonel, why did you ID the individual in the line up yesterday?" Mac's frayed nerves put her immediately on the defensive. "Why do you think I ID'd him? You think I went downtown…" Harm interrupted her tirade before it could get going full bore. "What exactly do you want to know, Detective?" She turned toward Harm, directing her answer to him, "Why did she ID him? Did she think he was just the closest one up there?" she paused and turned toward Mac. "Or did you think he was the man you fought with in the park?" Mac relaxed as she realized what the detective was getting at. "I thought he was the man." "Not a reasonable facsimile?" "No. I would have staked my life on him being the guy. I couldn't believe it when they told me he wasn't the suspect." She looked down at her blotter, avoiding eye contact, hiding her embarrassment at having been so sure and so wrong. "I think he was the guy, Colonel," Jaime said gently. Mac's head shot up, her mouth hanging open. Feeling like she was catching flies, she quickly shut her mouth. "What?" Harm gasped, voicing Mac's thoughts as well as his own. Jaime broke into a self-satisfied smile. "I think you did pick the right man, Colonel MacKenzie. Would you be surprised to find out that Mary ID'd the same ringer? And that 3 other women have, as well?" "Then why isn't he in prison?" Harm asked. Mac nodded her agreement, still too stunned to formulate an intelligent question. "I'm not sure. It could be a cover up, but I think it's just blindness. They don't want to see it, so they don't." "Who are they and why wouldn't they want to see it?" Mac asked quietly. Jaime hesitated, "I can't give out that information until I know how far you are willing to stick your neck out to help me get this guy." "That is unacceptable, Detective," Harm began, but Mac grabbed his arm stopping him. "I'm in, Detective. Anything you want. What do you need me to do?" "It's Jaime, Colonel. Good to have you aboard." "Now wait just a minute!" Harm protested, rising to his feet again. "Sit down, Harm," Mac requested, gently. "But Mac…" "Back off, Harm," Mac admonished, her tone less gentle. Harm sat, reluctantly, scowling, his body twanging with tension. He was not happy, Mac knew, but she wanted to hear what the detective was proposing without Harm interrupting. "I want to use you to flush him out, Colonel." Harm was on his feet immediately, but before he could object, Mac cut him off. "Sit down, Harm. That is not a request." Harm stopped, stunned. "But…" "No, buts, Commander. That will be all," Mac hissed. His behavior, coupled with her own mood had pushed her to the point of no return. She was rapidly approaching active fire mode and he was at ground zero. "But, Mac…," he persisted. "Get out of my office, Commander, before I say something I will regret," she growled, her teeth clenched and her good hand curled into a tight fist. Harm beat a relatively hasty retreat. 1048 zulu JAG Headquarters Jaime had barely left Mac's office, after spending an hour huddled in the Admiral's office with Mac, Bud and Sturgis, when Harm barged into Mac's office, uninvited. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" "What? You don't think I can handle myself?" Mac shot back still annoyed at his earlier behavior. "No. You know that's not what I mean," Harm answered, his frustration obvious. "Excuse me, Commander, but I can take care of myself, I'm a…" "Oh yeah, here it comes, the 'I'm a Marine' speech," Harm muttered sarcastically. Mac's mood changed suddenly from white hot to ice cold, the lid slamming shut on her emotions. Her voice became controlled, unemotional. If Harm hadn't been standing right in front of her he might have had to strain to hear her, but her message was clear. "I am a Marine, Commander, trained to defend the constitution the same way that you were. I have a duty and I will do it. If you have a problem with my readiness than you should take it up with the Marine Corps." "Mac, you know that's not what I meant. Please don't do anything stupid. It's not your job to take this guy down." "I'm sorry, Commander, but I don’t have time to discuss this with you. I have to be at Bethesda in 41 minutes. If you'll excuse me?" She picked up her brief case and moved around to the front of the desk. "Oh, yeah, um, do you need a ride?" Harm asked, momentarily confused by the abrupt change of subject. "No thank you, Commander. Tiner arranged for a car and driver to take me to my appointment and then to my residence afterward." As she brushed past him on her way to the door, Harm gently grabbed her arm. Annoyed, Mac glared at his hand and then raised her eyes to meet his. He quickly let go of her. "Please, Mac," he begged. "I don't want anything to happen to you." The desperation in his voice finally got to her. She could at least hear him out. She owed him that much. "My apartment, 1900. Bring food." She left the office, and a very confused Commander, in her wake. 1412 zulu Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment Mac was lying on her couch, seething. Her checkup at Bethesda had not gone well. She had endured a lecture from the orthopedist about putting too much stress on her arm. Then, after he had questioned her about the swelling and bruising surrounding the stitches on her knee, she had been forced to admit to some pain and stiffness. That precipitated another set of X-rays from angles seemingly designed to torture the offending joint. Even though the X-rays showed no damage to her knee, the orthopedist could not be persuaded that it was just sore, so Mac had an immobilizer on her left leg and appointment for an MRI at the end of the week. Just when she thought she was home free, the opthamologist had insisted on examining her eye again though she had been given a clean bill of health by another opthamologist on Saturday. Nothing like poking and prodding a shiner to make it feel better. The indignity of it all, on top of her frustration at her physical condition, her inability to apprehend the attacker, the failed line-up, the impending sting and Harm's lack of confidence in her abilities, was more than she could take. She nearly shook with nervous energy. Usually when she was wound that tight she went for a run. Now she couldn't. With her knee trussed up in an immobilizer, she couldn't even pace. She wanted to scream. Or throw things. Or… The sounds of somebody struggling to juggle paper bags and open the doorknob interrupted her angry thoughts. She sighed. "Just a minute, Harm. I'll get it," she called impatiently. "S'ok, Mac. I got it," came the muffled reply through the door. Mac eased off the couch and limped to the door, opening it just as Harm found the right key, nearly dumping him on his face. Mac caught an errant bag as it escaped from his hand. "Ooh, nice catch, Mac," he teased. "I told you I would open the door," Mac grumbled as she limped toward the dining area and put the bag on the table. She knew her emotions were more labile than usual and that none of this was Harm's fault, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I figured I would save you the trip," Harm answered carefully. Mac whirled toward him. "Oh, so now I'm not capable of walking across the floor?" "Whoa, Mac. Power down," Harm answered calmly, chuckling, holding his food-filled hands in the air in mock surrender. "I just thought you might be sore after your little excursion to the Bethesda Naval House of Torture and Pain." He smiled. Inexplicably, even to Mac, the smile and his humor, rather than diffusing the situation, only further enraged her. She turned toward him with a full head of steam. "You think this is funny, Harm? Huh?" Harm simply stood gaping at her. This angered her even more. She wanted him to take the bait, to yell back at her. She needed a target for her energy and Harm was handy. As that reality finally slammed into her consciousness, she stopped short. She looked into his perplexed expression and felt herself deflate, her anger and nervous energy giving way to embarrassment. "Oh, God. Harm. I'm sorry," she whispered. He moved toward her and put his hand on her shoulder. "You ok?" he asked kindly. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little out of sorts. I shouldn't take it out on you." "It's ok, Mac. I take it from your new piece of hardware that things didn't go too well with the doctor?" "No. But it's no big deal," she added hastily as his face darkened in concern. "The doctor is overcompensating because I'm a Marine," she finished, chuckling. "You want to talk about it?" he cajoled. "Yes, I do. But not until after we eat. I'm starved." Harm laughed and followed her to the table. An hour later, they had finished dinner, coffee and dessert and her kitchen was spotless. Mac knew she was stalling, but she also knew the conversation wasn't going to be easy. Harm was probably going to freak when she told him about the plans she and Jaime has worked out with the Admiral, Sturgis and Bud. Harm was feeling way overprotective. She had to snap him out of it. She was a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Marine Corps for God's sake, not his girlfriend. His best friend, maybe, but… She deliberately broke off that train of thought. The bottom line here was that she had started something that only she could finish. It was her duty to help catch this guy. He was a menace. He was using his authority to get away with the most heinous of personal crimes. She was going to stop him, whatever it took. Harm would just have to understand. "So?" she said as a way of breaking the ice. Harm began awkwardly, "Um, I should apologize for my behavior in your office earlier. It was a bit unprofessional and it, ah, probably left you with the impression that I think you aren't up doing your duty. I don't believe that, I really don't…" "Then what were you doing trying to prevent me from helping to catch this guy?" Mac interrupted, having absolutely no clue what he had meant if it wasn't to question her abilities. Harm looked at the floor, avoiding her eyes. "I, ah, I'm afraid something might happen to you, Mac. I don't want you to get hurt again, or, or worse. I just wanted to protect you." Her heart sank. He did doubt her abilities. He thought he had to protect her, that she couldn't protect herself. After all this time, he still hadn't accepted her as a Marine, a fellow officer, trained in the same tradition as he. He didn't see this as her duty at all. She paused, trying to formulate a logical response though her emotions were still running high. "It's not ok if I get hurt, but it's ok if you get hurt or killed, flying over Afghanistan or being chased by a dirty nuke or running off half-cocked after Clark Palmer?" she objected. Harm's head popped up and he stared at her open-mouthed. "But that's my duty, Mac. Well, maybe the Palmer obsession isn't my duty, but the other stuff is. You know that!" he argued. Mac sighed and hesitated, picking her words carefully. "That's right, Harm, but I took the same oath you did: to defend the constitution of the United States, with my life, if necessary. How can you ask me to do any less?" "Mac, there are what, like ten women out there who can ID this guy. Where are they? When are they going to step up to the plate?" She couldn't believe he didn't see the difference between her and the women the guy had brutalized. "They're his victims, Harm and they're terrified. They didn't ask to be put in this position…" she protested. "And you did?" he asked incredulously. "No!" Mac blurted angrily. She took a couple of deep breaths and continued more calmly. She didn’t want to fight with him about this, she had to persuade him. "Yes, in a way I guess I did," Mac continued, "I made a choice, Harm, when I chose to engage instead of breaking off. I could have run to a phone and called the police. I could have just kept running when I heard the crying. I made a choice to get involved and now I have to finish what I started. It's a matter of duty, Harm. And besides, the admiral has already approved my involvement in a joint operation between JAG and Sex Crimes." She paused to gage his reaction. At his look of disbelief, she continued, nonchalant, "It was Sturgis' idea. He and Bud will ride back-up. I'll be well protected." "If you're going to play hero, then I'm riding shotgun," Harm grumbled. Mac refused to rise to the bait. "I'm not playing hero, Harm. I'm doing my duty," She limped toward him and laid a hand on his arm. "Just like you would if you were in my position," she continued, softly. She had to make him understand. This was her sworn duty, nothing more, nothing less. Their personal feelings had no place in her decision. "God, Mac, this scares the crap out of me. I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered, drawing her into his gaze. "Me, too. But I have never let fear keep me from doing my duty and neither have you. There's no reason to start now, is there?" She hadn't meant it to sound like a challenge, but there it was. "No, I guess not," Harm answered, chuckling ruefully. Mac moved away from Harm, deliberately putting some distance between them, moving them away from their emotions and back to the situation at hand. She stared out the window. "Good. Then you can ride shotgun, but you can't hover too much. If you are around me all the time, he'll never make a move." "A move!" Harm spluttered, "What do you mean 'make a move'?!" Mac managed, somehow, to control her temper. "Just what I said, Harm. It's pretty simple. You and I ran the exact same sting when we were trying to catch Coster." "You're going to be bait?" he asked incredulously. "Yes. Jaime is hoping we can draw him out. If he goes for me, they'll have him for attempted murder and intimidating a witness. That should be enough to get the line-ups admitted as evidence and to charge him with multiple counts of rape." "I know Detective Seeger said she thought you had actually ID'd the real rapist. But why are Tate and Winston using somebody who's actually a rapist as a ringer in a line-up for a rape case?" "I did, and I didn't. Tate and Winston think he's a ringer because they don't want to believe he's involved, but Jaime thinks he's a serial rapist who's getting away with it." "But why?…Wait. He's a cop?!" Mac turned toward him, deliberately meeting his perplexed gaze. "Yeah," she sighed, "His name is Thomas Evans. He's an undercover vice cop and a Master Sergeant in the Marine Reserves. So, technically, it is JAG business," she finished, lamely. She knew the reasoning she and Jaime had used on the Admiral was pretty weak, but it was all they had. Evans' involvement with the Marines did make the case JAG business. Harm sighed, "OK. I know you feel like this is something you have to do, but I'm in, dammit. I won't let you do this without me watching your back." He smiled. She nodded her acquiescence. "OK. You can ride shotgun, but you have to get out of overprotective mode. If you shadow me too closely, he'll give up and we'll never get him. This might be our only chance," she warned. They shook on the deal. Day 7 0722 zulu Mac's Office Two days, two whole days had passed since their little operation had started and nothing had come of it. There hadn't been any sign of Evans. No phone calls, nothing. The presence of her "body guard" was not helping. She knew he meant well, but he was sticking too close, watching too carefully. Her heart kept telling her that today had to be the day, that if they didn't catch Evans this week, they would lose their chance. She sat in her office, fuming. There had to be a way to shorten the time table or all of this would be for naught. Evans would continue to brutalize women and would probably escalate his attacks, egged on by his success at evading capture yet again. As she idly tapped the space bar on her keyboard, an idea slowly took shape. She knew what she had to do. Her duty was clear. She removed the sling from her arm and gently flexed her elbow testing the joint. Unsupported, the arm was sore, but the pain was manageable. She stood and removed the immobilizer from her leg, testing her sore knee. It, too was painful, but would be reliable enough for what she was planning to do. She smiled to herself, sure of her success. If all went as planned, Evans would be behind bars by tonight. Day 7 1122 zulu In front of Mac's Building As Harm continued to dig around in the back of the SUV, talking a mile a minute, Mac moved away from him toward the shadows around the entrance to her building. She knew she had to put some distance between herself and her "lord protector" if Evans was going to make a move. As she moved toward the lobby of the building, she felt, rather than saw, movement to her left. She turned to meet the threat, but before she could really react, Evans had her good arm twisted behind her back and a knife to her throat. She gasped in pain and fear as he pushed her toward Harm. "Mac!" Harm popped his head up from inside the SUV. "Make one move and I'll slit her throat!" Evans growled. Harm stopped and raised his hands. "Nobody needs to get hurt here. Let her go and you can walk away." Evans snorted. "You gotta be kidding me. You think I'm stupid, huh? Do you?" Mac grimaced as Evans screamed into her ear. The knife scraped the skin behind her ear and she could feel blood running down her neck. She took a couple of deep, calming, breaths. She caught Harm's eye. He nodded his understanding, giving her the green light, and began backing away. Evans forced Mac to move toward Harm. "Where you goin'? I didn't tell you to go anywhere. Get back here! I'll kill her, I swear it!" He drew the knife across her skin again emphasizing his point. Harm stopped in his tracks. "OK. I'm not going to give you any trouble and neither is she," he spoke quietly, gently. "Good. Because I will kill her if I have to." As if to illustrate his point, Evans tightened his hold on Mac's arm wrenching it painfully. She winced, but managed not to give him the satisfaction of crying out. "To what end? Now you have an eyewitness. You can't kill me and her without anybody noticing." "You wanna try me?" Evans countered his voice ominous, threatening. "No, no. Nobody needs to get hurt here. It's your play. You're in control. You have our attention. What do you want us to do?" Evans tightened his hold again, and dragged the knife across the skin behind her ear. She caught Harm's eyes, warning him not to push too hard. They needed a confession before Evans lost control. "What do you want us to do?" Harm asked again, more gently. "I want her," he yanked up on Mac's arm, "to take back her identification from the line-up. It wasn't me who hurt those girls." "I know that," Mac protested, her voice tense with pain, "The cops told me I ID'd the wrong guy. I made a mistake." "That's not what you told that bitch Seeger, is it?" he growled. "She came to me. I didn't tell her anything, I swear," Mac argued, stalling for time. "But you egged her on. Let her think that I was the one. She's had it in for me all along. And you played into it," Evans explained, more gently, as if trying to enlist her to his side, trying to get her to sympathize with him. His arm relaxed slightly, relieving some of the pressure on Mac's neck. "What do you mean?" Mac asked, attempting to draw him out. They were close to getting what they needed. She was so totally focused on the task at hand that her world had narrowed to a pinpoint that contained only her and Evans. Time stood still. "Why couldn't you have been like the others?" her asked almost plaintively "What others?" Mac asked warily, trying unsuccessfully not to anger him. Evans tightened the arm around her neck until it was difficult for her to breathe. "Everybody else rolled over when I started calling them, but not you. No. You had to be the hero and stand up to me. I didn't do anything wrong. They all got what they deserved. And now, so will you!" he growled. "NO!" Harm protested, reexpanding Mac's world to include him and the rest of her back up team. "Don't hurt her. It won't do you any good. Everybody knows. She's, she's wired." "Wired!" Evans was clearly enraged. He curled his arm even tighter around her throat nearly shutting off her air supply. He pressed the knife against her neck and pushed harder on her good arm, trying to put her on the ground. Mac knew she was in trouble. She was already a bit light headed. If she was going to make a move it would have to be now. As Evans tried to force her to her knees, she subtly repositioned herself, bracing her feet wide apart. Harm nodded. Mac gritted her teeth and stomped her foot onto Evans' instep as hard as she could. As he reacted to the pain, she rammed her elbow, cast and all, into his solar plexus and wrenched her good arm from his grasp. A bolt of pain erupted behind her ear as she pulled away. Her sore knee folded, and she stumbled. Instinctively, she flung her left arm out to steady herself, but her immobilized fist slammed painfully into the quarter panel. A victim of her own momentum, Mac plummeted forward, her forehead bouncing off the hood of the car with a bone-jarring thud. She had just enough time to register how much she hurt before she slid down the bumper of the car and onto the pavement, barely conscious. Through the haze Mac saw somebody run at Evans, knocking him to the ground. As she struggled to prop herself upright against the car, two other people joined in the fracas. Mac tried to make sense of the blurry shapes, but somebody stepped in front of her, blocking her view, and pushed her back toward the pavement. "Don't try to move, Colonel. Just lay still, help is on the way." Mac blinked to clear her vision, to no avail. "Bud?" "Yes, Ma'am. You're going to be OK," he answered distractedly, as he removed his coat and pressed it tightly against the side of her neck. The pain was immediate and she cried out, gasping for breath. "I'm sorry, Mac. I have to try to stop the bleeding." Mac fought to control her breathing and hold on to consciousness. "Harm?" "He's fine, Ma'am." Bud reached for her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Mac felt her eyes drifting closed but she fought to stay awake. She had to know what was going on. She blinked again, forcing herself back to full consciousness, and her vision cleared. She looked toward where Evans had been moments before, but she couldn't see around Bud. "What's happening, Lieutenant? Where's Evans?" "He's in custody, Mac," Harm answered as he knelt next to her. "Harm? You OK?" she whispered. "Yeah, I'm fine. How you doing?" Harm asked, gently stroking the uninjured side of her face. "Head hurts," she whimpered, her eyes drifting shut. She felt somebody else kneel beside her. "How's she doing?" Jaime asked. "She'll live," Mac groaned, opening her eyes. "Did we get him?" Jaime patted the pocket of her jacket and smiled. "Yup, we got him, audio and video. The confession ought to stand up in court and we definitely have him for the attack on you today and the incident in the park. Nice work, Colonel." "My pleasure," Mac whispered sarcastically, her eyes fluttering closed. Day 8 1231 zulu Bethesda National Naval Medical Center A full 24 hours after she had arrived at Bethesda, Mac ordered a nurse to escort her to the bathroom and then unceremoniously dismissed the young ensign. After relieving herself, Mac took a good look in the mirror. It wasn't pretty. The entire right side of her face was swollen, a livid purple bruise spreading from her chin up to her hairline. A row of stitches curved along her brow and another peeked out from behind her ear, where the knife had caught her. Her arm, immobilized in a sling again, had been X-rayed and reset, the fiberglass cast now engulfing her thumb and all four fingers and running almost to her shoulder. Unable to refuse, since she was unconscious, she had undergone an MRI on her traitorous knee, which turned out to be only sprained. She certainly felt better than she had when she had arrived the evening before. More than 18 hours of sleep and a handful of Tylenol had made it possible for her to move around a bit without screaming. She had only vague memories of visits from Harm, the Admiral and the rest of the JAG staff during the evening after she had been admitted. The memories were pleasant enough, but she was sure that the Admiral and Harm would both have plenty to say when she went back to work. She sighed and made her way out slowly of the bathroom. When she emerged, Jaime was sitting in one of the bedside chairs. "Hey," Mac greeted her. "Hey. You feeling better?" she asked as she moved to help Mac back into bed. "I’m fine," Mac answered brushing aside the detective’s concern, "Just a little sore." She punctuated her statement with a huge yawn. Jaime chuckled. "And a little sleepy?" "Yeah," Mac answered, sagging back onto the pillows. "Probably the concussion." "Probably," she answered, dismissively. There were more important things to discuss. "So what’s the word?" "We got him, Mac. We have enough evidence now to convict him of Mary’s attempted rape and with the extra charges from yesterday, he’ll never see the light of day again," Jaime answered, triumphantly. "Tate and Winston send their apologies and kudos." "Good. What about the other rapes?" "We have some good news on that front, too. Word got out about what you did. They’ve all come forward. They want to testify, to tell their story, all of it, the rapes, the line-ups, the intimidation. You did it, Mac. He’s not going to hurt anybody ever again." Mac smiled sleepily. "I didn’t do anything." "I think a lot of people would beg to differ with you, Colonel. Sleep well. You deserve it," she whispered as Mac drifted to sleep. Five weeks later 0700 zulu Wild Boar Cafe Epilogue Mac walked awkwardly into the restaurant. She wasn't sure why she had come. She really wanted to just put the whole thing behind her. She had slept for the better part of the weekend after the incident and battled vertigo for another 5 days beyond that. Even after more than a month, she was still limping slightly and her arm was still encased in fiberglass, but she was healing. More importantly, after three weeks of testimony from more than a dozen witnesses, Evans had been convicted of several counts of rape and kidnapping going back three years, and one count of attempted murder for the events outside her apartment. He had been sentenced to multiple consecutive life terms. The trial had focused a lot of attention on her and her role in his capture. It was like Trial TV the sequel. If she never talked to another reporter again, it would be too soon. She hadn't planned to come to this little reunion today, but Mary had invited her specifically and Jaime had done some arm twisting of her own. Finally Mac had decided to take the path of least resistance and join the others for lunch. The truth was she didn’t think she belonged there. She wasn’t one of Evans' victims. She had chosen to do her duty and take him on. She had not survived what these women had. But, if they wanted her to join them, it was the least she could do to pay them tribute. "Mac, over here," Jaime's summons broke into her musings. As Mac walked over to the group, Mary leapt from her chair and drew her into a hug. "I'm so glad you came." She proceeded to introduce Mac to the other women at the table who welcomed her warmly. They ordered and fell into easy chit chat. An hour later they were still talking and laughing like old friends. Later, Mac would not remember who started the toasts, but they went on and on, getting more and more ridiculous, toasting everybody and anybody who had in any way supported them, including Tate and Winston and, finally, dozens of family pets. They laughed until tears were running down their faces but managed to control themselves long enough to ask for the check. As they fished for money to pay the bills, Mary raised her glass in one last toast; a toast to the woman who saved her life, maybe all their lives; a toast to the woman who stepped up when others wouldn't have; a toast to the women who, by her valor had given them hope and who, by simply doing her duty, had showed them all the heroes in themselves. The End.