Title:  The Fires of Spring I: Hidden Fires
Author: Maureen S. O'Brien
Rating: PG (language)
Category: 
Spoilers: Big honking ones for "The Stalker".

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to CBS, Paramount (oh, well),
Belisarius Productions, and the excellent Donald P.
Bellisario. The episode "The Stalker" was written by Larry 
Moskowitz. "Broke-down Palace" has words by Robert Hunter 
and music by the late Jerry Garcia; copyright Ice Nine
Publishing. I found the words at The Annotated Grateful
Dead Lyrics http://arts.ucsc.edu/GDead/AGDL/gdhome.html 
which was put together by David Dodd. And the Angel of
Death's little DaltonTorture scenario belongs to the
infamous Baywatch MuseBabe who keeps sending me humor ideas.

Author's Note: I'm not a big Grateful Dead fan, but Harm
is, according to "Someone to Watch Over Annie"...maybe 
it's the jazz parts he likes. Anyway, my first story with 
Dead lyrics is hereby dedicated to my favorite Deadheads: 
Dan Sikorski, for live tapes and OVFF, and Waylena McCullough, 
for being there in college, especially when my greatgrandpa 
died. See you at Marcon?

-------------------------------------------------------------
The Fires of Spring I: Hidden Fires
by Maureen S. O'Brien

MONDAY, MARCH 2, 1998
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

*It's unseasonably warm outside, but it's winter in Admiral
Chegwidden's office,* thought Dalton Lowne. He had been kept waiting
for ten minutes. When that Tiner guy finally let him in, Chegwidden
did not offer him a seat. And there was an edge to the admiral's
polite conversation that let him know he wasn't welcome.

Richard was still mad at him. "What the hell were you thinking?" he'd
said, waving Chegwidden's letter of complaint. "Snooping in another
lawyer's files... And I don't care if she was your girlfriend. I don't
care if she was your wife. If I ever find you in _my_ casefiles,
you'll be drinking soup for a month, you little shyster!"

"It was just sitting there," he protested. "You would have done the
same thing."

"No. I wouldn't. Because that's the kind of thing that can get you
disbarred. D-I-S-B-A-R-R-E-D. Which means no more cases. Which means
no more expensive meals or Porsches, if you can't figure that out on
your own."

"I know that."

"Do you? Jesus, Dalton! If the Navy wasn't trying to let this little
blackmail-and-harassment scandal get forgotten in the wake of
Lowinski, your girlfriend -- excuse me, _ex_-girlfriend -- would have
taken this to the Virginia Bar Association, and you wouldn't be
practicing law in Virginia any more. And maybe not Maryland, if
anything else came up. Which it probably would. And then we would not
only have a useless partner, but a big fat black mark on this firm's
reputation.

"We can't afford that, Dalton. So for God's sake, keep your nose
clean. And if those weirdos at the foundation find you any more
military cases, you pass them to one of us. I don't want you going any
closer to that JAG headquarters than the Falls Church exit sign. You
understand me?"

But then the foundation had gotten in touch with him. There was an
officer claiming to have been railroaded. Who else had the passion to
give him a fair defense? This guy Mettony just wasn't good enough a
defender.... At least someone appreciated him.

"I'd like to have Ensign Sims assigned to me again, if you would,"
Dalton told Chegwidden, as carefully polite as he. "She did a good
job."

"So I hear," Chegwidden said. His face did not reveal what he was
thinking, which was that Sims had complained that Mr. Lowne treated
her more like a living tape recorder than an assistant and requested
never to work with him again. "But since Lieutenant Commander Imes
will be prosecuting, I thought it would be best to assign Ensign
Matuchek. You'll find him just as capable as Sims."

"But I thought...you usually assign these cases to Sarah and...."

The admiral gave him another cool look. "I see little point in
assigning my lawyers to cases if I know they'll have to disqualify
themselves. You can come back to meet with Commander Imes at...4 PM,"
he said, visibly translating into CivilianSpeak. "Mr. Tiner will show
you out."

He couldn't believe he was being treated like this. But what could he
do?

So soon Dalton found himself back at JAG again, speaking to this
Matuchek and to Carolyn Imes. He had seen her before, when she came to
interview Sarah before Rabb's murder hearing. She had kidded him about
looking for a job at the firm.

He alluded to this, hoping to see her smile again. Somebody around
this place had to be feeling friendly.

She took off her glasses and stared at him. "Mr. Lowne, I don't care
whether you are insulting me or just being tasteless. But I would
appreciate it if you stuck to business."

"What? What did I say?"

She gave him a incredulous look. "After your actions toward Major
Mackenzie, I don't think any lawyer at JAG would be interested in your
firm. And actually," she said with a sudden brightness, "even
mentioning a job offer to the prosecutor could be construed as a bribe
attempt."

"What?"

"I should probably disqualify myself now," Imes mused. "But I don't
think I'll let you get away with that. I think I'll just ask your firm
to withdraw from the case instead. If they refuse, I'll speak to the
Judge Advocate General about it, and maybe this time you will lose
your license." She stood up. "Have a nice day, Mr. Lowne. Have Mr.
Matuchek show you the way out."

"I know the way," he said, struggling to keep his dignity. *Bitch.*

*This can't be happening to me!* He stared ahead blankly as he rode
the elevator. *My God, I really could lose my license. And Richard
will be furious that I took the case without telling anyone. What am I
going to do? God, my life has been falling apart ever since I lost
Sarah....*

And then, as he was going out the door, he saw her. She was talking to
Rabb in a low voice -- he couldn't hear just what it was about. He
thought about letting her pass...but he couldn't.

"Sarah?"


Mac's head whipped around, and she took up a defensive pose. More
slowly, Harm turned to see Dalton Lowne. *What's he doing here?*

*Well, duh.* Harm faded back politely. *I don't need to hear this.*

"I'm not following you," Dalton was saying. "I have business here."

*This isn't going to be pretty.*

"Well, don't let me keep you from it," Mac said, openly rude.

*And no wonder.... Give it up, Lowne. She kickboxes.*

Dalton, angrily. "What are you afraid of?"

Harm turned to wait for Mac by the door and saw Dalton yanking her
back.

Mac hunched for a moment, as if afraid of a blow, then straightened.
"Let go of me," she said with contempt.

He groaned inwardly. *The chief's giving her flashbacks to her dad,
and now this? I better break it up.*

"Is there a problem here?" he interjected.

"Nothing that concerns you," said Dalton.

*I wasn't asking you.* "Mac? You all right?"

"She's fine," Dalton snapped, and turned back to Mac. "For once," he
pleaded, "admit that you have real feelings."

Harm felt disgusted. *They're real. And fragile. And you didn't think
about them for a moment when you cruised through her files.*

But it stopped poor Mac for a beat, and when she turned for the door
she felt troubled. He could tell from her walk.

That slower pace must have encouraged Lowne, because he followed her
toward the door. "You can't run away your whole life, Sarah...."

*Are we thinking of the same person?* Harm thought with disbelief as
Lowne kept coming. *I think you've bothered her enough.*

And he stood in Lowne's way.

"Let her go," Harm said.

Lowne looked at him. "This is none of your business."

*It is now.* "Let her go," he urged persuasively. *You're in a public
place. Do you really want to make a fool of yourself like this?*

Dalton didn't move.

Harm's voice fell to a whisper as his face set. "Walk away." *You can
stand here all day, but you're not going through this door.*

And Dalton nodded reluctantly, and left.

Harm turned. What was Lowne thinking, grabbing Mac like that? 'I
wasn't following you,' Lowne had said. Why?* Harm wondered. *Were you
following her before?*

He felt a little sick.

*Mac, was that why Harriet was telling you this morning to 'be
careful'? Why did you tell her and not me?*

He grimaced. *Well, it was just before the meeting, and she probably
didn't want to think about it. But she must have been taking out her
frustration on the chief. Well, I'll have to talk to her, find out how
annoying Dalton is being.*

But it was almost time to go, and somehow there wasn't the time to
ask.

2345 ZULU 
ENSIGN SIMS' APARTMENT

Harriet looked in her closet. *Now, what should I wear to the
admiral's party?*

*High school.* *Too pink, too frilly...yeah, Mom bought me that.*
*Prom dress. Ugh.* *Too dressy.* *Not dressy enough.* *That's for a
funeral, not a party.* *Makes me look like a grandma.*

She sighed. *That's what this is all about, isn't it? Bud.* It had
been 21 days since their big fight, and she still hadn't forgiven Bud
for that crack. She had been trying so hard to look good, exercising
and losing weight and buying new clothes -- especially those column
dresses. And then he said she looked like his grandma?

*Oooh!*

*But maybe I do,* she thought, looking at her closet with despair.
*Everything I own is baggy, because that way it wasn't so obvious that
I was overweight. And maybe column dresses aren't as flattering as I
thought they were. And now I don't have anything else. What am I going
to do?*

*There's only one thing _to_ do,* she realized.

*Go shopping.*

AT THAT VERY MOMENT 
ADMIRAL CHEGWIDDEN'S RESIDENCE

Francesca washed and her papa dried. It was a strange moment. He had
always seemed so very grand and imposing to her imagination as a girl
that it almost seemed disrespectful to see him perform household
chores. And yet, he did not have any housekeeper -- so he must do
them, and often, to keep his little house as neat as it was.

What was the English word? Ah, si. Ship-shape.

"What would you like to do tonight, Francesca?" Her papa was smiling
but uncertain. He was so shy of her, so gentle. "Would you like me to
show you a little of the city? Or would you rather stay home and just
talk, maybe listen to a little music...." She hated to disappoint him.

"Papa, I am so sorry. But this jet lag...it is very late in Naples.
Perhaps it would be best if I just went to bed."

His face sank. "Gee, I'm sorry. I should have thought...you do what
you have to."

"But tomorrow I will be rested," she pointed out. "And we will have
the whole day to...."

"Um."

"Or not." She smiled. "I know, you must have a hundred things you
cannot put off."

"At least. And I thought being an admiral would be a comfy job."

"Maybe it is, for the others. Because they are secretly sending all of
their work to you!"

Papa quirked his lips. "That's almost true. JAG and NCIS have to clean
up all the messes their policies make...but don't tell anyone I said
that. Say, why don't you come in tomorrow and spend some time in the
office with me? Sort of a 'Take Your Daughter to Work Day'."

This concept took some explaining. But Papa's description of seeing
JAG overrun less by various offspring (notoriously the Mattonis) than
by bored JAG personnel using their finely honed skills to interrogate
the children on what they'd been doing in school, to negotiate the
what sort of candy or treats they would be parentally permitted to
accept, and to produce various toys from their desk drawers as well as
unauthorized games from the computers, was truly hilarious.

"And Bud Roberts wasn't the only one who had games on his computer,"
Papa recalled. "Apparently, Mr. Rabb had finally overcome his fear of
computers enough to get some kind of World War Two airplane
shoot-em-up installed on his machine. So there he was, knee-deep in
munchkins, giving them serious instructions on how to come out of the
sun and do dogfights in their little planes by using the mouse and the
keyboard. So I ask him what he thought he was doing, and he says,
'Technical orientation, sir.'"

She laughed. "Tomorrow, you must introduce me to the ones who keep
showing up in your stories. Bud Roberts and Harriet Sims -- they 
sound so sweet! -- and Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie and...."

"About Roberts and Sims. I hate to disappoint you, " he interjected, 
"but they've been on the outs for the last three weeks."

"Really?" She frowned. "The poor children. I wonder what happened?
Well, I will have to see what I can do about getting them back 
together."

"Well," Papa said slowly, "I was kinda hoping to introduce you on
Thursday night."

"Is that what this is all about?" Her smile grew knowing. "You wish to
surprise them."

"Well...yeah, actually. I want them to take a look at you and have
their socks knocked off. I want people to be talking about you at the
coffee machine for weeks."

"You have a love for the dramatic, just as I."

"And a love for my daughter," he said quietly. "I'm just so proud of
you."

"Then by all means, let us surprise them, Papa," she said, catching
his hands. "But first, let me start a rumor or two by coming in to see
you in the morning."

"You do that."


0428 ZULU 
HARMON RABB'S APARTMENT

Annie hadn't answered her phone tonight. He suddenly felt like Dalton,
following a woman who didn't want to answer. But he needed to talk to
her -- the sailing trip with Josh was next weekend -- and he wanted to
hear her voice. But in the end he didn't leave a message. Maybe she'd
be home tomorrow night.

So he played a little Dead instead.

    "Fare you well, my honey 
	Fare you well, my only true one 
	All the birds that were singing 
	Have flown except you alone

    "Goin' to leave this Broke-down Palace 
	On my hands and my knees I will roll roll roll 
	Make myself a bed by the waterside 
	In my time - in my time - I will roll roll roll

    "In a bed, in a bed by the waterside 
	I will lay my head 
	Listen to the river sing 
	sweet songs to rock my soul

    "River gonna take me 
	Sing me sweet and sleepy 
	Sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back back home 
	It's a far gone lullaby sung many years ago 
	Mama, Mama, many worlds I've come 
	since I first left home

    "Goin' home, goin' home 
	by the waterside I will rest my bones
	Listen to the river sing 
	sweet songs to rock my soul..."

The phone rang. *Let it ring. It's too late to be calling,* he thought
righteously. *I could be asleep.*

    "Goin' to plant a weeping willow..."

The phone rang again.

    "On the bank's green edge 
	it will grow grow grow..."

The phone rang again. *Leave a message.*

    "Sing a lullaby beside the water 
	Lovers come and go - the river roll roll roll..."

"I can't come to the phone right now," he heard himself say, "but
leave a message and I'll get back to you. You know the drill."

    "Fare you well, fare you well 
	I love you more than...."

"Harm?" Mac. She sounded.... "Please, pick up the phone if you're
there. I...Dalton...."

He didn't remember putting his guitar down or getting to the phone.
"Mac? Where are you? What happened?"

"McMurphy's Tavern," she said. "Dalton...there was a carjacking.
I...he's dead, Harm. He's dead."

"What about you? Are you all right?" *Please be all right.*

"What? I'm all right. I was inside when it happened," she said,
sounding a little better. "I heard the shot and went outside. That's
when I saw him...." Her voice went dead again. "He was bleeding. I
tried to stop it, but he kept bleeding...."

"Shhhhhh," he said, trying to soothe her. "It's all right, Mac. I know
you did what you could. Are the police there?"

"Yes. It's Detective Coster."

*Where do I know him from...oh, yeah.*

"I remember him. Look, Mac, I'll be right there," he said, grabbing
his jacket. "I'm going to hang up now, but I'll be there as fast as I
can. Call me on my cellphone if anything else happens, okay?"

"Okay."

"All right. I'll be right there," he repeated, and hung up. He raced
down to his car. *Damn, damn, damn...why couldn't you die on your own
time, Lowne? Didn't you do enough to her already?*

And his mind played back mockingly, *Goin' to plant a weeping
willow....* 

---------------------------------------------------------
0432 ZULU 
OUTSIDE MCMURPHY'S TAVERN

Dalton Lowne hovered over Sarah with a somber satisfaction as the
ambulance attendants gently made her relinquish his torn and shattered
body. She had finally realized how much she loved him, but it had been
too late. Now she would mourn him forever....

"Yeah, right," some black guy was saying. He wasn't being very
respectful of the dead, really. "Sarah Mackenzie mourn *you* forever?
She's got better things to do. Like saving her partner's butt, and
realizing that there's a reason he's the only man she trusts -- not to
mention being part of The Person Upstairs' Plan by helping iron things
out at JAG. She doesn't even love you; she just told you a little
white lie to help you die easy. And you're fantasizing that her life's
gonna go to hell? Get a clue, Lowne."

Dalton realized with a shock that he was being addressed.

"And that's another thing. Lose the high-and-mighty attitude. I mean,
I'm Death himself and you don't see me strutting around with a hood
and scythe and hollow echoing voice. You're just another dead guy now.
You can't take your Boxter with you." Death grinned. "Actually, 
Coster kinda took care of that, didn't he?"  

Dalton realized that Death had never gone to an orthodontist.

"He also took care of your last words. Now, I can understand playing
nicey with a carjacker who wants to mug you. I mean, you didn't want
to end up meeting me. But telling the guy your watch is self-winding?
Please. How wimpy can you get?"

"He might have become a client sometime," Dalton shot back. "And I'd
like to be on my way. What's the standard procedure?"

Death raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you do have a spine, spectral as
it may be. I was wondering. Well, usually I would escort you to your
judgement. Buuuut you're one of the in-between guys, so you get to
wait."

"Wait?"

"Until you've gotten your soul in shape to go to Heaven. Think of 
this as a work-release program," he advised. "You do a little work,
you do a little public service, and pretty soon you're home free."

"Oh."

"Your first assignment is designed to repair some of the damage you
did during your life. You stuck in your nose and inadvertently screwed
up The Plan for two young people to fall in love and get married."

"You mean...Sarah and...and...."

"Spit it out."

Dalton grimaced. "Rabb?"

"Naw."

Dalton smiled.

Death smiled back. "Naw, they aren't Scheduled to get together for a
couple more years. Though they're gonna have some good osculatory 
action Real Soon Now. Mm mm mm. You shoulda seen the Angels of Love
and Joy plannin' that one."

Dalton started to splutter. Death ignored him. "Nope, I'm talkin' 
about the number you did on Harriet Sims and Bud Roberts."

"I didn't do anything to them!"

"Wrong-o. Your little stunt when you snooped into Sarah's files? Not
only did you screw yourself out of a relationship, but you made Bud
Roberts think that maybe Harriet Sims stole the names for you. And
for all the insults they were trading, that was the one that really
hurt Harriet's amour propre, as they say. So _you've_ got to get them 
back on Schedule to get married, pop out the munchkins, and so forth
and so on."

"Or?"

"Or we get you working on Mr. Coster's case."

"But I thought you said that was the name of the guy who killed me?"

"Precisely. Love your enemy, Dalton ol' buddy."

"I think I'd like to help Ensign Sims get back together with her
boyfriend."

"Good choice."


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