“I’ll be damned,” Maggie half-whispers as she gets a good look at the driver.

“What?” Kirsten asks, startled.

An unwilling grin crosses Maggie’s face. “If that’s not ‘Hang-em High’ Harcourt, I’ll eat my service ribbons.”

Kirsten looks at her askance. “’Hang-em who?”

The man in question brings the truck to a stop, turns off the ignition, and slips out through the door he’s just opened. Quite tall, and, like his truck, well-maintained despite his advanced years, he cuts an imposing figure as he looks down at Kirsten through clear, piercing eyes. After a moment, he gives a quick, if stiff, bow of his head. “Madame President.”

Kirsten simply stares.

With a quirk of his lips that could almost pass for a smile, he turns his gaze to the woman standing, hands on hips, to Kirsten’s left. “Major Allen,” he says by way of greeting.

Maggie manages to conceal her surprise and straightens. “It’s ‘Colonel’ now.”

That quirk of his lips comes again. “Indeed.” His eyes flick over her body almost dismissively. “I do hope that the increase in rank brought with it a concomitant increase in the ability to, I believe the phrase is ‘keep tabs’ on the men and women under your care?”

Maggie’s dark skin hides her flush, but Kirsten believes she can feel the heat of it from where she’s standing nonetheless. She experiences a flash of anger move through her; an emotion that dissolves into puzzlement as Maggie throws her head back and laughs, loud and long.

“You actually know this gnarled old oak?” Maggie shouts to Dakota between bursts of mirth.

“I’ll take that as the compliment it was no-doubt intended to be,” Harcourt replies primly as Koda, grinning, rounds the truck and comes to stand with the group.

Taking pity on Kirsten, she lays a soft hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Kirsten, I’d like you to meet Judge Fenton Harcourt.”

“Retired, Madame President,” Harcourt murmurs. “Quite retired.”

The name tickles her memories. She sifts through them quickly, then looks up, jaw nearly dropping. “Aren’t you—you’re the one who turned down a seat on the Supreme Court!”

“Pah,” he comments sourly. “Doddering fools the lot of them. I’m surprised they were able put their robes on without a map, let alone find their way to the bench—unless, of course, it was surrounded by an oaken bar and plenty of swizzle sticks.”

Kirsten continues to stare at him, gape-jawed, unable for the life of her to tell whether he is in fact serious, or simply the world’s greatest ‘straight’ man. His gaze, utterly cool, utterly calm, helps her not at all.

Koda once again comes to the rescue, squeezing Kirsten’s shoulder and drawing the Judge’s attention to herself. “If you’re quite through making your first impression, Fenton, maybe we could go inside?”

Harcourt straightens and puts his arms behind his back, clasping his wrists as he takes in a deep breath of spring-scented air. “I think not. I believe I’ll take a walk around the grounds.” He eyes Dakota significantly. “Alone.”

“Suit yourself. Just meet us back here when you’re through, ok?”

“Mm.” He looks down at the three of them, face as expressionless as a granite mountain. “Ladies. Madame President.”

When she’s judged the man has gone far enough on his walk to be out of comfortable earshot, Kirsten screws up her face like she’s just bitten into a lemon. “I’m beginning to hate that title.”

“That’s exactly why the old coot’s using it,” Maggie replies laughing. “Look up the meaning of the phrase ‘burr under the saddleblanket’ and you’ll see his picture staring you in the face.” She looks on with appreciation as Koda returns to the truck and hauls out Harcourt’s overnight bag and old-fashioned leather briefcase. “He can find a person’s weak spots without even looking. It makes him a formidable opponent.”

“He’s a judge!” Kirsten counters forcefully, ignoring the flash of jealousy that flares when she discovers exactly where the Colonel’s eyes are presently fixed. “Judges are supposed to be impartial, not opponents.”

“On the bench,” Koda replies, returning to them laden with Harcourt’s luggage, “he’s the most impartial person I know. Just don’t screw up in his courtroom, and never get into a debate with him when he’s not wearing his robes.” She smirks. “Unless you’re wearing a full suit of armor.”

The others follow as she heads for the house, juggling the luggage as she unlatches the door, and nearly stumbling backwards as Asi takes the opportunity presented to leap on her, pressing against her chest with his large forepaws. “Get down, you…mangy…furball!” She pushes forward with implacable strength, causing him to dance back on his hind legs until his feet slide and he tumbles away. He stares up at her as she pushes by, expression truly pitiful.

“You deserved it, you big dope,” Kirsten mutters when he turns the hurt look on her. “Now go lay down and behave.”

Ears and tail drooping, he slinks his way to the fireplace, where he lays down with a sigh worthy of the greatest of martyred heroes.

“So, how do you know Judge Harcourt?” Kirsten asks Koda as she watches the tall woman stack the luggage near the couch.

Straightening, Koda smiles and heads back into the kitchen. Reaching into the oven, she pulls out the frybread that she had made this morning, and with a few preparations, she begins dinner for them all. “I’ve known him since I was an infant, actually,” she begins, voice low and mellow and soothing. “He and my grandfather were good friends—well, as good a friend as any human being could be to Fenton.” She slips a look toward her two companions. “He’s not exactly known for his love of the species.”

Kirsten contemplates that for a moment. From what she knows of the man based on short acquaintance, she can’t say she’s a bit surprised at the revelation. “How did your grandfather come to know him?”

“When he was a young man,” Koda replies, turning back to the supper she’s preparing, “Fenton was known as a champion of civil rights.”

“But you said he hates people,” Kirsten counters, confused.

“That may be,” Koda returns evenly. “But he loves the Constitution and what it stands for.” She smiles fondly, though neither woman can see it. “He was one of the chief warriors in my peoples’ fight to gain back all of our ancestral lands.”

“I remember reading about that.” Kirsten’s expression is thoughtful. “I don’t recall seeing his name mentioned in any of the history discs I’ve seen, though.”

Koda snorts. “If there’s anything he hates more than people, it’s publicity. He didn’t need or want the credit. He did what he did because it was the right thing to do, and when he had won that battle, he moved onto other things.”

“Like gay marriage,” Maggie replies knowingly.

Koda turns, grinning. “Exactly. And a lot more over the years. He’s a brilliant thinker with a love of the law, and probably the most honest man outside my family that I’ve ever met. He might not be much of a people person, but he’s a good friend, and I’m lucky to have him in my live.”

“We’re lucky to have him,” Kirsten gently corrects. “Thanks for…talking him into this,” she adds, instinctively knowing that without Koda’s intervention, he would never have come.

“He hasn’t said yes yet.”

“Details, details,” Kirsten replies, blithely waving the concerns away. She turns her gaze to Maggie. “And how do you know him?”

The young scientist doesn’t need to see Maggie’s flush to know it’s there. “A much less pleasant tale, to be sure,” the Colonel replies, grinning weakly.

“We’re all ears.”

Sighing, Maggie drops down onto one of the worn kitchen chairs, legs splayed, one arm draped across the table. “Fine. It was…quite a few years back. We’d been away on maneuvers for months. Almost a year, in fact, and had just gotten back to home base. Most of my crew had a lot of leave time saved up and they were raring to take it, but the shit with Syria was stirring up again, and all leaves were indefinitely cancelled.” She grimaces. “So I asked for, and received, a weekend’s liberty for my men.”

“And they took it,” Kirsten observes.

“Oh yeah. They took it alright. About four o’clock Monday morning, I get woken up by a phone call from Rapid City PD.”

“Oh boy.”

Maggie tosses Kirsten a smirk. “Apparently, seven of my men had taken up residence in the city lockup. Seven counts of drunk and disorderly, four assaults, and one assault with a deadly weapon. A pool cue,” she explains in response to Kirsten’s unasked question. “It…wasn’t pretty.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Damn.” Clearing her throat, she looks down at hands which are now clasped together on her lap. “I figured…you know…I’d go to the courthouse and get them to release them to me pending a trial. If I was lucky, I could have the charges shifted to a military court and take care of it from there.” She sighs, still looking down at her hands. “No such luck. Harcourt had pretty much retired by then and was slumming, filling in part time in the city courts. I took one look at his face during the bond hearing and I knew I had no chance.”

“Tim D’Mello.” Koda’s soft voice floats back from the stove.

Kirsten looks perplexed. Maggie nods. “Yeah.” To Kirsten, “Tim D’Mello was an airman stationed at our base. He raped three women in Rapid City, and the JAG made a deal with the civilian authorities, promising to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law, yadda, yadda, yadda, if they’d release him to the MP’s. They agreed, and he was convicted, but he escaped from the brig, and raped again. Twice in one night.” She swallows hard. “He killed the last one. She was only twelve.”

“Jesus,” Kirsten hisses.

“Harcourt was as hard as a rock,” Maggie continues. “He wouldn’t budge. My men were going to receive their day in court; a civilian court for the damage they’d done to civilians, and that was that.”