All At Once I.docx

All at once I'm drifting on a lonely sea Wishing you'd come back to me and that's all that matters now All at once I'm drifting on a lonely sea Holding on to memories and it hurts me more than you know So much more than it shows all at once "All At Once", performed by Whitney Houston

So raise your hands to heaven and pray That we’ll be back together someday Tonight I need your sweet caress Hold me in the darkness Tonight you calm my restlessness You relieve my sadness "Hands To Heaven", performed by Breathe

WEDNESDAY MORNING 23 MAY 2001 JAG HEADQUARTERS Mac stared down at the stack of papers in front of her on her desk, trying to concentrate. She was taking the next two days off in preparation for her wedding and she wanted to get rid of the backlog of paperwork on her desk. It wouldn't be fair to dump it all on someone else, no matter what the circumstances. It wasn't everyone else's fault that Mac found it harder and harder to focus on work the closer it got to her wedding day. Most would have assumed that Mac's occasional inability to concentrate on work stemmed from her wedding, that she was the typical giddy bride looking forward to her wedding day with an excitement that could not be contained. It frustrated Mac that nothing could be further from the truth. She wanted to be giddy. She wanted to be counting the hours and minutes left until she would become Mrs. Mic Brumby. She wanted to look forward to her wedding day with the anticipation born long ago in a little girl's dreams of her fairytale wedding. But she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. Unconsciously, she rubbed a finger over her lips and remembered how it had felt. It had just been a kiss, one of a multitude she’d received in her life. And it hadn't been the first time that he’d kissed her. She’d known what it felt like, his mouth moving tenderly over hers, had known how he tasted. So why did one stolen moment on a cool May night haunt her so much? She didn't even have to close her eyes to see clearly in her mind how it had started out as tender goodbye kiss and grown in intensity until she was positive the only thing holding her upright was his hand pressed against her back, holding her firmly against him. She’d tried to back away. Oh, how she’d tried. But she'd never expected him to finally let go, to express in his actions everything that she'd ever wanted from him but had given up on hoping for. That

was why, when he’d pulled her back to him, she hadn't resisted. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. Mac closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. She could still feel the tingling sensation as his lips touched hers. Her back felt warm where his hand had pressed against it. If they hadn't both been so aware of the house full of guests and their significant others, just on the other side of the door. . . .She should put it out of her mind. She had to put it out of her mind. She knew that in her head. Her heart had just refused to listen. At a time when she should be running as fast as she could in the opposite direction, she’d oddly found herself closer to Harm than they’d been since he’d left JAG to return to active flight status. They spent more time together, laughed together, generally enjoyed each other's company. And they touched. A hand on an arm. A pat on the shoulder. Fingers clasped together. Mac knew they were playing with fire. They both did. That was evident every time they looked into each other's eyes. But Mac kept telling herself that what little contact they allowed themselves was better than none at all. And maybe if she told herself that enough times, she would find herself believing it. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a knock on her partially closed door. Her gaze met Harm's and they stared at each other for a long moment, the hint of a smile playing on their lips. Finally, Mac broke the silence and asked, "What can I do for you?" "I. . . .something's come up," he said, stepping in her office, resisting the urge to push the door closed behind him. But being with Mac behind closed doors was too great a temptation and she’d made her choice. He had to accept that. "I needed to talk to you about it." "Take a seat," she suggested, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Harm looked at the chair for a moment, and then shook his head. "On second thought," he said, "why don't we take a break? We've both been buried under paperwork all day. It's a nice day out today. Why don't we take a walk?" "I don't know," she hesitated, shaking her head. "I've got a lot to get done before I go on leave ....” Her voice trailed off as she noted to look in his eyes. Ever since that night, she’d found herself paying more attention to his eyes, learning to read what he was thinking. Right now, what she was seeing was a look that she hadn’t seen in a couple of years.... since he’d shown up at her apartment to tell her that he was returning to active flight status. She had the feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that whatever he was about to say, she didn't really want to hear it. Taking a deep breath, she nodded agreement. "Let me get my cover." "Thank you," he said. Mac's hand froze on her desk drawer at his tone and she studied him for a long moment. She couldn't explain it, but she sensed from him that this was of vital importance – to both of them.

Once they were outside the building, slowly walking the grounds, Harm found himself hesitating. Honestly, he was a bit relieved about his news, but he was concerned about Mac's reaction. He wasn't sure why. She was going to marry another man in three days. Wouldn't it be more comfortable for her if he wasn't there, a reminder of the turmoil in her heart? But

Mac seemed to be concerned about his reactions to what was happening in her life. She’d obviously been worried about his reaction when she'd told him a few weeks earlier that he wouldn't be able to sit at the head table at the wedding reception. Even already knowing that he was going to be there, she’d asked him specifically a few hours before the engagement party if she would see him there. Harm thought that he’d finally figured out the tangled feelings between them, but her concern made it even harder, a constant reminder of what he could never have. There were times when he wished that he’d remained oblivious. Why had he finally opened up to her on the Admiral's porch? Why couldn't he have backed away, as he'd done on the ferry? Maybe then it would be easier to pretend that he was happy as the person he cared about most in the world made a life with another man. He glanced at Mac and found her looking at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to reveal his news. It had been his idea to come out here. A part of him considered forgetting about the whole thing and just taking off for the Patrick Henry, letting the chips fall where they may. But then he remembered the hurt look on his face when she’d found out he'd had his eyes fixed without telling her. He'd promised himself that he would never do that to her again. But once again, the rules of engagement had changed. "So how was your presentation?" he asked, breaking the silence, deciding to go with small talk while he figured out how to break his news. "It went fine," she replied, recognizing the delaying tactic, but going along with it. She was trying to learn not to push him so hard. Hell, her pushing had been what had put them in this situation to begin with. First, she'd pushed too hard in Sydney and ended up in another man's arms. Then, she'd pushed him at the engagement party, but instead of running away as he had in Sydney, he'd pushed back this time and look what it had gotten them. Three days before her wedding and she couldn't convince herself to be the ecstatic bride. "You do love your husband, don't you?" "I don't know." Mac shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts which had been plaguing her since the party and which had found a focus as she’d researched her presentation on the Somers mutiny of 1842. How had she managed to relate the court-martial of her ancestor to her ambivalence about Mic? She sighed. The Somers mutiny was hardly a safe topic for conversation. Then again, was there any such thing between them anymore? "Mac?" Harm asked, watching her with concern. "Are you okay?" "There's just a lot going on," she replied. It was the truth, as far as that went. Harm came to a stop and turned to her. Mac glanced around them. They were at a far corner of the grounds surrounding JAG headquarters, away from the usual traffic of people coming and going. That nagging voice inside Mac's head suggested that this wasn't a good idea, but she squashed it. Harm was her best friend. She owed it to him to listen to what he had to say. "As I'm sure you're aware," he began, "I have to qualify every year to keep my flight status

current. My year is up at the end of the month and I've done everything except for the carrier landing portion of my quals." He watched as she thought about what he was saying, making the connections in her mind. "You're going to be deployed sometime in the next week to carrier," she concluded. "I report to the Patrick Henry tomorrow," he told her, continuing quickly before she could protest. "I'm driving up to Norfolk tonight and I'll take a helo from there in the morning. Just in case something happens and things take longer than planned, it's better to go now, than wait until after the holiday Monday when there will only be three days left in the month. Anyway, as of next week, I'm acting chief of staff and need to be here at JAG." "I see," she replied carefully, having the sinking feeling she knew where this was going. "And when will you be back?" "I'm not sure," he replied, shrugging. This was the part that he was dreading telling her. "The plan is sometime Saturday, but I'm not sure exactly when. Could even be Sunday." "Sunday," she repeated, trying – and not entirely succeeding - to stifle her dismay. "My wedding's on Saturday and there's the rehearsal dinner on Friday." "I know," he said softly. If he was aware of nothing else, it was that her wedding to another man was on Saturday. "I'm up against a deadline here. If I delay the orders until after the wedding, then I run the risk of running out of time to complete my quals. Sure, I can probably complete them in a couple of days, maybe three, but things can happen that can drag that out." "And if you don't complete your quals, then your flight status is threatened," she realized. She knew how much his flight status meant to him, even if he was no longer a part of an active duty squadron. "I understand, but. . . ." "Mac," he said, picking up her right hand and squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry." "You said the plan is to come back on Saturday?" she asked, clinging to that thought. "That's the idea," he replied, hoping that she wasn't going where he thought she was about to with this. It would be easier if he couldn't make it back. "I'd like to salvage something of the holiday weekend before my workload is doubled for the next couple of weeks." "I suppose you have plans with Renee," she said, trying to bury the flicker of jealousy she felt. She was with Mic. She couldn't expect him to spend his time pining for her, despite coming to terms with the feelings between them. It wasn't fair. . . .to any of them. "Not really," he admitted. Renee had pushed, but even before he'd known about his orders for the Patrick Henry, he'd made the excuse that he wanted to get a jump start on some of the extra work that he would be stuck with. Of course, his desire to be alone had more to do with regrets over the direction of his life than a burning desire to work through the holiday weekend. He knew that he wasn't going to be very good company this weekend and he wasn't really in the mood to tolerate Renee's attempts to distract him.

She stared at her hand in his, her gaze focused on his thumb idly tracing circles on her palm. "Harm, I need you ...." she began, realizing how that sounded. She quickly added, a bit flustered, "I want you to be there for me. With Uncle Matt in Leavenworth, Chloe's going to be my only family there. I've got friends, but you mean.... more to me than just about anyone. That's why I'd invited you to the rehearsal dinner even though you're not in the wedding party. If nothing else, I need you to be at the wedding." "Why, Mac?" he questioned her. He still held her hand and she could feel the heat where his thumb gently rubbed her slowly spreading up her arm and through her. Her breath caught as she tried to think of a reply. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice hesitant. "I just know that I need you there. I need to know that you are there and are.... happy for me." "If this is what you want," he reminded her, "then I'm happy for you." Anyone who didn't know him very well might not have caught the slight tremor in his voice, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Mac. But Mac, learning to look for the little clues to what he was thinking, noticed it, perhaps because it reflected the doubts in her own heart. "Harm," she said with a hint of pleading, "I know that I'm asking a lot, and I can't explain why this is so important for me. Maybe it's that I think this will provide some closure. But I do know that I need to know that you will be there for me." Harm tilted her head up with a finger, his gaze meeting hers and he allowed himself just a moment to become lost in the dark depths of her eyes. In that moment, he remembered why he would do anything for her. "I will," he said softly. "I promise." Mac licked her suddenly dry lips. He would come home in time for the wedding. He wouldn't let anything stand in his way. Harm always kept his promises. "Don't make a promise you can't keep." "I haven't yet." Well, he'd never broken a promise to her yet. It would be another three years before he would be forced to break that one. Until then, she would hold onto the knowledge that Harm's word was worth more than the most precious metal. "Thank you," she whispered, unconsciously leaning forward slightly as she lost herself in the turmoil evident in his eyes. She knew this would hurt him, more than he would probably ever admit, even to her. But he would still come simply because she’d asked him to. She didn't deserve for him to be so kind and understanding. She closed her eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to form. She felt his free hand brush her cheek, meant to be a gesture of comfort. But she could feel so much more in his touch. Opening her eyes, she found that they’d somehow moved even closer together. It would be so easy. All she had to do would be to stretch up just a little bit and she could satisfy the hunger she'd been trying so hard to forget since the party. That night, things had gotten away from her as a simple goodbye kiss had turned into so much more. This time, Mac was fully aware of what she was doing and what this meant as she closed the remaining distance between them and stood up on tip toe to press her lips against

his. She moaned against his open mouth when she felt his hand go to her back, welcoming the return of the heat she remembered from that night. Her hand slid up his arm and over his shoulder board to press against the back of his neck, her fingers moving over him in a soft massage. They were outside, where anyone might walk by, but neither had the strength or the will to put out the fire threatening to engulf them. Harm started to pull away first, but he'd been haunted as much as she’d been the last couple of weeks and he found that he couldn't. He tugged at her lower lip, lightly running his tongue along the soft flesh, before losing himself again and deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping the welcoming depths of her mouth. She swayed slightly against him as she met him with equal fervor, her tongue wrestling with his, and he tightened his hold on her. Mac was finally the one who broke away first, taking a step back as she felt something hard pressing against her stomach. This was spinning too far out of their control. Harm turned his back to her, his breathing ragged, trying to regain some small measure of control. Mac reached out and let her fingers brush against his arm before dropping her hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Don't be," Harm replied just as softly, turning his head to glance back at her. "Never be sorry." Mac wasn't sure she had the right to ask for more, but she did anyway. She couldn't help herself, anymore than she could have stopped herself from falling into his arms again, even when they both knew they shouldn't. "Stop by and see me before you go?" she requested. Harm turned his head away again and nodded. "I will," he vowed. Mac took a deep breath and forced herself to walk away, back to the pile of work waiting for her on her desk. But the voice was back in her head, taunting her. You do love your husband, don't you? .... You do love your husband, don't you? .... You do love your husband, don't you? "What does love have to do with anything?" she retorted aloud, drawing a curious glance from a passing petty officer, who snapped off a salute as soon as she caught sight of the silver oak clusters on Mac's collar. Mac automatically returned the salute, but she couldn't get the question out of her mind. She just wished that she could satisfy herself with the answer.

A FEW HOURS LATER Oddly enough, Mac found that she was better able to concentrate after her work after her meeting with Harm. With a smile on her face, she signed off on another report and tossed it on top of the rapidly growing pile of completed work. "Thinking about our wedding, I hope," Mic said from the door. Mac looked up from the file she’d just picked up, forcing the smile to remain on her face.

"Mic," she said brightly. If her voice a little too bright, she was the only one who realized it. Mic rarely noticed the subtle clues – the look in her eyes, the slight change in her voice – that signaled a change in mood. Even when she was visibly upset at him, he tended more often than not to ignore the reason behind the mood, opting to try to charm her out of her bad mood rather than dealing with what had caused it in the first place. But it never resolved any of the problems between them. More and more, Mac was beginning to realize that. But it wasn't that simple. Not after all this time. Harm would have noticed, the voice in her head reminded her. Mac shook her head and forced her attention back to her fiancé. "What can I do for you, Mic?" she asked as she opened the folder in front of her. "Just wanted to see if you wanted to take off a bit early and spend some time with me, luv," he said cheerfully. "Mic," she protested, managing for the most part to keep the frustration out of her voice, "I have a lot of work to finish. Today's my last day before the wedding and I want to get as much of this done as possible." "Rabb's filling in as chief of staff while you're gone, right?" he countered. "I'm sure he would understand if you left it for him, with the wedding to think about and all that." Mac managed to bite back a stinging retort. Everything was going to be hard enough for Harm as it was in the coming days and weeks. She wasn't about to make things worse by unnecessarily dumping her work in his lap so she could play hooky with her persistent fiancé, even if Harm was going to be around to handle the extra load. Which he wasn't, she reminded herself. Harm chose that moment to poke his head in Mac's office. "Sorry, am I interrupting anything?" he asked automatically, although sorry was about as far away from what he felt as one could get. But he would make nice even if it killed him. He wasn't about to lose Mac's friendship, no matter to whom she was married. And if Mic had a problem with his and Mac's friendship, Harm was determined that was going to be Mic's problem – not his and certainly not Mac's if he could help it. Mac had promised that she wasn't going to lose him and Harm was holding onto that with everything in him. Mic opened his mouth to speak, to give Harm the brush off, but Mac jumped in before he could start anything. "Of course not," Mac replied smoothly. "Are you taking off already?" "The Admiral gave me the time to go home and pack since I'm driving to Norfolk," Harm replied, focusing his attention on her. Unfortunately, Mic did notice that – he tried to notice everything when he saw Harm and Mac together – and decided to interrupt. "Heading off on a case, mate?" Mic asked in a too pleasant voice. Maybe it would keep Harm away long enough to miss the wedding. Mic could have cared less if Harm was there to wish them well, even if it meant forgoing the opportunity to show off his hard-won bride. Although he’d professed to Renee that he wasn't concerned, he wouldn't rest easy on that score until the wedding ring was firmly on Mac's finger and she was truly and forever his. He couldn't banish the occasional vision he had of Harm standing up in the middle of the ceremony and declaring his undying love for Mac. In this case, when it came down to a

choice between showing off his wife to Harm and resting easy because Harm was absent, he'd take the resting easy. He'd have the rest of their lives to show off his wife and to remind Harm that Mac was forever his. "My annual carrier quals," he replied, his voice just as pleasant. "I'm taking a helo to the Patrick Henry in the morning from there." "I asked Harm to stop by before he left," Mac added. "I just wanted to make sure that there is nothing pending that I need to look at this afternoon." Her eyes were on Harm as she said it and he nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent plea to back her up. "I managed to clear my desk," Harm said, bolstering her story. Like her, he’d returned to his office with a renewed determination to bury himself in work. He'd even managed to make a dent in the usual backlog of reports on his desk, reports he'd thought to put off until Mac was gone on her honeymoon, figuring that he'd need the extra distraction in the ongoing effort to forget. "Have a safe trip and good luck on your quals," she said, smiling at him. She focused completely on Harm and managed to forget for just a moment that they weren't alone in the room. "I'll see you on Saturday." She had managed to forget until Mic reminded her. "You'll be back in time for the wedding?" he asked, his displeasure thinly veiled. Mac closed her eyes briefly against the sudden headache threatening to overwhelm her. "I'll be back Saturday morning," Harm confirmed, taking a small amount of pleasure in bursting Mic's hope that he wouldn't be at the wedding. "I promised Mac that I'd be there. Well, I need to get going. Mac, I'll see you Saturday." Mac got up and walked around to the door, stepping out of the office with Harm without even a glance in Mic's direction. "I'll see you," she said, stepping close enough to him that she was able to brush her hand against his without it being glaringly obvious to everyone in the bullpen. "And thank you again." Harm lowered his voice so that only she would hear. "I'd do anything for you, Mac," he reminded her. He then smiled and said aloud, "Tell Chloe I said 'hi' when she arrives and I'll see you both at the wedding." "I will," Mac promised, walking with him towards the elevator. She’d all but forgotten Mic's presence in her office. "I know she's looking forward to seeing you." "Mac ....” Harm began, but he stopped, shaking his head. He stopped in front of the elevator doors and turned to face her. "I just want you to call me if you need anything, even if it's just someone to talk to. I'm sure the next few days are going to be a bit crazy." "Thank you," she said softly. "For everything. Goodbye, Harm." "Goodbye, Mac," he replied just as softly, lifting his hand to brush against hers as the elevator doors opened before them. There was no one stepping off the elevator, no one else waiting to get on, so Harm let his hand linger over hers just a little longer than was really necessary

before dropping it back to his side. Mac stood there until Harm stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed between them. With a sad sigh, she returned to her office, where Mic was still waiting for her. She hesitated, and then closed the door behind her, just in case. He’d not been happy that she'd walked out of the office with Harm, barely giving him a second thought. By the time she'd returned, he was close to fuming. "Rabb get off okay?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm evident in his tone. "Mic, I really do have a lot of work to get done before my leave," she protested, hoping he would drop the subject and just leave her in peace. "Do you think we can talk later?" Mic wasn't about to let the subject of Harm slide. "Why did he promise to be back in time for the wedding?" he mused. "He wasn't sure if he would be able to get back," she replied calmly, promising herself that she wasn't going to argue about this, no matter how much Mic pushed. "I asked him to promise that he would be here for the wedding." "Why?" "Why not?" Mac countered with a sigh. Calm, she reminded herself. "My uncle's in Leavenworth, Chloe's the only family I've got. The next closest thing I have to family is my friends at JAG. Harm's been there for me through a lot and it's natural that I would want him at my wedding." "I'm your family now," Mic stressed. He thought by allowing them to say their goodbyes at the party that Harm would be firmly in her past and she would focus completely on him. If anything, she’d been increasingly distant since the party. He just had to remind her that he was the one whom loved her and whom she would be marrying in three days. "Mic, my friends are very important to me and I want them to be at my wedding," she retorted. "*All* of them and that is non-negotiable. Besides, I thought you and Renee were friends and I hear that she's really looking forward to the wedding." Harm hadn't said so in so many words, but Mac suspected that Renee's desire to be at the wedding had more to do with making sure her perceived competition was out of the way than wishing Mac and Mic the best. Maybe she and Mic should get together, she thought. Renee and Mic certainly had a lot in common, including a distrust of the relationship between their significant others. Of course, that distrust come without knowing what had transpired within the last few weeks. If they knew that.... Mac shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts from her mind, wondering where that wild idea had come from. At Mic's questioning glance, she managed a smile. "Just thinking about the wedding," she told him, trying to sound like the joyous bride-to-be. It was the truth, in a way, and it certainly did the job in distracting Mic, she told herself, judging from the wide smile now on his face. "Now, I really do need to get back to work. I've got to get finished with all this and then Chloe and her father are arriving late this afternoon." "Fine," Mic said, seemingly satisfied that he’d managed to divert her thoughts from Harm to

their wedding. As she opened the door, Mic came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. Momentarily startled, Mac reminded herself to relax as she extricated herself from his arms. "We're in the office, remember?" she pointed out quietly. She took his hand and squeezed, hoping that he was reassured that she wasn't rejecting him. "Sorry, luv," Mic apologized. "I suppose I can wait until later and, of course, I'll have you to myself for two weeks on our honeymoon." "Mic," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. It made her a little uncomfortable when he was overly affectionate in public, but he didn't notice, mistaking her discomfort for anticipation of when they would be alone together. "Later, luv," Mic said, stepping out of her office. Mac was about to go back to her desk when he added, "Walk me to the elevator?" He managed to make it sound like a pleasant request, but inside Mic was bothered. She’d walked Rabb to the elevator without a second thought, but he had to remind her to extend the same courtesy to him. Too bad she wouldn't take off the rest of the day with him. Then he could work on that reminder of his place in her life. Mac stopped and nodded, managing another smile as she gestured him to go ahead of her. As Mac walked slightly behind him, she ran her fingers along the collar of her uniform where his lips had moved over her, wishing that she felt the same tingling sensation still present on her lips from Harm's kiss earlier.

HARM'S APARTMENT Harm packed automatically – blindly tossing items in his overnight bag. He's been on so many trips that he knew what he needed to pack without even thinking about it. Sometimes he wondered why he didn't just keep a bag packed and ready to go at all times. You would have thought that he would have learned that, if nothing else, after sixteen years as a naval officer and four years at Annapolis. "Do you have anything to pick up?" "I’m a Marine, Harm. First to go. We always keep a packed bag in the car." "I guess that's the difference between sailors and Marines. I keep golf clubs in my car." He shook his head, trying to banish the memory. Memories. They’d become the bane of his existence the last few weeks, ever since that damned engagement party. It was like a floodgate had been opened – everywhere he turned, he was haunted by her face, by the way things used to be between them, by what would now never be. In three days, she would become Mrs. Mic Brumby and apparently nothing was going to stop that now. Not even what had happened between them that night - what was continuing to happen between them - was apparently enough to cause Mac to turn her back on the arrogant Australian.

He should have run in the other direction after that kiss on the Admiral's porch. By her words as they'd broke apart, it seemed that she’d clearly meant it as some sort of goodbye, a farewell to what might have been. She'd even tried to pull away at first, before he'd pulled her back and they'd both lost themselves for an all-too-brief moment in the hint of what could have been. But as they'd stood side by side as Harriet's promotion was announced, their hands brushing, he'd realized that there was no way he could run from this, not anymore. As he'd told her, the thing he wanted most was to never lose her, even if the only way he could have her now was only as a friend. And as he'd walked into JAG that Monday morning after the party, that was precisely what he’d feared would happen. He’d been afraid that she would be the one to run – away from him and from the feelings swirling between them which had finally surfaced. He’d nearly frozen in place as he'd gone to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee, finding her already in the kitchen, emptying a packet of sugar into her mug. He'd watched her for a moment, debating whether to go in there and face head on whatever might happen or turn and head for his office until the coast was clear and he was safe from everything that he was afraid of. The decision ended up being taken out of his hands when she’d turned around, coffee in hand, and had seen him standing in the doorway. Then the most amazing thing had happened. She'd smiled at him and said 'Good morning', just like it was any other morning. Smiling and greeting her in return, he'd entered the kitchen and set about preparing his own beverage. As he'd turned back to his mug after replacing the carafe in the coffee maker, his arm had accidentally brushed against hers. He didn't remember her being that close to him when he'd poured his coffee. Had she been closer than he'd thought she was? Or had she moved closer to him, driven by the same need to be near him that he was trying to quash in himself? From there, the ice had been broken. Whenever they ended up together, they seemed to always end up touching. Maybe it was just his hand on her arm, wanting to point something out to her. Or her arm brushing against his, lingering just a little bit longer than necessary as she handed him a piece of paper in the weekly staff meeting. Or a congratulatory pat on the shoulder after a hard-fought win in court. But for the diamond glaring brightly from her left hand, soon to be joined by a band of gold, it was as if time had finally been turned back – before his return to flying, before Sydney, before Mic, before Renee, before all the other little things that had conspired to tear them apart. But their kiss in the courtyard today – that had come out of nowhere. Or maybe it had been inevitable, the only logical result of their renewed closeness, both physical and emotional. Harm couldn't decide which it was. Maybe they should have run from each other. If it could happen once – as it had on the Admiral's porch – then surely it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that it could happen again. But they couldn't have predicted how that simple kiss could spin so quickly out of control, could they? How were they to know that it would only be the uniforms they wore and the fact that they were in a public setting that would serve to prevent them from giving themselves up to the desire and need which was flaring up between them. It went against everything he believed in, the honor which had been instilled in him as an officer and a gentleman. But there were some things that even the most stringent military discipline couldn't control or contain and, God help them both, this appeared to be one of

them. Sometimes he wished that what she’d once accused him of had been true, that he looked at her and saw Diane. Then it would be easier to convince himself that he shouldn't want her, shouldn't desire her, that his emotions only stemmed from her resemblance to his lost love and that it wasn't enough to risk everything over and not fair to any of them. "Hey, Sailor," Renee said, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Harm tensed slightly, having not even heard her come in. "I wasn't expecting you to be home so early. I thought I'd be here waiting for you.... " Harm stepped to the side, out of her arms, and Renee got a good look at the open travel bag on his bed. "Where are you going?" "Remember, I told you my carrier quals were coming up," he reminded her. "I just got my orders this morning. I report to the Patrick Henry tomorrow morning. I'm catching a helo out of Norfolk." "Well, can't you delay?" she asked, a slight pout on her face, waving her hand as if dismissing his orders. "I mean, Mac's wedding is Saturday." Truth be told, Renee was desperate for the two of them to attend the wedding. She wanted Harm to watch as Mac pledged her life and love to another man and hoped that the finality of that action would finally push Harm where she wanted him to go – completely and absolutely hers. Once Mac was forever out of his reach, then surely it would be easier to convince him to give her the miracle she wanted. Harm sighed inwardly. He knew why she’d brought the wedding up. She'd certainly been dropping enough hints over the last few months. Hell, she'd even admitted that she was counting the days until the wedding, right after she'd pressed him about his feelings for Mac and he'd sidestepped the issue. But he couldn't bring himself to care right now. Maybe it was harsh, considering that he'd been involved with her for a year and a half, but his heart was firmly in the grasp of one Sarah Mackenzie and after the party, he could not run from that any more. "Renee, I'll be back in time for the wedding," he said with a patience that he didn't really feel. "I spoke to Mac earlier and she pointed out the same thing and I promised to be back in time." "Oh," Renee said, managing to mask her irritation. The woman was getting married in three days, but she was the one who managed to extract a promise from Harm to return in time for the wedding. Renee had the feeling deep down that if she’d asked him to return to escort her to the wedding, he would have come up with at least a dozen reasons why he wouldn't make it back in time. Time to change the topic and remind him that *she* was the one in his life. "So what do you want to do this afternoon? I managed to clear my schedule so that I could surprise you when you got off work but it's still a little early for the dinner reservations that I made for us, so I'm flexible." She wrapped her arms around him again and let her hands roam freely, giving him a very good idea of what she wanted to do. Harm extricated himself from her embrace, momentarily haunted by another woman, another embrace – one that he hadn't wanted to let go of. He could almost see the electricity sparking when Mac touched him. With Renee, although it felt pleasant enough, he didn't have the sense that he'd starve if he never felt her touch again. He zipped up his bag and carried it over to the door. "Renee, I'm leaving on a helo first thing in the morning from a base three hours away," he pointed out. He dropped the bag on the floor under the coat rack and turned to face her, not really surprised that the pout was still present on her face. It was an emotion that she was very good at and liked to trot out every time his job took him away from her. "I'm driving down to Norfolk tonight. In fact, I was planning to leave as soon as I called you to let

you know what was going on." Of course, he just had to tell Mac that he was leaving before he told her. Just three more days, she reminded herself. In seventy-two hours, Sarah Mackenzie would be Sarah Brumby and out of their lives – and out of their relationship – forever. "Do you have to?" she pouted, then snapped her fingers and smiled as an idea came to her. It would require some more rearranging of her schedule, but this was too important. "Why don't I give Claude a call and push back tomorrow's schedule for a few hours? Then I can accompany you to Norfolk and give you a proper goodbye before you go." "No, Renee," he said, picking up a stack of mail off the bookcase and idly flipping through it, not that he hadn't already done so when he'd gotten home. He just wasn't in the mood for Renee's pleading. "Quals are very stressful. If I don't do well, then I can lose my flight status. I'm driving up to Norfolk tonight so I can get a good night's sleep and be well rested for my quals, which would be the last thing that would happen if you came with me." "Harm, she's getting married in three days," Renee pointed out, fingering the string of pearls around her neck. Wonderful. How was she supposed to make him forget if he kept pushing her away? Well, she wasn't a woman who would tolerate being pushed away. He turned around and stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown two heads, dropping the stack of mail back on the bookcase. "Since when were we talking about Mac?" he demanded. "I was talking about my carrier-landing quals." Right, and you're in such a foul mood because you're worried about catching the three wire, he chided himself. "Since she's always between us," Renee countered, "even when she's not here. Tell me, if she hadn't asked you to make a point of it, would you even care if you made it back in time for her wedding?" "Of course," he said, using the same line he'd often used on himself in the last few months as he'd watched her make wedding plans with Brumby. Not that he thought it would convince Renee any more than he’d managed to convince himself with it. "Mac has been a close friend for nearly five years." "And more?" she mused. She'd often wondered, but both she and Mic had tried to convince themselves that it didn't matter. All that should have mattered was that he had Mac and she had Harm. But the more distant he became as the wedding drew closer, the more she needed to know. "I am not going there with you," he said firmly, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. She noted that, as before, he hadn't really denied her assertion. "As you said, Mac is getting married in three days. And that's the end of it." Studying him with his determined expression and hand on the door knob, Renee reluctantly convinced herself to let it drop for now. At least he would be in Norfolk, then on a carrier in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and Mac would be here in Washington, distracted by all those pesky last-minute wedding details. She pressed against his side, intending to give him a deep, passionate goodbye kiss, but he turned to open the door and she only managed to press her lips against the corner of his mouth. "You'll call me when you get back," she said

hopefully. "Or if you are running behind, you could get ready for the wedding then come by to pick me up." She couldn't help throwing in one more reminder of the door that was about to close to him. He nodded as they stepped out of the apartment and he closed the door behind him, locking it. "I'll call," he agreed, trying not to think about escorting her to the wedding that was threatening to rip his heart to shreds. "Good," she said, turning her to him as they stood in the hall and this time managing to catch him off-guard enough to give him a kiss, even if it wasn't quite the kind of kiss she'd wanted to give. "Just remember that I'm waiting for you." As he climbed into his car, Harm tossed his bag on the seat beside him with a sigh. Renee was his girlfriend, but when she’d just kissed him, he hadn't felt anything. He’d been automatic, rote in his response. He couldn't make himself feel anything. Truth be told, he'd been that way ever since the party, when he'd held in his arms the one woman whose kisses would always haunt him.

Mac was distracted as she walked across the street to her building. What was happening? She’d spent the better part of a year trying to convince herself that she was in love with one Mic Brumby, but all that had fallen apart with one simple kiss. Now, as she was about to marry one man, she craved the touch and kisses of another as much as she craved the air that she breathed. "Hey, Mac!" a voice called out from in front of her. Mac looked up from where she was studying the cracks in the sidewalk in front of her to see her sister running towards her. She held her arms out and gathered Chloe into her embrace. "It's so good to see you," she said. Oddly, for the first time in a long time, Mac felt relaxed. She took a step back and studied Chloe. "You've grown since the last time I saw you." "Well, I'm grown up now," Chloe proclaimed, watching Mac. She was worried about her, had been ever since Mac had told her at Christmas that she’d agreed to marry Mic. Now that she could see Mac in person, she was even more concerned. Three days before her wedding and the last image that Mac projected was that of a happy bride-to-be. Mac laughed. At least some things were constant. Chloe was still Chloe. "You just turned fourteen a few days ago," she pointed out. "Yeah, fourteen going on forty," another voice interjected. Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes. "Dad!" "Hello again, Kyle," Mac said warmly, holding out her hand to him. "How are you doing?" "I'm doing well," he replied as he shook her hand. "Congratulations on your wedding."

Chloe noticed the brief cloud that passed over Mac's face at the mention of the wedding, but then it was gone and Mac was smiling again. "Thank you," she replied. "Look, we need to go get checked into our hotel," Kyle said. "But Chloe insisted we had to stop by and let you know that we made it here." "I asked Dad if I could stay with you while he goes get us checked in," Chloe interrupted excitedly. "Since we haven't seen each other in a while, I thought we could take some time to get caught up, just us women." "If it's okay with you, of course," Kyle said, trying to be the voice of reason. Mac's looked at her sister and her heart melted. She could use the company – and maybe Chloe could help distract her from the turmoil haunting her night and day. "It's fine, Kyle," Mac assured him. "I'd love to have Chloe to myself for a few hours." "Great!" Chloe exclaimed. "See you later, Dad!" Kyle laughed as he kissed his daughter's forehead. "Well, I guess she's all yours then, Mac," he acquiesced. "Just give me a call if she gets to be too much. Otherwise, I'll pick her up in a few hours for dinner." He winked, causing Mac to laugh and Chloe to roll her eyes again. "Bye, Kyle," Mac said. "We'll see you later." "Bye, Dad," Chloe echoed. They both watched as Kyle walked down the street back to where he’d parked their rental car. Once he’d driven off, Mac put her arm over Chloe's shoulder and led her into her building. "You don't know how glad I am to see you," Mac said. "So how's Harm?" Chloe asked, managing to sound completely innocent. Bingo, she thought as she noted the pained look in Mac's eyes at the mention of his name. It took Mac a moment to shake the memory of their walk from her mind and to attempt a convincing answer. "Harm's fine," she replied, glancing down at her engagement ring. She shook her head. "He's leaving tonight for Norfolk. He has to complete his annual carrierlanding qualifications by the end of the month." "You mean he's not going to be here for the wedding?" Chloe asked, raising her voice as Mac unlocked her apartment door. A passing neighbor looked at them oddly and Mac ushered Chloe into the apartment, firmly closing the door behind them. "I can't believe this." Chloe was upset. She'd held onto her dreams of someday being the flower girl at Harm and Mac's wedding. Mac's upcoming wedding to Mic was just a minor stumbling block to that. She'd had romantic visions of Harm sweeping in and declaring his undying love for Mac, carrying her away from what would be the biggest mistake of her life. How could he do that if he wasn't even going to be there? "Chloe, Harm's going to be at the wedding," Mac assured her, puzzled by Chloe's reaction. Sure, Chloe was very fond of Harm, but you'd think Harm was the one she was marrying from the way she was acting. "I spoke to him earlier. He promised to be back in

time for the wedding." Chloe couldn't help her sigh of relief. "Good," she said, relieved. "Then it's not too late." "Too late for what?" Mac asked, although she had a feeling that she already knew the answer to that question. She really shouldn't be surprised that Chloe was managing to give voice the doubts in her own heart. Chloe had always been one to speak her mind and had always been expressing hope that Harm and Mac would eventually get together. She needed to nip this in the bud. She had enough on her mind without her sister adding to the turmoil. Chloe was supposed to help make her feel better, not doubt herself even more. "Chloe, I. . . ." "Why are you marrying him?" Chloe asked, abruptly changing the subject from Harm to Mac's intended husband. "What?" Mac turned around and stared at her sister incredulously, startled by the sudden redirection of their conversation. "Why are you marrying Mic Brumby?" Chloe clarified. "What is it about him that is making you choose to spend the rest of your life with this man?" "Well," Mac began slowly, trying to gather her thoughts, "he's a good man. He makes me laugh. He gave up a lot to be with me here – his career in the Navy, his home in Australia. And most importantly, he's offering me the life I've always wanted – a home, a family eventually." Chloe wanted to strangle her sister. How could such an intelligent woman be so completely dense when it came to her personal life? She sighed heavily. Sometimes she felt like she was the older one. "What about love?" she pressed. What does love have to do with anything? Yeah, what does it have to do with anything, she asked herself. She'd been in love – and her affections had been thrown back in her face with talk of not being able to let go and waiting, possibly for eternity. When Mac didn't answer immediately, Chloe repeated the question. Mac shook her head, trying to clear it. "Chloe, it's a lot more complicated than that," she tried to explain, but Chloe waved her off. "The only complication I see here is that you love Harm," Chloe countered, "he loves you and – for some God-unknown reason that I have been trying to figure out ever since you first told me you had agreed to wear Mic's ring – you're about to throw your life away on marriage to a man whom you definitely do not love." "I never said that," Mac protested, but it sounded weak, even to her own ears. "And you never said that you do love him either," Chloe pointed out. "Come on, Mac. It's not that hard, if you really do love him. It's just three little words. Say them." "I ....” Mac began, the rest of the words sticking in her throat. Chloe wanted to jump up and down in triumph, but stopped at the look of utter despair on Mac's face.

Chloe walked across the room to Mac and clasped her hands. "Mac," she said in a very serious and grown-up tone, "you’re my sister and I love you. So please listen to me when I say that I'm worried about you. I'm scared that you're about to make a huge mistake. You love one man, but you're about to marry another. You're settling for some reason that I don't think even you understand. Please, think about this some more before you end up ruining three lives." "Chloe, I've made my decision," Mac said, sounding uncertain, as if trying to convince herself as much as Chloe. "Harm has agreed to live with it. So should you. Please, I want you to be happy for me." "Did it ever occur to you that Harm's accepting your decision only because you're not giving him a choice," Chloe asked sadly, "that he loves you enough to let you walk away because that is what *you* are making him believe that you want? He's falling on his sword because he loves you enough to let you go if that is what makes you happy." You've made a choice to get married and I respect that. "Harm's not falling on his sword," Mac protested, even as she began to seriously consider the possibility in her own mind. How many times had he told her that he was happy for her if she was happy? Sure, they touched more now than they had in the last couple of years – touched the way they used to before. . . .things. . . .had conspired to nearly tear their friendship apart. That didn't mean that Harm was in love with her. But their kisses – the way he’d pulled her back to him during both kisses, as if he couldn't get enough of her. Those were hardly the actions of a man who was happy that she was marrying someone else. "Have you ever asked him?" Chloe asked. "Or is he just telling you what you think you want to hear because you haven't asked?" "Chloe ....” Mac began, pulling her hands away and turning to look out the window. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining blindingly bright. Too bad it couldn't shed the light of truth on this situation. Or maybe she was so far gone that she was blinded to the truth. She didn't know anymore. "Mac, talk to him," Chloe pleaded, placing her hand on Mac's arm. "Go see him before he heads to Norfolk. You owe it to yourself, to him – even to Mic Brumby – to figure this out before you get to the 'until death us do part'." When Mac remained silently staring out the window, Chloe shook her head sadly, an action Mac saw reflected in the window, but didn't acknowledge. She knew how Chloe felt about Harm – she'd never made any secret of her hopes for Harm and Mac. But she barely knew Mic. How could she know or not know what was between the two of them? "Mac, I'm going to call my dad on his cell phone and ask him to come pick me up," Chloe said. "Please, think about what I said and please, go talk to Harm. You should be sure before you get married and from what I've heard here, you are far from it." It helps if you're sure. Mac stood unmoving by the window as Chloe walked across the room and made her phone call. Maybe she should have stayed as far away from Harm as possible during that damned party, instead of pushing him until he finally opened up. Then they would never have kissed and then they wouldn't have spent the last two weeks touching and then they wouldn't have kissed today in the courtyard. Then maybe Mac wouldn't have all these doubts.

But as she touched her lips with her fingertips, remembering how they’d tingled from Harm's kisses, she knew at least one thing. She couldn't have not kissed Harm, anymore than she could deny her own name.

After Chloe had left, giving her father the excuse that Mac was exhausted from all the wedding preparations and that they would spend time together tomorrow, Mac had paced her living room until she was surprised she hadn't worn a hole in the carpet. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and, grabbing her keys and her purse, left her apartment and took off in her Corvette, figuring a drive would clear her head. Permission to come aboard. Permission granted. Mac pounded her fist on the steering wheel. He'd captured her attention from the beginning, looking so confident and cocky and sure with his gold wings and brand-new medal pinned on by the President of the United States. She’d admitted it to herself when he'd gone out of his way – after she'd all but betrayed him – to come to the rescue of her and her uncle, both literally and figuratively. But she hid behind a façade of Marine discipline and the walls she'd built around herself to prevent people from getting too close, to prevent anyone else from hurting her the way her parents had hurt her. I know. You were kissing her. That had been easier than admitting the truth – that she’d wanted Harmon Rabb more than she'd wanted any man in her life. But he was hurting from the memory of his lost love and it was simpler to brush their kiss off as an aberration, telling herself that he only saw her as a doppelganger of his dead love. It was better than risking her feelings being shot down. Damn you. Why am I the only one crying?

That had probably been the moment, more than any other since they'd known each other, when she'd wanted him more than she'd wanted her next breath. She would have done anything if only he'd swept her into his arms and carried her off, promising that when he would come home, he would come home to her. Is that how long we're going to wait? She should have stuck to her guns, kept telling herself that Harm only saw her as the living apparition of his dead love. Then maybe she wouldn't have thrown herself at him and ended up going down in flames, leading her to accept a ring from another man – a man she hadn't even dated – just a few nights later. A 19th-century Naval Commander, with Mic's face, walked down the row of mutineers about to be hung at his command. He looked each man in the eye as he pulled the black hood of death over their faces. Finally, his eyes locked with the third and final

man – a man with Harm's face. With a sharp jerk of the steering wheel, Mac pulled off the road, gravel spraying as she came to a stop with the screech of tires on the unpaved shoulder. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as her whole body shook with the sobs she forced back, refusing to give into the tears forming. A snippet of her conversation with Harm at the party echoed in her head. What do you want most? What I want most, Mac, is.... is to never lose you. I promise you - no matter what happens - you won't lose me. Was that what the dream meant? That if she married Brumby, she'd lose Harm – their friendship ending up dead and buried, along with anything else which might have been? "No," she cried out. "That can't happen." She released the steering wheel and pressed her hands to her head, fighting against the headache threatening to overwhelm her. Her head jerked up when she heard a knock on her car window. Taking a shaky breath, she rolled down the window, finding herself looking into the eyes of a Virginia State Trooper. "Ma'am, are you alright?" he asked, studying her intently. Probably looking for signs that I'm driving drunk, she realized. Figuring that he would ask, she slowly reached for her license in her purse and registration in the glove compartment, holding them up for the officer to see. "I'm sorry," she said, taking another deep breath. "I just got a little dizzy and thought it best to pull off the road. I didn't want to get into an accident." The officer smiled at her and Mac forced herself to relax, managing a smile in response. "There's an exit just ahead with a gas station and restaurant," he suggested. "Maybe you can stop there for a while, get some aspirin, clear your head before you continue on to wherever you're going." "That's probably not a bad idea," she agreed. Suddenly, she frowned. Calculating the time in her head and glancing at the rapidly setting sun, she realized that she had to have been on the road for a while, blindly driving wherever the car would take her. Hoping the trooper wouldn't think she was completely out of it, she asked, "Where am I exactly? I'm afraid I'm not all that familiar with this part of the state." "You're just north of Richmond," he replied, not looking at her too strangely, for which Mac was thankful. "The 295 interchange is a few miles ahead. Where are you headed?" "Norfolk," she answered automatically, and then stopped. Where on earth had that come from? She wasn't headed for Norfolk. Yeah, right, the voice inside her head countered, that's why you're already halfway there without even realizing where you were going. "I'm going to see my .... a friend. He's deploying in the morning to an aircraft carrier." "Well, depending on traffic you've probably got another hour and a half – maybe two – before you get there," he pointed out. "It's probably not a bad idea to take that break, depending on how far you've come already."

"Washington," she stated. "I'm driving from DC. And thank you for the suggestion. I think I will take that break at the next exit." Yeah, I need to figure out just what the hell I'm doing, she thought. Satisfied that Mac was okay and not drunk, the trooper returned to his own vehicle. Mac waited until he’d driven off, and then pulled back onto the road herself. As she drew closer to the exit, she considered her options. All she had to do was get off at the exit, probably cross a bridge, then get back on the highway going north, back to DC. That would be for the best. A few minutes later, in the parking lot of a gas station, Mac was still debating with herself about which way to go. Straight ahead then left to I-95 North and back to DC? Or right back onto I-95 South and continue on to I-295, then I-64, eventually ending up in Norfolk? You're in love with Harm.... if it makes you feel any better, you should know that Harm's in love with you, too. Maybe Chloe was right. Maybe she did need to clear the air with Harm once and for all. They'd made a start on the Admiral's porch, but maybe they needed to finish it before she could move on – before any of them could. Mac took a deep breath and started her car. Her features expressing her determination, her decision firmly set in her mind, she pulled out of the gas station parking lot and back onto the highway – heading south towards Norfolk Naval Base. BREEZY POINT OFFICER'S CLUB NORFOLK, VIRGINIA After a seemingly unending drive, during which a few stolen moments in the JAG courtyard and on the Admiral's front porch had played over and over in his mind, Harm had arrived in Norfolk and promptly checked into the Navy Lodge. After sprawling out on his bed, staring up at ceiling for what seemed like forever, but in reality was only about forty-five minutes, Harm had gotten restless and decided to wander the base, looking for something to do. First he'd ambled around the pier, watching the normal change-of-shift activity surrounding the USS Nimitz, in port while undergoing a two-year overhaul. He'd spent close to half his career on carriers and normally loved the bustling activity that surrounded them, even when they were tied up at the dock. There was always something going on. But this time, he barely noticed. The story was the same as he drove by the airfield. He pulled off the road and parked, watching various planes and helos take off and land. There were even a few Tomcats, part of a ground unit based at Norfolk, taking off for maneuvers. Normally, such a sight would have filled him with an excitement that could barely be contained. But there was so much else weighing on his mind that he could have been at the controls of one of those F-14s streaking across the sky and there still would have been this empty space inside his soul that couldn't be filled. Eventually, he'd found himself seated at the bar at the officer's club, a double bourbon sitting in front of him, untouched. He shook a handful of pretzels in his hand as he stared at the scarred counter, then dropped them back into the bowl in front of him. Maybe someday the wounds on his heart would scar over and then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't hurt so much. Perhaps he'd done the right thing in agreeing to return in time for the wedding, and then he could watch as she became Mrs. Mic Brumby and it would finally start sinking in that

she was forever beyond his reach. He thought he'd managed to bind up the wounds on his heart, the ones which had been ripped open at the airport in Sydney, but the last few weeks had proved the folly of that. On the one hand, he and Mac were closer than they'd been in two years. Yet they'd never been further apart, as she prepared to walk down the aisle with another man and he buried himself in a relationship which satisfied his body but which could never assuage the hunger in his soul. He'd told himself that he could be satisfied with her friendship, that he could live with spending the days with her and watching her go home to another man at night. But as the days passed and her wedding drew closer, it became harder and harder to keep up the façade and pretend that all was well. It became damn near impossible when, for a few brief moments, he could hold her in his arms and stop pretending, but then had to face letting her go again. This bother you? It's your drink, not mine. Now how was that for irony? He was trying to use drink to forget an alcoholic. Even though he was someplace where he didn't have to pretend, where he could drown his sorrows, her face haunted him, stopping him from taking the drink. He'd never felt completely comfortable drinking in front of her, even when she said that she didn't mind. Now, she wasn't even here, and it still bothered him to drink. He supposed if nothing else, he’d learned from her that alcohol didn't solve your problems. It might dull the pain, but your problems were still there in the morning, along with the hangover. I can't face them, Harm. I can't face you. Harm pushed the drink away with a sigh of disgust. Maybe he should have given in and let Renee accompany him, but even that would have been too hard. How could he continue to take her into his arms when it was another whose touch he needed and craved? "Is this seat taken?" Harm glanced to his side, finding a younger blonde woman standing next to him, gesturing to the empty bar stool beside him. She wore a leather flight jacket which identified her as a pilot and a Lieutenant. Well, they had flying in common and she was pretty enough. But he couldn't make himself care. "Actually, I'd prefer to be by myself," he said, his voice short, barely attempting to be civil. In a huff, the woman turned on her heel and stormed off. Maybe she was expecting the gold wings to work just as well for the women as the men, he mused silently. His head jerked up when he heard a familiar voice beside him, but he couldn't make himself turn his head, expecting to find there was no one there and it was all in his head. "Sounds like the gold wings need a little polishing," Mac said, sliding onto the stool which the pissed Lieutenant had just wanted to occupy. Harm shook his head, wondering if he'd managed to get drunk without even realizing it. Mac was back in Washington, busy playing the blushing bride.

"I would have thought that was obvious back in Sydney," he snorted, picking up his drink and tilting the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl around. "After all, I sent you into his arms, didn't I?" "So we finally see the truth," Mac said, "instead of this façade you've been showing the world, telling everyone that you're happy for me, we finally see the bitter man behind the shield." "Not your problem, now, is it?" he countered angrily. Maybe he should take a drink. Then maybe he wouldn't be hearing Mac's voice in his head, taunting him. "After all, you're the one who's getting married in three days, right?" "Harm, I thought we agreed that we weren't going to lose each other?" Mac asked sadly, laying her hand on his. She wondered if this was how it was going to end, their entire relationship in shambles because of her marriage. He jerked his hand away, finally turning to look at her as he realized that the hand on his arm and the voice in his head were all too real. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Shouldn't you be back in DC, fawning over the arrogant ass that you're marrying on Saturday?" Calm, Mac reminded herself. She'd wanted to clear the air with Harm. Well, what had she expected, more of the 'I'm happy if you're happy' song and dance? At first, she thought to excuse his behavior because of what he'd had to drink, but she was close enough to smell his breath and see it in his eyes. Harm was stone cold sober. Or maybe it would have just been easier if that's what she’d gotten, the 'I'm happy for you' line which he'd been spouting for well over a year or if she could excuse the truth coming to light because he was three sheets to the wind and couldn't keep his mouth shut if he tried. Yeah, but Harm being drunk would mean he'd have to lose control and Heaven forbid that he should ever do that. No, what she was seeing was truth exposed. This was a lonely, bitter man who – thinking he was away from everyone whom he had to pretend in front of – was tired of the façade he showed the world every day and who thought he'd finally found a place where he could get away from it all. "I wanted to spend some time with my best friend," she said. It wasn't the entire truth, but she didn't think he wanted to hear about how Chloe thought she was conflicted and needed to figure out her feelings for Harm. At any rate, she wasn't sure she could explain how she'd gone out for a drive, hoping to clear her head, and had been halfway to Norfolk before she even realized where she was going. "Well, in case you didn't hear me a few minutes ago," he said, "I'd rather be alone right now." "I don't think so," Mac countered firmly. She wasn't going to let him push her away this time. Her best friend was hurting and it hurt her, too. "Again, what happened to us not losing each other?" "Come on," he said, laughing bitterly, "do you really think that will work?" He quickly turned his head, but not before she saw the pain and the despair in his eyes.

"Oh, Harm," she whispered, her voice ragged, recognizing her role in causing the pain of the person she cared about most in the world. "Please tell me what brought this on." "What brought this on?" he echoed. "That's an easy one." Before she even realized his intention – not that she would have stopped him if she had, she admitted to herself – he leaned towards her and captured her lips with his. In the same instant, they both gave themselves up to the kiss, wrapping their arms around each other, each trying to pull the other closer. For a moment, they both forgot they were in the middle of a bar, people all around, and one – or maybe both – of them groaned deep in their throats. Harm was the first to pull away, leaving Mac with a dazed look on her face, her lips slightly parted. After a moment, she blinked, trying to focus on what he was now saying. "Tell me something," he asked softly so that no one else might overhear. "If we weren't in the middle of a bar now, if we hadn't been standing in the JAG courtyard earlier today, if we hadn't been standing on the Admiral's front porch two weeks ago, do you think we'd be able to stop with just a simple kiss? And how long can this go on before the circumstances arise when it is just you and me, with nothing and no one around to tell us no? It can't go any farther than this. It shouldn't even be going this far. That's what brought this on." Mac couldn't make herself answer the question. Her head was telling her to lie, to remember that she was marrying Mic Brumby in a few days, to insist that it could and would have stopped there. But her heart couldn't help pointing out that if Mic was the one she really wanted, then there would be nothing to discuss because she would be able to keep her hands off Harm. God help her, she did want more and he was right – if they hadn't been standing in the middle of a public area earlier today, she would have gladly melted into his arms and forgotten everything and everyone but the pleasure she knew she'd find in his embrace. He studied her for a long moment before sadly adding, "That's what I thought." Tossing some money on the counter next to his untouched drink, he slide off his stool and walked out of the bar. Only once he was around the corner and out of her sight did he stop and momentarily slump against the wall, letting the weight resting on his shoulders show in his expression. It was best this way. Mac had made her choice and he couldn't interfere with that, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to make himself stay away. Maybe it would be easier after he watched her walk down the aisle and pledge herself to another man. Maybe then he could make himself forget that he wanted more and make himself remember that they could never be anything more than friends. Back at the bar, Mac stared at the doorway Harm had just gone through, hesitating. She knew that he was telling the truth when he pointed out that sooner or later, they would find themselves in a situation where there would be nothing to stop them from acting on all those feelings that had been coming to the surface since the engagement party. She kept trying to tell herself that she was getting married and that she shouldn't, couldn't be attracted to another man. She stared down at the engagement ring, watching it sparkle and gleam in the overhead lights. It had been given in love, she believed, but had it been received in love or taken to cover up a hurt? It wasn't fair to Mic. He'd been nothing but patient with her, waiting in Australia for three months, then in Washington for another seven months while she hemmed and hawed on making a decision. Then he'd been equally accepting when wedding preparations had gotten dumped in his lap while she got caught up in one case or

another. After all this time, after everything he'd put up with from her, she couldn't just walk away from him. But she couldn't just walk away from Harm, either, she admitted. He held such a large part of her heart, a part which Mic Brumby could never touch. And if she wanted to discuss what she owed to whom, what about what she owed Harm? He'd been there for her so many times, in good times and bad, during times when she probably didn't deserve his help and concern and it would have been easier for him to just turn around and walk away from her. But he never had. Even when Chris has shown up and she'd thought Harm wasn't giving her the time of day, he'd eventually come through for her. He even stood up for you against Mic, the voice inside her heart pointed out. It was little wonder that Harm didn't like the guy. Practically the first thing he'd done after arriving in town had been to go after one of the people closest to Harm. Yeah, but Mic was quite charming in his apology, the voice in her head countered. And he does love you. But was it enough? You do love your husband, don't you? Swearing softly at herself and the voices fighting it out inside her head, Mac practically jumped off her stool and ran for the door. Once outside the club, she faced a moment of indecision. Which way did he go? A quick glance at the parking lot revealed his SUV was still there, so whichever way he’d gone, it had been on foot. "Great going, Marine," she muttered. "Next time you decide to follow someone, how about you don't give them a head start and time to get away from you?" Glancing at the SUV, she thought that she might just wait there, maybe sit on the hood of the car until he returned. He did need to come back and pick up his car eventually so he could go back to his hotel. As she walked towards the SUV, she caught sight of a lone figure on the beach across the street, head hanging down, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Harm." She ran across the street and towards the object of her heart's desire. As she approached, Harm could hear her breathing heavily as she ran through the sand, but he didn't turn around. He'd figured that she would come after him eventually, but he wasn't about to make this easy for her. He kept walking, ignoring her presence, even after she pulled up beside him and grabbed his arm to slow him down. Finally, he stopped, trying to shake off her hand. "I thought I said …." he started before being angrily interrupted by her. "Yeah, you said you wanted to be alone," she finished for him. "I heard you, but I don't believe you. You weren't like this earlier at JAG. What changed between then and now?" "What does it matter?" he replied. "It would be best if you just left. I promised that I would be there for the wedding and I will be, playing the happy friend…." "Harm," she pleaded, risking placing her hand back on his arm. When he didn't resist, she pulled him in the direction of a nearby picnic table and tugged him to sit next to her on the bench. "Please stop pretending. Tell me what you're really feeling."

"I don't think you want me to do that," he retorted, turning his head away so she wouldn't see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted so much to do as she asked. He wanted to tell her everything and beg her not to marry Mic. But it wasn't his place to. As she'd pointed out on the Admiral's porch, there were some things that he didn't get to ask. He'd long since lost that right. "Why don't you let me decide what I want?" she demanded. "What do you think I've been doing for the last eighteen months?" he countered. His words hit her like a ton of bricks. She looked back over the months since she'd taken Mic's ring and realized that was exactly what he'd been doing. He'd stepped back because he thought she'd made her choice and didn't want to interfere and risk losing their friendship. She'd made her choice because she hadn't realized she'd had another option. She lowered her head as she shivered in the chilly night air, wrapping her arms around her in a vain effort to warm herself. Even wrapped up in his pain, Harm noticed and he swiftly pulled of his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "You're freezing," he said, pointing out the obvious. Her hands froze as they clutched the jacket, remembering another chilly night, another jacket draped over her shoulders…. "You wouldn't think a beach would be so cold," she mused, her voice so soft Harm almost couldn't hear what she was saying. He began to wonder if it wasn't so much the cold outside that was making her shiver, but the cold within. "It still a little early in the year for it to really have warmed up yet," he pointed out, trying to distract both of them by talking about something inconsequential like the weather. "It only got up into the sixties today and it's dropping down into the low fifties tonight. I doubt the water is even warm enough to swim in yet." His voice trailed off when he couldn't think of anything else to say. He risked a glance at her. She was clutching the edges of his jacket, pulling them closed in front of her, trying to ward off the chill. She looked so lost, he realized. Quietly, he asked, "Can I ask you something?" "Of course…." Mac began, before realizing what she was saying. Time was that Harm wouldn't have had to ask that question, he would have just asked whatever was on his mind. But you took care of that, didn't you? You told him on the Admiral's porch that there were questions that he didn't get to ask. Sadly, she nodded consent. "Go ahead." Even with her agreement, he hesitated a moment before he continued, "Why did you come down here?" "I thought you said that if I needed to talk…." she began, attempting a teasing tone, but trailing off when it failed miserably. Fortunately, Harm recognized it as the delaying tactic that it was and returned with a shrug, "Yeah, well, I guess I was expecting you to call, not drive three and a half hours to Norfolk." They both laughed a little, but the sound was bitter and full of regret and they

quickly fell silent. "Honestly?" she asked, glancing at him. He nodded. She looked back over the ocean as she blindly fiddled with the engagement ring on her left hand. "I don't know. Chloe and I were talking and she said some things, said that I needed to think. After she left, I got into my car and just started driving. I didn't have any particular place in mind. I just wanted to get away. Then, before I knew it, I was just outside of Richmond and telling some state trooper who must have thought I was driving drunk that I was on my way to Norfolk. When I was ready to get back on the highway, there was this voice inside my head telling me to head back north, back to DC. But I couldn't make myself do it." "Maybe you should have," he pointed out. "It would have been better…." "Better?" she echoed. Involuntarily, Harm slid away from her on the bench. But she wasn't yelling at him. No, this was worse. Her voice exuded all the warmth of steel. "How is it better to feel like I'm being torn into a million pieces? How is it better to be faced with a choice that I didn't even know I was allowed to make because everyone around me kept making my choices for me?" "Mac, I'm sorry…." he began, only to be cut off by her. "Sorry about anything in particular?" she demanded. "Or is this just a general sorry, a catchall to cover any and all situations?" Harm turned away from her and stared out over the beach. From this angle, she could still see the torment in his expression, the firm, tight line of his lips as struggle against this with everything that was in him. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just wish there was some way to make all of this easier." "Yeah," she concurred, sliding off the bench to sit cross-legged on the sand. She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her folded hands. "Tell me something? How did you do it? How did you make it look so easy to just watch me walk away?" "Who said it was easy?" he countered, sitting down beside her. "I thought we establish that a few weeks ago. But maybe I was the one who didn't think he had a choice. You're the one who, after I asked you to wait, showed up wearing another man's ring just a few days later. You asked me how long you were supposed to wait? Well, was I supposed to be ready just because you were?" Mac couldn't reply, recognizing the truth of his words. Maybe she was trying to make something complicated too simple. And now look where she was – three days away from marrying one man while unable to stop thinking about another. Idly, she picked up a handful of sand and watched it fall back to the ground from between her spread fingers. "I had this dream," she began, not even sure why she was mentioning it. But she was so scared of losing Harm and she was desperate enough to try anything to try and figure out how to hang onto their friendship. Yeah, but could she be satisfied with just that? "I was doing the presentation on the Somers mutiny and I kept having these weird dreams about it. I would see Mic as the captain, about to hang the three mutineers…." "I can see that," Harm said with a laugh, quieting at a stern glance from her. "Sorry. Please

continue. You saw Mic about to hang the mutineers and…." "I never could see the third man's face," she explained quietly. "I could see the first man – the Secretary's son, the ring leader – and I could see the second man, but I never could see this third man and it didn't seem important at first. It never occurred to me that it was important, because, after all, it was only a dream. But the last time I had the dream, I finally saw the third man's face and it scared the hell out of me." Harm was silent, waiting for her to continue. But when she spoke again, she changed tactics slightly. "Do you really think we can do it?" she wondered. "Can we hang onto our friendship in light of everything that's happened the last few weeks or are we fighting a losing battle?" He looked away, scared to answer the question. Or maybe he was scared of the answer. She pressed on. "So much has happened in the last few weeks," she continued. "Can we forget about that and go back to the way things were?" The question hung in the air between them as he turned back to stare at her. Both wanted so much to close the distance between them, but they recognized the perilous slope they were clinging to. Harm tried to tear his eyes away first, but he couldn't make himself. "What if….we don't have a choice anymore?" he asked. "Or maybe it's our last chance to make the right one," she whispered in reply, unconsciously leaning closer to him. Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips and Harm found himself fascinated by the slightly movements her mouth made. He started to reach out a hand to her, but then let it drop as he realized he was doing. Mac noticed what he did and nearly reached out grab his hand back, mesmerized by the memory of his touch. What she wouldn't give to feel that heat again. Taking a deep breath, she asked a simple question, realizing the answer would make all the difference in the world. "What do you want?" she asked quietly. She held his gaze, watching the internal struggle play out. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to insist that it was too late, but he couldn't make the words come out. His earlier words to her echoed through his mind. 'And how long can this go on before the circumstances arise when it is just you and me, with nothing and no one around to tell us no?' He had to stop this before it went that far. Or maybe it had already gone too far, he realized as he tried again to utter the words that would slam this door shut between them, maybe forever. But he couldn't do this. The look he gave Mac as she picked up one of his hands and held it in hers tore at her heart. But she held her ground, waiting to hear his reply. This was far too important to rely on innuendos and half-spoken truths, as they had in the past. She needed to hear him say it, whether his words ended up being her salvation or her damnation. "You," he whispered as Mac released the breath she hadn't even realized that she'd been holding. "I'm so tired of pretending that I don't want you….so tired of pretending that I'm happy that you're marrying Brumby." "Oh, Harm…." she breathed as he tugged on her hand, drawing her closer. Before she

realized it, she was in the warm circle of his arms, staring up at the stars overhead he nuzzled against her neck, his lips barely brushing against rapidly heating skin. She barely noticed as his leather jacket fell from her shoulders or when he began to push her back onto the sand. But it echoed like a gunshot in her head when they heard the sound of tires crunching in gravel just yards away. They pulled apart and stared at each other, dazed. "We can't…." Harm began hesitantly, standing as he brushed the sand from his jeans. Mac stared down at the ground for a moment, resisting the urge for tears. She should have known it wouldn't last. Once again, she'd opened herself up to him and had ended up being damned. Holding back a sigh of frustration, she slowly picked up his jacket and folded it in half, carefully laying it over her arm. She started to stand, until she found herself at eye-level with a hand held out to her. She looked up into Harm's concerned gaze, holding her breath again, and waiting for him to make the first move. He studied her for a moment then nodded slightly, seeming to understand the message in her eyes. Bending down, he gripped her hand in his and pulled her to her feet before taking the jacket from her and holding it up for her to slip into. "Harm?" she asked quietly as she slide her arms through the sleeves, overwhelmed by his nearness, but afraid to believe. "Never be sorry," he whispered as he lowered his head, repeating the words he'd told her earlier that day in the JAG courtyard. She shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the chill in the air as he brushed his lips over her forehead and each of her cheeks. "I'm not." "I'm not sorry, either," she replied, her words lost as his lips captured hers. She groaned deep in her throat as she pressed against him, promising herself that no matter what else happened, she would never be sorry for these few moments of paradise in his arms. NAVY LODGE NORFOLK, VIRGINIA Mac's knuckles were bone white as she gripped her car's steering wheel while waiting for Harm to pull into the parking lot. Had he changed his mind during the drive to the lodge? Was he delaying his arrival so that he could figure out how to let her down gently, could figure out how to tell her that this night wasn't going to happen for them? Calm, she told herself. If he’d been planning to put a stop to this, wouldn't he have done so on the beach, when the approach of a car had interrupted their interlude? Why not let her down then, when she’d been expecting and had been prepared for it? Maybe they should have come in the same car from the Officer's Club, instead of each of them driving their own vehicles back. But then that would have led to the problem of having to pick up the other vehicle in the morning. Mac knew why they had driven separately, but that didn't mean that she had to like it. She feared that the longer they were apart, the more time Harm would have to come up with a reason to back out of this, the more time he would have to regain control. As she clenched her left hand into a fist, she saw a glint out of the corner of her eye as her engagement ring caught the light from the overhead lights in the parking lot. She held up her

hand and studied the ring, trying to figure out how she felt. Here she was, days away from marrying one man, and just a few steps away from falling into bed with another. Oddly, it didn't bother her the way she thought it should. It should have bothered her. She should have remembered her ultimately disastrous relationship with John Farrow and her marriage to Chris and what she was about to do should have been weighing so heavily on her mind that she was ready to restart her engine and drive as fast as she could back to Washington and to confess and to beg Mic's forgiveness for what she was thinking about doing. But the only think weighing heavily on her mind was how devastating it would be if she never had a chance with Harm. With a sad sigh, she slowly pulled the ring from her finger and dropped it into her open purse sitting on the seat beside her. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. There was so much that she owed Mic and it wasn't quite that easy to walk away from that. For now, she didn't want to think about that. Even if only for a few hours, she wanted to step outside of her crazy, confused life and live out her fantasies. From the other side of her car's rolled up window, Harm watched as she removed the ring and tucked it away in her purse. He wasn't optimistic enough to think this was permanent, not yet. Too much time had passed; there was too much water under that bridge. But maybe what was happening between them would prove to be strong enough to break whatever hold Brumby had held over her for the last fifteen months before it was too late, before he lost her forever. The little voice in his head told him that he should run, that he should save himself from the uncertainty of what this night would mean, of what this night might lead to, but he stood his ground. Even if this never happened again, even if he sat in a church Saturday morning and watched her marry another man, he wanted this. If nothing else, he would make himself live with the memories of one magical night for the rest of his life. He hesitated another moment, then gently rapped on her window, pained more than he cared to admit by the surprised look in her eyes when she noticed his presence. Did she think that he’d planned to back out of this? Grabbing her purse, she stepped out of the car and made a great show of slowly turning around and closing her car door, making sure it was locked and the alarm was set. "Mac?" he asked gently. She finally turned to face him, forcing a weak smile. "I'm….well, I don't know," she said softly. She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. When she looked back up at him, she seemed steadier. "I was worried." "You thought I had changed my mind," he concluded, making it a statement and not a question. Sadly, she nodded, forcing her gaze to meet his. She couldn't mask her surprise when he pulled her to him, pressing light kisses along her hairline. As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt something odd against her back. She pulled his right arm out from behind her back until she could see the brown paper bag he held in his hand. From the size and outline of the object inside, there was only one thing it could be. She gave him a questioning glance. "I stopped on my way here," he explained, his voice betraying a hint of his nervousness. It wasn't an emotion he often let show and Mac found it oddly endearing. "I wasn't sure….I didn't want anything to, um…." She placed a finger over his lips to silence him. "It's okay," she assured him, shivering as he took her hand in his and began pressing soft

butterfly kisses over her palm. Her words came out haltingly as she began losing herself to the heat spreading throughout her body from his simple, tender touch. "I'm on the Pill, unless….well, you'd feel better…." She trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to proceed, what to say. She'd had lovers before, but this was different, for reasons she wasn't sure she was ready to admit. She wanted nothing to come between them, needed to feel all of him. For one night, she wanted no barriers between them, whether physical or emotional. Fortunately, he seemed to understand what she was saying and nodded slightly as he pulled her back against him, holding her tight, letting her feel the ever hardening proof of how much he wanted her, wanted this. Mac sighed deeply as she unconsciously rocked against him. As he groaned against her neck, they both marveled inwardly at how close they were to finally fulfilling a long-held desire which haunted them both. "We need to go inside," Harm murmured, knowing he couldn't hold out much longer against nearly five years of buried desire and suspecting that she couldn't either, if the way she was moving against him and the soft little noises she was making were any indication. Reluctantly, they pulled apart and walked inside the lodge, Harm falling into step behind Mac, his hand resting lightly on her upper back, his fingers lazily playing with her hair. Mac leaned back slightly, enjoying the tender attention. There was something….she couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but she would do anything to hold onto that feeling for the rest of her life. She found herself wishing more than ever that she could make this last beyond tonight. Pressing his hand against her, Harm guided her to the door to his room while he fumbled through his jeans pockets, searching for his key card. He bit back a sigh of frustration as he patted down all his pockets. So close, only to be held up by a missing key card. He contemplated heading to the front desk for another card when he glanced at Mac and remembered. With a grin on his face, he tapped her on the shoulder. Mac turned to face him, immediately lost in his smile. It had been a while since she'd really seen that boyishly handsome expression. She just couldn't decide if it was because he hadn't smiled for her like that in a long time or because she’d stopped noticing. Neither explanation was very appealing, a brief shadow crossing over her features at the thought. Harm noticed and his expression grew more serious. Brushing his hand against her cheek, he asked gently, "Ma….Sarah?" Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of her name coming from his lips. She never noticed before how much feeling he put into those two syllables, as if it was more than a name, as if he was conveying a hidden message meant for her ears alone. She smiled, a heartfelt one, and requested, "Smile for me again." Harm couldn't help but respond to her smile and the grin returned to his face as he reached for the jacket she was wearing – his leather flight jacket. He slipped his hand inside the jacket, fishing through the inside pocket for the key card he'd deposited in there earlier, letting his hand linger a few moments longer than necessary, his hand brushing against her breast. Mac swayed slightly towards him, prolonging the contact, desperately wanting more. "Harm…." she murmured, gazing up at him, trying to convey every bit of aching need in her whispered tones. Blindly sliding the key card into the lock with one hand, Harm wrapped the other around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his fingers tangling in her hair as his lips met her in a

bruising kiss that left Mac weak-kneed and clinging to his shoulders for support. After a couple of tries with the card, he finally heard the click signaling the lock had disengaged and he pushed the door open, dragging her into the room, pressing her against the door to close it. "Oh, God," Mac whispered on a gasp of breath as their bodies pressed together, hands moving roughly over exposed flesh, pulling at restrictive clothing. She managed to yank Harm's shirt free of his jeans, breaking off their kiss just long enough to drag it over his head and toss it away. She licked her lips as she pressed her palms flat against his chest and moved the slowly over his muscular torso, marveling at how wonderful it felt to finally touch him like this. Harm's hands were busy as well, swiftly moving down the front of her shirt, unfastening buttons and soon her shirt and jacket joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He took a step back and his gaze traveled slowly over her body, trying to memorize her every feature. Pressing his hands against her waist, he moved his hands upward until they cupped her lace-covered breasts, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over the hardening peaks. Mac leaned forward into his touch, praying that he would never stop touching her. It was everything she’d imaged it would be and more. She'd known that he would be good with his hands, would know just how to touch a woman. But she still needed more and reached behind her to unfasten her bra, shrugging it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, her eyes locked on Harm's, reveling in his admiring gaze. Is that a request? Slowly, almost reverently, Harm dipped his head, brushing warm lips over aching flesh. She arched towards him, encouraging his tender ministrations, moaning deep in her throat as his mouth latched onto one nipple. He gently tugged and teased with his teeth while his tongue circled around the hardened peak. His hand found her other breast and covered it, his fingers plying her tender flesh, molding and teasing. She draped her arms over his shoulders, clinging to him as if her knees might buckle. And she wasn't entirely sure that they wouldn't, the burning arousal was so intense. Her entire body was on fire and she willingly surrendered herself to the flames. Just as she felt herself falling, he pulled his mouth away and she found herself being lifted up, securely held in a pair a strong arms and she buried her head against his neck, inhaling his strong male scent as he carried her across the room and laid her on the bed. He stood over her, his hands reaching out hesitantly for the waistband of her jeans. His eyes met hers and she could see so clearly the unspoken question there. She was touched, in a way she never had been before. It was another piece to the puzzle that was Harmon Rabb. For all his flyboy arrogance, he could be such a gentleman. "It's okay," she said softly, taking hold of one of his hands and placing it on the button at her waist. Finally, he unfastened her jeans and slowly pulled them down her legs, taking her lace panties with them as she kicked her shoes off, and then removed his own jeans and boxers before stretching out next to her on top of the bed while Mac studied him up and down with an admiring gaze. She often imagined what he looked like and she admitted to herself that imagination paled in comparison to reality. He was….perfect, she thought, for lack of a better word. Her eyes traveled back up to meet his and their gazes held, their expressions speaking volumes, words which neither was ready, even now, to utter aloud. With a nearly inaudible

sigh, Harm gathered her into his arms, holding her tight against him as one hand lazily stroked up and down her back. A thousand nerve endings tingled in response and Mac gripped his arm, needing to hold onto something. "Harm?" Mac asked in a slightly nervous tone. What if he was having second thoughts, even now? She wasn't sure if she could take it, coming so close yet still so far away from what they both needed so desperately. "I…." he began, his voice just as hesitant. Taking a chance, she lifted her head so that she could look into his eyes and what she saw both relieved and saddened her. "I know," she assured him, pressing her fingers over his lips, her breath catching as his lips skimmed over her fingertips. "Promise me, for tonight, that we'll try not to think about that. For tonight, I want there to be just you and me." Harm nodded as he pulled her hand away and lowered his mouth to hers, pressing her onto her back beneath him, his hand sliding down her body to delve into her aching sex, finding her so hot and wet. She rotated her hips against his hand, wanting more than just his touch, and he pulled it away, understanding the unspoken message, settling between her legs, his erection pressing against her. He couldn't take it anymore. In that last moment, so close to everything he'd only ever dreamed of, his control snapped and he entered her with one hard thrust, tearing a harsh cry from her throat. He stilled, but she wrapped her legs high around his waist, holding him against her before he could pull away. Their eyes met and she felt tears forming at his obvious tenderness and concern. "It's okay," she promised softly. "I just never dreamed…." "Neither did I," he replied, struggling to control his own voice. He wondered how he was supposed to go on without ever experiencing this again, her soft flesh pressed against his, her heat enveloping him. He'd thought that he could. He'd told himself that, if events continued on the course they were on, he'd have no choice. Silently, he prayed that this would just be a beginning for them and not another goodbye, perhaps the final one. He reached for one of her hands and clasped it in his, entwining their fingers. "Harm, please," she whispered, brushing her lips over his. "I need…." Her plea ended on a gasp of breath as he began moving inside of her, rocking her to her core. She felt….complete, as if a missing piece to the puzzle that was her life had just clicked into place. She struggled to keep her eyes open, to focus on him as they moved together, their bodies matching rhythms perfectly, as if they'd been lovers forever. Her heart nearly broke at the expression in his eyes, at the intense sadness mixed with the passion and maybe even love. Hadn't that been what he’d told her on the Admiral's porch in so many words, that he loved her? Now she could feel it, her heart aching and breaking with every soft caress, with the brush of heated flesh against flesh. God help her, she no longer had even the tiniest doubt about Harm's feelings for her and at just about any other point in time, the realization would have been a happy one. Now, it brought her even more pain and despair. She'd never thought that such an intense love could bring with it a heart-wrenching loneliness. Harm noted a similar expression crossing her features, cursing himself for being the one to cause her such pain. If only he could have given her what she’d wanted that night in Sydney. If he'd known what it would feel like, inside and out, to be completely wrapped up in

Sarah Mackenzie, to be a willing prisoner to her heat, he'd have swept her into his arms the moment they'd stepped off the ferry and carried her away, the consequences be damned. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. He wanted to concentrate on the here and now, on a few stolen moments which might have to last both of them a lifetime. Mac tightened her fingers around his as he pushed her higher, moving in and out with such force mixed with such tenderness. It was such a contradiction, she realized, but then again, so was Harm. But she still needed more, wanted more. "Oh….please," she gasped, fighting to get the words out. "Oh….more…." He seemed to sense exactly what she needed, his free hand slipping between their bodies, finding her clit almost immediately, exerting just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves through her entire body. Her fingers tightened even more around his as she bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying out, tasting the bitter metallic sting of blood, as her body shook and trembled with an intensity she’d rarely felt. Moments later, Harm was following her over the edge, his own cries muffled as he buried his face against the comforter, but Mac was sure she could make out a harsh 'Sarah' among his mostly incoherent cries. She wrapped her arm around him, gently stroking his back as he collapsed against her, his body trembling. She inhaled deeply, trying to commit it all to memory - the heady, musky scent of sweat and sex, of what they had done, of all that this night would mean to them for the rest of their lives. "You're trembling," Mac whispered after a moment, pressing a soft kiss against the top of his head, one hand continuing to move slowly up and down his damp back, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. It seemed like an odd thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything else and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, about that and about everything else. When he didn't acknowledge her, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden pain in her heart. She didn't think that it would come this soon – the regret and the recriminations. She’d hoped that they would have just a little more time before the cold water of reality splashed on their fantasies…. ….Until he turned his head to face her and she saw the truth in his eyes, along with the tears threatening to fall. "I….," he began, struggling to put it into words, fighting to find the phrases to make her understand what she hadn't understood in Sydney. And this was far too important for her not to understand. "Shhh," she said suddenly, pressing a hand against his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his lips. "I know." And she did know, could see in his eyes the truth of what he'd tried to tell her all those months ago. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then his soul was laid open before her, naked and bare. When he'd said that he was that way only with her, it had been one of the most honest statements that he'd ever made. he’d finally let go, even if only for a few brief moments, of the lifeline that she’d accused him of clinging to and had let her see a Harmon Rabb, Jr. whom she was sure no other woman had ever seen. Instinctively, she knew that he’d never let himself be so open, so naked and vulnerable, not with anyone. He'd always kept these carefully constructed walls around his heart, even with those closest to him. But for her, for just a moment in time, he’d let the shields down and exposed the very depths of his soul. She recognized the truth because she’d done the same. For a brief moment, they had both

found the meaning and the gift of true intimacy, a merging not only of bodies, but of souls. She'd finally found everything that'd she'd ever been looking for from a man and a relationship, but unfortunately, it might end up being one of the saddest and loneliest moments of her life. With Chris Ragle, she'd been too young and often too drunk to understand that there was more to making love than just the physical act of sex. While it had usually been pleasant enough, it had satisfied her body in much the same way that the fiery smoothness of the alcohol sliding down her throat had. There had been no emotional connection, only an empty place in her soul where love should have resided. Her relationship with John Farrow, although better in many ways, had still been lacking something fundamental. She’d been a lost young woman, looking for someone to guide her. She’d been Eliza Dolittle to his Henry Higgins, someone to be molded and shaped into some womanly ideal. She’d been like a college student with a crush on her older, worldlier professor. Although she could say that she'd had strong feelings for him, she had to admit that it had mostly been gratitude for all that he’d shown her. But even that relationship, the first adult one she'd had and probably the closest she'd come to a stable romantic relationship up to that point, had been built on a lie. Dalton Lowne – another unequal relationship, but one which sadly had threatened to bury her spirit. For him, she’d been the ultimate accessory, something good-looking on his arm who could stroke his ego by adoringly following his lead both in public and in private. She should have known that relationship was doomed when she'd been unable to force herself to fit into his corporate world. She'd thought she'd been in love with him, but hindsight taught her that he’d been a master at seduction, saying and doing all the right things to draw her into his web, where she would have remained trapped had the Marine in her not finally exerted herself and forced herself free. She remembered sitting in McMurphy's with Bud and Harm, having booted Dalton from her life, and feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Yes, she’d been saddened that it hadn't worked out. She'd invested a lot in that relationship. But at the same time, she'd felt a tremendous sense of relief. She still hadn't quite figured out her relationship with Mic Brumby. At times, he seemed to exhibit some of the traits which had doomed her previous relationships. There were times when she was nothing more than an accessory on his arm, someone to show off who stroked his ego. At others, he expected her to be molded into his image of the ideal woman, subservient to her man and accepting his word as law. It would seem that he didn't have much respect for who she was or what she’d gone through to become that woman. At times, it had been painfully obvious. In his favor, he seemed to truly love her andhe’d come along at a time when she'd most needed to know that she was worthy of love, when she thought that she'd been shot down by the man she'd really wanted. He'd bolstered her up when she thought she'd had little selfworth because the man she'd wanted didn't seem to want her. Any woman would love to have a man as obviously devoted to her as he was. She’d come to the conclusion that true intimacy was little more than a fairy tale, something to be found only in romance novels where everyone overcame their problems to live 'happily ever after', that she had to be satisfied with less than everything she'd dreamed of, that her dreams had been folly….until tonight, when a few stolen moments had turned out to be so

much more. She'd finally found a man who respected her and treated her as an equal. Or rather, she finally acknowledged that he'd been right in front of her all along. Although there were times when he could be arrogant and seemingly put her down, he knew when he was wrong. Although rare, his apologies were treasured because they came from the heart and he never expected one in return for infarctions real or imagined, nor did he expect her to apologize while failing to recognize his own shortcomings. The perfect relationship for her might just be the one she could never, through circumstance, ever have. It was rare that she found a man who was as concerned with what she was experiencing and expecting from their lovemaking as he was with his own pleasure. It had touched her, more than she’d ever thought anything like that ever would, when he'd been worried that her gasp as they'd come together had been one of pain, that he'd inadvertently hurt her in some manner. His tenderness had only enhanced the pleasure she'd found in his arms. Then, when she’d made a request of him, he'd shown her that he truly cared that she was getting what she wanted and was not just happy to accept what he was offering merely because he was offering it. But it was now, at the end, when she recognized what intimacy truly was, when he'd held her hand as she'd fought against crying out and shook with her release, when he let her hold him as he was overcome by what they'd just experienced, when he'd let go of his lifeline and had let her see deep into his soul. For a few moments, they'd stepped outside of their tired, painful, lonely reality and created a magical fantasy that few people could ever hope to experience. Harm started to divert his eyes, slightly uncomfortable with her acknowledgement of his emotional struggle, but then he forced himself to meet her gaze unflinchingly. "You do?" he asked softly, fearing that he would have to try to find the words which had so often before eluded him, afraid that he wouldn't be able to find the right words to express the pain and joy fighting for a grip on his heart. "I felt it too," Mac answered simply. "This is what you meant, when you said you're this way only with me." It wasn't a question, but a statement which he acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. She closed her eyes, wishing she could have seen the truth before everything had spun so far out of their control. Now, no matter what happened, people would be hurt – maybe themselves, maybe others. But people would be hurt. There was no stopping that now. "Hey," he said softly, propping himself up on an elbow as he pushed her damp hair off her face. His touch was so soft, so tender and she sighed softly at the attention. She forced herself to open her eyes, meeting his gaze. "It's not your fault." "As you pointed out more than once," she reminded him, "I'm the one who ran to him very quickly after…." "And I thought we had both acknowledged that there's plenty of blame to go around there?" he pointed out. "It takes two people to make a relationship and two to screw one up." But unfortunately, in this case, only one person can fix it, she reminded herself. That was another thing about Harm. No matter how much he wanted her, he would never pressure

her. Tonight had happened because they'd both wanted it. But she knew that if she told him that it was what she wanted, this is where it would also end. He wouldn't blackmail her into staying with him over Mic. He wouldn't threaten to take away his friendship if she didn't choose him. She wouldn't have to worry about him ever using this night to destroy her relationship with Mic out of spite or a need for vengeance. He would walk away because he cared more about her happiness than his own. It was just another thing that she had to consider, on top of about a million other things that had happened during the last five years that were weighing so heavily on her mind. But she didn't want to think about any of that right now. She wanted to hold onto the magic for as long as possible. She lifted their still joined hands to her lips, pressing light kisses against his fingers. There was so much she wanted, so many questions that she needed to find the answers to. Try not to think about that now, she admonished herself again. Everything will still be here in the morning, unfortunately. Just concentrate on the here and now. Harm watched her, studied the emotions playing across her face in the pale moonlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. He would have given anything to make this easier for her. There was a part of him that even wished that this had never happened, only in that it was causing her pain. For himself, he would never be sorry. His only regret was that this had not happened sooner, before things had spun too far out of their control. "Sarah?" he asked. She managed a smile at the concern she heard in his voice. She could imagine what he was thinking, probably many of the same things that were going through her own mind. But she didn't want to think about that now. They still had hours before dawn came and reality intruded again on their fantasies. "Do something for me," she requested softly. "Anything," he vowed fervently. Mac didn't know whether to laugh or to cry at that. "Hold me," she said, her voice trembling just enough that he could hear it. "I just want you to hold me." "I can do that," he replied, rolling onto his back, pulling her with him. She settled against him, her head resting on his chest. She closed her eyes, trying to let the now-steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear lull her into peaceful rest. Harm laid there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, even after Mac had fallen asleep, her hand still clasped tightly in his, as if she would never let it go. He'd wanted very much to assure her that everything would work out, but he'd stopped himself from uttering the words, knowing they would be a lie. No matter which way this ultimately worked out, someone – more than one person most likely – would be hurt. Nothing could stop that now. It was too late. It was just too damn late.

Harm looked down at the pad of paper in front of him, reading over what he’d written. There was so much that he wanted to say to Mac and he felt this was the only way – to put it all in a letter which she probably wouldn't even see until after he was gone. It would be easier….if anything about this whole tormenting situation could ever be termed easy. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her. He didn't want to risk pushing her even further away. He knew it would be hard, but if he wasn't her choice, he wanted to do everything he could to try

to hold onto their friendship. He just hoped that if it came to that, they would not find that they’d moved too far forward to ever be able to go back to what they were. As satisfied as he could be given the circumstances, he slowly and carefully tore the single sheet of paper from the pad and folded it. With a strong, steady stroke, he wrote her name on the sheet – not 'Mac' but 'Sarah'. For some reason, it was harder now to think of her as 'Mac'. In his mind, it had been Sarah, possibly the most beautiful, most desirable woman he'd ever known, who had opened herself up to him, trembling beneath his touch, her eyes blazing bright with passion as they'd moved together in a lover's dance as old as time. Grabbing her purse off the table in front of him, he opened it up and slipped the letter inside, silently praying that she wouldn't have a reason to go into her purse until after they’d parted in the morning. He wasn't sure that he could face her as she read over the letter. He needed time to prepare himself for her reaction, time to accept the reality he would be forced to face if things did not go his way. The rules of engagement have changed. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing deeply as the memory replayed in his mind. That had been the moment, he realized, even more than their awkward conversation on the ferry, when everything had started spinning so far out of their control, when he'd stood in her apartment and told her that he’d submitted his request to leave JAG. It was a single moment in time which had completely and irrevocably altered the direction of their lives. He wished he'd had the strength and the courage when they'd stood in his office a couple of weeks later, as she'd cried in his arms, to tell her how he felt about her and to ask her to be the one he would return to. What had stopped him? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had been fear. Not fear of her and their feelings – no, that had come later, he was sure of that. Perhaps it had been fear that if he let her in, if he let her get too close, that he would ultimately be taken away – just as his father and grandfather before him had been – leaving yet another woman alone to mourn her Navy man and to try to live with only memories. He'd made a choice, whether conscious or unconscious, to let her believe that flying was more important to him than….everything, even her. And he'd paid the price for that choice the last two years – had paid a higher price than any person should be expected to pay. Who could have known that such a tiny judgment call would extract such a heavy price from his soul? His eyes widened as an idea came to him. He wouldn't pressure her. Never. But he wasn't going to let her slip away without making her fully aware of the price that would be paid. She had to know that if she did choose him, it wouldn't be leaving behind a certain future with a home and family for an uncertain one with him. That's what he'd tried to tell her in the letter, but could he do more, short of falling onto his knees in front of her and begging her to stay? He could and he would. If flying had been the thing that had torn them apart, maybe there was a way that it could be the thing that would heal their wounds and bring them back together. Reaching behind him for his travel bag sitting on top of the dresser, he felt inside his bag until his fingers closed around a familiar object. Pulling it free, he studied it for a moment in the moonlight before pulling the letter from her purse. Unfolding the letter, he carefully laid the

object in the middle and started to fold it again, then stopped. Picking up the pen again, he added a brief postscript to the letter. He read back over two sentences, feeling the weight that the words carried, the weight that was resting on his shoulders. Those two phrases could make all the difference – or they might not mean a damn thing. He wished he could know for sure. Trying to be content that he'd done all he could, he folded the letter closed then picked up her purse again. As he placed the letter back inside, he caught the glimmer of her engagement ring and pulled it out, studying the diamond. That ring had been the bane of his existence for fifteen months. But now they were at a crossroads. In a few days, she would either agree to give them a chance and take the ring off forever or it would remain on her hand, joined by a band of gold signifying her vow to love, honor and cherish another man, as long as they both lived. Damn it, Rabb, he berated himself. Do you know how many chances you've had to change the course of events? Hell, she even asked when you returned from Australia if there was something you needed to talk about and you turned and ran. What about when Mic returned at the Surface Warfare Ball? You could have said something then. Or when Harriet announced in front of the entire bullpen that Mac had finally moved the ring over? Hell, even Kate saw it, saw the pain that you tried so hard to hide. Or when Mac announced they'd finally set a date, then just two short months away? You could have told her what you were feeling, that you couldn't get her off your mind. No, he reminded himself; you just stood by and said nothing until the last minute, when she'd pressed you again, on the Admiral's porch at her engagement party. You could have backed away then, just like you had in Sydney, but you couldn't, could you? You'd never thought it would get that far, thought that you would have more time. The knowledge that you were on the verge of losing Mac forever weakened you, causing cracks to develop in the shields you'd carefully constructed around your heart and when she pushed, you couldn't stop yourself from responding, from giving her a glimpse of the feelings you kept locked carefully away in your heart. He clenched his hand into a tight fist, ignoring the pain as the diamond's setting dug into his palm. That little bit of physical pain was the least of what he deserved for letting things go as far as they had without saying anything, for letting her breach the walls surrounding his heart. He just wished that he knew what to do to make everything better. He wished that he knew that he was doing the right thing by stepping back and giving her the room to make her decision. He wished that he could be sure that his heartfelt letter would be the key which would unlock the door imprisoning him, releasing him to a life of love with the woman who haunted his dreams. His head jerked up at the sound of a soft moan coming from the bed and he glanced in that direction. Mac was shifting in her sleep and he hurriedly stuffed the ring back in her purse just in case she woke up. He didn't want to explain everything running through his mind, wasn't sure that he could, to his satisfaction or hers. Then of course, there was the idea of exerting pressure on her, which was anathema to him. He'd rather cut off one of his own limbs first than force her to do anything she wasn't absolutely sure of. If he did, he was sure that he would be no better than Mic Brumby. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he leaned back in his chair and watched her

sleep. Oddly, he thought, she looked so peaceful and relaxed. He'd tossed and turned once he'd fallen asleep and his restlessness had eventually driven him from the warmth of her arms, to the table where he'd tried to lay out all his thoughts and feelings in the letter he'd just stashed away. He couldn't make himself stop thinking about the uncertain road ahead of him while he waited and hoped for Mac to think about what was happening and to possibly change her mind. But she looked so untroubled that a part of him wanted to wake her and ask her how she did it, how she managed to put their troubled reality aside, even if only for a few hours. He wanted to know how she managed to find peaceful refuge in sleep when all he'd been able to manage had been snatches of slumber, tormented by her touch, her taste, her scent, by her. Still caught up in the cobwebs of sleep, Mac rolled over, the sheet tangling around her limbs, her hand automatically reaching out for the empty space beside her. "Harm?" she murmured sleepily, his absence pulling her towards wakefulness. She wasn't sure why. Harm's presence wasn't one she was used to in her bed, but she felt emptiness inside at his absence. Was this what it was going to be like if she married Mic, an aching hole in her heart because Harm wasn't the one lying beside her? Could one night mean that much in the grand scheme of things? It also registered in her sleep-clouded mind that she’d called the correct name. Silently, she thanked God or whoever might be listening for that. She would have hated to see the look in his eyes if she'd inadvertently called Mic's name in her sleep. As she thought about it, she realized that it hadn't even occurred to her to think about whose name she was uttering. She'd just known. It had felt so natural, so right. Mac lifted her head from the pillow, blinking in an effort to focus her eyes in the dark room. "Harm?" she asked again, finally catching sight of him in an armchair next to the circular table at the other end of the small room by the window, the curtains parted a few inches, casting an dim light over the table and over his features. "Are you okay?" She unconsciously held her breath, waiting for his answer. "I couldn't sleep," he replied, studying her from across the room, committing it all to memory. Would this be the last time he would see her like this, her eyelids heavy, her hair tousled from sleep? He thought she'd never look more beautiful and he wondered how he could ever look at her again – in the office, in court, in a car on the way to interview someone – and not immediately think of this moment. Silently, Mac slipped out from under the covers and began searching the piles of clothes littering the floor for something to put on. She wasn't sure why it was so important. He’d already seen all that there was of her to see earlier, including the tattoo she'd once teased him with. As she'd drifted off to sleep, she'd felt his hand gently massaging that spot. A part of her was a little disappointed that he'd yet to make a comment about it or to ask her what it meant. Finally, she found a shirt – the one Harm had been wearing earlier – and pulled it on over her head, inhaling his scent as the soft cotton slid down her body. She perched herself on the arm of his chair, afraid to get too close for now. He placed a hand on her knee, idly tracing small circles on the side of her knee with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

He nodded, his eyes focused on a distant point across the room. Was this how it was going to be, the two of them not even able to look at each other? Maybe it would be better that way, she mused silently. Could they ever look at each other again and not remember how it had felt? Could they ever look at each other again and not want more? Taking a deep breath, she summoned all the courage she possessed and asked, "Do you regret what happened? Are you sorry?" Harm whipped his head around to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. How could she even think….? Well, maybe if you would tell her, the voice inside his head pointed out derisively. "No," he replied, "not in the way you think." Mac waited patiently for him to explain that cryptic remark, opening her mouth to speak when it appeared that was all he was going to say. She closed it again when he began speaking, the turmoil in his mind and heart evident in his soft tones. "A few minutes ago," he began, his fingers moving idly over her knee, "I checked my messages on my cell phone. There was one from Renee and….well, it doesn't matter what she said. But I realized something that I've been avoiding thinking about since I first saw you in the O Club earlier. It doesn't bother me. I've been seeing her for over a year, but I spent tonight making love to another woman and it doesn't bother me, not like it should. I'd even told her that I didn't want her to accompany me to Norfolk, when she'd suggested it. I told her that I needed a good night's rest before I flew out to the Patrick Henry in the morning. But it was a lie. Even if I'd been alone tonight, rest would be elusive. I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking…." "I see," she said softly, reasonably sure that she did understand. She knew that Harm prided himself on upholding the standards of a Naval officer, on being the epitome of 'an officer and a gentleman', to fall back on cliché. No matter how much he’d wanted what had happened between them – no matter how much they both had wanted it – he saw it as a personal failing that he was relatively untroubled by what had happened. She could understand because the same thing had occurred to her, as she'd waited for him in the parking lot of the lodge. She was more bothered that she didn't really feel guilty about what had happened, what she'd done, than she likely would have been by the guilt itself. "I can understand that, but at least you're not just a couple of days away from walking down the aisle with someone else." "Maybe I should be asking you the same thing," he said, his gaze steady on hers. She forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly, although she was uncomfortable with facing the answer to that question, for many of the same reasons – and more - that everything was weighing so heavily on his mind. "How did we get to this point anyway?" she mused, her eyes widening as she remembered hearing those words before, when they'd been fighting on board the Watertown. She lowered her gaze, sorry she’d asked the question. Would it really accomplish anything to rehash all of that here and now? She shook her head. "I'm sorry. We've been over all this before." "Yes, we have," he agreed. But maybe the more they acknowledged the questions raised, the more they would be forced to think about the answers and the more hope that would exist for their uncertain future. "But it doesn't make the questions go away, even if we already know the answers. And maybe now there are even more questions." Mac lifted her eyes to meet his. They both stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to cross the line, to give voice to all those new questions which their actions were

raising. After a long moment which seemed to stretch into an eternity, they both started to speak at the same time, and then broke off with light laughs, shaking their heads. "Ladies first," Harm said graciously, his eyes studying her face while, without conscious thought, his hand moved up her thigh, his fingers still lightly caressing her soft skin along the hem of the shirt she wore. Mac found herself reacting to his caress and she slid off the arm of the chair into his lap, his hand moving up even higher on her leg, her sensitive skin tingling beneath his light touch. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as she lost her train of thought as his hand brushed against her curls. She pressed against his hand, but he pulled it away to skim over her thigh again. She laughed, burrowing her face against his neck, her lips moving lightly over his ear. "I think you should put that hand back, Commander," she whispered, pressing a hand against his chest, her fingernails scraping over his skin. She could feel strong, firm evidence of how much he wanted her as she pressed closer, making sure she rubbed against him just enough to elicit a low growl of arousal and need from him. "Actually," he replied in a low, sexy drawl, "I have a better idea." Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, he slide out from under her and stood, pulling her out of the chair to stand in front of him. He held her hands while his eyes traveled over her slender form, his eyes clouding over as it occurred to him that this might be the last time he got to look at her like this, her skin glowing with arousal, her eyes alight with passion. She noticed the look in his eyes and pulled one of her hands from his, pressing her palm against his cheek, sighing as he pressed a kiss against the heel of her hand. "I know," she whispered sadly. For one of the few times in her life, she cursed her perfect sense of timing, all too aware of the hours and minutes steadily ticking away until the inevitable moment when they would have to part. For once, she wished that she could forget the clock and everything else that was working against them. She's always prided herself on her ability to know the exact time, no matter where she was. But tonight, time wasn't her friend. Time was the enemy, ready to tear them apart. She stood up on tip toe and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his neck, willing the tears not to fall. Harm wrapped his arms around her slender form, holding her tight as he rested his head against hers, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain threatening to overwhelm both of them. He would never have her sense of time, but he too was all too aware of how little time they had left. Every tick of the clock as the second hand swept around the face was like a countdown towards the moment when they would have no choice but to part. For some odd reason which he couldn't fathom, something his grandmother had once told him floated to the surface of his memories. 'Harmon,' she'd said, using his full name as she usually did when she wanted to have a serious discussion with him, 'none of us knows how much time we have for anything. Life is full of uncertainty, so the best any of us can do is to make the most of what time we do have.' It had been one of those typically wise statements that his grandmother was known for, but he'd paid it little attention at the time, preferring then to let self-pity consume him in the bleak, dark days after his accident. He had a feeling that this was hardly the type of situation she'd had in mind when she'd uttered those words, but that was what he would do. He would make the most of the precious hours and minutes he had left in the arms of the woman who held his heart. All he could do was pray that it would be enough.

Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes and studied her, his fingers skimming lightly over face, trying to commit the feel and look of her to his memory. Her tortured expression softened under his caress and she opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. They found themselves mesmerized, falling and falling through the windows that laid bare their souls to each other. They leaned closer, their lips brushing together, just the barest whisper of a touch, but one which hinted at a barely concealed passion, bubbling just beneath the surface, just aching to be released. "Harm?" Mac asked softly, her eyes moving over his features. Like him, she was desperate to commit it all to memory. If fifty years passed from this moment to the last breath she would ever take, she wanted to be able to look back and to remember everything, to be able to see all of this, to see him in her mind's eye as if he were standing right in front of her. If nothing else, she wanted to hold onto these moments, to be able to look back and to say that for just a brief moment in time, she'd had everything that she'd ever wanted. "Shhh," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as his hands traveled down her body and over her hips, pulling her up against him. Instinctively, Mac lifted her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, moaning softly as she slowly rubbed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard length straining against his boxers, pressing against her aching center, reveling in the soft moan coming from his lips. "No more talking. Just feel." "Yes," she agreed softly before his mouth found hers. She wove her fingers through his hair as his mouth ravaged hers, his tongue delving deep to taste and to explore. Dimly, she became aware of him moving her across the room, the movement of their bodies against each other causing a delicious friction which threatened to overwhelm them both. Harm realized that this was swiftly spiraling out of his control and he didn't want that, not this time. He set Mac down on the edge of the bed, breaking their bodies' contact, kneeling on the floor between her legs, his hands resting on the tops of her thighs. She looked at him questioningly and opened her mouth to speak, until he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "I just…." he began, glancing away as he found himself uncustomarily at a loss for words. Taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, he turned back to her, determined not to waste the precious little time they had left together. Slowly, almost tentatively, he raised his hands to her face, his fingers tracing her features. Mac's eyes widened in amazement. This was yet another piece of the puzzle that was her best friend, now her lover. Her lover. She never thought she'd ever be able to use those two words in conjunction with Harmon Rabb. The thought brought a soft smile to her lips as his fingers moved over her full lips. She closed her lips around a single finger, her tongue swirling around the tip. Her eyes fluttered closed and she imagined that it was another part of him imprisoned between her lips. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, she thought as she sensed his reaction in the feel of his hot breath against her cheek, the sound as his breathing became slightly erratic and uncertain, as if he was trying to remind himself how to breathe. She sighed with disappointment when he withdrew his finger from her mouth, the sound turning to a murmur of approval as she felt his breath against her lips, as if his mouth was just barely hovering over hers. Then she felt it – just the barest hint of a touch, of his lips brushing against hers. Then it was

gone, replaced by the sensation of light kisses over the satin smoothness of her cheek. Slowly his mouth moved over her entire face until she was convinced that there wasn't a single square inch which his mouth hadn't touched. Then his lips were back on hers, his kiss harder, more insistent. He tugged on her full lower lips with his teeth, nibbling and tasting. While his mouth was busy plundering hers, his hands weren't idle, sliding languidly down her back and slipping under the hem of her shirt. His fingers unerringly found the tattoo she'd teased him with so long ago, rubbing around the spot in slow circles. Earlier, as they'd settled together in the afterglow of their hurried, heated lovemaking, he'd sought out the tattoo, fully intending to make some flip comment about it – until he'd managed in the darkness to make out the shape branded on her flesh. The teasing words he'd thought to utter had died unspoken on his lips. He couldn't say if she'd found a particular meaning in the image when she'd had the tattoo done, but he'd found an eerie symbolism in the blood-red rose with thorny stem now. When he'd first spied it, a couple of lines of an old song had drifted through his head. 'Every rose has its thorns. Every night has its dawn.' He couldn't have found a more applicable symbol of them or their relationship than that image. If their feelings for each other were like a rosebud, sweet and full of promise, then the thorns on the stem were every hurtful word said and unsaid between them, their significant others and every event and happenstance which was conspiring to keep them apart. Tonight they were inhaling the fragrant scent of the flower, but when dawn came, they would find themselves caught in the prickly, thorny hands of fate. It was quite appropriate for two people who'd met just outside a rose garden. "I got that before I met you," Mac whispered against his mouth, vaguely aware through the heady passion enveloping her of just where his hand was lingering. "It reminded me of something my uncle had said when I was drying out. I'd just never imagined…." "I know," he replied raggedly, not allowing her to complete the thought. His hands moved up her back as he resolved to put it out of his mind for now. Morning would come soon enough, and with it the pain of the prick of those thorns. But for now….his hands slid back down and he grasped the bottom of her shirt, pulling back from her as he lifted it up over her head and tossed it away. Mac's eyes fluttered open when she realized that he'd stopped touching her. His eyes met hers and she thought she'd detected the slight flush of color to his cheeks when he'd realized that he'd been caught staring. Or maybe she'd just imagined it. It was so easy to imagine anything she wanted in the darkened room. "You're beautiful," he whispered and this time, she was the one flushing pink. It was an odd think to blush about. She knew that she was good looking, not that she flaunted it. It was simply a fact of her existence. But this was Harm uttering those complimentary words. He'd called her desirable before, but she'd been too busy at the time forcing him to open himself up to her to think about her response to his statement. But now, it was all she could think about. It brought a heady sense of power, knowing that he found her attractive and desirable, but such power came with a price. She just prayed the price wouldn't be too costly. Harm rested his hands on her shoulders and slowly began exploring every plane and contour, moving down her arms, paying special attention to the sound of her breath catching in her throat when his fingers danced across her collarbone, the barely noticeable trembling as his

fingers lingered on the insides of her elbows or the shiver which seemed to sweep her entire body as his thumbs traced lazy circles on the palms of her hands. Mac wondered if this was what was meant by simmering passion, what was meant when people spoke of the slow burn of arousal. Had any man ever paid this much attention to her body before, practically worshiping her? She decided that it didn't matter. All that mattered was the man kneeling before her, as if at an altar. Then it wasn't his hands, but his mouth moving over her, following the same path his hands had, first down one arm, then up the other. She exhaled a long, slow breath, imagining him repeating the same actions over other parts of her body, first his hands starting the fire, then his mouth continuing on to fan the flames until they burned blindingly bright. As his hands returned to her body, fingers skimming over her flat stomach, Harm lifted his head so he could watch her eyes. He'd always thought her eyes so expressive, whether darkening in anger or alight with amusement. Now he wanted to memorize the barely concealed passion lurking in their dark depths, the way they sparkled in the pale light as his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot, the way her lids fluttered half-closed as she struggled to draw ragged gasps of air into her lungs as his hands skirted around her aching breasts to dance across her upper chest. Her mouth was fascinating to him as well, her lips slightly parted as she fought for breath, releasing a soft moan of pleasure as he cupped her breasts in his palms. His fingers moved over her, varying his touch, light one moment, just a little more pressure the next, Harm always alert for any sign that it was too much. He was really good with his hands, Mac decided. He was too good. Surely there was a law somewhere against someone being that good. Of course, leave it to Harm to have hands which ought to be classified as lethal weapons. Now she was sure of one thing. If he were to ask her at this exact moment to run away with him, she'd do it without a second thought, Mic and all she owed him be damned. She was convinced that she'd be lucky to remember her own name when he was finished with her. They were combustible together between the sheets, like throwing gasoline on a fire. But was it enough? Was there more than blindingly white hot passion between them, enough to sustain a relationship in the long term? Could they survive the everyday ups and downs, the roller coaster that a committed relationship could often be? Was this enough to overcome all the hurt and the lure of wind and the sky which still called to him? Could she ever be first in his life? Could anyone? She lost her train of thought, gasping louder as his mouth again replaced his hands, his tongue dipping into her navel and circling around it. Who cared about tomorrow at a time like this? The fire burning in her, the desire only he could satisfy was all that mattered right now. If what he could do with his hands could be termed lethal, there wasn't a word strong enough to describe what he could do with his mouth. She'd known he'd be good there, too. How many times had she watched him in court, eloquently swaying judges and juries with his impassioned pleas, imagining what else he might be able to do with that mouth of his? Anyone who could use words with such finesse and flair surely knew how to use his mouth in other ways.

Bowing her head, she struggled to focus on the man in front of her, carrying her to such dizzying heights. He had such an intense look of concentration on his face as his mouth closed around one nipple, his tongue circling and teasing and taunting her flesh. Again, it wasn't really a surprise to her. Of course Harmon Rabb would bring the same intensity to sex as he did to everything else he did. It was a quality which made him one of the best in the air and in the courtroom. As for in other areas, she didn't want to think about that. Not now. Maybe not ever, for that question might end up haunting her. Harm just happened to glance up at that moment and noticed the haunted look in her eyes. What was she thinking? Was she wondering how they could go on without experiencing this ever again? Was she comparing him to others, to….? You think too much, Rabb, he berated himself. Even if it would only ever be for a few stolen hours, right now Sarah Mackenzie was all his. That was all that mattered. Trying to distract her – and, if truth be told, himself – he let one hand move down her stomach as his mouth moved to her other breast. Oh, God, it was almost too much, Mac thought as she felt his hand delve between her thighs, pressing against her aching, tingling sex. She slid forward slightly, pressing herself against his hand, silently encouraging him to explore further. But he was slow to comply, opting instead to press the palm of his hand against her as he used his mouth to torment and tease the tender flesh of her breast. "Tease," she murmured, leaning forward to rest her head against the top of his, her hands gripping his shoulders. He glanced up, breaking off his mouth's contact with her, to a moan of disapproval from her. His familiar, cocky grin was in place, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, she noted. She bit her lower lip, drawing blood. Even in the heat of long-suppressed passion, he couldn't let go enough to forget about the possible consequences. God help her, neither could she. No matter how many times she told herself that none of that other stuff mattered – not right here, not right now – she couldn't make herself put it aside. A thousand nerve endings were all jumbled and humming, charged with electricity, she was achingly desperate for him and she still couldn't make herself forget. "Try not to think about it," he whispered, trying to follow the same advice himself. He'd expected the cold light of reason to blanket them in the morning, when they couldn't hide from the light of day, not in the dark, as they gave free reign to all the desire and desperate need. "Just make love to me," she pleaded softly. Just five simple words, but they made him all come undone for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend or explain. Perhaps it was simply the verbal acknowledgement of how she wanted him, needed him as much as she needed her next breath. His eyes on hers, he gently parted her folds with his fingers, finding her clit and slowly circling around it with a single digit, lightly at first then gradually increasing the pressure until Mac was sure the only thing keeping her upright was her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. Pressing his other hand against her stomach, he pressed her back, forcing her to let go of his shoulders, until she was lying flat on her back, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "Oh, yes," Mac breathed, realizing his intent. Her entire body tensed in anticipation then she felt it, just the barest whisper of a touch, the tip of his tongue sliding against her

folds. Breathe, she told herself. It's easy. Just inhale, and then exhale. But she couldn't seem to remember how to do it as she felt his tongue flittering against her clit. "Oh," she gasped as her fingers curled around the bedcovers, her hands tightening into fists as her body tightened and she tried to fight off the release just barely contained. She wanted this to last forever. It had to last forever. Listening to her gasp and moan, Harm wondered if she was a screamer. If they'd had more privacy, if there'd been more than thin walls separating them from occupied rooms, would she scream his name as he pushed her over the edge? He'd nearly screamed hers earlier, before he remembered that the walls have ears. The idea was very arousing and he felt his own body tightening in response. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to test that theory. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to do so many things with her, to her. Too much, Mac thought, as he slid two fingers inside her, pressing against her walls. His fingers were just long enough that he found the perfect spot and her body shook as her world spun and shattered around her. She lost awareness of all but the blinding light surrounding her. It could have been seconds or it might have been hours later when her eyes fluttered open to find Harm stretched out beside her on his side, propped up on an elbow as he looked down at her, a satisfied expression on his face. She vaguely remembered something she'd thought earlier, about how he'd taken care to ensure that she was receiving the most pleasure from their lovemaking. He was satisfied because he'd satisfied her. Or maybe he was that confident in his ability to drive her mad. Perhaps it was a little of both. She chuckled softly at the thought. "Penny for your thoughts," he said, drawing a finger along her jaw, his gaze openly admiring. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breasts heaving with every uneven breath she drew. This was the moment he would always remember, he decided. She was so strong and vulnerable at the same time. Maybe it was a contradiction, but it was one which seemed to fit with who Sarah Mackenzie was. She blinked, trying to focus her thoughts. A penny for her thoughts. Not here, not now. There were some things she wanted to keep to herself, some things she wasn't ready to share with him, even after everything they'd shared this night. Maybe it was selfish, but there were some things which would simply have to remain locked away in her heart. They would have to if she were to survive this. Her gaze traveled over him, the corners of her mouth turning upward, hinting at a smile. "I was just thinking….that one of us is a little overdressed," she murmured. It wasn't a lie. She was thinking about that, his hard length straining against his boxers, returning to him a bit of what he'd shown her. But if it wasn't the entire truth, that was for her alone to know. "I want…." she trailed off, suddenly self-conscious, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the newness of all this, at least with this man. Yes, that had to be it. "Tell me," he requested, his eyes steady on hers. If he sensed that she wasn't revealing everything, he kept that to himself. He understood that there were some things that, even now, they didn't yet have the courage to say to each other.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, her voice quiet, "To taste you….I want to taste you." She swore her heart stopped at the look in his eyes as she uttered those words, the intense need she saw. Before she could squash the thought, she wondered if he'd ever looked at another woman like that. She wouldn't ask. Maybe she could imagine that it was a look for her alone, never to be bestowed upon another. Swallowing hard, Harm nodded, rolling onto his back, pulling a couple of pillows under his head to prop himself up. He wanted to watch her, yet another memory to be filed away. So many memories, maybe all he would ever have of her. Mac hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slowly drew them down his legs, as if unwrapping a present she wanted to savor. She'd only had a moment or two earlier to look at him, so she took the opportunity to study him as she positioned herself at his side, propped up on an elbow. Damn, no wonder the man was so cocky, she thought. If there was any such thing as the perfect male form, Harmon Rabb had been blessed with it. Everything was in perfect proportion. She glanced up, surprised by the look now residing on his face. She thought he'd look smug, well aware of how good he looked. Instead, he looked shy, almost humble. The expression tore at her heart. It was yet another contradiction. Damn, she thought. This would have been easier if he’d been smug. Then maybe she could convince herself that this was just a romp, a roll in the hay that didn't mean anything in the larger picture. Then maybe it would be easier to convince herself that she had no choice but to walk away from this. Damn him. Damn her. Damn it all to hell. Carefully masking her expression, she didn't acknowledge the expression. Instead, she returned her focus to pleasuring him, wrapping her hand around his length, slowly moving her hand up and down, her eyes on his. She wanted – no, needed – to see his reaction, to see what she did to him. He bit down on his lip, his eyes glittering dark and smoky. Or maybe that was a trick of the darkness. Shifting position slightly, she bent her head over him, her lips brushing over his hardness, her tongue tracing the veins before her lips closed around him, taking his tip into her mouth, her tongue circling round and round. There was a drop of fluid on his tip and she lapped it up like ice cream. It was salty and musky and strong, just like he was and she wanted more. Relaxing her throat, she took him further into her mouth, her lips and tongue teasing his length. Harm reached out, finding one of her hands and curling his fingers around hers, tightening his grip as the tension coiled in him like a spring, ready to snap. "No….Sarah," he managed to gasp between ragged breaths. "Not like this…." Summoning the strength from God knows where, he pulled away from her, sitting up as he pulled her into his lap, straddling him, his erection pressing against her folds. Startled by the sudden change of direction, Mac didn't even have the presence of mind to think as he grasped her hips, sheathing himself in her welcoming heat. Her head fell forward against his shoulder as he whispered against her hair, unconscious of what he was saying, "Next time, I'll have to let you finish that." The statement didn't even have time to register with Mac before he was thrusting up against her, pushing deeper. She moved against him, again their bodies finding the perfect

rhythm. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugged on an ear lobe, delighting in his harsh moans. "This isn't going to last long," he whispered against her shoulder, where his own mouth had been busy, pressing open mouthed kissed against damp skin. "I know," she replied in a ragged whisper, not just talking about the impending explosion threatening to engulf them both. That was the curse of this night. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last. "Sarah." Through the clouds draping her mind, she dimly heard him say her name. She struggled to focus on the sound, then she heard it again, more insistent. Gasping for breath, she lifted her head and forced her gaze to meet his. "Never be sorry," he whispered, his tone pleading. "No." Whether agreement with his statement or not, even Mac wasn't sure as she uttered the single word just before his mouth crashed down on hers, muffling her cries as she found release again, her muscles tightening around him as he pressed up into her one last time before he exploded, filling her with his warm seed. She tore her mouth from his and let her head fall against his shoulder as she struggled to regain control over her breathing, dizziness overwhelming her. She felt his head resting against her, his lips nuzzling the nape of her neck. As reason slowly returned, his earlier words finally registered with her consciousness and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out. 'Next time, I'll have to let you finish that.' Had he realized what he'd been saying or had it been a result of the fire engulfing him? Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the statement and the meaning behind it. I will not cry. I will not cry. She repeated the four words in her mind, like a mantra. If she repeated them enough times, maybe she could make herself believe them. But nothing could stop the single tear that fell from her closed eyes to splash on his shoulder. Harm felt the tear fall and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again as he realized that he'd been about to say her name – her real name. Taking a couple of breaths to steady himself, he forced himself to begin again. "Mac?" Mac. Not Sarah. If he'd called her Sarah right now, she didn't think she'd be able to keep her emotions in check, to stop from giving the tears free reign. Steadier, she blinked back the remaining unshed tears and lifted her head. "Yes?" He turned his head towards hers and captured her lips, slowly and tenderly moving his mouth over hers. It felt like….their kiss on the Admiral's porch, which she'd tried to pass off as a goodbye kiss. It was nearly time to go. Dawn would soon be breaking and with it, their lives would move forward – toward what, neither knew. But if it wasn't toward each other, it was time to start trying to cut that cord, to begin putting all that had happened this night behind them. As they broke off the kiss, their eyes met and both could see so clearly for just a moment. This was goodbye, maybe for now, maybe forever. They both nodded slightly in

silent acknowledgement. As they settled back down for the few precious snatches of sleep they could find before morning, a single thought went through both their minds. In a contradictory way, they were closer, yet farther apart than they'd ever been.

THURSDAY MORNING 24 MAY 2001 AIRFIELD NORFOLK NAVAL STATION, VIRGINIA "Commander Rabb?" a man wearing petty officer's stripes asked, walking up to Harm and Mac as they stood on the tarmac, close but not quite touching. Harm was dressed in his flight suit, Mac in a t-shirt and jeans. To anyone looking from a distance, they looked like just another couple facing a forced separation courtesy of the military. But if one looked closely at their eyes, at the hesitant way they touched each other, one would have realized that there was more to the story. At Harm's slight nod, he continued, "The helo for the Patrick Henry will be taking off in about ten minutes." "Thank you, Petty Officer," Harm replied, his eyes on Mac, who was busy looking down, studying her bare hands, her ring still tucked away in her purse. If….when she put the ring back on, it wouldn't be in front of Harm. She couldn't make herself hurt him like that, at least not right now. She couldn't hurt herself like that. The memories of their passionate interlude were still too fresh, too raw. Her soul was aching and bleeding. She needed to find a way to bind those wounds first. If she had to hurt them, it would be later, when she’d regained some semblance of reason. "I'll be right there." "I guess this is it," Mac said once the petty officer left them alone again. She looked down at the ground, studying a crack in the pavement, not sure what to say. For not the first time, she was uncertain about her decision to accompany him to the airfield. They could have just as easily said their goodbyes at the lodge. But she needed this, needed to prolong their time together, to hold onto the memories which just might have to last her a lifetime, even if it meant prolonging the goodbye. "Yeah, I guess," he said, tilting her head up with a finger as he brushed away the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. She smiled weakly and lifted her hand, clasping it around his wrist. "I promised myself that I wasn't going to do this," she said, her voice trembling. "It's okay," he tried to assure her, his voice sounding uncertain even to his own ears. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and beg her to leave Mic and give them a chance. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't take the choice away from her. All he could do was make sure that she knew the choice existed. "Mac….Sarah, I want you to promise me something." She nodded, unconsciously holding her breath as she waited for him to continue. If there was anything which had the power to make her come undone, it was the sound of her name coming from his lips. If he were to beg her to run away with him, to give them a chance, she wasn't entire sure she could deny him that when he said her name like that. 'I love you' couldn't have sounded more beautiful and more heartfelt coming from his lips. "I made you a

promise," he began, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently, "and I intend to do everything in my power to keep it. I will be at the wedding, if that is what you want. But I want you to promise me something in return." He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, and then continued, his gaze steady on hers. "I want you to think about….everything and I want you to think about whether or not you're absolutely sure about what you want to do." "Harm, I…." she began, but he held a hand up to silence her. She quieted, nibbling on her lower lip nervously. "Please, let me finish," he requested. "This is probably one of the hardest things….if you think about it and you decide that Mic is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, then I will be at the wedding, ready as your best friend to wish you well on your new life together, in spite of everything that has happened. On the other hand, if maybe you decide….I don't know....that maybe there is something between us and you would like to explore that further…." Mac sighed sadly, brushing more tears away with her free hand. His hand replaced hers on her cheek, her falling tears gathering on his fingertips. "Do you know what I would have given to have you say something like that back in Sydney?" she mused. "I know that," he said quietly, studying her bare left hand for a moment. He'd noticed that she still hadn't put the ring back on and every minute that went by without it on her finger gave him just a little more hope for the two of them. He hoped that when she read the letter which he’d slipped into her purse, when she saw the small gift which he’d left for her, she would think even more about what was happening between them and decide that it was something worth hanging onto, that giving up a certain future with Mic was a chance worth taking. "I just wanted you to know that if you do decide to take a chance that you won't have to wait for me to be ready." "What about Renee?" she asked. She wasn't sure that she had the strength after all this to face a fight and that's what she would face with Renee. There was no way in hell Renee would willingly walk away. In a way, Mac could understand and sympathize. If Harm were hers, she'd feel the exact same way. But he wasn't hers. Right now, he couldn't be. "She does love you." "I know," he replied after a moment, "and I know that she wants a future for us. But I don't love her and I think she knows that deep down. I'm….pretty sure she does. She knows that….there's something between you and me. I know it would be hard, telling her once and for all that we don't have a future, but I would do it….for us. I can't imagine it would be any easier talking to Mic. It would probably even be harder." "Yeah, since he's expecting me to walk down the aisle to him in two days," she pointed out. "That's why I can't just…." "Walk away from him?" he finished sadly. She nodded reluctantly. "I know. All I want is a promise that you'll think about it. I promised you that if you walk down that aisle, I will be there to wish you well." She nodded again. If Harm was going to promise that he would be there to wish her well, no

matter how he felt about her or her impending marriage, then surely it wasn't too much for him to ask what he wanted in return. It wasn't that she wasn't already having doubts. God, she’d just spent the night making love with a man who wasn't her fiancé. If that wasn't a sign that she needed to do a lot of thinking over the next two days, she didn't know what was. It couldn't have been clearer if it had been printed in six-foot neon letters on top of aircraft hanger behind them. "I will," she promised, her tears falling freely. Her gaze met his and she was mildly surprised to discover that his eyes were suspiciously moist as well. How many times had she seen him cry before? Twice that she could recall, both in connection with his father. Then she remembered another goodbye, when she'd wanted so much to pour her heart out to him and had damned him for not sharing her tears, for not being as tormented as she’d been by his departure. He had eventually come back, but nothing had been the same. No matter which way things went, when he came back this time, nothing would be the same again. "I have to go," Harm said softly, noticing the petty officer motioning to him out of the corner of his eye. "I'll see you in a few days." "Yeah," she whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers. She swayed against him, convinced the only thing keeping her upright was his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight against him. She could feel that he was pouring everything into this kiss, every feeling he'd ever felt for her, and she eagerly accepted and returned it all, wishing that this could last forever. But it couldn't and all too soon, they slowly pulled apart. Without a word, Harm gave her a quick, heartfelt hug then pulled completely away, heading for the helo standing by to take him to the Patrick Henry with strong, steady steps. Mac watched him leave, not even trying to keep her tears in check, envying him his apparent control. At the last moment, as he prepared to step onto the helo, Harm turned and gave her one of his 'flyboy' grins. Despite the distance separating them, she could see that it wasn't that easy, that there was a bit of hesitancy behind the gesture. Once again, she thought she was getting a glimpse into the depths of his soul, at the turmoil within he kept carefully hidden from the rest of the world. Her heart melted and she tried her best to return the smile, even through her tears. Their eyes locked across the tarmac and Mac had to force herself not to run into his arms, to capture just a little bit more of the feelings that wouldn't go away between them. She had to let him go for now, until she knew for sure. Harm understood her struggle, for the same one was going on in his own heart. He wanted nothing more than to run back to her, take her into his arms and beg her to give him, to give them a chance. But he loved her enough to let her go if that was what she wanted. He loved her. How he wished he could say those words to her. He’d come close in the letter. He just had to hope that it was enough, that she understood everything which he’d said and everything which he hadn't. He gave her a thumb's up sign before turning and climbing aboard the helo. As he settled into his seat, fastening himself in, he caught sight of her through the window, still standing on the tarmac. Mac remained there, holding Harm's leather flight jacket tight around her to ward off a non-existent chill in the air, watching as the helo lifted off from the ground, her hair ruffling in the breeze. She stood there, looking like just another woman saying farewell to her Navy man, until the helo disappeared from sight. Only then did she force herself to put one foot in

front of the other and walk back across the tarmac to her car in the parking lot, praying silently for the strength to face the choice that she now had to make. FOUR HOURS LATER MAC'S APARTMENT As Mac closed her apartment door behind her, slumping back against it, she said a silent prayer of thanks that her home was dark, that she had no surprises waiting to greet her. She didn't know what she would have done if Mic had somehow gotten the idea in his head to come over this morning. Right now, it was so hard to make herself remain tall and strong and to not give into the trembling deep inside of her. She couldn't even clearly remember the drive home. One moment, she'd been standing on the pavement at the airfield at Norfolk, watching the helo carrying Harm to the Patrick Henry disappear into the clouds. The next thing she knew, she was sliding her key into the door lock. "Get a grip, Mackenzie," she ordered herself firmly, pushing away from the door. Glancing at her desk, she noted the blinking light on her answering machine, but made no move to walk over there and press the button to check her messages. She knew she should – one or more of them was probably from Mic. As the wedding had drawn closer, he'd gotten into the habit of calling her at night when they weren't spending it together. Usually, she was flattered by the attention, but right now, she couldn't make herself listen to any message he might have left. If she did, she'd need to call him back and she wasn't sure that she’d composed herself enough to utter the lie she knew she'd have to tell him, the one to explain why she hadn't been home when he'd called. She was thinking too much, she decided, rubbing her temples against the headache forming behind her eyes. She knew she needed to think about it – she'd promised Harm that she would and after everything they'd shared over the last four and a half years, after he'd made his own promise, she owed it to him to keep this one. But not right now. She hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Maybe she could close her eyes for a little bit and pretend for just a few hours that all was right with her reality. With a heavy sigh, she walked into her bedroom and tossed her purse on the bed then dragged her t-shirt over her head, throwing it on the bed as well. Maybe a long, hot bath would help. It couldn't hurt at this point – she was sure that nothing could hurt her any more than she already was at this point, except for having to face Mic right at this moment. She just wasn't holding out much hope that the bath would help any. Quickly removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them into a pile on the bed, she went into the bathroom and began filling the tub, turning the water on as hot as she could possibly stand it. She watched the water pour into the tub for a moment, then turned around and rummaged under the bathroom sink, returning to the tub with a bottle of vanilla-scented bath foam. The bottle was nearly full – she didn't often have the time to indulge in a leisurely soak with something as frivolous as this. But right now, she was willing to try anything to try to relax. While the tub was filling, the fragrant scent of the foam filling the small room, she returned to the bedroom, gathering her clothes into her arms. As she turned to carry the clothes to the hamper in the corner of the room, she noticed a white piece of paper barely poking out of her purse. She couldn't remember there being any paper in her purse. Shifting the clothes to one arm, she reached down and pulled the paper from her purse, noticing a slight bulge in the

middle of the folded sheet. She shook the paper slightly, the object inside falling to land face up on the bedspread. Mac simply stared for a long moment at the shiny pin, her mind unable to process the reality of what was staring her in the face. This couldn't be real. It was just another sign that her mind couldn't let go of the events of the past twenty-four hours. Slowly, she turned her back to the bed and finished what she'd been doing before, depositing her clothes in the hamper. Surely, when she turned back around, she would find that it was just an illusion, a product of the thoughts tormenting her. Taking a calming breath, she turned back around, the gold pin still shining brightly from the top of the cream-colored comforter. She knelt beside the bed and tentatively reached out, the tip of a finger tracing the contours of the pin. How could she have thought this might be an illusion? Never, in her wildest dreams, could she have imagined this happening. She knew just how much this meant to him, knew better than probably anyone. So how could she have possibly thought that he might make such a grand gesture? She never could have dreamed it because until this moment, she never would have thought that it was possible. Harm may have vowed not to pressure her, but he’d just upped the stakes, in a way that only he could. She knew, even without reading the letter, which she assumed contained some kind of explanation – or an attempt at one. She knew what he was trying to tell her. He could have been in front of her right at this moment, on bended knee, offering her everything she'd ever wanted, everything that Mic was so willing to give her and which she thought Harm would never be able to offer, vowing 'I love you' over and over again, and it couldn't have affected her more than the anchor and shield, centered on a pair of gold wings. Gathering up the wings and his letter, she returned to the bathroom to find the tub in danger of overfilling. Stepping into the tub, she sank into the steaming, fragrant water and turned off the water with her foot. Careful to hold her arms above the foam, she leaned back, letting her head rest against the bath pillow attached to the wall behind her. Clutching the wings in her closed fist, the pins digging into her palm where they’d pushed through the rubber backing, she opened the letter and began to read…. Sarah, I have so much to say, but I can't find the words. You said that to me once. I didn't want to acknowledge the meaning behind those words then, but I have to now because I know now exactly how you felt that day, as I walked out of JAG, out of your life. I didn't want to think about it before that, when you had left JAG and me for Dalton, but then you came back before I had learned to deal with it and everything was fine again, going on as before. Maybe I had been expecting the same thing when I came back, only I found that you had managed to move on without me. I had expected things to go back to the way they were and I didn't know how to deal with it when they didn't and …. well, we've all been living with the consequences of that for nearly two years. That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? I could sit here all night and write down reasons why neither of us can walk away from what happened tonight, but you know them as well as I do. We've been through so much over the last four plus years and I don't have to remind you of that – of the partnership, the friendship, the arguments, the laughter, the tears. You know everything we've been through, everything we've shared, as well as I do.

I know that you have other things to consider. So much has happened the last two years and I know that you can't just forget about that and about everyone who might be hurt by what may or may not happen. I promised not to pressure you and you know how I am about my promises. But I do need to make sure that you know one thing. You were my best friend long before we became lovers and, although it will be one of the hardest things that I will ever have to do, I will remain your best friend always and will try to put tonight behind me if that's what you want me to do. Aside from never wanting to lose you, I also want you to be happy. If the only way to have both is to watch you marry him on Saturday and to go back to only being your best friend, then that's what I'll do. You'll never have to worry …. that I'll do something that you don't want me to do. If it's what you want, all you will ever have from me from this day on is my friendship and my well wishes. All the rest will remain locked away, never to be spoken of or acted upon again. I don't know what else I can say to you, how to tell you in words how much you and your happiness mean to me. I guess all I can say right now is 'Be happy, Sarah Mackenzie' and know that, no matter which way things turn out, if you're happy, then I can not and will not ask for more. Harm PS – When I first told you that I was going back to flying, you accused me of valuing flying more than …. everything. I was afraid to tell you then, but here's my response. "Oh, God," she whispered as she finished reading his words, choking back tears, opening her fist to stare at the gold wings in her hand. Instinctively, she'd known as soon as she'd seen them what he was trying to say, but to have it before her in black and white…. Here was irrefutable proof of how Harm felt about her. It may not have been 'I love you', but even those three words could not have torn at her heart more than the bright gold wings he wore so proudly on his uniform, the wings which he'd bestowed upon her. When he'd first told her that he wanted to return to active flight status, she'd wanted to say 'me', that he valued flying more than her. Maybe if he had to confront her statement, then he'd think more about what he was doing and perhaps change his mind. Even two years later, she still wasn't sure what had stopped her from uttering the single word which may have made all the difference. Maybe it was the same thing that had stopped him from coming out and saying 'I love you' in so many words in the letter. 'If you love something, set it free. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with.' She turned the old saying over in her mind. Deep down, perhaps she'd been afraid two years ago that if she'd said something that forced him to stay, he'd end up resenting her eventually for taking him away from his dream. He’d eventually come back to her, but by then she'd built up walls around her heart to prevent herself from being hurt again. By the time she'd decided to throw caution to the wind, he was the one putting up walls. Now, they both had acknowledged their feelings and he was offering to set her free. Not once in the letter had he said that he wanted her to come back to him. Most of the letter was his assurance that he would do everything to see her happy and to not let what had happened, what would happen if she married Mic, destroy their friendship. The decision was in her hands and he’d promised to accept it, no matter what.

She closed her eyes, desperately praying for an answer, for anything that would make the decision she was facing easier, that would show her which was the better option – sticking with what she was sure would be or taking a chance on what could be.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON After soaking for nearly an hour, during which she'd practically memorized Harm's letter she'd reread it so many times, she’d made herself get out of the tub and crawl into bed in an attempt to catch up on some of the sleep she'd missed the night before. Not that her slumber was restful. As soon as she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen him. It was an old dream that she'd had on and off ever since their first trip to Russia. When they'd shared that hotel room, instead of attempting to sleep in the chair, she'd invited him into the bed and they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Sometimes, it would be slow and tender. Others, it would be hard and fiery. But never before had it been so realistic. She could swear this time that she'd felt his hands on her body, could smell the musky, heavy scent of sex, could hear his voice murmuring words of love in her ear. It was because it was more real. She no longer had to imagine what it would be like. She knew. She’d experienced all of that for real last night and now realized that even the most explicit fantasy could not compare to the reality that she’d experienced in his arms. But was it enough? Sure, they were hot together between the sheets, but was that enough to take the chance of throwing away what she knew she could have with Mic – the home, the stability, the family – for what may or may not work out with Harm in the long run? What else did she and Harm have to base a relationship on? Tossing the bed covers aside, she climbed from bed, noting a slight chill in the apartment, odd for late May. Grabbing her robe from the closet, she pulled it on and tied the belt around her waist. Going into the living room, she pulled a thick photo album from the bookshelf and curled up on the couch with it, opening it to the first page, her mind immediately recalling all the details of when and where the picture had been taken. Since they’d all missed the reception at the White House after Harm had been awarded his Distinguished Flying Cross, the Admiral had arranged a get together for the JAG staff at McMurphy’s a few days after they’d returned from Arizona. She’d been off sitting by herself, not quite in the party mood. Although she was happy for the man who was her new partner and who was quickly becoming her friend, she’d been worried about Uncle Matt and his upcoming trial. Harm had noticed and, after setting his beer bottle on an empty table, had joined her ….

OCTOBER 1996 MCMURPHY’S TAVERN “You didn’t have to do that,” Mac said, nodding towards his discarded beer bottle. “I’ve gotten used over the years to people drinking in front of me. It doesn’t really bother me.” That wasn’t entirely the truth. It was sometimes a struggle, watching others down alcohol as easily as they downed soda, smelling the liquor in the air on people’s breaths, and not taking a sip herself. At times, it was worse than others and this was one of those times. She was so worried about Uncle Matt that it would have been so easy to give into the

temptation to drown her problems in the bottle. Only her long-standing respect and love for her uncle made keeping the temptation at bay easier. She just wasn’t sure that she could, or wanted to, explain all that to Harm. Sure, she’d opened up about her alcoholism, but she still wasn’t sure what had made her do that. She barely knew the man, plus there was that whole situation with her apparently dead doppelganger. She’d freaked him out on first glance, but somehow, he seemed so easy to trust. Harm shrugged, considering it no big deal. It had just seemed the thing to do. “Worried about Colonel O’Hara?” he asked, changing the topic to the one which had brought him to her table, to the one he was sure was responsible for her somber mood. Harm hadn’t taken the time to analyze the reasons why he cared so much. All he knew for sure was that it wasn’t because of her resemblance to Diane – at least, for the most part. Out there in the desert, he’d quickly discovered that the likeness between the two women was only skin deep. He couldn’t imagine Diane ever holding a gun on him like Mac had, even if it was just a ruse. He chuckled softly at the memory. Mac gave him a sharp glance. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. “Just thinking about some things,” he replied vaguely. He wasn’t ready to go in-depth into the subject of Diane with her. Perhaps he never would be. He watched her for a moment as she cast her eyes downward, staring into the glass of tonic water in front of her. “Mac, I’m going to do everything I can for your uncle. He’s a good man.” “Tell me something, Harm,” she requested, looking back up at him. “Why do you care so much? I held a gun on you, for God’s sake!” He wasn’t really surprised by the question. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Mac wasn’t one who easily trusted others. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that her uncle was one of the few – if not the only – people she felt she could trust unequivocally. “I understand why you did it,” he answered quietly. “You love your uncle and would do anything for him. I know what that’s like, loving and looking up to someone so much that you’d do anything, even if it meant risking everything.” Mac stared at him for a moment, wondering who in Harm’s life was that important to him, for she recognized his tone as coming from a man who really did understand. But that was probably a discussion for another time. “Harm,” she began, her voice barely betraying the hesitation she felt. He waited patiently for her to continue. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome, Mac,” he replied. Such a simple response, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice. Maybe here was someone else who would prove to be worthy of her trust and loyalty ….

While they’d been quietly talking, Tiner – who often acted as unofficial photographer at JAG parties – had snapped a picture of the two of them. They were leaning close to each other and it almost looked as if they were sharing some secret. Harm, as the guest of honor at that particular party, had been gifted with a photo album of the pictures taken that night. After

Mac had seen the album, she’d gone to Tiner and asked for a copy of that particular picture. It became the first of many photos of the two of them detailing nearly five years of partnership and friendship. What would Mic have done? How would he have acted if he’d been the one out there in the Arizona desert with her? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Mic hanging from the skid of a helicopter. Despite losing his job over Bud and Harriet’s case, she wasn’t even sure that he would have been willing to lay it all on the line for her uncle. Perhaps the difference was that he knew Bud and Harriet, making it easier to make such a sacrifice. She also figured that he would have spent most of the mission shamelessly flirting with her. Harm hadn’t. With the exception of his slip about the bed in the back of the truck they’d rented – which he’d quickly backpedaled on after she’d shot him a withering look – he’d shown respect for the distance she’d tried to keep between them in the beginning. Mac flipped a few more pages in the album until she found one taken on the Seahawk during their investigation into Lieutenant Isaac's sexual harassment claims against then-Captain Boone. Since it was her first time on an aircraft carrier, she’d taken along a camera. The intent had been to take some pictures to add to the separate album she kept chronicling her military career. She’d been snapping pictures of some F-14s taking off and landing when she’d caught sight of Harm nearby, watching the Tomcats with such a look of longing and regret in his eyes, probably reliving memories brought to the forefront by Congresswoman Delong's thoughtless comments. He hadn’t noticed her presence and she’d taken advantage by snapping a photo. It was one of her favorites of Harm, dressed in his khakis, his hair ruffled by the breeze. It seemed to say so much about who Harm was. One of the things she admired most about Harm was his never-give-up attitude. He’d never given up on his father, traveling to Laos and later to Russia until he knew for sure the fate of Harmon Rabb, Sr. He wasn’t giving up on his brother, locked away in a prisoner of war camp for five months now. After his crash, although it had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, he’d eventually decided not to give up on the Navy and did a complete career 180, attending law school and becoming a desk jockey for the most part, a drastic change from soaring the skies in an F-14. And there were so many other times when he’d refused to back down. She doubted that Harm knew how to. What about Mic? To be honest, she’d never really seen him in a situation where any leanings he’d had towards that personality trait might be revealed. Mic seemed perfectly content working for his clients from behind a desk. She couldn’t see him traveling to Haiti just to bring to light the truth about a case – especially if the truth would be detrimental to his own case – the way Harm had during their prosecution of John Farrow. Mic cared about winning – she’d seen that so many times. But Harm cared about the truth, even if it meant losing a case. It wasn’t that Mic was a bad lawyer – he was a good lawyer who won his share of cases. But Harm’s passion for truth and justice made him an exceptional one. And although his smug attitude when he was right about something could be annoying, she couldn’t recall ever really feeling bad about losing a case to Harm because she knew that the outcome was usually the right one. Even in cases like Lieutenant Buxton's or Kevin Lee's, Harm usually ended up doing the right thing in the end. Of course, that same never-say-die attitude of Harm’s also got him into a lot of trouble, a lot of life-or-death situations. Any incident with Palmer, Italy looking for the Admiral’s daughter, on the Watertown, on the Suribachi – so many times, she found herself gripped with

a heart-pounding fear of Harm being in danger. She’d never felt that with Mic – she’d never seen him in that kind of trouble in the two plus years she’d known him. She’d probably never have to experience that pulse-racing sensation because of Mic. But her concern about Harm’s proclivity towards daredevil antics was tempered by the knowledge that he had the training – despite being an airedale and then a desk jockey – and the instincts to work his way out of those situations. He was a survivor. She turned another page in the album, smiling at a picture of her, Harm and Bud laughing and joking at the annual JAG picnic, this particular picnic having been the first one she’d been around for. She and Harm had experienced their share of good times. Their entire relationship wasn’t about battling in court or working their way out of dire circumstances. Mac’s head jerked up from the album when she heard a knock on the door and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. What if it was Mic, wondering where she’d been when he’d tried to call? She knew she needed to get around to returning any calls he’d made while she was gone, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. There was so much to sort out and sometimes Mic could be a little over-bearing. Right now, what she needed most was space. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she got up and checked the peep hole in the door, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw her sister on the other side. Managing a smile, she opened the door. “Hi, Chloe,” she greeted her. “Did your Dad drop you off?” She glanced down the hallway towards the elevator, seeing no sign of Kyle’s presence. “He dropped me off in front of the building,” Chloe said as she walked into the apartment, immediately taking note of Mac’s state of dress. Chloe knew she was normally an early riser, but looking at Mac in her robe, she could have sworn she’d just gotten out of bed. Not that she wished her sister a restless night’s sleep, but she hoped this was a sign that Mac was doing some serious thinking about the step she was planning to take in less than forty-eight hours. “We were supposed to spend some time together this afternoon, remember?” “Of course I do,” Mac replied, although she honestly had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that it had slipped her mind. At least Chloe’s presence wasn’t really an intrusive one right now. “I just …. had a hard time sleeping last night. I got up this morning, took a bath, and then fell asleep again. There’s a lot going on, with the wedding and everything.” It was a pretty vague answer, with just enough truth mixed in to convince just about anyone, but Chloe wasn’t most people. She may have only been fourteen, but she was a romantic at heart and thought she knew true love when she saw it and she hadn’t seen it – or heard it in Mac’s voice, since she’d hardly seen Mac and Mic together – between Mac and Mic. But Harm and Mac – it seemed so obvious to her and it was a mystery to her why two otherwise intelligent people kept dancing around their feelings the way the two of them did. “So, did you get a chance to talk to Harm yesterday before he left for Norfolk?” Chloe asked, as nonchalantly as possible. She tried to sound as if she were merely inquiring about the weather or about how Jingo was doing, and she turned slightly away, bending down to scratch behind Jingo’s ears in greeting, so that Mac couldn’t see the hope in her expression. “Not exactly,” Mac replied softly. Another vague answer, but true in a way. She hadn’t spoken to Harm *before* he’d left for Norfolk and when she’d seen him, talking hadn’t exactly been high on the agenda.

Chloe straightened back up and turned around, about to shoot off a smart aleck reply along the lines of ‘why the hell not’ when she was brought up short by the look on Mac’s face, a mix of intense despair and longing. She just couldn’t figure out what it meant, but she was pretty sure about one thing. Somehow, she sensed that Mac had seen Harm, but it didn’t look like anything had been resolved between them. If Harm hadn’t been on his way out to an aircraft carrier, perhaps even there by now, Chloe would have a few choice words to say to him about why he was letting the greatest woman in the world slip away from him and marry a man she didn’t love. She bit back her retort and changed the subject. “What’s that you were looking at?” she asked, motioning towards the album still in Mac’s hands. Mac looked down at the album with an odd look, as if she was stunned to find it in her hands. Shaking her head, she walked over to the bookcase and placed the album back where she’d gotten it from. “Just a photo album,” she replied. “Why don’t I get dressed, then we’ll decide what we want to do for the rest of the afternoon?” Without waiting for Chloe’s reply, she fled to the bedroom, needing the solitude to compose herself before she faced her sister again. So far, her presence wasn’t helping to dispel the ache settled in Mac’s heart. As soon as Mac closed the bedroom door behind her, Chloe pulled the album back off the bookcase and carried it over to the couch. There was no concern in her mind about invading Mac’s privacy. She was worried about her and knew that something in this album was bothering Mac. “Oh, boy,” she breathed as she flipped through the pages. No wonder Mac was disturbed. As far as she could tell by her cursory glance through the album, Harm was present in every single picture. She stopped at one picture, smiling as she recognized the setting ….

31 DECEMBER 1998 THE ROBERTS’ RESIDENCE “It was nice of Bud and Harriet to invite me,” Chloe said, sitting on the sofa in the Roberts’ living room, talking to Mac. Various members of the JAG staff were milling around the apartment, as well as Bud’s brother Mikey. She saw Harm off in a corner, talking to a redheaded woman and a black man – fellow JAG attorneys, she recalled. At least that shrink wasn’t here – she’d noticed that the doctor had seemed quite taken with Harm when they’d met at JAG, but what kind of doctor was dumb enough to guzzle down cough medicine then get behind the wheel of a car? Not exactly Harm’s kind of woman, she thought confidently, although she barely knew Harm, except what Mac had told her. Then again, to her elevenyear-old mind, there was only one woman right for Harm and she was sitting next to Chloe. “Bud and Harriet are great people,” Mac replied. She gave her sister a stern glance. “And it was very nice of them, especially after the way you acted when you first met them.” Chloe laughed, knowing that Mac wasn’t really scolding her. They’d already hashed everything out about her smart remarks, except for the comments about Harm and her fantasies. Chloe had tried to bring up the topic, which Mac had refused to touch it with a tenfoot pole. “So when’s Harriet going to have her baby?” Chloe asked, deciding to change the subject. They might have already resolved the issue of Chloe’s attitude, but the girl was wise enough to know that it was probably best not to get into that again.

“May,” she replied, a soft smile on her face. Chloe tried to imagine what a child of Mac’s would be like. She knew already that she’d make a great mother – she managed to put up with her, after all. And with Harm as the father …. She drew her attention back to what Mac was saying. “They asked me a couple of weeks ago to be his or her godmother.” “Cool,” Chloe exclaimed as Harm joined them, sitting down on Chloe’s other side. She suddenly wished she could switch places so that he was sitting next to Mac, but couldn’t think of a way of doing it without being completely obvious. Sure, obvious worked sometimes, but with Harm and Mac, she sensed that subtlety might work better in most cases, since obvious hadn't done much at the office. She’d save the obvious approach for those situations that called for drastic measures, like – well, she couldn’t think of one at the moment. She turned to Harm and smiled. “Mac was just telling me that she’s going to be godmother to Bud and Harriet’s baby.” “I’d heard a rumor to that effect,” Harm commented with a grin. “So, Mac, have you been busy thinking of ways to spoil *our* godchild?” Chloe’s smile grew wider upon hearing that news. Harm and Mac as godparents together could only be a good thing. Maybe they’d get so much into being godparents that they’d figure they should have a child of their own to love and to shower affection on. If the JAG crew hadn’t managed to find her real father, Chloe couldn’t imagine anything better than being raised by Harm and Mac. “Right now, I’m planning on showing my godchild how to appreciate the good things in life,” she teased, grinning back at Harm. “Like the virtues of the Marine Corps over the Navy or a well prepared Beltway Burger.” “I don’t think so,” Harm shot back. “No burgers for my godchild and you’re forgetting that both of his parents are Navy.” “So what do you imagine doing with him or her?” Mac asked. As Chloe had watched them banter back and forth, she became more convinced than ever that if there were ever two people made for each other, it was these two. “As soon as he’s old enough, I’ll teach him how to fly,” he replied. “Maybe Bud and Harriet will have a future naval aviator on their hands.” “He?” Mac mused. “What if he turns out to be a girl? Are you going to teach her how to fly, too?” Harm had looked shocked at the idea for a split second – which Mac caught, of course, evidenced by her laugh at his expression – before replying smoothly, “Of course, I would teach my goddaughter how to fly. Girls can fly. You haven’t done half bad when I’ve taken you up in ‘Sarah’.” Chloe listened in amused silence when Mac countered, “Just make sure you leave the nut cases behind when you take up my godchild.” Harm and Mac both laughed, Chloe joining in almost as an afterthought because it seemed to be the thing to do, while she filed away what she’d learned for future reference. ‘Sarah’, she assumed, was a plane that Harm owned and she thought it telling that it had the same name as her sister ….

That was the moment the photographer – Harriet, as Chloe recalled – had captured, the three of them laughing together. Mac had later made copies of the pictures from the party that Chloe had been in and had sent them to her. This particular one was now in a frame on Chloe’s dresser back home. Looking at that photo gave her hope during darker times when she wondered what could possibly be going on in their minds that they’d waste so much time with other people when they could have been with each other. Jordan had eventually gone, while Mac had remained by herself for the longest time, maybe because Harm had been seeing someone else, or so Chloe had hoped. But then Mac had suddenly announced one day that Mic had asked her to marry him and that she was considering it, while Harm had gotten involved with someone Mac had referred to as the ‘Video Princess’. Maybe she should have tried to be more obvious about them all along. Better yet, maybe she should have knocked them both over the head with a sledgehammer two years earlier. She laughed at the thought, glancing up when she heard a sound that appeared to come from just inside the door of Mac’s bedroom. She glanced at the album in her hands and considered for a brief moment putting it back where she’d gotten it from before Mac saw her with it, but then decided against it. Now, less than two days before Mac was scheduled to walk down the aisle with a man other than Harm, was definitely not the time to be subtle. She almost wished for that sledgehammer right now. Mac came out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, sighing when she saw the album in Chloe’s hands. Really, she was far from surprised. Chloe was very curious, sometimes too curious for her own good. Chloe carefully guarded her expression, managing to convey the impression that this particular album of photos was no different than any other Mac might have lying around her home. “So, did you have any ideas about this afternoon?” Chloe asked as Mac sat down next to her, glancing at the album, still open to the picture taken at the Roberts’ apartment. “I was thinking maybe we could go to the zoo. I’d love to see the new pandas.” “It’s an idea,” Mac said. She still hadn’t given the topic much thought, trying unsuccessfully not to think about much of anything while she’d gotten dressed. Of course, it was hard not to think when confronted with the presence of the gold wings sitting on her nightstand. She’d almost put them away in a drawer so she wouldn’t have to look at them, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it, no more than she'd been able to put her engagement ring back on. Both were visible reminders of the weight of the decision she had to make, as if she hadn't already been aware of just how much was riding on her decision. “I just went last week on AJ’s birthday and the pandas are something. Anyway, you like animals, so the zoo’s a great idea.” “Well, I’m ready whenever you are,” Chloe said enthusiastically, perhaps a little too much so for Mac’s current mood. But maybe Chloe’s youthful exuberance was just what she needed to get her mind off of things, as long as the topic stayed away from Harm or her upcoming nuptials. Mac glanced towards the window and noticed the cloudy skies. “Maybe we should take an umbrella,” she suggested, “just in case. It looks like it might rain.” She went to retrieve the umbrella and a jacket, stopping when they heard a knock at the door. Maybe it was Harriet, she thought, thinking she needed some company to keep her from going crazy in the hours before …. Anyway, if it was Harriet, then she could always invite her and AJ to accompany them to the zoo. Like most little kids, AJ loved seeing all the ‘amimals’. She turned and

headed for the door, her hand freezing on the knob when she saw through the peephole who was on the other side, while Chloe resisted the urge to swear, imagining their fun afternoon going up in smoke. She knew, from the way Mac was holding herself, who was on the other side. Yet again, Mac took a deep breath as she opened the door, working even harder than she had with Chloe to keep her expression neutral and free of the tormented situation plaguing her thoughts. “Hi, Mic,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her nervousness. “Hello, luv,” he said, pulling her into his arms as he walked into the apartment. Mac had to force herself not to react negatively as she was faced with the moment she’d been dreading – facing Mic for the first time after she’d spent the night in another man’s arms and bed. She made herself return his kiss, trying not to think about the difference between this one and all the kisses she and Harm had exchanged just hours ago, trying to dispel the feeling that he was branding her in some way, declaring for any who might see that ‘She is mine’. She tried to tell herself that the only reason she wasn't responding to Mic's kiss was the turmoil in her heart. She broke it off as quickly as she could without it appearing that she was pushing him away, tilting her head in Chloe’s direction. Mic glanced in that direction, as if noticing Chloe for the first time. “Hello, Chloe.” “Hello, Mic,” she replied, trying to force the disgusting, at least to her, display from her mind. Unlike Mac, she had no doubts that Mic was being at least mildly possessive. Maybe someone should teach him a little about showing decorum in front of other people, she thought darkly. “Why don’t you get changed, Sarah?” Mic suggested. “I thought, with all the wedding preparations going on, that you might not have had lunch yet, so I made reservations for us at Le Tours for a late lunch.” Mac noticed the angry look on Chloe’s face and jumped in before she could say something smart to Mic. “Actually, Chloe and I had made plans for this afternoon,” she said calmly, disturbed that Mic just assumed that she would drop everything to have lunch with him. “I don’t get to see her that much now that she’s living in Vermont with her grandparents and today’s really going to be our only opportunity to spend any time together, with the rehearsal tomorrow and …. everything.” Mic considered for a moment. He really wanted to spend some time alone with his fiancée. It seemed that between Jordan’s murder investigation, that sexual harassment case she’d defended and her preparations for her lecture on the Somers mutiny at the Academy, he’d hardly gotten to spend any time with her the past few weeks. Plus, he was a little upset that he hadn’t been able to reach her last night. But, as he’d told Renee at the engagement party, he was soon going to have her to himself for the rest of their lives. He could afford to share her now. He whipped out his cell phone and started dialing. “I can change our reservation to the three of us,” he conceded. “I’d love the opportunity to get to know my future sister-in-law better.” Chloe took advantage of Mic’s distraction with his phone call to shoot Mac a pleading look. The last thing she wanted was to spend the rest of the afternoon watching Mic fawn over her sister. And Le Tours sounded very fancy and French, hardly her type of restaurant at all. Mac shook her head, forestalling any argument, while Chloe wondered why Mac was

letting Mic dictate to her like that. She turned back around as Mic hung up his phone. “No worries,” he told them, smiling smugly. “They didn’t have a problem changing the reservation. So why don’t you get ready so we can get going?” “I don’t have anything to wear,” Chloe complained, gesturing to her jeans and sweater. “My clothes are back at the hotel and I only brought one dress with me, to wear at the dinner tomorrow night. I didn’t need any more than that, since Mac has my flower girl’s dress.” It wasn’t quite true – she’d brought a dress to wear when she would go to church Sunday morning with her father, but Mic didn’t need to know that. “Just wear that dress,” Mic suggested. “Where’s your hotel? We can stop by on our way to the restaurant.” Chloe was about to protest when Mac sent her another look, this one an odd cross between ‘Don’t even think about arguing any more’ and ‘Please do this for me’. She began to reconsider, wondering if there was a way to turn this situation to her advantage, sensing that Mac was as enthused about this lunch as she was. Finally, she nodded. "Sarah, where's your ring?" Mic asked as she turned to head into the bedroom. Shaken, she stopped, staring at her hand as if she'd just realized that it wasn't there. "Oh, I took a bath earlier," she said, willing her voice to remain calm and convincing. "I just haven't put it back on yet." Mic seemed satisfied with her explanation, while Chloe just stared at the two of them. She hadn't even noticed the missing ring, berating herself for missing such a significant detail. Mac's story had sounded logical, but there had to be more to it than just forgetting to put it back on. When she'd arrived, Mac had been in a robe, but hadn't looked like she'd just come from a bath. She looked like she'd been asleep. If she’d taken a bath, it had been much earlier. A person didn't forget for hours not to put their engagement ring back on. Not if they really loved the person they were engaged to. Satisfied that she'd managed to cover, Mac went into her bedroom to change, leaving Mic and Chloe alone. Chloe, not really in the mood to make small talk with Mic, went to the bookcase to return the photo album to its proper place, then made a show of studying the dinosaur fossils and bones on the top shelf. “So how’s school?” Mic asked, wanting to break the ice with her, but not really sure how to talk to a fourteen-year-old. “Out for the summer,” she replied shortly, picking up a fossilized dinosaur track and studying it. She found Mac’s interest in dinosaurs fascinating, although she’d show an interest in anything right now to avoid having to talk to Mic. What was he thinking? What kid wanted to talk about school, especially during summer break? “Oh,” Mic replied, at a loss for another topic of discussion. What interested teenager girls anyway these days, aside from music and boys? “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No.” “Chloe, you know I love your sister,” Mic said, settling on a topic which should be of common interest to the two of them.

“She’s been hurt in the past,” she said, finally turning around to face him, crossing her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to see her get hurt.” “I’d never hurt Sarah,” he protested, assuming that Chloe’s statement stemmed from a desire to protect her sister and not any negative feelings towards him. “I’m not like …. other men she’s known.” Chloe wanted to ask what he meant by that or if he’d meant anyone in particular, but stopped herself. She had a feeling she knew what the answer would be. From veiled referenced during conversations with Mac and even Harm, she knew that to say that Harm didn’t like Mic was an understatement and she sensed the feeling was mutual. But it was something she could use to her advantage. She smiled as an idea came to her, Mic assuming that the expression meant she was thawing towards him, but before either of them could say anything else, Mac returned. She’d rushed through changing her clothes and had put on just the bare minimum of makeup. Her ring was now back on her finger, where it had resided for the last five months. The sooner they left, the sooner she could get this over with, she thought, the idea never occurring to her that this wasn’t exactly the kind of thought she should be having about a man she was about to marry. But there was too much weighing on her mind for her to worry about how she should be thinking about and acting towards the man whose ring she wore. “Then shall we go?” Mic said, holding out his arm Mac. She hesitated for so brief a moment before hooking her arm around his that Chloe almost thought she’d imagined it. Almost. Oh, God, Mac, Chloe thought as she left the apartment, lagging just a few steps behind Mac and Mic as they headed for the elevator. Why are you torturing yourself like this?

ONE HOUR LATER LE TOURS RESTAURANT Chloe looked over the menu in her hands, barely concealing her apprehension. She couldn’t find a single dish that sounded familiar or like something she would even think about eating. She would have been more at home chowing down with Mac at Beltway Burgers, not playing dress up in some swanky French restaurant. She leaned over towards Mac, who was intently studying her own menu while taking a breather from Mic’s overly affectionate attentions. “What am I supposed to order off this thing?” she asked in a whisper. “How about this?” Mac suggested, pointing to an item. “It’s basically steak.” “The name of the dish doesn’t sound like steak,” she muttered, glancing at Mic over the top of her menu. He’d set his menu back on the table, apparently having already decided what he was getting and reached for Mac’s hand, fiddling with her engagement ring. Mac pulled her hand away to flip the page in her menu and Chloe smiled, lifting her menu a little higher to hide the expression. “Why don’t I just order for you?” Mac said, hoping to avoid a scene. Chloe shrugged, definitely not caring. At least she knew she could trust Mac to order

something that she wouldn’t mind eating. But there was no way it would match the fast food they would have picked up at the zoo. “I was really looking forward to the zoo,” she whispered. Mac understood Chloe’s frustration, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She could at least grant Mic the honor of her presence at his surprise lunch date, especially after …. No, I won’t think about that, she promised herself. She would just have to pretend for a few hours that nothing was wrong, pretend that she wasn't constantly comparing the two men in her life. “Maybe we will have some time tomorrow morning,” she offered in a conciliatory tone, although finding a few hours to while away at the zoo would be near impossible on the day before her wedding. “I was looking forward to it, too.” Chloe set down her menu, satisfied that Mac knew what to order for her; and after a moment, Mac set hers down as well, an uncomfortable silence settling between the two. If Mic noticed, he appeared unbothered by it. “So, Chloe, when are you flying back home?” Mic asked, trying to draw her out. “Monday morning,” she replied. Hmmm. Now was the perfect opportunity to have some fun. She paused a beat, then added excitedly, “We were going to fly home Sunday, but Harm got three tickets to the Orioles game Sunday afternoon and invited Dad and me. I think they’re playing the Rangers.” Mic looked disturbed for a moment at the idea of Chloe spending time with Harm before he managed to cover. She was going to be his bloody sister-in-law. What the hell was she doing spending time with Rabb while she was in town for his wedding to her sister? “The Orioles?” he asked, confusion evident in his tone. He'd see what he could do about the other later. “You know, baseball,” Chloe said, slightly exasperated. He’s lived in the US for two and a half years and doesn’t know what baseball is, she thought. Amazing. “Mic doesn’t really follow American sports,” Mac explained, shooting Chloe a look, although Chloe wasn’t sure if she was upset about her tone or the fact that she’d mentioned Harm. Mac seemed to be better about masking her emotions now that Mic was present and seemingly watching her every move. “He’s more into rugby and cricket, although he sometimes watches soccer.” “I understand your baseball’s a bit like cricket,” he offered. “Maybe if you’re ever in Australia, I can take you sometime.” “And I heard that matches can last for days,” Chloe countered, ignoring his last suggestion. Why would she ever want to go to Australia, unless …. She shuddered inwardly at the thought that he might someday convince Mac to up and move halfway around the world. Over her dead body, she promised silently, and likely Harm’s as well. The thought mollified her somewhat. “And people think baseball games run long.” She shook her head as she rolled her eyes. Just what were he and Mac supposed to have in common? Mac was just about as true-blue American as they come and this guy didn’t even know what baseball was, not really. And like most foreigners, he probably looked down his nose at football – at least the American variety. “Harm had mentioned something about the game a few days ago,” Mac said pleasantly to

Chloe. “I’m looking forward to it,” Chloe said, watching Mic’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. “There’s not really any opportunity to attend a major league game up in Vermont. Boston’s a little too far away. That’s one thing I miss about Washington, not being able to go to Baltimore for games. Mac used to take me all the time, not only to Orioles’ games, but also to see the Redskins and Wizards. Harm even took me to a few games before I went to live with my grandparents.” She smiled, remembering a Redskins game she, Harm and Mac had all attended together that first winter she'd known Harm. It had been cold and snowing and the three of them had huddled together in the stands, trying to stay warm. At Mic’s blank look, she shook herself from her reverie and prompted, “The Washington Redskins is the local football team and the Washington Wizards is the basketball team.” “Oh,” Mic said, wondering how he could compete with that. He’d never paid much attention to American sports, except to watch the occasional soccer game or when he was someplace like McMurphy's and then the TV tended to be ignored in favor of whatever drink he was nursing or his companion if it was his fiancée, but to his mind, American sports didn't really compare to international sports. Soccer, the closest Americans came to an international sport, wasn't exactly high on the average American's list of favorite sports. He supposed he could learn to show an interest if it meant getting on Chloe’s good side, especially since she seemed to enjoy attending games with Rabb and that definitely didn’t sit well with him. “Maybe you ladies could take me to a game sometime.” “Maybe,” Chloe replied noncommittally. “Will you excuse me? I need to find the bathroom.” Mac nodded, pointing towards the other side of the dining room, towards the restrooms. Once Chloe was gone, she steeled herself for Mic’s reaction to the conversation thus far. She didn’t have to wait long. “Your sister seems to enjoy spending time with Rabb,” he said, trying to remain calm. He knew that he was a sore subject between Mac and himself, but he was willing to be pleasant about the subject. After all, in less than two days, she would be his forever. “And he seems to have taken a great interest in her.” “Why shouldn’t he?” she asked. “He’s my best friend and he really does like Chloe a lot. She’s fun to be around.” Mic ignored the last statement now that Chloe wasn't present, choosing to focus on her assertion about Harm. "I thought I was your best friend," he said, almost pouting. That statement definitely did not sit well with him. In his perfect world, Rabb would fade into the woodwork once the wedding ring was on Mac's finger. Rabb's being his wife's best friend didn't enter into the equation, in any way. Mac looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. Not realizing that Harm was her best friend was almost like not realizing that she was a Marine. It seemed ridiculous to her, especially after all she and Harm had been through together. But the last thing she wanted was to argue about it, and discussing Harm was a sure-fire way for that to happen. She couldn't help but wonder what Mic would do if the positions were reversed and Harm was the

one she was with. She had her doubts that Mic would be as willing to walk away, if it was what she wanted. She shook her head and decided that it was time to change the subject back to Chloe. That was the closest thing to a safe topic that she could think of, with the possible exception of the wedding, and that was one of the last things she wanted to talk about at the present moment. "Chloe's had a tough life," she pointed out, running a finger along the rim of her water glass. "She hasn't had a lot of people take an interest in her and I'm glad that all my friends at JAG – Harm, Bud, Harriet, Gunny, even the Admiral – are interested in her and how she's doing." "She doesn't seem to like me all that much," he admitted, hoping Mac could provide some insight into how to win the girl over. "Mic, she's fourteen and she barely knows you," Mac protested, keeping her tone light. "Teenagers tend to want to talk about things they like and to ignore everything else. You haven't exactly been helping by showing a definite lack of interest in her favorite sports. And to an American teenager, offering to take her to a cricket match probably compares to offering to send her to boarding school. You know what Chloe and I had been planning to do this afternoon? Go to the zoo and probably lunch on burgers and fries. Most young girls aren't going to get too excited about spending the afternoon in a fancy restaurant instead." Mic thought about that. It had never even occurred to him to ask what Mac and Chloe had been planning to do and to see if he could become a part of their plans. He was trying to build a reputation as a lawyer and most people's image of one included fancy restaurants and luxury homes, not burgers and trips to the zoo. Not that he didn't like those things, but until he established himself and got people to take him seriously as a civilian lawyer, he needed to include some of the finer things in his life. "I invited her to join us because I want to get to know her better," he pointed out. "She's your sister and I want her to like me." "Mic, don't try so hard," she suggested. "Chloe wants me to be happy, above all else, and if she sees that I'm happy, then she'll come around. It's not going to happen overnight." Especially if I'm not sure if I'm happy, she thought. Chloe returned just in time to hear the last bit of their conversation. So Mic thought he could win her over by taking her to fancy lunches. She'd laugh at the idea if the situation were less serious. But nothing less than her sister's future happiness was at stake and she knew Mic Brumby was not the man to make her sister happy. She cleared her throat and slid into her seat, managing a smile. A somewhat uncomfortable silence reigned over the table for most of lunch. Mic went to the opposite extreme, backing off from Chloe completely. He'd tried to talk about the wedding, until Mac had protested that she wanted to relax this afternoon, not stress out over wedding details. He hadn't really cared for the idea, but he'd backed off, partly out of concern for how Chloe would perceive it. As for Mac, he just assumed that it was pre-wedding jitters and that she was as thrilled as he was, even if it didn't quite show as it did with him. Mac, of course, kept going back and forth in her mind between Harm and Mic, this time going over their respective relationships with her sister. Harm hadn't even had to try to establish a

rapport with her – Chloe had automatically taken to him as if they'd known each other for years. Maybe that was part of the problem between Chloe and Mic – she was too close to Harm and too stuck on the idea of Mac and Harm as a couple, preventing her from warming up to Mic. Perhaps Mac had talked about him too much and not enough about Mic. Chloe, for her part, was satisfied that Mic seemed uncomfortable around her, but she was concerned about Mac's attitude. If she were about to marry someone, she couldn't imagine not wanting to talk about it. Being the romantic that she was, she wouldn't be able to stop talking about it. But Mac had avoided the topic and had even seemed uncomfortable with the subject. She wondered if Mac might not be close to calling the whole thing off. Maybe whatever had happened between her and Harm when she'd seen him yesterday was causing her to question everything. Please, she prayed silently. "So, Sarah, after we drop Chloe off back at her hotel," Mic said suddenly as he pushed his plate back, finished with his own meal, "why don't you come over to my place? We can discuss our honeymoon, have a late dinner …. " He trailed off, a confident look on his face. No, Mac thought. I can't do this …. "I'm sorry, Mic," she said, sounding sincere in her apology, even as she was trembling inside. "I already promised Chloe she could spend the night with me tonight. Remember, I'm not getting much of an opportunity to spend time with her this trip." Mic looked back and forth between the two, from Chloe's hopeful expression to Mac's plea for understanding. He shrugged. In a couple of days, he would have her all to himself for their two-week honeymoon in Australia, then every day and night for the rest of their lives. He could be magnanimous now. "No worries," he said, leaning over to nuzzle against Mac's ear. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "We're going to be alone for two weeks anyway after a few days." Mac shivered, but not from anticipation, as Mic assumed. God, how am I supposed to do this? she wondered. It was just one night, but why can't I make myself forget it and pay attention to my fiancé the way he deserves? God help me, why can't I?

MAC'S APARTMENT "Why did you lie to him?" Chloe asked abruptly, after pulling off her jacket and tossing it on the couch. If there was a time for being obvious, this was it. Her sister, strident defender of truth and justice, had just lied to the man she was planning to marry. There was so much wrong with this relationship, Chloe wasn't really sure where to begin the discussion. Mac stopped in the process of hanging up her own jacket and spun around to stare at her sister. She didn't even pretend not to know what Chloe was talking about. "Why did you tell Mic that you promised me that I could spend the night?" Chloe pressed on. "We'd never even discussed that. Mac, please tell me what's going on. What happened when you saw Harm?" "Nothing happened," she protested, the lie not coming as easily to her lips now that she was talking to Chloe instead of Mic. Maybe she suspected that she wouldn't be believed, no matter what she claimed. Or maybe there was something deep inside of her that actually

wanted to talk to someone about the thoughts tormenting her. "Harm …. he just wants me to be happy." "And this is happy?" Chloe protested. "You could barely stand to let BugMe touch you, you lied to avoid spending the night with him, and you're planning to marry the man in a day and a half!" "I guess I don't have to ask where you learned that word," she said, a bit angry, resolving to have a talk with Harm later about talking about Mic in front of her impressionable sister, not even stopping to think that Chloe's feeling about Mic might actually be pretty close to Harm's. "Mic's a good man – he's kind and takes care of me and he loves me." "But I've never once heard you say that you love him," Chloe pointed out. "If that had been Harm with us, would you have been so quick to lie to him about not wanting to spend the night to him? Would you flinch every time he came near you? Honestly, I'm surprised Mic didn't notice something was wrong. Or is he so confident that he's won the prize that he doesn't even notice that you are not as into this wedding as he is?" Just make love to me. "I am not some prize to be won," Mac protested angrily, even as she admitted to herself that she'd sometimes felt that way – like when Mic had called her his fiancée in People or had told Harm behind her back that they were about to set a date. He’d been flaunting his relationship with her in both cases and it still bothered her to a degree. Getting angry made it easier to drive that other voice from her head, the one asking Harm to make love to her. "Does he know that?" Chloe asked in a calmer tone. She hated seeing Mac so torn and upset, also noting that Mac hadn't protested her assertion that she wasn't as into the wedding as Mic was. "You said Harm just wants you to be happy and I believe that, knowing everything that I do about all you've done for each other. But what about Mic? How can he push like this when you're not happy? Doesn't he care about your happiness at all or does he just assume that because you're with him, you'll automatically be the happiest woman alive?" "Chloe, there is so much that you don't know," she said steadily, trying to convince herself as well as Chloe, "about my relationship with Mic, about how I feel about him, even about my relation – I mean, my friendship with Harm. You're making assumptions without having all the facts." Chloe sat down on the couch, Mac hesitating for a moment before joining her. "Do you remember my first day at JAG, what I'd told Harm?" Chloe asked gently, having caught Mac's slip. So she definitely did consider Harm to be more than a friend. That was good to know. Mac's told me all about you. In fact, you're all she talks about …. although sometimes it's hard to tell what parts are true and what parts are just – well, you know – her fantasies. Mac nodded mutely as she remembered Harm's amused look and Chloe's smug one, remembered thinking that she'd wanted Harm to ask her what she'd told Chloe to make her say something like that. Chloe continued, "That didn't just pop out of my mouth. I got that from listening to you talk about him. Arizona, the Appalachian Mountains, Russia, his Distinguished Flying Crosses – you make him seem larger than life and it is so obvious from

the way you talk about him how much you love him. And it was even more obvious when I saw how you reacted when he told you he wanted to become a pilot again. You wanted so much to ask him to stay, to ask him not to leave you. I was there, remember?" "I remember," Mac said softly, smiling weakly. That had been one of the worst days of her life, almost as bad as the day he'd actually walked out of JAG, almost as heartbreaking as a certain summer night under a certain bridge and a certain talk about eternity. "But there's more to this. Harm has his faults. He makes mistakes, sometimes big ones and sometimes it's hard to look past that." "But you manage to eventually, don't you," Chloe stated, making sure that Mac knew from her tone that this was fact, not a question. "Because he's your best friend and you love him." "Chloe there's a difference between loving someone, say as a friend, and being in love with someone," Mac explained patiently. "It's not all grand romance and all that stuff in novels. It's about being there for someone, talking care of them …." "What about that day in the mountains?" Chloe interrupted. "Harm took care of you; he was there for you when you were in trouble. When has Mic ever done something like that for you?" I'm gonna get you through this. I promise. "You can't compare the two," Mac countered, even though she’d done the same thing herself earlier. "Mic is a different kind of man. He doesn't get into those types of situations. He's steadier …." "Mac, you're a feisty, gung-ho, Marine," Chloe cut in again. "You seek out danger probably just as much as Harm does. Please don't tell me that you're looking for steady and stable. You thrive on the excitement of your life. Aren’t you the one who had the brilliant idea of following Harm into Russia not once, but twice? Can you tell me that you would really be satisfied without all the thrills and excitement? Can you tell me that Mic isn't going to have a problem with the more dangerous aspects of your job?" "He hasn't so far," Mac protested with a laugh. "He even joked once about falling in love with Sheena, Queen of the Jungle." "But what about after you're married and he expects you to start producing little Brumbys? Is he going to be so thrilled with your life then?" Chloe asked. Somehow, she sensed that Mic was going to expect his wife to spend lots of time at home being the perfect wife and someday the perfect mother. Although Harm would probably turn protective if Mac were expecting his child – what man wouldn't – Chloe suspected that he wouldn't spend all the rest of the time trying to shelter Mac from the big, bad world. He'd be out there in it, right next to her, looking out for her as she looked out for him, unstoppable because they were a team and knew how to work together, both in the courtroom and out of it. And wasn't that what a marriage should be, a team effort? "That's probably still a ways down the road," Mac said. "We haven't even gotten married yet. A family is probably still a few years away, at least."

"But you've thought about it – a family, I mean?" Tell you what. Five years from this moment, if neither one of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid. "Yes, I've thought about it," she admitted softly, a soft smile appearing on her face. Oh, she’d thought about it. What was it supposed to be – a little boy with her looks and Harm's brains or a daughter with his looks and her brains? Her face fell when she realized that every time she'd imagined her future children, she'd never pictured Mic as their father. After they'd gotten engaged, she'd simply avoided thinking about the eventuality. "Mac, I love you and, just like Harm, I want you to be happy," Chloe assured her, emphasizing the word 'happy'. "Please think about this long and hard. If you're still not sure, at least postpone for a bit, get your bearings. If Mic really does want you to be happy, then he'll wait. If your happiness is more important to him than anything else, then he'll understand." "Chloe, it's not that simple …." "God, Mac, what will it take to get you to realize that you're in no condition to get married, not right now, anyway?" Chloe asked, practically shouting. She held her breath, waiting for Mac to argue the point with her, a bit startled by her outburst. Instead, Mac looked down at her hands, studying the ring on her left hand. If last night hadn't settled things in her mind – if making love to a man not her fiancée couldn't immediately get her to back away from this wedding – then what could? "I'm not sure that anything can anymore," she whispered, her eyes surprisingly dry. She'd shed all her tears that morning, watching Harm fly away from her, reading his letter. She didn't think that she had any more left to shed. Hearing the heartbreak evident in her tone, Chloe was instantly contrite. Mac was hurting so much and all she was doing was adding to it. She threw her arms around Mac's shoulders and hugged her tight. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want you to be hurt and…." "It's okay," Mac assured her, returning the hug. "I love you for being so concerned." She pulled back enough so she could look Chloe in the eye. "Maybe you're right, because you're not asking me anything that I haven't already been asking myself." Chloe stared at her, stunned. For Mac to make an admission like that …. She knew that Mac didn't let other people in easily, not even her, probably not even Harm at times. She knew because she'd been there herself, her sarcasm used as a defense mechanism to prevent others from getting too close. But Mac, Harm and their friends at JAG had all looked past that to the scared little girl who wanted nothing more than to be loved. She knew that there was someone else who wanted nothing more than to be loved, but would it be worth it for Mac to let herself be loved by the wrong man? FRIDAY AFTERNOON 25 MAY 2001 USS PATRICK HENRY APPROX. 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

"Way to go, Hammer," Skates said enthusiastically as she stepped out onto the observation deck. Harm was standing at the railing, leaning forward, clasping his hands around the top rail, staring out over the churning ocean below. "I guess you showed Paddles. Word is that even the skipper is impressed." She laughed, remembering how Harm had butted heads with Captain Ingles more than once during her court-martial. Fortunately, it appeared that he acknowledged the fact that Harm had simply been doing his job back then. "I guess," he replied noncommittally, not even bothering to glance back at her. "But maybe Paddles was right. Maybe I wasn't paying attention as closely as I should have been on the first landing attempt." He knew that he could probably excuse his botched first attempt as a mistake anyone could have made. Even the best pilot in the world couldn't land perfectly every time. But he couldn't get past the fact that he had way too much on his mind, things that may have distracted him, slowing his reaction time. He wondered what she was doing right at this moment. Glancing at his watch, he figured that her wedding rehearsal was just getting ready to start, assuming that she hadn't made the decision yet whether or not to call the entire thing off. He doubted that. If she’d done so, wouldn't she contact him to let him know whether or not she'd made her decision in his favor? Would she really leave him hanging like that after everything? But now, nearly thirtysix hours after he'd left her at the airfield in Norfolk, he hadn't heard a word from her. He'd thought about calling her, more times than he cared to count, but he didn't want it to appear as if he was pressuring her for a decision. He knew that he should start preparing himself for the probability that she'd decided to go through with the wedding after all, but he wasn't ready to do so. At this point, he was wishing that he hadn't made that damn promise to return in time to attend the wedding. He wasn't sure anymore if he could make himself live with the torture of watching her pledge herself to another man. It would probably be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do, probably topped only by saying goodbye to his father, but he’d promised. Skates joined him at the railing, noting that his gaze didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular, but seemed distant, lost. Was he really that bothered by the first attempt, she wondered, when he'd pulled up for another go around just as he'd touched the deck, having been waved off by Paddles? In her opinion, a lesser pilot might not have been able to pull up in time, with possibly disastrous results. But Harm had been able to lift off again and come around for another attempt. Surely, he had to be aware of the skill that had taken. Everyone knew Paddles had been giving Harm a hard time just because he was no longer an active pilot. But he’d nailed the next four attempts and even Captain Ingles was reported to have been impressed with the textbook-perfect landings. She'd overheard the ship's navigation officer, who had been standing near the Captain on the bridge as Harm had made his last four landings, telling Captain Pike about Ingles' reaction on her way to the officers' mess to grab a bite to eat after their final landing. Despite the way Harm had gone after Ingles during her court-martial, a good number of people on the Patrick Henry remembered further back than that, to Harm's days as an active pilot aboard the ship, remembered the way he'd pushed Tuna's Tomcat out of Kosovar air space so that the latter could safely eject over the water. There had been a lot of people rooting for him out there today. "It could have happened to anyone," she tried to assure him. "Even Paddles would have to admit that now after those last four landings." Glancing at him again, she sensed that he wasn't in the mood to talk about the quals, so she changed the subject. "So when are you planning to head back to Washington?"

"In a few hours," he replied. "I'm going to ferry a Tomcat to Norfolk then drive on to Washington tonight from there. I've got to be back in Washington tomorrow morning for …. a wedding." "Oh, really?" Skates said, not noticing the hesitation in his voice. The topic of weddings was of particular interest to her as she was deep into planning her own, scheduled for the end of June. "Who's getting married?" "My best friend," he forced himself to reply. “Um, Mac’s getting married.” "I didn't know Colonel Mackenzie was getting married," she said. Despite the fact that it had been Mac who had prosecuted her, Skates didn’t hold it against the other woman, who had so graciously congratulated her after her verdict. "Tell her I said congratulations." After a moment, he said dully, "I'll do that. So I guess it is back onto the LSO platform for you after this?" "Actually, I was going to head for Washington myself tomorrow for a few days leave, leaving on the morning cod," she said, her voice betraying her excitement. "But if you don't mind the company, I'd be happy to fly back with you. My guy and I are going to work on our own wedding plans." Harm turned and looked at her, attempting to appear happy for her. But weddings were too painful a subject right now and a neutral expression was the best he could manage. "I didn't know you were getting married," he said. "Is this the same guy you were seeing two years ago, the one who worked in SecNav's office?" She nodded. "Except that he's now heading the public affairs office at Washington Naval Yard," she told him. "He was actually happy to get the chance to slow down. Working for the SecNav doesn't exactly leave a lot of time to plan a wedding, especially since he's been stuck doing most of it while I've been out here. About the only significant contribution I've made other than agreeing with the arrangements he's made has been to purchase our wedding rings while the ship was docked for liberty two months ago in Spain." She laughed, remembering the conversation she'd had with her fiancé the day she'd first seen the rings at a bazaar, joking that maybe there was something she could contribute to the wedding aside from her presence. "Anyway," she continue, "I think he mailed out invitations this past week, so you can probably look to have yours when you get back home." "I look forward to it," he said, not quite lying. Maybe it would be a relief to attend a wedding that he didn't have a major personal stake in, where his only participation would be as a casual observer. He turned away from her to look back towards the horizon. In his mind, he could see Mac walking slowly down the aisle at the rehearsal, her arm hooked around the Admiral's. She would look beautiful, even if it was just the rehearsal and she wasn’t wearing her wedding dress. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image, but he could see her coming to a stop in front of the altar, smiling brightly at the man waiting for her. He imagined the Admiral releasing her arm and leaning forward to whisper, "Take good care of her, Commander."

Wait a minute. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why would the Admiral be calling Brumby 'Commander'? He'd been a civilian for a year now. He couldn't recall the last time he'd heard anyone refer to the Australian by his rank. In fact, the first few months he'd been back in the US, he'd told more than one person that he didn't need to be called 'Commander' or 'Sir' anymore. As far as he knew from Bud – not that he really cared, he told himself - the man was even planning on wearing a regular tuxedo to the wedding, not his uniform. Shaking his head again, he became aware of Skates calling his name. "Hammer, you okay?" he became aware of her asking. "It's nothing," he lied. That was easier than he thought it would be, pretending that everything was just fine. Maybe someday it would be second nature. "Are you sure?" she continued. "Positive," he replied, his voice so quiet that she barely heard him. "There's nothing I can do about it anyway, so I may as well put what I was thinking out of my mind." Skates opened her mouth to say more, but closed it again when she saw the look on his face, the one that said he definitely did not want to talk about whatever was bothering him, the same one that said that whatever it was, it was bringing the weight of the world down upon his shoulders. Maybe it was a good time to remember that he was not just a friend, but also a superior officer, and back off. "Sir, about that ride …." she began, changing subjects. "Oh, right," he said after a moment, as if he had to try to remember what she was talking about. "It would be a pleasure to fly back to Norfolk with you. I've got my car at the base, so I can even give you a ride to Washington if you'd like." 'Thank you, Hammer," she said. "I'd appreciate that." She turned to leave, but stopped herself. "I hope that whatever it is, it ends up working out for you." When he didn't acknowledge the statement after a moment, she left him alone on the deck. Only after he heard the door close behind her did he whisper in response, "I think we may have gone beyond that point already." He didn't want to think about it, but knew he had to. Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe their night together hadn't meant as much to her as it had to him. Maybe it wasn't anything different than what she was used to experiencing nearly every night with Brumby. He didn't want to think about that, about her trembling under the other man's touch, about her breathy voice pleading for more from someone else. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend that she'd reacted to him as she'd reacted to no other man before. There was a part of him that wished he could have felt sorry about wanting another man's woman so that their night together might have never happened. Then he wouldn't know what he would be missing, what she would be giving to Brumby for the rest of their lives.

SAME TIME CATHEDRAL OF ST. MATTHEW THE APOSTLE WASHINGTON DC Mac stood at the back of the church, her eyes darting nervously around the sanctuary,

standing slightly away from Harriet, Chloe and the Admiral, waiting for the rehearsal to start. Mic was up front, talking to the head chaplain from Washington Naval Yard, who was officiating at the ceremony with special permission from the cathedral. How had she let Mic talk her into holding their wedding at the cathedral of the Archdiocese of Washington? At least she'd been able to talk him into using one of the side chapels, rather than the cavernous main sanctuary, protesting that all their guests would barely fill the first two rows of pews in there. It had been a compromise, just one of many made during the course of planning this wedding, yet she felt somehow that he'd gotten the better end of the deal in most of them. At the time, she'd convinced herself that it was only fair, since she'd ended up dumping many of the preparations into his lap as she’d frequently been tied up with work. Now, there was a part of her that wondered what the wedding would have ended up being like were she marrying Harm. She imagined that he would like to be married at the Naval Academy chapel. Not because it was the so-called Cathedral of the Navy and he would want to make some kind of statement by marrying amidst such splendor, but because his parents had been married there, nearly forty years ago just after Harm, Sr. had graduated. It would be because of family history, not because he wanted to have the perfect wedding to match his perfect wife. She didn't feel very perfect. In fact, she didn't feel she deserved to be married in the premiere Catholic church in the District and that wasn't only because of what had happened with Harm. Although her first marriage had been performed by a justice of the peace while she'd been dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, she felt she'd made too many mistakes in the interim to deserve a huge, splashy second wedding with all the trimmings. She'd wanted small and simple. But Mic, whose first choice would have been to return to Australia to be married in his local church, which he'd made sound like a cross between Westminster Abbey and Notre Dame, had wanted something large and very formal. In fact, the wedding mass – rather than just a ceremony – had also been his idea. Although Mac wouldn't exactly call herself a good Catholic – she could barely remember the last time she'd attended church regularly before Mic had insisted that they start going during pre-Cana, as if he'd wanted to make a good impression on the church about their devoutness – there just seemed to be something bothersome about all this. She needed to go to Confession, but what was she supposed to say? 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I'm not really sorry about it, but I cheated on my fiancée three days ago.' If that was the case, maybe she'd get lucky and the priest would insist the ceremony be called off. She imagined the part in the ceremony where the priest would ask if anyone had any objections, then speaking up himself. Sure, that would probably violate the sanctity of the confessional, but at least the idea was good for a half-hearted laugh. Surely there had to be some kind of church law about committing adultery before the marriage even started. Then she wouldn't have to make the decision she'd promised Harm that she'd think about, the decision that she wasn’t sure she had the strength to make. "Mac?" Harriet asked from a few feet away, where she’d been engaged in conversation with Chloe. She'd noticed that Mac seemed to be distancing herself from everyone else. She'd thought to chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters, but there was something …. she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she suspected that this was more than that. She almost looked as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Mac turned to them, startled. She'd almost forgotten that she wasn't alone. "Yes, Harriet?" she asked. "Are they about ready to start?" Harriet looked up towards the front of the church, where Mic was still deep in conference with the priest. "Doesn't look like it," she replied, shaking her head. "I just wanted to see how you're doing." "Fine," she lied. Chloe opened her mouth to contradict that statement, but Mac shot her a warning glance, daring her to say anything. Rolling her eyes, Chloe shut her mouth, but returned the look with one of her own, promising silently to say something later. "It's just …." "Tomorrow's the big day," Harriet finished for her. She remembered the days leading up to her own wedding. She supposed that even Mac, who always seemed so composed and sure, could experience stronger than usual nervousness. Then again, what was considered normal before a wedding? But Mac had been a huge help when all Harriet had wanted to do was throw up and call off her own wedding, so the least Harriet could do was return the favor. "Yeah, tomorrow's the big day," Mac echoed softly. Maybe. She just wasn’t sure yet. Maybe Chloe was right in that she was in no condition to be getting married. But how could she explain that to Mic at this late date, even if her decision was just to postpone things? After all the planning, all the energy he’d thrown into this, what was she supposed to say that she couldn’t have said months ago? She fell silent and Harriet was at a loss as to what else to say. They needed something to lighten the mood. At her own wedding rehearsal, Bud had been even more nervous than she’d been, until Harm had started cracking jokes and relating stories of some of their more colorful adventures, keeping it up until all of them couldn't help but laugh, releasing a lot of the tension in the church. Too bad he wasn't here now. Surely he could put a smile on his best friend’s face, she thought. Maybe it was time to talk about something other than the wedding. "I wonder how the Commander's doing on his quals," she mused. Mac caught Chloe's smile at the change in topic, but she refrained insisting that they talk about something else. She was afraid that Harriet would begin to suspect that something was up if she refused to talk about him. "He's probably about finished," she replied, twisting her engagement ring on her finger. The band was rubbing her finger as she clenched and unclenched her fingers and it was mildly irritating her skin. It never really had done that before. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or a psychosomatic symptom of the choice she was facing. It was just another thing of which she wasn’t sure. "He promised he would be back in time for the wedding, so he's probably going to fly back home tonight." "Of course he'll be back," Harriet assured her, wondering if part of Mac's mood stemmed from concern that her best friend might not make it back in time for her wedding. "He wouldn't miss your wedding." "No, he wouldn't," Chloe said strongly. "Harm's a man of his word." "Yes, he is," Mac agreed, smiling, trying not to think too hard about why she was so pleased about the idea of him returning for the wedding. "And I'm sure he's done fine. Harm's an excellent pilot. He's probably flying circles around all those younger pilots."

Harriet and Chloe both laughed, both relieved for different reasons that Mac seemed to be relaxing a bit. Chloe was about to say something else when AJ joined them. "It looks like we're about ready to begin," he told them. "Is everyone ready?" They all nodded, Mac hesitating a split second, as they lined up, first Harriet, then Chloe, then Mac and AJ. Mac hesitated another second, then linked her arm around AJ's as Harriet started up the aisle. "Colonel, um, Mac, it will be fine," he assured her, chalking up her hesitation to jitters, just as Harriet had. Mac didn't answer him because she knew that things were far from fine and she wasn't sure if they ever would be and she knew she couldn't explain that to anyone. She owed so much to Mic. He’d given up so much for her. What would he do if she were to call it off at this late date, how would he handle it? He loved her so much. That had to be worth something, even if …. She shook her head. This was the rehearsal for her wedding. She needed to concentrate on the moment at hand. She noted that Harriet had reached the altar, smiling at her husband across from her. The gesture warmed Mac's heart. They loved each other so much, had been through so much together and they were still going strong. Would that be her and Mic someday? Could that be them? Could it be her and Harm? She shook her head again, telling herself that she wasn’t going to think about that now, not while the rehearsal was going on. Right now, she needed to think about the man waiting for her at the other end of the long aisle. As Harriet reached the altar, Chloe reached the halfway mark of her walk and then Mac and AJ started. She stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the man waiting for her. Mic smiled proudly back at her, imagining the image she would project in her wedding dress the next morning. Finally, she was going to become his wife. Everything he wanted was finally within his grasp. A bright, shiny object caught Mac's eye where they should have been nothing and she squinted, trying to figure out what it was she was seeing. The object was so bright and so familiar, shiny gold on a background of white. No, it couldn't …. she blinked, trying to dispel the image, but it persisted and when she glance up, she saw his smile, not quite as cocky and devil-may-care as usual, but softer, as if he was beholding the most beautiful sight. She blinked again and it was suddenly Mic standing before the altar again, simply dressed in a dark suit and tie. The closest thing to dress whites at the altar was the summer white uniforms the chaplain and Bud wore. And there were no gold wings to be found, not here. She rubbed her eyes, drawing AJ’s attention. “Colonel, are you okay?” he asked. “Yes, Sir,” she replied, lowering her hand. “I must have just gotten something in my eyes.” That was almost easy, she mused, lying to AJ. She’d barely had to think about that one. She just couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Maybe the lies were becoming easier. Maybe someday she’d be able to utter them without even thinking about them at all. As they reached the altar, Mic held out his hand and AJ placed her hand in his. Mic clasped his fingers around hers as AJ stepped back, but Mac didn't feel it. She felt another's palm pressed against hers, fingers entwining with hers as they …. She shivered at the thought and Mic smiled at her again.

This is Mic standing in front of you, she told herself. Harm's not here. He's on a carrier somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean or maybe already on his way back. He's not here. She took a cleansing breath and smiled at Mic, who was so happy that he didn’t notice that the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

“Mic, we discussed this,” Mac said, trying to keep her voice down, the rehearsal having come to a halt while she and Mic had a disagreement about their vows. Mic had been pushing for them to write their own vows, in addition to the standard stuff, while Mac had wanted to stick with traditional vows, even before she’d admitted that she was so conflicted about everything. She was a private, reserved person and didn’t feel comfortable speaking about her feelings in front of everyone, even if it was at her own wedding. Even if Mic wasn’t her groom, she was positive she’d still feel the same way. Now, with everything that was going on in her mind, she was terrified that she couldn’t find the words, or that she would say the wrong words that let everyone know what she was truly feeling. Mic, on the other hand, was more inclined to want to shout his love for her from the rooftops. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about stuff like that in public.” “But, Sarah,” he countered, “it’s our wedding. When else would we talk about such things?” “In private, maybe,” she retorted, unable to keep the slight edge out of her voice. “I’m just not good about speaking about stuff like this in front of everyone.” “You’re a lawyer,” he pointed out, trying to be conciliatory, putting his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. She resisted the urge to shrug it away. “If you put your mind to it, you can do this ….” “No, Mic,” she said, a bit too strongly as everyone gathered around began wishing that they were somewhere else during this escalating argument. “Well, let’s ask everyone else for their opinion, luv,” Mic suggested, hoping that the input from her friends would bring her around and get her to calm down. He guessed she was entitled to her jitters. After all, hadn’t he been the one who’d nearly walked out of the jewelry store without their rings earlier in the week? “What do you all think? Traditional or custom vows?” “I think that it is Mac’s wedding and she should be allowed to do what she wants,” Chloe piped in immediately, ignoring the sharp look from Mac. Mic frowned slightly, but refrained from comment. His relationship with Chloe was tentative at best, so he wasn't really expecting help from that quarter. But AJ, Bud and Harriet all were, or had been, married. Surely, they would understand. "Well, Mic," Bud said tentatively, wary of being dragged into what should have been a private argument, "when Harriet and I were getting married, I wanted her to wear her uniform. The Admiral told me basically what Chloe just said, that it was her wedding and to let her do what she wanted. That's probably not bad advice." AJ nodded his agreement, but otherwise didn't comment. Harriet watched Mac carefully for a moment, more worried than ever. Sure, it probably

wasn't unusual for couples to argue in the tense days and hours leading up to a wedding. Hell, she'd been ready to give Bud the boot because he'd gotten punched out by a pregnant stripper and thrown in jail the night before their wedding – or so she'd claimed. But she had the strong sense that this was more. Still, she'd do whatever she could to smooth the waters. "If the Colonel isn't comfortable talking about such things in public, there's nothing wrong with that. Some people aren't. And the last thing that I'm sure we all want is for this wedding to be anything less than perfect." Harriet's gentle tone got through to Mic, who finally nodded and said, "Alright then. If it's what you really want, then we'll just go with the traditional vows." "Thank you," Mac whispered, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. She'd been on the verge of snapping Mic's head off, she realized, and she wasn't sure if, in the heat of the moment, she could have stopped herself from saying something in front of everyone that would have revealed feelings that she wasn't entirely sure of herself. As the priest motioned everyone back into their places so they could continue with the rehearsal. Chloe noticed Harriet watching Mac with concern. Maybe there was someone else who realized that Mac's heart wasn't as into this as it should be. She resolved to make time to talk to Harriet, see if maybe there was someone else who would talk to Mac whom she might actually listen to.

OLIVIA AND JULIET'S RESTAURANT AN HOUR LATER "Harriet, can I talk to you for a few minutes?" Chloe asked as they entered the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner was to be held. Harriet nodded, and then turned to her husband. "Go on in, Bud," she told him. "I'll be there in a few minutes." She kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulder before he walked into the private dining room that had been reserved for the dinner. Chloe noted the loving gestures, realizing that she hadn’t seen Mac act like that towards Mic in the few days she’d been in town. She was still young enough and optimistic enough to believe that love should be like a fairy tale, with the couple in question living happily ever after. Bud and Harriet seemed to have that. What shouldn’t Mac? Now that she had Harriet's undivided attention, she wasn't sure where to start. She knew Harriet was a friend of both Harm and Mac, but she wasn’t sure how much Harriet knew about the relationship between them. As Mac had pointed out at the rehearsal, she was a very private person and she knew from Mac that Harm was as well. "Well, Harriet, I'm worried …. who is that?" Chloe pointed towards door, which Renee had just walked through. Harriet gently pushed Chloe's arm down. "That's Renee Peterson, Commander Rabb's girlfriend," she informed her. Chloe's eyes widened. "*That's* the 'Video Princess?" she blurted out. Fortunately, Renee wasn't close enough yet to overhear. "And I thought the shrink was bad."

"She's really a very nice woman," Harriet assured her, wondering where Chloe had come up with that nickname for someone she'd never met. "And so was Jordan." Renee caught sight of them and Harriet motioned her over. "Hello, Renee," she greeted the other woman. Harriet was a bit surprised that she was even present, figuring that she would stay away since Harm wasn't going to be there. Renee and Mac were friendly towards each other when they ran into each other, but no one would really call them friends. "Hello, Harriet," she returned with a broad smile. "I'm not late, am I?" "No, we're still waiting for the rest of the JAG staff, the ones who weren't at the rehearsal," Harriet explained. "I think I saw Lieutenant Singer in there, but we're still expecting Gunny, Tiner and the Mattonis." "Oh, good," Renee replied. "And who is this?" "Renee, this is the Colonel's little sister Chloe," she introduced them. "Chloe, this is Renee Peterson." "Hello," Chloe said, looking Renee up and down, almost immediately dismissing her as too made up. She nearly smiled, wondering what she was hiding under all that makeup. If this was the kind of woman Harm was spending his time with, then maybe Mac wasn't the only one who needed a good talking to. Then again, what was he supposed to do when the woman he loved was wearing another man's ring? "Hello," Renee said, then stopped with a puzzled look on her face. "I didn't realize Mac even had a sister." "Well, I'm not really," Chloe said. "It's …." "Hello, Renee," Mac said from behind Chloe, having walked out of the dining room when she'd heard their voices. "It is …. good of you to come." "I'm happy to be here," Renee replied, almost sounding to Chloe as if she meant it. She looked from one woman to the other, trying to figure them out. Why would Harm's girlfriend come without him? From what she'd heard from Mac, she knew the two weren't friends. "It's not much longer now, is it?" "Sixteen hours and twenty-seven minutes," Mac replied automatically, although she wasn't counting the hours and minutes for the same reasons that most brides would be. That was simply how much time remained – for what, she wasn't quite sure. Once again, time was proving to be her enemy. "Twenty-five minutes, actually," Renee said, while the wheels began turning in Chloe's mind. Mac knowing the exact time until the ceremony wasn't unusual, even under the difficult circumstances. But Renee not only knowing the time, but correcting Mac on it? Chloe wondered if maybe Renee wasn't looking forward to this wedding a little too much. Just how serious was the relationship between her and Harm – or rather, how serious did she perceive it to be? She began to worry that this situation might be worse than she'd

originally thought. "Oh," Mac said nervously, remembering what she'd told Harm the night of the engagement party, about how Renee wouldn't easily give him up. This was pretty strong evidence in favor of that. Renee clearly saw her as a threat to her relationship with Harm. Why else would she care so much about exactly how much time remained until Mac would be a married woman? If she chose Mic, who would be hurt? Harm would, but at least he would have Renee, and she would be hurt herself, until she could learn to accept that her future lay with Mic. But if she went with Harm, what would happen? Well, Mic and Renee would definitely be hurt, with no one really there to help them pick up the pieces. And there were no guarantees that she and Harm would work, so they could easily end up hurting themselves in the process. Or worse, they could end up hurting each other, as they'd so many times in the past. Chloe wasn't the only one watching Mac and Renee with interest. Harriet also sensed the undercurrents between the two women and wondered about it. She knew they weren't friends, but Renee seemed so eager about this wedding, even more so than the bride. Harriet nibbled on her lower lip as an idea took root in her mind. Surely ….? She shook her head, but couldn't dispel the notion as memories replayed in her mind of five years of friendship and maybe more between two of her closest friends. Harm's Article 32 hearing, his support of Mac when she was stalked, some incident in Norfolk that Bud had only hinted about in the vaguest possible terms, Russia, the way they'd saved each other on that submarine. Bud had even told her about Harm and Mac's little adventure in the Appalachian Mountains, which had happened just before Harriet had transferred from the Sea Hawk to a shore assignment. She could almost believe that there might have been something more between them at one time, but then Harm had left for six months and their friendship seemed to have cooled by the time he'd returned and it had been a long time before they even came close to what they’d once shared. Then she remembered some of the hints Bud had dropped about what had happened in Australia, as well as Mic’s and Renee's reactions when they'd go away on cases together. Hadn't she and Gunny had to do some fast talking when they'd been on submarines in the Barents Sea and they hadn't even been on the same boat? And Renee, hadn't she commented during their girls' night that she was praying that Mic didn't get hit by a bus? She'd initially dismissed it as a drunken ramble – they both had been a bit beyond tipsy by that point – but she wondered now if there wasn't more to it. Was Renee counting the hours and minutes until Mac was married because she saw the other woman as competition for Harm's affection? As the four of them started to walk into the dining room, Chloe fell back so that she was walking beside Harriet. "You see it, too, don't you?" she whispered, drawing a startled glance from Harriet. "I see it in your eyes. You have your doubts about what Mac is planning to do."

"Before we head out for the real fun," Bud joked, bringing laughs from nearly everyone gathered as they were all pulling on their coats before taking off, the men for a bar for some last minute revelry and the women for quiet evenings at home, Mac having decided weeks

earlier that a bachelorette party wasn't her thing, "we all need to remember not to get arrested this time. I don't think my wife would appreciate my having to be bailed out of jail *again* the morning of a wedding." Even Mac managed a smile at that, remembering Harm's call in the wee hours of the morning to bail them all out of jail, the cute look on his face as he and Bud had tried to explain what had happened. "Too bad I can't just forget all this and spend the time having fun with my future wife," Mic joked. "Not likely," was the response from just about everyone, in reference to that fact the bride and groom weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, while Mac tried to bury her initial knee-jerk reaction. Calm, Marine, she told herself. He's just joking. Mic is always joking like that. It doesn’t mean anything. Leaning towards Harriet, Mac whispered, "I'll be back in a few minutes." She took off towards the restroom before the other woman could respond. Chloe noticed and exchanged a glance with Harriet. "We need to go after her," Chloe whispered. Harriet nodded and the two of them headed in the direction Mac had gone. As they entered the restroom, they found Mac bracing herself against one of the sinks, her knuckles bone white as her fingers gripped the porcelain. Chloe was about to motion Harriet back, thinking that Mac wouldn’t appreciate being ganged up on, but changed her mind. Desperate times called for desperate action and it couldn't get much more desperate than this. "Mac, you really need to put a stop to this." "How many times do I have to tell you," Mac said, not even looking behind her, "that it's not that simple, not anymore? Too many people are going to get hurt now." "So you'll hurt yourself and the man you really love just to protect two people neither of you love?" Chloe asked. "Unbelievable." She shook her head, wondering what she was supposed to say now. They kept going round and round, covering the same ground. There had to be something that would break this stalemate. Harriet put her hand on Chloe's arm and nodded towards Mac, indicating that she would try. "Ma'am, do you remember when you got back from Australia, when you first showed me the ring?" she asked. Mac turned around, brushing tears from her eyes, startled by Harriet's presence. She gave Chloe a frustrated glance. "Mac, listen to her, please?" Chloe begged. "This can't continue, not like this." When Mac didn't protest, Harriet continued, "You said that you didn't know how it was all going to work out at the time, with you in Washington and Mic in Australia. Do you remember what I told you?" Mac nodded, taking a shaky breath. "You said that it helps if you're sure," she replied quietly. How many times had those words run through her head the last few days? "You know, the Commander approached me when I left your office that day," Harriet revealed. Mac's startled gasp at the mention of Harm told Harriet that she was on the right track. Whatever doubts Mac was having, they were tied in with him. "He asked me if you

were really thinking about marrying Mic." "He did?" Mac asked with an almost hopeful tone in her voice. Then she shook her head. "Later that day, he made a comment about how wearing an engagement ring on your right hand didn't mean you were engaged. I asked him if there was anything we needed to talk about and he said no. I thought …." "What, that he didn't care?" Harriet asked, incredulous. "Ma'am, that couldn't have been further from the truth. Correction, it can't be further from the truth. I've know both of you for nearly five years. He's your best friend …. and maybe more?" Mac looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself. "No, not anymore," she insisted, her voice growing angry as she hurriedly brushed away tears. "I'm not doing this anymore. I need to get out of here." Quickly, Mac walked out, leaving two frustrated people behind her. "I guess it's too much to hope for that she means she's not going through with this farce of a wedding," Chloe sighed, Harriet agreeing with her more now than ever that this wedding should not happen. When the two of them rejoined the rest of the group, Mac was standing next to Mic, smiling and saying something. They heard just the tail end. " …. so I'm going to head on home and try to get a good night's sleep," Mac said. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning." Mic pulled her into his arms and gave her a tender kiss, while Chloe made a gagging motion with her finger that only Harriet saw. "I love you, Sarah," Mic said as he pulled away. "Yeah," Mac replied, her smile faltering just enough that Harriet and Chloe both caught it. "Me too." She turned to her sister. "Are you ready to go, Chloe?" "Yes," Chloe replied, glancing at Harriet, who nodded, understanding the unspoken question. Chloe smiled and turned to follow Mac out of the restaurant. "I'd better head home as well," Harriet said. "I don't want to leave AJ with the babysitter any longer than I have to. I guess I'll see everyone tomorrow." Harriet gave Bud, who was going to ride with AJ, a kiss and after extracting another promise from him not to get arrested, she left as well. Outside the restaurant, she caught sight of Mac and Chloe standing next to Mac's Corvette, Mac digging through her purse, apparently looking for her keys while Chloe gestured wildly, probably making yet another point about why she thought the wedding shouldn't happen. She had to walk in that direction anyway to get to her minivan, so Harriet told herself that she wouldn't be eavesdropping, not really. She slowed her pace so that she could listen to what they were saying. "Again, what will it hurt to at least postpone?" Chloe argued. Mac tried to ignore her, growing frustrated. Where the hell were her damn keys? Chloe grabbed the purse from Mac's hands. "I'll look for them." She rifled through the purse herself, pulling out the key ring after a few seconds. "Here they are. Just a second, there's something caught on the ring. Oh …." She ended on a gasp as she recognized the object tangled in with the keys.

"Give them to me and we'll get out of …." Her voice trailed off as she recognized the object sitting on the palm of Chloe's hand. Harriet, slowly walking towards her car, was close enough that she could make out what it was Chloe was holding. Suddenly, Mac's voice got firm and she held out her hand. "Give those to me." Deliberately misunderstanding her, Chloe handed Mac her keys. Mac held out her hand again, but Chloe shook her head. "I think I'll hang onto these for a while," Chloe said. She turned to Harriet, who stood nearby as if frozen in place. "Can you come by Mac's place after you relieve the babysitter? I'm sure Mac would love to see her godson. And I think Mac could use another woman’s perspective." Harriet nodded. "I'll meet you there in about forty-five minutes," she said. She studied Mac intently, and then added gently, "Ma'am, I couldn't care for you more if you were family. In a way, you are – you and the Commander both – and I can't stand to see you hurt yourself like this." After Harriet walked off, Mac turned back to her sister. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "With my help and Harriet's, and with that photo album full of pictures of Harm," Chloe replied, smiling smugly, "we're going to take a walk down memory lane and by the time we're finished, maybe you'll have figured out – or rather admitted - for yourself just why you can't go through with this wedding."

MAC'S APARTMENT "I am so glad you're here, Harriet," Chloe exclaimed as she opened the door to Harriet, who was holding her son in her arms. She reached out and ran her hand over soft blond baby hair. "Hey, AJ." AJ waved hello, babbling softly as Harriet carried him into the apartment. Harriet set him on the floor and he immediately toddled over to Jingo, who was laying in front of the fireplace, throwing himself against the dog, his arms going around Jingo's neck. "Doggie, doggie." "Where is she?" Harriet asked, glancing around the apartment as she kept one eye on her son to make sure he didn't bother Jingo too much. "She just got out of the shower a few minutes ago," she replied. "She should be out in a minute, or I think she will. We haven't exactly talked a lot since we got back here. Harriet, I don’t know what to do anymore. When I got here on Wednesday, I suggested that she talk to Harm before he left for Norfolk. I wonder if that’s where …. by the way, I found something else.” Chloe motioned Harriet over to the closet and opened it, pulling out a hanger and displaying the contents. “The Commander’s flight jacket,” Harriet said, her eyes immediately drawn to the familiar patch on the left front of the jacket. “I suppose he could have left it here sometime when they were working on a case, but ….”

“He wouldn’t have just left his wings over here,” Chloe pointed out. “I doubt they just fell off his uniform or something. He had to have given them to her.” “Commander Rabb would never try to force his way between the Colonel and Mic,” Harriet said, thinking out loud. “That’s not him. Maybe the wings are his way of telling the Colonel that she has a choice.” “Harriet, I just thought of something,” Chloe said excitedly. “I was here the night that Harm stopped by two years ago and told Mac that he was requesting a return to active flight status. I was in the bedroom, but I could hear what they were saying. Mac said that leaving meant that he considered flying to be more important to him than everything, only she paused when she said that last bit, as if that wasn’t what she really wanted to say. I think what she wanted to say that he thought flying was more important than her.” “It makes sense,” Harriet said. “I’d gone on reserve duty after AJ was born, so I wasn’t around JAG all that much when the Commander had first come back, but from what Bud told me, there was a definite cooling off between them and it seemed to be coming more from the Colonel than from the Commander, as if she was unconsciously trying to punish him for leaving. Then Australia happened and it was the Commander backing off.” “Because of the ring,” Chloe concluded, “because, like you said, he wouldn’t consciously try to come between Mac and Mic. But now, he’s given her his wings. Maybe he’s saying not just that Mac has a choice, but what if he’s really saying that he doesn’t think that flying is more important than her. Of course, at that point, if it had been me, I would have been calling off this wedding, but ….” “He said the choice was mine,” a voice said from bedroom doorway. “He said that he wasn’t going to stand in the way of what I want.” Chloe and Harriet looked over to see Mac leaning against the door frame, holding a piece of paper in her hand. “But you’re right about the meaning of the wings. He said that they were his answer to what I’d said about flying being more important to him than everything else.” She glanced down at the letter in her hands, sighed heavily, then walked over and held it out to them. Harriet hesitated a moment before she took the letter, but she held back from immediately reading it. “Are you sure, Ma’am?” she asked gently. She imagined that whatever was in the letter wasn’t really meant for public consumption. Would Mac someday regret showing this to them? “Not really,” Mac admitted, sitting down on the couch. “But you two aren’t going to back off, are you? And I told Chloe earlier that there are a lot of things that she doesn’t understand about what’s going on. Things that even I don’t understand and …. and I was there.” “There?” Chloe questioned as Harriet’s eyes scanned the letter. “What’s that ….” She trailed off when she saw the wide-eyed, startled look on Harriet’s face. She looked over her shoulder and began reading, immediately figuring out just what was in the letter which had startled Harriet so much. “Oh, my God. You know, I had asked Mac yesterday if she’d gotten a chance to talk to Harm as I’d suggest that she do before he left for Norfolk. Harriet, do you know what she told me? She said ‘Not exactly’.” Chloe looked at Mac, who was studying her hands, avoiding looking at the two of them. “I guess I was just asking the wrong question.”

Mac said nothing as AJ toddled over to her, having gotten bored with Jingo, who just wanted to sleep. She lifted him up into her lap and remembered the thrill of watching the precious little boy come into their lives, remembered everything else that had happened that day. She could see it, the grin on his face as they’d watched Bud and Harriet ooh and aah over their son. She could hear it, the laughter in his voice as they’d rejoiced over the miracle they’d just witnessed. She glanced up as she became aware that Chloe was saying something. “I guess you were right, Mac,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. She may have been only fourteen, but she could probably give lessons to any Marine about never surrendering her position. “There are things that I don’t understand about this situation, like how you could make love with a man – and not just any man, but the man you really love – just three days before you are supposed to marry someone else and still think that this marriage is the right thing to do. That I definitely do not understand. You’re not going to tell us that this was just an itch or something and now you’ve gotten it out of your system, are you? Because I think it’s obvious from your behavior the last two days that you can’t get it off your mind and I don’t think it’s just because you’re feeling guilty. Of course, that does explain why you lied to Mic yesterday when he wanted to spend time with you. So what happens if you two get married and you can’t make excuses to stay out of his bed?” “Ma’am,” Harriet began, her voice hesitant, still mindful of the fact that Mac was her superior officer, friend or not. One didn’t just tell their superior how to live their life, even if she was now absolutely positive that said officer was about to make a huge mistake. “There is so much that we don’t know about your relationship with Commander Rabb and with Mic, but I do know that if your heart were really into this marriage, then you wouldn’t even be able to think about another man, let alone, um, sleep with him. Even when I was so mad at Bud that I wanted to call the entire thing off the morning of the wedding, I still couldn’t get him off my mind. I didn’t really need you to tell me how much I loved Bud and wanted to marry him. You just reminded me of what I already knew deep down.” She sat down next to Mac on the couch and put her hand on her shoulder. “So what do you know deep down?” “I don’t know, Harriet,” Mac whispered, resting her forehead against AJ’s head. “I wish I did. I wish that there were something that would tell me for sure what the right thing to do is. Right now, I feel like I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Either way, people will be hurt.” Chloe pulled out the photo album from the bookcase, the one she and Mac had looked through the day before, and carried it over to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table before she settled into the arm chair. “Harriet, yesterday Mac was looking through this,” she explained. “Look through it yourself and tell me what you see.” With a glance at Mac, as if asking for permission, Harriet picked up the album and silently flipped through the pages. Many of the photos she recognized, some she didn’t. She did notice that nearly all of them were from the time before Harm had left for the Patrick Henry. The only ones in the album from after that time were ones from the two JAG Christmas parties since then and one from AJ’s first birthday party last year. Only three photos, in an album full of them, were from the last two years. It was like Harm’s return to flying was a dividing point in their lives – or maybe a wall between the friends they used to be and whatever they were now. “All of them have Commander Rabb in them,” she said, “and they pretty much stop when he left JAG. The last one from before that is AJ’s baptism. There are only three pictures that I recognize as coming from after that time,

assuming that these are in chronological order.” Mac nodded. “Four after that actually,” she corrected her. “I just haven’t put the most recent photo in yet, from AJ’s birthday party this year.” “Let me ask something,” Chloe said. Mac looked at her, mildly surprised that she would ask for permission first. She tended to just speak her mind; at least she had so far. “What about Mic? Where’s the album full of pictures of him?” “Well, I haven’t known Mic as long as I have Harm,” Mac explained slowly, as if carefully considering her words before she said them. “And he was in Australia for all those months. I do have pictures of him ….” “Just not an album full of them,” Chloe pointed out. “Has Mic seen this?” She took Mac’s pointed silence as her answer. “I didn’t think so. It’s obvious from this album that you two have shared a lot, or at least you did before he left.” She flipped to the photo from AJ’s baptism, a professional portrait of Harm and Mac with their godson. It was Mac’s favorite picture in the entire album. Every time she looked at it, she remembered a promise made which might now never be kept. As the picture had been taken, as she’d looked down at the baby she’d cradled in her arms, she’d imagined that it was her child she’d been holding in her arms, hers and Harm’s, the child they’d promised to create together. Sometimes, looking at the photo, she wondered if Harm might have been thinking the same thing at that moment. But so much had happened in their lives since then and it now seemed to be a painful reminder of what now might never be. AJ leaned forward in Mac’s lap and pressed his hand against the page. “Unca Harm, Aun’ Mac,” he proclaimed, giggling gleefully. “You know what I see when I look at this picture?” Chloe asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that these were two people in love and that is their child they’re holding. Can you tell me that you’ve never looked at this picture and wondered what it would be like to have Harm’s baby?” Once again, Mac’s silence and the pained look on her face spoke volumes as far as Chloe was concerned. “So you’ve thought about it,” Chloe stated. “You’ve made love with him. I’m not going to ask you how that was, but I don’t think you’d be quite so bothered by everything if the experience hadn’t lived up to your expectations. So what’s stopping you? It’s obvious from this letter that Harm wants to be with you and if you didn’t want to be with him, you wouldn’t be giving all this a second thought, let alone letting it all consume you. So why can’t you just stand up and tell Mic that you can’t marry him because you’re in love with someone else? Or don’t even tell him that. Just be honest and admit that you don’t love him the way a wife should.” “As I’ve said before, it’s not ….” Mac began before being interrupted by Chloe. “That simple,” Chloe finished. “I know. But why? You can’t even say ‘I love you’ to Mic. The most I’ve heard you say is ‘Me, too’ or some nonsense like that. I asked you point blank to say that you love him and you nearly choked on the words. So how can you marry him while Harm’s waiting in the wings, just waiting for you to tell him that you want to be

with him?” “Because …. because,” Mac stammered, unable to think of a reply. How could she answer a question that she didn’t even have a reply to, at least not a reply that she was satisfied with. “How do I even know it’s going to work out with Harm? With Mic, I’m guaranteed of a home, a family someday, security. He loves me. No one can deny that, not even Harm.” “Mac, there are no guarantees,” Harriet pointed out gently. “I learned that the hard way, with baby Sarah. I never would have thought that could have happened to us, but it did. Anyway, who’s to say that you can’t have those things with Commander Rabb? He’s already told you in his own way that you’re the most important thing in the world to him. He’s even willing to stand by and watch you marry another man if that’s what you tell him that you want. Could you say the same thing about Mic?” “I ….” she began, unable to get past the first word. “I wanted those things with Harm once, but ….” Suddenly, she exploded, startling Harriet, Chloe and even AJ with the ferocity of her response. “He left! Don’t you get it? He left me! I couldn’t make him stay! Mic talked about leaving but he stayed because of me. Harm couldn’t do the same thing ….” She handed AJ to his mother, then got up and went to stand by the window, watching the rain that was beginning to fall. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes, but refused to give free reign to them. She refused to shed any more tears over Harmon Rabb. “So what, is this supposed to be some kind of punishment?” Chloe asked incredulously. Finally, she thought, they were seeing the truth revealed. “He may have left, but he came back! He gave you his wings, and I don’t know what else he could have done that would have made more of a statement than that. And you’re going to force him to sit by and watch you marry another man? Are you trying to hurt him as much as he hurt you by leaving? And what did you mean by saying that Mic talked about leaving but you got him to stay?” She held her breath, almost afraid to hear the answer she was nearly positive was coming. Mac looked back at them, startled, unable to believe that she’d said that. She looked down at the ring on her finger and said haltingly, “When Sergei went MIA, Harm was talking about resigning his commission to go look for him. He was going to leave again. I went over to Mic’s and he was putting on his uniform. He’d called his former CO about reinstating his commission. He said there was nothing keeping him here because he'd lost his job and I still hadn’t made a decision about his proposal and ….” “That’s around the time you moved the ring over to your left hand,” Harriet realized, a horrible understanding dawning. “You thought Commander Rabb was going to leave and you couldn’t do anything about it. Mic threatened to leave, so you stopped him by agreeing to marry him. My God, Ma’am. Even if Commander Rabb wasn’t a part of this at all, how could you agree to marry a man who basically blackmailed you into a wedding that you weren’t even sure you wanted? If you really wanted this marriage, you would have said ‘yes’ the minute after Mic popped the question, back in Sydney. It never would have taken you ten months and he wouldn’t have had to force your hand like that. How much of you’re moving that ring was to keep Mic from leaving and how much was in response to the fact that you thought Commander Rabb was leaving again?” “I don’t know,” she whispered, staring back out the window again, remembering how she'd

taken the ring right after she thought she'd been shot down by Harm. Had she really moved the ring over more because Harm was leaving and she’d been afraid of being alone? “But don’t you see? Harm did leave once; he nearly left a second time. How do I know that won’t happen again? I don’t know if I can take that chance. His leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure. I don't think I can do that again.” “Mac, I don’t know if you can afford not to take that chance,” Chloe interjected, pleading. “Harriet’s right. Even if you had no feelings for Harm whatsoever beyond that of friends, you’re marrying Mic for all the wrong reasons and how do you know that you two won’t end up making each other miserable as a result? Add into the mix how much you love Harm and you’ll make yourself and Harm miserable if you go through with this obviously, but you’ll also make Mic miserable and probably whoever Harm’s with as well, whether it’s the Video Princess or someone else.” “Mic has given up so much for me,” Mac pointed out, trying to convince herself as well as them. “I can’t just walk away from that.” “Ma’am, with all due respect,” Harriet said, “you can’t live your life based on what you think you owe Mic. You didn’t ask him to move halfway around the world for you. You didn’t ask him to reserve his commission. He made those choices on his own and he can’t expect recompense from you for that. If you can’t give him what he wants, then it’s up to him to live with the consequences of his choices. Commander Rabb was right, when he agreed to back off and let you make your decision. He can’t make it for you, any more than Mic should have been able to make your decision regarding his marriage proposal and that’s what he did for all intents and purposes. You need to make the decision for yourself and not based on what you think you owe Mic or even what Commander Rabb wants from you. There’s only one person you need to consider when making your decision. You need to make your decision based on what you owe yourself. And above all else, you owe it to yourself to be happy.” “I ….” Mac began, what she was about to say interrupted by the ringing of the phone. She hesitated, not sure if she had the strength for any more conversation, then walked over to the desk and glanced at the caller ID. It was of no help, stating ‘Out Of Area’. With a heavy sigh, she picked up the phone. Maybe it was just her uncle, calling to wish her luck. “Hello?” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?” she repeated. “Is anyone there?” She thought she heard something in the background, but couldn’t quite distinguish the sounds, not enough to identify the caller or where the call was coming from. “Hello?” “Mac,” the person on the other end of the line finally said with a barely detectable sadness evident in the voice. Mac exhaled a shaky breath as she recognized the voice. “It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking off within the hour. I will be back in time for the wedding.” “Speaking of the wedding, Harm,” she said slowly after taking a deep breath, feeling Chloe’s and Harriet’s eyes on her as soon as she said his name, “I have something to tell you.” Cause I’ve lost loved ones in my life Who never knew how much I loved them Now I live with the regret That my true feelings for them never were revealed

So I made a promise to myself To say each day how much she means to me And avoid that circumstance Where there’s no second chance to tell her how I feel If tomorrow never comes Will she know how much I loved her Did I try in every way to show her every day That she’s my only one And if my time on earth were through And she must face the world without me Is the love I gave her in the past Gonna be enough to last If tomorrow never comes ‘If Tomorrow Never Comes’, written by K. Blazy/G. Brooks, performed by Garth Brooks

FRIDAY EVENING 25 MAY 2001 USS PATRICK HENRY APPROX. 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA Harm stepped onto the bridge of the carrier and came to attention in front of Captains Ingles and Pike. “Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sirs,” he said automatically. “As you were, Commander,” Ingles said. Harm relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back as the other man continued, “Well, you’ve got what you wanted, Commander. The air boss has given you clearance to take off, but it needs to be within the hour. There’s a large storm moving in. Any later than that and nothing’s getting off this boat, but before that, I've been assured by the weather forecasters that you will have no problem getting past the storm to Norfolk.” “Thank you, Sir,” Harm replied, no emotion evident in his voice. A tiny part of him wished that take off would have been impossible with the coming weather system, wanted the excuse that he could use to avoid being home for …. what was coming in the morning. Surely it wouldn’t be held against him if the weather prevented him from returning in time. But a larger part of him quashed the idea. He prided himself on being a man of his word and even if it killed him inside, he would keep this promise for he’d rather hurt himself intentionally than do so to her. He’d hurt her far too many times unintentionally. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie as he realized that Captain Pike was speaking. “I’ve given Skates permission to fly back with you,” he said. “She was going on leave tomorrow morning anyway on the cod.” “I know, Sir,” Harm replied. “She already spoke to me about it.” Pike held out his hand, which Harm took without hesitation. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d

have had the courage to put his lifelong dream behind him and return to JAG if it hadn’t been for the CAG’s encouragement. “It was good to have you back, Hammer,” he said, “even if it was only for a couple of days.” “Well, it was good to be back, CAG,” he said sincerely. In spite of everything else, it had been good to be back in the cockpit. For just a little bit, he’d almost been able to forget the uncertain future awaiting him. As they broke off their handshake, Ingles surprised Harm a bit by holding out his own hand. He guessed Skates’ scuttlebutt had been true about the captain’s reaction to his quals. Then again, scuttlebutt usually was. “It’s been a privilege to fly off your boat, Skipper,” he said as they shook firmly. “It was a privilege to have you here, Commander,” Ingles said. His expression was devoid of emotion as he said it, but Harm knew the man didn’t offer praise lightly. He reminded him slightly of Admiral Chegwidden. “See you in six months.” “Thank you, Sir,” Harm said with a nod. Under other circumstances, he might have smiled at the last comment, but he couldn't summon the strength to express such cheerfulness. With that out of the way, Pike returned to the business they’d brought Harm to the bridge for. “How soon can you be ready to take off, Commander?” he asked. Harm hesitated. He knew there was something he needed to do first, but did he want to? That was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of time to buck himself up for what he had to do. “I’m already packed up,” he replied slowly. “I do need to find a phone first, call someone at home.” “Let them know you’re on your way?” Pike asked, not surprised by the request. It wasn’t that unusual a circumstance. Most sailors called somebody before they left a ship to return to shore. “Yes, Sir. Something like that,” he answered. Ingles interjected, “Since you’re short on time, instead of trying to find a pay phone that’s free, you can use the ship to shore line in Communications. I’ll call down there and let them know you’re coming. Dismissed.” “Aye, aye, Sir,” he said smartly, coming to attention before turning on his heel and departing. Once he was off the bridge and away from watching eyes, he took a deep breath. He had approximately the minute and a half it would take him to walk down to Communications to figure out what he was going to say, to figure out how not to let the heartache he was almost sure was coming consume him. Later, after he was home safely and after he watched her pledge her life to another, maybe then he would let himself feel the overwhelming pain.

Just under two minutes later, he was stepping through the hatch into the bustling communications center. At least here he would be cognizant of the eyes on him, a knowledge

which would allow him to keep a tight reign on himself. The pay phones were hardly in private locations, but with his luck, he would have found one in the only empty corridor on the ship and then there would be nothing to remind him to keep himself in check. “Commander Rabb?” a female Lieutenant Commander asked as she walked up to him. He nodded. “Commander Jackson. Captain Ingles said you’d be coming down here.” She led him over to a console and motioned to the phone. “Here you go.” “Thank you, Commander,” he said in dismissal, sitting down in front of the phone. She stepped away to another console, talking in a low voice to one of her people, giving Harm a small measure of privacy. Steeling himself, he picked up the phone and placed the call. After just two rings, her warm voice came over the line. “Hello?” For one of the few times in his life, but not for the first time with this woman, Harm found himself rendered mute. The moment was at hand, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words he’d rehearsed on the walk down to Communications. He started out the window, watching the sky darkening in the distance. The coming storm was already making its presence known, the increased wind speed evident in the choppy waters below. A flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the sky, casting an eerie glow in the blackness. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Mac asked again, her voice slightly betraying her growing annoyance. “Hello?” He wasn’t sure how, but he finally found his voice. “Mac,” he said softly, closing his eyes as another flash of electricity light up the night sky. “It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking off within the hour. I will be back in time for the wedding.” There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. “Speaking of the wedding, Harm,” she said, “I have something to tell you.” “I, um,” he began. It was time and he was convinced more than ever that he wasn’t ready for this. “I didn’t call to, um, pressure you. I just wanted to let you know ….” “That you’re keeping your promise,” she whispered. Another pause, then she added in a stronger voice, “Hang on just a minute.” He thought he heard her say something to someone, but he couldn’t make out her words. He blinked his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as he silently prayed that Mic wasn’t there with her at that moment. He didn’t want to think about them, spending the last few hours together before custom dictated that they not see each other until the wedding started. He thought he heard a door closing on her end, and then she was back on the line. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “I went into the bedroom for some privacy.” “I see,” he replied, sadness creeping into his voice. “No, it’s not ….” she began, realizing that he assumed that Mic was present. “Chloe’s here and so are Harriet and little AJ. The guys, well, they went out for – they just went out.”

“Oh,” he said, trying not to think about the last minute bachelor fun that the JAG men were having with Brumby. He almost smiled as he remembered another party which had ended with him, Bud and AJ in jail and his somewhat amusing – at least to Mac and only in retrospect – phone call asking for her to bail them out. He hadn’t told her about AJ being with them and it had almost been worth the hassle of getting arrested to see the incredulous look on her face when she’d discovered AJ sharing the cell with them. But that had been a lifetime ago. He banished the thought and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. She sighed heavily, wondering if the most she was going to get out of him the rest of the conversation would be one- and two-word answers. Really, she couldn’t blame him if that were going to be the case, realizing that he’d probably had to force himself over the last few days not to think about her promise to him. Or maybe he was already prepared for it to be a lost cause. “Anyway,” she continued nervously, “I’ve done a lot of thinking the last couple of days. I thought a lot about everything we’ve been through together and everything that’s happened the last two years. Much as we’d like to, we can’t just forget about that ….” She rambled slightly while searching for the best way to phrase what she was trying to tell him. “Mac, please,” he whispered raggedly. Even though the nearest person was several feet from him and seemed engrossed in their work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that every eye in the room was on him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue in a more neutral tone, “I don’t have much time to talk. There’s a storm coming and I have a small window of opportunity for takeoff before they starting canceling all flight activities.” It all sounded perfectly rational and logical to Mac, but she sensed from the way he suddenly shut down, letting nothing creep into his tone at all, that it wasn’t his impending takeoff that was prompting him to tell her to get to the point. Suddenly, she lost her nerve and changed the subject. “You’re not going to have any problems flying back because of the weather, are you?” she asked, genuinely concerned. She knew about the circumstances of his first crash and it sent a tiny shiver through her, the thought of him flying in less than ideal weather. “It’s storming here in Washington and I would imagine the storm is moving in that direction.” As she said it, she looked out her bedroom window at the rain coming down even harder, hearing the rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance. She could imagine him standing near a window on the Patrick Henry – even though she knew that he might not be any place where he would have a view to the outside – watching the night sky himself. Wasn’t there a song about something like that, being far apart and wishing on the same star in the sky? Only there were no stars out this night, only the bright flash of lightning and the low rumble of thunder. “No, I was assured that if I take off within the hour, I’ll avoid the path of the storm,” he told her confidently. He recognized the diversionary tactic and was somewhat thankful for it. But it was time to end this. “There will be no problem flying to Norfolk. I’ll pick up my car at the airfield and drive back to DC in time to catch a few hours sleep before ….” “You don’t have to,” she said suddenly, startling him. “Releasing me from my promise, Colonel?” he said without a trace of humor. “How unlike you.” "No, that’s not what I meant,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes as she realized that

they were crossing their lines of communication again. Again, it was hardly a surprise. She idly wondered how much it had consumed him, the idea that she held his heart and his future in the palm of her hand. And now, with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding was supposed to begin, she realized that Harm really was on the verge – if he wasn’t there already – of doing something she’d never known him to do before. He was about to give up hope. “I’ve realized that I’m in no condition to do this. How can I marry one man when I can’t get another man off my mind long enough to concentrate on the wedding?” “And?” he whispered in reply, afraid to begin hoping again, afraid to believe that this was real, afraid to believe that fate wasn’t playing the cruelest of tricks on him. “And so as soon as I can get a hold of Mic,” she continued, “I’m going to tell him that I’m sorry, but that I can’t marry him, that he deserves a woman who will make him the center of her universe, not one who …. Well, I probably shouldn’t tell him the rest. I’m already going to be hurting him so much. He doesn’t need to know, um, everything.” She threw herself backwards onto her bed, her eyes brimming with tears. She brushed them away, but they kept forming, as if the cosmos were telling her that she wouldn’t be getting off that easily, as if her tears were recompense for the pain she had and would inflict on Harm, on Mic, even on Renee. As for her own pain, she would just have to learn to live with it. It would be a small price to pay, not really high enough to make up for all the pain that would be inflicted on others. Harm didn’t say anything for a long moment as he processed what she’d said. She’d told him that she was going to call off the wedding, but had not said one word about what else she would do. He supposed that it might have been a bit selfish, worrying about what it would mean for him when she was in pain at the thought of breaking another man’s heart. Maybe it was the best that he could hope for right now, just the fact that she was not going to get married. After all, the gossip mongers would have a field day as it was with the wedding being called off just hours before the ceremony. He didn't mind for himself, but he minded for her. The pain she would endure over the breakup of a relationship that she'd been prepared to believe would last forever would be hard enough without all the whispers behind her back, the sudden silences when she would walk into a room. "Well, whatever you think is best," he said, shaking his head. "Harm, I – I don’t know,” she said, stuttering slightly. “I’m still not sure what to do at this point, not really. All I do know is that Chloe and Harriet are right. I’m not in any condition to do this right now. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever have been, even before the engagement party and …. everything else that happened after that. I need time to really think things through, something I didn’t really do, even when I wore the ring on my right hand for ten months. Harm, I know that’s probably not the answer that you wanted to hear ….” “Sarah,” he said softly, sending shivers down her spine. She loved the way his voice caressed her name. It was probably a good thing he didn’t call her ‘Sarah’ all the time or she might not be able to form a coherent thought in his presence. “I meant what I said about not pressuring you. I want you to do what’s best for you.” “Look, I know you said you can’t talk long,” Mac said, sighing with relief, thankful that he seemed to understand her dilemma. “But I do want to talk to you after you get back. I’m really going to need a friend, I think. I’ll understand if you want to keep your distance for the time being, but ….”

“I’ll always be there for you,” he vowed. “I used to think that went without saying, but after everything that’s happened the last two years, it’s probably not so easy to believe anymore. We don’t have to talk about you or me or you and Mic or anything else that you don’t want to talk about. I will be there as your friend, whenever you need me.” “Maybe sometime this weekend?” she asked hopefully. “Tomorrow’s going to be kind of crazy – there are lots of details to take care of and Mic’s …. I know he’s not going to be happy about this. He’s not going to understand. By Sunday, I’ll probably want to get away from it all. Anyway, I’m sure you have things you’ll need to take care of as well.” “Yeah,” he admitted, thinking of Renee. No matter how things ended up working out with Mac, he knew that he couldn’t let that situation go on any further. It wasn’t fair to her to keep her on as kind of a stand-by if things didn’t work out with Mac. She already suspected that there was something more between him and Mac, so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to her. He just hoped she'd understand enough to let him go. “Well, why don’t I see if I can get a fourth ticket to the Orioles came that I’m taking Chloe to on Sunday? I expect that by Sunday, we’ll both need some R&R.” Mac smiled at the thought of spending the day with two of her favorite people. And he was right. By Sunday, she’d probably either be ready to have a nervous breakdown or something else equally unworthy of a Marine. “I’d like that a lot,” she replied. “And Harm? We will talk – about you and me, I mean. At this point, we can’t avoid it and maybe it will help me work things out in my mind.” “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, realizing the irony. Time was the one thing that she hadn’t seemed willing to give him back in Sydney. But that didn’t matter any more. Now that he had the opening, he was going to do everything he could to tell and show her how much she meant to him and how much he wanted and needed her in his life. “Harm, I ….” she began, not quite sure what else to say. She shook her head. “Never mind. Just good luck and I’ll see you sometime this weekend, I guess.” “I’ll see you, Sarah,” he replied. He paused for a moment, then added, “If you need someone to talk to tomorrow because things are – I don’t know, but you know where to find me if you need me. I’ll probably be home most of the day catching up on some sleep, since I’ll be spending most of the night getting back to Washington.” “Harm, why don’t you just fly to Norfolk and stay the night there?” Mac suggested, worried. “You’ll be landing in Norfolk around midnight, right? Do you really want to get in a car and drive three and a half hours back to DC after that? There’s no reason to rush back, um, not anymore.” “Yeah, but I want to be there for you if something comes up and you need me,” he pointed out. “I’ll be fine. I’ve kept longer hours on some of our investigations.” “True,” she admitted. She knew that he was going to come straight back to Washington, regardless of what she said. She chuckled softly at the thought. “Just promise that if you’re too tired, you’ll find a room in Norfolk for the night or if you get tired while on the road, you’ll stop someplace and get some rest.”

“Yes, Mom,” he teased, lightening the mood considerably. It was almost as if a switch had been thrown, signaling that the conversation they’d been having was over. “I’ll be fine. Promise.” “Okay.” They were both silent for a moment, neither quite willing to end the call yet. Then Harm glanced out the windows in the communications center and realized that it was time to go. “I need to get going,” he said reluctantly. “Skipper said that if I don’t take off by a certain time, I won’t be leaving at all, at least not tonight.” “I understand,” she replied. “Well, I’ll see you. Goodbye, Harm.” “Goodbye, Sarah,” he whispered just before he hung up the phone. He leaned against a control panel, watching lightning flash in the distance. “I love you, Sarah.” The words came unbidden and he sighed, wondering if he’d someday have the chance – and the courage - to say them to her in person.

Mac wanted to curl up on her bed and forget the rest of the world, but she knew she couldn’t. There was too much to do, the first thing being that she needed to get a hold of Mic and let him know that she couldn’t get married tomorrow. After that, there wouldn’t be much else to do tonight, except for contacting the JAG staff, but she’d need to be up first thing in the morning to begin canceling all the arrangements. She wasn’t sure that she could count on Mic to help with that. It was going to be hard enough just to get him to accept that she didn’t want to get married. She picked up the phone again and started to dial Mic’s home number before she remembered that he wouldn’t be there. Instead, she dialed his cell phone, but got his voice mail after four rings. Sighing, she decided to leave a message. “Mic, um, as soon as you get this message, please call me,” she said, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly. “It doesn’t matter what time it is. I have to talk to you and it can’t wait until tomorrow. Um, bye.” She hung up then went ahead and dialed his home number, leaving the same message on his answering machine. Clicking the phone off, she tossed it onto the bed and got up, striding into the living room with a sense of purpose. Chloe, who had been pacing behind the couch, stopped mid-stride and both she and Harriet looked at Mac expectantly. “I need your help, Harriet,” Mac said without preamble. “There’s not going to be a wedding.” “Yes!” Chloe exclaimed, her voice nearly a shout. “Is that what you told Harm? Are you two going …?” “Chloe,” Mac interrupted firmly. Once Chloe had quieted down, she continued, “Yes, I told Harm, but no, I am not going to immediately jump from Mic to him. I told him that we have a lot to talk about and there are a lot of things that I need to work out in my mind first. He understands that, okay?” Chloe nodded reluctantly.

“Have you told Mic yet?” Harriet asked, sensing that her friend was holding everything in, trying not to think about the enormity of the decision she’d just made. If Mac was nothing else, she was driven and right now, her focus was on canceling all the arrangements with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding. She’d try not to let herself think about everything else until later, probably when she was alone and didn’t have to worry about showing weakness in front of anyone, even two of the people closest to her. She shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I tried his cell phone, but got his voice mail. I can’t remember if he had it with him at the rehearsal. I left a message there and on his answering machine at home and told him to call me as soon as he got the message, no matter what the time.” “I’m sure Bud has his cell phone with him, Ma’am,” Harriet said. “Why don’t I call him and have him put Mic on?” Mac returned to the bedroom for the phone, which she handed to Harriet. After a few moments, she handed it back. “I got Bud’s voice mail as well,” she said. “Maybe they can’t hear their phones ring in the bar or wherever they went. Do you know where they were planning on going? I don’t.” “No,” Mac replied, shaking her head. “All Mic said was that they were going out. Maybe Alan told Jackie.” She went over to her desk and searched through some papers for the JAG phone roster, finally finding it buried under some reports she needed to sign off on, reports she probably should have left for Harm when she'd thought she'd be going on her honeymoon. Quickly, she skimmed over the list until she found Alan’s home number and dialed it. After the second ring, Jackie picked up. “Hello, Jackie, it’s Colonel Mackenzie,” she said. “Did Alan happen to tell you where all the guys were going tonight? I’m trying to get a hold of Mic and he’s not answering his cell phone. He didn’t tell me where they were going.” “I’m sorry, Colonel,” Jackie replied. “Alan didn’t tell me either. He just said not to wait up since he was going to be a designated driver and needed to make sure everyone got home okay. Ready for the big day tomorrow?” Mac froze, not expecting to face the question of what to tell people this soon. Swallowing hard, she replied vaguely, “Is anyone ever ready for that?” “I guess not,” Jackie said with a laugh. “I remember that feeling. Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” “Thanks anyway,” Mac replied, then hung up. She looked at Harriet and sighed. “Alan didn’t tell her either.” “Alan and Jackie, they are the Mattonis, right?” Chloe asked. At Mac’s nod, she went on, “Why didn’t you just tell Jackie that the wedding’s off so they don’t get up and try to go to the church tomorrow?” “Because I need to get a hold of Mic first and let him know,” she said. “I don’t need everyone else finding out before him. If I can’t get a hold of him immediately, he shouldn’t

have to find out through scuttlebutt.” “Do you think he’s going to try to talk you out of it?” Chloe asked, concerned after what Mac had told them about the day she’d accepted Mic’s proposal. She didn’t want Mic to turn on the charm and try to talk Mac out of the decision she’d just made and she was afraid that he would. “Probably,” Mac admitted. “He loves me and this will be hard for him to accept, but I can’t do this anymore. You, Harriet and Harm – all of you were right when you said I need to do what’s best for me. For so long, I’ve been just going along with the flow, accepting what Mic wants and burying anything that might be contrary to that.” She sank into a chair and sighed. “I wish I’d admitted that months ago before things got this far gone.” “So what did Harm call for?” Chloe asked, ready to change the subject away from Mic. “He wanted to let me know that he’s getting ready to leave the Patrick Henry,” she replied. “He’s been given a small window to take off in order to beat a storm that’s heading that way. He’s flying to Norfolk then will pick up his car at the airfield and drive back to Washington. By the way, Chloe, looks like you’ll have a fourth person for the baseball game Sunday.” “Harm invited you to join us!?” Chloe enthused. “You know, Dad and I could just stay here and you and Harm could go.” “Chloe, this is not a date,” Mac said firmly. She wasn’t ready for that. No, Chloe and her father being present would give her a kind of safety net, would prevent any conversation from getting too deep before she was ready. “I’m not ready for that and Harm understands. We’re just going as *friends*. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Harm. There’s a lot that we need to work out between us and after being involved with Mic for so long, I could probably use some time to myself without having to worry about …. romantic entanglements. I need to figure out some things about Sarah Mackenzie before I can bring someone else into the mix.” Chloe looked disappointed, the romantic in her expecting Mac to immediately turn to Harm for love and support. But Harriet nodded in understanding. “That’s probably not a bad angle to approach this from,” she mused. “I’m sure you want to avoid, um ….” “The same mistakes I've made in every other romantic relationship I've ever had?” Mac finished the thought. Harriet flushed slightly, but nodded. “It’s okay. I do want to be able to work things out with Harm. I don’t want to doom us by repeating past mistakes. For the first time in my life, I want to be sure.” Harriet smiled widely. “If you’re sure, then there should be no reason why it won’t work out,” she assured her friend. “I do want you to know that your friends will be here for you.” “Thank you, Harriet,” Mac said, her tone a bit uncertain. She wasn’t used to so many people being there for her. She knew she had friends, but she still wasn’t accustomed to such unconditional and unwavering support. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything?” Harriet asked. She picked up AJ, who had

fallen asleep on the couch while Mac had been in the bedroom, and cradled him in her arms. “I really should get this little one home. I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning and you can let me know what you need me to do to help cancel everything.” “I appreciate that, Harriet,” she replied, taking AJ from his mother while Harriet got her coat. “I’m not sure how much Mic’s going to be willing to help out with that.” She kissed her godson and handed him back after Harriet had pulled her coat on. “Drive safely. It looks like the storm’s picking up.” Once Harriet had gone, she turned and looked at Chloe. “Why don’t you grab your coat and I’ll take you back to your hotel?” she suggested. “I think I need to get out of the apartment for a while.” “Mac, everything will work out,” Chloe assured her, smiling. “You’ll see. You and Harm are meant to be together. I wish it were going to be now, but I guess I understand why you want to move slowly. Just remember to let me know when you need a flower girl again.” Mac couldn’t help but smile at her sister’s enthusiasm. For the first time in so long, she actually felt like smiling. “We’re nowhere near that point,” she protested. “But someday, maybe ….”

USS PATRICK HENRY “Hey, Hammer,” Skates greeted him as met him in the corridor just past communications, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.” “I’m ready,” Harm replied. Not really, he told himself, but at least he knew that he wasn’t returning only to watch the woman he loved slip away from him forever. He just had to try to have a little faith that the rest would work out eventually. “I just need to stop by my quarters and grab my bag. Griggs is already going over the Tomcat, so it should be ready to go when we are.” As they walked towards the section where Harm’s temporary quarters had been, Skates noticed that his manner, if not as easy-going as usual, was more relaxed that it had been when she’d seen him earlier. “So, CAG said you were making a phone call,” she began cautiously, prepared for him to evade the topic. “I called Mac and let her know that I was getting ready to leave,” he said, glancing back at her with a look that said he knew what she was up to. For some reason, he didn’t really mind. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about it. Really, he needed to talk to Mac about it, but she wasn’t around and God only knew when they would get the chance to talk – or when they would be ready to talk. “So is she ready for the big day?” she asked. Before Harm could reply, they were joined in the corridor by his former roommate, Tuna. “Is who ready for the big day?” he asked.

“Remember Colonel Mackenzie?” Skates asked. “Hammer’s partner at JAG? She’s getting married tomorrow.” “Not someone else getting married,” Tuna exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t been here, Hammer, but Skates has been driving all of us crazy talking non-stop about her wedding plans. It must be something in the air.” “I doubt it,” Harm replied with a perfectly straight face, remembering that Mac had never gone on and on about her own wedding plans. Not that she didn’t drive people – or a certain person – crazy with talk of the wedding, any talk of the wedding. She’d just rarely talked about it. Maybe she’d known how much it had hurt him, even if it had only been subconsciously. “Mac is not getting married.” Skates stopped short, the dots suddenly connecting themselves in her mind. It seemed so obvious now. He’d been in a pretty depressed mood until he'd spoken to Mac and had learned that she wasn’t going to get married. Suddenly, while his mood may not have been quite happy-go-lucky, he was definitely in better spirits than he’d been. “Is that what you were talking about when you said that there was something going on that was out of your hands?” she asked. So Hammer has a thing for his JAG partner, she mused silently. The information might have been surprising, but somehow wasn’t. He was a charming man and if she hadn’t already been taken and he hadn’t been a senior officer, she probably could have fallen for him herself. She could easily see how even a straight-laced Marine might not be immune to him. Harm leaned back against the wall and sighed, his eyes going from Skates to Tuna, both of whom were watching him expectantly. “It’s complicated,” he said, “and that’s all I’m going to say right now. There are still a lot of things to work out and a few wrinkles, not the least of which is her ex-fiancé, who is not going to be happy to hear that the wedding is off twelve hours before the ceremony was supposed to start.” “Who was she marrying anyway?” Tuna asked. He wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Harm had feelings for Mac. He’d roomed with the guy for six months. He’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d talked about her. He’d seen the pictures that Harm had kept in his lock box, had caught him staring at them more than once with an expression he suspected had been regret. “Remember Commander Brumby?” Harm said, barely managing to keep the distaste out of his tone. “You mean that smug Aussie who was your co-counsel on Buxton’s case?” Tuna asked incredulously. He hadn’t really had any contact with the man when he’d been aboard for that court-martial, but he’d seen the frustration in Harm when he’d been forced to work with the guy. He also knew the man had taken Harm’s place at JAG when he’d left. Intellectually, he supposed that his perception of the Australian was colored by Harm’s attitude towards him. He knew Harm did not like the man. “That would be him,” Harm answered with a sigh. “It’s a long story and that’s *all* I’m going to say on the subject.” His firm tone left no room for discussion.

“Whatever you say, Hammer,” Tuna said with a shrug. Suddenly, he smiled as inspiration struck. “You’re going to Skates’ wedding, right? Bring the Colonel with you.” Harm didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. He should have known the subject wouldn’t be dropped. He probably wouldn’t have if the situation had been reversed. “I don’t know if Mac’s going to want to go anywhere near a wedding anytime soon,” he said emphatically. He wasn’t sure about that one, even if she was willing to attend. Could friends of the opposite sex attend an event like a wedding together and not have everyone assume there was something more there? Sure, they’d been together a lot during Bud and Harriet’s wedding, but that had been in their roles as best man and maid of honor. He was mindful of what Mac had said about needing time. Would inviting her to attend a wedding with him be too much, too soon? Or maybe he was just scared that she would watch someone else getting married and experience regrets about what might have been - what she’d turned her back on. Couldn’t anything about their relationship ever be simple? Right, he told himself with a mental shake of his head, if it had been simple, maybe it would have been your engagement you’d been celebrating a few weeks ago, as she’d suggested. “I’ll mention it to her.” “Just ignore Tuna,” Skates said with a laugh. “He probably can’t remember the last time a woman looked at him twice.” “Hey!” Tuna protested, punching her arm lightly. Harm smiled as he listened to them. He could remember when that had been him, Mac and Bud, laughing and joking like that. Webb had called them the Three Musketeers once and they had been – all for one and one for all – right up until he’d decided to chase another dream. His and Mac’s relationship was still recovering and even his friendship with Bud had changed to a certain extent. It was funny in a way. During his first tour of duty at JAG, he’d belonged there more than he ever thought he would. Then, he’d returned to carrier duty to find that he didn’t fit in quite as well as he had before, as well as he’d thought he would. He was too old and had been out of the game too long. Then he’d returned to the placed he’d realized he truly belonged and hadn’t fit in there either, not for a long time. Sometimes, what he wouldn’t give for a time machine to go back and do it all over again. Then he wouldn’t have been walking through the corridors of an aircraft carrier, consumed with thoughts of how out of control his life had been for the last two years. At least right now it seemed that his life had nowhere to go but up.

“Commander, Lieutenant,” Griggs said, saluting Harm and Skates as they stepped out onto the flight deck. The wind had picked up considerably, Harm guessing that it that it was gusting around gale force. It wasn’t a problem – the Tomcat was designed to be able to fly through hurricane conditions and, at any rate, the winds would be even stronger at the level they would be flying. Nor was the light rain that was beginning to fall a concern. The weather the night of his crash had been worse than what they were currently experiencing and he’d been told their flight path and the path of the storm would not intersect. That was all he needed to know. “Griggs,” Harm replied, returning the salute. “Are we ready to go?” Griggs, who had been his plane captain at the end of his tour aboard the Patrick Henry, had jumped at the chance to service Harm’s plane again. He was still grateful to him for saving him from a Captain’s

Mast, or worse, after a mishap with Lieutenant Buxton’s plane. “Everything checks out, Sir,” Griggs answered, nearly shouting to be heard above the wind, as they made their towards the lone Tomcat on deck, all other planes having either having been relocated to the hangar deck in preparation for the coming suspension of flight operations or still on their way back in from flight, the CAG having given the call for all planes to return to the ship as he’d been leaving the bridge earlier. “She’s good to go.” “Thank you, Griggs,” Harm said, offering his hand. “It was an honor to watch over your bird again, Sir,” Griggs said. “It was good to have you back.” “It was good to be back,” Harm said with a smile. He took a nostalgic look around the flight deck. He did still miss it sometimes. Shaking his head, he turned to Skates. “Let’s get this bird in the air before the air boss changes his mind.” “I’m with you, Sir,” she answered, tossing her gear into the Tomcat and climbing into the rear seat, strapping in. Harm took one last look around before climbing in himself. The canopy lowered as he began running through his pre-flight checklist. “You still miss it sometimes, don’t you, Sir?” Skates asked, having caught the wistful gaze as he’d looked around. “Yeah, sometimes,” he admitted softly, his words easily heard through the comm gear despite the roar of the engines as they powered up. “What about you? I heard you’re going to be leaving once you get married.” “I’m sure I’ll miss it, but he’s worth it,” she said confidently. Harm couldn’t help but smile sadly, wishing he’d been that smart two years ago. Why couldn’t he have admitted then that there was someone who meant more to him than his wings? Where was that time machine again? He took a breath, his face becoming an unreadable mask. He had a job to do now and it was time to focus on that. He flipped on his radio. “Tower, this is Tomcat 241 requesting permission to depart.” “Tomcat 241, you have permission to depart from catapult two,” came the reply from the air boss. Harm taxied the jet into position, and then waited while the hold-back bar was put into place. Once the crew stepped back, he turned his head to the left and saluted the catapult officer. Seconds later, Harm and Skates were jolted back in their seats as the catapult launched the Tomcat into the pitch black night. OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN APPROX. 300 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK The flight had been smooth so far, the only sign of the bad weather near them the occasional illumination of nearby clouds as lightning flashed from the bottoms of the clouds. Harm was relatively relaxed – or as relaxed as one ever got while flying a forty million dollar aircraft – while Skates communicated with City Desk back on the Patrick Henry.

"Navy jet 241," the petty officer working the radio on the Patrick Henry said, his voice interrupted by periodic bursts of static, "I'm starting to lose you. Suggest you shift to Oceana Center." "Roger," Skates replied. "Thanks for the help, City Desk." "Have a good trip," City Desk answered before signing off. Static filled the airwaves and Skates was about to switch the radio over to Oceana when a yellow light appeared on her panel. She dutifully reported, "We've got a low level oxygen light, Commander. We're going to have to take it down to ten thousand." "Roger that," Harm replied calmly, as if low level oxygen lights were perfectly routine. As far as in flight problems went, it was relatively minor. They would simply drop down to an altitude where they wouldn't have to rely on the Tomcat's oxygen system. Although they would burn more fuel at a lower altitude, they still had plenty to get them to Norfolk, and with the bad weather miles away, their ride should remain pretty smooth. As Harm began to descend through the clouds, Skates switched radio frequencies and raised Oceana Center. "Oceana Center, Navy 241 on 221.0," she said. "How do you read?" "Navy 241, Oceana Center," a controller at the flight control center in Norfolk replied. "Loud and clear. Say position and altitude." "Navy 241 approximately 275 miles east southeast of Center at ten thousand," Skates announced. She went on to inform them of the minor problems they’d run into during flight. "Be advised IFF and TACAN are intermittent. INS is inop. We intend to land at Norfolk." "Be advised, Navy 241," Center replied, "we have some weather moving in. Forecast indicates we may have to suspend flight operations soon." If Skates was bothered by the news, she didn't let on when she said, "Understood, Center. Keep us advised." In the front seat, Harm was listening impassively to the chatter between Skates and Center while his mind began considering landing alternatives. The area didn't lack for military airfields – there was Dover Air Force Base a little further north, plus Pax River or Andrews Air Force Base inland, closer to DC. Even flying at a lower altitude than usual, they should have plenty of fuel to reach any of those places should the weather force a deviation from Norfolk. While Harm was busy turning over the possibilities in his mind, Skates was busy with routine conversation with Center, which was telling her to broadcast their identification. She flipped a switch on her radio. "Navy 241, squawking 3214 and ident," Skates announced, her radio LCD display showing CH11 and 3214. "No joy yet, Navy 241," Center replied. "Say heading. Advise when one fifty DME from Oceana."

"Roger," Skates said. "Heading 335. Will remain on this frequency." She glanced down at her radar screen. Damn, she thought. Oceana's not the only ones expecting some weather. "Harm, we've got a storm cell ahead at 15 miles." While she hailed Oceana again to request that they deviate their flight path to go around the cell, Harm allowed himself a brief moment to curse the weather forecasters aboard the carrier, the same ones who'd sworn that their flight path would take them nowhere near the storm. He knew how to fly in bad weather and the F-14 was more than capable of handling it – as he'd once pointed out to Mac, they were designed to be able to withstand hurricane conditions. But knowing intellectually that he and the jet could handle the weather was one thing. It was quite another to actually fly through a storm while trying not remember another storm, another dark night – one that had ended with one man dead and another on the verge of leaving the Navy. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on flying his plane, following Skates' request to turn left thirty degrees to go around the storm. "Coming left thirty degrees," Harm reported, the plane's left wing dipping down slightly as he banked to the left. Skates frowned as she spied another cell coming up on their new path. "We've got another one at twenty miles," she told him. "In one minute, you'll need to come back right ten degrees." "Roger that," Harm said, mentally counting down the minute in his head. Their zigzag maneuvering brought to mind another concern. "Skates, recalculate fuel upon arrival at destination." Skates kept an eye on her radar screen while she calculated their fuel in her head. As if they didn't have enough to worry about flying at a low altitude, now they had to fly all over the ocean just to avoid the storms that weren't even supposed to be there in the first place. "Four thousand pounds," she reported, managing to mask her apprehension. That would be cutting it very close, Harm realized. Perhaps too close. "Roger that," he said impassively, his voice not betraying how bothered he was by her report. "Keep me honest and let's try to get back on course as soon as possible." Skates took a deep breath, understanding the unspoken message. They didn't have the fuel margin to fly all over the place trying to get to Norfolk. She glanced at her screen again, hardly comforted by what she saw. "Looks like we're going to have to run the gauntlet," she said, doing some more calculations in her head. If they could land in Norfolk, they should be okay. But if weather forced Norfolk to suspend flight operations, Skates wasn't sure they'd have the fuel to make an alternate landing site. She idly wondered what a commercial airport might say if they requested permission to land. That might be their only alternative. Otherwise, they'd be hard pressed to find a clear area large enough to land a Tomcat. Suddenly, the Tomcat lurched, rolling onto its right side and nearly inverting before Harm was able to steady it, bringing it back upright. Skates gasped loudly, her gloved hands tightening into fists, her mind flashing on her crash several years earlier. "You just do that?" she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

"Negative," Harm replied, forcing his own breathing to remain steady. "What happened?" Skates continued, quickly becoming frightened, a hint of that creeping into her tone. Planes didn't just suddenly invert on their own. "Don't know," he answered, his eyes wide. Something tightened in the pit of his stomach and scenes of his crash flashed through his mind. Involuntarily, his hand tightened around his stick as another light, this one red, appeared on the panel. Suddenly, his attitude was all business as he forced the negative thoughts from his mind once again. "I've got a red flight. Flight system filter. Disengaging altitude control." Skates forced another breath into her lungs at his statement. They'd nearly inverted just seconds earlier and now he was going to hold the plane level on his own? "It's bumpy out here, Harm," she pointed out. "You sure you want to fly her on your own?" "No choice," he reminded her, although he shared her concerns. He flipped the switch to turn off the altitude control, the plane beginning to wobble as soon as it was off. He fought the stick, struggling to hold it steady at ten thousand. He knew that they had to get down and soon, but under the best of circumstances, they were still forty-five minutes from Norfolk. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time out here. "Skates, get me the most direct route to Norfolk." Skates' fright was growing as she looked at the radar again, the screen now almost completely filled with storm cells. Once they were on the ground, she intended to have some words with the weather forecasters who'd said they were safe to fly – after she let Robert hold her for a while. "I'm looking at the mother of all storm cells, Harm," she said quickly. Harm caught the growing fear in her voice and forced himself to remain calm. If he could project a cool exterior, maybe Skates would feel more confident. "Well, we can't hop it," he pointed out. Their oxygen problem precluded that, even if he could control the plane enough to take it back up above the clouds. "We're low on oxygen." Skates was a little calmer when she told him, "We'll have to go around it before we can go back to 335 and Norfolk." Good, she sounded less uneasy. "How long?" he asked. "Groundspeed, five hundred knots," she reported, "estimate sixteen minutes on our present course." This pushed their flight time to Norfolk to over an hour. Harm realized that they were fast running out of options. Then it got worse, another light coming on. "Lost PC1," he reported. "Turn off the roll, pitch and yaw stabilization systems," she said, her voice rising. Okay, Beth, she told herself. Breathe. This is Harm, the best pilot you've flown with. He can get us out of this. But his next words and the tone of his voice did little to inspire her confidence. "Skates," he said, his voice louder as well, his words coming in a rush, "get us back on a direct track to Norfolk."

"Can't go straight through," she said, even as she wished that she could give him the report he wanted. "Change heading to 305. That way we'll skirt the cell." "Check with Oceana Center," he ordered. "Oceana Center, Navy 241," she said. "We are experiencing serious flight control problems." "Roger that, 241," Center replied. "Are you declaring an emergency?" "Not at this time, Center," he said, something he'd once told Mac coming to mind. Punching out is the last thing a pilot ever wants to do. As long as he was able to control the plane, he was determined to keep it in the air and make it to Norfolk. Then he and Skates could drive back to Washington and maybe someday this would be a story they'd tell their children. "Roger that," Center replied. "We copy. Negative radar contact. State position and altitude." Wonderful, Skates thought. On top of everything else, they don't know where we are and I don't either. "Position unknown," she reported, more calmly than she felt. "Approximately 200 nautical east southeast of Norfolk. Altitude ten thousand." "Roger. Can you return to the carrier?" Skates almost snorted. "You're closer, Center," she said firmly, her tone letting them know that option was absolutely out of the question. They didn't have the fuel. "What are your intentions?" Center asked. "To continue inbound to Norfolk," she replied, confident in Harm's ability to get them there. At least, as long as flight operations weren't shut down. "What is your weather, Center?" "Ceiling five thousand, visibility two miles," they reported back. "The weather is getting worse here, but we know you’re coming. We'll try to stay open as long as possible. We'll see you when you get here." "Roger that, Center," she said. "I'll hold you to that. Out." She flipped the radio switch to raise the Patrick Henry, static coming from the speakers. "City Desk, this is 241. We've lost PC1 and are experiencing flight control system problems. Over."

USS PATRICK HENRY APPROX 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK "Roger," the petty officer replied, glancing over his shoulder at the officer of the watch, who was hovering over his shoulder. The radio crackled with static. "What is your position?"

"Estimate our position at three eight three zero …." Skates voice broke off as static filled the air. "241, do you copy?" City Desk called. "241, do you copy?" The officer of the watch looked down at the radar screen as she ordered, "Try the transponder again." The petty officer flipped a switch, he and the commander staring at the radar screen full of storms, no sign of Navy 241. He looked back at her, his tone grim, "No IFF signal, Ma'am. They're off the scope." The commander immediately picked up the intercom and paged Captain Ingles, while the petty officer attempted to come up with a good estimate of 241's position. Within a couple of minutes, Ingles was there, pulling her aside. "Where are they?" he demanded. "Past two hundred fifty miles, Sir," she replied. "We've lost radar contact and IFF signal." "How'd this happen?" Ingles asked, his voice hard. He'd cleared them to take off, but only after he'd been assured that the bad weather would not be a concern. Ultimately, it was his responsibility that they were out there at all. And he was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously. "Storm moved faster than forecast, Sir," she said. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from satisfied with that answer, but it was the best she could offer him at the moment. He sighed. There would be time later to have a discussion with the weather forecasters. Right now, he had a bird to find. "Thank you, Commander," he said. "That will be all." "Aye, aye, Sir," she said smartly, turning on her heel to return to her duties. Ingles picked up the microphone for the intercom and called for the Air Boss. "Boss, this is the Captain," he said. "Assign air crews for search and rescue. Prepare to launch a Seahawk and a Viking on my signal." He hung the microphone back up and stared out the forward windows at the worsening storm, the rain pounding against the windows, mentally saying a prayer for the two officers lost out in the middle of it.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN APPROXIMATELY 200 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK Over the ocean, miles from the nearest solid ground, the fact that they'd lost contact with the carrier was the least of their concerns, even if they could have known that they weren't transmitting an IFF signal at all. Harm was fighting to keep the jet in the air while Skates' eyes were glued to the radar screen. "We've got nothing but storm cells around us," Skates reported.

"We're losing PC2," Harm said, his eyes on his panel, where another light was blinking at him. "Recheck Oceana weather." Skates switched the radio back to Oceana, but instead of the comforting voice of the radio controller at Center, she got a cold, mechanical recording. "This is Oceana metro. Reporting ceiling and visibility zero," the recording intoned. She uttered a soft 'Damn' under her breath. If their flight had been bad before, it had just gone to hell. "Field's closed," she told Harm, even though he'd heard the same recording she just had. "Check Pax River," Harm ordered, referring to the next closest field, but when she flipped the radio switch, they got an almost identical recording. "Closed," she said. She began calculating in her head. Andrews and Dover, the next available landing sites, were about the same distance away. They'd be critical on fuel with either choice, but heading for Dover, they'd have no choice but to turn north and fly right through the storms. There was no way to go around, not with their fuel level. Andrews had just become their best bet, assuming it was open. She switched the radio channel again, resisting the urge to cheer when she got Washington Center instead of a recording. "Washington Center, this is Navy 241, approximately 270 miles east southeast of Andrews at ten thousand. We are experiencing serious flight control problems heading for Norfolk. Norfolk, Pax River are closed. Requesting deviation to Andrews." "Deviation approved," Center replied. "Advise when 150 miles out." "Roger," Skates replied. "Harm …." The plane shuddered as it was stuck by lightning, Harm momentarily losing control. They inverted before he managed to fight the stick and turn the plane back upright. Then the lights went out in the cockpit, both Harm and Skates pulling out their flashlights so they could read their instruments. "Generators are out," Skates reported. "Reset." Skates pressed a button on her panel, but nothing happened. "Can't," she said, shaking her head. Harm studied his panel. They'd risen in altitude slightly, their altimeter reading thirteen thousand. But a difference of three thousand feet from where they should be was nothing compared to all their other problems. "We've lost the electronics," he said. "Switch to emergency IFF." Skates did so, reporting, "Squawking seven seven hundred. We've gone to four hundred knots." "We're going to have to fly straight through," Harm told her. "Harm," Skates countered, the fear creeping back into her voice, "that will put us in the middle of the biggest thunder bumper in the whole damn world."

"I'm flying it on trim as it is right now, Skates," he reminded her, his tone calmer than hers. He recognized that she was moving rapidly towards terrified and hoped that he could calm her again. "I don't know how much longer I can keep her in the air and now we've got to fly further than we were." Come on, Skates, she admonished herself. You've got a job to do. Harm can't do this by himself. "Check the wet compass to get our heading," she said. Harm lifted his flashlight, shining the light on the compass, the needle far from steady. "Best bet," he reported, "north northwest." "Come left twenty degrees," Skates instructed, "350 knots, ten thousand feet." Harm followed her directions, turning them to the left to try to get them pointed back in the direction they were supposed to be going, or as close to it as she could estimate.

USS PATRICK HENRY The petty officer manning the radio breathed a sigh of relief when a blip appeared on his screen from 241's emergency IFF, but it was tempered by the knowledge that they were surrounded by storms. "We have an emergency IFF signal, Ma'am," he reported. She immediately picked up the intercom and radioed Ingles. "Bridge, combat," she announced, "we have an emergency signal three hundred miles northwest, heading three four five." Ingles acknowledged the news impassively. "Roger that, Commander," he replied. "Keep me informed of any change in status." On the bridge, Ingles turned to the navigation officer. "Come right to course three four five," he ordered. "All engines ahead two-thirds." The navigation officer immediately turned to his petty officer and repeated the order. "Right standard rudder," he said. "Come right to course three four five. All engines ahead twothirds." "Aye, aye, Sir," the petty officer replied, executing the course change to carry them closer to 241's last reported position. The captain picked up the intercom again, calling air operations. "Air ops," he said, "notify FAA and the Coast Guard that we're commencing search and rescue operations and get the Air Boss and Paddles to meet me in CIC." "Aye, aye, Sir," the officer on duty in air ops replied. Ingles hung the microphone up and strode off the bridge heading towards CIC.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

Harm realized that he was losing control of the plane and that their chances of making Andrews were virtually zero. It was time to consider alternatives. "Skates, what's the nearest point of land?" "Cape Fear," she replied immediately, having already gone over the possibilities in her mind. It had helped distract her. "Estimate one hundred twenty miles due east." "We're at two seventy five indicated air speed," Harm reported. "Twenty five minutes flying time," Skates informed him after quickly calculating it in her head. It was still too far, Harm realized. He had to admit that they'd finally run out of options. Mac's face floated into his thoughts as he made his decision. He had faith that they'd make it. Skates had a fiancé waiting back in Washington for her, and he…. well, he might not quite have Mac, but things were definitely looking better on that score than they had just hours before. "We're going to have to punch out," he told her calmly. "We're at eight thousand," she reported. "When do we go?" "At five thousand," he replied. Skates broadcast a distress call over all channels, her voice shaky. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Navy 241, one hundred twenty miles east of Cape Fear." She adjusted her harness and called out to Harm, "Lock shoulder harness." "Locked." "Visor down," she continued. "Visor down." "Mask on," she said, locking her own mask into place on her helmet. "Mask on," Harm echoed, positioning his mask. "Lower seat." She dropped her seat into position while Harm did the same. "Check," he replied. "Passing seven," she reported. Just two thousand more feet. A matter of seconds in a Tomcat. When she spoke again, the reality of their situation was evident in her frightened tone. "Harm, I'm not a strong swimmer." About the only thing that was mildly comforting to her was that they had zero chance of crashing into the deck of a carrier. No chance of fire, no chance of being caught in the ship's screws. "Just remember your survival training," he said calmly.

"Harm, we're passing six," she told him, her voice still shaky. "Command ejection rear seat." She pulled the level to give her control over their ejection as she tried to tell herself that Harm was counting on her as much as she was counting on him. "Skates, we're going to get through this okay," he said reassuringly. "I'll see you down there. You have my word on it." Skates managed a small smile behind her mask. "You haven't let me down yet," she said, remembering again her crash and his rescue of her. For a brief instant, Harm was reminded of Mac and promises. Don't make a promise you can't keep. I haven't yet. He'd made a promise to Mac as well, one to return. Originally, it had been a promise that he'd return for her wedding, but once that was over, it had turned into a promise to return to her. And that was one promise that he'd move heaven and earth to keep. The plane shuddering beneath them, not responding to his control, Harm realized that they weren't going to make it to five thousand. "I've lost her, Skates," he called back to her. "Eject us now." "Position yourself," she instructed, crossing her arms over her chest while Harm did the same. "Good luck, Harm." She reached over and pulled the ejection handle, the canopy blowing, her seat following seconds later. "Damn it," Harm swore, his seat still firmly in place in the cockpit. "Eject." He reached down under the front of the seat and pulled the manual ejection handle, his seat finally firing. Seconds later, his chute opened, slowing his descent as the Tomcat dove into the ocean at over two hundred knots, shattering into pieces upon impact with the water.

`USS PATRICK HENRY Ingles was conferring with the officer of the watch, the Air Boss and Paddles in CIC, standing in front of a large electronic map of the ocean and East Coast of the United States. The officer of the watch was motioning towards the map. "This is their last known location," she reported. "They were at ten thousand feet." "All right," Ingles said, "describe an arc around here of fifty miles. That's where we'll start our search. Boss, notify the Coast Guard, FAA, and AIRLANT. I'm the on-scene commander." He was responsible for them being out there. It would be his responsibility to bring them home. "Aye, aye, Sir," the Air Boss replied. He turned to Paddles, who had been silent so far. "I want you to spearhead this in a Viking."

"Roger, Boss," Paddles replied, not waiting to be dismissed before turning to leave. He had things to do and not a lot of time to do them. He needed to be up in the air now. In a situation like this, every second counted. The Air Boss turned back to Ingles, who ordered, "As soon as they're ready, I want Paddles and the Seahawk in the air." "Aye, aye, Sir," he replied, turning on his heel to leave. Ingles stared out the window again, watching the rain pound against the glass. He picked up the intercom microphone and announced, "Captain Pike to the Captain's Ready Room." He left CIC, mentally preparing himself for the toughest duty, bar none, that any commander would ever have to perform and the one that every one prayed they'd never be called upon to do.

Once in his ready room, Ingles allowed himself a private moment in which the impassivity he wore like a mask slipped and he let his emotions show in his manner, his expression. Waiting for the CAG, he slowly paced the room. Twelve steps to the far wall, twelve back. And while he paced, he considered the two officers whose lives were depending on what he did this night. He'd had his run-ins with both of them over the mishap which had led to Skates' courtmartial. He'd been so sure he'd been doing the right thing, bringing charges against her. A pilot and RIO could have lost their lives that night. But although he would never admit it, even he'd been impressed by Skates' testimony, when she'd offered to resign. It had reminded him of a story he'd once heard of a CAG facing court-martial who'd testified that when the day came when he felt he could no longer serve the Navy he loved, they wouldn't have to ask for his resignation because he would tender it himself without hesitation. Skates had eventually been acquitted and had returned to duty on the Patrick Henry. Many captains, despite her acquittal, might have transferred her off their ship, but he'd given her another chance, his silent way of saying that he may have been wrong. And she'd made the most of it. He was truly sorry that they were going to lose her to shore duty when she got married. During the court-martial, Harm had been Skates' lawyer, so he'd been the enemy in Ingles' eyes. It didn't matter that he'd spent six months flying off the Patrick Henry previously, earning his second Distinguished Flying Cross. All that mattered was that the pilot-turnedlawyer-turned-pilot-turned-lawyer was a very prickly thorn in his side. Later, he'd admitted to himself that if their positions had been reversed, he probably would have behaved the same way Harm had. He'd just been doing his job. He was tenacious, whether in the courtroom or in the air. He'd shown that earlier today. He might have started out a bit shaky – although it appeared Paddles had been just a little late with the wave off – but he'd shaken it off to nail his next four landing attempts, posting the highest scores of all the pilots flying their quals. He stopped in mid-step as Captain Pike stepped into the Ready Room. Ingles was gratified to note that he was carrying a couple of folders with him, which he presumed held contact information for Harm and Skates. He sat down at the table, motioning to Pike to take a seat as

well. "We've lost contact with 241," Ingles said without preamble. "They dropped down to ten thousand because of a low oxygen light and ran right into that storm out there. They suffered at least one lightning strike and subsequent systems failures, according to controllers at Norfolk. We think they've gone down a little more than halfway between here and Norfolk. We lost radio contact, then a few minutes later picked up an emergency IFF signal, then lost that, too. The last voice contact with 241 was reported by Washington Center. It was a mayday, right around the time we lost the emergency IFF." "Rabb's a good pilot," Pike said. "If anyone could have held that bird long enough for them to eject, it's him." Ingles nodded slowly. "I know," he said. "We're getting ready to launch a Seahawk and a Viking piloted by Paddles towards where we think they went down." Pike handed over the folders he’d brought with him over to Ingles. "I suspected what is going on when you called for SAR," he explained. "I knew Hammer and Skates were the only ones still in the air at this point, so I went ahead and pulled these." Ingles sighed heavily as he opened Skates' folder, perusing her emergency contact information. "Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake," he read. "Her fiancé?" "Yes," Pike replied. "They're getting married in five weeks." "Damn," Ingles whispered. Anyone who ever made command rank prayed that he or she would never have to utter or write the words 'We regret to inform you ….' Those words gave even the most battle-hardened veteran pause. He picked up the phone and requested a ship to shore line from communications. In less than a minute, the line was ringing as the connection was made. He glanced at his watch, which he kept set to the time in Norfolk, the Patrick Henry's home base. The joke between him and his wife was that she wanted him to always know the time where she was, so he didn't try to call home too early or too late. It was just past 2330 hours on the east coast, so he wasn't ready to give up even after the phone rang several times. Since it was late and he was probably expecting his fiancée to arrive in the morning, the man was likely in bed. Finally, the phone was picked up after the fifth ring. "'lo?" the sleepy voice asked. "Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake?" Ingles asked. In his quarters at the Washington Naval Yard, Robert Drake sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake. He'd been in the Navy long enough to recognize the voice of someone in command when he heard it and hearing such a voice in the middle of the night was never a good thing. "Yes, Sir," he replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. He climbed out of bed and went to his closet, pulling out a neatly hung summer white uniform. "This is Captain Tobias Ingles from the Patrick Henry," Ingles said. Robert froze, the hanger he held slipping from his hand, his uniform landing in a puddle of fabric on the floor. He'd expected the call to be from someone on base, reporting that there was some kind of accident

or incident requiring him to speak to the media in his capacity as the base public affairs officer. He'd never imagined that the call would be about Beth. She should have been sound asleep in her bunk on the ship, resting up before taking a helo to Washington in the morning. "Lieutenant Hawkes was on her way to Norfolk when contact was lost with the Tomcat in which she was flying approximately 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We're launching search and rescue teams as we speak." "What was Beth doing in a Tomcat?" Robert asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He glanced through his curtains, watching the rain fall outside the window. He loved the rain – it was something he and Beth had in common. They loved taking walks in the rain. Now she was out in it, fighting for her life. "She was supposed to be taking a helo back in the morning." "One of our pilots was flying to Norfolk then driving on to Washington tonight," Ingles replied. "Lieutenant Hawkes was given permission to fly with him rather than wait until morning to leave. They dropped down in altitude because of a low oxygen light and ran into a storm that had moved directly into their flight path faster than expected. Commander Rabb tried to keep the Tomcat in the air, but they suffered multiple systems failures and at least one lighting strike from what we've been able to find out from Oceana Center." "Commander Rabb was the pilot?" Robert asked. He'd heard Beth speak often of the man, who almost sounded like he could walk on water from her description. If he were the jealous type, he might have a problem with her close friendship and obvious admiration of the man. But she'd introduced the two after her court-martial and Robert knew that if the man was as good in the air as he’d demonstrated he was in the courtroom, then she stood a fighting chance. But that confidence was tempered by the knowledge that Beth was not that good a swimmer. Previously, he'd teased her about that, a sailor not being a proficient swimmer. Suddenly, it was not funny at all. "Yes, he was," Ingles confirmed. "She's in good hands out there." "I concur," he replied softly. "From what Beth's told me, he's the best she's seen." He bent down and picked up his white uniform, hanging it back in the closet, making sure it was hung neatly, just to keep his hands busy. He then pulled out another hanger, this one holding a khaki uniform. "Sir, I would like to come out to the Henry. I'd like to be there when Beth is rescued." "Commander, nothing's coming out to this ship tonight," Ingles pointed out. "We've already lost one aircraft to this storm. The only vehicles going anywhere will be the search and rescue craft." "Sir, I need ….” Robert began. "However," Ingles continued, as if Robert hadn't spoken, "there is a helo that flies out here from Norfolk every morning. Obviously, if the weather is still bad, the flight will be cancelled. But if it flies, there should be room for a passenger." Maybe not quite standard operating procedure, but Commander Drake was Navy. He would know to stay out of the way of the ship's crew while they did their jobs. And maybe Ingles felt he owed Skates this small consideration.

"I'll leave for Norfolk as soon as I can throw some things in a bag," he said quickly. "Thank you, Sir." "If there's any news before you fly out, we'll contact the terminal at the airfield in Norfolk," Ingles assured him. "Thank you, Sir," he said gratefully. "I …. um, I appreciate this. Just …. do everything you can, Captain." "We are doing everything to rescue them," Ingles stressed. "I know," Robert whispered. "Thank you again, Sir." He clicked off the phone, not caring if the captain might find that rude, letting the handset slip from his hand to fall to the floor. Clutching his uniform in his hands, he sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes falling on a picture of Beth sitting on his night stand. He reached over and picked it up, his eyes moving over her smiling face. It had been taken during their last leave together, when they'd spent a few days up at Martha's Vineyard. That had been the weekend they'd finally set a date for their wedding. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered in prayer, "God, just bring her home safe. Please just keep her safe and bring her home."

CHEGWIDDEN RESIDENCE MCLEAN, VIRGINIA AJ was wide awake and sitting up in bed before the phone had finished ringing the first time. It was a skill honed during over thirty years in the Navy. When the phone rang in the middle of the night, there wasn't time to slowly wake up, to allow whatever news was being imparted by the person on the other end to sink in. So he'd learned to awaken in an instant. A person speaking to him after waking him up in the depths of the night would swear he'd been wide awake already when the phone rang. He picked up the phone on the second ring. "Admiral Chegwidden," he said. "Admiral, this is Captain Ingles from the Patrick Henry," Ingles said. A.J.’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was about to hear, knowing there was only one reason why the other man would be calling now. He closed his eyes as the other man continued, "Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes were flying a Tomcat to Norfolk when they experienced flight control problems and they flew into a storm that had moved faster than forecast. Contact was lost with them about 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We've launched SAR towards their last reported position." "Understood," A.J. said, pushing back the bed covers with his free hand, already planning what he needed to do. "I'll head into JAG. You can contact me there when you have news. I assume you'll handle contacting the Commander's family?" "Actually, the Commander's emergency contact information lists only you and Colonel Mackenzie," Ingles said. "I don't have information for any members of his family."

"Colonel Mackenzie?" AJ muses, wondering why she would be down as an emergency contact. Suddenly, he remembered. Harm had put her down as a contact just before he'd gone to Russia the first time, before AJ had made the decision to send Mac with him. He must have never changed it. He didn't envy Ingles the job of telling Mac that her best friend was missing, although a part of him considered suggesting that he contact her, but he knew that Ingles would consider it his duty to do so. It was only lack of information preventing the captain from calling the Burnetts or Harm's grandmother. "That's okay, I remember. I believe we have contact information for the Commander's parents and grandmother in his personnel folder at JAG." "Admiral, the weather is nasty out here," Ingles informed him, his voice tinged with regret. He wanted to make sure AJ was fully aware of just how dire the situation was. He figured the ex-SEAL would not want it sugar-coated for his benefit. "I may have to pull the SAR team if it doesn't let up." "Understood," AJ said, intellectually knowing that Ingles had to take into account the safety of the men and women tasked with trying to find Harm and Skates. It didn't mean he had to like it. "Keep me informed." "I will, Admiral," Ingles replied. Without another word, Ingles disconnected. AJ stared at the phone for a long moment, pondering how to proceed. He'd never thought he'd face a situation like this again, having to inform family, friends and co-workers that someone close to them was missing. He thought he'd seen the last of that when he'd left the SEALs, then left Surface Warfare for JAG. Being a lawyer had to be about as close as you could get to a safe occupational specialty in the military – unless your name happened to be Rabb or Mackenzie. He smiled grimly as he remembered the last time he'd faced a situation similar to this, when Harm and Mac had been reported dead after crashing a MiG-29 into a lake in Siberia. Of course, that time he'd known that there had been more to the story and he'd moved heaven and earth to find them. Then, there had been something he could do. Now, there were no bad guys lying through their teeth, no hope that this was just some sick joke. Harm and his RIO really were lost in the middle of an angry, dark, storm-tossed sea. Colonel, the Commander is too damn pig-headed to leave this world. God. How is Mac going to react, he wondered Right now, Captain Ingles was probably talking to her, telling her that her best friend was in danger. Tomorrow – no, today, he corrected himself, glancing at his alarm clock – should have been the happiest day of her life. And now …. he shook his head. He'd stopped long ago trying to figure out that tangled web and it hardly mattered now. All that mattered was that he be there for his people as they waited and prayed for one of their own. It was an unspoken law of command – never get too close to your subordinates. But somehow during the last five years, the people at JAG had managed to become like a family, with him as its head and, although the gruff Admiral would never admit it aloud, he wouldn't have it any other way. Sighing, he clicked on the phone and hit speed dial four, wondering how to tell two people who'd already endured more than their share of tragedy during the last few months the news about a man who was probably like a brother to them. Then maybe when that was done, he could figure out how to start telling everyone else.

MAC'S APARTMENT Mac jerked awake as a loud banging invaded her sleep filled consciousness. She ran a hand through her hair, and then rubbed the sleep from her eyes, praying that it wasn't Mic. She hadn't been able to get a hold of him yet and with every hour that passed, bringing the wedding closer, the knot in the pit of her stomach grew larger. She'd wanted to get it over with, to feel the weight lift from her shoulders. But not now. Filled with apprehension, she grabbed her robe from the closet and pulled it on, knotting the belt around her waist as she walked to the door. She glanced through the peephole, gasping with surprise when she saw who was on the other side. With a wide smile, she threw the door open. "Harm!" she exclaimed, his mouth coming down on hers before she could say more. His arms went around her, holding her tight against him as he moved her back towards the bedroom. "I thought you were going to talk to Renee first." She managed to stutter between dazzling kisses which were igniting a fire that was spreading its liquid warmth throughout her body. "I couldn't stay away," he whispered, his mouth leaving hers to press light kisses along her jaw. "I …." His voice trailed off as his lips moved lower, down her neck and over her chest, his tongue dipping in the valley between her breasts. "I'm glad," she replied, moving her hands between them to tug down the zipper of his flight suit, the fabric parting to reveal the white t-shirt he wore underneath. She ran her hands over him, her fingers finding and circling around his nipples, working them into hard peaks. "I thought we'd need space, but I wouldn't have been able to stay away either." His hands weren't idle either, pulling on the tie at her waist, her robe falling open. He looked down and smiled when he recognized the nightgown she was wearing. He trailed a finger along the top edge of the bodice, her breasts tingling from his light touch. "You know how many fantasies I've had about you in this nightgown?" he muses. She smiled slyly, letting her robe fall from her shoulders, turning around slowly as he looked his fill, reveling in his admiring gaze. When she finished her revolution, her hands went to his shoulders, pushing the top of his flight suit off. "You'll have to fill me in sometime," she told him in a husky whisper. "I want to hear all about your fantasies." "Later," he countered, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. He stood again long enough to remove his flight suit and the rest of his clothes. Mac started to lift her gown over her head, but Harm put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Leave it." "Those must have been some fantasies," she teased as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap, pushing the skirt of her gown out of the way, bringing their bodies in intimate contact. She rubbed her aching, tingling sex against his hard cock, delighting in his harsh groan. Grasping her hips, he lifted her up and slowly pushed into her welcoming heat. 'It's better ….

than I remember," she gasped, tossing her head back as he filled her. He leaned forward, the tip of his tongue tracing a path down her throat. "Oh, Harm …. " Harm cupped the back of her head, lifting her up to meet his gaze. "God, Sarah," he whispered, his tone tortured, "I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before, but I love you …."

"I love you, too, Harm," Mac murmured in her sleep, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow, caught up in the explicit dream she was having. "I tried so hard to convince myself that I didn't, that I loved Mic instead, but I can't do it anymore."

Commander Mackenzie strode the deck of the Somers with firm, measured steps, nothing of his thoughts showing in his expression. Nearly the entire crew was gathered on the deck, watching the proceedings with fearful eyes. But for the grace of God, any one of them could have been up there, a rope around his neck, about to be hung as a mutineer. Those who had heard whispers and had secretly applauded the proposed action thanked Heaven that they hadn't gone further and offered their support. Those who staunchly supported the captain knew that an example had to be made of these men lest others try the same thing. A few fair minded sailors wished that the accused had been held until they docked, where Naval authorities could handle their punishment, but they didn't dare speak out or it might be their necks in a noose. Mackenzie stopped in front of each man, forgiving them their transgressions as he personally pulled a black hood over each man's head. First, the son of the Secretary of War, the mastermind – if such a word could be applied to the nervous Spencer – of the plot to take over the ship. Then Seaman Jacobs, a conscript who rumor said wanted nothing more than to get off the Somers through whatever means. He was about to get his wish, although in a manner that he’d probably never considered. Finally, Chief Burnett, a veteran Navy man for whom the evidence was mostly circumstantial. But it was his involvement in the mutiny which bothered the captain the most. He was the highest ranking enlisted man on the boat, a sailor to whom just about every enlisted man looked up. If his involvement had been more overt, Mackenzie knew he wouldn't have stood a chance of putting down the mutiny. While Burnett might have been only peripherally involved, in a way his death was the most necessary to send a message to the rest of the crew. Mackenzie's cold eyes swept over the mutineers one final time before he lifted his arm, prepared to give the signal to the men manning the rope which would snuff out three lives. His eyes remaining on the condemned men, he brought his arm down, ordering, "Pull!" With grunts and groans, the sailors pulled the rope, lifting the three men off the deck, legs kicking as they fought. Jacobs even lifted his hands, clawing at the rope tightening around his throat. Mackenzie watched impassively as the three men kicked and jerked, then one by one their bodies spasmed, and then all was still ….

"Harm!" Mac screamed, her eyes snapping open, gasping for breath as Harm must have done in her dream. No, not Harm, she told herself. Just someone who looked like him. Right, she chided herself. Someone who looked amazingly like Harm being put to death by a tyrannical Naval commander who could have been Mic's twin? Suddenly, Mac started laughing, realizing how ridiculous the dream was. Mic wasn't like that. He would not be happy to have the wedding called off and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he would blame Harm to some degree. But Mic wasn't a murderer. It was simply stress, she decided. Mic hadn't called, so she still had the specter of the wedding hanging over her head. She was facing an unknown future, having given up the guarantee of a home and family with Mic for the uncertainty of trying to build a relationship with Harm. She no longer drank her way to oblivion to escape her life, so her mind was searching for other ways to hide from all the pain she knew today would bring. With a shaky laugh, she rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to go back to sleep. She figured the time and guessed that Harm would be landing in Norfolk about now. Recalling her earlier dream, she smiled. Maybe dreams could come true, she told herself. Maybe she'd wake up in a few hours to find Harm on her doorstep. Smiling at the thought, she tried to focus her mind on the first dream, but her train of thought was broken by the ringing of the phone. She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to mentally prepare herself to tell Mic her decision. She let the phone ring two more times before she picked it up, knowing that there was no way to fully prepare for what she had to say. "Hello?" she said nervously. "Colonel Mackenzie, this is Captain Ingles," Ingles said, causing Mac to freeze. She almost wished it had been Mic, knowing that there was only one reason why the captain of the Patrick Henry would be calling her in the middle of the night. "What happened to Harm?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady, her fingers tightening around the phone. She would not lose it, she told herself. She had to be strong. "Contact was lost with Commander Rabb's Tomcat about two hundred miles east southeast of Norfolk," he told her. "We've launched a Seahawk and Viking as part of a search and rescue operation." "What happened?" she asked. Russia flashed in her mind. At least when they'd had to punch out, they'd managed to come down on solid ground rather than in the lake. But Harm was out over the ocean, miles away from land. "Why did he go down?" "From what we've found out from Oceana Center, they had an oxygen problem and were forced to descend to ten thousand," he explained. "They flew right into a number of thunderstorms and suffered more systems failures." "I thought the weather was supposed to be clear in their flight path?" she demanded. She'd been worried about Harm, tired from his flight, driving from Norfolk to Washington. It had never occurred to her to worry about the flight itself.

"The weather forecast was wrong," he said simply. Mac laughed bitterly. "That's usually supposed to be a joke, saying that the weather forecasters got it wrong," she retorted. She uttered a few colorful oaths in Farsi under her breath. "Colonel, we are doing everything we can to find Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes," he tried to assure her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, realizing that she was close to losing it. Harm will get through this, she said to herself, repeating it like a mantra. If she said it enough times, maybe she'd convince herself enough to hold it together until he was found. "Captain, if they went down in bad weather, what about search and rescue?" she asked. "Are they going to have problems because of the weather?" Ingles hesitated for a moment, before deciding that the Marine he was talking to would not want him to soften the truth. "The weather is a concern," he told her. "We have a low ceiling and twenty foot swells, but we will stay out there as long as we can keep the rescue craft in the air. No one here is giving up on Rabb and Hawkes." Forcing back tears, Mac said, "Thank you for being straight with me, Sir." Why now? She finally had a chance with Harm and now this. She stared down at the bedspread, tracing random patterns on top of it with a finger while she struggled to figure out what to say next. It came to her and she steeled herself for an argument. She had to tell Harm …. He just had to know. "Captain, I'd like to come out to the Patrick Henry." Her eyes widened in surprise when, instead of the fight she'd been expecting, she got his agreement. "Lieutenant Hawkes' fiancé made the same request when I called him a few minutes ago," he revealed. "Nothing is certain because of the weather, but there is a helo scheduled from Norfolk in the morning. If it goes, a seat on the flight is yours." She nodded before realizing that Ingles couldn't see the gesture. "Thank you, Sir," she said gratefully. "I'll throw a few things in a bag and leave for Norfolk within the hour." "If there is any news, I will contact the terminal at Norfolk and leave a message for you and Commander Drake," he told her. "Colonel, we will find them." He sounded so confident that Mac wished she could borrow some of that for herself. Not that she doubted Harm's survival skills. Far from it. They'd been through enough life and death situations together that she had no doubts about that, at least the Marine in her didn't. The woman in her, however, was terrified and wouldn't rest easy until she could see him alive and well, until she could hold him in her arms. "Thank you, Captain," she said softly before clicking off the phone. She set the phone back on the nightstand. She wanted to shake, needed to scream about the unfairness of it all, desired to give free reign to the tears she was currently holding at bay. But she couldn't. There was too much to do. Forcing back her emotions, she jumped from the bed and grabbed her overnight bag, throwing things in it automatically, knowing how and what to pack through years of practice.

While she packed, she considered who to contact. She wanted to call Chloe, hear her youthful optimism that everything would be fine. Maybe Bud and Harriet could remind her again of all the dire situations that Harm had faced before and had come through just fine. But she was afraid that any one of them might try to talk her out of going to the Patrick Henry and she wasn't about to be dissuaded. She didn't really want to talk to him right now, but she knew she needed to call Mic. He had to be home by now and she owed it to him to not let any more time pass before he was told of her decision. With a heavy sigh, she stopped her packing and picked up the phone, dialing Mic's number. In his apartment, he lay sprawled face down across his bed, where he'd thrown himself after Alan and Bud had driven him home, too drunk to be bothered by the ringing phone. When Mac got the answering machine, she hung up without leaving a message, pushing thoughts of Mic from her mind. How or when he would find out had just become the least of her worries. What did a wedding, a cancelled one at that, matter when Harm was out on the ocean somewhere, fighting for his life? She returned to her packing, stripping off her nightgown and folding it, laying it on top before zipping her bag up. Leave the lingerie at home this time. "Not this time," she said aloud, managing a half-hearted smile at the memory. Maybe it was crazy, but that nightgown, the one she'd worn in Russia, carried with it some very fond memories. If nothing else, it could remind her while she waited for news. Quickly, she dressed in her uniform and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to bring some semblance of order to it, glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. God, look at me, she thought. Harm's missing and I'm worried about how I look. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away. She turned away from the mirror and went to her nightstand, opening the drawer and withdrawing Harm's letter and his wings. Clutching the wings in her hand, she promised herself that as soon as she saw him, she'd return his wings. Harm had shown her that flying wasn't more important than her by giving them to her, so she'd pin them back on his uniform to show that she wasn't threatened by his need to fly. Oddly calmed by the thought, she carried her bag, the letter and wings to the living room. She set the bag on the couch, stashing the letter in a side pocket of her bag, keeping the wings with her. She went over to her desk and booted up her laptop so she could send a message to the Admiral. Technically, she was on leave for the next two weeks, but she needed to tell him something, especially if he ended up getting caught up in the fallout from what she was about to do. While she waited for the computer to come up, she retrieved Harm's flight jacket from the closet and pulled it on. Even though she'd had it for two days, she could still detect a faint whiff of his aftershave. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining that it was his arms around her, holding her tight, his scent invading her senses. She wondered if she closed her eyes, if she would see him standing there.

Finally, she heard the musical tones that signaled that Windows was coming up. Sitting down at her desk, she forced herself not to fidget while Windows finished loading. Once it was up, she opened her e-mail program and composed a message to AJ. To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: FYI Admiral, I'm sure you've already heard about Harm's crash. Captain Ingles called me – I guess Harm never took me off his emergency contact list. I asked that I be allowed to go out to the carrier and he agreed that Skates' fiancé and I could come out on the morning helo, provided the weather clears. I need to be there when they find Harm. I'm sorry to tell you like this, but honestly I didn't want to take the chance that you would try to talk me out of this. I have to do this. I know that this will cause a lot of problems for some people and there is a lot of stuff going on that no one knows about yet and this is not the time to get into all that. I did try to contact Mic, but he's either still not home or not answering his phone. If he asks questions – and I'm sure he will – you can tell him whatever you feel you need to. I know that I will have to deal with him eventually, but I can't right now. Right now, my primary concern is Harm. She read over the message. It felt incomplete, but she wasn't sure what else to say. She hated dumping her problems with Mic in her friends' laps, but she didn't have a choice. With a heavy sigh, she signed off on the message and sent it, her e-mail program set to automatically dial her internet service, in this case the remote access to the JAG server. Once the message was sent, she powered off her laptop and leaned back in her chair, deep in thought, trying to figure out if there was anything else she had to do before leaving for Norfolk. She practically jumped out of her chair and went over to the bookcase, pulling off the shelf the photo album which had so fascinated Chloe two days earlier. She would have several hours' wait ahead of her in Norfolk, maybe more if the weather didn't clear. She would look through the album, remember everything she and Harm had shared, and remind herself that Harm was first and foremost a survivor. And he would survive this. She refused to believe anything different. THE ROBERTS' RESIDENCE ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA Harriet lay curled up against Bud's side, too keyed up sleep. The last time she'd felt this anxious had been the night before her own wedding, when she'd had doubts about her own future after watching her fiancé be led out of a strip club in handcuffs. But this was her best friend's wedding – or was supposed to have been. She should have been the one offering comfort to a harried bride, not trapped by wakefulness, wondering what tomorrow would bring. She was worried – not so much about Mac. When she'd left Mac's place earlier, it had amazed her how well Mac had been holding it together. Oh, she’d been worried about telling

Mic and how he would react, but she'd sounded so sure about the decision itself. It was about time Mac sounded sure about something, she admitted. It was the fallout that concerned Harriet. Mic had thrown himself, heart and soul, into the idea of marrying Sarah Mackenzie and she wasn't sure how he was going to react to having his dreams shattered just hours before they were to come true. She didn't think he would turn violent, at least not towards Mac. But Harm …. Harriet knew from Bud what had happened in Sydney, how Harm and Mic had beaten each other black and blue. Ostensibly, the fight had been ordered by the Admiral as punishment for breaking Bud's jaw, but Bud had admitted – in not so many words – that the fight had really been about other things. She knew that Mac did care about Mic and that it was hurting her to hurt him, but if he became angry and turned that anger towards Harm, Harriet wasn't sure what would happen, how Mac would react. She studied her husband for a moment, marveling at how simple her life was by comparison. Sure, she and Bud had experienced more tragedy than she'd ever thought they would, but they'd held onto their love for each other, and their love for their son, and it had seen them through. After they'd managed to survive the death of their daughter together, she was confident that she and Bud could get through anything as long as they had each other. To her, that was what love boiled down to – being there for each other, supporting each other, bolstering each other's spirits. She didn't think she could ever understand how Mac had come so close to marrying a man whom she didn't have those feelings for and whom she suspected was not that completely devoted to her. She didn't doubt Mic loved Mac, but sometimes it concerned her that his love was a bit on the possessive side. The office gossips had been working overtime after Mac had publicly called Mic on calling her his fiancée in People Magazine. She hadn't really thought about it too much at the time – it had happened just before baby Sarah had been born and died – but it seemed so obvious now that things had hardly been right in that relationship. Hell, she thought, it should have been obvious from the fact that Mac kept that ring on her right hand for ten months. Then when Mac and Harm had been in the Barents Sea, you would have thought they were on the verge of carrying on a mad, passionate affair the way both Mic and Renee had been obsessing about it, despite the fact that they were on two different submarines. And Bud had told her about how Mic had blindsided Mac – Harriet couldn't think of another word to describe what he'd done – with the fact that he'd started his own law firm which specialized in defending people accused of crimes by the military. She couldn't imagine Bud ever doing something like that to her – or Harm doing that to Mac. But Harm and Mac …. they already had been there for each other, so many times. Harriet could lay awake all night and probably not remember all the stories about all the times they'd stood by each other, protected each other, and supported each other. She wondered why she hadn't thought about all this before, about the possibility that Mac was planning to marry the wrong man. It now occurred to her that the day in the office when Harriet had first noticed that the ring had moved that she'd been happier than the soon-to-be bride. Harriet had shown off her ring to everyone at the office immediately after Bud had slipped it on her finger. Mac had seemed like she was almost hoping no one would notice it, especially Harm, whom Harriet now realized had looked like he'd been punch in the gut when he'd first seen the diamond sparkling on her left hand. How could she not have seen it? How could they all have been so blind? Harm and Mac seemed to notice everything about her and Bud's relationship. Why couldn't they have done the same? Harriet jumped slightly, startled from her thoughts by the ringing of the phone. Bud stirred

slightly against her. "Go back to sleep," she encouraged him, knowing that he'd had a little too much to drink at the bachelor party for a wedding which would now never happen. "I'll get it." She reached over him for the phone, wondering who would be calling them in the middle of the night. She hoped nothing was wrong with her parents or with Mikey out on the Wake Island …. or even with her father-in-law. She did not like the man – or the way he treated his sons – but he’d come through for Mikey in Mexico and even Bud, who hardly ever talked about his father, had expressed gratitude for his help. "Hello," she said hesitantly into the phone. "Harriet, um, it's Admiral Chegwidden," A.J. said. As much as he did not want to pass this news on to either of them, he'd been hoping to get Bud, wanted to tell him first so that Bud could hold his wife and comfort her as he told her the news about their friend. He didn't know how to tell Harriet, didn't know if he could take her reaction. Then again, he thought, remembering finding Bud in the darkened JAG building the night baby Sarah had died, he didn't know how he could be the one to bring either of them such news. He'd watched both of them grow so much in the nearly five years he'd known them and he couldn’t care for them more if they were his flesh and blood. "Admiral?" Harriet echoed, surprised by his use of her first name. Although it was rare, they'd been woken up in the middle of the night before for JAG business. But it was usually either Harm or Mac calling. But Harm was still on his way back from the Patrick Henry and Mac was supposed to be on leave for the next two weeks – at least of far as the Admiral probably knew. "I suppose you need to speak to Bud." A.J. sighed heavily, shaking his head, even though she couldn't see the gesture. "No," he said quietly, surprising Harriet even more with the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. The last time she'd heard him sound like that had been when Sarah …. when he'd tried to comfort them at the funeral …. Oh, God. She shook her head, rubbing her hand over her stomach, trying to dispel the knot tightening there. "Since I've got you on the phone, I will tell you." He paused to gather his thoughts, something she couldn't recall him doing before – he was always so confident, so sure – and the feeling of dread grew, threatening to overwhelm her. "Sir?" she ask hesitantly, becoming even more sure that she did not want to hear what he was about to say. "Um, Commander Rabb was flying back to Norfolk when his Tomcat went down in a storm about a hundred miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina," he told her as calmly as he could, knowing no other way to break the news than to just get it out and over with, barely keeping his own emotions in check. "No," Harriet whispered brokenly, the phone slipping from her hand. She shook her head, praying that she'd wake up and find out this was all a horrible nightmare. "No, no, no, NO!" "Harriet?" Bud asked sleepily, half awake as he'd listened to her side of the conversation. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gathering her into his arms. "Honey?" Harriet shook her head, tears falling freely as she pressed her face against his chest, gripping his shoulders tightly as if holding on for dear life. Bud noticed the phone lying between them

and, one hand running soothingly up and down her back, he picked up the phone. "Admiral Chegwidden?" he asked, confused, having heard Harriet greet him by rank earlier. "Bud," A.J. began. Bud found himself suddenly fully awake at the sound of his name, dreading what he was about to hear, what had upset Harriet so much. "Commander Rabb went down in a storm on his way back to Norfolk." "Commander Rabb?" Bud whispered, incredulous. He hesitated, afraid to ask the question he most dreaded the answer to, but the one he most needed to hear. "Is he ….?” A.J. knew instantly what Bud was trying to ask. It was the one question he dreaded the answer to himself. "We, um, don't know yet," he replied. "I spoke to the skipper of the Patrick Henry and he said they're launching SAR aircraft towards their last known position. I'm on my way into JAG to wait for word." "We'll be there in about half an hour," Bud said emphatically, almost daring his superior to suggest otherwise, "um, Sir." A.J. didn't even try to dissuade him, to suggest that they try to get some sleep and that he would contact them when there was word. He could admit only to himself that, as much as they wanted to be at JAG to wait, he needed them to be there. "The night guard can let you in if I'm not there yet," he said. Bud's eyes widened as something occurred to him. "Sir, have you called the Colonel yet?" he asked, wondering how she was taking the news. "Captain Ingles called her personally," he answered. "Apparently, she's still listed one of the Commander's emergency contacts. I haven't spoken to her yet myself." "Okay," Bud said, not knowing what else to say. He did not envy the person who had to break this news to her. What was worse, actually watching someone you loved slip away from you or hearing it second-hand and wishing that you could have been there to do something, as if your presence might have made a difference? "Bud, the Commander …. Harm will make it through this," A.J. said with a confidence he wasn't entirely sure he felt. Sure the man had the devil's own luck, but how long until that luck ran out? "Thank you, Sir," Bud replied softly, not quite sure he could believe that, but needing the reassurance nonetheless. Neither man knowing what else to say, they hung up. Bud dropped the phone back onto the bed and wrapped his other arm around his wife, burying his face in her hair, unable to stop the tears from falling. He hadn't felt this lost, this helpless since Sarah. Suddenly, Harriet pulled away, her eyes wide. "Oh, my God," she exclaimed. "The Colonel …. Mac …. what is she going to do, say after everything that's going on …?" "Harriet!" Bud nearly shouted, incredulous. He stared at her as if he didn't recognize her. "How can you even be worried about the wedding now? Commander Rabb is missing, maybe even …. " he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

"No, Bud," she countered, gripping his arms. "You don't understand. The Colonel …. Mac, she's been trying to get a hold of Mic. Bud, she is going to call off the wedding. She doesn't love Mic. She's in love with someone else!" Bud stared at her for a moment before understanding dawned. Everything he'd ever suspected about the often-convoluted relationship between his friends suddenly crystallized into truth. Harriet explained hurriedly, her voice trembling, "Tonight, I went over to her apartment and he called to tell her that he was on his way home for the wedding, but she told him that she was going to call the wedding off. They, um …. " Harriet hesitated, not sure if she could tell even her husband just exactly what had transpired in the last few days. She decided to gloss over that part. "Let's just say they decided that they couldn't ignore certain things anymore. Bud, he was coming home to her and now …." Her voice broke and he pulled her against him again, his own tears falling, his heart breaking for his friends. "Bud, how could this happen? How can fate be so cruel?" "I wish I knew, baby," he whispered brokenly, unable to answer the questions any more now than he had the first time she'd asked them, several months earlier. "I wish to God I knew." Harriet broke away again, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "We have to go over there," she said, climbing from the bed and going over to the dresser. She opened a drawer and pulled out some sweats, tossing a pair to Bud. "We need to be there for her, the way she was there for us ….” She broke off, pressing her palms against the top of the dresser. Bud got up and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that he could barely hear her. "Bud, do you believe in guardian angels?" she asked. "Maybe," he replied uncertainly, "I don't know. I don't know what I believe anymore, not since …. " "I know," she agreed, turning around in his arms, resting her hands on his chest. "But maybe if there are, our little girl is one and she can look out for her godfather and guide him home to everyone who loves him." "I hope so," he said, smiling wanly. He picked up her sweats off the dresser and handed them back to her. "Get dressed. We'll go over to the Colonel's before we head to JAG. Now, she needs to know that her friends love her and are there to support her." Harriet managed a half-smile of her own as she nodded. "Bud," she said as he started to turn back to the bed to get dressed. He stopped and looked back at her. "I love you." "And I love you, honey," he returned. He wanted to say more, wanted to assure her that it would all work out, but if there was nothing else he was sure of in this situation, it was that there was no way he could offer such comfort.

HARM'S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION

The door slowly opened, the dim light from the hallway casting very little brightness into the dark apartment. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the familiar scene as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. If she closed her eyes and believed hard enough, maybe she would open her eyes and find out this had all been a nightmare and that he was there with his familiar grin. Biting her trembling lower lip, she reached to her right and flipped the switch, lighting the empty apartment. Pushing the door closed behind her, she wandered the room, caught up in all the memories …. What do you call this décor? Priority. Finishing my apartment is low on the list. She stopped at the bookcase, picking up the same photo which had sat there the first day she'd entered the apartment, her fingers tracing the form of the smiling, carefree young boy who had eventually grown into the driven man who'd managed to worm his way into her heart, in spite of all the barriers she'd erected around her heart. She fought back tears as she studied the picture, remembering the eventual fate of the man in the photograph, so similar to his father's before him. Could fate be that unkind, to take yet another Rabb aviator in the prime of his life? How could his mother handle it if she lost her son after losing her husband? What about his grandmother, who'd already lost her husband and son? When would it stop? Clutching the picture against her chest, she wandered next to the desk, flipping through the case file sitting on top. The Adamson court-martial. She'd been looking for that file so she could sign off on it. With a rueful chuckle, she noticed that Harm had yet to sign off on it. That man couldn't keep up with paperwork to save his life, she thought. Why should he, when there were far more important, more adventuresome things for him to be doing? She gazed out the window into the black night. It sounded like the rain had slowed, the storm finally moving past Washington. But he was still out there in it somewhere. Pressing her hand against the cold glass, she remembered another rainy night, another night when she'd stood at this window, staring out into the darkness. I expected there to be death when I joined the Marines. Not when I joined JAG. Not like this. It's like everyone around me keeps dying. "No," she told herself aloud. "He's not dead. He's coming home. In a few days, we'll probably be sitting right here, laughing about how he scared me to death with this latest stunt of his. And after I'm through kicking his six, I'm going to take him in my arms and never let him go." As she started laughing bitterly at the declaration, a voice inside her head countered. 'You said it yourself,' it said. 'Everyone around you keeps dying. Dalton died because he was involved with you. Chris came back after you and you killed him. Your goddaughter was going to be named after you and what happened to her? Now, Harm was coming home to you and he's gone, too.' "No," she said, striding over to the bedroom and grabbing a small travel bag from the closet

and throwing it on the bed. His usual travel bag was gone, probably sitting at the bottom of the Atlantic, she realized grimly. "He's not dead and he *is* coming home to me." Grabbing a few essentials that she knew he'd probably need – some boxers, t-shirts, socks and a spare khaki uniform – she quickly packed the bag, carefully folding a t-shirt around the photo of Harm and his father. She wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to bring the picture with her. Her eyes caught sight of another picture on top of his dresser and she went over and picked it up, studying the brothers smiling for the camera, remembering the moment she'd snapped the picture before they'd left Chechnya. She could hardly recall seeing Harm so relaxed, so at ease. Most people probably would have been upset, to say the least, at finding out they had an unexpected half-sibling. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that Harm had a rather unusual reaction to the news. Within hours of finding out he had a brother, he’d been doing everything he could to protect Sergei from a potential death sentence. Maybe it wasn't so unusual, not for him anyway. After all, hadn't he risked his career – and his life – to help her and her uncle the day after they'd met and *after* she'd apparently betrayed him? She wrapped another t-shirt around the second picture and placed it in the bag. She'd show them to Harm when he was rescued, a reminder of the proud tradition of aviation in his family. She wished there was some way to contact Sergei, to tell him that his brother was in trouble. But even if she could get a message to him somehow, she wondered if it might not be better to let him remain ignorant for now. He'd been a prisoner of the Chechens for five months. Did he really need the added burden of worrying over the fate of his brother when his own future was so uncertain? As an alternative, maybe later she would get Harm to write a letter to Sergei and then she could contact Clay and see if there was some way to pass the letter on. Harm could have the comfort of communicating in some fashion with his brother and Sergei could be reminded that there were people outside the walls of his prison worried about him and praying for his return. After staring at the open bag for a moment, she went into the bathroom to gather a few toiletries he would probably need. He could probably buy most of the stuff in the ship's store, but she thought he's appreciate having his own things – his razor, his favorite brand of shaving cream and aftershave, his … the thought trailed off as she picked up the hairbrush off the counter, blond hairs stuck in the bristles. She'd almost managed to forget that there was someone else involved – another woman who as of yet had no idea that about the true state of her year-and-a-half long relationship with Harm. She knew that Renee would have had a hard time letting go of him in any case. Now, she didn't even know she had to and she was about to hear, if she hadn't already, that Harm was missing. She felt a flicker of sympathy for the other woman. Much as she didn't really care for Renee, she wouldn't wish what she was about to find out on any woman, not matter what the circumstances. She rubbed her forehead, staring at her reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink, thinking that she looked like she'd aged ten years in a matter of hours. Just hours earlier, despite the lingering shadow of Mic and her cancelled wedding hanging over her, she'd felt such a sense of peace. For once, her life had seemed to finally make a certain amount of sense. But now …. Every time I think I've put the pieces of my life back together, somebody comes along and jumbles them back up.

Brushing away the tears starting to fall, she returned to the bedroom and dropped the things she'd gathered into the bag, zipping it closed. She sank down onto the bed next to the bag, caught up in more memories …. The only place that isn't torn up is the, uh, bedroom. Works for me. She'd felt so comfortable that night, sitting on top of the bed, enjoying dinner with her new best friend. It might have felt odd, sharing dinner in the bedroom of a handsome man without the expectation – or pressure – of something more, but it had also felt so good, so right. Not that she hadn't wanted more, she admitted. Even then, so early in their relationship, it had been so simple to imagine what it would have been like to close the few inches separating them. What would have happened if she had? How would their lives have changed? Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she got up and slung the bag over her shoulder, glancing around the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything that she needed to take to him. Struck with inspiration, she walked across the apartment to his desk, searching the drawers until she found his spare set of car keys, realizing that it was possible his keys were at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of his things. His apartment key was taken care of – she'd just return to him the spare key she had, the one she'd just used to let herself in. They'd exchanged them long ago in case of emergencies and, although she supposed they probably should have returned them with everything that had happened between them and others, it had just never seemed right. It had seemed like it would have been so final, like burning a bridge never to be rebuilt. Now, it didn't seem to matter as much any more. Dropping the keys in the inside pocket of Harm's leather jacket, which she still wore over her uniform, she took another look around and finally satisfied that she had everything he might need, she left, carefully locking the door behind her. She stood in front of it for a long moment, pressing her hand flat against the metal door, overwhelmed for a moment by all the memories. "No," she said, pulling her hand away. He wasn't dead. He would be coming home then they could work on building their relationship, making brand new memories. She had to stop thinking like this. Steeling herself, she turned and headed for the stairs without a backward glance. She would bring him home and everything would work out. It had to. She would not let herself contemplate any differently.

MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN Bud knocked on Mac's door while Harriet stood just behind him, gently rocking a dozing AJ in her arms as she hummed 'Brahms' Lullaby'. Bud had suggested making an emergency call to their sitter, but Harriet had refused, insisting that she had to have their son with her. In the end, he’d agreed, realizing that they both needed their little boy's innocent, comforting presence. At least he was still young enough that he wouldn't really understand what was going on around him. "Colonel Mackenzie?" he called, knocking louder. He turned and looked back at his wife with worried eyes.

"Maybe she's in the bedroom or something," Harriet suggested hesitantly, not really sure how Mac would react to this news. She'd never struck Harriet as the type to crawl into bed and cry her eyes out, but she couldn't say for sure. "Maybe she's too upset to come to the door …. or to hear us knocking." "Maybe," Bud replied, unconvinced. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial combination for Mac's home phone, hoping that the ringing of the phone might get through to her if she was there. They could hear Mac's phone ringing from the hall and after a few moments, Bud clicked off his phone, shaking his head. Harriet racked her brain, trying to figure out where their friend might have gone. The Admiral said he hadn't spoken to her yet, according to Bud, so she wouldn't know that everyone would be gathering at JAG to wait for word. Where else could she have gone? What would she do in similar circumstances? "Bud, what if she went over to the Commander's?" Harriet asked excitedly. "Maybe she wanted to be someplace where she could be close to him. It's what I would probably have done." Bud nodded slowly as he put his phone back in his jacket pocket. "Yeah, maybe she would," he replied. He put has hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed. "Maybe she needed …. Let's go over there. I think I need to go over there." Harriet nodded, covering his hand with hers. Almost as much as Mac was surely hurting, so was Bud. Harm was like an older brother whom Bud wanted so much to be like, the hero who could do no wrong in his eyes. "I know," she said softly. "I think I need that, too."

HARM'S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION Fifteen minutes later, they’d made their way across town in the light midnight traffic and were parking outside of the converted warehouse where Harm kept his apartment. The building was dark – hardly surprising at this hour. Harm, obviously, wasn't home and his downstairs neighbor had probably gone to bed long ago. Harriet was unstrapping AJ from his car seat when Bud suddenly put his hand on her shoulder. "Hold on a minute," he cautioned her as a car pulled into the alley next to the building. "Someone's coming." He wished that he thought to drop his wife and son off at JAG before coming over here. During the day, this was not one of the best neighborhoods to be wandering in. In the middle of the night, it was downright dangerous. Harriet glanced around him, her hand flying to her mouth as she recognized the car. "Bud, it's, um, Renee," she told him. Bud looked back at her, his concerned expression matching hers. "Bud, what are we supposed to do? The Admiral must have told her what happened to Commander Rabb, but she doesn't know …." "She won't find out from us," Bud said firmly. "Right now, concentrating on the Commander's safe return is the most important thing. Everything else can work itself out later. She deserves to her about this from him, after all this is over, not now when we don't know what's going to happen."

Harriet nodded her agreement as Renee got out of her car and walked up to them. "Bud, Harriet," she greeted them, her voice hesitant. Harriet handed AJ to Bud and walked up to the other woman, wrapping her arms around her. She genuinely liked Renee and was probably one of the few who knew or understood the depth of Renee's feelings for Harm. Harriet didn't want to see her hurt – although that seemed inevitable – but none of that seemed important now. "Renee, I'm sorry," Harriet whispered. She pulled back, brushing away more tears. "There are a lot of people who love the Commander and are praying for him." "I know," Renee replied. She waved her hands, frustrated. She couldn't remember ever feeling so powerless. She was a woman used to taking action. "I don't understand, Harriet. Why did he go down? What was he even doing flying in this weather?" She looked up at the dark sky. The rain had just stopped falling minutes earlier, but the angry storm clouds were still evident with every flash of lightning. "We don't even know that he went down because of the storm," Bud tried to explain. "Tomcats are designed to fly through worse than this and Commander Rabb's the best pilot I know." "When I saw him," Renee continued, trying to control the trembling in her voice, "Wednesday before he left for Norfolk, we talked about him getting back in time to escort me to the wedding. He said …." Her voice trailed off as she remembered their last conversation and her concerns. Suddenly, her expression hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. "He said that he promised *her* that he'd be back in time for the wedding. He was flying through this weather because she asked him to." "Um, Renee, we don't know that," Harriet consoled, thankful that she could at least tell the truth about that. She wasn't aware of any promise between Harm and Mac regarding his return in time for the wedding. "Maybe his quals were over and it was just time for him to leave. And he wouldn’t have taken off if he hadn't been given clearance by the air boss on the Patrick Henry. Bud and I have both served on carriers. They don't just let their pilots take off, regardless of any promise, unless they believed conditions to be safe. Anyway, we don't even know that he crashed because of the weather. There could have been mechanical problems with the plane. Any number of things could have gone wrong. Let's just concentrate on praying for Commander Rabb right now and let the mishap investigators determine the cause of the crash when the time comes." Renee's expression softened and she nodded. "Thank you, Harriet," she said. She looked back and forth between them, puzzled. "So what are you guys doing here?" Bud and Harriet looked at each other, at a lost for words. They couldn't exactly tell her that they'd shown up looking for Mac, not when she seemed so ready to blame Harm's accident on her. "Well," Bud began, searching for the words, "we thought …. um, maybe someone should come get some things for the Commander – after he's rescued, I mean. His travel bag's gone down with the plane and he's going to need clothes and things." "I hadn't even thought of that," Renee admitted, looking down at the ground. "I just …. when the Admiral called me, he said everyone was saying that they were coming into JAG, but when I got into my car, I just found myself driving here. I don't know. I guess I just wanted

to come someplace for a few minutes where I could feel close to him, close to Harm Rabb, the person, not the Navy Commander." "Um, Renee, why don't we let Bud go upstairs and get some of the Commander's things together?" Harriet suggested, hoping to stop Renee from going up there. Mac's car was nowhere in sight and the apartment was dark, but she didn't want to take the chance that Mac was around, sitting alone in the dark. Right now, the last thing either woman needed was a confrontation with the other. "Then we were going to stop at Mic's and see if he wants us to drive him into JAG since he's probably in no condition to drive and then we can all go to JAG together to wait for news. Bud, you know where the Commander hides his spare key, don't you?" Bud shot Harriet a questioning look. They hadn't said anything about going over to Mic's, although he realized it probably wasn't a bad idea. Sooner or later, Mic would find out that Mac couldn't be found and if he was at JAG, surrounded by people, maybe it would help temper his reaction. Finally, he nodded. He could gather a few things for Harm and look for Mac at the same time while keeping Renee out of it. "Yes, I do. Wait in the car and lock the doors," he cautioned. "I'll be back in a few minutes." After Bud went into the building, Harriet strapped AJ back into his car seat then she and Renee climbing into the minivan, locking the doors behind them. The two women looked at each other uncertainly for a moment before Renee finally spoke. "Do you really think he'll be alright?" she asked, her tone nervous. "Renee," Harriet said with a reassuring tone, trying to convince herself as much as Renee, "the Commander's been in a lot of, um, tight situations before and he's always come through. Remember when he almost drowned last year on that destroyer? He came through that okay. And he was shot down during his first trip to Russia and they, um, he survived that as well. The Commander is a survivor. There's no one better at it that I've seen." She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Renee hadn't caught her slip about Russia. She didn't really think it was the time to explain about some of the things that Harm and Mac had been through together. "I just," Renee began, blinking back tears, "um, when I first met Harm and found out how he'd been a combat pilot, then became a lawyer, I thought he was larger than life. His career sounded like some great big adventure, like in the movies. Then I got to know the man behind the uniform …. You know, I've heard about some of the things he's been through – not from him, of course. At times that man can be tighter lipped than a clam. But hearing about them and then actually having something happen …. Harriet, I don't know what I'll do if I lose him." "I don't know what any of us will do," Harriet admitted softly, her voice breaking. She was trying so hard not to think about that possibility, but how could she not? "He's been there for Bud and me so many times in the past. He helped Bud and I get together, was best man at our wedding, godfather to our children and he was there for us when Sarah died. If I'd had a brother, I would have wanted him to be just like Commander Rabb. And Bud feels the same way. He's one of the most loyal, devoted friends anyone could ever hope to have." Renee reached over and patted her on the arm. "I know," she replied sadly. "It's one of his best qualities. I just wish …." She was interrupted when the driver's door opened and Bud

got into the car, tossing a paper grocery bag onto the floor behind his seat. "I couldn't find a travel bag," Bud explained, gesturing towards the bag. "So I just tossed some things into a grocery bag and brought them down." He’d noticed some items missing from the apartment and suspected that someone – most likely Mac – had already been there and gotten some things for Harm. He couldn't very well come down with nothing, since he’d gone upstairs ostensibly for just that reason, so he'd improvised. "Harm has two travel bags that he uses," Renee commented speculatively. "I watched him pack, so I know he only took one with him this trip." "Maybe it's still sitting in the back of his car from a previous trip," Harriet suggested, sensing that this was a potentially dangerous topic of discussion from the look Bud was shooting her. Time to change the subject. "Renee, why don't you ride with us over to Mic's and then to JAG? You're upset and maybe you shouldn't be driving." "I don't …. sure, I guess so," Renee agreed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "To be honest, I don't really remember driving over here. One minute, the Admiral was telling me …. then I was here and you were here." Harriet reached behind her and gripped Renee's hand. "You need to be with friends right now," she said comfortingly. "We all do. That's what will get us through this."

MIC'S APARTMENT WASHINGTON DC Once again, Bud and Harriet, again carrying AJ, were standing in front of someone's apartment door, this time with Renee, who hadn't wanted to sit in the car. She needed to do something, even if it was telling Mic what happened. If she could do something, then maybe she wouldn't think so much about how her life was falling apart. Bud pounded loudly on the door, shouting Mic's name. He knew Mic was there – being in no condition to go anywhere. After a moment, during which a neighbor had stuck his head out the door to see what the commotion was about, Mic finally opened the door dressing in only a pair of pants, running a hand through sleep mused hair. "Bloody hell, what …. " he trailed off when he managed to focus on Harriet's and Renee's tear-stained faces in the bright light from the hallway, on the look of despair in Bud's eyes. His first thought was of his fiancée. "Sarah?" Bud slowly shook his head. "No, the Colonel's, um, fine as far as we know," he replied. He glanced behind him at the nosy neighbor. "Can we come in? We probably shouldn't do this in the hall." Mic pulled the door open, motioning them in. He closed the door behind them, his hand on the door knob as if it was the only thing holding him up. "What's going on?" he demanded in a slightly slurred voice. Harriet sniffled, drawing Bud's attention. He pulled her against his side, an arm draped over her shoulders. Renee looked at them, then back at Mic. "Mic, there was an accident," she

said, her voice trembling. She crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her arms to stop her hands from doing the same. "Harm …. he was on his way home and his plane went down in the ocean …. they're looking for him …." "Oh, blimey," he whispered, placing his hand on her arm. "Renee, I don't know what to say." He looked at Bud, who was whispering words of comfort to his wife. "Does Sarah know yet?" Bud and Harriet looked at him and nodded. "When the Admiral called us," Bud explained, "he said the Colonel had already been notified. I assume she's on her way to JAG. Everyone's kind of planning to meet there to wait for word." Mic reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table, holding the box out for Renee and Harriet, both of whom took a handful of tissues. "Renee, I'm sure he'll be fine," he told her, trying to sound confident. He wasn't sure of situations like this, but going down in an ocean in the spring in the middle of a storm couldn't be promising as far as survivability. "Rabb's a survivor." "That seems to be the general consensus," Renee said quietly. Mic attempted a smile and patted Renee's arm. "I'll get dressed and go into JAG with you," he said. "I want to be with Sarah. I can't believe this. Tomorrow is supposed to be …." Harriet managed to stifle her look of alarm at the mention of the wedding. "Um, Mic, maybe you should bring your information on the wedding arrangements to JAG," she suggested hesitantly. She shrugged helplessly. "In the morning, we can help you start calling to, um, cancel everything. It would give us something to do." Mic looked startled, having not thought beyond comforting Mac. "Yeah, I guess," he replied reluctantly. "I need to talk to Sarah, see if we can come up with a date to reschedule everything for." "I guess that would be best," Harriet answered carefully. She bit her lower lip and looked at Bud, unsure what else to say. "Look, we want to get over to JAG as soon as possible," Bud jumped in. "The Admiral is going there to wait for news after he contacts everyone and …." "Right," Mic said, nodding. "I'll go get dressed then." After he’d left the room, Harriet motioned Bud aside, out of earshot of Renee. "What are we supposed to do?" she asked, patting AJ's back soothingly as he began to stir in her arms. "Apparently, the Colonel wasn't able to get a hold of him. He thinks that he'll just talk things over with her and they'll have the wedding another time. And Renee – she's so devastated about what is happening to the Commander. Bud, what if the Colonel's not at JAG?" He glanced over at Renee, who had gone across the room to stare out the large picture window with its view of the Capitol Dome. "I don't know, honey," he admitted in a low voice. "All we can do right now is to keep quiet. It's not our place to tell them anything. He's

got to be okay, and then he and the Colonel can straighten anything out when this is all over."

JAG HEADQUARTERS FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA The first thing that struck Harriet as they entered JAG headquarters was how eerily quiet it was. She was used to being here in the middle of the day, when the building was bustling with activity. Usually, she had to dodge others walking through JAG's halls. Now, the hallway was empty except for Carolyn, Jackie and Alan standing in front of the elevator, conversing while they waited. "The Admiral brought me back from Spain to handle that case," Carolyn said ruefully. "The damned man broke out of the brig and went God only knows where. When he turned himself in, he wouldn't listen to my defense strategy and told me that I was fired. I wanted to strangle the man, but I was glad that he got off. I felt so bad afterwards. I can't believe I never thought of the angle that the Colonel used." Alan chuckled softly, and then stopped, glancing at the floor. He couldn't believe he felt like laughing at a time like this. "Believe me, I was glad to lose that case," he admitted. "God knows that I never really wanted to go after one of our own." He heard footsteps approaching and looked back, nodding towards them. "Bud, Harriet, Mr. Brumby, Ms. Peterson." "Hi, Commander," Harriet said, "Mrs. Mattoni, Commander Imes." Everyone looked at everyone else, not quite sure what to say, how to offer comfort. They were saved by the ding of a bell as the elevator doors slide open before them. With a collective shrug, they stepped onto the elevator, silent on the ride up to Ops. As the stepped into the bullpen on the second floor, they found Gunny and Tiner leaning over Gunny's desk, fiddling with a phone. Loren walked into the bullpen, carrying three mugs of coffee, setting two of them down in front of the two enlisted men. Loren looked over and smiled weakly at the newcomers. "I've got some coffee going in the kitchen," she informed them, shrugging as she sipped her own beverage. "I think there's some tea also and some bottled water in the fridge. Can I get anyone anything?" "Has there been any word yet?" Renee asked, ignoring the question for the moment. Loren shook her head. "The Admiral just got here and went immediately into his office to contact Commander Rabb's parents and grandmother," she replied, leaning against a desk. "Gunny suggested getting a speakerphone set up with a shore to ship line so we can monitor the rescue efforts. I'm sure he'll be fine, Ms. Peterson. He's got a lot to live for." "Thank you," Renee whispered. "I think I will have some of that coffee." "Bud, why don't you take AJ and I'll help Loren," Harriet suggested, handing her son off. She needed something to do to keep busy. "Anyone else?" Mic, Bud and Alan all put in requests

for coffee, Jackie for tea and Carolyn for water. She and Loren started to head towards the kitchen when A.J. stepped out of his office, dressed casually in khakis and a sweater, ten pairs of eyes turning to him expectantly. "Gunny? Tiner?" he asked, nodding towards the phone. "Just about got it set up, Sir," Tiner replied. "Sir, would you like anything from the kitchen?" Harriet asked. "No thanks, Lieutenant," he replied. "I've already got some coffee." Harriet nodded and continued to the kitchen with Loren. Everyone else took up positions at the desks scattered through the bullpen. Gunny and Tiner continued working on the phone. Alan sat down behind another desk, Jackie perched on top of it, clasping her husband's hand tightly. Bud sat down at Harriet's desk, rocking his half-asleep son. Carolyn sat at another desk, nervously twirling a pencil between her fingers. Mic approached A.J., Renee hovering behind him. "Sir, I'm concerned about Sarah," he said. He shrugged helplessly. "Have you spoken to her? No one seems to know where she is. I expected her to be here." "Uh, Captain Ingles called the Colonel and informed her about what happened," he answered, crossing his arms across his chest. "I haven't spoken to her personally ….” "Excuse me," Renee interrupted, "why would they be calling Mac? She's not – I mean, she's just a friend." A.J. sighed. This was not a topic he wanted – or needed - to get into right now. "Several years ago," he patiently explained, "the Commander and Colonel put each other down as POC in case of emergency. They apparently never changed that." Mic and Renee looked at each other, neither happy, but both knowing that this wasn't the time to discuss it. "Oh," Renee said, glancing away. "Maybe Sarah went to see Chloe," Mic suggested, surprised he hadn't thought of it before. "The girl is rather found of Rabb." A.J. looked startled. "I don't think anyone else has even thought to contact her," he said. He motioned to Harriet reentering the bullpen with Loren. "Lieutenant, do you know where the Colonel's sister is staying?" "Oh, my God, Sir," she exclaimed, setting down the mugs she was carrying on a nearby desk before she dropped them. "I didn't even think of that. I believe they're staying at the Holiday Inn outside the gate at Andrews." A.J. nodded to Gunny, who was already picking up a phone, dialing information for the number. A few minutes later, he held out the phone to A.J.. "They're connecting you to Chief Anderson's room," Gunny told him. "Hello?" Kyle said sleepily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Chief Anderson, this is Admiral Chegwidden at JAG," A.J. said. "You know Commander Rabb?" "I've met him," Kyle replied, glancing at the other bed, where Chloe had stirred at the sound of the phone ringing. "My daughter speaks very highly of him." "The Commander was involved in an accident on his way back to Washington from the carrier Patrick Henry," A.J. continued. "He is believed to have gone down about a hundred miles east of Cape Fear." "How bad?" Kyle asked, his eyes on his daughter. "Dad, what's wrong?" Chloe asked, pushing her covers back and moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He held up a hand to motion to her to wait. "The Henry has sent out SAR," A.J. replied, "but the weather's bad and …." He left the rest unspoken, knowing the veteran Chief would understand. "I wanted to let you know so you can tell Chloe. If you need anything, most of the staff is gathering at JAG headquarters. You can reach us there. I believe your daughter knows the number." "Thank you, Admiral," Kyle said. "We'll be praying for everything to work out." He hung up the phone and slid over on the bed, pulling Chloe against his side. She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She couldn't imagine why her father would be talking to an Admiral in the middle of the night, but it could only be bad news. "Dad, what happened?" Kyle rubbed her arm, wishing that she’d slept through the phone, wishing he didn't have to tell her just now that a dear friend of hers was fighting for his life. "Um, honey, that was Admiral Chegwidden," he began. "Mac?" she asked fearfully, tears springing to her eyes. Kyle shook his head sadly, tightening his arms around her. "No, not Mac," he replied. "Commander Rabb." "Daddy?" she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What happened to Harm? He was supposed to be coming home from the carrier tonight." "I know, sweetie," he said, stroking her hair. "The Admiral said he went down in the ocean. Search and rescue teams are looking for him now." "No," Chloe cried, burying her face against his t-shirt. She shook her head as more tears fell, thinking of all that had happened between Harm and Mac the last few days and all that was supposed to be happening for them in the future. "It's not fair." "I know, baby," he said, remembering his own friends and shipmates dying aboard the Stark, the day Chloe had been born. Death was an unfortunate part of military life, but that didn't make accepting or dealing with it any easier. And God knew he would have done anything to spare his daughter the anguish of learning that lesson. "But the rescue teams know what

they're doing. They'll find him." "In the middle of the ocean?" she asked, pulling back to look her father in the eyes, seeking the truth. "It's what they're trained to do," he pointed out, far from certain himself. He hadn't been around aircraft operations all that much, but he knew the odds couldn't be too good. "Dad, we have to go see Mac," Chloe burst out suddenly. "She and Harm are …. they …." "She's probably at JAG," he said gently. "Admiral Chegwidden said everyone was gathering there to wait for news." "Daddy, please," she pleaded. "We have to go to JAG. Mac needs me. She and Harm …. " she broke off, leaning against his chest again, wiping her tears away with her fingers. Kyle sighed, knowing that there was no way they'd be getting any sleep tonight. He knew, both from his parents and from Chloe, that she talked about Harm almost as much as she did about Mac. "Okay," he acquiesced. "Get dressed and we'll head over there." Chloe pulled out of his arms, and then stopped, staring at him intently. "Daddy, will Harm be okay?" she asked, her voice quiet and shaking. Kyle opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't make himself lie to his daughter, offering assurances that he knew could very well turn out to be false ones. His heart broke as Chloe bowed her head, her body shaking with sobs. He pulled her back into his arms, trying to comfort her. "God, why now?" she whispered brokenly, thinking again of Mac and Harm and all the hope for the future she had for them. "This can't happen to them."

Just after A.J. hung up the phone, it rang again. He picked it up himself. "JAG Ops," he said, "Admiral Chegwidden." "Admiral, it's Frank Burnett," Frank said with a weary sigh. Ever since A.J.’s earlier call, to inform them of the accident, he and Trish had both been running around making hasty travel arrangements. It was the first time he'd had a moment to stop and think about what was happened to their family again. "I wanted to let you know that Trish and I will be taking off from San Diego within the hour. That should put us at Reagan National at about seven thirty." "I'll have someone at the airport to pick you up and bring you to JAG," A.J. offered. "Thank you, Admiral," Frank said. He looked down at his desk in front of him, staring at a photo taken the day Harm had graduated from the Academy. It was one of the few he had of himself, Trish and Harm together and had only been taken at the insistence of Harm's grandmother. "On that other matter we discussed, Trish and I talked about it and we don't want to contact Harm's grandmother until morning. She'd want to come to Washington and

we don't want her to drive in the middle of the night. Honestly, we're worried about her making the drive in the morning, but Sarah Rabb's a very determined woman." "I can see if one of my people will drive up to Pennsylvania," A.J. suggested, realizing that he probably wouldn't have a problem with volunteers. Most of them would probably be grateful for something to do. "She lives just outside of Pittsburgh, right? It's about three and a half, four hours up there. Someone can leave soon and be there first thing in the morning and bring Mrs. Rabb back to Washington." "Thank you, again," Frank said. "Trish and I are both worried about Sarah. She's lost both her husband and son and we had that scare with Harm ten years ago. Not to mention the fact that her other grandson has been sitting in a POW camp for the last five months." "I understand," A.J. replied, realizing that he hadn't thought about Sergei. He knew that being in a Chechen POW camp was no guarantee that Sergei wouldn't hear the news. It was pretty much common knowledge now that Sergei's father was an American and it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that one of his captors would taunt him with the news that his brother had gone down in a crash. He should probably put in a call to Clay, although it was possible the spy had already heard the news through other means. "We'll see you later, Admiral," Frank said, disconnecting the call. A.J. looked over the bullpen, everyone watching him except Gunny and Tiner, who were huddled together in conference. Feeling A.J.’s eyes on them, they both looked up and straightened in their chairs. "Sir, the link to the Patrick Henry is set up," Gunny informed him. "Tiner and I request permission to drive to Pennsylvania to pick up the Commander's grandmother." A.J. nodded permission. "Take a cell phone with you for updates," he ordered. "The Commander's personnel folder is on Tiner's desk – his grandmother's address is in it." "Yes, Sir," they both replied, Gunny scooping up his car keys and cell phone before hurrying out with Tiner on his heels while A.J. went back into his office. Settling into his chair with a sigh, A.J. flipped through his Rolodex, looking for Clay's phone number. It was one rarely used, the unspoken understanding being that contact was to be kept to a minimum. But even if Sergei hadn't been a consideration, A.J. figured that Clay would want to know. "Hello," Clay snapped into his phone after picking up on the second ring, having read the number off the Caller ID. "What can I do for you, A.J.?" A.J. didn't bother wasting time with small talk. "Rabb's Tomcat went down tonight in the Atlantic Ocean," he said. "His whereabouts are unknown. Is there any way you can get a message into the prison camp where Sergeant Zhukov is being held?" Clay snorted, forcing down his automatic concern for his friend. "You want me to get a message into a prison camp in Chechnya?" he asked, incredulous. "Come on, Webb," A.J. countered shortly. "This would seem to be rather easy to accomplish for you. I don't want some sadistic captor using this news against the kid. Who knows what

they'll tell him about Rabb." Clay was silent for a moment, considering, and then said, "Major Sokol has a few contacts that he uses to keep an eye on Sergei's condition, goes to the highest bidder types. He can probably get a message in through one of them." "Fine," A.J. said. "The message is simply to say that Rabb went down and search and rescue teams are out looking for him. We'll pass on more when we know it." "Understood," Clay replied, remembering another crash, yet another dire circumstance. The Russians had sworn, practically on a stack of Bibles, that Harm and Mac had been killed after flying into a flock of geese. But this time, there was no sometimes hostile foreign government covering their rears. That had been easier, believing the Russians had lied and working to prove that. He hated the situations when all you could do was sit and wait for word. That wasn't how he operated and he knew that wasn't how A.J. operated either. Unconsciously, he rubbed his nose, feeling a phantom ache from being broken, a victim of A.J.’s need to act. "A.J. ….” "Yes, Clay?" A.J. asked, knowing what the other man was probably about to say. Clay did have his moments sometimes. "I hope Rabb will be fine," he said simply. He didn't know what else to say. "So do I, Webb," A.J. admitted, not sure why he did. But Clay was probably one of the few he would admit something like that to. Maybe they'd been through too many ops together, knew each other too well after five years. Under other circumstances, A.J. might have laughed in disbelief at the realization and so might have Clay. Now, it was just a wrenchingly honest assessment of the situation. APPROX 100 MILES EAST OF CAPE FEAR, NORTH CAROLINA Within seconds after his chute opened, Harm realized he was in trouble. Somehow, the lines had gotten tangled, one caught under his chin. His hands shaking in the cold wind, he fumbled with the clasp of his oxygen mask and helmet, finally yanking them open and pulling his helmet off, tossing it away. He tried pulling at the chute line around his neck, but the strong wind was pushing on the chute, pulling the line taunt. If he unbuckled the chute from his harness just before he hit the water, tangled up in the lines as he was, it might pull him down with it. He couldn't reach the utility knife in the pocket on his right pant leg, having no leverage to pull his leg up so he could reach the knife, so his only hope was to go for the knife as quickly as he could once he hit the water and to cut the lines. Concentrate, he told himself. Ignore everything but survival. Ignore the wind, the cold, and the angry swells. Focus on staying alive and getting out of this. Someone had to have heard their mayday. Word would be passed and either the Patrick Henry or the Coast Guard – or both – would have rescue craft in the air as soon as possible. As soon as his feet hit the water, he could feel the intense cold, even through his insulated flight suit, but he forced himself to block out the sharp sensations of thousands of knives

biting into him. Survival. That was what he had to think about. As he slid into the water, his chute billowing behind him, he pulled up his leg and tugged on the zipper of the pocket, quickly pulling out the small knife and snapping it open. Grabbing the lines in one hand, he sawed through them as fast as he could, a job made more difficult by his rapidly chilling fingers and the wet ropes. Finally, he got through the ropes on his left side and went to work on the right. Once he cut through them, he took in a deep, gulping breath as the pressure on his throat was released, only to be confronted with another problem. As the ropes fell away into the water, several got wrapped around his right calf, pulling him under the surface as he opened his mouth to take in another breath, the salt water burning his throat as he swallowed water instead of air. Fighting against the ropes pulling him down, he bent over as far as he could and hacked at the ropes. After a moment's struggle, he managed to saw through them, dropping the knife as he fought his way to the surface, pulling the tab to inflate his life vest. Breaking the surface of the water, he coughed and sputtered, trying to expel the water he'd taken in while drawing in life-sustaining air, his chest tightening as he struggled to breathe, the effort almost painful in the frigid rain. A swell crashed over him and he quickly closed his mouth, but not before he swallowed more water. Coughing the salty liquid up, he turned his head, searching for the life raft, spotting it about ten yards away. Just thirty feet. Forcing his arms and legs to move, refusing to give into the cold, he slowly swam against the current towards the only shelter he had. He’d managed to make it a little more than half the distance when a swell rose up over him. Quickly, he held his breath, this time managing not to take in any water. When he broke the surface again seconds later, he'd lost about half the distance he'd gained. Gathering up his strength, he started making his way towards the raft again. He shivered inside his flight suit. It would be so easy, too easy to just give up and …. Mac's face formed in his mind, her warm smile calling to him. He couldn't give up. He had too much to live for, someone to go home to. After five years, after more twists and turns than he wanted to remember, they were finally going to make things right between them. Steeling his resolve, he pushed himself harder. He would make it. He had to. Another swell crashed over him and when his vision cleared again, he bit back a curse as he spotted the raft being carried away on a swell. 'God, please give me the strength,' he prayed fervently, like he'd prayed for little in his life, except for a successful end to his quest to learn his father's fate. 'Please help me to get back to her. I have to tell her. She has to know how much I love her.'

I-95 NORTH OF RICHMOND, VIRGINIA AN HOUR LATER Mac's knuckles were bone white as she gripped her steering wheel, speeding over the rain slicked highway, driven by one thought – getting to Norfolk. If she'd been in the mood, she might have laughed at the symmetry. Just two nights earlier, she'd been racing over these same roads, again desperate to reach Norfolk, even if it had been an unconscious thought at

first. That night, she'd been speeding towards Harm and the few stolen hours of passion they'd managed to find. Tonight, she was heading into the unknown. She kept telling herself that he would soon be back in her arms, but the logical Marine in her knew the odds. It was the middle of the night, the water was cold and it was storming. If one aircraft could go down in this weather, others could to, making conditions extremely dangerous for those tasked with trying to find two officers lost in the middle of the vast ocean. For some inexplicable reason, she suddenly realized that she’d just driven past the spot where she'd pulled off the road two nights ago, tormented by the visions of Harm on a nineteenthcentury Naval vessel, the same dream which had awoken her just before the phone call from Captain Ingles. She shivered …. no, it couldn't mean what she was thinking. It wasn't prophetic. It couldn't be. Harm was alive. SAR would find him and he would come home to her. Flexing her fingers, relaxing her vise-like grip on the wheel, she took a calming breath, trying to focus on happier thoughts – like the feeling of his warm embrace or that dazzling, melt your bones grin of his that quickened the pulse of any woman lucky enough to be on the receiving end of the expression. She remembered the day he'd taken her flying the first time, before it had all gone south, the joy in his voice, and the freedom in his bearing. That was probably the happiest she'd ever seen him. She tried to hold that image in her mind as she turned on the radio, seeking something to keep her mind off …. other thoughts. The station she usually listened to in DC had already faded to static, so she pressed the seek button until she tuned into a station in the middle of a song. Secret lovers, that's what we are Trying hard to hide the way we feel We both belong to someone else But we can't let go, 'cause what we feel Is all so real, so real …. With a bitter laugh, she pressed the button again, searching for another station. Just what she needed, a song to remind her of the mess she'd left behind in Washington. She almost wished that Mic was passed out drunk after his bachelor party. Then he wouldn't know that she was gone, know that she was on her way to another man. And Renee …. Mac almost felt sorry for her. She was probably devastated by Harm's crash, if she even knew yet, unaware that she wasn't the one he'd been returning to. She found another station – oldies this time – and left the radio tuned there, swaying slightly to the upbeat rhythm of The Beatles' 'I Saw Her Standing There', humming with the music. Better. Not quite as distracting as she’d hoped, but that was probably a lost cause. There was nothing that was going to make her forget the man struggling out in the middle of an angry ocean, the man with whom she'd had so many lost chances. They finally had a chance to make the right choices and now it was all hanging by a very precarious thread. 'Please, God,' she thought, praying as she never had before in her life. She'd never really seen the point. Prayers didn't come true for people like Sarah Mackenzie. Praying hadn't made her father sober or less abusive. Praying hadn't brought her mother back. But right now, she'd do

anything, pray to God or make a deal with the Devil if that's what it took. Never before had she wanted anything more than the life of one man. Never before had anything been so important to her. 'I'll do anything if you'll just look out for him and keep him safe. Please. There's so much I have to tell him. I promise I won't waste any more time. As soon as I see him, I'll tell him that I love him. Please just give me the chance.'

SOMEWHERE IN MARYLAND "We all heard the shots, even the Admiral in his office," Tiner said. They’d traveled in nearsilence since they'd left DC, but Tiner decided to break the monotony by telling stories about Harm in an effort to keep both himself and Gunny – who was driving – awake. "He came rushing out and started ordering us to evacuate the bullpen. We had no idea what was going on. Then people came out of the courtroom, these kind of dazed looks on their faces, and the Admiral got this look on his face like 'What the hell is going on?' Then Lieutenant Roberts came out and the Admiral pulled him aside and asked him what had happened …. " He trailed off and looked over at Gunny, who had maintained a stony silence since he'd started the story. "I'm sorry, Gunny," Tiner said. "I can be quiet if ….” "No, it's okay," Gunny assured him, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Continue the story." Hesitantly, he picked up where he’d left off. "Lieutenant Roberts started stuttering something," he continued. "You didn't know him back then, but he could get very nervous. Finally, the Admiral demanded, 'Where the hell are Rabb and Mackenzie?' The Lieutenant mumbled that they were in the judge's chambers. Then the Admiral asked who had fired the gun off in the courtroom. The look on the Lieutenant's face – he turned beat red and I could see him swallowing from where I was standing by my desk. Finally, he mumbled something else that I couldn't hear, but everyone in the building I think heard the Admiral's response." "What did the Admiral say?" Gunny asked. "Say?" Tiner repeated. "He yelled at the top of his lungs, 'Commander Rabb!? What the hell do you mean Rabb fired off an HNK in the courtroom?' He then got right up in the Lieutenant's face and said, 'You wait for them to come out of chambers. Then you inform Commander Rabb that I want to see him in my office *immediately*.' He then turned and stormed back into his office. I think the walls shook when he slammed his office door." "So why did he do it?" "You mean, why did the Commander fire the weapon off in court?" Tiner asked. At Gunny's nod, he answered, "As I recall, the case involved a SEAL who was accused of killing a fellow SEAL during a mission. The SEAL claimed it was a friendly fire accident; he was going through an Article 32 hearing with the Commander prosecuting. He claimed he’d thrown his weapon away because it had jammed, while the Commander was contending he'd tried to get rid of the murder weapon. According to the officer who'd done the ballistics testing, it hadn't jammed during that testing, but Major Mackenzie pointed out that only one round had been

fired during testing and weapons don't usually jam after one round. Rumor is the Commander tried to counter, was cut off by the judge, then decided that a demonstration was in order, so he fired several rounds into the ceiling, enough to prove the weapon wasn't jammed." Gunny chuckled, "I'd heard that story, but no names were mentioned. It's almost like the stuff of urban legend." "Oh, it happened," Tiner said. "You could have heard a pin drop in the bullpen when the Commander was in the Admiral's office and we could all hear nearly every word the Admiral said. He yelled at the Commander that Captain Morris wanted him sent to Somalia but the Admiral thought Somalia was letting him off too easy." "So what happened with the case?" Gunny asked. "Was the SEAL guilty?" Tiner shrugged, "I guess not, because the next day the Commander dropped all the charges. I never heard why and it's not in the case file, which is unusual. I just know that right after the Admiral went back into his office, a fax came for the Commander. Lieutenant Roberts took one look at the fax and his face went white. He took the fax into the courtroom with him when he went to wait for the Commander and Major to get out of the judge's chambers. But something convinced the Commander that the SEAL wasn't guilty. I've worked in several JAG offices during my time in the Navy and there aren't a lot of prosecutors who would have dropped a case like that, even if they suspected the defendant wasn't guilty." "The Commander really cares about the truth," Gunny said simply. It hadn't taken him long to figure that out once he'd had a chance to size Harm up. It hadn't taken much longer for him to develop a deep respect for the officer. "When we were in Mexico a few months ago, he knew something was wrong with Petty Officer Roberts' conviction, but we couldn't find anything concrete to prove it. He decided to set up a sting operation using me and the Petty Officer's father. Chief Roberts cozied up to the woman his son had been with the night of the murder and then I pretended to kill the Chief in front of her. It scared her into telling the truth about the scam to frame Navy guys for crimes then have the 'victims' sue the Navy for damages." The two men fell silent for a moment, then Gunny said, "It's okay, Tin - Jason. I'm worried about him, too. Maybe it helps to remember all the crazy stunts he's pulled before." He used the other man's first name in an effort to put him at ease. "Or all the situations he's survived," Tiner said. "His first crash – the one that led to him going to law school – is the stuff of legends, too. He was in the Gulf just before Desert Storm started and crashed his Tomcat into the deck of the USS SeaHawk. Word was it was a miracle he survived. I looked up the inquiry report once, out of curiosity. Pilot error was the official cause, but because of extenuating circumstances, he wasn't held responsible." "The night blindness?" "Yes," Tiner replied. "Anyway, I know from his personnel folder ….” He paused, waiting to see if Gunny would say anything about him divulging information from an officer's service record, but Gunny just nodded for him to continue. "Well, there's a gap of about six months between the time of his crash and when he went back on active duty. Medical leave, I assume given the seriousness of the crash. Then he came back and started law school a few weeks

later. And he's been in other situations – life or death, I mean. Like when he and the Major went to Russia the first time and were reported to have crashed a MiG-29 after flying into a flock of geese. I guess that's the thing that I keep trying to remind myself of, that the Commander is a survivor if nothing else." "I agree," Gunny said. "I just …. wish we could do more than pray." It was a hard admission for him to make. As a Marine, he was used to taking action. Sitting around and waiting for word was just not in his nature. "Yeah," Tiner said softly. "I also wish we didn't have to tell Mrs. Rabb that she might lose her grandson, not after losing her husband and son the way she did." Gunny turned his head to look at him. "I know about the Commander's father," he said. "I heard about that after what happened with his brother, but what about his grandfather?" "Shot down during World War II," Tiner explained. "I heard Major Mackenzie and Lieutenant Roberts talking about it once." "Madre de Dios," Gunny murmured under his breath. "A man shot down in World War II, his son shot down and taken prisoner in Vietnam, one grandson shot down in Russia and taken prisoner and the other grandson lost on the ocean after his second crash. Amable Virgen de Guadalupe, Madre y auxilio de dodos los Christianos desde que te apareciste a Juan Diego en los cerros de Mexico. La pena que me atormenta pongo en tus benditas manos. Acuerdate o Santa Madre que jamas se oyo decir que algunote haya implorado sin tu auxilio recibir, por eso, con fe y confianza, humilde y arrepentido, lleno de amor y esperanza, este favor yo te pido. Amen." Tiner waited until Gunny finished what he assumed was a Spanish prayer and asked, "What was that?" "A prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe," he replied. "My mother used to say this when praying for guidance with a particularly trying situation. Say the prayer, your petition for the Virgin then finish with a Hail Mary. I've been repeating it in my head, but I keep stumbling on the last line of the Hail Mary." "Which is?" Tiner asked. "I'm not Catholic." "'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at …. the hour of our death. Amen.'" Gunny said the final words in a rush, as if by saying them quickly, he wouldn't have to dwell on their meaning in this situation. "I hope the other prayer has a more pleasant translation?" "'Dear Virgin of Guadalupe, Mother and help of all Christians since you appeared to Juan Diego in the mountains of Mexico. The problem that torments me I place in your blessed hands. Remember, oh Blessed Mother, that never has it been known that anyone who sought your help was left unaided. With confidence, humble and repentant, full of love and hope, this favor I implore. Amen'," he recited. He continued with the petition he'd been saying in his thoughts since he'd been awakened by the call from the Admiral. "Holy Mother, look out for Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes and bring them safely home to those who love

them. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen." One hand still on the steering wheel, he crossed himself as he finished the prayer. "Does it work?" Tiner asked. "I guess I'm not particularly religious." "When my sister Maria was nineteen," Gunny remembered, "her car was hit by a drunk driver when she was on the way home from a friend's house. My mother wouldn't leave her bedside, alternating between praying to the Virgin of Guadalupe and praying the rosary. My father couldn't even convince her to leave to get something to eat or to sleep, not until the doctor declared that Maria was out of the woods. She told my father that the least she could do for her daughter was to pray for her recovery. 'The doctors use drugs and all these fancy machines to keep our Maria alive,' she told my father. 'That's what they do. I pray. That's what I do.'" "I wonder what the Colonel's thinking and doing right now?" Tiner said. "I remember the day the Commander left JAG. Everyone was upset, but she …. it was like she'd lost her best friend. They've been through so much together and …. " He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He didn't want to speculate of officers' personal lives, not now when there were more important things to think about at the moment. "She's frustrated," Gunny stated with the certainty of a fellow Marine used to taking action. "She's a Marine. We don't sit around on our hands and we don't leave one of our own behind." "When Commander Rabb went to Russia the first time," Tiner related, "the Admiral sent her with him. I processed the leave paperwork for both of them. But I think that if he hadn't suggested it, she would have gone …." He broke off, staring at Gunny, the same thought occurring to both of them at that instant. After a moment, Tiner voiced the thought. "What if the Colonel's trying to find a way out to the Patrick Henry, Gunny?" "It's possible," he said after a moment's thought. "No one had seen or heard from her when we left JAG, but the Admiral told Mic that she'd been informed by Captain Ingles about the crash." He nodded towards the cell phone, which they'd hooked up earlier to work hands free. "Call JAG, Jason. Maybe we should check in with the Admiral." Tiner dialed the number and after a moment, Harriet picked up on the other end, her voice containing a barely noticeable tremor as she struggled to remain calm, "JAG Ops, Lieutenant Sims." "Lieutenant, it's Gunny. I need to speak to the Admiral," Gunny said. Harriet breathed an audible sigh of relief that it wasn't someone from the Henry calling with bad news. "Just a minute, Gunny," she replied. "He's in his office." After a moment, the Admiral came on the line. "Yes, Gunny?" "Sir, um," Gunny began, not sure how to put what he was thinking into words given the tangled relationships involved. "Tiner and I were just thinking about Colonel

Mackenzie. Sir, what if she's trying to go out to the Henry?" In his office, A.J. leaned back in his chair, remembering just months earlier when Mic Brumby had stood in his office, worried because he hadn't heard from Mac after she'd flown to Russia. She'd disappeared then, too, had ended up following Harm into Chechnya. He'd found out how she'd done so later from Clay – Mac had conveniently left out of her report just how she'd ended up in Chechnya and he'd decided there were some things even he didn't need to know – but had never mentioned it to anyone and he seriously doubted that Mac had ever told Mic the whole story for obvious reasons. "I'll look into it," A.J. said, feeling reasonably sure that Mac was doing exactly what Gunny had just suggested. "Captain Ingles will be calling in a few minutes to patch communications with the rescue aircraft through to us." "So there's been no word yet, Sir?" Tiner asked. "No, Tiner," the Admiral replied, his voice heavy. Tiner and Gunny exchanged a look. The Admiral, they knew, was someone else not used to waiting. Both were sure that if A.J. hadn't been at JAG holding everyone else together, *he'd* be seeking a way out to the carrier. They'd both heard the story of how A.J. had been the one to rescue Harm on the Suribachi after the ship's officers had given him up for dead. A.J. and Mac had been the only ones who'd held fast to the idea that Harm had been still alive. "Understood, Sir," Gunny said after a long moment. "Someone will call you if we hear anything," A.J. assured them before hanging up.

A.J.'S OFFICE As soon as the phone was back on the hook, Harriet was calling him again. "Sir, Captain Ingles is on the phone," she said, transferring the call to him. "Any word yet, Captain?" A.J. asked without preamble. "Not yet, Sir," Ingles replied. "The Viking is closing in on their last reported position. We're ready to patch you into our communications." "Thank you, Captain," A.J. said. "On another matter, you said you were going to speak to Colonel Mackenzie." A.J. hesitated, naturally reluctant to admit in so many words that he couldn't keep track of his people. Then again, Mac was technically on leave and had probably decided – if she was indeed on her way out to the carrier – that she was better off not reporting to him until it was too late for him to stop her. Not that he could have stopped her in any case, he privately admitted, short of throwing her in the brig. "Did she give any indication that she was going to attempt to head for the carrier?" "Actually, Admiral," Ingles replied, mildly surprised that Mac hadn't informed her commanding officer where she was going, but it wasn't his business to comment on what behavior A.J. would tolerate from his people, "both she and Lieutenant Hawke's fiancé expressed a desire to come out here. They're both probably already on the way to Norfolk. They won't be able to come out here tonight, but if the morning COD from Norfolk

is able to take off, they will both be on it, unless you'd like me to contact Norfolk and stop Colonel Mackenzie …." "No," A.J. said, a bit forcefully. He took a deep breath and continued in a more level tone, but one which passed the message that he would accept no arguments, "Captain, if anyone asks, Colonel Mackenzie has my permission to fly out to the Henry, weather permitting. Officially, we can say that she is out there to, um, represent Commander Rabb's interests in any preliminary investigation your on-board JAG staff may conduct." A.J. figured that was a better excuse than trying to explain why someone supposedly on leave for the next two weeks was on her way out to an aircraft carrier in an unofficial capacity. "Understood, Admiral," Ingles replied. "Let me transfer you to the speakerphone we set up in the bullpen," A.J. said. He pressed a few buttons to transfer the call then got up to join the rest of his staff. As he opened his office door, he found Harriet on the other side, poised to knock. "Yes, Harriet?" Harriet smiled a bit at the almost fatherly way he used her name. "Loren and Commanders Imes and Mattoni brought back some food from that all-night diner a few blocks away," she said. "I was just wondering if you'd like me to fix you a plate." "Thank you, Harriet," he replied, nodding. He started to move around her, but stopped when she didn't move out of his way. "Was there something else?" Harriet gestured into his office and he stepped back to let her in, closing the door behind her. "Sir, I was just wondering if you'd heard from Colonel Mackenzie," she said. "Bud and I are really worried about her." A.J. studied her for a moment, and then decided to fill her in. "Captain Ingles informed me that the Colonel requested permission from him to take a COD out to the carrier," he explained. "She's probably on her way to Norfolk to catch the morning COD if there's a break in the weather." "I guess we should have expected something like this when she wasn't at her place and that stuff was missing from the Commander's," Harriet said, almost in a whisper, clasping her hand over her mouth as she realized what she was saying and to whom she was saying it. "The Colonel had been to Commander Rabb's?" A.J. asked. "Yes, Sir," she replied, nodding. "Bud and I tried to contact her and when she wasn't at her place, we decided to try the Commander's. We ran into Renee outside his building, so Bud pretended that we'd gone there to get some things for him when he's rescued. Bud told me later that some of the Commander's things – and his second travel bag – had been missing from the apartment. We assumed that she’d been there. We should have figured out what she was planning, especially …." She trailed off, doubting the wisdom of getting into that subject with him. A.J. stared at her, sure that she knew something she wasn't telling him. He debated with himself the wisdom of pressing her further. "What about Mic?" he wondered, almost to himself, moving behind his desk to stare out the window at the rain that was beginning to fall

again. "He's expecting to get married in the morning and his fiancée's on her way out to an aircraft carrier." He turned back around, realizing he'd come to the root of the situation from the expression on Harriet's face. She was one of the most open people he knew, he reflected, her expression usually showing what she was thinking. Almost relieved that he seemed to be putting two and two together himself, Harriet explained, the words tumbling from her mouth, "The Colonel decided after speaking to …. well, Sir, she decided to call off the wedding. She'd spent part of this evening after the dinner trying to get a hold of Mic to tell him." A.J. sighed heavily, not too surprised by the news, just wishing that someone had come to their senses about this situation sooner. It was almost like seeing two trains heading for each other on the tracks. You knew they were going to wreck and there was nothing you could do about it. "And something tells me that Commander Rabb somehow factored into her decision," he said, taking Harriet's silence as confirmation. "I see. Lieutenant, you will forget we even had this discussion." "Sir?" she asked, puzzled both by the statement and his sudden switch to using her rank. "Given the circumstances, even if the Colonel were here, it is doubtful that the wedding would have been held this morning anyway," he explained patiently. "For right now, all Mr. Brumby needs to know is that the wedding is delayed given the current situation. He and the Colonel can straighten this out between themselves later." "Understood, Sir," Harriet said. "Thank you, Sir." She back away, then turned and opened the door, heading back into the bullpen. "Don't thank me yet," A.J. said to himself. "This whole thing may yet blow up in their faces." He shook his head as he remembered a day nearly five years past. Do you two know each other? Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Of course, I don't know you, Major. I just had a moment of …. déjà vu. Must be the uniform. Actually, she was in the Navy. Don't get too familiar. You've got to work together. He could almost see the electricity the moment they'd laid eyes on each other. Of course, they hadn't listened when it came to getting too familiar – they'd shortly become best friends, a familiarity which spilled over into the courtroom. Together, it made them a nearly unbeatable team. Their strengths complimented each other and they each made up for the other's weaknesses. As opposing counsel, it made them evenly matched. After that initial case, when they'd almost been nervous about going up against each other, they'd managed to settle

down and had gotten good at anticipating the other's moves, making for some interesting battles in the courtroom. Then they'd lost their rhythm for a while after Harm had returned from flying – around the same time that Mac had gotten closer to Mic and Renee had entered the picture. Although it had gotten better in the last few months, there was still something missing, he thought – or, more accurately, something still coming between them and something told him that things probably would have slid backwards between them had the wedding actually taken place. This situation had been brewing for a long time and he'd expected it to eventually break. He'd almost thought it would have the night of the engagement party when they'd spent most of the night together on his porch and had barely been able to look each other in the eye when they'd come back inside. But then Mac had thrown herself into preparing that lecture for the Academy – at a time when most brides would have been going crazy with wedding preparations – and Harm had almost seemed happy to get away for his quals the day before the wedding. Almost as if both of them were trying to forget what they thought would never be. He shook his head as he went out into the bullpen, hoping that Harm and Mac would get the chance to finally set things right between them. He glanced around, noting that most of his people had plates of food in front of them, but they were mostly untouched. There was little of importance coming from the speakerphone, simply routine communications between the carrier and the Viking searching for any sign of Harm and Skates. Everyone seemed to be filling the monotony by telling their own stories about Harm. "The Admiral held up this newspaper and said that Harm was the only officer he knew with wings and JAG shoulder boards," Carolyn said. "He started swearing that it wasn't him, but Mac and I made a careful inspection of the, um, evidence. Harm gave us the dirtiest look because we were looking at his six." Carolyn broke off laughing and A.J. noticed Harriet stiffen slightly. He followed her line of sight to Mic and Renee, both of whom were expressing varying degrees up displeasure at the thought of Mac checking out Harm's, um, attributes. Mic noticed A.J.’s scrutiny and gently nudged Renee, both of them relaxing their expressions, pretending to enjoy the story, smiling thinly as Bud piped in. "I couldn't believe you two had done that in front of the Admiral," he exclaimed with a laugh. A.J. merely smiled. He'd known that it hadn't been Harm in the picture, but he'd had a lot of fun tweaking Harm's nose over the whole thing. Letting Mac and Carolyn have their fun with him had simply been part of that. "Of course," Carolyn continued, "Mac, Harriet and I got to see for ourselves that Harm was telling the truth when we saw the male stripper who actually had Harm's dress whites at Harriet's bachelorette party." "I'm sorry Alan and I missed that to attend my sister's wedding," Jackie laughed. "Harriet's wedding sounds a lot more fun than my sister's turned out being." "And I was TAD when Harriet had AJ in the Admiral's office," Alan added. "Bud told me later about how he'd gotten stuck in the elevator and it looked like Harm and Mac might have

to deliver the baby themselves if the Admiral hadn't shown up." "Do these people know a single story about Harm that doesn't involve Mac?" Renee whispered angrily. Mic was about to reply when an angry, tearful voice broke in. "What is with all of you?" Chloe demanded, her father putting a restraining hand on her shoulder as they entered the bullpen. "You're all remembering him like he's already dead!" Harriet was about to get up to comfort Chloe, but Mic quickly crossed the bullpen to offer his own comfort. "It's alright, Chloe," he tried to assure her, reaching out to pull her into his arms. "He's …." "Leave me alone," she cried, backing into Kyle. "I don't want to be comforted or told it's going to be alright. I just want Harm to walk through that door. I just …. want him …. here." Harriet now got up and smiled at Chloe the best she could. "And he will be here," Harriet said with a confidence she didn't quite feel. "Search and rescue is closing in on where the plane went down, they'll find him and ….” As Chloe consented to Harriet comforting her, Mic stepped out into the hall, frustrated. Renee followed, deciding that the last thing she needed was to watch Mac's sister cry over Harm. "Mic, are you okay?" she asked hesitantly. "Damn, Renee," he swore, whirling around to face her. "I'm supposed to be marrying her sister tomorrow and she acts like she doesn't even want to be in the same room with me." "I'm sure she's just upset because of what's happened," she said lamely. "Yeah," Mic said bitterly, "and if I were out there in Rabb's place, do you think she'd be as upset? She bloody well thinks Rabb walks on water and I can't compete with that in her eyes." "You shouldn't have to," Renee said. "I wonder if she dislikes me because she was hoping Rabb would be her brother-in-law instead," he pondered, running a hand through his hair. "Mic, don't worry about it," she said, wrapping her arm around his. "When this is all over, you'll marry Mac and that little girl in there won't have a thing to say about it and then I'll just convince Harm that we shouldn't waste any more time after I nearly lost him tonight. Weren't you the one who told me 'No worries, mate'?" "How can I not worry?" he asked. "My fiancée's gone missing while her …. best friend – " He nearly choked on the words. " – is in dire circumstances." Unseen by either of them, Chloe and Harriet had stepped out into the hall as well on their way to the ladies' room and had overheard everything they'd just said. Harriet held Chloe back until Mic and Renee had gone back into the bullpen.

"I hate this," Chloe said. "They're acting like everything's going to go on as before once Harm is rescued." "I know," Harriet said. "Mac apparently wasn't able to get in touch with him before she …." "Before she what?" Chloe asked. Harriet glanced around to make sure no one was around who might overhear them, as they'd just overheard Mic and Renee, then replied, "The Admiral found out from Captain Ingles that Mac's on her way to Norfolk. If the weather clears, she's going to the Patrick Henry on a COD in the morning." "She's going out ….” Chloe started, forgetting to keep her voice down until Harriet clamped her hand over Chloe's mouth. She nodded and when Harriet pulled her hand away, continued in a softer voice, "She's going out to the carrier and the Admiral knows?" Harriet nodded. "I told him what's going on," she said, "and we agreed to keep quiet about the cancelled wedding until Mac can talk to Mic himself. Harm and Mac need to talk to Renee and Mic in person. This isn't something they need to hear second-hand." "I guess," Chloe agreed reluctantly, how Mic and Renee would take the news far from being a priority for her. "I just hate watching them carry on like Mac's still going to marry Mic and that …. blond witch is going to talk Harm into marrying her." "I know, but there's nothing …." she broke off when she caught sight of her son toddling out of the bullpen towards her. "AJ, I thought Daddy put you down to sleep?" Not long after they'd arrived, AJ had started to fall back asleep and Harriet had retrieved his car seat from the minivan, Bud setting him in it next to her desk. Bud must not have strapped him into the seat, she realized, and AJ has decided to wander when he'd woken up. "Not sleepy," he insisted even as he yawned widely. He held out his arms to her, but before she could pick him up, Chloe asked, "Can I take him?" Harriet nodded and let Chloe pick AJ up and settle him into her lap, AJ readily accepting the change. Harriet smiled as Chloe seemed to relax with the little boy in her arms. He had that affect. She'd really noticed it first after she'd lost Sarah. So young and innocent and so unaware of all the turmoil around him, he'd been his parents' only comfort when they'd had such a hard time reaching out to each other. Chloe held AJ close to her and gently rocked him, resting her chin on top of his head. "Once upon a time," she whispered, "there was a beautiful princess named Sarah. Princess Sarah had a very hard life and she didn't really believe in love. But then she went to a Rose Garden and met a handsome prince named Harm …." Harriet smiled at the fairy tale rendering of the familiar story of Harm and Mac's first meeting, which Bud had once related to her, ruffling AJ's hair with her fingers as his eyelids grew heavy, lulled back into sleep by Chloe's soft voice. How appropriate, she thought as Chloe continued the story. If anyone deserves the fairy tale ending, she thought, it's Harm and Mac.

Everyone had pulled their chairs up or were standing around Gunny’s desk, where the speakerphone had been patched into the communications link between the Patrick Henry and the rescue aircraft. So far, all that they’d heard had been static occasionally broken by routine commands and reports. The static was broken once again. “We have a raft, Captain,” Paddles reported. Everyone in the bullpen perked up a little bit at the news. Renee clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip, Mic hovering behind her chair. Chloe gripped Harriet’s hand tightly, biting her lower lip, while Kyle placed a comforting hand on his daughter’s shoulder and Bud placed one on Harriet's while he cradled a sleeping little AJ on his hip. Jackie rested her head against her husband's shoulder; Carolyn and Loren sat side by side, their hands gripping the armrests of their chairs. A.J. stood over them all, looking outwardly impassive with his arms crossed over his chest. No one uttered a word. “Coordinates?” Ingles asked, mentally crossing his fingers. CIC was just as silent as JAG Ops as everyone listened for what they all hoped would be good news. “38 degrees, 37 minutes, north latitude. 74 degrees, 34 minutes, west longitude,” Paddles reported back. “Vector the SAR aircraft,” Ingles ordered the air boss. He walked over to Ingles. “Captain, weather’s getting worse,” he reported. “Chopper could be outside the safe recovery envelope.” "We’ll reevaluate when we get to the scene,” Ingles said. He understood the risks, but he wasn’t about to give up the opportunity to rescue one or both of the downed officers. “Roger that,” the air boss replied. He ordered the helo pilot, “Prepare to fly. Vector to starboard.” “Viking, what’s your speed and altitude?” Ingles asked Paddles. “180 knots, 100 feet,” he reported back. “That’s low and slow,” Ingles said. “It is, Sir,” Paddles agreed. “Be careful, Paddles,” Ingles said, concerned about the possibility of losing another pilot. Paddles didn’t acknowledge the warning, reporting, “I’m going to drop flares for the Angel.” He released three flares in a triangular shape around the raft below. “Viking three zero four,” the helo pilot said, “this is Angel two one. What is your location?” “I’m directly over him, Angel,” Paddles said. “I’ll give you vectors in. Heading three five zero, three miles.” “Roger, Viking,” the pilot said. The phone fell silent and more than one person listening

closed their eyes, uttering silent prayers. After a few moments, the pilot came back on, reporting to the Patrick Henry, “City Desk, I’ve got the flares and I’ve got a strobe. I’m on top of him now.” “Angel, this is the Captain,” Ingles cut in. “What’s the weather?” “Uh, ceiling’s about a hundred feet,” he reported. “Swells now about thirty.” Not the best weather, Ingles knew, but he also was aware they couldn’t pick the conditions, especially not with two lives at stake. “How lucky do you feel, Lieutenant?” “Piece of cake, Skipper,” the Lieutenant said confidently as a frogman was lowered into the water. The rescue line was quickly fastened to the figure in the raft and the helo crew quickly reeled in the line. “We got him, we got him. He’s cleared the water. He’s coming up now.” At JAG, no one dared breathe, realizing that getting him out of the water was only half the battle. They still had no idea what his condition was. But they would know in a minute or two. Renee unclasped her hands and crossed her fingers, murmuring under her breath, "Please, God, let him be okay." On the helo, a crewman removed Skates’ helmet as she coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. The Lieutenant turned around and quickly took in the scene, then reported, “Sir, it’s Lieutenant Hawkes, Sir. She’s on board.” Several gasps were heard in the bullpen as Ingles asked, “Any sign of Commander Rabb?” “No, Sir,” the pilot replied. “Let me ask the Lieutenant.” No one could hear anything while the pilot presumably asked Skates where Harm was, and then he came back on the line. “Lieutenant Hawkes didn’t see Commander Rabb eject, Sir.” Damn, Ingles thought. “Any speculation as to where he is?” “Hard to say, Sir,” he replied. “He could have punched out late. That would put him fifteen, twenty miles in any direction.” The pilot gasped as the helo suddenly lurched and he clutched the controls, fighting to keep the craft level and in the air. “What’s happening, Angel?” Ingles asked, concerned with what he was hearing. “We’re getting pushed around, Skipper,” the pilot replied through clenched teeth. “Can you keep her in the air?” Ingles asked. “I’m trying, Sir,” he replied, just a hint of desperation apparent in his tone. “I’m trying.” Ingles sighed, knowing what he had to do. It was a difficult decision, but a necessary one. “Viking,” he ordered Paddles, “take another sweep of the area before we call it quits.” The groups at JAG exchanged looks at that, the women tearing up. Those who had been around the military for any length of time knew that time and the weather were working against Harm. Renee looked up at A.J.. “Admiral ….” she began, fighting back tears.

“This is Admiral Chegwidden, Captain,” A.J. said. “When will you launch again?” “When the weather improves, Sir,” Ingles replied. A.J. didn’t like it, but he knew probably better than anyone else in the room the dangers involved. “Understood,” he said reluctantly. “Carry on.” Renee stifled a gasp and jumped up, fleeing into Harm’s office, dropping into his chair, her hand covering her mouth as she fought to keep from losing it. She glanced up at a noise to find Mic standing framed in the doorway, his fist tapping gently on the door. “I don’t understand why this is happening,” she said tearfully, “why he was even out there.” “I don’t know what to say, Renee,” Mic said sympathetically. “But if they found Skates, they’ll find Harm.” “I was just so sure that was him,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling. “And then to hear them say that Skates didn’t even see him eject. Mic, I’m trying not to, but I’m afraid that …. it’s starting to go through my mind that maybe he’s …. dead.” “Renee, everything I’ve heard about Harm makes me believe that he’ll get through this,” he tried to assure her, not really entirely convinced himself. Although he’d never pulled sea duty with the RAN, he knew that when taking into account the time of year, the weather and the difficulties of searching in the middle of the night, that the odds weren’t good. He would rather do just about anything than admit that to Renee, however. He was almost glad Mac wasn’t present, her reaction to all this a huge question mark in his mind. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about her reaction. There were some things that he was convinced he was better off not knowing – or ignoring. Renee seemed to accept his assurance – or perhaps she wanted desperately to believe that everything would be alright. She began searching through Harm’s desk drawers for tissue. “I probably look a mess,” she said, opening one drawer after another. “Trust a man not to have tissue in his desk.” She suddenly stopped as her fingers brushed against what felt like a picture frame in his bottom desk drawer. Puzzled, she pulled it out, and then dropped it in the center of the desk as if she’d been burned. Surprised by her reaction, Mic moved closer to the desk and looked down, visibly dismayed at the framed portrait of Harm and Mac with baby AJ. He quickly tried to reassure Renee and himself. “You know Harm and Sarah are little AJ’s godparents,” he said weakly. “I think I recognize that dress as the one Sarah wore at the baptism. That was back when I was still with JAG and I was present at the ceremony. It doesn’t mean a thing.” “If that were true, then why would he have it hidden away?” Renee asked. “You’d think he was trying to hide something.” Of course he was, she realized darkly. He’d been hiding and dancing around what she suspected were his feelings were for Mac. This only reinforced the thought for her. “Maybe he used to have it on his desk and decided to put it away,” Mic suggested. Renee could see the doubt in his eyes and latched onto it. “You don’t really believe that,” she accused. "Have you ever seen it on his desk before, back when you worked at JAG?" Mic

didn’t answer, but as far as Renee was concerned, he didn’t need to. “It was all supposed to be over tomorrow. You would marry Mac and then I would finally have my miracle.” “That can still happen,” Mic said, trying to convince himself as much as her. “How?” Renee demanded in a whisper, her tone angry. “Mac’s not even here. She’s gone off God only knows where without even telling you – her fiancé. My God, she’s the entire reason he’s out there. He told me before he left that he’d promised her he would be back in time for the ceremony. He told her he’d be here for the wedding, so come hell or high water he was going to be here and now it might have cost him his life. He can’t even admit what he feels for her, yet he’d die for her.” “Renee, I don't know if I'd go that far ….” Mic began, hoping to calm her as troubled as he was by her assertions, jumping slightly when she suddenly threw the picture against the wall, the glass shattering. The crash caused the muted conversation in the bullpen to come to a screeching halt as everyone looked at each other, as if wondering who was going to check out the commotion. Harriet and Carolyn, closest to Harm’s office, exchanged a look and decided to brave the lion’s den together. “Um, do you need anything, Ms. Peterson?” Carolyn asked hesitantly. Renee looked apologetic and slightly mortified that everyone seemed to have noticed her outburst. She glanced out the open door into the bullpen and everyone suddenly looked away, pretending to suddenly be busy doing anything else besides staring. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what ….” she said. “We’re all worried about him,” Carolyn assured her, “and I’m sure you more than most. We understand completely.” She didn’t really, but she wasn’t going to admit that. She’d seen Harm with Annie, and then with Jordan and Renee was just so different from those women that Carolyn wasn’t quite sure what he saw in her. But she’d been around longer than any of his other girlfriends, in spite of the obvious undercurrents Carolyn had always seen between Harm and Mac. “Thank you,” Renee said, taking a cleansing breath as she wiped her eyes. “I could use some tissues, I guess. I was looking in Harm’s desk for some ….” She trailed off as she remembered that looking through Harm’s desk had been what had led to her outburst. Carolyn laughed but it sounded empty. “What man is going to have tissues in his desk?” she asked. “I’ve got a box on my desk. I’ll go get it.” “It is hard on everyone,” Harriet said, kneeling down to carefully pick up the broken glass as Carolyn left. “Most of us have known Commander Rabb for nearly five years. He’d probably never admit it aloud, but the Admiral thinks of him like a son. And he’s like a brother to Bud and me and godfather to our children ….” She picked up the picture frame, realizing what had caused Renee’s emotional response as soon as she turned the picture over. She recognized the photo, not only as one that had been taken by the professional photographer at AJ’s baptism, but as one that had been present in Mac’s photo album – one that Chloe had pointed to as proof of Harm and Mac’s feelings for each other. Was that just early tonight? It almost seemed like a lifetime ago.

Harriet pulled the wastebasket over to her and carefully shook the frame out over it, careful to keep her expression neutral. She was growing more concerned that someone would have to explain everything to Mic and Renee. The longer Mac was gone, the more questions the two of them were bound to ask, questions that she shouldn’t be the one to answer. But what if the two people who should answer those questions weren’t in a position to do so? “Why don’t you get some rest?” Harriet suggested. “Some pillows and blankets were rounded up when Loren and Commanders Imes and Mattoni went out for food earlier. I don’t know that anyone will be getting much sleep tonight, but we’re setting up a sleeping area in one of the courtrooms. The Admiral promised to wake everyone up if there is any news.” “I don’t know ….” Renee began. “Come on, Renee,” Mic said. “It couldn’t hurt to try to get some rest. I think I’ll try that myself.” Renee looked so lost and forlorn that Harriet felt an enormous wave of sympathy for her. She did like Renee and although she knew Harm and Renee didn’t belong together, she was sorry the other woman was hurting and was going to be hurt even more when this was all over. “The Commander’s been in tight spots before,” she reminded her again. “We all just have to have faith that he will get through this.” “How do you people do this?” Renee blurted out, startling Mic and Harriet slightly. “Military people, I mean. How do you do this knowing that you – or friends of yours – might go off somewhere and not come back? Harm’s father never came back from Vietnam. How could he go off knowing that he might never come home to his wife and son?” Harriet and Mic exchanged a helpless look. “I’m not sure it can be explained, Renee,” Harriet said carefully. “For the Commander, it’s kind of like the family business. The Navy’s in his blood. I don’t think he could not serve – or not fly - any more than he could stop breathing. There are sacrifices to be made when you take the oath to serve your country, but that’s understood when you sign up. And I guess it’s something that those who love people in the military have to learn to live with. I know when Bud was on that sub with Raglan a year and a half ago, I’d never been so scared in my life. But I knew that was part of the job. Maybe it’s easier for me to understand since I’m in the Navy myself. I wish I could explain it to you so that you could find some peace, but I’m not sure I really can.” Carolyn returned with a box of tissue before Renee could press Harriet further. "Here you go," she said, holding out the box. Renee took it with a half-smile of gratitude and pulled out several tissues, dabbing at her eyes. "Harriet, did you tell her about the pillows and blankets in the courtroom?" "I did," Harriet confirmed. "Mic, why don’t you take Renee to the courtroom while I finish cleaning up the glass?" Mic held out his hand to Renee. She hesitated a moment before getting up and walking around the desk, taking his hand. She tried to hand the box of tissues back to Carolyn, but the other woman waved her off. "Just take it to the courtroom," Carolyn said. "Someone else may need some." After Mic and Renee walked out, Carolyn grabbed a broom and dustpan that she’d left just outside the door, handing Harriet the dustpan while she started sweeping up

the glass. "I also picked these up when I got the tissues." "Good thinking," Harriet commented idly, her gaze drawn to the framed picture she’d set down on the floor. "Nice photo," Carolyn said. "That's from AJ's baptism, isn't it?" "Yeah," Harriet replied sadly. "Bud and I hired a professional photographer and we got a few taken of AJ with his godparents." Carolyn shook her head as she swept the pile of glass into the dustpan Harriet held. "This makes no sense," she said. Harriet looked up at her sharply, realizing that she wasn't talking about Harm's disappearance. That was perhaps the only simple thing about this entire situation, the only thing that made any kind of sense. "When you think about it," she pointed out, "nothing's made sense for the last two years." "You're probably right," Carolyn said, leaning on the broom as Harriet dumped the glass in the trash can. "Once, I would have thought in a situation like this that Mac would have been on her way out to the carrier, come hell or high water …." Her eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together in her mind. "Harriet, you don't think ….?" "I think that the four of them have a lot to work out when this is all over," Harriet said vaguely. Carolyn shook her head again and sighed, reading between the lines. There was something brewing and it was big. What if Mac really was on her way out to the carrier? "I guess what Mic and Renee don't know won't hurt them right now," she said. "Exactly," Harriet agreed.

SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN THREE HOURS LATER He wasn't sure anymore how long he'd been out here. His watch seemed to have stopped after he'd punched out. He's already checked it a few times, hoping it had just been his imagination, or that he wasn't seeing the face very well due to the salt stinging his eyes. He'd tried keeping track in his mind, but found it so hard to concentrate as he struggled against the huge swells, the water which seemed to find its way into his mouth and nose just through the simple act of trying to breathe, and the bone-chilling cold that even his insulated flight suit couldn’t seem to ward off. Of course, he didn't have Mac's sense of time – she'd have been able to tell him down to the second how long he'd been in the water. The thought brought the hint of a smile to his face. We've got thirty-three minutes, Commander. How'd you do that?

I've got great timing. He nearly chuckled at the memory, remembering just in time that he needed to keep his mouth closed. He felt a swell rising up and held his breath, closing his eyes against the stinging salt water. But it was getting so hard to breathe in the cold water and his lungs burned with the exertion. Somehow, he managed to hold his breath until he broke the surface again, gasping for breath. How much water had he breathed in during the time he'd been out here? Taking in normal breaths was so difficult and becoming more so as time passed. He realized that pneumonia would probably be a concern. Think of something more pleasant, he ordered himself mentally. He summoned an image of Mac in his mind, the way she'd appeared in one of his dreams – hallucinations? – a few months ago, clothed only in a towel and water droplets. Of course, now he knew what she'd been hiding under that towel in his dreams, knew how soft her skin felt beneath his touch He felt another swell coming upon him and prepared himself to ride it out, and then felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. Reflexively, he gasped, swallowing water. Almost immediately, he gagged and spit it back out. There was jet fuel in the water. Had the plane gone down close to where he'd gone into the water? Possible, he thought. He'd been pushed around by the wind as he'd gone down. Considering that he'd been in the water for several hours at least – as best as he could figure, anyway – and given how rough the seas were, he could have been pushed around by the water, ending up close to the impact site. He lifted a hand to his head, idly noting that his arm was shaking. Or was it just his imagination? His vision was blurred, his eyes feeling like they were full of grit. He pulled his hand away, but in the dark and rain and with his gloves, it was hard to tell if there was any bleeding. If he was near where the jet had ultimately crashed, maybe he'd just been thrown again a piece of the wreckage. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to have some more dreams like he'd had the last time he hit his head. Mac's image formed again in his mind, just out of the shower and with an expression that could only be described as 'come hither'. He wondered what she would taste like, all sweet and dewy, fresh from a shower. He'd been tempted to find out three days earlier at Norfolk. Had it really been only that long, he wondered. It almost seemed like another lifetime ago – or perhaps only a dream. He'd woken up that morning to the sound of the shower running and had debated with himself whether or not to join her, needing to feel her one last time before they parted, perhaps forever. But then he'd heard the unmistakable sound of silence as she'd turned the shower off and he'd been keenly disappointed when she'd come out of the bathroom a few minutes later already dressed. She'd sat down on the edge of the bed as he'd sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist, while he'd noted with more than a little satisfaction that she'd seemed unable to keep her gaze from falling to his lap and what was barely hidden by a thin layer of cotton. They'd ended up in each other's arms, his fingers tangling in her still damp hair. It had smelled sweet, he remembered, like strawberries and something else fruity. It might have seemed an odd scent for a Marine, but he knew better than almost anyone that she was also a woman, very passionate and desirable.

With visible reluctance, she'd broken off the kiss, resting her forehead against his as they'd both gasped for breath, quietly reminding him that he needed to get ready to leave for the carrier. He'd seen the tears starting to form in her eyes then and he’d been uncomfortably reminded of the day he'd walked out of JAG, walked out on her. Damn you. Why am I the only one crying? He had sworn to himself that he would never do that to her again, never again be the cause of her tears, but it had turned out to be a fool's promise. She'd cried as they struggled to come to terms with their convoluted relationship at her engagement party. She'd been close to tears several times as they made love, finally giving free reign to them as they'd faced parting at the terminal. Was she crying now? Had she already been informed that he'd gone down? The carrier would have informed A.J., he knew. As his commanding officer, they were duty-bound to inform him. Then they would have informed …. he couldn't remember. Mac had once been down as his emergency contact, a sheet inserted in his personnel folder just before he'd left for Russia the first time, before she'd shown up on the plane to accompany him. Had he ever changed that? So much had happened in the last two years, but he couldn't remember making another designation. If that was the case, that he hadn't changed it, then she already knew. He was used to being there, to being the one to comfort her and to wipe away her tears. Now, more than ever, he would be the reason for those tears. They finally seemed to be, if not on the same page, closer to it than they ever had been regarding their feelings for each other. Sarah, I'm sorry I'm hurting you, he thought. I'm so sorry.

AIRFIELD NORFOLK NAVAL AIR STATION NORFOLK, VIRGINIA As soon as she pulled into the parking lot, her headlights caught a familiar and now heartbreaking sight – Harm's SUV. Although there were other cars in the parking lot – probably terminal workers, mostly – his was all alone in the center of the lot. She pulled into the space next to it and killed her Corvette's engine, just staring at the SUV, remembering when they'd parked side by side here just three days earlier. He'd driven through the parking lot that morning, bypassing more than one empty space until he'd found two side by side so they could park next to each other. Had it only been that long, she wondered. So much had happened that it almost seemed like a lifetime ago - or just a dream. He'd gotten out of the car and had leaned against it while she'd hesitated, not quite ready to get out of her car, knowing that they would just be that much closer to saying goodbye. The sun had been peeking through the clouds and had seemed to shine down on him, as he'd crossed his arms over his chest and patiently waited for her. Despite the flight suit, he didn't look so much like the normally cocky, self-assured flyboy she knew so well. There had been a cloud hanging over his expression, his own private dread of the coming goodbye. At least, that's what she’d hoped it was at the time – a hope born out by his defeatist attitude when he'd called her from the carrier.

After a moment steeling her resolve, she'd finally gotten out of the Corvette and stood in front of him, her fingers reaching up to brush over the patch over his heart. At the time, she'd thought it a bit appropriate since flying had always seemed to come first in his heart. Then she'd found his letter and his wings in her purse and everything she thought she'd known had been turned upside down and inside out even more than it already had been. This time, Harm wasn't standing there waiting for her and she had to work a little harder to convince herself to get out of the car, finally reminding herself that the sooner she got into the terminal, the sooner she would find out if the personnel there had heard any news from the Patrick Henry. Biting her lower lip, she got out of the car and opened the trunk, retrieving the bags she'd packed for herself and Harm. Slinging them both over one shoulder, she purposefully strode towards the terminal. The terminal was nearly empty, with flight ops presumably scaled back because of the weather, a single man in a khaki Navy uniform conversing with a Lieutenant, his name tag giving his name as Bradford, behind the counter. She stepped up to the counter, gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her head jerked up when she heard the words 'Patrick Henry'. "Excuse me," she broke in, "are you talking about the COD that's supposed to be heading to the Patrick Henry in the morning if the weather breaks?" The man in the khakis turned and looked at her, revealing the gold oak leafs of a Lieutenant Commander and a name tag with the last name Drake. His expression inexplicably hardened and Mac wondered where she knew him from, finding him vaguely familiar. "I guess it didn't take long for JAG to jump all over this, Ma'am," he said with barely concealed bitterness. "I don't understand …." she began. "I recognize you, Colonel Mackenzie," Robert interrupted. "I remember you from when you prosecuted my fiancée – Beth Hawkes." Mac remembered where she recognized him from as soon as she heard Skates' name. He'd been present every day at Skates' court-martial and after she'd seen them together during one of the recesses, she’d realized that he was Skates' boyfriend. "Commander Drake, I'm sorry, but you have the wrong idea," she said. "Colonel Mackenzie," Lieutenant Bradford interrupted, noting the undercurrent of tension between the two, "we have a message from Captain Ingles on the Henry." "Harm?" she asked, her voice trembling. Robert began to reevaluate his initial reaction to her, realizing that this wasn't the voice of someone headed out to conduct an investigation. This was a woman barely concealing her fear over the fate of someone very dear to her. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," Bradford said sympathetically. "They found Lieutenant Hawkes, but there's still no sign of Commander Rabb and …. they had to call in SAR because of the worsening weather." A gasp was Mac's only noticeable reaction to the less than welcome news. "What about the COD we're supposed to be on?" she asked. "Has a decision been made about whether it's a go?"

"The weather is starting to clear here," he replied, "but the Henry still isn't in the clear. A decision won't be made until closer to daybreak. We have a back room with some cots if you'd like to try to get some rest and there are vending machines just down the hall from that." Mac nodded as Robert placed a hand at her elbow, guiding her. She accepted the obvious concern, realizing that they were in the same boat. "How is Skates?" she asked. Robert managed a weak smile, his relief that his fiancée was okay overshadowed by the fact that there was still a man missing, someone Skates cared a lot for, someone whose unknown fate was a torment for the woman beside him. He was touched by the concern he heard in her voice for Skates. "She's waterlogged, but the doctors report she's going to be fine," he replied. "They patched me through to the Henry when I first got here and I was able to speak to her." "I'm glad," Mac said softly. "What, um …. did she say anything about Harm?" "Well, she said that it was dark and storming and the wind was blowing pretty well," he said, unable to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. "But?" Mac prompted. They found the room Bradford had mentioned and Robert led Mac to one of the cots lining the walls, sitting down with her, his hands resting on his knees, his hands clasped. "Beth said that she didn't see Commander Rabb eject," he said with extreme reluctance. Mac paled, but otherwise didn't react to the news except to reach into the pocket of Harm's flight jacket and to close her fingers around his wings, as if she might draw strength from the cool piece of metal. "Like you said, the weather's bad and it's dark outside," she echoed, trying to convince herself. "And Harm's a survivor. Some of the things he's been through …." She trailed off, afraid that she couldn't hold back the tears if she said any more. Robert saw the internal struggled being played out in her eyes and decided to change the subject. "Colonel, I want to apologize for my behavior when you first walked in," he said. "I was way out of line and there's no excuse …." "It's okay," she said, waving him off. "I think it's safe to say that we're both under a lot of stress right now. I probably would have thought the same thing in your place." "Still, I'm sorry," he insisted. "Commander Rabb's obviously someone very special to you." Her expression softened and Robert thought he could see just the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. "Very special. I just wished I'd taken the opportunity in the past to let him know just how special." "The first thing I told Beth when I got her on the line was 'I love you' over and over," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "She probably thinks I've lost my mind." Mac bit her lower lip, wishing that she'd been able to say that much just once before all this had happened. So many opportunities lost – even just a few hours ago on the phone, she'd stopped herself from uttering those three little words, wanting to say them in person, not

knowing that it might end up being her only opportunity. It scared her to think he might die without knowing exactly how she felt and she clutched his wings just a little tighter. Please, God, she thought. If you'll just bring him back to me, I promise I'll never let the opportunity pass by to let him know how much he means to me. She looked up at Robert and attempted a smile, although she was sure it came out looking something more like a grimace. "So how did you and Skates meet?" she asked, needing a distraction, any distraction. "Well, I'm a public affairs officer," he said, leaning back against the wall behind them. "Skates was involved in a crash a few years ago in which the pilot died. The PAO on the SeaHawk need a little help deflecting all the media attention, especially since the deceased pilot had recently accused the CAG of sexual harassment, so I was sent TAD out there to help out and pretty much ended up shadowing Skates for about a week, helping her handle media requests for interviews and such." "I remember that incident," Mac said. At Robert's questioning glance, she explained, "Harm – Commander Rabb – and I were on the Sea Hawk investigating Lieutenant Isaacs' claims. We witnessed the crash and Harm was the one who saved Skates' life when she nearly went over the side of the carrier." "She'd told me he saved her life and that's how she’d met him," Robert said. "When he returned to active flight status, she was so thrilled to get to fly with him." "Yeah," she said softly. "He seems to really inspire devotion in a lot of people – when he's not driving them crazy." He laughed. "If I wasn't so secure in my relationship with Beth, I might have been concerned. So how did you two meet? I assume through work since you're both at JAG." "Pretty much," she replied, a far away look in her eyes. "He was receiving his first Distinguished Flying Cross in the White House Rose Garden …." SARAH RABB'S FARM BEALLSVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA Sarah wouldn't normally call herself a particularly light sleeper, but she awoke fairly quickly at the sound of a car pulling up in front of her house. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, brushing sleep from her eyes as she tried to focus on the red digital display, her eyes widening as she took note of the very early hour. Purposefully, she rose from bed and grabbed her robe, laying over the back of a chair, and quickly put it on, belting it at her waist. Glancing out the bedroom window, she saw two men get out of the car, the first thing occurring to her that neither man appeared to be wearing a uniform of any kind. Her mind flashed back on the day nearly sixty years earlier when two Naval officers had shown up on her doorstep. It had been shortly after breakfast and she’d been in the front yard, hanging the wash on the line while keeping a careful eye on her two-year-old son playing in the grass with the family dog. She'd known before they'd even said a word what they were there for, but she'd maintained her composure in front of her son, waiting until her parents had arrived to look after him before going off by herself to cry for her lost soul mate.

Having lost both her husband and son in the service of their country and having two grandsons in the military, one in a prisoner of war camp half a world away, it was almost second nature to be wary of unknown visitors and whatever news they might be bringing. She didn't worry about crime – there just wasn't much in the area and Sarah knew she was hardly a likely target of criminals anyway. Studying the two men as they got closer to the front porch, their features illuminated by the porch light, she felt her heart rise into her throat. They might not have been wearing uniforms, but their bearings screamed military to her, especially the one who appeared to be the older of the two, right down to his regulation military haircut. Mentally saying a quick prayer, she headed downstairs, a knock sounding on the front door when she was halfway down the stairs. She opened the door and the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach grew stronger when she saw their drawn and worried faces. Whatever these strangers were there for, it was not good news. "May I help you?" she asked. "Mrs. Rabb?" Gunny asked. At her nod, he continued, "Ma'am, I'm Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez and this is Petty Officer Jason Tiner. May we come in?" Sarah nodded mutely, stepping aside so they could enter. She recognized both names from Harm's letters and phone calls and knew instinctively that this was about him. She'd spoken to him earlier in the week and knew he’d been planning to go out to a carrier for his quals. They'd had an unusually short conversation and she'd known something had been bothering him, but he hadn't given her the chance to press him about it, although he'd hinted that he might come up to the farm for part of the holiday weekend. She led the two men to the living room and gestured for them to sit on the couch, taking a seat in an armchair. "This is about Harm, isn't it?" she asked, cutting right to the chase. They exchanged a slightly startled glance before Gunny nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "Commander Rabb had gone out to the USS Patrick Henry to complete his carrier landing qualifications." He paused and Sarah nodded, indicating that she knew that much. "Well, he was returning from the carrier when his Tomcat got caught in a storm and experienced systems failures. He is believed to have gone down about one hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina." Sarah clasped her hands in her lap tighter, but otherwise had no visible reaction. "What about search and rescue?" she asked. "If he went down in a storm, is weather going to be a problem for the rescue teams?" Gunny hesitated, but realized from the questions she was asking that she wouldn't want the truth softened or deflected. "We've been in contact with Admiral Chegwidden at JAG headquarters several times since we left Washington," he said. "The last word we had was that Lieutenant Hawkes, your grandson's radio intercept officer, was picked up, but there was no sign of Commander Rabb before the team was called in because of the weather. As soon as the weather clears, the Henry will send its team back out to be joined by the Coast Guard." "I see," Sarah said calmly, despite being inwardly troubled by the news. "And how long are they estimating that Harm can survive under those conditions?" "I'm sorry, Ma'am," Gunny said, managing to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. "I'm not an

expert in that area and Admiral Chegwidden didn't say." The truth was, when A.J. had called to give them the latest news on the rescue efforts, neither of them had wanted to ask what the odds were. They’d both been in the military long enough to be pretty sure that they weren't good, but as long as they didn't have concrete information on that score from A.J., then they could honestly answer that they didn't know. Sarah sensed that he was hedging on that point, but didn't press the issue. As long as there was no word that Harm was otherwise, she was going to believe that he was still alive. She thought that she would know if he were dead. Although she would hardly call herself a believer in the mystic, she did believe that she could feel when something happened to members of her family. She'd known deep down, even before the Naval officers had shown up in 1942, that her husband was gone, just as she'd sensed that her son was somehow still out there for years after he'd been shot down. Perhaps that had been why it had been easier for her to accommodate Harm's insistent belief that his father was still alive, not that she blamed Trish in the least for wanting to move on with her life. She'd even felt something troubling in the hours before Frank and Trish had shown up to inform her about Harm's crash in 1991 and although she only knew him from a few photos, letters and phone calls before he'd been taken prisoner, she thought she would know if something happened to Sergei as well. "Do Trish and Frank know yet?" she asked. "Yes, Ma'am," Jason spoke up for the first time. "The Admiral called them from JAG shortly after he received the news. They're on their way to Washington and should be arriving sometime after daybreak." "So they get a phone call and I get a visit in person?" she asked, expressing mild amusement, sensing Trish and Frank's hand in it. "I believe they were concerned about you receiving the news and wanting to drive to Washington in the middle of the night, Ma'am," Gunny explained. "Jason and I volunteered to drive up here …. It gave us something to do while waiting for news." "Trish and Frank worry too much," Sarah said emphatically. Her eyes fell on an end table, where several photos in frames were clustered on top. She picked up one, a folding frame with four sections, containing pictures of her husband, son, and both grandsons, all in their uniforms. "I've already out-lived both my husband and son and my youngest grandson is currently sitting in a prison camp in Chechnya, a country that a year ago I probably couldn't have pointed out on a map. I've known from the day Harm first put on his Navy uniform that something might happen. I pray to God everyday that it won't, but I've always been prepared for the possibility." "Yes, Ma'am," Gunny said, not sure what else to say. Despite their combined years in the military, neither man knew what the right words were for someone who'd lived so long, seen so much tragedy in her life. Sarah set the frame down and squared her shoulders. "It's probably earlier than you're used to, but would you gentleman care for some breakfast before we head to Washington?" she asked. "It won't take me long to whip something up." Gunny didn't even hesitate before he replied, "Thank you, Ma'am. That would be

appreciated." Despite sharing driving duties on the way up, they were both closing in on twenty-four hours since they'd gotten any significant amount of sleep and they knew refueling on something more substantive than the chips and sodas which had sustained them on the drive wouldn't be a bad idea. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes," she said, heading upstairs to change. After she was gone, Jason exhaled sharply, relieved that was over. "She's a strong and determined woman," he commented idly. Gunny nodded. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked. "I guess it runs in the family," Jason replied with a half smile. His eyes were drawn to the frame Sarah had been looking at and his expression fell. "I just wish fate would be a little kinder to a family that's already been through so much." Upstairs in her bedroom, Sarah picked up a well-worn Bible from her nightstand. It had been in her family for over a hundred and fifty years and had been presented to her, as the oldest child in her family, the day she’d married. She’d dutifully recorded important family dates in the front pages – her marriage date, of course, her son's birth, her husband's death, her son's marriage to Patricia Reed, her older grandson's birth. Two dates, although nearly twenty years past, had only been recently added to the book – her son's death in mid-1982 and Sergei's birth later that year. That's where the family history ended. There were no further marriage entries, no births of great-grandchildren recorded. With a choked back sob, she sank down on the edge of the bed. For a few moments, she clutched the Bible to her chest and let the tears fall as she closed her eyes and prayed for her grandson's safe return. She then took a deep breath, set the Bible down, wiped the tears from her eyes and set about getting dressed.

SOMEWHERE IN CHECHNYA Colonel Mikhail Vonikoff stalked through the camp with an air of impatience, forcing the man following him to practically run to keep up. There was hardly any glory to be had in watching over a bunch of prisoners and he was tired of the attention his camp had garnered since December, when the capture of a simple Russian sergeant had drawn notice from officials in the American government. How were his troops to have known that the helicopter pilot they'd captured was the half-Russian son and brother of American Naval officers? His superiors insisted that he had to take extra care with this particular prisoner and put up with occasional visits from International Red Cross workers and the occasional American unofficially checking on conditions at the camp and on that prisoner specifically. The higherups thought it would show the Americans, who had stayed out of the Russian-Chechen conflict thus far, how much more just the Chechens were than the barbaric Russians who had invaded their homes and bombed their cities to rubble. Vonikoff walked along the fence which cordoned off what was officially an 'exercise' pen, where the prisoners were herded twice a day to walk in the sunshine. Unofficially, and away from the view of outside observers, it wasn't unusually for prisoners to be left out there

overnight, depending on the general mood of the guards and restlessness of the prisoners. Restless prisoners usually were less so after a night spent in the chilly mountain air. Sergei was using the pen for its official purpose, walking briskly along the fence line. He took whatever opportunities he could find to keep his strength and agility up. His mother had told him the story of how his father had escaped from a Russian prison camp after nearly eleven years in captivity, information she’d learned from Harm the first time she'd met him, and Sergei was determined that as long as he was alive, his goal would be getting out of prison through whatever means necessary. Maybe he'd even take his brother up on the offer to move to America and attend college. His mother would probably like that, preferring him to be safe halfway around the world than facing an uncertain future in the Russian Army. The thought of his mother brought a half smile to his face. He knew from the occasional visits from aid workers and the officials working to obtain his release in a prisoner exchange that she was fine, if extremely worried about him. He also knew that Major Sokol had someone who gave her periodic updates on the efforts to get him released. For so long, his mother had been his only known family and they were very close. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his tattered jacket and pulled out the picture of his parents that he always carried with him. He'd been surprised that it hadn't been taken from him when he'd been captured, until he'd been told by a Red Cross worker that the Chechens had known that he was half-American even before he'd been taken to the camp. He suspected that the Chechens were trying to show the Americans that they were the good guys in the war by taking relatively good care of him, the upside being that everyone in the camp got treated just a little bit better when international observers were watching. The downside was that the rest of the prisoners seemed to know that he was the reason for the better treatment and it set him apart from the others, many of whom eyed him with suspicion, wondering if he was going to sell them out to their captors in exchange for his own freedom. It was a lonely existence, but Sergei got through it by physically and mentally preparing himself to be free someday and by dreaming of the farm in Svischevo where he'd grown up and by imagining America with all its gleaming monuments and freedoms that still seemed to be a distant dream to most Russians. "Zhukov," Vonikoff called out when he caught sight of Sergei a few feet away. Sergei turned towards the shout, hurriedly stuffing the photo back in his pocket, relaxing slightly when he recognized the man accompanying the camp commander as a minor official from the American embassy, in actuality a CIA agent who owed Clayton Webb a few favors, a minor enough official that it wasn't worth the trouble for the Chechens to try and hold him, as far as they knew at least. He should have suspected something was up when he was called by name. On a good day, prisoners were usually addressed by the Chechen equivalent of 'Hey, you!’ On a bad day, the language could be quite derogatory. Being addressed by name was just for the visitor's benefit. Feeling the eyes of his fellow prisoners on him, he walked over to the two men, coming to attention in front of the Colonel. That had been one of the first lessons he'd learned in the camp. One of the prisoners who had been brought in at the same time as him had shown what the Chechen guards had considered a definitely lack of respect and had been beaten, later dying of his injuries. Although it galled him to show any kind of respect to the Chechen terrorists, he rationalized it by acknowledging that he didn't want the kind of freedom death

would bring. That only brought more stares and whispers from the other prisoners. But he would do whatever it took to stay alive, short of selling out his country. Vonikoff acknowledged Sergei with a slight nod of his head and took a step back, in a show of allowing them privacy to talk. Not that he would have understood a word they were saying – although all of the people who had ever checked on Sergei spoke Russian in order to communicate with camp officials, they always communicated with him in English, which very few Chechens spoke. As long as Sergei didn't try anything overt, he was rarely questioned about the content of such discussions. On the few occasions when he was asked, he reported simply that they were asking after him for news to pass to his family, which is what most of the conversations did consist of. None of his visitors were about to go out on a limb for him to help him escape. Harm might have, he was reasonably sure, but his brother was in America. "How are you, Sergeant Zhukov?" Daniel Mason asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. He turned and offered one to Vonikoff, who readily accepted. "Fine," Sergei replied. "The weather's getting better." The sun was peaking out through the clouds and the mud created by the heavy rain at the beginning of the week was finally drying. Mason sighed, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. "Major Sokol asked me to come," he said. "I have news for you – from America." "My brother?" he asked, curling his fingers around the links of the fence, realizing that it could only be bad news. "What happened?" "He was on his way back home from an American Naval ship in the Atlantic Ocean when his plane apparently went down in the ocean a few hours ago," Mason explained as Sergei closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the fence. "I don't know much beyond that. Major Sokol spoke to Mr. Webb and the search and rescue teams were barely into their search at that time." "Where in the Atlantic Ocean?" Sergei asked. "About one hundred miles off the American coast," he replied. At Sergei's blank look, he clarified, "One hundred sixty kilometers." "He went down in the middle of the night," Sergei realized, figuring the time in his head. "Just before midnight, Eastern time in the States," Mason confirmed. "Mr. Webb was asked to find a way to get word to you before the Chechens find out somehow and, well, use the information against you in some way. I imagine an American F-14 going down will eventually hit the news and once the names of the crew are released …." "If it is on ZNN, someone here is bound to hear eventually and realize that the one of them is my brother," Sergei said, opening his eyes, which were clear and dry. He stared off at some point in the distance. "Anything else?" "Not right now," Mason said. "I'll be hanging around the camp for a while, ostensibly to make a report on conditions, and I have a radio that Major Sokol will use to contact me if

there's any news." Sergei nodded and turned away, struggling with his emotions, barely noticing when Mason and Vonikoff walked away. He leaned back against the fence, thinking of the man with whom he'd first fought, and then developed a pretty close relationship with, despite the miles which separated them. Sliding to the ground, note even taken note if the soil beneath him was dry or wet, he withdrew another picture from his pocket, one taken of him and Harm before the latter left Chechnya seven months previously. He'd known that he was in constant danger, choosing to stay in a war zone. He accepted that, aware of how his grandfather had died, how his father had been captured. But Harm was in America, a country at peace. How could something have happened to him?

SEVERAL HOURS LATER JUST AFTER DAYBREAK USS PATRICK HENRY Ingles stood on the observation deck, watching the activity below him on the flight deck, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. It had been just over twenty-six hours since he'd last slept, not the longest period of time he'd ever gone without rest, but the feeling of dread threatening to settle over him was adding to his fatigue, brought about by the knowledge that the odds were getting longer with every hour that passed. The weather had finally broken about an hour before dawn and the SAR aircraft back in the air within minutes after the weather people had given the all clear and about half an hour after that, he'd received word that the Coast Guard had joined the search. Regular flight ops were still shut down pending completion of a nose to tail inspection of every Tomcat, ordered by the CAG after listening to tapes of Navy 241's communications with Oceana which pointed at massive system failure. He heard the door open behind him and turned to find Pike stepping out onto the deck carrying a clipboard and two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Ingles. "All birds check out, Captain," Pike reported. "No problems found. Flight ops ready to resume as soon as you give the word." Ingles nodded impassively. "Proceed," he ordered. "What's the current track of the storms?" "Moved off to the north-northeast," Pike said. "Winds coming from the southwest." Ingles headed to the bridge, Pike following close behind. "Navigator," Ingles called out as soon as he stepped onto the bridge, "turn the ship two-two-five in preparation for launching the squadron." "Two-two-five," the navigation officer replied. "Aye, Sir." Ingles picked up the mike and called the air boss. "Boss, proceed with flight ops as soon as we're turned into the wind at your discretion," he ordered. "Vector the Tomcats away from the search area until further notice."

"Aye, Sir," the air boss replied. "Hold a minute, Sir. We're receiving a report from Viking …. Sir, Viking reports spotting a life raft. Angel is moving in for a closer look." Ingles and Pike exchanged a look as they waited for word. "Sir, Angel reports the raft is empty." "Understood," Ingles said, his voice void of emotion. "Continue the search. What's the ETA on the cod from Norfolk?" "Thirty-seven minutes, Captain." "Carry on," he said. He silently turned back Pike, his eyes the only thing in his bearing which betrayed the gravity of the situation. He lowered his voice. "I'll be in my ready room. Keep me informed." "Yes, Sir," Pike replied. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

JAG HEADQUARTERS FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA A.J. had tried grabbing some sleep on the floor of his office, using a sleeping bag he'd gotten out of the back of his car, but had given up on the effort at about 0300. At that point, he'd booted up his computer and, fortified by massive amounts of coffee, attempted to get caught up on the piles of folders that never seemed to leave the inbox on his desk. About an hour later, he decided to take a break before he went blind on paperwork and checked his e-mail, when he finally read the message that Mac had sent him before she'd left for Norfolk, which didn't really tell him anything that he didn't already know. Around that time, he received a call from Gunny, reporting that he and Jason were at the Rabb farm and were getting ready to return to Washington with Sarah Rabb. Frank Burnett had called from the air at about five, reporting that they were ahead of schedule and would be landing at Reagan between six-thirty and seven and would head for JAG from the airport, having arranged already for a car to be waiting for them. Now, there was really nothing left for A.J. to do but wait – wait and pray. Shortly before seven, his private phone line rang and he picked it up immediately, knowing it could only be from one person. "Chegwidden," he said. "Admiral, this is Captain Ingles," Ingles said. "I have some news, but I'm afraid it's less than welcome. We sent SAR back up just before daybreak and they just reported that they found an empty raft." "I see," A.J. said, sighing deeply as he rubbed his eyes. "Damn. What's the estimated survival time given the conditions?" "We're still within the time frame," Ingles replied, "but I don't have to tell you what finding an empty raft means." "No," A.J. said, turning in his chair to stare out his window. The sun was peaking through the clouds now that the storms had passed, but it meant nothing. For a man who'd already been

out on the ocean half the night, the sun could come out and the temperature could go up twenty degrees and it would not help. "That said, Admiral," Ingles continued firmly, "no one here is giving up until we know something definite, one way or the other. Since we found the raft, we're concentrating search efforts in that area. The Coast Guard has also joined the search, allowing us to cover a wider area." "Thank you, Captain," A.J. said. "Everyone here appreciates your efforts." "Also," Ingles said, "a COD took off from Norfolk at dawn carrying Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Hawkes' fiancé. It's expected here in just over half an hour. And Admiral …." he hesitated, not sure how to broach the next subject. "Yes, Captain?" "Given the lengthening," he said, "although far from impossible odds, perhaps it might be better not to put the rescue back on speaker phone. It's your decision, of course, but those close to Commander Rabb might not handle hearing the blow by blow if things, well, if they don't go our way." A.J. didn't hesitate before making his decision. "I'll keep this line open so you can continue to contact me directly," he said. "When there's news, I'll pass it on to my people myself." "Agreed, Admiral," Ingles said. "I'll keep you informed." "Thank you, Captain," A.J. said, turning around to hang up the phone. Returning his gaze to the window, he said a silent prayer for the man he considered a friend, remembering again the dire circumstances aboard the Suribachi, hoping that he was right and that Harm could beat the odds once again.

Renee slowly awoke to the smell of strong, fresh coffee. She blinked several times to clear her vision, finding Mic kneeling next to her, holding out a mug of coffee. She pushed herself into a sitting position, pushing her mused hair off her face. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily, accepting the offered cup and sipping gently. "Seven," Mic said. "That's when you said you wanted to be woken up." Renee nodded. "Has there been any word yet?" she asked. Mic sat down on the floor next to her, sipping his own coffee. "From the carrier," he said, "just that they sent the search and rescue teams back out just before dawn and they've been joined by several Coast Guard helos." A.J. had passed that much on to those who were awake after he'd gotten off the phone with Captain Ingles. "That's good, right?" Renee asked hopefully. "Having more people out there looking, I mean? And it's daylight, so it should be easier to spot him."

"It's good," he replied to the first part, ignoring the second assertion. Daylight might actually make it harder to spot his strobe, he thought, especially if the sun was out and reflecting off the water. Renee sensed he was holding back something, but before she could press him about it, Loren entered the courtroom, looking rumpled in the jeans and t-shirt she'd slept in, her hair pulled back off her face in a pony tail. "Ms. Peterson," she said, stifling a yawn, "I thought you'd like to know that the Commander's parents just arrived. They're out in the bullpen talking to the Admiral." Mic got up quickly and helped Renee to her feet, following her out of the courtroom. Renee managed a watery half-smile when she caught sight of Trish in the center of the bullpen. "Trish," she exclaimed, enveloping the older woman in a tight hug. Trish looked slightly startled, but quickly recovered and returned the hug. Pulling back, she studied Renee for a moment. "How are you doing, Renee?" she asked, her tone concerned. "I'm hanging on," she said, brushing back tears. "Telling myself that it will be okay, that Harm's a survivor." "Yes, he is," Frank said confidently, putting his arm around his wife. "Oh, Frank," Trish said, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is my husband Frank." "Nice to meet you, Mr. Burnett," Renee said pleasantly. Suddenly remembering that Mic was behind her, she motioned to him. "This is Mic Brumby, Mac's fiancé. Mic, these are Harm's parents, Trish and Frank Burnett." They exchanged pleasantries, Trish concluding by commenting, "I didn't know that Mac was getting married." Renee frowned as she realized Harm hadn't told his parents that Mac was getting married, as if he was in denial, an expression that didn't go unnoticed by Frank, who was studying Renee carefully, as if measuring her up. She seemed pleasant enough, he thought, but not Harm's usual type, at least not as far as his more serious relationships went. "Well, we were supposed to get married today," Mic told Trish sadly. "Of course, we wouldn't think of going forward given the current …. situation. Right now, everyone's just hoping that Commander Rabb is found safe." Frank took advantage of Trish being distracted by her conversation with Mic to walk over to A.J.. "Admiral, can I speak with you a moment?" he asked in a whisper, keeping an eye on his wife. Sensing that the other man wanted privacy, A.J. motioned Frank into his office and closed the door behind them. "Admiral," Frank continued, his manner grave, "I know Harm pretty well and know what he's been through over the years, but the situation isn't good, is it? He's been out there for over seven, going on eight hours, correct?"

"No, it isn't good," A.J. admitted, recognizing a man who wanted straight talk, "but far from hopeless. The Captain of the Henry assured me that we're still within the survivability range given weather conditions. However, um, I did receive some less than welcome news from Captain Ingles which I haven't told anyone yet." He paused, gauging Frank's reaction. "Tell me, Admiral," Frank insisted, his voice firm. "I want to know." "Shortly after they went back up," A.J. said, "the search and rescue team found an empty life raft about twelve miles away from where they found his RIO. The upside, such as it is, is that finding the raft is confirmation that Harm was able to eject, which we weren't sure of from Lieutenant Hawkes' report. Given the stormy conditions last night, it's not outside the realm of possibility that he was thrown from the raft." "But not being in the raft means that he has to tread water to stay afloat," Frank realized, "which expends energy, plus it means more exposure to the chilly water, which increases the chances of hypothermia." "That's true," A.J. said. "You know a lot about the subject." "Do you have any children, Admiral?" Frank asked. "Francesca," A.J. replied. "She's twenty-nine and works for a fashion magazine in Milan." "I never had any children of my own," Frank explained, a faraway look in his eyes. "Trish and I decided for several reasons not to have any. Although our relationship has been rocky at times, Harm's the only child I'll ever have and although he's probably not aware of this, I've always kept a close eye on his career. When he went to the Gulf, I read every report, every newspaper article I could about what was going on over there. I wanted to know what he was getting into. I even have a subscription to the Navy Times. After his first crash, I read everything I could about the F-14, about the causes of night blindness. I wanted to know exactly why my son almost died. I probably knew as much about his crash as the mishap investigators. While Trish tried to sleep on the flight here, I used the plane's phone to connect to the internet and learn what I could about what Harm's going through right now. Admiral, I'm hoping and praying that he'll survive this like he survived Southeast Asia, Libya, his first crash, Russia, but if the worst happens, I want to understand why." "I can understand that," A.J. said sympathetically, remembering when Francesca had been kidnapped. "As a parent, you want to do anything you can to protect your child. Sometimes, you're just not in a position to do so and all you can do is demand answers as to why it happened." "Trish and Sarah have been through so much," Frank said, "with what happened to Harm's father and grandfather and I know that Sarah already has a heavy weight on her shoulders with her other grandson being in a Chechen prison camp. You know, I was the first to find out, and then I had to tell Trish and Sarah about Harm's first crash. I can still remember the look of horror on my wife's face, and then the trembling expression on her mother-in-law's when we showed up at her farm on our way to Landstuhl. I've always prayed that I'd never have to go through another day like that one." Both men were silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say. Finally, Frank broke

the somewhat uncomfortable silence. "Thank you for being straight with me, Admiral," Frank said. "I appreciate your candor." "Why don't we rejoin everyone before they start asking questions neither of us would rather answer right now?" A.J. suggested, opening his office door. Frank nodded and followed A.J. back out into the bullpen where the JAG staff was beginning to gather, most looking restless and drawn from lack of sleep. Shortly after they entered, Gunny and Jason showed up with Sarah. "Mom," Trish said, greeting the older woman with a tight hug, blinking back tears. As they pulled back, Sarah placed a comforting hand on her daughter-in-law's cheek. "He's out there and he's alive," Sarah said confidently. She tapped a finger over her heart. "I feel it in here." Trish smiled at a long-ago memory. "You said that after his first crash," she remembered, "and while he was in Russia and it was being reported …." She trailed off, unable to voice the thought. "Your son is a survivor," Sarah said, "just like his father." She turned and smiled warmly at Frank, releasing Trish to give him a similarly warm hug. "How are you doing, Frank?" "Hoping and praying," he said, smiling at the woman who'd welcomed him into the family so warmly nearly twenty-five years earlier, helping to make things a lot better than they might have been regarding his relationship with Harm. "How are you doing, Sarah?" "The same," she said, her gaze turning towards Renee, whom Trish was motioning forward. From the vague description she'd gotten from Harm, she realized that this was Harm's girlfriend. "Mom," Trish said by way of introduction, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is Harm's grandmother, Sarah Rabb." "Hello, Mrs. Rabb," Renee said, taking Sarah's hands in hers and squeezing them gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm just sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances." "I'm …." Sarah began, looking down when she felt something bump against her legs, finding wide blue eyes staring back at her. She recognized the little boy from Harm's description and pictures he'd shown her. "Hello. I'm guessing that you're AJ Roberts." AJ nodded excitedly at hearing his name. "AJ," he said proudly, patting his chest. "Hello, AJ," Sarah said, kneeling down with an agility that belied her age. "I'm Gram Sarah." "AJ," Chloe called out, rushing into the bullpen, hands on her hips in a display of mock frustration while AJ giggled excitedly. "I told your mother I'd keep an eye on you. I'm sorry, everyone. It's amazing that someone so small can move so fast. He's like Speedy Gonzalez." "That's okay," Sarah assured her. "I remember Harm taking off like that when he was that young. That boy was the devil to keep up with – always running around, getting into

things. He was such a curious child." "I'm Chloe Anderson," she introduced herself as Sarah stood back up. "I'm Mac's …. Colonel Mackenzie's little sister." "I've heard a lot about you from Harm," Sarah said. "I'm Sarah Rabb, Harm's grandmother, and this is Trish and Frank Burnett, Harm's parents." "Hello, everyone," Chloe said. "It's nice of you to be here, waiting for word on Harm," Trish said. "I understand your sister was supposed to be getting married today." "Well, um, we're all just worried about Harm and wanted to be together to wait for word," Chloe said, trying to keep the discomfort out of her voice at the mention of the wedding. "There are a lot of people who love him and are pulling for him. He's got a lot to live for here." "Yes, he does," Renee agreed. Chloe turned away in an effort to keep her expression from betraying her thoughts, realizing suddenly that AJ had wandered off again, this time towards Harm's open office. "Unca Harm?" he asked, peeking into the dark office. He looked back at the adults, confusion on his face. "Where Unca Harm?" "Oh, AJ," Chloe said softly, quickly walking over and picking him up, setting him on her hip, kissing his cheek. Looking back at the adults, she noticed that Trish and Renee were both struggling to keep tears from their eyes. It was time for a distraction. "Hey, are you thirsty, AJ? Why don't we go see if we can find some juice in the kitchen? If you all will excuse us." With a nod to the adults, she carried AJ out of the bullpen. "Down," AJ insisted once they were in the hallway. Chloe relented after a moment of AJ squirming in her arms, keeping a firm hold on one of his hands. "I told Mommy I'd keep an eye on you," she insisted when he tried to pull away. As they entered the kitchen, AJ's wandering mind returned to a previous topic of discussion. "Where Unca Harm?" he asked again, Chloe's heart nearly breaking at the innocent look on his face. She sat down on the kitchen floor and pulled him into her lap, resting her head against his as her tears fell unfettered. "Chloe, are you okay?" Chloe looked up to find Frank in the kitchen doorway, looking down at them with sympathy. "AJ was just asking about Harm again," she said, "and I don't know what to tell him. Does he even realize that something's wrong and somehow connects that with Harm or does he just expect to find Harm at JAG?" Frank sat down on the floor next to them, smiling when AJ, curious about the newcomer, crawled into his lap. "I don't know," he said. "Some people say that even babies realize when

something's wrong with all the adults around them and although they may not understand what's wrong, they react to all the emotions around them." "I keep trying to tell myself that Harm has a lot to live for," she said, "and that he's going to be okay, but then I remember the look on my dad's face when he told me the news and I asked if Harm was going to be okay ….” She squeezed her eyes shut as Frank patted her shoulder. "Every time Harm's gone off somewhere," Frank said, "Libya, the Gulf, Russia, Kosovo – I feel like I start holding my breath as soon as he leaves and I don't start breathing again until he's safely home. But when he mentioned last week in a phone call that he was going off to do his quals, it seemed so …. routine." "When he called last night ….” She stopped suddenly, clasping her hand over her mouth as she realized what she was saying. "Chloe," Frank said carefully, "is there something going on? Well, I noticed that you seem uncomfortable around Renee." "I hardly know her," she said, trying weakly to explain away her behavior. "I just met her last night." "Perhaps," he said, "but I also noticed that Mac's not around. I would have expected her to be. Although we've never met her – we just never seemed to connect with Harm and Mac all the times they've been out in California for cases – Harm's talked a lot about her over the last five years. I also think it a bit odd that Harm never mentioned to us that Mac was getting married today or that he would risk being gone so close to her wedding. I would think that his best friend getting married would at least rate a mention and that he would want to make sure nothing would keep him from being there." "I can't really talk about it," Chloe said cautiously. "It's not my place to say, um, well, except that it's complicated." "You know," Frank confided, "the way he's always talked about her, I guess I expected that Mac would be the one he would finally decide to settle down with. We've never pressured him about it, but Trish and I really do want grandchildren someday." Chloe started crying harder, burying her face against Frank’s shoulder while he put a comforting arm around her. AJ, startled by the outburst, looked confused, pressing a hand against Chloe's wet cheek. "I keep telling myself that Harm is the strongest man I know and he'll get through this," Frank said, fighting against tears himself. All three of them looked up at the sound of a throat clearing to find Mic standing in the doorway. It bothered him slightly to find Mac's sister crying on the shoulder of Harm's stepfather, but he forced the feeling down. He had more important things on his mind. "Chloe," he began, "I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Sarah? I'm very worried about her." Chloe climbed to her feet while she struggled to think of something to say, Frank doing the same, cradling AJ in his arms. "Um, not since the Admiral said she'd been informed," she finally said evasively. "But Mac's like that sometimes, just wants to be alone with her

thoughts when something's troubling her." Mic ran a hand through his hair, growing even more frustrated. "Doesn't anyone seem to care that no one's seen or heard from Sarah all night?" he snapped. "She should be here with those who love and support her." "Her best friend is missing and God only knows what," Chloe retorted, losing her temper with Mic while AJ started crying at the yelling, Frank rocking him gently in an attempt to soothe him. "I don't see anything wrong with wanting to have some space right now." "Enough of this," Sarah said firmly, walking into the kitchen with Trish and Renee on her heels. She took up a place next to Frank and patted AJ on the back, murmuring softly to him. As he calmed, she looked firmly at everyone else. "You're scaring AJ." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rabb," Chloe said. "I'm just a little on edge because of Harm. I'm really worried about him." Mic hesitated, not really appreciative of being rebuked by Harm's grandmother of all people. She fixed him with a hard stare, and he finally relented, "I apologize as well. I'm just concerned about my fiancée." "Mic does have a point," Renee added, barely able to keep the condemnation out of her voice. "He just wants to provide support and comfort to the woman he's supposed to marry today and she's nowhere around." "People deal with things in their own way, Ms. Peterson," Sarah said in a tone that would allow for no argument. "Sometimes they cling to others, seeking comfort from others in the same situation. Sometimes they retreat within themselves until they're ready to open up to those around them. I think the best thing anyone who cares about her can do for Mac is to let her have her space now and be there for her when *she's* ready." "Chloe, why don't we go find AJ's mother?" Frank suggested, anxious to diffuse the situation. "She can probably do a better job than any of us comforting him." Chloe nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, breathing an audible sigh of relief once they were out of earshot of the others. Almost immediately, they ran into Bud and Harriet in the hallway. Frank handed AJ off to Harriet. "He's a little upset," he explained as AJ wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's neck. "Things were a little tense between Chloe and Mr. Brumby." "He was asking about Mac again," Chloe added when Harriet turned her gaze towards her for a further explanation. Harriet passed her son off to Bud, nodding her understanding. "I was going to find Mic anyway," she said. "We need to start making phone calls to cancel all the arrangements for the wedding." "He's in the kitchen," Frank said, tilting his head in that direction. Harriet nodded and headed that way while Bud and Chloe exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"I just wish …." Chloe said with a sigh, sitting down on a nearby bench. She looked up at Bud and Frank. "I don't know how much longer this can go on." Frank sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Chloe, do you remember what I said about Mac and the way Harm always talks about her?" he asked, trying to draw her out, hoping she realized that she could trust him. "Yeah," she said softly, glancing up at Bud, not sure how much Harriet had told him. He nodded his encouragement and she admitted, keeping her voice down so as not to be overheard, "Mic doesn't know yet that Mac was going to call off the wedding anyway. Everything …. else happened before she could reach him to talk to him about it." "Because she has feelings for Harm?" Frank guessed. Chloe nodded in response. "They …. came to a realization, I guess," she said in vague explanation, "because they were about to lose each other. Harm was going to come home to her and they were going to try to work things out between them." "See, you were right," Frank said. "Harm does have a lot to live for and that has to keep him going. When Sarah says that she still feels he's alive out there somewhere, I trust her implicitly. Maybe I don't want to believe that there might be any other outcome, but until I see evidence otherwise, I'm going to keep on believing that." He laughed, shaking his head. "I just realized that I sound a little like Harm, when he was so determined to find his father. Until he had proof that his father was dead, he refused to consider otherwise." Chloe and Bud looked at each other, each attempting a smile. "I guess if Harm was here, he'd be the last to give up hope," Bud said. "It's one of the things that makes him such a passionate lawyer and a devoted friend." "He's going to be okay," Chloe said, trying to sound as confident as her words indicated. "He's going to be okay, he and Mac will work things out with Renee and Mic, and then they'll work on fixing things with each other." OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN APPROX. 480 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA A storm tossed ocean and a single man, fighting for his life out in it. His arms thrashed heavily about as he struggled to remain afloat. Mac jerked awake suddenly, banging her head on the window her head had been resting against. She rubbed the side of her head, blinking her eyes to clear the sleep from them. "Are you okay, Mac?" Robert asked quietly. She focused on the concerned face of Skates' fiancé next to her. "I guess I was dozing," she said, gazing out the window with tired eyes. The storm outside was finally over, but that didn't make the situation any less dangerous for Harm. "I was dreaming …. I saw Harm out there, fighting against the swells …." Robert glanced down, not sure what to say, what comfort he could offer. The woman he loved was safe in sickbay aboard the Henry, recovering from her injuries. Mac didn't have the

luxury of that knowledge. The last report they'd received from the carrier was that there was still no sign of Harm, nearly two hours after search and rescue had resumed. "I'm sorry," he finally said. She glanced over at him and nodded. "Thank you," she said. She looked out the window again, trying to block the dream from her thoughts. "How far out are we?" "I think I just heard the crew say we are at twenty nautical," he replied. "We should be landing in a few minutes. They said something about seeing the carrier out the forward windows." Mac nodded, wishing there was more she could do. She couldn't remember feeling this helpless even when Harm had been trapped below decks on the Suribachi. At least then the Admiral had been able to affect the outcome, but they'd also known exactly where he was. She brushed the threatening tears from her eyes and stared down at the photo album lying open in her lap. It was open to some photos from a JAG softball game several years ago. In one photo, he was standing at first base, having just gotten a hit. That one she’d taken from the dugout. In another, the two of them were high-fiving each other at home plate after they both had crossed the plate when Harm had hit a home run. She thought Harriet had snapped that photo. Full of life and laughter, that was how she wanted to remember …. No, she thought, shaking her head. Thinking like that was akin to an acknowledgement that Harm wouldn't be coming home and she refused to think that. She was sure that if he was dead that she would feel it and she didn't feel it. If she closed her eyes, she could feel him with her, his arms around her, holding her tight. She could feel his tender touch, brushing the tears from her cheek, as he’d done before. That was the feeling she had to hold on to. "Sir, Ma'am," the COD pilot said, turning his head towards them, "you need to make sure you're strapped in. We'll be touching down in a couple of minutes." Mac snapped the photo album shut and stashed it back in her travel bag before checking the harness holding her in her seat. She glanced over at Robert, who offered her a weak smile of encouragement. She just wished that being aboard the Henry would make her feel better, but the only thing that could do that would be to board that ship to find Harm waiting for her. Involuntarily, her fingers tightened around one of the straps of her harness as the COD's tail hook caught the two wire on the deck of the Henry. She didn't think she'd ever get used to that feeling. Before her first visit to an aircraft carrier, she thought commercial landings could get bumpy. She smiled sadly as she remembered that first trip ….

USS SEAHAWK NOVEMBER 1996 "There she is, Ma'am," Bud said excitedly, pointing out the window of their COD at the aircraft carrier looming larger with every minute. "The USS SeaHawk." "Coming home, Bud?" she asked, remembering that Harm had mentioned that Bud's last tour

of duty had been as PAO aboard that carrier. "Yes, Ma'am," he exclaimed. She exchanged an indulgent look with Harm over Bud's head. She had to admit that the young man's enthusiasm was infectious. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been around anyone so wide-eyed. Her life thus far hadn't allowed much opportunity to interact with people like that. But in the last month she’d discovered that she was working with different kinds of people than she was used to. One of those different people being her partner. Her initial impression was confused, mostly owing to his odd reaction upon meeting her. The man had looked like he'd been sucker punched. Her second impression had been that he was cocky, overly confident and convinced that with his smile and charm he could get anything he wanted, including any woman. Fortunately for their developing friendship, it was the third impression that stuck with her. She'd held a gun on him and he still hadn't thought twice before offering to defend her uncle and spin things so that her own career was protected. He was willing to lay it all on the line for two people he barely knew. In that way, he reminded her a lot of her uncle. She was about to say something when she was suddenly jolted in her seat, grasping the straps of her harness as they came to a stop on the deck of the carrier. "What was that?" she exclaimed, eyes wide. Harm chuckled and shook his head. "I take it you've never been tail hooked before," he said with a trace of smugness. Arrogant pilot, she thought, mentally sticking her tongue out at him. He'd simply turned away, struggling to contain his laughter. It had only made her want to stick her tongue out at him for real ….

She shook her head to clear it as she realized that Robert was calling her name, telling her that they were on the deck. "Sorry," she said, unstrapping her harness. "I was just …. thinking." "I understand," he replied, gathering up the sea bag he'd brought with him. He realized how hard this had to be for her. He was stepping on board the ship and would get to see Beth. She was stepping on board …. to what? More uncertain waiting. He wouldn't have wished that on anyone. "Thank you," she said softly. Despite his initial reaction when they'd met, he'd provided a friendly ear as they'd sat up overnight, unable to sleep while waiting for the COD which would take them to the carrier. She guessed it came from a shared experience, the fear over the fate of a loved one, even if he quickly found out this his fiancée was okay. He'd listened to her stories of the often wild times she and Harm had shared, laughed with her, and even shared some of his own stories of Beth. Honestly, it felt good to talk about Harm and her feelings for him without worrying about who might be hurt or how tangled things had managed to get. For the first time, everything had seemed so simple, so clear. She was in love with Harmon Rabb and it felt so good to be able to talk about it, especially with a

practical stranger who had no preconceived notions of their relationship. She picked up her own bags and stepped off the COD coming to attention at the sight of Captain Pike and a Lieutenant Commander wearing the insignia of the medical corps. She and Robert both came to attention and saluted. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?" Mac said. "Permission granted, Colonel, Lieutenant Commander," Pike said. "I'm just sorry it had to be under these circumstances. This is Commander Reed. He's the doctor who treated Skates." "How is she?" Robert asked, concern clearly etched across his tired features. "She'll be fine, Commander," Reed replied. "She has a couple of broken ribs, some pulled muscles, a lot of bumps and bruises. She's resting down in sickbay. We'll probably observe her for few more hours, and then release her later today. A few days resting, then she should be free to return to duty with no problems. I'll escort you down to sickbay." He turned to Pike. "With your permission, Sir?" Pike nodded, and then turned to Mac as Robert and Reed walked off. "Colonel," he said, "the Captain is waiting for us up in CIC. He thought you'd appreciate a status report." "Thank you, Sir," she said, taking a deep breath. "I would." She silently followed him up to the combat information center, coming to attention again as they stepped in front of Ingles. "Colonel Mackenzie reporting as ordered, Sir." "Colonel," Ingles greeted her, nodding. "As you were." He motioned them to a relatively quiet corner of CIC while Mac waited with baited breath. "As I'm sure you're aware, SAR went back out about two hours ago." Mac nodded. She realized that Ingles was trying to break what ever news he had as gently as possible, but right now, she just wanted to know. "Sir …." she began. Ingles nodded in silent acknowledgement of her desire to know now. "The Viking found an empty life raft approximately twelve miles from where Lieutenant Hawkes was picked up," he reported. He’d held this news back during the last communication with the COD. This was information he’d thought best imparted in person. Mac turned away to stare out the windows at the now calm sea. God, Harm, she thought, blinking back tears. She barely registered his words as Ingles continued, pointing out that finding the raft at least confirmed that Harm had been able to eject, which had been a big question mark throughout the night. For all they’d known, they might have been chasing the ghost of a man who'd gone down with his plane. But all she could focus on was the fact that the raft had been empty. She may not have spent any extended time aboard Naval vessels, but she didn't need to have served a shipboard billet to understand what an empty life raft meant. "The Viking dropped several sonar buoys around the area where the raft was found," Ingles said as Mac turned her attention back to what he was saying. "If he finds one, it will allow us to home in on him." Mac silently digested the information. She didn't want to know what the odds were. She needed something to hold onto and as long as Ingles said nothing about the chances of Harm

finding one of the buoys, of him even still being alive, then she had hope to hold onto. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and closed her fingers around Harm's wings. Finally, she turned back around, her eyes glistening brightly with unshed tears. "Thank you, Sir," she said, trying to inject her voice with the confidence she desperately wanted to feel. "Colonel, I don't know if you're a religious person," Pike said, "but some of the Raptors have gotten together with Father Gilly, the ship's chaplain, to hold a service to pray for Hammer's safe return. I am heading down there myself …." Mac hesitated. Religious was the last thing she would call herself, despite Mic's attempts to make them appear so as they'd prepared for their wedding. On the other hand, even if God had never really looked out for her, maybe he would see fit to watch out for Harm if she asked. If nothing else, she could do this much for him. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, I'll attend the service …. Sir," she said softly, remembering only as an afterthought to express the proper respect due a superior officer. "If there's any word, Colonel," Ingles assured her, "you'll know right after we do." "Thank you, Sir," she replied, coming to attention again. "I appreciate all that you're doing." As Ingles watched Mac and Pike leave CIC, he shook his head, hoping that everything he was doing, all that the SAR crews were doing, would be enough to bring Harm home safely.

As she walked into the ship's chapel slightly behind Pike, she felt nearly every eye in the room on her. She tried to tell herself that she was imagining things. Everyone had stood and snapped to attention as the CAG had entered the room – of course everyone in the room was looking in their direction. But as Pike called 'As you were', she still felt the eyes, watching her. As she surreptitiously glanced around the room, she was sure she recognized many of the officers as members of the Raptors squadron who'd been around back when Harm had been, back when she'd prosecuted Buxton. To them, she was the enemy. She'd gone after one of their own. A man standing by the front row of pews stepped up to them. "CAG," he greeted Pike, and then turned his attention to Mac. "Colonel Mackenzie, I don't know if you remember me …." "Tuna," she remembered. "You were Harm's roommate when he served here." She shivered and pulled Harm's jacket tighter around her. "Yes, Ma'am," he said. "Hammer spoke of you often and …. last night …." He struggled to find the proper words without getting too deep into personal matters which it was probably best to stay out of. He smiled weakly. "He was looking forward to the chance to …. Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?" "Tell me," she said, granting him unspoken permission. "Please." Sensing their need for privacy, Pike stepped aside to speak with some of his pilots. "Hammer was …. depressed, I guess," he said, "when he got here. I mean, he went out and did his quals – received the highest score of any pilot – but he took no joy in it. I didn't really

get the chance to talk to him about it. But I saw him after he called you, Ma'am, as he was getting ready to leave the ship. He – he looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He indicated that you two had a lot of things to work out, but he sounded …. hopeful, Ma'am. He sounded hopeful." She closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. Please, let us have that chance. She opened her eyes and tried to smile at Tuna. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I think I needed to hear that." Tuna held out his arm to her. "May I, Ma'am?" he asked. She nodded and hooked her arm around his, allowing him to lead her to the front pew, where Pike was already seated. Tuna glanced around at the other pilots, his silent gaze telling them that she had just as much right to be there as they did. Some glanced away while others suddenly found something of interest in their hymnals. Mac look down, studying her hands in her lap, twisting her Marine Corps ring on her finger, her bare left hand catching her gaze. It probably should have been odd to see the ring gone after so many months, but instead it felt like a weight had been lifted. There had been times – often after a look or a gesture from Harm – when it had felt like she was wearing the Rock of Gibraltar on her fingers. After her engagement party, it had been heavy and felt like it was burning her finger. But now it was gone. She'd removed it for the final time as she'd prepared for bed after taking Chloe back to her hotel last night. After all the heartache, the ring slipped off her finger just as easily as it had slipped on back in December. This time, she was determined that, unlike the other day after she returned from Norfolk, the ring would not go back on her finger. It didn't matter what Mic wanted, what he would say to try to change her mind. This time, the only thing that mattered was what Sarah Mackenzie wanted and what she wanted could be summed up in two words – Harmon Rabb. Tuna clasped her hand for a second and she looked up to see that the priest, a short graying man wearing a Navy khaki uniform with the silver oak clusters of a full Commander, had entered the chapel. With a bit of trepidation, she stood with the rest of the congregation. "Please turn to the inside front cover of your hymnals and join in singing the Navy hymn, Eternal Father, Strong To Save," the priest said. Mac picked up a hymnal out of the seat pocket in front of her and flipped it open, her heart stopping in her throat as she glanced over the words. She was familiar with the song but had never really paid attention to the words. After the first line, she joined the singing in a shaky voice. Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm hath bound the restless wave, Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep Its own appointed limits keep; Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea! O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard And hushed their raging at They word,

Who walked'st on the foaming deep, And calm amidst its rage didst sleep; Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea! Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood Upon the chaos dark and rude, And bid its angry tumult cease, And give, for wild confusion, peace; Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea! Mac was about to close her hymnal as the final verse trailed off when about half the room – all pilots as far as she could tell as she glanced around the room – quietly began singing another verse. Lord, guard and guide the men who fly Through the great spaces in the sky. Be with them always in the air, In darkening storms or sunlight fair; Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer, For those in peril in the air!

SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN He'd given up on trying to keep track of how long he'd been struggling on the vast ocean hours ago. All he knew was that it was now day and the storm had finally dissipated, the sun finally making its presence known. He kept his eyes closed. Between the salt water burning his eyes and the sun's blinding light, it was simply too painful. Everything was becoming too painful. His chest felt like it was on fire with every breath he drew into his lungs. It felt like lead weights had been tied to his arms and legs as he tried to move them to keep the circulation going. It would be so easy. All he had to do was let go, just stop trying and never open his eyes again. Then all the pain would go away …. Since when did Harmon Rabb become such a defeatist? a soft, feminine voice asked. He opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen throat couldn't form the words. It's just too painful, he thought. And do you really think it will be any less painful for those you'd be leaving behind?" she asked. Harm wasn't sure if the voice was just in his head. He opened his eyes partway, then squeezed them shut against the dazzling white light. Oh, yeah. He was all alone, out in the middle of the ocean. There was nobody there.

Technically, you're right, the voice said. I'm a figment of your imagination. A hallucination. You're suffering from stage-four hypothermia. But if hearing voices will keep you fighting, then just keep listening to me. Keep listening and remember what you're fighting for – whom you're fighting for. Sarah, he thought. Yes, Sarah, she said, a trace of sadness evident in her tone. You've got another chance – the chance that you and I never had. You and I? he thought confused, struggling to concentrate. Suddenly, it came to him. Diane. He allowed her image to form in his mind – not his final image of her, bloodied and lifeless. This was an earlier image. She’d come up to visit him on his grandmother's farm when he'd been restoring 'Sarah' after his crash. He hadn't known she was coming – his grandmother had called and invited her up, thinking her presence might raise his spirits – and he'd been surprised when she stepped into the barn, the sun shining through the door behind her, making her look almost like an angel in her white sundress. That had been when he'd started to acknowledge that maybe he wanted more with Diane than the close friendship and teasing flirtation they'd shared in the past, but there hadn't been time to pursue it then. Within a few weeks, she’d been reassigned to Naples and, shortly after that, he'd started law school. Although they'd kept up their contact over the next few years, they wouldn't have the opportunity to actually see each again until they planned to get together on her return from a tour of duty aboard the SeaHawk …. Who else? she asked with an ironic laugh. Kind of appropriate, don't you think? We wasted so much time and look what happened. I died before we could work things out between us. What did you tell Sarah – 'we missed more than we connected'? Do you really want Sarah to go through the same thing, tormented by what might have been if only the two of you hadn't wasted so much time, too? I love her, he thought, Diane's ghostly visage replaced in his mind by Mac's living one. She looked as she had on the Admiral's porch, tears in her eyes as they'd struggled – with their feelings for each other, with what they thought would be goodbye. I know, Diane said sadly. He felt a breeze against his cheek and wondered if that was his imagination, too, like the soft voice pleading with him. You need to tell her what you never got the chance to tell me. Sooner or later, it will be too late, just like it was for us. And if you don't keep fighting, that time will come sooner. But you have to keep fighting. So hard …. he thought, feeling himself start to slip away. He almost smiled when he heard Diane sigh in his head, imagining her shaking her head at him. I never thought I'd ever have to convince Harmon Rabb not to give up, she said. He could hear the exasperation in her voice and the familiarity of the tone gave him a warm feeling. Their personalities might have been as different as night and day, but like Mac, Diane rarely took any of his attitude. What happened to the man who spent nearly thirty years looking for his father or the one who went after my murderer on the flimsiest of evidence?

He's been out on the ocean fighting for …. The thought trailed off as he tried to remember. What time had he crashed? How long had it been since the sun had come up? How long have I been out here? He heard her laugh, a beautiful bright sound he thought he'd never hear again. I'm a product of your imagination, remember? she asked. How am I supposed to know if you don't? I don't know …. He gasped, the sound sounding more like a croak through his cracked lips, as he bumped against something, startled more than hurt by the impact. He was too cold and numb to really feel much of anything. He'd been hitting things half the night as he floated amid the debris that used to be his Tomcat and he'd long since lost the ability to feel most of it. Here’s your chance, Diane said. He swore he could feel her warm lips brush over his – or maybe it was just the breeze again. Open your eyes. Can't, he thought. Hurts too much. Damn it, Harm, she practically shouted. Can you imagine what Sarah would think if she could see you right now, this close to giving up? What happened to the man who's never said die in his life, who's always pushed and fought until he got what he wanted? He almost felt like laughing at the admonishment, but he was too tired. What is this, reverse psychology? he mused. Isn't that what you did to Sarah in the Appalachian Mountains? she asked. How'd you …. oh, yeah, you're in my head, he remembered. And why do you keep calling her 'Sarah'? I don't …. He could see her smile as clearly as if she really was standing in front of him. Yes, you do, she said. That's how you think of her. She's 'Sarah' in your mind, the woman you love. Now fight for her. Hold on just a little bit longer …. Her image drifted from his mind as he felt a bump from being thrown against something again. He reached out and felt something hard sticking up out of the water. Sticking up out of the water? Despite the pain, he forced his eyes to open, struggling to focus on the metal object in front of him. It took a few minutes for his vision to clear enough so that he recognized the object – a sonar buoy. He summoned the strength to drape his arms around it, resting his head against it. Hold on, she'd told him. Now he had something to hold on to and …. there was something else, something shrouded in fog in the back of his mind. If only he could remember …. Finally, the answer came to him. A radio. Many buoys came equipped with a voice transmitter, especially if they’d been dropped by one of the rescue aircraft that he was sure had to be somewhere overhead. He moved his hands slowly over the buoy until he found what might be controls for the transmitter. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes more so he could see the controls. After a moment, he thought he could make out what should be the on/off switch. Flipping it, he prayed that he could make himself heard.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN "Sir, I'm picking up something," Lieutenant Jenna Jenkins reported to Paddles. She turned to the veteran pilot, her expression hopeful. "It's from one of the sonar buoys we dropped when we found the raft, Sir." "Let's here it," Paddles ordered. Jenkins flipped a switch on the Viking's radio, static filling the speakers. "The radio's definitely been activated," Jenkins murmured. "But it's hard to hear anything." They listened for another moment before Paddles' eyes widened. "Is …. there?" a barely detectible voice came over the radio. "This …. Commander …. is …. out there?" "Thank God," Jenkins whispered. "Triangulate our position and let's get a helo over here," Paddles ordered. "Lieutenant, looks like our prayers may have just been answered. City Desk, this is Viking. We have a signal and what sounds like a voice from one of the sonar buoys we dropped earlier. We're moving in to check it out." "Location?" Ingles asked. "35 degrees, 15 minutes north latitude," Paddles reported. "73 degrees, 28 minutes west longitude." Ingles turned to the air boss. "What's the closest rescue helo to those coordinates?" "There's a Coast Guard craft about five nautical from that position," he replied after a moment, having checked the electronic map for location of all SAR craft relative to the buoy's location. "Have them stand by to move in," Ingles ordered. If they weren't chasing ghosts on this, he knew that every minute, every second, counted in getting Harm out of the water, In the background, he heard the air boss relaying the message to the helo while he awaited further word from Paddles. Everyone in CIC seemed to be holding their collective breaths as the radio crackled and hissed, the sound broken by routine chatter from the Viking crew. After what seemed to be an intermittable wait, Jenkins voice was heard saying with barely concealed excitement, "We're over the buoy and it looks like he's down there hanging on." Everyone looked at each other, hardly daring to hope. They all knew that finding him was only half the battle. After nearly nine hours in the water, it was still an uphill battle for survival, assuming that he was still alive. He could have tethered himself to the buoy somehow, and then …. They all listened as the Coast Guard helo moved into position and a frogman was lowered into the water. Finally, at 1248 Zulu, came four words that they'd been waiting all night to hear. "I've got a pulse," called the frogman into his radio.

Ingles briefly closed his eyes, inwardly relaxing just a little as the radio chatter continued as the frogman prepped Harm to be lifted into the helo. A few minutes passed, and then a transmission came to the carrier. "Patrick Henry, this is Coast Guard 195," the helo pilot said. "We've got your pilot and are en route. ETA twenty-two minutes." "Understood," Ingles said. "We'll be waiting." He flipped on the ship's intercom and called sick bay. "Doctor Reed, the Coast Guard just picked up Commander Rabb, ETA twenty-two minutes." "Understood, Sir," Reed said. He didn't have to ask Harm's condition. After nine hours in the water, he knew what he would likely be facing. "I'll have a team up on deck to meet them." Sick bay became a hive of purposeful activity as the Navy's equivalent of an emergency room trauma team leapt into action, preparing to receive their patient. In one corner of the room, a dozing Skates was awakened by the sudden commotion and looked at Robert with a hopeful expression. "Do you think …?" she whispered hoarsely. Robert motioned to a passing corpsman, who hurried over with a look of concern. "Are you in pain, Lieutenant?" she asked. Skates shook her head gingerly, mindful of the headache pounding behind her eyes. She'd already been given something for that. "What's …?" she began, gesturing towards the rushing crew. The corpsman managed a slight smile despite the gravity of the situation. "Commander Rabb was just picked up," she reported. "He should be down here in just under half an hour." "Thank God," Robert breathed, clasping Skates' hand. Skates closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. The corpsman moved off, satisfied that Skates didn't need any medical help, leaving the two alone. "Robert," she said fearfully, "he's been out there for nine hours." "I know," he replied, trying to sound comforting. But it was hard. This was one of those times when ignorance would have been bliss. He looked down at their joined hands. "But he's apparently still alive or else why all the hustle? I guess now all we can do now is be thankful that he's come this far and have faith that he will make it the rest of the way. To hear you and Mac tell it, he's practically indestructible." He attempted to smile confidently, but it came off as obviously forced. "Yeah," she said with a heavy heart. "Indestructible." But how long could he continue to be so?

"Make sure he's securely strapped in," a Coast Guard corpsman ordered as the helo headed towards the carrier. "We don't want him to get jostled around any more than necessary. What's his temp?" "Eighty-eight two, Chief," another corpsman replied. "Resps very shallow – it's hard to get an

accurate read. He's lucky if he's getting eight a minute. Pulse is very weak …. thirty-two a minute." Warm and dead, the Chief corpsman repeated in his mind. Warm and dead. It was the primary rule of thumb when dealing with hypothermia and near-drowning patients. A patient was not dead until they were warm and dead. A patient with a low body temperature was almost in a state of suspended animation. "Where are those blankets?" he demanded. "Here, Sir," another crew member called out, tossing several blankets towards the Chief. One was draped over Harm's torso and legs, a second folded and placed over his neck, a third wrapped around his head. He kneeled next to Harm's head and noted Harm's pale face and blue lips. "Commander, can you hear me?" he asked, close to Harm's ear. "I'm Chief Petty Officer Lengel. You're onboard a Coast Guard helo inbound for the Patrick Henry." Harm opened his mouth to speak but couldn't make anything come out. He tried to clear his throat, but only succeeded in bringing on a fit of coughing. "Don't try to talk, Commander," Lengel said. "Just try to open your eyes for me. Can you do that for me, Sir?" Tired, Harm thought, trying to open his eyes. But his lids felt like they were made of lead and he only managed to make them barely flutter open before giving up. "That's okay, Commander," Lengel said encouragingly. "At least I know you're still with us. We need you to stay awake. Can you do that?" Harm made a gesture that Lengel took to be a nod. "Good," he said. His voice took on a Southern drawl as he tried to humor his patient. "Just hang in there and we'll get you fixed up right quick." "Mmmm …." Harm moved his lips again, little more than a mumble coming forth. "It's okay, Commander," Lengel said. "You don't have to say anything. Just try to stay with me, although if you want to try to laugh at my jokes, I won't object." Harm gasped, frustrated. He slid a hand out from under the blanket and tried to grasp the Chief's wrist, but his hand fell limply back down onto the cot. Lengel pulled the blanket back over his hand. "You need to stay covered," he said. "You lose heat faster in your extremities." "Uhhh …. 'arah," Harm gasped. Lengel leaned closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Finally, he was able to make out a single word. "Sarah." Clearly exhausted with the effort of saying just that little bit, his head rolled to the side. "Commander, stay with me," Lengel said forcefully, resisting his first instinct to grab and shake him. For a hypothermic patient, that could be disastrous. Harm's eyelids fluttered, but he otherwise did not move. "Sarah? Is she your wife?" Harm managed to make a gesture that seemed to be a shake. "No? Your girlfriend?" He hesitated, and then barely moved his head up and down. "Well, I'm sure she'll soon be informed that you've been rescued," he said reassuringly, "and

you'll be able to see her once you're transported to shore." "'ove …. her …." he mumbled. Lengel smiled. It always helped when patients had something or someone to fight for. In seventeen years working search and rescue, he lost track of the number of people rescued whose first thought was for those at home worrying over their safety. "Soon, you'll be able to tell her yourself," he said confidently.

Mac listened to the service in a daze. She was finding little comfort in the words of the priest or in the presence of Harm's fellow pilots, all of whom were clearly concerned. She didn't want to know how God would comfort her in her need. All she wanted was Harm – alive and, if not well, then on the road to recovery. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the priest said, making the sign of the Cross. Mac shook herself out of her reverie and hastily crossed herself, trying to focus on what the priest was saying, reminding herself that she should pray on Harm's behalf. But it wouldn't stop her from wanting to know why Harm and why now. "The Lord be with you." "And also with you," everyone replied. "I am the Savior of all people, says the Lord. Whatever their troubles, I will answer their cry, and I will always be their Lord," he continued in a soothing tone. "We come here today both in thanksgiving for the safe return of Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes and to ask for your comfort and aid as we pray for the rescue of Commander Harmon Rabb. Lord Jesus, we ask you to provide shelter to the lost until he is brought home to those who love him. Lord have mercy." "Lord have mercy." "Christ Jesus, show us your mercy and love in our time of trial. Christ have mercy." "Christ have mercy." "Lord Jesus, even when I walk through a dark valley, I will fear no harm for you are at my side. Lord, have mercy." "Lord, have mercy." "May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen." As Father Gilly sat down, Tuna stood and smiled briefly at Mac before walking up to the lectern. He opened the lectionary and stared down at the page, not really seeing the words. In his years in the Navy, he'd been fortunately enough to not know someone who had crashed – until now. And this time it wasn't just any acquaintance, but his former roommate. He blinked several times, finally clearing his vision and said in a halting voice, "A reading from the book of Psalms ….

"You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, Say to the LORD, "My refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust." God will rescue you from the fowler's snare, from the destroying plague, Will shelter you with pinions, spread wings that you may take refuge; God's faithfulness is a protecting shield. You shall not fear the terror of the night nor the arrow that flies by day, Nor the pestilence that roams in darkness, nor the plague that ravages at noon. Though a thousand fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, near you it shall not come. You need simply watch; the punishment of the wicked you will see. You have the LORD for your refuge; you have made the Most High your stronghold. No evil shall befall you, no affliction come near your tent. For God commands the angels to guard you in all your ways. With their hands they shall support you, lest you strike your foot against a stone. You shall tread upon the asp and the viper, trample the lion and the dragon. Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high. All who call upon me I will answer…." Tuna's voice trailed off and everyone looked around, jumping up and snapping to attention when one by one they caught sight of Ingles standing by the door. Mac clenched the back of her pew, the gesture hidden by the sailors between her and the skipper. "Please," she whispered to herself, realizing that there was only one reason why he would no longer be monitoring the SAR efforts from CIC. She quickly pulled herself to attention when she realized that Ingles was coming towards her, forcing herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly. Ingles kept his eyes on her, but spoke loud enough that the entire room heard him. "Commander Rabb was picked up about twenty minutes ago by a Coast Guard helo," he said as Mac squeezed her eyes shut, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Similar sighs were heard throughout the chapel. "They're inbound, ETA five minutes. He will be transported directly to sickbay. I know many of you will want to see him – Doctor Reed will inform the CAG when he is allowed to have visitors." Mac's eyes snapped open at that and she opened her mouth to protest, but Ingles cut her off. "I will escort you to sick bay, Colonel. After the doctor examines the Commander, he will want to talk to you. According to the Commander's medical records at Bethesda, you hold his medical power of attorney." Mac stood there stunned for a moment before she remembered. Giving each other medical power of attorney went back to Appalachia and Mac's shooting. About a week after she'd been released from the hospital, she first broached the subject. If, in the course of their many travels, one or the other was injured, Mac said she wanted to know that the person she trusted most was making important decisions for her if she couldn't. Harm, still bothered at that point over his perceived guilt in her shooting, had resisted discussing the subject at first, then agreed. Thankfully, until now, they hadn't even come close to needing to invoke the agreement. She was also grateful that, in spite of everything that had happened between them personally and the fact that they rarely traveled together anymore, they’d never thought to revoke the powers of attorney. Finally, she nodded, "Thank you, Sir." Silently, she followed Ingles out of the chapel, walking briskly behind him as they headed for sickbay. They were about halfway there when she decided to ask a question that had been on her mind since he announced Harm's rescue. "Sir, what do you know of Harm's …. Commander Rabb's condition?" she asked.

Ingles continued walking as he answered, "Colonel, that's probably a question best asked of Doctor Reed." "With all due respect, Sir," she said, "the Coast Guard must have said something when they informed you that they'd picked him up." Ingles stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. Mac studied him intently, but could find nothing in his expression that hinted at the answers she sought. Finally, he sighed and said, "The Commander was just barely hanging on, both literally and figuratively. They found him clinging to a sonar buoy the Viking had dropped in the area when they found his raft this morning. His pulse was reported to be very weak and he's severely hypothermic." "So he's alive," she concluded, "but far from being out of the woods." "That would be one way to put it, yes," he concurred. "Then for now that's enough," she said firmly, squelching the voice in the back of her head that didn't feel nearly as confident. "If nothing else, Commander Rabb is a survivor." He has to survive, she thought, so I can kick his six for scaring the hell out of me. She swore she could hear him laughing at her threat inside her head.

They hadn't even had a chance to approach Doctor Reed for introductions when the trauma team burst through the doors bearing the stretcher carrying Harm, Chief Lengel racing behind them, rattling off Harm's vitals and filling the Navy team in on what the Coast Guard team had already done for him. Gently, they transferred Harm onto a bed and Reed began examining his patient, barking orders to his team. "Cut those wet clothes off him," he ordered, warming his stethoscope before sliding it under Harm's clothes to press it against his chest. After a moment of listening to his heart and lungs, he continued. "We need a warming blanket. Get an IV started, normal saline, heated to one hundred four, five cc's per kilogram per hour. Commander, can you hear me?" He swore under his breath when Harm didn't even move his eyelids in response. "Commander, we need you to stay with us." Mac drew in a shaky breath as she listened, slowly stepping towards the head of the bed. Reed looked up at her and was about to order her out of the way when something in her expression stopped him. He nodded at her to continue. She bent over Harm, her mouth next to his ear. "Harm, it's Mac," she said firmly. "Come on. I need you to hang on. Listen to my voice. Damn it, that's an order, Commander." Satisfied that he'd given the Navy corpsmen all the information he could, Lengel stepped over to Ingles. "Sir, have you been in contact with the Commander's family?" he asked. "On the helo, he kept trying to ask for someone named 'Sarah'. From what I was able to decipher from his gestures, she seems to be his girlfriend." Ingles cocked his head towards the bed and Lengel followed his gaze to the Marine softly pleading with Harm to hang on, his eyes widening in surprise. When imagining the kind of girlfriend an aviator might have, the idea that she might be a Marine never entered his

thoughts. Nor had he thought that she'd be aboard the carrier, waiting. He turned back to Ingles. "Sir, I don't know what's going to happen with the Commander," he said quietly, so as not to be overheard. "But on the helo …. I think he was trying to say he loves her. If …. well, maybe someone can tell her that, if he doesn't have the chance …." Ingles nodded. "Thank you, Chief, for your assistance in rescuing the Commander," he said, silently declaring the previous subject to be closed. If all went well, he'd never have to relay the conversation. "I hope …. you'll let us know how everything turns out?" he asked. Ingles nodded again. "With your permission, Sir?" "Dismissed, Chief," he said, turning his attention back to the efforts to keep Harm alive. Occasionally, Mac's voice would rise and fall as she seemed to alternate between pleading with him and ordering him to hang on. "Harmon Rabb, listen to me," she said, "you promised me. You promised that you'd return to me. Do you remember what you said when I made a comment about making promises that you can't keep? 'I haven't yet.' Don't you dare let this be the first. Come on, it's supposed to be our time now. Finally, after all the misunderstandings and miscommunications, we were going to get it right." Her tears fell freely as she brushed her lips over his cold, blue ones, seeming to forget that they were far from alone, gasping at the chill of his skin beneath her touch. "Too bad that doesn't work in real life like it does in the fairy tales," she said ruefully, her voice dropping in volume again. "I've never really believed in them, but I began to wonder last night, as I went to bed knowing that you were coming home to me and that we were going to try to making things right. Were we going to get a chance at the 'happily ever after'?" She tenderly brushed the back of her hand over his cheek. "Can you feel me?" she wondered. "Can you even hear me? Please, Harm, just give me some kind of sign that you're still with me. I need you to come back to me. I need you like I've never needed anyone or anything in my life and I know, even if you'd barely admit it, that you need me just as much." An idea came to her and she stuck her free hand in her pocket, pulling out his wings. "Do you remember what you wrote when you gave me your wings?" she asked in a whisper. "Come back to me so you can tell me that in person and so I can give these back to you. I need to hear you say the words, as much as I need to say them to you." She rested her head against his forehead, jerking back up when she thought she heard a groan. Maybe I just imagined it, she thought when she detected no further response from him. Sighing heavily, she was brushing tears from her face when she was sure she heard another groan from him. "Harm?" she said, trying to contain her excitement, her words nonetheless coming in a rush. "Can you hear me?" Finally, he barely opened his mouth and managed to hoarsely whisper a single word, "Sarah." "Yeah," she said tearfully. "It's Sarah. I'm right here." "Dreaming …."

"No," she said, slipping her hand under the warming blanket and curling her fingers around his, carefully not to clasp his hand too tightly. She shivered at the chill in his fingers. "I'm here. I flew out here this morning with Skates' fiancée. Someone had to come and kick your six for scaring us all half to death." Harm wanted to laugh, but it came out as a cross between a cough and a gasp for breath. "'s my Marine," he murmured, his voice slurred. "Yeah," she said, smiling for the first time in hours. Normally, she'd probably take him to task for his possessiveness, but right now she didn't care. He could proclaim her his from the mountaintops if he wanted to. "I'm your Marine." Harm summoned his strength and managed to utter the words she'd been waiting so long to hear from him. "Love you." She cried out softly and pressed her lips to his again. This time, he managed to move his lips almost imperceptibly against hers. "I've waited so long …." she began as she pulled back, and then broke off, shaking her head. Now wasn't the time for admonishments. Later, she'd have plenty to say to him on that score. But not now. "I love you, too." Harm drew in a shuttering breath and managed to open his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry, tear stained face above him. It tore at his heart. He hated to see his Sarah cry, especially if it was because of him, which it all too often was. No more. He promised himself that everything would be alright between them and he'd never give her cause to cry again. Nothing was going to come between them ever again. His words oddly distinct and firm, he finally focused his gaze on her and whispered, "Marry me." Exhausted from the effort it had taken to utter just that much, Harm closed his eyes again, his head rolling to the side on his pillow. Mac stared at him, her lips slightly parted in shock, unable to believe what she’d just heard. But had she heard it? Maybe she was just imagining things - or maybe he was. What if he didn't know what he was saying? She hated thinking it, didn't want to think it, but she had to be realistic. She thought she recalled from her basic survival training back during days and nights spent with her uncle at Red Rock Mesa that confusion and even hallucinations were symptoms of hypothermia. What if he didn't even realize that she was even there and was simply reacting to something going on in his head? After all, her presence wouldn't have been one he would have expected to find on the ship. Before she could find the presence of mind to respond, Reed walked up on the other side of the bed, scribbling some notes in a folder. "Commander Rabb, are you still with us?" he asked. Both Mac and Reed had to lean closer to hear Harm's weakly-uttered, "Yes …." "Good," Reed said. "Try to hang with us a while longer, Commander." "Tired …. cold …." "I know," the doctor said gently, peeling back one of Harm's eyelids and shining a pen light in his eye. Harm tried to close his eye against the painful, blinding light. After checking his

other eye, Reed clicked the light off and made a note in what Mac assumed was Harm's chart. She looked up at the doctor, but he ignored the unspoken questions in her eyes and concentrated on making some more notes. "We're doing what we can for the cold …. you're wrapped in a warming blanket and you've got a drip of heated saline to warm and re-hydrate you. Are you in any pain, Commander?" He struggled to draw in a few gasping breaths before he finally croaked out a weak, "Numb …. lungs burn …." "That's to be expected," Reed said, sounding reassuring, as if he'd been expecting that very response and knew what to do about it. But Mac ignored the tone and focused solely on the fact that Harm was hurting. She looked across the bed at the doctor with concern and a slight look of alarm. He launched into a more detailed explanation for Mac's benefit. "Initial exam reveals no sign of frostbite, which is good. But his temperature was eighty-eight point two when he was found, which is the reason for the numbness. He's too cold to even shiver. That should go away as his temperature starts moving upward. If he'd stayed out there much longer …" He trailed off at the increasing fear in Mac's expression and shook his head. It wasn't his job to deal with what could have been. He needed to focus on treating what was. "Anyway, the burning sensation when he breathes is due to all the salt water he must have inhaled out there in addition to the effects of the hypothermia. His lungs are irritated by the salt and the cold." "Is pneumonia a concern?" she asked, gently stroking Harm's temple with the backs of her fingers, his skin like ice against hand. He probably couldn't even feel her touch, she realized, but the tender motion was helping soothe her. Reed hesitated just a moment too long, which answered the question as far as Mac was concerned. "It's possible," he finally said, his tone not quite as reassuring. "We'll give him oxygen – warmed, of course – to help him breathe a little easier. His lungs don't sound too bad, so I don't think it will be necessary to suction them." "What about other injuries?" "There are some obvious bumps and bruises," Reed said, "the gash above his eye, some bruising around his ribs – probably due to the ejection itself. There isn't anything else that stands out, but there could be hidden injuries …." "What do you mean 'hidden'?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly. "Unfortunately, there are certain conditions, possibly resulting from the ejection," he explained, "which might not manifest themselves immediately. For instance, pilots who have ejected often complain of back pain resulting from compressed disks or even cracked vertebrae." "What about multiple ejections?" she asked, her voice calmer although she was trembling inside as she realized the implications. Reed looked from Harm, who was fighting to stay awake, to Mac with an incredulous expression. "The Commander's ejected before?" he asked.

Harm managed a slow nod as Mac explained, "This is his third ejection. He suffered a ramp strike ten years ago and his RIO ejected them out over the deck. The second was almost three years ago in, um …. " She hesitated, not sure how to explain that one. Certain details of that incident were still officially classified, although more people knew the truth behind the incident than made Clayton Webb – or the Russians – happy, especially after that Washington Post article about Sergei at Christmas and the Russians' clumsy attempts to cover their tracks three years earlier with the story of the bird strike. Finally, she settled on a slight variation of the truth, her voice catching slightly as she remembered. "He was operating overseas and developed engine trouble and had to ditch." Under the blanket, she thought she could feel Harm's fingers trying to curl around hers in comfort and understanding of the unspoken truth of the incident. Mac smiled weakly in response. "Hmm," Reed murmured thoughtfully. "Bethesda has transmitted Commander Rabb's medical records, but I haven't had the opportunity to do more than skim them for information on drug allergies and the like." He motioned to a female corpsman who had just wheeled over a cart containing an oxygen tank. "Williams, Bethesda transmitted the Commander's medical records. Read through them and print out anything pertaining to his previous ejections in 1991 and 1998," he ordered. "Aye, Sir," she replied, positioning the cart next to the bed before turning on her heel to carry out the doctor's orders. Reed turned back to Harm and Mac. "It's hard to say," he said thoughtfully, "but the previous ejections could be a factor in how the Commander recovers from this one. You know, there is basis in fact in the saying that every time you punch out, you end up an inch shorter. Back problems are common in ejections and the fact that this is his third could increase the chances …." "Doctor ….” Harm whispered. He brought his free hand out from under the blanket and tried to grasp Reed's wrist before his arm limply fell back onto the bed. "Flight physical …." Reed glanced away, realizing what Harm was trying to ask. After a moment, he looked back, his gaze sympathetic. "Like I said, it's hard to say," he pointed out. "Once you're out of the woods as far as the hypothermia is concerned and you regain your sense of feeling, we'll be able to get a better idea of where you stand as far as other injuries we might not be able to see." He stared at Harm for a long moment, and then glanced at Mac, before deciding to be completely honest. He didn't think either of them would appreciate any less. "I won't lie. There is a possibility that, as a result of the multiple ejections and compounded injuries, you may not be able to pass the flight physical." Harm slowly turned his head away, closing his eyes, as Mac's gaze fell on his wings, still clutched in the hand that was tenderly moving over his temple. As much as she’d resented – yes, she realized, that was the right word – that he’d chosen flying over her before, she knew now that she loved the pilot in him as much as the lawyer. It was simply a part of what made him who he was. At least after his first crash, he'd still been physically capable of flying after he'd recovered from his crash injuries, even if it had only been during daylight hours. Now, he might not even have that. Nearly choking on the words, she whispered, "Thank you, Doctor." As Reed moved off to confer with Ingles and Pike, Harm's eyes opened to the view of Mac's

tear-streaked face hovering over his. "Sarah …." "It'll be okay," she tried to assure him, with more confidence than she really felt. Her heart ached for him, for the pain not just physical that he must be feeling. Forcing a smile, she showed him her hand, opening her fingers to reveal the wings nestled on her palm. "When Captain Ingles called me and I asked to be allowed to come out to the ship, I told myself that I'd give these back to you." She slid her hand under the blanket and placed them in the palm of his hand, carefully closing his fingers around them as she dipped down and brushed her lips against his. As she lifted her head, a single tear fell onto his blue lips. He saw the tear fall, but couldn't feel it hit his chilled skin. "Hang on to them and believe that you can come back again. I have faith in you." The corners of his mouth turned upward in an attempt to smile, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by a male Lieutenant wearing the insignia of the nursing corps. "Excuse me, um, Colonel," he said, hesitating as his eyes searched out her rank insignia peeking out from under the collar of Harm's jacket. "I need to give Commander Rabb some oxygen." She started to pull away so the nurse could work on him, pausing at the need she saw in his eyes. "It's okay," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere. Let them take care of you." "Have …. talk," he said, his expression pleading. Talk about what? What she'd thought she heard him say earlier? She hesitated some more, not sure if she was ready to deal with any of it, at least not yet, even if he’d said what she thought he did. There was still so much unsettled, so much that needed to be straightened out. This was far from the best time for that kind of discussion. "We will," she finally promised, leaning over and brushing her lips against his cheek. He turned his head fractionally so that her warm lips caught the corner of his mouth. "Later." Still holding his hand, she moved away from the head of the bed so the nurse could work. Meanwhile, Ingles, Pike and Reed, who had been conferring on the other side of the room to allow the couple at least a little privacy, stepped up to the bed. "Commander Rabb?" Pike asked, concern obvious in his tone. Harm managed to open his eyes, turning his head fractionally in acknowledgement, and then closed them again. Pike nodded in understanding and patted Harm's shoulder while Ingles looked at Mac, whose gaze was focused solely on Harm, across the bed. "I am going to call Admiral Chegwidden in a few minutes, Colonel," Ingles asked. "Doctor Reed is going to give him a rundown of the Commander's condition and I'm sure he will want to speak with you." When she didn't respond immediately, seeming to not even realize that he was there, he tried again in a firmer tone of voice, "Colonel?" It took Mac a moment to realize that Ingles was speaking to her and she lifted her head, swallowing hard. He would be well within his rights to rebuke her for her conduct. "I'm sorry, Sir … I …." "I thought you would like to join us when I call Admiral Chegwidden," he repeated, ignoring her breech of protocol. It was understandable that she was distracted. It had been a long night for everyone, but especially for her. "He will want to talk to you, I'm sure."

Mac swallowed again, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around Harm's. She’d known this would happen sooner or later, that the time would come when she would have to start explaining everything – or try to. She’d tried not to think about it, but she realized that A.J. had to know by now where she was, either through supposition or having read her email. One of the last things she wanted right now was to talk to her CO, but she couldn't tell Ingles that. If she didn't agree now to speak to A.J., he would probably just tell Ingles to order her to the phone and even if Ingles was willing to overlook her lack of decorum, he would hardly ignore a direct order from a two-star. Harm stirred when he heard A.J.'s name and forced his eyes to open, struggling to focus on Mac. Sensing his gaze, she turned and looked down at him and he tried to make sense of her expression. He couldn't be sure – it was so hard to concentrate and focus – but she seemed worried about something and for some reason, he thought it had something to do with speaking to A.J. What he couldn't understand was why. Maybe she was just embarrassed about the wedding having been cancelled on such short notice and wasn't up to answering questions about it, he thought. But surely she knew better than to expect too many pointed questions from their CO. From the others, maybe, but not from him. He tried again to curl his fingers around hers, but they were so cold. After a moment trying to force them to move, he gave up with a sigh and gave her a look he hoped conveyed his support and his love. Reed took her hesitation as an unwillingness to leave Harm's side, so he told her, "Communications is patching the call down here to my office. We'll just be at the other end of sickbay." She looked down at Harm for a long moment before she finally nodded and said softly, "Okay. I'll speak to him, Sir." She moved back to the head of the bed, to the space just vacated by the nurse. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiled at her, an expression she could just barely make out through the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, as he realized that he actually could feel her lips against his skin. Just barely, but he could feel her. He nodded once in understanding and his eyes drifted closed again.

Mac was seated in a chair in front of Reed's desk, nervously strumming her fingers against her leg while they waited for the ship to shore connection to be made. Her eyes fell on the now bare ring finger of her left hand. When Mic had proposed to her, he'd pulled out all the stops – his dress whites, a ferry ride across moonlit Sydney Harbor, dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in Sydney at a table with a spectacular view of the harbor. It had been very flattering. That was the problem. It was too flattering. It had made her feel so loved and cherished and, she now realized, she’d fallen in love with the romance of it all and, against her better judgment, she'd allowed him to place the ring on her finger despite, even as she protested weakly, knowing that it wasn't right. Mic Brumby was a good man and would make any woman a fine and devoted husband. Just not her. Being in love with the fairy tale was nothing to base a life-long commitment on – it was simply an illusion which would eventual vanish under the weight of trying to make a marriage that never should have been work. By contrast, Harm's proposal would appear to most people to be nothing special. He was

lying in a hospital bed, hadn't come up with any flowery words and phrases – in fact, could barely speak at all, didn't even have a ring to place on her finger. But with just two softly spoken words, he'd reached deep inside and touched her heart in a way no man ever had before. But what if it was just an illusion, too? How could she be sure right now that Harm knew what he was saying? Even if Harm did know, how could he be sure what he was feeling? After years of dancing around and away from each other, surely it was impossible that one horrifying night could turn things so completely around for them. Hadn't she been telling Harriet and Chloe just last night that she needed time to figure out Sarah Mackenzie? Now Harm had thrown it all up in the air by offering her everything she'd ever wanted from him. There was a part of her that wanted to grab what he was finally offering her and hold on to it with all of her might. The rest of her was terrified that it would all fade away in the blink of an eye like a desert mirage. If only she knew …. She shook herself out of it when she realized the phone connection had been made and Ingles was talking to A.J. "Are you alone, Admiral?" Ingles asked. "Yes," A.J. replied. "Most are having a late breakfast; some are trying to get some more sleep. I take it there's news?" "Commander Rabb was picked up about an hour ago by a Coast Guard helo," Ingles explained. Sitting at his desk, A.J. breathed a heavy sigh of relief, wearily rubbing his tired eyes. "I've got Commander Reed, our chief medical officer, to explain the Commander's condition. I've also got Colonel Mackenzie here." "Colonel, how are you doing?" A.J. asked. There was more he wanted to say to her, but not with others present. "I'm …. hanging in there, Sir," she replied, twisting her Marine Corps ring on her finger. Satisfied with her answer, if only for the time being, he next addressed the doctor. "Doctor Reed, how is he?" he asked. "Commander Rabb is suffering from stage-four hypothermia," he explained. Ingles had already explained that A.J. was a former SEAL and wouldn't appreciate anything being withheld in the reporting of Harm's condition and would probably understand more than most just how grave Harm's condition was. "When he was picked up his body temperature was eighty-eight two and he was just barely hanging on. I honestly don't think he would have lasted much longer out there. Fortunately, initial exam doesn't give any indication of significant crash-related injuries, so that works in our favor." "So what now, Doctor?" A.J. asked, leaning back in his chair, already planning in his mind how he would break the news, both good and bad, to everyone anxiously awaiting word. "He's wrapped in warming blankets, being given a drip of warmed saline to re-hydrate him and warmed oxygen to help ease his breathing," he continued. "His breath sounds aren't too bad, so there doesn't seem to be a significant amount of water in his lungs, but we are keeping a watch for signs of pneumonia. Once some of his sense of feeling returns, we'll be able to better assess his condition, including potential back problems brought on by the ejection. My

understanding is that this is the Commander's third ejection, which could be a factor in his recovery, at least from any physical injuries." "That would unfortunately be correct," A.J. said, turning in his chair to stare out his window. The storm had finally broken and the sun was beginning to peek out through the clouds. Maybe that was an omen, if he believed in such things. Or maybe not. "How could this affect the Commander's flight status?" As disappointed as he'd been when Harm had previous chosen flying over JAG, he didn't want to contemplate the man who would be left if flying were taken away from him, for good this time. "Commander Rabb has already asked me the same thing," Reed said. "We won't know for a while, but given his history, I'd say he's facing an uphill battle in passing the flight physical for quite some time, if ever." "And you've told this to the Commander?" A.J. asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "I have," Reed confirmed. "I see," A.J. said. No matter the mess that had been left behind in Washington, he was privately glad that Mac was out there with Harm. If anyone could help Harm keep his head through this, if that was at all possible, it was her. There were times, he was sure, that she was the only one who could reach him and keep him steady. "When will he be transferred to shore?" "Right now, since there aren't any injuries of note that we have to be concerned about," he replied, "it's in the Commander's best interests to remain here until we have the hypothermia under control. It would be counterproductive to subject him to another ride in a helo until his temperature is back above ninety-five degrees. Right now, if all goes well, I'm looking at keeping him here overnight just to play it safe and having him transferred to Portsmouth tomorrow morning. Then after a few days, he can probably go home." "I'm sure the Commander's family will be glad to hear that," A.J. said. "I'll let everyone know. There'll probably be quite a crowd at Portsmouth tomorrow to greet him when he arrives." Mac stifled a gasp at that as she suddenly realized that Renee would be there, still thinking that Harm was hers, and Mic would be there, probably thinking that the wedding had just been postponed. She now had approximately twenty-four hours to figure out how she was going to explain everything. She tuned out everything going on around her, suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge of what she’d done, until she felt Reed's hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jerked her head around to face him. "I'm going to check on Commander Rabb," he said. "After you finish talking to your Admiral, might I suggest that you try to get some sleep? Something tells me that you've been up all night." "I don't really want to leave Harm right now," she said quietly. "We've got room down here," Reed compromised, "and some cots that the medical staff uses when they're pulling all-nighters. We can pull one in next to the Commander's bed for you."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mac said gratefully. Ingles and Reed walked out of the office, leaving her alone to face the music with A.J. She was silent for a long moment, not sure what to say or even if she should say anything. Maybe it was best to let him do the talking and just say 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' at appropriate times. Eventually, A.J. broke the silence. "Mac, how are you really?" he asked, adopting a more familiar form of address, letting some of his concern show in his voice. "He's so pale …. and so cold," she whispered, A.J. straining to hear her. "He's having a hard time talking and if you listen closely to his breathing, you can hear him struggling for breath." "Mac, I wasn't asking about Harm," he said gently. "I've seen a few hypothermic sailors in my day, so I can guess pretty accurately how he's doing. I want to know how you're doing." "I don't know, Sir," she said after a moment, shrugging although the gesture was wasted. "I don't know what to say. I know things are probably a mess right now." "I'd say that would be an understatement, Mac," A.J. said, sighing, keeping the censure out of his tone. There was more than enough blame to spread around in this situation if he felt like being judgmental, but she didn't need that right now. "Brumby's walking around talking about when the two of you are going to reschedule the wedding – at least when he's not pressing everyone, asking if they've heard from you." "From the way you just said that," Mac said, "I take it you know there isn't going to be a wedding." "I suspected as much when you disappeared, even before Harriet confirmed it," he replied. "You do realize that this puts me in an awkward position every time Brumby asks if I've heard from you." "I know and I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "I know you're caught in the middle here, but with all due respect, Sir, I can't think about any of that right now. The man I love …. I'm sorry, Sir. I'm really tired right now and not really thinking." She swallowed, unable to believe that she’d admitted to her commanding officer, of all people, what she'd barely been able to admit to herself before a few days ago or to Harm before today. She had it right the first time, A.J. reflected silently. Unfortunately, finally admitting her true feelings was likely to open the largest can of worms. Who could have possibly foreseen this when he'd first told them not to get to close when they first met or when he told Harm not to look back in Australia? He realized that many commanders would have taken a hard line with the entire situation a long time ago. But he wasn't most commanders, nor were they like most subordinates. Even if he rarely said so aloud, they were friends – hell, almost like family, he thought. "Sounds like you're thinking just fine, Mac," he said. For a change, he added silently. Mac took a deep breath and started again. "Harm is far from out of the woods and I can't concentrate on anything else right now," she said. "I know I have a lot to explain to Mic and I'm sorry that this is going to hurt him …. and you're not really the person I should be telling that to, Sir." She chuckled ruefully. It seemed so easy to say it to A.J. Too bad it wasn't quite so easy to admit her true feelings to Harm and Mic.

"Remember what I said on the Suribachi?" A.J. asked, ignoring the part about Mic. Not that he didn't care, but she was right. He wasn't the person that she needed to say that to. "That Harm's too stubborn to die?" she said. At least then they’d known exactly where Harm was, nor had he been trapped as long as he’d been last night. She pushed the thought from her mind, trying to concentrate on the fact that at least Harm had been found now. At least she was here to remind him to fight. "I remember." Satisfied that she would try to keep remembering that, he didn't push the issue. "About Mic …." he began. "Sir, I don't want to put you in the middle," she interrupted, "but could you just tell him …." "Colonel," A.J. cut in firmly, his tone and sudden change to a formal mode of address letting her know that it would probably be best to go along with whatever he was about to say, "talk to him. I'm not going to presume to tell you what to say to him. If you chose right now not to tell him where you are or tell him anything, that's up to you. I won't interfere. But if he hears your voice, then maybe he'll stop harassing everyone about whether they've heard from you." She closed her eyes, sighing heavily. The absolute last thing she wanted right now was to talk to Mic, but from A.J.'s tone, she knew she didn't have much choice. Anyway, it wasn't right to let him keep pestering her friends about her whereabouts. Dealing with Mic should be her burden to bear alone. At least if he heard from her, it would stop the harassment of her friends. "Okay," she said quietly, her tone reluctant. "I'll talk to him for a few minutes." "Just a minute," A.J. said. He went over to the door leading to the bullpen and opened it, glancing around until he caught sight of Mic standing near Mac's office by himself, seemingly staring off into space. At that moment, Mic turned his head and noticed A.J., walking over to him. "Mac's on the phone," A.J. said quietly. Mic started to move past A.J. into the office, but A.J. held up his hand to stop him. Out of concern for Mac and her state of mind, he thought that maybe he should break one of his personal rules and interfere, just a little. "Just a minute, Mic. Mac's very worried right now and she's trying to deal with this the best she can." "What are you trying to say, Sir?" Mic said, barely remembering in time just whom he was addressing and moderating his tone. He rubbed his eyes wearily and A.J. felt a pang of sympathy for the other man. He'd just spent a sleepless night because he wanted to support his fiancée, whose best friend had been missing, unaware that he'd lost his fiancée to that friend. "I'm just saying to be patient with her," he said. "This night's been a long night for everyone." Mic stared at A.J. for a long moment, reminding himself that he couldn't just tell A.J. to mind his own business, and then finally nodded. A.J. let him into the office and closed the door behind them. He considered leaving to allow them some privacy, but decided against it. Maybe his presence would help keep things as calm as possible. "Mac," A.J. said into the air, Mic frowning as he realized that the phone was set to speaker and that A.J. had no intention of leaving, "I've got Mic here."

A.J. sat back down in his chair and motioned to Mic to take a seat himself, but the other man remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest almost defiantly, although his tone was far from it when he spoke. "Hello, beautiful," he said. "Mic," she said simply, hoping her voice didn't betray her nervousness. "Tell me where you are, Sarah," he said. "I'll come pick you up and bring you back here with all your friends." A.J. resisted the urge to sigh. That wasn't quite what he’d meant by showing patience. Mac did sigh audibly before replying in a gentle, placating tone, "Mic, I need to be alone right now. Please respect that." A.J. thought he could detect a slight tremor in her voice, but Mic didn't seem to pick up on it. In fact, he seemed to completely disregard what Mac was saying as he protested, "Sarah, you need to be here with people who love and support you." It was on the tip of her tongue to counter that she was with the person whose love and support she needed most, but she managed to refrain from saying it just in time. She didn't want to argue with him over the phone. The recriminations would probably come soon enough – far too soon. But she didn't need it right now on top of everything else she was trying to deal with. "I'm sorry, Mic," she said, her voice starting to noticeably break. "I just can't right now." They heard a click, then a dial tone, indicating that she’d hung up. A.J. pressed the speaker button to hang up the phone as Mic turned around with a sigh, staring at the painting of Admiral Halsey on the wall without really seeing it. "We're supposed to be getting married," he said in frustration, more to himself than to A.J. "Why won't she let me in?" "What can I say, Mic?" A.J. said, his tone revealing nothing. "She's dealing with it in her own way." Mic turned back around, bracing himself against the back of one of the chairs in front of A.J.'s desk. "That's what worries me," he admitted. He looked at A.J. with a hopeful expression as an idea occurred to him. "Sir, did she say where she is?" "No," he replied. Technically, it was true. She didn't say during the phone call where she was. He'd already known that. Anyway, if she’d been somewhere in Washington, what did Mic think he was going to do – go find her and bring her back to JAG when she didn't really want to come? "I'm sorry, Mic. All you can do is wait until she's ready to talk about it." He was sorry. Mic was a good man. It wasn't his fault that he'd met Mac two years too late to have any chance of truly capturing her heart, although he wasn't entirely sure that timing would have made a difference. Mic shook his head. He didn't like hearing that from A.J. anymore than he'd liked it earlier when Harm's grandmother had suggested something similar. But he couldn't say that, even if A.J. wasn't his commanding officer anymore. "Thank you, Sir," he said. "I guess that's all I can do then – wait. I just …. I wish she would just let me in." A.J. didn't say anything else. They were getting very close to his touchy-feely quotient, plus

he wasn't sure that any comfort he might offer wouldn't be wasted on a man who was unaware that he watching what would have been the happiest day of his life go up in smoke. "Let's go back out into the bullpen," he suggested. "Just before I spoke to Mac, I had a conversation with the skipper of the Patrick Henry." "There's been news?" Mic asked hopefully. At A.J.'s nod, he continued, "Did you tell Sarah?" "Yes, Mac knows what I was told by Captain Ingles," A.J. replied, carefully phrasing his answer so that it was technically true, but didn't reveal any more than it had to. "Then why …." Mic began, trailing off with a frustrated sigh. If Harm had been found, then there was no need for Sarah to be so upset and shut herself off. He glanced at A.J., hoping to get an indication of whether the news was good or bad, but A.J.’s expression was carefully neutral. "All I'll say right at this moment is that this is far from over," A.J. said as he opened the door and stepped out into the bullpen. Mic shook his head as he followed him out, wondering what he was supposed to do now. If Harm's medical condition was tenuous, as A.J. seemed to hint, then Sarah would be unlikely to want to even think about the wedding, if her behavior over the night was any indication. He wished he could just tell her that she needed to let Renee and Harm's family worry about his condition while they concentrated on the logistics of rescheduling their wedding. However, given the way she’d hung up on him when he'd simply suggested that she needed to be with her friends, he suspected her reaction to that suggestion would be even worse. What the hell was he supposed to do, he wondered with a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the bookcase near A.J.'s office door. A.J. glanced around, mentally taking a head count, motioning to Gunny. "Go find everyone." Although he realized from A.J.'s tone that there was news of some kind, Gunny didn't waste time asking questions, just tossed off a hasty "Yes, Sir," before motioning to Tiner to follow him and taking off at a brisk walk in search of everyone. As the two enlisted men left the bullpen, they nearly ran over Chloe and baby AJ, who were coming in. Chloe watched their retreating forms, and then turned to A.J. with an expression crossed between hope and trepidation. "Admiral?" she asked hesitantly, afraid to say more, afraid of what the answer might be. "Let's wait until everyone else arrives," he suggested, smiling gently at her to put her at ease. She visibly exhaled as she sank into a nearby chair, pulling baby AJ into her lap. The boy, who had not gotten much more sleep than the adults around him, yawned as he leaned back in Chloe's arms, resting his head against her chest. His eyes fluttered closed, but popped open a moment later, as he fought off the exhaustion creeping up on him. From his position, Mic watched the two of them, his expression carefully guarded. He thought that he should say something to Chloe, but he was frustrated at being constantly rebuffed by her. Even baby AJ seemed to sense that what was going on around him had something to do with his godfather and it seemed that every other sentence out of his mouth had something to do with Harm, even if half of what he was saying was lost in the unintelligible babble of a two-year-old.

Not long after he'd woken up, Mic had taken the boy onto his lap, more to try to ease some of his own tension rather than because AJ was begging to be held. They'd sat quietly for a moment, AJ waving around a plastic toy airplane firmly grasped in one hand, making rough engine noises. Mic smiled, running his hand over AJ's hair, silently admiring the resiliency of youth. Then he'd made the mistake of commenting that it was a nice airplane. He couldn't understand about half of what AJ said, but he did make out two words very clearly – Uncle Harm. He should have figured that Harm had given AJ the airplane. Mic had fallen silent after that, despite AJ's attempts to talk to him. It wasn't the boy's fault, but the last person Mic wanted to talk about was Harm, even with a two-year-old who couldn't understand why the topic was so uncomfortable. "Still frustrated with the way Mac's sister has been ignoring you?" Renee asked, taking up position next to Mic, following his gaze. "Actually, I was thinking about AJ – baby AJ, that is," he said. "Even he realizes that something is going on with Rabb and it seems half of what he goes on about has something to do with his godfather. I just wish I didn't have to listen to everyone go on and on about Rabb." He ran his hand through his hair, his expression apologetic, as he realized what he'd just said and whom he'd said it to. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you." Renee shrugged it off. "It's no big deal," she said. "It's been a long night, we're all tired, and at least you're being honest about your feelings. Everyone keeps telling me they're sorry that Harm is missing, and I'm sure they are, but somehow I feel it would be different if Mac was the one they were saying that to. You know, I'm surprised that without Mac here, you stuck it out with us the entire night." "I'm not a heartless bastard," he protested. "I hope Rabb will be okay." "I never thought you were," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sure you're just as anxious as anyone for Harm to be found safe and sound. Once he's safe, then you and Mac can get married and life can go on. We both want the same thing there." "I'm surprised you're not with Rabb's mother," he commented, seeing Trish come into the bullpen with Frank, her arm around his waist, his casually draped over her shoulder. That's what he wanted to do for Mac, to put his arm around her and let her know that everything would be okay. He had to admit that Harm's parents seemed to have a wonderful marriage. That was what he wanted for himself and Mac. "You two seem pretty friendly." "About half an hour ago, Frank suggested she take a walk with him around the grounds," she explained. "It seemed clear that I wasn't invited. I don't think he likes me very much." "He doesn't know you," Mic pointed out. "Let's put it this way," she said. "He's gotten pretty friendly with your future sister-in-law and has barely spoken to me. You saw them in the kitchen. Remember what you said about being tired of everyone going on about Harm. You know what I'm tired of? I've had it with everyone going on about how upset Mac must be and how close she and Harm are."

"Feeling a little left out?" he asked. She nodded, although the question had been a rhetorical one. "We're members of this family by association only. They've all closed ranks around each other and we're left on the outside looking in. You know, when Sarah called, the Admiral wouldn't even leave his office so I could speak to her privately." "Mac called?" she asked. "When?" "Just a few minutes ago, after he spoke to Captain Ingles," he replied. "I asked where she was so I could go get her and bring her back here. She said she needed to be alone, I protested and she hung up." "I'm sorry," Renee said, placing a hand on his forearm. "But if the Admiral's about to tell us that Harm's been found, then this is all going to be over soon and she can snap out of her mood." "That's the thing," Mic said carefully, not sure how much he should say. Although he couldn't be positive, he was pretty sure from reading between the lines of what A.J. had said that Harm had been found, but the news wasn't entirely good. "The Admiral seemed to indicate that Rabb's got some recovery time ahead of him and Sarah already knows this. Since she called after he spoke to Ingles, he told her whatever the news is about Rabb." "Wait a minute!?" Renee demanded, trying to keep her voice down even as it took on a sharp edge. "I asked Gunny what the news was and he just said to come to the bullpen. He wouldn't tell me anything, but the Admiral has already told Mac? I'm his girlfriend. Don't I deserve to know? Or what about his mother?" "Gunny doesn't know," he said in a calming tone, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Admiral just told him to get everyone together. The Admiral is the only one that I'm aware of who knows Rabb's condition. Him …. and Sarah." Before Renee could argue further, A.J. took up position in the middle of the bullpen. He didn't waste time with preliminaries, merely launched into the news. "Commander Rabb was picked up by a Coast Guard helo about an hour ago and transported to the Patrick Henry," he said. He paused a moment while everyone expressed their relief before continuing. "He is suffering from hypothermia, but his physical, crash-related injuries seem to be minimal. The medical team aboard ship is stabilizing him, and then they plan on keeping him aboard overnight and transporting him to the Naval hospital in Portsmouth tomorrow morning. If all goes well, he'll be released to come home perhaps by mid-week. "Now, before any of you ask," he continued, glancing around the room, "I don't know at what time the Commander will be transferred. Once I know, I will let everyone else know, although I suggest my officers keep in mind if you're thinking about going to the hospital to see the Commander that it's over three hours one-way to Portsmouth, tomorrow is Sunday and you do still have to report for duty Monday morning. For now, there's nothing else anyone can do, so I suggest everyone go home and get some sleep." As everyone began gathering in little groups to share their relief, A.J. walked up to Trish, Frank and Sarah. "Mrs. Rabb, Mr. and Mrs. Burnett," he said, "have you had a chance to make hotel reservations?"

"We made arrangements to leave San Diego so hastily that we didn't even think about it," Frank said. "And I know Sarah didn't consider it either when Gunnery Sergeant Galindez and Petty Officer Tiner picked her up. I was hoping to use one of your phones to call around to some places." A.J. glanced at his watch. "Even when you do find room," he said, "it's still a little early for most hotels' check-in time. I've got room at my place if you'd like a place to stay." "Are you sure we wouldn't be imposing, Admiral?" Trish asked. "Of course not," he insisted. "I live alone and have more than enough room for guests." Frank glanced at his wife and her mother-in-law, and then answered, "Then we accept, Admiral. Thank you." "I just have some things to get out of my office, and then I'll be ready to leave," A.J. said. "I assume you have a rental car?" Frank nodded. "Then you can follow me out of here." A.J. turned for his office, stopping when Trish called out suddenly, "Admiral?" "Yes, Mrs. Burnett?" he asked, turning back around to face them. Trish looked around to make sure no one else was nearby, and then asked, "How bad is Harm, really? I sensed that you were holding something back when you announced that Harm had been found." Frank jumped in before A.J. could reply, "Now, Trish, I'm sure the Admiral has told us everything he knows and since we're going to his house, we'll know immediately if he hears anything else from the carrier." Trish whirled on her husband, her arms crossed over her chest, her bearing determined. "Don't 'Now, Trish' me, Frank," she insisted firmly. "You think I didn't notice you and the Admiral closing yourselves off in his office just after we got here? Admiral, I suspect that you didn't hold anything back from my husband when he asked. I would appreciate it if you'd do the same for me." "Admiral, Trish will just keep after you until you tell her," Sarah added. "And if she doesn't, I will." A.J. shook his head, chuckling ruefully. At the startled looks from the others, he explained, "I was just realizing that Commander Rabb comes by his stubbornness honestly." His expression turned serious as he perched on the edge of a desk behind him. "I spoke to the chief medical officer aboard the Henry when I was told that the Commander had been found. There don't appear to be any significant crash-related injuries, that is true, although right now, he is very cold and numb, so there may be conditions – such as back pain – which they may not realize exist until the Commander warms up. Right now, the main concern is the hypothermia. His temperature was in the upper eighties when he was pulled out of the water. The, um, consensus seems to be that due to the length of time he’d been out there, the cold, his exhaustion, that he probably would not have lasted much longer if he hadn't been found when he was, especially since he’d either been thrown from or hadn't been able to get

into his life raft. It had been found empty a few hours before he was located." Trish and Sarah both paled, but Trish's voice was calm and firm when she said, "Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate your honesty." "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Mrs. Rabb," A.J. said in a comforting tone, "in my thirty-plus years in the Navy, I've seen a lot of life-or-death situations, some of them involving Commander Rabb, as I'm sure you're aware, and I do have to say that that in addition to being very well trained, he's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. The man doesn't know how to give up." Trish smiled. "Believe me, Admiral," she said, "that's probably the one thing that's kept me from going crazy over night. His father survived eleven years in a Soviet prison camp. Harm can survive this. I know my son and you're right. He doesn't know how to give up."

MIC'S APARTMENT After being dropped off at his apartment by Bud and Harriet, Mic paced around his living room, frustrated. His eyes fell on an off-white envelope lying on the coffee table. He picked it up, slowly withdrawing the contents. It was a wedding invitation, one of four that had been excess after they were all addressed and sent out. Mic glanced at the clock on the mantle, realizing that if everything had gone as it should have, Mac would have been walking down the aisle right about now. As sudden wave of anger overcoming him, he crumpled the invitation in his hand, and then flung it against the window. "Damn you, Harmon Rabb," he shouted, feeling far from satisfied as the card hit the window with a barely audible thud then fell to the floor. It was always Rabb, he thought darkly. When Mac had disappeared in Russia, where had she ended up? In Chechnya, helping Rabb and his brother. When he'd tried to reach her, wanting to discuss the People magazine article she'd been so mad about, what had she been doing? Representing that Middle Eastern princess at her INS hearing. Why? Because Rabb had asked her to. During their double date a few months ago, he and Renee had been left on the sidelines as Mac and Rabb had relieved the glory of past cases they'd worked together. When they'd been going through their wedding gifts, she'd taken off for Leavenworth. Sure, part of it had to do with the knife that had been found in one of their gifts, but when he'd asked how long she would be gone, she'd replied that she wasn't sure because she'd told Rabb she would meet with one of his clients while she was there. Even at their own engagement party, she'd spent half the night on the porch with Rabb when she should have been inside with him, accepting the well-wishes of all their friends. Although he told Renee blithely that he wasn't worried, he would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for their discussion, because whatever the hell they’d discussed, it had Mac distracted and distant for the rest of the night. After the party, when he'd taken her home and expected to be invited in to stay the night, she'd insisted that she was tired and he should just go home. Just a few days earlier, he'd shown up at JAG, hoping to get Mac to take off the afternoon and spend it with him, but she'd insisted that she had to stay at work and cover for Rabb, who was leaving for his quals.

He stopped suddenly in his pacing, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired, both physically and mentally, and had enough. He wasn't much of an investigator, but if he started at Mac's apartment, he should be able to piece together where she was. For all he knew, she might even be there, closing herself off unnecessarily from everyone, from him. Scooping up his keys from the end table, he raced out of his apartment, filled with a determination to find his fiancée.

MAC'S APARTMENT When he let himself into Mac's apartment, the thing he noticed immediately was that Jingo didn't come to the door to greet him. A quick glance in all of the rooms had revealed no sign of the dog at all. Mic glanced in the kitchen and found that Jingo's dog food and bowls were missing, along with the box of dog treats Mac kept in the pantry. He went back out into the living room and discovered that the leash was missing from its hook by the door. It took two more circuits through the apartment before Mic found the note, tacked to the door of the refrigerator by a magnet. Bud and I stopped by and picked up Jingo since we didn't know when you'd be back. We'll keep him as long as you need. Harriet He considered calling Harriet, but decided to wait until he knew more. He glanced at his watch and decided that there would have been enough time for Bud and Harriet to drop Renee, then him, off at their places then stop here to pick up Jingo before he arrived. Maybe they were just worried about Mac and had wanted to see for themselves whether or not she was here and decided to take Jingo with them when they found him here alone. That had to be it. Bud or Harriet would have told him earlier if they knew where Mac was. Going back out into the living room, he slowly circled the room, taking everything in. He stopped at the bookcase, noting the hole among the photo albums on the top shelf. He pulled some of the other albums off the shelf and glanced through them. One particularly thin book was photos of her childhood. Another, not quite as thin, was photos of the two of them during the year and a half since they'd gotten together. A thick album was photos of all her travels for the military. Just those three seemed to cover her entire life. So what was in the missing album, he wondered. What would be so important …? He shook his head as the answer came to him. No, that couldn't be it, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn't let go of the thought. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what the shelf had looked like when all the photo albums were there. The missing book was dark blue with gold trim and had been even thicker than the one of her travels. One by one, he picked up the other three albums again and looked through them again. After he closed the final book, he realized that they all had one thing in common – there was not a single photo of Rabb in any of the books. It occurred to him that maybe she'd gotten rid of any photos of Rabb she might have had, but then he shook his head. He wasn't that lucky. What else could be in the missing photo album, especially given the events of the previous night? Swearing softly under his breath, he went over to her desk and glanced through the contents

on top of it, looking for what he wasn't sure. If she'd gone off somewhere and had planned to stay away for more than a day, maybe she'd called and made hotel reservations somewhere. He realized that he was probably grasping at straws, but there had to be something here that provided some clue as to her whereabouts. But there was nothing there except for some case files, which he found odd since she’d been expecting to be gone for two weeks on their honeymoon, and her wedding planner. The later gave him some comfort, knowing that she’d been thinking about their wedding the previous night, the planner being opened to a page holding one of the invitations. However, none of this told him anything. He started to turn away, and then spied a yellow piece of paper sticking out from under a folder. He pulled it out and glanced at it. It was a credit card receipt from the Breezy Point Officers' Club at Norfolk. From the list of items, it looked like it was for breakfast. It was probably just a receipt that she'd forgotten to file with a travel voucher. He started to put the receipt down, then stopped, trying to remember when was the last time she'd gone down to Norfolk on a case. He couldn't recall any recent trips to Norfolk she’d taken. She'd been to Quantico several times recently, but not Norfolk that he could recall. He glanced down at the bottom of the receipt. 24 May 2001. That didn't make any sense. The date was just two days past, Thursday morning. What would she have been doing in Norfolk on Thursday? That was the first of two days she’d taken off work in preparation for the wedding and Norfolk was a little far away for breakfast just because she liked the food there. What a minute, he thought, reading over the receipt again. A ham and cheese omelet and a vegetable omelet. Two cups of coffee. He knew Mac's appetite, but why would she order two omelets that were so different? This had to be a breakfast for two. But who would she have been having breakfast with? Not a client. She’d cleared all her cases and would start with new cases when they returned from their honeymoon. Did she have any friends in Norfolk? He honestly didn't know. She didn't talk a lot about people she knew outside of her friends at JAG. Friends at JAG …. The Admiral gave me the time to go home and pack since I'm driving to Norfolk …. I'm taking a helo to the Patrick Henry in the morning from there …. He shook his head as the receipt fell from his hand, fluttering through the air to land on top of the open wedding planner. Why would she have been having breakfast with Rabb in Norfolk two days ago? It didn't make any sense. Maybe it was just a coincidence. It had to be. He just wanted all of this to make some kind of sense. There had to be an explanation. There just had to be. ONE HOUR LATER USS PATRICK HENRY For once, Mac's perfect sense of time eluded her. She tried to calculate just how long it had been since she'd given up on getting any sleep, just for something to do, but she just couldn't force herself to concentrate. There was too much to distract her. From above her head came the steady bleep of the heart monitor. Not quite steady, she realized, as the machine seemed to hesitate before sounding in time with Harm's next heartbeat. But it was more regular than

earlier, when she'd tried to count the beats and her own heart had seemed to jump every time the monitor caught before the next beep sounded. Mostly softer, and definitely less steady than the heart monitor, was his breathing – alternating between long, raspy intakes of air and short gasps. Over the last however many minutes she'd been lying on her cot, she'd just about managed to condition herself not to jump every time he seemed to fight to draw in breath, although the tears were harder to will away. Why had he had to fly back last night? Why couldn't he have waited until morning? As she blinked back tears, she could see so clearly in her mind the courtyard at JAG just three days earlier, when she'd extracted from Harm that damned promise to return to watch her pledge her life and love to another man. By the time he was preparing to return from the carrier, the promise had become null and void as the fog which had seemed to envelope her for the last fifteen months finally lifted and she finally made the decision to take charge of her own life. But even then, she'd only tried to talk him into spending the night in Norfolk. It had never even occurred to her to worry about his trip to Norfolk from the carrier. Why hadn't she just told him to stay on the carrier until morning came and the weather had passed? Because it had seemed so damn normal, she realized. It had been so routine. How many times had she seen him take off in a Tomcat and land safely again? Why should this time have been any different? Or maybe not so different, she thought as she remembered something Bud had once told her about Harm’s first crash. He’d been coming into land on a carrier in a storm. Officially, his night blindness had been the cause of the crash, but the weather had been a contributing factor. Maybe if she’d remembered that before, she would have been more concerned about him flying in such weather. She laughed bitterly. Was there anything that would have kept Harm out of the air the previous night, even without the specter of her impending wedding hanging over their heads? Not likely. If Harmon Rabb wanted to fly, God help anyone who tried to stop him. Jordan had tried and look what it had gotten her. Even she’d tried. Even though she’d choked on the words she’d really wanted to say, she’d attempted to point out just what he would be leaving behind. Damn you, she swore silently. Forget Mic Brumby, Renee Peterson and all those who had come before them. What had really stood between the two of them was a forty million dollar piece of metal. By giving her his wings, Harm had tried to remove the obstacle, but it looked like it would always be there. After all, it had nearly taken him from her again, this time forever …. She jumped when she suddenly felt a chill against her right cheek and she turned her head to find that the cold was coming from the back of Harm's hand pressed her face and he was turned on his side, looking down at her, the oxygen mask hanging around his neck. She pulled away from him, her anger at the situation and Harm rapidly dissipating, and swung her legs over the edge of the cot, standing as she crossed her arms over her chest, not quite succeeding in looking more stern than worried. "What do you think you are doing?" she demanded, pushing him over onto his back and tucking the warming blanket securely around him. She lifted the oxygen mask to fit it back over his face, but he weakly pushed her hand away. "You need the oxygen to help you breathe easier." "Have …. to talk," he rasped, reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek, catching a few stray tears. He hated that he was the one making her cry and if he could turn back time and do something different, something that would have kept his Tomcat in the air, he would

gladly do it so that he wouldn't have to face the anguish in her eyes. "You have to worry about getting better," she insisted, pulling his hand away from her face and tucking it back under the blanket. Slowly, he shook his head. "Can't …. wait," he countered, gasping for breath between words, his expression pleading. Her anger was back in a flash. “Yes, it can,” she insisted forcefully, Harm’s eyes widening at the barely concealed fury in her voice. “Damn it, you almost died last night. I thought living without you for six months was hard. I can’t do forever.” “You ….” What he was about to say was lost in a coughing spasm. Blocking out everything but her concern, she lightly rubbed his back as he rolled onto his side, struggling to catch his breath. Remembering something Doctor Reed had said earlier, she realized that the coughing was somewhat positive, despite how congested he sounded. The fact that he was now able to cough meant that his body temperature was getting closer to normal. As the spasm subsided, she glanced at the monitor on the wall over his head. 94.1 degrees. Still far from normal, but better than it had been. “That’s why you need to wear the oxygen mask,” she reminded him gently as she helped him settle back into bed. "The corpsman said the heated oxygen will help ease your breathing." She tried to place it back over his mouth, but he shook his head. “Almost did …. lose forever,” he whispered. He blinked, his eyes watery – from tears or from his coughing spasm, Mac wasn’t sure. Likely the latter, she thought. She couldn't see Harmon Rabb crying over this. "Harm, I'm not going anywhere, not now," she said gently, managing what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He shook his head again, more insistently. "Didn't wait," he whispered raggedly. She stared at him, trying to understand what he was trying to say. It didn't make any sense …. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her soft cry as she realized what he was trying to say. He was scared that she wouldn't wait for him, just as she hadn't in Sydney when all he'd wanted was more time to …. handle whatever had been holding him back on the ferry. "I meant it when I said I'm not going anywhere," she said slowly, fighting the tremor in her voice, forcing back the haunting memory of past mistakes. Was the ground they were on that shaky that he thought she was going to abandon him in his current condition? What had happened to the partners who never had cause to question that one would be there for the other, no matter what? "I love you, Harm, and I'm staying right here with you." He took in a few shuddering breaths as he tried to gather his thoughts. She seemed to understand what he was trying to say, but there was more he had to tell her, more he needed for her to comprehend. "Almost lost you," he said, bringing his hand out from under the blanket to clasp hers. She shivered as his cold fingers closed around hers, but resisted the instinct to pull her hand away and curled her fingers around his in reply. "But you didn't," she reminded him. "I'm not going to marry Mic …." She trailed off as he

shook his head. "Not just …. Mic," he gasped. "Um, last night …. promised …. would tell you …. love you. So cold …. wanted sleep ….but had to tell you …." She took in a shaky breath, brushing away tears with her free hand as the realization of just how close he’d been to slipping away staggered her. He was telling her that he’d been so close to giving up, to letting go to the cold and the dark. She dropped his hand and took a step back from the bed, quickly turning around as she fought to bring herself under control, spinning back around when she felt his hand try to grasp hers. As she came back around, she found him trying to push himself up into a sitting position. "Harm!" she cried out. Her cry brought a corpsman running from the far end of sickbay. "Commander, you're not supposed to be moving around," the young woman insisted as she tried to push him back onto the bed. Normally, the petite corpsman would be no match for a determined, six-foot-four solidly built Naval Commander, but he didn't have the strength to take on a fly and what little strength he did possess quickly waned and it was only the corpsman and Mac's quick reflexes which kept him from tumbling out of bed. Inwardly cursing his body which wouldn't do what he wanted it to, he sank back against the pillow with a raspy groan, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the sharp pain in the back of his head. "And you're supposed to keep the oxygen mask on. We don't want you to catch pneumonia." Despite the pain of movement, Harm shook his head as she tried to put the mask back on. "Need to talk …." he said, the rest of what he was trying to say lost as she managed to get the mask fitted back over his nose and mouth. "If you think you can hold a pen," she said as his head fell back against his pillow, the struggle exhausting him, "then I'll get you something to write with. But the oxygen mask stays on or we may have to get more invasive to assist your breathing." Reluctantly, Harm nodded, remembering the feeling of helplessness ten years earlier when he'd woken up in Landstuhl to the feeling of the intubation tube stuck down his throat, a ventilator forcing air into his battered and bruised lungs. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t swallow. If he could avoid that particular sensation, he'd gladly do it. But he was almost desperate – yes, that was the right word, he realized – to talk to Mac, to make sure that she knew exactly how he felt. How many more chances would he have to finally get it right? Experimentally, he flexed his fingers. They were still stiff, but he was pretty sure he could close them around a pen. He had to. Mac looked down, fiddling with the zipper of the jacket she was still wearing while the corpsman hunted up some paper and a pen. He seemed so anxious to talk to her, but she was afraid. Little more than twelve hours earlier, she'd made the difficult decision to turn her back on a long-term relationship that she'd just about managed to convince herself would last forever. How could she even think about diving head-first into another relationship, even if it was one she'd wanted deep down for nearly as long as she'd known Harm? But how could she not? She'd nearly lost him, not just to her relationship with Mic, as he pointed out, but to death. There was a part of her that wanted to grab onto him and everything he seemed to be offering and hold onto it with everything that was in her. As much as she wasn't sure she could risk rushing into anything so quickly, she had a feeling that not holding onto him with

everything that was in her might just be the bigger risk. "Sarah," Harm said, lightly tugging on her hand. She looked up to see him placing the oxygen mask back over his mouth – he’d lifted it just long enough to say her name – and a space next to him on the bed made when he scooted over towards the far edge. He patted the empty spot, his eyes conveying a silent message. She hesitated a split second before hoisting herself up onto the bed, bending one knee and tucking that leg under the other, trying to find the most comfortable position in the limited space. Harm held his arms out to her, indicating that she could lie down in his arms and she seriously considered it before reluctantly shaking her head. As much as she wanted to be in his arms, to reassure herself that he was real and to hear the comforting sound of his heart beating beneath her cheek, but she might forget herself and all her good intentions to take it slow, to figure out Sarah Mackenzie and where Harm fit into her life, would possibly fly out the window. Harm closed his eyes, but not before she saw the hurt in their depths and she rushed to reassure him. "It's not you," she said softly. "It's me. Everything's so mixed up and I'm not …." Her voice trailed off as the corpsman returned and handed Harm a steno pad and a pen. He nodded his thanks and she moved off to inventory a supply cabinet at the other end of the room, giving them their privacy once again. Mac had looked away, trying to compose herself, turning back when Harm placed the pad in her lap. She looked down to find a question in familiar, if slightly unsteady, handwriting. Everything's so mixed up and what ….? Taking a deep breath, she handed the pad back to him as she tried to put it into words. Finally, she began in a wavering voice. "I guess I've become a pretty good actress over the last year or so," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "I think I'd even managed to convince myself that being married to Mic Brumby was what I wanted. Or maybe I'd convinced myself that there wasn't anything better for me out there. I'm not sure." She hesitated as she noticed Harm starting to write something else out of the corner of her eye, but he nodded to her to continue. "I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, now that I've … woken up is as good a term as any, I guess. But looking back, I don't even recognize the person I was for all those months. I'm not sure what happened to the real Sarah Mackenzie." As she finished, she held out her hand, indicating that she was done talking and wanted to read what he’d written. He slowly finished what he was writing and turned the pad around so she could read it. She chuckled as she read the two messages. It was an imperfect form of communication and Harm had drawn arrows to indicate which message he wanted her to read first. She's been there all along. She just needed to figure out what she really wanted. "Too bad admitting what I wanted couldn't have been easier," she murmured as she read his other comment, the one he'd started writing while she'd been speaking. If marrying Mic was what you said you wanted, then why did you push me so hard on the Admiral's porch?

"If I knew that one," she chuckled ruefully, "then it wouldn't have taken me until the eleventh hour to admit that it wasn't really what I wanted. Maybe deep down I was hoping that you would push back and stop me from marrying him." She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and realized truth as she remembered what he'd written in the letter he'd left for her. "But you weren't going to, were you? No matter how much you wanted to or I wanted you to, you wouldn't have done it." Harm shook his head as he slowly wrote out another message and angled the pad so she could see it. If marrying Mic was what you wanted to do – and that's what you told me how many times? – it wasn't my place to stand in your way. "Why do you always have to be so damn noble?" she muttered. Realizing from the shocked expression in his eyes that he'd heard that – she hadn't meant to say it out loud – she quickly shook her head before he could turn the pad back around and scratch out a response. "No, don't answer that. I'm sorry." Harm was relieved. Although he'd intended to reply, he wasn't quite sure how. He actually thought she was a bit off the mark. If he was so noble, why had he taken her into his bed a few nights earlier, while she was pledged to another? He wasn't noble. He was just a helpless passenger on a runaway train he couldn't pilot or control. Sometimes the only thing to do was to hang on for the ride. It was a sensation he hated. She’d been right about that at the engagement party. He was hanging onto his control like a lifeline, but he had to. Look at what had happened when he lost control. Maybe it wasn’t completely his fault – the jet had been struck by lightning, after all. But the mechanical problems with the plane should have been detected during preflight. There had to have been something he should have caught, something he could have done during the flight to have affected the outcome. “Hey,” Mac said softly. He jerked himself out of his reverie to find her studying him with concern. “Penny for your thoughts.” He hesitated, not sure how to reply. She didn’t need to hear this right now, all his questions and doubts about his accident. It wasn’t her burden to bear, so he settled on a glib reply. Slowly, he wrote out his short response and showed it to her. I’m not sure they’re worth that much. She recognized it for diversionary tactic that it was and sighed inwardly. She knew he was shutting down on her, but wasn’t quite sure why. She thought they’d come further than that since the engagement party. But hadn’t that always been their story – one step forward, three steps back? “They are to me,” she said simply. She reached out and stroked his forehead, avoiding the deep bruise over his right eye. Idly, she wondered how he’d gotten that. She would have thought that area would have been protected by his helmet. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking.” He turned his head away, struggling to think of something to say that would satisfy her. She was about to comment about his shutting down on her again when he was overcome with another coughing fit. She wasn’t sure about reaching out to comfort him, wasn’t sure if he wanted her to, but before she could decide, he turned back, still gasping for breath, and

handed her the pad. His handwriting was even more unsteady, the words written as he’d been struggling through the coughing. You haven’t answered my question. “Which question?” she asked casually, although she knew very well which question he was referring to. She’d known that would come up again sooner or later. She just didn’t think that was a question she could answer right now. He took the pad back, trying to mask his impatience. He could see the truth in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Pushing aside the tiny voice in the back of his head, the one pointing out that this probably wasn’t the best time, he wrote out four words on the paper and turned the notebook back around. Will you marry me? “Harm ….” she began as he took the pad back and began writing out something else. She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to make some sense out of the myriad of thoughts racing through her head. Why hadn’t he been able to ask her that question fifteen months ago? How many times since then had she woken up from the most wonderful dream where it had been Harm on the ferry with her, resplendent in his dress whites, slipping a diamond ring on her finger as she answered ‘yes’ without hesitation. Only she’d wake up and find it had only been a dream. Now it was real and she couldn’t make herself say anything. No matter how much she wanted to, neither of them could go back and undo past mistakes. They could only go forward, but was this the way to make things better? What if Harm had never crashed? They wouldn’t be talking marriage already. The question appeared to be a knee-jerk reaction to their circumstance and she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was no more the basis for a marriage than what she’d had with Mic was, even if Harm was the man she was in love with. “I know a lot has happened, but ….” Do you think this is the first time I’ve thought of this? She almost laughed when she read that. Sometimes, it was so hard to figure out what he was thinking. “I don’t know ….” she murmured. Harm didn’t have a reply for that. That had been their problem before, on the ferry, and in many conversations since then. He’d been so unclear in expressing what he’d been thinking on the ferry that it had driven her into another man’s arms. He decided to turn his question around and wrote out something, then showed her. Nor is this the first time you’ve thought about it. Remember the party? She didn't even have to think about that one. That idea had haunted her even before she'd said anything at the party, almost since the disastrous ferry ride. Sighing, she nodded sadly. “I said that if things had gone differently on the ferry,” she said, “perhaps we still would have been attending an engagement party that night.” She turned away, exhaling slowly as she tried to compose a response which wouldn’t precipitate an argument. After a few moments, she turned back towards him, but avoided meeting his gaze. “I wish it were that simple, Harm. But we can’t go back ….”

She looked down as she felt a chill against her hand. Harm had brought his left hand out from under the blanket and was now clasping her hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her palm. His hand was still so cold against hers, in marked contrast to the warmth that was spreading outward from her palm at his tender touch. Her eyes finally meeting his, she found herself drowning in their depths. For a moment, she could swear that he was an open book, revealing in his penetrating gaze everything that she’d ever wanted him to say, every feeling that she ever wished he would let show. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t trust herself to speak. She was afraid of what might come out of her mouth, scared that she might find herself promising him anything. “Sarah,” he said, cursing to himself when he realized she couldn’t hear him through the mask he wore. Sighing, he wrote out what he wanted to say and held out the pad. Mac pulled her hand from his, instantly noting the dissipation of the warmth his touch had brought and mourning it, and read over his words. I don’t see it as going back. I …. it’s something I should have done a long time ago. “I wish it were that simple,” she repeated, suddenly jumping up from the bed. She needed to think and to do that she had to put some space between them. Sitting next to him, looking into his eyes, his fingers curled around hers, it would be so easy to let herself fall, but for the sake of everything she hoped they could be to each other, she couldn’t afford to do that. Retreating a few feet away from the end of the bed, she turned back around and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to put forth an air of certainty that she didn’t feel. “How can we make decisions like this with so much still hanging over our heads? What about Mic and Renee? As much as we’d probably like to forget that they even exist, we can’t. They are still so much a part of our lives. We can’t just pretend the last two years never happened.” We have to tell them it’s over. Do they have to know the reasons why? Incredulous, she shook her head. “Are you serious?” she demanded. “What makes you think they’re not going to know, especially coming on the heels of all this? Have you lost your mind?” Realizing that she was raising her voice, she took a deep breath and continued in a more level tone. “Maybe we should continue this later. You’re still, uh, not well and you probably need more time to think ….” Harm held the pad up after a moment and Mac took a few steps towards the bed so she could read what he’d written. I’ve done nothing but think, not just last night, but since Wednesday night. Probably even since the party. I’ve finally figured out what has been there all along. I can’t remember when I haven’t loved you. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. With just eight words, he’d managed to make her come completely undone. With slow, slightly unsteady steps, she walked up to the head of the bed as Harm pushed a button to raise the head of the bed so that he was in a semi-sitting position. She perched on the edge of the bed next to him, unhesitatingly going into his outstretched arms, burying her face against his throat. Conscious of the IV tubing and the wires from the EKG monitor, she laid down next to him, draping her arm over his chest, the

warming blanket between them. Still wearing his jacket, she couldn’t feel his hand as he slowly let it trail up and down her back, but she could hear the soft creak of the leather beneath his touch. Sighing softly, she pressed a light kiss against his throat, pulling back when she felt something odd against her lips. Propping herself up on an elbow, she ran her fingers under his chin, studying the abrasions on his neck. “What happened here?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that they were rope burns. What had happened to him out there? Harm lifted his hand and felt the wounds, closing his eyes as his mind traveled back to the stormy ocean, the cold rain pelting his exposed skin like thousands of sharp needles, the parachute lines tangling, cutting off his air, his finger frantically trying to undo the strap on his helmet in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure. He was brought back to the present by her soft, insistent ‘Harm?’ He opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision. He thought he could feel the salt water still stinging his eyes – or was it tears? He couldn’t be sure that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Shifting position slightly so he could see what he was writing on the pad held in his hands behind her back, he hesitantly wrote out his reply, trying to come up with a way to put it so that it didn’t sound as bad as it really had been. Sighing at the impossible task, he kept his answer as brief as possible. After a few minutes, he pulled his left arm from around her and held out the pad. Lines got tangled when the chute opened. “Tangled around your neck?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. If he was telling her what she thought he was, he was nearly strangled by the equipment that was supposed to save his life. Slowly, he nodded, dropping the notebook onto his lap, rubbing his thumb across her one cheekbone then the other, brushing away unchecked tears. “I was scared,” she started softly, so quietly that Harm had to strain to hear her. “When Captain Ingles called me last night, I tried to tell myself that you’re the strongest person I know, that you’ve survived so much adversity. But there was this …. dread in the pit of my stomach. I was so terrified that I’d never get a chance to tell you how much I love you, that we’d never have the opportunity to do so many things, like have that baby we promised each other. I promised myself that we weren’t going to waste any more time.” I promised myself the same thing. If nothing else, I guess I realize how short life is and how I …. we can’t afford to waste any more time. I want you to wake up every day knowing how much I love you, Sarah. I want to share my life with you. “I know,” she admitted, taking his hand in hers and pressing her lips to his knuckles. She moistened her dry lips with her tongue as she lifted her eyes to meet his, smiling weakly through her still-falling tears. Why had it taken Harm almost dying to be able to open up like this to each other? Even the single, sad, magical night they’d spent together hadn’t brought that. “I want the same thing …. so yes, I will marry you.” For a long moment, all was silent but the beeping and blipping of the various machines monitoring Harm’s condition. Finally, Mac leaned down, her mouth against his ear. “Did

you not hear me?” she asked, her breath hot against his skin. She kept her tone light, almost joking. “I said that I will marry you.” His eyes widened and she thought she could detect his lips curving upward in a smile through the mask. There was so much going through his mind that he could barely process it all. He’d half expected, even had tried to mentally prepare himself to hear her say ‘no’ or ‘not yet’. Now, there would have been an irony. But she’d said ‘yes’ and he promised himself he was never going to let her go again. He scratched something out and turned the pad to show her what he’d written, causing her to laugh. I want to kiss you. “Well, until the doctor says you can remove the oxygen mask,” she pointed out, “you’ll have to settle for this.” Smiling softly, she pressed a kiss to first one cheek, then the other, then finally to the center of his forehead. She settled back down on the bed, pressing herself against his side, slipping one arm under his neck, her other arm draped over him. Harm wrapped one arm around her and held her as tight as he could, smiling. Despite the fact that he was lying in sickbay, hooked up to all manner of machines, he could not remember when his life had been better. What was Mac’s mantra – a good man, great career and lots of comfortable shoes? He could see the appeal in its simplicity. Mac closed her eyes, turning everything over in her mind as she idly traced circles over his chest. She’d just agreed to be Harmon Rabb’s wife. Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb. It had a nice ring to it, she thought, and it came so much easier to her than …. “I’m sorry,” a voice said with amusement. Her eyes flew open to find vaguely familiar face looking at them from the edge of the bed. After a moment and a glance at the man’s collar insignia, she remembered who he was. It was Father Gilly, the priest who had led the prayer service that morning. Her cheeks flushing red, she pulled out of Harm's embrace and pushed herself into a sitting position, running a hand over her hair, hoping she looked somewhat presentable. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just speaking to Doctor Reed and thought I’d stop by and see how Commander Rabb is doing.” “We were just trying to get some sleep,” Mac explained hastily. There was nothing really to be embarrassed about – there was even a blanket between them and she was fully dressed but the man was still a priest. “It’s been a long night ….” “I understand, Colonel,” he replied gently, his eyes falling on her rank insignia. “By the way, I’m Father Patrick Gilly, the Henry’s chaplain. I saw you at the service this morning.” Mac shook his outstretched hand, nodding. “Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie,” she introduced herself. “I’m Harm’s fiancée.” She smiled widely, looking down at Harm at the last part. The words had come surprisingly easily from her mouth and she could see the light in his eyes at her proclamation. “Congratulations,” Gilly said. “Thank God that Commander Rabb was returned to you safely.” “Yes,” Mac murmured politely, although she wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t God’s fault

Harm had even been lost out there. But she was hardly up for a theological debate with a priest. He seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts and let the subject drop. He'd counseled his fair share of family members after something happened to a service member and could guess what she was probably thinking. Smiling, he asked, “Have you set a date for the wedding yet?” “Well, things have been kind of crazy recently, even before yesterday,” Mac explained, shrugging. Well, that was the truth, so to speak, even without explaining that until yesterday, she’d been engaged to another man and that today was supposed to have been her wedding day. She was barely aware of Harm writing out something as she continued, “After everything has settled down and we have a moment or two to catch our breaths, we’ll have to make time to sit down and plan everything out properly.” Harm tapped the back of her hand with the pen and held out the pad to her. She glanced over what he’d written, then read over it again more slowly, unable to believe what she was reading. She shot him an incredulous look as she turned his words over in her mind. What if Father Gilly marries us today? Then after everything has ‘settled down’, we can plan another wedding for our families and friends. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, unable to make the words come out. Maybe she’d been right earlier. Perhaps he’d lost his mind. “What about, um, everything?” she asked quietly, placing special emphasis on the final word. Without hesitation, Harm wrote out a reply and showed it to her. This would be just for us. Why would anyone have to know anything until after all that is settled? Then we can tell our friends that we’re engaged and have a small ceremony that those closest to us can attend. That is what you wanted, isn’t it – a small wedding? “You remember my saying that?” she asked in wonder, remembering her and Mic’s differing ideas at their double date a few months earlier about the setting for their wedding. After their night out, the polite discord had given way to a major disagreement, Mic somehow getting his way in the end – how, she still wasn’t quite sure. Mic, the person most immediately involved, hadn’t seemed to hear a word she’d said. Harm had not only heard, but he’d remembered months later. You wanted a small wedding on a hillside, but I draw the line at the goats. You know, there's a nice hill on my grandmother's farm …. I'd love to take you there. In spite of her uncertainty, she laughed out loud at his attempt to put her at ease. “I’ll give you that one,” she promised, "and your grandmother's farm probably isn't a bad idea. I'm sure I’d love it up there. But going back to what we were discussing ….” A thoughtful expression in his eyes, Harm tapped his pen against the notebook while he considered what he wanted to say. Finally, he scribbled out something and showed it to her. I want to pledge myself to you before God, even if only the two of us and a handful of

people here on the ship know about it. I – I realize that it’s probably not your dream wedding, but at least we’ll know that we’ve got the rest of our lives ahead of us – together. “Harm, I do know that,” she replied. “Even if I’ve had doubts about it in the past, I know now how you feel and I hope that you realize how much I love you, too.” He sighed in frustration, the sound lost in the mask he wore. How could he explain to her that which he could barely explain to himself? He wasn’t sure he wanted to, or could, explain about Diane and his dream – hallucination? He was pretty sure that it was still an uncomfortable subject for them, to a certain degree anyway. He just knew that he’d missed out on so much – with Diane because of her death and with Mac because of so many things which hardly seemed to matter anymore – and he didn't want that anymore. He was a lawyer who’d swayed judges and juries with stirring arguments. Why was it so hard to talk to this one woman? Smiling as inspiration struck, he began writing again while Gilly, his presence seemingly forgotten by Harm and Mac, watched the by-play between the two. Even after just a few minutes, he could see the obvious love between them. He’d seen how Mac’s eyes had positively lit up, her expression softening, when she’d introduced herself as Harm’s fiancée and again when she’d just softly proclaimed her love. Harm’s expression was harder to read, mostly because of the oxygen mask, but Gilly thought he saw the same thing in Harm’s eyes when he looked at Mac. He wasn’t sure what they were discussing so intently, but he had his suspicion based on experience and the seemingly innocent question he’d asked about when they would get married. He’d seen it both before and after the Gulf War, and other situations demanding longer than usual, or sudden, deployments. There’d practically been a line outside his office, then at Miramar, of sailors and Marines looking to hastily marry before being shipped off to war or after coming back. A fellow chaplain had said, only half-jokingly, that there was nothing like facing one’s mortality in war to provoke either religious fervor – church attendance did tend to go up during those times - or grand declarations of love. Gilly was still idealistic enough to think of it as people realizing what was truly important in life. Unaware of the priest’s scrutiny, Harm finished what he was writing and hesitantly handed the pad back to Mac. This was perhaps the closing argument of his life. As she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his, the jolt of electricity from such a simple contact seeming to spread throughout her entire body. Taking a shaky breath, trying to control her racing heart, she focused on the words in front of her. I know I’m not very good at this kind of thing. I didn’t have any poetic words and phrases to declare my love with. I don’t even have a ring to put on your finger – unless you’d like to wear my Academy ring, even if it is about five or six sizes too large for you. I don’t even have my dress whites to dazzle you with, even if you once claimed they’re overrated. All I have to offer you right now is my love. All I can say is that I love you and I don’t want to waste another day. We’ve wasted so much time already. I know a lot of that is my fault and a lot of it probably goes back to my decision to return to active flight status and what I didn't say on the ferry. So many times, and not just since Wednesday, I’ve wondered where we would

be right now if not for all that. Maybe you were right and we would have been celebrating at our engagement party a few weeks ago. Or maybe we’d already be married and thinking about making good on a certain promise we once made. I love you, Sarah Mackenzie, and I want to show you how much I’ve loved you, just about from the moment I first met you. I know you’re probably going to find that one hard to believe, given …. other circumstances, but I meant it when I said I can’t remember when I haven’t loved you. And when we were separated – the month you spent at Dalton's firm, my five months aboard the Henry – those were some of the hardest times of my life. And last night, I tried not to think about the idea that I might never see you again, that you might never know …. all this. But I couldn't stop myself from thinking it and the idea scared me. I know you probably thought you'd ever hear something like that from me. But you know what else? It gave me a reason to keep fighting. You’re the reason I’m still here. I don’t know what else to say to you, except that I love you and I want to spend my life with you. “Oh, Harm,” she whispered, clasping his hand in hers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “I love you and I want to spend my life with you.” Harm started to pull his hand from hers so he could write something else, but she shook her head, maintaining her hold. Swallowing nervously, she turned to Gilly. “Father, Harm and I have a request,” she said, smiling when she felt Harm’s fingers tighten around hers. “As you know, we’re planning to get married. After everything that’s happened, um, last night, we don’t want to waste any more time. We want to be together. If you will agree, we’d like to have a small ceremony today, just for us.” “I see,” Gilly said, pulling up a stool at the end of the bed and sitting down, a thoughtful expression on face. Although the request was hardly unexpected, he was about to jump on the bandwagon just yet. He wouldn't be doing his job if he did. These days, he saw far too many marriages that seemed to start out so perfect go up in flames. “I don’t think I have to explain to either of you how big a step marriage is.” “Believe me, Father,” Mac said with certainty, “if nothing else, we realize how serious this is. And God knows ….” She stopped suddenly, as if remembering to whom she was talking. “Sorry, Father. Anyway, if it hadn’t been for a lot of mistakes – on both our parts – we wouldn’t be having this discussion, because it wouldn’t be necessary. We would most likely already be married, or just about there. We’ve learned a lot recently, about each other and the mistakes we’ve made – and we just want the chance to finally do it right.” “What about your friends and families?” he asked. “I cannot understate the importance of having a support system, the love and support of those closest to you. No person is an island and neither is a couple.” Harm motioned to Mac to let him answer the question. She nodded assent and he wrote out a reply. Watching him, she noticed that he was having an easier time putting the words on paper, that he didn’t seem to be moving quite as stiffly. He showed her the pad when he was finished and she relayed his words to the priest. “Harm says that we do know that and we do

want them to participate in celebrating our love, which is why we have discussed having another ceremony later – after Harm’s had a chance to recover and we get a chance to plan that those closest to us can attend.” “Actually, another ceremony would probably be a necessity,” Gilly pointed out. “I’m hardly an expert on this aspect – we don’t perform weddings at sea in the Navy, since regs prohibit married couples from serving together – and although any ceremony I perform would be valid in the eyes of the Church, the civil authorities wherever you live might want something a little more, uh, legally binding, with blood tests and a marriage license issued by whatever state you reside in.” “The lawyers should have thought of that one,” Mac joked, glancing at Harm. She was smiling as she said it, but her voice had a hint of uncertainty. There was a part of her inside that was suggesting maybe she could use that as a basis for putting the brakes on this entire thing, but her heart was refusing to listen. Gives us perfect reason for another wedding. “I agree,” she said, forcing back her unease. She loved Harm and was going to hold onto that. Together, surely they could work the rest out. She turned back to the priest and relayed what Harm had written. The priest chuckled, then quickly turned serious. “Normally, there are procedures to be followed, even for a religious ceremony,” he said. “Just as for a civil ceremony there is paperwork to fill out, blood work to be done, there are things that we do to prepare a couple on the religious side of things. Now, I remember Commander Rabb from when he served aboard the Henry previously, so I already know his answer to this question, so this is directed at you, Colonel Mackenzie. What is your religious preference – assuming you have one, that is?” “Catholic,” she replied. “I assume when you’re talking about procedures, you’re referring mostly to pre-Cana – or more accurately in my case, Cana II?” Gilly nodded. “You’ve done your research,” he commented. “And you’ve been married before, if you already know that Cana II is the appropriate conference in your case.” “Civilly, anyway,” she explained. “My first marriage took place outside the Church. When the subject of pre-Cana was first broached, I had a couple of interesting conversations with the priest about whether the normal session or Cana II would be more appropriate.” It had more than a grain of truth to it. When she and Mic had their first meeting with the chaplain who would have performed their ceremony, it had been debated which session they should attend. Technically, her first marriage was not recognized by the Church, so the priest had suggested that the regular pre-Cana conference was more appropriate, but she’d been concerned about being in a class with people who’d never been married before, even if she was in the same position in the eyes of the Church. If part of the point of pre-Cana was meeting other couples in the same situation, how could any of them understand what she’d gone through in her first marriage? After a few intense discussions – during which Mic had backed her up - the priest had finally conceded her point and she and Mic had attended Cana II. Not that she felt any more comfortable there, but she could admit now that feeling had less to do with the marriage preparations and more to do with the man she’d agreed to marry.

“So, have you already attended the conference or were you still in the information gathering stage?” he asked. Squeezing Harm’s hand quickly as she glanced at him, she hoped he understood her unspoken signal to agree with what she was about to say. “We’ve been,” she replied, mentally crossing her fingers. “With our careers, it’s been hard with the planning. Either of us can – and often are – sent out of town on a moment’s notice. We had an opportunity to go ahead and attend the conference, so we took it, even though we hadn’t set a date yet.” Actually, that was partially true in her and Mic's case, as well. Even though they hadn't been close to setting a date and wouldn't for nearly two more months, Mic had signed them up for the session at the cathedral within a week after she'd moved the ring over. “In that case, I’ll save the discussion on the role of marriage in the Church, since you’ve already heard it,” he said. “Normally, we’d also need to see certain documents attesting the fact that you are authorized to participate in the sacrament of marriage in the Church – baptismal, first communion and confirmation certificates, whatever documents you have, Colonel, attesting to the dissolution of your first marriage by either divorce or death, even though the marriage wasn't recognized in the eyes of the Church. But since you said you've already attended pre-Cana and would have had to present these documents to your local priest, I think I can safely wave those requirements given the unique circumstances." "Thank you," Mac said, even as she realized that it would have given them an out if he’d insisted on seeing the documentation. Although she knew where all her certificates were since she'd had to find them when planning her wedding to Mic, she had no way to get a hold of them at the moment and for all she knew, Harm's stuff could be anywhere, possibly even at his parents' in California. Father Gilly seemed willing to perform a ceremony for them, so there didn't seem to be anything stopping them. "So, when would we do this?" "Well, you'll need a couple of witnesses," he said. "And I'll need to get my Bible and see if I have a blank marriage certificate in my files, so everything’s as official as we can make it. Do you need any more time to prepare?" "I guess I should probably clean up a little bit," Mac said, the nervousness in her voice just barely detectable. She looked down at her clothes and chuckled softly. "I didn't know I'd be getting married today or I would have brought something other than my uniform." Harm scratched out a quick response and showed her what he’d written. You look beautiful. "Yours is hardly an objective opinion," she retorted in a teasing tone, her cheeks tinged pink at the compliment. She thought about it a moment, then turned back to Gilly. "How about in an hour?" "That's fine," he said as he stood to leave. "One more thing – did you have any specific verses in mind for readings or would you like me to just pick something appropriate?" Her eyes widened, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Not being particularly religious – she couldn't even remember the last time she'd picked up a Bible - she'd had a hard time with that when the chaplain had asked her and Mic the same thing. In the end, she'd thought it

easier to just go along with Mic's suggestions. Just like everything else, he'd known just what he wanted there. "Um, I don't know," she answered. "We were still in the discussion stages on that, so you can just pick whatever you think is appropriate." He nodded, merely chalking up her reticence to pre-marital jitters and the stress of everything that had happened. "Okay," he said. "I'll leave you alone then and see you in an hour." Harm turned around his pad so Gilly could read what he'd just written. Thank you, Father. I – we really appreciate this. "You're welcome," he said, smiling. "I'll see you both later." As Gilly walked out, Harm watched Mac and the emotions flitting across her face as she crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms as if cold. Once they were alone, Harm nudged her to get her attention, handing her his notebook. Are you okay? If you want to wait …. "No," she said quickly. Putting on the best smile she could, she took a deep breath and continued, "I'm just …. I can't believe we're really doing this. I think it's just hitting me and I've got a good case of butterflies in my stomach. Everything's just moving so fast …." Too fast? We don't have to get married today. I don't want you to feel pressured. "I'm not feeling pressured," she said, attempting a reassuring tone. "I just can't believe this is happening. This is how I wished I had felt …. " She trailed off, shaking her head. "No, that doesn't matter. You and I are getting married and that's what is important now. Nothing else." What about witnesses? I know you don't really know anyone on the ship all that well, but I was thinking Skates and Tuna could stand up for us – at least if she's up to it. I know you'd probably prefer to have Harriet here for you, and Chloe. "I like Skates," Mac said. "I don't have a problem with her standing as witness for us. I can go ask her – she's in another part of sickbay since she'd not in as bad a shape as you. Why don’t I go check on her while you – I don’t know – get some rest or something.” She was about to get up to leave when Harm started to write something. She hesitated, waiting to see what he had to say. Who could rest now? She stared at him in wonder. Could the normally confident, self-assured Harmon Rabb possibly be just as nervous as she was? Her eyes met his and she could see so much in them – a hint of nervousness, excitement, joy and, best of all, the love she’d always wanted to see in their depths. Smiling almost shyly, she lowered her eyes. “I know what you mean,” she said softly. His hand closed around her wrist and she lifted her head at his soft, hoarse ‘Sarah’ to find that he’d once again pulled oxygen mask from over his mouth and was using his free arm – the

one unencumbered by the IV and blood pressure cuff – to push himself into a sitting position, wincing as his battered and bruised body protested the movement. He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden flash of pain in the back of his head, forcing them open again, hoping that Mac wouldn’t realize the effort just this little amount of motion took. Breathing slowly in an attempt to keep the dizziness at bay, he gently tugged on her arm and she perched back on the edge of the bed, allowing him to pull her against his chest. Mac willingly sank into his embrace. Even through her clothes, she could feel how chilled he still was and she suddenly remembered their night in the mountains, when she’d been the one injured and he’d held her close throughout the night as she’d alternately shivered and burned as infection set in. She wished she could do something to provide even a little of the comfort he’d once given her. “I love you,” he said in a ragged whisper as she lifted her head. Their gazes locked and for what seemed like the longest moment of their lives to both of them, they simply looked their fill of each other. For two people whose lives were often filled with so much turmoil, it was the rarest of moments, when for a brief period of time both would have sworn that their lives couldn’t be more perfect. All that mattered in that moment was that they had each other. Everything which might have weighed them down just seemed to fall away. Almost tentatively, Harm dipped his head, his lips first lightly brushing over hers. She felt so warm, so inviting and gradually, he deepened the kiss, gently parting her lips with his tongue. He started to circle his arms around her, intending to pull her closer, thinking better of it when the IV tubing pulled taunt, trying not to wince when his skin was pulled where the IV needle was inserted and taped to his forearm. As if she was reading his mind, Mac slid closer, tentatively wrapping her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight lest she aggravate any injuries. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself to a kiss unlike any other they’d shared, so soft and achingly sweet that it brought tears to her eyes. Her lips curved upward in a smile as they reluctantly pulled apart, resting their foreheads together, Harm’s hand soothingly stroking her hair. Sighing softly, she echoed, “I love you, too.” She allowed another moment to enjoy the peace and serenity before pulling out of his arms, gently helping him to lie back against his pillows, tenderly tucking his blanket back around him. She gave him one more brief kiss before setting the mask over his nose and mouth again. “I’ll be back soon.” It was a few more minutes before she could make herself pull away and walk out of the sickbay’s critical care ward. After stepping through the hatch, she turned and watched him for another moment as he closed his eyes, a smile on his face. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen him looking so relaxed, but failed. If she could be the one to bring a little bit of peace to a man whose life had been filled with anything but, then it would all be worth it, she told herself. It had to be.

LIEUTENANT HAWKES’ CABIN Not long after Harm had finally been brought on board, the doctor treating her had deemed

Skates well enough to be released from sickbay. She and Robert had popped their heads into the critical ward, to assure themselves that Harm was going to be okay, but they hadn’t stayed. Harm appeared to have managed to drift off to sleep and Mac was tossing restlessly on her cot, so they’d silently agreed to allow the couple some much needed rest and had retreated to Skates’ cabin. Her roommate Jessica Hanson, a lieutenant from communications, was on duty, so they had it to themselves. After a few teasing comments about hot-bunking fantasies, they’d curled up together on her bottom bunk, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, almost as if he was afraid to let her go. They’d managed to drift off, only to wake up less than half an hour later as Skates got caught up in a dream of pounding rain and bone-chilling water which only hours before had been all to real for her. Both of them unable to fall back asleep, they’d laid there together, talking about everything and nothing – a few minor changes in the catering menu for their wedding reception, an amusing anecdote about Robert’s infant nephew who’d just recently acquired the skill of walking and who seemed to find it quite fun to fall on his rear end and watch all the adults rush to make sure he was alright, a practical joke pulled by Tuna and Boomer on some of the guys in crypto in response to one pulled on them the previous week. Everything except the subject hanging most heavily over their heads – the few hours the night before when Skates had nearly been lost forever. Robert tried a few times to gently draw her out, but she’d resisted all his efforts and he let the subject drop. He trusted that she would open up to him eventually, as she’d often said that one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him was that he was so easy to talk to, so for now he was satisfied to allow her the time to come to terms with her ordeal for herself. Talk eventually returned to the subject of their wedding. With the day just five weeks away, there still seemed to be a million details to be taken care of and since the point of her taking leave this weekend had been to work on some of those, it seemed natural to discuss the topic in depth. And it gave Skates something to focus on in the attempt to push aside what had happened the night before. “I got a call from my mother a few days ago,” Robert said, covering one of her hands with his, weaving his fingers through hers. Skates tightened her fingers around his in return, as if she didn’t want to let him go. “She wanted to know what kinds of flowers we were planning to have because she has concerns about some cousin or something on her side of the family who is allergic.” “And she’s just bringing this up now?” Skates asked, incredulous. She had a pretty good relationship with her future in-laws, but as the wedding drew closer, her mother-in-law’s subtle – and not-so-subtle - attempts to meddle in the planning were beginning to grate on her nerves. More accurately, they were getting on Skates’ mother’s nerves, with the bride and groom caught in the middle. If she didn’t know her mother would kill her for cheating her out of the chance to plan a wedding for her only daughter, Skates would be all to happy to elope. “Well, I did ask her that if they couldn’t handle sitting in a church with flowers at the ends of the pews for forty-five minutes,” he replied with a chuckle, “how were they planning to survive the outdoor reception. She was not amused.” In fact, she’d bent his ear for half an hour, going on about how he was being so inconsiderate of poor cousin Charles who was so

severely allergic that he rarely ventured outdoors from March to October. He loved her, but he was under no illusions about the fact that his mother was one of the most overbearing people he knew. “I don’t think you want to know what my mother said if your mother sticks her nose ….” She trailed off at the sound of a knock on the door. “Yes?” “Skates?” She couldn’t help the brief panic that seized her at the sound of Mac’s voice on the other side of the door, but she took a deep breath and told herself to relax. If something were wrong with Harm, the last place Mac would be was outside her cabin door. “It’s Colonel Mackenzie. I have a favor to ask of you.” She glanced at Robert and shrugged, unable to imagine what she could do for Mac. Pulling herself from his arms, she climbed out of bed and crossed the short distance to the hatch, pulling it open and motioning Mac inside. Studying the other woman carefully, she thought she looked an odd mixture of exhausted, nervous and excited. “What can I do for you, Colonel?” she asked, pulling out the desk chair and offering it to Mac. “How’s Harm?” Grateful, she sank into the chair, not sure she had the strength to remain standing. She promised to make herself get at least a few hours sleep after the wedding since she definitely wasn’t going to be getting a honeymoon. She stifled a yawn as she ran her hand over her tired eyes. “Harm’s holding his own,” she replied. “He’s almost out of the woods as far as the hypothermia is concerned. His temperature is just below 95 degrees. He sounds congested – he’s coughing now that he’s warming up – but he’s getting heated oxygen, which is supposed to help with that. How about you? I went looking for you in sickbay, but Doctor Reed said he’d released you several hours ago.” “I wasn’t really in the water long enough to matter,” she said somewhat reluctantly, feeling bad about being so lucky when Harm had nearly died. She sat on the edge of her bunk next to Robert, her hand clasping his. “I got banged up a little when I ejected. It's nothing that a long, hot bath wouldn’t cure, if I could get one, anyway. I was worse off after my first crash.” “Harm will be glad to hear that,” Mac said. “I think he wasn’t entirely sure the doctor was being straight with him when he said you were going to be fine, but Harm was hardly in a position at the time to argue with Doctor Reed.” “We were planning to come by sickbay later,” Skates said, “maybe after dinner. We checked in when I was released, but you and Harm were resting, so we didn’t stick around.” “Well, uh, that brings me to the favor I need,” Mac said. “And considering what I’m about to ask, perhaps you should call me Mac. Maybe you could come by sickbay in about an hour, maybe a little less?” “Sure, uh, Mac,” Skates agreed, perplexed. “For what, exactly?” “A wedding,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Um, Harm and I are getting married.” “Congratulations,” Robert exclaimed, unaware that this might be more than slightly out of the ordinary. Skates said nothing, studying Mac intently.

“Thank you,” Mac said, looking back up, although she avoided looking directly at Skates. She was probably one of a very few people on the ship who knew that there was more to this story than two people grabbing onto what was important after a life-threatening situation. “We’ll have another ceremony later, maybe later in the summer, for all our friends and family, but we really wanted to do this now for us.” “Hey, if we didn’t already have most everything done,” Robert joked, smiling at Skates, “I’d probably have the same idea. But our mothers would kill us for different reasons.” “Anyway, you’re both invited,” Mac continued, “and Skates, Harm and I were hoping you’d stand up for us. He’s also planning to ask Tuna. Father Gilly’s going to perform a ceremony in sickbay for us. I think that will be it – unless Harm wants to invite a few of his pilot friends from when he was here before.” She tried to control her grimace, remembering the chilly reception she’d received in the chapel that morning. Even after a year and a half, many of them had not forgotten X-Man’s trial or the way he’d been forced to give up his wings, even if the last wasn’t directly her fault. Skates caught the flash of distaste before Mac masked her expression, understanding immediately. “I saw Tuna when I was still in sickbay,” she commented. “I understand you received a less than welcome reception at the prayer service this morning. I’m sorry about that.” Mac shrugged. “Well, the plan is tomorrow that Harm and I will be getting off this boat,” she rationalized. “Why worry about it? If it’s important to Harm that some of his old squadron mates are there, I can live with that. Anyway, I prosecuted you and, if you agree, you’ll be standing up for me.” “Now there’s irony for you,” Robert joked, remembering his own assumptions when he’d first met Mac in Norfolk. “Well, I can’t answer for Beth, but I’d be happy to attend. I think we can use something to celebrate after last night.” “Yeah, I’ll be there, too,” Skates said, her tone not as certain, although she tried to mask it. “And I’d be happy to stand up for you.” “Thank you,” Mac said, brushing aside the hesitation she heard in Skates’ voice. Or maybe she was just imagining it, projecting her own uncertainty into the other woman’s tone. “I, um, guess I should get going. I need to get ready.” She glanced at the uniform and leather jacket she wore and chuckled ruefully. “Not exactly my dream wedding dress, or outfit I guess, since I’m wearing pants.” Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t been assigned guest quarters. She guessed she’d have to find the head nearest sickbay. At least it wouldn’t be quite as cramped as the head she’d changed in on the Watertown. “I can’t do anything about the outfit,” Skates said. “I have a few nice dresses that I wear when I go on liberty, but I doubt any of them would fit you. But I do have a curling iron and some makeup, if you’d like some help getting ready.” “Yeah, that would be great, Skates,” she replied. “I hadn’t really thought about what I would do to get ready.” “Okay, then,” Skates said. Turning to her fiancé, she playfully shoved him towards the

door. “You. Out.” Although he was pretty sure he didn’t want to stick around for what he was sure would amount to a bunch of girl talk, he put up a teasing token protest. “And do what?” he asked. “I don’t know,” she replied, pretending frustration. “Go find the PAO and talk shop, or get together with Tuna and see if you can do anything for Hammer. I don’t care. Just get out of here and I’ll meet you in sickbay in forty-five minutes.” “Fine,” he retorted, putting on his best puppy-dog expression. “A guy knows when he’s not wanted.” “You!” Skates countered, giving him a very quick kiss, conscious of the senior officer in the room, before opening the door for him. She lowered her voice as she stuck her head out the door, watching him start down the passageway. “I love you, Robert.” “I love you, too, Elizabeth,” he replied. She watched him walk away for another moment before stepping back into her cabin, closing the door behind her. Avoiding looking at Mac, she retrieved her curling iron and set it on the desk, plugging it into the outlet behind the desk to heat. “I’ve got a hair dryer as well, if you want to wash your hair, or take a quick shower ….” “Skates, would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?” Mac asked. She wasn’t sure why she was asking, wasn’t even sure that Skates would breech protocol to say just what was on her mind. Maybe she wanted to hear someone else express the doubts she couldn’t quite suppress in her own mind. “It’s not my place, ma’am,” she replied, falling back on formality. “No, I want to hear this,” Mac insisted, turning around to lean over the back of the chair, resting her chin on her folded arms. “Forget about rank for a while. You’re Harm’s friend and you’re going to stand up at my wedding. I want to hear what you’re thinking.” “I’m not so sure that you do,” Skates countered stiffly. "I’m not going to hurt him,” Mac said softly. “I love him, more than I thought I could love anyone. You know what that’s like.” Skates glanced up at the ceiling, attempting to frame her response properly. She did like Mac, but she’d seen and heard too much in the time she’d been partnered with Harm in the air. A little knowledge …. “But you already have,” she said softly. She was instantly apologetic. “Damn. Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” “Are you talking about the last two days or something else?” Mac asked, grabbing her arm to stop her before she could retreat to the other side of the room. Skates sighed. There was no way she was going to get out of this, was she? “Hammer was spectacular out there,” she explained. “He received the highest score of all the pilots, even after that rough wave-off on our first attempt. I don’t know if he told you about that when you talked to him last night. But he took no joy in it. His responses were textbook perfect,

almost automated. But that’s not Hammer. It’s not the way he flies.” “No, it’s not,” she agreed sadly. “And I know that it’s partly my fault, especially after what happened in Norfolk.” She hesitated. It had been hard enough getting into that with Harriet and Chloe and she knew them better than just about anyone. “Anyway, there are two sides to every story and Harm’s made his share of mistakes in our relationship, going back to when he returned to active flight status.” “He was happy being back in the air back then,” Skates recalled, “but there was sadness there, too. He resisted talking about what he left behind in Washington. Tuna and I both got the impression that very few people were happy that he left JAG and I think he was a little, uh, concerned about the reception he would get when he decided to go back.” “I know I could have been a little – no, a lot – more supportive,” Mac rationalized, “but he hurt me, too. He didn’t even tell me he’d had surgery to correct his vision, didn’t mention that he wanted to return to active flight status until he’d already given the request to the Admiral. I accused him of considering flying as more important that, um, everything he had in Washington and the way he left with barely a word seemed to confirm that.” “As long as we’re being open and honest, tell me something,” Skates requested. In for a penny, in for a pound. She wondered what Mac was thinking that she wanted to hear someone else’s doubts about her relationship. “I, uh, heard a couple of corpsman talking when I was still in sickbay. They said that Hammer might not fly again, that the multiple ejections might now prove to be too much for him to recover from.” “Harm and I have already been informed of that,” Mac said slowly. Her eyes widened as she realized what Skates was getting at. “What are you asking me, how I would feel if Harm can’t pass the flight physical? I admit I would be lying if there isn’t a small part of me, deep down inside, that would not be disappointed if he were to never climb into the cockpit of an F-14 again. But Harm and I have also managed to work out some of the issues that have haunted us since he was here before. I don’t have to question where I stand in his priorities anymore, especially compared to a Tomcat. Tell me something. You’re in a relationship with someone who’s based on land. You’re probably lucky if you see him a handful of times a year. Have you never even thought about some of the same things that managed to tear Harm and I apart for so long, ever had your careers come between you?” “Yes, I have thought about them,” she replied, her voice quiet with a just barely detectible tremor. “Robert and I have had many long discussions about our careers and what they mean to us. That’s why I made the decision to request a transfer to a land-based assignment.” “You’re giving up your wings?” Mac asked, surprised. Skates nodded. “It wasn’t a decision I made lightly,” she explained. “And I even made Robert play devil’s advocate, just to be sure I was making the right decision. He said in the end that he would support whatever decision I made, but I want this. Robert and I have talked about starting a family, which I can’t very well do if I’m on a carrier six months out of the year, at least not very easily. And because of regs, we can’t both serve on the same carrier if he were to request a sea assignment.” “I’ve always known what flying means to Harm,” Mac said. She told herself that she would

not cry. She’d shed all her tears on that subject long ago. “All I wanted two years ago was to know that it wasn’t his entire world, that I could fit into his world somewhere. I didn’t necessarily want him to give up his dreams. If he’d asked me to, I would have been there for him. But he never asked and the longer we went with so little contact, the easier it was to believe that he didn’t care about me as much as I did about him.” Skates looked like she was about to say something, but Mac held up her hand. “And I’m sure now that the reverse was also true, that Harm was hoping I would reach out just as much as I wanted him to.” “Mac, I will admit that I’m not the most objective person,” Skates said. “Harm saved my life back on the Sea Hawk, he stood by me when everyone from Captain Ingles on down wanted my head on a platter. And I know I’ve seen more than I should have, how it hurt him when he wouldn’t hear from his friends back in Washington, how happy he was to see you when you were here but sad that you couldn’t seem to really connect, and how it would have been the hardest thing in the world for him to watch you marry another man. I just want to see him happy, and if you can do that for him ….” “Skates, there’s nothing that I want more,” Mac interrupted, her voice soft, yet determined. “If I could go back and change so much that happened over the last two years – be more supportive of Harm’s pursuing his dream, not agree to marry a man I don’t love – I would. But all we can is move forward and make the best of the second chance that we’ve been given.” Skates lowered her eyes. She felt bad about bringing all this up. It really was none of her business and she was still a junior officer. Mac’s sincerity and the love she could see in her eyes for Harm tugged at Skates’ heart strings. She smiled warmly. “You know, if you want to get that shower, you probably should get going,” she suggested. “You’re getting married in ….” “Forty-two minutes,” Mac supplied as she rose from her chair. At Skates’ surprised look, she shrugged. “I’ve got great timing.” Realizing what she’d just said, she burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” Skates asked. “That’s what I told Harm,” she remembered, “the first day we met, when I told him we had thirty-three minutes to catch our flight to Arizona.” Skates joined her in laughing, the fond memory telling her that there were a lot of good things in Harm and Mac’s relationship that she knew next to nothing about. She was being too judgmental, she decided. “Why don’t you get going?” she suggested. “The hair dryer is on a shelf above the toilet.” “Skates,” Mac said, poised to step into the bathroom. Skates turned to her, a questioning look on her face. “Thanks, um, for being honest. I do love him and everything will work out.” “I hope so,” Skates whispered after Mac had closed the bathroom door behind her. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as her eyes fell on a velvet jewelry box sitting on her desk. Picking it up, she pulled it open and stared at the contents. The box was a little waterlogged – it had been in a pocket of her flight suit when she’d gone down the night before – but the contents were still in perfect condition.

Snapping the box closed, she picked up the phone and dialed communications. “Hey, Jess,” she said as her roommate came on the line. “Just the person I was hoping to catch. I need a favor – two actually. Page Robert and patch him through down here …. I’m not sure where he is; I tossed him out of the cabin a few minutes ago. I’m helping some friends out with some stuff …. Yes, and do you still have that dress that you wore when we were on liberty in Spain? You know, the cream-colored sleeveless one …. Okay, Hammer’s getting married in sickbay and if I don’t find something for her to wear, Mac’s going to have to wear Marine green …. I won’t tell her you said that. That’s a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines you’re talking about there …. she’s about your size and the color would look great on her …. Jess, you are a lifesaver. Thanks.” Hanging up the phone, she went to the closet and pulled out the dress in question. The linen dress was simple, but the form-fitting sleeveless design had turned heads when Jess had worn it in Barcelona. Hardly a typical wedding dress, but for the small ceremony that Harm and Mac were going to have, it would be perfect. Going back into the closet, she pulled out a dress for herself, a pale blue one similar to the other dress except that hers had elbow-length sleeves. Swiftly peeling off the PT outfit she’d been wearing, she pulled pantyhose then the dress, slipping on a pair of flats. Perfect, she thought as the phone rang. “Hey, Robert,” she said in a rush after she picked up the phone. “I was just thinking. Harm and Mac have been through a lot and deserve to have a ceremony as perfect as we can make it. I found dresses that Mac and I can wear instead of our uniforms, but something occurred to me. They don’t have wedding rings. I don’t even think either of them have thought about it.” “If ours will fit, they can have those,” Robert said. “We have five weeks to find another set of rings.” “One of the reasons I love you so much,” Skates replied. “You’re reading my mind. I’ll have Mac try my ring on and see if she knows what size Harm wears.” “Good,” Robert said. He hesitated a moment. “Beth, is everything okay? I got the feeling that you weren’t exactly enthusiastic at Mac’s news.” “You noticed that,” she said, imagining his responding nod. “Well, I know some things – probably too much for my own good – and I was worried about a good friend. But Mac and I talked and everything’s okay. She and Harm have been through a lot and deserve to be happy.” “She told me about some of her and Harm’s adventures last night,” he said. “They’ve been through a lot together and that’s a strong bond, but I could also see how much she loves him. It was so obvious last night.” Skates figured that as talkative as Mac had been, there was still a lot that she hadn’t said about her and Harm’s relationship, not to Robert. Even to her, she hadn’t given a lot of specifics. “You know, it’s kind of funny,” she commented. “I’ve always gotten the impression that she’s a private person.” “The last twelve hours have been very hard on her,” he pointed out. “I guess even the most private person would need to talk to someone. I think last night she could relate to me

because we were in a similar situation and you are a fellow bride, in addition to being Harm’s friend.” “I guess,” she said, not quite convinced. There was still something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she decided that it didn’t really matter. As the bathroom door opened and Mac stepped out, she added, “I’ll see you in sickbay in a little bit, Robert. Thanks.” After she hung up, she turned to Mac. “That was fast,” she said. “I’ve learned how to be ready to go at a moment’s notice,” she said. She eyed Skates, a bit surprised at her appearance. “Nice dress.” “Thanks,” Skates said, turning around and picking up the dress she’d hung on the bed frame. “This one’s for you. My roommate’s about your size, although I think she’s a couple of inches taller than you, so the dress might be a little long.” “I don’t know ….” Mac began. This seemed almost too much. “Jess was happy to help out when I asked her,” Skates assured her, handing her the dress. “Her feet are larger than yours, but I think I have some shoes close to the same color as the dress that will fit you. Sorry we can’t do anything about flowers. Fresh flowers are not something you’re going to find aboard ship. But even if you’re going to have another ceremony with a proper dress and flowers and all that later, that doesn’t mean we can’t make today as special as possible.” “I’ve got Harm,” Mac said, “and I’ve decided that’s all I need. I had the perfect dress, a cathedral, and enough pomp and circumstance to rival a royal wedding and the entire time I felt like I was watching someone else live my life. It wasn’t what I wanted, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise.” “And Harm is?” she inquired, already knowing the answer. Mac’s entire face lit up as she simply replied, “Yes.” Skates gestured to the desk chair as she picked up the hot curling iron. “Then take a seat and let’s finish getting you ready,” she said. “By the way, the box on the desk is for you – you and Harm, really. Consider it a wedding present from me and Robert.” As Skates went back into the bathroom to grab a comb and hair spray, Mac picked up the jewelry box, startled to find that it was damp. Snapping it open, her eyes widened in surprise. She turned around as Skates came back into the room. “These are beautiful, but this really is too much,” she insisted, shutting the box and setting it back on the desk. “These are supposed to be your wedding rings.” “You two should be able to exchange rings,” Skates pointed out, combing out a section of Mac’s hair and wrapping it around the iron, holding it for a few seconds then releasing the curl. “I had those in one of the pockets of my flight suit. I’m not sure why. I’d put them in my duffel bag at first, then something made me take them out and carry them on me. I guess someone was trying to tell me something.”

“These survived the crash?” She nodded. “Anyway, Robert and I still have five weeks before our wedding,” she pointed out. “We can easily go shopping for rings. It’s …. well, I won’t say that it isn’t a big deal, but we both agree that we wanted you and Harm to have them.” She studied Mac’s hand critically. “I think mine will fit you. Do you know what size ring Harm wears?” “He was making a joke earlier about using his Academy ring as an engagement ring,” she said, hesitantly pulling the smaller ring out of the box and studying it. The white gold band had starburst patterns cut into the ring all the way around. Slowly, she slipped it on her finger, somehow not surprised to find that it fit almost perfectly. It was a little loose, but not too much so that she couldn’t wear the ring. “He said it would be about five or six sizes too large for me, so I’d say an eleven or twelve.” “Then Robert’s ring should fit him fine,” Skates said. “The rings can be your something new, your dress is borrowed.” She paused thoughtfully, tapping her finger against her cheek. She crossed the small room to her lock box and dialed the combination, withdrawing a long, flat velvet box. “These belonged to my grandmother and even though I rarely have an opportunity to wear them, I keep them with me out of sentimental value – carefully locked away, of course.” She opened the box and showed Mac the single strand of pearls. “You can borrow these for your something old. I’m not sure what to do for the something blue. I don’t suppose you have anything blue on you.” Mac shook her head. “I didn’t expect to be getting married,” she pointed out, then laughed. Well, at least she hadn’t after last night. She hadn’t really thought about any of this for her wedding to Mic. “And I’ve never really paid attention to superstitions.” “I guess there’s not a lot we can do about it,” Skates said practically, “so I guess your attendant in blue will have to do for the last part.” She finished curling the last section of Mac’s hair and ran her fingers through it to fluff out the curls. She got a hand mirror from the bathroom and handed it to Mac. “It’s beautiful,” Mac said, her eyes tearing up unexpectedly. “You’re pretty good at that.” “When I was a teen,” she explained, “my friends and I would have sleepovers almost every week and we’d sit up to all hours, fixing each other’s hair, putting on makeup. Didn’t you ever do anything like that when you were a kid?” She was sorry she asked as soon as she saw the brief flash of pain in the other woman’s eyes. “I didn’t really have a lot of friends growing up,” Mac said simply. She managed a smile as she added, “I do have a fourteen-year-old sister. We do stuff like that when she visits. She is going to be so disappointed she missed this. She told me once she had this dream that she was flower girl at my wedding to Harm.” “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re not going to have any flowers,” Skates said with a laugh. “How much time to we have left?” She glanced at her watch, but was curious to see if Mac could do it again. “Fourteen minutes,” she replied with a knowing smile, having noticed Skates’ gesture. She stood and gestured to the chair. “Sit. I’ll fix your hair and then we’ll be ready to go …. I

think.” “Butterflies?” Skates asked. “I don’t think that quite covers it,” Mac said, laughing nervously. “All I have to say is that I hope I don’t wake up from this dream anytime soon.”

SICKBAY “She once said she’s a sucker for the dress whites,” Harm related with a cough, looking down at his khaki uniform shirt. Tuna had searched the bag Mac had brought of Harm’s things and pulled out the uniform and Doctor Reed had consented to disconnect the various monitors and the IV long enough for Harm to don his uniform and climb back into bed, which was only accomplished with Robert and Tuna standing on either side of Harm, ready to steady him. At least Reed had agreed to let the oxygen mask stay off at least through the ceremony and perhaps longer depending on how his breathing sounded. Harm was trying to limit his coughing, feeling the doctor’s eyes on him with every spasm, but it took a lot more than simple willpower. “That’s what you get for being the size you are and a Commander in JAG to boot,” Tuna pointed out. “Even if we could find a dress uniform to fit you among the other officers on the ship, you’d either end up with JAG shoulder boards which don’t have your proper rank or a Commander’s shoulder boards with a line officer’s star. At least you’re not out of uniform. And it’s not like Mac has anything special to wear. She’s going to be wearing her uniform, too.” “Uh, actually …. “ Robert began as Father Gilly entered, accompanied by Captain Ingles. Robert and Tuna snapped to attention while Harm attempted to do the same, propped up in his bed. “At ease,” Ingles said. “Commander Rabb.” “Captain,” Harm said with a nod. “Father Gilly told me what’s going on,” Ingles said. “It’s a bit unusual.” Harm masked his apprehension, hoping that Ingles wasn’t about to deny permission for the ceremony to take place. Technically, he could do so. Nothing happened on the ship without the captain’s permission. “Sir ….” he began. “Captain Pike has gone to find Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Hawkes,” Ingles continued, as if Harm hadn’t spoken. “He offered to personally escort them back here.” “Commander Rabb,” Reed said, brandishing his stethoscope, “I need to check your breathing.” With an impatient sigh, Harm tolerated the brief examination. “Your lungs are sounding better. Just try to remember what I told you earlier. As soon as the ceremony is over, you will get some sleep. Now, if that requires administering a sedative, I will do that.” Reed made a note in Harm’s chart, then walked off.

“He put the kibosh on the whole reception thing that Robert and I were talking about,” Tuna said quietly. “Although it really wouldn’t have been much of one considering the food was going to come from the mess. But we got him to compromise. If you’re up to it, you and your lovely bride will get a, um, nice wedding breakfast before you get shipped off to Portsmouth.” He snickered, knowing the nice wasn’t a term usually applied to food coming from the mess. “Thanks, man,” Harm said in the midst of another coughing spasm. He glanced around, but Doctor Reed wasn’t in the room at the moment. “At least he’s not throwing Mac out of here after the ceremony.” “And too bad you’re not in any condition to, um, appreciate the Colonel’s charms,” Tuna joked. He glanced away at the hard look Harm gave him, only to discover that Ingles wore a similar expression. “Um, I apologize, Sir.” “Just be glad that the Colonel didn’t hear you say that,” Ingles replied with a perfectly straight face, although Harm thought there was a gleam in his eye as he said it. Captain Pike stuck his head through the hatch. “Is everyone ready in here?” he asked. “Commander?” Gilly asked, turning to Harm. Harm took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do this,” he said, forcing down the nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Pike turned around and nodded to someone behind him, then stepped into the room and took up position at the foot the bed beside Ingles, Robert and Reed, who had just returned from his office after shedding his lab coat. Tuna stood at the head of the bed on Harm’s right side, Gilly in the same position on his left, his Bible clasped in his hands. Skates stepped into the room, slowly walking towards the bed as if taking a real walk down the aisle, smiling at her fiancé. Harm’s eyes widened slightly at her attire; he’d been expecting them to show up in their uniforms. What would Mac be wearing? He could feel her presence before he lifted his eyes to the doorway as she stepped over the knee knocker and started towards the bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her fingers turning white with the strain. Smiling nervously, she took up position between Skates and Gilly at the head of the bed, her eyes meeting Harm’s. “You look beautiful, Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely. Mac felt herself tearing up at his simple statement. “Not too bad yourself, flyboy,” she replied, just as quietly. “It’s no dress whites,” he countered. She reached out and traced the outline of his gold wings and said a silent prayer that he’d come back and be able to retain his flight status. He wouldn’t be the same if that was lost to him permanently. “As long as we get married before the fall, I’ll see the whites then,” she pointed out.

At the end of the bed, Reed cleared his throat. Everyone laughed a little. “I think the good doctor is trying to remind us to get moving with the ceremony so the Commander can get his rest,” Gilly said with a grin. “I take it the doctor’s not Catholic,” Mac said, quietly enough that only Gilly and Harm heard her. “There is no such thing as a short Catholic ceremony.” Both laughed for a moment before Harm’s chuckle turned to a cough. As he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath, Mac rubbed soothing circles over his back. “Looks like you’ve got the ‘in sickness and in health’ part down,” Tuna joked. “Okay, that’s enough,” Harm said was he leaned back against the raised head of the bed. “Stop making me laugh.” “If we’re all done joking,” Gilly said, “are we ready?” Harm and Mac looked at each other for a long moment, then nodded slowly, Mac nibbling on her lower lip. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” Gilly began, crossing himself. The Catholics in the room followed suit, Harm stopping midway with a grimace when he inadvertently tugged too hard on his IV tubing. He glanced apologetically at the priest, who nodded that it was okay. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God and angels, and the presence of friends, to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes and blessings to the words which shall unite Harmon and Sarah in holy matrimony. “Marriage is a most honorable estate, created and Instituted by God, signifying unto us the mystical union, which also exists between Christ and the Church; so too may this marriage be adorned by true and abiding love.” Harm reached up and brushed a falling tear from Mac cheek and she leaned into his palm, mouthing ‘I love you’. Behind her, Skates blinked, trying to keep at bay her own threatening tears. She turned her head slightly and caught Robert’s eye and received a reassuring smile, as if he were telling her that everything would be just fine. She nodded slightly and turned her attention back to the ceremony. The priest continued, “Harmon and Sarah, life is given to each of us as individuals, and yet we must learn to live together. Love is given to us by our family and friends. We learn to love by being loved. Learning to love and living together is one of life's greatest challenges and is the shared goal of a married life.” I think we’ve got the challenge part down right, Mac thought. She was under no illusion that they wouldn’t have difficulties. Mic and Renee’s continued presence just about guaranteed that. But for this moment, none of that seemed to matter. There were so many possibilities and she looked forward to being able to explore them. “But a husband and wife should not confuse love of worldly measures for even if worldly success is found, only love will maintain a marriage. Mankind did not create love; love is created by God. The measure of true love is a love both freely given and freely accepted, just as God's love of us is unconditional and free,” Gilly recited. “Today truly is a glorious day the Lord hath made - as today both of you are blessed with God's greatest of all gifts - the gift

of abiding love and devotion between a man and a woman. All present here today - and those here in heart - wish both of you all the joy, happiness and success and the world has to offer. “As you travel through life together, I caution you to remember that the true measure of success, the true avenue to joy and peace, is to be found within the love you hold in your hearts. I would ask that you hold the key to your heart very tightly. “Within the Bible, nothing is of more importance than love. We are told the crystalline and beautiful truth: ‘God is Love’. We are assured that ‘Love conquers all’. It is love, which brings you here today, the union of two hearts and two spirits. As your lives continue to interweave as one pattern, remember that it was love that brought you here today, it is love that will make this a glorious union, and it is love which will cause this union to endure.” Harm had never really thought about it, but he hoped that Gilly was right, that love could conquer all. There had been so many obstacles in their path and there would be more to come. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, because Mac shot him a quick questioning glance. He grinned at her, telling himself that none of that would matter today. Today was theirs. Gilly motioned to Tuna, who opened a Bible he held, given to him earlier by Father Gilly, and read, “A reading from the Book of Solomon - Listen! My lover! Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattice. My lover spoke and said to me, ‘Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.’ My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. My lover is mine and I am his; he browses among the lilies. This is the word of the Lord.” “Thanks be to God,” everyone replied. “The response is,” Tuna continued, “’O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways’.” “’O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways’,” the group repeated. “O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways!” Tuna read. “By the labor of your hands you shall eat. You will be happy and prosper.” He motioned and everyone dutifully repeated the response. “Your wife like a fruitful vine in the heart of your house,” he said. “Your children like shoots of the olive around your table.” After the response was repeated again, he continued, “Indeed thus shall be blest all those who fear the Lord. May the Lord bless you from Zion all the days of your life!” After the final response, Tuna passed the Bible to Robert, who continued, “A reading from the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians - If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have

not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. This is the word of the Lord.” “Thanks be to God.” Gilly opened his Bible to a bookmarked page and began, “The Lord be with you.” “And also with you.” He recited, “A reading from the holy Gospel according to Matthew.” “Glory to you, Lord.” Gilly read from the Bible, "’Haven't you read,’ he replied, ‘that at the beginning the Creator `made them male and female,' and said, `For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh' So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate’. This is the Gospel of the Lord.” “Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.” Gilly closed his Bible and focused his attention on the couple in front of him. “Normally, this would be the point where I would say a few words about the bride and groom. Of course, I’ve only known the bride for a *very* short time and haven’t seen the groom in a year and a half …. but that doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. Sometimes, you can get as clear a picture about people by talking to their friends and I’ve managed to hear a few stories about you two from those gathered here.” “I guess I told Robert a little too much last night,” Mac murmured, just loud enough that everyone heard her comment and laughed. “Don’t worry, they were all good stories and I heard a few from Tuna as well,” Gilly assured her as the laughter died away. “People toss about words like ‘fate’ and ‘destiny’ and a lot would say that those words apply to a couple who met in a rose garden. But something else struck me when I heard some of the stories that you’ve told your friends. In the years that you two have known each other, you’ve been through many trials and there seems to be one commonality in all the stories – everything that you have been through, you’ve been through together. You’ve supported and bolstered each other during probably some of the toughest

times of your lives, if the stories are to be believed. Sarah’s presence here on the Henry today is a testament to that. In our reading from 1 Corinthians, Paul talks about how love protects and perseveres. Your relationship seems to be the epitome of that statement. Even when we don’t recognize its presence, love is always there, sheltering and guiding us. It has lead you through all your trials and brought you here, to this moment. Harmon and Sarah, you have recognized this truth and have come here today to declare your love and solidify the commitment which you seem to have always shared. Please join your right hands as you declare your vows to each other.” Mac reached over and clasped Harm’s hand in hers, careful not to pull it too far towards her, conscious of the IV tubing which had already been yanked on once. She was surprised to discover that his hand was trembling as much as hers. They only had eyes for each other as Gilly continued, “Harmon, do you take Sarah to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore?” “I do,” he replied firmly, granting her a dazzling smile. “Sarah, do you take Harmon to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?” Gilly recited. “I do,” she replied, surprised that her voice didn’t tremble as her fingers were. Her tone matched the firmness and certainty she heard in Harm’s tone. They were doing the right thing, she told herself. “May I have the rings, please?” Gilly asked. Skates set the rings on top of the priest’s Bible, smiling warmly in response to a questioning glance from Harm, who was learning of the rings for the first time. He’d been so anxious to marry Mac that he’d never stopped to consider rings, aside from the joke about using his Academy ring as an engagement ring. “Wedding rings are an outward and visible sign of an inward spiritual grace, signifying to all the uniting of this man and this woman in marriage. These rings are a symbol of the unbroken circle of love. Love freely given has no beginning and no end, no giver and no receiver for each is the giver and each is the receiver. May these rings always remind you of the vows you have taken.” He held the open Bible out to Harm. “Take this ring and place it on the third finger of Sarah’s left hand as you repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Harm took the ring and slowly slid the ring onto Mac’s finger, repeating the vow. After he slipped the ring into place, he squeezed her fingers, lifting her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Now, Sarah,” Gilly said, turning to her, “take this ring and place it on the third finger of Harmon’s left hand as you repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” She slipped the ring on his finger – it fit him perfectly – as she repeated the words. When she was finished, she echoed his actions by lifting his hand to her lips. Their hands remained clasped as Gilly continued. “Harmon and Sarah, as the two of you come into this marriage uniting you as husband and

wife, and as you this day affirm your faith and love for one another, I would ask that you always remember to cherish each other as special and unique individuals, that you respect the thoughts, ideas and suggestions of one another. Be able to forgive, do not hold grudges, and live each day that you may share it together - as from this day forward you shall be each other's home, comfort and refuge, your marriage strengthened by your love and respect. “Now bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing on your union - Dear heavenly Father, our hearts are filled with great happiness on Harmon and Sarah’s wedding day, as they come before You pledging their hearts and lives to one another. Grant that they may be ever true and loving, living together is such a way as to never bring shame or heartbreak into their marriage. Temper their hearts with kindness and understanding, rid them of all pretense of jealousy. Help them to remember to be each other's sweetheart, helpmate, friend and guide, so that together they may meet the cares and problems of life more bravely. And with the passage of time, may the home they are creating today, truly be a place of love and harmony, where your spirit is ever present. Bless this union we pray, and walk beside Harmon and Sarah throughout all their lives together. We ask these things in Jesus name. Amen.” “Amen,” everyone echoed as they lifted their gazes. “Harmon and Sarah, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, the giving of these rings and the joining of your hands, I now declare you to be husband and wife in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” the priest intoned, crossing himself. The other Catholics followed suit. “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up his countenance unto you, and give you peace.” There seemed to be a pause before Gilly added, “You may now kiss your bride.” Mac leaned down and brushed her lips against Harm’s, grasping his shoulders to steady herself. She was so excited and nervous that she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to stand upright through the ceremony. Harm wanted to wrap his arms around her, but couldn’t reach without yanking on the IV again, so he settled for covering her hands with his as he deepened the kiss as much as he dared in front of their audience, gently parting her lips with his tongue. They finally broke apart with a laugh as Robert and Tuna exclaimed, “Hoorah.” “May I present for the first time Commander and Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Sorry there’s no Arch, ma’am,” Tuna added, “but ‘Go Navy!’” “You do realize that Harm just married into the Corps, don’t you?” Mac teased. The rest of the groups wore mock expressions of horror, except Harm, who tried but couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. Mac laughed as Harm wrapped his free left arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. After a few moments of congratulations and good natured teasing about the hasty wedding – Tuna even threw in a joke about how many months it would be before the bride delivered her first child, causing Mac to blush profusely even as she insisted that she wasn’t yet pregnant – Doctor Reed said, raising his voice to be heard over the din, “I hate to break this up, but Commander Rabb is supposed to rest now and I’m sure the Colonel could use some

herself. So let’s please wrap this up quickly.” “Master of all ye survey,” Tuna joked as he shook Harm’s hand and kissed Mac’s cheek. “We will be back tomorrow morning with your wedding breakfast and maybe we’ll see if we can put together an Arch on the deck before you leave for Portsmouth.” Gilly picked up a clipboard with the wedding certificate on it. He’d already filled in the names and date, now he passed it around to Tuna, Skates, Harm and Mac to sign before affixing his own signature as the officiator. He handed the completed certificate to Mac, who held it gingerly, trying not to crumble or muse it. “Captain,” a young man wearing ensign’s bars called out, stepping up to Ingles and handing him a videotape. “Thank you, Ensign,” he replied before handing the tape to Mac. “Ensign Richards, our PAO, stood in the doorway and taped the ceremony.” “Thank you, Captain,” Mac replied, Harm echoing her after a moment. “Captain Pike, let me know as soon as you have something on that matter we discussed,” Ingles said. Shortly before the ceremony, word had come that the wreckage of Navy 214 had been found. Crews were retrieving as much as they could and transporting it to Norfolk so the engineers could figure out what had caused the massive systems failure which had sent the Tomcat into the water. “Yes, Sir,” Pike said with a nod. Ingles turned on his heel and left sickbay. “Hammer, Colonel, congratulations. I’m glad everything worked out for you after Hammer returned to JAG.” “Thank you, Sir,” Mac replied, hesitancy just barely detectible in her voice. If they really had worked things out after Harm had returned to JAG, they wouldn’t be here today. Harm noticed and tightened his arm around her waist. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” Skates said, wiping her eyes as she leaned over to kiss Harm’s cheek and hugged Mac. “Thank you, Skates,” Mac said gratefully as she returned the hug, blinking back her own tears. “You’ve been a huge help.” “Just remember to let us know when you have another wedding,” Skates requested as she took Robert’s hand. “You’ll be among the first to know,” Harm promised. “And we’re looking forward to your wedding.” Skates laughed as she and Robert walked out, “I guess you’ll be bringing Mac after all.” As Harm laughed, Mac shot him a questioning glance. “Last night, after I called you, I was talking to Tuna and Skates,” Harm explained. “When they heard that you weren’t, uh, getting married, Tuna suggested I get you to accompany me to Skates’ wedding as my date.”

“Well, since we’re married,” Mac replied, “I suppose we should try the dating thing, just to say that we did date, even if it was after the fact.” “I’ve never thought of that,” Harm said thoughtfully, pausing to get past a cough, “going on a date with my wife.” “Which part did you not think of – the date part or the wife part?” Mac teased, just a hint of seriousness behind the question. “I love you, Sarah Mackenzie,” he said, tracing a circle on her hip with his finger. She looked at him and smiled softly, her eyes burning bright. “That’s Sarah Rabb,” she pointed out, “at least in private for now.” “Okay,” he conceded. “I love you, Sarah Rabb.” He stretched up to kiss her, only to be interrupted by a discreet cough. “Out of that uniform, Commander,” Reed reminded him firmly, although a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “and then bed.” Harm groused as a corpsman disconnected the IV tubing so he could remove his shirt, while Mac patted his hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “My uniform is still in Skates’ cabin and I should return the dress to her roommate.” He managed a grin at the thought of her peeling out of the simple dress she wore, disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to do it for her. Mac sensed the direction of his thoughts and returned his grin. “Hold that thought for later,” she whispered against his ear. She squeezed his hand, then walked out, watching him over her shoulder with a smile. Rabb, you are a lucky man, he thought.

TWO HOURS LATER Mac sat on the edge of Harm’s bed, her eyes darting between his sleeping form and the diamond-cut band of white gold now residing on her left hand, the same hand which was now resting on top of his. She could feel his band beneath her hand, warmer than his fingers. Idly, she wondered where his Academy ring was. He hadn’t had to take it off so she could place the wedding ring on his finger, she suddenly realized. She chuckled to herself. It seemed like such an odd thing to think about now, but today had been a day filled with oddities. In the space of just a few hours, everything she thought she’d known had been turned upside down and inside out. It was slightly dizzying to realize that all her dreams seemed to suddenly be coming true, dreams that she’d long ago made herself stop daring to hope would materialize into reality. She rubbed her tired eyes with her right hand. She needed to sleep, she knew, but she couldn’t do it. She’d laid down on the cot – moved to the side for the wedding then brought back in on Reed’s orders as soon as it was over so that she could get some sleep – but she

couldn’t make herself let go. About an hour ago, she’d given up on trying yet again and had settled for watching her husband sleep, likely helped by some of the medication he’d been given. If she wasn’t the kind of person who greatly minded artificial aids to help her sleep, she might have asked a corpsman for something herself. She felt his hand move against hers and glanced down. He was still asleep. As she studied his features, her gaze fell on the gash on his forehead above his left eye, the skin around it turning mottled shades of purple and blue. How had he done that? Although she was hardly an expert, she’d ejected out of an aircraft and had wound up with nary a scratch, same as Harm in that instance with the exception of some scrapes when he fell into a tree. How did one end up hitting their head falling into the ocean? Forcing the question from her mind, trying not to dwell on the accident that had nearly cost him his life, she turned away from the visual reminder of what he’d been through and focused on their hands again, her ring catching the light, seeming to sparkle on her hand. It was a beautiful ring and seemed to belong there. Despite her lingering doubts, it looked good. It looked right. She remembered the first morning she’d woken up with Mic’s ring on her finger. As Mic had driven her to the airport to catch her flight back to the States, her eyes kept falling on the solitaire, as if she was trying to convince herself that it really was there, that it belonged there. She’d felt a similar sensation the morning after the ring had moved from right hand to left. It had looked strange on her finger and she couldn’t quite squelch the voice in her head that kept asking what the ring was doing on her hand, the one trying to point out that it didn’t really belong there. Even as the time to the wedding could be counted in days and hours rather than months and weeks, she would catch herself staring at the ring and wondering how it had gotten there in the first place. She hadn’t quite been able to convince herself that she wasn’t going to wake up one day and find that none of it was real. She wasn’t even sure that a completed wedding would have dispelled that feeling. She just drifted along from day to day, unable to find the courage to break out from under the weight of the ring on her finger, the love she couldn’t make herself feel for the man who had given it to her and her passion for the man she thought would never be able to let ago enough to return her love. She was experiencing some of the disbelief now. If someone had suggested prior to a few hours ago that Harm would let go so completely and apparently without reservation, she would have shaken her head with a sad sigh. Nice dream, but that was all it was. The events of the last five years would seem to indicate that there was no basis in reality for those kinds of thoughts. Now, she did have that completed wedding, even a wedding certificate which put the facts into print, proof incontrovertible – Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Sarah Mackenzie, joined in holy matrimony, the twenty-sixth of May in the year of our Lord two thousand and one - but the feeling was still there. But there was something else there, too – a sense of wonder and excitement stemming from the fact that she didn’t have to question her feelings for the man whose ring she wore. She was in love with the man to whom she’d pledged her life and it felt good. The weight was, if not entirely gone, so much lighter, easier to bear. She’d felt some of the wonder Wednesday night, but the weight had still been there. Now, all the negative feelings seemed to have disappeared for the most part. Some were still nagging at the back of her mind, but she kept

telling herself that she could get through it as long as she kept her eyes on the prize – Harm’s love for her and hers for him. He was on the mend, easing the terror that had settled in the pit of her stomach when Captain Ingles had called to inform her of the accident. She didn’t have to hide her feelings for Harm anymore – well, she wouldn’t after they managed to straighten things out with Mic and Renee …. She tried to ignore the tiny flicker of dread which sprang into being in the pit of her stomach. They did still have Mic and Renee to deal with. Although they’d already agreed in principle how to handle it – it was far from the ideal solution, but the best either of them could come up with under less-than-ideal circumstances and it didn’t seem like one more lie of omission would really matter all that much on top of all the others – having some semblance of a plan did not mean that it was going to be neat and pretty when it was finally dealt with. Neither Mic nor Renee was going to be willing to give up without a fight – it wasn’t in either of their natures, even if they had no choice. And if all went well, they would be completely unaware until it was all over of just how little choice they had. “Penny for your thoughts,” Harm’s still-hoarse voice broke through her thoughts. She looked up and found herself gazing into his blue-green eyes. They didn’t seem to sparkle quite as brightly as usual, she thought. How much pain was he in now that his sense of feeling was returning? She had the feeling that if she asked, he’d downplay any discomfort he was feeling. That was just the way he was. She smiled fondly as she brushed his temple with her fingers, carefully avoiding the bruise above his eye. He felt warmer to the touch, but his temperature still had a ways to go before it was back to normal. But at least it had finally broken through the 95 degree barrier within the last half hour. From what Reed had said earlier, that meant he’d turned a corner. There had still been so much that could have gone wrong and when the doctor had cautiously declared Harm out of the woods, she’d breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I thought you were asleep,” she said, purposely ignoring his question. She didn’t want to burden him with her concerns about Mic and Renee, not while he still had a long way to go physically. As for the rest, they had the rest of their lives to enjoy being with each other. “Just woke up,” he replied, stifling a yawn as he shifted slightly on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. There was something there, he was sure of that, but he didn’t have the strength to press her about it right now. He’d known her too long, had learned to read all manner of things in her expressive features. Her eyes always said so much; he just wasn’t always paying attention. His head hurt if he tried to think too hard about it, so he tried to push the thoughts from his mind. “I guess having your husband fall asleep on you isn’t now you imagined spending your honeymoon.” “I hadn’t really imagined it at all,” she murmured. “I was too busy trying to convince myself that I really wanted the marriage.” At his quirked-up eyebrow, accompanied with a wince, she suddenly realized that she’d said it out loud and how it must sound to him. Mentally, she kicked herself as she quickly attempted to reassure him. “I wasn’t talking about you. It’s just that ….” “I know what you were talking about,” he said, opting to leave it at that. Getting into a discussion about her reasons for marrying Mic probably had a better than fifty-fifty chance for degenerating into an argument and that wasn’t how he wanted to spend his

honeymoon. Discussing the exes who weren’t quite out of the picture wasn’t the best topic right now. They’d have to deal with all that soon enough, he knew, even if he was loathe to admit it. But not now. “So what about that honeymoon?” “What do you mean?” she asked, a little confused. They weren’t likely to have a chance for one for a long while, even if Harm was in any shape for one. There were too many other things to resolve before they could even think about getting away from everything. “Where do you see us going on our honeymoon?” he clarified, clearing his throat. “After all this is over and we’ve had another ceremony for all our family and friends, where do you think we should go?” She looked slightly startled by the question. Mic hadn’t really asked her, not like that anyway. About a week after they’d set a date, he’d broached the subject by going on and on about Australia and how he thought she’d love seeing more of the country and how long it had been since he’d been home. After spending about half an hour showing her brochures and pamphlets he’d picked up at a travel agency so she could see what he was talking about, he’d asked if she had any place else in mind. When she said ‘no’, but before she could qualify that with a request for time to think about it, he was already picking up the phone to call the travel agent. It had hardly been the first time he’d steamrollered her, but she hadn’t been able to find it in herself to protest. As usual, she thought darkly, then shook her head. It had been as much her fault as Mic’s. He’d often pushed to get things his way and she’d often let him get away with it. What was the point of dwelling on any of that now? It was all moot. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said with a shrug. “I figured there would be plenty of time to think about it after you recover and, um, after everything else is dealt with.” "There isn't any place that you've always dreamed of going?" he asked, surprised. She’d been about to get married and she’d never thought about this? He found that hard to believe. He swallowed nervously before plunging ahead. "What about with Mic? Didn't you have this discussion with him?" Mac was surprised, not that he would think about that – it had to be hard for him not to – but that he would ask the question out loud. He could be so good at avoiding things that he didn’t want to deal with and her former fiancé was definitely a subject to be avoided at all costs. "Mic really had his heart set on Australia," she said, glancing away. "He was homesick because he hadn't been back since he moved to the States and he really wanted me to meet his family and see all of his favorite places." Gently, Harm cupped her cheek and turned her head towards him, hurt and a little bit angry by the pained expression in her eyes. Hadn't Brumby even cared what she’d wanted? Or was it just the beginning of a campaign to get her to move to Australia with him permanently? And this was a man who claimed to love Sarah Mackenzie. Damn, why hadn’t he let himself see any of this before? Or why hadn’t he let himself do anything about the problems he did see? He forced himself to take a deep breath and count to ten in his mind. There would be no point in mentioning any of that right now, especially since he would then have to admit that he probably should shoulder part of the blame for the direction her life – all their lives – had taken. "It wasn't what you wanted," he said with certainty. Her quick glance away provided all the confirmation he needed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said, tightening her fingers around his. He was being so sweet and she decided she could get used to this, could live with a lifetime of this. "Maybe," he countered, unconvinced. He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden flash of pain in his head, an action that was not lost on Mac. "Are you okay?" she asked, pressing her palm against his forehead. Given his hypothermia, he wasn't going to have a fever, but she wasn't sure could be wrong or what to do for him. She wasn’t even sure where the pain was. "Where does it hurt? Should I get a corpsman?" He started to shake his head, then thought better of it as he experienced another flash of pain. "No," he replied in the best reassuring tone he could manage. "It's just a bit of a headache." From her expression, he could tell she wasn't quite convinced, so he forced a smile. "I'm fine, really. It's just been a long day – couple of days, I guess." He got caught up in a coughing spasm, rolling to one side as he struggled to catch his breath. As she rubbed his back in a soothing motion, Mac remember what Skates had told her about his attitude when he’d arrived aboard the Henry and wondered if she’d caused him sleepless nights because of her inability to decide what she really wanted. "You should get some more sleep," she said, frowning. The spasm over, he turned back towards her and ran the pad of his thumb over her lips and the frown quickly turned into a soft smile, her cheeks flushing pink. "Harm …." Privately, he marveled at the reaction such a simple touch brought out in her. They'd touched before, more times than could be counted, but this was somehow different, even more so than their night together. "Make you a deal," he said, a suggestive glint in his eye. She gave him a look at that, one that clearly said 'You've got to be kidding me' and he wished that he were up for what they both wanted. He made a sound that come out like a half-chuckle, halfcough. "I wish. I will close my eyes and try to get some more rest …. if you will lie down with me and tell me a story." "What kind of story did …." she began, trailing off at his raised eyebrow and sexy grin. The man wasn’t that far removed from looking like death warmed over and he could set her heart racing with just a look. "You're kidding, right? Here, now?" "Come on, Mac," he said, lowering his voice to a deep, sensual rumble. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't affecting her, but the pleasant tingling between her legs countered that argument. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, reminding herself that he was in no shape for anything like that and likely wouldn't be for a while, she tried to come up with a good argument against what he seemed to be suggesting. Her head seemed to be shutting down on her while her heart speed up a little in anticipation. "Think of it as …. phone sex. Or are you trying to tell me you've never ….?" "I'll plead the Fifth, counselor," she teased, swatting him playfully. That was a better answer than going on about something she was sure he wouldn't want to hear, just as she wouldn’t want to hear about what he might have done with any of the women in his past. "But the other person's usually not in the same room." "Embarrassed?" he asked, attempting to cock an eyebrow, trying not to wince as the motion

pulled at the gash above his eye. "No," she replied, a bit forcefully. At his disbelieving look, she acquiesced. "Okay, maybe a little. There's a difference between doing it and talking about it. Anyway, we're in sickbay. Anyone could walk by." "And would find nothing wrong if we're just lying here talking quietly," he pointed out. "Besides, everyone seems to have left us alone." Mac glanced around them and didn't see another soul. Of course, they’d likely been left alone because they were supposed to be resting. Aside from Reed coming in and making some notes in the chart when the alarm went off signaling that Harm’s temperature had risen above 95 degrees, she hadn’t seen a single person since everyone had disappeared after the wedding. It was a shame that Harm was in no condition for 'normal' newlywed activities. She had to admit to herself that she’d had a few hot-bunking fantasies thanks to the numerous investigations they’d conducted together aboard ships. It was a shame they couldn’t take advantage of their location, because once news of their marriage came out, the chances of them being sent on investigations together again seemed very remote. She hadn’t really thought much about that, or more accurate had tried not to think about how everything was going to work out at JAG for them. They’d probably have to inform the Admiral as soon as possible, she realized. Keeping their marriage a secret from him while continuing to work together could be a recipe for disaster, at least professionally. She pushed the concern from her mind for the time being. They had at least a little bit of time before they had to really worry about that one. They weren’t leaving the ship until tomorrow and it was likely to be at least a week or two before they were together again at JAG while Harm recuperated fully. "I don't know," she murmured, nibbling on her bottom lip thoughtfully. But, God, how she wanted to. If they couldn’t have a real honeymoon yet, then at least they could have something. "Sarah," he said. The sudden seriousness of his tone and his use of her first name got her attention and she met his gaze, trying to figure out the regret she saw in his eyes. "I'm sorry I can't give you the honeymoon you deserve." "Is that what this is about?" she asked. It touched her in ways she couldn't explain and didn't really want to contemplate. She didn’t want to get caught up in a comparison between him and those who had come before. "Harm, we've got all the time in the world to think about that. I'm just …. happy to be here with you and to not have to hide what I'm feeling, even if for just a little bit." She twisted the ring on her finger, drawing his attention to her hand. Their eyes met, an unspoken message passing between them. She’d have to take it off once they arrived in Portsmouth, as he would his. It would be hard enough explaining to Mic why she wasn’t wearing his engagement ring without having to tell him how she ended up with a wedding ring from another man. God only knew how Renee would react if she found out the wedding ring she’d wanted from Harm had ended up on the hand of another woman. "Don't think about any of that now," he said, his voice husky – or was it just the hoarseness from his ordeal? Regardless, his tone and gaze were mesmerizing and she found it was so hard to think of anything, especially when his hand left her cheek, his fingers dancing lightly over her throat. Her lips parted slightly as her breath caught in her throat. They couldn't do anything, but that didn't stop the warmth from his touch – even if his fingers were still chilled

– or the budding arousal. It occurred to her that maybe she should pull away, that perhaps they were playing with a fire they wouldn't be able to contain or douse, but it was so easy to let herself fall and she didn't resist when he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her down next to him. Mac sighed contentedly as she snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, lifting up as he tugged on the blankets, realizing his intent. She hesitated only for a brief second before slipping under the covers. “Warm enough?” he asked. “I’m not the one who spent the night out on the ocean,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got you to keep me warm,” he countered. “Remember the Appalachians?” Remember? Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could still feel his arms around her, their bodies so close together. At one point during the night, she’d woken up, flushed with fever. Her face had been pressed against his neck and she’d been unable to stop herself from satisfying her curiosity, pressing her lips for a brief second against the cool skin of his throat. He’d stirred in his sleep, and although he didn’t awaken, she’d pulled back slightly, afraid to risk more. But putting a little bit of physical distance between them hadn’t stopped the dreams. At the time, she’d chalked them up to the fever. Until Columbia, when she’d nearly fallen into his arms before managing to stop herself. ”That was the beginning, if you think about it,” she said wistfully, wondering where they would be now if she’d taken the chance back then. “For the first time, it was you and me against the world, even more so than out in the Arizona desert. That was when I learned how to really trust you and …. began to fall in love with you.” She mildly surprised herself with that admission. She’d never really thought about when it had begun. It had just seemed to have always been there, sometimes consuming her thoughts, although never admitted to by light of day. But it seemed so right. Things had been too awkward between them at the very beginning. On her end because of the walls she’d built around herself and her overriding concern for her uncle; on his part because of the memories of the recently-deceased Diane. By the time they’d gone on the run in the mountains, all that seemed to have fallen away, leaving the bonds of a deep and long-lasting friendship and the hopes and dreams of something more. “You did?” He was surprised that it mattered so much to him. He’d never really thought about it before and it was a strange feeling. When had he first started to fall? It was hard to say. He thought he could say that there had been something there from the very beginning at the Rose Garden, but how much of that had been Sarah Mackenzie and how much of that had been tied to the recently-deceased Diane Schonke? Now marriage had him psychoanalyzing himself. “And not just because you saved my life,” she replied, tracing a circle over his chest with her fingertip, drawing his attention back to the woman lying next to him. “That was the first time I started to see the caring man behind the arrogant flyboy. When you told me about your grandparents, explained how you’d restored ‘Sarah’, I realized for the first time that there was more to you than the façade you show the rest of the world. You were so different than most of the men I’d known in my life. I think there was a part of me that wasn’t sure how to deal

with that.” She smiled, blushing slightly. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “Just things,” she replied mysteriously. “Humph,” he said. “That blush on your face doesn’t look like ‘just things’.” “Harm!” she protested, blushing even more furiously. Then again, she thought, she could fulfill his request. Maybe. He was her husband. Why was she finding it so hard to talk to him about sex? It wasn’t like she was some untried virgin and they’d never slept together. The dream from that night in the mountains flashed through her mind. “Well, I did have this fantasy ….” She trailed off uncertainly. “And ….?” he asked. “Come on. I’m your husband.” “Say that again,” she requested, propping herself up on an elbow and gazing into his eyes. “What?” he asked, tracing the outline of her lips with a finger. She drew the tip into her mouth, swirling a tongue around it. “You’re trying to distract me.” His voice wasn’t quite as steady as it had been. “Is it working?” she teased as she released his finger. He laughed hoarsely as he hugged her tight with one arm. “Maybe if I weren’t lying in a hospital bed,” he retorted with a cough. “So tell me about this fantasy.” “Why do I have to be the one to tell you my fantasies?” she asked in mock complaint. “Or are you going to tell me you’ve never had any about me?” Harm grinned, remembering when he’d hit his head a few months earlier and the direction his thoughts had taken when she’d been in the shower Thursday morning in Norfolk. “Because I’m supposed to be resting my voice?” he countered with another cough. Maybe he would tell her. Someday. They had time. That which had seemed to be a curse in the last few days and weeks as they counted down towards her wedding to Mic now seemed to be a blessing. They now had the rest of their lives. “Right,” she said, leaning closer to listen to him breathe. “You do sound better than you did this morning, though.” She closed her eyes, remembering how she’d laid on her cot earlier, just listening to him struggle for breath. “It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her hair as he realized what she was thinking about. “Don’t think about it. Just close your eyes and relax.” His voice, although hoarse, was soothing and she found herself easing into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. But she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “My eyes are closed,” she pointed out. “Okay, then,” he said, closing his eyes as well. He groped for her hand and entwined his

fingers with hers. “In this fantasy of yours, where are we?” She smiled softly, the dream replaying in her mind as she replied, “We went flying in ‘Sarah’. You were right, you know. The open air, the adrenaline rush – it’s so liberating. And you, you’re so relaxed and so carefree. There’s so much joy in your expression, in your voice. I can see why you love it so much.” “So where do we end up?” he asked, getting caught up in her fantasy. He could see in his mind the two of them, performing aerial acrobatics, laughing gaily, the wind blowing through their hair, the sun shining brightly above them. “We land in a clearing,” she continued in a faraway voice. She blocked out everything but the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear and a sensual dream she’d had more times than she could count. Maybe someday the dream would be real. She could easily them getting away for a day, or maybe even for their honeymoon. Just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. She could live with that. “There’s a cabin at one end and my heart starts racing. We haven’t said a word, but we both know what’s going to happen here. You climb out of the plane first, then you offer your hand to help me out of my cockpit. You have already taken off your gloves and stuck them in your jacket pockets and when your hand touches mine, it’s like being shocked by electricity.” She paused, moistening her dry lips. “Go on,” he encouraged her. He moved the arm draped around her and languidly let his hand move up and down her back. Despite the uniform blouse she wore, she could feel his touch as if against bare skin and she shivered against him, rolling slightly to allow him easier access. It took her a moment to find her voice again. “It would be so easy,” she whispered. “So easy to what?” “Let myself fall,” she replied so softly he almost didn’t hear her. It was a moment before she continued in a slightly stronger voice. “I could step out of the plane and into your arms and I would forget everything but how it feels to be held by you. I can already imagine your arms around me, but once I jump down, you release my hand as you turn to retrieve a bag from the cockpit. Your back is to me and I just watch. You’re wearing jeans and your leather flight jacket. Hmmm ….” A soft smile spread across her face as her eyes traveled over his form in her mind. When she didn’t continue, he opened his eyes long enough to see the expression on her face. He quickly closed the again, the light overhead bothering his eyes, accompanied by a brief flash of pain. Anyway, with his eyes closed, he could let himself better see the scene she was describing. “What are you wearing?” he asked, realizing the picture was incomplete in his mind. “I’m wearing jeans,” she replied. That day in the mountains, they’d been dressed warmly to ward off the early spring chill. In her dreams, it was summer, allowing them to be less encumbered by clothing. Less to take off. Less time before skin would be touching skin. “I’ve got a white tank top tucked into the jeans and a button-down shirt, denim, thrown over it, open down the front. On top of that I’m wearing a leather jacket.” “Are you wearing a bra?” he asked.

“Am I …. a what?” she countered, her voice barely a squeak. “I have this image,” he explained, grinning, “in my mind. Your breasts are free, unrestrained and as you move, I can see your hard nipples press against the fabric. I pull the shirt over your head ….” Mac felt her nipples tightening in response and shifted position slightly to ease the tension. “Hey, you’re getting a little ahead of me,” she protested, about to playfully smack him, but thinking better of it. She’d already done it once, but maybe she shouldn’t have. He probably had so many aches and pains and bruises that she didn’t want to risk hurting him more. She realized that maybe she shouldn’t be resting her head on his chest, but he hadn’t complained. “I thought you were supposed to be resting your voice. And does this bother you, my head on your chest?” “Fine,” he retorted in response to her first statement, his tone pretending hurt. When Mac didn’t say anything, he prompted in a gentle tone, “Continue …. please.” He ignored the second question. There was a slight ache in his chest, but Reed had said the x-rays taken before the wedding showed his ribs were not broken, just appeared to be bruised, and he wasn’t about to tell her to move, not when she felt so warm pressed against him. “Where was I?” she asked, having lost her train of thought when Harm had gone off on his tangent. “Um …. oh, yeah. I was watching you get a bag out of the cockpit. Then you turn around and I divert my eyes.” “Why?” “Because it’s easier to watch when no one’s looking,” she replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. She’d become a master over the years of watching when no one realized it, especially him. Learned behavior was hard to shake, even in her dreams. Her tone was firmer when she continued after a moment, “We walk towards the cabin. I want to reach out, to take your hand in mine. But if I touch you again, I might not be able to control myself.” “Is that such a bad thing?” he asked, curious as to why she would make such a statement. “I want it to last,” she said. It had been hard and fast when they’d first come together for real, but there was a lot to be said for the sweet, tender ache of the slow burn. She knew that from experience with him as well, but in her dreams they didn’t have their eventual parting hanging over their heads. There was nothing hanging over them, simply the freedom of being together and expressing their mutual passion and love. She paused a moment to collect her thoughts. “We walk into the cabin and you drop the bag just inside the door. I wander aimlessly around the cabin, taking everything in, while you build a fire. I strip off my jacket and toss it on the couch, then go stand by a window, staring out it, wondering how long it’s going to take you to join me. It seems like forever …. “I can hear the fire, smell the wood burning. If I close my eyes, I can imagine what it looks like, casting a romantic glow. There are no lights on, just the sun streaming through the windows and the light from the flames. I don’t turn, but I can feel your presence as you walk up behind me, your footsteps barely sounding on the hardwood floor. Something tightens inside me and I just want you to touch me, need to feel your hands on me. But you don’t

touch me …. so near, yet so far. I start to lean back against you, but then I feel it – just your hands on my shoulders. My head falls forward and you lean down, brushing your lips over my neck. It’s so light, but I feel it as if I’ve been struck by lightning. Your hands rub my shoulders gently. It feels so good …. hmmm, your hands are like magic. Your thumb presses against a particularly tense spot and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. I want more and I say so, but you just chuckle and push my over shirt out of the way, leaving it hanging on my arms. Your hands are now on my bare skin, sliding under the straps of my tank top, and I swear that I don’t know how I’m managing to stay on my feet. If you can do this to me with such a simple touch, how am I going to stand it when your hands and mouth are moving all over my body, when flesh is pressed against flesh, when I take you inside me?” “I thought a Marine could handle anything?” he teased with a low chuckle. It thrilled him to know that he could make this woman especially come completely undone. He looked forward to having a chance to explore that more in the future. “You could test anyone’s endurance,” she murmured. “What – what are you doing?” She’d gotten so wrapped up in her narration, the sweet ache of need, that she hadn’t noticed when he let go of the hand he was holding and unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of her blouse, his hand lightly caressing her stomach. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” There was just a hint of pleading in her tone, but she wasn’t quite sure what she was really pleading for – for him to stop or to continue. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I’ll finish it.” “But …. but you can’t,” she protested weakly. They were in sickbay on an aircraft carrier. he’d spent most of the night and part of the morning stranded in the middle of the ocean. “Trust me.” “What if someone ….” “Shhh …. they’re leaving us alone,” he pointed out. “We’re supposed to be asleep, remember? Just lie still and keep your eyes closed.” Lie still? How the hell was she supposed to do that when he was touching her like that? If his hand moved just a little lower, pulled her zipper down, then …. “Harm ….” “Please, continue,” he asked, his voice a little ragged. “Um, your lips are moving over the side of my neck,” she continued, her quiet voice husky with arousal, “and I tilt my head to the side to allow you better access. You move up my throat and – and your tongue is tracing patterns over my skin. Then your lips are closing around my earlobe, pulling and I feel it throughout my body, pulling me under. I start to sag against you. One of your arms goes around my waist and I swear to God that’s the only thing holding me upright. Then your hand is slipping under my top, your palm pressed flat against my stomach. The burning starts there and is spreading out from there.” The way his arm was positioned, it was a bit awkward, but he managed to press his hand flat against her skin, almost as she described, with the same flames flickering to life inside of

her. She murmured contentedly as she shifted position, pressing herself harder against his hand. “What am I doing now?” he asked. “Umm …. touching ….” was all she could manage to get out. He chuckled softly, sending shivers through her. “In the fantasy,” he reminded her. “Just touching,” she whispered on a shaky breath. “I want more …. try to reach behind me …. press my body against yours …. but you won’t let me. You’re laughing, um, against my ear.” Harm slid out from under her and carefully turned onto his side to face her. Unfortunately, his new position made it even more awkward to touch her, so he requested, “Turn onto your other side.” A bit reluctantly, she did as he wanted. Although her eyes were closed – and she presumed his were, as well – there was just something in knowing that all she had to do was to open her eyes and there he would be, gazing back at her with beautiful eyes that she could lose herself in. That was harder when her back was to him. He slid his left arm under her waist and pressed his palm flat against her stomach again, one finger lightly stroking the sensitized skin along the waistband of her pants. He swore he could feel her trembling beneath his fingertips. Leaning over her, he asked with a soft chuckle, “Like this?” Then again, there was something to be said for his being able to let his hands roam over her body, at least as far as the IV in his right arm and his left arm being trapped under her would allow. “Uh ….” she tried to form an intelligible reply, but found all rational thought driven from her mind as he draped his other arm over her and slowly slipped the remaining buttons of her blouse from their holes. She thought that maybe she should say something, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words. Grabbing the edge of the blanket over them, she yanked it up under her chin. What was she doing? What were they doing? As his hand cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple straining against the satin cup of her bra, she decided she didn’t care. She wanted him so much, and even as she was aware that she couldn’t have him in the traditional sense, it was enough for now, especially since the memory would have to sustain her for a while until they managed to straighten out the tangled web that had become their lives over the last two years. “Sarah,” he whispered, drawing out the two syllables. He smothered a cough before continuing. “What happened to your fantasy?” “Fantasy ….?” she echoed, trying to remember what she’d been saying. Flying. The two of them. A cabin in the middle of nowhere. “You turn me around …. back me up against the wall. I start to slip, but you put your hands on my waist to steady me as you drop to your knees …. you look up at me and I can see it in your eyes ….” “See what?” “How much you love me,” she replied with a soft sigh. “How much you always have.” Why was it so easy now, with her eyes closed, to realize that it was there all along? Scenes from

their life together flashed through her mind – so many looks, so many gestures, so many tender touches. But she’d ignored all of them in favor of the words, turning away when she didn’t hear them. “I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.” “Shhh,” he whispered, pressing feather-light kisses against her temple. They both had their regrets, but now they had a second chance – or third, or who-knew-how-many-they-were-upto-now – to make everything right. “I promise ….” “Just promise to love me,” she requested, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice. “That’s all I need.” “I do,” he replied hoarsely against her ear. “So where were we? I’m on my knees in front of you and ….” “Um, you push up my top and press kisses all over my stomach,” she said, her voice breathless as he moved his fingers over her skin. “Your tongue, uh, uh …. circles, dipping into my navel. Your hands are moving and I grab onto your shoulders as I hear the rasp of metal against metal. You’re pulling down the zipper of my jeans and, um, your mouth moves lower, your tongue tracing along the edge of my panties.” As she paused in her narration, she felt a sudden chill on her lower abdomen as the fantasy became reality. Harm had eased down the zipper of her pants and his finger was now drawing a line along the waist of her panties. She couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through her and his hand stilled. “Too cold?” he asked, a little worried. “Uh, maybe a little,” she replied, grabbing his hand before he could pull it away. “But please don’t stop. I want you to touch me. I always knew you would be good at that.” “Really?” he asked, his tone pleased. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told something like that, but this was different. He’d always believed he was good and his girlfriends had all seemed to validate that. But this was different. Was that what made everything seem so different, so new? Was this what it was to be in love with someone? He’d never really thought about what that phrase meant before, not since Diane. Maybe not even then. They’d just been starting to figure everything out, then it was suddenly never to be. He wasn’t sure and it wasn’t the time to dwell on it. “Trying to tell me you’ve never been told that?” she teased. She turned her head towards his, surprised by the intense look in his eyes as she opened hers. So he’d opened his eyes sometime within the last few minutes. She blushed slightly with the knowledge that he’d been watching her – for how long, she didn’t know. It was easier to look when no one knew. That’s what she’d told him. Obviously, she wasn’t the only master at hiding. “*You’ve* never told me that,” he pointed out, dipping his head down and brushing his lips against hers. She turned her head more, parting her lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to wrestle with hers. She moaned against his open mouth as she arched her body against his hands slowly caressing her. She broke off the kiss, breathlessly whispering against his mouth as she guided his hand lower beneath the elastic waist of her panties, “Slowly, you pull down my jeans, your mouth moving down one leg. You pull off my shoes and socks, then lift each leg as you remove my

jeans. Your touch is light as your hands and lips move back up my other leg, but I feel it throughout my body. Your hands ….” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing pink as she saw his next actions so clearly in her mind. “What are my hands doing?” he asked, although he already suspected what the answer would be. At least, he knew what he would be doing if he really were kneeling in front of a halfnaked Sarah Mackenzie. Sarah Rabb now, he corrected himself with a smile. “Stroking the insides of my thighs,” she replied, gasping softly as the scene became reality, his hand pushing down her pants enough so that he could run his fingers up and down one thigh, Mac assisting him by lifting her hips slightly, impatiently pushing her pants down to about mid-thigh. “I …. I want more. I try pushing against your hands, but you just laugh …. you’re so damn infuriating.” She attempted to guide his hand to her aching sex, but he laughed softly in her ear as he continued his light, teasing strokes. She shivered as he blew lightly against her ear before pulling her earlobe between his lips, gently tugging on it with his teeth, teasing her by releasing it. “But you like it,” he whispered against her ear with an air of certainty – and just a hint of smugness. “Arrogant ….” she began, trailing off as he snapped open the front clasp of her bra – fumbling with it for a second as he did it one-handed – and pushed it out of the way, cupping a breast in his hand, gently rolling the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She shivered, whether from the chill of his hands or excitement, he wasn’t quite sure. “Cold?” “No,” she replied. His hands were still cold, he was still cold. Just laying next to him - her in her uniform, him in a hospital gown – it wasn’t quite as noticeable. It was more so now that his hands were moving over her bare skin, but she wasn’t about to complain, not with the liquid fire of arousal coursing through her veins. She wanted him, even more than she had the other night, now that she knew what it was like. It might not have seemed like much, but she was sure she would always remember today. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so cherished, so loved. He was entirely focused on *her* pleasure. She couldn’t remember ever …. she blinked back the moisture forming in her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” Harm asked gently, concerned by the sad expression that crossed her features. He pressed his lips to her temple, kissing away a tear at the corner of her eye. She turned her head back towards his, reaching up and slightly behind her to press her hand against his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. She silently reflected that those words, which she’d choked on when trying to say them to Mic, which had taken her four and a half years and a near-fatal accident to get up the courage to say them to Harm, seemed to come so easily to her lips now. He smiled at the look of wonder in her eyes, wondering if she was thinking the same things he was, how …. miraculous this all seemed, for lack of another word. He just wished that it hadn’t taken so long to get to this point. So many wrong turns and hardly smooth sailing in the days and weeks to come, but he had to believe that things had to get better for them and soon. “I love you, too,” he replied softly, choking back a cough.

His eyes drifted downward. There was nothing to see; they were covered by the blanket from the neck down. He closed his eyes, imagining the scene she’d been describing. He tried to focus on the heat from the fire – he could see in his mind the light and shadows cast by the flames flickering across her caramel skin, her eyes blazing brightly. She would tremble beneath his touch, just as she had Wednesday night, just as she was now. He remembered when he first met her. She’d seemed so stiff and formal, seemingly the embodiment of the perfect Marine. When she’d admitted, in an almost too casual manner, that she was an alcoholic, he realized that her outward attitude was simply a wall she’d built around herself and her emotions and he wondered what demons she had in her past that would drive her to the bottle at such an early age. In a way, she was right. Their ordeal in the mountains had been the beginning. He supposed there was nothing like a life-or-death struggle to bring people together and it had done so for them. He’d opened up about his family history, she’d talked about the accident which had caused her to hit bottom and to begin to fight her way back up with her uncle’s help. Just a few weeks later had come the near-kiss in Columbia and she no longer took it so personally when they faced off in the courtroom and he argued his case to the best of his ability even if it was at her expense, although he never pulled another stunt like he had during the Connors case. Actually, during the Connors case is when he’d first gotten a glimpse of the fire burning beneath the cool veneer of ice she often presented to the world at large. She’d been furious with him – and perhaps she’d been justified to a certain extent, he reluctantly admitted to himself, not that he was likely to admit it to her. When they shared her ‘peace offering’ dinner on his bed in his then half-finished apartment, he’d wondered for the first time what she would be like in bed. Would her passion blaze like an inferno or would it simmer in a slow burn? As he’d discovered a few nights …. He was brought back to the present by Mac, softly but insistently saying his name. Opening his eyes, he found her head turned back towards him, her gaze concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked, worried that his silence and the slowed movements of his hands indicated some kind of medical problem. “I was seeing you,” he replied softly. “The glow from the fire lights up your skin, your eyes are half closed, your lips slightly parted. You’re trembling ….” “Good imagination ….” she murmured. She’d apparently been right in that he had his own fantasies about her. Aching with need, she attempted to guide his left hand lower, but he pushed back, laughing softly in her ear at her impatience while his other hand moved to her other breast, keeping his caress feather-light. “I’m kneeling in front of you,” he said, drawing her attention back to the fantasy. “You’re wearing a white tank top, panties and your denim shirt is hanging on your arms and what ….” He was putting as much thought, if not more, than her into this fantasy. Caught between the explicit images in her mind and the reality of his hands moving over her, the details seemed to be slipping from her mind, replaced by a melding of intense desires and fiery need. Swallowing a few times, she began her narration again in a halting voice, “I can’t take

much more …. I start to fall …. You catch me in your arms and, uh, pull me towards the flames. Your hands are all over my, caressing, pulling off my remaining clothes …. You’re still fully dressed and as we fall to our knees in front of the fire, it feels rough against me, but good …. I start pulling at your clothes, need to feel you against me ….” “I never thought you would be so impatient,” he murmured against her ear, relishing the image that formed in his mind of Sarah Mackenzie losing control, overcome with passion. “We both were, the other night,” she pointed out quietly, stepping out of the fantasy for a moment. “It had been so long and we couldn’t wait anymore ….” “But we’ve got all the time in the world now,” he pointed out. ‘All the time in the world’, she reflected. Maybe after Mic and Renee were gone …. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. She was in bed with her husband. There wasn’t room for two more occupants. “I’m not sure how …. but I’m lying on my back now,” she continued, “You’re leaning over me. God, you look so …. gorgeous, your shirt hanging open, your jeans unbuttoned ….” She licked her lips at the image in her mind while behind her, Harm couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “Really?” he asked, intrigued. Did I really say that? she wondered. The man already knew he was drop dead gorgeous; he didn’t need her to tell him that. If he had any faults, a large one was his ego. He didn’t need her to feed that. “Well, in an arrogant, all-too-sure-of-yourself, flyboy kind of way,” she teased. He pulled his hands away, grinning behind her head. He knew she was just teasing - he could tell from her tone – but two could play that game. He laughed as she grasped his hands and guided them back to her body. “Don’t stop ….” she pleaded. “What am I doing?” he asked as he eased her damp panties down, pressing the palm of his hand against her mound. “Hmmm …. touching,” she murmured, rotating her hips, pressing herself against his hand. “In the cabin,” he countered, gently parting her folds with a finger. She was so wet his finger easily slid against her as she moaned her pleasure. He found her clit and circled it with the tip of his finger, varying the pressure as she bit her lip trying to stop herself from moaning too loudly. The sounds she was making seemed to echo in her ears and somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurred to her that anyone could hear them, could walk in. But she couldn’t open her mouth and make herself say the words to stop this. No, she wouldn’t make herself. She needed this, needed the affirmation of their love, the confirmation that they would be okay. “Touching,” she repeated, trying to focus. It was so hard to concentrate, the arousal she was feeling now burning out of control. Even just touching her, he was managing to drive her out of her mind. “Your hands …. they’re all over me, your lips following their path. I can’t …. the heat is so intense.”

She gasped, biting down harder on her lip, as he slowly slid a finger inside her while the Harm of her dreams worked his way down her body, his fingers lightly stroking her as he dipped his head down, brushing the tip of his tongue against her slick folds, finding her clit and gently drawing it between his teeth, swirling his tongue around it as she writhed and moaned against him, her fingers clutching the blanket beneath her. “Harm,” she gasped aloud as he withdrew his finger and added a second, slowly thrusting them in and out of her, rubbing the palm of his hand against her sensitive bud with each stroke. “Oh ….” “Tell me,” he requested, urging her to continue with her fantasy. “Can’t …. think,” she moaned. She was so close, lost between fantasy and reality, if he just kept touching her like that …. He changed his strokes slightly, easing the pressure on her clit, pulling her back just slightly from the edge. “You taste good,” he murmured against her ear, trying to draw her back into the fantasy, drawing on his memories of their one night together. “So hot and sweet ….” “Not enough,” she protested softly, feeling the heat from the flames lapping at her. “I need more.” He wondered which situation she was referring to before she clarified in a hushed tone, “I feel you pull away. I try to open my eyes, but my lids feel so heavy. It seems like forever, then you’re there, pressed against me. Hmmm, so hard ….” Her voice trailed off his mouth closed around her earlobe, his teeth tenderly tugging on it in the same rhythmic motion as his hands moving over her, his fingers inside of her. “I’m inside of you now,” he said, releasing his hold on her ear for just a moment. It wasn’t a question. Closing his eyes again, he could see and feel it so clearly in his mind, their bodies pressed so close together that it was hard to determine where one ended and the other began, their breath echoing in harsh pants as they pushed each other closer to the edge. “Yes,” she replied with a soft sigh. “I feel …. complete ….” She turned her head, her mouth finding his as he moved inside her, slowly at first, each stroke filling her, touching her so completely. As the speed and force of his movements increased, she lost all awareness of them as two separate beings, their bodies seeming to meld together as one. Her hands gripped his arms tightly, her fingernails digging into his flesh as he pushed her over the precipice, her muscles tightening around him as she moaned against his open mouth. Her eyelids fluttered open and she bit back a sigh. There was no cabin in the middle of nowhere, no roaring fire. Just the soft beeping of monitors, the antiseptic smells of a hospital and her husband in a hospital gown, his hands tenderly stroking her, easing her down from her peak. She smiled softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingertips. “I love you,” she whispered, choked up with emotion. Never before had she felt so cherished, so worshipped. It touched her deeply that he’d done this for her. Someday, when he was up for it, she would have to return the favor. “I love you,” he echoed as he brushed his nose against hers, wrapping his arms as tight as he could around her. He chuckled as one hand brushed against the fasteners pinning her ribbons

to her blouse. “Maybe you have something else you can change into if you’re going to lie here with me.” It was on the tip of his tongue to suggestively hint that she wear nothing at all, but that was sure not to fly here in sickbay, especially once someone finally decided to stop leaving them alone and to check on the patient. “Um,” she said, trying to think as she worked on straightening her clothes under the blanket. Something cooler would be nice if she was going to stay with him under the warming blanket. She was sweating and it wasn’t just from her recent exertions. Finally, she had her clothes refastened so that she looked mostly presentable and slipped from the covers, retrieving her travel bag from the other side of the room. Holding the bag with one hand, she unzipped it with the other as she walked back to the bed, laughing as she got a glimpse inside. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze drawn by her tousled hair and her flushed cheeks. He hadn’t really had an opportunity previously to appreciate that well-loved, fresh-from-bed look on her. Sometime, he’d take the chance to appreciate the well-loved, fresh-from-bed without a stitch of clothing look on her. Hooking a strap on her finger, she lifted the nightgown out of her bag just enough so that he recognized it as the one she’d worn in Russia before dropping it back in her bag. She sat on the edge of the bed, setting the bag in her lap. “I had this dream last night,” she admitted, lowering her eyes as her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink despite what had just passed between them, “before, uh, the phone call from Ingles. You showed up at my place after driving from Norfolk and I was wearing this nightgown. There are some good memories tied in with this gown, so I thought …. sounds kind of silly, doesn’t it?” “I have some rather fond memories of that gown myself,” he said, only half-joking. That gown would be a definite requirement for the eventual honeymoon. “I’ll remember that for the real honeymoon,” she said, apparently reading his mind, zipping the bag back up and dropping it on the floor. “I packed some t-shirts and boxers for you, if you don’t mind ….” “Mind?” he croaked, imaging her wearing his clothes. She could make just about anything look sexy – from the standard Marine greens to his too-large-for-her boxers and shirts. The image that brought to mind was almost as good as the one of her in the infamous nightgown. He started to shake his head, then thought better of it. “No, I don’t mind.” Sliding back off the bed, she grabbed his bag and started to pull out the t-shirt laying folded on top, then suddenly remembered. Smiling warmly, she unwrapped the photos she’d brought with her and made room for them on the small table next to the head of his bed. “When I picked up your things from your apartment,” she explained, setting the pictures on their easels on the table, angled so that he barely had to turn his head to see them, “I thought you’d like to have these. After what Reed said earlier ….” She hesitated, not sure if she should remind him of the specter hanging over his head of the possibility that he would likely face an uphill battle in trying to qualify to fly again. “Anyway, I thought you’d like a reminder of the proud Rabb tradition of aviation.” His gaze moved over the pictures as he remembered the father taken too soon, shot down over the rice fields of Vietnam, the brother now in a Chechen prisoner of war camp. He turned worried eyes towards her. “Do you think Sergei might somehow hear?” he wondered.

Her eyes followed his back to the photo of the brothers smiling identical smiles for the camera. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m sure the crash has made the news and if the names of the pilots have been released, someone might hear and find a way to get word to him.” Or the wrong people could hear and use the news to torment him, she realized. Turning to him, she saw that he was thinking the same thing. “He’ll be okay,” she tried to assure him, taking his hand in hers, entwining her fingers with his. “He is a Rabb and so are you. That means you’re both fighters.” He forced a smiled as he tightened his fingers almost imperceptibly around hers. It was easy to say, not so easy to believe from where he was laying. She seemed to sense what he was thinking, pointing out, “You’ve got me in your corner – for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.” He nodded slowly, the smile coming a little bit easier. He wasn’t what he was call an excessive optimist, but he had to believe that he could get through this, that they could. After everything else that they’d gone through, they deserved nothing less. ABOUT THE SAME TIME AS THE WEDDING A.J. CHEGWIDDEN’S RESIDENCE MCLEAN, VIRGINIA This is Chuck Roberts for ZNN Headline News. Our top story is the crash of a Navy F-14 Tomcat in the Atlantic Ocean about 100 miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina shortly before midnight last night. The Navy has now released the names of the two pilots who were rescued this morning. They are Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., 37, of Washington DC and Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes, 30, of Pensacola, Florida. They were flying from the carrier USS Patrick Henry to Norfolk Naval Air Station in Virginia when they went down during a storm. Commander Rabb, a decorated pilot who has twice been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, now serves as a lawyer with the Navy’s Judge Advocate General Corps Headquarters in Washington and was aboard the carrier for his carrier landing qualifications. When asked why a lawyer would be flying off a carrier, a Navy spokesman said that it is not unusual for former pilots to keep up their flight qualifications if they are able and that Commander Rabb had received the highest score of the pilots completing their qualifications aboard the ship. The Navy refused to speculate as to what caused the plane to go down, only that the wreckage has been located and is being raised from the ocean and an investigation into the cause of the crash is ongoing. In other news …. Trish, whose eyes had been transfixed to the screen as they showed footage of a Coast Guard salvage vessel pulling a piece of a wing of the Tomcat out of the water, didn’t even turn when she heard someone enter the room. “I was wondering when it would start hitting the news,” she mused, her voice carefully controlled. She hadn’t seen any of the news reports the first time Harm had crashed. By the time the story had hit the airwaves, she and Frank had already been on a plane headed east, first to pick up Sarah from Pennsylvania then on to Landstuhl. By the time they’d reached Germany, the furthest thing from their minds was watching AFN to see what was being said about the crash. She never saw the video of the burned out wreckage of his plane or the scorch marks on the deck of the Sea Hawk where the plane had impacted. Before, it had not seemed real until they reached Landstuhl a day after the crash and saw how bad off Harm was. Now, she couldn’t see her son, but she was seeing

his plane being pulled out of the water in pieces. It made everything seem more real, brought home just how close she’d come to losing her only child again. A.J. sat down on the couch next to her, cradling a coffee mug in his hands. “It’s been on the news since very early this morning,” he said. The television in his office had been turned to ZNN while they’d waited for news at JAG and he’d seen the initial reports which had said little more than a plane had gone down in a thunderstorm, along with the standard line about ‘the names of the pilots are being held pending notification of next of kin’. “They’re just now releasing the names of the crew.” He studied her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his coffee. To all outward appearances, she was calm and composed with almost no visible sign of the strain she’d been under for the last fifteen hours. Only the tight grip she kept on her own coffee mug, her knuckles turning bone-white, gave her away. “I thought you’d be getting some sleep.” “Couldn’t sleep,” she said with a tired shrug. “I know Harm has been rescued and by all reports is doing as well as can be expected at this point, but ….” She trailed off, staring into the brown liquid filling her mug. “As a parent, you want to see for yourself that he’s okay,” A.J. finished the thought. “Or at least talk to him.” Trish laughed softly at that. “I don’t know if that would do any good,” she said, attempting a joking tone. “If I were to talk to him, he’d insist that he’s fine, even if he’s not. He wouldn’t want me to worry. He takes after his father that way. Harmon used to downplay the danger he was in over in Vietnam, if there is any way to downplay being in the middle of a war.” A.J. was silent, unsure what to say. What did one say to a woman who had lost her husband in the line of duty and had almost lost her son several times? He was saved from having to reply when Trish continued in a soft, faraway voice. “When Harm decided to go to law school and didn’t fly for almost five years after his accident, there was a part of me that was glad. I know that sounds awful, hating the thing my son loves to do most in this world, but I told myself that if it came to a choice between him being alive and safe doing something else and him coming home in a pine box because he was doing something he loved, I’d rather he be alive. Of course, I can never tell Harm that. But he can’t seem to stay out of trouble, even when he’s not flying, can he? I think even if he were to suddenly decide to leave the Navy, he’d still find a way to get into trouble.” “Probably,” he replied noncommittally. He was pretty sure that Trish only knew a fraction of some of the things her son had done or gone through and he decided it wasn’t his place to fill her in. Privately, he admitted her assessment of Harm was dead on. “I know, Admiral,” Trish said, suddenly turning towards him. She studied him intently and A.J. had the uncomfortable thought that it was almost like she was trying to read his mind. “I probably don’t know everything that’s happened to Harm since he’s joined the Navy. It’s almost funny. For all the strain between them for so many years, there are a lot of things Harm would tell Frank before he’d tell me. He thinks he needs to *protect* me.” She laughed softly, bitterly. “Of course, it never occurs to him that it worries me more when I don’t know. When he doesn’t tell me, it almost seems as though he’s trying to hide how dangerous what he’s doing is. He did tell me that he was going out to the carrier this week. But it sounded so damn routine, as if he was doing nothing more dangerous than taking

a drive around the block. But apparently, his professional life isn’t the only thing he hasn’t been keeping me filled in on. Sometimes, I just wish my son would talk to me.” “I think that’s the wish of just about every parent,” he said wistfully, remembering how neither he nor Marcella had known their daughter had dated a Mafioso until investigating after she’d been kidnapped. Francesca had known how her parents would react, so she’d kept quiet. He could see how similar actions by her son could get to Trish. “Probably,” she agreed. “Even if they do open up when they’re younger, I think they get to a certain age where they just claim up on you. Of course, Harm grew up at such a young age because of what happened to his father. I think he felt that if he confided in me, he would be burdening me when I had so much to deal with on my own.” She stared down at her mug again before changing the subject. “Admiral, on the news, they made a point of mentioning that Harm isn’t an active pilot. Could that influence the investigation into the accident?” “Well, they were right in that it’s not unusual for pilots who have moved on to other things in the Navy to still keep up their flight time,” he pointed out. “It’s unlikely to even be considered as a factor, especially considering how well he did on his quals.” “What about other factors?” she asked, a note of hesitancy in her voice. “What do you mean?” he countered, confused. “Are you asking if there is a question of pilot error? Or if there’s a problem with his eyes again? I mean, obviously, the weather might have been a factor ….” “Not really,” she said, sighing. “I’m not sure what I’m asking. I wonder ….” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Admiral, can I ask you something?” A.J. wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her question, just from the hesitancy in her voice as she asked, but he nodded anyway. She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead, “How has Harm been recently? Has there been something, um, I don’t know, bothering him? Maybe something that affected his judgment when he was flying home, in spite of how well he did on his quals?” “What makes you ask that?” he countered. She’d just been saying she wished Harm would talk to her more, so he doubted he had confided in his mother his feelings about Mac’s wedding. But what else could she be talking about? As much as he wanted to assure her that Harm didn’t let his emotions get in the way of his doing his job, he knew it would be a lie. It was a quality that made him such a passionate advocate in the courtroom and made him so stubborn, sometimes beyond the point of reason. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Just a feeling. I was surprised to hear this morning that Mac was supposed to get married today. Harm never said a word about the fact that his best friend was getting married. And then there was Mac’s absence this morning. I only know about her what Harm’s told me, but her reaction seems a little extreme for someone who’s only a friend. Oh, I would expect her to be upset, but to disappear completely? Her fiancé was upset, and justifiably so, but her sister seemed to be less than concerned about the fact that Mac was nowhere to be found. Almost as if she expected it.” “And?” A.J. asked, realizing where she was going with her questions and knowing that he did

not want to get into it. However, it wasn’t as if he could easily avoid the subject – not without making her more suspicious than she already appeared to be. Hell, the rate they were going, everyone else was going to figure out what was going on before Mic and Renee did. “And I’m not sure,” she replied. “There are just a lot of facts here that don’t seem to make sense. Practically since he’s met her, it’s been ‘Mac said this’ or ‘Mac did that’ – at least until he went back to flying. After that, he hardly talked about her at all. I got the feeling that something had happened sometime when he left – or maybe after he got back - that changed everything, but …. he never would tell me what it was. After a while, I stopped asking.” She shook her head as she rose from the couch, walking over to stare out the window. “I’m sorry for going on like that. As a commanding officer, you probably try not to get involved in the personal lives of your people.” A.J. chuckled ruefully. “Sometimes it seems unavoidable,” he said. “But being a commanding officer doesn’t mean I don’t care.” “I know,” she said, smiling as she turned away from the window to face him. “You didn’t have to open your home to us. Thank you for that. You know, Harm has talked about you, too. He thinks very highly of you …. although I’m sure he’s probably driven you crazy at times. He has that affect on people.” They both laughed, the tension eased slightly, as A.J. said, “There have been times ….” “Maybe ….” Trish began, trailing off when Frank entered the room, her expression becoming a little brighter. A.J. watched as they embraced, wondering how someone who had been raised by two such loving and committed people could drift so easily from relationship to relationship. “You promised you’d get some sleep,” Frank admonished his wife, his gentle tone belying his words. "I promised I’d try,” Trish countered, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. “I just couldn’t make my eyes stay closed. I need some reassurance that Harm is okay. Anyway, don’t think I didn’t notice your own tossing and turning.” “We haven’t heard anything further from the carrier,” Frank suggested, ignoring her comment about his own lack of sleep, “so I think it’s safe to assume that Harm is holding his own.” He glanced at A.J. for confirmation, the other man nodding. “Tomorrow morning he’ll be transported to shore and we’ll be able to see for ourselves.” “I know that here,” she said, tapping her temple with her finger, “but it’s a little harder telling my heart that.” “I have a suggestion,” A.J. said, startling Trish slightly. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “I’m expecting a call from the ship later today – before we left JAG, I called Captain Ingles back and gave him the number here. The doctor said Harm was on oxygen, so I don’t know if they’re letting him do any talking right now, but maybe when the captain calls, we can arrange for you to speak to Harm for a few minutes.” “Thank you, Admiral,” Trish said gratefully.

“A.J., please,” he insisted. “Okay, A.J.,” she said. “I’ll try to remember that. I still remember being an Ensign’s wife forty years ago and saying ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ or calling by rank everyone above us. Old habits are hard to break.” After a moment’s silence, A.J. changed the subject. “Is anyone hungry?” he asked. “I know you haven’t eaten since you got here. I could fix something.” “We had something on the plane,” Trish replied. “Well, I did,” Frank contradicted her. “You just pushed your food around on your plate.” Trish laughed half-heartedly as she kissed her husband’s cheek. “As you can see, my son isn’t the only one who worries,” she teased, although it sounded a bit forced. “Thank you, A.J.. Something to eat would be wonderful. Can I help?” “No, that’s okay,” A.J. said, rising from the couch. “My ex-wife taught me how to get around in the kitchen. Just relax – watch some TV if you’d like.” After A.J. left the room, Frank led Trish towards the couch and pulled her down next to him. She set her mug on the coffee table in front of them. “How are you really, Trish?” he asked, clasping her hands in his. “I’ll be fine, darling,” she insisted firmly. She then sighed as Frank shot her a look which clearly said he wasn’t convinced. “I’m just tired of getting phone calls or having men in uniforms show up at my front door. When does it end?” “You know Harm,” he said in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone, although he had the feeling it would be lost on his wife right now. “He’s not happy unless he’s right in the middle of the action. He would not be content just sitting behind a desk.” “I was hoping when he became a lawyer ….” she mused, her voice trailing off. When she continued, her voice had a hard edge to it. “But since then, he landed a crippled jet on a carrier at night when he was still having vision problems, he was accused of murdering a member of the Russian mafia in his search for information on Harmon, he was reported dead during his first trip to Russia, there was that situation at the Sudanese embassy that was all over the news, he nearly drowned aboard a destroyer, if his brother had not shown up in a POW camp he would have thrown away his career to run off to a war zone and now this. And that’s not even counting the situations he’s been in while he was an active pilot – the Gulf of Sidra, his first crash, flying over Kosovo. And those are only the situations I know about. Knowing Harm, there are probably others I’ve heard nothing about. When does it stop?” “Trish ….” Frank began in a placating tone, massaging her fingers, but she shook her head. “I know what you’re going to say, Frank,” she said, a barely detectible tremor creeping into her voice. “Harm is an adult and has the right to live his life the way he wants …. “ She broke off, struggling to control her voice. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that Frank barely heard her. “I love my son, but there is a part of me that hates the way he lives

his life.” “I know,” he replied, releasing one of her hands and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer. There were times he hated it, too – hated how it tore his wife up inside every time Harm got into yet another dangerous situation, hated how they hesitated each time the phone rang then sighed with relief when it wasn’t bad news about Harm, hated how they wondered if someday that dreaded call would come. A few years ago, Trish had asked him how he could be so calm while they were waiting for word from Russia on Harm and Mac’s fates. When he’d thought about it later, the best he could figure was that he had tried so hard to be supportive of Harm in order to strengthen their relationship that he conditioned himself to bury deep any negative feelings about some of the situations Harm found himself in. “I guess the only thing we can do is have faith that he’ll be okay. Our son’s probably the strongest man I’ve ever known.” She managed a smile at the phrase ‘our son’. She never forgot how lucky she was to find a man who would let not only her, but her son, into his life, even if his presence hadn’t entirely been a welcome one by Harm. Things had been better in the last few years since the first trip to Russia, but she still hoped that someday Harm would be able to admit, to himself if not to Frank, how lucky he had been to have Frank as a part of his life. “I know that,” she said. “That strength is what helped his father survive for over ten years in a Soviet prison camp. I just wonder …. do you think sometimes that Harm’s so busy being strong that he’s cut himself off a bit from the rest of the world?” “What makes you say that?” he asked, surprised at what seemed to be a sudden change of subject. “Sometimes I wonder ….” she sighed heavily, trying to find words to give voice to stray thoughts she was trying to string together coherently. “Does anyone really know or understand what he’s thinking or feeling? When I first met Renee when I stopped in Washington to wish Harm a ‘Happy Birthday’, I couldn’t help wondering what they have in common, if she really knows what makes him tick. I mean, she’s a nice enough woman …. Of course, I wonder sometimes if he lets anyone close enough to really know him.” “I haven’t really talked to her enough to say,” Frank said, silently admitting there was something about Renee that struck him wrong. He didn’t doubt that she was very worried about Harm and maybe she did love him in her way, whatever that way was. But she’d seemed so …. clingy, for lack of a better word, when he, Trish and Sarah had first shown up. He had the impression of someone trying to stake their claim, especially after her somewhat snide remarks about Mac being nowhere to be found. He couldn’t imagine Harm choosing to spend his life with someone like that. What he thought Harm needed was someone who understood all his demons and still stood by him, guiding him through the rough spots, but who also gave him the freedom of space when he needed it. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was based on what he had seen and heard over the years, there had only been two women like that in Harm’s life. The first had died five years ago this month and the second had for some inexplicable reason come within hours of marrying another man. “Do you think it bothered him,” she wondered, almost to himself, “watching the one woman who seems to understand him so well prepare to go down the aisle with someone else?” Frank reflected that it was a good thing he wasn’t drinking coffee himself or he might have

choked on it. “What makes you say that?” he asked, swallowing hard. “The way he’s barely talked about Mac the last few years,” she explained, “the way he never even mentioned she was getting married, um, even the way Mac has been nowhere around. If Harm were simply her best friend, why isn’t she here, letting her fiancé comfort her as they wait for word? I’d say this qualifies as ‘for better or for worse’. I’d almost think she’s suddenly realized that the man she loves isn’t the one she’s going to marry, but the one who almost died last night.” “You got that just from Mac’s not being here and Harm’s recent lack of talking about her?” he asked, surprised. From his conversations with Chloe and Bud, he knew that Trish was very close to the truth. However, not knowing the entire story and knowing that Mic and Renee were still in the dark as well, he felt uncomfortable talking about it, even with his wife. “Call it mother’s intuition,” she said, picking up her mug from the coffee table, wincing as she sipped the now cold liquid. She set the mug back down and turned slightly to face Frank head on. “Or call it the only explanation that seems to fit all the facts. But I can’t help but wonder how much it may have tormented my son that he was flying back to Washington to watch a woman he obviously cares a great deal for marry another man.” “We don’t know that, Trish,” he said, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t just tell her what little he knew. Not that he didn’t trust her with the truth, but he sensed that this situation was volatile and the slightest spark could result in a conflagration. “Anyway, have you ever known anything, short of his previous medical condition, to affect the way Harm flies? Trish, when he’s up in the air, that’s the *only* thing that matters to him. Everything else is unimportant.”

HARM’S APARTMENT Renee leaned back against the door she’d just closed behind her, holding back tears as she looked over the dim apartment. It was so quiet, almost eerily so. There was usually some kind of noise, whether it was the radio playing softly in the background or the soft rustle of papers as Harm read over a case file. Even if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would be comforted by the soft reassuring sound of Harm’s breathing as he lay next to her. It was normally so …. She shook her head, trying to dispel the depressing thought. Thinking like that was almost like thinking that it would stay that way, thinking that Harm wouldn’t be coming home. He was coming home, she reminded herself – the Admiral had said so. Tomorrow, Harm would be transferred to Portsmouth then he should be back home by the middle of next week. Everything would be fine. She just had to keep telling herself that. Her eyes fell on the plain brown paper back she was clutching to her chest. She’d taken the stuff Bud had packed for him last night and kept it with her, telling Bud and Harriet that she would take it with her to Portsmouth in the morning. Looking through the bag after she’d been dropped off at her place, she realized that Bud had forgotten to pack some things and had called a cab to take her to Harm’s place. Also, she needed to pick up her car, which she’d left outside his building last night when she’d run into Bud and Harriet. Of course, neither of

those were her real reason for being here …. She was alone. She’d thought, as they were all getting ready to leave JAG, that she would stay with Harm’s family wherever they were going to be, just so that she could be closer to him in some way. As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Harriet had casually asked where the Burnetts and Harm’s grandmother would be staying. When Trish had mentioned the Admiral’s house, Renee had been about to ask if anyone minded if she accompanied them when Sarah Rabb had looked her over and suggested that Renee needed to go home and get some sleep. It had been said kindly, Renee couldn’t doubt that, and the older woman’s tone had sounded the proper note of concern, but she nonetheless felt as if she’d been dismissed. Harm’s family was closing ranks and no outsiders were welcome. She might have been Harm’s girlfriend for going on a year and a half, but she wasn’t family any more than she was a welcome part of the JAG ‘family’. In a dark corner of her mind, she wondered if their reaction would have been similar if it had been Mac standing in front of them, worn and weary from a sleepless night worrying about the man she lo- …. Renee shook her head, trying to banish the thought. Mac was in love with Mic, she told herself, her inner voice not as firm as she would have liked. Once this was all over and Harm was home safe and sound, Mic would reschedule the wedding and there would no longer be that specter standing in the way of what Renee wanted. Squaring her shoulders, trying to project an air of determination, even if there was no one to witness it, she went up the stairs to the sleeping area, setting the bag on the bed, pulling out the contents and spreading them out so she could see exactly what was there and what was needed. Looking over the sparse contents of the bag, she wondered how someone who traveled as much as Bud did could be so woefully inadequate when it came to packing. He’d packed a uniform, underwear and socks, but no casual clothes like sweats that Harm could wear in the hospital and no toiletries of any kind. He could probably also use some books to keep him occupied while he was laid up, she thought. God only knows how long that will be. Mentally making a list of what she thought Harm would need, Renee started by searching his closet for his other travel bag. After a few fruitless minutes of searching, she decided that maybe Bud had been right when he suggested the other bag was sitting in the back of the SUV, having been left there after a previous trip. Shrugging it off, trying not to think about any reason why it wouldn’t be there despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind, she decided to just put everything back in the paper bag and stick everything in one of her suitcases before she headed for Portsmouth in the morning. Opening one of his drawers, she pulled out a worn, comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt with ‘US Navy’ stenciled across the front. She set the clothes on the bed and stared at them for a long moment before pulling off her sweater and picking up the sweatshirt and putting it on. It was hardly the kind of thing she would wear normally and it was way too large for her, falling to mid-thigh, but it was his and somehow wearing it made her feel a little closer to him. Closing her eyes, she could even imagine that the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his skin as she would pull the favored sweatshirt off him, the feel of the firm muscles beneath her fingertips. A smile on her face, she sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself,

imagining that it was his arms holding her tight. With a sad sigh, she opened her eyes as her smile fell. He wasn’t here right now. “Why, Harm?” she whispered to the empty room. “Was it worth risking your life just to get back in time to watch her marry?” There was no answer of course from the silent room and she dropped onto the bed, laying her head on one of his pillows, squeezing her eyes shut against the threatening tears, drawing her knees up to her chest as if by curling up in a ball she could close off the pain. But no matter how much she tried, how could she stop thinking about the fact that he apparently found it so easy to risk his life just to keep a promise to another woman. Would he do the same for her? Could he? Or was she fighting a losing battle for a heart that only had room for one woman, no matter how unattainable she might be to him. He hadn’t exactly offered a denial when confronted about it …. Drawing in a shuttering breath, she opened her eyes, determined to forget about everything except the fact that Harm would be coming home to her. She would get up and pack Harm’s things and go to Portsmouth in the morning and he would get better and all would go on as before. You make that sound like a good thing, the little voice in her head countered. “Not just a good thing,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice sounding uncertain to her ears. “It will be better. There will be nothing to come between ….” She pushed herself back up into a sitting position, blinking back tears as she focused on the nightstand beside the bed. “What the hell?” she murmured, running her hand over the bare spot where the picture of Harm and his brother had resided since his return from Russia. Twisting her head around, she didn’t see it on the other nightstand and it wasn’t with the things that Bud had packed for Harm. Puzzled, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly why, she got up from the bed and began to search the apartment. It could be something completely innocent. Harm could have moved the picture for some reason. She couldn’t say why it was so important, just that it was. She had to find that picture. She wracked her brain, trying to remember if the photo had been in its proper place Wednesday afternoon, but she couldn’t remember for the life of her. She’d been too wrapped up in her disappointment at his departure that afternoon to really pay attention to the minute details of his décor. She was in for another shock when she reached the living room and was confronted with the empty space on top of the bookcase where the picture of Harm and his father usually sat. Now that picture she was positive he would not have moved. Think, she ordered herself. Where could they have gone? She was nearly positive that the photos had been in their proper places when Harm left on Wednesday – or rather, she doubted that he would have taken them with him - and she knew Bud had not taken them. “No ….” she said, shaking her head, as she tried to dispel the horrifying thought that had just occurred to her. But she couldn’t. It was like a tentacle, wrapping itself around her mind and refusing to let go. “No!” Calm down, she ordered herself. You’ve got two missing pictures and you immediately think …. what? Come on, would Mac really show up and steal two of Harm’s favorite

photos? Why? Let’s think about this rationally. She nervously paced by the door, trying to make herself think of a possible explanation, any other reason why the photos were missing. There had to be something …. Realizing that she was driving herself crazy, she went into the bathroom, intending to splash some cold water on her face. She needed to calm down. Harm would need her to be strong for him, to take care of him. Turning on the faucet, she held a finger under the water stream, waiting for the water to warm up to a tolerable temperature as she studied her face in the mirror. God, I look about ten years older, she thought. Maybe just a little bit of concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes. Cupping her hands under the water, she splashed the tepid water on her face, then turned off the faucet, shaking her hands out over the sink. Grabbing a towel off the bar, she gently patted her face dry, then wiped her hands. Feeling a little better, she opened the medicine cabinet and reached for her makeup, her hand stopping in mid-air as she got a look inside. Harm kept a shaving bag packed full of travel sizes of most essentials – shampoo, shaving cream, toothpaste, and mouthwash – that he just threw in his duffle when he was packing for trips. That way he knew he’d never have to worry about making a late night run to the store for something when he was trying to get ready for bed. However, most of his regular toiletries that he kept at home were missing. There was a noticeable space on the shelf where his shaving cream usually was. Growing increasingly frantic, she did a quick inventory of the bathroom and discovered several other things missing. Ending her search in the shower, where Harm’s bottle of shampoo was no longer next to hers on the shelf in the corner, she bit back a screech of frustration. At the end of her rope, she curled her fingers around her conditioner and hurled the bottle against the wall, barely noticing when the top broke off the bottle at the neck and conditioner splattered all over the glass blocks enclosing the shower. Shaking with anger, she ran for the phone, her fingers trembling as she tried to remember the phone number she wanted. At one point, she threw the phone down in disgust as she punched in the wrong number for the fifth digit. She didn’t even both trying to tell herself to calm down. She was furious and intended to stay that way. Grabbing the phone again, she managed on the second try to dial the correct number, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the line to be picked up on the other end. The phone was answered in the middle of the second ring. “Sarah, is that you?” Mic answered his cell phone, hoping against hope that Mac was finally getting in touch with him. “Where ….” “I’m not Mac,” Renee retorted angrily. On top of everything else, the last thing she needed was Mic calling her by that woman’s name. In her current state of mind, it hurt nearly as much as it had when Harm had done it several months earlier. “But she’s been here.” “Renee?” he asked, hopeful. “You’ve seen Sarah?” All thoughts of the credit card receipt and its possible implications were driven from his mind. If he could see her, talk to her, she would have some explanation. He was sure of it.

“No, but she’s been to Harm’s,” she replied impatiently. “There’s stuff missing.” “I don’t understand,” Mic confessed, his voice calm. Whatever it was Renee was going on about, it had her mad as hell, he realized. “What do you mean there’s stuff missing?” “There’s stuff missing,” she repeated, frustrated that he didn’t seem to understand the implications of what she was saying. “Look, just get over here. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.” "Okay, Renee,” he agreed, trying to push aside the growing fear in his mind, the building sensation that everything he wanted was slipping away from him and he couldn’t hold on. “Are you at Rabb’s?” “Yes,” she said, drawing in a shaky breath. “I came here because I needed to be close ….” “Renee, I need directions,” he cut her off, not wanting to hear her go on about Harm. “I’ve never been there before.” Quickly she shot out directions, while Mic thanked his lucky stars that he had a good memory and that Harm’s place was relatively easy to get to. He didn’t think Renee would appreciate it if he asked her to repeat herself so he could right everything down. “Mic, I …. “ she trailed off, choking on the fear forming a lump in her throat. Her voice was so soft when she spoke again that he had to strain to hear her. “Please just get over here.” Mic was already halfway out the door when the call was disconnected, nearly forgetting to lock Mac’s apartment door behind him. He tried to tell himself that Renee was understandably emotional – the man she loved had nearly died – but he couldn’t make himself truly believe that she was simply overreacting. There were just too many odd occurrences which didn’t seem to add up in any way but one which was bad for him, and for Renee.

Renee was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the wall, open photo albums on the floor surrounding her, when Mic pounded on the door, the sound reverberating in the dim apartment. “It’s open,” she called out in a dull voice, not even looking in his direction when Mic opened the door and stepped into the apartment. If Mic had allowed the calm, rational part of his mind to convince him that Renee was overreaching on this, those thoughts fled when he got his first glimpse of her. She looked completely devastated and seemed unaware of her surroundings. “It’s a bit dark in here, don’t you think?” he commented, flipping on the light switch by the door. Renee blinked, startled by the sudden brightness. The only light in the apartment had been what little had been coming in through the windows, which faced the wrong direction to get direct sunlight in the mid-afternoon, even if there still hadn’t been clouds from the previous night’s storm partly blocking the sun from view. “Is it?” she murmured. “I hadn’t noticed.” Mic lowered himself to the floor beside her, turning around one of the albums to study the picture on the page the album was open to. Harm, leaning on a cane, was standing in front of what looked like a barn, his arm slung over Mac’s shoulder, her arm around his waist as her

head rested against his shoulder. He wondered at the age of the picture. Both of them looked several years younger than they were now. Mac’s hair was even darker and had a bit of curl to it. They seemed so relaxed and at ease with each other, much like they had before Harm had left JAG. He pulled the picture from the album and found a date stamp on the back from when it had been developed – May 1991. 10 years ago. He’d never asked, had never really wanted to know, but he hadn’t had a clue that they went back that far. “There’s a bunch more of the two of them,” she commented, her voice oddly firm, as if she was doing everything in her power to control it. “They seem to go back years. Mic, what are we fighting against here?” He wasn’t quite ready to concede that point yet. “What makes you think we’re fighting against anything here?” he countered. He flipped to another picture, this one of an even younger Harm and Mac with Harm’s grandmother, without a date on the back. “If they couldn’t make anything work in all this time, and we don’t know that they even tried, why now?” “Ever seen ‘When Harry Met Sally’?” she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Mic looked confused at the apparent change of topic and shook his head. “It’s a movie,” she explained. “Harry and Sally met during college and over the years they became best friends. At one point, they slept together and it nearly drove them apart, but they finally figured out that they loved each other and got married.” Her voice suddenly got quiet as she added, “It took them twelve years.” Mic shook his head, but otherwise didn’t react, although under other circumstances he might have been amused and less than surprised that Renee would draw comparisons to a movie. “This isn’t a movie, Renee,” he pointed out gently. “I have Sarah and you ….” “Have Harm?” she finished with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got him, alright. When he was leaving for Norfolk the other day, you know what he told me when I was concerned about him getting back in time for the wedding? That he’d promised *her* that he would be back!” Mic took in a long, slow breath, willing himself to remain calm, even as he wondered if he should mention the receipt he’d found. Suddenly, he remembered Renee’s frantic phone call and asked, “You said earlier that Sarah had been here.” She lifted her head from here it had been resting against her knees and he was mildly surprised when he got a good look at her face. He’d half-expected tears – although he wasn’t sure if they would be more for Harm’s current condition or her fear that she was losing him. There was a flash of anger in her eyes – certainly understandable given her previous statement. But they were also filled with a steely determination. He recognized in her a kindred spirit, unwilling to back down from a fight for what she wanted. “There are some things missing,” she said, the same resolve evident in her voice. She motioned towards the bookcase by the door. “Up there is where Harm’s favorite picture of him and his father usually resides. And on the nightstand in the bedroom normally is one of him and his brother. And one of his travel bags is missing, along with some things from the bathroom.”

“And how do you know Sarah was here?” he asked, reaching for any other explanation, even as he recognized the ring of truth in what she was saying. “Last night, I showed up here and ran into Bud and Harriet ….” she began to explain, her expression changing into an odd mixture of surprise, disappointment and just a hint of anger as she realized something. “They had to have known ….” “Who knew what?” he asked. “Bud and Harriet,” she replied. “They knew something was up. They talked me into staying down in the car with Harriet and baby AJ while Bud came up here supposedly to get some things with Harm.” She got up and heading to the bedroom, Mic hesitating only a moment before following her. He followed her gaze to the items still laid out on the bed. “Bud came back down with a paper bag with some of Harm’s stuff. I pointed out that Harm had two travel bags and had only taken one with him this trip. He – or was it Harriet – came up with some inane excuse about maybe Harm had left the other bag in the back of his car after a previous trip. But the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Why wouldn’t he take it out of his car? And look at this stuff. As much as Bud travels, you would think he would know how to pack. And why would Bud and Harriet have come by here in the first place? I came because I wanted to feel close to Harm. They said they’d thought to pick up some stuff for Harm when he is transferred to the hospital, but that doesn’t make a lot of sense. That sure wasn’t my first thought when I showed up here last night. I just came back here to pack some more things now because I needed something to do.” Mic had to concede that point to himself. But he wasn’t about to admit that aloud. Instead, he tried to counter her arguments. “Bud and Harriet are your friends,” he said. “Do you really think they’d lie to you?” “Not intentionally, but you said it yourself,” she replied. “We’re outsiders here. We’re tolerated only because of our relationships with Harm and Mac. But if it came to protecting Harm and/or Mac, you can bet neither of them would think twice.” “Bud is my best man,” Mic pointed out, his tone uncertain. She snorted. “With all due respect, Mic,” she said, “who else would you have asked? The Admiral is giving Mac away. Harm …. well, he’d probably rather walk over hot coals before he’d even cross the street for you.” Mic almost smiled at the visual that created in his mind before he remembered to whom he was talking. “But how do you know it was Sarah?” he asked. “Who else would it be?” she countered. She suddenly turned and headed for the door. Mic thought about following her as she stepped out, but she was back before he made up his mind, holding up a key. “Harm keeps a spare key in a rather obvious place out in the hall. I’m sure she would know where it was.” Mic froze as she came closer, his shock written all over his place. “Mic? What is it?” “She wouldn’t have needed a spare key to get in,” he said quietly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. “Not long I came back to the States, she was going to, well, I guess the where isn’t important. I was staying at her place to look after Jingo while she was

gone. She was showing me some of the keys on her ring and what they go to. She had a key that looks exactly like that one on the ring. I only remember because she seemed to hesitate before telling me the key wasn’t to anything important that I needed to worry about.” “She has a key ….” she murmured. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he also has one to her place.” Mic started to reach into his pants pocket to show Renee what the key to Mac’s apartment looked like when she waved him off. “Don’t bother. I don’t think I want to know. Correction. I’m sure that if you show me Mac’s key that I’ll recognize it as one that Harm as. But see no evil, right?” “So now what?” he asked, a hint of dejection creeping into his voice. “You call me over here to tell me *my* fiancée has apparently been here and now you want to bury your head in the sand?” “No,” she began uncertainly, before stomping her foot on the hardwood floor. “No! I’m not burying my head in the sand. I’m just determined to believe that Harm is too damn honorable to pursue a married woman, or one who is almost married anyway.” This time, Mic was the one who snorted. “And what if your faith in his sense of honor is misplaced?” he asked derisively, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Slowly, his motions deliberate, he pulled out the receipt he’d stashed in there before leaving Mac’s apartment and held it out to Renee. She took it and unfolded the yellow slip, scanning it with an obvious air of indifference. “What is this supposed to be?” she demanded. “It’s a credit card receipt. So what?” “It’s for the Breezy Point Officers’ Club in Norfolk,” he informed her, instantly regretting his harsh tone at the dawning look of horror that crossed her features as she began to put two and two together. In for a penny, he thought, softening his tone as if it might soften the blow. “It is for a breakfast for two. The slip is dated Thursday morning. This past Thursday. Two days ago. I found it on Sarah’s desk at home. I went there hoping that she was just hiding out there rather than being God only knows where.” It was a long moment before Renee could make herself speak and when she did, her voice had a noticeable tremor. “So are you trying to tell me that *your* fiancée and *my* boyfriend are having an affair?” she asked, immediately jumping to the most obvious conclusion. I will not cry, she told herself, repeating it over and over in her head like a mantra. I will not cry. “I’m telling you that it appears *my* fiancée and *your* boyfriend had breakfast together two mornings ago,” he said, trying to inject an air of certainty into his voice that he sure as hell did not feel. There were just too many odd little events which seemed to make no sense unless one considered the possibility …. “And you know this was simply a Thursday morning thing because you spent Wednesday night with *your* fiancée?” she retorted. It was fleeting and under other circumstances, she might have thought she didn’t really see the pained look that flashed in his eyes before the mask fell over his features. But she latched onto it immediately as he stonily returned her heated gaze. “You didn’t. You don’t know where she was Wednesday night, do you?”

Reluctantly, Mic nodded as he explained, “I tried calling several times. But her sister arrived in town that day and I just assumed when I couldn’t reach her that they were spending time together …. “ His voice trailed off as he remembered something else and he clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “She wasn’t wearing the ring. I went to pick up her Thursday afternoon for a late lunch. Chloe was there and Sarah wasn’t wearing her ring. She said she’d taken it off while taking a bath and just hadn’t put it back on. But she didn’t look like she’d just gotten out of a bath.” Renee sat down next to him on the bed, unknowingly crumpling the receipt in her fist. She wanted to scream and cry and lash out at something, but wasn’t sure which to do first. Or if she should do any of them. “Do you really think ….” she began, unable to make herself utter the thought aloud, although she couldn’t stop the image that formed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but could see so clearly in her mind the two of them, wrapped up in each other. Damn her, he’s my boyfriend, she thought darkly, a small part of her wishing that Mac were standing in front of her right. She’d be nowhere near as calm as Mic seemed to be trying to be. She’s got her own man. Why does she have to go after mine? Why can’t he just accept that she belongs to Mic and stay away from her? “I bloody well don’t know,” he whispered, staring down at the floor. “I just wish Sarah was here. If I could ask her ….” “I asked Harm once,” she told him, “if he was in love with Mac. He’d ….” She trailed off, remembering the pain she’d worked so hard to hide when Harm had called her ‘Mac’. She took a deep breath and continued in a soft voice, “I was joining him, um, in bed after I’d gotten out of the shower once and he called me …. by her name. He bought me all those roses to apologize, but I couldn’t just brush it off as easily as he seemed to. I asked him if he loved her and do you know how he responded?” “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that he came back with a firm denial,” Mic said dryly, already knowing how she would reply. “He said they fought all the time,” she confirmed. “He wouldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. If he had, then I might have known …. I said that I was counting the days until you two got married.” She flopped back onto the bed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. “Does that sound pathetic?” “Probably no more so than my wishing that Rabb wouldn’t get back in time for the wedding,” he admitted, “or hoping that once I have that wedding ring on Sarah’s finger that it will be like a switch will be thrown and she’ll just forget about any feelings she might have had for Rabb. I don’t think it’s pathetic at all to know what you want and to go after it.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, meeting his gaze. “But at what cost?” she wondered aloud. “What if they don’t want the same things?” She studied him for a long moment, recognizing the flicker of pain in his eyes that he was trying so hard to hide as a mirror of her own. “Mic …. look, don’t take this the wrong way, but how sure are you of Mac’s feelings for you? It did take her how long – ten months? – to move the ring over.” Mic just looked at her, unable to open his mouth to speak. When she’d finally moved the ring, he’d been so thrilled that he’d tried not to think about the reasons why or why it had happened when it had. If there was any connection between Harm’s talk about resigning his

commission to head for Chechnya and Mac’s sudden decision, he’d refused to let himself think about it. She’d agreed to marry him and that was the only thing that mattered, he kept telling himself. “That’s what I thought,” Renee said in resignation, dropping back onto her back. “I thought you weren’t giving up,” he pointed out. “I don’t want to,” she admitted. “I’m just not sure how to go about it.” “I marry Sarah,” he said, trying to inject firmness in his tone that he definitely didn’t feel, but they both needed the bolstering right now. “Then you and Rabb …. “ He stopped himself, positive that Renee didn’t want to hear him say that maybe once Mac was out of his reach that he would make himself settle for what Renee was so willing to give him. Anyway, it wasn’t fair to Renee, who had turned into a good friend the last few months. “Well, I don’t know there, but you’re a smart, determined woman.” “Why can’t Harm be more like you?” she mused, then managed a laugh, realizing how that might come across. Mic laughed with her. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented,” he said in a half-teasing tone, the best he could manage at the moment. “No one ever has to wonder what you’re thinking,” she clarified. “You’re so open about what you think and feel. Sometimes I wonder if Harm even knows what he feels sometimes.” He could relate. He’d sometimes, in his more worrisome moments during the interminable wait for Mac to move the ring to the proper hand, wondered the same thing about Mac. A nagging voice in the back of his mind, which he’d done his best to ignore, liked to point out that if she loved him as much as he did her, the ring would have been on her proper hand from the moment he’d first slipped it on her finger. Hear no evil. For a long moment, they were both lost in their own thoughts, trying not to think too hard about how everything seemed to be falling apart around them while hoping, almost with desperation, that once Harm was back on dry land and on the road to recovery that everything would return to the status quo. Renee was the first to break the silence. “So now what?” she asked, the question as much for herself as for him. For a moment, the mask fell away completely and Mic let his anguish show clearly on his face. Then it was back and he almost seemed to be the same confident man he normally was. “I wish I knew,” he admitted. “Bloody hell, I wish I did.”

THAT EVENING SICKBAY USS PATRICK HENRY

Harm started to prop himself up on his elbow, wanting to gaze down on his sleeping wife, but thought better of it when the room started to tilt around him, brightly colored spots appearing before his eyes, and he sank back onto the pillow with a sigh. Whoever heard of getting dizzy when you were still lying down? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium, but the spots were still there and he felt his head throbbing even more. After a moment, he cautiously opened his eyes to find that Mac had awoken and was watching him with concern. The room didn’t seem to be moving around so much, but that annoying throbbing was still there. “You okay?” she asked, stroking his temple with her fingers. Grinning, he slowly leaned closer, careful of his aching head, lightly touching his lips to hers. When he pulled away, she was giving him a look of mild amusement. Not a bad diversionary tactic, but a diversion just the same. “Okay, I tried,” he said in a hoarse whisper, apparently reading her mind. “I’m fine. I just tried to get up a little too fast. That’s what I get for lazing around in bed all day.” “Poor baby,” she teased. He captured the hand at his temple and brought it to his lips, bringing a pink tinge to her cheeks. “Maybe after dinner we can ask Doctor Reed if we can get you up and walking around a little bit. After all, I’m curious to see if your hospital gown opens in the back.” Harm tried to laugh, but what came from his mouth sounded more like a frog croaking, so he gave up. “I didn’t realize I’d married a voyeur,” he shot back. “Wait a minute, I do recall a few days before Bud and Harriet’s wedding ….” Mac laughed as she remembered the incident he was referring to, when she and Carolyn had been checking out the ‘evidence’ to determine whether it was him in the newspaper photo. “And I’m sure the great Harmon Rabb has never had a problem with women checking him out,” she countered. He ignored the crack – women looking at him were simply a fact of life and not really one he dwelt on – and marveled, “Is it supposed to be like this? Marriage, I mean.” “I don’t know,” she replied, sharper than she intended to. Her expression softened at the hurt expression which briefly crossed his features. “I’m sorry. Just some not so pleasant memories coming to the forefront. In a way, this is all new to me as well. It’s nice being married to someone that I actually like.” If that was all she was looking for, she could have gone ahead and married Brumby, he realized. For some reason, she seemed to like him well enough. But there had to be more to this than just that, so he chose to turn it into a joke. “I hope you married me for more than just liking me,” he said, a look of mock hurt on his face. She laughed as she kissed his furrowed brow. “It feels good, like we’ve got our old relationship back,” she said wistfully. “I can’t remember the last time we were able to tease each other like this.” She gave him a brilliant smile as she linked her fingers with his. “I think marrying you may have been one of the best things I’ve ever done.” “One of the best?” he teased, quirking an eyebrow at her, ignoring the sharp stab of pain at that simple motion.

“You ….” she began, stopping as her stomach growled, loudly enough that Harm heard. Suddenly, he dropped the teasing tone and asked her seriously, “When was the last time you ate anything?” He was worried, knew that she’d probably been half out of her mind over the last day because of him. And how much sleep had she gotten? He’d been so in and out of it all day that she could have laid there pretending to sleep and he probably wouldn’t have realized it. “I don’t know,” she answered vaguely, unable to meet his concerned gaze. “I guess last night at the rehearsal dinner.” He started to lift his arm, as if to look at his watch, before he remembered that he wasn’t wearing it. He vaguely remembered one of the corpsmen removing his watch and Academy ring and setting them aside somewhere after his flight suit had been cut off of him. “It must be close to dinner time,” he pointed out, although he was fuzzy on exactly how long he’d been lying in sickbay. Most of today seemed a blur, although there were moments that stood out in his mind. Like the moment they’d been pronounced man and wife. Or the beautiful light in her eyes as she’d stepped through the hatch into sickbay for their wedding. Or hearing her say ‘I love you’ to him for the first time. “Why don’t you go to the officer’s mess and get something to eat?” “I could stick around and share whatever you get for dinner,” she suggested with a hint of seduction in her voice. Lazily, she traced the muscles of his shoulder with her fingers and even through cotton of his hospital gown, he felt a warm flush and tingling from her gently touch. Harm had a brief flash of the two of them feeding each other in bed, licking and nibbling food off each other’s bodies. Maybe later. It was something else to remember for the honeymoon. “I doubt you’d want what I’ll be getting,” he said. “I didn’t get lunch except through this ….” he motioned to the IV in his right forearm “ …. because they were worried with all the water I swallowed that I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down. Tonight, I get to try broth and Jell-O.” Their expressions were mirrors of each other as they both wrinkled their noses at the thought. “Anything the mess could come up with would be better than that,” she said, “although not by much.” She slipped out from under the covers and crossed the room for her bag, grabbing her spare uniform. Harm watched her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. She made even his boxers and an old t-shirt of his look sexy. Too bad he couldn’t …. Experiencing another flash of pain, he closed his eyes, but even in the darkness of his mind, everything seemed to be spinning wildly out of control. She quickly stripped, conscious of the fact that a member of the sickbay staff could walk in at any time. Regardless, she was a bit disappointed when he closed his eyes, his head rolling to the side, as she was pulling on her pants, although she rationalized his behavior by reminding herself that he was probably still exhausted, even if was pretty good at pretending otherwise. Typical Harm, she thought. Shrugging, she pulled on her blouse and buttoned it from the bottom up, hoping he would open his eyes again to catch a glimpse of her lacecovered breasts. So what if she wanted to show off? He was her husband and she’d been dying for him to notice her as a woman for nearly five years. Not to mention the fact that a

darkened VOQ room had not given much opportunity for looking. They could have turned on the lights then, she supposed, but it had seemed better in the dark. But now they could come out in the light, even if it was only for a day until they got back to shore. Here, their relationship was sanctioned. She almost laughed at the thought. “Harm?” she asked as she finished fastening her blouse. Assuming that he’d simply fallen asleep on her, she crossed the room, dropping a goodbye kiss on his temple. “What the ….?” she murmured. Under the hand which was resting on his arm, his muscles were tense, rigid. “You’re not having a bad dream, are …?” She jerked back as his arm spasmed under her touch. “What?” she wondered, looking him up and down. Suddenly, his entire body jerked and an alarm went off on one of the monitors. “Oh, God,” she gasped, momentarily startled. Almost as a reflex, the Marine took over. Although surely someone had heard the alarm and was on the way, she shouted, “I need a corpsman in here …. NOW!” Desperate, afraid he might hurt himself, she leaned over the bed and tried to hold him down by the shoulders as two corpsmen raced into the room, followed closely by Reed. “Colonel,” Reed called out as he stopped at a table to snap on a pair of latex gloves, “don’t try to hold ….” His attempted warning came too late as Harm’s left arm jerked violently, catching Mac in the midsection. Even weakened as he was, her 120 pounds was no match for his 200. The force of the blow knocked her away from the bed and into a metal cabinet behind her. Reed nodded to one of the corpsmen, who moved to help Mac up off the floor, where she was on her hands and knees, fighting to catch her breath. The petty officer tilted Mac’s head to the side, gently probing the bruise already forming on her cheek where the side of her face struck the cabinet as she fell. “You’ll have a pretty nasty bruise, I think,” she told Mac, “but the cheekbone feels intact. I can get an ice pack for you ….” “Doesn’t matter,” Mac muttered, rising to her feet as she shook out the hand and wrist she’d broken her fall with, shaking off the petty officer’s helping hand. She rotated her wrist, satisfying herself and the other woman that it wasn’t broken. “Just help my husband. Please.” She took a step towards the bed, but forced herself to hold back. As much as she wanted to somehow comfort Harm by her presence, she knew that she’d only be in the way right now. Just let them do their jobs, she told herself. But it was so hard. She wanted to help him, as he’d helped her so many times in the past. Memories of their desperate flight in Appalachia swam through her mind as she tightly clasped her fingers together, her wedding and Marine Corps rings digging into her fingers, not that she noticed. “Valium, five milligram IV push,” Reed barked. Williams rushed over with a capped syringe and removing the cap, he swiftly injected the contents into Harm’s IV. Reed glanced at one of the monitors and swore under his breath. Mac followed his gaze, trying to figure out what the readout meant. After a moment, she realized that the number flashing ‘zero’ in bright red was referring to his respiration. Turning accusing eyes towards the doctor, she opened her mouth to speak, but Reed interrupted before she could say anything, “A momentary lapse in breathing is not unusual during a seizure. It should restart on its own.” “Should?” she demanded, incredulous. “Isn’t there more you can do?” “We’ll intubate as soon as the seizure is over,” he explained gently. “We can’t ….” He

stopped suddenly as Harm began vomiting, quickly rolling him onto his side so he didn’t choke on it or inhale it when he started breathing again. “Williams, get some towels.” In a moment, the nurse returned with some towels and set them on the bed behind Harm. “Oh, my,” he murmured, suddenly noticing an area of discoloration on the back of Harm’s head. “Doctor, take a look at this.” Reed leaned over as Williams brushed back Harm’s hair. His fingers palpitated the bruise, feeling for depressions in the skull which might indicate fracture. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed, his eyes meeting Williams’. He kept his voice low so as not to alarm Mac. “Get us set up for a CT-scan now. Then call the comm room and tell them to set up a satellite hookup with neurosurgery at Portsmouth.” As Williams rushed off, Reed turned to one of the petty officers. “Johnston, get me an intubation tray, 7.5 tube, and a vent machine.” As the petty officer took off, Reed studied his patient for a moment and, satisfied that the valium seemed to be easing the spasms, he turned to Mac. “We’ll insert a tube in his throat and hook him up to a ventilator,” he informed her. “It will help him breathe by forcing air into his lungs if he has another episode.” “Will he?” she asked. He steadily met her gaze as he replied, “I can’t say for sure.” But his eyes betrayed him. She could see that he was uncertain about whether Harm could survive another episode. The seizure apparently over, the display on the monitor changed as Harm began breathing again and the alarm silenced. Reed rolled him onto his back and reached for the intubation tray, swiftly inserted the tube in Harm’s throat as Johnston listened through a stethoscope to Harm’s breathing. “Good sounds, Doc,” Johnston reported, draping the scope around his neck. “Good,” Reed replied. “Let’s get warm air pumping through the vent and get him cleaned up. Also, draw some blood and run a CBC just to rule out anything else besides a head injury as the cause of the seizure. I’ll be in my office with the Colonel. Bradford, go tell Williams me know as soon as the CT machine is set up.” He motioned to Mac to follow him. She did so reluctantly, pausing to kiss Harm’s sweat-drenched brow. “Hang on,” she pleaded softly. “I can’t do this without you.” Reed stripped off his soiled lab coat and tossed it in a hamper just outside his office, motioning Mac go on in. She stood looking out the window, watching as Johnston swabbed the inside of Harm’s elbow with an alcohol pad and applied a tourniquet, poking around for a good vein to draw blood from. Reed came to stand behind her, watching the activity. “How long will he remain unconscious?” she asked. “I can’t say,” he said honestly. “Many patients regain consciousness immediately after a seizure, although they may continue to drift in and out for a bit afterwards.” “But not always,” she said.

“Colonel, your husband suffered a generalized tonic-clonic seizure,” he said, “or what a lay person would call a grand-mal seizure. When we rolled him over as he started vomiting, Nurse Williams noticed some bruising on the back of his head.” She immediately realized the implication. “He suffered a head injury? Why wasn’t this caught sooner?” “It appears so,” he replied. “We’ll know more after the CT-scan and a consult with neurosurgery at Portsmouth. As for why no one noticed, there are some head injuries which do not present any symptoms for hours or even days after the event. Until now, we had no reason to suspect there was cause for concern. But I can’t say for sure until we do the CT and see what we’re dealing with.” “So what now?” It amazed her how calm and level her voice sounded, because she was sure that if she unclenched her hands, still clasped tightly in front of her, they would shake uncontrollably. “We continue to monitor him for any signs of recurrence,” he explained, “although hopefully the valium will help to prevent any future episodes or at least lessen their severity. I don’t care to speculate further than that until we’ve had a chance to run some tests.” “What’s the worst-case scenario?” “Colonel ….” She turned around to face him, her bearing determined. “Worst case,” she repeated firmly. Sighing, he relented, “Worst case would be bleeding or a skull fracture requiring surgery. Regardless, I’m almost positive that we’ll end up transporting him to Portsmouth tonight instead of waiting for morning. The seizure and the fact that he has yet to regain consciousness are pretty good indications of the severity of his injury. But I’m no neurologist. That’s why comm is setting up a satellite link to Portsmouth. It will also give them a chance to know what they need to be prepared for when he arrives.” “I want to be in there,” she insisted, turning back to face the window. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she watched Johnston wipe Harm’s face clean. How had everything managed to go so wrong so quickly? He’d seemed fine – or as fine as one could be after an unplanned nine and a half hour swim in the Atlantic. Harm was one of the strongest people she knew. It was surreal to see him so weak, so helpless. “When you talk to the doctor from Portsmouth, I mean.” From his reflection in the glass, she could tell he was about to protest. “I’m his wife. I insist on being included in any conversations about his condition and treatment. I will not let you sugar-coat or dissemble with me.” Reluctantly, he nodded. Although he could probably try to bar her, he sensed this was not a woman who would take no for an answer. Nor was she one for whom the truth needed to be softened. He could see it in her eyes even as he heard it in her tone and in her words. She knew what Harm was facing. She’d seen it. There was a knock at the door and Reed called out, “Enter.”

Williams poked his head in the door. “Sir, the CT scanner is ready,” he reported, “and I ordered Johnston to start the contrast solution in the Commander’s IV. We’ve got Captain David Stafford, chief of neurosurgery, on satellite from Portsmouth.” “When you put the Commander into the scanner, make sure and immobilize his head,” he instructed, “just in case he has another seizure. Colonel?” Mac followed him into another room with a panel with knobs and buttons which seemed incomprehensible to her and several monitors, one of which was showing a Navy Captain sitting behind a desk studying a chart. That one was the satellite hookup, she realized. Another monitor was turned off. A large window gave a view of the other room, where Harm was being transferred from the gurney to the gantry which would slide him into the scanner. One corpsman strapped him securely onto the gantry while the other hung his IV and made sure there were no kinks in the vent tubing. “Captain Stafford?” Reed said, getting the other man’s attention. Stafford set down the file he was studying and turned to face the video camera on his end head-on. “I’m Doctor Charles Reed, chief medical officer aboard the Henry. This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, the patient’s wife. She’s asked to be allowed to sit in on the consult.” If Stafford had a problem with that, he didn’t let on. “Colonel,” he said in greeting. “Doctor Reed, your nurse gave me an outline of Commander Rabb’s situation. If you could fill in the blanks for me.” “37-year-old Caucasian male,” he began, his voice taking on a lecture tone as he opened Harm’s chart and gave a cursory glance at his notes, “ejected from an F-14 last night at approximately 0352 Zulu. He was pulled from the water at 1322 Zulu this morning by a Coast Guard helo and given basic first aid on the flight to the Henry. Body temp was 88.2. Preliminary exam showed no obvious signs of physical injury aside from a bruise and gash above his left eye and some bruising on the left side of his rib cage. X-rays negative for broken ribs. Patient was conscious and fairly alert, pupils equal and reactive, so the forehead injury was not judged to be a serious concern. By late afternoon, patient’s temperature had risen above ninety-five degrees. There was no sign of underlying injuries until he suffered a generalized tonic-clonic, um ….” He paused and glanced at his watch, “onset approximately twenty minutes ago. During the event, my nurse discovered a scalp hematoma at the back of the head when we rolled the Commander onto his side. As he came out of it, his temp read 99.0. Normally, that would be no cause for alarm, but given his recent hypothermic state, it’s likely a sign of the elevated temperature which often accompanies cranial injuries. Exploration did not reveal signs of a fracture. We intubated and have continued valium as a prophylaxis.” “Any aura?” Stafford asked. “None that I’m aware of,” he replied. “Patient was checked about an hour and a half ago and reported no problems. This seemed to come out of nowhere.” Mac jerked her head around to stare out the window as the realization washed over her. “Oh, God,” she whispered, loud enough that Reed heard her. He turned and stared at her. “Colonel, is there something that we should know about?” he

asked gently. “Did the Commander say anything …?” “He was feeling dizzy,” she replied slowly, replaying the memory in her mind with a new awareness. “He tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but fell back against the pillow. He just said that he tried to get up too fast. And he’s been complaining on and off of a headache. He just seemed to think it was because of the stress of everything and lying around in bed all day. But it wasn’t, was it?” “Colonel, there’s no way you could have known there was more to it than that,” he tried to assure her, recognizing a note of censure in her voice. “If it weren’t for the head injury, it probably would have been no more than that. If the Commander had mentioned those symptoms to me, I probably would have thought the same thing. Taken by themselves, those are fairly innocuous signs. And nobody had any reason to suspect that he’d taken a blow to the back of his head.” There was a short burst of static as the intercom clicked on. “Doctor Reed,” Williams said, “we’re ready out here.” Reed turned on the other monitor, then waited until Williams had exited the room before turning on the scanner. Mac glanced at the monitor, but didn’t understand what she was seeing, so she settled for watching Harm’s still form, willing some of her strength to him. Harm, I wish I could know that you know what I’m thinking, she thought. Just hang on, Flyboy. We’ve got so much lost time to make up for. The whirl of the scanner fading into the background, her mind drifted once again to the Appalachians. Harm tenderly washing her wound as best he could, his fingers stained red as he wrapped the gauze around her leg; his arms securely holding her as she feverishly tossed and turned through the night; the coolness of the water as he gently pressed his wet scarf to her sweat and dirt-streaked face. Even after they’d flown to safety, he’d barely left her side during the three days she’d spent in the hospital. But in all the things they’d been through, he’d always seemed so strong, so invincible. He’d even bounced back after nearly drowning aboard the Suribachi. She almost laughed, remembering how he’d seemed the picture of health while she’d come down with a several cold. But within a few days, Australia happened and the state of their health was pushed far down on their list of concerns. What would have happened if things had gone differently back then? It all went back to that. If things had gone differently back in Australia, how many of the events of the last year and a half, up to and including last night’s events, would never have happened? “Colonel?” She was brought out of her reverie by Reed’s hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled. How long had she been standing there, lost in thoughts of what might have been? She tried to figure it out, but couldn’t make her mind concentrate enough to determine the time. Her thoughts refused to stray from the man on the other side of the glass fighting for his life. “Doctor Stafford was about to discuss his diagnosis.” “Already?” she asked, taking a shaky breath as she watched the gantry slowly withdraw from the scanner. He was so still. At least she could be thankful that he’d gotten through that without incident. But that was small comfort given the circumstances.

“These things go pretty fast these days,” Reed said. He pulled a second chair up and gestured for her to sit down. She did so, finally unclasping her hands, wiping her sweaty palms on the legs of her pants. “So tell me, Doctor Stafford,” she began, addressing her remarks to the man who could give her the answers she sought, “what’s wrong with my husband and what can you do for him?” “Colonel, your husband has what is known as an intracerebral hemorrhage,” Stafford said, “or bleeding inside the brain itself. This type of bleeding often does not show itself for hours or even days after the initial injury. In fact, it often takes more than one CT-scan for the bleeding to show up. Fortunately, knowing that it’s there allows us to treat it as soon as possible.” “By surgery?” she asked calmly. “Depends on the size of the hemorrhage,” he replied. “In your husband’s case, right now, the mass doesn’t cover that large an area, but I expect we will have to surgically evacuate eventually. If his condition doesn’t change significantly during the flight to Portsmouth, we’ll probably run another CT-scan to reevaluate. We will have a surgical team standing by when you arrive, just in case circumstances warrant immediate surgical treatment.” “So now what, we just wait?” Mac demanded, unable to keep the hard edge off her voice. “Can he even sur –“ She paused, choking on the word. When she began again, there was a noticeable tremble to her voice. “Can he handle the flight to Portsmouth?” “Colonel, it’s not a matter of whether or not he can handle it,” Stafford said, his tone and gaze sympathetic. She looked at Reed and saw the same eyes, the same truth, there. She bit down on her lower lip, barely noticing the metallic sting of blood on her tongue. “We don’t have a choice.”

ADMIRAL CHEDWIDDEN’S HOME MCLEAN, VIRGINIA “It was the first time I’d assigned them as opposing counsel,” A.J. related as he passed the plate of garlic bread to Trish, seated at his left. Supper had begun in an almost oppressive silence, so he decided to try to lighten the mood a bit by telling stories of some of Harm’s less harrowing exploits at JAG. They had yet to hear from the Henry, which A.J. took as a good sign. “It was just a few months after Mac had come to JAG.” Trish smiled and murmured her thanks, taking a small slice of bread for herself before handing the plate off to her husband. “I vaguely recall Harm mentioning the case,” she said, her smile the most relaxed and easily given than any other A.J. had seen from her that day. “He seemed a bit …. puzzled, for lack of a better term …. by her attitude.” A.J. laughed. “I would agree with that assessment,” he said. “When Chief Connors, the defendant, had requested new counsel and Mac was the only one available, I admit I was curious how they would react. After the initial awkwardness of their first meeting, they were

managing to become a formidable team. I wanted ….” He trailed off as he caught the look that passed between his three guests. “What is it?” He wondered briefly if he’d made the wrong decision in talking so easily of Harm and his job. Although he hadn’t meant to, he’d overheard part of Trish and Frank’s earlier conversation. Three minds shared a single thought. They were all aware of the reason for Harm’s reaction when he first met Mac, even if they’d yet to meet Mac for themselves. He’d confided in his grandmother and Sarah in turn, since Harm had not specifically said she shouldn’t, had told Trish and Frank. It was Sarah who finally spoke up, deciding to tell enough to satisfy A.J., yet really explaining nothing. “I think Harm was still finding his bearings a bit,” she said. “In just a little over a year, he’d graduated law school, joined JAG, had recently lost a …. dear friend …. and was being introduced to his third partner.” A.J. nodded thoughtfully and decided to let that subject drop. Although he suspected there was a lot more to it than Sarah was saying, judging from the unease in the looks that had been exchanged, he decided that it wasn’t really his business. “Anyway,” he continued, pretending not to notice when they all visibly relaxed, “I needed to see if they could work just as well against each other as together.” He chuckled at the memory. “It was interesting, to say the least. Harm has always been good at, um, compartmentalizing. Everything was separate – work, friendships, etc. Mac, on the other hand, took everything so personally. It was almost like setting a match to gasoline.” “Harm was bothered,” Frank jumped in, agreeing with A.J.’s assessment. He thought the other man might have made a fair psychologist. “Not so much by the case, but how Mac reacted to it. He thought that what happened between them in the courtroom should have no bearing on their friendship outside it, while he said Mac seemed to take his more …. ruthless tactics in the courtroom as a personal affront.” “Exactly,” A.J. confirmed. “At first, they were awkward in court. I sat in on one session and almost didn’t recognize the two attorneys I was watching. They seemed so tentative, as if they were unsure how to react to being thrust into these new roles. But once the gloves were off ….” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “I supposed I should have expected things to come to a head eventually. They are both equally stubborn and could only push against each other for so long before everything blew. I just never expected how.” “When Harm first told me about firing off that weapon,” Sarah said, smiling indulgently as it seemed only a parent or grandparent could. “He sounded almost embarrassed, as if he couldn’t believe how far he’d gone.” “That must have been only in retrospect,” A.J. laughed, “because when I called him on the carpet, although he said all the right things and made no excuses for his behavior, he seemed completely unrepentant.” “That sounds like Harm,” Trish said, smiling. “If Harm has any regrets about anything, he usually keeps them to himself, usually buried under the mantle of indifference to the consequences of his actions. Frank and I saw the same thing when he returned from Laos.” Despite her expression, there was an undercurrent to her words which A.J. couldn’t help noticing and he remembered their earlier conversation about Mac’s wedding. If Harm was bothered by his best friend’s wedding, he only knew. He’d never let anyone else see.

A.J. glanced around and noticed that everyone was just about finished eating. “Why don’t we take our coffee into the living room?” he suggested, rising to clear his plate from the table. The others followed suit, despite A.J.’s attempts to wave them off. “It’s the least we can do,” Sarah said, in a tone that would not permit any argument. “You’ve been so kind to us, Admiral. You know, Trish isn’t the only Naval wife here. I don’t recall many commanding officers who would have taken us into his home the way you have. There were so many rank distinctions in my day – officer and enlisted, lower ranked officers and the higher ranked ones. Anyway, I figure that anyone who has put up with our Harm the way you have for over five years deserves either our gratitude or our heartfelt prayers and sympathy.” Everyone laughed at that, each remembering their own trying times dealing with the Rabb stubbornness which Harm had inherited in abundance. A comfortable silence settled over them as they cleared the table, A.J. and Frank loading the dishwasher while Trish and Sarah put the leftovers away. Fifteen minutes later, they were seated around the coffee table in the living room, sipping coffee while A.J. paged through a photo album he pulled off the bookshelf, showing Harm’s family some of the more relaxed moments of the JAG ‘family’. The album was open to some photos of the ceremony at JAG where Harm had received his medal from the Romanian king, A.J. telling them of some of the lighter moments while Harm had been tasked with ‘babysitting’ the princess, when the phone rang. Conversation suddenly stilled, everyone exchanging thinly-disguised wary looks as A.J. answered the phone. “Admiral Chegwidden,” he said. “Admiral, this is Lieutenant Dennis aboard the Patrick Henry,” said the voice on the other line. “I’ve got Doctor Reed for you. Let me transfer you.” While the comm officer made the shipboard link to sickbay, A.J. activated the speaker on his phone, smiling as he explained, “I’m being transferred to Doctor Reed.” Trish smiled, murmuring ‘Thank God’ under her breath as Frank and Sarah each grasped one of her hands. They heard the click signaling the transfer was made, but there was no sound from the other end. “Doctor Reed?” A.J. asked. It was another moment before someone spoke and they all had to strain to hear the softly spoken “Admiral?” It took another moment before A.J. recognized the shaky voice as Mac’s. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and he momentarily thought about disengaging the speakerphone, but what was done was done. He just wasn’t sure he could answer the inevitable questions that were to come. “Mac?” he asked, chalking up the slight tremor he heard in her voice to the strain of the past day. Although he could never remember hearing Mac ever sound like that, she probably had not been through so much in a single twenty-four hour period as she’d just gone through. The realization accounted for the unusual familiarity with which he addressed her. He sensed she needed a friend right now, not a commanding officer. “I assume you’re calling with an update on Harm’s condition? I should tell you that Harm’s parents and grandmother are here with me. You’re on speakerphone.” If he’d thought to warn Mac, it was completely lost on her, so wrapped up was she in what she was trying to say. “Admiral, um, Harm ….” she began, struggling to put into words what

had happened. She gripped the phone tightly in her hand, as if by doing so she was holding onto her tenuous control. Reed put a hand on her shoulder, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head. She could do this. She had to. A sense of foreboding coming over him, A.J. looked back at everyone and saw varying degrees of apprehension settling over their features. They may not have known Mac as he did, but they knew something was not right, something beyond Mac’s seemingly inexplicable presence aboard the Henry. “Mac?” he asked again. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.” “We’re leaving for Portsmouth,” she finally said after another long pause. A.J. could tell from the tight, clipped tone in which her words came out that she was fighting to keep a lid on her emotions. “Tonight, as soon as Harm’s ready for transport. He …. he ….” They all heard a muffled bang as Mac dropped the phone onto the desk, accompanied by a soft cry and indistinct voices in the background. A.J. glanced over as Sarah closed her eyes and crossed herself, while Frank wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her against him, resting his head against hers. After a moment, another voice came over the line. “Admiral, this is Doctor Reed.” “Doctor, I have Commander Rabb’s family here,” he said. “What has happened?” “Commander Rabb had a previously undetected head injury,” he said, keeping the explanation as brief as possible even as he realized there was no real way to soften this blow. “Just under an hour ago, symptoms appeared and we ran a CT-scan, which revealed bleeding at the back of his skull. We suspect he struck his head somehow in that location, perhaps being tossed against a piece of wreckage in the water during the storm, which probably caused the bleeding. After consulting by satellite with the head of neurosurgery at Portsmouth, the decision was made to transport the Commander to Portsmouth immediately. He’ll be reevaluated upon arrival to determine the course of treatment, but the neurologist, Doctor Stafford, is expecting that surgery will have to be performed.” “Doctor, this is Trish Burnett,” Trish jumped in. “Commander Rabb’s mother. How could this head injury be undetected for so long? And isn’t it dangerous for my son to be subjected to a helicopter ride in his condition?” Reed paused, studying a spot on the far wall of his office. This was the one part of his job he could never get used to, one skill they could not teach in medical school. “The nature of this particular injury is such that the symptoms may not present for hours, or even days, after the initial injury,” he explained. “And right now, it is more dangerous not to move him.” “So you’re telling me that my son will die unless he is flown immediately to Portsmouth for surgery?” Trish asked, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hands of her husband and mother-in-law even tighter. Realizing that she would appreciate nothing less than an honest answer, he answered bluntly, “That is a very real possibility.” “I see,” she replied lifelessly, squeezing her eyes shut against threatening tears. “And you or another doctor will be accompanying him on the flight, I assume?”

“I will,” Reed confirmed, “as well as a couple of corpsmen to monitor his condition. He will be well taken care of.” That was as much as he dared say. As much as he realized he needed to be honest, there was such a thing as being too honest. Although he suspected that she already knew deep down, simply because she’d been present during her husband’s seizure, neither Reed nor Stafford had told Mac just how long the odds were that Harm would even make it to Portsmouth alive. He expected, due to the relatively rapid onset of symptoms given the type of injury, that the hemorrhage would only grow. Even if the time delay in getting him into surgery did not kill him, the helo ride might. He tried never to think of odds, only concentrated on doing the best he could for each patient presented him. But in this case he had to admit to himself that the odds were long indeed, even if Stafford had talked to Mac of reevaluating Harm’s condition upon arrival. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said softly, unable to think of anything else to say. She heard it in the doctor’s tone – her son was at death’s door. Harmon, look out for our son, she thought. I can’t lose him too – not like this. “Can you put Colonel Mackenzie back on?” Three pairs of eyes focused on her, surprised. What could she want to say to Mac that couldn’t wait? “Colonel?” Reed asked, holding the phone out to Mac. When she didn’t respond immediately, staring off at some point in the distance, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he was surprised to see that although her eyes were filled with tears, her cheeks were dry. “Your mother-in-law would like to talk to you.” To those listening on the other end, the words were indistinct, the voices muffled. Mac hesitated a moment before taking the phone, Reed’s mention of her mother-in-law bringing home for her what A.J. had said earlier – Harm’s family there in his home, listening to her on the speakerphone. Had they heard Reed just refer to Trish as her mother-in-law? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she thought before banishing the musing from her mind. Right now, she could have cared less if Mic and Renee had been there, listening to every word that was said. The only thing that mattered to her, that she could force herself to focus on, was Harm. “Mrs. Burnett?” “You must love my son very much to fly all the way out to a carrier on the Atlantic Ocean for him,” Trish said softly. Mac didn’t even hesitate. “With all my heart,” she replied, just as softly, but with a firmness which gave weight to the honesty of her words. If anyone listening was surprised by her declaration, especially when she was supposed to have married someone else that day, none showed it. “Then take care of him,” she said, her quiet pleading bringing fresh tears to Mac’s eyes. “Look out for my son.” “I’ve always tried to,” Mac said, trying not to choke on the words. Perhaps that should be ‘I always did prior to two years ago’, she reprimanded herself. If she’d been looking out for him since then, surely a way could have been found to keep everything from spiraling so far out of control. If only she’d really paid attention to what he’d been saying in Sydney. If only she hadn’t taken Mic’s ring. If only she hadn’t moved it to her left hand. If only …. if only …. if only ….

“Thank you,” Trish said, nodding at A.J. to indicate that she was finished. “Mac, I will notify everyone,” he said, hoping that Mac would read between the lines and realize that ‘everyone’ meant exactly that. Even though he realized she had more than her share to worry about, he needed to prepare her for what was to come. “Then we’ll head to Portsmouth ourselves, although I imagine you’ll be there long before we will.” If his words penetrated through the fog enveloping Mac’s thoughts, she gave no indication of it. “Probably,” she said. “Captain Ingles said the ship traveled west during the search and hasn’t turned back out to sea, so we’re only about forty-five minutes to an hour out by helo. Harm will possibly be in surgery by the time you arrive ….” Her voice trailed off as she unknowingly playing with her wedding ring, pushing it around her finger with her thumb. “Mac ….” he began, uncustomarily at a loss for words, for he too had read the bleakness in the doctor’s tone, realized that Harm was literally in yet another fight for his life, the second in less than twenty-four hours, realized that the odds were against him. Then again, who would have predicted that he’d be able to survive for nine hours in the chilly May ocean? “We’ll see you in Portsmouth.” “Goodbye, Admiral,” she said, then they heard a click and silence indicating the line had been disconnected. A.J. clicked off the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed audibly. He quickly composed himself and grabbed his keys off the end table, holding them out. “Why don’t you put your luggage back in my SUV while I start calling everyone?” he suggested. “We can leave as soon as I’m finished.” Frank took the offered keys and stood, holding onto Trish’s hand as she rose with him. As she entwined her fingers with his, he remembered their flight to Germany ten years earlier and how, save for a couple of trips to the bathroom, her hand had never left his on the long flight from San Diego to Pittsburgh, then Pittsburgh to Frankfurt. Now, just as a decade ago, all they could do was hold onto each other while the doctors tried to save the life of their son. Sarah got up to follow, then turned back to A.J.. “He’s dying, isn’t he?” she gave voice to the words they’d all been thinking. If Trish and Frank were disturbed by her vocal bluntness, neither gave any indication. But as A.J. studied each drawn, worried face in turn, he could see that they were all thinking the same thing. They all realized that Reed had offered no assurances that Harm would be okay once he arrived in Portsmouth. Assuming he does, he thought. All A.J. could do was nod, finding sympathy for a woman who’d been blessed with such a long life – he pegged her age in the early eighties – yet had been cursed with so much tragedy and heartache and for the parents who had been down this road before. “Thank you, Admiral,” she said, patting his shoulder in a maternal gesture before following Trish and Frank out of the room. A.J. picked up the phone, bracing himself for another round of phone calls, the second in less than twenty-four hours.

USS PATRICK HENRY

“Colonel?” Reed asked, clasping her shoulder. She didn’t appear to have heard him, was staring down at her hands in her lap, again twisting her wedding ring her finger. He gently shook her. “Colonel?” “She asked me to take care of him,” she whispered brokenly, leaving Reed unsure if she was even aware of his presence, his hand on her shoulder. “She asked me to take care of him and it’s my fault he’s lying there ….” “Colonel,” he said more firmly as he shook her less gently. He was concerned that she seemed to be blaming herself for a situation beyond her control, but there was nothing he could do about that. Perhaps she could talk to a crisis counselor after they arrived at the hospital or perhaps Father Gilly could be of some help. He’d already requested, and received permission from Captain Ingles, to accompany them on the flight. Finally, she looked up at him. “Doctor Reed?” “The Commander is just about ready to be taken up to the flight deck,” he told her. She simply nodded and got up to follow him out of the office. She squared her shoulders, determined to be strong for Harm, but she was unprepared for the site which greeted her in the sickbay’s intensive care ward. While a couple of corpsmen completed the last connections to connect Harm to portable monitors which could be carried on the helo, Father Gilly sat on a stool next to the bed, his head bowed in prayer. Her eyes blazed as she advanced on him, demanding, “What are you doing?” He realized what she was thinking and tried to assure her, “I’m saying a prayer for the sick. With your permission, I could perform the Anointing ….” “I will not let you perform Last Rites,” she said angrily. “He’s not going to die.” “Sarah,” he said gently, holding out his hand to her. She stared at him warily, but didn’t move. Sighing, he dropped his hand. She wasn’t the first reticent relative he’d ever dealt with on this topic. “Last Rites is a misnomer and only refers to the sacrament when performed at a specific time, such as when one is at the point of departing from his earthly life. The sacrament the Anointing of the Sick is for any seriously ill person and is also appropriate for a person facing a serious operation. The organs of the five external senses are anointed with holy oil and prayers offered to the Lord for the renewal of health. Sometimes that renewal comes in the form of a return of bodily health and sometimes it comes in a renewal of spiritual health as the soul departs ….” He trailed off at the look of horror on her face and tried a different tact. “The purpose of the sacrament is to strengthen our hearts against being discouraged in the face of illness. It is a recognition that we accept God’s will in ….” “How can this be God’s will?” she demanded, walking up to the other side of the bed and taking Harm’s left hand in hers. Her gaze fell on the ring on his finger. “We’re supposed to have the rest of our lives together. And babies – we’ve talked about a little boy with my looks and his brains. Or I can see a little girl with her daddy’s eyes and smile. She’d have to beat the boys off with a stick when she got older ….The rest of our lives isn’t supposed to last only a few hours.”

“I wish I had the answers you seek, Sarah,” Gilly said. “If I did, then I would be God. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like, but then I remember the awesome knowledge and responsibility that goes along with it and I am content to be his messenger, to interpret his teachings and to light the path for others to follow.” “I just ….” she began, only to be interrupted by the approach of Reed. “Colonel, it’s time.” Leaning over, she pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment as she closed her eyes. She gave his hand a squeeze then stepped back, silently watching as the corpsmen made sure the various equipment and monitors were secure, then lifted the litter on which Harm would be carried onto the helo. Gilly walked up to her and tentatively put an arm around her shoulders, prepared for her to shrug him off. He was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder, choking back a sob. “Come, Sarah,” he said, starting to lead her towards the hatch. They took a couple of steps, then she broke free of his grasp, darting to the table beside where Harm had lain. She grabbed the pictures she’d put on display earlier, clutching them to her as she rejoined Gilly. “May I?” he asked, motioning towards the frames. She nodded and held the photos out to him. He immediately noted the resemblance and gestured towards the older of the two photos. “His father?” “Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Senior,” she said, her eyes tracing the image of the little boy who would grow into the man she’d fallen in love with. “His call sign was also Hammer. He was shot down Christmas Eve, 1969.” “I heard that story after the tail hook incident,” he recalled, “when Harm received his new call sign. You know how scuttlebutt is on ship.” She nodded towards the other picture as they followed Harm’s litter down the passageway to the elevator which would take them to the flight deck, normally used to transport munitions. “He was taken to Russia and after ten years in captivity, escaped,” she continued. “He spent the last two years of his life on a farm deep in Siberia with a brother and sister, dying when he saved Pitchka from being raped by Russian soldiers. She was pregnant with Sergei when he died. Harm met him nine months ago, the last time we were in Russia.” “I take it from the uniform that he’s in the Russian military?” he asked. “He flies … flew helos for the Russian army,” she replied. “He’s been in a Chechen POW camp since just before Christmas.” She turned to Gilly, her eyes flashing with anger. “When I asked how this could be God’s will, I wasn’t just asking for myself. Harm’s grandmother is eighty-two. Her son was barely two when her husband was shot down during World War II. She didn’t know the fate of her only child for almost thirty years after he was shot down. She already carries the burden of worrying over her younger grandson, a prisoner halfway around the world. And Harm’s mother and stepfather – they’ve been down this road, when Harm suffered his ramp strike ten years ago. How much is one family supposed to take?” “I wish I had the answer for that,” he replied, realizing how lame that sounded. She was a

lawyer. Her job was to seek answers, uncover the truth. She likely was not one who tolerated being told there were no answers. From what he recalled of past conversations, Harm wasn’t either. They were well matched in that. “So do I,” she murmured as they stepped onto the elevator, looking at the pictures one last time before stashing them in one of the travel bags slung over her shoulder. She stepped up to the litter and took Harm’s hand in hers, trying to ignore how limp it felt in hers. “Hang on, Harm,” she whispered, leaning over so that her mouth was against his ear. The petty officer beside her pretended to be interested in a speck of something on the far wall of the elevator. “You’ve never given up on anything in your life. Don’t you dare start now.” You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach You'll never drill for oil on a city street I know you're looking for a ruby in a mountain of rocks But there ain't no Coupe de Ville hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box I can't lie I can't tell you I'm something I'm not No matter how I try I'll never be able To give you something Something that I just haven't got …. …. I want you I need you But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you Now don't be sad 'Cause two out of three ain't bad 'Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad', written by Jim Steinman, performed by Meat Loaf

PRISONER OF WAR CAMP CHECHNYA 1 …. 2 …. 3 …. 4 …. Sergei counted the reps under his breath as he performed one-armed push ups, ignoring the drizzle beginning to fall and the darkness surrounding him. He couldn’t sleep. He did close his eyes, trying to remember the sights and sounds of his youth – the grass under his bare feet, the chill of the Taiga as he waded along its banks, the fresh mountain air from his fruitless attempts to discover his father’s final resting place - instead of muddy ground his fingers were slipping in, the cage surrounding him and the uncertainty of his brother’s fate. Although he’d seen Daniel Mason loitering around the camp in the company of Colonel Vonikoff, the CIA agent hadn’t spoken to him since that morning. He just wished he knew whether the lack of news was good or bad. Was this how Harm had felt when news had first reached him that he’d disappeared in Chechnya? To be honest, he barely knew his brother. But that didn’t stop the dull ache in his heart. They were a part of each other, the same blood. It had never been more apparent as now, when Harm was in trouble.

5 …. 6 …. 7 …. “Zhukov,” a voice called out, Sergei’s eyes popping open as he swore softly. He recognized the voice. He could almost feel the air still around him as everyone in the cage – those who weren’t attempting to sleep, at any rate - stopped what they were doing, hoping to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Sergeant Ranov wasn’t just doing his job …. he truly hated Russians. The rumor around the camp was that his entire family had been killed several years earlier during one of many bombing raids on Grozny. Whether it was true or not, Ranov seemed to take pleasure in devising new ways to torment those in his charge. Because of Sergei’s *special* circumstance, he was used to being ignored by Ranov. As much as the man hated Russians, he tended to stay away from Sergei rather than risk the wrath of his superiors by hurting him. In a way, it was worse than any amount of physical torture he could have subjected Sergei to, for Ranov’s lack of attention towards Sergei drew attention from the other prisoners. It just gave them one more reason to resent Sergei. Sergei drew his knees up under him, pushing himself into a crouching position then slowly standing as he turned to face the direction of the voice. As he walked towards the fence, he wondered if what Daniel Mason had warned him about had come true, that the Chechens had somehow heard of his brother’s accident. But if they’d found out, surely they’d made the connection with Mason’s visit and realized that he’d already been told. He shivered inwardly when he drew close enough to make out the chilling smile on Ranov’s face, his eyes seeming to glitter like obsidian orbs in the darkness, standing out against his pale skin. Feeling the eyes of the other prisoners on him, he made his way along the fence to the gate, which Ranov was making a display of unlocking. “Out,” he said in heavily-accented English as he released the lock, pulling the gate open. Sergei thought his use of English instead of Russian – Ranov was one of the few Chechens at the camp who spoke both languages in addition to his native Chechen dialect – rather telling. This had to be about Harm, he thought, clenching his hands into fists behind his back. If he hadn’t been wearing gloves – threadbare in places, but better than nothing in the chilly mountain air – his fingernails would have been digging into the palms of his hands, likely drawing blood. Silently, he walked through the gate, making note of the outlines of guards in the darkness, rifles at the ready, as the Chechen locked the gate. Grabbing Sergei’s upper arm – he couldn’t have struggled even if he’d been suicidal enough to try as the man had a grip like a vise – he pulled him towards the camp headquarters. Sergei stumbled over a small rock in his path, his arm feeling like it was being wrenched from its socket as Ranov yanked him back up after he hit the ground, his wrists and knees stinging from the impact with the ground. “Come along,” Ranov said impatiently, as if Sergei had any choice in the matter. “The Colonel wishes to see you.” Sergei was curious, but he wasn’t about to ask the reason why. He’d find out soon enough and if he was to find out that his brother was …. he couldn’t complete the thought. No, Harm was alive, he told himself. Surely he would have felt it if he wasn’t. But if he was wrong, he didn’t want his memory of finding out to be of the smile on Ranov’s face as he told Sergei the news.

Soon enough, Sergei was being shoved through the door of the headquarters, blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the sudden brightness, unusual for this time of night. The generators powering what little electrical equipment there was at the camp were usually powered down at night to conserve power. Stealing a glance at Colonel Vonikoff seated behind his desk, the omnipresent cigarette dangling from his fingertips, he had the feeling the man hadn’t even been to bed yet. He had the look of a man who was extremely busy. Vonikoff said something in Chechen, obviously a dismissal from his tone. Ranov turned on his heel and strode out, but not before leaning over to whisper in Sergei’s ear, “Perhaps he let you out for funeral.” Trying not to let the man’s taunt get to him, he forced his attention on the Colonel, studying his expression intently as he stood at attention in front of the desk. He could find nothing in the other man’s expression which gave a hint as to what this was all about. A radio was playing in the background, but not loudly enough that Sergei could make out whether it was news or music. If it was news, then the likelihood that the Chechens knew of Harm’s accident multiplied. Vonikoff let Sergei remain at attention for a long moment, studying the younger man impassively. This one prisoner had caused him nearly as many headaches as all the others combined. In a way, Vonikoff was happy to be rid of him. “You may go,” he said in Russian, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. Sergei stared at him, confusion evident on his face. Surely, he hadn’t been dragged here simply to be immediately sent back to the cage. Then again, one never knew with the Chechens. Was this some new form of torture? After another moment, Vonikoff clarified, “Your American …. brethren have purchased your freedom for quite a sum of money … and weapons. Mr. Mason will escort you out of here.” Sergei turned as Mason entered the room, unable to dispel the growing feeling of dread gnawing at him. His freedom bought for dollars and bullets …. Harm would never have agreed to this. If he knew nothing else about his brother, he knew that. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mason cut him off. “We should get going,” he said, giving Sergei a hard look, as if warning him not to say anything, even in English, before stepping forward to shake Vonikoff’s hand. “We’re meeting Mr. Webb in Moscow.” Unable to watch them shake hands over the deal that bought him his freedom, Sergei stepped outside into the crisp night air, staring up at the sky above him. There were no stars out tonight and the rain, barely a mist before, was falling harder now, quickly soaking him to the skin. After a moment, Mason joined him, hoisting an umbrella over their heads. “I’ve got a change of clothes for you in the car,” he said. “We should get going. We have to drive to Grozny to catch the military transport flight that will take us to Moscow.” Sergei turned and stared at him, a multitude of questions racing through his mind. But one question was more important than the others. “My brother?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling for fear of the answer. “Has there been word?” “He was picked up yesterday morning, US time,” Mason replied. “The last time I spoke to Mr. Webb, he said that your brother was being transferred from the aircraft carrier to a hospital in Virginia as we speak.”

So Harm was alive. His relief was only momentary, however. If Harm was alive, why the sudden urge to get him released from the camp? “Then why ….?” he began, searching for the words to convey the outrage he was feeling over the manner of his release. “I am not worth the price paid for my freedom.” Mason stared at him, incredulous. “You’ve just been freed after spending five months in a prison camp and you’re questioning the manner in which it was done?” he asked. Sergei straightened and said firmly, “My father was a prisoner for eleven years. He would not have ….” He trailed off, trying to think of the correct word in English. Giving up after a moment, he rephrased. “He would not have wanted his freedom under such conditions.” “Even if it meant going home to his wife and son?” Mason asked. Sergei just started at him. From everything his mother and brother had told him, he did not think Harmon Rabb, Sr. was a man who would have compromised his principles. He couldn’t know about his stepmother’s feelings on the matter, but he was reasonably sure that his brother would not have wanted his father to compromise those principles, either. “Well, you’re free now. Within a day, you should be in the US. And any other questions you have, I suggest you take them up with Mr. Webb.” Without a word, Sergei got in the car, pulling the door closed behind him. He rested his head against the cool window, closing his eyes. Mason studied him as he got in behind the wheel and started the engine. He was surprised by Sergei’s naiveté, wondering how long he would last in the US with that attitude. A part of him wished he could be a fly on the wall when Sergei brought up his *concerns* to Clayton Webb.

I-95 SOUTH JUST NORTH OF RICHMOND, VA “There’s a gas station coming up at the next exit,” Mic said with a glance at the blue road sign advertising which gas stations were available. “Did you want to stop and get some more coffee or a bite to eat?” Renee shook her head, not even turning to look at him. Ever since A.J. had called, she’d been operating on auto pilot. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if Mic hadn’t quickly jumped in with an offer to drive her to Portsmouth, even if it was likely the last place he wanted to be. Sure, she probably could have ridden with A.J. and Harm’s family – assuming Harm’s family deigned to let her into their tight circle. At least with Mic, she’d someone who knew what she was going through, who understood her fears beyond wondering if Harm was going to survive. “Okay,” he acquiesced, falling silent as he stared out at the dark road stretching out in front of them. “Look, Mic,” Renee began after a moment, finally turning to look at him. He was beyond tired, she could tell in the dim light inside the car. There was a weariness in his eyes that she knew had nothing to do with the amount of sleep he’d gotten – or hadn’t gotten, more

accurately - in the last twenty-four hours. This was a man who was on the verge of losing everything he held dear, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit that to himself or anyone else. He didn’t have to come with her to Portsmouth. God only knew how hard it was going to be for him, watching Mac worry over Harm. That was something else they knew – which A.J. had told them when asked by Mic - that Mac was aware of the sudden change in Harm’s condition and was on the way to Portsmouth herself. If Mic was bothered by the fact that his fiancée had kept in touch with A.J., but hadn’t even felt the need to call him, he kept it mostly to himself. “I am gratefully that you’re doing this for me.” “No worries,” he said, his tone tight. “I guess I should go down there myself …. since Sarah’s going to be there.” “Yeah,” she replied wearily, staring down at her lap. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she looked back up, only her glistening eyes giving a hint of the torment she was feeling. “Do you think, um, what do you think we’ll find down there?” “I don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly. That was the question he’d asked himself more times than he could count since A.J.’s call. Time didn’t make the answer come any easier …. or make it any easier to swallow. He wanted to know that when he arrived in Portsmouth and saw Mac that she would fall into his arms and let Renee take care of Rabb. Probably when hell freezes over, he thought scornfully. What is it about Rabb that has her on the verge of throwing away everything we have together? “I’m not sure I want to know right now.” “I think we’re a little past the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing, don’t you?” she mused. “I mean, Mac’s been MIA ever since this whole thing began and …. I just wonder. When he wakes up, whose name will be coming from his lips? Especially if they did ….” She trailed off, unable to complete the thought. “That time, when he called me by her name, I remember the look in his eyes, just before he, um, said it. He’d never looked at me before like that. In a single, unguarded moment, I saw everything I’d ever wanted to see in his eyes, but it wasn’t for me.” Mic silently digested this, and then offered, “Remember when they went to Russia? Sarah didn’t call to let me know she’d arrived and I couldn’t get a hold of her. I asked the Admiral if he’d heard from her. He said that Rabb was missing, too. Then he asked me a question and I didn’t know how to respond.” Any other time, Renee might have been furious to learn that Harm and Mac had disappeared into Chechnya together – for she had no doubt that was where Mic’s story was heading. Harm hadn’t talked much about that trip, beyond finding out about his brother, and certainly not about the fact that Mac had been with him in Chechnya, rather than in Moscow, where Mic had previously told her Mac had been sent by A.J.. Now, as much as she was loath to admit it, she was merely resigned to the truth, whatever that was. When did I decide to just accept whatever is going on between Harm and Mac? she asked herself, her breath catching as she realized what she was thinking. To her own mind, she sounded so certain that there was something going on between them. Had something been going on back as far as Russia? She shook her head, surprised at the thought. No, they’d been in Russia to work and she couldn’t imagine anything, even Mac, coming between Harm and what he saw as his duty. How many times had she been confronted with that issue herself? She knew Harm at least that well. At least she thought she did. Or thought she had. Now, she wasn’t sure if she really knew him at all. “What did he

ask?” she asked. “If I was upset that she was missing or that they might be missing together,” he replied, sighing heavily. “Then she came back and I couldn’t make myself ask her …. Oh, I know he was in Chechnya and she was in Chechnya. I did get that much out of her. But beyond that, I kept telling myself that I was better off not knowing.” “So now what?” she demanded, digesting the fact that A.J. apparently was aware of something going on between his senior attorneys. If A.J. knew, or suspected, something, how many other people did? Were she and Mic going to turn out to be God’s greatest fools for hanging on like this? Did everyone know that there was something between Harm and Mac except for them? What kind of idiots did that make them? “I don’t think we can just ignore this, not anymore. If I didn’t know that Harm’s been lost in the middle of the ocean, then on an aircraft carrier for most of today, I’d think she’s been with him.” Sighing, she stared out the windshield into darkness, biting on her lower lip. “Mind if I ask you something?” “I always thought you were one for saying what was on your mind,” he joked, although laugh that followed rang hollow. She shrugged. “What if …. If they did ….” She couldn’t make herself say the words, even as it increasingly became apparent that there might be something to them. It was one thing to admit it to herself, in the depths of her mind. But to say the words out loud would put some kind of finality to them, as if etching them in stone. “What will you do? Can you live with her after that?” Mic glanced away. He’d been wrestling with that same question himself. It was different when all he’d had to wonder was if there *had* been something there, in the past. Both he and Mac had their histories and it had been his contention all along that they needed to leave that stuff in the past. It had led to more than one argument between them – there were parts of her past which she seemed not quite willing to let go of – but he believed they could overcome that. But this wasn’t in the past, if their supposition was correct. This alleged dalliance was very much a part of the present and was staring them right in the face – or it would be in a few hours. Maybe it would have been easier if he wasn’t aware of certain facts of Mac’s past. “Did Rabb ever tell you about the first case we were assigned to work together?” he asked. She shook her head, puzzled by the apparent change of topic. “Sarah had been married....actually was still married when I met her. Her husband turned up dead and she and her ex-lover were charged with the crime. Rabb defended Sarah and I defended her exlover. He’d been her CO at a previous duty station.” Connecting the dots in her mind, Renee said, “I assume the point of this story is that she was still married when she was having an affair with her CO …. Wait a minute, I thought that kind of thing was frowned on in the military?” “Statute of limitations had run out on the adultery by the time the story came out,” he explained, feeling slightly guilty about telling Renee something so personal. But the adultery was hardly a secret – her Article 32 hearing was a matter of public record and it had been mentioned there, even if it hadn’t been the focus of the hearing - so it wasn’t like Renee could use the information, he justified to himself. And that was assuming she would stoop to

something so crass. “So your point is what exactly?” she asked, attempting to keep a tight lid on her emotions. Mac had never really struck her as the sort to do something like that. She’d seemed too squared away, too upstanding …. But if she had a history …. She tried to tell herself that Harm was too honorable, too noble to fall into that, but the voice inside her head didn’t sound entirely confident on that point. After all, Mic had just told her that Harm had defended Mac when she’d been accused of killing her husband. If he really did love Mac, could anything have stopped them – even relationships with other people? This put an entirely different spin on everything. “If she’s done it once, she might do it again? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? And you want to marry her knowing this?” “It’s in the past,” he insisted, his denial sounding weak to his own ears. Renee opened her mouth to retort, but decided against it. It wasn’t fair to take out her frustration on Mic. He was in the same leaky boat that she was. But she was afraid of what would happen if Mic did decide to walk away. If he turned back, then Harm was as good as lost to her. Hadn’t she once told Harriet that she prayed that Mic wouldn’t get hit by a bus? She’d known for a while that it would be easier to hold onto Harm as long as Mac was taken. She’d just never expected everything to play out like this. “But you said you’ve known about this all along, right?” she continued in a more reasonable tone, trying to assure herself as much as him. “You obviously have never seen it as a problem before, so maybe you’re right and it isn’t. Maybe you’re reading too much into this. Maybe we both are. Past behavior isn’t necessarily an indicator of what may happen in the future.” “Somehow, I doubt you really believe that,” he replied, his eyes steady on the road as he changed lanes in preparation for exiting onto the bypass around Richmond. “Let’s turn this around. Let’s say – hypothetically, of course – that they, uh, that they did have an affair. Can you just forget about that and go on with him as before?” He hated asking, but as much as she needed to know what he was going to do, he needed the same. It burned him, the idea that he might lose Mac to Harm, but he wasn’t sure if he could really live with the alternative. Knowing that Mac had issues with fidelity in the past, and in the face of all the circumstantial evidence that Mac had strayed and only days before they were to be married, could he live with her day in and day out without wondering where she was when she wasn’t with him? Could he take her into his arms, make love to her, without wondering if she enjoyed Harm’s hands and mouth on her body, if she found more pleasure taking him inside of her. How could he not wonder if it was Harm’s face she saw when she closed her eyes? Had it been only luck that he hadn’t faced the same circumstance Renee had, that of being called the wrong name at an inopportune moment? “You’re right,” Renee said shortly, “this is all hypothetical. We don’t know anything for sure.” Despite her clipped tone, Mic caught the note of uncertainty in her voice. He reached over and awkwardly patted her shoulder, conveying the silent message that he understood. Before he could come up with any words of comfort, she continued in a quiet, faraway voice, “All I’ve ever wanted is what Mac has with you. I want Harm to love me like that, like I’m the center of his universe. But he can’t even say the words ….” She turned to him, and in the dim light, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “He’s never even told me that he loves

me. The most I’ve been able to get out of him is that he wants me in his life. But I don’t know if that is enough anymore.” “The bastard doesn’t deserve you,” he said emphatically. It was so much easier to condemn him for what was going on instead of Mac. It was easier to blame outside forces than to look for the cracks in the foundation of his house. “Stringing you along like that ….” “To be fair, it’s not really like that.” Renee protested, not quite sure why she felt compelled to defend Harm. God knew Mic was probably right. “Maybe I’ve built this up into too much.” “How so?” he asked. “You’ve been with him for almost a year and a half. That’s pretty long term, if you ask me, especially these days. It would seem to imply some kind of commitment.” “Yeah, but at least you got that ring on Mac’s finger,” she pointed out. “I haven’t even gotten a hint that our relationship might possibly move in that direction, even if it’s at some point in the distant future.” He was silent for a long moment, contemplating what Renee had just said. How many times had Mac said those words, told him that she loved him? He said them to her more times than he could count. He tried to remember some of the significant moments in their relationship. When he returned to Washington, she hadn’t said much of anything. He told himself at the time that it was because she was so surprised at his sudden appearance. She hadn’t really said much of anything the night she’d finally moved the ring over, either, had simply moved the ring over without a word. Or the day they set a wedding date – she’d seemed a bit distracted at their lunch, which she’d claimed to due to a heavy schedule at work since A.J. was gone and Rabb was covering for him, meaning she was handling some of Rabb’s normal workload. Then there was the engagement party. He’d told Renee that it was best to let Harm and Mac have time to say their goodbyes. Goodbyes which had taken the entire night? And after that she’d been so distant. Was that when it began? He’d told Renee that he wasn’t worried that night, but he would give just about anything now to have been a fly on the wall that night. What had they said to each other that night that might have changed everything? His ring was on Mac’s finger, but did he really have her? Could he ever, as long as Rabb was around? ABOUT THE SAME TIME I-95 SOUTH NEAR RICHMOND, VIRGINIA “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Chloe?” Kyle suggested, making a display of glancing at his watch, even if he couldn’t really make out the time in the darkness. “It’s getting late.” He turned around from his position in the front passenger seat to look at her, worry in his eyes. He knew that she practically worshipped Harmon Rabb and he hated what this situation was doing to her. But he also knew there was no way to make it easier to bear. He’d learned that lesson all too well in the weeks and months after so many of his shipmates had died on the Stark. Even fourteen years later, he could still sometimes hear their screams when he closed his eyes. Sometimes, he would roll over in bed when he was home, expecting to find his wife lying next to him.

“I can’t sleep, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her fingers worried the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing, a Baltimore Orioles shirt that Harm had sent her for her birthday, along with the tickets to the game they were to have been attending tomorrow. Kyle thought about moving to the back and sitting with her. She could act so grown up, but right now, he was reminded that she was still very much a little girl – a very scared little girl. There had been so much of her life that he’d missed out on and he only wanted to be there for her now. “Chloe ….” he began, trying to strike a note of reassurance with his tone. “I close my eyes, but I still can’t stop thinking ….” She trailed off, glancing at little AJ, secured in his car seat in the seat in front of her, looking so peaceful in sleep, despite being on the road at a time when he normally would have already been in bed. She really envied him his peaceful refuge. Reaching over the back of the seat, she stroked his soft cheek with the backs of her fingers. Harriet, who had given up the front seat to Kyle – Bud was driving - so she could sit in the back with the kids in case AJ got fussy being out so late, gave Chloe a stern, motherly glance. “Chloe,” she said firmly, “seat belt.” Chloe opened her mouth to protest that she was so far in the back that she didn’t think a seat belt really mattered when her father caught her eye and nodded. Grumbling to herself, she fastened the seatbelt, maneuvering so that the shoulder strap was behind her so she could sit sideways, stretching her legs out on the bench seat. Seeing that Kyle and Harriet were pretty much satisfied, she returned to her previous topic before her father had decided it was bedtime. “What else did the Admiral say?” she demanded. “I thought Harm was going to be okay. The Admiral didn’t act like he was in that much danger this morning. He’s not going to die, is he?” Her final words came out in such a rush that all the adults could make out was the word ‘die’. Harriet and Kyle exchanged glances. So much for getting her to go to sleep or to change the subject. “He didn’t really say a lot,” Harriet said carefully, as she’d had the misfortune of once again answering the phone when A.J. called with the bad news. “Pretty much all he told me is that Harm took a turn for the worse and is being flown to Portsmouth tonight for surgery.” That much was true. It had been more what he’d not said that had frightened her. He’d used what she’d once read astronauts’ wives called ‘The Tone’. Generally, it conveyed the message, without saying the words, that the situation was going to hell in a handcart. Just hearing his voice had scared the hell out of her more than his words ever could, even more so than they had last night, when he’d called to first inform them of the accident. Last night, they hadn’t known one way or the other, so it was easier to delude themselves into believe that everything would be okay. But now …. Harriet almost wished that she didn’t know just how dire the situation was. There was something to be said for blissful ignorance – at least until reality came crashing down on you, as it had for her and Bud months earlier. This wasn’t the quite the same, but the pain in her heart hurt just as much. She’d often wished for a sibling. That wasn’t meant to be, but in her heart, Harm and Mac were as close to her as any brother or sister her parents might have given her. “But that’s bad, right?” Chloe persisted, interrupting her thoughts. “He wasn’t supposed to be transferred to the hospital until tomorrow, so if something happened that made them transfer

him tonight, it must be bad.” “Maybe something came up that is beyond the capabilities of the carrier’s sickbay to handle,” Bud suggested, exchanging a glance with Kyle, who nodded approvingly at the evasion, as both were well aware that a carrier sickbay was equipment to handle just about anything, including many surgical procedures, and that Harm’s condition must be grave for him to be transferred immediately. But if they could spare Chloe that knowledge, at least for a little while, what was a little white lie in the grand scheme of things? After all, everything could still turn out fine and she need never know just how close it really was. “Right,” Kyle agreed, mentally crossing his fingers. “With all the cutbacks in the Navy, nothing is as fully staffed as it used to be, including sickbay on board a carrier. Anyway, from what you’ve told me, Commander Rabb is a fighter. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Bud and Harriet quickly uttered their agreement while Chloe studied the three of them with apprehensive eyes, trying to figure out if they were telling her the truth. As much as she used to lie herself, she thought she could spot one coming a mile off, but it was so hard to tell in the dim light. As long as she couldn’t see the truth in their eyes, maybe she could just pretend for a while longer that everything was going to be okay. “Hey, I remember that Mac once told me,” Chloe said, trying to muster enthusiasm for the idea that Harm would be okay, “that during his first crash, Harm ejected over the deck of the carrier. That’s got to be much worse than ejecting into the ocean, right? I mean, wouldn’t it really hurt to hit the deck like that?” “You’re probably right,” Harriet agreed, hoping she sounded convincing. Sometimes, for all that she’d been through, Chloe could be such an innocent. Or maybe it was just an act, like so many other things in the young girl’s life. Either way, Harriet didn’t want to be the one to shatter her illusions. Her eyes met Kyle’s and he nodded his agreement at her approach. “Harm’s never talked much about his first crash, but scuttlebutt says he was on medical leave for several months afterwards. But to look at him now, you’d never know any of that.” “Right,” Chloe said, trying to sound convinced. “He’s got two of those – what did Mac call them – Distinguished Flying Crosses. So he’s really strong and brave and that’s good, right? And he’s got Mac with him -” She stopped abruptly as she suddenly realized what she was saying. “Oh, God,” she exclaimed. “Mac is with him. Why is this happening to them now? This was supposed to finally be their time. They were going to talk to Mic and Renee and then everything was going to work out ….” Kyle gave Harriet a surprised glance and she realized that Chloe hadn’t told her father what was going on. Of course, she’d spent the day at Bud and Harriet’s and hadn’t talked to her father since they left JAG except for a brief call mid-afternoon to see how she was holding up. More and more, the truth was coming out and Harriet suddenly realized that there was the very real possibility that everything could blow up in Portsmouth when Mic showed up, expecting to finally be able to comfort his fiancée only to find out that she wasn’t his anymore or when Renee arrived, expecting to take her place at Harm’s bedside. Not only that, but it appeared everyone else would find out before Mic and Renee did. ‘Later,’ she mouthed to

Kyle. He nodded his understanding and turned his attention back to his worried daughter. Harriet struggled to think of something to say. Everything had gotten so much more complicated and, although everything else seemed to pale in the face of Harm’s precarious condition, she didn’t think Mic would appreciate that. His first concern was likely to be the woman he thought he was supposed to be marrying. Renee obviously wasn’t going to appreciate another woman hovering over the man she still thought was her boyfriend. She realized that Chloe was saying her name. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” she said, attempting a smile. “My mind was just wandering.” Chloe leaned forward as far as she could. “Are you thinking what I am?” she asked softly. “Mic’s probably on his way to Portsmouth, expecting Mac to be there. What’s he going to do when he realizes that Mac only wants to be with Harm? It’s not like she’s going to even think about giving him the time of day under these circumstances.” “There’s not a lot Mic can do,” Harriet pointed out, trying to sound optimistic. “Ideally, he and Mac should have been able to sit down and talk about this and I imagine they will eventually, once Harm is out of danger. I know Mic and Renee aren’t going to like that answer, but want they want is really secondary right now.” “But are they going to understand that?” Chloe countered. “You heard Mac last night, talking about how Mic steamrollered her into accepting his proposal. She was emotionally vulnerable because she thought Harm was going to Chechnya. What’s he going to do to her now that she’s facing this?” ‘Emotionally vulnerable’? Sometimes Chloe surprised her, sounding so grown-up and mature. Then again, Harriet thought, maybe it was a mask covering up the little girl scared for a dear friend. God knew it was easier for Harriet to concentrate on trying to comfort Chloe than to be left alone with her own thoughts and fears. “Essentially, Mic is a decent person,” Harriet tried to assure her. “He ….” “Yeah, so decent that he was more worried about the status of the wedding than about Harm,” Chloe remarked snidely. “I wonder if he cared whether Harm lived or died outside of how it affected him and his plans.” “Chloe, that’s a horrible thing to say,” Harriet admonished her, her voice rising enough that Bud and Kyle both glanced back at her, startled. Bud quickly diverted his eyes back to the road while Kyle gave Harriet a questioning glance. She shook her head, indicating it wasn’t necessary for him to intervene. He nodded acceptance and settled back into his seat, keeping watch on them out of the corner of his eye. “Come on, Harriet,” she shot back. “If Mac had been with all of us last night and today, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mic had been pressing her to go through with the wedding, regardless. I can almost hear him spouting some crap about Harm not wanting her to put her life on hold or about letting Renee worry about Harm while Mac concentrated on the wedding and …. him.” Chloe nearly spit out the last word, growing frustrated about Mic Brumby upsetting the happy life that Harm and Mac were destined to have.

As much as she wanted to protest, Harriet wondered if there wasn’t something to what Chloe was saying. Mic had been very reluctant to start calling around to cancel the wedding arrangements. Was Chloe right? Would he have been pushing to go ahead with the wedding if Mac had been with them at JAG? He didn’t seem to understand why Mac was so upset that her best friend – as far as Mic knew, that’s all he was to her – was missing and might have been dead for all they knew. The only thing that had seemed to matter to him was that Mac was not with him. But he was so nice to Renee, a voice inside her head countered. Maybe he just wanted to be there to comfort Mac. Isn’t that what any man should want to do for the woman he loves? Yeah, but shouldn’t what Mac wants be just as important? another voice countered. Suddenly, she remembered an incident several months past, the import of which had escaped her at the time. After Sarah’s funeral, A.J. had organized a get together at his house, a chance for everyone to be together and to grieve. Although it had been hard to recognize the fact at the time, she knew that Harm and Mac had looked forward to having a goddaughter to spoil and after herself and Bud, Sarah’s death had probably hit them the hardest. Harm and Mac had been off in a corner talking while Mic offered words of comfort to her and Bud. Abruptly, Mic had turned away from them and headed towards Harm and Mac. She’d barely thought about it at the time, living in a haze …. …. But with the distance of time, she was able to look back upon that day and remember more than the mind-numbing grief of having buried the child she’d just spent nine months carrying inside her body. Mac had been brushing away tears and after helping her wipe them away, Harm had pulled her into a hug. Now, she realized that Mic had headed over to them just as Harm had taken Mac in his arms. They’d pulled apart as soon as they’d noticed his approach and Mic had draped an arm around Mac, pulling her to his side. It was as if …. he was marking his territory, subtly declaring ‘She is mine and I’ll be the one to take care of her’. As Mic had escorted Mac away from Harm, Harriet remembered catching a snippet of their conversation. We were supposed to be her godparents, Mac had said, keeping her voice deliberately low so as not to draw attention. Why shouldn’t we comfort each other? Mic’s reply had been lost to Harriet as they moved past her, but she remembered that he did not look pleased that someone else was usurping what he perceived as his place as Mac’s comforter. Would Mic make a scene at the hospital? She suddenly wasn’t so sure, now that she thought about it. Mac and Mic had argued publicly before. Bud had told her about their argument in the office over a case Mic had suddenly showed up in the office to work on. Something about an F-14 crash, she seemed to recall. Mic’s firm had represented some civilian contractors involved in the case. Then there was their shouting match after Mac’s televised trial and that People article. And she’d been back at work and had seen for herself when Mic had been ambushed with the news that Mic had started his own law firm. She’d seen, but she’d thought nothing of it. There was so much wrong that seemed so obvious now. Why didn’t any of us see this before? she wondered. She’d been Mac’s matron of honor. How could she have not seen the cracks in the foundation? Well, she hadn’t been around for the first two incidents. Bud had told her about both of those. The third – she’d been there, but for some reason, she’d been more concerned about finding a place to hold the engagement party rather than noticing that her best friend may have been on the verge of

making a major mistake. Harm and Mac had seemed to notice so much about her and Bud’s relationship. What kind of friends were they that they could not say the same in reverse? “You’re not sure, are you?” Chloe asked, startling her out of her reverie. “Not sure about what?” she asked, shaking her head. “You’re not sure that Mic will back off,” she said with an air of certainty. “Even if he knows that Mac wants to be with Harm, he may not back off.” Harriet wished she could say that Chloe was reading too much into this, but she was afraid that Chloe might be right.

I-64 EAST SOUTHEAST OF RICHMOND, VIRGINIA Trish started to speak, but hesitated. “Somehow,” A.J. remarked, noticing her pause. “I would have thought Harm Rabb’s mother would not have a problem speaking her mind.” “I’m just not sure I’ll get any answers to the questions I have, Adm - A.J.,” she admitted. Under other circumstances, she might have laughed at the statement. Frank had always contended that although Harm looked like his father, he had to have gotten his forthrightness from her … along with her stubbornness. Her mother-in-law had concurred, insisting that Trish had developed the stubbornness to deal with the arrogant fighter jock she’d married. “You are their commanding officer ….” Normally, A.J. would agree with her. As a CO, he was theoretically supposed to hold himself aloof from those he led, to not get too close. But many of the officers under his command had become like a family to him, especially after the way they’d keep investigating until they found out that Gayle Osborne was after him. That had been the beginning. In many ways, he was closer to them than he was to his own daughter. “Ask,” he said, a bit reluctantly. “I won’t promise to answer everything, but I’ll tell you what I can.” Trish hesitated again, searching for the correct phrasing. She was still conscious of the Navy’s rank structure, even forty years removed from being the new wife of an ensign. Maybe it came from being a corporate wife, working to portray the right image for Frank’s bosses, or from trying to schmooze investors for her gallery. Even in the civilian world, there was a hierarchy to everything. “I’m not sure where to begin,” she admitted. “How do you condense nearly five years of …. missed chances and lost opportunities …. into a few sentences? I mean, I know there’s so much that I don’t know. For all his outspokenness, Harm can be so close-mouthed when it comes to certain things. He never even mentioned to us that his best friend was getting married.” “The boy was in denial,” Sarah said firmly. “I have seen evidence that would support that contention,” A.J. said. Maybe this wouldn’t be

so bad after all. If he said the right things, not much, but just enough, they would probably be able to connect the dots on their own. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree and he could see so much of what had made Harm the man he was in his mother and grandmother, even in his stepfather. “Okay, so he’s in denial, Mom,” Trish chided her gently. “I figured that out about two seconds after Renee introduced us to Mac’s fiancé. And I can imagine why he wouldn’t say anything, knowing my son. If he thought Mac wanted someone else, he would not interfere, even if it made them both miserable in the end.” “So now the question becomes,” Frank interjected, “how did we go from Harm being in denial and Mac about to marry another man to her being out on a carrier in the middle of Atlantic with him the day she was supposed to marry this other man?” A.J. could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he shook his head. “That one you’d have to ask Harm or Mac, I suppose,” he said. “All I know – and this is through secondhand information – is that Mac had decided last night to call off the wedding, but had not been able to get a hold of Mic before everything happened with Harm.” Trish’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know if Harm was aware that she was calling off the wedding?” she asked. A.J. thought back to his conversation with Harriet when he’d found out about the cancelled wedding. She’d indicated that Mac had talked to someone, but no names had been mentioned. Had she talked to Harm? Had he been returning home knowing that he was going to have a chance with Mac? Or had Harriet been simply referring to herself? After all, since Harriet knew that the wedding had been cancelled, it could be assumed that she and Mac had talked about it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The person who told me the wedding was off did not mention whether Harm knew or not.” Realizing what they all must be thinking, he hastened to add, “I cannot imagine any of this getting in the way of Harm’s flying. As you pointed out, Trish, if he thought it was what Mac wanted, he would not interfere and he probably would go out of his way to make sure it didn’t interfere with his life. If he had regrets, he would be the only one who knew.” Trish sighed. He was right. A.J. probably knew her son as well as anyone ever did. “I know,” she said. “He could be fatalistic that way. For a man so used to going after what he wants, that was one area …. Look, I’m trying not to think that this situation with Mac might have contributed to the crash, either directly or indirectly, but I’m worried about my son. If I have these questions, I would think that the people who end up investigating the crash would end up connecting the dots and start asking the same thing.” Those very thoughts had been in the back of A.J.’s mind all day and throughout the previous night. As of right now, all A.J. knew was that the inquiry wouldn’t be handled by his office. That was a foregone conclusion. The thing he wasn’t sure of was how Harm and Mac’s relationship would play into it. It all depended on Mic and Renee and their reactions to the situation. If they wanted to, they could almost literally make life hell for Harm and Mac. He wasn’t sure about Renee – he didn’t really know her well enough to say what she might do. But after seeing how Mic had reacted to Mac’s absence, he could not say with

absolute certainty that Mic would take the high road. “Obviously,” he said, “outside investigators will be brought in on this. It will be better for Harm to avoid questions of a whitewash investigation from the beginning. Not that any of my officers would do any less than their duty, but none of them will be asked to investigate one of their own. But Harm will not be alone in this. Mac will likely be too close to the situation because of everything, but there are others in our office that would do anything to represent Harm’s interests.” “Including you, A.J.?” Sarah asked. A.J. sensed there was a subtext to the question, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. After a moment, he replied with conviction, “I will be the first in line to help him.” “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Sarah said. “I got the feeling from Harm that he felt he’d disappointed you when he returned to flying.” If he hadn’t been driving, A.J. would have turned around to face her. Sarah’s question now made sense. He carefully considered his reply – he honestly had tried not to think about this since Harm had returned to JAG, considering the subject moot – then said, “I understood why he wanted to leave. I’ve changed careers twice in the Navy, going from the Teams to Surface Warfare and then to law school and JAG. Both times, it was my choice. But leaving an active squadron wasn’t Harm’s choice and I could understand why he might have felt he had unfinished business.” “But understanding and accepting are two different things,” Trish said in a knowing tone. “I would have given anything to have an office full of lawyers with as much drive and determination as your son,” he said evasively. “He always gave 110 percent on all of his cases. But he was ready to throw it all away on something nearly everyone agreed would be career suicide. He disappointed a lot of people when he returned to flying.” “Like Mac?” Trish asked. “I assume she was upset,” A.J. replied, “but she never talked about it. She simply threw herself into her work and ….” He trailed off, feeling himself on that slippery slope, in danger of getting too personal. “This wouldn’t have been around the time that her relationship with Mr. Brumby began, would it?” Trish asked. “I don’t know when the relationship began,” he answered honestly, his resolve to say as little as possible weakening. He liked Harm’s family and if he could do anything for them, even answer questions that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, he would do it. “But they did become closer friends while Harm was gone.” “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it,” Trish mused. “Choices have consequences and you have to wonder where we all would be tonight if Harm had made a different choice. Would all this have happened if Harm hadn’t returned to flying?”

“Trish, I don’t think anyone can answer that question,” Frank said gently, reaching over and clasping her hand in his. “Even Harm himself probably couldn’t. These quals occur on a regular basis, right?” A.J. nodded. “It was time for his quals, even if Mac was getting married, not getting married or whatever.” “Do you remember when Harm first called and told us he was reporting to Norfolk as part of an active squadron?” Trish asked him, brushing a tear from her cheek. Frank nodded, tightening his fingers around hers. “I don’t think I slept for at least a week. Like you, A.J., I thought he was hurting his career and I’d never seen any indication from him that he was anything but happy at JAG. But then I’d remember what happened to my husband and I was scared. It had almost happened once before, but thank God Harm survived. But what if it happened again? And now it has …. Frank, I don’t want the only thing I have left of my son to be a folded flag and a plot in Arlington.” Trying not to listen as Frank murmured words of comfort to his wife, A.J. thought back over the last two years. Frank was right in that Harm’s quals occurred every six months like clockwork, but were there other contributing factors to this? A.J. didn’t want to believe it. He remembered the brief ceremony when he’d presented Harm with his second DFC. Harm had not wanted a ceremony and A.J. had wondered if he’d been overcompensating, trying to convince everyone that he wanted to be back at JAG. Oh, A.J. knew Harm’s work had been as good as it ever was, but …. it seemed as if his passion was somewhat lacking. He considered a conversation he’d had earlier that afternoon with Captain Ingles when Harm’s family has ostensibly been getting some sleep. Except for a wave off on his first landing attempt, he’d performed flawlessly. A.J. couldn’t help but wonder if he was overcompensating again, throwing himself into his quals in an attempt to not have to deal with any pain he might be feeling. The day he’d left for Norfolk, A.J. had walked past Harm’s office and had seen the younger man buried in paperwork, signing off on reports and compiling documents with an efficiency A.J. had seldom seen out of him, at least when it came to the more mundane tasks associated with his duties. Suddenly, he caught a question from Trish which drew him back to the present and the conversation that had continued around him. “Frank, what do you think he would have done?” she wondered, her eyes gazing upward. “If Harm had known two years ago what he knows now, if he could have foreseen all that returning to an active squadron would end up costing him, do you think he would have still done it?” Pondering the question, A.J. found he couldn’t come up with an answer. He loved flying and all indications were that he loved Sarah Mackenzie. If he’d known what would happen, would he have made a different choice? A.J. shook his head, hoping that everything would work out for the two people who were closer to him than just about anyone. They both deserved it.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN EN ROUTE TO PORTSMOUTH, VIRGINIA Every time the helo shook – the atmosphere was still a bit unstable from the earlier storms, so

it was a fairly regular occurrence – Mac couldn’t help but glance fearfully at the equipment monitoring Harm’s condition. The steady rise and fall of his chest was no reassurance, the ventilator pushing air in and out of his lungs. She found she couldn’t concentrate on figuring out what all the numbers and blips and beeps meant, but they were pretty much the same as every other time she’d looked at them, so she kept telling herself that was a good sign. He didn’t appear to be getting any worse. A corpsman was studying the monitors with a critical eye, jotting notes in the chart which he then handed to Reed. Reed glanced over the chart and nodded, handing it back to the corpsman. His eyes met Mac’s and he gave her a half-smile. “He’s holding his own,” he reported. “His vitals are holding steady. We’re keeping his blood pressure depressed in an effort to keep the bleeding under control until he can be taken into surgery. And even though his breathing did restart on its own after the seizure, keeping him on the ventilator will ensure an uninterrupted oxygen supply.” “In case of another seizure?” she asked, her eyes steady on his. He felt slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, as if she was trying to read his mind. Maybe it came from her being a lawyer. “That is a possibility,” he said, careful to keep his tone level and worry-free. “But we’ve kept him on Valium since the episode to prevent that very thing.” She nodded, accepting his assurances for the time being. Leaning over Harm, propped against the bulkhead, she covered one of her hands with his. “This is different, Sailor,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice light. “You’re usually the one looking out for me … the mountains, when Coster was stalking me, on the Watertown. I know I was there for you in Russia, but sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if you really needed me. You’ve never been one to admit that you need anyone, have you? I can’t decide if I love that strength or despise that there’s always a part of yourself you keep closed off from everyone.” She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, her gaze falling on the bruise over his left eye, her thoughts automatically going to the larger bruise on the back of his head. “I thought your helmet was supposed to prevent something like this,” she murmured. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reed go very still and she lifted her gaze to his. “Doctor, how did this happen?” she asked. “How did he manage to sustain two separate blows to the head when he was wearing a helmet?” Reed looked down at the chart in his hands, wishing that he didn’t have to be the one to tell her. He’d just assumed that someone had already told her the conditions under which Harm had been found. “Doctor?” she repeated, realizing that he wasn’t telling her something. He sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily. “The Coast Guard crew that found him reported that he wasn’t wearing his helmet,” he explained. “We’re not sure why. Obviously, no one has had a chance to question Commander Rabb about what happened. My understanding from the Captain is that if he was up to it, a preliminary interview would have been conducted by the on board JAG this evening.” “I don’t understand,” she said, almost to herself, her eyes falling on Harm’s still form again. “He’s been an aviator for fifteen years. He’s even ejected before. He should know

survival procedures like the back of his hand. Even I know that much.” It was something Harm had drilled into her before their first ride together in a Tomcat during that case at Fallon and something he’d reviewed with her on the drive to the airfield in Russia, when everything Harm had told her ended up coming into play when they’d been shot down. Reed shook his head. “I wish I had an answer for you, Colonel,” he said. “But right now, my primary concern is making sure that he survives since we can’t go back and undo what’s happened.” “Of course, you’re right,” she said in resignation. There would be plenty of time later for questions to be answered. Dr. Reed had just reminded her of something which had completely slipped her mind. There would be an inquiry. Harm had faced one before and he would come out of this one as well. This time, he would have her at his side, standing up for him. A few feet away, Gilly looked up from his Bible where he’d been studying the readings for next week’s service, contemplating what he should say, if anything. After the tension over the Anointing, he still wasn’t sure where he stood with her, although he realized it really had less to do with him than with Harm’s condition. As a Marine, he imagined that she was used to taking action, to always advancing. Sitting around, waiting on others was probably anathema to her. Finally, he closed his Bible. Sitting around silently wasn’t in his nature. “Colonel …. Sarah?” he asked, hoping to put her at ease with the more familiar form of address. She looked up, blinking. “Yes, Father?” she responded, her voice neutral. “I have a degree in psychology,” he said, earning a puzzled look from her at the apparent nonsequitor, “So after I was ordained, the first place the Navy assigned me was to a VA hospital in San Diego. I thought I had all the answers. I was young with a masters in psychology and a priest’s collar. But I saw things at that hospital …. mostly Vietnam vets. Some of them I don’t think ever really recovered from the war.” She started to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her, then continued, “I didn’t know how to help these people, so I spent a lot of time when I first got there simply observing. Quickly, I realized something. The ones who did the best are those who had someone there, whether talking to them or just holding their hand. Sometimes it was their spouse, sometimes it was an old war buddy, and sometimes it was a complete stranger, one of the hospital volunteers. Some of these men were catatonic, some were in comas. I’d always heard that even unconscious, a patient could hear everything going on around them, but I’d never seen empirical evidence to support it until then. So I started sitting with the patients who didn’t have anyone. Sometimes, I talked about little more than the box score from the previous night’s Padres game. But I’d like to think it made a difference.” “And your point?” she asked, mildly surprising him by the lack of harshness in her tone. Maybe he could do something to ease her mind. “I just heard you telling Harm about how he’s been there for you,” he explained, “and how you’re not sure he really needs you. I know that you’re frustrated right now, but there is something you can do for him. Talk to him – talk about things you’ve shared in the past, talk

about your hope for the future. Let him hear your voice. Give him something to hold on to.” She hesitated as she pondered what he’d just said, then looked down at Harm again, smiling gently as a memory floated to the forefront of her thoughts. “Do you remember the day AJ was born?” she asked, closing her eyes as the memories washed over her. She could see him standing on the steps with him, looking so strong and vital in his summer whites, so devastatingly handsome with a familiar grin gracing his features. “It was one of the most amazing experiences, watching that little boy come into this world. And talking about our child, what he or she would be like …. So many times since that day, I’ve thought about what a child of ours would be like. I kept going back and forth, unable to decide if I wanted a boy or a girl. I’d imagine a little boy, with your eyes and your smile, but then I’d wonder what it would be like to have a little girl. I can already see her as daddy’s little girl. I think deep inside you’re just a big marshmallow and any daughter of ours would have you wrapped around her little finger.” She managed a laugh, imagining Harmon Rabb with a daughter. She’d be her father’s princess. Gilly smiled as he listened to her. “Sounds like you and Harm have thought about the future a good deal,” he commented. “How long have you been together?” Mac tightened her fingers around Harm’s, the only visible sign that she was troubled by his question. She couldn’t exactly explain that they’d been *together* for little longer than they’d been married. But for them, togetherness was a concept with so many connotations and she latched onto that for an explanation. “Sometimes it feels like forever,” she said wistfully. “We’ve worked together for nearly five years, except for the six months he was here on the Henry. We’ve been as close as two people can be in so many ways. I wouldn’t be surprised if we know more about each other than even our families or other people we’ve been involved with. It all blurs together, but I honestly think I’ve loved him almost from the moment I met him.” “Then have faith in that love,” he advised, “and believe that will get Harm through this so that you can have that family you’ve talked about.” Her eyes fell on her hand covering his, her wedding band sparkling on her finger even in the dim light inside the helo. She wished it could be that simple. She knew that in a few hours she would be in Portsmouth, waiting for Harm to come out of surgery as everyone else arrived. Mic would probably be there, expecting her to show up there and she had to be ready to give answers that she wasn’t sure she could and which she was sure that Mic would not want to hear. PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER

Later, when asked, Mac would have little memory of their arrival at the huge medical complex in Portsmouth. She was vaguely aware of Harm being swiftly offloaded from the SH-60B Seahawk helicopter into a waiting ambulance to take him across the parking lot to the main building of the hospital, the Charette Health Care Center, while she, Doctor Reed and Father Gilly all squeezed into the ambulance on one side of Harm’s gurney, an EMT on the other side monitoring Harm’s vitals as he studied the notes made by the corpsmen and Doctor Reed aboard the helo.

The thing that stood out in her mind was the same thing which had stuck during the flight from the ship – Harm’s hand under hers, cold and limp and unmoving. For some reason, she’d always associated him with warmth – his smile, his personality. He could light up a room just by walking into it. And as she’d discovered just a few nights earlier, snuggling up next to him in bed was better than a warm blanket and flannel pajamas. Even as she’d still been torn between the man she loved and the man she’d promised to marry, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from thinking that one of the best feelings in the world had to be burrowing in Harm’s embrace, letting the heat radiating off of him envelope her.

Feeling Harm’s chilled fingers beneath hers wasn’t right. This was not Harm. When she’d commented on it shortly after takeoff from the Henry, Doctor Reed had rattled off a medical explanation of why Harm’s temperature, which had been slowly but steadily climbing upward throughout the day, had dropped slightly after his seizure. She didn’t care about technical reasons – she just wanted to feel the warmth of his touch again.

Time had ceased to exist for Mac the moment the alarms had first blared in sickbay back on the Henry. One moment seemed to stretch into the next and when she glanced at her watch at the helo set down on the pad across the parking lot from the hospital, she was surprised at how little time had passed since her world had come to a halt. All she could say with certainty was that it seemed an eternity had passed since the helo had lifted off the deck of the carrier, then between the time the ambulance departed the helipad and when it pulled up outside the emergency entrance.

The EMTs efficiently removed Harm from the ambulance and escorted him inside, Reed following as Gilly put a hand on Mac’s arm to hold her out of the way of the people trying to do their jobs. Doctor Stafford was waiting inside the bay doors and huddled with Reed as soon as he walked through the door. Once the ambulance was clear, Gilly helped Mac down from the vehicle and led her inside, a guiding hand at her elbow. She instinctively moved to follow Harm, but stopped when Doctor Stafford called out, “Colonel Rabb?”

It took Mac a moment to recognize that it was her name being called. I guess that’s something else about married life to adjust to, she thought. It felt strange answering to a name that wasn’t the one she’d used for the last thirty-three years. On second thought, it seemed to her to be such an inconsequential thing to be thinking about at a time such as this one. “Doctor Stafford?” she returned, recognizing the neurosurgeon from the satellite call earlier that evening.

“I’ve just been speaking to Doctor Reed,” he said, gesturing a woman forward who standing nearby carrying a clipboard. “Your husband seems to have held his own during the flight, not much change in his condition, so we are going to take the time to do another CT-scan to get an idea of the current size of the mass before we operate. After the scan, either Doctor Reed or I will come brief you on the plans for surgery. Right now, Petty Officer Ryan from our administration department needs to get some information on your husband so he can be

admitted.”

Mac turned and stared down the hallway Harm had been taken down, a look of longing on her face. She was barely aware of the hand Gilly placed on her shoulder or of his softly-spoken, “Sarah, it’s in the doctors’ hands now. The doctors’ and God’s. The best thing you can do for Harm right now is give the hospital all the information you can so that they can help him.”

It took a long moment for his words to sink in before she nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Okay.”

“Do you have your husband’s ID card, ma’am?” Ryan asked, her tone respectful as she made note of Mac’s insignia. “Having that will ease the admittance procedures.”

“Um …” Mac hesitated, at a loss. At some point, one of the corpsmen had given her a small bag with the few things Harm had on his person at the time he was fished out of the water and she could not remember if his wallet had been one of the items. She pulled forward one of the bags slung over her shoulder and quickly searched through it, pulling out the clear plastic bag. His Academy ring was there, as was his watch, amazingly still running she noticed, despite the trauma. His dog tags had been in the bag as well, but Mac had earlier taken them out and hung them around her neck, the cool metal nestled against her heart. No wallet obviously, but there was a rectangle of white in a plastic sleeve. A picture? she wondered. She pulled the item from the bag, drawing in a sharp breath when she turned it over to discover a wallet-sized version of the christening photo that Chloe had been so enamored of. How long had he carried this photo with him? She vaguely remembered Bud and Harriet mailing copies of all the photos that had been taken that day to Harm while he’d been stationed on the Henry two years earlier. Had he carried this photo all this time?

“Ma’am?” Ryan asked, interrupting her thoughts. Clutching the photo in her hand, she dropped the baggie back into the travel bag and zipped it back up.

“No,” Mac said softly. “His wallet’s not here. It must have gone down ….”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” Ryan said. “We can work around that. If you’d like to accompany me to the admissions office, we’ll do what we can then someone will escort you to the waiting area outside of the OR.”

Mac nodded. As Ryan led them in the opposite direction from the one Harm had been taken, Mac had to remind herself how to walk, to put one foot in front of the other. She could feel the exhaustion and frustration starting to creep up on her, tendrils beginning to wrap around

her, threatening to squeeze the breath out of her. But she refused to give in. So often, Harm had been the strong one in their relationship, except when it had come to his father. She’d supported him then. She could do it again.

“Spell your last name, ma’am,” Ryan said, her fingers poised over the keyboard of her computer. Gilly was seated on the other side of the desk. Mac had set her and Harm’s travel bags in the seat offered to her and was standing at the window, her back to the others. There was nothing to see in the darkness, but it was easier than being forced to deal with her pain through the sympathetic looks from others.

“M – A – C,” she began, stopping herself as she realized that wasn’t what Ryan was asking for. “Sorry. R – A – B – B.”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” Ryan replied as she typed in the information. “Your husband’s social security number?”

“Five – oh – eight, um, nine, um ….” She trailed off, uncertain. She knew this. Harm had been in the hospital since she’d known him and she’d made it a point of memorizing his social, just as he’d done hers. “I can’t remember. I know this but I can’t remember.” She rested her head against the cool glass pane of the window, her fingernails digging into her palm as she clenched one hand into a fist.

“Sarah?” She heard the voice, but it seemed so far away. Harm? she wondered. Then she heard the voice again, close this time. No, not Harm, she realized. Just wishful thinking. She saw Gilly’s reflection in the window, saw rather than felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned slowly, blinking back tears. He held a handkerchief out to her, which she took without comment, dabbing at her eyes. She started to hand it back, but he shook his head, motioning for her to keep it. “You have Harm’s dog tags, don’t you? I would have thought they would have been with the things sickbay gave you.”

A startled look on her face, she tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled out the tags, spreading them out on her palm. It was funny how the mind worked sometimes. Just a few minutes ago, she’d been thinking about his tags. Come on, Mac, she admonished herself. Harm needs you to be strong. “Five – oh – eight – nine – five – nine – three – three – four,” she read the number off the tags.

Ryan frowned as Harm’s information came up in the DEERS database. “Ma’am, there aren’t

any dependents listed for Commander Rabb,” she said. “Not that I don’t believe that you’re married, but for consent forms and such …”

“We just got married,” Mac interrupted. “But that shouldn’t matter. I’ve held Harm’s medical proxy for years. That should be a part of his records.”

“Hard copies of his records are being sent from Bethesda, but they haven’t arrived yet, ma’am,” she said. “And for some reason, the electronic copy doesn’t include the proxy.”

“What about the marriage certificate?” Gilly asked. “Or would the word of the priest who performed the ceremony be sufficient?”

Ryan lifted her eyebrow. She noted the Chaplains’ Corp insignia on his collar and assumed he was referring to himself. “Something in writing is required, sir,” she replied, “for legal reasons. I’m sure you can understand.”

Mac nodded as she turned and walked over, rifling through the bags until she found the folder she’d placed the marriage certificate in for safekeeping. She held it out. “I assume this will be sufficient?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan replied as she studied the certificate, surprise showing on her face when she read the date on it. Remembering that the patient’s wife was a Marine Lieutenant Colonel, she swallowed the obvious question and focused on her computer screen. “Date of birth?”

“25 October 1963,” Mac replied, more quickly this time, her voice steadier. The faster she got this done, the sooner she could go … well, she couldn’t be with Harm, but she could be nearby. She needed to be near him.

“Not the most comfortable place,” Gilly commented as he surveyed the waiting room down the hall from the operating room where the neurosurgeon would soon be working to save Harm’s life. “But the nurse at the desk did say something about blankets and pillows.” He opened a door on one side of the room and found a storage closet, pulling out bedding for both himself and Mac. “At least you can try to get some sleep after you talk to the doctor. Harm will probably be in surgery for hours.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” she murmured as Gilly handed her a pillow and blanket, the exhaustion around her eyes betraying her.

“Why don’t you just lie down then?” he suggested, spreading a blanket out on one of the couches for himself. “It’s been what – about twenty-four hours – since you first got the call about Harm’s accident? You might surprise yourself.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. It was so easy to listen to him and do as he suggested. He had such a calm, soothing voice. She spread out her blanket on another couch and sat down on top of it, making no move to get beneath the covers. “Maybe I should get changed,” she said, almost to herself.

“I think I saw restrooms near the elevators,” Gilly told her.

“Okay,” she said, gathering up one of the bags she had with her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As he watched her go, he reflected on the pain he saw veiled in her eyes. She was upset – understandably so – about what had happened to Harm. She seemed to be handling that as well as could be expected at the moment. He was sure that, as a Marine, she was used to bottling up her emotions so that they did not interfere with her duty. That was true of most military. He knew that eventually those feelings would need to be given release, although he would lay odds that she would wait until she was alone. She struck him as a woman who wouldn’t let herself cry in front of others if she could help it.

But there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d learned to be a pretty good judge of character and he sensed that there was something weighing on her mind besides her husband’s injuries. He wished he could get a sense of what it was so that he could figure out how to help. He knew, from the experience on the Henry, that Mac was not a woman to be pushed. If he tried too hard to get her to open up about what was bothering her, she would just shut down even further. Maybe it could be as simple as worrying about what all their friends and family would say about the hasty marriage. It was amazing what people would worry about when under extreme stress. Simple problems could be blown up in a person’s mind to seem like insurmountable peaks as a defense mechanism, something to worry about besides what was really wrong.

Mac returned a few moments later, looking vulnerable and lost in too-large clothes – obviously Harm’s. Sweatpants were rolled up several times at the bottom so they didn’t drag

on the floor, a US Navy sweatshirt hung to mid-thigh. She noticed his scrutiny and gestured weakly to the clothes she was wearing. “I didn’t really pack anything suitable for me to sleep in,” she explained. Of course, she’d expected to have privacy for sleeping – perhaps a cabin on the Henry tonight and a room at the VOQ until Harm was released to go home – where it wouldn’t matter if she wore the silk and lace confection she’d brought with her. But that had been before everything had turned upside down.

She settled onto the couch, slipping under the blanket and pulling it up under her chin. There was a bit of a chill – a cold front had descended in the aftermath of the storm, causing the temperature to drop well below seasonable levels. She stared at the far wall, not quite ready to close her eyes. “Father?” she asked after a long moment, during which the only sounds in the room was Gilly turning the pages of his Bible as he indulged in his usual ritual and his soft humming. Reading it was always the first thing he did in the morning and the last thing he did at night. It was his time to enjoy the words rather than studying them so he could figure out how to explain them in everyday language in his sermons.

“Yes, Sarah,” he said, lifting his head as he closed the Bible, marking his place with his finger.

She hesitated a moment, then said softly, “Thank you.”

Gilly was touched. Another sense he had was that this was a woman who did not utter those words easily. “You’re welcome,” he simply replied.

“It’s been … nice to have someone there for me,” she continued, surprising them both. “I haven’t had that a lot in my life …. I could probably count on one hand, Harm included in that, of course.”

“Family?” he asked, curious.

“I have a sister,” she replied, “but she just turned fourteen. My uncle’s in Leavenworth.” She could feel his look of surprise and lifted her head, craning her neck to look at him. “Remind me later to tell you how Harm and I met – it all ties in together. Harm was his defense attorney. Anyway, my father died two years ago and my mother …. well, I’ve only seen her once in the last nineteen years and that was when my father died.”

“But you do have a family,” he pointed out. “I understand from Doctor Reed that you spoke to your in-laws after Harm’s condition got worse. I’m sure they will be there for you.”

Mac almost laughed. It was one thing to admit to Trish that she was in love with Harm. It was another for everyone to find out the entire story. What kind of woman, on the same day she was to marry one man, would turn around and marry a different man? Plus, Renee was a known quantity to them – to Trish, anyway – and she couldn’t say for sure how they would feel about a woman about they’d never even met marrying Harm while his girlfriend wasn’t even aware that Harm was lost to her. To a lot of people, Renee would seem to be the more sympathetic character in this entire drama.

“What was that you were humming earlier?” she asked, dropping the previous subject like a hot potato. She couldn’t get into that now. She still had to prepare herself to deal with everything that would happen when everyone else arrived.

“’On Eagle’s Wings’,” he replied. “Often while I’m working, I’ll hum – or even sing, if I’m in the mood – something, often a song that matches my mood. And not necessarily hymns. I’ve been known to sing John Lennon on occasion.”

“The name of the song sounds familiar,” she said, realizing that it was likely a hymn and that she must seem woefully ignorant for someone who had been preparing to get married in the Church.

Instead, he simply assumed that she was too distracted to recognize the hymn. “Actually,” he explained, “it’s based on the Psalm that was read at the service ….” He glanced at his watch. Was it still Saturday or had they passed into Sunday already? “…. this morning.” He started to sing in a prayerful tenor.

You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord, Who abide in his shadow for life, Say to the Lord: ‘My refuge, My rock in whom I trust!’

And he will raise you up on eagle’s wings, Bear you on the breath of dawn, Make you to shine like the sun, And hold you in the palm of his hand.”

Mac smiled as she finally closed her eyes, dropping her head back onto her pillow. “I remember now,” she said wistfully. “Father Genaro had someone sing that song at my father’s funeral. At the time, I thought it reminded me of Harm. He was the one who had talked me into going to see my father and he would have been at the funeral too if I hadn’t waited until after the fact to tell him.”

“Why did you wait to tell him?” he asked, curious.

“I’m not sure anymore,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “I guess I don’t like having to depend on people, even Harm. If you don’t depend on them, there’s less chance for them to hurt you.”

Gilly was saddened to think about what had to have happened in her life for her to develop that kind of attitude. She’d given hints – only seeing her mother once in so many years, having to be talked into being at her father’s side when he died. This was a woman, he realized, who had been deeply hurt by the very people she should have been able to depend on the most. It made her heartfelt ‘thank you’ all the more touching.

“What the ….?” Mac threw her arms out to steady herself as the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. She looked down, staring wide-eyed at the wooden planks beneath her sockencased feet. Planks? She looked up, glancing around. She was wearing the same sweats she’d fallen asleep in, but that was the only thing that seemed familiar. She was outdoors, apparently on the deck of a wooden ship. Her hair was blowing in her face and she impatiently pushed it away, trying to tuck it behind her ears. Where was she? As far as she could remember, she’d never been on a ship like this before. And this wasn’t a ship tied up at dock. The shifting she’d felt was the ship rolling with the waves. The ship was out at sea. Slowly, she started to make her way forward – at least, she thought she was heading towards the bow of the ship as she judged herself to be near the stern – gripping the railing for support, trying to keep herself steady on the pitching deck. The salty spray of the ocean stung her eyes and she found herself stumbling, her arm nearly being wretched from its socket as she clung to the rail in an attempt to break her fall.

Suddenly, she remembered and fought her way back to her feet, ignoring the rain which suddenly appeared out of nowhere, soaking her, and the wind threatening to topple her back to the deck. She had to warn him. Fighting her way forward, she saw a familiar scene unfolding before her – three men lined up to be hung, Harm’s familiar features about to be covered by a hood. “No!” she screamed, fighting her way to the front of the crowd of sailors gathered around, watching events unfold in front of her, the stools being kicked out from

under the feet of the three men. She blinked and suddenly, Harm was the only man there, wearing his flight suit instead of the uniform of a nineteenth-century sailor, his fingers clawing at the rope around his neck. Magically, the rope loosened and he worked his way out of it, falling to the deck, hitting his head on the discarded stool with a sickening thud.

She finally made her way to him, lifting his head to cradle it in her lap. “It’s okay, Harm,” she whispered, bending down so that he could hear her over the storm. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

She felt him being pulled out of her arms and she tried to wrap her arms around him, desperate to hold on, but he slipped from her grasp. She tried to climb to her feet to follow him, but a pair of arms encircled her waist, holding her back.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” a voice said from behind her. “I know you’re upset, but it’s not your problem to deal with. He’ll be just fine, luv. He has Renee to take care of him.”

She looked towards Harm to find him now in Renee’s arms, looking out of place on the deck of the ship. She’d unzipped his flight suit, her hands slipping under his t-shirt to stroke his torso. Renee lifted her head and smiled, her eyes bright in triumph.

“He’s my husband,” Mac protested, struggling to pull free from Mic’s embrace. But he pulled her back against him, his strong arms imprisoning her.

“Do you really think either of us will give up that easily?” he asked, his soft tone sending a shiver through her ….

“No!” she cried out, her entire body trembling. Gilly jumped up from his couch and knelt by her side, firmly shaking her shoulder.

“Sarah, wake up,” he said, his tone firm. “It’s just a dream.”

Her eyes snapped open, the trembling subsiding as she gradually became aware of her surroundings. She pushed herself up on one elbow, pushing sweat-matted hair back from her face as she gasped for breath. Lowering her hand, she glanced at her watch. Had she really

been asleep that long? She tried to remember what time Doctor Reed had stopped by to inform them that Harm was being wheeled into surgery. It had been a few hours, at least. That meant everyone would probably start arriving from Washington soon.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really,” she whispered, sitting up and wrapping her arms around herself.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “Let me get you another blanket.” He went to the closet and got another blanket, draping it over her shoulders.

She grabbed the edges of the blanket and pulled them together in front of her, cocooning her. But she still felt so cold. “Harm told me that the chute lines had gotten tangled around his neck. I saw him being strangled in my dream. Then I saw the aftermath and it scared me ….” She trailed off, unable to talk about the rest of the dream. He wouldn’t understand.

“Sarah, you don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder. “No one does. I’m sure Harm will have some recovery time ahead of him ….”

“No,” she protested, shaking her head firmly. “I’m sure that I know what’s going to happen.”

Gilly opened his mouth, about to ask what that meant when a nurse appeared in the doorway. “Is there news from surgery?” Mac asked shakily.

“Just that everything is going well so far,” the nurse reported. “Word from the OR is that they about at the halfway point. As long as there are no complications, they should be finished up in a few hours. After some time in recovery, Commander Rabb will be moved to ICU and then you’ll be able to see him.”

Mac looked away, still trying to steady herself after her disturbing dream. Realizing she wasn’t going to say anything, Gilly thanked the nurse for the information. “See, Sarah?” he asked after the nurse left the room. “Everything is okay so far. Harm’s a strong man and he’s got a strong woman supporting him. Why don’t you try to go back to sleep?”

“I don’t think I could,” she said in frustration. “If I close my eyes ….”

“Why don’t I get you something to eat?” he suggested, deciding not to push the issue. “There’s a cafeteria downstairs or vending machines all over the place. You probably haven’t really eaten since you heard the news, either.”

“Sure,” she replied dully. She just wanted to be alone right now and taking him up on his offer seemed to be the easiest way to ensure that. Otherwise, he might try to get her to talk about her dream and she couldn’t deal with that now. She wasn’t sure she could deal with it when it would eventually come to pass. “Something to eat would be nice.”

“Okay,” he said, mildly surprised at her easy acquiescence. He’d expected her to protest that she wasn’t hungry. “Anything in particular you want?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered dismissively, pulling her knees up to her chest, resting her head on top of them. A single drop of water slid down the window pane, barely illuminated by the lights from the parking lot outside. It started out at a fairly rapid clip, and then slowed as it intersected with another drop making its own way down the glass. Then it continued on its way, slower this time, before splitting in two suddenly, perhaps due to an imperfection in the glass. One slide off at an improbable angle towards the corner of the window, disappearing from her field of vision. The other continued its downward journey, more or less in a straight line, finally splattering on the window sill. At the top of the pane, another raindrop began its jagged journey down, following the path of the first about a third of the way down before suddenly veering off on a path of its own. What had they called it in Jurassic Park? That’s right – chaos theory. Mac could relate. Just hours ago, hadn’t she and Harm said how everything was going to happen. Everything would be nice and neat and orderly – at least as much as possible given the admittedly unusual circumstances. But how could they have known about the circumstance lurking in the background, just beyond their sight, which would so dramatically alter the outcome. For a brief moment in time, everything seemed to be going as right as it ever had in her life. But appearances were deceiving and the reality of her orderly existence was fleeting. The hospital staff seemed to think everything would be alright. Shortly after Father Gilly left on his cafeteria run, another nurse had poked her head through the door. An older woman with a motherly look about her – at least what Mac imagined someone’s mother should look like – had gently asked if she needed anything and sought to reassure her by talking about how good the surgical team was that was working just down the hall to save Harm’s life. She made non-committal noises which must have sounded like agreement to the nurse, since she did leave Mac alone with her thoughts. But if tonight had taught her anything, it was the futility in making plans and predictions. She thought she had her life planned out with Mic, had convinced herself that any feelings she might have had for Harm beyond friendship were something of the past. But then a stolen

night in Norfolk – no, it had actually begun two weeks earlier, when a stolen kiss under the stars had broken open a lock to which she’d thrown away the key. In the space of just over twenty four hours, she’d moved from one certain truth – that she would become Mrs. Mic Brumby – to another – that she was now Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Then she’d moved from the reality of the new life she and Harm were going to build together once their other relationships were straightened out to not even knowing whether or not Harm was going to survive the next few hours. She wanted to believe it. She needed to believe that he would survive and they would have their happily ever after. She just wasn’t sure if she could afford to believe only to have it all shattered once again. She felt their presence before she noticed their blurry reflections in the window, could feel their eyes upon her. How could they not stare? She gripped the edges of Harm’s jacket, pulled it tighter around her to ward off the chill. She and Harm had often joked about her someday meeting his family – the timing just never seemed to work out before. When they were in California on a case, Trish and Frank were traveling somewhere else. When Trish and Frank happened to pass through DC, it would be Harm and Mac who were traveling. And Harm’s grandmother – that was another story. Harm had invited her on more than one occasion, but something always seemed to come up which allowed Mac to bow out without sounding like she was making excuses. She’d been apprehensive about meeting the woman Harm held in such high esteem. Not because she thought the older woman might dislike her – although she did wonder how much Harm had really told his grandmother about her – but it seemed so intimate a gesture, even more so than meeting his parents. From talking to Harm, he seemed to be closer to his grandmother than to his parents – perhaps because she’d for so long been his only blood link to his beloved father – and she sensed that it would be Sarah Rabb to whom he would look for approval of the woman he would marry. Slowly, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding since she first felt their presence, taking a few precious ticks of the clock to prepare to face them. As steady as she could force herself to be, she turned to face them, focusing her gaze on A.J.. Even under the circumstances, it was force of habit to give her commanding officer her attention. Or was it something else, a concern about facing Harm’s family? She pushed the question aside and made herself open her mouth. “Hello, Admiral,” she said simply, her tone aching with fatigue. “Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Mrs. Rabb.” A.J. was stunned at her appearance and not just because of the inexplicable bruise nearly darkened to a blackish purple under her eye. He’d seen Mac run the spectrum of emotions, but he couldn’t remember seeing her look so …. lost, so uncertain. Not after Dalton had died in her arms, not even after Harm had walked out of her life two years ago. Lines were etched around her eyes, born of lack of sleep and worry, while she looked small and vulnerable with Harm’s too-large jacket pulled around her, the cuffs falling down over her hands, her fingers barely peaking out, her knuckles white as they gripped the edge of the sleeves. He noted the formality with which she addressed him, but he swallowed back his automatic response. She didn’t need Admiral Chegwidden, who would eventually have to deal with issues resulting from the turmoil of the past day. There would be time to confront all of that later. Maybe when he wasn’t so worried himself about the man fighting for his life. Right now, she needed A.J., who had to set aside regulation to be a friend when she needed one, especially with her former fiancé on his way, unaware that his place in her life was now a

thing of the past. “Mac, why don’t we all sit down?” he suggested, gesturing towards the couches. “I’m sure the Commander … Harm’s family would like to hear any news that you have regarding his condition.” She stared at him a moment, her brain slow to process what he was saying, before she nodded and returned to her place on the couch, folding her legs under her, wrapping her arms around herself. Concerned about her bearing, but chalking it up to the stress and strain she’d been under, everyone else was silent as they took seats. A.J. sat on the couch Father Gilly had previously occupied, at the end closest to Mac. Trish and Frank sat next to him, their hands tightly clasped in a large knot between them. Sarah chose to sit next to Mac, keeping a respectful distance between them. From what Harm had told her, she figured that Mac was not one who easily let people get close. She hovered just outside Mac’s personal space, without appearing to do so, but ready with a comforting embrace should the situation warrant it. Mac shivered involuntarily as she tried to make the words come out of her mouth. What was she supposed to say to these people? They’d never even met, but now they were family. They shared a common bond in their love for the man clinging to life, but they couldn’t be more different. Trish and Frank, despite the thinly veiled pain etched in their features, exuded a calm that Mac could only hope to feel. But then they’d been down this road before – another crash, another hospital, but the same story. The words had changed but the tune was still the same. A.J., well he was as inscrutable as ever. He was hard to read, even outside their normal roles of commander and subordinate. Sarah – now she was a bit of a surprise. Perhaps it was the way Harm had always talked about her, and what Mac had read between the lines, but she’d expected someone larger than life. Who else could command the ultimate respect of an arrogant flyboy? Physically, she was small. Next to her grandson, she probably didn’t even reach his shoulder and she looked like she might blow away in a strong wind. But there was steel in her bearing, born of eightyodd years of overcoming tragedy and heartache. Mac desperately wished for some of that strength for herself. The woman next to her had survived the loss of both husband and only child and had faced the possibility of losing both her grandsons at various times. She wondered how Sarah to persevere through all that when she couldn’t even figure out how she would go on without Harm if she had to. “Would you like a blanket, dear?” Sarah asked, pulling free the one she was sitting on and holding it out. Mac nodded and let Sarah drape it over her and tuck it around her. For a moment, Mac flashed back on a rare childhood memory of her own grandmother. Her mother had spent a night in the hospital – courtesy of her father, as usual – and Joe had dropped her at her grandparents’ doorstep while he spent the night drinking himself into oblivion, full of remorse after the fact for what he’d done to his wife. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, violently shaking from dreams of what had transpired, and her grandmother had tenderly tucked her back into bed, hovering on the edge of the bed until she eventually drifted off. “Thank you, Mrs. Rabb,” she heard herself say. So her vocal cords still did work. She could do this. Staring down at her lap as she gathered her thoughts, she began haltingly with the

most recent news, “Not long ago, someone came here – a nurse, I guess – and said that the surgery appears to be going well and it’s about half over.” “Thank God,” Trish breathed as Frank squeezed her hands, his eyes alight with thankfulness. Her gaze turned to Mac and she felt a wave of sympathy. She remembered the waiting, the utter helplessness, the fear of not knowing. It was this common bond which had her debating over asking the question foremost in her mind. But the driving need to know what had happened to her little boy won out. “What happened to my son, Mac? Everything seemed to be okay, then ….” Her gaze was still downcast as she continued, “It was just before dinner. We had been talking about …. we were just talking and he just …. I thought he’d fallen asleep. He’d been out in the water all night, unable to sleep, unable to rest and I thought he was just tired.” She looked up, her eyes wide as she remembered the horror of those few brief moments which had seemed to stretch into infinity. “I just thought he was just tired.” “Did he slip into a coma?” Sarah asked softly, trying to draw her out. “Is that why they started to suspect ….?” “Not yet,” she murmured. “I mean, the doctor didn’t say anything about a coma. I don’t know. He didn’t regain consciousness, but they were keeping him drugged because …. because of the seizure.” A.J. suddenly understood. “Is that how that happened?” he asked, gesturing towards her face. She nodded. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said hoarsely. Tears threatened again and she took a few seconds to force them back before continuing. “He started shaking and I yelled for help. When Doctor Reed came in, I think he tried to tell me not to try to hold him down. Then he shook me free and I fell against a cabinet or something …. after it was over, the doctor was requesting a satellite hook up with a neurosurgeon and they said he had to come here ….” As her voice trailed off, Sarah slowly reached over and, when Mac didn’t pull away, clasped one of Mac’s hands in hers. “I imagine it’s hard considering what you’ve seen today,” she said, her tone so gentle and comforting that Mac responded without consciously thinking about it, curling her fingers around Sarah’s, “but you’ve known Harm long enough to know that he is a survivor. He told me how you were there for him in Russia the first time, how he wasn’t sure what he would have done if you hadn’t been there to steady him. Did Harm ever tell you about his crash ten years ago?” Mac shook her head. “Occasionally, he’d drop a comment here or there,” she replied, “but most of what I know is through …. scuttlebutt.” “By the time we got to Germany,” Sarah remembered, “nearly a full day had passed since the accident. After being flown in from the carrier, he spent the better part of that day in surgery. He had internal injuries, had to have pins put in his hip and one ankle, and his collarbone was broken – and that’s just the major injuries. They told us that he’d ejected out over the deck and wasn’t able to get enough height for his chute to open fully and slow his descent. They went out of their way not to tell us, but we all saw it in their eyes. They were surprised he’d even survived.” She glanced at Trish, who nodded in understanding of the

silent message and continued the story. “As his mother, I’ve seen Harm sick,” Trish said, her barely detectable tremor in her voice the only sign of the lingering pain of that long ago day, “and I’ve seen him with various injuries you expect of an active boy growing up. But I’d never imagined …. You could barely tell he was there; he was wrapped in so many bandages and plaster and he had all these tubes and wires attached. I wanted to believe that my baby was going to survive, but looking at him lying there so bruised and broken, there was this tiny voice in the back of my mind that kept insisting there was no way. But eventually he opened his eyes. Then the tube in his throat was taken out. I think that’s when I knew he was going to make it, when he told me in a voice just barely above a whisper not to cry.” Mac almost had to laugh at that. That one statement sounded so much like Harm. He would have been worried less about his own condition than with the pain he was causing those around him – until his mind cleared and his thoughts turned to the one who hadn’t survived the crash. Knowing Harm, she could understand why that simple request had convinced Trish that her son was going to make it. “Harm’s always seemed ….” Mac trailed off, unable to think of the words to adequately describe it. How could such a complex and charismatic personality be distilled into a few syllables? “Larger than life, I guess. If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t think a person like him could exist.” “But then something reminds you that he’s human,” Frank concluded sadly. “Yeah,” she replied a bit hesitantly. Had she really said that in front of Harm’s family and her commanding officer? She almost sounded like some kind of groupie. Maybe the lack of sleep and the worry over Harm was catching up with her. She didn’t normally talk like that. Covering her mouth with her free hand, she stifled a yawn, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing at the corners of her eyes. Trish and Frank were the first to see it, although neither of them realized the importance of what they were seeing. They knew Mac had been engaged and just assumed she hadn’t taken the ring off yet. It didn’t process in their minds that the ring she was wearing didn’t have the diamond typical of an engagement ring. A.J. was about to suggest that Mac try to get some sleep, since the surgery would last several more hours at least, when he saw it. Immediately, he clamped his mouth closed, unable to believe what he was seeing. He knew it wasn’t her engagement ring from Mic. He knew what that ring looked like. Hadn’t he been the first to notice it at the airport in Sydney? He squinted, trying to get a closer look without appearing to do so. It almost looked like …. as she dropped her hand, he focused on her eyes, but they were unfocused, staring ahead at some distant point. She didn’t even seem to be aware of his scrutiny. “You’re tired, dear,” Sarah said gently, squeezing Mac’s hand. “Admiral, we should let Mac try to get some sleep. Any further questions can wait until later.” When A.J. didn’t reply, Sarah glanced at him, following his gaze towards Mac, but she couldn’t see what he was staring at. “Admiral?” A.J. shook himself out of his reverie at her insistent tone. Now wasn’t the time for questions,

especially ones that he wasn’t sure he really wanted the answers to. Anyway, maybe he was wrong. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. “Mac?” he said firmly, finally drawing her notice. She turned to him, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to clear them. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” “I’m not sure I could ….” she began, trailing off when the door to the waiting room opened.

As Mic pulled into a parking spot across the driveway from the emergency entrance, the only one in the hospital open this late at night, he glanced around, his eyes searching for the familiar red Corvette. “Damn,” he swore under his breath when he didn’t see it, the only car he recognized being the Admiral’s SUV. He’d wanted to talk to Mac as soon as he saw her, hopefully convince her to came home with him and let Renee worry about Harm’s condition. His soft exclamation caught his companion’s attention. “Did you say something?” Renee asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Sometime after they’d passed Richmond, she’d managed to fall into a fitful sleep, tormented by dreams of a flag-draped coffin. She’d woken up at one point, but one look at Mic, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white as his hands gripped the steering wheel, and she decided not to bother him. Although Mic wasn’t a heartless bastard, she also wasn’t under any illusions about how concerned he was about Harm’s condition, outside of how it concerned Mac. He’d been so nice to her, probably nicer than he needed to be and she sensed that she needed all the allies she could get into her corner. The JAG staff wasn’t about to fall all over themselves showing concern for her state of mind. She was tolerated, and just barely she sensed, only because she was Harm’s girlfriend. No, it was Mac they were going to rally around, forming a protective shield around her while Renee was left on the outside. She did get along with Trish, but she expected little from that quarter. Frank and Sarah had seemed standoffish with her and when it came down to it, Trish was going to stick with her family. “Nothing important,” Mic replied, unbuckling his seat belt. It wasn’t important to Renee, he knew. “Let’s get inside. I’m sure you’re anxious to find out how Rabb is doing.” Mic,” Renee said, her hand on his arm, stopping him as he started to get out of the car. “I just wanted to say thank you.” “No worries,” he said, shrugging. “I hope for your sake that Rabb will be okay.” He didn’t add, nor did he have to, that it was as much for his sake as for hers. It had been hard enough to compete with Harm. He wasn’t sure how he would fare against the specter of his memory. They were silent as they walked into the hospital together, Renee’s apprehension growing as each step took her closer to Harm. She didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t stop the questions. What if he didn’t make it? A.J. had not said much when he called to inform her that Harm was being transferred to Portsmouth that night instead of waiting until morning. She knew next to nothing about medical matters, but she couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which Harm being transported to Portsmouth ahead of schedule was good, especially when surgery was involved. “Excuse me, Petty Officer,” Mic said to the man sitting behind the admittance desk in the

emergency room, “can you tell us where we might find someone who’s been taken into surgery?” “Yes, sir,” the petty officer replied. “The surgical unit is on the third floor. Go through those doors and take a right. Go down the hallway and take your first left. Go down that hallway and you’ll run into the main elevators. Take it up to the third floor and go left when you get off. OR is down the hallway that will be on your left.” “Thank you, Petty Officer,” Mic said, leading Renee away. They found the elevators easily enough, but were now cooling their heels, waiting for one of the four elevators to descend from the upper floors. Renee tapped one foot impatiently as one of the elevators started to descend from the fifth floor, seemingly taking forever. “Are there stairs around here?” she asked. “This is taking too long.” Mic glanced around, not noticing anything that might indicate a stairwell within his line of vision. “The elevator will be here before we can find them,” he said, trying to placate her. Renee bit back a retort as a man dressed in a Navy khaki uniform walked up beside them carrying a paper bag. He was about to hit the up button when he saw it was already lit. He smiled at Mic and Renee as he stepped back to await the arrival of the elevator. “It’s about time,” Renee muttered when the elevator finally arrived and opened before them. After they stepped on, Mic pressed the ‘3’ button and turned to the other man. “What floor, Commander?” he asked, noting the man’s rank insignia. “I’m going to the third floor as well,” he said. The doors closed and with a jerk, the elevator began its journey. Renee stared down, studying her manicure, while Mic glanced up at the ceiling, wondering where Mac was. He wasn’t really surprised that A.J. was the first to the hospital since he was transporting Harm’s family. But he would have expect Mac to have raced to her friend’s side, although he tried not to think of the obvious, what it said about Mac and Harm’s relationship that Harm would become her sole focus. They were supposed to be getting married, but while he’d spent most of his day – outside of comforting Renee – apologizing to caterers, florists and others putting the wedding together about the short notice cancellation, Mac had been God only knows where. Did he have to nearly get himself killed to receive that kind of devotion from his own fiancée? He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. The elevator arrived on the third floor and they all disembarked, Mic pausing as he tried to recall the petty officer’s instructions. “Renee, did the petty officer say right or left off the elevator?” he asked her. She shrugged helplessly. She hadn’t even paid attention to Mic’s conversation with the emergency room attendant, expecting him to remember the directions. Their companion from the elevator had started on his way, then turned back when he heard Mic’s question. “Maybe I can help you,” he suggested. “Are you looking for ICU or the surgical ward?” They were the only places he knew someone would be visiting at the hospital in the middle of the night.

“Surgery,” Mic replied. “Her boyfriend was in an accident.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied. “I’m keeping a woman company whose husband is also in surgery. Father Patrick Gilly.” He moved the bag he was carrying to the other hand and held out his hand for Mic to shake. “I’m Mic Brumby,” Mic introduced himself. He turned and gestured towards Renee, who was hovering behind him. “And this is Renee Peterson.” “I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” Gilly said, nodding towards Renee, who barely seemed to register the conversation. “I’ll include your boyfriend in my prayers.” When Renee didn’t say anything, Mic replied for her, “I’m sure Renee appreciates that.” Gilly motioned to them to follow him. “I’m on my way back to the waiting room in the surgical ward,” he said, “if you’d like to follow me.”

Chloe bounded through the door of the waiting room, seeming to possess more energy than anyone had a right to in the middle of the night, evading her father's attempt to hold her back. She fell to her knees in front of Mac and threw her arms around her. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said in a rush. “We were all so worried about you. How’s Harm?” Mac returned the hug, grateful to have someone she could talk to. It was so hard talking to the others – A.J. was still somewhat bound by his role as her superior even under the circumstances and she barely knew Harm’s family. The closest she’d come to having someone to share her fears with was Skates and Robert and they were still on the Henry, due to fly to Portsmouth on the same morning helo which originally would have brought Harm to the hospital. “He’s still in surgery,” she replied, “but – but the reports seem promising.” “Thank God,” Harriet said, looking for a place to put down her half-asleep son. Mac looked up at her as she released Chloe and gestured for Harriet to hand him over. “Aun’ Mac,” AJ murmured sleepily as Mac cuddled him close to her, kissing the top of his head. “Where Unca Harm?” She glanced up at Bud and Harriet, who shrugged helplessly. “He’s been asking after the Commander all day,” Bud explained. “I don’t know how, but he seems to know that something is going on with him.” Chloe nodded. “Yeah, when we were all at JAG this morning,” she began, and then glanced at her watch, “no, yesterday morning, he went into Harm’s office and asked where he was.” Mac managed to smile down at her godson. “Uncle Harm had a boo-boo,” she said, trying to put it in terms a two-year-old might understand. “Owie?” AJ asked, looking up at her with blue eyes which were suddenly wide awake. “Yeah, owie,” she agreed, nodding. “Uncle Harm has an owie and he’s here to make it

better.” “Tiss make better,” AJ exclaimed. It took Mac a moment, then she blushed as she translated the toddler-speak. “Mommy tiss my owie.” He pointed to his arm at a scrape near his elbow. The childish statement brought chuckles around the room, easing the tension slightly. “I wish it were that simple,” Mac murmured, unaware of the eyes suddenly focused on her again. Trish leaned over to Frank, smiling for the first time in hours. “Harm has to get better,” she whispered firmly. “That is a woman in need of children.” Frank smiled and draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her against him. He recognized the statement for what it was, aside from the obvious desire for grandchildren to spoil. “He will,” he reassured her with certainty. For his wife’s sake, and his own, he refused to contemplate otherwise. Little AJ lost interest in the topic of Harm’s injuries, distracted by the bright, shiny object in his field of vision. “Priddy,” he proclaimed, reaching for Mac’s hand. Mac jumped, startled, as AJ pulled at her hand, trying to get a closer look at the band of gold which had captured his attention. As she realized what he was looking at and noticed the strange glances from the others out of the corners of her eyes, she berated herself for not remembering to remove the ring. It would have been easier to make up some reason for its absence for Father Gilly – she could have claimed it didn’t fit quite right - than to explain its presence to everyone else. “That looks like a wedding ring,” Chloe stated the obvious. Mac started to wish a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her. Of all the things for Chloe to say …. Mac was saved from having to come up with an immediate response when the door to the waiting room opened again, only to have her heart leap into her throat. Oh, God. This was the last thing she needed right now. Why couldn’t they have shown up just a few minutes later, after she found some way to deflect the questions? The first through the door, Renee went immediately to Trish and Frank, seemingly unaware of the stillness in the room as everyone waited with baited breath for Mac’s explanation. “Frank, Trish,” she said, squeezing onto the couch between them and A.J., placing her hand on Trish’s arm. Gilly crossed the room and handed Mac the bag he’d brought up from the cafeteria. “They didn’t have much down there this time of night,” he said as she took the bag, her expression dazed, making no move to open it. He seemed to be unaware of the sudden increase in tension as he continued, “I got you a chicken salad sandwich, some chips and some orange juice.” Mac blinked as she suddenly realized she was being spoken to and turned her gaze away from the door, which Mic had just walked through. “Thank you, Father,” she said, her response rote. Mic, his eyes immediately drawn to Mac, started crossing the room to her, determined to take

her out of there for a talk, but stopped in his tracks as Renee jumped up from the couch, her tone accusatory. “Wait a minute,” she demanded, her hands balling into fists at her side. This is not happening, she told herself. No! She pointed at Gilly. “He said he was here with a woman whose husband was in surgery after an accident.” She turned her heated gaze on Mac and took a step towards her, until Bud intercepted her, mindful that his son was sitting in Mac’s lap. Little AJ whimpered at the sound of the loud voice and buried his face against Harm’s jacket while the man he was named after contemplated the best way to diffuse this situation. “Who do you think you are, claiming to be Harm’s wife?” Mac glanced at Mic, his expression a cross between disbelief and anger. Swallowing nervously, she lifted her chin and decided to confront the situation like a Marine. “I’m not claiming anything, Renee,” she said firmly, her voice infused with a calm she didn’t feel. “I *am* Harm’s wife.” Renee opened her mouth, ready with a sharp retort, until Mac’s calmly spoken words registered in her mind. She closed her mouth, uncharacteristically stunned into silence. That had not been the answer she’d been expecting. Chloe thought she looked like a fish gasping for breath and was forced to turn her head towards the wall, struggling to keep the giggles from erupting. Mac probably wouldn’t appreciate the humor of the situation right now, not with Harm still fighting for his life. She did allow herself a smile at the thought that Harm was now her brother-in-law. Clamping down on her lower lip, she turned back around, surveying the scene. Most of the expressions were variations on a theme – shock, confusion. Mic and Renee, of course, were bristling with barely-concealed anger, in addition to everything else. She wondered how long it would be before Mic realized that all the time he’d been searching for *his* fiancée, she’d been on the carrier with Harm. Under other circumstances, she’d love to see the aftermath of that little revelation. There were two exceptions – three if she counted the chaplain, who she assumed had officiated at the wedding and who probably had no idea what he’d just walked into the middle of. A.J. was one. He was hard to read; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. For all the emotion he showed on his face, someone may as well have just announced the sky was blue. Sarah was the other exception. She exhibited absolutely no surprise, like A.J.. But unlike him, she had a faint smile on her face, although Chloe couldn’t decide if it was because she was happy with the news or because she was trying to calm little AJ, who was clutching the edge of Harm’s leather jacket, half covering his face with it. She was leaning towards him, murmuring softly something Chloe couldn’t quite make out. After a moment, AJ released the edge of the jacket, leaning against Mac’s chest as Sarah reached out and rubbed his tummy. Mac glanced down at the toddler in her lap, sharing a look with Sarah as AJ’s eyes started to drift closed. In just a few brief moments, she’d seen what it was about his grandmother that Harm loved so much and she allowed herself a brief moment to imagine Sarah as greatgrandmother to her child. A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth at the thought of the family she’d always wanted, a family with Harm. Renee finally found her voice, her tone low and trembling with anger. “There is no way you can be his wife,” she insisted. “That’s impossible.” She spun towards Mic, who had not spoken since he’d entered the room. “Come on. Say something.”

“Of course, it’s not true,” Mic said, his voice not quite calm. “It doesn’t make any sense. She probably just arrived at the hospital first and they assumed she was Harm’s wife or maybe she told them that because it was the only way the hospital would give her any information. Hospitals can be strict about giving out information on patients to non-family members.” “So you’re saying that Mac is lying?” Chloe cut in. She couldn’t keep quiet, not with that kind of accusation. And this was coming from a man who claimed to love Mac and to want to marry her? “No, of course not,” Mic quickly backpedaled, realizing how that sounded. “I understand she’s upset about her …. best friend nearly dying and she can’t stand not knowing what’s going on, so she probably did let the hospital believe that she is family. But look at this logically. When would this have happened? Rabb’s been on the carrier all day….” His voice trailed off as realization struck and his tone took on a hard edge. “When the Admiral came out and announced that Rabb had been pulled from the water, he said that you had already been told that Rabb was safe. But it wasn’t just a coincidence that you happened to ring up the Admiral right at the same time that he received word from the carrier?” “No, it wasn’t,” Mac confirmed, uttering her first words since her stunning announcement. Her voice still gave no hint of the turmoil surrounding her. “As soon as Captain Ingles called me, I drove to Norfolk and took a helo to the carrier in the morning after the weather cleared. We got married on the carrier by the chaplain that afternoon.” “I don’t know about Rabb,” Mic protested, going with instinct and fighting back against the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that insisted that every word she said was true, “but you’re Catholic and you don’t just get married just like that. There’s planning and preparations and classes to go through.” “I know that,” Mac countered, a bit of the frustration at the last five months of her life bubbling to the surface. “If there’s nothing else I’ve learned during the last five months, it’s that. You know what? It’s about time I did something that I wanted instead of just going along for the ride in my own life. I wanted a small wedding, not a huge production to rival Charles and Di.” Mic was stunned into silence at hearing her discontent vocalized and thrown in his face. He’d been doing it for her. Why couldn’t she see that? Sarah, recognizing the storm brewing in Mic’s eyes, decided that it was time to step in before things got even further out of hand. Right in front of her was the perfect opportunity to deflect attention. “Mac, I think AJ here needs a diaper change,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you ask Harriet for his diaper bag? I assume you’ve changed a diaper before.” Distracted, she hadn’t even realized that AJ did smell like he needed a fresh diaper. She flashed a grateful half-smile at Sarah, realizing what the other woman was trying to do. “Harriet, where’s AJ’s bag?” she asked, standing and settling her godson on her hip. “He needs a diaper change.” Harriet was about to suggest that she take him, then thought better of it when she caught Sarah almost imperceptibly shaking her head out of the corner of her eye. Understanding the

unspoken message, she bent down to pick up the diaper bag and handed it to Mac without comment. She knew that if things were allowed to continue much long, they would explode. Mic didn’t care about anything the fact that he’d lost Mac, and he was exhibiting a clear unwillingness to let her go; while Mac was too tired to think about what she was saying – definitely a recipe for an explosion. And God only knew how Renee would figure into it, especially since Harm was in no condition for her to lash out at. Mac nodded her thanks and slung the bag over her shoulder, nearly walking into the rest of the JAG crew as they arrived. Mac accepted quick hugs from Jackie and Carolyn, a comforting pat on the shoulder from Alan and a slightly stilted ‘Good to see you, Colonel’ from Loren before escaping the room. Renee watched the scene at the door, silently fuming. The rest of them weren’t even aware, as far as she knew, of the latest developments, yet they were acting like Mac was the one they needed to comfort, not Harm’s long-time girlfriend. She remembered her conversation with Mic about being outsiders. She’d been around long enough that she shouldn’t have to shoulder her way into her boyfriend’s life. Mic was fuming as well, but for a slightly different reason. He connected the dots between Mac’s sudden departure from the room and her whispered discussion with Harm’s grandmother immediately before that. Now, not only did he have to worry about Rabb’s interference in his relationship with Mac, but also with that of his grandmother. Making a decision to wrest back control of the situation, he turned to follow Mac out, only to discover his path blocked by a quick-moving A.J., who had anticipated Mic’s actions and gotten up to block him. Mic frown, his learned respect for superior officers forcing down his first thought of simply pushing past A.J.. A.J. was counting on exactly that respect to avoid a physical confrontation, figuring that his years in the military would be the only thing holding Mic back. That gave A.J. the upper hand. “Brumby,” he said, his voice low so that only Mic could hear, but with enough of an edge that Mic should realize this was not a request, “everyone is here because they are worried about Commander Rabb. That is the only thing that these people are thinking about and you will not distract them with issues which can and will be dealt with later. If you have a problem with that, I have no problem with you leaving. You will not upset anyone further, *especially* the Commander’s family.” Mic read between the lines. He was not to upset Mac. That was what A.J. was telling him. His fiancée had just run off and married another man, on the day that they were supposed to get married, and he was supposed to just sit on his hands and accept the situation? He started to speak, but A.J. crossed his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. Mic was a boxer and could stand up to just about anyone, but the look reminded him that A.J. was a SEAL. If Mic really was an enemy, A.J. could probably kill him without even blinking and before anyone realized what was happening. Although his stance didn’t really change, Mic not being one who gave up easily, A.J. recognized the temporary look of defeat in Mic’s eyes. He would back down for now, but A.J. wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was anything but temporary. He hoped that by the time Mic decided to press the issue again, Mac would be in the frame of mind to deal with it on her own. “Find an empty spot and sit down,” A.J. ordered. Reluctantly, Mic complied, although A.J. was not happy with the spot he chose – on the floor next to the couch Mac had

just vacated. He opted not to cause a scene, but would keep an eye on the situation. That situation diffused for now, A.J. decided it was time for a little reconnaissance. His gaze meeting Gilly’s, he nodded towards the door. He didn’t think anything would happen if he stepped out. There were several people, starting with Bud and Harriet, who would be like pit bulls to protect Mac. Mic and Renee wouldn’t be going anywhere – not without a guard, anyway. Gilly nodded and followed A.J. out of the room, waiting until the door was closed behind them to speak. “Sir?” he began, recognizing in A.J. the air of someone in command despite the lack of a uniform. “What is going on here?” A.J. chuckled ruefully. “That would be a very good question …. Father?” The final word was a question, the Chaplain’s Corps insignia on his collar only indicating that Gilly was a Christian minister. Gilly nodded, holding out his hand. “Father Patrick Gilly, chaplain aboard the Henry,” he introduced himself. “Admiral A.J. Chegwidden,” A.J. returned, shaking Gilly’s hand. “Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie’s commanding officer. As for what is going on, I’ve been watching those two together for almost five years and even I’m not sure I can completely answer that.” “I noticed that the most common reaction when Sarah made her announcement was shock,” Gilly said, trying to work things out in his mind. “That surprises me when Harm and Sarah both said that they were already planning to get married.” A.J. nearly laughed at that. Over the years, many people, himself included, at learned the hard way that heaven help anyone or anything that got in Harm and Mac’s way when they wanted something. Finally, after all the years of dancing around each other, drifting in and out of reach, what they’d decided they wanted was each other. It did not surprise him that they would be evasive with a priest if it would get them what they wanted. Anyway, if Mac had still been wearing her engagement ring from Mic when she arrived on the carrier, it might have been a logical assumption on Gilly’s part, one they just went along with. “I see you’ve been run over by the Dynamic Duo,” he remarked dryly. At Gilly’s puzzled look, he explained, “That’s what a lot of people who’ve met them in the course of their duties have nicknamed them. Batman and Robin. Together in the courtroom, they’re a force of nature. They’ve never been beaten. Well, there was that case they won, but there was no punishment awarded to the Colonel they were prosecuting and another case where their client wasn’t really at fault, but a plea bargain was made mostly for reasons of political expediency. Opposing each other, well, let’s just say that it’s interesting and you never really can be sure of the outcome. As a commanding officer, I couldn’t ask for two better officers working for me.” “I sense a ‘but’ in there, Admiral,” Gilly remarked. “Very perceptive, Father,” he replied, starting to walk down the hall, Gilly following. A.J. was silent for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts on the last five years. But that wasn’t something that could be condensed into a few phrases. He’d witnessed most of it, but even he couldn’t say that he understood the entire situation. “The best I can say to even begin to explain it is that sometimes brilliance in one area doesn’t necessarily carry over into others.”

“Meaning Harm and Sarah’s personal lives?” he guessed. A.J. nodded confirmation. “But that’s one thing that struck me when I was talking to them before the wedding. They seemed so certain. I just assumed that they were in such a rush because they’d almost lost each other and were afraid to wait any longer.” “That is true to a certain extent,” A.J. said. “They did almost lose each other, but that happened before the crash.” He hesitated. They were getting into murky waters here, waters A.J. had been wading into far too much over the last twenty-four hours. But Harm and Mac were going to need all the friends they could get and who better to have on their side than a priest, especially if what he suspected was right and there ended up being legal and spiritual issues involved in their hasty marriage. “I don’t know what happened, but something did which brought them back to each other literally within hours before the crash.” “And how do Mr. Brumby and Ms. Peterson fit into this?” Gilly asked. “When I met them at the elevator, they said Ms. Peterson’s boyfriend had been brought here after an accident. It’s not that hard to connect the dots and assume they were referring to Harm. But beyond that, Admiral, frankly this doesn’t make any sense.” “Let’s say that Mr. Brumby and Ms. Peterson are the exes who weren’t aware of the fact that they were,” A.J. suggested, sensing that Gilly could draw the right conclusions from that. Gilly’s eyes went wide as he fully realized what A.J. was saying and combined that with what little he did know already. “I’d already assumed that Mr. Brumby was connected to Sarah somehow,” he said slowly, still grappling with the truth. “I just couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t Harm she was engaged to; it was Mr. Brumby.” A.J. nodded, but felt compelled to explain further. “Apparently,” he said, “and I do have to say that this is all secondhand information, Comm …. Harm and Mac were able to work things out between them. But the crash happened before things could be, um, settled with Brumby and Ms. Peterson.” Gilly stopped in front of a large window, silently digesting this information, trying to figure out what it all meant. He lifted his eyes heavenward, murmuring, “Lord, what have I done?” A.J. was about to say something when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, finding Mac a few feet away, little AJ dozing against her shoulder, her expression hesitant. “Colonel,” he greeted her. Gilly turned and looked at her, his expression neutral. “Admiral, Father,” she said, shifting the toddler in her arms, although whether it was to find a more comfortable position or out of nervousness, neither man was sure. She couldn’t hear what they’d been discussing, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d probably been talking about her. “Um ….” She glanced down, unsure what to say. By now, Gilly had either been told or started to figure things out. Even though she barely knew him, she felt an overwhelming sense that she’d disappointed him. That she’d disappointed A.J., of that fact she had no doubt. “I know this is hard to understand, but even I don’t understand a lot of what’s happened between Harm and me the last two years ….” She shrugged helpless as she trailed off. “Since Harm left JAG,” A.J. said, a statement rather than a question.

“He needed closure on his that part of his life,” she said quietly, taking up position in front of the window and staring out into the blackness. “I understand that now. But it hurt so much when it seemed like he was choosing flying over …. everything else. It’s not his fault. I could have been supportive. I could have kept in touch. I could have welcomed him back with open arms. There are so many things I could have done, like listening when he said he needed more time. Instead, I did something that ended up being a huge mistake just to spite him –“ She stopped suddenly as she realized what she’d just said. She hadn’t even been able to admit that to herself, let alone to anyone else, that she’d initially taken Mic’s ring because of Harm, just as she’d finally agreed to the proposal for a similar reason. “Is that what this is about?” A.J. asked, carefully gauging her response. “Fixing the last two years?” “Is that what you think, Sir?” she demanded, whirling around to face him. Little AJ stirred in her arms, but didn’t awaken. “I love Harm.” She looked a little stunned at the words coming out of her own mouth, but soldiered on. It did feel good to say it out loud, to not have to hide from it. “I love that man more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. He’s the one I want to grow old with, surrounded by our family …. Sir.” Although Gilly was surprised, A.J. silently cheered at the vehemence of her response. Mac was passionate in her beliefs – she was well-matched with Harm in that – and A.J. now realized that passion was something that had been lacking from her in the last couple of years, especially when it came to the man she’d been planning to marry. She’d seemed to be drifting through her relationship with Mic. For the first time in a long while, he saw a flash of the old Mac. Gilly’s expression softened. No matter what else he thought about this mess that he found himself caught in the middle of, he was convinced that she was telling the truth. He prided himself on his ability to read people and he sensed no covering up. In fact, he wondered if this wasn’t actually truth being uncovered, if she wasn’t just being able to admit the truth for herself. “Mac ….” A.J. began in a gentle tone. She stared at him, a bit surprised. He sounded so accepting. He almost chuckled, thinking that she was probably remembering his first admonition to the two of them. That almost seemed like a lifetime ago. “You do realize that there will be questions, and things to deal with ….” “I know that, Sir,” she interrupted, not really surprised when the expected rebuke didn’t come as she began to realize that A.J. was trying to put aside his role as commanding officer to be a friend. Her voice barely trembled as she continued, “But I can’t concentrate on any of that now. You didn’t see him, Sir. I’ve never seen him like that. He ….” Gilly stepped up to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She accepted the embrace, but didn’t return it, struggling to maintain control. She rested her cheek against the top of little AJ’s head, closing her eyes. “I can’t think about any of that until I can be sure that my husband is going to survive.” A.J. nodded. There would be plenty of time to deal with everything else later. He’d tried all night to believe that Harm would come through this like he’d come through everything else, with a swagger and a cocky grin, but Mac stopped him short. Beneath the apparently

collected and calm façade, he could see that she was terrified, perhaps more than she’d been in her life. Just how bad had things been aboard the Henry? he wondered. Was it really that close? Too exhausted to deal with it anymore, Mac looked down at the child sleeping peacefully despite the turmoil, kissing the top of his head. “Sir, I probably should get him back to his mother,” she said, reluctance evident in her voice. A.J. recognized it and suggested, “Why don’t Father Gilly and I take him back to the waiting room? You can join us when you’re ready.” She nodded, grateful for the chance he was offering her, and passed A.J. the diaper bag before transferring little AJ from her arms to his. Under other circumstances, Mac might have had cause to smile at the image of her tough as nails CO cradling in his arms the boy he’d delivered two years earlier. “I’ll ….” she began, reaching out to stroke her godson’s hair, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I hope it won’t be too much longer before the surgery is over.” A.J. watched her wander off, her shoulders slumping. He prayed for her sake and for Harm’s that everything would finally work out. He turned back to find Gilly watching him. “They’ve got a tough road ahead of them,” A.J. commented, at a loss as to what else to say. “I’m not sure that even begins to describe it,” Gilly replied. “I don’t know how much you know about marriage in the Catholic Church.” “I’m Catholic,” A.J. said, “and I got married in the Church. That was over thirty years ago, but I think I remember enough to know where you’re going with this.” “The Church is somewhat strict,” Gilly explained, “and understandably so since marriage is considered one of the seven sacraments, about enforcing the rules under which a couple may get married in the Church. Marriage is supposed to be a lifetime commitment, not entered into hastily. And both parties should be free from other …. encumbrances. The Church doesn’t uphold the plight troth as it used to, but I think questions can’t help but be raised under the circumstances about whether or not Harm and Sarah should have entered into a marriage with each other.” “But of course,” A.J. said somewhat sarcastically, “the Church wouldn’t have minded blessing a marriage between Mic Brumby and Mac just because they went through some Church-sanctioned classes and just because Mac had managed to convince everyone, maybe even herself, that marrying him was the right thing to do?” He shook his head. Although he was a life-long Catholic and couldn’t imagine himself as anything different, sometimes he had to wonder about some of the Church’s policies. “How is that right?” All Gilly could do was shrug. He didn’t really have an answer for that one, but looking at it from a perspective outside of that as a priest sworn to uphold the sacraments, he could see A.J.’s point. Marriage was supposed to be sacred, but how could it be considered so under those circumstances? But that didn’t make the current situation any more correct. “Father, let me ask you something,” A.J. said. “If there were no Mic Brumby, no Renee Peterson – under the circumstances, would you have any doubts whatsoever that you had performed a wedding ceremony for two people who loved each other?”

“You really believe in the two of them,” Gilly remarked, a bit surprised. Although it was his job to be close to people, to be involved in their lives to a certain extent, it wasn’t what could be called the norm for most commanding officers. “Father, if there is nothing else I am sure of in this entire situation,” A.J. replied with conviction, “it is that those two people love each other like …. I can’t describe it. We could stand here all night and we wouldn’t even begin to cover a fraction of what they’ve been through together. You should think about that. Regardless of the rules and regulations – and have no doubt that I have my own to worry about in this situation – doesn’t love like that deserve to be supported and upheld?”

With each sweep of the second hand around the clock hanging on the wall, Mic was growing more frustrated. Right after A.J. and Gilly had left the room, the questions had started, which led to the situation being explained – what could be explained, that is – to those who had walked in after the denouement. He thought Chloe took entirely too much pleasure in announcing Harm and Mac’s marriage. He could also feel the tension in the room and feel everyone trying *not* to look at him. Harm’s family had ended up huddled together, talking about what he didn’t want to know. Renee grew tired of feeling just as ignored and settled onto the couch where Mac had recently been sitting, leaning over the arm to talk to Mic. “So now what?” she asked quietly, still mindful of the presence of the others in the room, especially Harm’s family. Right now, the last thing she needed was to alienate them with a display of histrionics. “This is a little bit worse than Harm and Mac simply having an affair.” Mic looked up at her. “You’ve got a gift for bloody understatement, Renee,” he said, just as quietly. “My fiancée just married another man.” “I’d have to say that she isn’t your fiancée anymore,” she retorted, sorry as soon as she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mic, but she’s married to Harm now.” “So are you just willing to accept this?” he asked. “I don’t want to,” she admitted, “but right now I don’t know what else to do. It’s not like I can go ask Harm if he really meant it.” “Maybe that’s it,” he speculated. “What if Sarah just felt sorry for him and that’s why she ….” The words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say. That would be tantamount to admitting that it was true, that there wasn’t anything he could do. “So what does that say about Harm?” she demanded, fighting back tears. Just how many more tears can I shed over this man? she wondered. “That he would ask her to marry him, I mean?” “What if ….” he began, considering. “Rabb’s got a head injury. Possibly a life-threatening one,” Renee blanched at that, but he continued, warming up to his theory, “if the speed with which they rushed him here is any indication. How do we now that he was even thinking

clearly? Maybe he confused the two of you.” Renee snorted at the thought. He must really have been far out of it to make that kind of mistake. “And do you really believe that?” she asked. “Renee,” he said, trying to be comforting, “what I do know is that this marriage can’t possibly be valid. They didn’t have a marriage license. There were no blood tests. And I don’t really think the Catholic Church is going to look kindly on the fact that they were misled. They ask a lot of questions and if they aren’t satisfied, there is no wedding. There’s no way they could have answered those questions truthfully.” “Okay, okay,” she said, cutting him off with a wave of her hand, not entirely convinced that he wasn’t in some kind of fantasy world where he would have what he wanted if he just believe it. If the world worked like that, she and Harm would already be married. “So what if this is true and someone decrees that the marriage isn’t valid? What then? Do you think Mac is just going to accept that and come back to you with open arms?” “She loves me,” he insisted, looking down at the floor as he said it. “Until all this happened, Sarah was going to marry *me* yesterday.” “I thought about asking you this earlier during our conversation in the car, but I didn’t,” Renee began, reaching down and putting her hand on his arm. He looked up at her, remembering the conversation she was talking about, sure that he knew what was coming and equally sure that he did not want to hear it. If Renee noticed his expression, she chose to ignore it. “Has Mac ever told you that she loves you? And I don’t mean in vague terms that could mean anything, like ‘I want you in my life’. Has she said those three words ‘I love you’?” A long moment of silence stretched between them before Mic softly admitted, “No. She never said the words. She would always say something like ‘me, too’ when I would say them to her.” Renee wasn’t sure whether to swear or cry at his response, even if something deep inside of her had been expecting it. She squeezed his arm, silently conveying the message that she understood his pain and shared it. “Do you think they’ve said it to each other?” she wondered, the question known to both of them to be strictly rhetorical. It was the one question that neither was sure they could bear the answer to. After aimlessly wandering the silent halls for a few moments, trying not to think about the fight going on in the operating room, Mac ended up in front of the elevator. Even walking through the wide, empty corridors, she could feel the walls closing in on her and she had to remind herself not to jump every time she heard a sound. It was a hospital. There were people moving around twenty-four hours a day. Just because there was someone coming down the hall didn’t mean someone was following her. It didn’t mean Mic was coming to demand explanations she wasn’t ready to give. She was a Marine and kept reminding herself that Marine didn’t, under any circumstances, jump at sounds. That characteristic, honed through years of becoming sensitive to and tiptoeing around her father’s alcoholic rages, had become a distant memory after boot camp. But right now, she’d figured she could face down an enemy pointing an AK-47 at her head without flinching before she could talk to Mic Brumby right now, trying to find the

words that she couldn’t string together right now. He would want explanations. But how could she concentrate on him when the man she loved was fighting for his life? Deep down inside, she knew she should feel sorry for what she’d put Mic through, for the pain she’d inflicted. But she couldn’t seem to summon the strength right now to feel anything for him. She rested her head against the wall between the elevators, drawing in a few deep, calming breaths. What had it had been like after Harm’s first crash? How had his parents and grandmother made it through the endless flight to Germany, not knowing if he was going to be alive or dead when they got there? She’d seen him, understood his condition as much as a lay person could, but she still couldn’t shake the numbing fear that he might not make it. It had crossed her mind one of them what the waiting after that first crash had been like, but she hadn’t had the opportunity. She’d had so little time with Harm’s family before everything else had happened. She realized that she didn’t even know what they thought about Harm’s hasty marriage to her. She pushed herself back from the wall, her finger hovering over the down call button for the elevator when a sign almost directly in front of her caught her eye and she pressed the up button instead. A few moments later, the elevator was depositing her on the fourth floor. After taking a moment to study the directional sign on the wall, she headed off to the right, stopping in front of a large window, her forehead resting against the glass. It was so quiet here, so peaceful. This place was about life, not death. Mac jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around to find a black woman about her age standing behind her, dressed in blue hospital scrubs. “May I help you, Ma’am?” the woman asked, her voice firm. Suddenly, it occurred to Mac that there would be questions about someone hanging out in front of the nursery in the middle of the night, someone who obviously didn’t belong there. “I’m sorry,” she said, gesturing nervously with her hands. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb. My husband’s down in surgery …. he was in an accident …. it’s going to be a while and I just had to get out of there.” The nurse studied her impassively for a long moment, sizing her up. Then her expression relaxed as she apparently decided that Mac was telling the truth. “I’m sorry about your husband,” she said sympathetically. She nodded towards the nursery. “Do you have any children?” “Not yet,” Mac replied, shaking her head sadly. “We’ve talked about it, but …” She shrugged. There was no easy way to explain that one. Under other circumstances, the story might have provided a laugh. Now, it was simply a reminder of what might never be. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to banish the thought. Harm would recover and someday they would have that child Harm had promised her. “I guess it just hasn’t been the right time yet, but now ….” She turned back to stare through the window. All five babies inside the nursery were asleep, two boys and three girls, so beautiful and peaceful. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what a child of hers and Harm’s would look like. They’d joked about a boy with her looks and a girl with his looks, but she realized that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted in a daughter. Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She did know she wanted a little girl who would grow up like a princess – the apple of her father’s eye, sheltered and protected by a mother who would never leave her. It was

the looks she couldn’t figure out, although she thought the combination of her caramel skin combined with Harm’s brilliant blue-green eyes did seem intriguing in her dreams. As for a little boy – there have never been any question in her mind on that point. In every dream she’d ever had, in every fantasy which had seemed impossible to fulfill, her little boy had always been a miniature version of his father, destined to grow up strong and brave with his father’s cocky smile and self-confidence. She’d once proclaimed that one Harmon Rabb was all she could handle in her life. And to be sure, any child of Harm’s was probably destined to be a handful, by turns stubborn and infuriating. But with his father’s influence, he would also be capable of such incredible compassion and devotion. What if that was all she had left of Harm? What if their only legacy together was the ghosts of the children who might have been? In a back corner of her mind, she wished there was a possibility that the beautiful night they spent together had created new life. She’d been so careful about protection, not because of that night, but before. When Mic had first brought up the subject of using protection after he moved back to the States, she said she didn’t want to think about starting a family unless and until they got married, which he’d accepted without too much comment. Looking back, it had been one of the few things in the course of their relationship which she’d gotten her way on without argument. A few days after she and Mic had discussed the subject, she’d woken up in the middle of the night, shaking. It had started out as the most wonderful dream. Sunlight streaming through the window, she’d been sitting in a rocking chair, a newborn at her breast, tiny fingers flexing around one of hers as the dark-haired child suckled. After the baby had finished and she lifted him – from the blue bedding in the nearby crib, she thought ‘boy’ was a safe assumption – to her shoulder to burp, the baby had opened his eyes to stare at her. It was at that point she’d woken up. Quietly slipping out of bed so as not to wake Mic, she’d spent the rest of the night at her desk, a case file opened in front of her as she attempted to banish the dream from her mind. It wasn’t the dream that bothered her. She wanted a family with a longing beginning to border on desperation. That snooze button she’d once talked about seemed to be nearing the end of its usefulness. Maybe that was why it had been so easy to let Mic bowl her over with his declarations of love. He’d offered her everything she could possibly want and which Harm hadn’t seemed willing to give her. But even as she shared her bed with Mic and as much of her life as she was capable, his visage wasn’t the one that haunted her dreams. And the child in her arms hadn’t looked up at her with Mic’s eyes, or even hers. The child she ached for had stared back at her with eyes like the sea on a clear day. She shook her head, trying to dispel the morose thoughts again. She kept pushing them away, but they stubbornly refused to release their hold on her. Harm is going to survive, she told herself. And someday, we’ll have that family we both want. We still have time. She realized that the nurse had said something to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. The other woman didn’t seem bothered, but instead gazed back at her with understanding and compassion in her dark eyes. “I was just wondering what it would be like ….” “Thought much about what you’d like?” the nurse asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mac replied with a shrug, turning back to the window. She sighed softly as one of the babies, a girl, stirred in her sleep, tiny legs flailing beneath the blanket, the fingers of one small hand curling and uncurling reflexively. “Maybe one of each would be nice someday.” She thought about what she’d just said, then managed a half-hearted laugh. “Just not at once. I don’t know if I can handle that, not on top of dealing with my husband.” “He’s a big kid himself?” the nurse asked with a knowing smile. “At times,” Mac said with a slight smile. Maybe not so much a big kid, she corrected herself. But he gets into trouble like a kid and all you can do is shake your head, knowing that he’ll do it again and again. “Lieutenant Williams?” a voice called from behind him. “My supervisor, Commander Jameson,” Williams whispered. She studied Mac critically for a moment. The nursery was quiet, so there wasn’t much for her to do, and Mac looked like she could use the company. But she did have to report to her superior. “You’ll be okay?” Mac nodded and Williams stepped away to speak to her supervisor. “Ma’am, I know this probably looks irregular,” she began in a whisper. “Lieutenant, do we have to discuss the policy on unauthorized visitors?” Jameson asked firmly, her tone carrying a harsh edge. “It’s the middle of the night.” “With all due respect, Ma’am,” Williams said, “I didn’t see the problem. Her husband’s in surgery and she needed to get out of there for a while. I’ve been with her the entire time.” “In surgery?” she asked, unable to keep the note of disbelief out of her voice. “That’s what she said,” Williams replied, “and I wasn’t about to accuse a Lieutenant Colonel of lying, Ma’am.” “A Lieutenant Colonel?” “That’s what she told me, Ma’am,” Williams explained. “And she is obviously …. Colonel?” Mac didn’t hear Williams say her name, her attention captured by a small TV behind the nurses’ desk across the hall from the nursery window. The sound from the television had caught her attention and now the scene of a piece of gunmetal-gray metal being lifted from the ocean held it. The nurses took one look at her and with a nod from Jameson, Williams reached over the counter to turn up the sound. “The Navy pilot critically injured in the crash of an F-14 last night has been evac’d to Portsmouth Naval Hospital for emergency surgery, while a Naval investigative team is headed to the aircraft carrier Patrick Henry in an attempt to discover what sent the Tomcat that Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. was piloting plunging into the Atlantic Ocean. In other news …” Williams turned the volume back down, staring at Mac with sudden understanding. “Your

husband is the pilot they were just talking about,” she said. Mac couldn’t even manage a nod as Jameson, concerned about her suddenly-ashen appearance, put an arm around Mac’s waist and let her towards a row of chairs against the wall, gently pushing her down into one without protest. “Williams, get the Colonel a cup of water,” she ordered as she sat down next to Mac. She might have been considered somewhat strict by her subordinates, but she’d been a nurse before she’d been a Naval officer. “I didn’t even know they’d found the wreckage,” Mac whispered, pressing her hands against the sides of her head as she tried to banish from her mind the image of a piece of Harm’s Tomcat being hoisted from the ocean by a Navy salvage ship. “That piece they were lifting, the top of my desk is bigger than that.” “I saw,” Jameson said, not sure what else to say. Williams rushed up and shoved a paper cup of water under Mac’s nose. Mac’s trembling fingers closed around the cup but she didn’t take a sip. Jameson studied her worriedly, and then glanced up at Williams. “Lieutenant, isn’t it about time for your break?” “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, confused. “Colonel, you look like you could use some air,” Jameson said. “Lieutenant Williams will escort you outside. It’s a bit chilly outside tonight after the storm, but the air will probably do you some good.” “I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. She couldn’t leave, not while Harm’s life was still hanging by the slimmest of threads. “What if something happens while I’m gone?” “I’ll call down to the surgical ward and let them know where you’ll be,” Jameson said firmly. “Someone can come get you if something happens.” After a long moment in which Jameson thought Mac was going to refuse, she finally nodded. She didn’t particularly want to get some air, didn’t really want to leave Harm, but she had to get out of the hospital. Slowly, she stood and, still clutching her cup of water, followed Williams to the elevator. Once the elevator doors closed on them, Williams said carefully, not sure how far she could go before overstepping her bounds with a colonel, “I’m a good listener if you want to talk. None of my usual patients can talk, but sometimes things happen and their parents need someone to talk to.” It wasn’t until they were outside that Mac finally spoke in a distant voice, “How do you do that – deal with people dying? I’ve seen people dying before, but …. this is different. It’s never been someone I’ve loved so much.” Eddie, Dalton, Chris – all had died in front of her, but all the emotions she’d felt each of those times combined didn’t even come close to measuring up to what it would be like if Harm didn’t make it. She honestly didn’t know what she would do if he did die. “I don’t know,” Williams admitted. “The first time I saw a patient die – she’d been born premature, but you always hope - I wanted to quit right then and there. I was convinced I couldn’t take it. How could a life be brought into this world full of unlimited possibilities,

only to be snuffed out like that before she’d had a chance to live?” “Harm and I had a goddaughter,” Mac remembered, closing her eyes briefly. “One day at lunch, a few weeks after we found out our friends were expecting a girl, we were talking about what she was going to be like. She was going to be the prettiest little girl, but we were going to teach her about other things, too. I was going to teach her how to hunt dinosaur tracks and Harm wanted to teach her how to fly. Her parents were even going to name her after me. In talking with him, I became convinced that what Harm really wants is a little girl of his own. She would be daddy’s little princess ….” Her voice trailed off, overwhelmed. No, she told herself yet again. I just have to keep believing that Harm and I will get our chance at a family. “Something happened to your goddaughter?” Mac sat down on a bench with a sigh, burying her hands into her jacket pockets as she studied the dark sky. She could barely discern the outline of dark clouds moving across the skyline, blocking the moon and stars from view. “She died at birth,” she confirmed sadly. “The cord was prolapsed and the doctor tried to deliver naturally …. I still remember the sound of Harm’s voice when he called and told me. And the look in his eyes when we arrived at the hospital. We hadn’t even known this little girl yet, but I can’t remember seeing him look like that since we found out his father died. “Sometimes I just wonder why things happen,” she continued. “Harm’s grandfather was shot down in World War II, his father in Vietnam. His brother’s in the Russian Army and he’s currently sitting in a POW camp in Chechnya. And every time Harm manages to get into trouble …. it feels like I can’t breathe until I know he’s going to be okay. And every time he would come out of yet more trouble with that cocky grin on his face – I don’t know, maybe I started to believe nothing could happen to him. Things would happen to him, but he’d always be okay.” Williams wasn’t sure what to say, but was saved from coming up with anything when a voice called out, obviously for Mac. “Colonel, thank God,” Jason exclaimed as he and Victor trotted up. “Everyone’s been worried about you.” “I’m okay,” she said, avoiding their concerned gazes, her eyes falling to where her fingers were fiddling with the zipper of her jacket, unable to summon the strength to sound convincing. She couldn’t face any of her friends and co-workers right now. There were just too many questions. Even if they would remain unasked, whether out of respect or because of rank barriers, they would remain there, hanging over her head. Jason and Victor glanced at each other. They were both worried, but all too aware of the line drawn between enlisted and officers. Jason remembered when Dalton had died, but he couldn’t remember her looking as drawn, as tired then as she did now. But Victor had never seen her like this, never seen anything but the gung-ho Marine image she projected to the world at large. “How is Commander Rabb, ma’am?” Victor asked. “Still in surgery,” she replied distractedly. “It’s about half over, I guess. Maybe a little past that. Everyone else is upstairs in the waiting room.” “Is there anything we can do, ma’am?” Jason asked.

Mac shook her head, but said nothing as Jason and Victor exchanged helpless expressions. Suddenly, a beeper went off, startling everyone. Williams glanced down at the beeper on her waist, swearing inwardly. The sole baby in NICU had taken a turn for the worse. “I need to get back inside,” she said without elaborating. “Will you be okay with your friends, Colonel?” Again, Mac didn’t answer, staring off into the distance. Williams took the silence as assent and motioned to the two men, lowering her voice as she leaned towards them. “She’s a little shaky right now,” she said. “She saw a news report about her husband’s crash and there was footage of a piece of his plane being hauled from the water.” Thinking that the nurse had simply assumed Harm and Mac were married, neither Victor nor Jason gave a second thought to her saying that Harm was Mac’s husband. As she walked off, Victor gestured towards the bench. “Do you mind if we sit down, Colonel?” he asked. She lifted her head and looked at them. “Look, you guys should go inside,” she suggested wearily. She was too tired to deal with them. “I just need a few minutes.” “Ma’am,” Victor said, trying to sound logical, “I doubt Admiral Chegwidden would be happy if we left you out here alone.” “Nice try, Gunny,” she said, realizing that he was trying to prevent her from ordering them to go inside. While a part of her was thankful to have such supportive friends, a larger part of her just wanted to be left alone to shoulder her burdens. They couldn’t understand, no matter how much they wanted to say that they did. “But the Admiral is the one who suggested I take a few minutes by myself.” “With all due respect, ma’am,” Victor continued, undeterred, “I – we both would feel better if someone was with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Mac sighed. “You do realize that I could order you to leave me alone,” she reminded them, but her tone carried no command authority in it. She couldn’t summon the strength. “And I’m hoping that you won’t do that, ma’am,” Victor countered. He knew it was a fine line, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving her out her alone. Right now, she needed her friends. “It would make us feel better.” When she didn’t protest again, Jason sat down on the other side of Victor, the two of them exchanging glances. Now what? Should they refrain from saying anything, merely letting Mac be alone with her thoughts? Or should they engage in idle chitchat as a distraction? “Ma’am, what happened to the Commander?” Jason asked after a heavy silence, the question tentative. Mac stared down silently and after a moment, both men thought she wasn’t going to answer them. The wind picked up and she pulled the jacket tighter around her as she finally said, her voice barely detectible, “He had a seizure aboard the ship because of a head injury the doctor didn’t know about. After some tests, they decided they had to do immediate surgery.”

“I’m sure the Commander will be okay, ma’am,” Jason said, trying to infuse his tone with his usual optimism. “He always is, isn’t he?” Mac mused, with little conviction. She knew he was trying to be positive, but he hadn’t seen what she’d seen. He had no first-hand knowledge of just how bad it really was. Neither of them did. What could either of them say to that, they both wondered. Harm did always seem to have the devil’s own luck. It was hard to think about it, but would that luck run out someday, maybe even today? “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Victor said, at a loss. It seemed inadequate, but what else could he say? “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, more to herself than to them. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.” “Hello, Mrs. Rabb,” Jason called out, noticing the other woman’s approach. He quickly stood, offering his place on the bench to her, Victor moving out of the way as well. Mac glanced up from where she’d been staring at the laces of her sneakers, sighing inwardly. She still wasn’t sure if she could face Harm’s family, at least one on one. On the one hand, they knew what she was going through, had gone through it ten years ago. But what was she supposed to say to them? They were strangers who suddenly found themselves as family under hardly ideal circumstances. “I was just telling them that I don’t need someone to watch over me,” she said. “Nonsense,” Sarah said firmly, shaking her head. She glanced at Victor and Jason, who understood the silent message and hurriedly made their excuses, Mac barely noticing as they headed towards the emergency entrance to the hospital. “Everyone needs someone, even if it’s just to be there.” She studied the other woman. She didn’t look at all like her tall, strong grandson. She was a small woman, almost frail-looking, although Mac knew she still worked her farm, making her looks deceptive. Her eight-two years of life were etched across her face, but her eyes, where one might expect to find a lifetime’s worth of pain echoed, sparkled in the darkness, alight with a zest for living. Her shoulder-length light gray hair, almost silver in color, was simply pushed back off her face, tucked behind her ears, the simple styling probably ideal on the farm. But despite the physical differences, there was just something in the other woman – her bearing, the caring in her voice, her essence – which reminded Mac of her best friend, staunchest supporter and husband. “You sound like Harm,” she marveled. “And he wouldn’t want you to be alone right now,” Sarah said confidently. “I was passing by the main desk outside the surgical ward when a nurse called down from the nursery, said you had been there and had gone outside for some air. I thought you could use a friendly ear right now.” Mac turned to look at her, studying her expression. She could find nothing that even hinted at censure. “Even after everything ….” she began, only to be interrupted. “Regardless of how it came about,” Sarah replied insistently, “you are a part of this family. We take care of our own. Why else would Harm go through everything he did to find

out his father’s fate, or consider resigning his commission to go after his brother? I know Harm’s always considered you family, even before it was official. He’s told me about some of the things you’ve been through. He doesn’t brag about it, but he has been there for you a lot from what I’ve gathered. Let me repay some of that.” Mac wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t used to support so easily given, even from people she knew. Coming from someone who was virtually a stranger, despite their family ties, felt alien to her. Or maybe it was because those family ties were so new and so unexpected. “Mac,” Sarah said, placing a gentle hand over Mac’s tightly clasped ones, “I have been there before. I’m not that old that I don’t remember that spring day when the dark sedan pulled up in front of the house as I was hanging the wash, Harm, Sr. playing with the family dog at my feet. Or the day Trish got a similar visit, although she didn’t have the finality of knowing that her husband was confirmed dead. But the worst, I think, was the day when it wasn’t a dark sedan with men in uniforms.” “One afternoon, Trish and Frank simply showed up on my front porch,” she continued, looking off into the distance as the memories replayed in her mind. She could still see everything as if it had happened yesterday. She even remembered that she’d been wearing a thick blue wool sweater Harm had gotten her for Christmas two years earlier. She loved the bracing cold of the winter, but Harm always worried that she wasn’t dressed warmly enough. “It was still winter and neither of them had thought of what to wear before they left San Diego. They were standing on the porch in short sleeved shirts, rubbing their arms and shivering. I had this feeling, even before they said a word, that something had happened. The entire flight to Germany, I kept telling myself that he had to be okay. I figured that I would know if something had happened to him. He was the only living link I had to my husband and my son, or so I thought at the time.” “I had this dream,” Mac said haltingly, for the first time acknowledging the apparently link between her dream and Harm’s accident. “It started a little over a week ago. Harm was there and so was Mic.” She stopped, not wanting to relieve the details of the dream …. or had it been a vision? Had some cosmic force been warning her that if things continued on the path they were on that dire consequences would be inevitable? She’d been the one who had been responsible for bringing Mic back into their lives with her ill-considered decision in Sydney. If she’d been stronger then …. “And for some reason,” Sarah broke into her thoughts in a firm voice, “this happened because Mr. Brumby was a presence in your life, a presence you allowed? Is that what you’re thinking? Rubbish.” Mac looked startled at the vehemence in the older woman’s voice. “Harm is a pilot. Even if you two had been together, even if Mr. Brumby wasn’t even in the picture, would Harm still have been out on that carrier?” “That’s not the point,” she protested weakly, while silently acknowledging the truth of the statement. Harm’s quals happened on a regular schedule. Even if she hadn’t been planning to get married, Harm would have gone out to the carrier sometime around now. In her head, she knew that her planned wedding had absolutely nothing to do with it. But in examining the train wreck which had become her life, it was so easy to draw the line from Sydney, to her moving the ring, to her engagement party, to their night in Norfolk and finally to Harm’s quals. “If it wasn’t for me, Harm wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get back. He loves carrier life. I’ve never known him to give up the chance to spend time on one.” She turned away, struggling against tears.

“And has it not occurred to you,” Sarah asked gently, placing a weathered hand on Mac’s shoulder, “that he loves you more than he’s loved anything in his life, even flying his beloved Tomcats?” “But he left,” Mac said softly, her face etched with pain. “Two years ago, he left everything to chase that dream. I now know that he loves me, but ….” “But he did come back,” Sarah countered. “If you asked Harm, I wonder what reasons he would give for why he came back? Maybe he’d been out of the game too long or maybe he really did miss being a lawyer more than he thought he would. Those were the reasons he vocalized, anyway. But what if you were part of the reason, a major part of it?” Mac turned around and stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. “Did he tell you that?” she asked shakily. “Because ….” Sarah shook her head. “You know Harm well enough to know that there are some things he just does not talk about,” she said. “He’s been hurt so much in his life and he’s very much one to bottle it all up inside. But I’ve become quite the expert in reading between the lines when it comes to him. And if you think about it, you’ve developed quite an expertise in that skill yourself, I’m sure.” “I thought I did,” she whispered sadly. “But after everything that’s happened ….” “I don’t know how everything played out,” Sarah said, “but when Harm left the carrier, did he think you were still going to be marrying Mr. Brumby?” “No,” she said quickly. “He called me just before he left the carrier and I told him that I had decided not to marry Mic. Our own wedding was a surprise, but we were already at this place where we were going to give ‘us’ a chance.” “Then how can this be your fault?” Sarah pointed out. “And if you think about it, I think you know that even if you had still been planning to marry another man, he wouldn’t have rushed back just to stop the wedding. It would have been one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life, but he would have sat in the church and watched you pledge your life to another man. If he thought that was what you wanted and what would make you happy, he would never have interfered.” “I know,” Mac sighed. “Even after we …. “ She trailed off, unable to tell Harm’s grandmother that she’d slept with him when she’d still been promised to another, then continued with a barely detectible tremor. “He said that it was my choice, that he wasn’t going to pressure me in any way. Even if I broke his heart in the process, he was going to stand by me and my decision.” Her eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears. “That’s more than I ever did for him when he became an active pilot again. All I could think about was how much what he was doing was hurting me. I never even considered about how much he wanted it.” Sarah put her arms around Mac and pulled her into her arms. She resisted a moment, and then wearily laid her head on Sarah’s shoulder. She was so cold and tired and Sarah’s arms were so warm and comforting. She let the older woman’s soft, rich tone lull her into a few precious

moments of peacefulness. “Love doesn’t keep score like that,” Sarah insisted. “If any of us truly were one hundred percent deserving, everyone would be alone. You’ve made mistakes, but so has Harm.” “But ….” Sarah laughed. “I may love my grandson more than anyone else,” she explained, “but I’m not blind to his faults. Remember when I said he doesn’t talk about some things? It may be a defense mechanism for him, but it means those around him have to work harder to dig down and see the real Harm. I’m sure there have been plenty of opportunities when he could have said something over the last year or two or even before that. You’re not a mind reader and had no way of knowing just how deeply Harm was hurting because of your relationship with Mr. Brumby. But regardless, you probably understand better than just about anyone what he’s all about just from what the two of you have been through together. You’ve seen how much his father’s fate has affected him. You know the pain that Diane’s unsolved murder caused. You know how much he’d do to protect his brother. And if you’ll just admit it, you know how much he has loved you, even if he sometimes has a problem saying the words.” “I know,” she admitted softly. “No one, except maybe my uncle, has done so much for me.” “And the reverse is true as well,” Sarah said in a knowing tone. “Harm has told me that much.” Mac closed her eyes with a sigh. It felt good knowing that there was someone on her side – on her and Harm’s side. A tentative smile graced her features. She could see just how much of an influence Sarah had on her grandson. It was because of her that he was the wonderful man he was, she suspected, perhaps even more than his mother. Maybe because she’d been for so long his only blood link to his beloved father. “Thank you, Mrs. Rabb,” she whispered. Sarah dropped a kiss on top of Mac’s head, realizing how hard those words were for Mac to say. She knew from what Harm had told her that the very people who should have been there for Mac had been the ones who had hurt her the most. Gratitude was not an emotion which came easily to the younger Sarah Rabb, she knew. “What’s with this ‘Mrs. Rabb’ stuff?” she chided Mac gently. “You’re my granddaughter now. Harm calls me ‘Gram’.” “Alright …. Gram,” Mac said tentatively.

They sat together on the bench for a few minutes, Sarah noticing a little bit of the tension easing from Mac as she rested her head against Sarah’s shoulder, Sarah gently stroking her hair. Eventually, Mac lifted her head, slowly pulling out of Sarah’s arms. She pushed her hair back off her face, showing puzzlement at the surprised look on Sarah’s face. “What is it?” she asked. Sarah hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said. She was worried at the apparently lack of emotion from Mac, but she didn’t know her well enough yet to know how she would deal with something like this. Perhaps she was one who shed her tears in solitude. Sarah could understand that, after a lifetime spent being the strong one, for her son, then her daughter-in-law and grandson. “Would you mind accompanying me back

inside? These old bones just can’t tolerate the cold like they used to.” Under other circumstances, Mac might have laughed. While she’d pulled her jacket tighter around her to ward off the chill in the air, Sarah looked utterly comfortable with her jacket unbuttoned and open. But she couldn’t call the other woman on her deception. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she was ready to go back inside and face everyone. “Don’t worry about Mr. Brumby and Ms. Peterson,” Sarah said, sensing the direction of her thoughts. “There will be time enough to deal with all that later, when Harm is better. Nothing else matters right now.” “Somehow, I have a hard time believing they will see it that way,” Mac said wryly. “Doesn’t matter,” Sarah replied firmly. “They’ll have to get through me first. Plus, I got the impression that your Admiral Chegwidden won’t put up with any nonsense from those two either. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too much longer before Harm’s out of surgery and I know you’ll want to see him as soon as he’s allowed visitors.” Sarah started to stand, intent on taking Mac back inside, stopping when she felt Mac’s hand on her arm. “Um, Gram ….” she began hesitantly, her thoughts drifting back to an earlier question. “What was it like? When you saw Harm after his earlier accident, I mean.” She sat back down, clasping Mac’s hand in hers as she gathered her thoughts. She didn’t think that anything she could say would completely prepare Mac, but perhaps she could soften the blow a bit by preparing her to expect anything. “The whole way to Germany,” she began quietly, her voice trembling slightly at the memory, “I tried to tell myself that as long as he was alive, I could handle anything I would see, but nothing prepares you. Harm has always been so active and vibrant, but seeing him lying in a hospital bed, so pale …. To this day, I can’t tell you what all the machines he was hooked up to did or what was being carried into his body in all the tubes. Honestly, except for the machines and the IVs and the paleness of his face, you couldn’t really tell he was injured. Except for a lot of bruises and some broken ribs, most of his major injuries were to his back and legs and were covered by the bedding. Looking at him lying in that bed, you might have thought he was just sleeping. But I knew he wasn’t and I just remember that it felt like someone had punched me in the gut. That’s the only way I can describe it.” Mac nodded, the words caught in her throat. She’d had an idea what to expect, knew it would probably be bad, but to hear it put in such stark terms …. then again, how much worse could it be than what she’d seen on the ship when he’d been unable to control his body, when he’d been unable to draw breath into his lungs? She rubbed the palm of her free hand against her pant leg as she took a slow deep breath. She would deal with it. She had to be strong for Harm. She stood and offered Sarah a hand getting up, more out of politeness than any thought that the other woman needed it. Sarah might be several inches shorter than her, something which struck Mac now that they were standing side-by-side, and might look like she might blow away in a strong wind, but Mac could see in her clear blue eyes that her spine was made of steel. It occurred to her that the elder Sarah Rabb was the lynchpin which held the family together. After all, hadn’t she been the one Harm had turned to after his first crash, then one he’d always turned to?

Suddenly, she realized Sarah had been saying something. “I’m sorry, Mrs.,” she began, stopping as she saw Sarah’s admonishing look. “I mean, Gram. What were you saying?” “I was wondering if stopping by the nursery had helped any,” Sarah repeated as they started walking towards the hospital entrance. Mac turned to her, startled. “Remember, I was walking by when that nurse called down from the nursery and she said you’d been there then had gone outside for some air. Anyway, I know there’s a lot of short term issues to deal with right now, but sometimes it helps to think about the long term. Reminds us what we’re fighting for.” “But Harm’s the one who has to do most of the fighting,” Mac pointed out, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. “I feel so ….” “Helpless?” Sarah asked gently when Mac didn’t finish. She took the ensuing silence as confirmation. “I suppose being in the military, the Marines especially, that you’re used to taking action, not sitting back and waiting for something to happen. But don’t think that you can’t help him fight. When Harm was still unconscious after his first crash, a counselor stopped by to talk to us. She suggested that we talk to Harm. Evidence has shown that kind of thing registers somehow with people.” “Father Gilly said the same thing,” Mac said, “on the helo on the way here. He said he worked in a VA hospital after he first joined the Navy and that he spent a lot of time with patients in comas, just talking to them.” “Mac, this may sound a bit hokey,” Sarah continued, “but have you heard about how some people who are near death talk about a white light and something pulling them towards it?” Mac nodded reluctantly, not sure where she was going with this apparently morbid subject. She didn’t want to think about Harm seeing white lights and being pulled towards anywhere that wasn’t back to her. “You be the anchor – pardon the naval metaphor – that holds Harm here. Talk to him about your future. Tell him about your future children ….” In spite of her mood, Mac couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped at Sarah’s earnest tone. “Is that supposed to be a hint?” she asked, even managing to inject a bit of teasing into her voice. “I’m not getting any younger,” Sarah said determinedly, “and not counting Sergei, since I wasn’t around when he was born, it’s been almost thirty-eight years since a baby was born into this family. It’s about time, don’t you think? Of course, it will be a while before Harm’s in any condition for the actual making of the baby.” This time, Mac did laugh as an image crossed her mind of her playing ‘nurse’ for Harm. She leaned against the wall as they waited for the elevator. “Gram, how is it that you know just what to say to make a person feel better?” she asked. “Harm says it’s my gift,” she replied, imagining just what had caused the outburst of laughter. She wasn’t *that* old, regardless of what the calendar said. Just because her husband had died almost sixty years earlier didn’t mean she hadn’t loved since then. “But I just hate to see the people I love hurting.” At Mac’s shocked look, she smiled. “Dear, my grandson loves you and that’s enough for me. From what I’ve learned about you, not just in listening to him talk about you but in talking to you now, I know you’re good for him. You

understand him, better than most people. And regardless of the problems the two of you may have gone through when he went back to flying, I think you realize now that is part of what makes him who he is and you wouldn’t try to change him.” “You can say I learned that one the hard way,” she muttered under her breath. His quals were a case in point. When he’d told her that he had to go out to a carrier and might miss the wedding, it had crossed her mind to be upset. But between knowing that it was something he had to do and that he would do everything to keep his promise to return in time for the wedding, she’d accepted it. But if this had all happened two years ago, when she’d felt so threatened by his love of flying, she probably would not have handled it well at all. Just look at the downward spiral which had started when he told her that he was returning to active flight status. Mac was silent as they stepped onto the elevator and Sarah decided not to push her luck any further. She was confident Mac knew she had her support. There would be time later to pick up this topic again. As the elevator doors opened to the third floor, Mac squared her shoulders, mentally preparing herself for what she might face, while Sarah squeezed her hand encouragingly. As they passed the central desk, a nurse smiled encouragingly at them, with both women took as a sign that all was still going as well as could be expected. Mac could feel the silence in the room as she pushed open the door to the waiting room. Mac studiously ignored the pointed stares as she and Sarah took seats on one of the couches as people shifted around to make room for them. She risked a glance at Mic out of the corner of her eye and found herself unable to read his expression. Maybe she could do this, wait until later to deal with all this. Maybe everyone would let her wait. Chloe, who had vacated her seat on the couch, settled in front of the couch, resting her head on Mac’s thigh. “There hasn’t been an update since before you left,” she whispered, stifling a yawn. “But it should be almost over, right?” Mac nodded as she stroked her sister’s hair. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice barely there. “It should be almost over.” “We were starting a prayer service,” Father Gilly told her. Mac glanced around, finally noticing that most of the room’s occupants were holding hands. One hand still being clasped by Sarah, she was startled when she felt a light pressure on her other hand and looked up into Frank’s warm eyes. Tentatively, she curled her fingers around his, sensing nothing but support from the stranger who was now her father-in-law. Gilly opened his Bible to the page he’d bookmarked, but before he could start speaking, the door opened again. Everyone tensed at the sight of the same nurse who had updated them earlier, expressions ranging from worried to cautiously hopeful. “I’m looking for Admiral Chegwidden,” she announced, faces falling as everyone realized there was no news. A.J. stood and walked across the room to the door. “There’s a phone call for you, Sir,” the nurse said. “You can take it at the main desk.” Puzzled, A.J. followed her out of the room, wondering who would be calling him there. Just

about everyone who might have had reason to contact him was in the room he’d just left. Suddenly, he was struck with the hope that it wasn’t the SECNAV. This investigation was going to be hard enough without a career politician who had no love for ‘Harmful’ Rabb injecting himself into it. With a sigh, he picked up the phone, punching the flashing button. “Admiral Chegwidden,” he said. “A.J.,” a voice he recognized all too well said. A.J. groaned. Clay was probably the next to last person he wanted to speak to right now. He was not in the mood for the agent’s usual games. “What is it, Webb?” A.J. said, exasperated. Clay recognized the tone and at another time, he might have taken delight in needling A.J.. But he knew that this was not that time. “I have news from Russia,” he said calmly. “Sergei Zhukov is on his way to Moscow with one of my agents. I’ve already got the paperwork in order to get him into the US. We should be touching down in New York in about eleven hours, and then I’ve got a jet standing by to fly us to Norfolk.” “Rabb’s brother has been released?” A.J. asked. “I managed to broker a deal with the Chechens,” Clay said. “Look, the details aren’t important right now. I just wanted to get an update on Rabb’s condition so I’d have something to tell Sergei when he gets here.” “He’s still in surgery,” he replied, deciding he was better off not knowing right now just what the *deal* to get Sergei released entailed, as long as it wasn’t something illegal which might affect Sergei’s immigrant status. Worrying about whether his brother would be allowed to remain in the US was the last thing Harm needed. “We haven’t been updated in a while, but the last time they said anything, the surgery was about half over but appeared to be going well.” “I guess it’s not much,” Clay said, “but it does give me something to tell him. How’s Mac taking this?” “How do you think, Webb?” he countered. “She’s trying to hold everything together like she always does.” “I can imagine,” he suggested, “worrying about Rabb on top of having to postpone her wedding.” A.J. chuckled. God knew it wasn’t really funny, but he could use a laugh right about now. “I guess you don’t know everything, Webb,” A.J. couldn’t resist poking at the other man just a little. He needed something to break the tension. “The wedding is cancelled, not just postponed.” “Cancelled?” Clay asked, stunned. “Just because Rabb took a dip in the Atlantic?” “Nope,” A.J. said. “Cancelled because she married Rabb.” “A.J., when was the last time you got any sleep?” Clay asked suspiciously. The other man

had to have gone around the bend. That was the only explanation. “Webb, Harm and Mac are married,” A.J. repeated, not offering any more details. “Just tell Sergeant Zhukov that his brother is holding on. I’m sure his presence will give Rabb even more reason to hang on.” “Okay,” Clay said, although he had a lot more questions. He doubted A.J. would answer any of them. “I’ll call once we reach New York and let you know our ETA in Norfolk.” After they hung up, A.J. leaned against the counter, contemplating. What was already a tense family situation was about to get even more so. He didn’t know all the details, but he’d heard something to the effect that things had been a little tense between Harm and his mother right around the time the news about Sergei had become public knowledge. “Nurse,” he said, turning to the nurse who had informed him of Clay’s call, “can you ask Colonel MacKenzie to join me out here?” “Colonel MacKenzie?” she asked, confused. A.J. realized his mistake. “Sorry,” he said, “Colonel Rabb.” Nodding, she took off to do as he asked, returning a moment later with a worried Mac. “Admiral, is it something about Harm?” she asked, her words coming out in a rush. “Have you heard something about the investigation? I saw something on the news earlier ….” “Mac, this isn’t about Harm’s crash,” he assured her, holding up his hand to stop her. “At least not directly. That was Webb on the phone. Sergei Zhukov has been released. He should be arriving in Moscow shortly and then will be on a flight to New York. He should be here in Norfolk ….” He glanced at his watch, quickly calculating. “Sometime early this evening, likely. Which brings me to why I asked you out here.” She understood immediately. “You’re wondering how Harm’s family will react to having him here,” she concluded. “Of course, Gram would be thrilled. He’s her grandson, too. Trish, I’m not so sure about. I know Harm indicated that she didn’t take the news of his existence too well. But what Gram said is right. Harm is what is important here. Sergei being here will be good for Harm. I think from that perspective, Trish will handle it. Later, there probably will be issues to be resolved, but honestly, Sir, they’re just not that important right now. Harm is what’s important and having his brother here can only help him.” “I agree with that,” he said, noting the family nickname she used for Harm’s grandmother. Perhaps Sarah going outside to find Mac had been a good thing. He suspected Mac needed all the support she could get, although she would probably never admit it. He also suspected that she was talking about more than Sergei when she spoke of issues to be resolved later. “Sir,” she continued, “I do think we should probably tell them now. At least that would give everyone all of today to come to terms with it, I guess.” “Probably a good idea,” he concurred. “I would like you to be with me when I tell them.”

“Sir,” she protested, shaking her head, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I just met them and ….” “Mac,” A.J. cut her off, “you’ve met Sergei and would be in a better position than I would to answer any questions they might have about him.” Mac sighed, nodding in acquiescence. She was at least thankful that he hadn’t thrown in the fact that they were technically her family. Except for Sarah, she wasn’t really sure where she stood with them. Frank had seemed friendly when she and Sarah had rejoined everyone, perhaps because he knew what it was like to be the interloper, but Trish was still an unknown quantity and that bothered Mac. She’d learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth the heartache to try to please her parents, but for some reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, what Harm’s family thought mattered to her a lot. A.J. left her standing by the counter, returning after a moment which the rest of Harm’s family. Not giving them a chance question what was going on, he immediately launched into an explanation. “I just got a call from a friend of Harm’s,” he told them. “He informed me that Sergei Zhukov has been released by the Chechens and is on his way to the US. He should be here sometime this evening.” “Thank God,” Sarah gasped, her eyes filling with tears. Impulsively, Mac gave her a hug. Trish looked shell-shocked, but her voice was calm when she said, “I’m sure Harm will be happy to see his brother and I know Mom has wanted to meet her other grandson.” Frank put a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently. “I thought you should know now,” A.J. said, sensing that they needed to be alone to deal with this latest news. He headed back for the waiting room, leaving them standing in the hallway. After a moment’s heavy silence, Sarah reached out and took Trish’s hand in hers. “It will be okay, Trish,” she assured her. Trish nodded hesitantly. “I know,” she said softly. “This is what Harm wants and what you want, Mom.” “Trish,” Sarah gently admonished her, “that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about how you will deal with this. We talked after Harm told you about Sergei, remember?” “Mom, I’ll be fine,” Trish said, her voice firmer. After the fact, she’d felt bad about unburdening herself to Sarah when the other woman was worried about her grandson in a prison camp half a world away. She wasn’t about to go down that road again. “As I’m sure you would say, Harm is the important thing right now and having his brother here could only encourage him, right? I’m sure he’s a nice kid. Mac, you’ve met him, haven’t you?” It took Mac a moment to realize that Trish had spoken to her. “Yes, I met him in Russia,” she confirmed. “He is a good kid. He reminded me a lot of Harm, except ….” She stopped, not quite sure how to put it into words. “Except what?” Sarah encouraged her.

Mac shrugged. “I guess the only way I can explain it is that he hasn’t lived with the uncertainty Harm has,” she explained. “He’s known his entire life that his father is dead. He hasn’t had his career ripped from him the way Harm did and had to start over.” “Trish, it will be okay,” Frank interjected. “No matter what our differences, all of us just want one thing and that is for Harm to get better. We do have common ground in that.” “You’re right, darling,” she conceded. She looked at Mac. “We’re all here because we love Harm. He’s the most important thing right now.” Mac forced herself to meet her mother-in-law’s gaze, her nervousness increasing. She sensed the hesitancy in her tone. Perhaps she was just imagining things. It could just be meeting her husband’s other son which had Trish worried. She was about to suggest they return to the waiting room when she caught sight of two figures decked out in scrubs coming down the hall and hands clenched into fists at her side. Trish noticed the change in Mac’s expression and turned, her fingers tightening around Sarah’s when she saw the doctors heading their way. “Dr. Stafford, Dr. Reed,” Mac greeted them, surprised that she could make the words come out past her heart which was stuck in her throat. She gestured around the group, making introductions. “These are my in-laws, Trish and Frank Burnett and Harm’s grandmother, Sarah Rabb. Everyone, Dr. Stafford is the neurosurgeon who operated on Harm. And you all spoke to Dr. Reed earlier, when we were on the carrier.” “He came out of the surgery okay?” Trish asked. “He’s being moved into ICU as we speak,” Stafford confirmed. “The surgery went as well as can be expected. Despite the delay in treatment, we were able to stop the bleeding before it spread too much. Now, it’s just a waiting game. We’ll closely monitor him to make sure there isn’t any swelling or a recurrence of the bleeding. It’s hard to say as these things can be tricky, but we’re cautiously optimistic right now.” There were audible sighs of relief from all those assembled. “When will he be allowed visitors, Doctor?” Frank asked. “It will take about a half hour to get him settled in ICU,” Stafford replied. “For now, his condition is *still* critical, so we will limit his visitors to family only, two at a time for fifteen minutes each. You can give a list of the family members to the nurse in ICU so that they know who’s allowed to go in. We will keep him sedated for a while to facilitate the healing process, so after all of you have visited him once, I recommend you go get some rest. The VOQ has rooms set aside for the families of patients. If his vitals stay stable, we probably will bring him out of sedation later this afternoon. That will give you a few a few hours sleep at least.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Sarah said for all of them. Mac felt her knees start to give out and she stumbled blindly towards a row of chairs across from the nurse’s desk. Sarah seemingly materialized at her side, guiding her into a seat with a hand on Mac’s elbow. “I’m okay,” Mac insisted, but she didn’t shake off the assistance.

“Of course you are, dear,” Sarah said in a comforting tone. She knew enough about Mac from her grandson to realize that she wouldn’t want an issue made of her emotional reaction to the doctor’s news. Although whether that was due to her past or being in the military, Sarah wasn’t sure. Maybe a little of both, for she’d seen the same behavior often enough in Harm. “The lack of sleep is probably just catching up with you. God knows we’ll all be able to use the sleep after we see Harm. Trish? Frank?” Trish sat heavily in another chair, Frank hovering protectively over her shoulder. “It’s different this time,” Trish said, her tone distant. “By the time we arrived in Germany the last time this happened, Harm was already out of surgery. I don’t know. Maybe it was easier to wait then because we were on a plane that was taking us to him, not sitting in waiting room, watching time move so slowly, knowing that Harm was just yards away.” “You’ll be able to see him soon,” Frank said reassuringly. Trish reached up and clasped his hand over her shoulder. “You and Mac should go in and see him first, and then Sarah and I can go in….” “Maybe Gram should go in first,” Mac protested without much conviction. She desperately needed to see Harm, to see for herself that he was alive. She couldn’t shake the image out of her mind of the violent spasms when he’d seized on the carrier. But she couldn’t put herself ahead of Harm’s family, not when everything was so uncertain, when she was so unsure of where she stood with them. “She’s….” “Nonsense,” Sarah said firmly. “You’re Harm’s wife. I can wait a few more minutes to see him.” She shook her head resolutely as Mac opened her mouth to protest. “An additional fifteen minutes isn’t going to make a difference for me. You need to see your husband and that’s the end of that.” “Perhaps we should go back into the waiting room and let everyone know the news,” Trish interjected. “There are a lot of people who came a long way because they were worried about Harm.” “Good idea,” Frank added with a wary glance at his wife. Although she was correct, there was something just a little off about her tone. “All of Harm’s friends are worried about him. Sarah, why don’t you and Mac go do that?” Mac was about to say something, but Sarah shook her head almost imperceptibly. “We’ll do that,” Sarah agreed. She motioned to Mac, who reluctantly stood with her. “You’ll join us in a few minutes?” Frank nodded, smiling to put the women at ease. “We’ll be there in a minute,” he promised. “I just need to talk to Trish for a second.” Trish and Frank were silent until the two women had gone back into the waiting room, then Trish turned to her husband, her arms folded across her chest. “What, Frank?” she said, her tone just short of a demand. She knew from experience that when he wanted to speak to her alone like that, she wasn’t likely to appreciate what he had to say. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Mac?” Frank asked gently as he sat in the chair Mac had vacated. Under other circumstances, he might have been amused. Her tone

and posture were so reminiscent of her son. He might be his father’s twin in looks, but a large portion of Harm’s personality came straight from his mother. Or maybe it was Trish’s stubbornness that came from Harm. After all, she’d had to match him in the ongoing effort to keep him somewhat in line during his teen years. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said defensively. “Trish ….” he said with a sigh. There was a lot he wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time to risk a disagreement – or worse – with his wife. Her mood was so mercurial right now, and to a degree that was understandable. No parent should go through what she was going through even once, let alone twice. But to give Mac the cold shoulder – he couldn’t understand that, especially since she’d been cordial up until Mac announced her and Harm’s marriage. Keeping in mind her frame of mind, he decided to take a slightly different tact. “She loves our son.” “So does Renee,” she reminded him. “I suppose,” he admitted. “You’ve met her before, not me. But Harm didn’t marry Renee. Tell me, have you ever known him to do something this important that he didn’t absolutely believe in one hundred percent?” Trish sighed heavily without answering. He did have a point. But how could she explain to him what she couldn’t quite explain to herself? Who could explain the instinctive knowledge of a mother? Frank wasn’t a mother …. couldn’t understand the intuition that came along with the title. She’d carried Harm in her body for nine months and then had nurtured him for seventeen years. She’d spent a lifetime loving him and worrying about him. She knew when her baby was happy. And she knew when he was sad, like after Australia. He’d dropped by the house a couple of months after that trip while in San Diego on a case and, when apologizing for sending her birthday present late, had mentioned that he’d been in Australia on a case at the time. He’d told her about the case of the American sailor killing an Australian sailor then adopting his identity for twenty-eight years, but Trish could sense immediately that there was something about the trip to Australia that he didn’t want to talk about. Knowing that there was a time to push her son and a time to just back away, she’d changed the subject by innocently asking how Mac was doing, by then a standard question whenever she spoke to her son. His response had been stunning. There had been no indulgent shake of his head, no exasperated ‘Mom!’ despite the sparkle in his eyes and the grin that spoke of his real feelings, as was his normal response. He’d abruptly changed the subject, asking her about how the gallery was doing, as if she hadn’t even asked the question. But what was even more surprising than his sudden topic switch had been the flash of pain in his eyes before a mask of indifference had fallen over his expression, so brief that she almost thought she’d imagined it, yet so stark that it broke her mother’s heart. She’d tried a couple more times during the visit to bring up Mac’s name, only to be rebuffed each time. She’d even thought about asking Sarah – Trish had reconciled herself long ago to Harm’s tendency to confide in his grandmother before her - if Harm had said anything to her,

but had quickly banished the thought. She’d always known that Sarah would never break a confidence. She would never risk Harm’s trust like that. Trish still didn’t know what had happened in Australia, although the fact that Mac’s fiancé – ex-fiancé, she reminded herself – was Australian and the fact that Harm had never mentioned her upcoming wedding seemed to be strong indicators. But whatever had happened, she knew without a doubt that Mac had hurt her son …. badly. How could she just forget about that? Frank could see in her eyes the battle being waged within. Carefully considering his words, he took her hand in his, gently massaging her chilled fingers. “Trish,” he finally said, “you aren’t thinking about what he said, or rather didn’t say, a year ago when he visited us, are you? We don’t know what happened ….” “I know my baby was hurt,” she insisted, with the indignation that only a mother could muster, “badly. And it’s not that hard to figure out that Mac has something to do with that.” He knew that there were two sides to every story. Maybe Mac had done something, whether intentional or not, which had caused the deep pain Trish had seen at the time, which she’d told him about later when suggesting he try to get Harm to open up to him, man to man. But that wasn’t necessarily the entire story. He loved Harm as much as if he’d been biologically his, but he wasn’t blind to the fact that Harm was too good at hurting those closest to him - often blindly unaware, although sometimes uncaring of the pain he was inflicting on others. If Mac had hurt Harm, it was entirely possible that Harm had done something to hurt her, whether as cause or consequence of what Mac had done. “Yes,” he admitted, “Harm was hurt by something ….” Trish started at that, but he silenced her unspoken objection with a look. “…. or someone. But we need to trust that Harm knows what he’s doing ….” “But how do we know that?” she countered stridently. “My God, Frank. Harm nearly died tonight. How do we know that he was really thinking about what he was doing? This is all happening so fast. She was supposed to marry someone else up until yesterday!” “Patricia Burnett, stop right there!” He said, his voice rising. Taking a deep breath, he continued on in a calmer tone. “There is one thing that we do know. Do you remember earlier when you asked Mac if she loved Harm? Do you doubt that she was being completely honest? She traveled out to a carrier to be at his side. For me, that speaks louder than what may or may not have happened between them over a year ago. Can you try to focus on what the two of you have in common? You both love Harm and would do anything for him. And Harm loves both of you …. “ Again, Trish looked like she wanted to argue, but he shook his head. “Now, don’t argue about that, Trish. We’ve both suspected for years that Harm loves her as more than just his best friend. Anyway, we all need to pull together, to be there for each other and for Harm. It is not going to help Harm to see that there are issues between his wife and mother.” Trish sighed, closing her eyes. He was right about one thing. It would do no good for Harm to see tension between Mac and herself. She would not do anything to hurt him, she promised herself. Opening her eyes, she nodded slowly. “I’ll try,” she conceded, “ …. for Harm.”

Inwardly, Frank sighed with relief. “That’s all I ask,” he said, placing his arm across her shoulders and pulling her against him. She relaxed in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Harm was the most important thing and she would try to keep in mind what was best for him. But knowing what was right for Harm in her head and in her heart could turn out being two very different things.

When Mac and Sarah entered the waiting room, it was as if a switch had been thrown. All conversation suddenly stopped and all eyes, except for those of the sleeping baby AJ, turned to the two women. I’m a Marine, Mac told herself as Sarah’s hand found hers, Sarah’s fingers tightening around hers comfortingly. I can handle this. Regardless, she managed not to focus on any one face, her gaze darting over everyone’s heads. She could feel the eyes on her, hear the unspoken questions, but now was not the time. She couldn’t deal with it right now, had to focus exclusively on Harm. “Dr. Stafford just stopped to talk to us in the hall,” Mac said in a calm tone that belied the tension she coiled deep inside. “Harm is out of surgery and is doing as well as can be expected.” “What exactly does that mean?” Renee demanded. Even if she’d given even a moment’s thought to being pragmatic about losing Harm, over twenty-four hours without sleep was more than enough to unbridle her tongue. “When can I see him?” “Just what it sounds like,” Sarah answered evenly. She could easily dismiss her behavior after so long without sleep. They were all tired and even the most levelheaded person could be sharper than intended under those circumstances. She just wished she had confidence that Renee was more personable when fully rested and that she wouldn’t cause any problems. “The doctors are optimistic but he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s being closely monitored for any further problems.” She quickly latched onto the fact that Sarah had completely ignored her second question. So that’s the way that particular wind is blowing, she thought. She’s already playing Mac’s protector. “So when can I see him?” she repeated. Giving Mac’s hand a quick squeeze as a signal – Sarah knew the temptation to say something must be overwhelming for her – she answered, “Not for a while, Ms. Peterson. I’m sorry, but the doctor is only allowing family in for now, at least until Harm’s condition improves. He’s probably going to remain under sedation for most of today, anyway.” The knowledge that Harm wouldn’t even be waking up for hours was little consolation for Renee. She needed to see him. Didn’t the year and a half she’d spent with him count for anything? To be shunted aside while Mac, who just a day ago had been to marry another man, took her place at his side was galling. She stood and took a step towards the two women, her eyes blazing. “I’ll be damned if….” “Thank you, Mrs. Rabb,” A.J. said quickly, cutting off the protest he knew was coming from Renee. Realistically, even if Mac wasn’t there, Renee wasn’t likely to be allowed in to see Harm anyway, but having to sit back while Mac *was* allowed in had to be infuriating to her,

he realized. It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten caught in the middle of the storm of Harm and Mac’s lives. Unlike Mic, she probably hadn’t even realized what she was walking into the middle of. He buried the pang of sympathy he felt towards her. She likely would find such a sentiment suspect, coming from someone so …. close to Harm and Mac. “I suppose the rest of us should see about getting rooms somewhere and get some sleep. Most of us do have to be back at JAG tomorrow.” “Sir,” Bud corrected him, “actually, tomorrow is Memorial Day.” “So it is, Mr. Roberts,” A.J. said, chuckling with little mirth. He was more tired than he cared to admit to anyone, even himself. Gone were the days when he could go without sleep for several days and still be raring to go. “Well, then most of us don’t have to be back at JAG until Tuesday. Tiner, Gunny, check with the nurses’ desk, get numbers for some hotels in the area and start calling around. Check with billeting first, although I doubt they can accommodate us all and those that aren’t military can’t stay there anyway, except for Harm’s immediate family. Just make sure any hotel is aware that we need rooms immediately and not in several hours after checkout time.” “Aye, Sir,” Victor answered for both of them, heading out with Jason on his heels. They nearly ran into Trish and Frank entering the room. “Excuse us, Sir, Ma’am,” Victor apologized, stepping aside to let them enter. “We’re on our way to look into hotel rooms for everyone.” “That isn’t necessary for us,” Frank said. “We were stopped on our way back in by one of the nurses. They were nice enough to call and arrange for rooms at the VOQ at the shipyard for us, Sarah and Mac.” “Yes, Sir,” Victor said as he and Jason left. Everyone shifted around to make room for the new arrivals, Chloe motioning frantically to Mac and Sarah with her free hand, her other arm supporting baby AJ in her lap. The women settled on the couch on either side of her, Mac lifting AJ from Chloe’s arms and settling him on her own lap, her hand absently stroking baby-fine blond hair. AJ stirred, but did not wake up, merely snuggling against his godmother with a quiet sigh. Mic watched the scene, masking his growing unease. She’d all but ignored his presence since they’d come face-to-face several hours earlier. He was certain that if he could just get her away from there and talk to her, then they could straighten everything out, he could get her to make sense of everything. He glanced at his watch. If all had gone as it should have, they would have been somewhere out over the Pacific Ocean right now, jetting away to Australia for their honeymoon. But she was being monopolized. At various times, A.J. and Rabb’s grandmother had stepped in to keep him away from Mac. He had to be with her, but if he even made a move in her direction, he knew more than one person would jump in to put a stop to it. Frustrated, he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. Quickly glancing around the room, he caught several looks of pity. I don’t want their pity, he told himself. It’s not necessary. This will all get straightened out and Sarah will be back with me.

Only Renee had the courage to approach him, perching herself on the arm of the chair he was seated in. “Sickening, isn’t it?” she murmured, gesturing vaguely in Mac’s direction, where she was holding a quiet conversation with Chloe and Carolyn, who was seated on the other side of her. “We should have been on our way to Australia right now,” he said as Mac smiled sadly at something Carolyn said. Sarah leaned over and said something that brought chuckles to the group huddled together. His stomach clenched in knots at the sight. “I don’t suppose you could grab her and drag her onto a plane, could you?” Renee said, not entirely joking. She and Mic were in the same boat and were going to have to work together to bail out of it. Mic just gave her a stern look and she shook her head. “It was just a thought.” I wish I could, he thought. He didn’t know what to do. Most of them seemed to be working overtime to protect Mac from him. As if she needed it. He was her fiancé, the man who loved her. He snorted, bringing a puzzled glance from Renee. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.” “About a way to get your fiancée and my boyfriend back?” she whispered, leaning closer as she glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them much attention. “Weren’t you the one a few hours ago who was ready to accept this as a fait accompli?” he reminded her, his voice just as quiet. “I said I didn’t know what else to do,” she countered, “*at the time*. But the more I think about this, the more determined I am not to let Harm go without a fight. I can’t believe that the last year and a half was wasted. I want that man to be my husband, the father of my children ….” “There isn’t a possibility that you are, is there?” he asked, his eyes darting to her midsection. “I wish,” she sighed. “But he was always so careful about that. He …. never mind.” She didn’t really want to talk about the fight she and Harm had not long after his return from Russia and Cuba. She’d prepared …. well, ordered …. a welcome-home dinner from him and had taken the phone off the hook so he wouldn’t get any calls ordering him to Mongolia at the last minute. Things had progressed naturally – until Harm had found the box in his nightstand drawer empty and put the brakes on. She’d tried to convince him that it didn’t matter. She had a diaphragm – pills made her feel bloated, so she’d opted for another form of contraception – and besides, it wasn’t the right time of the month for her to conceive anyway. But he’d been immovable, saying he wasn’t going to put her in that situation. Now, she wondered if what he meant was that he wasn’t going to put *himself* in that position. If he’d always been in love with Mac all along …. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that she’s carrying a little Brumby?” she turned the question around, tilting her head in Mac’s direction. “We both want kids,” he replied, “but she insisted on waiting until after we were

married.” He’d accepted the condition at the time, but there had been a tiny part of him that couldn’t help hoping for an *accident*, especially in the days before she’d accepted his proposal. In those frustrating days, he would have welcomed *anything* that would have tipped the scales in his favor, finally finding it in his former commanding officer’s offer of his old job back. If he’d known that would have gotten her to move the ring, he probably would have played the ‘moving back to Oz’ card months earlier. Ten months was a long time to hang around waiting for her to make a decision. “But who was it that she wanted kids with?” Renee retorted without thinking. Instantly contrite, she added, “I’m sorry. I just remember a round-about conversation Harm and I once had and I can’t help wondering now if it was that he didn’t want kids at the time or that he didn’t want them with me.” Mic’s eyes fell on Mac, whose gaze met his for a brief, uncomfortable moment before she turned away, saying something to Carolyn. She swayed slightly, gently rocking baby AJ in her arms and he remembered another conversation on the topic of kids just recently, just a few days after their engagement party. They’d been discussing what to pack for their honeymoon and she’d idly mentioned needing to get her birth control prescription refilled before they left. Innocently enough, he’d suggested that since they were going to be married, it was time to throw the pills out and work on starting that family. In retrospect, what bothered him now wasn’t her refusal – maybe he’d been pushing it a bit by suggesting they start working on the family immediately after they were married. Perhaps there was something to be said for time for them before they added another person to the mix. No, what he found striking at this time had been the odd look she’d given him when he’d said it, almost as if it wasn’t really him she’d been seeing. What if she hadn’t been? “What if she was already involved with him?” he asked himself, not even realizing he’d spoken the words until he noticed Renee looking at him askance for a second before understanding dawned. “You’re thinking if she wanted to wait because of Harm?” she wondered softly. “I don’t think that’s a question that is going to get answered now,” he pointed out, “if it ever will.” “No,” she agreed sadly, “I suppose not.” SHEREMYETEVO AIRPORT MOSCOW, RUSSIA By the time the taxi pulled up in front of Moscow’s airport, Sergei was wound tighter than a spring. It had been a long, cold, noisy flight from Grozny to the Vnukova air field and Alexei, who he’d met when Harm and Mac had been in Chechnya and who Clay had drafted to pick him up, was far too talkative during the ride from the military airfield to the airport. He’d tried to sleep on the flight from Chechnya and after five months in a prisoner of war camp, he would have thought that he could have fallen asleep just about anywhere. But slumber had proved to be an elusive ally in those early morning hours. Instead, Sergei spent the rest of the night thinking and none of the thoughts swirling in his

head were of the comforting variety. Although he’d not known his brother for very long, he thought he could safely say that Harm would not like the lengths to which Clayton Webb had gone to get him released. After stewing over it for about an hour into the flight, Sergei came to an even more troubling conclusion – there was more to the situation than Harm simply being transported to a hospital on land, something which made getting Sergei released imperative. Was his brother dying? Was he being released only to say a final goodbye to Harm? He had asked Daniel Mason, who had insisted that all he knew was what he’d told Sergei before they left the prison camp, which was that Harm had been transferred off the aircraft carrier. He didn’t know why or how serious Harm’s condition was. He’d tried to reassure Sergei, saying that if it were really that bad, Clay would have said something. Sergei had nodded assent and dropped the subject, realizing that he was not going to get anything out of Mason, but he was far from convinced. He wished he knew his brother better. Maybe then he’d be able to feel his presence, to know instinctively that he was going to be okay. As a child, his mother used to tell him that she always knew when something was wrong with him. Maybe if he had more of a connection with Harm …. Sergei was out of the taxi almost before it had come to a complete stop at the curb, stalking towards a waiting Clay. Inside the cab, Mason shook his head. He knew the young Russian was about to explode and it would probably prove interesting to witness his tête-à-tête with Clay. However amusing, though, it was a confrontation Mason wouldn’t get to see. He’d delivered Sergei safely to Moscow and his job was now done. Clay would dismiss him to return to the embassy, possibly knowing that a storm was brewing. Ignoring Sergei, Clay spoke to Mason and Alexei through an open window in the cab, turning back to Sergei only after passing some money to Alexei. His expression was irritatingly calm as he strode towards the airport entrance, motioning to Sergei to follow him. “I have everything you’ll need to enter the US,” he said, pulling a packet out of his inside jacket pocket. “Until we can find some way to prove paternity, you’re only eligible for a nonimmigrant tourist visa, but I did get the embassy to approve it for a full ninety days and Ernie McGill is working with INS on smoothing the approval process for your I-94 once we get to New York. After you’re in the US, we can start the process of changing your status with INS if you decide to stay. I’ve also got your passport, courtesy of Major Sokol, and some spending money to hold you over until you’re with your family ….” “How bad is my brother’s condition?” Sergei demanded, abruptly coming to a stop just inside the entrance to the airport. Grabbing his arm, Clay pulled him out of the crush of people entering and exiting the airport. “He would not approve of what you have done to get me out of prison. You gave them money and weapons!? My brother never would have allowed that, which means he is in no condition to say anything.” “I was waiting until we get through checking in for our flight,” he explained with patient amusement, purposely ignoring the query about how Sergei’s freedom had been bought. Clay didn’t really care to explain himself. There was nothing amusing about this situation, but Sergei’s expression was so reminiscent of his brother, Clay thought. And his questions – the words were coming out of Sergei’s mouth, but he swore to himself that he could hear Harm’s voice uttering them. Even if not for his discrete checking into Sergei’s story after their

adventure in Chechnya, Clay would have sworn that Sergei and Harm were related. They were definitely of one mind about a lot of things. “I have a cell phone and will place a call to your family so you can speak to them directly.” “My family?” Sergei asked, confused. Harm was his family, aside from his mother, and Sergei didn’t think he was likely to be in any condition to talk to him. After all, if Harm’s condition was not bad, wouldn’t Clay have answered his question immediately? Trying to push that morose thought aside, he thought about it a moment, then realized whom Clay must be referring to. “My stepmother?” He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Surely, Harm had told his mother about his existence, but that didn’t mean that Trish had reconciled herself to it. How did one deal with knowing that the husband you thought was dead was actually living with a woman in another country and fathering her child? He hadn’t wanted to ask how she’d taken it and Harm had never volunteered the information. “Actually, I was thinking of your sister-in-law,” Clay said. “Although your grandmother is probably there as well, along with your stepmother.” Sergei stared at him, stunned. His brother was married? He thought back. They’d not had much time to talk when Harm had been in country, when they’d first met, but he did recall Harm saying that he wasn’t married. And their meager correspondence prior to his capture, as much as he could recall of it off the top of his head, had delved little into Harm’s personal life. Mostly, Harm had talked about work, their grandmother, and the few memories he had of their father. In turn, Sergei wrote of his life growing up on the farm, revealing little of his life in the middle of a war. Not that his brother wouldn’t understand, being in the military himself, but his newfound family was something to get his mind off the horrors surrounding him. Of course, Sergei had been out of contact for five months. He supposed a lot could have changed. Maybe it is that lovely Marine Colonel, he thought. Even during their brief acquaintance, he could see how much they cared for each other. And Alexei had told him the story of how Mac had convinced him to drive her to Chechnya in his taxi once she found out Harm was there. “Colonel MacKenzie?” he asked. Clay just barely resisted the urge to laugh. “You’re probably the only person who will not be surprised by that news,” he said mysteriously. Before Sergei could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “I did speak to A.J. – your brother’s commanding officer, Admiral Chegwidden – a few hours ago. Harm was in surgery at that time, but it seemed to be going well.” He glanced at his watch and calculated the time in Virginia. “He should be out of surgery by now.” “Surgery?” he asked, surprised. Never had anything been mentioned about surgery, just that Harm had been taken off the ship and flown back to land. “What kind of surgery?” “I don’t know,” Clay replied honestly. After he’d hung up with A.J. earlier, it occurred to him that he should have asked more questions, but he’d been blindsided – not that he would admit to such thing to anyone – by A.J.’s news of Harm and Mac’s wedding. Now that he was face to face with a worried brother looking for answers, he admitted to himself just how inadequate his knowledge was. But he sensed it was not good. Why else transport Harm

from the carrier for a middle-of-the-night surgical procedure? “I’m sure Mac can fill you in on the details.” Sensing Sergei’s next question even as he opened his mouth to ask it, Clay pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and searched through the memory for the last number he’d dialed, the main switchboard at Portsmouth Naval Medical Center. Sergei waited apprehensively as Clay requested connection to the surgical ward. “This is Clayton Webb again,” Clay said into the phone, recognizing the voice on the other end as the nurse who had connected him to A.J. earlier. “I need to speak to Colonel MacKenzie.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Sorry,” the nurse apologized after a moment, remembering. “You mean Colonel Rabb. Just a moment, please.” After a minute spent listening to hold music, Mac’s familiar warm voice came over the line. “Clay,” she said, her tone obviously tired, even over a slightly staticky connection, “you have Sergei with you?” “Right here,” he said before holding the phone out to Sergei. “It’s Mac.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the offered phone. “Colonel MacKenzie?” he asked a bit hesitantly. “Hello, Sergei,” she replied warmly. “It’s good to hear your voice.” Inside Sergei, a dam broke. “Полковник,” he began, lapsing into his mother tongue in his anxiety, his tone infused with the tension he’d been under for the last few hours, the words spilling from his mouth in a rush, “Что случилось с моим братом? Мне сказали, что он попал в аварию, и он собирался быть прекрасным, тогда что он был принят от авианосца. Г. Вебб говорит, что он был в операционной, но он не знает для какой. В какой операционной, мой брат нуждался бы в середине ночи?” Sergei was speaking too quickly for even Mac to translate everything he said in her head, but she got the gist of what he was trying to say. She let the questions run their course, sympathetic to his frustration. After five months in a prison camp, the joy he should have felt at finally being free was overshadowed by worry for Harm. And it would be tonight before he could see Harm for himself. “Well,” she began, drawing on every ounce of composure she could, trying to strike a reassuring tone when she was far from reassured herself, “when Harm ejected out of his plane, he suffered a head injury. No one’s really quite sure how. He seemed fine for most of, uh, yesterday. He was awake and talking and …. Last evening he had a seizure and, well, that’s when the doctors decided to fly him here for surgery.” “He had surgery on his brain?” Sergei asked with a sense of foreboding, remembering to switch to English after she responded to him in that language. In the Russian Army, he’d seen many a soldier die of head injuries. Medical care out in the field could be very primitive.

“Well, it’s not as bad as you make it sound,” Mac prevaricated, trying to reassure him. Well, it’s true, she justified internally. The surgery itself wasn’t that bad, at least if I’m interpreting the doctors’ tone correctly. It’s everything leading up to it. “Harm is out of surgery and they’re going to let us in to see him in a few minutes. He’ll be fine. By the time you get here tonight, he should be awake, so you can talk to him for yourself.” “He will be fine?” he repeated, willing himself to believe her reassurances. From what little he knew, he was aware that Harm trusted Mac implicitly. Surely, she would not lie to him. “Harm is a fighter,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. “He always has been ….” There was a pause on the other end of the line and Sergei tensed until Mac’s voice came back over the phone. “Sergei, there’s someone here who would like to talk to you.” He swallowed nervously. “Who?” he asked. “Your grandmother,” she replied before passing the phone to Sarah, who smiled with relief as she took the phone. “Sergei,” she said. “Бабушка,” he said, smiling at hearing his grandmother’s warm voice. He’d spoken to her twice on the phone before his capture, once while in Moscow waiting to see Harm and Mac off on their trip back to Washington and the second time on his twentieth birthday shortly before his capture, a call Harm and Major Sokol had worked together to arrange. The first time, he’d been nervous, even more so than meeting Harm. He’d never had grandparents in his life – his mother’s parents had died before he was born – and although they were blood, he knew it must have come to as such a shock that to her that her son had another family in Siberia. But by the end of their first lengthy phone conversation – Sergei tried not to think about how much that call had cost Harm to make for him – throughout most of which he’d uncomfortably stumbled through calling her ‘Mrs. Rabb,’ he’d proclaimed her his beloved grandmother in Russian. She’d made him feel welcome, even more so than his brother had. “How are you doing, Sergei?” she asked. “I’m fine,” he said, a bit insistently, brushing aside the concern he heard in her voice. “Colonel MacKenzie said Harm is going to be fine?” Sarah resisted the urge to sigh. Her grandson could be about to fall over from exhaustion and he probably wouldn’t admit it. He was more worried about his brother than his own wellbeing. Typical Rabb stubbornness, she thought knowingly. “That’s what the doctors tell us,” she said confidently. “He’s still unconscious from the surgery, but the family will be allowed in to see him in a few minutes and the doctors said they would start bringing him off the sedatives this afternoon so he can wake up. From what I understand, he should be conscious by the time you arrive this evening.” Sergei found himself being soothed by his grandmother’s warm, calm voice. He could almost imagine her wrapping her arms around him, reassuring him with a tender hug and soothing

words. Despite his worry, listening to Sarah set his mind at ease; he could believe that everything was going to be just fine.

Sarah handed the phone back to Mac and she spoke to Clay for another minute, getting the details of Sergei’s arrival. Clay was estimating they would arrive in Norfolk about seven that evening and told her that he’d already arranged for transportation from the airport to the hospital. Depending on traffic, Sergei would be with his family within an hour after that. After they were finished talking, she hung up the phone with a sigh. “I know how he feels,” Sarah murmured, “being so far away and feeling so helpless.” “Is it any worse than sitting here,” Mac countered wearily, gesturing towards the ICU entrance at the other end of the corridor, “waiting for someone to come through those doors to tell us how he is?” “I don’t know,” she admitted, for a brief second showing every one of her eighty-two years as she sighed. Then she was once again the strong, confident woman whom had been such a rock to her granddaughter-in-law for the last few hours. “Trish seems to think it was easier the last time. I think both situations come down to a lack of control. We couldn’t make the plane going to Germany fly any faster any more than we could have hurried up the doctors in there.” She studied Mac for a long moment, torn. She felt she’d been making inroads with Mac, making her feel as welcome as possible in their family, but a part of her was still hesitant about overstepping some imaginary boundary, one she wasn’t entirely sure of the location of. She knew just enough from Harm about Mac’s past to know that she didn’t share herself easily. She decided to phrase her next thought as a question. “You don’t like feeling like you don't have any control over the situation, do you?” “I don’t know how to handle not being there for him,” she admitted after a moment, dropping into a chair with a heavy sigh. “When he found out about his dad on the Hornet, his arrest, going to Russia both times ….” She trailed off, trying not to remember the times she’d not been there for him – after he returned from the Henry, when he was accused of writing that op-ed piece, after Sydney …. That one haunted her the most. Why did you go to him so quickly? Why hadn’t she heard him clearly before? Looking back on it since the engagement party, she saw things so differently. Instead of rejecting her, Harm now appeared in retrospect to have been lost, not entirely sure of his footing – at JAG, with her. Yet instead of trying to make things easier for him, she’d flown into the arms of another man, leaving Harm feeling …. what exactly? What had he really thought about her when she’d turned to Mic so quickly? Although she knew he’d been keeping a tight lid on his emotions, she’d heard the hurt in his tone as he’d asked the question and it taunted her, ridiculed her for bringing them this point. How many people had been hurt because she’d miscalculated Harm’s intentions so badly? “Honey,” Sarah said gently, breaking into her condemning thoughts, “you can’t do everything for him, no more than he can do everything for you.” Mac glanced at her, wondering how Sarah could read her so easily. “Harm’s told me a lot about you over the years. I know how

much you’ve been there for each other and about the times when circumstances prevented you for being there.” “Circumstances?” Mac echoed, frustrated. “I turned my back on my best friend, on the man I love, and look what happened!” Sarah reached over and took Mac’s trembling hand in hers. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about the tension between the two of you when he returned from flight duty, would you,” she said, not phrasing it as a question. “Harm did need closure on that part of his life, I won’t deny that. But I’m sure there was a part of Harm that thought in some respects that he’d caused more heartache than he’d reconciled when he left JAG.” “Did he say that?” Mac asked, not surprised when Sarah shook her head. “He didn’t have to,” she said. “But I do know this. He was seeing Jordan before he went back to flying, but when he told me that he was about to leave JAG, it wasn’t her reaction to his decision that bothered him the most. He told me about your goodbye in his office the day he left and it broke his heart. I don’t think he knew how to tell you that you weren’t the only one crying.” “He never told me any of that,” Mac confirmed. “Mac,” she began, “…. Sarah, let me tell you a little secret about Rabb men. They’re passionate – about everything. But they’re not really ones for showing their feelings - they keep a lot of that passion buried deep down inside. You have to know how to read the signs to see it and know how patiently coax it out of them. Has Harm ever told you about his grandfather?” “Not a lot,” she replied. “Just that he was killed in World War II.” “Hmmm,” Sarah murmured. “Not that surprising, I suppose. I’ve tried to keep his father and grandfather alive through my memories of them, but I guess it’s hard when you don’t have a frame of reference. But I’m sure I’ve told him this story. Harm’s grandfather and I had grown up together and it was generally known that I was sweet on him. He was harder to read, but most people figured that was just a man’s way back then, but that we’d eventually end up married and raising a houseful of children, as people did in those days. Not that love wasn’t important, but choice of a spouse was often a practical consideration. Men were raised to provide for their families and women were raised to keep the house and raise the children. Passion is good, but in the end, it alone won’t keep a household together. “Like most everywhere, Lucky Lindy’s flight in ’27 was huge news,” she continued, pausing to gather her thoughts, while Mac listened intently. For some reason, she’d always had this idea that Harm’s family background was the stuff made of dreams, despite the heartache they’d endured. He’d had two devoted parents who loved him, three including Frank, and he’d never wanted for anything. Certainly it was more romantic than anything she’d ever experienced. She’d never expected to hear his grandmother speaking of her family in such practical terms. “I had just turned eight, John was a year older. Remember how I told you Rabbs are so passionate about everything? Well, John became passionate about flying, maybe even more so than his son or grandson. I think it was the newness, the excitement of it.”

Mac found herself smiling a little. “It’s hard to believe that anyone could love flying more than Harm,” she remarked. “But he did,” Sarah insisted. “Beallsville was just a small farming and mining community. About the only way that people got out in those days was to join the military. There is nobility in serving one’s country that seems to have bypassed a lot of people in the last few generations. Back then, you didn’t join the military to earn money for college, only to move on to some fancy civilian job when your term was up. Anyway, when John became a teenager, he started making trips into Pittsburgh. He’d go to the library and read up on flying. In Time magazine, I think it was, he read about the ongoing rivalry between the Army and the Navy in developing their air programs, so then he started seeking out recruiters. By then, we were all already aware of the rumblings coming from Europe, so the military was only to happy to welcome someone like John into their ranks.” “What about you?” Mac asked, sensing that this was the thrust of the story. “How did you feel about his career aspirations?” “Ah,” Sarah said, chuckling a little. “You see where I’m going with this. By then, John and I had an unspoken understanding between us, or so I thought. I didn’t understand this obsession of his. He was going to probably be moving around from base to base every few years, with the possibility of sea duty as carriers were starting to come into vogue in the Navy, plus there was the looming possibility that we’d get dragged into Europe’s troubles within a few years. I didn’t see my place in his plans and I have to say John wasn’t doing too well on letting me know what that place was. I didn’t really know anyone that well who was in the military, at least not anyone who’d made a career of it. Once they’d left, not a lot of people came back to Beallsville aside from the occasional visit to family still there. My own father had been drafted, served his two years during the Great War, came home, married my mother and worked the farm while my mother worked on producing eleven children, of which I was the oldest.” “I can relate to some of that,” Mac admitted. “When Harm left, I had that same feeling of not knowing where I fit into his life, maybe even a part of me wondered if I ever had fit in.” Sarah nodded. “That’s what I thought. Well, one night, shortly after John had been accepted into the Navy – back then a college degree wasn’t a requirement to become an officer – and knew he was going to be able to go to flight school, we fought bitterly about it. We had gone out for a ride in his father’s truck and all he could talk about was the Navy. I finally had enough and insisted he take me home as it was quite obvious to me that I had no place in his life anymore. Even then, it was after half an hour of arguing before he finally blurted out ‘Sarah, sweetheart, I’m not doing any of this without you. As soon as I get out of flight school, I’m coming back to get you and you’ll come with me wherever the Navy decides to send me.” “That was his proposal?” Mac asked, incredulous, laughter bubbling up within her. Even Harm had managed to get out the words ‘Will you marry me?’ Maybe it was genetic, as Sarah has suggested. “That was it,” she confirmed. “I smacked him on the side of the head with my purse. I suppose that I was enough of a dreamer that I expected something more than just his foregone conclusion that I was a part of the deal. That was the night I’d finally figured out the Rabb

mystique….” She trailed off, remembering John pulling her into his arms and kissing the life out of her. They’d kissed before – chaste pecks on the lips when he would take her home after a date, when he knew her family was probably watching them through the windows. But in that one kiss, she’d felt everything he’d never been able to say to her and she knew in that moment that she would follow him anywhere. “Um, Gram?” Mac asked hesitantly, nervous about breaking into the other woman’s memories. Despite their short time together, it was obvious that the life John and Sarah Rabb shared had been a good one. “We may not have had much time,” Sarah said wistfully, echoing Mac’s train of thought, “but I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. It was only because of him that I left my home and I returned after he died. People suggested that I should remarry, have more children.” “But you didn’t,” Mac said. She knew from Harm that his father had been an only child and assumed, since Sarah had been introduced to her as Sarah Rabb, that she’d never remarried after her husband’s death. “John left me one of those letters,” Sarah explained, “one of those that most military men wrote to their families in case they didn’t come back. Knowing him, it was probably the hardest letter he ever had to write, because he said a lot of things in it that he’d never been able to say out loud. He told me that the reason he’d been so certain that I was going to go with him when he left home was that I had the ‘fortitude’ to be able to make a life for us despite having an absentee husband and facing having to move wherever the Navy wanted to send him. He was quite a handsome man, as I’m sure you can imagine, and had his share of girls swooning over him. But he needed more than some silly girl who just fancied herself in love with him.” Mac stared at her uncomprehendingly. “After John died,” Sarah continued, sensing her confusion, “I had a widow’s pension from the Navy and his family’s farm, which he – as the only son in his family – had inherited when his father died, and I moved back there with his mother and my son. There were times when I wondered why I didn’t just find myself a dependable man who could take care of us. Then I could worry about nothing but runny noses and making sure dinner wasn’t too cold.” “You must think I’m awful for being willing to settle for another man,” Mac began, Sarah vehemently shaking her head. “I wasn’t thinking any such thing,” she protested. “I’m only thinking that you are human and both you and Harm could learn how to communicate with each other a little better. But when you figure it out, I think you’ll find that loving Harm is worth everything that you two have gone through. Even after that night when we reached our understanding, getting John to open up was still like pulling teeth sometimes – there are times when they just don’t want to shake loose no matter how much you yank. But he tried to remember that I wasn’t a mind reader and I tried to look for what he was thinking in his actions rather than your words.” “Does Harm ever tell you how wise you are, Gram?” Mac asked, the light dawning. How many times had Harm shown her through his actions that he loved her, while she’d focused on waiting for the words?

“All the time,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “But you’ll find when you’re eighty-two, most people will think you’re wise as well. Life experience will do that to you. But don’t be fooled into thinking I haven’t made my share of mistakes, dear. The key is to learn from those as well.” Mac mulled over what she was saying. It was so easy to see why Harm so easily – well, maybe not so easily – confided in his grandmother. Mac imagined that she was the lynch pin that held the family together. John Rabb had certainly pegged his wife correctly. She certainly was one of the strongest women Mac had ever met. A nurse Mac hadn’t seen before walked up to them. “Colonel Rabb?” she asked. At Mac’s confirming nod, she continued, “I’m Lieutenant Collins, the night nurse in ICU. We’ve gotten your husband settled and you can go back and see him. Two people are allowed in for fifteen minutes at a time. Doctor Stafford is still back there with him, so if you have any questions about your husband’s condition, you can ask him.” “Why don’t you go with Lieutenant Collins, Mac?” Sarah suggested, squeezing her hand. “I’ll go let Trish and Frank know, and Trish can follow you in.” As Sarah returned to the waiting room, Mac got up and followed the nurse down the corridor to ICU, stopping suddenly just outside the double glass doors leading to the ward. “I’d like to wait for my mother-in-law,” she explained to the nurse. “She’s supposed to go in with me.” A moment later, Sarah, Trish and Frank joined them, apprehension evident in all their tired eyes. Sarah introduced Trish and Frank to the nurse. “If you and Mrs. Burnett will follow me, Colonel,” the nurse instructed, “I take you back now. There’s a waiting room just inside the ward where Mrs. Rabb and Mr. Burnett can wait until you come out.” They all followed her into the ICU ward, Frank and Sarah being shown into the waiting room before Mac and Trish were escorted to a room at the far end of the ward where Doctor Stafford was waiting for them. He nodded in greeting as the nurse quietly slipped away. “Commander Rabb is continuing to do as well as can be expected,” he said. “His vitals have remained stable since he came out of surgery. Someone will check on him every half hour and if it continues to go well, we still anticipate lowering his level of sedation this afternoon as planned.” He paused, considering this one of the hardest parts of his job, almost harder than telling people their loved ones had died. Having been a neurosurgeon for twenty years, he knew that a patient coming out of surgery could be a scary sight and there was really no way to prepare a family for it. “If you have questions about anything, please ask me.” He pushed the door open and Mac followed him in first, her hands clenched into fists at her side, her fingernails digging into her palms as she involuntarily gasped. She froze for a split second before she strode over to the side of the bed, pulling a chair up next to it. Reaching out, she took his left hand, resting on top of the blanket, in hers, nearly dropping it in shock at the sensation of his ice-cold fingers in hers. Had he been that cold earlier, when they’d thought his only problem was fighting the hypothermia? Trish pulled up another chair and settled in it, watching Mac as much as Harm. Looking at him from this angle, but for the ventilator tubing coming out of his mouth and the IV in his left forearm, it almost looked like he was sleeping. But she, like Mac, had gotten a glimpse of the ugly, black stitches running in a line four inches long on the back of his head. He was

rolled onto his right side, to keep pressure off the incision, Trish assumed. In a way, it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had it had ten years earlier, when one leg had been in traction and bandages had covered burns sustained in the crash. Tentatively, Mac reached out with her free hand and touched her fingers to his shaved head, remembering the feel of his soft hair beneath her fingertips the other night, as his mouth had moved down her body. It would grow back she knew and, as long as he didn’t keep it too short – but still within military regs - it would likely cover the scar left by the surgical incision. She flicked her gaze to the various machines over the head of the bed, but couldn’t make sense of any of them but the slow, steady blip of sound and spiked line indicating his beating heart. “Um,” she began hoarsely, pausing to clear her throat, “the ventilator, is it really necessary?” “Commander Rabb is breathing on his own,” Stafford replied. “But between the previous seizure and the uncertainties of brain surgery, it’s a necessary precaution. After we go a time without signs of any more seizures, we’ll start weaning him off the machine. Probably sometime tomorrow, or maybe even later today, I’ll feel confident enough to remove it completely.” “How long do you anticipate he’ll have to stay in the hospital?” Trish asked. “A lot depends on the patient himself,” he replied. “Commander Rabb does have a lot in his favor. His health is very good otherwise, but the hypothermia complicates things since he wasn’t completely recovered from that yet. I’ve had patients be released from the hospital in as soon as six days after this type of surgery. My understanding is that he lives in Washington, so likely what we will do is airlift him to Bethesda the day before and release him from there. The long drive from here back to DC is out of the question for now.” Trish and the doctor looked at Mac, but her attention was focused solely on Harm. She knew there were probably a million questions she should probably be asking, but she couldn’t put a single one into words right now. To ask about the ventilator had only occurred to her because she’d brushed her hand against the blue tube as she’d reached for his head. “If you don’t have any more questions,” Stafford said, “I’ll leave you alone with him now while I brief the rest of your family on what to expect.” At Trish’s nod, he made a note in the chart he was holding and hung it on the end of the bed before walking out, quietly closing the door behind him. Trish studied Mac for a moment, sympathy welling at the site of a trail of moisture out the corner of one eye. Remembering what Frank had said, she tried to focus on what they had in common, the only thing that was important right now. “I didn’t know what to think when we arrived in Germany ten years ago. Harm had the usual childhood injuries – bumps and bruises, even a broken arm once – but nothing prepares you …. the smallest victories became cause for celebration. The day he was able to stand on his own two feet for just a few seconds, when he was able to slowly make his way to the door of his room, then down the hall.” “You’d never know it to look at him now that he’d gone through all that,” Mac remarked quietly. The other night, she’d felt what might be scars on his lower back and hips, but hadn’t

had the opportunity to explore or to ask about them. “That’s the one thing I’m trying to hold on to right now,” Trish said. “Harm is one of the strongest people I know and he doesn’t know how to give up. I would not be surprised if in six months, a year, you can’t tell any of this happened at first glance.” Mac studied him, idly rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand. The few times she’d seen him seriously injured, he’d bounced back so quickly. After he’d been hit by a car, he’d even diffused a terrorist takeover of the hospital. But never before had she seen him like this, looking so helpless. It was hard to reconcile this Harm with the one she was familiar with and had fallen in love with, the confident pilot-slash-lawyer who had been there for her so many times. He was usually the one there for her, like the way he’d been practically glued to her side after she’d been shot. This new reality set her entire world off-kilter. “I have to believe that,” Mac whispered, a tremor barely detectible in her voice. But Trish heard it and her heart went out to the younger woman whom she sensed was trying to be so strong, ready to let Harm lean on her as he recovered. Making a decision, she reached out and clasped her hand on Mac’s shoulder. When Mac turned and glanced at her, she thought she caught a glimpse of gratitude in Mac’s teary brown eyes. HARM’S HOSPITAL ROOM For nearly fifteen minutes, Mac and Trish quietly sat side by side next to the bed, each of them holding one of Harm’s hands. The only sounds in the room was the steady hiss of the ventilator as it pushed air in and out of his lungs and the beeping of the heart monitor. Several times, Trish thought about saying something, but stopped herself. Even if she did know what to say to her new daughter-in-law, Mac seemed lost in her own world, her glistening eyes locked on some point on the far wall as she traced random patterns over the back of his hand. For her part, Mac was lost in the memories of a relationship that seemed to defy explanation and classification, the pictures replaying in her mind like a home movie, the frames sometimes smoothly flowing, other times jerky and jumpy. They’d been in turns wary strangers, adversaries, partners, confidants, friends who’d grown closer with each crazy situation they’d been in, friends who’d lost their way as their careers and priorities seemingly pulled them in different directions and now everything had been turned upside down. At a time when the circumstances of their situation would have pushed most people further apart, they’d been pulled together, closer than they’d ever been. Like two magnets, they were constantly drawn towards each other, no matter how one tried to pull them apart. “Excuse me,” a voice said behind them. Trish turned to see the same nurse who had escorted them to Harm’s room standing in the open doorway, while Mac continued to gaze into the distance, her fingers now idly rubbing the spot where Harm’s wedding ring had rested until just before he’d been taken into surgery, when it’d been given to her, to join his dog tags on a chain around her neck. “I’m sorry, but your fifteen minutes are up.” “We’ve only been in here for thirteen minutes and forty-eight seconds,” a soft voice countered. It took Trish a moment to realize that it was Mac who had spoken. While the nurse and Trish watched her, surprised, Mac glanced down at Harm, her voice catching as she said, “I’d give anything right now if you’d wake up and ask me how I did

that.” Trish sent the nurse a look, pleading for understanding, and the nurse nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “I’ll go let the others know that they can see Commander Rabb in a few minutes,” she said. “Then I’m sure all of you can use some rest and then you can come back later this afternoon when Dr. Stafford is ready to bring the Commander around.” The nurse slipped back out of the room and Trish turned to Mac, placing her free hand on her shoulder. Mac forced a weak smile. “From almost the moment I met him,” she explained, “he’s teased me about that, trying to get me to tell him how I do that. It’s kind of become a running joke between us. I give him the time down to the second and when he inevitably asks how, or raises his eyebrows in that way of his, I come up with a different excuse each time.” “Were any of them the real story?” Trish asked, intrigued at the playful insight into their relationship. Mac managed a half-hearted laugh. “Not really,” she admitted. “It wouldn’t have had the same effectiveness if I’d just told him that I don’t really know how I did it, just that I seem to have been able to do it as far back as I can remember.” She shrugged. “Maybe I ought to throw that in sometime just to see if he believes me.” She leaned over, brushing her lips against Harm’s temple. “Tell you what, Sailor,” she whispered. “You come out of this and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” But there was no response. She knew it was unrealistic, but she’d seen Harm bounce back so many times that she was half expecting him to suddenly wake up and tease her about how she was giving the Corps a bad name with her tears. Sensing they were no longer alone, Trish looked up to see Frank and Sarah standing in the doorway. “Mac,” she said gently, getting up and moving out of the way so Frank could take her seat, “why don’t we let Frank and Mom have their time with Harm? We’ll be back to see him later.” She didn’t want to leave, but knew that the others loved Harm just as much as she did and were just as concerned. She rose from her chair, slowly letting Harm’s hand slip from hers, holding onto that tenuous connection until the last possible moment. “Trish,” Frank said, giving her a quick squeeze before he slid into her chair, “you and Mac should go down to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat. Admiral Chegwidden stopped by while Sarah and I were waiting to see Harm. He said he would meet us there and then drive us to the airfield to pick up Harm and Mac’s cars. Mac, you have a key to Harm’s car, don’t you?” “Yeah,” she replied after she realized that Frank had directed his question to her. “I picked up his spare key from his apartment before I left for Norfolk.” She started digging in her purse, pulling out the key and holding it out towards them. “I’m sure Harm would want you to have the use of his car while you’re here. I can call a taxi later to take me over to the terminal to pick up my car. I’m not ready to leave the hospital just yet.” Trish, Frank and Sarah all exchanged looks, understanding all too well. After Harm’s first crash and after they’d finally been able to see him after hours in the air flying from the United States to Germany, the last thing any of them had wanted to do was leave his side. One of the

hardest things they’d learned was that they would be of no comfort to Harm if they were on the verge of collapse themselves. He’d only worry more about them than his own wellbeing. “Mac,” Sarah said, linking her arm with Mac’s, “we’d all like to stay here until Harm wakes up. But I know him. He would be upset to find us not taking care of ourselves. When’s the last time you got any sleep? Or had anything to eat?” Mac tried, but she couldn’t recall. She knew they were right, but it was so hard to leave him. She knew that somewhere deep in his subconscious, he knew that she was there and that he would feel the loss if she left. Ever since they’d known each other, they’d been there for each other and in the few times they hadn’t, both of them usually ended up regretting it. “I don’t remember,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “That settles it then,” Sarah said firmly, handing her off to Trish, and then slipping into the chair vacated by Mac. “Both of you go get something to eat and we’ll join you down there after we’ve spent some time with Harm.” Mac felt like she’s just been steamrollered. Was that where Harm got it from, she wondered, his full-steam-ahead, take-charge attitude? She’d never seen the two of them together, but she could hear the man she loved in the warm, caring voice of his grandmother. She probably would have made a good commanding officer. Of course, if Harm’s father had been anything like the son, Sarah had probably had plenty of practice in giving orders. Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I could use something to eat.” Her eyes watered as she thought about Harm teasing her about her eating habits. Pulling away from Trish, Mac made her way to the head of the bed, leaned over and pressed her lips to Harm’s forehead, her hand caressing his shaved head, carefully avoiding the surgical incision. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promised. “I love you.” Blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall again, Mac left the room, barely aware of Trish following a few steps behind. Her gait became unsteady as they drew closer to the door, her hands pulling Harm’s leather jacket tight around her to ward off an imaginary chill. She froze in front of the ward doors, and before Trish could say anything, Mac spun around and fled into the ICU waiting room. Trish followed at a respectful distance, prepared to allow Mac privacy, but ready with a comforting shoulder to lean on if it was needed. She hovered just outside the door, noting that Mac was now visibly trembling, her head bowed. As she watched, Mac moved to sit down, but missed the chair, falling to the uncarpeted floor in an undignified heap. As Trish entered the room, kneeling on the floor next to Mac, her mother’s heart broke as her thoughts flew back to a Christmas Day over thirty-one years past…. She’d been strong the entire day, trying not to let her tears show in front of her sixyear-old son, accepting the condolences and assurances from their friends and neighbors with barely a tremor in her voice. As the sun had set on their nightmare of a Christmas, she’d shooed all the well-wishers from their quarters, pleading exhaustion and a need to be alone with her son. She’d struggled to lift her sleeping son from the sofa, tears beginning to fall in earnest. A few months earlier, both husband and son had teased her that Harm was a

big boy now that he was getting too big for his mother to lift without great effort, while Harmon had still been able to lift him over his head with ease, just like he had as they’d said goodbye to him on the docks that hot August day when they’d seen him for what would turnout to be the last time. After she’d managed to get Harm into his pajamas and under the covers without waking him, she’d made her way to her own bed, where she’d collapsed on top of the covers in exhaustion and sorrow, crying as if her broken heart would never be whole again…. Trish didn’t know how long she’d been lying there on the bed she and Harmon had shared, sobbing her heart out, before Sarah arrived. She’d just eventually realized that her mother-in-law, who had just arrived after being picked up at the airport by one of Harmon’s flight school buddies, was sitting next to her on the bed, rubbing slow circles over her back, a box of tissues at the ready. Now, as she wrapped her arms around Mac and pulled her close, Trish found herself in the same role Sarah had played on that long ago day, grieving what had happened to her son while doing her best to provide a comforting presence for her distraught daughter-inlaw. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispered against Mac’s hair, echoing Sarah’s words on that long-ago day. “Let it all out.” Mac tensed slightly as she felt Trish’s arms encircle her. She wasn’t used to being comforted by others. Certainly, she’d never found that sympathetic concern with her own parents, not even when she and her mother had flirted fleetingly with a real relationship as her father had lay dying, before she’d realized that her mother’s motherly instincts had always been little more than an illusion. Outside of Harm – in the Appalachian Mountains; after she’d fallen off the wagon and had been embarrassed to face her friends and co-workers; that night in his apartment when they’d thought Clay was dead – she couldn’t think of a single person who’d provided a comforting presence in her life since her uncle had helped her dry out and set her on the path to the Marines. After a moment, when Trish simply ignored the tension in Mac’s rigid posture and continued to hold her, Mac relaxed into her embrace, her tears soaking Trish’s blouse as she found something oddly comforting in the arms of this woman she barely knew. Maybe it was Harm, she rationalized. This was Harm’s mother, the one who’d carried him, bore him, tried to comfort all his hurts during his childhood. ‘I’m so-so sorry,” she stuttered, her words muffled against Trish’s shoulder.

WAITING ROOM, SURGICAL WARD “Well, I’m not just going to sit here and wait anymore,” Renee declared, stopping mid-pace in the middle of the waiting room outside of the surgical ward, where she’d been waiting, ever less patiently as the hours wore on, since she’d arrived at the hospital. The room, crowded with Harm’s concerned friends and co-workers for half the night, was now empty except for her and Mic. Most of the JAG crew had left the hospital, heading for their hotels – or even back to Washington in a few cases - after they’d been told that Harm was out of surgery and would not be able to have visitors except for family. The Admiral was still around somewhere,

waiting to take the Burnetts and Harm’s grandmother to billeting since they’d ridden to Norfolk with him, but he’d excused himself some time ago to go make some phone calls, muttering something about the SecNav. Bud had left briefly, taking his family and Kyle Anderson to their hotel, but then had come back to wait with Chloe, who refused to leave until she could see Mac. Chloe hadn’t wanted to wait in the same room as Mic and Renee for any longer than she absolutely had to, so she’d convinced Bud to take a walk with her. Father Gilly had disappeared somewhere, to where Renee didn’t really care. Since he was the one who had to have married Harm and Mac aboard the carrier, had played a part in taking Harm away from her, as far as she was concerned, he was the enemy. “What are you planning to do?” Mic asked impatiently. He thought he’d shown remarkable restraint so far in refraining from going to Mac, insisting that she come with him. But his tolerance for the whole situation was rapidly evaporating as the hours wore on. “The people in this bloody place aren’t letting anyone except *family* back to see Rabb.” He spat the word ‘family’ out, as if it tasted sour on his tongue. “I know that I’m not just going to sit around here waiting for news about *my* lover,” she said angrily, grabbing her purse off the sofa and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ve been with Harm for almost a year and a half, yet I’m given no more consideration than …. Look, I’m not going to wait here while your fiancée is allowed to sit at his bedside, playing the loving and devoted wife.” “If you figure out a way to drag her away from his side,” Mic said, “make sure to share your insight with me.” “Don’t you dare tell me you’re giving up,” she demanded, jabbing her finger at him. “Hell, no,” he replied forcefully. “I just have to talk to Sarah. As soon as I talk to her, everything will be fine. I’m sure that given the circumstances, it won’t take any effort at all to annul this farce of a marriage. Then Sarah can become my wife and you can have Rabb all to yourself. Just as it’s meant to be.” “Right,” Renee said slowly. She wished they could both be as confident as Mic made himself sound. “Well, then, here’s what’s going to happen now. I’m going to go down to ICU and I am going to walk through those doors as if I belong there and I’m going to see Harm. And I intend to be there when he wakes up. I intend to make sure that my face is the first face he sees.” “Good luck, Renee,” Mic said sincerely. She nodded once, forcing a smile. “You, too,” she replied, turning back as she left the room. Renee may not have been an actress, but she’d been around enough to know how to carry herself. She decided that she just had to act as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She glanced at the directory by the elevator and then remembered that earlier, when she and Mic had gotten off the elevator, Father Gilly had asked them if they were looking for ICU or surgery. That meant ICU had to be somewhere on this floor. Finding a sign for ICU and following the arrows on subsequent signs, Renee confidently strode down the hall until she came to the large glass double-doors labeled ‘Intensive

Care’. Taking a deep breath, she pushed one of the doors open and walked through. Surely there couldn’t be too many people in ICU, she thought. It couldn’t be that hard to find Harm’s room without having to ask someone for help, someone who might realize that, according to someone’s ridiculous rules, she wasn’t supposed to be able to see the man she loved. She’d just barely passed the nurses’ desk when a voice called out to her. “Excuse me, ma’am. This area is restricted.” Renee spun on her heel to find a nurse rushing up to her. “I’m here to see Harmon Rabb,” she said. “I was told that we were finally being allowed in to see him.” “Ma’am,” the nurse said, “only family is allowed in right now.” “I am family …. Nurse Taylor,” Renee lied, her eyes searching out the woman’s name tag. “I was given a list of the authorized visitors,” the nurse corrected her gently, keeping her tone calm in an effort to calm the obviously upset Renee. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there were only three women on the list. Commander Rabb’s wife and mother have already been in to see him and his grandmother is in there right now. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” “I am not leaving,” Renee said, her voice growing more insistent, taking a step back as Nurse Taylor moved to take her arm. “I have to see Harm and if you think you’re going to stop me ….” She froze, her eyes drawn to the site just inside the open waiting room door.

“It’s going to be okay, Mac,” Trish assured her, her own tears starting to fall. “We have to believe that.” “But ….” Mac sputtered, her words coming out in gasps between her sobs. “I didn’t …. he should have stayed on the ship ….. he came back for me.” “Darling, you didn’t put that storm in his path,” Trish reminded her, ignoring the tiny voice in her head that mocked her, reminding her that she’d been very ready to question Mac’s role in this whole fiasco just hours ago. “But he didn’t have to come back,” Mac insisted, shaking her head as she clung to Trish. “But he said he was coming back …. and …. and I suggested that he just stay in Norfolk instead of driving back to DC …. I just never thought …. he said he would be okay flying back, that the storm wasn’t in his path ….” Trish was silent for a moment, stroking Mac’s hair in a soothing gesture as she turned things over in her mind. Harm had been trying to make it back in time for the wedding, she’d assumed, but Mac had just said …. “Mac, I know the kind of man my son is,” she said. “You’re his best friend and he wouldn’t have wanted to miss your wedding, if he thought that’s …. “ “But he knew,” Mac interrupted with a shuddering breath. “He called me before he left the ship and I …. I told him there wasn’t going to be a wedding …. that – that I was going to

contact Mic and call the whole thing off. He didn’t have to come back, but he said he wanted to be there for me in – in case I needed him. He was coming back for me.”

Renee took an unsteady step backwards, her eyes wide. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Mac was going to go back to Mic and then she would have Harm to herself finally. Mic had insisted that was the way it was going to be and she was so anxious to believe that herself that she’d worked to ignore the warning bells that had been constantly peeling in her head since Mac had first announced that she was Harm’s wife. It was supposed to be Mac and Mic and her and Harm having their ‘happily-ever-after’. It wasn’t supposed to be Mac and Harm. Not after all her hopes and prayers these last few months. I told him there wasn’t going to be a wedding. Mac’s tearful confession echoed in her head as Nurse Taylor tried to get her attention again. “Ma’am? Ma’am?” Renee blinked, gradually becoming aware that the nurse was still speaking to her. “I’m sorry?” she asked, forcing her gaze away from the waiting room. She couldn’t watch anymore. “Are you okay, ma’am?” Nurse Taylor asked, concerned about Renee’s suddenly ashen features. “Do you need some help?” “No,” Renee murmured, pulling away and heading for the door. “No one can help. Not now.” She fled through the double doors, barely making it back to the elevator before the tears began falling in earnest.

“That’s my son,” Trish said sadly, tightening her arms around Mac, resting her cheek against the top of Mac’s head. “He’d do anything for the people he loves. And if he thought you needed him, he would be here for you. There isn’t a thing in this world that would have stopped him.” Mac pulled back slightly, seeing only sympathy and understanding in Trish’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said, forcing a sad smile through her tears, “he would, wouldn’t he?” “And that in no way makes the crash your fault,” Trish said, climbing to her feet, pulling Mac up with her. “When you were outside earlier with Mom, the Admiral talked to Captain, um ….” “Ingles?” Trish nodded. “Yes, Captain Ingles. He said that so far, they don’t have anything to suggest that this was anything other than massive systems failure and the storm. Anyway, Mom and Frank should be about finished seeing Harm. Let’s get down to the cafeteria. I noticed you didn’t eat the sandwich that Father Gilly brought you earlier and I know I haven’t eaten since before we left Washington. We’ll get something to eat and then we’ll go over to billeting and

get a few hours sleep. Then we can come back and see Harm this afternoon when the doctor is ready to bring him out of sedation. Okay?” Mac nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Burnett.” “It’s Trish,” she said, pulling a tissue out of her purse and handing it to Mac. Mac took it gratefully, trying to wipe the still-falling tears from her eyes. “You’re married to my son now. That makes us family.”

Fifteen minutes later, Trish and Mac were reunited with Frank and Sarah in the cafeteria. Frank set a tray down with his and Sarah’s food in the center of the table as they sat down across from Trish and Mac. Trish was half-heartedly digging into her pancakes, pushing each piece through the syrup for an inordinate amount of time before bringing it to her mouth. Mac wasn’t even putting that much effort into her meal, her sausage, egg and cheese biscuit sitting untouched while she pushed her hash browns around the plate with her fork. Sarah didn’t much feel like eating either, but she dug into her French toast, realizing that she couldn’t keep her energy up at her age by skipping meals. Trying not to grimace at the stereotypical hospital sludge, Frank sipped his coffee as he watched the three women. His role since joining the Rabb family had often been that of sounding board and peacemaker and it was a role he played well. He’d listened as Trish had poured out her fear and frustration when Harm had gone missing the summer he’d been sixteen. Then when Harm had finally come home, suddenly years older than when he’d left, he’d tried to still the waters between the mother who’d wanted her little boy back and the young man who’d grown up too soon. It was the same way when Harm had been accepted to the Naval Academy and Trish had been terrified to let Harm follow in his father’s footsteps. Just a few hours ago, he’d been trying to convince his wife to give Mac a chance and not to jump to conclusions about her hasty marriage to Harm. Fortunately, things seemed better on that front. They might be lost in their own thoughts, but he sensed none of the tension that had existed between Trish and Mac earlier. He was thankful for that. He could only deal with so much before he was forced to step back and take care of himself. He and Trish had decided early in their marriage not to have children of their own, for reasons that had both nothing and everything to do with Harm. But although Harm even refused to acknowledge the fact until the last few years, Frank loved him as much as if he’d been his own son, and he could only take so much pain and anguish before it overwhelmed even him. He glanced at his wife, meeting her concerned gaze. Reaching across the table to take her hand in his, he managed a reassuring smile, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Mac. Harm may have had his problems over the years with Frank, Mac realized as she watched the silent words of comfort flow back and forth between her in-laws, but he’d managed to admit to her once, shortly after their trip to Russia, just how good Frank had been, both to and for Trish and Harm. She could only hope that her marriage was as strong and loving as theirs apparently was. That was what she’d been searching for her entire life and, with the right man finally at her side, it seemed to finally be within her grasp.

Watching Trish and Frank, she realized that Harriet had been right. Even if she hadn’t shown it so blatantly by spending the night three days before her wedding making love with Harm, she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to marry Mic. Although she’d tried, she’d never felt the kind of connection between the two of them that seemed so obvious between her in-laws. Her eyes drifting closed, she could see her and Harm reaching for each other across the breakfast table in the years to come, a simple gesture that could mean so little, yet so much. She was startled out of her reverie by a voice just over her shoulder, one she’d wanted to avoid for as long as possible. But she knew she would have to deal with it sooner or later. She’d just tried to push it out of her mind, hoping it would be later. “Sarah, love,” Mic said, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting down to her right. He moved to take her hand, but she deftly avoided the gesture by spearing a bit of hash browns with her fork, forcing herself to take a bite. “I’ve been looking for you. I checked in ICU and the nurse said she thought she’d overheard you saying something about getting a bite to eat.” “Mic,” Mac pleaded, turning a steady gaze on him. Although the one of the last things she wanted to do right now was face him, she wasn’t afraid to do so. Mic loved her and she’d hurt him so much. She could understand how upset he was. “Please understand. I can’t do this. There’s just so much going on right now. I can’t handle anything else right at the moment.” “When, Sarah?” he asked, ignoring the eyes turned to him. They were Rabb’s family, he thought, and he could care less what they thought. His only concern was Mac. “See, Bud,” Chloe joined in as she rushed up to them, Bud hot on her heels, “I told you that he was off to find Mac after we saw him walking away from ICU.” She turned to Mic, angry. “Why can’t you just leave her alone? Hasn’t she been through enough the last two days without you adding to that?” “I hardly think it’s a crime,” Mic replied, frustrated, running a hand through his hair, “to expect to be able to talk to my own fiancée. Sarah ….” “She’s married to Harm now,” Chloe insisted, her raised voice drawing stares from the other patrons. “She loves him and not ….” “Chloe,” Mac interrupted, dropping her fork and turning in her chair to take Chloe’s hands in hers. “This is between Mic and me. I can handle this.” “But, Mac ….” “But nothing,” she said, shaking her head. She turned to Bud, who was studiously looking away, uncomfortable at being caught in this situation. He was to have been Mic’s best man and while he was sympathetic to Mic’s concerns, Harm and Mac were his mentors, two of his closest friends and godparents to his son. “Bud, can you and Chloe go find the Admiral, please? We need to go over to the air terminal and pick up my car and Harm’s. We’re going to get checked into the VOQ and get some sleep. Then we’ll be back here this afternoon when the doctors are ready to bring Harm out of the anesthesia.” “Yes, ma’am,” Bud replied, his quick response hinting at his unease with the situation and desire to distance himself from it.

Chloe started to protest, but Mac shushed her with a stern look. “It will be okay, Chloe,” she assured her with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. Reluctantly, Chloe nodded. “How’s Harm?” she asked, changing the subject. “He’s ….” Mac hesitated, not sure what to say. Harm was by no means out of the woods, she knew, but she didn’t want to scare Chloe any more than she already had been by everything that had happened. Swallowing down her own fears, she continued, “He’s hanging in there. He’s still unconscious, but the doctors want it that way for now since he’s been through so much trauma. He needs this time to begin healing. Dr. Stafford did sound confident after Harm was brought out of surgery, though. You know Harm. In a few days, he’ll probably be well on the way to being his old self.” “Okay,” Chloe said. She didn’t want to believe that it was any worse than what Mac had said, so she accepted the report at face value. “When you see him later, tell him I said ‘hi’ and that he has to get better soon.” “I will,” Mac promised. She pulled Chloe into her arms, giving her a quick squeeze. “Now go find the Admiral for me.” Mic waited until he thought Chloe was a safe distance away and then sought to regain Mac’s attention. “Sarah,” he said insistently, this time grabbing her hand before she could pull it away, “we have to talk about what’s happened.” “I know that, Mic,” she replied, biting back a sigh of frustration as she tried to figure out how to gain control of the conversation. Remember, she thought, his whole world’s been turned upside down. Of course he wants answers. She wished she could know for certain that he would be willing to accept the answers she would give him. “But you have to understand that now is not the time. Please accept that and be patient. We will talk.” “When, Sarah?” he pressed. “Tomorrow morning,” she said, making a split-second decision more out of the need to get him off her back than of a desire to deal with the situation. “You remember the IHOP on Military Parkway where we ate that one time? Why don’t you meet me there for breakfast at 0700? That’ll give me the rest of today to get some rest and to make sure of where things stand with Harm.” Harm would have regained consciousness and, barring any unforeseen complications, which she knew were unfortunately a real concern given his injuries, he would probably be slowly moving down the road to recovery by then. He felt a sliver of hope at her last statement, misinterpreting her concern for Harm’s medical situation as uncertainty over the state of their marriage. “Instead of meeting you,” he countered, unhappy with the public meeting place and trying to come up with an alternative that would guarantee them some privacy, “why don’t I pick you up at the Navy Lodge? Then we can go get breakfast together.” He thought that his clever compromise would give him the opening to talk to her at her room, away from prying eyes. Perhaps he’d even get a chance to show her what they meant to each other. “That’s not necessary,” she said, recognizing his tactic, but reminding herself that she should

give him a little latitude in his feelings. “I’ll have my car by then and I don’t want you to go out of your way to come pick me up. I’ll just meet you there.” Mic was about to protest her insistence on meeting him when A.J. approached them with Bud and Chloe, his rigid stance barely concealing his fury. He’d expected Mic to still have enough respect for the military and his command authority to accede to his strongly-worded *suggestion* to leave Mac alone for now. A.J. was satisfied to note that Mic had a hard time meeting his gaze. “Mr. Brumby,” he said, letting his unspoken admonishment hang in the air between them. “Admiral,” Mic reluctantly acknowledged the rebuke, realizing he was rapidly losing control, if he’d ever had it in this conversation. Turning back to Mac, he acquiesced, “Okay, love. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at 0700.” He stood to leave, but unable to resist, he leaned over to kiss Mac. Realizing his intent, she turned as if to say something to A.J., causing Mic’s lips to land on her cheek instead of her mouth. “Well, then,” he said, straightening, rationalizing that she was probably uncomfortable kissing him in front of Rabb’s family, “I’m off.” He pulled a piece of a paper from his pants’ pocket, holding it out to Mac. “Here’s the address and phone number of the Doubletree Hotel where I’m staying. If you need anything ….” Turning again to face him, she let him hand her the slip, nodding. “Thank you, Mic,” she said, slipping the paper into the inner pocket of Harm’s jacket without looking at it. As Mic walked out, Mac thought that she should have been relieved that she’d handled that moderately well, but could not ignore the tiny voice in the back of her head, warning her that Mic had just proven that he had no intention of going down for the count, not without putting up on hell of a fight. MORGAN’S FOOD AND SPIRITS DOUBLETREE HOTEL NORFOLK AIRPORT It had taken some doing since the hotel’s check-in time wasn’t until three, but a dash of Aussie charm coupled with a sad story of being up all night at Portsmouth Naval Medical Center waiting for a *very dear* friend to come out of surgery got Mic a room where he could crash. It hadn’t been too hard to be convincing, even if he did exaggerate the truth a bit. After all, his extreme exhaustion was obvious to anyone. And if a little flirting helped, he told himself that it was all for a good cause, as was claiming a friendship with Harm that had never existed. Later, after some sleep and a more substantial meal than snacks and soda out of the hospital vending machine, he would be able to think about exactly what he planned to say to Mac at their breakfast date. It would be hard to be sympathetic about what Harm was going through, but he recognized the need to at least show some concern about what the man was going through. While he wouldn’t wish what had happened to Harm on anyone – he wasn’t a heartless bastard, after all – if Harm were to just go away and to never be a part of their lives again, it would not bother him one bit. In fact, Brumby and Brumby had been something of a step in that direction. True, his primary concern when starting the firm was to bring in some money after being fired from his old firm so that he wouldn’t start married life dependent on his wife’s income. But when he and Mac

decided that it was time to start their family, wouldn’t it be easier for Mac to be working with him in their own practice, where she could take as much or as little time as needed? Then he wouldn’t have to think about her seeing Harm every day in the office, going away on investigations with him …. He would show sympathy, since he didn’t want to end up pushing Mac farther away than she already was, but above all he had to make sure she knew just what she meant to him. There were things he could give her that he didn’t believe Harm could. He held no opinion on whether or not Harm truly loved Mac, or so he kept telling himself, but what kind of stability could Harm provide, especially when he seemed to attract trouble like a magnet? Just in the time Mic had been in Washington, there’d been that business with the Stealth in Iran, thieves trying to cover their crimes aboard a carrier with sabotage, a murderous corpsman aboard a submarine, Clark Palmer, Charlie Lynch, Panama, a hijacking on the way to Korea, a second trip to Russia. He was sure there was a situation or two that didn’t come to him off the top of his head. Not only had Harm been in danger all those times, but often Mac had been as well. What kind of life was that for a woman ready to start a family? Even if Harm did love her, it couldn’t be as much as Mic did, or he wouldn’t keep putting Mac into those situations. He remembered what he’d heard about Harm’s family shortly after his arrival at JAG, when the first Russian adventure was still a hot topic among the staff and he wondered what kind of man would willingly live a life that could possibly leave his wife a widow, just as his own mother had been. Mac needed a husband who would be there with her, not one who would spend his life chasing adventure all over the planet. Lost in his thoughts as he walked towards the elevator, he almost missed the familiar head of blonde hair in the hotel’s lounge. They’d gone to the hospital together, but he’d been unable to find her when he was ready to leave. He didn’t know her cell phone number, so he’d decided to trust that she would find a way to the hotel, which she obviously had. Mildly curious as to how her visit with Harm had gone, he headed towards the lounge. Renee might be privy to some information that might help him keep Mac. Sleep could wait a little bit longer. He sat down on the stool next to Renee at the bar, but she didn’t even look up at him as she twirled an olive on a toothpick in her martini. Mic motioned for the bartender. “What can I get you, sir?” the bartender asked. “Got any Foster’s?” Mic asked. The bartender nodded and bent down to retrieve a bottle, popping the top off before he set it in front of Mic. Mic took a long swig of his beer as he studied Renee out of the corner of his eye. She still hadn’t acknowledged his presence. Maybe it had finally gotten to her, he thought, the hours of waiting and worrying. She’d been nearly at the end of her rope when he’d last seen her at the hospital and he could only imagine what Harm’s current condition might be. Apparently bored with her olive, Renee popped it into her mouth, tossing the toothpick aside. With one long gulp, she tossed back the rest of the martini and motioned to the bartender. “Another one,” she demanded, tapping a well-manicured fingernail on the bar.

Was Rabb that bad off, he wondered, noting that her words were slightly slurred. It was clear the drink she’d just downed wasn’t her first. Turning to study her, he noticed her bloodshot eyes, but whether that was from tears or drink, he couldn’t tell. “Renee?” he asked, placing his hand on her arm. She jumped back at his touch, nearly losing her balance on the stool. Only Mic’s quick reflexes kept her from falling backwards off her perch. Definitely on her way to being drunk, if she wasn’t there already. “Did Rabb take a turn for the worse?” “Wouldn’t know,” she replied with a dramatic sigh. The bartender finally came over and she motioned to her empty glass as she rambled on to Mic. “Never got to see him. You see, I’m not family. I’ve only been in love with this man for over a year, but because I don’t have a ring on my finger, I couldn’t even get past the front door before some nurse stopped me …. said she had a list and I wasn’t on it. Wouldn’t be surprised if Mac’s the one who made up the list. She’s his wife now, remember? I’ve been with him forever, but she’s the one who gets to make all the decisions.” “Ma’am, I believe you’ve had enough,” the bartender said when Renee paused for a breath. “How about some black coffee instead?” “I don’t think so,” she countered. “Coffee ain’t gonna make me forget. You see, my boyfriend …. well, I guess you can’t call him my boyfriend anymore ….” Mic had the feeling he didn’t really want to hear what she was about to say. “I think the coffee will be fine,” he answered for her. As Renee went on some more about how Mac got all the consideration and she got none, he motioned to the bartender. “How many of those has she had?” he whispered, although he really didn’t have to - Renee appeared to be paying absolutely no attention to what he was doing. “That was only her second martini,” the bartender replied, just as quietly. At Mic’s puzzled glance, he added, “After the two rum and cokes she started out with.” He nodded. “Bring the coffee and keep the pot on standby,” he said. “I think she’ll need it.” “Well, if you’re not gonna bring me ‘nother martini,” Renee cut in, pouting, “how’s ‘bout bringing him one? He’s gonna need something stronger than that swill he’s drinking.” “Hey, that’s good Aussie brew,” he protested in a teasing manner, trying to draw her out of the funk she’d worked herself into. “Now that stuff you Yanks call beer – that’s swill.” “Whatever,” she muttered. The bartender set a cup of coffee in front of her, and then moved down to the far end of the bar to give them some privacy. Renee ignored the coffee, turning to face Mic. “So did you finally give up on Mac?” “I haven’t given up on anything,” he replied, taking another sip of his beer. “Just came back here to get some sleep. I’m meeting Sarah for breakfast tomorrow so we can discuss where we go from here.”

Renee leaned closer to him, as if preparing to share some great secret. “Actually,” she confided in a conspiratorial whisper, “she’s probably just meeting with you so she can let you down easy. Ha! This is supposed to be easy?” “She said she wanted to see where things stood with Harm first,” he countered. “She’s not going to let me down.” “Come on,” she said, “is that really what she said? She’s already let you down! She married another man, remember? And on the same day the two of you….” “She felt sorry for the bloke,” he insisted. “Well, that’s not the way she made things sound to Harm’s mother,” she said, shaking her head. “You know, I told Harriet that I was hoping you wouldn’t get hit by a bus….” “Thanks,” he replied, curious as to when *that* had come up as a topic. “I think.” She giggled, as if he’d just said something hilarious, her laughter quickly turning into hiccups. After she calmed down, she continued, “Then yesterday, when you couldn’t keep track of your fiancée, the little devil voice inside me said that maybe I should have been praying Harm didn’t get hit by one. I mean, he crashes his plane and she’s nowhere to be found! But you know what? It doesn’t matter!” Mic reached over and pushed the coffee towards her. She was more drunk than he thought, because she was making less sense as the conversation wore on. He debated the wisdom of just escorting her to her room and heading to his to get some sleep. So far he hadn’t learned much beyond the fact that Renee rambled when she was drunk, and as much as a few drinks might make him feel better as well, he was too tired to make the effort. “Drink your coffee, Renee,” he said. She pushed it away from her. “I’m not that drunk, Mic,” she insisted as she wagged her finger at him. “I can hold my liquor. I’m just upset. No, that’s not a strong enough word. I’m angry. No, better yet, I’m pissed off. I’d like to say I’m not going to take it anymore, but I can’t. It’s over.” “Look, mate,” Mic said in a placating tone, “it’s been a long night and we’re tired. Get some sleep and things will look better later.” “That’s easy for you to say,” she said, jabbing his shoulder with each word to make the point. “You didn’t hear Mac tell Harm’s mother that she had no intention of marrying you yesterday, even before she up and decided to marry Harm.” Mic mentally counted to ten, reminding himself that by her own admission, she was pissed off. Add to that the drinks she’d consumed, and it was no wonder that she was lashing out. He probably just made the most convenient target right now. He could hardly hold that against her. “What did you expect her to say to Rabb’s mother?” he rationalized, as much to himself as to her. “’I was promised to another man, but I married Harm because I felt sorry for him’?”

“Mic,” she said, “when you were a boxer, weren’t there times when you just had to admit you couldn’t get up off the mat?” “Of course,” he replied, “not that it happened to me that often. But a person doesn’t spend months planning a wedding and then suddenly turn around less than twelve hours before the happy occasion and decide to marry someone else.” “Okay,” she conceded, the word coming out as little more than a croak as she hiccupped again, “let’s suppose that’s true. I’m not saying that it is, but let’s just suppose. Do you think she’d stay away from him after you’re married?” “Of course,” he replied. “She would be my wife.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Weren’t you the one who told me that Mac cheated on her first husband?” “They’d been separated for years when she had the affair with Colonel Farrow,” he said. “And what about Wednesday night?” she countered. “She was still your fiancée then.” “We don’t know for sure that anything happened,” he reminded her, trying to brush aside his own doubts about that night. “Yeah, but there’s a pretty strong …. what do you lawyers call it?” She glanced towards the ceiling, as if looking for the answer. “Oh, yeah, a circumstantial case. Or do you think she just got up in the middle of the night and decided for the hell of it to drive several hours to Norfolk just to have breakfast with Harm?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet.” “Look, Mic,” she said, “I don’t want to believe it either. I’d like to wake up and find out that I’m back in Washington, drifting off in the afterglow of some incredible sex with Harm, while you and Mac are on your honeymoon, planning future little Brumbys. But after everything I’ve seen and heard the last couple of days, I’m ready to admit that just is not going to happen.” “Fine, you give up then,” he said, trying to banish the image that popped into his mind of Renee and Harm between the sheets. He tried to think instead of his favorite beach back home, imagining himself slathering sun block all over Sarah, who this time would be topless. He even knew of a few beaches where she could get by with wearing nothing at all. He’d have to work on making that one a reality when this was all over. “I can’t. Rabb’s been a part of her life for years, but he’s never made a move towards her. I even asked him once and he said they weren’t involved. I was the one she agreed to marry.” “You’re a good friend, Mic Brumby,” she said. “Probably the only one I’ve got here today. So believe that I’m saying this as your friend. Maybe it’s time to cut your losses.” “I have to talk to Sarah,” he insisted. He didn’t want to lash out at Renee, and realizing that his temper was close to flaring, he decided to switch gears. “If you’re not going to drink that coffee, why don’t I escort you up to your room. You can sleep this off and maybe things will

seem a little clearer later.” “I don’t wanna sleep,” she protested, even as she let Mic help her down from the stool. Watching her waver unsteadily now that she was on her feet, he pulled out his wallet and motioned to the bartender to settle their bill. Renee noticed as she faltered, grabbing onto his arm for support. “You don’t have to do that.” “No worries,” he replied. “It’s on me.” He put his wallet back in his pocket and threw an arm around her waist, leading her away from the bar. “What’s your room number?” “Don’t wanna go there,” she protested again. “Come on,” he said. “You need some sleep.” “Don’t wanna sleep. Don’t wanna dream,” she said. “I might dream of Harm and the life I wanted for us and then I’ll wake up and remember that that’s never gonna happen.” Growing weary of going around in circles with her, he refrained from arguing that nothing was for sure yet. He wouldn’t know anything until he could talk to Sarah. “Just give me your keycard,” he said, his voice showing a hint of the strain he was under. Renee fumbled around for a moment in her purse before producing the requested card. As he was hoping, it was still in the protective sleeve that it had been put in when given to her at check-in, with her room number written on the sleeve. She was on the floor below his. He could just drop her off at her room and then head to his own. They somehow made their way across the lobby and into the elevator, although Renee wasn’t of much help, Mic practically dragging her along. As soon as he released her to push the number for her floor, she slumped against the back wall of the elevator. “Mic, can I ask you something?” she asked as the doors closed. At Mic’s nod, she continued, “What makes you so sure everything’s going to work out the way you want it to? How do you know that you’re not going to meet Mac tomorrow only to have her tell you that it’s over and she intends to stay with Harm?” Mic didn’t even have to think about it before he replied, “Because she agreed to marry me and she knows that I love her and can give her what she most wants in the world – stability, security, and a family. She’d never have to be alone again.”

THAT AFTERNOON NORFOLK NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER Mac sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against the wall, her fingers playing with the strap of her purse as she waited impatiently for Dr. Stafford to arrive. Sarah sat next to her, Mac’s free hand clasped in hers. Trish and Frank sat huddled together on the small sofa, Frank rubbing Trish’s shoulder as he whispered to her. They’d arrived at the hospital prepared to be with Harm when he regained consciousness, only to be told by an ICU nurse that the doctor wanted to see them in his office before they saw Harm.

Stifling a yawn, Mac mentally calculated the time they’d been sitting there waiting. It had been eight minutes and fourteen seconds, an eternity when she was on the verge of collapse and all she wanted was to see Harm and reassure herself that he was on the mend. After she’d checked into the VOQ, she’d been unable to sleep. Even though it was not the same room, and was even in a different building on a different part of the base, the room she was given was identical to the one she and Harm had spent the night in on Wednesday, right down to burnt orange flowers on the brown bedspread. She’d tried to sleep, but she’d been assaulted by images of that night – the way he’d pressed her against the door as soon as they’d entered his room, the heartbreaking expression on his face as they’d come together knowing that it might only be for that one night, how he’d trembled in her arms as they’d come down together off that magical high. Not even an hour had passed before Mac had given up on getting any sleep. She’d quickly gotten dressed in her uniform, the only thing she had that was suitable for going out in public, and had set out to keep herself occupied until it was time to return to the hospital. First, she’d stopped at the base exchange to buy some clothes and necessities. She’d originally packed only enough for a couple of days, anticipating a short stay on the carrier, but now she was looking at a week or more in Norfolk before Harm was well enough to be transferred by helo to Bethesda. She headed off base after changing into jeans and a t-shirt bought at the exchange. After a quick lunch at a nearby McDonalds, Mac had driven to the airfield and watched flight operations. Remembering the concerns Harm had expressed before his seizure, she’d pondered how much harder it would be for him to pass the flight physical now that he was dealing with more than just a third ejection and a severe case of hypothermia. She knew better than to count Harm out. He’d been told once before that he’d never fly as part of an active squadron again. She could never forget how that had ended up, a piece of her heart ripped from her when he’d walked out of JAG two years earlier, seemingly forever. This time, she would support him. She was startled out of her revere by Sarah squeezing her hand. She opened her eyes, straightening in her chair as Dr. Stafford entered the office. “I’m sorry for the delay,” Dr. Stafford said, taking a seat behind his desk. “Is there some kind of problem?” Mac asked tensely, voicing the thought that was on all their minds. “On the contrary, I have some promising news,” he assured them. He held up the folder in his hand. “I just got the results of Commander Rabb’s latest CT scan from the radiologist. There’s still a little swelling, which is normal after surgery but which has decreased since then. There’s been no recurrence of bleeding.” “That means he’s going to be okay?” Trish asked. “The brain is probably the biggest mystery of the human body, Mrs. Burnett,” Stafford replied, a note of caution in his tone, “so I am by no means ready to declare your son ‘out of the woods’, so to speak. We’ll continue to monitor him closely for a few days. I am

optimistic that his injury will heal physically, but what we can’t know yet, and what I wanted to talk to you about before the Commander wakes up, are the possible side effects from his injury.” “Such as?” Mac asked tightly. “Obviously,” he continued, “there’s likely to be some disorientation when he first wakes up, some confusion. He may even have some problems remembering things that happened right before his seizure, maybe even further back than that, to the crash itself. Just be patient. That kind of thing usually sorts itself out in time. There may be some concerns with his motor function. Those issues may improve on their own, but he can do physical therapy if they linger. He’s certain to experience an increase in headaches, possibly even as severe as migraines. There may also be some problems with mood swings.” “Are we looking at temporary concerns,” Frank asked, “or things that could possibly be permanent?” “It could go either way,” Stafford admitted. “I’ve seen patients after surgery like his run the gamut – from complete recovery to permanent physical and psychological issues. Now, that said, Commander Rabb does have several factors in his favor. He’s healthy, keeps himself in shape, and from what I’ve been told by Dr. Reed and Father Gilly, he’s a very strong-willed person. He’s going to need all that. On the other hand, he has suffered head injuries in the past, which could make it harder to bounce back from this one.” “The Hornet,” Mac whispered. That may not have been Harm’s only head injury in the years she’d known him, but it had been the most severe until now. She remembered the fear that had risen in her throat, quickly forced down, when she’d found him unconscious on the deck. He’d spent two days in the hospital, but had seemed almost normal upon his release. She realized the point the doctor was trying to make, but she knew Harm. He didn’t know how to quit. She had faith that he’d be back in the courtroom - and in the air not too long after that. She could not consider a different outcome and she knew Harm wouldn’t either. “So all we can do is wait and see,” Sarah stated. It wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but there wasn’t a person in this room who would want the truth sugar-coated. “So what now?” “That’s the good news,” Dr. Stafford said. “We did discontinue the Commander’s sedation a few hours ago and he is experiencing an increased level of consciousness. He’s not quite awake yet, but I expect he will be shortly. Also, we’ve been weaning him off the ventilator all day. His SIMV has been two for the last couple of hours, which is very good.” At their confused looks, he elaborated, “SIMV is basically the number of breaths per minute that the vent is forcing air in and out of his lungs. In other words, he’s pretty much breathing on his own. A respiratory specialist will be on hand to remove the vent once the Commander regains consciousness. I understand from Dr. Reed he was already hoarse from all the time he spent in the water, and now he’s had a breathing tube down his throat for the better part of a day. We won’t let him talk too much yet. It will also give us a chance to evaluate some of his motor skills by seeing if he can write out what he wants to say.” “How long will we be able to stay with him?” Trish asked.

“Not too long, at least for now,” Stafford replied. “Don’t be surprised if he tires quickly. He may fall asleep not long after he regains consciousness. This is completely normal and he’ll probably tire easily for some time to come during his recovery. I also understand the Commander’s brother is arriving this evening.” “Last we heard,” Mac explained, as Trish looked down at her lap, uncomfortable with the subject, “he’s due to arrive sometime after 1900.” Clay was supposed to call Mac either at the hospital or on her cell phone once they landed in New York to give her a firm arrival time in Norfolk. “Since I’m sure you’ll be back to see Commander Rabb then,” Stafford continued, “we’ll keep the visit short for now. If he feels up to it, perhaps a longer visit will be in order later this evening after his brother arrives, or more likely, tomorrow.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Sarah replied. “Is there anything else we need to know about Harm’s condition?” “That should cover everything,” he replied, “unless you have any specific questions.” “I think we’d all like to be with Harm now,” Mac said for all of them.

Harm was lying on his back when they entered his room, the head of his bed elevated to a forty-five degree angle. A woman in a Marine uniform was listening to his chest with a stethoscope while a nurse in hospital scrubs stood by. Mac studied the other Marine for any hint of Harm’s condition, but the woman didn’t seem overly concerned about anything as she straightened up and moved to the foot of the bed to make some notes in his chart. “This is Captain Fleming,” Stafford introduced the Marine. “She’s serving as the Commander’s respiratory therapist. Nurse Downs is assisting her. Captain, Nurse, this is Commander Rabb’s wife, Colonel Rabb; his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Burnett; and his grandmother, Mrs. Rabb.” “How is he, Captain?” Mac asked as she pulled up a chair to the head of the bed, sinking wearily into it. “His breath sounds are good, Colonel,” she replied, handing the chart to Stafford so he could read her notes. “Pneumonia is still a concern because of the length of time he was in the water and the setbacks he’s had. His system is depressed due to all the trauma, but steps were already being taken before the seizure to guard against pneumonia, so I’m hopeful that we can hold off an infection. He’s breathing on his own, for the most part, so we’re going to remove the vent after he regains consciousness.” “So Dr. Stafford said,” Mac said as she took one of Harm’s hands in hers. It still felt slightly chilled, but nowhere near as cold as it had been in the hours after he’d been pulled from the water. The rest of the family settled around the bed, Sarah sitting beside Mac, while Trish and Frank took up positions on the other side of the bed. Trish clasped Harm’s other hand, careful not to pull the IV tubing going into that arm.

“You should talk to him,” Fleming continued. “When he regains consciousness, with his likely disorientation, it’s possible he’s going to fight the tube in his throat. If he hears familiar voices as he wakes up, it will help calm him until we can remove the vent.” Mac stroked his hand. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to begin. Her fingers traced the contours and plains of his hand as she tried to find the words. His hands were so strong, she mused, and they could be so gentle, but the hand she held felt so limp in hers. “Oh, Harm,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “I’m here, Harm. So are your parents and you grandmother. We all love you and we just want you to come back to us.” “That’s right, Darling,” Trish added. “We’re here for you, as long as you need us.” The others added their own words of encouragement, pleading with him to wake up. This went on for close to ten minutes with no sign of further consciousness from Harm. Finally, Mac thought she felt his fingers move against hers. She glanced up at his face, but could see no sign that he was waking up. Looking across the bed at Trish, she saw her watching Harm as well, a hopeful expression on her face. “Did you feel that, too?” Mac asked. At Trish’s nod, Mac looked back at Harm. “Harm, your mom and I are both holding your hands,” she said. “Can you squeeze our hands? Come on, Harm. You can do this.” This time, when Mac felt the slight pressure of his fingers curling around hers, his eyelids fluttered. “That’s it,” she encouraged him. “It’s time to wake up. Open your eyes, Harm.” Harm slowly turned his head towards the sound of her voice, struggling to do as she asked. He managed to halfway open his eyes before the lids fluttered closed again. Mac felt his fingers tense in hers as he almost imperceptibly started struggling, his mouth trying to move. “The vent,” Fleming reminded her. “Harm, it’s okay,” Mac assured him, while Trish stroked his temple soothingly. “You’re on a ventilator, but the doctor said that it will be taken out shortly. Just open your eyes.” The sound of her voice seemed to calm him, as he relaxed his hand in hers. His eyelids still fluttered, and Mac mentally counted eighty-six seconds before he managed to open his eyes all the way, his gaze focusing on her immediately. She lifted her hand to her mouth, overcome with emotion as she felt Sarah clasp her shoulder. Frank sighed with relief as he and Trish leaned against each other. “Welcome back,” Mac whispered. His eyes blinked slowly as he turned his head slightly to take in each of them in turn. He focused on his mother last, his eyes clouding at the sight of the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m just so happy to see you,” Trish assured him, recognizing the direction of his thoughts. “Commander, this is Dr. Stafford,” Stafford said from his position at the end of the bed. Harm slowly turned his gaze in that direction in silent acknowledgement. “Good, Commander.”

Stafford glanced at Fleming, who nodded as she moved to the head of the bed between Trish and the wall, the nurse taking up a similar position on the other side of the bed next to Mac. “Commander, I’m Captain Fleming,” she said. “We’re going to remove the vent now. After I’ve removed the tape securing your endotracheal tube in place, Nurse Downs is going to suction the tube and your pharynx. When I tell you to, I want you to take a deep breath and then cough while I remove the tube. I’m going to then put an oxygen mask on you. I just want you to breathe normally. If there are no signs of respiratory distress, I’ll remove the mask.” She turned to Mac. “Colonel,” she said, “there’s a cup of shaved ice and a spoon on the table behind you. After the mask has been removed, you can give him some to help moisten his throat before he attempts to speak.” Quickly and efficiently, they went about their work removing the ventilator. As the tube was pulled from Harm’s throat, he squeezed Mac’s hand almost painfully. “I know it’s painful,” she whispered, “but it’s over now. Just try to relax.” As the oxygen mask was fitted over his nose and mouth, Harm’s hold on Mac’s hand eased. She pulled her hand from his, shaking it out to restore the circulation. “Some grip you’ve got there, sailor,” she said in a half-teasing tone, trying to sound relaxed. “Okay, Commander,” Stafford said, moving to stand beside Frank, and holding out his hand to Harm, “I want you to try to squeeze my fingers with your left hand as hard as you can. As Harm did so, Stafford commented, “Your wife’s correct. That’s some grip.” He took a pen out of his lab coat pocket. “I want you to try to follow this with your eyes without moving your head.” Harm did as he was told, the doctor nodding as his eyes followed the pen perfectly. “Are you right-handed or left-handed?” Harm lifted his right arm slightly off the bed in reply. Stafford held the pen out to him, Harm taking it and gripping it as if to write. The nurse took a notepad off the table and set it on Harm’s lap. “Commander,” Stafford said, “I’m going to ask you some simple questions and I want you to write your answers. What is your name?” Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. His handwriting was a bit shakier than normal, but his response was readable and there was no pause as if he was trying to think about what he was writing. “Okay, Commander,” Stafford continued as he glanced at Harm’s chart. “What is your date of birth?” 25 October 1963 Stafford glanced at the chart to confirm the answer. “Good. Do you know why you’re here?” Harm paused, his brow furrowing in concentration. Finally he wrote two words on the pad, but Mac thought he looked like he wasn’t quite satisfied with his answer. Stafford noticed his expression and assured him, “Don’t worry. ‘Plane crash’ is what I’m looking for right now. I don’t expect you to know why you woke up in Portsmouth when the last thing you probably remember is being on the carrier. Who are the ladies sitting on your right side?”

Sarah Rabb Stafford waited, a concerned look in his eyes when Harm didn’t write anything else. Then a look of comprehension appeared. Both of the ladies on his right were named Sarah Rabb. “Maybe that was a little too easy,” he conceded. “Who’s sitting to your left?” My parents, Trish and Frank Burnett “Very good, Commander,” Stafford said, making some notes in the chart. He glanced at Fleming, nodding towards the oxygen mask. She nodded and removed the mask. Harm started to open his mouth to speak, but Fleming shook her head. “Not just yet, Commander. Colonel?” Mac turned to grab the cup, spooning some ice up. She turned back and held the spoon towards Harm’s mouth. She could see the frustration in his eyes at having to be spoon-fed, but he took the ice without complaint. She fed him a few more spoonfuls before he shook his head. She glanced at Dr. Stafford, setting the cup and spoon back down after he nodded. “Commander,” Stafford requested. “Please tell where you work.” Harm swallowed hard a couple of times before answering in a whispered croak, “JAG HQ, Falls Church, Virginia.” At the doctor’s puzzled look, Mac explained in a quiet voice, “He does work at JAG, but he keeps up his flight status. He’d just finished his carrier landing qualifications and was leaving the carrier when – when he went down.” “Okay,” Stafford said, turning his attention back to Harm. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Harm’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I was on the carrier,” he whispered after a moment. He looked at Mac, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “I asked you to marry me.” The smile quickly turned to a frown. “No, you’re Sarah Rabb now. I married you, right?” “Yes, you did,” Mac replied, swallowing hard. She glanced at the doctor, but he smiled reassuringly at her. She remembered what he’d said about some disorientation and relaxed slightly. She realized that Harm had a ways to go before he was his normal self. “But how did I ….” His voice trailed off and he studied Mac for a long moment before he continued, “How did I get back to the carrier? I left …. I was going back to Washington …. I called you?” “You called me before you left the carrier,” Mac confirmed. “But you crashed on the way back to Norfolk and you were taken back to the carrier.” “And….?” Harm asked. “The doctor said …. this is Portsmouth?”

“That’s correct, Commander,” Stafford said. “You suffered a head injury during the crash and you were brought here by helo for surgery.” “But …. my helmet?” Harm asked, his hand going to the back of his head where his surgical incision was covered by a bandage. Mac looked down at the floor before answering. “The Coast Guard said that you weren’t wearing it when they pulled you up. Don’t worry about it. It will probably come back to you. I’m sure there’s an explanation for why you weren’t wearing it.” Harm looked at her dubiously, but Trish added, “She’s right, darling. Just concentrate on getting better. There’ll be plenty of time later to try and figure out exactly what happened.” “But ….” Harm began. “That’s enough talking, Commander,” Stafford interrupted. “You can spend a few more minutes with your family, but then you need to get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll run some tests to make sure that there are no complications from your injury and surgery, but things look promising so far.” “So when can I get out of here?” Harm whispered. The question brought chuckles and grins to his family. “Figures that you would have a problem following doctor’s orders,” Mac teased. “Slow down, Commander,” Stafford said. “You’re going to be our guest in ICU for a couple of days, at least. After that, we’ll see, but I’d plan on spending at least a week in the hospital.” “Just concentrate on getting better,” Mac said when she noticed Harm roll his eyes at the doctor’s last statement. “We’ll all be here until you get out of the hospital. Consider it a chance to spend some long-overdue quality time with your family.” “I have some other patients to look in on,” Stafford said, “so I’m going to leave you to spend just a little more time with your family. I’ll stop back by later this evening to see how you’re doing.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Harm whispered before Stafford left the room. Trish sighed heavily and Harm turned to her, reaching for her hand. “Sorry,” Harm said. “I ….” Trish waved him off. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she assured him. “I’m just relieved ….” “We all are,” Frank added when Trish couldn’t go on. “It’s been a long couple of days for all of us, but the important thing is that you’re back with us.” “Thanks, Frank,” Harm whispered. He looked at his grandmother, who had been largely silent so far. “Gram?”

“You know what I’m going to say,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry about us and ….” “Just focus on taking care of myself,” Harm finished softly, his eyelids drooping. “And now you can focus on taking care of yourself by getting some rest,” Sarah added. “The doctor said you’d likely fall asleep not long after waking up.” “She’s right,” Mac forced herself to respond. She wasn’t ready to leave Harm yet, but she knew that he needed his rest. Maybe now she’d be able to get some sleep herself, now that she’d spoken to Harm and knew that he was getting better. “Get some sleep. The doctor said we could come back this evening after supper, and if you’re up to it, we’ll get to spend more time with you then.” “’kay,” Harm murmured, his eyes closing. They each took turns kissing his forehead, or in Frank’s case, clasping Harm’s hand. As they turned to walk out, Harm reached a hand out, calling softly, “Mac….” The others left the room to give them a moment. Mac sat back down on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in hers. “What is it, Harm?” she asked. His eyes opened, his gaze focused intently on hers. “Renee?” he asked quietly. Mac swallowed, wondering what to say. Now was not the time to deal with this, but he probably wouldn’t let her put him off too much. “She’s here in Norfolk,” she finally said, looking down at their clasped hands, “although I think she’s headed off to her hotel for now. They’re not letting anyone but family in right now.” “She knows?” he whispered. “Yeah,” Mac replied. “She found out when she got here last night.” “Mic, too?” “He arrived at the same time she did, so yes,” she answered. “I agreed to meet with him tomorrow morning for breakfast to explain everything.” “Sorry,” he whispered. “I wish I could help you with this. I guess I’ll need to talk to Renee sometime.” “Don’t worry about it,” she said, her tone a little too bright. If Harm noticed, he didn’t let on. “I can handle Mic. My life is with you now and he’s going to have to accept that. And Renee will just have to understand that you’re not up to explaining things to her yet.” She leaned over, brushing her lips against his. “I love you,” she said as she pulled away. He flashed her his familiar grin briefly before his eyes closed again. “As if I could forget,” he murmured. “Love you, too.”

1935 HOURS LOCAL INTENSIVE CARE UNIT PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER “Gram,” Mac greeted her in the hallway as she arrived. Sarah enveloped her in a warm hug, and then led her into the waiting room to sit down. “Were you waiting for me?” “I wanted to be out here when my grandson arrives,” Sarah replied. “Trish and Frank went in already to see Harm. They were going to tell him that we each wanted to see him separately, so that he didn’t wonder where you and I are. He still doesn’t know Sergei is coming.” “Good,” Mac replied. “What time did Mr. Webb say they’d get here?” Sarah asked. “Should be anytime now,” Mac replied. “They were a little late landing because of the weather. It won’t take long to get here from the airport, and I would assume Clay would already have transportation arranged, so they should have been able to leave there pretty quickly.” “While we’re waiting,” Sarah said, “why don’t you give me your impressions of Sergei?” “I would have thought Harm would have told you all about him already,” Mac countered. “He has,” Sarah explained, “but that’s from a brother’s perspective. I’ve always thought Harm would make a wonderful big brother. As you know, he has such a big heart and such compassion. But I’m interested in an outside perspective, so to speak.” “Well,” Mac said, gathering her thoughts, “he’s very well-mannered. He’s definitely got his brother’s stubbornness. After Harm introduced Sergei as his brother, I could see the resemblance. Not in the way Sergei looks. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures, so you know he’s blonde and quite a bit smaller than Harm. There’s something in his eyes though, that reminds me of Harm.” “They have their father’s eyes,” Sarah said. “But there’s something else,” Mac continued. “He seemed so …. I don’t know …. settled, I guess. In all the years I’ve known Harm, I’ve never seen him like that.” “I think that Sergei didn’t grow up with the uncertainty that Harm did,” Sarah mused. “He never had to wonder what happened to his father. He knew his entire life that his father died before he was born. In a way, I guess Sergei never knew what he was missing, not the way Harm did.” “I wonder what Harm would have been like if he’d grown up with that kind of certainty,” Mac wondered. Sarah didn’t get a chance to reply, as a nurse stepped into the room. “Colonel Rabb,” she said to Mac, “there are two gentlemen here to see you.” She stepped aside to let Clay and Sergei

enter the room. “Colonel,” Sergei greeted Mac, his eyes going wide as he looked past her to Sarah. “Grandma?” Sarah, with tears in her eyes, nodded, rising to meet him halfway across the room. They threw their arms around each other, hugging tightly. Mac smiled as she watched the union. “Too bad Harm isn’t in here to see this,” Mac mused as Clay sat down next to her. “How is Harm doing?” Clay asked. “He’s fine,” Mac replied. “I haven’t seen him since before I spoke to you earlier, but Trish and Frank are in with him now. They’re keeping Harm distracted until Gram and I come in with Sergei.” “He doesn’t know his brother’s here?” Clay asked in surprise. “Gram and I talked this morning when the Admiral took us to pick up Harm’s car and mine from the air field,” she explained. “We thought it would be a nice surprise for him, after everything that’s happened.” “And how are you doing, Mac?” Clay asked. “I’m fine,” she insisted, “just worried about Harm. It’s been a rough couple of days.” “So I understand,” Clay said, “and not just because of the crash.” “I guess,” Mac said evasively, not wanting to get into it with him. She wasn’t up to dealing with Clay’s usual smart-aleck comments. “So what’s Sergei’s situation? How long can he stay here?” “He’s on a standard 90-day visitor’s visa,” Clay explained. “If that’s not enough time to establish paternity, we can get a six-month extension later. Sergei has an international driver’s license along with his Russian one, but I didn’t arrange a car for him since he doesn’t know his way around here, and I figured he’d be spending most of his time with his family. A.J. got him checked into the same VOQ that you’re at, which will make transportation easier.” “Thank you,” Mac said. “I’m sure Harm will be grateful as well, for everything you’ve done. He didn’t take it very well when Sergei disappeared and when he found out Sergei was a prisoner …. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what kind of memories that brought up.” “Look,” Clay said, rising, “I need to get back to Washington. Tell Rabb …..” “I know,” Mac said, sparing him from getting emotional. “Are you going to be available by cell phone? I’m sure Harm will want to thank you himself when he’s able.” “Tell him not to worry about it,” Clay said with a shrug. “I’ll just remind him later that he owes me another one.”

Sarah took a step back, studying her grandson critically. Even through the clothes he wore, she’d felt bones poking out when they’d hugged. She had a job ahead of her putting some meat back on him. “After Harm’s better,” she said, “you’ll have to come up to the farm. You need some good home cooking to fatten you up. Harm and Mac can come too. I’m sure they’ll be able to use the time away from Washington.” Sergei smiled. “You remind me of my mother, Grandma,” he said. “She always thinks I need to eat more.” “Sounds like your mother is a smart woman,” Sarah said. “Does she know you’ve been released?” “Yes, Grandma,” he replied. “Mr. Webb let me call her from the airport in Moscow. She is sad that I’m not coming home, but she understands why I needed to come to see Harm. She said that she hopes he will be well soon.” “Sorry to interrupt,” Clay said, stepping up to them, “but I need to get back to Washington, so I’ll leave you with your family now.” “Mr. Webb,” Sergei said, “this is my grandmother, Sarah Rabb. Grandma, this is Mr. Clayton Webb. He works for your State Department.” “I’ve heard a lot about you from Harm, Mr. Webb,” Sarah said in a tone that said she knew exactly what kind of work he did for the government. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for what you’ve done for my grandsons.” “You’re welcome, Mrs. Rabb,” he replied graciously as she reached up to kiss his cheek. “Good luck to your family.” “Hello, Colonel,” Sergei said as Mac joined them after Clay walked out. He kissed both of her cheeks in greeting. “It is good to see you again.” “I’m glad to see you, too,” Mac replied, “but please. Call me Mac. We’re family now. And speaking of which, are you ready to see Harm?” “How is he?” Sergei asked. “When we spoke to you from New York, you said that Harm had woken up?” “Yes,” Mac replied, “A few hours before I spoke to you. Gram and I haven’t seen him yet this evening since we’ve been waiting for you, but the nurse said he’s doing okay. He’s been sleeping on and off since we saw him earlier, according to her. Trish and Frank, Harm’s mother and stepfather, are in with him right now.” “They know I am here?” Sergei asked worriedly. “Yes,” Sarah said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. “They’ve known since shortly after Mr. Webb called the Admiral this morning and told him that you’d been released. Don’t

worry. It will be fine. Frank knows a thing or two about trying to fit in with a ready-made family. As for Trish ….” “I am the son of her late husband with another woman,” Sergei pointed out. “Look, I’m not going to say that Trish is going to welcome you with open arms,” Sarah said, “but she realizes that you are both here because you love Harm. It will just take her some time to get used to having you around. And if you need to, you can talk to me or to Mac.” “Of course,” Mac agreed. “Trish loves her son and once she sees how much you love him too, I think it will be easier for her.”

Mac knocked on the door to Harm’s room, then pushed it open, sticking her head inside. Harm turned to her immediately, a smile on his face. “I was beginning to think that Mom and Frank were the only ones here to see me,” he said, his voice not as hoarse as it was earlier, although it still wasn’t as clear as his regular speaking voice. “Not quite,” Mac said, stepping into the room. She closed the door behind her, but remained standing there, her hand on the doorknob. “In fact, Gram and I have been waiting for a surprise visitor to arrive. That’s why your parents came in first.” “Who?” Harm asked. “I thought they were still only letting family in.” “They are,” Mac said mysteriously. “But ….” Harm began as she turned around and opened the door, stepping aside as Sarah entered, followed by Sergei. Mac smiled as Harm’s eyes widened at the sight of his brother, his smile brighter. “Sergei!” he said, struggling to push himself into a sitting position, ignoring the cries of “Harm!” from Mac, Trish and Sarah as he grabbed his head. Ignoring the pain, he finally managed to sit up as Sergei sat on the edge of the bed. The brothers embraced, Harm’s eyes squeezed shut as tears fell down Sergei’s face. After a moment, Sergei pulled away, gently helping his brother lay back as Harm opened his eyes. “It is good to see you, Harm,” Sergei said, blinking back tears. “Hey, I’m fine,” Harm tried to assure him, his breathing a little heavy at the exertion of sitting up. “Besides, you don’t look much better than I do.” “I am uninjured,” Sergei said. “No, you’re just skin and bones,” Harm pointed out, his eyes closing. Sergei looked back at Sarah. “Grandma has said that she will take care of …. fattening me up,” he said. “And Harm will probably need some good food, too,” Sarah said, “after spending at least a

week in this place. Trish, Frank, this is Sergei Zhukov. Sergei, this is Harm’s mother, Trish Burnett, and her husband, Frank.” “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Burnett,” Sergei said, trying to mask his nervousness. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” “It’s good to meet you, too, Sergei,” Frank said, shaking Sergei’s hand. Hesitantly, Sergei turned to Trish, holding out his hand. She took it after a moment, managing a half-smile. “It’s good to meet you, too,” she said. “I know Harm is very happy to see you.” “Thank you, Mrs. Burnett,” Sergei replied. Sergei looked at his brother, concerned. “Perhaps I should come back tomorrow,” he said. “Harm is asleep.” “No, I’m not,” Harm protested, although his eyes didn’t open. “Anyway, you just got here.” “But the doctor said we could stay longer tonight only if you are up to it,” Sarah said firmly. “You’ve been fighting to keep your eyes open just in the few minutes that Mac, Sergei and I have been in here, and I’d be willing to bet that you also were when Trish and Frank were visiting with you.” “Your grandmother knows you too well,” Trish said. “Traitor,” Harm murmured. “Why don’t I make it an order, Commander?” Mac interjected in a half-teasing tone. “You get as much sleep as you can tonight. If you can keep your eyes open for more than a couple of minutes at a time tomorrow, we’ll stay longer.” “I will still be here tomorrow, Harm,” Sergei said. “Mr. Webb has arranged a ninety-day visa for me.” “Should have known Webb had something to do with this,” Harm said tiredly. “Someone make sure to tell him thanks from me.” “I already did,” Mac assured him, “and he said that he’ll remind you later that you owe him another one.” When Harm was too exhausted to even chuckle, she added, “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay? As soon as they’ll let us in, we’ll all be here.” Harm didn’t reply, having fallen asleep. Quietly, they all left the room, Sergei murmuring in Russian. As he stopped just outside Harm’s room, he noticed Sarah, Trish and Frank all giving him puzzled looks. “I am sorry,” he stammered, “it is just ….” “That’s not the Harm you remember from Chechnya,” Mac finished for him. “Even knowing what he’s been through, you still expect him to be the same stubborn, take-charge man he’s always been.”

“Yes,” Sergei said softly. “Sergei, have you eaten anything recently?” Trish asked as they started towards the elevators. “A meal was served on the airplane,” Sergei replied a little warily, “but that was many hours ago.” Frank shot an approving glance at his wife. “We’ve been catching up on sleep today,” he continued, “so we agreed to go get something to eat after visiting Harm. You’re welcome to join us. Or if you want to sleep, we can drop you off at your hotel.” “Mr. Webb said that he made arrangements for me to stay at the same place you are staying,” Sergei said. “I am hungry. I will join you.” “Good,” Frank said. “Mac, since I’m sure you’ve been down here many times, maybe you can pick a good restaurant for us. Nothing fancy, just good casual dining.” “There’s an Applebee’s just a few miles from the Naval Shipyard,” Mac said. “Harm and I often eat there if we’re staying at the shipyard VOQ.” “Fine with me,” Sarah said, putting an arm around Sergei. “We can give Sergei his first taste of American dining and we can all get to know each other better.” MONDAY, 28 MAY 0653 LOCAL IHOP RESTAURANT NOFOLK, VIRGINIA As Mac walked across the parking lot to the restaurant entrance, she could see through the windows that Mic was already inside, sitting in the waiting area. Okay, MacKenzie, she thought, you can get through this, hopefully with a minimum of blood shed. The previous night, before she’d crawled into bed, she’d paced across the floor of her room, trying to rehearse what she was going to say, as she might rehearse an argument she would make in court, but she couldn’t come up with the right words. After all, she’d never really done this before. True, she’d had relationships end before, but not like this. With both Chris and John, the relationship had ended due to circumstances – Chris had been sent to jail and she’d been transferred away from John. They hadn’t actually broken up in the way most people thought of a break up. They’d simply gone their separate ways with few words. With Dalton, the breakup was so sudden, a knee-jerk reaction to his betrayal, that they’d never really discussed it. She’d simply ordered him out of her life. They might have discussed it at their planned meeting at McMurphy’s – Dalton had certainly wanted to - but Detective Coster had intervened with the bullet that had ended Dalton’s life. Mac knew Mic wasn’t going to let her just walk away with an ‘it’s been nice knowing you,’ nor did he deserve such a cavalier statement. He’d put his heart and soul into their relationship, even when she couldn’t, and it was going to be hard for him to just walk away. He’d given up so much for her and she was about to repay him by ripping his heart out of his chest and stomping on it before handing it back to him in pieces. It was up to her to try to soften the blow as much as possible.

I shouldn’t have led him on, she told herself, made him think that I was could give him more than I was capable of. She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried to be the woman he wanted her to be, but maybe Harriet had been correct on Friday, when she’d said that she’d let Mic basically blackmail her into moving the ring over. Maybe he’d played on the sacrifices he’d made for her. He’d given up his career in the Navy and moved halfway around the world – for her. He’d given up his job at his swanky law firm – for her friends. With few prospects left for him in Washington, he’d talked about going back to Australia. What woman could stand up under that kind of pressure? She couldn’t place the blame for what had happened completely on his shoulders, however. She’d thought that Harm was leaving, resigning his commission to go look for Sergei. She couldn’t hang on to Harm, so she’d clung to what Mic was offering her with a such ferocity. In retrospect, it did appear that finally accepting Mic’s proposal had more to do with Harm’s leaving than with wanting to spend the rest of her life with Mic. What kind of person had she become that she was so desperate not to be alone that she would hurt Mic so badly by nearly saddling him with a wife who could never love him the way he deserved to be loved? She’d finally willed herself to sleep by telling herself that if there was an upside to this, it was that this had all come out before the wedding. Harm’s words on Wednesday evening, shortly before they’d taken the plunge that had set them irrevocably on this course, had echoed in her mind…. And how long can this go on before the circumstances arise when it is just you and me, with nothing and no one around to tell us no? Would she and Harm have been able to stay away from each other, even while she was wearing a gold band as a symbol of her vows to another? She’d turned the question over in her mind as she’d tossed and turned half the night away and she’d come to a simple conclusion just as she’d drifted off to sleep. Even if she’d been able to remain physically faithful to her marriage, she’d have never been able to do so spiritually. There always would have been a part of her soul lost to what might have been with the man she truly loved. Mic didn’t deserve to live with that. He had so much love to give and he deserved to have that love returned in equal measure by a woman who would mean it with her whole heart when she promised to love, honor, and cherish. She knew now that as much as she’d tried to make herself fit into that mold, she couldn’t force this square peg into the round hole of a marriage to Mic. Now, she would have to make him see that as gently as she possibly could. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the door open and stepped into the restaurant. Mic caught sight of her immediately and rose to meet her, a broad smile on his face. “Morning, love,” he said as he kissed her cheek. She accepted the gesture, mentally saying a prayer of gratitude that he hadn’t tried for more as he had the morning before. She did not want to start out with a scene over his loving, if now unwelcome, attentions before they even sat down for breakfast. “I went ahead and put us down for a table.” “Good,” she said, managing a weak smile in return. “Did they say about how long it would

be?” “Should be any time now,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “When I arrived, the lass at the counter said it would be about a ten minute wait and it’s been about that now.” “Good,” she repeated. She didn’t want to sit in the waiting area too long, forced to make polite, uncomfortable small talk. At least at the table, they’d have a bit more space to talk about what needed to be discussed, but with just enough of a lack of privacy that she hoped Mic wouldn’t make a scene. “Brumby, party of two,” the hostess said brightly as she grabbed two menus from under the counter. Mic motioned for Mac to move ahead of him, placing his hand on the small of her back. She tried not to squirm as they followed the hostess to the non-smoking section of the restaurant, tried not to think about the innumerable ways in which his touch was different from Harm’s. She had to focus on the here and now. She had to give Mic her full attention, not the distraction of a woman whose heart and mind were back at the hospital. After this was over, she would gladly focus her entire being on Harm. This was Mic’s time. The hostess led them a two-person booth next to a window, setting menus in front of them as they sat down. “Your waiter will be with you in a minute,” she said before leaving them alone. Mac opened her menu, pretending to study it. She wasn’t really that hungry. She usually ate breakfast on the run, at least when she was working, and the previous night, under Sarah’s gentle urging, she’d managed to eat a full dinner and dessert. It had been more food than she’d eaten in at least the last week, and with all the stress she was under, it hadn’t settled well in her stomach. Feeling Mic’s eyes on her, she glanced over the top of her menu to find him staring at her, or rather, staring at the patch on the left front of Harm’s leather flight jacket. There wasn’t anything she could do about it. She was a little chilly and Harm’s jacket had been the only one she’d brought with her to Norfolk. She’d needed that tangible connection to him when he’d been lost. It wasn’t as if Mic didn’t know she was with Harm now. She thought Mic looked like he was about to say something, but their waiter appeared at Mac’s side. “What can I get you folks to drink?” he asked. “Coffee is fine,” Mac said, stifling a yawn with a hand over her mouth. “I’ll have the same,” Mic said, tearing his gaze away from Mac to address the waiter. “I’ll bring your cups right out,” the waiter said. “Are you ready to order or do you need some more time?” “I’ll just have a couple of sausage patties,” Mac said, closing her menu and handing it back to the waiter. “Sarah, you need to eat more than that,” Mic insisted. “I’ll order a dish large enough for both

of us to share.” He turned to the waiter and handed over his own menu. “I’ll have the breakfast sampler,” he said, “eggs sunny side up, mate.” The waiter wrote down their order and left them alone. Mac resisted the urge to shake her head. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I don’t usually eat a large breakfast, and I did have a large dinner last night.” “Where did you eat?” Mic asked as the waiter returned with their coffee cups. Mic grabbed the carafe already sitting on the table and poured some coffee in Mac’s cup before doing the same to his own. “You should’ve called me, and I would’ve gone with you.” Mac took a sip of her coffee, trying not to shudder at the weakness of the brew, as she tried to phrase her response in her mind. “Actually, Mic,” she said finally, “I had a late dinner with Harm’s family to celebrate Sergei’s arrival and Harm’s improvement.” At Mic’s blank look, she clarified, “Harm’s brother.” “Thought he was in a prison camp somewhere in Chechnya,” Mic commented in an even tone. Mac shrugged, slightly curious as to his interest, but it wasn’t really a topic to pursue. “Somehow, Clayton Webb managed to workout some kind of deal for his release,” she explained. “Neither Sergei nor Clay offered any details.” “So Rabb’s doing better,” he remarked. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Mac said, not quite able to disguise the worry in her tone. “He woke up yesterday afternoon and he was awake for a short time last night when Sergei arrived, but he’s mostly been sleeping. They’re going to run some tests this morning, but based on his responses yesterday, the doctor doesn’t seem to be too concerned about any cognitive impairment. He probably will be in the hospital for at least a week if all continues to go well, although I’m sure it’ll be a while before he’s well enough to return to work.” “Well, that’s good,” Mic said. “I’m sure Rabb will be back in the courtroom before you know it. I know you’ve been very worried about him.” “Yeah,” Mac murmured as Mic went on, oblivious to her soft response. “I can understand how hard it has been for you, seeing your friend in such a situation,” he continued. “You want to do anything to help him feel better. I’m sure that explains everything.” “Of course,” Mac said warily, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. Mic had his good points, but compassion and understanding regarding her relationship with Harm had never been one of them, even before the events of the last few days. “Maybe you thought he was going to die when he asked you to marry him,” he went on, ignoring her discomfiture. “Certainly understandable that you responded the way you did to what might have been a deathbed wish. Of course, it does complicate things. I’ll have to do some research into the validity of the marriage. It’s possible the Church might not see it as

valid under the circumstances, even if the ceremony was performed by a Catholic priest. If they do consider it legitimate, then that’s just a hurdle we’ll have to overcome. I’m not sure how long it will take for an annulment ….” “Wait a minute,” Mac said. Feeling the eyes of the other patrons on her at her raised tone, she moderated her voice, dropping it to just above a whisper. “Who said anything about an annulment?” “It’s understood,” Mic replied in a placating tone. “Of course, it will be easier to plan a new date for our wedding if we don’t have to worry about officially dissolving your marriage to Rabb. We can pick any date we want to hold the ceremony. We’ll just have to delay things a bit if you have to go the annulment route. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but we’ll deal with it if it does.” Mac stared at him, slack-jawed, unable to believe what she was hearing. She’d expected him to be hurt. She could’ve understood if he’d been angry, but she’d never anticipated that he would blithely go on as if her marriage to Harm was simply a minor bump in the road to their own matrimonial plans. Harriet’s words from Friday night echoed in her mind. Commander Rabb was right, when he agreed to back off and let you make your decision. He can’t make it for you, any more than Mic should have been able to make your decision regarding his marriage proposal and that’s what he did for all intents and purposes. It was suddenly clear to her what Mic was doing. He thought that she wanted the same things he did, so he was telling her how she was going to end her marriage to Harm and marry him instead. He was just assuming that they were of one mind, as he’d done for most of their relationship. “Mic, I’m married to Harm,” Mac reminded him, still hoping that she could get him to see reason somehow. She just had to hold her position. “It’s my duty as his wife to take care of him. ‘In sickness and in health,’ remember?” “Sarah,” he said with exaggerated patience, “Rabb doesn’t need you to take care of him. His parents are here, and so is his grandmother - and I’m sure they’re not planning to go anywhere until Rabb is better. And now with his brother here, he has all the help he could possibly want. He doesn’t need you, but I do.” “Harm does need me,” Mac said with more patience than she felt, “and I need him. I didn’t realize how much until …. “ She trailed off, afraid of saying too much. She couldn’t predict how Mic would react if he knew exactly when she’d come to that conclusion. It wouldn’t benefit anyone for him to know what had transpired Wednesday night. Fortunately, she was saved from continuing when their waiter returned with their breakfasts. He set their meals in front of them, and then quickly left again after making sure everything was satisfactory. “But we love each other,” Mic pointed out as soon as the waiter had gone. “We’ve been planning our wedding for months.”

“I love Harm,” she blurted out, drawing stares from the other customers. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she studied Mic for any clue as to what he was thinking, but his face was impassive, revealing nothing. In a quieter voice, she repeated, “I love Harm. I married him because I wanted to, and I want to stay married to him.” “For the last five months,” he countered, “you’ve loved me and wanted to marry me. Now you expect me to believe that all of a sudden you wanted to marry Rabb? When exactly did you come to this conclusion? When Rabb was at death’s door?” “Mic,” Mac said in exasperation, taking a deep breath. The conversation was quickly getting out of control. She decided to try a different tact. “Isn’t it better that I came to this conclusion now, rather than after we were already married? I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s better that we recognize the truth now instead of later.” “So it’s better that you cheated on me before the wedding,” he sneered, “rather than after?” Mac stared at him in shock, rendered mute. When she finally found her voice, it was barely above a whisper. “How did you know?” she asked. He reached behind him and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “To be honest,” he replied angrily, “I wasn’t sure until just now.” He took a piece of paper out of the wallet and held it out to her. As she reached for it, he continued, “I tried to think of another explanation of why you would have been buying breakfast for two at the Norfolk Officer’s Club on Thursday morning. There had to be a reason why my fiancée was in Norfolk when she should have been busy preparing for our wedding, besides the obvious. Apparently, you didn’t learn from what happened with your first husband and Colonel Farrow.” Mac impassively accepted the barb, startled at the grain of truth behind it. She unfolded the paper he’d handed her, recognizing it as the receipt for the breakfast she and Harm had shared Thursday morning on their way to the air field. Despite her original intention to keep this to herself, she was relieved in a way that the truth was out. His obvious anger over what she’d done was easier for her to deal with than his blithe denial of the status of their relationship. “I’m sorry,” she said simply, knowing it was inadequate. “So how long has this been going on?” Mic demanded. “Have the two of you been together behind my back, and Renee’s, all this time? When you two spent so much time outside at our engagement party, were you busy planning your next tryst?” “You may not believe this,” she replied with more calm than she felt, “but that night was the first and only time we were together like that.” She held her gaze steady on his, searching for any hint of what he was now thinking. In the anger burning bright in his eyes, she could see more questions. “I do have to admit that I had my doubts before that about you and me. At our engagement party, I pressed Harm out on the porch. I needed to know how he felt about me. If I knew that he didn’t love me ….” “So I was your fallback guy, is that it?” Mic asked. “If Rabb didn’t want you, then you’d just settle for what I was offering?” “It wasn’t quite like that,” she protested, even as the little voice inside her head pointed out that it was precisely like that. Harm had left everything behind, including her, so he could

chase a long-lost dream and she’d let herself be open to the attention Mic was paying to her. She’d thought Harm hadn’t wanted her in Sydney, so she’d let Mic place his ring on her right hand. When she’d believed Harm was leaving again to chase after his missing brother, she’d impulsively moved Mic’s ring over to her left hand. “Mic, you are a good man and I loved the attention you paid to me,” she continued. “But I’ve realized that I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. You showed me so much love and you should be with someone who can return that devotion. I’m not that woman, no matter how much I tried to be.” “So you just hung around with me until Rabb returned your interest,” he ground out, “then you went running to him.” “I’m sorry,” she said, blinking back tears. “I know that probably doesn’t mean a lot right now, but maybe someday you’ll realize that it is for the best. I wouldn’t have been happy and all I would have done is make you miserable. You don’t deserve that. No one does.” When Mic didn’t reply, she took a five dollar bill out of her purse and set it on the table. “I guess there’s nothing left to say,” she said softly. “I’m truly sorry it had to end this way. Look, I’ll return your ring when I get back to Washington. Goodbye, Mic.” Seeing that he wasn’t going to reply, she quietly got up and left the restaurant. Once she was in her car, the key in the ignition, she exhaled heavily, blinking back tears. She was relieved to have that confrontation over without too much of a scene, but she was sad that a good man had gotten hurt in the progress.

Inside the restaurant, Mic covered the money she’d left on the table with his hand, crumpling it in his fist as he watched her Corvette pull out of the parking lot. He was furious – with her for leading him on for all those months, with himself for not remembering the circumstances under which they’d first become acquainted. She’d cheated on her first husband. How could he have been so blind as to think that she still wasn’t that same woman? He couldn’t bring himself to wish them well. All he could see was that Rabb now had what should have been his. He would never forget that – never.

1105 LOCAL TIME INTENSIVE CARE UNIT PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER Harm was exhausted and suffering from a major headache by the time he was taken back to his room. This had been the longest he’d been awake since he’d regained consciousness and now all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. The good news was that all the tests he’d just been subjected to had shown no sign of any significant impairment due to his injury and surgery. He would still be able to practice law and, with a lot of effort on his part, he was sure that he’d eventually pass his flight physical, as soon as he was cleared to take it. He was determined not to have that taken away from him a second time.

He was still confused regarding the exact circumstances of the accident itself and the event which had led to his transfer to Portsmouth, but Dr. Stafford had seemed unconcerned about that, for the most part. The doctor had gone on about how it wasn’t that unusual given what had happened to him. Harm had decided not to worry too much about it. He did remember enough of the flight before the accident to know that the Tomcat had been experiencing problems even before they’d ended up in the middle of the storm. What he didn’t remember about the accident probably wouldn’t turn out to be that important. His eyes had just fluttered closed when he heard a startled gasp from the doorway. Slowly turning his head, mindful of the pounding at the back of it, he was surprised to see Renee standing in the doorway, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Renee,” he said weakly, his voice still hoarse. He wasn’t really in any condition to deal with this right now, but it appeared he didn’t have much of a choice. “Come on in.” “I didn’t realize,” Renee whispered as she slipped into the room, visibly taken aback by his appearance. “I knew it was bad, but ….” “Actually, the doctor tells me I’m doing pretty well, considering,” he tried to assure her. “I may even be out of here by this time next week.” “That’s good,” Renee said, sinking into one of the chairs near the bed. She looked down at her hands, nervously studying her manicure. “I’m glad you’ll be okay.” “Thank you,” he said. He waited for her to say what she’d come to say, but when she continued to sit silently, he finally asked, “How did you get in here?” He winced, realizing how harsh that sounded. Finally, Renee looked up at him with a sigh. “I’m going back to Washington,” she explained, “and I wanted to see you before I left. I didn’t really want to have come all this way for nothing, so I called your mother this morning and asked if she could arrange it so I could see you to say goodbye. I promised that I wouldn’t stay too long and wear you out.” What was Mom thinking? Harm wondered. If Mac were to find out that she did this…. He didn’t want to start off his married life with tension between his mother and his wife; he loved them both and didn’t want to be in a position where he would be caught between them. He was thankful that Mac wasn’t here yet, but she was due anytime. He’d called her earlier on her cell phone and, since he was going to be undergoing tests most of the morning, they’d mutually agreed that she would come to see him around lunchtime. He just hoped Renee would say her piece and leave before Mac arrived. He wasn’t in any condition to deal with the two of them at the same time. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sure what to say. “So am I,” Renee replied tearfully. “I loved you, you know.” “Yes, I know,” he replied, clearing his throat. “I always hoped that once Mac was married,” she continued wistfully, “that there would be a

chance for you and me. You had to have known that I wanted to spend my life with you.” Harm didn’t know how to reply. Yes, he’d known how Renee felt, but as long as Mac had belonged to someone else, he’d accepted that. He’d needed her to shield himself from the pain. When he was with her, he could forget, if only for a little bit. She’d made him feel wanted at a time when he desperately needed it, when it seemed that the woman he loved wanted him, but not enough to give him the time he needed. “Harm, can I ask you something?” Renee plunged ahead when he didn’t say anything. “Maybe this isn’t the right time, but I don’t really think there is any such thing. I know you have a lot to deal with getting better right now, but I need to know.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the question, whatever it was, but he started to nod assent, grimacing at the pain that lanced through his head. Renee’s expression grew concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need a nurse to bring you something for the pain?” “No,” he replied. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to will the pain away. “It’s just a side effect of the injury and the surgery. I’m sure it will go away eventually. What’s your question?” He opened his eyes. She was still sitting there watching him, worry etched in her eyes. “Renee?” he asked after a moment, when she didn’t say anything; “If Mac had gone through with the wedding and married Mic, would you and I have eventually gotten married ourselves?” she blurted out. Of all the questions for her to ask, he thought. “Renee, I know how you feel about me….” he began slowly, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. “Please, do me a favor and don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,” she pleaded. “Answer me honestly. Would you have married me?” He thought about it for a long moment. He’d never allowed himself to think about what would come after the woman he loved was presented to the world as Mrs. Mic Brumby. It had been all he could do to deal with the fact that the day when that would apparently happen had been drawing inevitably closer. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I couldn’t see past Mac’s wedding to Mic. I don’t think I was ready to accept it until it was a done deal.” “I suppose that’s the best answer I’m going to get,” she said with a shrug, not quite successful in masking her displeasure with his answer. “Renee,” he said, his gaze holding hers, “I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. I don’t know what would have happened, but I think that if I had married you, I would have made you miserable. I love Mac, Renee. I don’t think I would have been able to stop, even if she’d married Mic.” “I guess that’s honest,” she said after a long moment, nodding. “Would you have been able to

stay away from her? Never mind, I think I know the answer to that.” Harm was startled, wondering what had brought that last question on. Was it just the fact the fact that he’d turned to Mac so suddenly or was it something else. Could she possibly know….? He couldn’t see how she could know that Mac had come to Norfolk Wednesday night. As far as he knew, no one knew that Mac had driven to see him that night. As honest as he was trying to be with Renee, he couldn’t tell her that. It would serve no purpose except to upset Renee even more, and he didn’t want to do that to her. “What are you going to do now?” he asked, hoping to draw her attention away from his relationship with Mac. “Right now,” she replied, “I’m going to head back to Washington. There’s no reason for me to stay here now that I know you’re going to be okay. After that, I’m not sure yet. I’ve had a few offers out in Hollywood that I’ve been putting off accepting. I mean, if you and I could’ve made it work, then … Well, I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It’s time to get on with my life.” “I’m sorry I hurt you, Renee,” Harm said. “I know how much you wanted it to work out between us.” “I’m sorry, too,” she echoed, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Look, I should probably get out of here. I’m sure you’re tired. It’s been a rough few days for you. I hope you get better soon, Harm.” “Thank you,” he replied. “And good luck, Renee. I hope things go well for you.” “Um, thanks,” she said, standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. She forced a smile. “Goodbye, Harm.” “Goodbye, Renee,” he replied. She stood there for another moment, watching him. Just when he was about to ask her if she had something else to say, she turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harm closed his eyes, sighing in relief. That had gone immeasurably better than he’d expected, but he was glad it was over. He was comforted that she seemed to be taking it so well. She was a good person, just not the right one for him.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Renee slumped against the wall, trembling. As she fought back tears, she wondered how she’d been able to keep her composure in there. She’d had so many hopes for her and Harm, and even if she knew in her mind that they’d been in vain, it was like a vise around her heart to hear it spelled out in black and white. No matter how much she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, Harm hadn’t loved her. Although he hadn’t said it in those terms, she knew now that she’d only ever been a distraction for him. Mac had always been the one he’d loved, and even if Mac had married Mic, his heart never would’ve let go of her. She understood now that wasn’t in his nature.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist. She couldn’t remember ever hurting this much. It was as if she’d been physically punched in the gut, the wind knocked out of her. She’d give anything for this feeling to go away. Trying to drown herself in booze hadn’t helped, only giving her a persistent headache for her troubles. Maybe buring herself in work would accomplish what the alcohol hadn’t. Renee forced herself to stand up straight, digging through her purse for some tissue. She just had to prove that she was stronger than this, she decided, dabbing at her eyes. She might be down right now, but she would rise above it. She didn’t have a choice if she was to move on. Returning the tissue to her purse, she took a few cleansing breaths, resolving not to think about one Harmon Rabb for at least the next few hours. Then she’d resolve not to think about him for another few hours, and so on until someday she wouldn’t think of him at all. She turned towards the exit, stopping short when she saw the figure approaching. “Hello, Mac,” she said bitterly. “Renee,” Mac said with a calmness she didn’t feel. Despite being a few hours removed from her confrontation with Mic, her nerves were still raw. She’d wanted to calm down before she saw Harm, but a few rounds with the punching bag at the base gym had done little to relieve her stress. A confrontation with Harm’s ex-girlfriend was the last thing she needed right now. Renee took a step towards Mac. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” she demanded. Mac shrugged. “I know why you’re here,” she replied. “I don’t know how you got in when only family is allowed, but does it really matter?” “’Only family is allowed’,” Renee mimicked. “I’m not family. You made sure of that.” “Harm was the one who asked me to marry him,” Mac explained as gently as she could. “Harm does care for you, but ….” “Yeah,” Renee retorted bitterly, “he cared for me so much that the minute you crooked your finger at him, he came running. I was with him for sixteen months, but as soon as you tell him you’re available, he’s there. Why couldn’t you just marry Mic like you’ve been planning for the last five months?” “Because it wouldn’t have been right,” Mac replied. “I did care for him, but ….” “But you didn’t love him, is that it?” Renee finished bitterly. “Well, give the lady an Academy Award. You sure have given one hell of an impression of it the last five months. While you were busy playing the role of Mic’s loving fiancée, I was the one who was there with Harm, loving him ….” “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Mac said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see Harm, make sure he’s okay.” She started to step around Renee, but the other woman moved quickly to block her. “Why, do you think I might have done something to him?” she demanded angrily. “Renee, this is not about you,” Mac said tersely. “Harm nearly died two days ago. He’s still

not completely out of the woods.” Renee looked slightly taken aback at that. “I didn’t know that,” she said quietly. “Harm didn’t say anything.” “No, he wouldn’t have,” Mac pointed out. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry,” Renee said in a deceptively calm voice. Mac realized that she’d said the wrong thing, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Maybe Renee deserved a chance to say her piece, she told herself. “Of course, you’re sorry,” Renee continued bitterly. “You know, I saw Harm Wednesday afternoon. He told me he was driving to Norfolk and I offered to go with him, to see him off. I didn’t think it was too much to ask that he spend some time with me. Do you know what he told me?” She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. “No,” Mac replied after a tense moment. “He said that he wanted to get a good night’s sleep before his quals,” Renee replied softly. Mac had the sudden image of a snake coiling in the grass, poising to strike, and she had the feeling she knew exactly where this one was aimed. “He didn’t get much sleep that night, did he?” Mac exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Did Mic tell you that?” she asked. “He told me that he found a receipt at your apartment,” Renee explained, “for breakfast for two at the Norfolk Officers’ Club. Please, don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that you woke up in the middle of the night and decided just for the hell of it to drive down to Norfolk.” “Renee, what is this accomplishing?” Mac asked, growing weary of the entire discussion and looking for a way out. She was tempted to bodily move Renee out of her way, but the corridor of a military hospital was hardly the place for such indecorous behavior. She reminded herself that a commotion right outside Harm’s door would surely attract his attention, and he didn’t need that. “I’ve been with him for over a year,” Renee spat out, angrily blinking back tears, “and I’ve invested everything I am in that relationship. I wanted to spend my life with him. I think that entitles me to say what I have to say. I can’t say it to Harm, because he’s in no condition to handle it. You want to protect your husband, then fine. You can stand here and give me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say.” Mac glanced around and made a decision. If it would keep Renee from upsetting Harm …. “Let’s not do this here,” she suggested. “Let’s go into the waiting room.” Mac gestured for Renee to go ahead. She followed her into the waiting room, closing the door behind them to give them some privacy. She turned to face Renee. “Say what you have to say, Renee,” she said. Renee turned away from her and walked over to the window, staring out at the gathering clouds.

“Why, Mac?” Renee finally asked. “Why couldn’t you just marry Mic like you were supposed to, and let me be happy with Harm?” Mac considered how to answer. The truth was the simplest explanation in this case, but she was sure it wasn’t what Renee wanted to hear. She shook her head. If Renee was going to be given the opportunity to have her say, then she was going to have to deal with the consequences. That meant listening to the truth. “Because we would have been miserable together,” she said. “And if you’re honest, you and Harm would’ve been, too.” Renee spun around, her eyes blazing with fury. “And what gives you the right to decide what Harm and I might’ve been together?” she demanded. “What makes you such an authority on what Harm and I feel for each other?” “I know Harm loves me,” Mac replied calmly. “It may not seem that way now, and I wouldn’t have wished in a million years for everything to happen this way, but it was probably for the ….” “Oh, spare me the ‘it’s for the best’ speech,” Renee said, waving her hand as if to dismiss her. “If it’s for the best, then why now? You were about to marry Mic and I was moving towards something more with Harm. Why couldn’t you decide this five months ago, when you finally accepted Mic’s proposal? Or back in Australia, when he first put the ring on your finger? What gives you the right to blow our lives out of the water now?” “Nothing,” Mac admitted reluctantly. “I’m sorry that you and Mic got hurt. You’re both decent people ….” Renee snorted. “You never liked me,” she accused. “I don’t know you that well,” Mac said carefully. “Harm does care a lot about you. As far as that went, it didn’t really matter what I thought.” “You just didn’t think that I was the right person for Harm,” Renee said. Mac was about to reply, but Renee waved her off again. “I guess we’re even there, because I think you’re the last woman Harm needs in his life. You see, Mic told me some things on the drive to Norfolk, when all we had were just suspicions that you and Harm had sex Wednesday night. He told me that you’d cheated on your first husband - with your commanding officer, of all people. We already know, of course, what you did to Mic just three days before you were going to marry him.” When Mac couldn’t come up with a reply, Renee pressed on. “Given your history, I’m not quite sure why Mic was so determined to believe the best about you. He was convinced there had to be some kind of logical explanation for that receipt. What I see is that you should come with a warning – ‘Buyer beware’. You’re right. Mic is a decent person, and he doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to him.” “Mic’s an adult,” Mac said, “and it may take time, but he’ll eventually realize that this was for the best.” “Are you really that callous?” Renee asked in amazement. “Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised given the way you chew men up and spit them out. Your first husband died, and

you and your lover were accused of murdering him. Hmm, I wonder what happened to your lover? How did you ruin his life? And then there’s Mic, who gave up everything for you, only to have you throw it back in his face.” “I didn’t ask Mic to do that,” Mac protested. “And I would never do anything like that to Harm.” “It seems to me that it’s just a matter of time,” Renee said, brushing past Mac to get to the door. Her hand on the knob, she turned back and issued her parting shot. “I just hope that when that time comes, you don’t destroy him like you’ve done to every other man who’s had the misfortune of being a part of your life.” After Renee stormed out, Mac sank into a chair, wrapping her arms around herself. Renee was angry, and Mac had to admit that she had every right to be. She didn’t doubt that the other woman loved Harm. Renee was furious to find out her feelings weren’t returned, which was perfectly understandable, especially after all she’d invested in the relationship. She was lashing out, and Mac made a very convenient target. Resolving not to worry about it anymore, she headed back to Harm’s room. She needed him right now. Glancing through the window in the door, she saw that he was awake, his eyes focused on a spot on the ceiling. She pushed the door open, a genuine smile on her face. Harm gave her a smile of his own as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just what I need,” he said hoarsely, “someone to rescue me from the boredom of counting ceiling tiles.” “You could always watch television,” she said, nodding towards the set hanging from the ceiling. “Since when do I watch television?” he reminded her, cocking his head to the side. “Anyway, I already tried it. The noise and the light from the set gave me a headache.” “Are you okay?” she asked, instantly concerned at the stark reminder of the seriousness of his condition. His smile and sense of humor might be intact, but he still had a long way to go before he was back to normal. “Dr. Stafford said it’s normal right now,” he explained, taking her hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. “The headaches should ease with time, or so he claims.” “Are you sure you’re up to having company?” she asked. “I can come back later if you need to rest.” “I’m always up to your company,” he replied. “Especially now.” He paused as if contemplating something, and then added, “Ah, Renee was here a little bit ago. We talked a bit. Well, she did most of the talking. She seemed to be taking everything pretty well, considering.” So Renee hadn’t really said much of anything to Harm, Mac realized. She’d had her doubts about that, despite what Renee had said. No wonder she’d felt the need to unload on her. Even if she’d wanted to, Renee couldn’t bring herself to take out her feelings on Harm, not in his condition. In spite of everything, Mac found herself admiring Renee’s

restraint. “Yeah,” she said, “I know. I, um, ran into her outside.” “I’m sorry,” Harm said. “Did she say anything to you?” “It was fine,” Mac replied evasively. If Renee had led him to believe that she was fine, Mac saw no reason to disabuse him of that notion. There was no point. He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. “I know it didn’t happen the way you planned, but at least you had a chance to settle things with her.” “I just wish ….” Harm began, trailing off as he looked away from her. “This isn’t the way I imagined this happening.” “I know,” she said sympathetically. “The end of a relationship is never easy, no matter what the circumstances.” “Speaking of which,” he said, “how did your breakfast go with Mic?” “It’s over,” she said with a shrug, staring at the blanket, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Unlike you and Renee, we were one step from the altar, so it’s rough on him. But I dealt with it and told him I’d return his ring when I get back to Washington.” “Is that it?” he asked, unable to completely mask the disbelief in his voice. “What did you expect?” she countered, her fingers rigid in his. “He can’t change anything. He knows that.” “I don’t know,” he replied, massaging her hand to relieve the tension. “I guess …. I didn’t think it would be so easy for him to let you go.” “He’s not happy,” she said, “but he’ll live with it. He knows I’m not coming back to him.” “Okay,” he said. He rubbed his thumb over her wedding ring and smiled, suddenly changing the subject. “Maybe when we get back to Washington, we can go shopping for an engagement ring to match that wedding band.” Mac’s eyes darted to her hand, where his thumb running over her finger was warming her insides. She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes sparkling with a promise of later. “I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m not sure you could really say we were engaged. You asked me to marry you, and the next thing I knew, we were getting married. When exactly was this engagement you were talking about?” He tried to chuckle, but it came out choked as he started coughing instead. He motioned towards the cup of water on the nightstand, which she picked up and held for him as he sipped. He cleared his throat and said, “Thanks.” “No problem,” she said, placing the cup back on the nightstand. “I think sometimes you forget your own limits.” He smiled, trying to look innocent. She thought he probably hadn’t been innocent a day in his life, imagining him with that cute grin of his, charming the pants off everyone around him

from babyhood. She’d have to ask his mother and grandmother for some intel about those times. She chuckled at the thought, reflecting that it felt good to have something to laugh about. “Anyway,” he continued, “a little bit of time did pass between when I asked you to marry me and the actual ‘I do’. It may have been one of the shortest on record, but we were engaged for an hour.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “Maybe two. You should have a ring to commemorate that.” “I don’t need a ring,” she said with a chuckle. “You’re alive and we’re together. That’s enough for me.” She leaned over him, dipping her head down to brush her lips over his. As she pulled up, he slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder, pulling her back down. He returned the kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip before his tongue darted out to tease the seam of her lips. Her lips parted slightly, granting him entrance, and he deepened the kiss. Mac sighed in contentment as her right hand slid up his chest, only to come into contact with one of the EKG leads attached to his chest under his hospital down. Reluctantly, she pulled back, resting her forehead against his, her breathing slightly unsteady. “I don’t think you’re quite ready for anything more strenuous than that,” she teased. A sexy grin spread across his face. It took everything she had in her to resist the urge to kiss that smile off his face. “But I figure I’m going to need plenty of physical therapy to get better,” he countered, suggestively wagging his eyebrows at her. “Maybe later,” she promised, “when there isn’t a station of nurses right down the hall wondering why your heart rate has suddenly gone up.” She started to sit up again, but he tugged her back down. “Stay with me,” he said. “Harm ….” she began, but he shook his head. “Just lie here with me,” he requested. His eyes bored in hers. “I just …. I want to spend some time with you. Stay until I fall asleep again.” She found it nearly impossible to refuse him anything when looked at her like that. “Okay,” she said, stretching out on her side next to him, her head nestled against his shoulder. Her right hand rested on his chest, the feel of his heart beating beneath her fingers reassuring in its steady simplicity. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulder, holding her tight against him. Almost as one, they sighed softly, settling in together. *This* was what she’d been searching for, Mac reflected as her eyes drifted closed, and she’d nearly let it slip away from her. HALF AN HOUR LATER Ten minutes after Mac had given up the fight to keep her eyes open, Harm was struggling to keep from joining her in sleep. Since he’d regained consciousness, he’d barely been able to stay awake for more than ten to fifteen minutes most of the time, except when he’d been forced to stay away during his testing earlier that day. He figured that this time, with Mac lying in his arms, he had plenty of incentive to stay awake. He could lie here all day and just

watch her, marveling that something was finally going right for them. If only his body would cooperate with him …. The sound of the door opening drew his attention, and he looked over to find one of the ICU nurses entering the room, a disapproving look on her face. He started to laugh, but it turned into a cough, which he stifled, trying not to disturb Mac. The look on the nurse’s face reminded him of the same one his mother had worn when she’d caught him trying to reach second base with Jessie Andrews the summer before his sophomore year of high school. He only wished he was doing something as interesting this time, especially since he still owed his wife a honeymoon. “This isn’t what it looks like, Nurse Simpson,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Commander Rabb,” Simpson said in a tone that again reminded him uncomfortably of his mother. He thought that maybe it was because she was about the same age as his mother, and she knew how to handle him. When she’d first come on shift before he’d gone for his tests, Sarah and Sergei had been visiting. Sarah had made a joke about Harm being a handful, to which Simpson had replied that she had three sons, so there was probably nothing he could pull that she hadn’t seen before. “This is the intensive care unit, not the honeymoon suite at the Hilton.” “Believe me, Nurse,” he said, “I only wish I was up for something like that.” He wondered if he’d be able to do something with Mac later, maybe after he was out of ICU and didn’t have assorted hospital personnel wandering in and out of his room as they pleased. Simpson raised her eyebrows as she picked up his chart, jotting down the vital signs displayed on the monitor. “You need your rest, Commander,” she said, pushing a button to inflate the blood pressure cuff on his arm. “I am resting,” he protested. He smiled, but she was having none of it, shooting him a disbelieving glance as she made some more notes on his chart. “I’m sure your wife thinks your smile is captivating," she said, “but you’re not the first pilot who’s tried to charm the nurses here.” “You’d be surprised,” he said distantly, caught up in the memories. “The smile didn’t seem to have much of an effect when we first met.” He looked down at Mac, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, ignoring the slight tug from the IV tubing attached to that arm. “Apparently she changed her mind,” Simpson said in a softer tone. “I don’t know,” Harm admitted. “Sometimes, I think she’s the only person I can’t charm.” He glanced away as Simpson knelt down to check the bag hanging from the side of the bed. “So how much longer do I have to wear *that thing*?” he asked in distaste. “Likely at least as long as you’re in ICU,” she replied, noting the output on his chart. Swiftly, she switched the full bag for an empty one. “The doctor’s not even going to try to have you get out of bed until after you’re out of ICU and until you can get up and go to the bathroom by yourself ….”

“I get the point,” he said with a groan. “So when do I get out….” “Commander,” she interrupted, “I believe we had that discussion this morning. Are you always like this?” A chuckle came from beside Harm, and he looked down to find Mac gazing up at him sleepily. “Usually, he’s worse,” she said, tongue in cheek. Harm gazed at her for a long moment, noting the puffiness under her eyes. He wondered if it was from tears or lack of sleep – or perhaps both. Either way, he was the one who’d caused it. If he hadn’t dumped his plane in the ocean, they’d be back in Washington now, perhaps spending a quiet holiday together. He would have been there to help her deal with the aftermath of her breakup with Mic. Now, all he could do was lie in this hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and tubes, while Mac struggled through everything on her own. “Hey,” Mac said softly. “You look like you’re a million miles away.” “Just thinking,” he said. He noticed Simpson giving him a stern look out of the corner of her eye and he sighed inwardly. He wasn’t ready for Mac to leave yet, but as long as he was here, he didn’t have as much of a choice as he would’ve liked. “When was the last time you got any sleep?” “I was just sleeping,” she pointed out in a teasing tone. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said. He shot Simpson a pleading look and she nodded, returning his chart to the end of the bed and leaving the room. “Mac, I’m worried about you.” “You’re worried about me?” Mac echoed in disbelief. “Harm, I’m not the one lying in a hospital bed after nearly dying of hypothermia and a head injury! You ….” She broke off, fighting a losing battle to maintain her composure. “Hey,” he said gently, pulling her tightly against him. “I’m going to be okay, but I know I’d feel a lot better if I knew you were taking care of yourself. I think you should go back to the VOQ and get some sleep.” “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’ve never needed much sleep ….” She broke off at the sound of a knock on the door. “Come in,” Harm called out, wondering who it was. None of the doctors and nurses would knock, and then wait to be invited in, so it was probably a member of the family. He was surprised at the person who pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Mac pulled out of his arms and sat up, her cheeks tinged with pink as she brushed through her hair with her fingers, trying to return it to some semblance of order. “Father Gilly,” Harm said with a puzzled frown. The last time he remembered seeing Father Gilly was in the sickbay on the Henry. The details weren’t quite clear to him, but he assumed Gilly had been the one to marry him and Mac. “Shouldn’t you be on the Henry?”

Gilly pulled up a chair and sat down. “I accompanied you and Sarah on the helo from the ship,” he explained, “along with Doctor Reed. He went back to the ship yesterday morning a few hours after you got out of surgery, but I requested permission to stay behind until you were out of the woods. I’ve been providing regular reports on your condition to Captains Ingles and Pike. You’ve got a lot of people back there concerned about you.” “Thank you, Father,” Harm said gratefully. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.” “Yes, thank you,” Mac echoed, squeezing Harm’s hand. Harm had a sudden memory of something he and Mac had discussed on the ship, and he looked at Mac and then down at her wedding ring, a question in his eyes. She understood what he was trying to say and nodded, turning back to Gilly. “You probably remember that when Harm and I asked you to marry us,” she said, “we said that we were planning on having another ceremony later so that all our friends and family could be there. If you’re available, we’d like you to perform the ceremony.” “I’m not sure,” Gilly said, trying to mask his hesitation. “As you know, I’ve still got a cruise to complete.” “It won’t be for a few months yet, I’m sure,” Harm added with a cough, groaning a little at the pain that shot through his head. “The Henry will probably be back in Norfolk by the time we can plan anything.” “We’re not talking about anything very big,” Mac said, “probably just Harm’s family, our friends from JAG and a few other people. I don’t really want a big wedding. I nearly had that….” She trailed off, flashing an apologetic look at Harm. He gave her a reassuring glance. Unnoticed by Harm and Mac, Gilly studied the two of them as they seemed to hold an entire conversation with their eyes. As their fingers slowly entwined, he made a decision. After another moment in which they seemed to forget his presence, lost in each other’s gaze, he cleared his throat. “I’d be honored to perform a ceremony for you to renew your vows,” he said. “Thank you, Father,” Mac said for both of them, stifling a yawn. “Mac,” Harm drew out her name, reminding her with his tone of their earlier conversation before Gilly had joined them. He glanced at the priest. “Father, you could do me a favor right now. Mac hasn’t gotten much sleep the last few days, so I’d appreciate it if you could make sure she gets back to the VOQ.” “Harm,” Mac began to protest, cut off when another yawn escaped. “I’ll just wait outside for you, Sarah,” Gilly said, standing. Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he left them alone. “Mac,” Harm said softly, his gaze fixed on hers. “Do this for me. It would make me feel better.”

Mac sighed. It was so hard to refuse him when he looked at her like that. “Okay,” she said, “if you’ll promise to do the same. Get some sleep and try not to give the doctor and nurses around here *too* hard a time.” He raised his eyebrows, giving her a “Who, me?” look. She chuckled, shaking her head. Harm was just being….Harm. After everything that had happened, it was comforting in its familiarity. Harm was relieved to see her laugh. With everything that had happened, it was good to know that she could still find something amusing. “Okay,” he conceded. “We’ll both get some sleep. Why don’t you come back …?” He trailed off, considering. He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, but he wanted to make sure that she got as much rest as she could. He considered saying ‘tomorrow’, but knew she’d never go for that. “….after dinner,” he finished. Mac opened her mouth as if to argue, but closed it again. “Fine,” she said. She kissed him, and then started to get up before he pulled her back, deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both a little breathless. “Hold onto that thought,” Harm said as a sexy grin spread across his face. “There’s more where that came from.” She smiled as she got up from the bed. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “I love you.” “Love you, too,” he replied.

When Mac closed Harm’s door behind her, Gilly was waiting for her in the hallway. “Ready to go?” he asked, motioning towards the exit. “I appreciate the gesture, Father,” she said as they started walking, “but it’s not necessary to escort me back to the VOQ.” “Actually,” he said as they reached the elevators, and he pressed the down button, “you’d be doing me a favor if you’d let me escort you back there. It will save me from having to ride the base bus.” “Okay,” Mac said, masking her reluctance. “Sarah, we don’t have to talk,” he said as they stepped onto the elevator. She stared at him, surprised that he seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “If you want to be silent on the drive, that’s fine with me. I think it would be good for you to talk to someone, and I sense that you don’t really have anyone here that you’d feel comfortable confiding in.” “I guess you’re right about that,” Mac mused as the elevator opened up to the first floor. “Normally, I guess I would talk to my uncle, but….I forgot completely about him! He doesn’t know I got married. Well, actually, he doesn’t know that I married Harm.” “Your uncle wasn’t going to be at your wedding?” he asked as he followed her to the parking

lot. “I suppose that’s why he’s not here with you now.” “No, he couldn’t be here,” she replied distractedly, pulling her cell phone from her purse. “Damn, the battery’s low. I probably should call him from my room, anyway. This is going to be an….interesting conversation.” They arrived at her car and she motioned Gilly towards the passenger side as she pressed the button on the remote to unlock the doors. “I assume that’s because he thought you were supposed to be marrying Mr. Brumby this past weekend,” he commented as they strapped themselves in. Mac was silent as she pulled out of the parking lot, considering the statement. She’d spoken to her uncle two weekends previously, the day after her fateful engagement party. He’d sensed something was bothering her and had called her on it. She’d been on the verge of confessing everything, but something had stilled her tongue at the last moment. Finally, she’d just claimed a case of pre-wedding jitters, a part of her hoping her uncle would sense that she wasn’t being truthful with him and press her further. He hadn’t done so, and she knew deep down that he never would. He’d always trusted her to make her own choices, ever since Red Rock Mesa. In that way, Harm was a lot like her uncle. She’d told them that she was going to marry Mic, and they’d both respected her decision, assuming that she knew what she was doing. She sighed heavily. Chloe and Harriet had been the only ones to question her judgment, and by then it’d almost been too late. “I’m sorry, Father,” Mac said, shaking herself out of her reverie as she realized that he’d been speaking to her. “What did you say?” “I asked about your parents,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him watching her intently. “I haven’t seen them here, either.” “My father died two years ago this month,” she explained. “My mother….I don’t know where she is. She left us on my fifteenth birthday and the only time I’ve seen her since then was at my father’s deathbed.” “I’m sorry, Sarah,” Gilly said. “That’s okay,” Mac assured him, putting it immediately out of her mind. As far as she was concerned, her parents hadn’t been a part of her life since she was a teenager. “So you said your uncle couldn’t be at your wedding,” he reminded her. She thought this was a safe enough topic to discuss. “Do you remember almost five years ago when a militia group stole the Declaration of Independence?” she asked. “They were a bunch of former Marines,” he recalled. “Their leader appeared on TV a few times, explaining why they’d done it.” He stared at her, putting it together in his mind. “Your uncle?” “Colonel Matthew O’Hara,” she confirmed. “My mother is his younger sister. Actually, that case is how Harm and I met. I was brought into JAG HQ to assist in tracking down the

group. The CIA knew that I was Colonel O’Hara’s niece and thought that I’d be able to lead them to him. When I finally told Harm the truth, he convinced me to trust him and take him to Uncle Matt. I held a gun on him, trying to convince my uncle’s men that I was with them and that Harm had been pursuing me. Despite that, Harm volunteered to defend Uncle Matt. He didn’t know me, he didn’t know my uncle, but he laid it on the line for us. He didn’t get my uncle off, but Harm did manage to prevent the government from throwing the book at him.” “I assume he couldn’t be at your wedding because he’s still in Leavenworth?” Gilly asked. “He’s eligible for parole in less than a year,” Mac replied. “Harm’s probably already planning for the hearing, knowing him.” “So you were the one,” he began, breaking off at the puzzled glance Mac shot him. “Harm told me some things when he was on the Henry last year. One of those was the story about representing your uncle and how close the two of you had been up until he left JAG.” “He told you that?” she asked in wonder, remembering how she’d thought he’d cut himself off almost completely from his old life. He’d never called; he hardly ever wrote. As far as she’d known, he’d left everything behind when he’d walked out of JAG that last afternoon. It was unsettling to learn that he’d apparently been thinking about her while he’d been gone. If she’d known that before, the last two years might never have unfolded the way they had. Her heart wept for the lost chances. “He didn’t mention you by name,” Gilly said. “I can’t say too much, but….what he said to me was very telling.” “You took confession from Harm?” she asked, surprised. Harm rarely opened up, even to those closest to him. To find out that he’d talked to a priest about their relationship – or lack thereof – disturbed her. Why hadn’t he been able to talk to her? “Not confession, no,” he explained. “I was just a fellow officer offering a friendly ear. Sarah, I could be a friendly ear for you as well.” “What, do you think I need to confess?” she asked sarcastically. “I think the question really is,” he replied gently, “is do you think you have something to confess?” Mac was silent for a long moment, staring at the road ahead of her. What had Harm been thinking, asking Father Gilly to accompany her? Did he think she needed to talk to someone? Maybe he’d managed to find some solace in talking to the priest, but she wasn’t Harm. It wasn’t that easy for her. “Tell me something, Padre,” she said angrily. “What’s the right answer here? I dumped the man I’d promised to marry hours before the ceremony and married someone else. Or should I have just married Mic and made everyone around me miserable? When I think about what my marriage would have done to Harm….I saw his face the day I told everyone I’d accepted Mic’s proposal. I might as well have taken a knife and stabbed him through the heart, but even seeing that, I couldn’t make myself do anything about it until the last minute.”

“Sarah,” he said, “stopping yourself from making a mistake is not a sin.” “Do you really believe that?” she retorted. “Back at the hospital, when we asked you to perform the ceremony to renew our vows, you hesitated. Why?” “I had some concerns,” Gilly easily admitted. “When I found out about Mr. Brumby and Ms. Peterson, I have to admit that I’d wondered whether I’d done the right thing by officiating at your wedding.” “’Had some concerns’,” she repeated. “You mean you don’t anymore?” “Sarah, do you have some questions about what you’ve done?” he asked pointedly, deflecting the question back to her. “I love Harm,” Mac insisted. “After what I’ve seen the last two days,” he said, “and knowing now that you were the one Harm was talking about when he told me some of the stories about the two of you, I don’t question that.” “You don’t?” she asked quietly. She wanted to believe that. She needed to know that someone was in their corner. So far, not a single one of their friends had mentioned the marriage, and the silence bothered her more than she cared to admit. She could imagine the eyes that would be on her for a time to come, the whispers behind her back. “No, I don’t,” he replied. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Mac shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. She didn’t think it really mattered at this point. Somehow, he’d gotten her to open up in spite of herself. “Go ahead,” she said. “Why did you agree to marry Mr. Brumby?” Gilly asked. “Does it really matter?” she countered. “I think it does to you,” he explained. “No matter how much you love Harm, you’re understandably troubled by how it came about. You need to be able to recognize what troubles you about it in order to reconcile yourself to the situation. It’s very difficult to begin a new life with someone when you’re mired in the past.” “I’m not mired in the past,” Mac insisted. “Right now my only focus is making sure my husband makes a full recovery. I’m looking towards the future, not the past. Or is this a lecture along the lines of ‘Those who don’t learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them’?” “This isn’t a lecture, Sarah,” Gilly said as Mac pulled into the parking lot at the VOQ and found a spot near the end of the building. “Just call it food for thought. It helps if you’re sure about what you’re doing.” Mac’s hand froze on the key as his statement struck a cord with her. Harriet had almost those same words when Mac had returned from Australia wearing Mic’s ring. Too bad she hadn’t

been able to bring herself to listen to the doubts instead of letting herself be dazzled by the brilliance of the diamond and the promise it held of everything she’d ever wanted. “Sarah, is everything okay?” Gilly asked. “Everything’s fine,” she replied, brushing his concern aside. She was sure that she loved Harm with everything she had in her. As far as she was concerned, that was all that mattered.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON INTENSIVE CARE UNIT PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER Since those who were in the military had to return to duty tomorrow, Harm’s co-workers, after waiting for two days, were finally allowed to see him for a few minutes before they left for the drive back to Washington. They came in groups of two or three, wishing him a speedy recovery with varying degrees of effusiveness – and sincerity. Harm was mildly surprised to learn that none of them had left yet. After his return from the Henry, he’d felt like he didn’t really fit in anymore. This was the first real indication he’d gotten since then of just how much a part of the fabric of the JAG office he was. When Loren came in with Carolyn, Harm thought her well wishes merely masked her ambition to take on a few more cases, since JAG was going to be short one lawyer for the foreseeable future. Harm was unable to resist rolling his eyes at the thought, and he noticed Carolyn covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh when she caught his gesture. Loren, fortunately, was oblivious, waxing on about how *happy* she would be to help out on some of his cases until he was back on his feet. Alan and Jackie were the next visitors on the docket. Harm learned that Alan had been asked by A.J. to cover as chief of staff while Harm and Mac were both out. They spent a few minutes discussing some of Harm’s cases that would need to be reassigned, Alan mentioning that Loren had already pounced on him, wanting to make sure he kept her in mind for any important cases. After the Mattonis, Victor and Jason dropped in. Sarah had told Harm that they’d driven in the middle of the night to bring her to Washington, and he thanked them for their kindness in looking out for his grandmother. They both told him to let them know when Sarah was ready to return home, and they’d be more than happy to drive her back. Harm was grateful for the offer, since he’d already been warned by the doctor that long trips by car were out of the question for a while, which was the reason he was going to be sent back to Washington by helo. Bud and Harriet were next, and Harm could see as soon as they’d walked into the room just how shaken they were to see him in this condition. Neither had ever been very good at hiding their emotions. Bud rambled on a bit, as he used to when he’d been newly assigned to JAG, and Harriet nearly burst into tears. They hadn’t brought baby AJ in with them – he was sitting out in the hall with big A.J. - both because the hospital wouldn’t let such a young child in, and because they weren’t sure how he would react to seeing his beloved godfather with a shaved head and wires and tubes connected in various places. Harriet kissed the bruise on his

forehead, telling Harm that AJ had wanted to make sure Harm got a ‘tiss’ to make his ‘owie’ better. Harm said to tell AJ that the kiss did make him feel better, which had the intended side effect of bringing a smile to Harriet’s face. Although they weren’t leaving until Tuesday afternoon, Chloe visited next with her father. Unlike Harriet, she did burst into tears. Harm took her into his arms, trying to assure her that he would be fine eventually. He promised that with her father’s and grandparents’ permission, he would bring her back to Washington later in the summer so they could catch the Orioles game that they’d missed on Sunday. Slyly, Chloe asked if he would invite Sergei as well, Kyle and Harm exchanging a knowing glance over her head at her obvious crush on Harm’s younger brother. Harm didn’t make any promises since he didn’t know how long Sergei was going to be able to stay in Washington. Finally, fifteen minutes after Chloe and her father had said their goodbyes, Harm received the visitor he’d been both anticipating and dreading. “Admiral,” he said in greeting as A.J. walked into the room. Even dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, A.J. exuded command authority, and Harm started, out of habit, to bring himself to a close approximation of attention before A.J. waved him off. “No need to stand on ceremony, Commander,” A.J. said, taking a seat. “How are you doing?” “I’ve been better, sir,” Harm replied, making light of the situation. “Of course, I haven’t figured out whether this crash or my first one was worse. From where I’m laying, they both feel about the same – too many machines that I’m hooked up to and too many drugs being pumped into me.” “That’s good. But I came here for an additional reason, Commander,” A.J. said in a serious tone. “We need to discuss the crash.” “I assumed that was coming at some point,” Harm replied, unable to mask his weariness. “I’ve been down that road before. I suppose the investigation has already begun.” A.J. studied him for a moment, trying to determine if he was in any condition for this discussion. Only when Harm motioned for him to go on did he continue. “The investigation itself is being handled here in Norfolk,” he explained. “They’ve already started going over all the communications between you, the Henry, Oceana and Andrews while salvage crews are pulling up as much of your Tomcat as they can. I believe they’ve also requested maintenance reports from the Henry on that Tomcat.” “And…?” Harm asked, realizing that A.J. was holding something back. “I’ve already gotten a call from COMNAVAIRLANT,” A.J. explained with a sigh of barely concealed frustration. “Even though there is nothing right now to suggest this was anything other than massive systems failure combined with the storm, some concern was expressed because this is your second crash and ejection – third, if they knew about your little escapade in Russia. They just want to make sure all the I’s are dotted and the T’s crossed.” “Meaning what exactly, sir?” Harm asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. From an objective standpoint as an investigator, he could understand the concern, but it was hard to be detached when he was the one under scrutiny. Even with his memories

still scattered, he had the strong feeling that he’d done everything he could to keep that plane in the air. “Commander, need I remind you that you have dumped not one, but two, forty million dollar aircraft?” A.J. pointed out. “When you manage to single-handedly cost the Navy eighty million dollars, there are going to be questions that will have to be answered and not just by you. I’m sure they’ll have some hard questions for some of Captain Ingles’ crew, such as why you were cleared to take off in that weather. The last thing the Navy is going to want is someone questioning why they’re keeping a man in the air who goes through so much of the taxpayers’ money.” “They said the storm was supposed to be out of our flight path,” Harm remembered. “Have they talked to Skates yet? She’s probably a lot clearer on the details than I am right now.” “I don’t know, Commander,” he replied. “I’ve had a request from the CNO to stay out of this as much as possible. The investigators are to report directly to COMNAVAIRLANT with their findings, and their Force Judge Advocate will handle the mishap board and any charges that might arise, whether on your part or on the part of someone on the Henry. Hell, I think if they could find a way to do it, they’d assign investigators from another branch of service in order to avoid *undue command influence*.” A.J. spat out the final three words, his disgust clearly evident. “I’m sorry, Admiral,” Harm said, recognizing the undercurrent in A.J.’s voice. He wondered what had happened to the fool who’d apparently suggested to the Admiral that he couldn’t oversee an objective investigation when it concerned one of his own people. Harm knew that was an invalid assumption from personal experience. When he’d been suspected of murder, A.J.’s only involvement had been bringing Carolyn in from outside HQ to represent him and assigning Alan to prosecute. Other than that, A.J. had maintained a strictly hands off approach until it came time to chew him a new one for the brig break. “There’s more, Commander,” A.J. said, brushing off the apology. At Harm’s questioning glance, he continued, “I don’t know how to say this but straight out. It’s probably a good idea if someone besides the colonel represents you. In fact, I’d probably even go outside the personnel currently in our office.” It wasn’t that Harm disagreed in principal with the suggestion. Mac had enough on her mind, between her cancelled wedding to Mic and his situation, and he didn’t think she needed the additional stress of dealing with the investigation into his crash. However, the way A.J. said it was setting off his radar. There was something else going on. “Sir, on my part, I don’t anticipate this going any farther than the mishap board,” Harm said. “My memory still has a few holes in it, but I don’t think I could have done more to prevent the crash. Why shouldn’t Mac represent me? She’s certainly proven to be a passionate advocate for me in the past.” “There’s a possibility she may be called as a witness, Commander,” A.J. replied. “A witness?” Harm repeated incredulously. “What could Mac possibly have to tell the mishap board? She has nothing to do with this. Do they know that she’s my wife and can’t be compelled to testify?”

“I’ve just been told, as her commanding officer, that she needs to be available for an interview at some point,” A.J. said. “If they don’t know yet, the investigators are going to find out about your hasty marriage on the same day she was supposed to have married someone else. It’s inevitable that there are going to be questions.” “Mac had called off the wedding before I even left the carrier,” Harm pointed out. “Commander, I’m not here to discuss your personal life,” A.J. said firmly. Harm heard the unspoken message. There was going to be a discussion eventually. Although he’d been aware of the possibility in the back of his mind ever since he’d first found himself attracted to Mac, what their marriage would mean for their careers had been the last thing on his mind when he’d proposed. He could imagine that it was going to be a lot harder for A.J. to invoke Admiral’s privilege to keep both him and Mac at JAG HQ. “So am I going to be assigned outside counsel?” Harm asked, steering the conversation away from more personal matters. “If I might offer a suggestion,” A.J. said. When Harm nodded, he continued, “We have a new staff judge advocate PCSing into headquarters next week from Pearl, a Commander Sturgis Turner. He’s a former submariner, but his record for dispassionate advocacy since he joined JAG has been impressive.” “Sturgis?” Harm repeated. “I was beginning to think he intended to stay in Hawaii for the rest of his career.” A.J. sighed. “You know Commander Turner?” he asked. “We were in the same company at the Academy,” Harm explained, wondering if A.J. was going to suggest someone else now that he knew Harm and Sturgis were acquainted. He hoped not. If he couldn’t have Mac represent him, and A.J. was probably right in that it was for the best, then Sturgis was a good second choice. “Sturgis is a good man and a fair one. He’d be a good advocate.” “Fine, he’s your representative,” A.J. agreed. “He’s not due to report for duty until next week, but I believe he was flying in today to search for a place to live and spend some time with some family in the area. When we return to work tomorrow, I’ll have Tiner find a contact number so you can get in touch with him. I don’t know if the investigators are going to be able to get past Dr. Stafford to interview you here, or if it will have to wait until after you’re home. Just in case, you should contact him and see if he’s available.” “I will,” Harm promised. “Thank you, sir.” “Don’t thank me, Commander,” A.J. said. “I just want to make sure that this investigation goes as smoothly as possible.” “Understood, sir,” Harm said. He understood the hidden message. Admiral Chegwidden the commanding officer wanted as little as possible to disrupt the smooth running of his office, and Harm had just inadvertently sent it into an uproar. A.J. the friend was doing everything

he could to smooth things over for Harm. Harm was grateful, but he knew that it was probably best, knowing A.J., to leave that unsaid for now. “I’ll leave you to get some rest, Commander,” A.J. said, standing to leave. “Dr. Stafford was hesitant to let a parade of Naval personnel through your room to begin with. Take care of yourself and keep me informed.” “Will do, Admiral,” Harm promised, letting his eyes drift closed as A.J. turned to leave. When he heard the door open and close, he sighed in relief. Reluctantly, he could understand Dr. Stafford’s position. The parade of people had been somewhat exhausting, and A.J.’s visit had reminded him that there was still the fallout from his crash to deal with. He just hoped Mac wasn’t going to be too upset when he told her that she wasn’t going to be representing him before the mishap board. EARLY TUESDAY AFTERNOON 29 MAY 2001 SURGICAL CARE WARD PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER

For the second day in a row, Harm made a resolution to stay awake as much as possible. The visits from his co-workers yesterday had worn him out more than he’d anticipated, and the next thing he’d known, the nurses had been making their final rounds for the night. When he’d asked, he was told that Mac had stopped by with the rest of his family, but that they’d insisted on not disturbing him. Sorry that he hadn’t gotten to see everyone last night, especially Mac, he’d promised himself that he was going to be awake for their visit today.

He tried watching television to pass the time. His persistent headache of the last two days had eased, and the light from the screen didn’t bother his eyes as much. The attempt only reminded him why he didn’t own a television. The game shows were inane. Did anyone really get that excited over playing stupid games to win overpriced furniture sets? He didn’t even want to think about the soap operas. He didn’t get why some woman named Greenlee – who didn’t look like she was that many years out of high school and what kind of name was Greenlee anyway – was plotting against some older woman named Erica, who in the meantime was trying to separate her daughter Bianca from a friend Laura, who apparently had a heart condition. People didn’t really live like that.

So far today, the only excitement he’d experienced had come when Dr. Stafford had allowed him to be moved out of ICU. He wasn’t allowed out of bed yet – which meant he still had the catheter – although Stafford had said that if everything continued as it had so far, he might let Harm try getting out of bed tomorrow. Harm had barely been able to conceal his excitement at that prospect, even after Stafford had warned him that just walking fifteen feet from the bed

to the bathroom would probably wear him out.

At the sound of a knock on the door, he called out, “Enter.” He turned off the television with the remote and pushed himself up into a sitting position, hoping that it was Mac on the other side of the door.

His momentary disappointment that it wasn’t Mac was masked by his pleasure at seeing one of his oldest friends. “Sturgis,” he said with a smile. He noticed the man who entered after Sturgis. “Chaplain Turner. Come on in.”

“How are you doing, Harm?” Sturgis asked as he took a seat beside the bed, his father pulling up a chair beside him. “As soon as I landed in D.C., Dad told me he’d heard on the news that you’d been in an accident. He called down here and found out that you might be allowed visitors besides family today.”

“We had to come down and make sure you were okay,” Matthew said in a voice heavy with concern.

“I’m getting better,” Harm said in a reassuring tone. He knew they were probably remembering his first crash. They hadn’t seen him right after the crash since he’d been in Germany, but Harm knew his parents had been in contact with Matthew during that time. Both men had later visited him at his grandmother’s farm – Sturgis joining with Keeter and Diane to try to cajole him out of his depression while his father had offered a friendly ear if he’d wanted to talk. “I’m out of ICU, and I’m hopeful that I’ll be sent to Bethesda this weekend. At least, Dr. Stafford tells me that will happen if everything continues to go well.”

“Thank God,” Matthew said, patting his hand. “That’s definitely good news, my boy.”

“Yes, it is,” Sturgis agreed. “You know, I tried to contact Keeter yesterday, but I haven’t been able to find him.”

“Who knows where he is,” Harm said with a shrug. “Keeter’s been doing a lot of work with the CIA and Naval Intelligence the last few years. He could be in Timbuktu for all I know. Webb might know, if he’s still around to ask.”

“Webb?” Sturgis asked. “Isn’t he that CIA agent you’ve told me about?”

“Yeah,” Harm replied. “He brought Sergei here Sunday evening.”

“Your brother, Sergei?” Matthew asked in surprise. “I thought he was a prisoner in Chechnya.”

“I’m not sure of all the details,” Harm explained. “Mac and Sergei didn’t tell me much, but apparently Webb worked out some sort of deal for his release.”

“I’ve been praying for him ever since Sturgis told me you’d said he was missing,” Matthew said. “I’m sure your grandmother is happy to have her other grandson here.”

“She is,” Harm said, remembering the joyful look on her face when she and Mac had brought Sergei in to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that look on his grandmother’s face. “I know it’s been hard on her – first finding out she has another grandson, and then finding out he was a prisoner. Speaking of this situation being hard, I’d appreciate it if maybe you could talk to my mother, Chaplain Turner. She didn’t take the news very well a few months ago when she found out that Dad has another son. She hasn’t said anything, but I’m concerned about how she’s handling the reality of having Sergei here. Maybe you can talk to her….”

“Harmon,” Matthew said after Harm had trailed off, “you know it doesn’t work that way, not with your mother. Remember what happened the last time?”

Harm winced at the memory. After his first crash brought a few veiled comments from his mother about her fear over his remaining in the Navy, Harm had asked Matthew to talk to her. Harm had learned later from Frank how that had gone. When Matthew had offered to listen, Trish had blown up at him. She’d accused him of not understanding what it was like to lose a spouse and to nearly lose a son and had gone so far to ask how he could serve a God who was so cruel to her family. Although she’d apologized profusely when she’d found out that he’d been asked to approach her by Harm, insisting that it was her stress over what had happened to Harm that had caused her to act like that, Matthew was a little hesitant about being so forward with her this time.

“I know,” Harm sighed. “If you could just be there if she does want to talk, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll let here know I’m in Norfolk,” Matthew promised. “If she decides she wants to talk, it’s up to her. Where’s your family staying?”

Harm thought for a moment. He knew they were staying at a VOQ, but he was trying to remember if someone had mentioned which one they were at, since there were several, belonging to three different branches of service, in and around Norfolk. “I think Frank said something about the VOQ at the Shipyard,” he finally said.

“Sturgis and I reserved a room out there,” Matthew said, “so we’ll check with the front desk when we check in. If not, we can call around. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Sturgis,” Harm said as he turned to his friend. “I could use you help before the mishap board. In fact, Admiral Chegwidden was going to see if he had a contact phone number for you so I could call you this week.”

“You’re not going to have someone already at HQ represent you?” Sturgis asked in surprise.

“I’d ask Mac,” Harm admitted, “but she’s got a lot on her plate right now. She doesn’t need the additional stress. When the Admiral told me you were starting at HQ next week, I thought you’d be the perfect person to ask.”

“I’d be happy to represent you,” Sturgis said. “Who’s conducting the mishap investigation? Since I’m in Norfolk, I should probably stop in and introduce myself to the investigators.”

“The Admiral said it was being handled by the office of the Force Judge Advocate for COMNAVAIRLANT,” Harm replied. “JAG’s being kept out of it.”

“For obvious reasons,” Sturgis commented. “The Navy wouldn’t want us to investigate one of our own, especially a man who’s dumped two Tomcats in his career.”

“Sturgis,” Harm said with thinly veiled exasperation, “I didn’t crash either of those birds on purpose. This time, we had massive systems failure, even before Skates and I flew into that storm and got struck by lightning.”

“Buddy, I didn’t say that it was your fault,” Sturgis said calmly, “nor do I think that.”

“I know,” Harm said as he rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s understandable,” Matthew said in a soothing tone. “I’m sure these mishap investigations don’t get any easier the second time around, even when you know that you did nothing wrong. Your friends and family are here for you, Harm. Take solace in that.”

“Thank you, Chaplain Turner,” Harm said. He covered his mouth, stifling a yawn as he swore inwardly. He didn’t want to admit that his body wasn’t capable of keeping up with his desire to stay awake yet.

“We should go, Sturgis,” Matthew said, “and let Harm get some rest.”

“It feels like I’ve done nothing but sleep the last two days,” Harm said. “Stay and help me stay awake.”

“Now, Harm,” Matthew said, clasping Harm’s shoulder, “I’m sure your doctor would tell you that you need to get as much rest as possible. It will help you heal.”

“I slept through my family’s visit last night,” Harm said in frustration.

“I’m sure they understand,” Matthew pointed out, “and they don’t want you to wear yourself

out on their account. Try to take it easy, son.” He rose from his chair, the look on his face telling Harm that he would accept no arguments.

Sturgis rose as well, taking a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Harm. “Here’s Dad’s cell phone number,” he said. “If you need to talk to me, he can give me the message. Just remember – don’t be the Lone Ranger and talk to the investigators without your lawyer present.”

“I’m not even sure the doctor would let them in here,” Harm said as he set the paper on the nightstand, “but I’ll keep it in mind, Sturgis.”

“Take care, buddy,” Sturgis said.

“Thank you both for coming,” Harm said, “and if you can think of anything to keep my occupied while I’m in here, bring it with you the next time you come.”

“Take care, Harm,” Matthew said before they turned and left the room.

“So what do you think, Dad?” Sturgis asked as soon as they were out of Harm’s room.

“He’s definitely not the same man he was ten years ago after his first crash,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “I was very worried about that boy then.”

“I know,” Sturgis said, remembering. It had become his, Keeter and Diane’s mission in life to make sure Harm didn’t wallow in self-pity. It’d been difficult, given Harm’s innate stubbornness and the fact that their Navy careers didn’t allow them to spend as much time with Harm as they’d have liked, but between the three of them and Harm’s grandmother, Sturgis thought they’d done fairly well in reminding Harm that he wasn’t a man who knew how to give up. “He doesn’t blame himself for the crash. That’s a good sign. Of course, both he and his RIO survived this time.”

“I don’t know if he could have handled losing another RIO,” Matthew admitted. “I also noticed that Harm is more concerned about those around him than himself.”

“That’s not unusual for him,” Sturgis pointed out. “He is the one who asked you to speak to his mother the last time. He’s concerned about her again, he thinks Mac is under enough stress without him adding to it, and I’m sure he’s concerned about his brother’s condition after Sergei spent five months in a Chechen prison camp.”

“That reminds me,” Matthew said, “who is Mac?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie,” Sturgis clarified. “She’s been Harm’s partner at HQ for, um, nearly five years now, I think. From what I’ve gathered over the years, they’ve become rather…..close.”

“Ah,” Matthew said. “Well, if they’re as close as you’re implying, it’s little wonder that he’s concerned about how she would handle the investigation on top of dealing with what happened to Harm.”

“Well, I don’t know that they’re that close,” Sturgis backpedaled. “You know, ever since Diane’s death, he doesn’t talk a lot about the women he sees. Mostly, he just talks about work and his family. Mac is his partner at work, so I suppose it’s natural that he’d mention her a lot.”

“Harm has always been somewhat private,” Matthew remembered. “I think he’s always felt he’s had to keep so much inside so he can take care of everyone else around him. The best thing you can do as his friend is to make sure he knows that he has people he can lean on.”

“Always, Dad,” Sturgis promised.

ONE HOUR LATER VISITING OFFICERS’ QUARTERS NAVAL SHIPYARD PORTSMOUTH

“Hello, Sir,” the desk clerk said to Matthew. “May I help you?”

“Yes, Petty Officer,” Matthew replied, handing her his blue retiree ID card and a credit card. “My son and I have reservations. The name is Turner.”

“Give me just a moment, Captain,” she said, reading his rank off his ID. She hit a few keys on her computer’s keyboard. “Here it is. One room with two double beds for two nights.”

“Would it be possible to extend that, Petty Officer?” Matthew asked. “My son just found out he’s going to be involved in a mishap investigation and will probably need to stay in Norfolk past Thursday.” He turned to Sturgis, who was facing away from the front desk, staring into the lobby. “Sturgis, how long do you think you’ll need to stay? Sturgis?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Sturgis said after a long moment, not turning to face his father, unable to tear his eyes away from the lobby. “What did you say?”

“Son, what is it?” Matthew asked, turning to follow his son’s gaze, trying to figure out what was wrong. There were only three people sitting in the lobby that he could see – a young girl who looked to be in her early teens, a young man perhaps in his late teens, and an older woman that he judged to be in her early thirties. There seemed to be nothing remarkable about them. They were simply sitting on one of the couches, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Sturgis finally turned to face his father, shock evident on his face. “Dad, see that woman sitting over there,” he pointed out, tilting his head towards the lobby. “Does she look familiar to you?”

Matthew studied the woman for a moment. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put

his finger on it. She had short, reddish-brown hair and a complexion that he pegged to be possibly Middle Eastern in origin. “Somewhat,” he replied, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”

“Imagine her with darker hair, almost black,” Sturgis said, “with a bit of a curl to it.”

Matthew formed the picture his son painted in his mind, nearly gasping as he realized what Sturgis was getting at. “She looks a lot like Diane Schonke,” he said, stunned. He’d officiated at Diane’s funeral as a favor to her parents, with whom he’d become friendly during their children’s years at the Academy. “I thought Diane was an only child.”

“She was, Dad,” Sturgis said with a shrug. “I suppose it’s true, that old saying about everyone having a doppelganger out there somewhere. This woman appears to be a few years younger, however. She’s about the age now that Diane was when she died, I would guess.”

“Are you okay, Sturgis?” Matthew asked. Sturgis had never had any problem making and keeping friends, but Harmon Rabb, Jack Keeter and Diane Schonke had probably been the closest to him. When Diane had died five years earlier, Sturgis had told him that he felt like he’d lost a sister. Seeing a woman who looked like she could be Diane’s twin had to be unsettling, to say the least. It was ironic seeing this woman here in Portsmouth, while the man that Diane had loved lay in a hospital just miles away.

Sturgis turned his back on the lobby. “I’m fine, Dad,” he insisted. “It’s just a shock. Diane’s been dead for five years. I was just wondering what Harm would say if he saw Diane’s virtual twin wandering around here. Anyway, what were you saying before?”

“I was asking how long you thought you might need to stay,” Matthew said, accepting the change of subject. His son was the stoic type usually, not given to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Sturgis wouldn’t let himself dwell on the shock of what he’d just seen. “I thought you might want to extend your stay since you’re representing Harm in front of the mishap board.”

“Can I extend the reservation through Friday?” Sturgis asked the desk clerk. He turned back to his father. “Since Harm said he will possibly be sent home this weekend, I don’t think I should have to stay later than that.”

“It can be done, Sir,” the desk clerk replied. “If you’re going to be staying on official business, then I’ll need a copy of your orders, Sir.”

“Can I have my office fax them to you?” Sturgis asked. “This mishap investigation came up at the last moment. I was down here to visit my friend in the hospital.”

“That will be fine, Sir,” the clerk said. She tore a sheet of paper of the printer and pushed it across the counter to them. “I have you here for three nights. Please initial here, answer these questions here, and then sign at the bottom, Sir.”

As Chloe told Sergei about her grandparents’ farm up in Vermont and all the horseback riding she did up there, Mac had the feeling someone was watching her. Looking up, she saw two men standing at the front desk, the younger of whom was studying her intently. When the other one turned to look at her as well, she considered walking over there and saying something, but then resolved to put it out of her mind.

They weren’t leering at her, in which case she would definitely have said something. They looked….shocked, she decided – like they’d seen a ghost. Maybe one of them had served with Diane once upon a time. The Navy wasn’t that large that it was outside the realm of possibility that she’d come across someone occasionally who’d served with Diane. In fact, after Harm had told her that Diane’s last cruise had been aboard the SeaHawk, Mac had been surprised that half the crew hadn’t done double takes the first time she’d stepped aboard the ship, just months after Diane’s death. When both men turned their attention back to the petty officer behind the desk, she put it from her mind and turned her attention back to the conversation going on beside her.

“We do not have horses on our farm,” Sergei said. “It is a small farm. We work the land ourselves and walk if we need to go somewhere. I did not learn how to drive a car until I joined the Army.”

“I can’t imagine not being able to drive,” Chloe said breathlessly. “I’m not old enough to drive on the roads yet, but my grandparents let me drive around the farm sometimes. I’m

going to get my learner’s permit the day I turn fifteen. I’ve got to have the permit for a year before I can get my junior license, but I intend to get that as soon as I turn sixteen.”

Mac smiled indulgently at her sister’s exuberance. She was sorry that Chloe was leaving today. Kyle wanted to take his daughter back to Vermont and visit with his parents before he reported back to duty this weekend. She’d miss Chloe’s bright, sunny nature, which had returned full force now that Chloe was convinced Harm was going to be okay. Chloe had protested when Kyle said they had to leave, but had finally agreed after talking to Sarah. Mac wasn’t sure what Harm’s grandmother had said, but whatever it was had convinced Chloe to accept leaving.

“Here comes Dad,” Chloe said reluctantly.

“It’ll be okay,” Mac assured her, putting her arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “Remember, your dad said you could come back later in the summer. By then, Harm won’t be asleep or on his way there every time you want to talk to him.”

“He’d better not be,” Chloe teased. “You two owe me a trip to Camden Yards, so try not to wear your new husband out.”

As Sergei looked puzzled, Mac rolled her eyes, her cheeks tinted pink at her sister’s suggestive comment. It was comforting, however. Some things never changed, and Chloe was one of them. She wondered if she and Harm could survive a few days together in the same apartment with Chloe.

“Chloe, are you ready to go?” Kyle asked.

“Dad, we have to wait for Harm’s family,” Chloe said insistently. “They’re going to meet us down here to say goodbye before going back to the hospital.”

“I know, Chloe,” Kyle said patiently. Mac thought she could see the amusement in his eyes at his daughter’s delaying tactics. “I ran into Mr. and Mrs. Burnett. They’re stopping at Mrs. Rabb’s room to pick her up, and then they’ll be down here.”

“Okay, Dad,” Chloe muttered, brightening instantly when she looked towards the hallway. “Here they come.”

Sturgis and Matthew finished checking in and turned to head towards their room when they saw Trish, Frank and Sarah walking in their direction.

“Matthew and Sturgis Turner,” Trish exclaimed as she gave them a hug in turn. “I assume you heard about Harm’s crash.”

“Yes, we did, Trish,” Matthew explained. “I checked with the hospital and they said he could probably have visitors besides family starting today, so we drove down from D.C. this morning.”

“I’m sure Harm was happy to see you,” Frank said, shaking each man’s hand. “I know it was a big help to have Sturgis around after his first crash.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burnett,” Sturgis replied. “I was happy to help a buddy out.” He turned to Sarah. “Hello, Mrs. Rabb. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Sturgis,” Sarah replied, stretching up to kiss his cheek. “And you, Matthew. Come and meet the rest of the family.” She motioned them towards the lobby.

“That’s right, Mrs. Rabb,” Matthew said. “Harm said that your other grandson arrived Sunday night. Thank God the Chechens released him.”

“Believe me, Matthew,” Sarah said, “I’ve thanked God a lot the last few days for both of my grandsons. I wasn’t just talking about Sergei, though. Harm’s wife is also here.”

“Harm’s wife?” Sturgis repeated, stunned. “He didn’t mention he was married when we saw him earlier.”

“Humph,” Sarah muttered. “In a way, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me, given the circumstances. It’s a rather long story, and I can understand Harm not wanting to get into it right now.” At their concerned looks, she added, “Oh, it’s not that Harm married the wrong woman or someone we disapprove of. She’s a wonderful woman, just perfect for him. I’ll let him tell you the story if he wants to. Come on, they’re right over there.”

As he followed his father and Harm’s family into the lobby, Sturgis was confused. There were now four people in the lobby, the three he and his father had seen earlier, now joined by a man. Surely, the woman couldn’t be who Sarah was talking about.

“Are you ready to go, Chloe?” Sarah asked, embracing the teenage girl.

“Yes, Gram,” Chloe replied with a pout.

“Remember,” Sarah said, “you’ll be back before you know it. And if you’re in town long enough, I’ll insist that Harm and Mac bring you up to the farm for a weekend.”

“I’d like that, Gram,” Chloe said. She glanced back at Kyle, a hopeful look on her face.

“Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Rabb,” Kyle said. “I’m sure my parents and I can agree to that.”

“Good,” Sarah said. She turned back to Sturgis and Matthew, pointing out each person as she introduced them. “Sturgis and Matthew Turner, this is Chloe Anderson and her father, Chief Petty Officer Kyle Anderson. Over here is my grandson, Sergei Zhukov, and this is my granddaughter-in-law, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. Chloe, Kyle, Sergei, and Mac – this is Commander Sturgis Turner and his father, retired Captain and Chaplain Matthew Turner. Sturgis attended the Academy with Harm.”

Mac inhaled sharply at Sarah’s last statement, realizing that Diane *was* the reason why Sturgis and Matthew had been staring at her when they’d been standing at the front desk. It took her a moment to find her voice when it was her turn to greet them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice sounding weak to her ears. “You went to the Academy with Harm, Commander?”

“Yes, I did, Colonel,” Sturgis replied politely, scrutinizing her intently.

“Then you knew Diane,” Mac stated in a stronger tone.

At Sturgis’ hesitant nod, Chloe piped in, “Who’s Diane?”

“Just an old friend of Harm’s from the Academy,” Mac said evasively. “She died five years ago….this month, actually.”

“Oh,” Chloe commented. Fortunately, she seemed to recognize that it was a difficult topic for Mac and didn’t say anything else on the subject.

“Chloe, our taxi is here to take us to the airport,” Kyle said.

“Darn,” Chloe muttered. “I guess I’ve gotta go.”

Mac pulled her into a hug. “Gram’s right,” she reminded her. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “Take care of that bodacious husband of yours and remember that you

owe me trips to Camden Yards and to Gram’s farm. And remember – when you guys decide you’re going to do the whole church and the white dress thing, I’m your flower girl.”

A blush crept over Mac’s cheeks at Chloe’s usual, but no less embarrassing, description of Harm. “And I’m sure if we were to somehow forget any of that,” she teased, “you’d remind us.”

“Only every week,” Chloe joked. She gave hugs to each member of Harm’s family and nodded towards Sturgis and Matthew. “It was nice to meet all of you.”

Mac sighed, wrapping her arms around herself as she watched Chloe and Kyle walk out. It was almost like when she’d watched Chloe walk away with her father two years ago, only Harm wasn’t beside her to promise to help put the puzzle pieces of her life back together. She smiled wanly as she felt a hand on her shoulder, turning to meet Sarah’s concerned gaze. “I miss her,” she said simply. “I don’t get to see her as much since she moved to her grandparents’ farm in Vermont, and it’s never for long enough when I do.”

“I know,” Sarah said, hugging her. She leaned over to whisper in Mac’s ear, “It is okay to let go and not be so strong all the time.”

“Thanks, Gram,” Mac whispered back.

“I didn’t realize you were in the area, Sturgis,” Trish said. “I think the last time Harm mentioned you, he said you were still at Pearl.”

“I was,” Sturgis confirmed. “The Navy decided they wanted me at JAG HQ, so I start there next week as a new staff judge advocate. Apparently, it’s good timing since Harm asked me today to represent him before the mishap board, not to mention the fact that I can pick up some of the work load while Harm is recovering.”

An uneasy silence followed his statement, broken by Sergei’s confused question to Mac. “Why are you not representing Harm? Is there some rule in America that you cannot be a lawyer for your husband?” he asked.

“Not as such,” Mac replied, “but it’s probably a good idea for someone else to represent Harm. I’m too close to the situation.” She pressed her lips into a firm line, unwilling to discuss the subject further

“Mac?” Sarah said softly as the conversation around them continued with the topic of the mishap investigation. “It’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” Mac replied just as quietly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Sarah motioned her to the side, just far enough away from the others so that they couldn’t be overheard. “Harm didn’t mention this to you, did he?” she asked gently.

“He just hasn’t had a chance to,” Mac replied. “Commander Turner just got here today. I haven’t seen Harm yet today, and he was asleep last night when we went to the hospital.” She forced a smile, trying to deflect Sarah’s scrutiny. “Gram, you know your grandson. He wouldn’t keep something like this from me, especially since I was going to find out whether he said anything or not.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not upset that Harm didn’t talk to you about this first,” Sarah pointed out.

“I’m not upset,” Mac insisted. She turned back to the group. “Is everyone ready to go back to the hospital? I’m sure Harm is waiting for us.”

Noticing Sarah still watching her, she forced a reassuring smile, pushing back the tendrils of doubt creeping into her mind.

AN HOUR LATER

SURGICAL CARE UNIT PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER

Harm’s expression brightened as his family entered his room. “I’m awake this time,” he joked with a grin, accepting their hugs and kisses in greeting. “I’ve been working on myself.”

“Just as long as you realize that you do need as much rest as you can get,” Sarah said firmly as she sat down.

“Yes, Gram,” Harm said, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

“Harmon,” Trish said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “Listen to your grandmother.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said as he noticed that there weren’t enough chairs for everyone.

Scooting over and patting the now empty space beside him on the bed, he motioned to Mac with the other hand. She smiled as she curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. “I’m sorry I missed you all last night,” Harm said.

“Gram’s right,” Mac said. “You need all the rest you can get.”

“It’s a conspiracy,” Harm complained, glancing at Frank, who shrugged.

“You’re not the only one we’re worried about,” Sarah pointed out. “Your brother needs to eat more.”

Harm glanced at Sergei, who smiled. “Grandma says that to me at every meal,” he said. “If I were to eat as much as she wants me to, I would be too large to fit into my clothes.”

“Then we’ll buy you some bigger clothes,” Sarah pointed out.

“Sergei,” Harm said conspiratorially, “the easiest way to deal with Gram is to simply say yes to whatever she says, and then do what you want anyway.”

“That’s enough, Harmon,” Sarah said, chuckling. “I won’t have you undoing the eighteen years of hard work Sergei’s mother did raising this sweet young man by you teaching him your bad habits.” She turned to Mac. “You’d better watch out for this one once you start having kids of your own.”

Everyone laughed except for Harm, who stopped at the burning feeling in his lungs, which were still irritated by the salt water he’d spent all those hours in. He settled for watching his family interact, happy that they all were getting along despite the unusual circumstances which had brought them together.

“Speaking of bad habits,” Trish said, “we ran into one of your old Academy cohorts at the VOQ.”

“You saw Sturgis?” he asked, knowing there was only one person she could be talking about. He glanced at Mac, but she was looking away, and he couldn’t get a good read of the expression on her face. He wondered what Sturgis had said to them.

“Yes, we did,” Frank confirmed. “He said that you asked him to represent him.”

“I did,” he admitted, wincing inwardly. He realized that he had some damage control to do when he covered Mac’s hand, which was resting on his chest, with his own, her fingers tense as he clasped his fingers around hers. He needed to talk to her, but this wasn’t a conversation to have in front of the rest of the family. He shot Sarah a look silently pleading for her help.

Sarah nodded. “Trish, Frank, Sergei,” she said, “why don’t you accompany me to the cafeteria? I need a little something to tide me over until lunch.”

“Mom?” Trish began.

“Gram,” Mac said at the same time, believing that she knew what Sarah was doing, “it’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is, dear,” Sarah said insistently. “We’ll be back in about half an hour.”

After Trish, Frank and Sergei followed Sarah out of the room, Trish spoke up, “He didn’t tell Mac, did he, Mom?”

“No, he didn’t,” Sarah confirmed with a sigh. “I’m sure he planned to tell her and probably never thought that she’d run into Sturgis first.”

Trish shook her head. “I’m sure you’re right, Mom,” she said. “I know my son. Sometimes he does things without considering all the consequences first. He’s just not use to taking into account what his wife is going to think about what he does first.”

“He’ll learn,” Frank added. “He’s not the first man to discover there’s a learning curve when it comes to marriage.”

“It wasn’t necessary for your grandmother to do that,” Mac said. “I don’t want your family to feel like I’m monopolizing your time.”

“I wanted Gram to do that,” Harm said, shifting slightly so he could look into her eyes. “I

think we need to talk about Sturgis.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mac said. “I understand why you’d want someone else to represent you.”

“Mac….Sarah, it’s not a matter of wanting someone else to do it,” he said. “I trust you with my life. You know that. I just think you’ve got enough to worry about right now and when the Admiral suggested….”

“You talked to the Admiral about this?” Mac interrupted, more harshly than she’d intended.

“When he stopped by yesterday before he went back to Washington,” Harm confirmed. “I was going to talk to you about it when you visited last night….”

“But you were asleep when I came by,” she finished in a calmer tone. “It’s okay, although I’m not sure how not acting as your lawyer is supposed to make me worry less about the mishap investigation.”

“There’s nothing to worry about there at all,” Harm insisted. “It’s routine in this case. They’ll discover exactly what happened – we suffered massive systems failure and ended up flying in the middle of a storm that wasn’t where the meteorologists said it was.”

“You sound so sure,” Mac said.

“Of course I’m sure,” he replied. “I have nothing to worry about.” He studied her intently for a long moment, his gaze softening the longer he looked into her deep brown eyes. “So are we okay?”

Mac stretched up, pressing her lips to his. Harm turned more fully towards her, deepening the kiss as he pulled her more tightly against him, moaning softly as her lips parted against his, her tongue darting out to tease his lower lip. Slowly pulling away after a long moment, they rested their foreheads together. Mac gave him a soft smile as she took his free hand in

hers. This was the only thing that mattered. SATURDAY AFTERNOON 2 JUNE 2001 PORTSMOUTH NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER Ever since Dr. Stafford had let him out of bed on Wednesday morning, Harm had pushed himself every day to walk just a little bit farther, despite the fact that the first time he’d swung his legs over the side of the bed, he’d nearly tumbled out of it when the room had started spinning around him. Only the fast reflexes of Sergei and Mac, standing on either side of him, had stopped that from happening. By that evening, Harm had been able to make it from his bed to the bathroom and back again without someone hovering next to him to catch him if he stumbled. He’d made it out into the hallway the following morning, dragging his IV with him on a pole, much to the chagrin of the nurse making rounds that morning who hadn’t yet figured out that Harm pushed himself at his own pace, not that of the doctors and nurses overseeing his care. He’d tired out not more than fifteen feet down the hall from his room, but instead of being discouraged, he’d merely seen it as a goal to surpass the next time he made it out of his room. Thursday had brought both good news and bad news. With Mac at his side, he’d made it all the way down to the nurses’ station, fifty feet from his room, on his third excursion of the day - but with an unexpected side effect. The more he walked, the more his right knee hurt, and when he’d walked back to his room, he’d had to lean on Mac the last ten feet. An orthopedist had been consulted, and it had been determined that he’d somehow strained his knee. That night, a rather vivid dream led him to recall the cause – his chute lines had gotten tangled around that leg when he’d landed in the water, yanking him down. Since he wasn’t up to the demands of physical therapy yet, he’d been given the cane, a brace for his knee, and a warning to take it easy. At that point, Mac had started keeping track of the number of times someone said the words ‘slow down’ or ‘take it easy’, snickering under her breath every time those phrases were used. When Trish had noticed and asked her about it, Mac had said that she found it amusing that Harm had the nurses so snowed by his charm that they didn’t realize that those phrases just were not a part of his vocabulary. Although he was gratified to see his wife and mother getting along, it was a little too much when they’d started swapping stories about various injuries in the past and how quickly he’d made himself get better. His first crash wasn’t mentioned, which made it easier for all of them to forget for just a few minutes that he wasn’t going to just bounce back from this one. The knee brace wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn – as usual, the military had gone for the lowest cost instead of the greatest comfort – but it did provide enough stability to allow him to continue his treks down the hall. Friday afternoon, Mac had gotten permission to take him outside in a wheelchair, where he’d been surprised with a picnic lunch – takeout from the Officers’ Club - brought by his family. For Harm, who had just graduated that morning to solid foods, the fruit salad he’d been given had been the best thing he’d tasted in recent memory. The outing had ended with him and Mac taking a brief walk around the grounds while holding hands.

When they’d taken a break on a bench under a tree, they’d engaged in a kissing session, which had quickly moved from playful to steamy before they’d both remember that they were in public. As Harm had started to pull his hand away from the collar of her blouse, he’d discovered that Mac wore two dog tag chains around her neck. She’d made a great show of unhooking one of the chains and sliding his wedding band off – when Harm couldn’t remember even having one, she’d reminded him that Skates and Robert had donated theirs – and placing it back on his finger before she fastened his dog tags back around his neck. Teasing him about the occasional holes in his memory, which seemed at times to be about the oddest things, she’d told him that now he could look at his tags in order to remember who he was. Just a couple of hours ago it had been a time of goodbyes. Since they couldn’t all fly in the helo to Norfolk with him, and since Harm and Mac’s cars were both in Norfolk, everyone was driving back to Washington, leaving in plenty of time to meet him at Bethesda when he would land. Mac had nearly handed off the keys to her car so she could fly back to Washington with him, but Harm had convinced her to drive back since his family wasn’t familiar with the roads here and she could lead them to Bethesda. Harm had accompanied them down to the main doors of the hospital, in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse this time. Once he’d returned to the ward, he’d watched a little bit of television, and then decided to take one last walk down the hall while he waited for Dr. Stafford to come by for one final exam before signing off on his transfer to Bethesda. “Commander!” Harm turned around, gripping his cane in his right hand, to find Skates and her fiancé walking towards him, both dressed in summer whites. He leaned against the wall to wait for them to catch up to him, not quite willing to admit to himself that his body needed the rest. After being up since 0630 without falling back asleep – the first day he’d managed that feat – he was starting to wear down. Still, he wasn’t ready to stop completely yet. He could do that on the flight to Bethesda. “You’re looking good, Skates,” he said with a smile. “You’re looking….” she began hesitantly. “I’ll settle for ‘better’,” Harm suggested. “Works for me, Sir,” Skates replied, “although you’d look better with some hair.” Harm ran a hand over his shaved head, feeling the stubble. He hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet, and when he’d first looked at himself in the mirror, he was shocked at the five o’clock shadow effect all over his head. He grinned and said, “Mac says it almost makes me look like a Marine.” They all laughed. “Trust a Marine to see a bright side like that,” Skates said. “So how are you really doing, Harm?” Harm shrugged. “Better than I was this time a week ago,” he said, “but the doctor keeps warning me that I’ve got a ways to go. He said that it would be up to the neurologist who

takes over my care at Bethesda, but that I should anticipate another six weeks minimum before I can return to work. Of course, my long-term goal is to be able to pass my flight physical, but no one’s placing any bets yet on when I’ll be ready for that - assuming I’ll be allowed to take it.” “I wouldn’t bet against you, Harm,” Skates said. “Thanks,” Harm said. “So how about you?” “I’m still grounded until my ribs heal,” she replied. “By the time the doctor clears me, it’ll be almost time for the wedding, so I probably won’t return to the air until after that. Gives me more time to take care of all those last minute details before the ceremony, since I’ve left a lot of it to Robert.” “I thought you were giving it up, Skates,” Harm said, confused. Harm watched as Skates and Robert shared a look, seemingly holding a silent conversation. When Skates turned back to Harm, she was smiling. “Robert and I have done a lot of talking this past week,” she explained. “It’s odd that it took something like this to remind me how much I love what I do. It made me realize that I’m not quite ready to give it up. Someday I will, but not yet.” “I just want Beth to be happy,” Robert added with a smile of his own as he gazed at his fiancée. “If she needs to continue her career as an aviator to do that, then I’m behind her one hundred percent.” The remark struck a cord with Harm as he remembered a conversation two years previously, when Mac had accused him of valuing flying more than everything else in his life. How might the last two years have been different if Mac had been more supportive? He pushed the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter anymore. Mac was now his partner in life. The issues of the past weren’t important anymore. “Well, maybe we’ll fly together again someday,” Harm said. “I look forward to it, Harm,” Skates said. Harm saw Dr. Stafford walking towards them. “Ah, it looks like my ticket out of this place is here,” he said. “We should be heading out ourselves,” Robert said. “We’re supposed to meet with the minister performing our ceremony later this afternoon in Annapolis.” “That reminds me, Harm,” Skates added. “Your wedding invitation should have arrived already. I expect to see you and Mac there.” “It’s in four weeks, right?” Harm asked. Skates nodded in reply. “Then I see no reason why I won’t be able to travel to Annapolis by then. Mac and I wouldn’t miss it. Which reminds me, did I thank you before for the wedding gift?” He held up his left hand, his thumb pressing forward his ring finger.

“No thanks necessary, Harm,” Skates said. “Robert and I were both happy to do it. After what happened, I can understand why you’d want to grab hold of what’s important. We both do. If we could help out….” “It’ll also give Beth and me a chance to go shopping for rings together, Sir,” Robert added. Harm smiled. “Still, thank you,” he said. “You’re welcome, Harm,” Skates said. “See you around the fleet.” Dr. Stafford waited until Skates and Robert had walked off, and then joined Harm. “Why am I not surprised, Commander,” he said, “that you’re already plotting ways to get out from under your doctor’s restrictions?” “Well, Sir,” Harm said with a grin, “I consider more that I’m applying myself to recovering my health.” “I encourage you to keep up that attitude, Commander,” Stafford said. “Just try not to overdo it.” “I’ll keep that in mind, Sir,” he said. “You have recovered from the surgery as well or better than any of my previous patients, Commander,” he said. “Just remember that this was brain surgery. You’re not just going to bounce back. That’s not to say that it’s not possible for you to return to normal; it’ll just take time.” “Understood, Sir,” Harm said, resisting the urge to sigh. He’d heard all this before. “Let’s walk back to your room, Commander,” Stafford said. Harm nodded, walking beside the doctor back towards his room. “I’ve already contacted Dr. Grayson, the chief of neurosurgery at Bethesda, and updated her on your progress. She said that she’ll be there to meet you when you arrive at Bethesda, and she’ll let you know when you need to return to see her after you’re released from the hospital. Ultimately, it’ll be up to her to sign off on your return to duty, but as I indicated before, it will probably be at least six weeks before that happens.” “Yes, Sir,” Harm said. “I also have here a consult for an orthopedist,” Stafford continued, flipping to another page in Harm’s chart. “It’ll be up to Dr. Grayson to determine when your head is ready to handle the rigors of physical therapy that you’ll have to do on your knee, so wait until you’ve seen her before you make the appointment with orthopedics. We’re sending you to Bethesda with enough of your medication to get you through at least a couple of weeks, and then Dr. Grayson can reevaluate. Any questions?” Harm shook his head, pleased that the motion brought very little pain. “No, Sir,” he replied. “I think that covers everything.” “Good,” Stafford said, closing the chart. “I’ll give this to the corpsman who will accompany

you on the medivac flight. Good luck, Commander.” “Thank you, Sir,” Harm said as they reached his room. Stafford walked off, leaving Harm standing outside his room. He glanced inside at the bed and sighed. As he slowly made his way to the bed and lay down on top of the covers, he wondered how long it would be before he could get through an entire day without wearing out. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to see the wisdom of not returning to work for six weeks.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON 3 JUNE 2001 HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION “How are you feeling?” Mac asked as she parked the SUV in front of Harm’s building and turned off the ignition. Harm was reclining in the passenger seat, his eyes closed. Noting that his face seemed a little flushed, she pressed her hand against his cheek. He opened his eyes, looking at her wearily. “I’ve never gotten motion sickness a day in my life,” he admitted, “until now.” “How’d you manage the flight to Bethesda yesterday?” she asked, concerned. His simple statement was a sign that although he might be out of the hospital, he still had a ways to go before he was one hundred percent. “They gave me a mild sedative,” he replied as he pushed himself up, breathing slowly. “I was also lying down for the flight. I just closed my eyes if everything started spinning around me.” Mac swiftly unfastened her seat belt and pushed her door open while Harm fumbled with his own seat belt. Walking around to the other side of the car, she opened his door and offered her hand to him. He allowed her to help him, draping an arm around her shoulders to steady himself after he was out of the car. Placing her arm around his waist, she slowly led him into the building. Once in the elevator heading up to his apartment, he pulled her closer to him, resting his head against hers. Harm groaned as the elevator jerked to a stop. “I’m sorry,” Mac said as she released Harm to open the elevator door and the grate. “I thought that with your knee, staying at your apartment with the elevator would be better so you don’t have to climb the stairs.” “I’ll be okay,” Harm said as they made their way to his door. “I think it’s just the jerkiness of the elevator after the ride home. It will get better. Anyway, you’re right. I’d have to climb stairs at your building.” Mac opened the door and led him inside. Jingo, who’d been picked up from Bud and Harriet’s the night before, looked up from his place on the floor in front of the couch, then laid his head back down when he recognized that his owner was otherwise occupied. “So where do you want to go – the couch or the bed?” she asked.

“The bed,” he replied after a moment. She could hear the reluctance in his tone and knew what it probably cost him to admit weakness. “I think I want to lie down for a bit.” “Okay,” she agreed, leading him up the stairs to the bedroom. “Why don’t you strip and crawl into bed while I get you some water so you can take your medicine?” “Maybe I should just forgo the pills,” he said as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, his voice muffled for a second by the fabric. “I need to get off that stuff as soon as possible. I’m going to need a waiver as it is to be restored to full flight status, and that’s going to be an uphill battle. I don’t need to become dependent on that stuff.” Mac returned with a glass of water and two pills, holding both out to him. “I know that you need something when you don’t throw me a traffic light at my comment about stripping,” she said as he took the water and pills from her. “Why would I throw my wife a traffic light?” he teased. He took the pills and the water from her. “You’ve got a point,” she replied with a smile. “I guess I’m still getting used to that idea.” “So why don’t you get used to it by joining me?” he asked with a grin, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t tell me you can’t use the rest either.” “I won’t,” she said, taking the now-empty glass from him. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll join you. I promised to call your parents and let them know we were home. Do you think you’ll feel up to visitors later? Your mom and grandma offered to make dinner for everyone here tonight.” Harm glanced at his alarm clock as he slid beneath the bed covers. “I think that’ll be okay,” he said. “Maybe if they come over about six?” “Okay, I’ll tell them,” she called out. A few minutes later, she rejoined him in the bedroom and started stripping out of her own clothes. “Everyone said to tell you to get your rest and they’ll see us later. Frank said they’ll stop by and pick up Sergei at my apartment on their way over.” “I guess someone needs to think about transportation for him,” Harm said, watching as she walked over to the closet dressed in only a matching midnight blue bra and panties. “By the way, thanks for letting him stay at your place.” “No sense in my place going to waste since I’m still locked into the lease on it,” she said, leaving out the fact that the main reason she still had a lease was that the plan had been for Mic to move in with her after their wedding. After going into business for himself, Mic had struggled the last few months to make his rent payments. Since his lease was nearly up anyway, it had made more sense for him to give up his apartment. Fortunately, her landlord kept Saturday hours, so it had been relatively easy for her to stop by after they’d gotten back to D.C. the day before and secure permission for Sergei to stay at her place. The lease was still in her name, and she was still responsible for the payments. She’d been a tenant long enough that her landlord permitted the arrangement once the circumstances

had been explained. Now, Sergei had a place to live and didn’t have to worry about his immigration status, as he would have had he tried to rent a place on his own. “I see you already moved some of your stuff over here,” he commented as she pulled a t-shirt and gym shorts that he didn’t recognize as his out of one drawer. “When I dropped Sergei off at my apartment yesterday,” she explained as she pulled on the clothes, “I picked up enough clothes for a few days. I figured I’d go back later in the week and get some more of my things once you and I have had a chance to make some room here for my things. When we cleaned your apartment yesterday evening, I cleared out one drawer for myself. I didn’t want to move too much around without you.” She slipped under the covers, stretching out on her side beside him. “You didn’t have to wait,” he said between yawns. “This is your home now, too.” “I like the sound of that,” she said as she leaned over to brush her lips over his. Pulling back, she smiled as his eyes drifted closed. Closing her eyes, Mac let herself be lulled by the even sound of his breathing.

MONDAY MORNING 11 JUNE 2001 JAG HEADQUARTERS FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA Mac tried to ignore the looks directed at her as she strode into the bullpen. For the last week, she’d tried to put out of her mind what people might think about her sudden marriage to Harm on the same day she was supposed to have married Mic. It was easy to do that while she was at home, throwing herself into helping Harm recover. Now she had to face the stares and hear the whispers behind her back. There would be no questions to her face – not in this office – but the fact that this was a military organization wouldn’t stop the gossip. She stopped short just inside the door as she noticed that Harm’s office was open and the light on. “Gunny, what’s going on?” she asked as Gunny walked up to her. “The Admiral said that Commander Turner could use Commander Rabb’s office for now,” he explained. “Maintenance has some work to do in Commander Turner’s office. It appears something died behind the wall.” “Oh,” Mac said. “Do you know if the Admiral is available?” “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied. “He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. Also, a package with your new name tags is sitting on your desk, ma’am, and a new sign has already been placed above your door. I’ve also e-mailed you a copy of the form you need to fill out to get a new ID card. You’ll need a copy of your marriage certificate when you go to get the new card.” “Thank you, Gunny,” she replied, handing him her briefcase and cover. “Can you put these in my office?”

As Gunny headed towards her office with her things, Mac continued on to the Admiral’s office. Tiner stood as she entered the outer office and said, “Good morning, Colonel. The Admiral said to go right on in.” Mac entered the Admiral’s office, closing the door behind her, and came to attention in front of A.J.’s desk. “Colonel Rabb reporting as ordered, Sir,” she announced. “As you were, Colonel,” A.J. replied, removing his glasses and tossing them on the desk. “Take a seat. How is Commander Rabb?” “He’s doing reasonably well under the circumstances, Sir,” she replied. “He had his stitches out this morning. He’s still not allowed to drive, but his parents are going to stay at least another week, so if he needs to go somewhere, they can take him if I’m at work.” Mac had actually talked about taking some more time off – the two weeks she’d taken off so far were the two weeks she’d already planned to take for what would have been her honeymoon with Mic – but Harm had pointed out that they were both growing restless with the inactivity. Even if he couldn’t go back to work yet, she should, he’d said. He’d also suggested that she could relieve his boredom by coming home and bouncing ideas for her cases off him. She had finally agreed, insisting however that she take him to his appointment to have his stitches taken out, since it was something of a milestone in his recovery. “Good,” A.J. said. He picked a folder up off his desk and passed it to her. “I hope you’re ready to hit the ground running. Lance Corporal Miles Benson was arrested last night in the parking lot of the Enlisted Club at Quantico for possession of marijuana. He claims he was framed, that someone planted the drugs in his car. You’ll prosecute; I’ve already handed the defense to Mattoni.” “Yes, Sir,” she replied. “That will be all, Colonel,” A.J. said. Mac stood and came to attention for a second before turning on her heel and leaving his office, glancing through the case file on her way back to her office. It was a first offense, but the corporal’s claim of a frame-up was weak. An MP had seen the corporal unlock his car door and thinking the man drunk, had intended to stop the corporal from driving home. When he’d asked the corporal to step out of the car and hand over his keys, he’d seen a partially smoked joint in the ashtray. “Colonel, can I have a moment?” Sturgis asked, intercepting Mac just outside her office door. “I need to talk to you about Harm’s mishap investigation.” “Come in, Commander,” she said, continuing into her office and taking a seat behind her desk. While she put her briefcase away and booted her computer, Sturgis took a seat in front of the desk. “How’s Harm doing?” he asked. “Harm’s fine, Commander,” she replied. “He had an appointment with the neurologist this

morning. She said he’s doing well, and he got his stitches out this morning.” “That’s good,” Sturgis said. “If it’s not a problem, I’d like to stop by sometime and see him.” “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you,” she said. “Commander, not that I don’t want to discuss my husband, but I do have a lot to catch up on, so if you could just tell me what you need…..” “I’d like to make an appointment with you to get a statement for the mishap investigation,” Sturgis said calmly, seemingly unruffled by her brusque manner. “I don’t mind giving a statement,” she replied, puzzled, “but I’m not sure what you’re looking for. I wasn’t in the Tomcat that night and wasn’t on the carrier until shortly before Harm was rescued. We spoke briefly by phone just before he left the carrier, but I don’t see how that would be of any use to you.” “What did you talk about, Colonel?” he asked. “It was a private conversation, Commander,” Mac replied tensely. “Colonel,” Sturgis said patiently, “some questions have come up in the course of my discussions with the mishap investigator, and I think you can shed some light on the answers.” “What kind of questions, Commander?” she asked, trying to ignore the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. She was getting the feeling that she was not going to like where he was heading with this. Sturgis sighed and looked down at the floor, as if pondering his answer. Finally, he looked back up and said, “The mishap investigator has some information that suggests Harm should never have been in the air that night, and that he insisted on flying, despite the risk from the weather.” “Are you trying to tell me, Commander,” she demanded, “that it’s been suggested that Harm purposely risked his life – and Skates’ life – to get back to D.C. to me?” Please swallow your pride If I have things you need to borrow For no one can fill those of your needs That you don't let show Lean on me, when you're not strong And I'll be your friend I'll help you carry on For it won't be long 'Til I'm gonna need Somebody to lean on “Lean On Me” – written and performed by Bill Withers, ©1972

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

1 JUNE 2001 OFFICE OF BRUMBY & BRUMBY WASHINGTON, D.C. Mic looked up from the ledger book open on his desk with a heavy sigh. He hadn’t planned on coming in here, not yet. Since he’d returned from Norfolk, he’d tried to avoid thinking about what he was going to do now, and a part of that meant steering clear of any thought of Brumby & Brumby. Unfortunately, despite his hopes, it was only going to be ‘Brumby’ now. There would be no ‘& Brumby’. Monday night, after he’d arrived back in Washington, he’d drunk himself into a stupor so he didn’t have to feel the hole in his chest where his heart had been ripped out. Tuesday had been payback – he hadn’t experienced a hangover like that since he’d graduated from university, at which time he’d sworn he was never going to do it again. So much for the best laid plans, he’d thought. He’d gone out to a bar Wednesday night. Not to drink – well, not to drink too much like the night before – but to see if he could find some companionship. After all, if it had been so easy for Mac to move from his bed to Harm’s, why couldn’t he do the same? He liked the ladies; he always had. Even engagement hadn’t diminished his appreciation for looking at other women as he told himself that none could hold a candle to the one he was going to share his life with. But it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be. There’d been a leggy blonde, Cindy – or maybe it was Cissy – whom he’d offered to buy a drink for. But as he’d smelled her perfume, he couldn’t help noting that it was a more floral scent than Mac would wear. Frustrated that he couldn’t put Mac out of his mind, he’d thought he could force her out. So he’d invited whatever-her-name-was to leave with him. As soon as they’d gotten to his car, he’d pulled her against him, letting his hands roam as his mouth plundered hers, but he was just going through the motions. All that went through his head was how she didn’t taste like Mac, how her body didn’t feel the same beneath his fingertips. He’d been the one betrayed, yet he’d felt like he was the traitor. The woman had been pissed off, but the voice in the back of his mind told him that there was no need to stoop to Mac’s level by hopping so quickly into another’s bed. He’d swatted the voice away, unable to let himself think of Mac that way, even after everything. A trip to his favorite gym was on tap for Thursday so that he could take out his frustrations on a punching bag. The best thing he could say about that was that he’d managed to wear himself out so that he actually slept that night without being tormented by dreams of what he’d lost. Now it was Friday, the first of the month, and it seemed like a good day to try to start his life over. First on the agenda was finding a new place to live, since he’d given up the lease on his apartment - which had been getting harder to afford anyway - in order to move in with Mac. However, in order to find a place within his price range, he needed to sit down and go over his finances to figure out what he could afford. Part of that was figuring out if he could afford to keep his law practice open, which meant a trip into the office to go over the financial records for Brumby & Brumby. Unfortunately, the finances of the firm didn’t give him much cause for hope. He’d been doing pretty steady business, but when most of your clients were in the military, there wasn’t

a lot of money to be made. The military just didn’t pay that much, so he’d tried to keep his rates reasonable so that more could afford his services, plus he was fighting against the reality that the military offered its members free legal service. There weren’t that many people willing to pay money for a civilian attorney when they could get a military lawyer for free. He thought for a brief moment about going back to Larry Kaliski, hat in hand, asking for his old job back. He considered it – and then just as quickly dismissed the idea. His old boss was unlikely to be bowled over by his charm, and Mic wasn’t a person who would stoop to groveling. Unfortunately, being on the outs with Kaliski meant being on the outs with the D.C. establishment. There was still the Royal Australian Navy. He was a reserve officer, and it should be relatively simple to return to active duty. He just wasn’t sure how welcome he would be given that he’d already talked about returning once, but had ended up not doing so once Mac had agreed to marry him. Would Captain Howell want to take back someone who just a few months earlier seemed unable to make up his mind? First he was staying in the US, then he was going back to the RAN, but then he wasn’t, all in the space of less than a week. Glancing at his watch, he quickly calculated the time difference. It was nearly 1700 in Washington, so it was just about 0700 on Saturday morning in Sydney. There wouldn’t be many people in the legal office today, but maybe whoever was pulling weekend duty would be an old mate and would be able to give him an idea of the lay of the land. Hoping that the expensive call was going to be worth it, he picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory. After two rings, a familiar voice answered, “Defence Legal Office, HMAS Kuttabul, Petty Officer Stone speaking. How may I direct your call?” “What did a sweet lass like you do to get stuck with weekend duty?” Mic teased. Alysia Stone had been a fixture at HMAS Kuttabul for as long as he could remember. A Sydney native, she had taken the first opportunity to be assigned to her home town. As a bright, bubbly blonde, she reminded him a lot of an enlisted Harriet Sims – or rather, Harriet had reminded him of a commissioned Alysia Stone. She was one of those people who seemed to brighten the room just by saying ‘G’day’ and most of the office thought of her as a little sister. “Commander Brumby,” Alysia exclaimed. “It’s good to hear your voice, Sir. And I volunteered for duty – there’s a cute new Petty Officer up in Admin. He got stuck with weekend duty since he’s new here, so I told him I’d work and keep him company.” Mic laughed. Alysia was one of the biggest flirts he knew, although she always adhered strictly to the imaginary line between enlisted and officers. “You’ve got a big heart, lass,” he joked. “I know,” she replied. “So what can I do for you, Commander?” He had to admit that it felt good to be addressed by his rank again. He’d been part of something with the RAN that had been missing from his life in the U.S. Before, he’d thought that what he’d gained had been worth the loss of his former identity. “Just calling to make sure the place was running without me,” he replied, forcing a light tone. “It’s running, Sir,” she replied, “but it’s not quite the same without you.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer,” he replied. “So what rube got stuck with duty on this beautiful day?” “Sir, I think all that time living in America has gotten your seasons mixed up,” she joked. “We’re heading into winter down here and it’s raining.” “But Sydney’s still got some of the best weather on the planet,” he reminded her. “True, Sir,” she said. “And to answer your question – can you hold on a moment, Sir?” Mic could hear indistinct murmurings in the background, and then another familiar voice came over the line. “Mate, when are you going to talk that lovely lady of yours into letting the two of you come back to Oz?” Lieutenant Commander Peter Lockwood asked. Mic flinched at the reminder of Mac, but it didn’t come through in his voice when he replied, “Oh, I don’t know, Pete. I think about coming home all the time. So how’d you get stuck there on the weekend?” He and Pete had arrived at HMAS Kuttabul only a month apart and had quickly become friends. If Pete had been able to swing some leave time – and afford the plane ticket – Mic would have had him standing up…. Mic shook his head, trying to banish the thought before it completely formed, but it was no use. A picture formed in his head of Mac standing at the altar – not in her wedding dress, which he’d never been lucky enough to see – but in the linen suit she’d worn to the rehearsal. She took his hand, but then the vision distorted, and he was standing at the back of the church, watching Rabb take her hand in his. Lost in the thought of what he’d lost, it took him a moment to drag himself back into the conversation, nearly missing it as Pete said, “I had no intention of being here. Laurie and I had a little getaway planned, but that was before the son of a Senator allegedly got into a fight with his wife, then nine hours later navigated a patrol boat into the dock. His CO wants him hung from a yardarm, but his old man is muddying the waters, so Howell wanted me on it immediately. It doesn’t help that the bloke told anyone who would listen how pissed he was at his wife.” “I can do you one better,” Mic replied. “Got an officer here who was out on a carrier qualifying on an F-14. The man was in a rush to get back to his woman, so he took off in a storm and the plane ended up in the Atlantic Ocean a little less than one hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina.” “Don’t tell me you’re defending the bloke?” Pete asked. “No,” Mic said emphatically, wincing at the forcefulness of his voice. Aware that Pete knew him well enough to catch his tone, he made himself add nonchalantly, “I know the people involved from my time here in the exchange program.” “Oh,” Pete said. If he suspected that was less than the full truth, Mic couldn’t hear it in his voice. “Too bad you’re not active, mate. You’d hit this one out of the park on prosecution.” “Your case or the one here?” Mic asked, relishing the thought for a moment. He knew that even if he was still working at JAG, Admiral Chegwidden would know better than to let him

anywhere near Rabb’s case, but it didn’t hurt to dream. “Either one,” Pete replied. “If you were here, you’d probably get to investigate the Senator’s son.” “I don’t know,” Mic said. “Howell probably isn’t happy that I ended up not coming back in December.” “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Pete countered. “Besides, I think he understood what is keeping you in the U.S. Speaking of which, have you taken the plunge yet?” Mic froze at the question. There was no way he could talk his way around such a direct query. “Ah, it didn’t work out,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry, mate,” Pete said. “Do you want to talk about it?” “Not particularly,” Mic replied, although he was grateful for the offer. There was no one to talk to here. This entire situation had just vividly illustrated for him the fact that the first loyalty of all the people he’d counted as friends was not to him. Their allegiance belonged to Mac – and to Rabb – above all. Intellectually, he knew he couldn’t blame them, but it wasn’t that easy to admit that he couldn’t really count on anyone here and that it hurt more than he thought it would. “Well, the offer stands,” Pete said. “So what now? You gave up your career and your home….sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it. Have you given any thought to coming back to Oz? You’re missed around here. I’m sure if you talk to Howell, he’d let you come back.” “I’ve considered it,” Mic admitted, “but I’ve got some things to take care of here first.” He glanced around the stark office, wondering who he was kidding. I should just close up the place and get on the first plane back home, he thought. Why should I even think about being here just to wait for Rabb to go down for this and for Sarah to come back, ready for me to help her pick up the pieces? The man should never have been in the air that night. If he hadn’t, Sarah and I would be married, enjoying our honeymoon down in Oz right now. There’s nothing I can do…. “Mic, mate, you still there?” Pete asked. Mic sighed. Maybe this hadn’t been one of his brighter ideas – of course, he had no way of knowing that Pete would inadvertently rip open the wounds he’d been trying to bandage. “I’m here,” he finally replied. “Just thinking about how soon I can wrap everything up here.” “You have that much to clear up before you return to your life?” Pete asked. “Maybe,” Mic said noncommittally. He glanced at his watch, mindful of the cost of the international call. “Listen, Pete, I need to head out – have things to take care of.” “Just let me know when you talk to Howell and decide to come back,” he said. “We’ll go out and have a brew to celebrate the prodigal son returning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mic replied. “G’day, Pete.” “G’day.” Mic turned to stare out the lone window in the room after he hung up the phone. Was it a slam-dunk case against Rabb? He wasn’t so sure. The case was strong, but the man was like Houdini. He had a history of making his way out of the tightest spots, or so he’d heard tell. He knew that there were going to be questions about why Rabb had even been in the air that night, especially given the fact that the new Mrs. Rabb had been planning to marry another man right up until Rabb crashed. Anyone could connect the dots and deduce that Rabb had been planning to stop the wedding and steal the bride away for himself, which he’d ended up doing after all – just not in the way he’d probably intended. Grabbing his Rolodex off the corner of the desk, he flipped through the cards. He knew he had to have the number somewhere. Turning to the Ns, he pulled a card out, staring at it for a long moment. Telling himself that they were probably going to want to talk to him sooner or later, he reached for the phone again, hesitating for a moment before he dialed the number. Even if he ended up burning his bridges with Mac, he did have a duty as an officer of the court. He wished he could know that what he was thinking about doing would make a difference, but he knew it could blow up in his face. Mac might say now that she hadn’t wanted to hurt him and that she was sorry, but that might change if he did this. She could end up hating him if she saw him as responsible for Rabb going down. No, he thought. If Rabb goes down, it will be his own fault. I didn’t force him to leave the carrier that night. He’s the one who got into the cockpit without his head being completely in the game. With a heavy sigh, he set the phone down. Was it worth it to put himself in the middle of this? Rabb shouldn’t have been flying that night, and even if he said nothing, that fact wasn’t going to change. Maybe he should just sit back and let everything play out, trusting that everything would work out as it was meant to. Mic shook his head. There were going to be questions, and some of those questions were going to be directed at him. Those questions were going to be there whether or not he waited and let the investigators come to him. He did have information material to an ongoing investigation, and he was an officer of the court. Picking up the phone again, he quickly dialed the number on the card. After a moment, the line was picked up on the other end. “Trial Services Office East, Petty Officer Johnson speaking. How may I direct your call?” “Yes, this is Mic Brumby,” he said, vaguely recognizing the name and voice from his dealings with the Norfolk TSO office while he’d been at JAG. Perhaps the Petty Officer would remember him as well and give him the help he needed with as few questions as possible. “I used to work at JAG Headquarters in Washington. Can you tell me who is handling the investigation into the crash of the F-14 off the Patrick Henry? I have some information for the investigators.”

“Commander Brumby, right?” Johnson asked. “You were involved in the case of those sailors that beat up the guy at Breakers a couple of years back. So was Commander Rabb, as I recall.” “That’s correct,” Mic confirmed. “Well, scuttlebutt says JAG is being kept as far away from this one as possible right now,” Johnson said. “Understandable, I guess. Commander Rabb is pretty well known around this office. Anyway, the investigation is being handled by the office of the Force Judge Advocate for COMNAVAIRLANT.” “You wouldn’t have a contact phone number by chance?” he asked. “I’d like to leave a message for the lead investigator.”

THURSDAY AFTERNOON 7 JUNE 2001 NAVAL STATION NORFOLK Sturgis considered himself to be somewhat stoic, but even he couldn’t suppress the shudder when he saw the pieces of Navy 241 laid out on the hangar floor. Although he had conducted an aircraft mishap investigation or two during his career, he could hardly consider himself an expert, but even he could tell that a large percentage of the aircraft was still missing. Pulling his gaze away from the wreckage, Sturgis glanced around the hangar, catching site of an older man in khakis in the far corner, conferring over a piece of debris with another man dressed in coveralls. From his position, Sturgis thought he could make out a silver oak leaf on the right collar. It didn’t look like Commander Fleming, the force judge advocate for COMNAVAIRLANT, whom he’d met a few years back while both were in Pearl, so it had to be Commander Barelski, assigned to the investigation as the lead engineer. Sturgis made his way over to the two men, catching the tail end of their conversation. “It looks like that confirms our theory on the ejection seat,” Barelski said. “Make sure you type up your findings on that and put it on my desk.” He turned, having noticed Sturgis approaching out of the corner of his eye. He held out his hand. “Commander Turner? I’m Commander Patrick Barelski.” “Commander Sturgis Turner,” Sturgis replied, accepting the handshake. “Do you have a few minutes to discuss what you’ve found so far?” “Of course,” he replied. He turned back to the other man, “Russell, get that report on my desk and make sure I’m informed immediately if any more of the oxygen system is found.” “Aye, Sir,” Russell replied, coming to attention then turning on his heel and leaving. Barelski motioned Sturgis back towards the wreckage. “What was that about the ejection seat?” Sturgis asked as they walked back towards the front of the hangar.

“From the radio transmissions from Navy 241 during the incident,” Barelski explained, “and from the fact that Commander Rabb was found about twenty-five miles from where Lieutenant Hawkes was, we knew that he had a hard time ejecting. From what we could gather, the ejection mechanism seems to have jammed. The marks we found on the apparatus are deeper than we’d expect to find just from the ejection itself, which seems to confirm that the seat was stuck. It’s just one of the things we’ve been looking at.” “As a symptom of a larger problem with the aircraft?” Sturgis asked. “Probably,” Barelski said. “Commander Lockness is on his way here from the Henry with all the maintenance reports on that bird for the last six months. We do know that a few weeks ago, Navy 241 experienced a hard landing on the carrier.” “So you think that something got knocked around on the aircraft?” Sturgis pressed. “It’s our operating theory at the moment,” Barelski replied. “From the radio transmissions, we also know that 241 was having problems with her systems even before the lightning strike. Are you familiar with the story of Apollo 13, Commander?” “Of course,” Sturgis answered. “A damaged heat coil in the oxygen tank sparked during their cryo stir.” “According to the movie,” Barelski said. “If you read the book Lost Moon, Captain Lovell went into greater detail on what caused the damaged heat coil. Almost two years before the flight, the tank in question was dropped a total of five centimeters when being removed from a service module. A five centimeter drop started a chain reaction that nearly cost three astronauts their lives, yet during inspection of the tank after the incident, no damage had been detected.” “So you’re thinking some kind of chain reaction here,” Sturgis said, putting the pieces together. “The hard landing knocked something loose in the oxygen system, damage that may not have been detected when the aircraft was checked out. Then Harm discovers the oxygen system isn’t working, so they have to drop below 10,000 feet, where they can fly without wearing masks. That means they couldn’t rise above the storm when it ended up in their flight path, leading to the lightning strikes which fried the rest of their systems. The hard landing may have also jammed Harm’s ejection seat, explaining why he punched out so far away from Lieutenant Hawkes.” “That’s our operational theory,” Barelski confirmed. “You told Russell to let you know when more of the oxygen system is recovered,” Sturgis said. “Would it change your report in any way if you can’t recover it?” “I’m confident of my conclusions so far, Commander,” Barelski replied. “Yes, it would help if we could back up the conclusions of our report with known facts, such as the exact condition of that oxygen system. However, there is enough empirical evidence to support our bottom line.” Sturgis looked around the hangar again. “How much of the aircraft have you recovered, exactly?” he asked.

“About sixty-five percent,” Barelski answered. “There are a few key components still missing that we’d like to get our hands on – most of the oxygen system is still missing, for instance – but we do have quite a few parts that show the damage from the lightning strikes. A Coast Guard salvage ship should have just docked with some more debris, but we’re probably not going to be able to recover much more past that.” “Understood,” Sturgis said. At least the engineer sounded pretty confident in his conclusions. This wouldn’t be like the inquiry into Harm’s first crash. Pulling out his wallet, he took out a business card and handed it to Barelski. “Here’s my e-mail address. If you could e-mail me a copy of your report once it’s completed, I’d appreciate it. I’d also like a hard copy once it’s signed off on. My office address on the card is an old one, but if you could give me your e-mail address, I’ll send you the address you can mail the signed report to.” Barelski pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Sturgis. “E-mail address is on there,” he said. “Depending on what’s coming to us on the salvage ship, it could be a couple of weeks before I have my final report.” “That’s fine, Commander,” Sturgis assured him. “The mishap board isn’t scheduled to meet until after the July 4th holiday, so that’ll give me time to go over the report and see if there are any other questions I need answered.” He glanced at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting at COMNAVAIRLANT with Commander Fleming at 1400.” “Of course, Commander,” Barelski replied. “I’m expecting the debris off that salvage ship to be delivered here any time now, so I need to get back to sorting through everything here.” “Thank you for your time,” Sturgis said. “I’ll give you a call after I have your report if I have any questions about it.” As Barelski walked off, Sturgis looked again at the debris laid out on the floor. It hit home for him in a way it hadn’t before just how close Harm had come to losing his life. If his ejection seat hadn’t finally fired….He looked up, silently thanking God that Harm had come through this.

1400 HOURS OFFICE OF THE FORCE JUDGE ADVOCATE, COMNAVAIRLANT NAVAL STATION NORFOLK “Thank you for coming in to see me, Sturgis,” Fleming said, motioning Sturgis to a seat. “I received your discovery motion, and I thought we needed to talk.” “You’re welcome, Bob,” Sturgis replied. “I am a bit puzzled why you wanted me to come down to Norfolk. From what Commander Barelski was telling me, it seems a relatively clear cut case of mechanical failure.” “Yes, the condition of the Tomcat was a contributing factor,” Bob said carefully. “Sturgis, you know that there are people higher up than us who are very interested in the investigation because of Commander Rabb’s, um, history.”

“I know about that,” Sturgis said, puzzlement clear in his voice. Regardless of Harm’s previous crash history, if the aircraft was in less than optimum condition, what possible contributing factors could they be looking at? It didn’t make any sense to him, and he said as much. “I’m not sure what you mean about the condition of the aircraft being a contributing factor, Bob. Harm was in good physical condition before the crash, at least according to his last physical, and his eyes have long since been fixed. What else could there be?” Fleming sighed. “I’m not questioning Commander Rabb’s physical fitness to fly, Sturgis,” he said. “I’ve seen the same physical fitness report you have.” He trailed off, searching through a stack of folders on his desk. “So just what are you questioning, Bob?” Sturgis asked bluntly. He couldn’t say that he knew Bob well enough to call the man a friend, but they had worked enough cases together while in Pearl that he could tell when the other man was trying to soften a coming blow. Fleming pulled a folder from the stack he was going through and held it out to Sturgis. “I think you should take a look at this, Sturgis,” he said. Sturgis took the folder warily and opened it, glancing quickly at the cover sheet of the report inside. It told him who had been interviewed and when, but it did nothing to tell him how this report was related to the mishap investigation. “Since I don’t have time to read through this now,” he said, “why don’t you quickly summarize it for me? Who is Mic Brumby, and what does he have to do with Harm’s crash?” “Mic Brumby is a reservist in the Royal Australian Navy,” Fleming explained. “Almost three years ago, when Lieutenant Commander Brumby was on active duty, he was sent to JAG HQ as part of an exchange program between our Navy and theirs. About a year later, he was recalled to Australia, and then about five months after that, he returned to Washington after having reserved his commission.” Sturgis listened, outwardly impassive, but inwardly he was impatient for Fleming to get to the point. So far, he hadn’t heard anything that seemed to have anything to do with Harm’s crash. He was about to say something, but Fleming held up his hand to stall him. “I know, Sturgis,” Fleming said. “So far, what I’ve told you seems to be immaterial to this investigation. The reason for Mr. Brumby’s return to Washington, however, does appear to be pertinent to this case.” He picked up something that appeared to be a card and handed it across the desk to Sturgis. Sturgis opened it and read the words printed inside. He read over the words a second and then a third time before he recognized the second name printed inside. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the date on the wedding invitation,” Fleming said. “Yes,” Sturgis replied, “but that doesn’t mean the relationship didn’t break off sometime before. This proves….what exactly?” “According to Mr. Brumby,” Fleming replied, “the wedding was still going forward. Mic Brumby and Sarah MacKenzie had their wedding rehearsal at St. Matthew the Apostle Cathedral in Washington on Friday night. The next time he saw her was on Sunday at Portsmouth, where she suddenly announced that she was Mrs. Harmon Rabb. It appears Commander Rabb was determined to stop that wedding, and that’s why he flew through a

storm to get back home that night.” “Is that all you have, Bob?” Sturgis asked tensely. “I hardly think the word of a jilted fiancé is going to be very credible.” “That’s all I have so far, Sturgis,” Fleming countered calmly. “Mr. Brumby also provided a list of everyone who was at the rehearsal dinner; it’s there in his statement. I’ve already contacted Admiral Chegwidden and made arrangements to be in Washington on Monday to interview everyone on that list, with the exception of Colonel Rabb, of course.” Sturgis flipped through the pages in the folder until he found the list, recognizing the names of many of the people he’d met in the last few days at JAG, including his new commanding officer. He sighed inwardly, realizing that what had seemed like a relatively simple mishap investigation was quickly becoming increasingly complex. There had to be a way to refute this. The Harmon Rabb he’d known for twenty years had never let *anything* get in the way of his flying. It didn’t make any sense that he would suddenly go against all those years of training and discipline. There had to be more to the story, he realized, making a mental note to talk to Mac when she returned to work on Monday. “I want to be in on those depositions,” Sturgis said firmly. “Fine,” Fleming replied. “I’ve got an appointment here first thing Monday morning, and I’ll leave for Washington immediately afterward. Admiral Chegwidden said he would have someone set up a schedule for interviews beginning at 1300.” He paused, studying Sturgis intently. Sturgis returned the scrutiny, letting nothing of his thoughts show on his face. “Sturgis,” Fleming continued, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to believe it either. It seems to go against everything I’ve ever heard about the man, but I have no choice but to investigate this. There are too many people watching this investigation. If what Mr. Brumby claims is true, then I may have no choice but to recommend to the mishap board that they refer the case to an Article 32 for charges under Articles 108, 133, and 134.” “Destruction of military property, conduct unbecoming, and I assume the Article 134 charge would be dereliction of duty,” Sturgis said. He’d been warned by Admiral Chegwidden that this case was going to be watched closely, but he’d never anticipated a situation where the Navy might want to throw the book at Harm. He wasn’t looking forward to asking one of his closest friends whether he’d let competition with another man over a woman blind him to good sense and his duty. “Has COMNAVAIRLANT been briefed yet?” “Not yet,” Fleming said. “I’m waiting until I speak to the people at JAG. Sturgis, I don’t want to railroad your client, but I do have to make sure everything in this investigation is done according to the letter of the law. If there’s nothing to this, if Mic Brumby is simply a jilted lover out for revenge, then that will be it. However, if Commander Rabb took off from the Henry that night for his own personal reasons despite the danger the weather posed, losing a forty-million dollar aircraft and nearly killing himself and his RIO in the process, then I will make sure he’s nailed for it.” “Understood,” Sturgis said tightly. A part of him wished that he was less his father’s son so he could let loose with a few colorful phrases that might make even the crustiest sailor blush. Ten years ago, during the aftermath of Harm’s ramp strike, Sturgis had been worried

that his friend might lose his career, but other than support Harm, there was nothing he could do. This time, Harm’s career was in his hands. God, he prayed silently, please let me be up to the task. MONDAY MORNING 11 JUNE 2001 JAG HEADQUARTERS FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA Mac’s gaze bore into Sturgis, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the intense scrutiny. He’d thought it would be better to approach Mac rather than a still recovering Harm, but he now doubted the wisdom of his choice. However, now that he’d started this, he had no choice but to press on. “Who is Mic Brumby?” he asked. “If you know enough to ask that question, Commander,” Mac said with barely concealed anger, “then I’m sure you already know the answer to that. Mic is my ex-fiancé.” “Unfortunately, Colonel,” Sturgis said, “that’s not what Mr. Brumby told the mishap investigator.” “Mic did what?!” she demanded, her voice raised. Turning his head, Sturgis could see activity in the bullpen come to a sudden stop at her exclamation. It wasn’t really surprising. He’d been hearing whispers ever since he’d started at JAG, whispers about Harm and Mac, although he’d tried to pay no attention to what they were saying, telling himself it was none of his business. Now, it was going to be impossible to avoid. Deciding not to add grist to the gossip mill, he got up and closed Mac’s office door while she took a moment to compose herself. As he sat back down, Mac seemed even more furious, her eyes flashing in rage. “Why don’t you tell me *exactly* what Mic told the mishap investigator, Commander,” she insisted. Quietly, he summarized Mic’s statement for her. “He doesn’t come right out and say it,” he finished, “but he insinuates that Harm probably insisted on leaving the carrier so he could get back in time to stop the wedding.” “That – that….” She sputtered, and then surprised Sturgis by letting loose with a string of what he assumed were curses in a foreign language. He listened impassively, deciding it was best to just let her fury burn out. After a moment, her tirade died out, and she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead as if to ward off a headache. “If you think about it, Commander,” she said, “it makes no sense. Even if I’d still planned to marry Mic that day, Harm could have waited out the storm and still made it back to D.C. in time for the wedding. It doesn’t matter, though. Harm wouldn’t have stopped the wedding. I would’ve thought you knew him well enough to know that.” Sturgis remained silent, holding back the thought that the Harm he knew would hardly have gotten married under these circumstances. A statement like that would only make Mac angrier and would do nothing to help him figure out how to defend against this. “What do

you mean ‘if you’d still planned to marry’?” he asked, suddenly realizing what she’d said. “I’d decided the night before to call off the wedding,” she said, her voice calmer. She turned her chair, staring out the window. “I told Harm before he left the carrier. I even told him he could wait until morning to return to D.C, and that he should spend the night in Norfolk. I was worried that he’d be too tired to drive home. He’d said the storms were out of his flight path, so it never occurred to me…..” Sturgis considered this information as Mac fell silent, apparently lost in the memories of that night. He now had two people who could say the wedding was off, but he wasn’t sure that was going to be of much help to the case. Yes, Mic Brumby could be painted as vengeful and angry, but it would be just as easy for Fleming to paint Harm and Mac as desperate to say anything to save Harm’s career. Although the mishap board might not see it that way, Sturgis could never believe that Harm would lie; he did know Harm well enough to be able to say that about him. “Did you tell anyone else that the wedding had been called off?” he asked. Mac turned back around, her eyes suspiciously moist. “Harriet, my matron of honor,” she replied, “and Chloe, my little sister. They were both in my apartment when Harm called to say he was leaving the carrier, and I told them after I got off the phone with him. I’d tried to call Mic, but he was out at his bachelor party. I didn’t know where. I left messages on both his home and cell phones – Harriet even called Bud’s cell phone trying to find the men and I’d called Alan Mattoni’s wife Jackie - but Mic hadn’t called me back by the time I went to bed, and then Captain Ingles called a few hours later….” She turned away again as her voice broke. Sturgis made a note on the legal pad in his lap to get Mac’s phone records. Although it could be turned to suggest that Mac just wanted to talk to her fiancé before the big day, those records would support her version of events, especially since Mic wasn’t the only person she’d tried to call. He just wished he had a more impartial witness who could testify to the cancelled wedding instead of just the best friend and the sister of the bride. Regardless, he made a note to make sure that he asked Harriet about the conversation when she was interviewed by Fleming that afternoon. Chloe was going to be trickier. He knew from Mic’s statement that she’d already returned to her home in Vermont and that she was only fourteen. He couldn’t just call her back to Washington to get a statement from her. Perhaps he could get someone from Brunswick or Groton to travel to Vermont and talk to her. He wrote down a reminder to inquire with one of the JAG branch offices up there. Mac turned to face him again, her expression calmer. “What do you need from me, Commander?” she asked. “After reading your fiancé’s….” He broke off at the angry glare she shot him and quickly amended, “ex-fiancé’s statement, I made a list of questions that I need to ask you. I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but Mr. Brumby gave Commander Fleming a list of everyone who was at your rehearsal that Friday night. Fleming is going to be down here this afternoon to interview everyone on the list, except for you, of course. He can’t compel you to testify against Harm, but I need to get a statement from you so that I can work out a defense against this.” “A defense against this?” Mac demanded. “I just told you that Harm, Harriet, Chloe and I can

all tell you what happened. Shouldn’t that be enough?” “Colonel, with all due respect,” Sturgis replied, “you’re not thinking like an attorney right now. Commander Fleming can say that you and Harm are willing to say anything to protect him, and that you’ve gotten your best friend and sister to lie for you.” “I can’t believe that you would suggest….” she began, her voice growing angry again. Sturgis began to realize that he’d badly miscalculated in his last statement. “It sounds to me like you think that I’d have a reason to ask them to lie. You think it’s my fault that Harm crashed.” “Listen, Colonel,” Sturgis said, beginning to lose his composure, “unlike you, I am thinking like an attorney right now. It’s my job to get Harm through this investigation. This isn’t about you, or what I think about you. He’s facing an inquiry, and if I can’t refute Mr. Brumby’s statement, Commander Fleming said that he’s probably going to recommend charges under Articles 108, 133 and 134. I know I don’t have to tell you what that means. At the very least, he could have his wings yanked permanently. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what the worst-case scenario is.” “That won’t happen, Commander,” Mac said firmly. “I know my husband. I know that he has never let personal feelings interfere….” Her voice trailed off, and for a brief moment, Sturgis caught a hint of something in her expression that made him wonder what the history was there. He shook his head. Harm and Mac’s relationship wasn’t any of his business, outside of how it affected the mishap investigation. Other than that, he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to know about it. “If you don’t believe in Harm, then maybe he needs to find another representative.” “I do believe in Harm, Colonel,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. His gaze met hers and he put every bit of persuasion he could into his voice. “Help me refute Mr. Brumby’s statement. If we can do that, then I can get this investigation focused back where it belongs – on the condition of the Tomcat. From what I’ve heard from the engineers, that jet was quite possibly in no condition to be in the air. The rest of this is just clouding the real issue here.” “Commander,” she began with a sigh, interrupted by the ringing of her phone. Holding a hand up in a silent signal, she picked up the handset. “Colonel MacKenzie.” She listened, an intent look on her face. “Yes, I spoke to the Admiral,” she said, opening a folder on her desk. “I think that would be fine, Commander. I’ve got someone in my office right now, so give me a few minutes to finish up here and I’ll meet you downstairs in about ten minutes….Yes, I’ve heard about that. I’m sure we can get back by then.” Mac set the phone back down and turned her attention back to Sturgis. “I’m going to be heading down to Quantico with Commander Mattoni,” she explained. “He needs to meet with his client, and I should talk to the MPs about this case the Admiral assigned me. We’ll need to talk about this later. I should be back early this afternoon so that Alan is back in time for his interview with Commander Fleming.” “This afternoon won’t be good for me, Colonel,” Sturgis said. “I told Commander Fleming that I wanted to be in on the interviews when he speaks to the people here this afternoon.”

“Let me get back to you then, Commander,” Mac said, setting her briefcase on her desk and opening it, tossing a folder inside. She closed it again with a snap. “Depending on how things go in Quantico today, maybe I’ll have some time tomorrow to sit down with you.” “Good, Colonel,” Sturgis said. He hesitated a moment, then added, “I’d also like a chance to talk to Harm as soon as possible.” “I’ll see if he’s up to it,” Mac said protectively. “That’s all I can promise right now.” Sturgis decided not to press that issue – yet. He realized that he’d already gotten off on the wrong foot with Mac and didn’t want to stir things up further. All bets were off if he felt that she was stonewalling him, but he’d play it her way for now. If she believed in Harm as much as she claimed to, then she wouldn’t keep him from defending Harm to the best of his ability. “That’s acceptable,” he agreed. “Even if it’s not to talk about the investigation, I still would like to stop by and see Harm sometime.” “I’ll check with Harm tonight,” she said. “Since he’s been out of the hospital, he’s only seen the family, although just about everyone from the office has checked up on him by phone.” Sturgis knew that, as he’d called a couple of times himself. The first time, there had been clear signs of fatigue in Harm’s voice, so Sturgis had cut the conversation short. The second time, Harm had ended the conversation after a few minutes when his family had arrived for dinner. “I’m sure Harm would be happy to see an old friend,” Mac continued. “Maybe we can have you over for dinner one evening.” “I’d like that, Colonel,” Sturgis said, smiling. The expression dropped from his face when she stared at him stonily. He decided to take the hint. “Why don’t you get with me before the end of the day, and we can work out a time when we can talk.” He stood, tucking his notepad under his arm. “I’ll do that, Commander,” Mac agreed. “If you’ll excuse me….” “Of course, Colonel,” he replied before opening her office door and leaving, closing the door behind him. As he turned toward Harm’s office, he could see Mac through the blinds, slumping in her chair, a hand covering her eyes. For a moment, he wished that he had his father’s way of comforting people. Maybe then he could have kept control of the conversation, helped Mac realize that he wasn’t her enemy. There was no reason for him and Mac to be at cross purposes, since they both had Harm’s best interests at heart. MONDAY AFTERNOON 11 JUNE 2001 JAG HEADQUARTERS FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA Mac tossed her briefcase on the floor behind her desk with a frustrated sigh and plopped down in her chair. This case was so far shaping up to be a colossal waste of her time, but at least it was Mattoni dealing with the defense and not her. There was no way right now that she’d be able to deal with an obviously guilty client. What had the Admiral been thinking giving her this case? A newly minted lawyer barely past the bar exam could probably win a conviction

in his sleep. She was a senior attorney and the Admiral’s Chief of Staff. Propping her elbows on the desk, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, wondering what the Admiral would say if she asked to take a couple of hours of leave time and to head on home. Despite the fact that JAG had been shorthanded the past two and a half weeks, she felt that she would be a lot more use at home than she currently was at work. “Colonel?” Harriet asked. Mac looked up, startled, to find Harriet standing in the door, a worried expression on the younger woman’s face. She hadn’t even heard her approach. Smiling weakly, she motioned Harriet into the office. Harriet closed the door behind her and sat down, studying Mac intently. Mac pretended not to notice the scrutiny, busying herself with checking her e-mail. She’d tried to keep up with it while she’d been on leave, but keeping her inbox manageable had hardly been foremost in her mind. “Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant?” she asked, not unkindly, but purposely using Harriet’s rank in the hope that she could keep the conversation professional. “Actually, I wanted to see how you’re doing, Ma’am,” Harriet said. “I was just interviewed by Commanders Fleming and Turner and – and I can’t believe Mic would do something like that!” “He’s angry,” Mac said quietly with a shrug. She continued before Harriet could reply. “Harriet, we probably shouldn’t talk about this. We don’t want it to look like I’m influencing your testimony in any way.” “But is it really going to get that far, Ma’am?” Harriet asked in a worried tone. “Several of us knew that you were planning to call off the wedding. I told Bud, and the Admiral figured it out on his own….” She trailed off at Mac’s expression. “Sorry, Ma’am, but everyone here knows what flying means to Commander Rabb. There’s no way any of us could think what’s being suggested.” “I know, Harriet,” Mac said, “and I appreciate that. I’m sure Harm will, too. But….” “I know,” Harriet said reluctantly. “We shouldn’t talk about the case.” “It’ll be okay, Harriet,” Mac said, trying to assure herself as much as the other woman. “Just tell the truth, and everything will come out as it’s supposed to….” She trailed off, focusing her gaze on her computer monitor again. “Colonel….Mac, how are you doing?” Harriet asked. Mac looked up from her work again, not really surprised at her forwardness. Although Harriet understood the lines that had to be respected in the military, she sometimes set protocol aside out of concern for her friends. Mac forced a smile, although she could see Harriet wasn’t quite convinced. “I’m fine,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Just trying to get back into the swing of things at work. I guess it’s good that things seem so quiet around here right now. It’ll give me a chance to concentrate on my husband….”

“You like saying that,” Harriet said. “I guess I never thought it was going to happen,” Mac admitted with a soft smile. She shook herself, realizing that this conversation was getting entirely too personal. “Was there anything else, Harriet?” “I’m not sure, Ma’am,” Harriet said, looking down at her shoes. “It’s probably not the right time….I’m not really sure there is a good time, but….” “Harriet,” Mac said firmly, repeating herself until the other woman looked up. “If there’s not really a right time, just go ahead and say it. Putting off whatever you have to say probably isn’t going to make it any easier.” Harriet took a deep breath. “Well, the morning after the crash, I helped Mic call all the guests and tell them….He didn’t know that the wedding was off, so he was telling everyone that he’d let them know when the wedding was rescheduled. I didn’t want to say anything different with him listening, so….” She trailed off, an apologetic look on her face. “So you told the people you spoke to that the wedding was only postponed,” Mac finished for her. “Yeah,” Harriet admitted reluctantly. “It’s okay, Harriet,” Mac said, sighing. “It wasn’t your place to tell Mic that the wedding was off, even if he would have believed you. So there are guests who don’t know everything was cancelled?” “You see,” Harriet said, “I’ve been getting calls from a few of the people I spoke to two weeks ago. Don’t worry, I told them that it has since been cancelled. That’s not the problem.” “So what is the problem?” Mac asked in confusion. “Some people are just unbelievably rude,” Harriet said in a frustrated rush. “You’ve just cancelled a wedding and there’s a lot to take care of, even if you didn’t have to worry about an injured husband and all that. You’ll get around to returning the gifts that were sent. It’s just incredibly crass that with everything that’s on your mind right now, people would ask when you’ll get around to returning stuff.” If the situation hadn’t been so upsetting, Mac might have laughed. Harriet sounded an awful lot like the mother she tried so hard not to emulate, or at least sounded like Mac’s vision of her. “I have had a lot on my mind,” Mac said, “and…I guess I've been trying not to think about it.” In fact, she hadn’t thought about the gifts at all since the day Harm had been transferred to Bethesda. When she’d gone over to her apartment to pick up some of her things, she hadn’t been in any condition to deal with it, so she’d just shoved the boxes of gifts off into a corner of the living room where they’d be out of Sergei’s way.

Trish had offered to help deal with it, but given the tenuous state of the truce they’d reached during the week Harm was in the hospital, Mac had been reluctant to involve her mother-inlaw in the mess that was her life. The gifts had ended up piled together, and once she’d walked out of her apartment, she’d managed to put it all out of her mind. “I’m surprised Sergei hasn’t asked what all the boxes in the living room are,” Mac tried to joke, wincing internally at the look on Harriet’s face. She sighed. “I guess I should set aside an evening soon to deal with it.” “Why don’t I meet you at your apartment one night this week?” Harriet suggested. “We can order pizza or Chinese and spend a few hours getting everything boxed back up. We could pack everything in the back of my minivan, and I can take you to the post office the next afternoon after work to drop everything off.” “That would be fine, Harriet,” Mac said, before she remembered. “Actually, I have access to an SUV now. We can pack everything up in that, and you could ride with me over to the post office after work the next day. I can drop you off at home after we’re finished mailing everything, so Bud doesn’t have to worry about finding a ride home.” “I guess you do have a larger car now,” Harriet said with a light laugh. “It’s kind of strange getting used to the whole “what’s his is yours and what’s yours is his” thing, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” Mac said softly. After a moment, she shook herself out of her revere. She had work to do, which might help her not think about her personal situation. She’d actually managed to do that for stretches at a time that morning. It was easier to do so when she’d been contemplating how to keep her cool in the face of a defendant who couldn’t tell the truth to save his life. “Give me a couple of days. Hmm, why don’t I have Sergei spend Wednesday evening with Harm? That’ll give us the apartment to ourselves.” “That’ll work for me, Ma’am,” Harriet said. “Bud’s in Norfolk today and tomorrow, so neither day would have been good for me. Unless something happens, he should return Wednesday morning, so he can watch AJ.” “Why don’t you bring AJ with you?” Mac suggested. Her eyes lit up at the thought of spending a few hours with her godson. “I’d love to spend some time with him.” “If you’re sure he won’t be in the way,” Harriet said. Mac shook her head. “Okay, Ma’am. We’ll see you Wednesday evening, say about 1800?” “1800 is fine,” Mac agreed. It would give her a chance to stop at Harm’s apartment…their apartment and make sure Harm was set for the evening. She opened a folder in front of her. “Close the door on your way out, Lieutenant.” Harriet stood and briefly snapped to attention. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said before turning and leaving the office. Mac tried to read the report in front of her, but after reading over the first two paragraphs three times without comprehending a single word, she leaned back with a sigh. When she and Harm had decided to get married, their plan had seemed so simple. Everything

would just be between the two of them for the time being. She’d properly break things off with Mic, and Harm would do the same with Renee. Then they would then enjoy being married, keeping everything between them – except for telling the Admiral, which they were required to do by military regulations - until the dust from previous relationships had settled. It was never supposed to be like this, and now all their friends were getting swept up in the wake. MONDAY EVENING 11 JUNE 2001 HARM AND MAC’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,” Mac said as she entered the apartment. Harm set aside the book he was reading and gave her a wide smile. He was sitting on the couch, dressed in a tshirt and gym shorts, his injured leg propped up on the coffee table. She tossed her keys on the bookshelf and set her briefcase down while kicking off her shoes. Jingo trotted over, sitting obediently before her, waiting for the customary scratch behind the ears from his mistress. “Hey, boy,” she said, kneeling down to greet the dog. “Were you a good boy for Daddy today?” Jingo gave her a soft bark in answer, and then trotted off to curl up under the table. She smiled at the domesticity of the scene, reflecting how nice it was to come home from work to her family. The only thing that would make it better would be Harm returning home from work with her. She crossed the room, leaning over to brush her lips against Harm’s forehead. As she started to pull back, he wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her down next to him on the couch. “I hope you have a better greeting for me than that,” he teased, his breath hot and ticklish against her cheek. Mac turned towards him as his lips descended on hers. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she sank into the kiss with a moan deep in her throat. Harm pulled her tighter against him, one hand sliding down to cup her hip for a moment before it slipped further down to hook behind her knee, pulling her leg over his. Mac’s hands moved down his back, sneaking underneath his shirt, her fingertips dancing lightly over his lower back. Somewhat breathlessly, they broke their kiss, resting their foreheads together. Mac’s eyes closed as she struggled against the arousal building deep inside her as his fingers traced lazy circles over the back of her knee. They’d made love twice – three times counting their “wedding night” of heavy petting aboard the Henry – and the cocky flyboy had already figured out which buttons of hers to push. “Too bad you’re not up for more,” she whispered huskily. Harm chuckled softly. “I guess we’ll have to call that a promise for later,” he said, moving his hand from her knee and taking her hand in his. “I look forward to it,” she said, turning so she could lean back on the couch and opening her eyes to gaze at him. “So did you get any rest today?” “Actually, *mother*,” he retorted with an unrepentant grin, “I felt well enough to stay awake

all day today. Gram and Sergei came over late this morning, and I played Dad’s letter tapes for Sergei. I even got out of the apartment for a few minutes when they helped me walk Jingo.” Mac thought about saying something about his little excursion, but she figured his grandmother wouldn’t have let him overextend himself. Anyway, judging by the expression on his face, even if she said anything, he wouldn’t be the least bit sorry. “How was that, sharing your dad with Sergei?” Mac asked, resting her head against his shoulder. “It was…I don’t know. I missed so much with my dad,” he said sadly, “but at least I had most of six years with him. Sergei…” “Sergei didn’t even get that,” she finished when his voice trailed off. “Gram hadn’t heard a lot of the tapes either,” he continued in a quiet tone after a long moment. He shrugged, and Mac thought she could almost see the mental barriers going up. “Anyway, Gram suggested that we could all go up to the farm for the Fourth of July, said she had a lot more stuff that she could show him.” “You think you’ll be up to going?” Mac asked. It was less than a month away, and Harm was getting better every day, but she knew that it was nearly a four hour drive to the Rabb farm. She thought that might be pushing it. “Dr. Grayson said this morning that I should be fine to go to Annapolis for Skates’ wedding,” he reminded her. After he’d mentioned talking to Skates just before he left Portsmouth, Mac had insisted that he clear the trip with his doctor. Knowing him, he would just assume that he was going to be ready for a car trip by the end of the month. “If that goes well, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be up to going to Pennsylvania the following weekend, and it shouldn’t be too much longer after that before I’m cleared to return to work.” “Except that Beallsville is a lot further away from here than Annapolis,” she pointed out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine by then,” he said dismissively. “But you will check with the doctor, right?” she asked. “Yes, I will check with her,” he confirmed with a grin. “Hey, you okay?” Mac craned her head to meet his gaze. “Fine,” she said simply. “It was just a long day at work.” “Turn around,” he said, motioning for her to turn away from him. A puzzled look on her face, she did as he bade, sighing as his hands fastened on her shoulders, his fingers kneading the tense muscles. “Do you want to tell me about it?” “I went down to Quantico with Mattoni just after I got to work,” she said, disgust creeping into her tone. “The Admiral handed me prosecution of a lance corporal who showed poor judgment in getting busted with a half-smoked joint in his car by the MPs and even worse in

lying about it.” “I’m sure you’ll make sure he knows what a disgrace to the uniform he is,” he said confidently. “So were you down at Quantico all day?” “Nope,” she replied with a groan as he pressed against a knot next to her left shoulder. “Mattoni, um, had to return here for something else, so we were back by 1400. I spent the rest of my day trying to get my e-mail into some semblance of order.” “And?” he asked. Mac didn’t reply for a moment, moaning softly as his hands worked on easing her tension. “I’ve missed your shoulder rubs after being hunched over case files during working dinners,” she murmured. “I guess we haven’t done that as much as we used to,” Harm commented, startling Mac, who hadn’t even realized she’d said that out loud. “Hey, relax. You’re so tense.” Mac took a couple of slow, deep breaths, trying to relax, but there was so much going through her mind – the dishonest lance corporal from Quantico, the mishap investigation, Mic, Renee, the distance that had grown between Harm and her during the last two years, which was just now being bridged. Harm’s hands stilled just below her shoulder blades. “Mac?” he asked softly. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” “It’s just been a long day,” she repeated. “Mac,” Harm said insistently, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.” Mac reluctantly turned around, blowing out an exasperated breath. She didn’t want to lay all this on him right now. Didn’t he deserve a little bit more time without stressing over the mishap investigation which was beyond his control? She wished for a moment that she were better at hiding her feelings from him, but after everything they’d been through together, he knew her too well. She understood him as well and realized that he wasn’t going to let this go. “Commander Fleming came to headquarters today,” she began, looking down at her hands in her lap. The light from the lamp on the end table glinted off her wedding ring, mesmerizing her. “Mac?” She took a deep breath and continued, “He found out that I was supposed to marry Mic the same day that you and I got married,” she explained reluctantly, her head bowed. “After getting a statement from Mic, Commander Fleming came to interview everyone who was at the wedding rehearsal and dinner the night before.” “To find out if I had a reason to push beyond safety in order to fly off the carrier that night,” he concluded. Cupping her chin, he tilted her head up, his reassuring gaze meeting hers. “I guess it makes sense that they’d ask about that, given everything that’s happened, but several

people knew that the wedding was off before I left the carrier. You told me when I called, and I seem to recall….weren’t Harriet and Chloe in your apartment when I called? Did you tell them?” “Yes,” Mac replied, nodding, her words coming in a rush as she tried to assure him that she wasn’t concerned about the new development, “and Harriet told me that she told Bud and that the Admiral had figured it out on his own. I told Sturgis that I called and left messages for Mic on his home answering machine and his cell phone. Of course, I didn’t tell him in the message that it was off, but….” “Hey, slow down,” Harm said, pulling her against him. She rested her head against his chest as his hands slowly moved up and down her back in a soothing motion. “After you’d talked to Mic in Norfolk, I thought – or I guess I’d hoped – that he would be out of our lives now, but I guess we’ll have to put up with him a little while longer. It’s okay. I suppose Commander Fleming was going to find out about the wedding, but Mic can’t hurt us. Enough people know what happened. It won’t make a difference.” Mac wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t explain to him why it was so hard to do that. Harm and Mic had already fought over her once, even though everyone involved had pretended otherwise. Harm was in no condition for round two when he found out what Mic had done. With luck, Fleming would conclude there was nothing to Mic’s accusations and that would be the end of it. “I think we need to vow that we’re not going to talk about Mic or the investigation any more tonight,” she suggested firmly. She extracted herself from his warm embrace and stood. “Let me get out of this uniform, feed Jingo, and we can decide what we’re going to do for the rest of the evening.” “I already fed Jingo,” he said as she paused by Jingo’s bowls, set up at the end of the kitchen island. “I gave him some food about half an hour ago, around the time that Mom called.” “Your mom called?” she asked as she continued on into the bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse along the way. “What did she want?” “She and Frank haven’t been by today,” he replied as she stripped out of her uniform and hung it neatly in the closet. “Frank had a meeting with Bobbi while Mom checked out a local artist that she’s been trying to snag for her gallery.” “Bobbi?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly as she bent down to rummage through a drawer looking for something to wear. “Are you talking about Bobbi Latham?” “Yeah,” he replied. “Detroit is in Michigan – where Daimler-Chrysler’s U.S. headquarters is - and Frank is the senior vice president for their West Coast operations.” “Right,” Mac said as she pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, the only difference between what she and Harm were wearing being that his t-shirt had ‘Navy’ emblazoned across the front while hers said ‘Marines’. “So what did she want?” “She and Frank found this Italian place next to their hotel that she’s raving about,” he explained. “The place does takeout, and she thought that with you starting back to work today, you might not be up to fixing dinner, so they’ll be by as soon as they can pick up the food, Gram and Sergei.”

“Oh,” Mac replied, masking her disappointment. She adored Gram and Sergei, got along wonderfully with Frank, and was making strides in her relationship with Trish, but after the day she’d had, it would have been nice to spend a quiet evening alone with her husband. The six of them had spent part of every day together ever since Harm had been released from the hospital, and except for one evening when Harm had suffered from a blinding headache, they’d had dinner together every night, usually at Trish’s suggestion. Every time she started counting the days until Harm’s family would depart, she had to stop herself. It wasn’t fair to her in-laws. If they were a bit overprotective of Harm right now, just as she was, they perhaps had more reason to be. They remembered Harm’s first crash, probably had vivid memories of how they’d nearly lost him. If they wanted to be as close to him as possible right now, it was perfectly understandable. She wanted the same thing. “That sounds good,” she said as she rejoined him on the couch. “About what time did your mom think they might get here?” Harm glanced at his watch. “She estimated about an hour,” he said, “and she called just over half an hour ago.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. As he drew back, he grinned suggestively. “Got any ideas of what we can do to pass the time?” “Hmm,” she murmured as he tangled his fingers in her hair, gently pulling her against him as he started to tease with his tongue a particularly sensitive spot just below her right ear. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” “I can control myself if you can,” he whispered seductively against her throat, chuckling as she shivered in his arms, her body instinctively moving closer to his, seeking out his welcoming heat. “That sounds like a challenge,” she countered, gripping his arm as his hand found its way under her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth against one lace-covered nipple, working it into a hard peak. “Except that Navy isn’t playing fair.” Pulling her into his lap so that she was straddling his legs, he swiftly tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor as he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses down her throat and chest. “Maybe the Marines aren’t up to the challenge,” he whispered against her skin as his fingers found and released the clasp of her bra. “We can take, um, anything the Navy can dish,” she murmured as his moved his hands upward, tugging the straps down her arms, “but we can’t….your condition….” Even as she feebly protested, her hands were busy as well, yanking his shirt up. She delighted in the hitch in his breath as her fingernails scraped against the bottom of his ribs. “Remember the carrier?” he asked as he lifted his arm, letting her pull the shirt over his head to join hers on the floor. His hands splayed against her back, and he pulled her tight against him as their lips met, tongues dueling furiously. “Yes, but…,” she began, losing her train of thought as his mouth left hers to move down her throat again. She couldn’t think like this, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her like a spring ready to snap. Leaning back against his supporting arms as his mouth moved lower,

she watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he pulled back slightly, his heated gaze raking over her. She felt a heady rush at the thought that she was the one who put that hungry, voracious look in his eyes. She’d felt it, that night in Norfolk, but in the dark of night, it was easy to imagine that it was simply a heat of the moment thing, that it didn’t mean what she’d wanted it to. On the carrier, she’d had more confidence in the emotions swirling between them, but at his insistence, her eyes had been closed as she’d lost herself in the fantasy she’d been recreating. This time, it was different. She didn’t have to pretend that it might mean more than it really did. Now, everything she’d ever wished he would say to her was etched in his smoky gaze. In the bright light of day, she didn’t have to wonder anymore. Even if he didn’t say the words right now, she could read it in his eyes. His head dipped down, her breath catching as his mouth found her breast, lips, teeth and tongue nibbling and tormenting. Instinctively, she rocked her hips against his, seeking. For a brief moment, it flitted through her mind that he wasn’t in a position to find full satisfaction with her, but she pushed the thought aside, choosing to reveal in the notion that he was doing this to her, for her. From the harsh sound deep in his throat as his mouth fastened around one aching nipple, tugging gently on the firm peak, it crossed her mind that he was finding pleasure in hers. It was both a happy and sad thought – she’d never had a man focus so much on her own satisfaction, and she’d come so close to losing the possibility of that forever. “Harm,” she murmured as he moved to the other breast. She shivered as she felt a single finger on her spine, tracing random patterns. “Please….” “Tell me,” Harm urged as he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I need…” Mac gasped, his husky voice and his ardent desire to please her doing as much to send shivers through her as the hands and mouth moving over her. “Please…Harm…Touch me…” “I am,” he said softly as one hand slid around her waist to caress the smooth planes of her stomach. His fingers danced back and forth across the quivering flesh as she grasped his shoulders to steady herself. “More…” she pleaded on a gasp of breath, her fingernails digging into his firm muscles. Pulling her back towards him, his lips fastened on hers once again as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, tracing a path along the top of her lace panties. She pressed closer to him, encouraging him further, whimpering in approval as his hand moved under her panties, two fingers probing her gently, sliding against her slick folds. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips moved over and then down, a trail of kisses pressed against her jaw. He nipped at a patch of skin beneath her chin as his fingers barely pressed into her, cupping his hand, the heel pressing against her clit. For a long moment, his hand didn’t move, except to vary the pressure against her tiny nub, seeming to know when she wanted a lighter or firmer touch from the soft gasps and moans

that came from her slightly parted lips. Mac rested her head against his shoulder, her arms draped loosely around him, crying out softly as she felt it, the barely there fluttering of his fingers as he stroked her lightly. She rotated her hips against his hand, encouraging him to slip deeper into her as his arm wrapped around her, cradling her body against his. Her breathing became more ragged as his fingers alternated, seemingly at random, between brief teasing strokes and long, drawn-out caresses. His fingers probed her, pushing against her until she softly cried out at the intensity of the pleasure as he pressed against her in just the right way, his hand rotating against her clit. The tension built, lifting her higher until she fell and soared freely, before letting herself float back down wrapped up in Harm’s strong embrace. After what seemed like an eternity on which she’d floated on a cloud, but was really only a few minutes, Mac’s eyes drifted open, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips as Harm’s hand gently stroked her hair. Lifting her gaze to his, she rejoiced that the pleasure she’d felt was mirrored in his eyes. For a long moment, they held a wordless conversation, sharing a single thought. “Soon,” Harm promised softly. WEDNESDAY EVENING 13 JUNE 2001 MAC’S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN “Aun’ Mac!” As Mac locked the SUV, she heard her godson’s exuberant voice call out to her. Looking down the street, she saw Harriet and AJ coming toward her, AJ squirming in his mother’s arms, reaching towards his godmother. As they reached her, Mac plucked AJ out of Harriet’s arms, holding him tight as he wrapped his little arms around her neck, threatening to cut off her air supply in his excitement. “Hiya, AJ,” she gasped as she struggled to loosen his grip. She managed to pull one arm away, wrapping his small hand in hers to prevent him from grabbing onto her neck again. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, she thought how simple this was, how peaceful. Would that she could find that feeling in the rest of her life. “You okay, Mac?” Harriet asked, studying Mac critically. “Oh, we’re fine,” Mac said, settling AJ on her hip. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve nearly been choked by him, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Harriet started to say something, probably to protest that wasn’t what she meant, but at the slight shake of Mac’s head, the other woman sighed, smiling slightly. Mac relaxed a little as she realized that Harriet wasn’t going to push, not yet anyway. There was no telling, however, how long that was going to last. “Shall we go inside?” she suggested, nodding towards her building a couple hundred feet up the street.

As they walked, they talked about inconsequential matters – the mini heat wave that had enveloped the city the last few days, AJ’s latest finger painting masterpiece from day care, Sturgis’ first encounter in court with Loren. After the tension between Sturgis and her the last couple of days, a part of Mac had privately enjoyed his discomfiture when Loren had tried to sandbag him in court during a case he’d taken over for Harm. Mac, as part of her duties as chief of staff, had been in court as an observer. After the previous day, it was darkly pleasant to see some of what he’d dished out to her thrown back at him. Between her trip to Quantico and Sturgis having sat in on Fleming’s interviews with the guests from the rehearsal, Mac had managed to avoid him for the rest of Monday after their confrontation that morning. The next day, he’d cornered her after lunch, somehow knowing that she didn’t have anything too pressing on her plate and had insisted on a full interview. Objectively, she had to admire the fact that he’d been very prepared to question her. He’d asked every question she’d thought he would and a few she’d been hoping he wouldn’t. After the interview, she’d felt raw and exposed. She’d answered every question truthfully, unwilling to jeopardize Harm’s case any more than it already had been, but some of what she’d had to tell Sturgis were things she hadn’t had a chance – or been able – to tell Harm yet. She hated that feeling of vulnerability, even if she knew intellectually that it was a necessary evil. As they entered her apartment, Mac set AJ on his feet. He immediately began toddling around the apartment, peeking around furniture and corners. “Jingo,” he called, glancing into the bedroom. “Jingo.” “Jingo’s not here, AJ,” Harriet said. She glanced at Mac with a shrug. “Ever since I told him we were coming to see you, he’s been babbling about Jingo. I didn’t even think that Jingo would probably be at Harm’s apartment since you live over there now.” Mac knelt down as AJ turned back to them, a confused look on his face. “Where Jingo?” he asked. “Jingo’s with Uncle Harm,” Mac said. AJ came back over, throwing himself over Mac. Looking up at her, he said in all seriousness, “Uncle Harm has owie.” “Yeah, Uncle Harm has an owie,” Mac concurred sadly. She glanced at Harriet, not sure what else to say. She didn’t know how much Bud and Harriet would’ve told their son about what had happened to his godfather – or how much AJ might’ve understood. “Honey, why don’t you sit on the couch and look at your book?” Harriet suggested, pulling a pop-up book out of his diaper bag and holding it out to him. Obediently, he took the offered book and hoisted himself up onto the couch with a little boost from Mac. “Bud and I didn’t know what to tell him,” Harriet said quietly as they moved to the other side of the room where Mac had the gifts stacked. “Mac, you should have seen him that night we were waiting for word on Harm. We were all at JAG, and at one point, AJ walked over to

Harm’s office and kept asking where he was. Mr. Burnett told me later that AJ even had Chloe in tears with his questions.” “Then when we saw Harm at the hospital on Memorial Day,” she continued, “we made the mistake of talking about having seen him where AJ could hear us. He threw a little tantrum when we tried to explain why he couldn’t see his godfather.” “I guess kids know more than we realize about what goes on around them,” Mac said just as softly, pulling over a small box of packing tape and markers that she’d dropped off the day before. “We tried to tell him that Harm had an owie, and that the doctor was trying to make him better,” Harriet continued, glancing at her son. AJ had become engrossed in his book, babbling to himself as he turned pages and ignoring the two women. “I think the ‘owie’ part was the only thing that stuck with him.” “I guess it’d be hard for him to really understand what’s happened,” Mac replied, talking about more than a two-year-old’s comprehension of Harm’s injuries. Brushing the thought aside, she grabbed a collapsed box from the pile leaning against the wall – also brought over the previous day – and began assembling it. “Actually,” Harriet said, picking up her own box and grabbing a roll of tape, “I was thinking about asking you and Harm over to dinner soon – whenever he’s up to it, of course. I’m sure Harm would like to go someplace besides Bethesda, and I think it would make AJ feel better if he could see Harm for himself.” “We’ll see,” Mac said non-committally. “I know he’s starting to get a little stir-crazy sitting at home, even with his family dropping by to keep him company, but it might be too soon. Yesterday, he convinced his parents that he felt fine and that they should all go out to lunch. When I got home from work, he was in bed with a slight fever. Trish was getting on him for trying to do too much.” Mac left out the fact that she and Trish had nearly gotten into an argument over the incident. She’d pointed out to her mother-in-law that she should’ve known Harm well enough to know that he’d try to become active before he was ready, with Trish countering that Harm knew his own limits and she respected that. Mac had been about to argue that that assertion didn’t seem to fit with the way that Trish had been hovering, when Frank had stepped in, suggesting that both women were operating on next to no sleep and that both had Harm’s best interests at heart. Knowing that Harm could probably hear every word they’d said, the women had agreed with Frank that they were both tired and worried about Harm, but it had been an uneasy truce. Conversation had been strained between Trish and Mac until the Burnetts had left, saying that Harm wasn’t up to dinner with the family. Mac had masked her relief at their departure, although it’d been harder to hide her concern that Harm wasn’t feeling well. That had led to a little bit of tension between the two of them, Harm snapping at her, and then just as quickly apologizing, saying tiredly that he was sorry for worrying her. She’d graciously accepted his contrition and tried to put it from her mind, only to be awoken during the night by a nightmare, the details of which were shrouded in

mist. She just knew that it had something to do with everything that’d been left unsaid that evening, hovering on the tip of everyone’s tongues. “Shall we get started?” Mac suggested, forcing the memory from her mind and trying to concentrate on the unpleasant task before her. “Last night, while Harm was resting, I made a list of everyone who’d sent gifts with their addresses. There’s a few that I don’t have addresses for, mostly Mic’s friends and relatives from Australia, and the boxes the gifts arrived in had already been tossed out. I thought we could go ahead and box those up and write who they’re going to on the outside. I’ll have to see about Mic taking care of those.” Harriet began assembling her own box, biting on her lower lip nervously. “What is it, Harriet?” Mac asked after a long moment, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “I was just wondering if you’d spoken to him since…” she began hesitantly. “Since Norfolk or since I found out he’d spoken to Commander Fleming?” Mac finished. Before Harriet could reply, she continued, “The last time I spoke to him was when we had breakfast that morning at IHOP. He hasn’t tried to contact me since then.” “I guess it’s hard for him,” Harriet said. “Yeah,” Mac murmured distractedly, “to come so close….” Sensing that Harriet was about to say something, Mac gestured towards some boxes still on the floor that she and Mic had never gotten around to unpacking. Gifts, mostly those coming from Australia, had still been arriving right up until the day before the aborted wedding, so Mic and Mac had originally decided to wait until they returned from their honeymoon before opening anything. Some of the earlier arriving gifts had been taken out of their shipping cartons already, their bright wrappings of white bells and red roses mocking Mac with their hint of promises broken. “If you want to start writing ‘Return to Sender’ on those,” she suggested, “I’ll start packing these others back into boxes.”

A few hours later, after breaks for dinner and to take care of a diaper change for AJ, the gifts were divided into three piles. The largest pile of boxes was addressed and ready to be taken to the post office. A second, smaller pile of gifts was unboxed, having come from co-workers at JAG. Mac was planning to discreetly take those to work to return to the givers. The last group was boxed and had names on them with no addresses. All of those had come from Australia, and Mac would leave it up to Mic to take care of them, resolving to talk to him about it when she returned her engagement ring. She just wasn’t sure yet when that would be. She knew she had to deal with it, but couldn’t bring herself to face him again just yet. “I guess that’s everything,” Mac remarked. She glanced at the couch, where AJ had fallen asleep shortly after his diaper had change. When she’d suggested Harriet bring AJ with her, Mac hadn’t considered that someone would need to watch him while the gifts were carried out. “I need to pack up a few things to take over to Harm’s, and then I’ll start carrying this stuff down to the SUV.” “You haven’t taken all your stuff over there yet?” Harriet asked, curiosity apparent in her

voice. “We’ve got limited space,” Mac explained, gathering up a few books. “Harm’s cleared some space for me, but it’s not nearly enough for all my things, so I’ve been trying to limit what I take over there.” “Have you thought about getting a new place together?” “The topic has come up,” Mac replied. “Harm mentioned it when we were clearing out some space in the closet for me, but with him still recovering, it’s not really a good time right now to deal with the hassle. Maybe after he returns to work, we’ll have a chance to look for a place.” Getting a place of their own was high on her list of things to do once Harm was well enough. When they’d been making space for her things, Mac had stumbled across some of Renee’s stuff. Under different circumstances, the look on Harm’s face might have been amusing, almost as if he’d been wondering how some of that stuff had gotten there. They’d boxed the stuff up, but Harm hadn’t been able to contact Renee to have her come pick it up. The box sat near the door, a visible reminder of the mess their lives had become in the last few weeks. Glancing around, Mac realized there were probably some things of Mic’s lying around her place. It brought home for her the need to have a place that was theirs, not hers or his, places that came with the attendant ghosts of past lovers. It seemed a little silly in light of everything else, but one of the first things she’d done her first day in Harm’s apartment had been to change the sheets on the bed, as if by doing so she could banish the memory of the other woman who’d shared his bed less than two weeks earlier. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she murmured. “Like what, Mac?” Harriet asked, startling Mac. She hadn’t realized she’d said that out loud. “So…complicated,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. She looked away, uncomfortable at being like this, even with Harriet, who was her best friend after Harm. “Do you want to talk about it?” Harriet offered. “Sometimes it helps just to have someone else listen.” “I don’t know,” Mac said reluctantly, hoping Harriet would take the hint. “Okay,” Harriet agreed. “If you ever want to talk….Anyway, if you want to keep an eye on AJ for a few moments while you gather up some of your stuff, I’ll start taking these boxes down to the SUV” Mac turned back around, her façade utterly calm. “Sure,” she agreed, crossing to her desk where she’d tossed her purse earlier. She pulled out her keys and held them out to Harriet. “The remote is for the SUV. Thanks, Harriet.” Harriet smiled as she took the keys. “You’re welcome,” she replied. Closing the door behind Harriet, Mac rested her head against it with a sigh. She looked over

at the couch to find AJ awake, staring at her with large blue eyes. Smiling sadly, she went and picked him up, her eyes brimming with tears. AJ reached out a pudgy hand, pressing it to her cheek. It was so easy at that age, she realized, to be blithely unaware that actions had consequences. THURSDAY AFTERNOON 14 JUNE 2001 BASE CHAPEL ANACOSTIA NAVAL ANNEX WASHINGTON D.C. As soon as he walked into the sanctuary, Mic nearly turned around and walked back out. At the head of the long aisle, a couple was standing in front of a chaplain, holding hands and laughing about something. Not quite three weeks earlier, he had been the one standing at the altar, rehearsing his own wedding. Instead of laughing, he and Sarah had argued about whether or not to have their own custom vows. Had it been a sign? Was there a deeper meaning behind her resistance, other than a reluctance to discuss very personal feelings in public? He shook his head, as if he could banish the thought from his mind by doing so. She had agreed to marry him, hadn’t she? They would have married if Rabb hadn’t crashed. He was sure of it, trying not to think about that Wednesday in Norfolk before the crash. In spite of that, Sarah had gone through with the rehearsal, had still intended to marry him - right up until Rabb had swooped in with his impromptu marriage proposal while practically on his death bed. She’d been devastated at what had happened, and Rabb had taken advantage of that. It was as simple as that. With a heavy heart, he dropped into a pew at the back of the church, plucking a missal out of the pocket in front of him and idly flipping through it. He didn’t want to be here, but his curiosity had been piqued when Father Hayes left him a message, asking him about rescheduling the wedding. He’d assumed that since it had been Mac’s idea to call off the wedding, she’d taken care of canceling everything. Wondering if there was a reason why she hadn’t taken care of this detail, he’d decided to stop by the chapel on his way home. Mic started when Father Hayes sat beside him, unaware of the other man’s approach. “Hello, Mic,” Hayes said warmly. “How are you and Sarah doing?” “I’m fine,” Mic said automatically, as if giving an answer he’d rehearsed until he’d gotten it perfect. He’d had plenty of practice during the past two weeks. Several of his clients, who’d known that he was supposed to be getting married, had been surprised after he’d called them in to discuss their cases that he’d returned to work earlier than they’d originally been told. Naturally, there’d been questions, and then commiseration when he’d replied with a simple ‘We’re working some things out.’ It was nice that a few people, unaware of the true dynamics of the situation, had offered their sympathies. Outside of Renee, who understood what he was going through in a way that no one else could, he’d found little of that elsewhere. Most of the people that he knew in Washington, he knew through JAG.

The couple of times he’d had to venture into JAG headquarters in the past week because of cases, conversations had been kept brief and to the point. If it wasn’t directly related to the particular case being discussed, not a word was said. Well, Singer had offered some halfbaked words of empathy, but anyone who’d been around her for any length of time knew that compassion wasn’t her strong suit. Actually, he’d been angry on Sarah’s behalf, wondering if Singer was calculating how to take advantage of the situation. Eventually, he’d started answering any and all inquiries into his state of mind with a simple and firm ‘I’m fine.’ He had to be fine – otherwise, he would go crazy if he allowed himself a moment to stop and really think about everything that had happened. “And Sarah?” Hayes pressed. “I’ve been expecting to hear from the two of you.” Mic sighed inwardly. He’d gotten so used to giving his stock reply that he hadn’t even paid attention to the fact that the priest had asked about Sarah as well. That was natural, of course. Hayes had been slated to officiate at their wedding, and judging from the fact that he’d asked about her, he apparently didn’t know the wedding was off. Mic wasn’t sure what to think about that. “She’s fine, I suppose,” he replied a bit hesitantly. That certainly seemed to be true, as far as he’d been able to tell. He’d caught a glimpse of her the previous morning when he’d gone to JAG to pick up some papers he’d requested through discovery for one of his clients. As he’d walked through the hall outside the bullpen, he’d seen her in her office, conferring with a black man wearing JAG insignia and commander’s stripes that he didn’t recognize. To him, she’d seemed normal, as if her life was no different now than it had been a month ago, when she’d been preparing to spend the rest of her life with him. He’d tried to spend a moment studying her, hoping to catch some hint that all was not well, that her life wasn’t just going on as if he’d never been a part of it. As Carolyn Imes had prattled on about the details of a plea deal he’d proposed for one of his client, he’d watched the scene in Sarah’s office, quickly glancing away after she’d raised her left hand to brush back her hair, the light glinting off the ring on her finger, a ring that wasn’t his. He’d forced his attention back to Carolyn, trying to ignore the bands tightening around his heart. “Did something happen?” Hayes asked. Mic sighed, knowing that there was no way he could avoid this topic, not here. A part of him wanted to curse Sarah for putting him in this position. She’d called the damned thing off; shouldn’t she have taken care of making sure that the priest had been informed? “We’re not getting married,” he replied quietly. “I would have thought Sarah would have let you know.” “I’ve been TAD the last two weeks,” Hayes explained. “I left the morning after you were to have gotten married. When I got back and didn’t see a message about your wanting to reschedule the wedding, I thought I’d better call and make sure everything was okay. I tried calling Sarah’s place, but I think that I dialed the wrong number since someone with a Russian accent answered the phone.” Mic was confused for a moment before remembering that Sarah had mentioned some wrangling had gotten Rabb’s brother released from the prison camp in Chechnya. That must have been who’d answered the phone, which meant that Sarah was probably at Rabb’s apartment. “No,” he said, “I don’t think you have the wrong number. That was probably her brother-in-law answering the phone.”

“Her brother-in-law?” Hayes asked with confusion evident in his voice. “I thought that Sarah was an only child.” “She is,” Mic replied. He had to take a calming breath before he was able to continue. “Her husband has a brother who is Russian. I assume that’s who answered the phone.” He shrugged at the look of shock on the priest’s face. “Yeah, mate, Sarah’s married and not to me. You know how I told you a friend of hers had crashed an F-14 the night before the wedding? Sarah rushed off to Norfolk to be with him and ended up married to the bast…” He paused, attempting to gather himself together. “I see,” the priest said carefully. “She was upset, of course, that her best friend….” Mic nearly choked on the words, but took another deep breath and continued, “He nearly died, and I guess he decided it was time to confess his undying love to her, to take advantage of her state of mind given everything that had happened.” “Is that what you think?” Hayes asked, his tone cautious. “That he took advantage?” “Of course,” Mic replied angrily. “He knew that she was vulnerable because of what had happened. Everyone knew that he was in love with her, but she chose to marry me. He probably figured this was a good way to get her.” “I doubt that anyone would deliberately crash a multi-million dollar aircraft,” the priest pointed out. “No,” Mic said quickly, “of course not. Even Rabb is not that crazy, although the man has pulled some things…. But how can anyone argue that he took advantage of the situation after the crash?” “Do you mind if we back up a moment?” Hayes asked. Reluctantly, Mic nodded. “You said Sarah rushed off to Norfolk. Why? That would seem to most people to be an extreme reaction, even if he is her best friend as you said. Are you sure that is all it was? Her reaction does seem to indicate perhaps there were some feelings for this other man, more than friendship….” “She agreed to marry me,” Mic interrupted, spitting his words out through clenched teeth. He didn’t want the situation explained to him or rationalized. He wanted someone to agree with him. Wasn’t he the wronged party in all this? “Why would she do that if she didn’t love me?” “I cannot tell you what Sarah was thinking,” Hayes said in a conciliatory tone. “Have you spoken to her since all this happened?” “We had breakfast down in Norfolk on Memorial Day.” Hayes nodded thoughtfully. “Did she offer any kind of explanation?” “How could she explain such an about face,” Mic replied evasively, “after all we’ve been to each other over the last couple of years?”

“What did she say exactly?” Hayes pressed. “She said she going to stay married to him,” Mic admitted reluctantly, “but I’m not convinced that it is even a valid marriage, considering how it came about. And what about all this time that we’ve been together? Does that suddenly mean nothing?” “No, of course not, but the end of a relationship is hard, no matter how it came about,” Hayes said, “especially when you’ve invested so much of yourself into it.” He clasped his hands together, resting his chin on top, as if praying for guidance. “Let me ask you something, leaving aside the validity of the marriage for a moment, which I obviously cannot speak to without more information. Are you sure that there is nothing in the past that might explain why she turned to him so suddenly? Are you sure that it really was a sudden decision on her part, on both their parts?” Mic was silent, his gaze fixed on some distant point at the front of the church. It was sudden, wasn’t it? Everything had been fine until the engagement party. What exactly had she and Rabb talked about, all that time on the porch? Had he tried to convince her then that she should go to him? What about that night in Norfolk? Had Rabb gotten her away from Washington for a reason, a last ditch effort to win her before the wedding? The man was charming, he reluctantly admitted. Had he, seeing his chance about to slip away, turned on the charm full blast to seduce her? What other explanation could there possibly be? He’d heard the comments about “dress whites and gold wings.” There was a similar saying in his Navy as well. Could even as strong a woman as Sarah Mackenzie eventually have been worn down enough to forsake what he’d offered up to her on a silver platter? You didn’t hear Mac tell Harm’s mother that she had no intention of marrying you yesterday, even before she up and decided to marry Harm. Unbidden, Renee’s angry voice came to his mind. He shook his head, trying to banish the thought. Renee had been beyond angry – she had admitted as much that day in the bar. Not to mention the fact that Sarah couldn’t exactly tell Rabb’s mother that she’d simply felt sorry for him and that was the reason that she had married him. Her affair with John Farrow had been different as well. Although she had technically been married at the time, she and Chris Ragle had long been separated. Had she really considered what she’d done adultery or had she considered herself to be a free agent? Had it really been a betrayal of her marriage vows? She obviously had not thought it so, considering her later relationship with Dalton Lowne. Given that, her fling with Rabb seemed to be an aberration, seemed out of character. The woman he loved, to whom he wanted to give everything he had to give for the rest of her life, couldn’t have simply betrayed him like that. There had to be more to the story. What in bloody hell had Rabb done, what had he said, that had convinced her to throw it all away? Gradually, he became aware of the priest saying his name, and he blinked, forcing himself to back to the present conversation. He turned, focusing his attention on the man next to him. “Yes, Father?”

“He must have done something, said something,” Mic said softly, shaking his head. “Nothing else makes sense to me. It just does not seem like Sarah, not like the woman I love. She’s loved me all this time, worn my ring….” He turned suddenly to face the priest full on, his expression hopeful. “She still has the ring,” he said. “She said she was going to return it when she got back to Washington, but it was almost two weeks ago that she came back.” “But Mic,” Hayes said, holding up his hand, “let me play devil’s advocate here for a moment. If her husband….” He paused at Mic’s angry glare at the word, but continued, “….if he was really was that bad off, then perhaps she has simply been caught up in that. It may be nothing more than the fact that dealing with the ring is the furthest thing from her mind right now.” “What if it’s not?” Mic persisted. “You need to know for sure,” Hayes counseled. “You do need to resolve the issues between you, one way or the other. It would be best, not only for your piece of mind, but hers as well. Neither of you can move on with your lives with this still hanging over your heads.” “I cannot move on without her,” Mic said quietly. “She’s my entire world.” Hayes placed a comforting hand on Mic’s arm. “That’s a very heavy burden,” he replied, just as quietly. “But what if she has moved on? You’ll need to learn to move on, too.” Mic pulled away, standing. “Look, Father,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket and jingling them in his hand, “you have been a help. I do know what I need to do now.” “And what is that?” “I think that you’re right,” Mic said. “Sarah and I need to resolve things so that we can move on with our lives together.”

As Mic turned and started to walk away, Hayes shook his head sadly, his gaze focused on the cross hanging behind the altar. “Lord, I tried,” he prayed. He couldn’t think of what else he could have said. There was a chance that Mic was correct, but he was afraid that Mic had invested too much of himself into this relationship and was as yet unable to accept the fact that it was over. Suddenly, he remembered that Friday evening, the night of the rehearsal. Mic and Sarah had argued briefly. Sarah has simply wanted to recite the traditional wedding vows which generations of brides before her had uttered, but Mic had pressed for custom vows. Sarah had been angry at his insistence. Why had that been? True, all couples experienced varying amounts of stress before their weddings. He’d certainly seen enough of that in his sixteen years as a Navy chaplain as celebrant at hundreds of weddings. What if it hadn’t been simply stress? Had Sarah’s reticence and anger been something else, a sign of cracks in the foundation of their relationship? Was Mic simply

seeing what he wanted to see? 5 JUNE 2001 HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION Harm sat on the couch, staring out the window as he idly scratched Jingo behind his ears. After almost two weeks at home, he was starting to go stir-crazy, and he didn’t even have his family to keep him company – or to hover over him. That morning, his parents had left to drive his grandmother back to Pennsylvania, where they were planning to fly out from on Saturday to go back to their lives in La Jolla. Sergei had gone with them – at Harm’s insistence – so that he could spend some time with his grandmother and get to know her better. His mother had been reluctant to leave, but after spending most of the previous day with his family, he had managed to convince her that he was well enough for them to go home. After seeing Mac off to work and saying goodbye to his family, Harm had found himself at loose ends. Determined that he was not going to waste away any more days sleeping, he’d struggled to keep himself occupied without his family to keep him company. He’d walked Jingo to Stanton Park, the furthest away he’d been from home by himself since he’d been released from the hospital. Once at the park, his knee had been throbbing, so he had rested on a bench until he felt that he could walk around without feeling that he was being stabbed in the knee. For a while, Jingo had been content to lie quietly beside the bench, but soon was pawing at Harm, wanting to play. After letting Jingo run loose for a while, Harm decided to return home. Jingo had promptly stretched out next to the bedroom steps and gone to sleep, having worn himself out with his exertions. Harm’s knee was bothering him again and when he checked it, it was definitely swelling, so he’d propped his leg up on the coffee table with a bag of frozen vegetables on his knee. While icing his knee, Harm drew out some ideas he had for expanding the apartment to make more room for Mac. She hadn’t been able to bring over more than a few things from her apartment and what little closet space his apartment had was now overflowing, even with only part of Mac’s wardrobe having been brought over. After drawing his initial idea to block off the end of the hallway and knock out the wall behind the closet to make a larger closet, it had occurred to him that perhaps they could use a home office. His desk was fine for his own use, but Mac would probably like to have her own, especially once he was back at work and they had their own cases to work on. They could bring over the desk from her apartment, but after playing around with the layout of the furniture on paper, Harm realized that it would be a too tight a squeeze. The next few drawings were various ideas he had for expanding the entire apartment into the space across the hall. Slightly smaller than his apartment, it was currently a sparsely filled storage room-slash-laundry room. By the time he’d finished eating the salad he’d thrown together for lunch, he had what he thought was a pretty good design that he would show to Mac when she got home from work. Space would be blocked off at each end of the hall so that he could knock down some walls into the other room. When finished, the apartment would form a square around a hallway just large enough for the door into the apartment and

the elevator. They would then have room for an office, storage and even space for another room fulfilling a certain promise in three years. If Mac agreed, he’d get started as soon as possible since he wouldn’t have much time once he was cleared to return to work. It would keep him busy in the meantime and be good exercise to regain his strength. And he was sure Mac would not be averse to picking up some tools to help out. It would make the apartment even more *theirs* and would make the work go faster once they were both working and unable to devote much time to renovations. What do you call this décor? Priority. Finishing my apartment is low on the list. Harm chuckled at the memory. He never would have thought on the day they’d met that someday he’d be planning how to make his apartment theirs. Hell, remembering the guarded and suspicious way she’d regarded him at the beginning, he wouldn’t have imagined then that she’d soon become his best friend, let alone the woman he was now planning to spend his life with. After he’d finished designing a new apartment, Harm had found himself at loose ends. A quick glance at the bookshelf had turned up a brand new copy of John Adams. He vaguely remembered buying the book before he had left for Norfolk and his quals, but judging from the lack of a bookmark, it didn’t appear he’d had a chance to start reading it yet. He started reading, but put the book down again after only getting through one chapter. He just couldn’t make himself concentrate. At least when he was sleeping, the day seemed to go by faster, but staying up all day while struggling to find things to do only made the day drag on. Fortunately, Mac would be getting off work soon. Maybe he could convince her to go out to dinner. With a sigh, he picked up the book again and read another chapter before giving up and setting the book aside. He was going to go crazy if this went on much longer. Staring out the window, he watched several cars go by on the street below. He would have to talk to Dr. Grayson at his next appointment about how long before he would be cleared to drive around town. At least then he would be able to get further away from the apartment during the day than he was capable of walking at present. Harm was startled out of his musings when he felt Jingo butting his head against his hand. “Time to go out again, boy?” he asked as he gathered his drawings. Most of the day had gone by and he hadn’t felt the urge to crawl back into bed once. It was a baby step, but his neurologist would tell him baby steps were important to his recovery. Quickly, he scrawled out a note for Mac, just in case she got home before he returned from walking Jingo. He left the note in the bedroom on Mac’s side of the bed, where he was sure she would see it when she changed out of her uniform. He grabbed his cell phone and keys and stuffed them in the pockets of his shorts. “Coming, Jingo,” he said as Jingo impatiently scratched at the wall where his leash hung. Harm grabbed the leash and snapped it onto Jingo’s collar. He opened the door, stopping short as he nearly ran into Mic standing on the other side of the door, his hand poised

to knock. FRIDAY AFTERNOON 15 JUNE 2001 HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION “Bloody hell, Rabb,” Mic blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. “You look like hell.” “Mic,” Harm said, obviously surprised. If he’d had to make a list of people least like to show up out of the blue at his home, Mic would have been at the top of the list. He wasn’t even aware that Mic knew where he lived. It wasn’t like they had socialized outside of events involving the entire JAG staff, except for that one evening involving the double-date from Hell that Harm would rather forget had happened. Suddenly, confronted with the sight of an obviously still-recovering Harm, Mic found himself questioning the wisdom of coming over here. Maybe he should have called Sarah and asked to meet her somewhere. He didn’t like Rabb – never had – but he hardly looked like he was in any condition to deal with this right at the moment. Mic could barely admit it to himself, but he felt sorry for the man. He’d known the accident was bad, but that knowledge had not prepared him for the reality of seeing Harm for the first time since before the crash. He’d never seen Harm look so….vulnerable. His hair had barely begun to grow back, making him look like a Marine recruit who’d had a little too much cut off on his last trip to the barber and Mic could make out the beginnings of what was obviously a still healing surgical scar on the side of his head. His normally healthy complexion was that of someone just getting over a long illness. The man in front of him hardly fit the image of the larger-than-life reputation Rabb enjoyed. “Hey, Jingo,” Mic said, noticing the dog at Harm’s side. Recognizing a friendly face, Jingo rubbed his head against Mic’s leg in greeting. Mic petted Jingo’s head, keeping his gaze on a wary Harm. “I’m here to see Sarah.” “Mac’s not home yet,” Harm replied, stating the obvious. Mic had realized as soon as he’d seen Jingo on the leash that she couldn’t be home. He doubted that she would let Harm walk the dog in his condition if she was around to do it. He also noted Harm’s use of Sarah’s nickname. Mac was Harm’s buddy, his best friend – as loath as Mic was to admit that last fact. He couldn’t imagine calling his wife, the woman he loved, by anything but her beautiful first name. Mic hadn’t thought of her as ‘Mac’ in a long time, and he was surprised that Harm did. “Not yet,” Mic said. “I called JAG and they said she had already left for the day.” He hadn’t noticed her Corvette parked in the alley behind the building where Harm’s SUV was parked, so he had already figured that he had beaten her there. He just hadn’t really thought beyond that to the fact that Harm probably was at home and would hardly be happy to see him. Maybe he should have waited in his car for her to get home and stopped her before she entered the building. Bloody hindsight. With everything that had happened, it was hard to

think clearly sometimes. Harm hesitated and then stepped aside, silently motioning to Mic to come in. Murmuring something to the dog Mic couldn’t hear, Harm detached the leash from Jingo’s collar and hung it on a peg behind the door. “Can I get you anything?” Harm asked, although Mic could tell from his tone that it was more out of politeness than anything else. “No, I’m fine,” Mic said. He took a seat on the couch while Harm stood leaning against the bar. “How are you doing, Harm?” Harm’s eyes widened in surprise at the question. Mic Brumby was not only making small talk with him, but expressing concern about his condition? Harm studied Mic for a long moment, and decided that the other man seemed nothing but sincere. Finally, he replied, “I’m getting better. I still probably have a few weeks before I’ll be cleared to return to work. Longer than that before I can see about being cleared to fly.” “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got Sarah to take care of you,” Mic blurted out before he could think better of it. Damn. He hadn’t meant to let his anger show in front of Harm. In other circumstances, he’d be ready to settle things the same way they had been forced to in Sydney, but not now. It was hardly a fair fight at the moment. But someday….Rabb was obviously going to be fine if he was talking about eventually getting back up in the air. The man had the Devil’s own luck. If Rabb said he was going to fly again, it was probably going to happen. In other circumstances, he could appreciate the man’s determination. Right now, however, that determination was keeping Mic from the woman he loved. Harm shook his head. “I know you don’t believe this,” he said, his tone neutral, “but that’s not why I married Mac.” If there was going to be an argument, Harm was determined not to be the one who started it. He was going to take the high road if it killed him. Deciding that at this point he might as well go for broke, Mic persisted, “As I recall, you were the one who told me that you didn’t think of Sarah that way.” Harm looked down at the bar, unable to refute the truth of that statement. It was hardly the first dumb statement that he’d ever made regarding Mac, and unfortunately it hadn’t been the last. Several of them had even been in front of Mic, so he supposed that he could make allowances for Mic’s inability to let go. Harm had done a pretty good job of letting Mic believe that he had no interest in Mac as a woman. The man had believed one thing for months and now was being confronted with the exact opposite. His world had been turned upside down, and although Harm would never admit it to Mic, he could understand. “I just find it odd,” Mic continued when Harm didn’t respond, “that you didn’t think of Sarah that way for years - until you almost died and she was about to marry someone else.” “Look Mic,” Harm said, a hint of frustration showing through in his voice. He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “I’m not going to discuss Mac with you because our relationship has nothing to do with you. What is between Mac and me is just between us, just as your relationship was between the two of you.“ “How can you say your relationship with my fiancée has nothing to do with me?” Mic asked, struggling not to shout in exasperation. “Sarah and I were going to get married right up until

you decided you had to get back at all costs and dumped a multi-million dollar aircraft in the bloody ocean. What were you going to do? Stop the wedding?” Harm went into the kitchen and slowly fixed himself a cup of coffee. He figured that if he kept his hands busy, he would be less tempted to throttle Mic. He told himself that he should make allowances because Mic was in denial, that he knew how hard it was to let Sarah Mackenzie go, but he was having a hard time feeling much sympathy for Mic. The man was holding on too hard. Harm was glad that Mac wasn’t home to deal with this. She had so much to deal with at the moment. She didn’t need Mic to make everything worse than it already was. “Mac made her choice,” Harm said in an even tone, still trying to avoid provoking Mic. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, and I can understand. *Mac* decided that she wasn’t going to marry you. That was her decision and hers alone.” “Was it really her decision? Did she change her mind because you seduced her into her bed?” Mic asked. At Harm’s silence, he continued, “Yes, I know about that. Sarah and I talked about it when everyone was in Portsmouth to see you in the hospital.” Coming out of the kitchen, Harm took a seat on one of the bar stools, deciding it was time to rest his knee before it started aching again. He took a sip of his coffee as he considered how to reply and winced. He hadn’t been paying attention while he’d been fixing the coffee, and he’d added too much sugar. “I know this is not what you want to hear,” he said, setting the cup aside, “but Mac is the one who decided to come down to Norfolk. I didn’t influence her in any way.” “Assuming that’s true,” Mic pointed out, “you didn’t turn her down either. You knew she was getting married in a few days, and you slept with her anyway. You didn’t care that she was marrying me or that you had Renee just waiting for you to commit to her.” That was true for the most part. Harm had been at a low point when Mac had shown up at the officers’ club, emotionally raw and vulnerable. He couldn’t pretend anymore. He could have no more pushed Mac away at that moment than he could have denied himself. There was a part of him, deep down, that hated himself for letting the entire situation go as far as it did, to the point where the only way they could be together was to betray the people who loved them. But Mic was wrong to think that he hadn’t cared that Mic and Renee were in the picture. That was what made this situation such a mess. It wasn’t Mic or Renee’s fault that they couldn’t be loved the same way in return. In a way, they were innocent in this situation. Neither he nor Mac should have let those relationships go on as long as they had. It was obvious now, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. “Or she couldn’t turn you down,” Mic continued in the silence. “You must have been very persuasive, given the closing argument of your life to get her into your bed.” “Whatever you want to believe,” Harm said dismissively. He wasn’t about to admit to Mic Brumby, of all people, just how torn he was inside about how everything had happened. “I’m sorry that Sarah is going to be hurt by the investigation into the crash,” Mic said. “Do

you realize what it is going to do to her, when it comes out that you were so desperate to get her away from me that you made a foolhardy decision to fly into a storm? Is it worth dragging her down with you?” “Mic, I had no intention of stopping the wedding,” Harm admitted. “The decision not to go forward with the wedding was Mac’s.” He ignored Mic’s last question. There was a part of him that was afraid that was exactly what was going to happen. “Yes, she decided that,” Mic spat out, “after you damn near killed yourself.” “Mic, there wasn’t going to be a wedding….” “You made sure of that, didn’t you?” Mic spat out. Harm shook his head. It was becoming more apparent with every word out of Mic’s mouth that he was in denial about the wedding, about his relationship with Mac, about everything. It was just as obvious that nothing he was going to say would change Mic’s mind. The thing was a part of him could understand what Mic was feeling. Harm had been in denial himself. It was a defense mechanism to avoid the pain. And eventually, you became so convinced of the lie that it became the truth. It was probably easier for Mic to see him as the bad guy, rather than face the fact that Mac hadn’t loved him the way he’d loved her. While he was considering his response to Mic’s last assertion, he was startled by the sound of the door knob being turned. There were only two people who had an open invitation into his apartment, and he knew it wasn’t Sergei. He would have called before coming over, worried interrupting his rest. That could only mean it was…. “Sarah,” Mic said, getting up from the couch as she entered the apartment. Harm slid off the bar stool, but hesitated. His first instinct was to go to Mac and take her in his arms, but that would be rubbing Mic’s nose in it. He didn’t want to do that. Stopping short, Mac looked from Mic to Harm warily, wondering what she had just walked into. “No bloodshed, luv,” Mic said with a grin. Despite the tension, he couldn’t help the smile. Even after everything, she still had the ability to stop his heart. “Ra….Harm and I were just talking.” Mac’s eyes met Harm’s, silently wondering if talking was all that had been happening. Not that she thought they would get into a physical fight again, not right now. Mic would want any fight to be an even one, and right now, Harm was no match for the fit former boxer. Harm nodded at the unspoken question in her eyes. “We were just talking,” he confirmed. “Look, why don’t I leave you two to talk? I was just about to take Jingo for a walk when Mic showed up.” Mac went over to Harm and put her hand on his arm, turning her head slightly so Mic couldn’t hear what she was saying. “You sure?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Harm replied, just as quietly. He flashed a grin, but Mac noticed there wasn’t the normal sparkle and life behind the expression. “Jingo’s probably getting antsy anyway. We were literally about to walk out the door when Mic showed up.” “I’m sorry,” Mac said sadly, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have had to put up with him.” Mic was her problem to deal with, and Harm was being dragged into it when he should be completely focused on his recovery. She hated that she had put Harm in that situation. “It’s okay, really,” Harm insisted. “It was….tense, but it could have been worse.” Harm squeezed the hand on his arm, then went over to the door and grabbed Jingo’s leash. Jingo eagerly trotted over to have the leash put on. “I’ll probably take him around the block,” he said, giving Mac an idea of how long they would be gone. “It will be good exercise for me.” Smiling at Mac while pointedly ignoring Mic, Harm turned and led Jingo out of the apartment. Mac sighed after the door closed behind Harm, setting her purse on the bar and fiddling with the strap as she turned to face Mic. “Mic,” she said, “it wasn’t a good idea for you to come over here.” “We need to talk, Sarah,” he insisted. He took a step towards her, but she held up a hand to stop him. She thought it would be easier if she could keep some distance between them. Not that she thought Mic could persuade her, but maybe it would help him get the message that they were over. “I suppose we do,” Mac admitted. “But you should have called me and I could have met you someplace. The last thing Harm needed was you showing up here unannounced.” “I did call JAG,” Mic said. “The petty officer who answered the phone said you had left for the day just a few minutes before I called. I wasn’t sure where….what your living arrangements were, so I stopped by your apartment. Rabb’s brother told me where to find you. I guess he didn’t know who I was, especially since I told him that I needed to discuss a case with you before tomorrow.” “Oh, Mic,” Mac said wearily. Now Sergei was being dragged into her problems without even knowing it. As far as she knew, Sergei didn’t know who Mic was specifically, although she was sure by now that he had heard something of the unusual circumstances of that horrible weekend. She was sure Mic had been utterly charming in getting her location out of Sergei. That was his way of getting what he wanted. She knew that all too well. “I guess it is a good thing you stopped by, because I have something to return to you.” Turning away from him, she went into the bedroom and searched through one of the dresser drawers until she found what she was look for. Clasping her right hand tightly around whatever was in it, she returned to the living room. Taking one of Mic’s hands in hers, she opened her right hand over his upturned palm. After Mac pulled her hands away, Mic started for a long moment at the diamond solitaire she had placed in his hand then closed his fingers around it, the setting of the ring digging into his

palm. “Sarah,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I should have returned the ring to you when we were down in Portsmouth,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest as if she was cold. “There was just so much going on….I know that’s not an excuse for letting this go on as long as it has.” “I didn’t want the ring back,” Mic said. Mac shook her head, fighting back tears. Mic was a decent man and he truly loved her. It wasn’t his fault that his love was not what she needed to make her complete. “Mic, I’m married to Harm,” she reminded him. “I intend to stay married to him.” “Sarah, I can give you the world,” Mic said, “everything you’ve never had and always wanted.” “I know,” she admitted in a mournful tone. “And I’m so sorry, Mic. It took me too long to realize this, but your everything isn’t what I needed.” “And Rabb is what you need?” “Yes,” Mac replied. “I just didn’t know how much until I almost lost him.” “That’s the thing, Sarah,” Mic said. “You shouldn’t have almost lost him because he never should have been in the air that night. You have to realize that.” Mac opened her mouth to say that it was her upcoming wedding which almost cost her Harm, but she realized that Mic was too far into denial to believe her. It was something that he would eventually have to face for himself. She wished she knew how to get him to finally accept that fact. “Look, Mic,” she said as she mentally calculated how long Harm had been gone and when he could be expected back, “Harm should be back soon. He’s been having problems with his knee since the crash, so he probably won’t go too far in walking Jingo.” “You think I should be gone before he gets back,” Mic said. “It’s for the best,” Mac replied simply. Mic reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He wanted more, wanted to take her in his arms and dry her tears, but he decided it was better not to push too far. Not now. If he was patient, surely she would realize that he could give her everything she needed more than Rabb ever could. Rabb had left once and their relationship had not been the same after he had come back. Mic was determined not to make the same mistake. Leaving would mean ceding the field to Rabb, and there was no way in hell he was going to do that. “If that’s what you want for now, Sarah,” he conceded. “Just think about what we mean to each other. I *can* give you everything you want.” “Goodbye, Mic,” she said, slipping away from him and heading towards the door. She opened the door and reluctantly, he started to go through it.

Before he entered the hallway, he stopped and turned back to her. “I do love you, Sarah,” he said. “Please remember that.” He then left the apartment and went to wait for the elevator. Mac closed the door behind him and rested her head against it, giving free reign to her tears. Harm was right – it could have been worse. But Mic still wouldn’t see what was right in front of him, that she didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved. It was her fault that she’d led him on for so long, had let him believe that she loved him just as much as he loved her. Now she was the one who had to fix it, but God help her, she couldn’t figure out how. Brushing the tears from her face, she headed to the bedroom to change out of her uniform. As she kicked off her shoes, she caught sight of a piece of paper lying on the bed. She picked it up and unfolded it. Mac, Jingo was quite insistent about needing to go for a walk. We’ll be back soon, if we’re not already back by the time you get home. Love, Harm “Love, Harm,” she read the closing words out loud, smiling in spite of her current mood. She would never grow tired of hearing those words. Setting the note aside, she quickly changed into a t-shirt and denim shorts. At a bit of a loss, she sat on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head on top of her knees, closing her tear-filled eyes. That was how Harm found her a few minutes later when he and Jingo returned. While Jingo went to get a drink, Harm joined Mac in the bedroom, sitting down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. With a quiet sigh, she snuggled into his embrace. “How are you?” Harm asked, worry evident in his tone. “I’m fine,” she replied, pushing everything aside. She didn’t need to burden Harm with how much she had screwed up. She could only hope right now that the fallout would be minimized. “I just hate how much I’ve hurt Mic. He still isn’t willing to accept that it’s over, that I’m not going to come back to him. I don’t know how to convince him.” “It’s hard to let go of someone you love. In a way, I can understand.” “I know,” Mac agreed softly. It crossed her mind that he was talking about Diane, but she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. It had come between them in Sydney, and she was determined not to let it happen again. “And maybe Mic will have to figure out how to let go on his own. He obviously doesn’t want to listen to anything either of us has to say.” “He thinks that I seduced you into my bed in Norfolk,” Harm said. “He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that you came to me.” Mac lifted her head and pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. “You talked about Norfolk?” she asked with apprehension. What else had they talked about?

“He said the two of you had talked about it while everyone was down at Portsmouth,” Harm said. “You didn’t tell me about that.” “You knew I’d met with Mic,” Mac replied, telling herself not to get defensive. She’d had her reasons for keeping that part of the conversation from Harm at the time. He hadn’t needed to deal with it on top of everything else at the time. “But you didn’t tell me that he knew we had spent the night together before I left for the Henry,” he pointed out. Mac hesitated a moment before replying. She could hear the hurt in his voice, the trepidation that there was something else he didn’t know, something Mic may have said or done. “You were still in ICU,” she reminded him. “I could have been there for you,” Harm insisted. “Harm, you weren’t in any condition at the time to deal with my issues,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “There was nothing you could have done. Unfortunately, this particular issue *is* mine to deal with. I have to handle Mic on my own.” “That doesn’t mean I can’t be there for you after….” He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. “For better, for worse, remember?” “I know,” she said, blinking back tears. Harm wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, her head resting on his chest. They let the silence envelop them – there didn’t seem to be anything left to say. Or maybe there was too much to say for which words just couldn’t be found. UESDAY MORNING 19 JUNE 2001 HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION Harm hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, as he looked through the peep hole in his door. He’d been expecting this, but after the confrontation with Mic a few days earlier, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to go through that again. She might have restrained herself while he was in the hospital, but he wasn’t so sure she would now. But this had to be done. He opened the door and managed a weak grin. “Hello, Renee,” he said. He motioned her inside the apartment. “Hello, Harm,” she said. She stopped just inside the door, jingling her keys nervously in her hand. Attracted by the noise, Jingo peeked out of the bedroom at the newcomer. After a moment, apparently satisfied that nothing was going on, he disappeared again behind the divider. After a long moment, Harm broke the uneasy silence permeating the apartment. “The boxes are there behind the desk,” he said, motioning in that direction.

“Thank you,” Renee said softly, looking where he had indicated. Three file boxes, the entire sum of her relationship with Harm, a relationship that she’d invested herself in heart and soul. Perhaps it was appropriate that everything had been condensed into those boxes. There hadn’t been as much to their relationship as she’d thought there was and now it was time for her to pack up and move on with her life. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to come earlier to pick them up.” “It’s okay,” Harm said with a shrug. “There’s been a lot going on around here since I got home. My parents and grandmother just left on Friday. Sergei is settled into Ma….well, settled into an apartment.” Renee took a deep breath to steady herself, realizing what he had been about to say. Mac. It had always been Mac, no matter how hard she’d tried to deny it. Sometimes, she wished she had never taken the job to produce that Navy commercial, had never heard of Harmon Rabb or anyone else associated with him. What was that saying, about being better to have loved and lost? She wasn’t quite sure she was ready to believe that yet. Maybe someday, with a little help. “My father died,” she blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She wanted him to take her into his arms, to comfort her, but she knew that would never happen. By telling him about her recent troubles, she was just setting herself up to be disappointed. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He thought he should give her a hug, offer comfort in some way, but she might misinterpret it. “That’s why I didn’t return your call,” she explained, “when you first called about picking up my things. I found out the day after I got back from seeing you at the hospital. I’ve been in Minnesota with my mother. I came back to Washington yesterday to….take care of some things and finally got your message.” Harm studied her for a long moment then motioned to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment?” he suggested. “You look exhausted.” She hesitated a moment, then took him up on the offer as he took a seat in the matching chair. “It’s been rough,” she said. They both knew she wasn’t only talking about her father’s death. “My parents were married for almost forty years and Daddy’s death was so sudden. Mom is taking it so hard. I didn’t really want to leave her yet, but Cyrus agreed to keep any eye on her while I was gone.” “Who’s Cyrus?” Harm asked. He knew Renee was an only child. They’d gone out right after he’d gotten back from Iceland, and he had been obviously distracted throughout dinner, even as he was supposed to be making it up to her for missing their last date because of said trip. To avoid her pointed questions about his less than jovial mood, he’d encouraged her to talk about herself. Although his memory was still a little hazy in places, he was pretty sure she had never mentioned someone named Cyrus. “He’s….an old friend,” she said hesitantly. “Must have been a good one.”

Had she and Harm ever been friends? She’d been with him for nearly a year and a half, but could she say she really had gotten to know him? Sure they’d had fun together, or she’d thought they had. And the sex had been better than good. But there had always been a wall around him, and he’d never quite let her in. “Very,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “We haven’t seen each other much in years, but we’ve been getting reacquainted since I went home.” “Good,” Harm said. At her started look, he added, “You should be happy.” “I thought I could have been with you,” she said sadly. She blinked, willing away the sudden moisture in her eyes. She was not going to be weak in front of him. She was not going to cry. “But I never had a chance, did I?” “Renee,” Harm began, at a loss as to what to say. He’d never had to dissect a relationship like this. Diane had died before they’d figured it out, one way or the other. His break with Annie had been abrupt, and he’d managed to push it from his mind afterwards in the midst of everything that had happened with his reinvestigation of Diane’s murder. Jordan had tried, but he’d resisted her efforts to psychoanalyze him, and she’d pretty much given up when he’d decided to return to flying. She had decided that she didn’t want to be with a pilot and that was that. Mac….he didn’t even know where to begin there, but she was now his, until death did them part. He loved her, and she loved him. All the rest didn’t matter, not anymore, had all fallen away the moment she’d agreed to marry him. “I know,” she said, brushing away his awkward attempt with a wave of her hand. “Not your thing to talk like that. I just wish I’d known what I was going up against, all the history there. I mean, you’ve known her for what, more than a decade? You’ve probably been through so much more than I can’t even imagine….” She trailed off at the confused look on his face. “What?” she asked. “I met Mac almost five years ago,” he said. “She came to headquarters in the fall of 1996.” Suddenly, he was assaulted with memories of the meeting outside a Rose Garden that would ultimately change and enrich his life in more ways than he could explain or even understand. Oh, I’m sorry, Major. Of course, I don’t know you. I just had a moment of déja vu. Must be the uniform. No, actually, she was in the Navy. He smiled slightly, remembering her confusion as he’d first told the Admiral that he knew her before admitting it was déja vu. There had been no way her confusion, or the Admiral’s, had come close to matching his own. He’d felt that he’d just fallen off a precipice without a handhold in sight. There had been something electric between them from the moment their eyes had first

locked. Maybe at first it could have been chalked up to her resemblance to the woman he’d loved and so recently lost, but it hadn’t been like that for a long time. He couldn’t say exactly when that had changed, when he had stopped getting Diane and Mac mixed up in his mind and recognized them as two distinct women with different personalities. I keep forgetting I don’t know you. Déja vu again? Only whenever I see your face. Or hear you talk. I wouldn't know about your smile, I haven't seen one yet. There’s not much to smile about. I guess not. Sounds like I have a twin out there. Not anymore. Lost in the memories, it was a moment before he realized that Renee was trying to get his attention. Reluctantly, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and forced himself to acknowledge the woman in front of him. “Don’t mess with me, Harm,” she said, anger bursting forth for no reason that he could explain. “Renee, I don’t know….” He began in a placating tone. He stared in shock as she jumped up and stormed over to his bookcase, yanking one of his photo albums off the shelf and flipping through it. Finding the page she wanted, she came back over to him and dropped the album onto the coffee table with a thud, leaning over and jabbing a finger at one of the photos. Swallowing hard, Harm looked down at the picture she was indicating, then looked back at Renee. When had she gone through his things, his personal memories? When had she violated his privacy? “That was taken ten years ago,” she proclaimed angrily, no longer worried about hiding her tears. She started to pull off the plastic protecting the photo so she could show him the back of the picture, but he placed his hand over hers to stop her. Renee jerked back her hand as if she’d been stung. Harm held up his hands in supplication, trying to silently indicate that he wasn’t going to hurt her. “I know when this was taken,” he said, looking down at the picture again. He’s still been recovering from his crash at his grandmother’s farm when Diane had managed to take a week’s leave and come up to visit him. He was pretty sure his grandmother had called Diane and told her that he was thinking about leaving the Navy and that she’d dropped everything as quickly as she could and rushed up to Pennsylvania.

Not that Diane had said so. In fact, she hadn’t said much of anything at all, hadn’t tried to encourage or discourage him either way. She’d just been there, sitting beside him on the porch as he stared off into the distance, rushing into his room to hold him when the nightmares disrupted his sleep, handing him tools when he worked on ‘Sarah’. She’d let him find his own way, merely offering a strong shoulder to lean on. It had meant so much to him, and that’s when he’d started thinking that he was falling in love with one of his best friends. The photo had been taken the day she’d left, just hours before she’d gotten into her car and driven back to her own career in Norfolk. After breakfast, she’d accompanied him on a short walk around the farm, silently strolling with her hand in his as they enjoyed the beautiful spring day and their last hours together. As they’d returned to the house, his grandmother had appeared on the porch with a camera, taking a quick picture of them in front of the barn before telling Harm to rest. Although he had acquiesced, he hadn’t really been tired, despite still hobbling around on a cane. He hadn’t felt so well since before the crash. He looked back up, finding Renee still standing on the opposite side of the coffee table, her arms crossed over her chest. “Her name is Diane,” he said. “Diane?” It was Renee’s turn to look stunned. It wasn’t Mac? Her world shifted, but she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or bad. “We went to the Academy together,” he said by way of explanation, as inadequate as it was. There was no way he could explain this. “Really?” Renee said incredulously. “Well, maybe I should have cut my hair and dyed it brown. Would I have held your attention then?” “Renee….” “So where is she?” she demanded. “Does she know you’re married to her virtual twin?” “She died,” Harm replied, glancing away. “She was murdered five years ago.” Renee didn’t say anything for a long moment. This was screwed up in so many ways. She hadn’t only been competing with whatever the hell had been going on between him and Mac all this time, but with a ghost. She almost felt sorry for Mac….almost. Had she known what she was getting into? She shook her head. Did it really matter? Harm and all his walls and all his ghosts were now hers to deal with. Mac was welcome to them. Harm closed the album and looked back at Renee, an apologetic look in his eyes. Now it was Renee who looked away, trying to avoid falling into his gaze. She wasn’t going to fall again. She wouldn’t let it happen. She had to close the book on the life she’d thought she’d had with Harmon Rabb. That was why she was here, after all. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that I never had a snowball’s chance?” she asked in a shaky voice. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. She bit back a sigh of frustration. That was the only answer she was going to get from him, she was sure. It was pointless to continue the conversation. “I guess I’ll just get my stuff and go,” she said.

“I’ll help you take those down….” Harm began. “I don’t need your help,” Renee interrupted angrily. She started towards the boxes, stopping next to the desk. She fiddled with her key ring a moment then tossed something on the desk. Harm watched her silently toss a copy of his apartment key on the desk, wanting to offer some kind of comfort even as he realized that it wouldn’t be accepted. He had never wanted to hurt Renee, but he realized that had been inevitable. He had never mentioned Diane, never talked about his relationship with Mac, partly for this reason. There was no way to explain this, even if he had wanted to. Even with those who knew both women – Bud, Sturgis, Keeter – he had never discussed this. Bud was a junior officer, and there was no way Harm would have talked about this with him, although Bud had tried to bring up the subject right after they’d met Mac. Keeter, and apparently Sturgis as well, knew better than to even try. Movement from the bedroom caught Harm’s eye, and he made a decision. “I need to take Jingo for a walk,” he said. “I’ll let you finish up here, if you could lock the door before you leave.” Renee paused for a long moment before she agreed with a nod. She watched as he put Jingo’s leash on and grabbed his keys, stuffing them in the pocket of his jeans. “Renee, I’m sorry,” Harm said, pausing after he opened the door. “I hope you’ll be happy.” “I will be,” she said, trying to inject a note of confidence that she didn’t feel into her voice. Could Cyrus make her happy? Certainly happier than Harmon Rabb was capable of, she knew that now. She wondered if he was capable of making any woman happy. With a shake of her head, she pushed the thought from her mind. It didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t her concern. She waited until she heard the elevator start its descent then started carrying her boxes into the hallway. God, how had she been so stupid? She considered herself so smart, so savvy. The signs were so obvious now. How had she not paid attention to them? Standing in the hall, she reached out to push the elevator button but she couldn’t make herself push the button, knowing that this was it. She was never going to see Harm again and in spite of everything, it still hurt like hell. She rested her head against the wall, finally giving free reign to her tears. After everything, it should be easy to hold her head high and just walk away. Why couldn’t it be that easy? “Damn you, Harm,” she cried, holding her stomach, mourning the forever she’d thought she’d have with him. She couldn’t stop the pain, stop the devastation she felt at losing everything she wanted. Cyrus was good to her, he would be a steady and calming influence in the midst of her hectic life, but it wouldn’t quite be the same. Harm was excitement and heat and she thought that had made him fit perfectly into her life, but it had all been an illusion. She would just have to figure out how to pick up the pieces and move on with her life. She stabbed the elevator button and bent to pick up her purse, but clumsily let it slip from her grasp, its contents spilling onto the floor. “Of course,” she muttered as she knelt down to stuff everything back in her purse. She stopped short as she retrieved her cell phone, and without a second thought, she flipped it open and searched through her contacts, punching the

call button with her thumb once she’d found it. There were two rings before a familiar voice answered, “Brumby.” “Mic, it’s so goddamned screwed up,” Renee said, her voice shaking. Her voice was so unsteady that it took Mic a moment to recognize it. “Renee?” he asked. “Where are you? Is it your family?” He knew her father had died – she had called him from the airport on her way out of town, needing someone to talk to while she waited for her plane, and he had been the only one she could turn to. Those she might have spoken to before were no longer available to her, and Mic had been nice to her, even as both their lives had been falling apart – or more likely because of it. “No, I….” she trailed off, unable to find the words. She couldn’t figure out how to explain this. “It was all a lie, even more so than I thought.” “Renee, I’m sorry but I have to ask,” Mic said, his tone cautious. “Have you been drinking?” “I wish,” she said, sagging against the wall. “Maybe then all this would make sense.” “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Mic suggested. “I don’t know where that is,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face with her free hand. “Did you know Mac only came to Washington in the fall of ’96?” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. What does Sarah have to do with this? Mic wondered. “Of course,” he replied. “She came here from Quantico to work on a case and ended up staying. What does that have to do with anything?” “You remember that picture I showed you?” she asked. “What picture?” “The night of Harm’s crash,” she explained. “The one in his photo album. You took it out and the stamp on the back was 1991.” “Vaguely,” he replied. He had tried to forget that, to push from his mind the seemingly uphill battle he was fighting. “So?” “That wasn’t Mac in the picture,” she said. Seated behind his desk in his office, Mic looked down at the picture of Sarah on his desk in confusion, mentally superimposing the image that he’d seen that night. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “I think I’d know a picture of my own fiancée. They obviously met before they were stationed together at JAG headquarters. It’s not that big a command compared to some. They had probably worked together on cases before.” Even as he said that, he knew they wouldn’t have been working together back in 1991. Sarah hadn’t even been a lawyer yet, had just started law school that year, and he knew that before then, she’d been in Okinawa with John Farrow.

Had that been where they’d met, when had Rabb been active as a pilot? He couldn’t remember, assuming he’d ever known. He’d never really wanted to know. But if Rabb had been a pilot back then, it wasn’t inconceivable that he would have made his way to Okinawa at some point and their paths had crossed. He tried to remember from Sarah’s trial when she’d left Okinawa, as the picture had given every indication of having been taken in the States. “Harm wasn’t a lawyer in 1991,” Renee said, unknowingly echoing Mic’s train of thought. “His crash was in January of that year – that’s probably why he had the cane in the photo. He was still recovering. He started at Georgetown that fall.” She knew that much from his service jacket, or what little of it she had been shown while choosing her subject for the recruiting video. “Sarah went to Duke Law, same time,” Mic said slowly, trying to put the pieces together in his mind. So far, they didn’t fit together. “I stopped by Harm’s….well, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Anyway, I got into it with him about fighting with all his history with Mac and how they’d known each other for more than a decade. Mic, Harm said he’d only known her for five years. They didn’t meet until she came here.” “That makes no bloody sense, Renee,” he said, even as he couldn’t think of a reason for Rabb to lie. That made just as little sense. What would be the point? “Her name was Diane,” Renee said. “Harm said they went to the Academy together.” “So Sarah doesn’t have an identical twin out there,” Mic said, the joke sounding lame to his ears. He knew Sarah was several years younger than Rabb. “Just a doppelganger.” “Even if she had a twin, she doesn’t anymore,” Renee said. “Diane was murdered, according to Harm.” “Wow,” Mic said, incredulous. To try to make sense of this was beyond him at the moment. It was like looking at one of those abstract pieces of art at a museum, the ones that only made sense to the artist and meant something different to everyone who looked at it. “So this is what has you upset?” “You don’t understand, do you?” Renee asked. “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “Just think, Mic,” she said in a rush. The sooner she could get through this, the sooner she could begin to forget about it. “How kinds of screwed up is this situation with Harm being married to a woman who looks exactly like someone he went to the Academy with, someone whom he was obviously quite close to, judging from that photo? Do you think you could meet Mac’s double and not see and think of Mac every time you saw her? Just what the hell did we stumble into?” It hit him like a ton of bricks. Now he could see the implications, and he sure as hell didn’t like what he saw. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. What was that bastard doing to his

Sarah? Who did he see when he looked at her? Was he using her as a replacement for this Diane woman? “Was Rabb involved with this woman?” “I didn’t ask,” Renee said with a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think I could take one more blow today.” Does Sarah know? Mic wondered. Surely she couldn’t. There was no way she could let herself be a mere replacement for another woman. She wanted more and deserved more. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He knew Rabb could never give her everything he could, and this just proved it. With that knowledge came the conviction that he was doing the right thing. This relationship was wrong in so many ways, more ways than he could have possibly imagined. Sarah would see that eventually. He was sorry that it was going to hurt her like hell when she finally did. He couldn’t just come out and tell her. He knew through the grapevine – Bud, actually, who’d expressed his own anger at the actions of a man he considered a friend – that Sarah had been angry about his deposition to Commander Fleming. In fact, when he’d seen her Friday, he’d avoided bringing it up and she hadn’t mentioned it. He hoped that meant she was settling down, that deep down she knew he was doing what he had to do. This would be throwing gasoline on the dying embers, fanning the flames. He needed Sarah’s trust, wanted her to know she could turn to him when her relationship with Rabb imploded. And implode it would. This new information made it an absolute certainty. Sarah was going to fall, and hard, and he had to be there for her to help pick up the pieces. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. As an officer of the court, he’d had no choice regarding the deposition. This….Sarah didn’t need to know this. He wasn’t going to hurt her like that. Rabb was going to hurt her as it was. “Look, Mic,” Renee said, “I needed someone to talk to, but I also thought you should know. It puts quite a different spin on things, doesn’t it?” “Quite,” Mic agreed. “So does this make you change your mind about staying and fighting?” “Not unless I cut my hair and dye it brown,” she said, laughing bitterly. “Sorry, my own little joke, except the joke was on me. He doesn’t love me. He never did and never could. It’s obvious now that he’s incapable of it, at least with me. Maybe I could have fought against the very real presence of Mac as long as she was inaccessible to Harm by your marriage. But I can’t fight against that and a ghost, too. That’s too much for anyone. Nobody is that strong.” “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. Renee was touched by the compassion she heard in his voice. He really did mean that, and it meant more to her than Harm’s attempt at an apology earlier. Maybe if he didn’t have his own hang ups regarding one Sarah Mackenzie…..but there was no way in hell she was wading into those waters again. Anyway, she had Cyrus waiting for her. He may not be Harmon Rabb, but that was good enough for her. In fact, it was very high on the list of selling points. She had known Cyrus almost her entire life, knew there was no reason to doubt his feelings for her. There were

many who didn’t have that much, including her in that past life she was now shedding like an old, worn out winter coat which no longer kept her warm. “So what now?” Mic asked after a long moment of silence stretched over the line. “I go back to Minnesota,” she said, much calmer now that she’d hashed things out with someone who understood what she was going through like no other. “My mother is still having a hard time; I wouldn’t have even come back to DC right now if I hadn’t had a few things to wrap up here on my last production. And there’s Cyrus waiting.” She found that she could smile at the thought. “You’ve already met someone,” Mic said. “I guess you really are ready to move on.” “Cyrus has always been there,” Renee said. “I think he was just expecting me to come back eventually, wanting the same things he wanted. Do you know what that feels like, that he would still be there for me?” In a roundabout way, he could. He hoped desperately that Sarah would feel the same once she realized that he would always be there for her. He prayed with everything he had in him that he and Sarah would still get their forever. “I’m happy for you,” he said. “You do deserve it, and you definitely deserve better than Rabb.” “Thanks, Mic,” she said. “And someday you’ll get your miracle, too, just like I am.” “Thank you, Renee,” he echoed. “I hope so. I really hope so.” “Mic, I’m sorry, but I really need to let you go,” she said. “I’ve got to take these boxes down to my car before Harm gets back from walking the dog.” “You’re at Rabb’s?” “Yeah,” she replied. “He had called and left a message for me that I had a few things at his place, but I was already home, so I didn’t get the message until I came back to DC. I came over to pick them up and that’s when everything came out. After I’d gotten so upset, he figured discretion was the better part of valor or something, and decided to walk the dog while I finished up here. I want to get these boxes down to my car and be out of here before he gets back.” “I understand,” he said. “Goodbye, Renee. Give me a call sometime, let me know how you’re doing.” “You do the same,” she said, “just as long….” “No talk of Sarah to you. I promise,” he interrupted, realizing that she would be the last thing she would want to hear about. He laughed. “I can regale you the latest tales from the case files of Brumby & Brumby, minus that information protected by attorney-client privilege.” In spite of herself, Renee laughed. Mic was a good man, and Mac was obviously a fool to

have thrown him over for the emotionally stunted Harm. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “Goodbye, Mic.” She hung up the phone and tossed it back in her purse with a sigh. She felt better now that she had talked to Mic. He had been so nice to her ever since the crash. Even though it might help his case with Mac to have her fighting just as hard for Harm, he hadn’t pushed her to join forces with him. He knew that wasn’t what she wanted and would work to carry on the fight on his own. He could accept that, especially after what she’d just told him, and wish her well wherever life took her. It felt so good to be able to have someone to talk to who made no demands, had no expectations. Pulling the gate back on the elevator, which had been waiting for her throughout the call with Mic, she carried the boxes into the elevator and pulled the gate behind her. It wouldn’t be easy, but she felt a little bit stronger after confiding in Mic. She could start putting it behind her and moving on with her life.

After hanging up the phone, Mic glanced at his appointment book. Nothing that afternoon. It was hard building a practice, and he didn’t have the future promise of Sarah joining him, using her contacts to help build the clientele. The few clients he did have were just barely keeping him afloat, but he’d probably have to make some decisions soon. He didn’t think he’d be able to afford both his office and apartment for much longer. He did have a second office in the space he’d leased here – the one he’d hoped Sarah would eventually take. In a pinch, it could do as a bedroom. There was also a bathroom with a small shower – the agent had told him the previous tenant had been a fitness buff and had insisted on having a shower to use after working out during lunch. Lucky him. It certainly made things a lot easier. He definitely hadn’t accumulated a lot of stuff since he’d moved back to Washington – he hadn’t wanted to worry about moving a bunch of stuff into Sarah’s after the wedding. He’d spent most of his time over there anyway, so there wasn’t much point in having a lot of things in his own apartment. Moving his stuff in here wouldn’t be that difficult. Giving up his apartment would certainly help, and the lease was up anyway at the end of the month. He had been planning to give it up anyway – his lease had been up before Sarah’s, so moving into her place made more sense rather than paying a penalty to break her lease. He could handle living in his office for a few months. He would also save money on gas going back and forth every day. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Now that he had figured out his living arrangements, he couldn’t help but think about the bombshell Renee had dropped on him. He just didn’t know what to do with it. He needed more information. With another glance at his appointment calendar, he knew what he had to do.

THAT AFTERNOON NIMITZ LIBRARY UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND

Mic strode into the library dressed in his uniform, thinking it would make it easier for him to get help as “one of the club.” He headed for the main desk and caught the attention of a civilian woman behind the desk. He flashed a bright smile. “I wouldn’t if you could help me, Ma’am,” he said. “I’m Commander Mic Brumby of the Royal Australian Navy. I’m a lawyer and I need a witness for one of my cases, only my client isn’t being entirely forthcoming with information about her. I do know the woman I’m looking for attended the Academy with my client.” “I’m Beth Stewart, head of reference services, Commander,” she said. “You’re a little far from home, Commander.” “Exchange program between our respective Navies,” Mic explained vaguely. That had certainly been true at one time. If the woman wanted to interpret that to mean he was still part of the program, it would only make it easier for him to get the information he needed. He was wearing a uniform that he was entitled to wear, so he couldn’t get into trouble for impersonating an officer. The rest was immaterial. “Well, Commander, if you know when your client attended the Academy,” she said, having decided to take his presence at face value, “you can check through the yearbooks for the years your client was here. I assume you know the name of the woman you’re looking for?” Mic nodded. He didn’t know her full name, but he saw her face every night in his dreams. He’d be able to find her. “Come with me, Commander,” Beth said as she came around the counter. “I’ll show you where the yearbooks are. “ “Thank you,” he said as he glanced at her hand for a ring, “Mrs. Stewart. Also, can you tell me if you have back copies of the Navy Times? I’d like to find out as much as I can about this woman who may be able to help my client.” “We do, Commander,” she replied. “We’ve been working with the publishing company to computerize them, but it’s slow work. As long as you don’t want to go back more than 20-30 years, you can search the archives on computer.” “That should be adequate for what I’m looking for,” Mic said. “The people in question attended the Academy in the early 80s.” After a walk across the floor, she led him to the elevator and up to the next floor. They walked along long rows of shelves to the right of the elevator before she found the one she was looking for. “The Lucky Bags are down this aisle, chronologically by year,” she said. At his puzzled look, she explained, “Lucky Bags is the name of our yearbook. If you remove a book from the shelf, please put it on the cart at the end of the shelf, so my people can make sure they are put back properly.” “And the computer to search the archives of the Navy Times?” he asked. “Go back to the elevators and go straight away from them,” she directed. “At the center of the room are a bunch of computer desks. They all should be on a main screen which will give you a link to what you need. Some links are limited to students and staff of the Academy, and

are marked accordingly, but the Navy Times archives are accessible to all. There are staff members moving around the floor at all times, so just ask someone if you need any assistance.” “That you, Mrs. Stewart,” he said with a smile. “You’ve been most helpful.” After she left him to his search, he started down the aisle. Judging from the years of the books to his immediate left, what he was looking for was obviously towards the end of the row. Finally, he found the yearbooks from the 1980s on the next to the last column of shelves. He wasn’t entirely sure what Rabb’s exact years were at the Academy, so he decided to split the different and grabbed the yearbook for 1983. He didn’t know how long the search would take, since he didn’t know which class year Rabb had been that year, so he took the book over to a nearby table and sat down. The grey embossed book was thick and he had to flip through more than half the book before he found the individual student photos. Once he found the first classmen, he flipped to the beginning of the ‘R’s. No Rabb. He hit pay dirt with the second classmen. There was Rabb, looking almost the same as now. He didn’t know which class this Diane had been in, but now that he’d found Rabb, he’d go on the assumption that they were in the same class and work from there until he found her. He flipped back to the beginning of the second classmen, running a finger down the page as he briefly glanced at each photo. The first face he recognized wasn’t the mysterious Diane – it was Jack Keeter, whom he’d met at the end of that Iranian business two years earlier. After that, he found nothing before he came across Rabb’s picture again. Moving forward from there, he finally hit pay dirt in the first quarter of the ‘S’s. Midshipman 2nd Class Diane L. Schonke. Her declared major was mathematics, which meant there were brains to go with the beauty. It was just another similarity to Sarah. Now that he had a name to go with the face, he could move onto the Navy Times archives. After setting the yearbook on the previously indicated cart, he made his way to the computer desks. It was mid-afternoon, so most of the cadets were in class, meaning he had the place to himself at the moment. He sat down at the nearest empty desk and studied the main menu screen. It was certainly easy enough to use. He clicked on the link for the Navy Times and typed in his search criteria. If she had been a 2nd classman in the spring of 1983, then she had graduated the Academy in 1984. He selected 1996 as the final parameter. If Sarah and Rabb had met in the fall of ’96, he assumed that Diane had to have died before then, or surely Mac would have known about it. He leaned back as the computer completed its search. It came up with numerous results, but most were routine – the results of promotions boards, awards, and postings. Her last promotion board listing was in April 1996, so she’d obviously still been alive at that time. But she hadn’t lived long enough to actually receive the promotion – the next article was the one about her murder. She had been found shot to death in her car at the port the morning after the carrier she was serving on had docked after a cruise. As he read through the article, he noted that there were brief comments from the investigating

officers. The NCIS Agent Brian Turque had given the standard, “We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” to most of the questions he was asked. The JAG officer – one Harmon Rabb, Jr. – had been just as forthcoming, only stating that “Pertinent personnel were still being interviewed in order to establish the facts of the case.” So Rabb had been assigned to investigate the murder of his…..what had she been to him? His Academy sweetheart? Just a friend? It didn’t really matter. What would something like that do to a man’s head? His girlfriend or whatever was murdered in May 1996 then he met Mac that fall. The man must have thought he was seeing a ghost. How do you get over something like that, working very close every day to a living, breathing reminder of what you had lost? He already knew Rabb had his issues – he’d been told about his father and the crash soon after he’d arrived at JAG. This man, however, had more issues than anyone realized. In the condition Rabb had been in after the crash, had he been completely aware of whom he’d been talking to when he’d proposed to Sarah? Had he been seeing his dead love? In his extreme hypothermia, had he gotten the two confused in his mind? He imagined Rabb begging Sarah to marry him, not truly realizing who she was, while Sarah magnanimously agreed to grant the request of a possibly dying man. What was he supposed to do with this information? He made a few notes on a legal pad he’d brought with him then drew boxes and triangles around the margins as he contemplated what he’d learned. He wanted….no, needed to protect Sarah, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. He had to move carefully, or Sarah would lash out at him as well. She needed to know that she could turn to him when all her illusions were shattered. He had to play this very carefully. Maybe it didn’t need to come out at all. Perhaps the current investigation would take care of everything. MONDAY MORNING 25 JUNE 2001 FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA “I am not sure that you should be doing this.” “Dr. Grayson gave me clearance to drive,” Harm said tersely, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while waiting for the light to change. It had taken no small amount of persuasion on his part to convince his neurologist that he was feeling well enough to drive, at least around town. It had taken even more to get a reluctant okay to travel to Annapolis over the coming weekend for Skates’ wedding, and that only after he had sworn that he wouldn’t get behind the wheel for that trip and would let Mac drive. He hadn’t even mentioned to the doctor that he was planning to go up to Pennsylvania for the Fourth of July. In fact, he was still having a hard time convincing Mac that he was going to be up to the four-hour drive, regardless of who was driving. He thought he would have a stronger case after making the trip to Skates’ wedding, so he was putting off making his final argument for the trip to his grandmother’s until after the weekend. Once Mac saw that he was fine and had gotten through Skates’ wedding with no ill-effects, he was sure Mac would agree to get away and could help convince the doctor. At this point, he was sure that Mac needed the trip just as much as he did. With the Fourth being on a Wednesday, they would have

plenty of time to kick back, and try not to think about everything going on in their lives. “I do not think leaving the hospital to drive to JAG headquarters is what the doctor had in mind,” Sergei said, surreptitiously studying his brother out of the corner of his eye. Certainly, Harm looked better than he had since the accident, and did not seem to tire quite so easily. But Sergei could not forget the cold fear he had felt on hearing of the accident and the long flight from Moscow, wondering if the brother he barely knew was going to still be alive by the time he landed in the U.S. His first sight of Harm in the hospital had done little to allay those fears. When their grandmother had returned home the previous week, she had invited Sergei to come up with her, to spend some time getting to know each other on the family farm. He had demurred, promising to come up in a few weeks for the holiday. His grandmother hadn’t pushed, but she had sensed the reason behind his reluctance, he could tell. He was afraid to give up this time with the brother he had almost lost. “I’m not going back to work,” Harm insisted. In the seat beside him, Sergei rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, “you are just going to ask the Admiral to give you work to do.” “I can certainly sit at home and draft reports,” Harm countered. “It will give me something to do all day.” He had brought up to Mac his idea of renovating the apartment, but she had been hesitant. He had shown her the plans he had drawn up and although she had agreed, in general, with the concept of remaking the apartment into something that was theirs, she still thought it was the wrong time to begin such a large project. She had wanted him to wait, but for what, he wasn’t really sure. She had said that she thought he should see how he did once he got back to work and was back into the swing of things in his life. He had been frustrated at the suggestion, as that defeated the purpose of beginning the work now, when he was stuck at home with little to do beyond resting and exercising his still-troublesome knee. “Does the doctor know that you are going to ask the Admiral for work?” Sergei asked. “I should have dropped you off at Mac’s apartment,” Harm muttered as he turned onto the street where JAG was located. “You promised to show me around this place where you work,” Sergei reminded him. The extracted promise had more to do with keeping an eye on Harm more than anything else, and both men knew it. Harm thought it was ironic considering that Sergei was still recovering from his five-month ordeal as a prisoner. Harm had acquiesced because it was easier than arguing with Sergei, plus he knew it would make Mac feel better if he was accompanied when he stopped by. She was trying not to hover and was hesitant about the increased freedom of movement that he was pushing for with the doctor, so he thought it would ease her mind somewhat if she could see that he was trying to still take it easy. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” Harm said. “There’s plenty of time to show you around.” “We don’t know that,” Sergei reminded him, turning to look out the window.

“You’ve been here just under a month,” Harm countered after a long moment of silence. “Even on the tourist visa, you still have two more months.” Even as he said the words, he wasn’t quite able to mask the concern in his tone. The visa that Clay had wrangled for Sergei had only been for 90 days, and so far, he had not returned any messages left with him about extending it further until they could prove Sergei’s paternity and do away with the visa requirement altogether. Harm had worried to Mac that due to the circumstances of his father’s presence in Russia, there might be pushback to allowing Sergei to remain in the country. After all, some might think that it any ideas of claiming citizenship for Sergei would be dropped if he were forced from the country before proof of paternity could be obtained. Their grandmother was working on trying to find something that would provide usable DNA from their father, but so far, she hadn’t found anything. With the time required to submit the samples for testing, to get the results and then to submit them to the State Department, Harm preferred to have everything taken care of as soon as possible and to be secure knowing that Sergei could stay in the U.S. if he wanted. During the last few weeks, he had discovered that he liked having his little brother around, even if Sergei had been showing a tendency to worry a little too much. Sergei had tried to brush off his own concerns about his status, having told Harm and Mac just a few days earlier at dinner that his mother had sounded worried when he had last spoken to her and that she would feel better if she could see him in person and reassure herself that he really was okay after his ordeal. Harm later told Mac that he suspected that Sergei was simply trying to avoid setting himself up for disappointment. He’d seen the look in his brother’s eyes. He wanted to stay. He was just afraid to hope. “It’s good to see you, Sir,” the Marine guard said as Harm slowed to go through the gate into the JAG parking lot. “It’s good to see you too, Sergeant Wilson,” Harm replied. It was his first visit to the office since the accident and it felt good to be there, even if only as a visitor, and to see the familiar faces he normally saw every day. It was another milestone he could tick off on his road to recovery. “I’m signing in my brother as a visitor today.” He motioned to Sergei, who was ready with his Russian military ID. Wilson looked the ID over and passed it back along with a visitor’s badge, which Sergei clipped to the neckband of his t-shirt. Harm thanked the Marine and pulled through the gate and into his regular parking spot next to Mac’s Corvette. “So this is where you work,” Sergei commented idly as they entered the building. As they walked through the halls, Harm was stopped by numerous people who greeted him enthusiastically, asking how he was doing or when he was coming back to work. Sergei was a little surprised that the people happy to see his brother seemed to be an equal mix of officer and enlisted. Most of the people he’d met at the hospital had been officers, with the exception of the two enlisted men who had accompanied his grandmother from Pennsylvania the night of the accident. It wasn’t what he was used to in Russia, where the often-corrupt officers seemed to be off in their own world and the enlisted seen as little more than drones. Harm wasn’t merely being shown the respect due an officer of his rank. His brother was obviously well-liked by the people he worked with. It was a completely different world, he marveled, not for the first

time. “Gunny,” Harm said as they reached the elevator to find Victor waiting with a file box. “Commander,” Victor said with a grin. “The colonel said you might be stopping by today. It’s good to see you.” “I’m glad to see you, too, Gunny,” Harm replied. “Gunny, this is my brother, Sergeant Sergei Zhukov. Sergei, this is Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez.” Sergei nodded respectfully. He searched his memory for the American military rank structure, trying to recall if a gunnery sergeant was two or three grades above his own rank. There was no Russian equivalent to the Marines. “We met at the hospital,” he reminded his brother. “It’s good to see you again, Gunnery Sergeant.” “It’s good to see you, too, Sergeant,” Victor replied. “How are you enjoying Washington?” “It’s different,” Sergei said with a shrug. His experience with cities prior to this was limited to a couple of visits to the airport in Moscow and an hour spent at JFK in New York. Victor and Harm both laughed at that. Washington was definitely different. “Don’t worry,” Harm assured his brother as they stepped onto the elevator. “Once we’re at Gram’s farm, you’ll think that you are back at home.” The bullpen was quiet when they stepped off the elevator, a handful of people working studiously at their desks. Harm glanced towards Mac’s office, smiling as he noticed the new sign over her door. He knew she had decided to change her name – he’d been surprised one morning shortly after she’d returned to work by the new name tag on her uniform, initially thinking that she had swiped it off one of his uniforms as a joke before she had let him in on the surprise. He’d been more than a little thrilled at the idea of Mac taking his name – and had admitted as much, despite the teasing about being a chauvinist. Numerous times since then, he’d had to banish the thought that it might not have been his name Mac was now using, especially as Mic continued to insinuate himself into their lives. He didn’t know that Mac had been planning to take Mic’s name – and he didn’t want to know. It was one of those things that he was trying to ignore as part of the past that didn’t matter anymore. Sarah Brumby was never going to exist now, he thought thankfully. “Gunny!” “If you’ll excuse me, Sir, Sergeant,” Gunny said, leaving Harm and Sergei to deliver the box he was carrying to Loren, who was glaring angrily at him from across the bullpen. “Who is that?” Sergei asked. She looked vaguely familiar, so he thought he might have met her at the hospital, but it was hard to tell with her hair tightly pulled back off her face. He thought back to the people he had met briefly in Portsmouth, trying to make a connection in his mind. There had been two blond women, as he recalled, one of whom he remembered as the mother of Harm’s godson. Perhaps this was the other one, although she had looked different at the hospital with her hair loose and casual. He decided that the casual look was better on her.

“That is Lieutenant Singer,” Harm replied. “She’s one of the junior attorneys here.” “I did meet her at the hospital?” “Probably,” Harm said. Loren had been there, so he assumed Sergei might have met her. He glanced at his brother, shaking his head. There was nothing wrong with his brother having an eye for the ladies. It was something else entirely if that lady was a barracuda like Loren Singer. “She’s much older than you….and way out of your league.” “Out of my league?” Sergei repeated, unfamiliar with the idiom, although he thought he could guess the meaning based on Harm’s tone. “Never mind,” Harm muttered. He quickly changed the subject. “Do you want to wait in Mac’s office while I see the admiral? I think she’s in court this morning.” “Perhaps I can wait out here and meet some more of your friends,” Sergei suggested in an innocent tone, his eyes still on Loren. “Behave,” Harm said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Take a seat, Commander,” AJ said, glancing at Harm over the top of his glasses as he signed some papers. “Yes, Sir,” Harm replied, taking a seat and waiting patiently while AJ finished what he was doing. After a moment, AJ tossed his pen down on top of the stack of papers and removed his glasses. “How are you doing, Commander?” he asked. “I’m doing better, Admiral,” Harm said. “I just had an appointment with my neurologist at Bethesda. She said it’s possible I will be able to return to work around mid-July.” AJ quirked an eyebrow at that. His doctor said it was possible, or Harm was pushing for it? Knowing Harm, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. Harm’s health wasn’t the only consideration, however. “Commander, on a somewhat related topic, I spoke to Commander Turner this morning,” he said. “The inquiry into your crash has been scheduled for the twelfth. It will be held here at headquarters.” “Then this will all be over around the time the doctor is ready to clear me for duty,” Harm said confidently. “You sound sure of that, Commander,” AJ commented. “I am.” AJ studied him for a moment and then nodded. He hadn’t really expected any other answer, but it was gratifying to hear it all the same. It was a good sign that Harm didn’t seem to be second-guessing himself. He just hoped that the board would see it the same way. He’d been

keeping an eye on the inquiry – as discreetly as possible considering the circumstances – and he knew that if Mic’s planned testimony was discounted, it was pretty clear that the crash had been caused by mechanical failure combined with the weather. They could only hope that the board would see it that way. “So what can I do for you, Commander?” AJ asked. He knew Harm hadn’t come by the office just to update him on his medical condition – he could have done that over the phone. “I was hoping, Sir,” Harm replied, “that there might be some work that I could do at home while I’m recuperating, drafting briefs or something.” “I see,” AJ said. He leaned back in his chair, studying Harm for a long moment. He knew how frustrated Harm must be to ask for what was essentially grunt work. Getting him to do paperwork under normal circumstances was like pulling teeth. AJ could understand – that had been him back in the day, before rank had gotten in the way. Now it seemed that paperwork was all he did – paperwork and meetings. “You haven’t been cleared for duty, Commander.” “That doesn’t mean that I can’t do paperwork while I’m at home, Sir,” Harm countered. “There’s also the inquiry,” AJ pointed out. “You are potentially facing some serious charges.” “Would I be on restricted duty if it were not for my health situation?” Harm asked, leaning forward in the chair. He had the same look in his eyes that he would while delivering an argument before the court. “It is your prerogative as my commanding officer to determine my status in such a case.” “True, if it were only up to me,” AJ continued. “Because you were, at least nominally, under the command of Captain Ingles during your TAD, he is the convening authority for the inquiry under the auspices of COMNAVAIRLANT.” “So you think Captain Ingles may insist on limiting me from even restricted duty until everything is resolved, Admiral?” Actually, AJ thought the opposite. He had seen Captain Ingles’ deposition. Ingles no more believed that Harm was at fault for the crash than he did. In fact, he was sure he had seen the word ‘hogwash’ make an appearance once or twice in the statement with regards to other possible causes for the crash. There may have also been something about ‘God himself couldn’t have kept that plane in the air that night.’ Ingles’ certainty said as much to AJ as Harm’s own confidence did. Ingles was known to be stern, but fair. If you screwed up under his command, he would make sure you paid your penalty to the fullest extent under the UCMJ. But if he was on your side, he could be your staunchest ally. “No, I do not believe that Captain Ingles would argue for restricted duty,” AJ said. “But there are other people who are watching this inquiry carefully, Commander.” “Understood, Sir,” Harm replied. AJ had warned him of that the day he’d told him the inquiry would be headed by the legal counsel for COMNAVAIRLANT. “But would drafting

motions or writing a new will for the sergeant at the guard shack who just had a baby really be worth the attention of COMNAVAIRLANT? I’m not asking to draft classified briefs for the Joint Chiefs, Sir.” Harm paused, considering what he had just said. A new will. Perhaps that was something that he and Mac should talk about, especially after everything that had happened. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. “I suppose that is true, Commander,” AJ said, breaking into Harm’s thoughts. “Let me see what we have around here. Perhaps I can send some things home with the Colonel this evening.” Harm had hoped for something he could start on immediately, but he supposed that it would take some time to find things for him to do. He would have to accept that for now. “Understood, Sir,” he said. “If there is nothing else, Commander?” AJ asked. “No, Sir,” he said, recognizing the dismissal in the tone. He stood and, out of habit, came to attention. “I was going to see if I could speak to Commander Turner about the inquiry.” “Dismissed, Commander,” AJ said, picking up his glasses again. Recognizing the sign that AJ was already moving on to other things, Harm swiftly departed the office, closing the door behind him. As he entered the bullpen, he saw Sergei wasn’t in Mac’s office waiting, but was leaning on the corner of Loren’s desk. He rolled his eyes, deciding he would worry about warning his brother more fully about Loren later. He glanced towards his own office, seeing Sturgis behind his desk, making notes in a file. He went over and knocked on the door frame. “Harm,” Sturgis said, looking up from his notes to smile at his old friend. “Mac said you were thinking about stopping by today after your appointment. I was hoping to catch you while you were here.” “To talk about the inquiry?” Harm asked, closing the door behind him. “The admiral just told me that it’s on the calendar.” “Yes,” he said, motioning to Harm to take a seat. “I’ve gotten everyone else’s statements, but I’ve been holding off on yours because of your medical situation.” “You mean the holes in my memory?” Harm had discussed it briefly with Sturgis on a visit after he’d been released from the hospital, and Sturgis hadn’t pushed the issue, although Harm wondered if part of it might not have been the stern-looking Marine standing over them during the conversation. “I know you said that some of your memories were a little vague,” Sturgis said. From the statements he’d read from Harm’s doctors, it was not unexpected. He was hoping that a few weeks’ removal from the events would have helped Harm fill in some of the holes. “I’m clear regarding the events of the flight itself,” Harm said. He didn’t add that he often woke up in the middle of the night reliving those events, recalling the hours spent out on the ocean wondering if he was ever going to see the woman he loved again. It was part of the

reason why he’d pushed himself to stop taking naps during the day. The less he was asleep, the fewer nightmares he would have. “Well, do you have some time now?” Sturgis asked. “I’ve got all the time in the world, Sturgis,” Harm said with a wry grin. He leaned forward in his chair, an intent look on his face. “What do you want to know?”

HALF AN HOUR LATER Mac’s heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she strode through the bullpen as a woman on a mission. Bud had pulled a last minute rabbit out of the hat in court – she knew who he had learned that from and it was no less frustrating than when Harm had pulled similar stunts in the past - and she had to come up with a way to counteract it during the lunch recess. Just as she was about to enter her office, she stopped short at the familiar man perched on the corner of Loren’s desk. “Sergei,” she said, turning to walk over to them. Sergei smiled at her, while Loren gave her a slightly challenging glare. Mac ignored the other woman in favor of her brother-inlaw. “Harm is with you?” “Yes, Colonel,” he replied, immediately falling back into military habit by calling her by rank, despite their family relationship. “He spoke to the Admiral and now he is with Commander Turner.” “You’re not in uniform, Sergei,” Mac said with a distracted smile. “You don’t have to call me Colonel.” She glanced at Harm’s closed office door, seeing the two men conversing while Sturgis made notes. “Do you know how long they have been in there?” Sergei shrugged and looked at Loren, who answered, “About half an hour, Ma’am. I assume they’re discussing the inquiry.” Mac sent Loren a stern look to indicate that the topic of their discussion was none of her business. Loren returned the regard with a look which did not come off quite as apologetic as it should have. Turning her back on Loren, Mac looked at the closed door, wondering if she should interrupt. She knew Harm hadn’t given his statement on the crash yet, as Sturgis had been delaying as long as possible out of consideration for Harm’s medical condition. It was sure to be emotional, and she ached for Harm to know that she was there for him. She just wasn’t sure that Sturgis would appreciate her presence. Ever since that first day when Sturgis had blindsided her with Mic’s deposition about their wedding, she had felt like she was walking on egg shells around him. In her head, she knew he was right and that they both had Harm’s best interests at heart. She still wondered if Sturgis felt that there wouldn’t be so much to be concerned about if it weren’t for her screwed up presence in Harm’s life. Before she could decide whether or not to interrupt, the door opened and the men came out of the office, laughing together. Mac released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been

holding. Harm didn’t look to be concerned about whatever he and Sturgis had been discussing. Out of the corner of his eye, Harm saw Mac and went over to greet her, settling for a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek in deference to her uniform. “I knew you were probably going to stop by after your appointment,” Mac said. “How did that go?” “It was fine,” Harm replied without elaboration. There was time to talk in full about it later. “I thought Sergei and I would take you to lunch.” “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said regretfully. “Bud pulled a patented rabbit out of a hat move in court today that I need to work on countering.” “Need some help?” Harm asked. “You’re not supposed to be working yet,” she pointed out. She opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on her desk. “You probably should get that,” Harm suggested, giving her another quick kiss before waving her towards her office. “I’ll see you at home later.” “Okay,” Mac said. “I’ll see you later.” As she went into her office, she pondered their quick conversation. Something seemed off about the exchange, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Chalking it up to Harm knowing she was busy, she picked up the phone and resolved to put it out of her mind for now.

THAT EVENING HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION “You’re not supposed to be working yet,” Mac repeated her earlier statement as she entered the apartment, dropping a stack of files on the kitchen bar where Harm was standing, chopping vegetables for the half-prepared salad in front of him. “I take it those are the files the Admiral sent home for me?” he asked. He leaned across the bar to kiss her, but she had already turned towards the bedroom to change. He shrugged. Must have been one of those days at work for her. “I saw the Admiral when I was at JAG today,” Harm explained, slightly raising his voice. “He agreed that he could probably find some paperwork that I could work on while on I’m stuck at home until cleared for full duty.” “Do you really think you’re ready for that?” Mac asked, her words partially muffled as she pulled a t-shirt over her head. “Or maybe you could have mentioned it to me before the Admiral had Tiner hand me a stack of files to take home to you.”

“You were a little busy when I saw you,” Harm reminded her. “Bud’s rabbit in court, your phone ringing, remember?” “Actually, I remember that you seemed very quick to get me back to work,” she counted. Their conversation had played back through her mind later, and she had decided that it seemed just a little too quick to her, as if he really didn’t want to have a discussion. “You were busy.” “No, it seems to me like you were avoiding talking about the fact that you’re not supposed to be working yet,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “It’s barely even work,” Harm argued, tossing the tomatoes he’d been slicing into the salad bowl. “It’s drafting wills and proofreading court briefs.” “That’s not the point!” “Then what is the point?” Harm asked. “Because right now it seems to be much ado about nothing. I’m not going out on investigations or arguing in court.” “Much ado?” Mac echoed. “Harm, you almost died! You’re supposed to be taking it easy while you recover, not pushing yourself too soon.” “I’m not pushing myself too soon,” Harm countered, a hint of anger in his tone, “and I’m tired of people acting like I am. Sergei insisted on coming with me to JAG to keep an eye on me; Sturgis had been avoiding discussing my statement with me; you’ve been on me for wanting something to do while I’m sitting at home all day. I know how my body feels and what my limits are.” “We’re all worried about you,” Mac insisted, exasperation creeping into her voice. “I’m worried about you. I’m not going to apologize for that.” “Mac,” Harm began with a frustrated sigh. Setting down the knife, he went around the counter and went to her in the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his and tugging her down beside him. “I’m not asking for an apology,” he said quietly, curling his fingers around hers and squeezing gently. “You’re entitled to be worried. I just want you to trust that I know my limits.” “It’s not a question of trust,” she said quietly, returning the squeeze as she tried to blink back tears. “Do you have no idea how scared….no, terrified I was? I almost lost you!” “But you didn’t,” he insisted with a cajoling grin. She didn’t return the expression, instead looking down at their clasped hands. “Mac?” For a brief moment, her nightmare about the Somers flitted through her mind. In hindsight, she’d taken the dream as a warning, a prediction that Mic could have cost her the man she loved. Why else would she have dreamed about it so clearly the night of the crash? Pushing the thought from her mind, she looked back up at him. “I’m fine,” she insisted with a firmness she didn’t feel. “It’s just….”

“I do know, Mac,” he replied. He released her hands and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him, resting his chin on top of her head. She returned the embrace eagerly, luxuriating in the feel of his body, warm and solid, against hers. She’d never really liked to cuddle in bed – a restless sleeper, she had always liked her space - but it had turned into one of her favorite things about being married to him. When she woke in the middle of the night, it was comforting to feel him against her, a tangible reminder that her dreams weren’t real and that she wasn’t going to lose him. The buzzer on the oven sounded suddenly, interrupting the peaceful silence surrounding them. Mac’s stomach responded by grumbling audibly, eliciting chuckles from both of them. “You skipped lunch,” Harm chided her knowingly. “At least tell me it was worth it and you managed to counter Bud’s rabbit.” “Of course,” she replied smoothly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve learned a thing or two over the years about countering your tactics in court.” “My tactics?” Harm countered with a grin that didn’t come off quite as innocent as he was trying to appear. “Yes, your tactics,” she said, poking a finger into his stomach to emphasize her point. “I almost thought I was facing you in court this morning.” “I obviously taught Bud well,” he proclaimed proudly. “Hey, shouldn’t you be on my side?” she asked in mock indignation. “I’m on the side of the truth,” he replied in a teasing tone. “Did your client do it?” “I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” she promised. “Don’t you have something to get out of the oven?” “Let’s get you fed,” Harm joked, pulling her with him as he got off the bed and headed for the kitchen. “I think you’ll like this. It’s a chicken casserole recipe my mother got from some Hispanic neighbors we had when Dad was on the Tico.” “Not your usual fare,” she commented. “Baby steps,” he joked as he released her, waving her towards the table. “I know it’s going to take time to convert you to healthier eating habits.” She laughed, remembering his early disgust at her favorite foods. Some things never changed. “Not even a month married and already trying to change me.” “It’s not trying to change you to ensure you’re with me for a long time,” he countered. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON 29 JUNE 2001 HARM’S APARTMENT NORTH OF UNION STATION Mac entered the apartment, dropping her keys and purse onto the desk with a heavy sigh and setting her briefcase on the floor next to it. She had just finished a frustrating week at work – not all of it having to do with work itself - and wanted nothing more than to kick back and forget all about it. She heard Harm moving around in the bathroom and called out, “Harm, I’m home.” She moved towards the bedroom, unbuttoning her uniform blouse, stopping in surprise as she spied the open suitcase on the bed, his dress whites laid out in a dry cleaning bag next to the suitcase. Sure, they were leaving for Annapolis first thing in the morning, but they still had plenty of time to pack. “Harm?” she asked as she climbed the steps. Harm stepped out of the bathroom, a toiletries bag in his hand. “Hey,” he said with a welcoming grin, dropped the bag into the suitcase. Going over to her, he wrapped his arms around her, dipping his head to lightly brush his lips over hers. “Welcome home.” “What’s going on?” she asked, stepping back to look at him. Suddenly, her brow furrowed in puzzlement and she glanced around the apartment. Jingo usually came to greet her as soon as she walked in the door, and with the turmoil that she was trying to drive from her mind, she had just realized that he wasn’t there. “Where’s Jingo?” “Jingo is with Sergei already,” he explained, “and this is a mini-getaway. Since you said there wasn’t much going on at work, I figured you probably wouldn’t be bringing any work home this weekend, so I called a few days ago and made reservations for us at the Marriott on the waterfront in Annapolis. I thought we could drive up there this evening and come back Sunday afternoon.” “But we’re getting away next weekend for the holiday,” Mac said. “Yeah, but the entire family’s going to be there,” Harm reminded her with a shrug. “I thought we could take a few days just for us. I know it won’t be much….” He trailed off uncertainly, looking past her to a point just over her shoulder. She bit back a sigh. He had been pushing himself to recover, but there was one particular area where his body was refusing to cooperate as of yet. Although he tried to hide his feelings as much as possible and was just as attentive to her needs in bed as he’d been in sickbay on the day they’d married, she knew he was getting increasingly frustrated over the situation. She had been trying to assure him that it would be better soon, but she knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. It didn’t matter to her, she had insisted one evening in an attempt to get him to talk about it. She’d wanted him to know that she was there for him no matter what, that she could wait until he was ready. He had looked at her oddly when she’d said that, and it had taken a few minutes before it had clicked in her mind. What was I supposed to do?

Wait. For how long? As long as it takes. Did he think that this was going to cause them to go backwards, back to the way things were? She had been afraid to ask the question, so she had kept silent. They might be married, but they were still trying to find their way with each other. She was afraid, too - terrified that something might still tear asunder the fragile fabric of their relationship. They were still walking through a minefield and the slightest misstep could cost them dearly. She couldn’t take that risk. “You know my feelings on the subject,” she said insistently, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them reassuringly. “But maybe a change of scenery will be beneficial.” She wasn’t really convinced, had to push back the fear that this could blow up on them, but she found that she couldn’t deny him when he’d gone through the trouble to plan this. After a long moment, he brought his gaze back to hers and managed a weak grin. “Great minds think alike,” he said. “Just promise me you won’t push it,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. It wasn’t easy, especially when she would wake up after dreaming of their one night together and had to resist the urge to reach for him, to find that sweet, intoxicating pleasure that she now knew they could find together. But his body had been through hell little over a month ago and this was his third ejection. No matter how much they wished it, he wasn’t going to bounce back overnight. Now that he was well on his way to recovery from the head injury, he had started doing physical therapy for both his back and his knee. Back problems – and the associated complications – were not uncommon in a situation like Harm’s, but the orthopedic doctor seemed confident that some back strengthening exercises would relieve the pressure on the nerves in his lower body and things would return to normal without other intervention. “Let’s just enjoy this weekend and whatever happens happens.” Harm returned the embrace, squeezing her tightly against him. Working the muscles of his lower back with her fingers, Mac willed him to relax. Slowly, she could feel the tension leave him and he unwound beneath her touch, his arms loosening around her. “That feels good,” he murmured against her hair, his breath against her sending shivers down her spine. Reluctantly, she clamped down on the flame beginning to flicker to life inside of her. It wasn’t time, not right now. It would probably only lead to frustration and a bad start to their weekend. “There’s more where that came from later,” she promised, looking up at him with a smile that wasn’t entirely forced. If nothing else, he seemed to relax more when she gave him a back rub. It wasn’t much, but she figured that every little bit helped. “So what do I need to pack for this weekend?” Harm looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged. “Casual clothes, mostly,” he replied. “I thought we could spend some time wandering around the waterfront, and maybe go sailing Sunday morning before we head back. Some workout clothes and a bathing suit –

there’s a gym and indoor pool at the hotel. A nice dress for dinner tonight. Your dress for tomorrow, of course. I think that’s about it.” “How nice are we talking about for dinner tonight?” she asked, glancing back at the closet. All of their dinners out in the last month had been at casual restaurants where they could make a relatively quick exit if Harm wore down, places where jeans and a nice shirt were perfectly acceptable. “Like you might wear to La Tours, I guess,” he replied. “The restaurant is partnered with the hotel, so it’s on the upscale side.” “Then we definitely need to stop by my apartment before heading out of town,” she said, taking a quick inventory of her clothes. “All my dinner dresses are there, along with my bathing suits.” “See,” Harm said with a laugh as he stepped out of her arms and pulled a garment bag from the closet. “You really should let me get started on expanding this place then you wouldn’t have to keep running over there.” Placing it on the bed, he laid his dress whites in the bag. Retrieving a thin velvet case from a dresser drawer, he opened it to examine the contents, making sure everything was in its proper place. Snapping it closed, he tucked it into the suitcase and turned to Mac, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “Do you want to put your dress for tomorrow in here, too?” “Sure,” she said, going over to pull the dress out of the closet, holding it against her body as she had when she’d first shown it to him. She had checked out her closet the previous week while picking up some more things from her apartment and had decided she didn’t have anything she really wanted to wear to Skates’ wedding. Dragging Harriet with her, she had hit the mall, finally finding a dress she liked – and that didn’t set her back too much – in Nordstrom’s. The full length dress of purplish-gray silk had a cowl-back which fell open nearly to her waist, exposing her back. A part of her had hoped it might have a certain effect on her sailor when he saw her in it. From what she could tell from the speculative gleam in his eye, he seemed to already be imagining her in it – or maybe he was visualizing getting her out of it. She laid the dress inside the garment bag, trying not to muse it too much, although she guessed that the hotel had a laundry service and could probably steam out any wrinkles for her. She nearly jumped when Harm came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Sorry,” she said, covering his hands with hers, linking her fingers through his. “You just startled me.” “Sorry about that,” he replied as she leaned back against him, tilting her head to she could look up at him. “You okay?” “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just ready to start the weekend and forget about work for a while.” Harm smiled down at her, a full-blown flyboy grin that had her falling so far that she was positive the only thing holding her upright was his arms around her. “Well, why don’t you get changed and pack what you can then we can get going?” Mac stretched up and gave him a quick kiss before slipping from his arms. Turning her back

to him, she finished unbuttoning her blouse and pulled it off, her eyes scanning the closet. After she had finished removing her uniform and pantyhose, she pulled out a deep red silk blouse and put it on. Harm had expressed appreciation for the way it looked on her a few weeks ago after a dinner with his family. She’d had men tell her she was beautiful before, but this meant so much more because the words had come from him. She’d been so unsure for so long about his feelings that she treasured every little scrap of affection from him like she never had from any other man, even the one she’d nearly married. With a sigh, she pushed the thought from her mind and forced herself to focus on what to pack. Completing the outfit with a pair of jeans and comfortable flats – since he had mentioned a walk later on the waterfront – she started going through her drawers, picking out clothes to pack for the weekend. Shorts and a couple of t-shirts joined Harm’s clothes in the suitcase, but she hesitated when she got to the second drawer. Should she go basic or fancy with the lingerie? On the trip to the mall, she had picked up a few things with a thought towards an eventual honeymoon with Harm, whenever that finally happened. Although he was unlikely to know the difference, she didn’t want to wear for Harm anything she had bought for Mic. The things she had purchased to take to Australia were packed away in a box in a closet at her old apartment. She had also packed away the bikini she’d worn on the beach in Australia when things had begun to go disastrously wrong for them. The clothes could be donated and she’d figure out what to do with the lingerie and bikini later. She glanced behind her, exhaling with relief that Harm was in the bathroom. She didn’t need to explain this to him. Turning back to the dresser, she lingered a moment over a sheer confection of midnight blue, letting the silky fabric slip through her fingers as she imagined the look on Harm’s face when he eventually saw her in it. With a shake of her head, she let it fall from her hand and opted to go simple. If things worked out, she wouldn’t be wearing anything for long anyway. If not….it would only be a frustrating reminder. She picked out a couple of nightgowns and some underwear and packed them in the suitcase. “Hey, Mac,” Harm said as he came out of the bathroom, “Where’s your toiletries bag?” She grabbed her overnight bag out of the bottom of the closet and retrieved the requested bag. “In my overnight bag, where it usually is,” she replied as she tossed the bag to him. Harm laughed as he made an easy catch before tossing it into the suitcase. “Doesn’t look like your overnight bag is packed and ready to go,” he teased, nodding towards the bag as she dropped it back on the floor of the closet. A puzzled look settled over her face at the apparent non-sequitur. She didn’t need her overnight bag….her expression cleared as she remembered. A warm, genuine smile spread across her face at the memory. “Between Skates’ wedding and the upcoming holiday,” she explained cheekily, “I didn’t think the possibility of going out of town on a case was very high, so I haven’t repacked it yet after my overnight trip to Norfolk the end of last week. I can’t believe you remembered that.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, leaning forward to rest his chin on

her shoulder. “I remember everything you say,” he said quietly, his breath hot and sensual against her ear. “Do you?” she marveled just as softly as she covered his hands with hers, reveling in the simple feeling of just *being* in his arms. She felt so comfortable, so safe, wrapped in his arm, his strong body surrounding hers, his warmth enveloping her. If only it was that easy, if they could just stay like this forever and forget completely about the outside world and the uncertainty still tainting their life. “Of course,” he replied, tightening his arms around her. “I always have.” It touched her, even as she admitted to herself that she was mildly surprised at this particular memory. Given his strong reaction upon meeting her and what she eventually learned was the reason for it, she was amazed that he could recall anything specific about those earlier hours and days of their partnership outside of the case, let alone a seemingly innocuous remark she’d made barely an hour after they’d met. She smiled as she remembered his teasing rejoinder. Ah, I guess that’s the difference between sailors and Marines. I keep golf clubs in the trunk of my car. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his heart warming at the smile on her face. Smiles had become so rare these days from either of them. He remembered what she’d said that first day about there being so little to smile about. That certainly seemed to apply now. That was part of the reason for getting away for the entire weekend, aside from the hope that something might finally happen. Maybe being away from everything and being able to just focus on themselves without their reality weighing them down, they would find cause to smile. That had been one of the things he had missed the most the last couple of years, how easy it had been to find reasons to smile around her. “Just remembering,” she replied with a soft sigh. “We were so good together, even at the beginning.” “We still are,” Harm insisted, slightly disappointed at the past tense, even as he recognized the reason for it. He hoped this weekend would help begin to put some of the uncertainty behind them. “I know it hasn’t been easy the last few years, but that’s behind us now.” Is it really, she wondered. Turning slightly in his arms, she locked her eyes on his, losing herself in the conviction she saw etched in their blue-grey depth. For just a moment, she found herself believing that it could be just that simple, if they just had enough faith. Pushing the thought from her mind, she closed the short distance between them, brushing her lips lightly over his. After a moment, Harm’s arms tightened around her, pulling her firm against him as he tugged at his lower lip, nipping the soft flesh as she moaned deep in her throat. One of his hands slipped up her silk-covered back to tangle in her hair, the other cupping her denim-covered rear as the kiss deepened. “Sarah,” he groaned between kisses growing in intensity. “Oh, Sarah….”

Even now, her first name came so rarely from his lips that she treasured every utterance of it from him, a pleasurable warmth spreading through her at the sound. Something tightened deep inside her and she sagged against him, the only thing holding her upright his strong arms wrapped securely around her. “Oh, Harm,” she said in a ragged whisper as she broke off, struggling to regulate her breathing as she rested her forehead against his. Gently, she stroked his cheek with her fingers, his own breathing as irregular as hers. “I guess we need to get going,” he said reluctantly, loosening his grip on her while keeping her within the circle of his embrace, “especially if we need to stop at your apartment.” He turned his arm slightly so he could glance at his watch. “I did make our dinner reservations a little later than normal, but we don’t want to wait too long before getting on the road. We’ll probably run into the tail end of rush hour heading out of the city.” “You’re right,” she said. Much as she wanted to just lose herself with him right now, she knew it was probably too much at this particular moment. Her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, his glazed eyes drawn to the movement. “We’ll continue this later,” he vowed, his voice shaking slightly as he struggled to keep his own emotions under control. His fingers untangled from her hair, tenderly smoothing down the mussed tresses. “Yes, later,” she said, nodding. Reluctantly, she slipped from his arms, and glanced at the open suitcase on the bed. The moment between them fading, she closed the suitcase, slowly pulling the zipper closed. “I’ve got everything I need from here,” she said, lifting the suitcase, leaving him the garment bag. “Then let’s go,” he said, draping the garment bag over an arm as she proceeded down the steps. As she stopped to grab her purse, he scooped up his keys and opened the door, motioning her through. With a smile directly to her, he pulled the door closed behind them and locked it. As they waited for the elevator to come up, Harm draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. She let her head rest against his shoulder, once again losing herself in the simple sense of just being with him.