JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and are fictional.
..................................................................................

2230 Hours
Staff housing
Marine Base Quantico

It had been another loud night at the Ryan bungalow. A voice...angry and intense...filled the night air. It was something that had almost become routine over the past few years...as common as the crickets which fought to be heard over the din.

Then a shot rang out...and a second. Suddenly what had become an otherwise typical night at the Ryan's took on bizarre and lethal overtones. Quietly, Rhonda McLeash, the local busybody picked up her phone.

"Hello...security?" she whispered, as though the unseeing moon would hold her accountable. "I don't want to identify myself, but I think I just heard gunshots..."

...............................

0800 Hours -The next morning
JAG headquarters
Admiral Chegwidden's Office

Mac crossed the bullpen toward the Admiral's office, a little more slowly than usual, her left hand favoring an area just above her kidney.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" Bud questioned as he fell into step behind her. Back bothering you?"

"No...I'm okay, Bud. I just...slept too long on my left side. I'm a little stiff this morning, that's all."

"The years catching up with you, Ma'am?" he joked.

Mac turned, her look stifling his mirth in no uncertain terms.

"Yes...no Ma'am! Sorry Ma'am!" he responded, wide eyed, as he knocked on the Admiral's door.

"Enter. Take a seat, Lieutenant. Where's Commander Rabb?" he asked, staring at Colonel MacKenzie. I don't suppose that either of you have seen him this morning?

"He'll be along shortly, Sir. He was right behind us the last time I looked," Mac answered. "What's happening, Sir?"

"Actually, Colonel, I didn't request you this morning." Chegwidden replied, addressing her. "I'm sure you have enough to do with the Simmon's case on your plate. I'll just let you go on about your duties...and give the Commander a nudge if you see him, would you?"

Mac was puzzled. Something was up. She'd read a 'flash' message concerning a murder at Quantico. Why hadn't she been requested?

"Aye aye, Sir. Are you sure, Sir?"

The Admiral gave her a look that said (What do you think?). "...and hurry Commander Imes along too, if you will."

"Commander Imes? Yes Sir."

Mac left the office more than a little puzzled. Sure, Carolyn Imes specialized in murder cases, but this was a MARINE murder case. Why was she being shuffled aside?

Mac turned to see Harm and Carolyn entering the Admiral's office. This was just too much. The Simmon's case was a simple "Drunk and Disorderly"...she could handle it in her sleep. In fact, she was expecting a plea bargain at any minute. Why was she being excluded from the Quantico murder?

"Gunny..." Mac smiled, crossing to Galindez' desk, "What's up with this Quantico thing? Why is Commander Imes on it instead of..."

"I don't know, Ma'am. But it's a murder case...that much I know. Some Marine Captain murdered her husband in base housing...said he raped her. Looks like a pretty big mess to me."

Mac scowled. From what she recalled of the specific parameters of 'rape' in the UCMJ, it was a pretty big mess indeed.

"Gunny...could I have a look at the particulars of the case when you're done processing the paperwork?"

Galindez nodded his head. "No problem, Ma'am."

"Thanks, Gunny, I'll be in my office."

"Yes Ma'am."

Still frowning, Mac returned to her desk and keyed in the appropriate code on her computer to bring up Article 920. 120, the UCMJ provision outlining the crime of rape.

It read:

920.120. a) Any person subject to this chapter who commits an act of sexual intercourse with a female not his wife, by force and without consent, is guilty of rape and shall be punished by death or such other punishment as a court-martial may direct.

It was still there...she knew it would be, some things never changed. Her eyes scanned the phrase "...sexual intercourse with a female not his wife..." once again. It was the old "Marital Rape Exemption". If Imes (or Harm?) was going to plan the Captain's case based on self-defense, they'd have a hard time of it. According to the UCMJ, the crime of rape was not a criminal offense if it took place between a man and his wife. It was a loophole...a bad one...

....and it could leave the Captain open to capital punishment.

Mac was incensed. In this matter the UCMJ was totally inadequate...antiquated. Marriage should not preclude a woman from saying "no", it should not eliminate her right to decide what happened to her own body. Marital "sex on demand" was an outdated notion...a shameful one...and one which the military could well do without.

This was more than a murder trial. In this case, the UCMJ itself could very well be a co-defendant. So why was she being left out?

(a knock)

"Enter."

"Ma'am, here's the paperwork you requested. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you Gunny. That'll be all."

"Aye aye, Ma'am." he replied, a quizzical look on his face. "Ma'am?

"Yes, Gunny?"

"I just heard that Commander Rabb is prosecuting, with Lieutenant Roberts sitting second chair."

"And Commander Imes is acting for the defense, then." she said, her expression less than satisfied.

"Yes Ma'am, she is..."

"Thank you, Gunny. That'll be all."

Silently she watched as Harm and Bud left the Admiral's office. It was all she could do not to charge over to Harm's desk and ask to talk to him about the case...to see if he could put in a 'good word' with the Admiral...but that wouldn't be professional. She'd just have to fight her own battles...

Patiently, she began to sift through the copies that Galindez had delivered.

The Captain... one Sylvia Ryan... had been married for ten years to Arnold Ryan, a civilian computer consultant. She had a daughter, Heather, who was now fifteen, and was the product of a former liaison. The family had made their home in base housing on Marine Corps Base Quantico.

According to the initial investigation, Captain Ryan had been subjected to many years of verbal and sexual abuse at the hands of her husband. Then finally, unable to tolerate any more, she'd pulled her service revolver and found a way to end the situation herself... permanently.

In this case, considering the length of time the defendant had to consider her response, the Navy was charging Captain Ryan with first degree murder ...

....a crime which could warrant the death penalty.

......................

0830 Hours - same morning
Admiral Chegwidden's office.

Admiral Chegwidden sat staring at Colonel Mackenzie.

"Colonel, what can I do for you? We're having a conference here...can't it wait?" he asked, indicating the other occupant of the room, Carolyn Imes.

"Well, Sir, what I have to say may have some bearing on the case."

"Go on..."

"Concerning the charge of murder, Sir. If this crime had taken place almost anywhere other than under military jurisdiction, it would be considered a case of self defense."

"Colonel..." Now it was Carolyn Imes who spoke. "This case falls clearly under military jurisdiction. Everyone is in agreement on that point. Exactly what are you getting at?"

"The Marital Rape Exemption has been repealed to some degree in every state in the union.," Mac said addressing the irate attorney. Is it fair to try Captain Ryan without legal consideration for the circumstances, simply because she's in the Navy?"

Imes shook her head. "Mac...if you're suggesting that I place the Navy on trial here, then you're severely misdirected. This is the murder trial of Captain Sylvia Ryan...nothing more. I'll be defending this case by the book...the UCMJ, and until the 'Code" changes, I'll be adhering to its articles...as is."

"I see," Mac stated simply. Then, turning to the Admiral she continued.

"Sir, do you believe that the accused deserves the best defense available?"

"I beg your pardon, Colonel. Are you questioning my impartiality here?" he asked, his posture straightening... eyes flashing.

"No Sir. Of course not Sir. With all due respect, I'm counting on it. I'd like to request that I replace Commander Imes on defense, if that's possible."

"Your reason being...?"

"I propose a different tactical approach, Sir...a more effective one...more aggressive. I believe that self-defense is a more accurate plea, and that the UCMJ itself should be brought into question in this case."

"Colonel," Chegwidden replied patiently, "Commander Imes is a fine litigator. I respect her judgement. I'm not about to alter the disposition of counsel in this case based on your tactical disagreements. Am I clear?"

Mac stood silent.

"I said... am I clear, Colonel?"

She knew that she was treading on thin ice, but still she forged ahead. "Sir, could I speak to you privately?"

AJ heaved a sigh. She wasn't going to make this easy.

"Alright... if you must. Commander, you're dismissed. I'll let you know if we need to go over anything else."

Imes rose, giving Mac a chill and hostile look.

"Aye aye, Sir" she acknowledged, then turned and closed the door behind her.

"Alright, Colonel...you have your audience. Now, just exactly what is it that you have to say?"

"Admiral," Mac began, settling herself into a chair. "I don't understand why I'm being excluded from this case. This situation involves a Marine...on a Marine base. I would seem the logical choice for defense, Sir."

He'd been expecting this. He knew that Mac wouldn't take this lying down, and now he'd have to find his way through the maze of landmines that lay before him.

"Colonel. Are you suggesting that anything Marine-related that comes across my desk automatically becomes your concern?"

"No, Sir. Of course not, Sir. It's just that in this case, I believe that I'm better qualified to handle the ramifications involved."

AJ studied his desk blotter. "Mac," he began, circling the desk, "You know that I'm aware of your relationship with your father, aren't you?"

"Yes Sir. We discussed it at the time of his death. Why, Sir?"

"Well, Mac. Don't you see a parallel here? A drunken, abusive husband...a victimized wife...a teenaged daughter. It's your life all over again. How could you...or anyone...stay objective under those circumstances? I assigned Carolyn Imes because she could maintain her distance...do the job and be done with it. I don't believe that you can..."

There, he'd said it. AJ sat back and watched for signs of the inevitable backlash that he knew was right around the corner.

"Sir...you underestimate me! The fact that this is my 'life all over again', just means that I'm the perfect one to handle it! Who else would have my insight into the matter?"

Mac scowled, "Carolyn will defend this case as a murder indictment ...pure and simple...but it's much more than that. My personal involvement motivates me to do what needs to be done...take the UCMJ to task. It's long overdue, Sir. We both know it. And I'm the only one willing to put my career on the line to do it."

"Sir, with all due respect...I'm the best defense this woman has."

She was right. The Admiral knew that he'd lost to a superior argument. "And what happens if the implications of this case become more that you can handle...on a personal level that is?" he challenged.

Mac breathed deeply. "If it does, Sir, then I'll remove myself from the case."

"I have your word on that?" he pressed.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well...it's against my better judgement, but if Commander Imes is willing, then I'll approve the change. I would, however, like Lieutenant Singer to sit second chair for the defense...just to insure continuity in the case if this decision turns out to be a mistake."

"Aye aye, Sir...and thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me yet. This is Commander Imes call. If she's unwilling to relinquish this case, then it's all hers. Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly, Sir."

................................

2100 hours that evening
Sarah MacKenzie's apartment
Georgetown

"You what!" he fairly shouted. "Mac, this is crazy! Why in the world would you put yourself in this position?"

"No it isn't crazy Harm...or at least it doesn't have to be. Are you saying that you think I'm not professional enough to handle it?

"Mac...you know that's not the case. I just...well...listen. If a case came up that paralleled the situation with my Dad, wouldn't you be concerned?"

"Concerned, yes. But I'd have faith that you could handle it. I'm not a vulnerable teenager any more, Harm. I can handle this objectively. You're worrying for nothing."

"How do you know that, Mac? At least be honest enough to admit the possibility. You've got your head in the sand. You've requested an assignment to a case where your objectivity is in line for a real beating. Be real! This is a train wreck waiting to happen."

"Mac, be reasonable..."

"I am being reasonable, Harm. I'm the best person to defend Sylvia Ryan...even Carolyn Imes had to admit it. Are you expecting this woman to entrust her future, possibly her life to anything less than the best defense she can get? Don't professional ethics enter into this at all?"

"Of course they do!" he replied irritably. But don't think that I'm going to pull my punches just because..."

"Harm," she interrupted, "I'm not asking for any favors. I've never done that before, and I won't now. I fully expect you to prosecute this case to the fullest extent of your ability...and then I plan to beat you."

"You're a hard woman to argue with, Sarah MacKenzie," he scowled.

"I know," she smiled, "I'm counting on it."

........................

0800 Hours
The Brig
Marine Base Quantico

"So tell me what happened?" she asked, facing her client over the austere, metallic tabletop. "Start with the day your husband died. Was there anything unusual going on?"

"I don't know if you'd call it unusual, Ma'am," replied the slim, mousy brunette, the hopelessness evident in her eyes. "Arnie came home drunk again, but that wasn't unusual. It happened maybe once or twice a week."

"And how long had this been going on?" questioned Mac, her voice empathetic...understanding.

"Maybe five years or more, Ma'am. Ever since he started having problems at work. He'd come home upset...drunk usually, and mean. Arnie was a mean drunk, Ma'am."

Mac knew the type...had lived with the type. "He was having problems at work, Captain? What kind of problems?"

"Well...holding a job, mostly." she replied, running her fingers through her dull, limp hair. "Arnie never wanted to keep up with current trends. In the computer business that's a death sentence. After a while it got to the point where he couldn't keep a job. He became more and more angry...blamed everyone but himself...and started taking it out on me."

Sylvia Ryan's hands began to shake, but to her credit, she placed them in her lap and kept the tears at bay.

"Captain, what happened on the night he died?" Mac prodded gently, her own hand tightening around the pen she held.

"Well, he came home drunk again," Ryan began, her voice quavering, "and as usual he wanted to...you know...have sex."

"Go on, Sylvia, I'm listening," Mac encouraged, reaching across the table.

"When he's not drunk, Ma'am, everything's fine, if you know what I mean. But when he's had too much, he's rough...abusive...it's like he's trying to punish me for something. Do you understand?"

"So you told him 'No'? Is that what you're saying?"

"No Ma'am...I didn't. I was afraid to. Every time I told him 'no' he went crazy...like he was just waiting for me to say it so he'd have an excuse to hit me again. I'd been in and out of the emergency room so many times that people were beginning to become suspicious. So I tried to talk him out of it...get him to think about something else, or hold out long enough for him to pass out. But I never said 'no'. I couldn't."

"And had this happened before, Sylvia?"

"Yes Ma'am. Many times. It's been going on for years. I just couldn't take it anymore. So when he started to force me into the bedroom that night, I just snapped! My service revolver was nearby...I keep it handy because Arnie is away a lot...and I grabbed it...and I shot him."

Mac sat quietly, pensively...as though digesting the information. Ryan hadn't said 'no', but rape was still rape even without that specific verbalization, if it could be proved that the victim had reason to fear telling her assailant to stop. The Captain's hospital records should be an asset on that count.

"Were there any witnesses, Captain. Did anyone see or hear anything on the night of the killing...or any other time? Where was your daughter on the night Arnie died?"

"No...no one was around. Someone made an anonymous call to security, but I don't know who...and my daughter went for a walk. She didn't like being around when her step-dad was drunk. By the time she got back, the police were already there."

"What about other times. Did she see anything then?"

Sylvia Ryan grew silent, her eyes tracing the multitude of scratches that criss-crossed the table. "I don't want her called as a witness, Ma'am. I want her left out of this. Will she have to testify?"

"Sylvia...she could be our key witness. Our whole case may hinge on whether or not we can convince the members that there was sufficient history for you to feel threatened at the time of the killing. The medical records will help, but we'll need Heather's testimony too. Why won't you let her help you?"

"She's been through enough, Colonel. I won't put her through any more. Do you think the prosecution'll call her?"

Mac had expected tears, but her client remained dry-eyed and resigned. The life had been beaten out of her, and it showed. All that remained was the broken shell of a woman who deserved better...better circumstances...a better husband...a better life.

Mac knew the look. It was one that she'd lived with for the first fifteen years of her life. It was the look that her mother had carried until the day she had fled into the night...never to return. It was a look that she'd never wanted to see again.

Mac shook her head. "I doubt it. Her testimony would only weaken their case. If I don't call her, then I don't think anyone will. May I ask you something, Sylvia?"

"What's that, Ma'am?"

Mac closed her file. "Why didn't you ask for help? Why didn't you leave him? Why stay married to a man who drags you through hell?"

It was only then that the tears began to flow. Ashamed, Sylvia smeared them away with the back of her hand and began to breathe deeply...shakily.

"It's hard to explain, Ma'am. It's...well I guess it goes back a long way. I had Heather when I was 16...just a kid. Her father was a boy that I knew at school. He took to the road just after he learned that I was pregnant. So I lived with my folks...had Heather...then went back to school to finish up. Then I decided to join the Marines...maybe start a new life for Heather and me."

Captain Ryan paused to compose herself. "Heather stayed with my folks while I was stationed overseas...until she was five. Then I met Arnie. He was so kind...so gentle, and when we got married and got a little place on base, I thought everything had finally come together for us."

"And then what?" Mac prompted, needing to hear the outpourings of this woman's heart.

"And then things started to change. He began to have problems at work. He started to smash up the place...and then one night it wasn't enough. He started to push me around, trying to...you know...and he hurt me...bad."

"The next morning he brought me breakfast in bed...with a flower from the garden. He told me he was sorry, and promised that it'd never happen again...but it did. The next time was pretty much the same thing...with more promises the next morning."

"Then I finally got up the nerve to say 'no'. Well, Ma'am, he still did what he wanted, only this time I ended up driving myself to the emergency room with a broken arm. I told 'em I fell down the stairs, but I don't think they believed me."

"At first I kept thinking that things would change...go back to the way they used to be, so I hung on. Then I didn't want to leave Heather without a father, so I hung on some more. By then I was too ashamed to leave."

"Arnie said that it was all my fault...that a woman shouldn't ever tell her husband 'no', and I believed him for a while. Finally, he said that if I left him, he'd find me...and kill me...and Heather too. I couldn't take that risk, Ma'am...so I stayed. But that last night, I just couldn't take it anymore."

.......................

Mac dragged herself wearily through the door, her interview with Sylvia Ryan weighing heavily on her mind.

Consumed by echoes from her own past, she chose a frozen (something) from the freezer compartment of her refrigerator, and popped it into the microwave.

Sylvia Ryan's rationale for staying with her abusive husband nagged incessantly at her consciousness. Was this the reason that her own Mother had stayed for so long? Was it the reason that she had finally left?

Sarah recalled the last time she had seen her Mother... for the first time in almost 17 years...at her Father's deathbed. She'd changed... drastically. The years with Joe MacKenzie had ground her down, and then life had swept her away.

What was left was something that Sarah, now grown, had found almost unrecognizable. Her eyes had been lifeless (had they been that way before?), the reflection of a soul that had long since eroded into nothingness. Her neglected appearance gave the hint of tales untold...but it was her voice that continued to haunt her daughter's nights. It was the voice of someone old beyond her years...tired of simply existing...someone who felt that she owed the world an apology for just being alive.

Sarah had made a promise that she would never allow herself to be crushed by any person...man or woman...as her Mother had been. But had her Mother made a similar vow once upon a time as well? Did anyone really PLAN to be the victim of life's shortcomings?

Taking her dinner (was it chicken?) into the living room, Mac sat down and began to review her notes. It was then that the doorbell began to chime.

"Hello in there," a voice called from beyond the door.

It was Harm. The ambivalence that swept over her felt disquieting...uncomfortable. Irritably, she tried to brush it aside. "Just a minute...I'm coming." she called, trying to sound receptive.

"I have a Beltway burger here for you...mystery meat on a bun. Hurry, I think it's trying to escape..."

Mac threw open the door. "Very funny 'veggie-man'. Just toss it my way and count your fingers. This is comfort food, and boy do I need it!"

Harm looked concerned. "I'd ask you to tell me all about it, but I know that I can't. So...maybe I can just offer some generic support instead." he smiled awkwardly...wishing subconsciously that the distance between them was less platonic.

Mac felt something basic, something visceral begin to tighten within her. This was crazy...this was Harm! He wasn't Arnold Ryan or Joseph MacKenzie. He was her best friend! Where were these feelings coming from?

"Commander, I think you have just what I need," she joked, taking the burger from his hand. "Just let me put this stuff away," she added, collecting her case files from the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to let on just how thoroughly I plan to beat you!"

"By all means, counselor. Not that it's going to do you any good..." he joked

Harm watched as she tucked the files away in her desk. She looked tired tonight...depressed. He wanted to act as her confidant...longed to give her the outlet that she was lacking, but he couldn't. Things must be going badly. She needed him, but all he could do was to 'be there', and care...and it hurt him more than he could say.

Gratefully, Mac returned to the couch, kicking her shoes in all directions. "Boy, I don't know why I ever bought these...they're terrible. I can't remember when my feet have ached so much!"

Harm smiled. Now THIS was a department that he could handle. "Why don't you just lean back and let the 'Master of Massage' take over?" he offered. "Ten minutes under my 'magic fingers', and your aching feet will be just a dim memory."

Mac rolled her eyes. "'Master of Massage?' Are you kidding? I feel my burger rising..."

Quickly, he plopped her left foot onto his lap.

"Harm!" she laughed, a smile spreading contagiously across her face. "You're crazy!"

"That's what they all say, but once I get done massaging those toes you'll be begging for more." He grinned. It was good to hear her laugh. He hadn't held much hope...

Decadently, she stretched out atop the sofa, her bare foot snuggled warmly in Harm's lap. Then slowly, one-by-one, Harm began to massage her instep... working her toes... stroking her ankle. Where she had once been tense and intractable, she now became limp and malleable beneath his warm and sensitive touch. This was good...this was very good.

Mac lay the burger on the coffee table and leaned her head back against the arm of the sofa... lost in the warmth of his touch.

It was then that the feeling of disquiet...of foreboding overcame her. Visions of Arnold Ryan came flooding through her mind. In a panic she leaped to her feet.

"No!" she burst out. "Don't...don't touch me!" she stuttered, her eyes wild with unbidden fear.

"Mac! I'm sorry! What did I do?" he asked, shaken. Something significant had just happened, but he had no idea what.

"Talk to me, Mac." he pleaded, his hands outspread though he'd been caught robbing Fort Knox. "Tell me what this is all about. What just happened here?"

"I...I...can't Harm. That's all...I just can't. I don't know why...I just..."

"Hey...it's all right...it's okay. It's just me...did I do something wrong?"

And then he realized what the problem was...what had sent her into this quagmire of fear and confusion. It was the Ryan case. It was bringing up old memories... memories of her parents...memories that tied her up in knots. He'd been afraid of this, but he hadn't been ready for such an extreme response.

"I'm not Arnold Ryan," he said simply...gently, "...and I'm not Joe MacKenzie either. I'd never hurt you, Mac...never. You can count on that."

Mac stared at him, as though discovering a malignancy...and then her gaze softened. He was right. He wasn't Ryan, or her father either. He didn't deserve to be 'tarred with the same brush'. He was better than that...much better.

"I'm sorry, Harm. I'm really sorry. You're right...you're right. I just..."

"I know, Sarah. It's okay. I understand. But I think you need to examine your feelings on this. You're becoming too involved...too personal. It's already tearing you apart. What's going to happen once the trial begins?"

Sarah heaved a sigh of relief. He was right, but she couldn't give up now. She couldn't let Sylvia Ryan down.

Harm took in the tortured expression on her face. She'd been there for him so many times in the past... but what could he do to reciprocate? Desperately, he wanted to reach out to her...to draw the pain from her eyes, but he knew that his touch was the last thing that she needed just then.

Slowly, Harm walked toward the door. She needed space, and as much as he wanted to stay, he had to respect that need... and give it to her.

"Call me, Mac. Anytime...day or night, and I'll be here. Okay?"

Mac smiled weakly, her face a maze of confusion. "I'll hold you to that, Harm." she promised.

Then, silently, he closed the door and was lost from sight.

There, in the silence of her living room, Sarah sank onto the sofa and allowed the feelings that had been threatening all day to wash over her. Then, slowly, she covered her face with her hands...

....and cried.

.........................

1200 Hours
The Brig
Marine Base Quantico

"What was it you needed to see me about, Sylvia? You said it was urgent?"

The bedraggled Captain gripped the edge of the table. "It's about my daughter, Colonel MacKenzie. I need help...I don't know where to turn..."

"Well, what is it, Sylvia? I'll see what I can do." Mac offered the distraught woman.

"Colonel, Heather's been staying with neighbors since...the incident. But they say that they can't keep her any more. She's...not easy to live with. They say that they can't handle her. Child Protective Services were here this morning. They want to take her to some detention center! After all she's been through! Can you help? Please...I'm desperate."

Mac searched her mind for a solution, but none was forthcoming. All of her acquaintances were either happily child-free, or already had a house full. There didn't seem to be any help in sight for a troubled teen.

Then, from out of the blue, she found herself offering to take Heather, temporarily, to her apartment... at least until better arrangements could be made.

Sylvia was overwhelmed with gratitude. Breathing a sigh of relief, she thanked Mac profusely, vowing to pay her back for her kindness if ever the opportunity arose.

"It's just for a little while, Sylvia." Mac cautioned. "Just until the trial's over, or until a better situation comes up. Is that understood?"

"Understood, Ma'am. I can't ask for more than that. You've saved my life, Ma'am...again."

"Well, lets take one rescue at a time, Captain. I'll pick Heather up this afternoon, and see if I can get home assignments from her high school, so that she won't get behind while she's with me. Then we'll take it from there. Is there anything I should know?"

"Well, she's sort of...different, Ma'am...moody, you understand? But she's really sweet once you get past the facade, though, you know what I mean?"

Mac thought back to her own angst-ridden life at 15. If Heather was anything like young Sarah MacKenzie, then she would indeed be moody...in the extreme...and a handful to boot.

"I think I can handle it." Mac assured the grateful woman, uncertainly. "Heather and I will get along fine..."

...............................

1800 Hours - That evening
Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment
Georgetown

"Heather and I will get along fine," she'd said to Sylvia Ryan. "I think I can handle it." But then, face to face with the troubled teenager, she hadn't been so sure.

She'd expected Heather Ryan to be withdrawn, maybe even sullen, but the girl who'd answered the door at the neighbor's house had surprised even her.

Heather's shockingly black (dyed) hair stood out in vivid contrast to the almost oriental paleness of her make-up. A gold stud stood out on the left side of her nose, and her all-to-thin body was clothed from head to toe in clothing that could only be described as 'widow's weeds'.

Mac's eyes had widened. If this was the façade that Sylvia Ryan had tried to prepare her for, then she'd missed the mark. Nothing could have adequately prepared her for this.

"You MacKenzie?" the gothic young woman had questioned bluntly. "I'm packed. Let's get outta here!"

"Yes...I'm COLONEL or MISS MacKenzie. But you can call me Mac if you want. Shouldn't we let your neighbors know that you're leaving?"

"They know." Heather replied briefly. "They're at work. They just want me out of here...so lets go."

At that moment, Mac could understand their feelings completely. Heather would not have been a comfortable person to be around. What had she let herself in for?

Silently, they'd loaded her luggage, a single backpack, into the tiny remaining space in Mac's 'vette, then turned southward toward Quantico High School. Thank heavens the trial would begin tomorrow, she'd thought. Heather Ryan would not be making this easy...

.................................

They'd picked up a few groceries on the way home. Everything, except for the diet Coke and sugarfree gum had been at Mac's suggestions. Didn't this girl eat anything? Finally, adding 2% milk, breakfast cereal, sandwich fixings, produce and a roasted chicken from the deli, the silent duet had returned "home" and settled in for the night.

"You know...I can take care of myself...I don't need YOU." Heather retorted, picking idly at her dinner. "And this chicken 'sucks' big time! The marinade must have been 'urpy'."

"Sounds like you know something about cooking," Mac observed, trying to make a connection with the troubled teen.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to form this big, cuddly 'bond' with MISS MacKenzie?" she replied sullenly, tossing the chicken wing down on the plate. "You wish..."

"What I wish, is that the two of us could find a way to get through this." Mac replied, trying to keep her impatience in check. "Your Mother's trial starts tomorrow. She doesn't need any more problems, so how about getting with the program a little?"

"But I don't need you! Can't you get it through your thick..." Heather looked at the warning glare in Mac's eyes, and backed off...just a little. "I don't need you," she repeated. "I can take care of myself. I don't need anyone."

If the first of Heather's tirade had alienated Mac from the abrasive teen, then the last comment, ("I don't need anyone."), had formed a bridge. It was as though Heather had been channeling a fifteen-year-old Sarah MacKenzie. The parallels were uncanny.

Mac too had been sullen...defiant when her Mother left on the night of her fifteenth birthday. She'd pushed everyone away...fearful of giving anyone the power to hurt her again.

As she had once turned in her torment toward the bottle, then Heather too had found a wall to hide behind as well. Mac looked once again at the gothic make-up and black, suggestive clothing. Was this Heather's way of rebelling against the world around her...the world that had given her nothing but grief?

"Listen, make me a grocery list, okay. Or, better yet, why don't I leave you some money so that you can buy some groceries that aren't so 'urpy'. How does that sound?" Mac offered.

"You're gonna leave me money?"

"A little." Mac confirmed, wondering what the girl was getting at.

"Cool," Heather replied, suppressing the hint of a smile. "Can I get anything I want?"

"Sure...within reason. If you need any toiletries, shampoo and stuff, you can pick those up too. How does that sound?"

Reluctant to adopt a positive tone, Heather rose from her seat and carried her plate to the kitchen. "Where's the garbage?" she questioned abruptly. "I'm done with this. I can't eat it."

"It's under the sink," Mac supplied. "There's not much else here, but you can look around. If you find anything you like, help yourself..."

"Yeah, okay." Heather replied, grabbing another can of diet pop. "This'll do me."

Mac shook her head. If this was a sign of how the girl usually ate, then it was no wonder that she was as thin as a rail.

The sudden knock startled them both. Mac opened the door to find Loren Singer reaching for the doorbell.

"Loren!" Mac greeted, the surprise in her voice barely disguised. "I thought we were all set for tomorrow. What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to go over a few things at the last minute. Mind if I come in?"

"Oh...sure," Mac replied, standing aside. Could this day get any worse? Lt. Singer wasn't someone she particularly liked, or even trusted.

"Heather Ryan...Lt. Singer," Mac introduced. "Lt. Singer is going to be working on your Mother's case with me. Would you like to watch TV in the bedroom while we talk?"

"Shuttle off to kiddieland," Heather muttered sarcastically. "This is lame...so lame! This is MY Mother you're talking about, you know. I'm not some ignorant child!"

Then, turning, she stomped toward the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.

"Nice..." Loren observed. "Have you had your rabies shots?"

"She's okay. She's got a right to be angry. We'll get along fine. Now what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"I just wanted to be sure that I'm up to speed on everything. I mean, if you can't follow through on this...for any reason... then it'll be up to me...right?"

"Right," Mac confirmed, hesitantly. "And I've kept you in the loop on everything so far."

"I just wanted to be sure that you're still going to put the UCMJ on trial. You are, aren't you?"

"Well, it's an unfair and outdated law. Yes...I'm going to fight it. Why?"

"Well, that makes it a landmark case...an important one. This would look good on a resume...I just wanted to be sure that I shine tomorrow. Any advice?"

"Loren...you do know that you're sitting SECOND chair, don't you? I'll be handling most of the courtroom litigation. I thought we understood each other on this."

"I know...I know. But you never know what could happen...like with that parachute incident case. I know that you were innocent, but just look how things turned out!"

Bitterly, Mac surveyed Singer's face. She'd had her suspicions about the young lieutenant's involvement in framing her for 'misconduct and breach of ethics' charges at the time, but she'd never been able to prove anything...and now they were working together.

"Loren...I swear. Anything that I know, you know too. No surprises...I promise. Okay?"

"Okay...no problem. I was just checking," Singer replied heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Silently, Mac closed the door behind her.

"She's a bitch," Mac heard from the now opened bedroom door.

"Heather! Cool it with the 'language', okay?" Mac responded, her irritation evident.

"Why? You don't like her either. I can tell...and she IS a b...witch. You better look out for her. She's out to get you."

"What makes you say that?" Mac questioned, amazed at Heather's insight.

"I can tell...that's all. She's all 'hiss' and 'claws'. If you drop your guard, she'll scratch your eyes out."

"And what about me? Am I all 'hiss and claws' too? Is that why you're doing this Superwoman routine?"

"Maybe..." Heather threw over her shoulder as she returned to the bedroom to watch this week's episode of "Buffy the Vampire Killer". "But then maybe not," she whispered to the empty bedroom, "...maybe not."

......................

0900 Hours
The Courtroom
JAG headquarters

The courtroom was packed.

Women's organizations from all over the country had sent representatives to cover the proceedings. I.D. badges from N.O.W., C.A.S.A., and a multitude of others abounded. The overflow had become so extensive that onlookers had been forced to watch by remote viewing screens from other rooms, and still the compensation was not enough.

Mac was amazed at the crowd that filled the parking lot in front of JAG headquarters. A herd of media personnel jammed the staircase, and only the Marine guard kept them from joining their fellow journalists in the already overcrowded courtroom.

"There's MacKenzie!" someone shouted, and the crowd immediately began to shift in her direction. "Colonel MacKenzie!" hollered one particularly aggressive photographer. "Over here!"

Microphones began to pop up like spring weeds as Mac tried to make her way toward the door. "I have nothing to say." Mac vocalized repeatedly. "This is an ongoing case, gentlemen. I have no comment at this time."

Mac felt the crowd begin to fall back, and was amazed at the degree of consideration she'd been given...then she saw the reason why.

Basking in the limelight, Loren Singer had begun to air her own press conference far out in the parking lot. Drawn by a better prospect, most of the interviewers hurried into the fray, and left Mac to finally enter the building alone.

"Forget your martial arts training?" a familiar voice piped up from the dimly lit hallway. "How are you holding up, Mac. I've been worried about you."

"Harm!" she exclaimed, delighted to see his devil-may-care grin. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to talk to you!"

"Not half as much as I've wanted to talk to you, Mac. I've been waiting for your call...but it never comes. Are you all right?"

"Of course I am. This is just a 'rough patch'. It won't last. Once I get through this trial..."

"I hear that you've got a house guest, Mac. Are you sure that's wise? Don't lose yourself in this...I mean that. You still have a life to live once this is over..."

"I'm okay, Harm. The arrangement with Heather is just temporary...until after the trial. Then she'll be with her Mother again...after I get her off."

"In your dreams, Colonel," Harm grinned. "Don't forget who's opposing counsel."

"I haven't, Harm. Believe me, I haven't."

Then slowly, amicably, the two separated and made their way toward the courtroom. It was the closest that they'd been in days...and now they were going into battle. Mac was glad that he still wanted her friendship at this point, but she wondered what the future would bring...

.................................

A hush fell over the crowd as Mac called her first witness, Dr. James Williams, the primary emergency room physician at the Naval Medical Clinic, MCB Quantico.

She began by handing a document to the presiding judge, Admiral Morrison.

Mac: "Your Honor, I'd like to enter exhibit 'A'...the medical records for my client, Sylvia Ryan. With her permission, her right to confidentiality has been waived, and this evidence may now be entered into the record."

Morrison: "Continue."

Mac: "Dr. Williams. Were you present during any of the dates when Captain Ryan was seen at the emergency room of the Naval Medical Clinic at Marine Base Quantico?"

Williams: "Yes Ma'am." [looks at the chart] "About half of these examinations were mine."

Mac: "And what were your findings on, say, the first examination done by you upon the defendant?"

Williams: [scanning his notations] "Captain Ryan presented with a broken arm, Ma'am, as well as multiple contusions to the upper torso and lower abdominal area."

Mac: "And the date, Captain?"

Williams: "June 7, 1995, Ma'am."

Mac: "How about the next entry, Captain?"

Williams: "August 18, 1995. Captain Ryan had a sprained arm, and again there was a significant amount of bruising present."

Mac: "And the next, Captain?"

Williams: "October 21, 1995. Captain Ryan..."

Harm: "With your Honor's permission... the Prosecution is willing to concede that Captain Ryan has spent more than an average amount of time in the emergency room. For the sake of expediency, let's get on with the testimony."

Morrison: "Permission granted. Proceed Counselor."

Mac: "In your experience, Doctor, have you seen many women accumulate a medical profile similar to that of Captain Ryan?"

Williams: "Yes Ma'am. Unfortunately, I have."

Mac: "And would you say that that they'd been beaten?"

Harm" "Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness."

Mac: "Let me rephrase. In your professional opinion, what has generally been the cause of repeated injuries such as those found on Captain Ryan?"

Williams: "In my opinion, the women I've examined with repeated medical problems such as these have experienced some form of physical abuse, Ma'am."

Mac: "Dr. Williams, at the time of these examinations, was Captain Ryan examined for possible sexual assault?"

Harm: "Objection, Your Honor. This is a murder trial. The deceased is not on trial here, and the suggestion of sexual assault between married partners is irrelevant to the proceedings"

Mac: "Your Honor, this line of questioning goes to motive."

Morrison: "Sidebar, counselors." (Mac and Harm approach the bench) " "Colonel MacKenzie. Where is this leading?"

Mac: "Your Honor. I wish to prove that my client was merely defending herself from what had become a pattern of sexual assault by her husband on the night of the murder."

Harm: "Your Honor. This line of questioning is irrelevant. While the UCMJ DOES recognize the illegality of physical assault, it DOES NOT recognize sexual aggression on the person of legally married individuals, by a spouse, as being illegal."

Morrison: "Colonel?"

[There is was...the old "Marital Rape Exemption"...but Mac was prepared. Perhaps reclassifying 'rape' (which the UCMJ did not consider an illegal act between married individuals) as a "physical assault" (which the UCMJ did consider illegal, even among married couples), but "of a sexual nature" might work. True...it was just a matter of semantics, but sometimes that was all that was required...and she was prepared to try...]

Mac: "Your Honor. The Commander is correct, but with the court's indulgence, I believe that I can show relevance within legal parameters."

Morrison: "I'll give you a limited amount of discretion on this, Colonel, but be warned. You're walking a tightrope. Tread carefully."

Mac: "Yes, Your Honor."

Morrison: "Continue."

Mac: "Captain Williams, in your capacity, have you found that physical assault comes in more than one form?"

Williams: "Yes, of course. As a doctor, I've been trained to handle many types of physical assault."

Mac: "And, does the specific type of physical assault treated, nullify the basic precept that the assault is none-the-less physical in nature?"

Williams" "No, of course not. Any assault that is corporal in nature may be defined as a physical assault."

Mac: "So, in other words, any type of physical assault, say 'assault that is physically sexual by nature', is still none-the-less a physical assault. Is this accurate?"

Harm: "Objection, You Honor. Counsel is attempting to circumvent the fact that sexual assault between married individuals is not recognized as an illegal act under the UCMJ...that by signing a marriage contract, any sexual congress between a husband and wife is thereby rendered consensual."

Mac: "Your Honor. I'm attempting to elicit testimony from a qualified witness as to the nature and definition of the term 'physical assault', which is an illegal act."

"If, under that definition, 'physical assault of a sexual nature' is also included, then it must also be considered an illegal act, and one against which my client has a legal right to defend herself." Morrison: (he pauses, taking a deep breath) "Overruled. Proceed."

Mac: "Let me repeat the question. Dr. Williams, in your qualified opinion, may 'physical assault of a sexual nature' justifiably be considered a subheading of the overall category of physical assault as a whole?"

Williams: "Yes. I'd say that's accurate."

Mac: "Thank you, Captain. Now, given the frequency and time frame reflected on this chart, how would you characterize the cause of Captain Ryan's injuries?"

Williams: "I would say that the Captain had been subjected to repeated physical assault."

Mac: "And at the time of these assaults, did the defendant assert that her injuries were in any way caused by 'physical assault of a sexual nature'?"

Williams: "No Ma'am, she didn't."

Mac: "In your experience, is it possible for the victim of a 'physical assault of a sexual nature', to come to you for treatment, but decline to accurately report the source of her injuries?"

Williams: "Yes, Ma'am...very possible. In fact, it happens frequently."

Mac: "And, in your opinion, are the treated injuries of these patients similar to the ones exhibited by the defendant?"

Williams: "Yes Ma'am. Very similar."

Mac: "Thank you, Dr. Williams."

"No more questions, Your Honor."

Morrison: "The prosecution may cross examine."

Harm: "Captain Williams, you've stated that the defendant entered your emergency room with...lets see...a broke arm...sprained wrist...bruises..."

Williamson: "Yes Sir."

Harm: "Have you ever had anyone else come to you for treatment of these medical conditions?"

Williams: "Yes, Sir. Many times."

Harm: "And had they all been physically assaulted?"

Williams: "No. Of course not."

Harm: "Then can you determine conclusively that the same medical conditions, diagnosed in Captain Ryan, were the result of physical assault?"

Williams: "No, but..."

Harm: "Captain Williams. Would you read the last date that Captain Ryan entered your emergency room for treatment?"

Williams: [scanning document once again] "December 24, 1999."

Harm: "And how long was that before the alleged murder of Arnold Ryan?"

Williams: " Approximately four months."

Harm: "Then, if indeed physical assault was ever present, none occurred on the date of the alleged murder. Isn't that true?"

Mac: "Objection! Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness."

Morrison: "Sustained."

Harm: "No more questions, Your Honor."

(Dr. Williams leaves the stand.)

Morrison: "Colonel MacKenzie, you may call your next witness."

Mac: "Your Honor. I call Psychologist William Reynolds to the stand."

(A tall, middle-aged man rises and takes the witness chair.)

"Dr. Reynolds, please state your area of expertise."

Reynolds: "I specialize in the areas of spousal abuse and sexual assault."

Mac: "And in your professional opinion, Dr. Reynolds, does the immediate occurrence of physical assault have to be present for the victim of repeated, chronic assault to feel threatened by her assailant?"

Reynolds: "No...not at all. It's common for many victims to carry the fear of assault for many years after the actual assault has taken place. In some cases for a lifetime."

Mac: "Thank you, Dr. Reynolds. No more questions."

Morrison: "Commander Rabb, you may cross examine."

Harm: "Dr. Reynolds. In your experience, does this perception of threat on the part of the victim, constitute physical assault itself, or merely a non-physical mental state?"

Mac: "Objection...leading the witness."

Morrison: "Sustained."

Harm: Dr. Reynolds. What type of physical injury, if any, have you observed in the majority of patients exhibiting these emotional repercussions?"

Reynolds: "Well, none usually, but..."

Harm: "Would you then classify this emotional state as a threat to the physical safety of the victim?"

Reynolds: "No. Not normally..."

Harm: "That will be all, Doctor."

Morrison: "Colonel MacKenzie. Do you wish to redirect?"

Mac: "Yes, Your Honor."

Morrison: "Very well...proceed."

Mac: "Dr. Reynolds, would you say then, that this emotional fear of physical abuse precludes the possibility of subsequent assaults?"

Reynolds: "I would not. Many of my patients experience repeated physical assault, in spite of the emotional scars left from previous occurrences."

Mac: "Thank you, Doctor."

"No more questions, Your Honor."

Morrison: "Colonel MacKenzie. Do you have any other witnesses at this time?"

"Mac: "Yes, Your Honor. I have one more."

Morrison: [Looking at the wall clock.] "I see that it's getting late. Let's begin again in the morning. Court will reconvene at 0900 Hours tomorrow."

"Court dismissed."

..........................

1700 Hours
Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment
Georgetown

Mac dreaded the 'surprises' that Heather might have waiting for her at home.

The petulant teen had still been sleeping on the couch when she left that morning, so Mac had left $40.00 on the kitchen counter and had headed on to work, never considering the trouble a 15 -year- old could get into with that kind of cash in her pocket.

Now, having had a chance to speak with her mother, Mac's mind reeled with the possibilities.

That the money might have gone for food, was barely a consideration...the thought that it might have gone for C.D.'s would be relief...but the many other possibilities that an urban center like D.C. had to offer were disquieting at best.

Mac felt the latest tune from "Nine Inch Nails" invade her consciousness as she opened the door. Either the girl had brought her own music, or at least part of the $40 had gone for "heavy metal".

It was the rest of the room, however, that took her totally by surprise.

All around the room, Heather had placed tiny votive candles, set into saucers, twinkling merrily at her arrival. The fireplace cast a warm glow across the carpet (could Heather be a pyromaniac?), and the smell of fresh bread and Italian cooking filled the apartment.

"Wow! To what do I owe this honor?" Mac asked, bewildered. "The place looks really good, and the food smells incredible. You surprised me."

Mac could have bitten off her tongue. Telling the vulnerable teen that she had expected less, had been a tactless blow.

As though someone had just closed a shutter, Heather's eyes became guarded once again. "Well, I considered selling all your stuff to a dope dealer, but I couldn't find one," she snapped. "So I cooked up your dog instead."

Hearing the word "dog" brought Jingo wagging into the living room. Usually he met her at the door, frantically needing a "walk", but tonight he was composed and relaxed. Heather must have already taken him out. Mac was impressed.

"Well, since my dog is right here, whose dog smells so good over there?" Mac joked, trying to reset their rocky start.

Heather relaxed a little. Maybe Mac wasn't as bad as she'd feared. "It's chicken parmesan. I looked up the recipe on the 'net'. Is it okay that I used your computer?"

"Sure, no problem." Mac replied a little uneasily...as long as you know what you're doing."

"No sweat. PC's been my best friend since forever. We understand each other...actually some of your operating systems were really old, so I upgraded some of your stuff, and did a little reconfiguring. Getting nervous yet?"

She was, but she wasn't about to admit it. "Am I supposed to be?" she evaded.

"Yeah...scared shi...stiff. Everyone else always is. You'll catch on."

"And you're just the one to teach me, right." Mac offered, her voice breaching yet another barrier.

"Maybe...Hey, you gonna eat this crap, or do I hafta feed it to the dog?"

Mac smiled. Heather had her act down 'pat'. The young woman was having trouble 'letting go'. She knew the feeling...it was an old companion.

"Well, Jingo's on a diet, so I guess that leaves me," she replied, her voice sending a message ("I've got your number, Heather. You can drop the routine.")

They ate in silence, each assessing the other's strengths and weaknesses. Finally, it was Heather who broke the stillness.

"You keep a journal," she said. It was a statement, not a question. "...on your computer, but it goes way back. You must have typed one that you kept as a kid into the beginning."

Now, Mac was shaken. "How do you know that, Heather? It's password protected. It's private."

"Like duh! 'Georgetown'? Some password. A chimpanzee could have figured that one out!"

"Well, I didn't think that I'd have anyone trying to hack my personal files, Heather. Why'd you do it?"

Heather shrugged, the scowl on her face reflecting the conflict she felt inside. "I don't know. Maybe I wanted to see if you were into child molestation or something."

"I don't believe you, Heather. I don't know why you did it, but you invaded my privacy. How would you feel?"

Mac scanned her reaction...her expression, and for the first time realized that the candlelight had hidden the fact that the white make-up was gone. Heather looked younger, more vulnerable underneath.

"Your Dad was a drunk, too...wasn't he?" she asked, her voice soft and unsure.

"Yeah...he was. I guess we have something in common."

Heather looked up as if to form another 'smart' reply, then stopped. "Yeah...I guess so."

Again she fell silent, then continued: "Did he beat you, or try to...you know...get funny?"

"Not me, but he abused my Mother. What about your Dad?"

"He wasn't my Dad...he was my STEP father!" She pushed her fork around her plate. "No, he never touched me, at least not yet, but he smacked my Mother around a lot, and did some really raunchy stuff to her...in the bedroom."

"How do you know about that?" Mac asked, wishing she could console the girl before her.

"I'm young...not stupid! You could hear him all over the house...and her...crying...screaming...stuff like that."

"And how did you feel about it?" Mac asked, encouraging the girl to vent her inner turmoil with someone who could understand.

"Well, what do you think!" Heather snapped. "I hated it! I hated him! He was 'pond scum'...he deserved to die. How did you feel about your old man?"

"I hated him...just like you do. I hated him for beating my Mother...I hated him for driving her away when I was fifteen, and I hated him for ruining my life. In fact, I hated him so much that I drowned my feelings in a booze bottle for the next four years...I even ran away to marry a man that he hated when I was 17...just to spite him."

"But I don't hate him anymore," Mac continued. "I forgave him on the day he died. I forgave him because of what the hatred had done...was doing to me. When I forgave him...I was really setting myself free."

"Well, I can't forgive Arnold's sorry ass. A couple of bullets in the head did ole 'Arnie' a world of good. He got what he deserved."

Mac just nodded. There was nothing more to say. It had taken her a lifetime to forgive Joe MacKenzie...Heather had yet to begin.

"Can you get my Mom off?" Heather whispered, shifting to an even more important topic. "You gotta get her outta jail..."

Mac shifted in order to look Heather squarely in the eye. "I'll do my best, Heather...I promise...I'll do my best."

Side by side, Heather and Mac cleaned up the dishes and snuffed out the candles...their day done...their minds yearning for the blessed release that only sleep could give them.

Checking Heather one last time, Mac softly closed the bedroom door behind her, and dialed the number of Harmon Rabb.

...............................

"Rabb here." resounded the voice on the other end of the connection.

"MacKenzie here..." she replied in tune. "I just wanted to hear your voice...to let you know that I'm still okay.

"I'm glad, Mac. I know that today was hard on you...that I was hard on you. Sometimes it's a rough job..."

"...but someone has to do it." she smiled. "Right? I knew you'd be worried, so I just wanted to put your mind at rest."

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" he said, the concern evident in his voice. "Why don't you step down, Mac? You made your point today...a major one...you don't have anything more to prove. Let Singer finish up. You know she wants to..."

"I...I can't Harm. I have to see this through. I'm so close...what if Singer dropped the ball at the last minute. The whole case...my challenge of the UCMJ...I couldn't forgive myself if it all fell through now."

Harm clutched the receiver. She was right. It was her case, and she was the only one who could properly see it through. But it was killing him to hear the suffering in her voice.

Harm visualized the dark-haired woman on the other end of the phone line. How could they remain close...and still be adversaries...be friends...when he had to attack her courtroom persona on such a personal level?

Silently he dreaded what tomorrow might bring. He wished that he'd never been assigned to prosecute the Ryan case, or that Mac had never inserted herself into it. He wished that he could just drop the whole thing...

....but he couldn't

.........................

0900 Hours
The Courtroom
JAG headquarters

Mac: "Defense would like to call Sylvia Ryan to the stand."

(Sylvia rises and takes her seat in the witness chair.)

Mac: "Mrs. Ryan, would you describe for the court the circumstances that prevailed just prior to your husband's death."

Ryan: "Well...I was at home...cooking supper. Arnie was late. That usually meant that he'd stopped somewhere for a drink."

Mac: "And how did that make you feel, Mrs. Ryan?"

Ryan: "Worried...maybe frightened. I never knew what to expect when he'd been drinking. Sometimes it got pretty bad."

Mac: "Mrs. Ryan, how would you describe your husband's usual behavior under the influence of alcohol?"

Ryan: "He was abusive. Anything would set him off...sometimes it took nothing at all. Then he'd usually want to try and...have sex."

Mac: "You said 'try', Mrs. Ryan. Why did you phrase it that way?"

Ryan: "Well, when he was drinking, he had trouble...you know...finishing."

Mac: "And how did your husband generally react to this...disability?"

Ryan: "He'd usually blame me...get angry. Sometimes he'd hurt me...use his fists."

Mac: "Mrs. Ryan, did you ever tell your husband to stop...tell him 'No'?"

Ryan: "Sometimes...but not that night. It always made things worse. He broke my arm the first time I said 'No'. It was like he just went crazy...like he wanted to get even with the world through me."

Harm: "Objection. Move to strike. The witness is speculating. Captain Ryan can have no possible way of knowing what her husband was thinking."

Morrison: "Objection sustained. The members will disregard the defendant's last comment."

Mac: "Captain Ryan. Did your husband beat you on the night of his death?"

Ryan: "No."

Mac: "He didn't beat you...you didn't tell him not to touch you...so why did you shoot him?"

Ryan: (Her voice is broken and strained....her breathing labored.) "Because I knew what he was going to do. I kept my mouth shut because I knew that it would only make things worse, but it didn't do any good. I could tell from the look in his eyes...the way he came at me..."

Mac: "What happened next, Captain Ryan?"

Ryan: "I was afraid that he was going to kill me this time...he said that he would. I saw my service revolver in the nightstand...I kept it loaded because Arnie was away so much...for protection...and I just snapped. I couldn't let him hurt me again...I just couldn't. And then the gun went off...in my hand...and Arnie was lying on the floor. I killed him."

Mac: "And had you planned any of this, Captain Ryan?"

Ryan: "Oh God...No! I couldn't...not even to Arnie. I don't know what happened..." she sobbed.

Mac: "Just one more question, Captain Ryan. Why didn't you leave your husband? Why wait until an act of desperation drove you to this conclusion?"

Ryan: "Because he was my husband...I wanted to make it right. I kept telling myself that if we could just work it out...if I could just be what he wanted me to be...then everything would be fine. Arnie swore over and over again that he was sorry...that it would never happen again...and I needed to believe him. But it never lasted."

"I didn't plan what happened that night. If I only had it to do all over again...maybe now I'd have the courage to leave him. I don't know...but I am sure that he'd still be alive."

Mac: "No further questions, Your Honor."

Morrison: "The prosecution may cross examine."

Harm: "The prosecution would like to reserve the right to recall this witness at a later time, Your Honor."

Morrison: "So noted. Does the prosecution have a witness to call?"

Harm: "Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution would like to call Sergeant Allen Burwin of the Marine Security Guard Battalion, Marine Base Quantico to the stand."

(A uniformed Marine Sergeant steps up and takes the witness chair.)

Harm: "Sergeant Burwin, would you describe the chain of events on the night that you were called to the home of Arnold and Sylvia Ryan...the night of Arnold Ryan's death."

Burwin: "Yes Sir. We received an anonymous call that a firearm had been discharged at the Ryan residence. I was sent to investigate." "When I got there, I found Mr. Ryan lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to the head."

Harm: "And what was Captain Ryan doing at the time, Sergeant?"

Burwin: "It looked like she was packing, Sir. She was shoving clothes into a backpack on the bed...like she wanted to go somewhere in a hurry."

Mac: "Objection...speculation."

Morrison: "The members will disregard the mention of Captain Ryan's motives."

"Proceed."

Harm: "Sergeant Burwin, in your experience, did the defendant appear to be agitated over the turn of events?"

Burwin: "Somewhat...yes. But mostly she looked stunned...sort of shocked."

Harm: "And did the defendant say anything to you at that time?"

Burwin: "Yeah...right after I read her 'Miranda Rights'. She said: 'He's dead. I shot him. He's dead.'"

Harm: "That will be all, Sergeant Burwin."

"No more questions, Your Honor."

Morrison: "The defense may cross examine."

Mac: (approaching the witness chair) Sergeant Burwin, have you ever been summoned to the site of a fatal shooting before?"

Burwin: "No, Ma'am. This was my first."

Mac: "And had you ever met Captain Ryan before?"

Burwin: "No Ma'am."

Mac: "Is it safe to say then, Sergeant Burwin, that you have no frame of reference in gauging Captain Ryan's reaction to either her husband's death, or to anything else for that matter?"

Burwin: "No Ma'am...I guess not. It's just that..."

Mac: "No further questions, Sergeant Burwin."

Morrison: "The witness may be excused."

Something wasn't right...it kept nagging irreconcilably at the back of Mac's mind...but what was it?

Mac: (turning back toward the witness chair)"One more question, Your Honor."

Morrison: "Proceed."

Mac: "Sergeant Burwin, was there powder residue in or around the gunshot wound?"

Burwin: "No Ma'am. According to what Captain Ryan said, he was shot from across the room. There shouldn't have been any powder residue on the wound itself."

Mac: "And was a 'paraffin test' done on the defendant's hands, Sergeant?"

Burwin: "No Ma'am. She'd already confessed. We didn't feel it was necessary."

Mac: "Thank you, Sergeant Burwin. That will be all."

Morrison: "Does the prosecution wish to call another witness?"

Harm: "Yes, Your Honor. I'd like to recall Captain Sylvia Ryan to the stand."

(Sylvia Ryan once again seats herself in the witness chair.)

Harm: "Captain Ryan. Sergeant Burwin has testified that you were found packing your bag when he arrived. Can you tell me the purpose of that?"

Ryan: "I was frightened...trying to get away. Isn't that obvious?"

Harm: "Trying to get away, Captain Ryan...and leave your only daughter behind to deal with the aftermath alone?"

Mac: "Objection, Your Honor...the prosecution is badgering the witness."

Morrison: "Sustained."

Harm: "Captain Ryan, could you in fact have had the premeditation and presence of mind to be attempting to conceal the murder weapon until it could be disposed of at a later time?"

Ryan: "No! No...that's not the way it was. It wasn't like that! It wasn't!"

Morrison: Colonel MacKenzie, will you control your client?"

Mac: "Yes, Your Honor."

Harm: "No more questions, Your Honor. The prosecution rests."

Morrison: "The witness may be dismissed. I'd like to break for the day, at this time. The defense will prepare to give its closing argument tomorrow at 0900 hours."

"Court is dismissed."

................................

2200 Hours
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown

Something just didn't add up.

Mac couldn't put her finger on it, but something just didn't seem right. The pieces were there, but they were misaligned...they just didn't seem to fit.

Sitting in a sleep shirt, her bare feet curled up beneath her, Mac glanced over at Heather once more.

That the girl was disturbed was understandable under the circumstances, but this almost hypnotic fugue that claimed her so often...that couldn't be normal.

Mac couldn't help but feel that Heather knew something that she wasn't telling...couldn't tell...and she had to know what it was.

"Heather...would you come here a minute. I need to talk to you about something."

"But 'Dawson's Creek' is on. Do we have to talk now?" she complained.

"Yeah...I think we do, Heather. It won't take long. Come and sit on the couch beside me."

Heather rolled her eyes, then crossed the floor to sit cross-legged beside Mac on the sofa. "So, okay. What is it? You're not gonna tell me that my Mother was convicted today, I hope, 'cause if you are..."

"No, Heather...nothing like that. Heather...were you at the house when your stepfather was shot? I need to know."

Heather's eyes widened, her arms folding in front of her. "No. You know that I wasn't. You said my Mom already told you that. You think she's lying?"

"I don't know what to think, Heather, that's why I'm asking you. Were you there when Arnie was shot?"

"No! I wasn't there...okay? Just back off! You're creepin' me out! If I'd been there, wouldn't you already know about it?"

"Then how did you know that Arnie was shot in the head, Heather? It wasn't in the papers, and I know the police didn't talk to you..."

"The neighbors told me...okay."

"The ones you were staying with?" Mac confirmed, reaching for the telephone.

"No! I heard it at school. Some kids were talking about it."

"But you haven't attended school since the shooting, Heather. That doesn't make sense."

"Just let me alone!!" Heather screamed. "I thought I could trust you...but I can't...just get outta my face!"

Then, sprinting for the door, Heather released the latch and ran headlong down the stairwell, backpack in hand, and into the street...with a barefooted Mac in hot pursuit.

Mac was in shape, and at any other time the race would have been decided in her favor without question, but Heather had on her Nikes, and Mac was barefooted...and the Nikes won.

As Heather rounded the corner and vanished from sight, Mac turned back toward the apartment building. Then, dressing in a jogging suit and running shoes, she began to search the streets for the missing girl...

..............................

0830 Hours
Somewhere in Georgetown

She'd been searching all night, but Heather Ryan was nowhere to be found.

Wearily, Mac pulled over to the side of the road. She wasn't going to make it into court on time...it was too late. The best she could manage was to request a delay and get there as fast as she could.

Resignedly, she picked up her cellular phone and dialed Loren Singer's number.

"Hello. Loren? This is Mac. Listen, Heather ran away last night, and I'm still out looking for her. I'm going to head home right now and get ready for court, though, so if you can ask Morrison for a short delay, I should be able to make it in say...about 90 minutes. Okay?"

"No problem, Colonel. I can handle it. Everything's under control."

"Thanks. I'll be there soon. Bye."

And with that, Sarah MacKenzie headed her vehicle through the bustling streets of Georgetown toward her apartment.

.................................

0900 Hours
The Courtroon
JAG Headquarters

Singer: "The defense is ready to proceed with its closing arguments, Your Honor."

Morrison: "Lieutenant, you seem to be a head short. Where's your lead counsel this morning?"

Singer: "Unable to make it, Your Honor. Colonel MacKenzie had a personal emergency to deal with, but I'm fully prepared to act in her stead."

Harm: "Your Honor," Harm interjected, "The Prosecution is more than willing to entertain the request for an postponement in this matter, and wait until Colonel MacKenzie is available."

Harm gave Singer a sideways glance. Something was up. What was Singer pulling this time? Would she deliberately usurp Mac's summation in order to feather her own nest?

Morrison: "Lieutenant Singer...do you feel that a postponement is necessary?"

Singer: "No, Your Honor. I'm fully capable of continuing on in Colonel MacKenzie's absence."

Morrison: "Then I see no reason to delay the proceedings and waste the member's time. Proceed."

Harm: "Your Honor. In the interests of justice, I feel that lead counsel for the defense should be allowed to deliver her own closing arguments. The prosecution is more than prepared to take the lead during the summary phase of this trial, and hopefully that will allow Colonel MacKenzie a chance be present."

Morrison: "Lieutenant Singer, do you have any objection?"

Harm glared threateningly at Singer...daring her to block his attempt to 'right' the situation.

Singer: "No, Your Honor. The Defense accepts the Prosecution's generous offer," she replied reluctantly.

Morrison: "Very well, then. The Prosecution may proceed."

Harm turned to Bud. "Do whatever you have to do, but get Mac here on the double!" he whispered frantically. Then, rising, he approached the members of the court and began his summation.

Harm: "Sylvia Ryan could have said 'No'...but she didn't. She could have left her husband long ago...but she chose not to. Instead, Captain Ryan made a decision to end the life of her husband, in an act that reflects both deliberate intent and premeditation.

"How did Captain Ryan's service revolver just 'happen' to be lying...fully loaded...on the nightstand in their bedroom in spite of the fact that the Ryans teenaged daughter might gain access to it? She had no idea that her husband would choose that particular night to come home intoxicated and threaten her well-being, as Captain Ryan would have us believe."

"And if...as she professes...this had been an ongoing barrage of abuse...why did she choose that particular night to end it? Her message is unclear, Gentleman, and it's that very lack of clarity that should make you question its validity."

"The Defense will try to tell you that it is the UCMJ itself that is to blame for this incident...but that's misdirection. Whether you agree with the Defense's assertion that the law itself is unjust or not...it IS none-the-less the guiding principle of military justice in this country. It defines the legality of our actions. To undermine it, is to undermine the discipline that binds the military together. If the law is unjust, then change it...but don't ignore it."

"Captain Sylvia Ryan maliciously, and with premeditation, took the life of her husband, Arnold Ryan. Don't be swayed by issues that are not relevant to the case. The charge is murder in the first degree. I trust in your judgement to convict the defendant, and make her accountable for her actions."

"The Prosecution rests."

................................

Harm returned to his seat, scanning the courtroom frantically for a sign that Mac had indeed made it on time...but she was nowhere to be seen.

Morrison: "Lieutenant Singer. I can't help but notice that you're still alone. Will Colonel MacKenzie be conducting her own closing arguments, or won't she?"

Singer: "I apologize, Your Honor, but it's my belief that Colonel MacKenzie is unable to appear at this time. However, as co-counsel, I am fully prepared to act in her absence and conclude our defense of Sylvia Ryan. With the court's permission..."

And then she stopped. The door opened, and Mac...her hair in disarray, entered the courtroom.

Mac: "My apologies, Your Honor. I was unavoidably delayed. With the court's permission, I'm ready to deliver my summation at this point."

Morrison: "Colonel MacKenzie. I hope your excuse is a good one...and that this won't become a habit. But...you're here now...and in the interests of justice, the court will allow you to conclude your case. Proceed."

Mac straightened her clothing and approached the members. Then, searching their eyes, she began...

Mac: "Sylvia Ryan didn't say 'No.'...she didn't fight back...after five years, she no longer had the ability to defend herself against the physical abuse that had come to characterize her marriage."

"According to civilian law, however, she didn't have to continually rebuff Arnold Ryan's brutal assaults in order for her case to be one of self-defense. The fact that she had born his attacks for almost five years, as is shown in her medical records, was enough to convince Captain Ryan that yet another sexual assault was forthcoming ...that her life was in danger...and this time she 'snapped'."

"She couldn't take her husband's abuse any longer. This time she pulled her service revolver from the nightstand drawer, loaded as a precautionary measure against prowlers, and defended herself in the only way that she knew how...the way that as a Marine she'd been trained to do...with lethal force.

"Members of the court. This case should never have come to trial. It is a clearly painted portrait of self defense, and if it had happened anywhere but on a military base...to anyone but military personnel, we wouldn't be here now.

"Over the past three days, you've heard me play word games...semantic manipulations in order to secure the same degree of justice for my client that any civilian court would have gladly allowed her. It's bothered me...and it should bother you too."

"The "Marital Rape Exemption", was once the law of the land...no, more than that...twenty years ago it was universally accepted as incontrovertible. The marriage contract was seen as legal consent for any conjugal act that took place between legally married individuals... but no more.

"Since that time, this shameful and degrading law has become illegal, at least in part, in all fifty states in the union... and completely abolished in seventeen of those states and in the District of Columbia. In 1995, every member country of the United Nations voted to put an end to the marital 'privilege' of 'sex on demand'."

"The world is changing, Gentlemen...but the UCMJ has not."

"Over two hundred years ago, the founders of this nation provided a framework of laws and precepts by which to govern this country. They realized that a nation of people is not a static entity, but something that would grow and alter as the years passed. And so, within this framework, they included the means by which those laws could continually evolve and keep pace with the changing needs of the people it governed."

"In the case of Sylvia Ryan, the Uniform Code of Military Justice...the law by which all military personnel are governed... has failed to give her the legal protection that she would have received in any state in the union. And then...having failed to protect her...it is now prosecuting her for the fact that she was ultimately forced to take matters into her own hands and protect herself."

Mac paused, then scanning the faces of those before her she continued on.

"Gentlemen, the avenue of change is not as clearly defined within the UCMJ as it is elsewhere. Perhaps that's the very reason that this law still exists within the military...but you have a chance today to change all that. By bringing in a verdict of 'Not Guilty', you will be telling the both the military establishment, and the world that the United States Navy is no longer playing word games with the personal safety and human dignity of the married women within its ranks."

"You... the members of this distinguished panel, are the implement of change. Let your voices be heard. Find Sylvia Ryan innocent, and tell the world that sexual bondage no longer exists within the United States Navy."

"Defense Rests."

................................

Mac turned on her heel and approached her seat. It was then that she noticed Heather Ryan sitting with Bud Roberts at the back of the courtroom, her backpack in hand.

And that's when the final piece ultimately slipped into place.

"She was sitting on the steps back at your apartment, Ma'am. I thought that she should be here. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, Bud. You did the right thing. Could Heather and I have a few minutes alone, please?"

Then, turning to Heather she continued: "You had me scared to death, Heather. You shouldn't have run off. It doesn't solve anything...it never does. I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah...I had to know what was going to happen. Is my Mom okay?"

"Well," Mac said trying to sooth the anxious girl, "It's in the member's hands now. We'll just have to wait and see. But we have something more important to talk about in the meantime...don't we?"

"What do ya mean?" Heather replied, her voice trembling.

"I mean that you were there that night, weren't you? It wasn't her bag that your Mother was packing...it was your backpack...wasn't it? She was trying to get you out of the house before the military police came."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy!"

"Your Mother didn't shoot Arnie, did she? You did it. You couldn't stand to see her abused one more time, so when he dragged her into the bedroom this time, you ran to the nightstand...got her pistol...and pulled the trigger."

Heather was shocked into silence...her eyes wide with fear. "No...I didn't..."

"Yes...you did, Heather. You'd heard him abusing your Mother for the past five years...and you couldn't take it any more. When your Mother confessed, she was only trying to protect you, wasn't she?"

Heather began to breathe erratically, her body trembling... her eyes filling with long-held tears.

"She told me not to tell anyone...she made me promise." the girl sobbed softly. "She said that it would be okay...that she knew what she was doing. I believed her at first...I had to...but then..."

"The police came before she could finish packing your things, didn't they? She sent you out the back way and stayed to cover for you. Your Mother must love you very much."

"She's gonna be okay, isn't she. I mean, she didn't do anything...it was me. Make them let her go, Mac. I did it...I did it!"

"She'll be okay now, Heather. You have my word. When the court reconvenes, I'll explain the circumstances to the judge, and the charges will be dropped."

"And then I'll go to jail?" Heather asked, determined to face up to her demons.

"No Heather...you won't go to jail. You were protecting your Mother...that's legal. There will probably be a hearing, but it'll be okay. I mean...you have a great attorney...right?"

"You'll help me, Mac? Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. We have to stick together...we have something in common...remember?"

................................

2100 Hours-That night
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown

"Well you certainly got your point across. It's just too bad that the members weren't pressed into arriving at a verdict in the end." Harm smiled, munching a tofu dog.

Mac settled lightly on the sofa. "Well...it's on the record now, anyway...and I won't let them forget it. Maybe that's the most I can expect for the moment...you know 'The wheels of justice turn slowly.' and all."

Harm turned to face her. "If I had to lose, then this was one that I didn't mind losing." He confessed. "I think that you made a difference today, Mac. You set a precedent. The next time that this comes up, this case will lay a foundation..."

"...hey, Harm..." she interrupted, laying her all-beef wiener aside. "I want to put it to bed for now. Do you mind? Boy, my feet are still killing me..." she grinned, changing the subject.

"Yeah?" he smiled.

"Yeah. Have you seen the 'Master of Massage' around anywhere?"

The End