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The Cost of Courage
Author: Pixie Rating: PG Category: JAG Story Spoilers: This story is part of the summer 2004 Virtual Season. As such, anything up to and including the season 9 finale (Hail and Farewell) and the first three VS episodes is fair game. Disclaimers: Neither JAG nor its characters belong to me. I'm not making any money from this little escapade, so please don't sue me.
***** Part 4 *****
0030 Zulu (1930 Local) Harm and Mac arrived at the newly dedicated National World War II Memorial thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start. They'd come together, sharing a ride and parking well outside the area of downtown that was bound to be overflowing with both residents and tourists. The decision had meant they'd had a long walk in, but neither had minded. The heat of the day had passed, and though they were both in uniform, as required for the ceremony, they weren't uncomfortable. Mac had been looking forward to today for many reasons. It was to be her first opportunity to view the completed memorial, and she was looking forward to that, but she was also looking forward to seeing Calvin get the long overdue medal he so richly deserved. She stopped when the memorial came into sight. "Harm," she said. "It's…spectacular." He nodded in agreement and they stood for a while looking at it. Then they moved forward, Harm gently guiding her through the crowds with a light hand at the small of her back. When they arrived at the memorial, they immediately spotted Calvin and Rashimi, he looking tall and dignified in his Marine uniform, and she cool and feminine in a flower print dress. They joined the other couple, and Mac noted that though Cal moved slowly, he seemed to be recovering from his injuries. Greetings exchanged, they spent a few minutes talking about the memorial. Mac was admiring one of the arches when she noticed that Cal suddenly tensed, and she turned to see what he was staring at. A group of people was approaching them, and Cal almost seemed to shrink back from them until Rashimi put a supportive hand on his arm. "They wanted to be here," she said to him in a low voice. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her, pain edging his words. "Because I knew if I did, you'd never come." Rashimi glanced at the approaching group who hadn't yet noticed them. "You need to make peace with them, Cal. Don't run anymore." Her voice took on a pleading note that brought his eyes to hers. "Please." He sighed, his eyes full of unbearable sadness. Then he straightened his spine and moved forward. He knew the exact instant they recognized him. For a moment, they stopped, then a woman stepped forward, tears sparkling in her eyes. Disregarding his uniform and his stiff stance, she hugged him, taking care not to put too much pressure on his damaged ribs. Seconds passed while he stood there, arms at his sides, staring down at the bowed head of the woman who had, without a word, forgiven him. Then, with a long shuddering sigh, he wrapped his arms around her, dropping his cheek to rest against her bowed head. "I'm sorry, Pat." The words were barely audible to the onlookers. "So, so sorry." She pulled back from him, just enough so that she could look up into his face. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Cal. Neither one of you could have done anything other than what you did that day. You weren't made that way." Cal shook his head. "Maybe if I hadn't…" "If you hadn't what, Cal? If you hadn't gone in there after that little girl maybe Logan would be here today?" "Maybe, yeah." "Maybe he would be, and maybe he wouldn't. But Calvin, somewhere in Iraq there's a young woman who owes her life to you. A young woman who probably has a husband and children of her own today." She stared hard at him, wanting… no, needing, to make sure he understood what she was trying to say. "If you hadn't been there that day, that family would never have existed. Those children would never have been born." "But…" Cal tried to speak, but she interrupted him. "But nothing, Cal. What you did that day…They're calling it heroism. But it wasn't so much about being a hero as it was about being the person God made you to be. You couldn't have done anything else. I know that." She gestured behind her. "The kids know that. The only person who doesn't seem to know it is you." "Logan…" "Was a wonderful man, and I…we all… miss him. But nobody blames you for what happened. It was just…a horrible twist of fate." She looked at him imploringly. "Please, Calvin. Please don't disappear again." She gestured around at her family, and at Rashimi who stood a little behind Calvin. "We need you." "Yeah, Dad. We need you, too." Calvin's head jerked up, his eyes searching for and then finding the source of the voice. His son and daughter had arrived unnoticed while he'd been talking to Patrice, and now they stood watching him. He looked at Pat and she nodded slightly, then stepped back, freeing Calvin to walk to where his children stood waiting for him, their expressions uncertain. "Can you forgive me?" he asked them, looking from one to another. C.J. and Devika looked at each other, then at their father. It was Devika who spoke. "Will you come home?" "I will if you'll have me back." "Nothing would make us happier, Dad," answered C.J. setting aside protocol and manly custom to pull his father into a hug. Calvin reached out and wrapped his free arm around his daughter, who came willingly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mac brushed at a tear, felt Harm's reassuring touch on her arm, and looked up at him. He was smiling at the reunited family, but she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere, and she found herself wondering if he was thinking about his own father. She reached over and gently squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes back to her and earning herself a warm smile. He motioned to the podium where the Marine Commandant and several aids were moving into position. "I think it's about time for us to find our seats," he said. Evidently, the others had realized it too, because they were all finding places in the folding chairs that had been set out for the occasion. Calvin and Rashimi sat in the front row, their family and friends surrounding them. Within moments after they were all seated, the Marine Commandant took his place before the podium. "Normally," he said, "award ceremonies are simple affairs, lasting only a few minutes from beginning to end. Today, however, I beg your indulgence for a few extra minutes while I tell you a story." The assembled group was silent, and around them, tourists and sightseers, drawn by the spectacle of military uniforms and gleaming medals, quieted to watch. "Two hundred and twenty eight years ago, our founding fathers signed the Declaration of Independence, an event that still stands today as one of the world's defining moments. The men who signed that document were ordinary people. But they were ordinary people with a vision of what might be possible if people are willing to stand and fight for their beliefs. They knew that in signing their names to that document, they were branding themselves as traitors to the English. They knew, also, that England wasn't likely to give the American colonies up without a fight. And yet, they did it anyway. That's what courage and heroism is all about. It's not about doing the right thing when it's convenient, or when it's easy. It's about doing the right thing because to do otherwise is inconceivable." The Commandant paused to glance at his notes and take a sip of water. "Theodore Roosevelt once said that 'no man is worth his salt who is not ready at all times to risk his body, to risk his well-being, to risk his life, in a great cause.' " He looked up, his eyes sliding over the crowd before resting for just a moment on Colonel Martin, sitting straight and tall in the front row. "I had the honor of serving with Colonel Martin in Vietnam many years ago. He was young then, barely out of school, but even back then his honor, integrity, and courage were inspiring. He believed in what he was doing, and he believed in the people he served with. By all accounts, he was, and is, a good man, and a credit to his country. “My faith in the colonel was well placed, as I was to find out when I heard that, during the performance of his duties in Operation Desert Storm, he entered a burning building at great risk to his own life and successfully rescued a little girl, returning her uninjured to her mother's arms." He stepped away from the podium then, moving to stand center stage, an aide by his side. A lieutenant colonel moved to take the place the commandant had vacated. "Attention to orders!" Commandant Newman's voice boomed across the crowd, instantly bringing all the military personnel in the audience to attention. Civilians quickly rose to their feet as well, sensing the importance of what was to come. "Person to be decorated front and center!" Colonel Martin stood and approached the Commandant, head high, back straight and proud. Mac was briefly impressed that he gave no indication of pain from his cracked ribs, then focused attention on the words of the citation as they were read by the Lieutenant Colonel on the podium. "The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the Bronze Star Medal to Colonel Calvin James Martin, United States Marine Corps, for meritorious achievement while on patrol at a classified location in Iraq, with the First Marine Expeditionary Force on February 26, 1991. Colonel Calvin James Martin distinguished himself by saving an Iraqi child from a burning building at great personal risk to himself. His selfless act resulted in multiple broken bones and second degree burns over twenty percent of his body. His decisive action while under enemy fire resulted in a strengthened bond between the people of Iraq and the United States of America. Colonel Martin's courage and heroism reflect great credit upon himself and uphold the highest traditions of the United States Marine Corps. Signed for the President, Lieutenant General James T. Conway, Commander First Marine Expeditionary Force, United States Marine Corps" The Commandant pinned the medal to Calvin's uniform, then handed him the folder with the citation inside, accompanying the action with a firm handshake. Cal saluted smartly, holding the position until the Commandant returned the gesture. Then he snapped his hand back down to his side, the motion sharp and clean. "Congratulations, Colonel," said the Commandant in a low voice. "Thank you, Sir." A small band played the Stars and Stripes Forever, and the ceremony was over. Harm and Mac made their way through the crowd, slowly working their way over to where Cal stood accepting congratulations, Rashimi by his side. "Congratulations, Colonel," said Mac, smiling warmly and shaking his hand firmly. "You earned it." "Thank you, Colonel," said Calvin, returning the handshake. "I'm still not so sure that I earned it, but I'm working on it." "You have your family by your side, Colonel. They'll help you through it," said Harm, also shaking Calvin's hand. "I have the two of you to thank for that," said Cal. "You gave me back my family." "We couldn't have done it if you weren't ready," said Mac. "All we did was make a phone call. You did the hard part." Calvin shook his head at them and smiled. "Do you two always do that?" Harm and Mac exchanged an innocent grin. "Do what?" they asked, turning back to Cal. "Double team the defense?" They laughed. "Only when it works," said Mac. "If you think this has been interesting, you should see us when we're on opposite sides of a case." Calvin held up his hands in self-defense. "No, thank you. I'll pass." They shared another laugh, and then Harm and Mac excused themselves. Colonel Martin and his family were going to be just fine.. It felt good knowing that as they made their way through the dimming light in the direction of Harm's car. "Wait." Harm stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Do you have plans for the evening?" "You mean other than settling down with a good book and a cold beverage?" He grinned. "Yes. I mean other than that." "Not really, why?" "I thought maybe we could hang out here for a while. Watch the fireworks before heading out." Mac looked at him in mild disbelief. "Have you ever tried to get out of the city after the fireworks display?" He shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry to get home, are you?" She considered him for a moment. "No…" "Then let's stay." He indicated a nearby hot dog stand. "I'll even buy you dinner." He gave her a pleading look, accompanied by that little half smile that never failed to draw out her own smile in response. She finally shrugged and gave in. "You're the one driving." "See that? So if I don't want to go, you're pretty much stuck!" She just shook her head at him and fell into step beside him. "And as long as you're offering dinner…" "Uh oh…" "I'm thinking pizza, some nachos…. Oh! And cotton candy." She grinned at him. "Definitely cotton candy." "You're going to be so sick after all that." "This is me we're talking about, Harm." "Good point." "Oh. And I'd love an ice cold diet soda to wash it all down." Instead of commenting, he took her arm and led her across the mall to a pizza vendor. A few minutes later, pizza slices in hand, they wandered among the crowds. Music blared at them from portable boom boxes. Kids and balloons were everywhere. The crowd was in a good mood, wound up and ready for the coming fireworks display. They wandered around the monuments, something neither of them had taken the time to do in years, and when Mac finished her pizza, Harm took her paper napkin, wadded it up with his, and tossed them into a nearby garbage can. While Harm dealt with the remains of their meal, Mac wandered along the reflecting pool, her eyes drawn to the pinnacle of the Washington Monument. When somebody bumped into her, she turned, expecting it to be Harm. "Hey, pretty lady. Wanna watch the show with me?" Definitely not Harm. This man was big, hairy, and obviously drunk. Mac swallowed her disgust. "Back off." The man threw up his hands in mocking self-defense. "Don't hurt me, lady." His wheedling tone was patently false, a definite threat beneath it. Mac wasn't impressed. "I said back off, Mister." "Is there a problem?" Harm had arrived at her side, his stance possessive and threatening. Mac resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't know which was worse – the drunk trying to hit on her, or Harm treating her like a damsel in distress. Then the humor of the situation struck her, and she laughed outright. "Come on, Harm. He isn't worth the trouble." "Mac, if he was bothering you..." "Harm." She waited until he looked at her. "Let it go." He finally shrugged, glared threateningly at the drunk, and followed her down the walk. Mac was still chuckling. "What?" "You." "What about me?" "You're funny." "I am not." His voice rose defensively, but she ignored it. "Did you see that guy?" she chuckled. "He was about as physically fit as a water buffalo. Not exactly a threat." Harm started to look amused. "A water buffalo, huh?" "Besides, there are enough police floating around here to choke the Panama Canal." She grinned at him. "Come on. Let's go find a place to watch the show. It's almost time." A few minutes later, they'd staked out a claim to a couple of steps at the Lincoln Memorial. It wasn't the perfect solution to their uniform dilemma, but dirt would be a lot easier on the dry cleaners than grass stains – especially when it came to Harm's summer whites. Gradually, boom boxes quieted and people began to settle down. There was something about this time of day on the Fourth that was almost reverent. Mac had attended fireworks displays in many different places over the years and always, during the last few minutes before the show, an unspoken message seemed to pass through the crowd, and as the anticipation grew, so did the quiet. She and Harm were quiet too, and it occurred to Mac that she was comfortable with the silence. She didn't feel the need to fill the empty spaces. Instead, she found herself fighting the urge to relax into him. The result was that she suddenly heard Harm chuckle softly. "What's so funny?" she asked. "You." "What?" "I just found myself thinking about room dividers again." She tried to glare at him, wound up grinning instead, and settled for a shrug. "C'mere," he said, patting his shoulder and holding out his arm. "I won't bite. Promise." "Harm," she reminded him, "we're in uniform." "It's almost dark, Mac. Nobody's going to notice or care. They'll be too busy watching the show." She considered his offer, and it didn't take long to realize that there couldn't possibly be a better vantage point from which to watch the display. She scooted closer to him, dropping her head to his shoulder, relaxing into the feel of his arm around her shoulders. "Better?" "Much," she said. She felt his smile against her hair, answered it with one of her own, and settled in to watch the show. ************* Much later, Harm escorted her to her door. Ever the gentleman, he refused to just drop her off in front of her apartment - a fact that both amused and flattered her. She unlocked the door, then turned back to him. "Thanks for the ride," she said. "Anytime." "I'll see you Monday?" "Bright and early." She turned to go inside, but his hand on her arm stopped her. "Mac." She turned back. "Yes?" "I just wanted to tell you, before I forget, that you did a good thing." "I did?" "Colonel Martin might never have found his way home if it hadn't been for you." "As I recall," she said. "You had something to do with that, too." "Hey, can't you take a compliment?" "I can if you can," she said, meeting his gaze. Something in his eyes caught and held her, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth that shut out the rest of the world. She had the hazy idea that she should get inside and close the door, but it was already too late. Too late to stop herself from stepping closer to him, her breath catching on a sigh when he wrapped his arms around her. Too late to keep her eyes from drifting shut or her hands from settling on his shoulders. And definitely too late to keep her from tilting her head up to his. He dipped to meet her, hesitated for a single heartbeat, and then gently settled his lips onto hers. The kiss was warm and achingly tender, bringing unbidden tears to her eyes as she sketched his biceps with her palms. She felt his arms tighten around her and had the vague notion that she should pull away, that their relationship wasn't ready for this yet. But almost before the thought could take shape in her mind, he drew back, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes going wide with shock and apology. "Mac…I'm sorry. I had no right." Mac scrambled to pull herself together enough to form a coherent reply. "I…" "If you feel a sudden urge to slap me for that little indiscretion, I'll understand. I know I was way out of line…" "Harm." He stumbled to a stop, and she almost smiled at the wide eyed panic on his face. She was still in shock herself though, and she could barely form a logical thought of her own, much less respond to his obvious concern. She settled for the mundane, hoping to ease him on his way so she could escape into her apartment and puzzle over what had just happened. She laid her hand gently on his chest, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. "Thanks for bringing me home." "You're welcome." He relaxed slightly, and the corners of his mouth eased into a smile. "Goodnight," she said, her hand already on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Mac." She watched him turn and disappear down the stairs. Then she went inside. The door closed quietly behind her, and the empty hallway slipped into darkness.
**** The End ****
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