MONDAY MORNING
HARM'S APARTMENT

It's nothing that she hasn't done hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times before, putting on her uniform in preparation for going to work.  I've never watched her do this before, but I know that this isn't just like all those other times.  For one thing, we’re not going to work but to civilian court.  For another, I doubt that she has a ritual every morning where she unfastens and refastens all the insignia, ribbons and medals on her uniform.  They're all perfectly straight, but she fusses with them anyway.

"You know, we don't have to do this," I point out, fumbling with the buttons at the cuffs of my shirt.   Whoever designed these uniforms didn't have the temporarily infirm in mind.

Mac turns around and looks at me for a long moment, her fingers frozen on a marksman badge.  Finally, she takes pity on me and helps me fasten the tiny white button at my left wrist, then ponders my right cuff for a moment.  For obvious reasons, actually buttoning the cuff is out of the question.  "I don't know," she muses.  "Maybe we can roll up the sleeve a little bit so that the cuff isn't just flapping around your cast."

I sigh inwardly.  Is she even going to acknowledge what I just said?  Ever since I was allowed to leave the hospital early yesterday afternoon, she's done her best to avoid discussing what happened, even in the most general, non-specific terms.  Any time the subject has been brought up, she would look anywhere but directly at the person speaking, then change the subject to something inconsequential, like the rain and whether it will finally let up or how Harriet is doing in these final weeks of her pregnancy or whether the Admiral is ever going to get his vehicle back from police impound.

"Mac, I'm sure it will be fine," I reply, perhaps a bit impatiently.  "I'll have my jacket on over it to hold the cuff in place."  She nods shortly and goes back to fiddling with her uniform accoutrements.  I decide to try again, this time trying to moderate my tone.  "The Admiral said that it wasn't necessary for us to appear in court this morning.  Mic will be arraigned and the Admiral will present the petitions on our behalf for the TROs.  He has all the police and hospital reports to present to the judge and he can bring us our copies of the orders."

"Are you about ready?" she asks, going to the door and pulling her coat off the peg.  "The Admiral wasn't sure at what time this morning the case would be called, so I want to get there before the session starts.  But if you don’t want to go, that’s fine.  I’ll go by myself.”

That stings.  I can’t believe that Mac would even consider for a second that I wouldn’t want to be there to support her, to support us.  “That wasn’t my point,” I say, grabbing my own coat and putting it on.  The right sleeve is a little tight and I have to struggle a bit to get it on.  “I don’t really think either of us should go, but I’m not going to let you go without me.  We’re in this together, remember?”

“You mean the way that we were in it together when you decided to go after Mic by yourself?” she asks, quietly enough that I’m not quite sure if I was supposed to hear that.  That stings even more than her first remark did, if only because it’s all too true.   But I thought yesterday that she had understood why I did what I had done.  Either I misread her or it’s been bothering her more than she’s been letting on.

We need to discuss this further, but now’s not the time.  Getting through this morning is going to be tough enough without getting into an argument with Mac beforehand.  “Let’s go then,” I say, grabbing the umbrella and opening the door.  It’s stopped raining for now, but the way the weather’s been the past few days, you never know, especially since we have to walk to Union Station to catch the Metro.  As I recall, walking between Union Station and here without an umbrella in the rain is what started all of this.

ARCHIVES/NAVY MEMORIAL METRO STATION
GREEN AND YELLOW LINES

A walk from my apartment to Union Station.  A ride on the red line from Union to Gallery Place/Chinatown.  Another ride on the green line from Gallery Place/Chinatown to the next stop south at the Archives/Navy Memorial station.  And the entire way, I could swear that there were eyes on us everywhere.

It’s odd.  It’s not like we’ve never been watched before.  We’re both attractive people and that draws attention by itself.  But I’m not used to this kind of attention, the questioning glances.  One or two women even give me hostile glares, as if I’m the one who put the bruise on Mac’s face.  Yeah, and just what do they think happened to me, with my arm in a cast and my scraped and bruised forehead?  She hit me back?

Maybe we could say we were in a car accident.  I hit my head on the windshield or something and Mac hit the side of her face on the passenger window.  I can’t believe that I just thought that.  As a lawyer, I’ve handled a few abuse cases in my day and I’ve heard the excuses, the evasive stories.  I just never thought that I’d ever be in a position where I’d be the one thinking of stories to explain away injuries.

Mac has been silent since we left my apartment.  Several times, I’ve started to say something, but something stops me.  I’m just not sure what exactly.  I think part of me is afraid of saying something, whether advertently or not, that might start an argument.  I didn’t expect everything to be all sunshine and roses after Mic was arrested, but I didn’t expect this tension between us either.  After an entire weekend of managing to communicate with each other pretty well, we seem to be back to square one, unable to express what we're really thinking and feeling.  Just what we need on top of everything else that we have to deal with right now.

Without warning, I walk around behind Mac and take up position on her other side so that my encased right arm isn’t between us.  I know it isn’t according to protocol, but take her hand in mine, walking close enough to her that our joined hands are not quite in plain view.  Even if I’m worried about talking to her right now, I want her to know that I am here, not just in a physical sense, but emotionally as well.  She looks between us at our joined hands, a startled expression on her face, and the thought crosses my mind that she’s going to drop my hand, unwilling to breech protocol, but then she looks up at me for a brief second as she tightens her fingers around mine.

As we’re about to step onto the escalator that will take us up to mezzanine level, I catch sight of the Admiral coming towards us from the yellow line’s northbound platform.  He must have taken the orange line in from Falls Church to L’Enfant then come up on the yellow from there.  I tug on Mac’s hand and step away from the escalator to wait for him, but I don’t drop her hand, giving her fingers a brief squeeze.  I don’t really care right now what the Admiral might say.

He reaches us, waving us off before we can snap to attention.  If he notices our clasped hands, which I’m sure he does, he doesn’t say anything.  He nods and steps onto the escalator, the two of us just behind him.  “Harm, Mac,” he says by way of greeting, mildly shocking me by the informal form of address.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Mac is surprised as well.  Then again, I guess he’s seem us through some things this weekend that many commanding officers don’t go through with their subordinates.  He turns and gives us both a concerned look and adds, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“We know that, Sir,” I reply, not explaining further.  He doesn’t need to know every tiny detail, how tense things are between Mac and myself over that very issue and over so many other things.  “Maybe this will help us start to find some closure.”

He grunts noncommittally.  Yeah, I don’t think I really believe that either, but Mac seems to think that this is something that she has to do, so here we are.  “I spoke to the US Attorney who will be handling the case last night,” he says as we step off the escalator and follow him to another escalator from the mezzanine to 7^th Avenue.  “There’s a bit of a jurisdictional concern.  The DC Superior Court, as you are probably aware, has a separate unit for domestic violence cases, which is where your case falls, Mac.”

“But the charges involving Harm don’t,” Mac points out.  They’re the first words that Mac has spoken since the apartment and it bothers me that I can’t quite read the tone behind them.  I can’t figure out what she’s thinking.

Actually, the Admiral's not telling us anything that we don't already know.  We also had a discussion with Mr. Bennett, the prosecuting attorney, yesterday afternoon when he stopped by my apartment to introduce himself and discuss the case.

“True,” the Admiral admits, “which is what part of our conversation was about.  However, since the, ah, ‘domestic’ incident was the catalyst for everything else that happened, he’s petitioning Judge Hedge to hear all the charges in this case rather than passing the whole thing off to the felony criminal division.”

“Because this whole thing boils down to domestic violence,” Mac says sadly, “and if it wasn’t for me, this wouldn’t have even happened to Harm. . . .”

A strangled “Mac!” is the only thing I can manage to utter, stunned by her pronouncement.  I’d thought, partly based on her comment back at the apartment, that she was mad at me for going after Mic by myself.  Now, it sounds like she’s blaming herself for Mic’s roughing me up.  The Admiral, he looks like he’s not sure what to think or to say.  After a moment, he looks away uncomfortably.

As we step off the escalator, I tug Mac off to the side, out of the crush of people rushing off to work, motioning to the Admiral that we’ll follow along in a moment.  Before I can say anything, Mac cuts me off with a shake of her head.  “Harm, don’t start,” she says quietly, conscious of the people milling around us.  “Please don’t tell me about how this isn’t my fault.  Mic would not have come after you if it weren’t for my getting involved with you.  It’s as simple as that.”

It’s not as simple as that, but she obviously doesn’t want to hear that right now and I need to try and respect that.  Besides, this isn’t really the time or the place for that discussion.  “Mac, I think there’s probably more than enough blame to go around,” I say carefully so that I don't upset her further, not that I really think she’s going to cause a scene in the middle of a busy Metro station.  I just don’t need anything that I say to come back to haunt me later.  “But can we just try to get through this morning and put everything else aside until later?  Let’s just concentrate on presenting a united front in court today.  Mic’s going to pay for what he’s done and he can’t hurt us anymore.  We just have to believe that.”

Mac nods her agreement, for now anyway and we head back towards the Admiral, waiting patiently a few feet away, trying to look inconspicuous about watching us.  I think I hear Mac mutter under her breath, “I wish I could believe that,” but when I look at her, she’s staring straight ahead, her expression neutral.  Maybe I was just hearing things.  Or maybe it was that little voice inside my head talking, because I’m not sure that I can believe that either.

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA SUPERIOR COURT
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE UNIT
N CARL MOULTRIE I COURTHOUSE, RM 4242

Unfortunately, with this being a Monday morning and cases having piled up since Friday, it’s a while before they call Mic’s case, so we’re left to sit and to wait and to think.  Too much damn time to think, if you ask me.  A couple of times, the Admiral tried to start a conversation, but after a few brief one- or two-word answers from either myself or Mac, he gave up trying and pretended to study the petitions for TRO, which he’d already filed yesterday morning with the court while I was still at Bethesda.

Finally, the bailiff calls Mic’s case just before ten.  “District of Columbia versus Mic Brumby, case number 00-19465,” the bailiff intones, handing the judge the case file while a police officer escorts Mic into the courtroom.  He looks around, smiling when he sees us.  It chills me to the bone, that smile, and I clutch Mac’s hand just a little bit tighter.  If it weren’t for the uniforms that we’re wearing, I’d put my arm around her, both for comfort and as a not so subtle message to Mic.  I want him to know that I won't let him hurt her anymore.

“Defense waives reading of the charges,” Mic’s lawyer says, “and enters a plea of not guilty.”  I don’t recognize the guy, but I assume that he’s one of the lawyers at that swanky law firm Mic works at.  I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

“Plea of not guilty entered,” Judge Hedge says.  “Mr. Bennett, the District’s thoughts on bail?”

Ryan Bennett stands to address the court.  Detective Summers had brought him over to my apartment yesterday afternoon.  His quiet, gentle demeanor seemed a little odd for a seasoned US Attorney, especially one who’s supposed to be a champion of battered victims, but Detective Summers swears by him.  She said he handles many of the District’s domestic violence cases and has a near perfect conviction record and that he also volunteers time at many of the battered women shelters in the city.  After spending a few minutes in his company, listening to him discuss his strategy for the case, I’d felt marginally better.  This is definitely a man who cares about the victims and not just about winning another case.  We need that, especially since Mic apparently has the best attorneys money can by at his disposal.

"Your honor," Bennett says, his voice quiet and polite, "the District is concerned that Mr. Brumby presents a flight risk.  He holds dual US/Australian citizenship as well as a reserve commission in the Royal Australian Navy.  If he were to be recalled to active duty. . . ."

"This is preposterous," Mic's attorney objects.  He pauses while Mic whispers something in his ear, then adds, "Mr. Brumby is a member of the DC bar and a valued associate at one of the top law firms in DC.  His only interest is in vigorously defending himself against these ridiculous charges." 

I have to remind myself that I'm not here as an attorney because I want so much to object to that last statement.  Ridiculous charges?  Fortunately, Bennett is thinking along the same lines.  "Your honor, it is an insult to this court, to the police officers investigating this case and, most of all, to the victims, both of whom bear visible signs of what happened to them, to characterize this case as ridiculous," he says, his voice still quiet. 

"Mr. Dyson, try to watch what you say," the judge says.  "Now, getting back to the matter of bail.  Mr. Dyson, if I'm to even consider bail, one of the conditions will be that your client surrender to this court his passport and that the Australian Navy be informed of the charges pending so that Mr. Brumby will not be subject to recall."

"Your honor, that could cause irreparable damage to Mr. Brumby's military career," Dyson begins, but the judge cuts him off.

"Mr. Dyson, your client is charged with attempted murder, three counts of vandalism, unlawful detention and domestic assault and battery," the judge says sternly.  "If your client is convicted, damage to his military career will be the least of his worries.  I'm setting bail at $500,000 and making Mr. Brumby's release from custody contingent upon his passport being surrendered to this court.  Mr. Bennett, you'll prepare a letter to be passed on to the Australian Navy detailing the charges that Mr. Brumby is facing."

"Yes, your honor," Bennett replies.

"Now," the judge continues, pulling some papers out of the case file, "on a related matter, is Albert Chegwidden present?"

"Yes, your honor," the Admiral replies, stepping forward.  The judge looks at him over his glasses, surprised, probably by the uniform.

"First the Australian Navy and now our Navy," the judge muses.  "This case is starting to look like it should be a military matter."

"Your honor, the US Navy's only interest in this case is that both victims are military officers," the Admiral explains.  "I'm merely here as a friend and advocate for Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie."

"Yesterday morning, you filed requests for TROs on behalf of, um, Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie, requesting that Mr. Brumby be barred from coming within 1000 feet of them, their homes and their place of employment, correct?" the judge asks.

"Yes, your honor.  Based on the events of this weekend, we believe there is a legitimate concern that Mr. Brumby may come after them again," the Admiral points out.

"Your honor," Dyson objects again, "Mr. Rabb and Ms. Mackenzie are lawyers for the Navy's Judge Advocate General headquarters.  Our law firm often participates in cases against JAG.  You can't really expect one of our lawyers hands to be tied like this, prevented from doing his job."

"I wonder if he gets paid by the objection," I muse softly, trying to lighten the mood.  Mac lowers her eyes but doesn't reply.

"If Mr. Brumby's law firm has any business with JAG, I suggest they find another lawyer to handle it," the Admiral says in his firm, no-nonsense command voice.  "As the Navy's Judge Advocate General, I am exercising *my* command authority to bar Mr. Brumby from JAG headquarters.  With or without a restraining order, he gets past the guards at the gate, he will be thrown in the brig."

"That is an affront to this court, your honor," Dyson argues, his voice raised.  "To do anything without. . . ."

"*Mr. Dyson*," the judge says, his own voice raised, "I have no jurisdiction over the Navy.  If they wish to bar Mr. Brumby from their installations, that's their prerogative.  It doesn't matter, since I am granting the request for TROs.  Under the harassment restraining order, Mr. Brumby is barred from coming within 1000 feet of Commander Rabb, his residence and his place of employment.  Should Mr. Brumby inadvertently find himself in the same location as Commander Rabb, with the exception of court hearing relating to this case only, Mr. Brumby is required to leave immediately.  Any violation of this order will result in bail being revoked and Mr. Brumby being remanded into custody to await trial.  The same conditions apply to the domestic violence restraining order being granted in Colonel Mackenzie's case.   Admiral, see the court clerk for copies of the restraining orders.  It is recommended that Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie carry a copy with them at all times to show to the police should there be a problem."

"Thank you, your honor," the Admiral says before returning to his seat next to us.  I look over at him and nod gratefully.  After a moment, Mac does the same.

"If that's everything," the judge continues, speaking again to Dyson and Bennett, "then we'll hold a pre-trial hearing next Monday at one p.m.  I'll hear any motions that you may have and we'll set a trial date at that time.  Next case."

Our part finished, the three of us slip out of the courtroom, heading for the clerk's office.  "Harm, Mac, have you given any thought to what we discussed yesterday?" he asks.

"Actually, Sir," I say after a moment, when Mac doesn't respond, merely standing next to me, fiddling with the Marine globe on her cover, "we've decided to go up to my grandmother's farm in Pennsylvania for a few days.  We. . . .well, we need some time to unwind."

The Admiral nods, looking slightly relieved.  I have a feeling that he was really hoping that we would decide to take some time, not only as a friend, but as our CO.  If I were him, I don't think I'd want everything we're going through to interfere with work and it probably would, the way things are going right now.  "When do you leave?" he asks.

"This evening," I reply.  "We have to pick up both of our cars and Mac. . . .she has an appointment this afternoon."

I can tell he's curious, but he doesn't say anything.  Not that I really want to discuss it.  We haven't mentioned it since Saturday evening, but the idea of going to a counselor is still hanging over our heads, coming between us.  This morning, when she called to make the appointment, she did it when she thought I was still asleep.  Despite my hesitancy about the whole idea, it hurt that she felt she had to make the call when she thought that I wouldn't hear, as if I have a problem with her going.  I wish I could make her understand that my reluctance has nothing to do with her, but I don't know how.  I have to find out how, because that's the same thing that got us into trouble in Australia.

Part 2