An Ocean, Two Continents, Eight Time Zones and Heartache Between Them

Author's Note- Welcome reader to my debut writing attempt here!

I realize that More than 11years have trickled by since we've last seen them on the TV, for better or worse, I blame their abrupt departure on incompetent writers who lost their feel for their characters. I detested the last three seasons. Simply put, they sucked! Despite my lack of enjoyment in the last seasons, the story I'm about to tell will follow the series closely up until the last few episodes; which I intend to discard entirely in order to rewrite them for my own personal enjoyment, and hopefully yours as well; save one tragic twist of events.

Why tell the story now, after all this time? I guess I'm just in a JAG frame of mind, because for the last week, I have not been able to get one of my favorite would-be TV couples off my mind. I've been reading fiction posted here and… I miss them!

Although I have not posted here before, nor have I written anything previously for Harm & Mac, I have written other fan fiction based on the writings of a much loved author elsewhere. Plus, although I cannot yet see the entire story clearly, I have the bones of one rattling around inside my head, and the skeleton wants to dance! I know my process well enough; the complete story will be unknown to me unless I start writing. So with that said, I am letting the skeleton out of the closet! His story is begging to be told, and I fear I shall have no peace from his rattling about until I comply!

I'm glad you decided to join Harm, Mac & me on this adventure! You should expect it to be a multi-chapter story full of surprises as I'm not quite certain where it will lead us. At this point, I am their storyteller and their typist. Only Harm and Mac know where we're headed for sure … Or do they? They never really seemed to know exactly where they were going before; only that, wherever it was, they were going together! So, let's catch up with them, shall we?

Disclaimer: I do not own JAG, or its characters. DPB owned them, and if you ask me, his ownership privileges should have been revoked before the beginning of the eighth season. No, I don't own them, but I love them.

Chapter One – She Misses Him

Saturday, August 18, 2007 16:30 Hours

Colonel Sarah Mackenzie's Office; San Diego California

With a flourish, she scrawls her signature on an unhappy Petty Officer's request for transfer and dumps it in her outbox. Let someone else deal with her! The woman doesn't belong here anyway; or even in uniform for that matter. Consistent tardiness, petty squabbles with coworkers, and mild to moderate insubordination are all a part of the woman's file. Morale in Mac's office is good. Her staff seems to like and respect her. Well, with the exception of Petty Officer Christine Brandon

Alone in the office, Mac shakes her head in frustration over Brandon's behavior and rises from her chair. Discouraged, she turns to gaze out the window behind her desk and watches the comings and goings of men and women in uniform as, not for the first time, her private thoughts leave her feeling cold and lonesome. The sun of the late summer afternoon outside her window does nothing to warm her. She stands at ease; hands clasped behind her back. It's Saturday and where is she? In her office again, that's where. She hasn't had a day off in over two years. Correction; she hasn't taken a day off in over two years. "I should." she thinks. "I should just pack my briefcase and walk out the door until 0700 Monday." But she knows she won't. Where would she go? Home to her empty little two-bedroom cottage on the beach? No. There's nothing to do there. These days she's best at work.

At work her mind is active; preoccupied by the now mundane, if once exciting, details of her job. At home, with nothing to do, she starts to think; and she shouldn't think. She shouldn't think because every time she does she thinks of him. She misses him. She misses him in a way that pierces her soul and leaves her temporarily unable to breathe. Realizing she's done it again, she inhales deeply and shoves thoughts of him away. Grudgingly, stubbornly her mind returns to work. God, when did she start to hate her job?

She still loves being a Marine, but gone are the days of courtroom battles, lively case debates, TAD assignments, and investigations abroad. Now it's managing her office. Now it's all about managing the people under her. Giving orders, paperwork, and settling ridiculous personnel disputes. She wonders if A.J. Chegwidden felt this way after leaving his SEAL duty behind. Thoughts of her former CO make her smile sadly. He had no trouble commanding JAG, but she knows now how terribly bored he must've been. There's just no fire in her blood anymore.

At length, she mutters, "Suck it up Marine!" for her own benefit and turns back to her desk. She catches sight of the small photograph of herself and a small, dark haired, dark eyed girl who might well have been her daughter in another life.

Laura is a brilliant gem; the one bright spot in her life here in San Diego. In the photograph both of them are smiling. The child is in her lap, hugged tightly from behind while Mac's chin lightly rests on her slender shoulder; both of them on the verge of giggling over some silly thing photographer said. Who took the photograph? Mac isn't sure she remembers, but then again, maybe she just doesn't want to.

Laura is her niece, and Laura makes her recent tedious and often maddening reunion with her mother worth the struggle.

After Joseph Mackenzie's funeral many years before, Mac had turned away from the scant, nearly nonexistent, group of mourners, expecting to find her mother at the rear of the gathering as she had been only moments before. Sarah had wanted to speak with her only to find her gone. Her disappointment had lasted only seconds. What else could she expect from the woman who abandoned her on her 15th birthday? With no knowledge of how to contact her, Mac had once again pushed thoughts of her mother out of her mind. Twice left, without so much as a goodbye on either occasion, she decided she was better off for the absence.

Then, on a Tuesday afternoon a year and ½ ago she had been sitting in the sun at a local sidewalk cafe; sipping espresso on her lunch break, and reading the paper. She lowered her paper when she heard her first name called out in the form of a question with the lilt of surprise.

Mac jaw dropped. She wasn't sure if she wanted to approach or flee the scene. Immobilized by her indecision, she stood helplessly, watching as Deanne O'Hara called her name again and hurried forward. She was carrying numerous shopping bags, and closely followed by a woman with badly bleached blond hair, and the dark eyed little beauty now seen in the photograph on Mac's desk. Laura. The child had trailed behind the two women valiantly struggling to keep up with them. She was hindered by a complicated looking brace that covered her left leg hip to toe, and the need for a small walker that assisted her to stand upright. Laura looked tired on that first day but smiled brightly at the stranger in the Marine uniform. The blonde woman was noticeably younger than Mac and with a painfully awkward introduction by her mother, Cassandra O'Hara was revealed to be her sister.

Somehow Mac managed to overcome her shock and shake the younger woman's hand; if somewhat stiffly. "Just call me Casey; not Cassandra okay?" she bubbled while Mac nodded numbly and stared at Casey's face.

Her first observation about her newly found sister was that there could be no doubt of their kinship because the poor girl was the spitting image of Joseph Mackenzie. God help her, Mac thought privately.

Before she could form any verbal response, Casey had pulled her hand free of Mac's and opted instead to throw her arms around her in an unexpected and totally unwanted embrace. Mac stood there, unprepared to respond, straight-spined and stiff as a sentry as Casey gushed. "I've heard so much about you!"

"I can't say the same." Mac thought bitterly as she was forced to inhale the scents of cheap cigarettes and liquor in the other woman's hair and on her clothes. Desperate to be released from the overzealous hug, Mac had placed her palms against Casey's shoulders. Gently pushing back and stepping away, she had asked to know Laura's name and invited the tired little girl to sit in the empty chair at her table. Laura's "thank you" was barely above a whisper, but her smile was brilliant. If not for her, Mac would have turned and walked away without ever looking back.

Yes, Laura is worth the newly forming difficult relationships with her mother, and even with her sister, though Mac can't say she likes the 22-year-old woman very much. Just shy of 16 years younger, Mac finds her to be overly self-absorbed and indulgent and largely unconcerned with the welfare of her young daughter.

Mac picks up the photograph on her desk and looks at the sweet face of her niece closely. She chides herself privately for being judgmental about Casey's relationship with Laura. She feels that her observations are not unwarranted, but she also knows that there is a small part of her that resents Casey.

She has come to know now what she had not known when she was 15. Her mother had discovered that she was pregnant with another of Joe's children. She simply couldn't bear to bring another child into the unhappy house and she also knew that she would never be able to manage caring for herself, Sarah, and a newborn. Fleeing, and leaving Sarah behind, was heartbreaking but the only logical option she felt she had. Once again, at the memory of hearing this explanation of her mother's sudden departure from her life, angry bile churns in the Marine's stomach.

She stares at Laura's wide expressive eyes and desperately wishes for the train wreck of her childhood not to be revisited upon this child. She desperately wishes that she had someone to talk to, someone to share her dark worries with. She almost reaches for the phone, but suddenly she can't stop the tears from coming as she recalls the last time she saw him. She remembers the unbearable pain of his parting words. She knows he didn't mean the terrible thing he said to her. He was grieving. She knows that. She should call him; she knows that too. She doesn't pick up the phone. She misses him.