Author: doc
Subject: The Clarity of Darkness--Part1a - March HBX Challenge


The Clarity of Darkness by doc

AN: This is my answer to the March 2007 HBX Challenge.

I had an interesting idea for this story, but I’m not quite sure I pulled it off. I started writing it at the beginning of the month, as soon as the challenge lines were posted, but got bogged down in the details & finer points of the plot. Sometimes stories flow easily, & sometimes they’re just plain work…this one definitely qualified as WORK. Of course, crazy hospital hours & building a new house didn’t help either. I finally had a relatively quiet night on call and decided to barricade myself in the call room, hunker down & finish it. It was either me, or the story, and I was determined to win…well finish anyways. I’m not sure anyone actually won? Did I mention I’m missing my sappy Rabb family & their conniving trio of pets? So this is what you get when you take sappy away!

This story takes place in the latter half of season 10, sometime after ‘The Four Percent Solution’ and ‘Automatic For The People’, but then veers off into an alternative universe…way off! I thought it might be fun to explore a side of our dynamic duo that I seldom allow my mind to entertain, much less seriously dabble in. I think I understand both characters fairly well, but I suspect I can empathize with Mac a little more. It’s the female thing! So this time, I’m trying something new. I’m attempting to climb into the mind of Harmon Rabb. And let me tell you, IT’S A SCARY PLACE TO BE! Especially when you’re sleep deprived and running on fumes. Something else new, this story is written completely in first person, although the ‘first person’ perspective changes hands toward the end of the story. I think I make it pretty clear when that happens.

WARNING WARNING: Will Robinson, step away from the computer! Big Smile…this is your last chance to walk away. DON’T KILL ME! YOU HAVE BEEN FOREWARNED…READ TO THE END BEFORE THROWING KNIVES! Trust me??? Wicked grin!

***

Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar.

Disclaimer: I don’t own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. I also wish to thank Sir William Shakespeare for allowing me to pilfer his 116th Sonnet.

***


The Clarity of Darkness

Part 1a

As I lie here in the dark, eyes closed tightly, I imagine her here in my arms. The heaven that is my dream far surpasses the hell that is the reality of my life. Even without the visual confirmation offered by sight, I swear I can smell her, here in my bed, beside me…that essence so uniquely her. It claims me, tantalizing my senses, drawing me closer to her apparition…exotic, alluring, captivating. Like a stranglehold it threatens to drown me, dragging me under the swells, consuming me whole. And yet, I know I would die a happy and contented man. All I ask is one more chance to be with her…a moment…the span of a breath. Is a heartbeat too much to ask? I plead for that second chance to right a wrong, to change the past…to cherish what I threw away.

I huddle in upon myself trying to escape the despair that descends upon my heart like midnight, cold and chilling to my very soul. I reach for the warmth of my illusion. Allowing my mind to drift, I flee the constraints of reality and find her…deep…deep within. In this private sanctuary of my dream world I can feel her. We become one. Sight now gone, except for the visions conjured up in my mind. My senses heighten to her touch, her smell, her voice. My fingertips glide over the silky softness of her skin trailing up the graceful slope of her back. My breath seizes and shudders, catching in my chest, as I feel the caress of her lips against my neck…gentle, light, teasing. I shiver to the thrill of her touch praying for more. My nose tingles and twitches against the tickling sensation elicited as I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply…taking her further into my soul. How can my dream world be so incredibly vivid and perfect, when my reality is so horribly wrong?

I clench my eyelids tighter still, trying to erase my present existence. Even in the pitch-black darkness of night, I swear I can still perceive the light of the moon and the dancing of stars through my closed lids. I refuse to open my eyes, to accept what is real, savoring my illusion over the crushing weight of loneliness that beckons me toward the light of day. I know I can’t stay here forever, duty calls at the rise of the dawn, but just for tonight…I yearn to float away in the revelry of my delusion…

And yet, isn’t a dream what started the nightmare that is my present life? I sigh in despair as her image fades and withers away, disappearing into that void at the edge of my consciousness, only to be replaced by the oppressive memories of that day…that week. Events swirl through my mind and close in on me like a thick fog rolling in from the sea. I am just as powerless to stop them now as I was then. How prophetic that my final attempt to maintain control should ignite the very destruction of my soul. Her past words reverberate in my mind…a noose around my neck indeed. The recriminating memories come unbidden one by one…

***

It all started shortly after Christmas just as our lives appeared to be falling into place. Mac and I had quietly celebrated the holiday together after the gut wrenching events of Christmas Eve. We talked…well, kind of…in generalities, at least. Neither of us made any life-altering declarations, but we both agreed that we were still here…together. I’m not sure either of us knew what that meant. Or maybe a more accurate description is, we each knew what we wanted from the other, but neither of us actually voiced those desires or concerns. We just drifted on in that nebulous place of ignorance and assumption that we had mastered so well over the years. That infernal dance…round and round…back and forth…no ending or beginning…no advance or retreat…NO DAMN PROGRESS!

A short time later, I was sent TAD to California to investigate a flight mishap. Luckily, it turned out the Navy wasn’t responsible for that particular crash…it was a dumb stunt. Literally! The person, and I use that term loosely, responsible for the mishap was a dummy. It was during this junket to California that my misery began. A redhead, I shake my head in disgust. Funny, I never really saw myself falling for someone with auburn hair. In my former fighter jock years, it was blondes. Then I met a brunette in a rose garden and I knew I was gone. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t allow myself to admit that I was actually smitten just then. No, I had to be pulled kicking and screaming into my reality. I tried to find solace in others first. Heaven forbid I take the direct, uncomplicated route to happiness. My fears and demons would never allow the easy way out. I had to be dragged through 8 years of torture first, trying to avoid falling too deeply or giving too much of myself away. Life would’ve been so much easier if I’d just fallen on top of her and kissed her senseless when she pulled me into that helo in the Arizona desert.

Of course, to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t exactly taking the short direct route either. In the beginning, she erected her own walls of defense. We’d both lost at an early age and learned to keep our feelings close to the vest. But through those early years, she began to soften and let me in…I just wasn’t ready. I had important dreams to fulfill, flying being at the top of the list. That inherent need to follow my father’s footsteps and make him proud. Funny how that goal seems so short-sided now…now, that I’ve lost what I want most.

I finally admitted my heart’s true desire about 3 years back, but neither of us had the courage to take the first step. I’d laugh if it weren’t so sad. I can fly mach one through the heavens, chase a dirty nuke across the sky, and take on terrorists with nary a flinch, but when it comes to uttering 3 little words…8 tiny letters…I freeze up with catatonic fright. I did eventually screw up my courage, and toss away my safety net, to pursue her to a South American hellhole…only to go down in brilliant, blazing flames. Not one of my crashes hurt nearly as much as that catastrophe. I crawled away to lick my wounds vowing never to cross that particular bridge again. I became quite adept at isolating myself and living in my own little land of denial, thank you very much. I didn’t need anyone or anything…well, that was until Christmas, a year back. Funny how all my important life events happen around that holiday. Anyway, she made the first overture of peace and gave me my best Christmas gift ever…a child. It wasn’t exactly how I envisioned fulfilling our deal, but that precious gift came at a time when I needed it most. That child rescued me, far more than I rescued her. Mac and I still weren’t together, but at least, we were talking again. Then came Clay’s phony death. His subterfuge gave me a second chance to fulfill my dream of happiness. I waited patiently…and waited…and waited some more. Praying my persistent, though silent, support would eventually ensure my success. I was almost there…so close I could feel it…then…

Then came California. I don’t know what came over me. I had vowed to be there for Mac when she was ready. But when we didn’t make any progress…I can’t believe I was swayed by a kiss, but it felt so good to be needed, admired and desired. Who knew everything could go so wrong. I didn’t plan it, and heaven help me, I never saw it coming. It was just a concert…

I remember it like it was yesterday…

***

I thought I would surprise Mac with a special treat. Like I said, we’d fallen back into our comfort zone of silence, unvoiced wishes & inertia. After grappling with the events of California, I decided to make a preemptive strike. I planned a subtle romantic evening, one that could be shared by friends…or hopefully more. A night of music, dinner and dancing. It had been so long since we’d enjoyed a night out like that. The National Symphony Orchestra was hosting a special concert by the Kennedy Center Chamber Players. I thought it would be the perfect distraction. Mac begged off claiming she needed some space. SPACE?! Was she kidding me? I’d already given her 6 months of space. Hell, it had actually been almost 2 years, & half a continent if you counted Paraguay…

I retort back with wounded pride, “What are you afraid of, Mac?”

“I’m not afraid! I just need….”

“WHAT? WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED? WHAT HAVEN’T I GIVEN YOU ALREADY?!”

“Time,” she whispers on hushed breath.

“Time? You’ve gotta be kidding me! You’ve had time!” I rake through my scalp with agitated fingers, pulling at my hair, trying to control my frustration.

“I just can’t….”

“Don’t say it,” I declare with ferocity in my stare. “I’ve been patient…stood by…waiting unwaveringly for you to be ready. I need to know,” I turn my back to her, afraid to read the truth in her eyes, “…I HAVE to know, if I’m waiting in vain. Is this thing ever going to happen between us?”

“Why now?” her voice pleads, “…can’t you just….”

I peer back at her, dejected, shoulders slumped, “Sarah, you can’t run all your life. Trust me, I’ve tried…you need to grab hold of what you want…what’s right in front of you.”

A tear tracks down her cheek, “I can’t…please, I just need more….”

“Time,” my voice cracks in pain as I slowly exit her office.

***

After that, I was determined to move on with my life. I’d waited long enough. If you can’t love the one you want, you love the one you’re with…isn’t that how the old song goes? At least, that was my new motto and I was sticking to it. As luck would have it, or misfortune as the case may be, a visitor showed up in my office a few days later. A beautiful willing woman, who didn’t utter words like ‘never’ or ‘can’t’ or ‘more time.’ And yes, you guessed it; she had amazing red hair.

I asked her what she was doing in D.C. She presented me with one of her paintings, a gift of gratitude, and offered an invitation for lunch. It was just lunch I reasoned, no need to decline…a casual meal between acquaintances. Lunch, of course, led to dinner. She showed up again in the office the next day. Mac took notice of my intriguing female visitor from across the bullpen. When Megan took her leave for a brief visit to the ladies room, Mac descended on my office hurt and incensed. I gently, but insistently, reminded her that she’d rejected my offers of support…and more. When she argued that she’d only wanted time…I countered that I’d given her unlimited chances, and had only been rebuffed. Tears flashed in her eyes, as she argued that feelings of lov…affection shouldn’t be subjected to conditions and timelines. I reminded her, that she herself, had disregarded my desires and moved on, when placed in a similar situation in the past. As Megan reentered the bullpen, I quickly wiped Mac’s tears and sent her back to her office with a friendly goodbye. Friends…just friends…we were destined to only be friends.

Megan and I enjoyed that romantic evening out and a few more to follow. But as the novelty of being wooed by a new interest waned and the pain of a perceived rejection lessened, I realized that my heart couldn’t…wouldn’t…give up quite so easily. ‘Love is not love…which alters when it alteration finds.’ The words of Shakespeare flutter through my mind. Isn’t it funny how seemingly insignificant memories from your past make an almost prophetic appearance at the most absurd times? I remember scoffing at my Academy professor’s assignment from second-year English Lit…’identify, memorize and recite a work of literature which accurately depicts the qualities of love.’ I can still hear my bunkmate razzing me over that one. Who knew Shakespeare’s eloquence could still ring true over 400 years later. Of course, love…true love, of the true unconditional kind…is an emotion, which is constant and unchanging through time, as steadfast as the Northern Star. Isn’t that exactly what Shakespeare was trying to describe? The words slip easily from tongue as if I’d memorized them just yesterday, rather than 2 decades before.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

With blinding clarity, despite my sleepless night, I enter the bullpen the next morning in search of Mac. If the events of Paraguay taught me nothing else, it’s that the burden of loving is not easily overcome. You can try to mask the feelings behind scathing contradictory remarks. You can run in a futile attempt to escape its intense pull. But in the end, love…true love…doesn’t alter or remove.

I find her office closed, dark and tightly locked. I rush to Coates’ desk, with my best flyboy smile in place, intent on garnering the information I so desperately need.

“Jen, I was wondering…is Colonel MacKenzie out on assignment or just running late today?”

Coates stares back with a puzzled look of bemusement. “I’m sorry, Sir?”

“The Colonel? I need to talk to her, when do expect her in?” My fingers begin to fidget with the hem of my jacket; and I curse the regs, which prohibit me from securing them in my pockets.

That puzzled look remains, “Ah, I don’t know, Sir.”

“What do you mean you don’t know, Coates? Colonel MacKenzie hasn’t reported in today?”

“Well actually…no. Why would she, Sir?”

A feeling of intense exhaustion is starting to drag me under just as the beginnings of a headache thump at my brow. I reach up to massage my temple, but stop mid motion when I notice the tremor in my hand. A deep sense of foreboding engulfs me and steals away my breath. I swallow repeatedly, while trying to breathe and push the words past my parched throat.

“Coates, our orders come across the General’s desk long before they land on ours. And as for the Colonel, she always checks-in when she’s going to be late. So where is she?”

“Sir?” her eyes dart up to a point over my right shoulder. I know this move; I’ve mastered it. You look over your C.O.’s shoulder when you don’t wanna look’em in the eye. When you know the information you’re about to relay will be the detonator for a heated explosion.

“Coates,” I warn.

“Sir, you’re right…Colonel MacKenzie would report in if this were her duty assignment,” her voice falters on the world ‘if.’

“IF?!” I force the word past my lips with a mixture of shock and dread. “What do you mean IF?”

“The Colonel, Sir,” her eyes flick to mine before darting away once more, “…ah, she didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what,” my nails dig deeper into my palms drawing blood.

“She’s, ah,” she glances toward Creswell’s door, “…maybe you should speak with the General, Sir.”

“Coates!”

Her chin drops to her chest as she mumbles, “Italy…Sir.”

“Italy? What are you talking about?”

“The Colonel…she’s been reassigned to Naples.”

“Naples?” my head is spinning. “But she didn’t tell me!” Coates’ expression remains sympathetic and contrite. “I need to speak with the General, Petty Officer!”

“Yes Sir!”

She quickly dials our C.O. and requests permission for a meeting. I knock once and hurriedly enter the office, coming to attention before Creswell’s desk.

“Commander, you needed to see me?”

“Yes Sir,” my eyes immediately gravitate to that spot on the wall behind his left shoulder. “Sir, I was wondering why Colonel MacKenzie’s been transferred out?”

“I wasn’t aware that my orders for JAG personnel had to meet with your approval, Commander.”

My eyes flick back to his face in time to see the cold grey steel of emotion reflected in his stare. “Of course not, Sir. It’s just that the Colonel and I are….”

“Are what? Is there some non work-related involvement between the two of you that requires your input into her duty assignment?”

“Noo-no,” the word stutters from lips, “…of course not, Sir. It’s just that…the Colonel and I…are…friends. I thought she might have confided in me about this move.”

“It was a quick decision,” he dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “Her orders were cut in the last 48 hours, and she was required to ship out immediately. Is there anything else, Commander?”

“Umm, yes Sir…I was wondering if I might request some leave?”

“You can request leave through the customary channels, Commander. Submit your time to Petty Officer Coates, and I’ll consider it based on the current staffing shortages.”

“But Sir, I need immediate….”

“Denied Commander. With the unexpected loss of Colonel MacKenzie, we’re seriously undermanned here.”

“But Sir…” that pleading tone is back in my voice. I can’t help but notice the similarity in my appeal to a request made to another C.O. in this very same office some 2 years prior. Then, just as now, my marine tried to escape to a country faraway…residing in a continent halfway around the world.

“I said denied!”

“But Sir, I have to! My very life depends….”

“STAND DOWN, COMMANDER! You are dismissed!”

“Yes Sir,” I click my heels in a half-hearted salute and retreat from his office.

Hurrying past Coates’ desk, I rush to my office, slamming the door and barricading myself in. I reach for my phone, dialing her home number without conscious effort. After 4 rings, the message I dread most fills my ears.

“The number you have just dialed is no longer in service. No forwarding number has been…”

I disconnect the line and quickly dial her cell, expecting the same irritating….

“The customer you are trying to reach is no longer in network….”

I slam the handset back into its cradle. “You are not going to escape me that easily, Marine,” I mutter to the empty room.

I lift the phone and dial Coates’ extension, “Petty Officer, I need the number for NLSO…”

“Naples Sir?”

“Uh, yes…thank you, Coates.”

My line buzzes a minute later, “Sir, I have the number you requested, but it’s after duty hours. I did manage to reach the Colonel’s legal assist. I have her on the line, Sir.”

“Thank you, Jen. Could you please put her through?”

Within a moment the line rings with activity, “Commander Rabb.”

“Yes Sir, this is Petty Officer Magalis. I will be Colonel MacKenzie’s legal assist. Can I help you, Sir?”

“I’m sorry for the late hour, Petty Officer. I’m trying to reach Colonel MacKenzie about an important matter.”

“Is this about a case or an investigation, Sir?”

“Excuse me?” the furrow in my brow deepens.

“I’m, ah…I’m sorry, Sir. Colonel MacKenzie hasn’t taken over her duties yet, so if this is in regards to a case….”

I sigh heavily into the phone, “No Petty Officer, this isn’t about an active case. The Colonel and I are old friends. I was hoping to get her number so I could speak with her.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the voice on the other end stutters with unease, “…but…Colonel MacKenzie specifically instructed me…not…to give out her personal phone number. She also requested that only work related messages and calls be referred back to her. Does this message pertain to a work related issue, Sir?”

“No Petty Officer, I’m afraid it doesn’t.” My voice cracks with barely contained frustration, “Again, thank you for your time.”

“Not a problem, Sir.”

I hang up the phone dejected and wallowing in my self-inflicted pain. What have I done? And is there any way to fix it? Over the next several days, I repeatedly try to connect with Mac, but always to the same end. I even try enlisting Coates in my cause, but to no avail. She’s under strict instruction not to divulge any private information regarding one Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. I begin setting my alarm for the early predawn hours, hoping to catch Mac unawares, just as the office roars to life in the first harried moments of the day. Nothing works. Nothing! The wall is steep, thick and impenetrable. I go down in blazing defeat.

Finally, 3 weeks after this heartrending debacle began, I admit loss. I realize that a Rabb-MacKenzie matrimonial link isn’t in the cards dealt by fate. Correction, it might well have been fate’s intended plan, if I hadn’t been so insistent on kicking fate in the shins. Of course, I’m not so deluded; as to think, this disaster is all MY fault. No, Mac and I both played a hand. It’s just that…I’m the one responsible for firing the final shot. The one that left our relationship in a quivering, gasping, lifeless heap. And though I’m trained in basic resuscitation, I don’t know any technique that can resuscitate this train wreck.

You know there’s a proverb, ‘If you love something set it free; if it returns its yours forever, if not it was never meant to be.’ Problem is, I didn’t gently set her free, I threw her into the middle of a storm with hurricane force winds. The chance of her…me…us…surviving the intensity of that storm is nonexistent, never mind her returning to me. And I have no one to thank but myself.

***
Continued in Part 1b