Author: Nancy
Disclaimer: JAG and characters do not belong to me.
Category: Harm/other Harm/Mac Drama Romance
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An accident leaves Harm lost and presumed dead. Post Adrift.
PART 1
New Orleans, Louisiana
December 5
The chimes from the Cathedral in Jackson Square indicated it was six a.m. He curled up on the bench pulling a ragged blanket to his shoulders in an attempt to stay warm as a late fall freeze settled in along the river front of the Big Easy. Someone had tossed him the old blanket that probably originated from one of the homeless shelters in the Quarter.
His head ached and swirled with confusing thoughts. He had to escape. Someone was trying to hurt him. Shivering he attempted to pull the blanket tighter around himself, but was unable to grasp the edges because of the numbing pain in his hands and fingers. Finally settling into a position of less discomfort, he drifted into a restless sleep.
"Get up, you can't sleep here!" The uniformed officer poked him with his baton. Receiving no response, he jabbed him even harder. "Did you hear me! Get up, before I have to run you in for vagrancy."
The man's eyes squinted against the bright early morning light as he tried to focus. Slowly sitting up he squeezed his eyes shut in response to the intense throbbing in his head.
"Damn winos." The officer muttered under his breath. "Get moving! We don't want to scare off the tourists."
Reluctantly the man stood up. The officer looked at him in disgust. The man had probably had not bathed or shaved in a while. His clothes were ragged and dirty. He staggered down the sidewalk away from the bench. Vertigo began to accompany the pain in his head making him stagger even more. He slumped down onto the next bench holding his head between his forearms in attempt to push away the pain.
The police officer sighed angrily and moved towards the man. "Alright, I guess you need to sleep this one off in the drunk tank." He pulled out his handcuffs to restrain the man. Roughly, the officer grabbed the man's hands. Without warning the man screamed out and knocked the officer away by butting his shoulder into the officer's chest.
"You sonofabitch!" The officer raised his baton and struck the man across the shoulders and the back of his head. The last blow sent the man to his knees as a throbbing pain exploded in his skull. He moaned in pain as the officer pushed him prone on the ground and cuffed his hands from the back. A few early morning tourists gathered around as the officer pulled the man up and half pulled and half drug him away.
"That's such a shame. Something needs to be done about these tramps that hang out on the river front. It ruins the beautiful view of the river." An older woman carrying a large shopping bag commented to her husband as they watched the pair leave the area.
"I wonder what leads a person to choose to live like that?" Her husband muttered in return.
******
The week before...
JAG headquarters
December 1
The staff sat at the conference table stunned after Admiral AJ Chegwidden broke the news.
The first to speak out was Mac, "But are you sure? You said yourself they haven't positively identified the body as being Harm's."
Clayton Webb stepped forward, "Mac, I wish it weren't true, but following an explosion like that you know it would be impossible to get a positive body identification. Harm was there. We checked that Memphis warehouse or what remained of it from top to bottom and found some of his personal effects. There was no way he could have gotten out in time. I'm sorry. He was my friend too." His voice lost intensity with his last words. "We notified his mother this morning."
Tears streamed down Harriet's face while Bud stared down at his hands. The Admiral's voice normally strong broke slightly revealing his grief, "That will be all."
Mac approached Webb and the Admiral, "Clay, Harm didn't give you up for dead when Palmer came after that superconductor. Why are you giving up so easily! He's not dead. Admiral you said yourself on the Seribachi, he's like gum on your shoe. He survived that night in the Atlantic. HE IS A SURVIVER." Mac's tone became more agitated as she only received looks of empathy from the two men.
Clayton Webb pulled out a folded handkerchief and carefully unfolded it revealing a blackened Naval Academy ring. He picked it up and looked at the inscription on the inside, "It has Harm's initials, Mac. It was found near his remains."
Mac's hand trembled slightly as she took it from Webb and looked for herself. Her lips tightened as tears ran down her face. Anger flashed briefly in her eyes, "This doesn't prove anything!"
"I was there Mac." Clay replied solemnly.
"Why did you have to include him in one of your stupid missions! Why! He would be alive if you would have just left him alone!" She screamed and pounded her fists on his chest. The Admiral started to intervene but hesitated when Webb shook his head slightly. He stood helplessly allowing her verbal and physical attack until she stopped just as suddenly as she began and looked at him with new pain, "I'm sorry Clay. I'm sorry." He opened his arms and she fell into them sobbing as he rocked her.
****
New Orleans Charity Hospital
December 6
Dr. Christine Tan stood over her patient perusing his chart, "No identification on him yet?" The man from the riverfront was taken to the Charity Hospital emergency room after collapsing at the police station.
Jean the RN manager who made rounds with the young physician looked up, "No I guess he'll be another John Doe. With dose burns to his hands, the police were not able to match fingerprints. Dat asshole Sergeant Foret is checking missing persons." Her Cajun accent brought a slight smile to Christine's face. They had dealt with Foret before.
Dr. Tan placed her stethoscope over her patient's heart listening carefully. She observed him, as he remained unaware of her presence. When the police brought him to the hospital, he appeared dirty, disheveled, combative and in need of medical attention. His injuries were a mystery. Burns to the hands that were infected, various cuts and bruises to the face and head. The CT of the head revealed a head trauma of undetermined age. His hands were now dressed and looked as if he were wearing white mittens. Charity ER was like a zoo on any given day, and he had fought them like a caged animal until he was finally sedated so they could treat him. Christine winced as she noticed the restraints that were attached to his arms. Once the sedation wore off, they feared he might become combative again. He apparently believed someone was trying to kill him. She made a note to order a psychiatric consult.
"Who are you John R. Doe?" Christine Tan's dark brown eyes surveyed her sleeping patient. "Is there someone out there worrying about you?" She had seen too many homeless outcasts. John Doe didn't fit the mold. He looked as if he was in excellent health until recently. He had no alcohol or drugs in his bloodstream. Someone cared about this man.
****
JAG Headquarters
December 6th
"Harm's mother called the Admiral. She decided that she wanted to hold the memorial services for Commander Rabb at the Academy Chapel Sunday afternoon. She felt that is what he would have wanted." Bud sat in Mac's office.
"I still can't believe it. I keep expecting him to stroll into the bullpen and hand off his cover and briefcase to Harriet because he's running late for a meeting with the Admiral." Bud smiled sadly as he reminisced.
"Me too." Mac teared up again. Each day she forced herself to dress and go through the motions of work. Somehow, it made her feel like she was close to him. Today she and Bud had agreed to clean out his office. "I guess we need to get this over with."
"If you aren't up to it Ma'am. I'll handle this." Bud offered sympathetically.
"No Bud. That wouldn't be fair to you. I know you cared as much for him as I did. We'll do this together." Mac sniffed back a tear and headed towards Harm's darkened office.
Slowly she walked to his desk and sat down. Her fingers caressed the case folder that he had left ready for his return. Bud brought a box over and painfully they picked up personal items and placed them away. Once the task was finished, they both looked around the now stark office while memories flooded their thoughts. Mac heard a soft sob and looked around to see Bud Roberts tearfully grieving. She reached over, gave him a tight hug, and allowed more of her own endless tears to fall.
*****
Charity Hospital
December 7th
"Open your eyes for me." The words penetrated his lethargy. He moaned as his increasing consciousness brought with it pain. He felt fingers begin to pry his eye apart. He reflectively pulled away as a bright light suddenly penetrated his pupil.
"Sorry about that. I need to check your other eye." She repeated the procedure in the other eye. "Are you ready to wake up for me?" The voice sounded intelligent and gentle.
"Don't...shine...light." He whispered hoarsely.
Dr. Christine Tan smiled, "I won't anymore this time, but I'm afraid you will have to endure more poking and prodding for a while longer."
"Where?" His eyes cracked open. He tried to focus only to see blurred images.
"You are at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. You have some nasty burns to your hands and fingers that are infected. You been running a high fever and have been pretty confused."
He attempted to lift his bandaged hand up to touch his head but encountered resistance of the restraint that bound him.
Dr. Tan reached and gently intercepted his arm. "Do you remember what happened to you?"
He lay quietly struggling to clear his mind enough to come up with a memory. "No." He replied a little irritably. "Let me go please."
"As long as you remain calm I'll have the nurse remove the restraints. Now I want you to try to answer some more questions for me. Let's try something a little simpler. Can you tell me your name?" She watched him shift uncomfortably.
"I can't remember." He said with distress. "Why can't I remember?"
"You don't need to get upset. Sometimes it takes a while for everything to fall into place. You need to rest so I'm going to get Jean, your nurse to give you something to help you relax. By the way my name is Christine Tan." She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. There was something familiar about her. She was slender with dark brown hair stylishly short and warm brown eyes. He relaxed sensing he could trust her.
Over the next few days he mostly slept due to the infection and the medication he received for the pain. His head ached from straining to remember anything that would give him a clue as to his identity. A police detective came by to try to question him, but didn't stay long after he took photos to be sent the FBI and other agencies to help find his identity. The burns to his hands and fingers negated identification by fingerprint analysis. For now, he was called John R. Doe. The R because he was the eighteenth unidentified male found in the area that year.
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