Wreck Of The Day [chapter nine] [JAG]
CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR - CHAPTER FIVE - CHAPTER SIX - CHAPTER SEVEN - CHAPTER EIGHT
No real excuse for not updating sooner. Exams, college stuff, sickness. Whatever. Thanks to delgaserasca for the beta.
WRECK OF THE DAY.
(nine)
---
“How is it that you’re both together in the morning, and yet you’re still late?” Sam looked on in wonder as Harm flew through the doors somewhat flustered, half an hour late.
“I had to go back to my apartment…”
“He means he’s incapable of packing a bag for the night,” Mac clarified. She breezed past them on her way to visit Harriet with a pile of paperwork. Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at Harm with a grin.
“I am perfectly capable of packing a bag.”
“Not, however, capable of remembering everything you may or may not actually need!” Mac retorted.
“Can we leave the picking on Harm for another time, please?” Harm pleaded, juggling his cover and briefcase as he accepted a folder of paperwork from a petty officer.
“Lunch?” Sam grinned. “Mac’s buying…”
Mac opened her mouth to protest, but was beaten by Harm, who accepted the offer before making his way to his office.
///
“Headin’ out for the day, Hammer,” Sam knocked twice on the door and popped the upper half of his body into the room. Harm glanced up from a pile of paperwork. “You busy later? Good, meet me at my place at eight, ‘kay?” Before Harm had a chance to answer, Sam was gone.
Harm and Mac were the only officers left; everyone else had signed out for the day. Harm took the opportunity to complete a substantial amount of overdue paperwork and make some phone calls regarding Brumby. He took a legal pad from his desk drawer and opened it to a fresh page, holding the phone receiver between his ear and his shoulder. He’d been put on hold for the third time in twenty minutes and was getting restless.
In the middle of the page, he scrawled a brief description of what he was doing: finding out why Brumby was at JAG. Idly, he drew lazy circles around it while waiting for a real person to talk to him instead of an electronic voice. Eventually, he heard a real voice - a woman’s voice - and dropped his pen as he spoke.
When he’d finished the conversation, he was none the wiser. He still had no viable explanation as to why Lieutenant Michael Brumby was at the JAG headquarters in Virginia. The only answer he was given was ‘exchange programme’, but as yet, no one had been sent to Australia in his place. It struck Harm as more than a little odd, and he switched on his computer to do more digging.
///
Mac rolled her aching shoulders as she closed and locked her office door. The lights in the bullpen were all switched off, save for exit signs and lights over doors leading to corridors and other places. There was a dim glow coming from Harm’s office and Mac tiptoed towards it. The door was partially open, the blinds rolled down but not closed, and Harm sat inside, squinting as he read the computer screen with only his desk lamp for lighting.
“Harm…” Mac whispered. “Harm? Harmon!” Mac’s raised voice jolted Harm from his trance. Looking up, he winced at the pain in his neck and shoulders, blinking repeatedly as his eyes adjusted to the bad lighting. “Time to go home, Flyboy.”
“I uh… yeah. I was just-”
“Ruining your eyesight? Your neck?”
“That too…”
“C’mon. Home time. Wanna grab something to eat?”
“I can’t, I gotta meet Sam in…” Harm paused to look at his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”
“Better fly, Flyboy!” Mac grinned, turning and heading for the exit. Over her shoulder, she heard Harm snicker.
///
“Clearly Mac is not rubbing off on you,” Sam joked as he closed the door behind Harm. “I really did mean eight, y’know. Not two minutes before nine.”
“I got carried away.” The finality in Harm’s sentence sobered Sam slightly. His friend’s intense gaze followed him across the apartment as he headed to the fridge to grab two bottles of water. Upon his return to the living room, Harm threw his legal pad onto the coffee table.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he commented angrily. “There is no reason for Brumby’s presence here.”
“What’s this ‘exchange program’?”
“That’s just the thing: I’ve called everyone I can think of and nothing - I can’t find a damn thing. As far as officials are concerned, Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby, Australian Royal Navy, is here on an exchange program. Only, there’s no USN officers in Australia, and no other Navies taking part in said program.”
“Interesting…” Sam took a long drink. “Interesting. Tried talking to him recently?”
“Nope. Probably wouldn’t get very far if I did. Only has time for Mac - the problem lies in the fact that she doesn’t have time for him.”
“He doesn’t know me. I’ll befriend him!”
“Sam the Samaritan. It’s got a ring to it, don’tcha think?”
“Rabb, be serious. I’ll talk to him, maybe go out for drinks one night - maybe he’ll let something slip. Loose ships sink lips, or whatever.”
“I believe the lips sink the ships, Sam.”
“As I said: whatever. What can you tell me about the guy in general?”
“He proposed to Mac in Sydney. He drinks coffee, he’s pretty patriotic…”
“So, nothing I haven’t figured for myself?”
“Not really,” Harm admitted. “Never really got to know him - he never really had time for anyone but Mac, even before Sydney.”
“Maybe Mac can help…” Sam mused, peeling a sticky label away from his water bottle.
“Yeah, or tell you to quit babysitting her…”
“Not babysitting! Befriending weird Australian!”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s your strategy - you go out for drinks, how do you get him drunk enough to spill without getting yourself drunk in the process?”
“Hammer, you forget: I can drink anyone under the table,” Sam replied, looking pointedly at Harm, a reminder of Academy antics. “And if I order the drinks, I’ll order me something non-alcoholic once in a while.”
“You? Non-alcoholic? In a bar?”
“Has been known…”
“Wow. Was that the apocalypse I just heard?” Harm was rewarded with Sam’s empty water bottle hitting him between the eyes.
///
The glass front of a photo frame lay on the floor, smashed into tiny shards - the wooden frame itself lay by the wall, where it had fallen after being thrown. The photograph, purposely defaced and crumpled, lay next to the glass.
The phone was unplugged, the cordless handset just feet away from the terrified, bloodied figure crouched in the corner.
/// /// ///
TO BE CONTINUED.
No real excuse for not updating sooner. Exams, college stuff, sickness. Whatever. Thanks to delgaserasca for the beta.
WRECK OF THE DAY.
(nine)
---
“How is it that you’re both together in the morning, and yet you’re still late?” Sam looked on in wonder as Harm flew through the doors somewhat flustered, half an hour late.
“I had to go back to my apartment…”
“He means he’s incapable of packing a bag for the night,” Mac clarified. She breezed past them on her way to visit Harriet with a pile of paperwork. Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at Harm with a grin.
“I am perfectly capable of packing a bag.”
“Not, however, capable of remembering everything you may or may not actually need!” Mac retorted.
“Can we leave the picking on Harm for another time, please?” Harm pleaded, juggling his cover and briefcase as he accepted a folder of paperwork from a petty officer.
“Lunch?” Sam grinned. “Mac’s buying…”
Mac opened her mouth to protest, but was beaten by Harm, who accepted the offer before making his way to his office.
///
“Headin’ out for the day, Hammer,” Sam knocked twice on the door and popped the upper half of his body into the room. Harm glanced up from a pile of paperwork. “You busy later? Good, meet me at my place at eight, ‘kay?” Before Harm had a chance to answer, Sam was gone.
Harm and Mac were the only officers left; everyone else had signed out for the day. Harm took the opportunity to complete a substantial amount of overdue paperwork and make some phone calls regarding Brumby. He took a legal pad from his desk drawer and opened it to a fresh page, holding the phone receiver between his ear and his shoulder. He’d been put on hold for the third time in twenty minutes and was getting restless.
In the middle of the page, he scrawled a brief description of what he was doing: finding out why Brumby was at JAG. Idly, he drew lazy circles around it while waiting for a real person to talk to him instead of an electronic voice. Eventually, he heard a real voice - a woman’s voice - and dropped his pen as he spoke.
When he’d finished the conversation, he was none the wiser. He still had no viable explanation as to why Lieutenant Michael Brumby was at the JAG headquarters in Virginia. The only answer he was given was ‘exchange programme’, but as yet, no one had been sent to Australia in his place. It struck Harm as more than a little odd, and he switched on his computer to do more digging.
///
Mac rolled her aching shoulders as she closed and locked her office door. The lights in the bullpen were all switched off, save for exit signs and lights over doors leading to corridors and other places. There was a dim glow coming from Harm’s office and Mac tiptoed towards it. The door was partially open, the blinds rolled down but not closed, and Harm sat inside, squinting as he read the computer screen with only his desk lamp for lighting.
“Harm…” Mac whispered. “Harm? Harmon!” Mac’s raised voice jolted Harm from his trance. Looking up, he winced at the pain in his neck and shoulders, blinking repeatedly as his eyes adjusted to the bad lighting. “Time to go home, Flyboy.”
“I uh… yeah. I was just-”
“Ruining your eyesight? Your neck?”
“That too…”
“C’mon. Home time. Wanna grab something to eat?”
“I can’t, I gotta meet Sam in…” Harm paused to look at his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”
“Better fly, Flyboy!” Mac grinned, turning and heading for the exit. Over her shoulder, she heard Harm snicker.
///
“Clearly Mac is not rubbing off on you,” Sam joked as he closed the door behind Harm. “I really did mean eight, y’know. Not two minutes before nine.”
“I got carried away.” The finality in Harm’s sentence sobered Sam slightly. His friend’s intense gaze followed him across the apartment as he headed to the fridge to grab two bottles of water. Upon his return to the living room, Harm threw his legal pad onto the coffee table.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he commented angrily. “There is no reason for Brumby’s presence here.”
“What’s this ‘exchange program’?”
“That’s just the thing: I’ve called everyone I can think of and nothing - I can’t find a damn thing. As far as officials are concerned, Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby, Australian Royal Navy, is here on an exchange program. Only, there’s no USN officers in Australia, and no other Navies taking part in said program.”
“Interesting…” Sam took a long drink. “Interesting. Tried talking to him recently?”
“Nope. Probably wouldn’t get very far if I did. Only has time for Mac - the problem lies in the fact that she doesn’t have time for him.”
“He doesn’t know me. I’ll befriend him!”
“Sam the Samaritan. It’s got a ring to it, don’tcha think?”
“Rabb, be serious. I’ll talk to him, maybe go out for drinks one night - maybe he’ll let something slip. Loose ships sink lips, or whatever.”
“I believe the lips sink the ships, Sam.”
“As I said: whatever. What can you tell me about the guy in general?”
“He proposed to Mac in Sydney. He drinks coffee, he’s pretty patriotic…”
“So, nothing I haven’t figured for myself?”
“Not really,” Harm admitted. “Never really got to know him - he never really had time for anyone but Mac, even before Sydney.”
“Maybe Mac can help…” Sam mused, peeling a sticky label away from his water bottle.
“Yeah, or tell you to quit babysitting her…”
“Not babysitting! Befriending weird Australian!”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s your strategy - you go out for drinks, how do you get him drunk enough to spill without getting yourself drunk in the process?”
“Hammer, you forget: I can drink anyone under the table,” Sam replied, looking pointedly at Harm, a reminder of Academy antics. “And if I order the drinks, I’ll order me something non-alcoholic once in a while.”
“You? Non-alcoholic? In a bar?”
“Has been known…”
“Wow. Was that the apocalypse I just heard?” Harm was rewarded with Sam’s empty water bottle hitting him between the eyes.
///
The glass front of a photo frame lay on the floor, smashed into tiny shards - the wooden frame itself lay by the wall, where it had fallen after being thrown. The photograph, purposely defaced and crumpled, lay next to the glass.
The phone was unplugged, the cordless handset just feet away from the terrified, bloodied figure crouched in the corner.
/// /// ///
TO BE CONTINUED.