Certain Methods
Word Count: 2,614
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Should I get back to you on that one? If I don't keep it gen, then... Dani/Nico, Harm/Mac, and a possible bit of Harriet/Bud. But Chegwidden features heavily/centrally to the story, too.
Spoilers: Although I reference something from 1x12, I'm actually going to set this after 1x10 for Necessary Roughness. For JAG? Um... season two, definitely related to that season. Specifically "Secrets" and "Ghosts," and a lot of this won't make sense if you don't know those eps. Otherwise, the spoilers/timeline from JAG is kind of... vague.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just break things.
Summary: Direct, indirect. Legal, illegal. Military, Civilian. Every person has a different method for handling situations. Some are better than others.
Author's Note: So, despite the other fics I've posted and completed, this concept I technically developed before a lot of them, shortly after Nico's episode two revelation that he was a SEAL. Being a long time fan of JAG, my mind went to the admiral, and how cool would it be for Nico and the admiral to team up? And thus, this story started. Where it ends... anyone's guess. :P

In the Mail

"You get mail?"

Dani winced inwardly. She hadn't meant to say that. It sounded moronic, coming out like that. No, it was stupid no matter how she said it. She didn't sound like an educated woman, a licensed therapist. She sounded like a child. She shouldn't have been surprised, not for a second. Everyone got mail. Even if they used false names or addresses, they still got junk mail. Nico was no exception to that rule. Of course he had mail. He had to have all of the in-house Hawks and Pittman group mail, at the very least.

"I do," he agreed, looking up from the stack that he held in his hand. Some of the pieces went straight into the trash, but two envelopes stayed in his hand. "If you want to send me some, feel free to send it to the office here."

She caught herself having a fleeting image of filling out a party invitation for him and shook her head. That would never happen. She didn't do parties, and he wouldn't come. "You do have a home address, don't you?"

"That information is classified," he told her, and she looked at him. Classified? Really? He smiled, reaching for an old-fashioned and rather scary looking letter opener. He opened the two envelopes and set it back down. She studied it on the desk. The handle's metalwork was ornate, and the blade looked almost dangerously sharp. Was that a real dagger?

She cleared her throat, forcing her eyes away from the knife or dagger or whatever it was. "Will I ever have that kind of clearance?"

"How long do you believe that you will be a part of this organization, Dr. Santino?" he countered, taking the letters out of the envelopes. One went straight into the trash with the envelope. She frowned, wondering if he was trying to tell her something with that or if he was just throwing away junk mail and she was reading too much into things. She had a habit of analyzing everything psychologically, and it could be more straightforward than she tended to think.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "As long as I can help someone, I guess. I made TK a promise, and I will keep it even if I get fired."

Nico studied her for a moment. If this was about her attempt to enforce boundaries that had sent TK straight to the yes man Laz, that was different. She still intended to keep her promise to TK, but she needed to have boundaries to be able to help him.

"Then perhaps that clearance might be earned."

"Really?" she asked, torn between being offended at the patronizing idea of earning it and a bit pleased that Nico would actually share that with her. She seemed to be one of few people that he gave even the smallest of tidbits to, and she liked being in that number. She would, of course, prefer more information, since his mysterious ways were only amusing for so long before they became extremely frustrating, and she was really sick of him sneaking up on her.

"It may become necessary for you to have that information in your continued employment," he agreed. She gave him a look, not liking the stiff formality of the words. "Right now, it does not."

"So, I get it if work requires that I need it? When would work require that I need it?"

"Hopefully never," he told her. She made a face. He turned back to the second letter, brow creasing. She watched him, concerned by the dark look on his face. He was truly bothered by what he'd read. She wondered what was disturbing him so badly that he gave that much away. He did not normally show so much, especially not to her, not with her tendency to read more into things.

"Nico?"

"I have something to take care of," he said, getting to his feet. She frowned further. This was different. Oh, sure, he was the team's "fixer," and he went places and did things that no one knew about, but something he had to handle in a letter addressed personally to him? That seemed a little off from the usual. Normally it was a call from a player or something. Though... that didn't explain why he had a habit of showing up at her front door late at night.

"Something wrong?"

"Something that must be handled," he answered, not looking at her. She followed after him, unable to ignore the signs. She had seen him like this before—this, for Nico, was upset—and she was not about to let it go.

"What needs to be handled?"

"You claim that I fail to respect boundaries—"

"Claim, nothing. You do. You have no sense of boundaries," she said, thinking of all his late night visits to her house and how he'd threatened to make people disappear. "As long as you get what you need to do done, you don't care about anything else. You are out of control."

He glanced at her, and she regretted the harsh condemnation. It wasn't always like that. Their methods clashed on more than one occasion, but she knew he wasn't completely heartless. "And if someone was interested in the particular type of skills I use?"

"I would have my doubts that what they wanted was anything legal and that it was definitely not good," she muttered, and he nodded. Her eyes got wide. "Wait, who wants you for this?"

"The US government."

"What?"

"Can I help you?"

Nico studied the bars on the man's uniform, and then his face. A commander, former fighter pilot. In amongst the ribbons were some interesting commendations for a JAG lawyer. There was more to this man than met the eye. A good thing, since the initial impression Nico had gotten was not a positive one. The man was a perfect example of a naval officer, so clean cut and crisp and full of enthusiasm for the job he held. Nico's service had been less... gratifying, and his hands were definitely not clean.

"I'll be damned," a loud voice boomed across the room. Nico's lips curved into a slight smile. "The hell are you doing here, Nico?"

"Sir?" the commander asked, looking over at his commanding officer with the obligatory question. Nico had not missed that. He had become accustomed to moving at his own pace, reporting basically to no one. Pittman gave him autonomy. He didn't care how things were done, just that they were. Everyone else felt the same. They did not really care what he did as long as he got whatever they wanted or needed done. No one had challenged his methods until Dani Santino came along.

"I served with this man years ago. SEAL," Chegwidden explained. "Commander Rabb, this is Nico Careles."

"Never figured you for a lawyer, AJ," Nico observed, as he had done in the past, when he first heard of Chegwidden's decision to change designations.

Chegwidden gave Nico a look. He probably suspected the truth under the old joke, knew that Nico had already known that he was a JAG lawyer, that he had come here specifically to speak to a man he had once served with, a man he felt he could trust. He could have found another JAG lawyer to work with, one closer to him, but he doubted that many would understand the situation Nico found himself in. "Not sure what you do, but I have to wonder if it's remotely legal."

Nico shrugged in turn. Chegwidden had gone with the joke as well. Nico knew full well that the admiral didn't think much of what he did. "Legal is a matter of definition."

"Not here," the commander said immediately.

Nico looked over at Rabb with amusement. This one still harbored delusions most people had let go of years ago. He clung to the ideals and image that held the US in a better light than was realistic most of the time. Idealism and Nico had parted ways a long time ago, if they had ever been companions in the first place. "Defining the law—at least the military code—is what you do everyday."

Chegwidden laughed. "And you're surprised that I'm a lawyer?"

Nico smiled. He had learned his fair share of legal maneuvers and was fully capable of manipulating any of the players' contracts if he needed to, even going so far as to advise the team's lawyers on occasion. "Perhaps not. Perhaps that means you will be able to assist me."

"With what, exactly?" Rabb asked, suspicious. Nico figured that his request would not go over very well with that one. He would not understand. That one was the type that would go to the grave in the uniform, carrying his traditions and honor with him. He would not think much of someone who did not want to serve, whatever their reasons.

"This." Nico passed over the letter he'd received in the mail. He had considered ignoring it, had almost taken it to the team's legal advisers, but they were not experts in naval law. Those experts were here, in this room.

"Recall to active duty?" Rabb read aloud. He looked up at Nico like Nico must be an idiot. "This is fairly self-explanatory."

"I do not require an explanation," Nico said. He looked over at Chegwidden, bypassing the commander pointedly. "I would like to challenge it."

Rabb frowned. He looked over at his commanding officer, trying to get a feel for Chegwidden's opinion of the situation. AJ's face was impassive, giving away nothing. Rabb fingered the paper again. "Challenge it?"

Nico nodded. "I would hardly say that I served my country with distinction in the past, as your CO is well aware. The war is nearly over. The president is preparing to reduce troops overseas. Add in my nearly dishonorable discharge, and the work I used to do—most of which is classified far above your level—this leads me to be concerned about this recall. More specifically, what I would be doing were I actually recalled to active duty."

"So, your position isn't that you're unwilling to serve," Rabb clarified. "It's a matter of how you believe you would be serving?"

"I have a certain set of skills, Commander. In the past few years, it has been enough to use the implication of those skills to accomplish my work," Nico began, looking toward Chegwidden. "I had believed the more physical application of those skills was over and done with."

Rabb was still having trouble wrapping his head around this one. "We're all trained to—"

"To disable. To hurt. To kill," Nico interrupted, not disagreeing with that. "Rabb, you have defended a man accused of war crimes before, haven't you?"

"Are you saying you're guilty of war crimes?"

"Define war crimes."

"Are you always like this?"

"Some say it is a part of my charm."

"What is your current position?" Harm asked, going through the obvious, easy and usual means of countering a recall to duty. Few people he knew actually did this, and he wouldn't have thought that one of the admiral's friends would want to, but there were clearly first times for everything, weren't there?

"Arguing that my vocation fulfills a necessary role here at home will not work. You will need another tactic. As I have said, I am not concerned with returning to active duty, in as much as I do not object to serving. I question what I will be doing in that service."

"Exactly why is this an issue?"

"Because it is."

Harm sighed. He wondered why the admiral hadn't taken on his friend's case himself. Careles was proving to be one of the most difficult people he'd ever represented, and he'd had several bad cases in his past, ones that should make this one seem... tame.

"Have you ever done 'wet work,' Commander?" Careles countered, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap. "I specialized in making things—people or problems—disappear. Nowadays I do not have to kill, but it is something I have done in the past. There is enough blood on my hands, enough questionable actions. I may not work in the most reputable of fields, but I have no desire to kill. Not again."

"I understand that."

"Do you?" Careles asked, disbelief in his voice. Harm looked at the other man. As much as the former SEAL pushed his buttons, Careles had formed an equally low opinion of him. Harm saw the other man take out his phone and shake his head. "Excuse me for a second."

Harm waved him away with his hand. He needed a moment to think, and it would be nice if Bud would get back with Careles' service record already. It would give Harm a better sense of the man that he was dealing with and allow him to get back on an equal footing again. He'd had to watch himself since this was the admiral's friend, and he had to believe the bond had been forged in combat because he didn't know any other way anyone could tolerate Careles, but that was Harm's own bias talking.

"Terrence, did you put a cellphone through his head?" Careles demanded. He had a bit of a tone to his voice, like he was used to being frustrated by the person on the other end of the line. "Then what is the emergency? Did you call Dr. Santino? No, I suggest that you call her. Because I am not in the state and this is the type of situation that she should handle in the first place. Cute, but I am not actually capable of being in more than one place at the same time. Call Santino."

Careles hung up and Harm was about to ask him a question when he made another call. "Dr. Santino. TK is on his way to you. If he does not contact you, I suggest you call him. He is worked up over something, but all I got was that someone said something in a bar. It was not a case of cellphone violence this time, but we all know TK."

Harm was starting to get curious—more curious than he should be or even wanted to be—and he knew he shouldn't be listening. Careles forced a tight smile despite the fact that whoever was on the other end couldn't see it. "Yes, I am handling that, Doctor. I expect it resolved shortly."

He hung up again and turned back to Harm. Harm looked down at his desk and back at Careles with a sigh. "I don't suppose there's any reason you'd fail to pass the physical, is there?"

Careles seemed amused by Harm's near desperation. "No. Though if necessary, I suppose I could find a doctor who was willing to say so."

"You'd do that?"

Careles shook his head. "I don't lie. I also don't want to kill. There should be some way of challenging this that does not involve lying and allows me to avoid killing."

"Well, there goes having you commit some minor crime to prevent your military service," Harm joked, and Careles actually smiled back at him.

"Commander?" Bud asked, poking his head into the office. "Can I have a moment?"

Harm nodded. This should be about the records, and it was past time he got them."Of course, Bud, come on in."

"Sorry, sir," Bud began, looking very upset. Harm frowned at him. "It's just... I'm having a hard time getting the records you asked me for. The... Careles ones? They're... not there."

Harm turned to ask the other man about that, but he was gone.