ðHgeocities.com/jagawards2003/HowISpentMySummerVacation.htmgeocities.com/jagawards2003/HowISpentMySummerVacation.htm.delayedx qÔJÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÈÀÝ™z[ OKtext/htmlpQÌ "z[ ÿÿÿÿb‰.HSat, 01 Nov 2003 05:18:23 GMT<Mozilla/4.5 (compatible; HTTrack 3.0x; Windows 98)en, *qÔJz[ Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Author: Ann McBride
Email: Aerm1@aol.com 
Rating: PG-13 for some strong language and events at times.
Classification: Story, Angst, Romance (H/M)
Spoilers: everything through season 8
Summary: Harm is having a bit of a rough spot after all the events
of last spring. This is how he deals with it.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, sadly to say.

Author's note: This is going to start out with more angst than I
normally write, but for some reason, this fic demanded to be
written. So if you don't like angst, it's not for you. My faithful
betareader has assured me that it's neither "too angsty" nor forced
angst, if that helps. And if you have any doubts about the ultimate
outcome, just remember how my other fics have turned out. ;) So if
you will, please bear with me. Harm just had some things that he
needed to say.


************************************
How I Spent My Summer Vacation

************************************

18:00
Office of Stan Webber, L.C.S.W.
Washington, DC

"Harmon Rabb?" A tall, angular man stood in the doorway separating
the waiting room from the rest of the office suite. He was ignoring
the clipboard in his hand as his eyes scanned the people sitting in
the slightly uncomfortable chairs in the outer office. Stan Webber
had learned early in his practice that if the chairs were too
comfortable, some patients balked at leaving the relative safety of
the waiting room to go into the more dangerous inner offices.

At the sound of his name, a tall, athletic-looking man unfolded
himself from a chair and carefully returned the magazine he'd been
reading to the shelf.

Stan watched the man's action with interest, knowing that he often
learned more from his patients' actions than from their words. As
Harmon Rabb approached him, Stan held out his right hand in
greeting. "Hello. I'm Stan Webber. It's nice to meet you."

Harm nodded politely as he returned the greeting. "Nice to meet you
too."

"Please follow me," he said, holding the door open for his six
o'clock appointment. Once Harm was in the corridor, Stan led him to
the end of the hallway and ushered him into his private office.

Harm looked around the room, taking note of the comfortable-looking
leather chairs and sofa and the deep mahogany desk that resided
beneath a large window. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through a
bank of windows on the western side of the room. The office looked
like a well-appointed den or study.

"Have a seat," Stan said, gesturing toward the sofa. He took up
residency in a large wing-back chair that was across from it. "The
first thing I want to say is that anything you tell me in this room
comes under the laws of patient privacy and therapist-patient
confidentiality. So whatever you tell me stays here in this room."
As Harm lowered himself to the couch, Stan asked, "So Mr. Rabb, why
don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"You mean like why I'm here?"

"Not right away. First, I'd like to get to know you a little. Find
out a bit of who you are." Stan leaned back casually in his
chair. "You know, things like what do your friends call you, where
did you go to college, what's your occupation, how many brothers and
sisters do you have. That sort of thing. By the way, please call me
Stan."

Harm took a deep breath. "All right, Stan. There's not a lot to
tell. My friends call me Harm or Rabb." When he heard his own
voice, a shadow moved across his face. Harm blinked and the lines
that had appeared in his expression smoothed themselves out.

Stan made a note of the odd reaction Rabb had had to hearing himself
say what his friends called him.

"You can call me Harm, I guess." Harm licked his lips. "As for
college, I went to the Naval Academy and to law school at
Georgetown. I'm a commander in the Navy--JAG Corps. My family is
kind of different."

"In what sense, Harm?"

"My mother lives in California with my stepfather. I have a half-
brother in Russia. No sisters. Oh, and my grandmother lives in
Pennsylvania."

"Are you all close?"

Harm blinked. "My family?" He chewed on his bottom lip. "Closer
than we used to be, I guess. It's hard though, when I live a
continent away from my mom and an ocean away from my brother."
Another shadow crossed his face as he heard his own words.

"Are you married? Any children?"

Harm gave a short laugh. "Not hardly. You know what they say, don't
you?"

"No, what do they say?"

"That if the Navy had wanted you to have a wife, they'd have issued
you one."

Stan chuckled. "That's good." He looked over his notes
briefly. "Do you mind telling me what happened to your father?"

"No, of course not. He was shot down over North Vietnam when I was
six."

"That must have been hard."

"Yeah, it was Christmas Eve."

"That's doubly hard then."

Harm nodded. "He ejected from his plane and was captured by the
North Vietnamese. He never came home, though, when the other POWs
were released at the end of the war."

"So he died in a prison camp?"

"No, he had been taken to the Soviet Union for questioning about
American aviation technology. They never released him. He escaped
in 1980 in Siberia." Remembered pain flickered in Harm's eyes. "He
was killed by Russian soldiers there in 1982."

"That must have been difficult to deal with. I am curious, though,
Harm. How on earth did you learn that?" Stan looked curiously at
his new patient.

"Actually, I can't tell you all of it. It's classified."

"You're kidding."

"No. I can tell you that a few years ago, I found out that my dad
had been taken to Russia. The first chance I got to take leave, I
went to Russia to try to find him. But all I found was that he was
dead." He pinched the bridge of his nose and then ran a careless
hand across his eyes, surreptitiously swiping at the moisture in them.

"That must have been a terrible disappointment." Concern and
sympathy filled the therapist's voice.

"It was. I'd believed he was still alive for so long..." His voice
trailed off. "It was an adventurous trip though. My partner and I
got shot down and had to eject from a plane, and we almost got killed
by a rogue former KGB agent. So it was an interesting summer
vacation."

"I can imagine," Stan said dryly.

"Now that I think about it, I seem to have had a fair number of
interesting summer vacations."

"Really? Do they have anything to do with why you're here?" Stan
asked gently.

The naval officer nodded, his tongue slightly between his
teeth. "Yeah. This last one about did me in."

"Oh?"

"I almost lost my best friend, a couple of other friends, oh, and did
I mention the plane crash?"

"The plane crash?"

"It's a long story."

"And no doubt classified."

"Unfortunately, yes." Harm ran a hand through his hair. "I don't
know. To be honest, I thought I was handling things pretty well, but
then this friend of mine at work was talking about a client who had
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and suddenly I felt like the walls
were closing in on me."

"Why do you suppose that was?"

"Because he was talking about the symptoms and going over the
questionnaire for diagnosing the disorder--I guess he wanted to use
it as a defense for his client. He wanted my opinion. Anyway, as he
went over the symptoms and the description of it, it suddenly hit me
that maybe I have it too."

"And you want to find out?"

"Yes."

"Any particular reason why?"

Harm looked at him, perplexed. "I want to know if I've got it, so if
I do, I can do something about it. You know, fix it."

Stan nodded. "All right. We can do an assessment. I'll be asking
you a lot of questions. You'll need to answer as truthfully as
possible."

"No problem." Harm relaxed back into the sofa cushions.

"All right. First of all, have you experienced any trauma
recently?" Stan's pen was poised above his notebook.

"Like I said, there was the plane crash. My partner and I were on a
mission, and I was flying an antique biplane..."

"You're a pilot? I thought you were a lawyer."

"I'm both. Anyway, I had just rescued her from being tortured, and
we were trying to complete the mission. We ran out of fuel and
crashed into a pine forest."

"Were you all badly injured?"

"Amazingly enough, no. Just some scrapes and bruises from the tree
branches. I guess the trees slowed us enough that we survived
relatively unharmed." His voice had gone down to almost a whisper as
he related the incident. "The first words out of Mac's mouth
were, 'Damn you, Harm. Every time I get in a plane with you at the
controls, we crash.' Then she burst into tears."

"Understandable." Stan's voice was level.

"I suppose. But for some reason, it really hurt. I mean, I know
what she said was true, but there wasn't anything I could have done
to make it be different." His voice very low, he murmured, "And she
didn't even thank me for rescuing her from the people who were going
to torture her. Instead, she yelled at me for crashing the plane."
He let his head drop into his hands, his elbows on his knees.

"How long ago was this?"

"A couple of months. That's what really bothered me about the
client. I mean, it's been months, and I'm still having nightmares
about it all. I feel so damn stupid."

"Why do you feel stupid?"

"I don't know. I just do. I guess maybe I should be able to control
it better. And that bothers me. I hate feeling the way I've been
feeling lately."

"And how is that?"

"Like I've lost control of my life. Frustrated. Numb. Scared
sometimes." He sighed bitterly.

"Are you able to function?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you able to get up every morning and go to work and do your job?"

Harm nodded. "Yeah. I can function. I just feel lousy. Like there
is nothing to smile about."

"That's a good sign. What are you frustrated about?"

"I'm almost forty years old, and I'm where I was eight years ago. I
feel like I haven't made any progress in my life at all." He shifted
on the sofa. "I remember telling someone six years ago that I hoped
to have a wife and family one day. At thirty-four, that seemed like
a reasonable goal. But now..." He trailed off.

"When you said that, were you in a relationship that made marriage a
possibility?"

"No. It was more a dream at that point."

"Any particular reason that you weren't in a relationship, other than
the Navy hadn't issued you a girlfriend?"

"It's complicated. I had had a girlfriend a couple of years before.
But the night before we were going to get together to discuss our
future, Diane died."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was it a car accident or had she been ill?"
Stan asked.

Harm shook his head. "No. She was murdered."

"It must have been difficult for you when you were notified of her
death."

"I wasn't notified." Harm rose and walked over to the windows to
stare out into the early evening sky.

"Not notified? Then how..."

"Did I find out? I'm a JAG. She was in the Navy. We investigate
crimes committed against and by our members. I was assigned to
investigate the murder. I found out when I arrived on the crime
scene that it was her."

Stan made some more notes. "I see."

"Do you? Or is that shrink talk to let me know you're listening?"
Harm turned back toward the center of the room. "I apologize. That
was uncalled for." He returned to the sofa and sat back
down. "That's the kind of thing I'm worried about. I don't normally
talk to people like that. It's out of character for me. But I've
been doing it a lot lately."

"Believe it or not, Harm, I do see. It must have been a hell of a
shock to see your girlfriend right after she was murdered."

"Well, they already had her in a body bag."

"Jeez." Stan scratched on his pad. "So did you solve her murder?"

"Finally, but not for about two years. And then I couldn't prove it."

"So the murderer got away with it?"

"No, he fell off a pier and got crushed to death when the ship
squashed him between the hull and the pier." Harm took a deep
breath. "I can't say that I'm sorry it happened."

"I imagine not, especially if you knew you couldn't bring him to
justice." He looked at Harm appraisingly.

The naval officer gave a brief smile. "And no, I didn't push him off
the dock. He saw my partner and thought he was seeing a ghost. He
fell off the dock as he backed away from her."

"Why would he think he was seeing a ghost?"

"Because Mac could be Diane's twin."

Stan took a deep breath. "Okay, let me make sure I've got this
straight. You used to date a woman named Diane who was murdered
several years ago. Your current partner looks exactly like her. And
you recently were involved in a mission in which she was almost
tortured and could have been killed."

"Yeah. That sums it up pretty well."

"Any more traumas in your life?" Stan was trying to get his head
around what this man had had to contend with.

"A few."

"Care to tell me about them?"

Harm shrugged. "How do you want them--in chronological order or by
category?"

Stan raised an eyebrow. "You're serious." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Chronological or categorical?"

"Chronological order. Age at the time of trauma has some bearing on
a diagnosis. You already said that your father was shot down when
you were six. So that is event number one."

"I don't suppose your mother remarrying when she doesn't know for
sure that your father is dead counts as a trauma?"

"It could. If you really believed that your father was still alive,
it would have been traumatic to see her go on with her life. Might
have made you wonder if she was likely to give up on you at some
future point. How old were you when she did that?"

"Twelve, almost thirteen." Harm sighed. "Intellectually, I knew it
was good for her, but it seemed like the worst sort of betrayal at
the time."

Stan's pen flew across the page. "Okay. That one counts. Go on."

"The summer I was sixteen, I ran away to look for my dad. I had
heard of an ex-Marine colonel who believed that a lot of POWs were
being held in Laos. So I emptied my savings account and bought a
ticket to Bangkok to hook up with the guy."

"And something happened while you were there?"

Harm laughed harshly. "Oh yeah. I learned how to kill a man with my
bare hands. I watched a sixteen year old girl I'd met there get
killed by Laotian border guards."

"Were you hurt?"

"Other than a minor gunshot wound, no."

"Did you know the girl very well?"

Harm nodded. "As well as any sixteen year old couple knows each
other. I guess I thought I was in love with her." He rubbed his
face. "I tried to run to her, but the colonel pulled me back. When
we went back, her body was gone." He shuddered at the memory. "It
was my fault she was there. I'm responsible for her death."

"Really. Did you pull the trigger?"

Harm shook his head.

"Did you ask her to go with you into the jungle?"

"No. I tried to talk her out of it because it was so dangerous."

"So how is it your fault?"

"Because she was only there because of me. She told her mother and
the colonel that if I was old enough to go looking for MIAs then she
was too." He wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Do you think about it much any more? It has been a long time."

"Only every time I see a young Asian woman."

"What happens then?"

"I'm back in that jungle, hearing the helicopters and the machine gun
fire, screaming at her to duck, watching her body recoil when the
bullets hit."

Stan made another note. "So you're still having flashbacks twenty-
some years later. Harm, did you get any counseling back then?"

"Hell no. How would I have done that? I was sixteen years old."

"Your mother didn't consider taking you to see someone?"

"She didn't know about it. She doesn't know about it."

"That you went to Laos?"

"No, she figured that out when I stupidly ran into a television news
crew and wound up on the six o'clock news. The next thing I knew,
the CIA had tracked me down; and I was on a plane back to La Jolla.
I was in enough trouble for running away. I didn't think it would be
smart to tell her all the details."

"I imagine not, but it might have been a good idea."

"Perhaps, but what sixteen year old has that much sense?" Harm's
mouth twisted.

"Okay. Any more traumatic events in your life?"

"I guess the next one was my ramp strike."

"Ramp strike?" Stan was confused.

"A ramp strike is an airplane crash on the deck of a carrier. I
crashed an F-14 onto the deck and killed my RIO--the guy in the
backseat." Harm swallowed hard.

"And you feel guilty."

"Hell yes, I feel guilty. The guy was my friend, and I killed him."

"I thought that when there were crashes, the Navy investigated the
cause. Were you held responsible?"

"No, they decided that it was just a horrible accident. I had night
blindness caused by an eye infection that hadn't been properly
diagnosed. It was the first time I'd been in the air since the
infection. My eyes had seemed to check out all right. It was night
and raining. I could barely see the carrier and was coming in too
low. My RIO panicked and ejected us. He wound up landing in the
fireball that had been our plane. I was only slightly luckier; I
landed on the deck."

"Were you badly injured?"

"Yes. It was months before I could return to active duty. And then
I was grounded."

"Yet you chose to stay in the Navy."

"Didn't have much choice. You go to flight school, they have you for
ten years. They'd only gotten six out of me at that point."

"So that's when you went to law school?"

Harm nodded. "Yeah. It seemed like a decent way to try to do some
good."

"I'm sure it is." Stan scribbled some more. "Did you receive any
counseling after your crash?"

"Yeah. While I was still in the hospital and for a while afterwards."

"That's good. And does that bring us to the trip to Russia?"

Harm raised an expressive eyebrow. "No, there was the time I was
kidnapped and tortured in China."

"When was that?"

"About seven years ago. I was in Hong Kong on leave prior to taking
part in some diplomatic negotiations as legal counsel. I went
sailing in the South China Sea. My boat was rammed by a Chinese
warship and I was taken to mainland China and put in a prison where
they drugged me trying to find out what was going to happen in the
negotiations."

"You said something about torture."

"Yeah. They knocked me around a bit. But what was really bad was
the drugs and mind games the interrogator played. She made me think
that my father was in the next cell and was talking to me."

"Good lord." Stan was beginning to wonder if his new patient had a
vivid imagination or a history of hallucinations."

"Honestly, Stan. This really happened. I can get you a copy of the
debriefing if you think I'm hallucinating now." Harm gave a slight
smile.

"So did you escape?"

"More like I was rescued through the efforts of the partner I had at
the time. She negotiated with some sort of black marketers and the
commandant of the prison camp got me back to Hong Kong in exchange
for asylum in the US."

"Did you get any counseling after that?"

"Yeah. If the Navy feels you need it, they provide it."

"Uh huh. So what was next?"

"Is it traumatic to be assigned a new partner who could be the twin
of your dead girlfriend two months after her death?"

"Could be. Did you have any reaction to that at the time?"

"For a while, it was a constant feeling of deja vu. I'd hear her
voice and think it was Diane. I'd see her face and the Marine green
uniform would morph into Navy blue. It was pretty freaky for a month
or two."

"But you got over it?"

"Yeah. Their personalities are so different that I eventually quit
seeing Diane when I looked at Mac." Harm shifted his position on the
couch. "But I'm not sure that Mac has ever believed me."

"Does that bother you?"

Harm thought about it for a few minutes. "Yes, I guess it does.
Even though in some ways Mac understands me better than anyone else I
know, there are some things that she just doesn't seem to understand
at all."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Aren't we trying to decide if I have PTSD?" Harm quickly changed the
subject.

"Right. We are." Stan looked at his notes. Harm had certainly
suffered more than his share of traumatic events, starting at a very
early age. "All right, let me ask you some more questions. If there
is more you want to say about traumatic experiences, we can come back
to them."

"All right."

"Do you have nightmares and/or troubling memories of any of these
events?"

"Some of them."

"Like Laos?"

"Yeah. And I used to have them of the ramp strike, but lately that's
been better."

"Do you stay away from places that remind you of the event?"

"Not really, no. Well, I did at first, after the accident. But not
any more."

"Do you jump and feel very upset when something happens without
warning?"

"Sometimes. It depends on what else is going on."

"Do you have a hard time trusting or feeling close to other people?"

"I don't have any trouble trusting people."

Stan looked at him closely. "What about feeling close to other
people?"

"I've got plenty of friends." He gave Stan a hard look.

"That's not what I asked." Stan glared right back at him. "You said
earlier that you had wanted to get married and have a family. But
you are almost forty and it hasn't happened. That sounds to me like
you have trouble feeling close to people."

Harm stared at his hands that were clasped loosely between his
knees. "Just women. Don't get me wrong. I love women. I've had
several relationships in the past six years."

"But?"

"But they have usually been with women that I knew from the beginning
weren't going to be the one." He looked back at Stan. "And yes,
they have all complained that I didn't ever open up to them or
whatever it is they wanted me to do."

"Why do you suppose that is?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I dated the wrong women. Maybe
I'm incapable of true love."

"If you were incapable of love, do you really think you would have
spent twenty years trying to find your father? Or two years trying
to find your girlfriend's murderer?"

"Perhaps not. But I certainly have been screwing it up lately."

"That bother you?" Stan kept his voice carefully neutral.

"Hell yes, it bothers me. I want a wife and a family, but every day
that passes makes it that much more unlikely. Especially since I'm
pretty sure I missed my chance."

"Interesting. How did you do that?"

"The woman I love made it clear that she wanted a relationship with
me about four years ago, but I told her not yet."

"She didn't want to wait?"

"Apparently not. She took another man's ring the next night," Harm
said wryly.

"So she's happily married to someone else?" Stan was beginning to
think it was miraculous that Harmon Rabb wasn't spending his days in
a padded room.

"No, I accidentally ruined her wedding. And by the time the dust
settled, her fiance had called the whole thing off."

Stan shook his head in amazement. "Do I want to know how you ruined
her wedding?"

"I dumped an F-14 in the Atlantic Ocean during the rehearsal dinner.
She postponed the wedding until I was safe."

"Were you injured?"

"Some. I spent two weeks in the hospital." Harm shrugged
again. "It was a couple of years ago."

"This woman that you love, have you made any attempts to get closer
to her since then?"

"Once or twice, but every time I have, she's walked away from me. So
I assume that she doesn't want a relationship any more." Harm leaned
his head back on the back of the couch and sighed wearily. "I can't
blame her. I wouldn't want me either."

"We'll come back to that," Stan said as he made some more notes. "I
have a few more questions. Do you get angry easily?"

Harm's mouth twisted. "Not normally, no."

"Do you feel guilty because others died and you lived?"

Harm rolled his eyes. "If you were me, wouldn't you? Most of the
people I've cared about that died, died because I screwed up. Either
I wasn't fast enough, or strong enough, or I wasn't there to save
them, or in the case of my RIO, I wasn't smart enough to realize I
couldn't see until it was too late."

"Do you have trouble sleeping?"

"Sometimes. Mostly if someone I care about is in danger."

"Because you think you should be with them to keep them safe?" the
counselor probed.

"Something like that." Harm stared across the room at the darkening
sky.

Stan jotted a few comments in his notebook before looking back up at
Harm.

"So what's the verdict?" Harm asked.

Stan pursed his lips. "We can make a case that you have Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder. You certainly have more than enough
indicators and symptoms. My guess is that over the years you have
developed some coping skills that worked up to a point, but your most
recent adventure was too much."

"So I am crazy."

"No, Harm. You're not crazy. If you were, you wouldn't be able to
function. You'd be in a padded room somewhere. But it does sound
like you sometimes have trouble dealing with more traumatic events
than any one person should ever have to deal with. Am I correct in
thinking that you have a lot less difficulty with the work-related
traumas?"

"I guess so."

"Why do you suppose that is?"

Harm gestured with his hands, palms turned up. "I don't know. Maybe
because they were less personal."

"I wouldn't call being tricked into thinking your father was alive
and talking to you as 'less personal.' Crashing a jet into the ocean
and almost dying is pretty personal too." Stan gave him a pointed
look.

Harm blew out a deep breath. "The work-related events were the ones
I had counseling about?"

"Right. One of the most important things we know about the treatment
of PTSD is that the sooner and more fully one can talk about the
trauma, the less likely a person is to actually develop PTSD.
Consequently, the main treatment is getting the individual to
confront the trauma and talk about it. And not just the facts. Talk
about feelings that are involved with the trauma."

Harm squirmed on the sofa. "I'm not very good at that."

"At confronting the truth?"

"No, at talking about my feelings." He shrugged. "I never have
been."

"I'm not surprised. You lost your father at a very early age.
People probably told you to be a man about it."

Harm nodded. "Oh yeah. . Except for the first day or so after he
was shot down, I don't think I actually cried about my dad until I
was in my thirties."

"I'm not surprised. We live in a culture where men aren't supposed
to cry. But stress has to relieve itself eventually." Stan tapped
his pen on the pad. "Do you talk to any of your male friends about
your feelings? Or are your friendships with men the typical 'watch
sports, play ball, fix the car' type?"

"The latter, I guess," Harm answered reluctantly.

"So you aren't really close to men either."

"When you put it that way, I guess not. Although I do have one
friend who sometimes pushes for me to open up." He grinned slightly,
thinking of Sturgis.

"And do you?"

"Not if I can help it." His mouth twisted.

"Why do you suppose that is?"

Harm bit his bottom lip. "I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid that if I
ever start talking, I won't be able to stop. Or maybe I figure that
nobody really wants to hear what I have to say."

"What makes you think that?"

"Past experience."

Stan crooked an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

"Several years ago, I found out that my vision problem was
correctable with laser surgery. When I tried to talk to Mac about
whether or not I should have it, she blew me off."

"Did you have the surgery?"

"Yeah. And it worked. So then I had to decide if I wanted to try to
return to active flight duty."

"Any particular reason you considered that? I'm assuming you had put
in as much time at JAG as you had in aviation at that point."

"That's what Mac said. But I had spent my entire life wanting to be
a pilot. And I didn't choose to give it up. It was taken away from
me. It was my dream. And honestly, I've never been happier or felt
more alive than in the cockpit."

"So did Mac support your decision?"

"Not really. She would barely discuss it with me. My girlfriend
dumped me over it. My friends at JAG all acted like I had betrayed
them."

"But you went anyway."

"Yeah. I had to. And when I came back, I was the odd man out for
quite a while." He shrugged. "So I guess that's why I figure there
isn't much point in opening up to people."

"Do people open up to you?"

Harm gave a harsh laugh. "Oh yeah. I'm everybody's favorite big
brother."

"So your friendships are somewhat one-sided."

"I didn't say that."

"If you had a problem, who would you call?"

"Mac or Sturgis."

"And they would help you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They would."

"That's good." Stan glanced at his watch. "Harm, our time is up for
today."

"Are you going to tell me how to fix myself?"

"Of course. In fact, I'm going to give you an assignment to complete
before our next session. If you put some effort into it, it will go
a long way toward 'fixing' you." Stan smiled at his
client. "Remember, the most important thing to do with PTSD is to
confront the demons and talk about them. You're in the military; you
should know that you need to know your enemy in order to defeat him."

"True. So what's the assignment?"

"I get the feeling that you are really uncomfortable talking about
your feelings. Nevertheless, you really need to express them. So
your assignment is to write about them. Remember in school when you
had to write compositions on 'What I Did on My Summer Vacation'?"

"Yes."

"I want you to write those essays. Write about the traumatic events
that you told me about today. If there are more, write about them
too. But don't stop with the factual description of the events.
Write about how you felt at the time--and how you feel now. It may
sound odd, but the more detailed you can be, the better it will be
for you."

"All right."

"And it doesn't have to be perfect. Don't worry about going back and
proofreading. The point is to let out the emotions. And then next
week, when you come in, we can talk about what you've written."

"I can do that."

"Same time work for you?"

"It's fine." Harm rose from the sofa. "Stan, how long is it likely
to take before I'm okay?"

"Hard to say. Part of it depends on how much you can make yourself
face the pain openly. You seem to have built some pretty thick walls
around yourself. Once you tear them down, you will be able to heal.
How long that takes depends a lot on how long you want it to take.
Best case -- a month or so. Worst case, a year or two. Or you don't
confront much at all and we deal with the acute trauma right now, and
you continue to have flashbacks and nightmares under certain
circumstances. It's largely up to you."

Harm held out a hand. "I see. Thanks for your time."

"See you next week, Harm. And don't forget to do the assignment. I
think you'll be surprised at the effect it has on you."

Harm nodded once more and left the office.

As he backed out of his parking space, he pondered the past hour. It
had felt good to talk about some of what he'd been through. Perhaps
it was because Stan was a stranger and in no position to judge him.
Harm decided he'd start on his assignment as soon as he got home. He
had to get a handle on his feelings. And as soon as he did that, he
was going to figure out if there was any point at all in continuing
to want a relationship with Mac or if it was time to move on.

*********************************

Sarah Mackenzie dropped into a seat at her favorite Georgetown coffee
shop. "Hey, Kat. How's it going?" she asked her companion.

"Not too bad, all things considered. I only got one call in the
middle of the night last night." Kat Brown smiled ruefully at the
memory. "I have yet to figure out why people go all day long in
crisis and don't call you during office hours, but the minute the
clock strikes twelve, they decide that they can't wait a minute
longer to deal with it."

"Tough case?" Mac sipped on her mocha cappuccino.

Kat shrugged. "Actually, fairly routine for a call at three a.m. A
patient decided that maybe it would be a good idea to shoot out the
screen on her husband's television set. He wanted to know if she
should be committed."

"That couldn't wait till morning?"

"He didn't seem to think so. I think he was afraid that she might
decide to shoot him too."

Mac shook her head, bemused. "And to think I thought I saw all
kinds."

"Speaking of seeing things, are you still having nightmares?" Kat
asked, concern in her voice.

"No, not for the past couple of weeks. I guess the counseling did
help." She grinned at her psychiatrist friend.

"And you're sleeping all right, eating normally? Not jumping at the
slightest sound or anything?"

Mac gave her friend a pointed look. "No. Are you fishing for
something?"

"I just want to know that you're okay from your little 'vacation' in
South America. It had to have been extremely traumatic."

"No joke. I don't know what was scarier, waiting to be tortured or
flying with Harm."

"Speaking of Harm, how's he doing?" Kat sipped on her own coffee.

Mac licked some foam from her lips. "Actually, I'm kind of worried
about him. Ever since we got back from Paraguay, he's been
different. He seems like he's really, hmm, I don't know the word I
want exactly, brittle or fragile? He seems like if you touched him,
he might fly into a million pieces."

Kat chewed on her bottom lip. "Not his usual MO?"

"Not at all. Harm is normally one of the calmest people I know. But
lately, he twitches and jumps at odd sounds, and sometimes he loses
his temper over nothing. And that is completely out of character for
him."

"Is this just since you went to South America?" Kat probed.

"I'm not sure. He hadn't seemed quite himself for at least a month
before I ever left town. But Paraguay seems to have completely
undone him."

"Was that during the time of his trial?"

"Yeah. After he was exonerated and released, I only really saw him
for a few minutes, and it didn't go very well." Mac played nervously
with her spoon.

"What happened, Mac?"

Mac took a long drink. "I told you that we had been ordered to stay
away from him during the trial, right?"

Kat nodded.

"Well, it occurred to me that he might have been hurt by that. I had
left the office before he got to work the first day he was back, so I
hadn't seen him to talk to since the day of his arrest. I was
worried about him, so I went to his apartment that night before I
left for Paraguay." She swallowed some more coffee. "He was alone,
playing something sad on his guitar. And I told him that I wanted to
know if he was okay."

"Sounds all right so far."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really give him a chance to answer before I
started telling him that I was going undercover with this CIA agent.
He asked if it was dangerous, and I said yes. Then he told me that
he was worried, and he didn't want me to go. And then I told him
that he only ever acted like he was interested in me if I had one
foot out the door. And I picked up my jacket and walked out of his
apartment without looking back."

Kat sat there silently waiting for Mac to continue.

"And then to make a long story short, we got captured, Harm came down
and rescued us, and we finished the mission. Then he crashed the
plane."

"Sounds like it was a pretty rough spring for the guy." Kat's voice
was low, but firm.

"Yeah, it was. And like I said, he's really on edge now. I'm really
worried about him, Kat."

"Is he still getting counseling through the Navy?"

Mac shook her head. "He didn't get any."

"I thought the Navy required at least a psych eval whenever someone
went through something that traumatic."

"They do. But Harm wasn't in the Navy when we got back, so he wasn't
required to get any. And I doubt he went looking for it."

"Not in the Navy? I thought this guy bled Navy blue."

"He does, but he resigned his commission when he couldn't get
permission to go down to save me."

Kat couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're kidding! So are
you guys dating now?"

"Yeah, right. Harm doesn't feel like that for me, Kat. We're just
friends."

Kat snorted. "The man gave up everything that was important in his
life for you, and you think he doesn't love you? Nobody is that good
a friend."

"If he were in love with me, he'd have said something any number of
times over the past seven years," Mac said sadly. "The only time I
ever let him know I was interested, he shot me down."

"Really? When did you do that?"

Mac shrugged. "About three or four years ago. When we were in
Australia. I thought I made it pretty clear that I was interested in
more than just friendship, and he just stared at me. I asked him if
he was willing to let go, and he said not yet."

"Well, duh. Isn't this the guy who lost his dad at age 6? Went to
Vietnam to look for him at 16? Went to Russia at 34? Killed his RIO
in a crash? Almost killed himself trying to get back in time for
your wedding?" Kat frowned at her friend.

"Yes."

"Mac, what do you want from him? He's obviously got some serious
issues, and from what I've heard from you, you don't do anything much
to help."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mac sounded irritated. "I laid my
heart out there in Australia."

"Really? Did you say, 'Harm, I'm in love with you, and I would
really like to explore a deeper relationship with you?' Or did you
just make some vague comment like 'Are you ready to let go?' What
was that supposed to mean anyway?"

Mac frowned at her cup. "I pointed out to him that we weren't in
Washington. He said, 'Location doesn't change who we are.' I said
that most men would disagree with him. And he said he knew, that he
disagreed with himself. And then I said, 'You're only like this with
me, aren't you?' And he said, 'Yes.' And that was when I knew that
we didn't share the same level of feelings for each other."

"If what you told me you said is what you said, there is no way that
guy would have thought you were suggesting anything more than a
fling," Kat stated. "If he was in love with you, he wouldn't have
been interested in just a fling down in Australia."

"Kat, you've never even met Harm. All you know about him is from
what I've told you."

"True, but that doesn't change the way he is." Kat sighed. "Look,
Mac. If I asked him 'Who's your best friend?' would he say it's you?"

"Yes."

"Does he have many other close friends? And I don't mean guys that
he goes to a sports bar with to have a beer and watch the game. I
mean friends who know when he's hurting, who know about all those
terrible things he's experienced."

Mac thought long and hard about her answer. "You know, I don't think
he does. I mean, he hangs out with Sturgis, but I get the feeling
they talk about sports and cars. And Bud's younger, and Harm's been
a mentor to him, so I doubt Harm would ever let him see any chinks in
his armor. Why?"

"Then he can't afford to lose your friendship. If romance doesn't
work, he is afraid he'll be left with nothing. So if he thought that
all you wanted was a brief relationship while out of the country,
there was no way he would have gone for it."

"But why would he think that?" Mac sounded puzzled.

"Well, from what you told me, you weren't particularly clear about
what kind of relationship you were looking for." Kat looked at Mac
through narrowed eyes. "Didn't you get Mic's ring while you were
down in Australia?"

"Yes. So?"

"You suggested some sort of romantic relationship to Harm on one
night and took another man's ring the next? Don't you see how that
would look to him?"

Mac sniffed in disdain. "He had turned me down. He said no."

"No, Mac. You may have heard 'no.' But you just told me he
said 'not yet.' There's a big difference in no and not yet. And now
you're telling me that after a very traumatic spring, he seems to be
in a bad frame of mind."

Mac nodded.

"Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

"A little, but it's kind of funny. Harm is the first one to try to
get people to talk to him if they're having a problem, but it can
take him hours or even days to open up about anything." Mac's mouth
twisted. "So I haven't pushed him, but I have tried."

"Mac, this guy is textbook Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -- and one
of the major effects is shutting other people out -- fear of getting
close to people."

"You think he has PTSD? He's usually completely together, under
control."

"Exactly. That control is his not very effective way of coping. You
said he's been different lately -- ready to come apart at the seams.
The guy really should have gotten some counseling as soon as you got
back from Paraguay."

Mac looked troubled. "So what can I do for him?"

"Encourage him to get some counseling. You might point out how much
it's helped you."

"I can do that. Anything else?"

"You say you're his best friend. How do you show that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said he only acts like he's interested when you have one foot
out the door. What about you? Do you act interested in him?"

"I just told you about humiliating myself in Australia, Kat."

"When do you act like you're interested? Forget Australia. That was
4 years ago. What about lately? What kind of conversation did you
two have before you went to Paraguay?"

"I already told you about that conversation." Mac's exasperation was
clear.

"That was it? Sheesh, Mac."

"Well, we joked a little about the pregnancy suit I was wearing."

"Ah. Okay. And Harm told you he was worried about your safety and
didn't want you to go. And you blew him off and left."

Mac shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Not exactly."

"Mac, c'mon. I'm your friend. I've known you since Duke. You
didn't give him enough time to even think of a response. With a guy
like him, you have to let him process the question, and then give him
some time to figure out how to say what he wants to say."

"Kat, I've never known anyone quicker on his feet with a response.
You should see him in the courtroom."

She shook her head sadly. "Mac, it's not the same thing at all. In
the courtroom, he's dealing with facts and rules and case
precedents. I'm talking about his own emotions and feelings. It's a
different kind of communication. From everything you've ever told
me, the guy ought to be in a padded room. But somehow he has managed
to cope with more traumatic stress than anyone I've ever heard of.
For lack of a better explanation, the part of his psyche that deals
with his own personal feelings is very hard for him to get to. You
think it's hard for you to know what he's feeling, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, if it's any consolation, it's hard for him, too. Especially
if the person he cares about most in the world doesn't give him the
time he needs to process things."

Mac twisted a napkin in her hands. "So other than encouraging Harm
to get counseling and trying to give him more time if I ask him a
question, what else can I do? Kat, you should see him. His eyes
look haunted, especially when he looks at me. Like he's seen
something that was too much to bear." Her eyes widened in
shock. "Oh hell."

"What?" Kat was startled by Mac's sudden change in demeanor.

"I think I know what part of Harm's problem is."

"Oh?"

"Right after he and Gunny rescued Webb and me, he had to change a
tire on the car that Gunny and Webb were going to take back to
civilization. Webb got all mushy and started telling me that he
loved me and liked being married to me. I thought he was dying.
Heck, we all thought he was dying. But I really didn't want Harm to
hear any of that, so I kissed him to shut him up. And Harm saw that."

Kat laughed. "Mac, let me get this straight. You didn't want Harm
to hear another man tell you he loved you, so you kissed the guy?"

"Well, I thought Harm was changing the tire on the other side of the
car. I didn't realize that he had finished and was right behind me."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Mac, I really hate to kick you when you're
down, but do you have any idea how that must have looked to Harm?"

"Like I was interested in Webb?'

"Uh huh. No wonder the poor guy is a wreck. He gives up his career
to go rescue the woman he loves only to discover her kissing another
man. I'm sure it's classified, but was it pretty hellish down
there? Not for you, but for Harm?"

At Mac's nod, Kat went on, "Why didn't you just stick a knife in his
heart and twist it around a couple of times?" She sighed and
said, "At least please tell me that you didn't give him hell about
crashing the plane."

Mac's silence answered the question.

"Do you love Harm, Mac?"

"Yes."

"Romantically or just as a friend?"

"Both. But he'll never be more than just a friend the way things
have been going. It's pretty obvious that that boat has sailed."

"I wouldn't be too sure, Mac. But I think you've got some repair
work to do on the friendship before you worry about anything else."

"I see."

"And Mac, it's not just you. Harm has to do some work of his own.
He needs to see a really good therapist who specializes in PTSD so he
can heal. If you talk to him, I'd be happy to give him some names of
people who are good with it."

"Thanks, Kat." Mac reached for her purse. "I hate to dump on you
and run, but I need to get going. I've got a brief to write before
tomorrow morning."

"No problem, Mac. I just hope I was some help."

"You were, Kat. Brutally honest at times, but helpful."

"Good. Keep in touch, all right? I'll be interested to see how the
two of you do."

"Goodnight, Kat."

"Bye, Mac."

****************

As Mac drove home, she felt more depressed than she had in a long
time. Kat's comments about Harm were making her think deeply about
how she interacted with him. If she were honest, she'd have to say
that she had built some walls around herself that were almost as
impregnable as his. The only thing was, she'd done it deliberately
with regard to him. She wasn't too sure that he'd done it
specifically to her. It was a chastened Marine who parked the
Corvette and wearily climbed the stairs to her apartment.

********************************

The visit to the counselor had shaken Harm to the core. It was one
thing to wonder if he might be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder. It was another thing entirely to be told that he was. The
one hopeful aspect was that Stan seemed fairly optimistic that he
could be cured -- or at least get things back under control. And
control was one of Harm's top priorities.

As soon as he entered his apartment, Harm pulled some leftovers and a
bottle of water from the refrigerator. While the food reheated, he
retrieved an empty legal pad and a pen from his briefcase. Since he
had nothing pressing to do for work, it seemed like a good idea to
get started on writing the "summer vacation" essays.

His dinner finished, Harm tuned the radio to some soft instrumental
music and dropped onto the couch. Picking up the legal pad and pen,
he began to write.

"December 24, 1969

This was the day that my childhood ended. I found out that two of my
strongest beliefs were false. My dad wasn't invincible, and Santa
Claus didn't exist.

Christmas Eve started out okay. Mom and I made a batch of cookies,
and we finished putting out all the decorations. We talked a little
about what it must be like for Dad and his squadron members on the
carrier at Christmas time. Mom said that they probably saw Bob Hope
and had a lot of fun, except for missing their families.

My grandparents were coming to visit us for Christmas, so I was
excited when I heard a car pull up out front. Thinking it was them,
I ran to a window to see. But what I saw scared me to death. My dad
had always told me that no matter how long it was between letters,
there was no need to worry about him. If something bad happened, the
Navy would send two officers to the house to tell us. When I looked
out of the window, thinking I'd see Grandma and Grandpa, I saw two
naval officers coming up the sidewalk. For a minute, all I could do
was stare at them. Then I ran to get my mother. I guess she thought
it was her parents, because I remember she had a big smile on her
face as she opened the door. Then she saw the two officers and burst
into tears.

The rest of the afternoon is kind of a blur. I vaguely remember one
of the men telling me that I should be brave for my mother -- that
men don't cry. My grandparents finally arrived and spent the rest of
the day with my mom. I spent a lot of time in my room so no one
would see me cry. I was scared. If my dad was shot down, what would
we do? Would we have to move off the base? Would I have to change
schools? What if he never came home? Who would teach me to play
baseball? Who would be my Cub Scout leader? And would I have to be
the man of the house for the rest of my life?

I remember thinking maybe Santa Claus could help. He could stop over
North Vietnam and pick up my dad. There was a telephone number you
could call to talk to Santa. So I called it and asked him to please
find my dad and bring him home. I told him he could give the rest of
my presents to someone else. I think he said that he'd see what he
could do about my dad, but that he had already loaded the sleigh so
I'd still get the presents that had my name on them.

The next morning, I woke up early. I was so sure that Santa Claus
would have found my father and brought him home. I ran into the
living room to see if he was there. That is when I realized that
Santa Claus wasn't real. Not only was there no Dad, but there was
nothing in my stocking. The only presents under the tree were the
ones that Mom had put there a couple of days before. I went back to
my room and crawled back into bed and cried.

When my mother finally woke up, I got up again. We went into the
living room, and she suddenly realized that she had forgotten all
about the Santa Claus presents. She tried to tell me that Santa
sometimes got behind schedule and our house must be near the end of
the list. But I knew. Santa Claus wasn't real. Your parents got
the presents and pretended. Kind of like we were pretending that
everything was going to be all right. Mom sent me to my room to get
dressed; and while I was doing that, she filled my stocking and set
out the presents. I tried to act like I believed her -- that Santa
Claus had just been running late -- but I knew it wasn't true.

I guess it's okay that I found out the truth about Santa Claus that
Christmas. It had already been ruined by my father being shot down.
What was one more disappointment?

The rest of that Christmas is a blur of images -- my mom trying not
to cry so I wouldn't be frightened and me trying not to cry so she
wouldn't be even more upset. Friends of my parents kept coming and
going, telling Mom it would be all right. Dad was smart. He'd make
it back. MIA wasn't KIA. I wanted to believe them so badly. I
mean, this was my dad. He was perfect. He could do anything. He
could outwit some dumb enemy that tried to capture him. I think my
mother knew, though, that she'd never see him again. Whatever
connection they had -- it had been broken. I guess that's why it was
so easy for her to marry Frank.

I couldn't understand it for the longest time. How could she just
give up on my father? I'd sometimes lie awake at night wondering how
easily she could give up on me if something happened to me. If I got
lost, would she look for me? Or would she just go get another kid?

It took me years to realize that it was a damn good thing that she
did marry Frank. Despite how rotten and surly I was to him, he
turned out to be my biggest supporter. The more I talked about going
to Annapolis, the more she tried to convince me that USC or Stanford
would be a better choice. Frank, on the other hand, kept encouraging
me. At the time, I figured he saw it as a way to not have to pay
tuition. As an added bonus, I'd be pretty much permanently out of
his hair before I even turned eighteen. When he didn't even seem
that angry when I went to Laos, I was convinced that Frank wanted me
gone as much as I wanted him out of the way.

Talk about being completely wrong about someone. Frank really did
care -- he loved me as much as if I'd been his own child. I was such
a jerk to him, I wonder why he even likes me now. I also wonder if
my mother would have signed my application to the Naval Academy if
Frank hadn't been there. I know she was afraid I'd wind up dead.
Good thing she doesn't know about most of the close calls I've had."

Harm took a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes were stinging with
unshed tears. It had been a long time since he had really thought
about that entire Christmas -- years since he had remembered not
finding any presents from Santa Claus. He shook his head and
frowned. He had told Mac once that he thought he'd missed his
childhood. Looking back made him realize just what that meant. At
the age of six, he'd had no illusions about the world he lived in: it
was a harsh place where bad things happened, and grownups told
children not to cry. Santa Claus was a lie, and no doubt so were the
Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. Harm remembered that when he'd
lost his first tooth a couple of months later, he hadn't even
bothered to put it under his pillow. His mother hadn't said anything
to him -- she'd known that her son had outgrown his belief in
fantasies and fairy tales on that cool December day.

Harm took a break and went to find some coffee. It was hard to tell
if stirring up the old, painful memories was doing any good or not,
but Stan had told him to do it. Twenty-two years of obedience to
orders insured that he would do what he was told.

Returning to the sofa with a cup of coffee, Harm picked up the tablet
again. The next event was going to be incredibly difficult to tackle.

"June, 1980. I had worked my six off the summer before, delivering
papers and caddying at the country club. I think the main reason
people liked to hire me was that I was tall and could see where their
balls went. It sure didn't have anything to do with my ability to
play golf, which was non-existent.

Anyway, I had saved every penny. I'm pretty sure that Mom and Frank
thought I was saving for a car, but I was saving for a trip. I had
read in the newspaper that there was an ex-Marine colonel who
believed that there were still POWs in southeast Asia. He and some
other veterans were running ops into Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam to
look for them. I figured that I would hook up with him and go find
my father. It was damn sure that Mom wasn't going to look for him.

I met up with Colonel Stryker in Bangkok. He wasn't too thrilled at
first to see a sixteen year old kid, but I was able to convince him
that I wouldn't cause any problems and would keep up with them on the
trail. He gave me a couple of days of 'boot camp' to teach me what I
needed to know to survive in the jungle. Things like how to not
leave a trail, how to leave a false trail, how to eat off the land,
how to make a shelter out of branches, how to use an AK-47, and how
to kill a man with my bare hands three different ways.

I'd be lying if I said that information hasn't come in handy more
than once since then. But at the time, it seemed like a good idea
anyway. I had to find my father. The government wasn't looking for
him. My requests to my mom to hire a private eye or something like
that had fallen on very deaf ears. So that left me. I owed it to my
father.

Anyway, we left Bangkok and went into the jungles of Vietnam and
Laos. At first, I was kind of high on the adventure of it all. I
mean, here I was, sixteen years old, and while my friends back home
were sacking groceries or mowing lawns, I was on a mission to find my
father in an 'exotic' locale. I think I even had some basic belief
that I would actually succeed in my quest. But as I later told Chuck
DePalma, it was a very futile gesture. Reality kicked in after a few
weeks. We had gone across Laos, from Thailand to Vietnam. There
were rumors of a POW camp that was still being operated near the
Vietnamese-Laotian border. I was a little surprised at how easily
Stryker found the camp, but it was a waste of time. The camp was
deserted, had been for years. All that was left were the cages that
they'd kept the prisoners in. When I saw the kind of place that my
dad might have been kept in, I felt sick at my stomach. To think of
him, trapped in a cage, like an animal at the zoo, was disgusting.
It's not that I hadn't seen pictures before, but to actually see the
prison cells made it all too real.

When we set up camp that night, Gym came over to talk to me. She was
the daughter of the woman Stryker lived with, and she had insisted on
coming with us. She told her mother that if I was old enough to go
on the search, then she was too. She was sixteen and beautiful. Gym
was the first girl I had really had a chance to get to know very
well. At home, during the school year, I was so busy with classes
and sports that I didn't really have time for girls. Plus, since I
had already decided to go to Annapolis, it didn't make a lot of sense
to get involved with a girl that I'd be leaving behind. Midshipman
don't have enough free time to have girlfriends, especially the first
year. Anyway, when Gym came over to talk to me, it suddenly dawned
on me just how beautiful she was. Not just her face but also her
character. Here she was, in this stinking jungle, all because of my
quixotic quest to find my father.

She tugged on my hand and suggested that we take a walk, away from
the adults. I followed her into the brush, curious as to what she
had in mind. When we were out of sight, she put her hands on my
shoulders and told me she understood what I was feeling at the
prison. 'It's okay to cry, Harm,' she told me. 'Those Marines, I
know they think they are strong. But I've heard Stryker in the night
sometimes. He has emotions too. And if he can cry when he's alone
with my mother, then you can cry when you are alone with me.' Then
she put her arms around me and pulled me close to her. I hugged her
back, overwhelmed with emotions: fear for the future, sadness for
what my father had gone through, appreciation for her caring, and
frustration at the lack of success in finding my father. Before I
knew it, I was crying silently into her hair. I held onto her like a
lifeline, terrified that if I let go of her, I'd crumple to the
ground in a little ball and never get back up. But the habits of a
lifetime, even if it's only sixteen years long, are hard to break.
So I swallowed the tears as soon as I could. And when I thought I
could maintain some vestige of self-control, I loosened my hold on
her. I looked down into her eyes and felt such a strong wave of
emotion that I leaned down and placed my lips on hers.

As first kisses go, it was probably pretty weak. But Gym didn't seem
to mind. She kissed me back, and I discovered that physical
affection can dull the pain, at least for a little while. When we
finally broke the kiss, both of us were breathing heavily, and I was
beginning to understand chapter fourteen of my health book. After
that night, there was a subtle shift in our relationship. I guess
you could say she was my first girlfriend. I loved her as much as a
sixteen year old can. And then I got her killed.

We were crossing back into Laos, having come up with nothing in
Vietnam. There had been some rumors of POWs still being held there.
I was scouting ahead with Stryker when we heard the sound of
helicopters. Gym and her mother weren't too well hidden, and the
border patrol saw them. Laotian border patrols seemed to believe
that they should shoot first and ask questions later. Suddenly the
stillness of the jungle was torn apart by the sound of machine gun
fire. Gym's mother screamed as a bullet hit her. I turned to run
back to see what I could do. Before I could get close enough to
help, Gym reached her mother and pulled her to her feet. They were
heading for the cover of the trees when the helo returned and the
gunner opened fire again. I screamed at Gym, but it was too late.
They were both hit with multiple rounds. I was running toward their
bodies when Stryker grabbed me. When I struggled to get away from
him, he wrapped an arm around my neck and dragged me deep into the
jungle. He literally sat on me until there were no more sounds
coming from where we had seen Gym and her mother go down. The
chopper noise and the guns had been gone for at least an hour before
he got off me. I had gotten grazed by a bullet, and I think Stryker
tied a bandanna or something around it. I don't even remember for
sure. Then we cautiously made our way back to the clearing, only to
find that the Laotians had taken their bodies away. There were marks
from the skids of the helos in the grass.

I guess if Stryker hadn't almost killed me getting me out of there,
the Laotians would have. I disgraced myself at that point. I sank
down against a tree and cried like a baby. I had never felt such
guilt. If it hadn't been for me, Gym would have been safe at home,
not in some damn Laotian jungle getting mowed down by a machine gun.
If there had been any trace of childhood left in me, it was gone
then. I was sixteen years old, and responsible for getting my
friend? girlfriend? killed.

The rest of that trip is a jumble of images. More dead ends, more
border patrols to dodge, more damn trees to hide behind. When we got
back to Bangkok, I was physically and emotionally numb. What had
started as a noble adventure had turned into a horrible nightmare--a
nightmare that I've been reliving for the past twenty-three years.
For months, every time I closed my eyes, I'd see Gym, laughing and
smiling at me at first, then getting shot. I'd see myself running
back to her and that arm going around my neck, pulling me back into
the trees. I'd hear the screams. I still have flashbacks of that
day. Every time I see a young Asian woman or Asian girl, I have
one. I think the Admiral is the only person I know who might be able
to understand, but I've never really talked about it to him in much
detail. I guess I'm afraid he'd slap me into the psych ward at
Bethesda.

Anyway, when we got back to Bangkok, we ran into Chuck DePalma. He
was a young, ambitious television reporter at the time. He was
working on a story on the people who still believed that there were
MIAs and POWs alive in southeast Asia. I was so tired and dazed that
I didn't really pay attention to the fact that his cameraman was
filming the whole time I talked to him. The story must have seemed
pretty exciting to his producers because they ran it the next day.
Mom and Frank saw it on television, and the next thing I knew, some
guy was flashing State Department ID at me and telling me he was
there to take me home. Stryker vanished into the streets of
Bangkok. I guess he didn't want to get hassled about letting me stay
with him and his men. The guy from State took me to a hotel, threw
some clean clothes at me, and told me I had exactly twenty minutes to
be ready to leave for the airport. I remember standing under the
spray of the shower, the hot water and soap hitting the wound on my
arm, and finally realizing it hurt like hell. But the physical pain
was nothing to the emotional pain. All I could think was how royally
I had screwed up everything. I had gotten Gym killed, worried my
mother, and failed to find my father. All in all, a very wasted
summer.

I'd like to say that my homecoming was a happy one. But Mom, in
typical mother fashion, as soon as she saw that I was safe, if not
particularly sound, lit into me. I can't remember her ever being
that angry with me, not even when I was surly or rebellious to
Frank. But apparently a mother's forgiveness does have limits. She
didn't even let me get home from the airport before she was telling
me just what she thought of my 'stunt.' But after all that I'd just
been through, I didn't say a word. I just let her roll. It was the
least I could do. When she finally ran out of steam and allowed me
to leave her presence, I trudged up to my bedroom and collapsed onto
the bed. I don't think I woke up for close to eighteen or twenty
hours. When I did, it was to a very chilly atmosphere. Mom would
barely talk to me, except to point out which chores she expected to
be done before dinner time. Talk about confinement at hard labor. I
know I cleaned the garage, the attic, and the basement that first
week. Then she moved me on to stripping paint from woodwork and
repainting every room in the house. By the time football practice
started, it looked like a rest cure.

It took months before my mother could bring herself to talk to me
about the trip. By the time she was willing to talk, I had done my
damnedest to push it out of my mind. So all I basically told her was
that I had gone to look for Dad and failed. She didn't ask any more
questions, and I didn't volunteer any other information. The only
time she said any more about it was when I asked her to sign my
application to the Academy. She told me that she didn't want to.
That she had lost my father and almost lost me because of the Navy.
She didn't want to go through that again. But Frank talked her into
signing it. I guess I'm grateful, although lately I've sometimes
wondered what my life would be like if I hadn't gone to Annapolis.
But knowing me, I'd still have joined the Navy and been right where I
am today.

I finally told Mac about that trip a few months ago. Sturgis and I
were investigating a Vietnamese-American Marine officer who had
gotten mixed up in a very messy INS situation with smuggled
Vietnamese girls working in a sweatshop. Two of the key witnesses
were girls about the age Gym was. Every time I looked at them, I saw
her again. I'm sure they and the interpreter all thought I was a
taco short of a combo, the way I kept staring at them. Anyway, I
felt like I needed some perspective on the case, so I dropped by
Mac's office. She told me that the office scuttlebutt was that I was
chasing my father again. That was when I finally told her about my
trip to 'Nam. After I finished telling her about it, all she said
was, 'You can't turn back the clock, Harm. Not for you and not for
your client.' Not a word about how crappy it was that I watched a
girl my age get gunned down when I was sixteen. Not a word about how
she was sorry that I had lived through all that.

Sometimes, I really, really wish that people didn't think I have it
all together. Mac, of all people, ought to know that I don't. I've
told her more than anyone else about my demons and my ghosts. She
listens when I do, I'll grant her that. But I don't think she's ever
expressed a bit of sympathy. She just gives me some practical
answer, as if that will change the way I feel. I don't know. Maybe
she's no more in touch with feelings than I am. Perhaps she really
doesn't know how badly I need someone to say that's it's okay if I
feel bad. And God, I hate it when she says, 'You're running on
emotion, Harm' like it's a bad thing. Most of the time, she's ticked
because I'm not showing emotion. What the hell does she want from
me?"

Harm dashed the tears from his eyes and got up to get more coffee.
This particular exercise was exhausting, but he was on a roll. For
the first time in his entire life, he was facing his feelings about
things, and he was afraid to stop the process. So he gulped down
another cup of coffee and returned to his couch. Picking up the pen,
he continued to write.

**************

The sky was beginning to lighten when Harm finally finished writing.
He had filled two legal pads with his account of the traumatic events
he'd undergone and his feelings about them. At times, he'd detoured
off into questions he had or reactions to what he'd just written. He
was exhausted and feeling ill. His throat felt raw from the tears
he'd suppressed; his eyes burned from the tears he'd shed. He felt
queasy from the lack of sleep and the vast quantity of coffee he'd
consumed on a relatively empty stomach. There was no way he was
going to be able to function at the office. He reached for the
telephone and dialed the number for JAG Ops. Harm left a brief
message, requesting a day of sick leave, then mentally reviewed what
was on his schedule for the day. Other than a witness interview at
14:00 with Mac, he had been planning to get caught up on paperwork.
He waited till six o'clock, then punched in her number.

"Hi, Mac, it's me." His voice sounded terrible to himself.

"Are you sick, Harm? You sound terrible."

"Yeah, I guess I've got some sort of twenty-four hour thing. Anyway,
I already called in sick, but I remembered we have that interview at
14:00. Do you want me to call and reschedule it?"

"No, that's all right. Unless you really want to be present, I can
do it by myself." She hoped he'd accept; they really needed to get
the interview finished so they could start building their case.

"If you're sure you don't mind doing it all by yourself, go ahead. I
know you do good work." He rubbed a weary hand across his eyes.

"All right. Do you need to call a doctor?" She sounded concerned.

"No, I think what I need most is some Tylenol and sleep."

"You're probably right. Well, feel better, Harm."

"Thanks, Mac. I'll owe you one. I'll talk to you later. Bye." He
hung up the phone and stumbled into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle
of water and swallowed a couple of Tylenol tablets. Before he left
the living area, he turned off the ringer on the telephone and
checked to make sure his cell phone was turned off. Then he made his
way to his bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and collapsed on the
bed. He was asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

*********************************

1600 local
Quantico Marine Base


Mac shut her briefcase with a snap. "Thank you very much for your
time, Major." She returned the salute and left the man's office.
The witness interview had gone well. She and Harm ought to have
enough information to construct a decent case for their client.
After sliding into the driver's seat of her Corvette, she fished in
her purse for her cell phone. Surely Harm had had enough sleep by
now. She dialed his home number, then sat back to listen to it
ring. And ring. And ring. "Hi, sorry I can't come to the phone.
Leave your name and number at the beep." His message certainly
sounded better than he had at five-thirty in the morning. Perhaps
he'd gone out for some reason. She dialed his cell phone number.
And got switched immediately to voice mail.

Given how ill he'd sounded earlier, Mac was worried. She shifted the
car into reverse and pulled out of her parking place. Within
minutes, she was burning up I-95 toward Harm's apartment. It was
completely unlike him to be unreachable by telephone.

****************

1645
North of Union Station
Harm's apartment

Mac screeched to a stop in front of Harm's building. She breathed a
sigh of relief when she realized that the building was still
standing. Putting one of her fears to rest, she noticed his SUV
parked in front. So unless he had gone somewhere on foot or in
his 'Vette, he ought to be home. She locked her car and headed into
the building, her anxiety mounting with every step she took.

Reaching Harm's door, she pounded on it but got no response. Mac
fished his key from her purse and unlocked the door. She opened it
warily, apprehensive of what she might find. The apartment was dark,
the blinds drawn against the sun. "Harm?" she called softly. When
she received no answer, she slowly entered the apartment. Nothing
seemed to have been disturbed, so she continued on to the bedroom.

Harm lay sprawled diagonally across the bed, his arms clutching a
pillow. He was so still that Mac watched for a minute to see if he
was breathing. When she finally noticed the even rise and fall of
his shoulders, she decided that he was still among the living, even
if somewhat unconscious. She stood at the side of his bed for a few
minutes, gazing at his face. It suddenly struck her that unlike most
people, when Harm slept, his face didn't seem to relax at all. None
of the worry lines smoothed out. Instead, even in repose, Harm
looked tense and strained. A band tightened around her heart as she
gazed at his sleeping form. It was no wonder that he'd seemed so
brittle lately, if even when he slept, he got no peace.

"Harm?" she said softly, hoping to wake him without startling him.

He didn't even twitch at the sound of her voice.

More worried than ever at his lack of response, Mac reached out and
placed a gentle hand on his face to check for fever.

"No! Don't touch me!" A steel grip encased her wrist as he came to
life. Wild-eyed and rigid, Harm grasped her wrists and held her at
arm's length. His eyes stared at her without recognition.

"Harm! Stop! It's me--Mac!" She willed herself to stay calm in the
face of this stranger.

Suddenly, the blank look vanished to be replaced by an anguished
one. He released her wrists as if burned. "Mac. I'm sorry. Did I
hurt you?" His voice was strangled.

"No, it's all right. What the heck is going on, Harm?" She rubbed
her wrists.

He ran his hand through his hair, making it spike up. "What are you
doing here? I thought you were going out to Quantico for that
interview." His voice was raspy and tired.

"I did. Harm, it's 1700. Are you sure you don't need to see a
doctor? I'd be happy to take you."

"No, I'm all right. I just had a rough night. Hadn't even been to
sleep when I called you this morning." He scrubbed at his eyes with
his hands.

"Harm..."

"Mac, I'm fine. I just need to wake up some more. Why don't you go
find yourself something cold to drink while I grab a quick shower.
Then you can tell me about the witness."

She eyed him carefully. He did seem to be returning to more or less
normal. Mac nodded. "Okay. I'm going to run down to the car to get
my briefcase."

"Why did you leave it in the car?"

"Because when I got here I was a little more concerned about my
partner than about the case."

"Why?"

"Because my partner called me at 0600 to tell me he was too sick to
come to work, something he never does, and then when I tried to call
him, he wasn't answering either telephone."

Harm looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mac. After I talked to you, I
turned my cell phone off and turned off the ringer on my phone. I
didn't want to get wakened by telemarketers."

"You're forgiven." She gave him a quick smile, then left his
bedroom. "I'll be back in a minute."

He nodded and watched as she left the apartment. Harm threw back the
covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head still
hurt, and he was still a little queasy, but the sleep had helped.
Grabbing some clothes, he headed for the bathroom.

Mac returned to the sound of running water. She took a bottle of
mineral water from the refrigerator, then took her briefcase over to
the couch. Sinking onto it, she noticed the legal pads resting on
the coffee table. Harm must have been up half the night working on
the case. She reached for the top one and picked it up. She took
one look at Harm's distinctive writing and dropped it back on the
table as if scalded.

"December 24, 1969." That was the date that Harm's father was shot
down. What had Harm been doing? Obviously not working on legal
briefs. Why on earth would he be dredging up old, painful memories?
Uncomfortable with the questions that were coming to mind, Mac opened
her briefcase and pulled out her notes. Facts she could deal with.
Unknowns about Harm were another matter entirely, especially in light
of the conversation she'd had with Kat the night before.

A few short minutes later, Harm joined her in the living room. He
looked better, his hair still damp and a few drops of water resting
in the hollow of his throat. He was the only man she knew who could
pull off wearing a vee-necked tee shirt and not look like a geek.
She was enjoying the view when he spoke, his voice harsh.

"Did you read that?" He gestured toward the legal pad on the table
lying in a slightly different position than the one he'd left it in.

"No, not really. I picked it up, thinking you'd been working on our
case, but I realized that it was personal and I put it back." She
looked up at him, trying to read his expression. But as almost
always, his face was shuttered, his eyes unreadable.

"Perhaps you should read it. You've always wanted to know why I
can't let go." He turned and went to the refrigerator. After taking
out a diet cola, he popped the top and said, "Go ahead. I'll be in
the bedroom." And he turned and stalked up the steps.

Harm lay back on his bed, sipping his soft drink. Two more Tylenols
had helped dull the throbbing behind his eyes, and the cola was
helping his stomach. Nothing, however, seemed to help the chill
feeling he'd gotten when he had realized that Mac must have seen
his "vacation" essays. Why on earth had he told her to read them?
Now she'd know what a screwed up mess he was. She'd probably feel
duty bound to tell the admiral he needed a padded room at Bethesda.
He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out just what
had possessed him to allow Mac to see the layers of himself that he'd
always kept hidden from her, hell, even from himself.

*****************

As she read his account of his life, Mac's eyes filled with tears;
and her throat and chest ached with suppressed emotion. Although he
had shared some of it with her in the past, he had always been very
matter-of-fact, relating events but tending to avoid discussing his
feelings about them. The last time she could remember him actually
sharing this kind of emotion with her was on their fateful flight
into the Appalachians. Mac wondered if the reason he hadn't ever
told her how he felt about anything after that was because she hadn't
responded correctly back then. Or perhaps her unwillingness to
listen to him when he was thinking of going back to flying had been
the turning point. Either way, it was very clear that he had been
bottling up his feelings about almost everything for way too long.

She almost lost it completely when she neared the end of his recital
and read his account of the events of the past spring.

"Sometimes I really wish that there was a way to go backwards in time
and have a 'do over.' If there were, I'd rewind to the day that we
heard Loren Singer was dead. I think my behavior that day must have
been the catalyst to the complete destruction of my relationship with
Mac. Actually, I probably should go back to the investigation into
Singer's pregnancy back on the Seahawk. I should have let Mac know
what I suspected. She would have respected Loren's privacy. I guess
I was embarrassed for anyone to know that my little brother could
have been crazy enough to hook up with her. But at the time, it
didn't seem important that I tell Mac. Mac had concluded that Loren
hadn't conceived on board ship, the captain had dropped the charges,
and Loren was going to San Diego. I honestly thought that would be
the end of it. But when Loren was killed, and Mac found out that I
had tried to find out who the father was myself, Mac's trust in me
seemed to die.

And then when I was arrested, Mac made it pretty clear that I was
beyond the pale. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that she
blithely ran off to Paraguay with Webb. Actually, what really
surprised me was that she came to see me before she left. I still
don't know why she did. Maybe she wanted to twist the knife in my
gut one more time. Hard to say. I do know that she was wrong about
me that night. When she asked why I only show interest in her when
she has one foot out the door, she should have waited for an answer.
I could have told her that it's not that at all. I'm always
interested in her--have been for years. It's just that it's only
when she's heading into danger that my fear for her safety overrides
my fear of telling her how I feel. When she's safe, here in
Washington, I can't find the courage to risk telling her just how
much I love her. I'm pretty sure that if I ever did, she'd laugh it
off, and toss her head, and tell me I'm funny. And then I'd have to
pretend that she's right, because to tell her that I'm serious would
mean the end of our friendship. And while I can live without her
love, I can't live without her friendship.

Anyway, she made that crack, grabbed her jacket, and turned and
walked out the door. I don't think I've had a decent night's sleep
since. As the days went by with no news of her and Webb, I got more
and more worried. I was having nightmares of her being killed. And
I wasn't there to protect her. The admiral wasn't any help at all.
He'd just say that he'd let me know if there was anything I needed to
know. Finally, he told me that Mac and Webb were missing. But he
wouldn't give me permission to go find them. And when I told him I'd
resign my commission if I had to, he shrugged like it was no big
deal. Ted Lindsey would have loved to have seen that. So much for
being JAG's 'fair-haired boy.' Hell, I think I'm probably JAG's
black sheep.

I don't know what I thought would happen when I got there. Maybe Mac
would have looked at me with those beautiful eyes and said, 'Harm,
thank God you came.' Maybe she would have thrown her arms around
me. I think I was hoping for a scenario along those lines. But as
usual, with classic Rabb timing, I was once again too late. No hug,
no thanks, not even 'it's about time you showed up.' Instead, I got
to feel the bottom drop out of my world as I watched her tell Webb
that she liked being married to him. And then, just to let me know
that it didn't matter what I'd risk to keep her, she kissed him. I
really ought to tell the admiral -- there's no point in asking what
I'd risk to keep Mac. You can't keep something or someone that
you've never had.

The rest of the mission to Paraguay was a nightmare. Mac was pissed,
I was numb, Clay was half dead. I didn't mean to crash the plane,
but it happened. For a while, I was sorry that I'd walked away from
it. I wasn't sorry that I'd saved Mac, even if it was so she could
be with Webb. But I've made such a mess of my own life that I can't
really see it getting much better. I don't know that I'll ever
completely get over the month I spent 'repaying' the CIA. Kershaw
should change his name to Mephistopheles. I think I lost a part of
myself there, and I'm not sure where to find it.

After I spent a month of purgatory in Langley, Admiral Chegwidden
finally finagled things so I'm back at JAG, but it's a different
circle of hell. I have to work with Mac, pretending that things are
fine. I'm stressed, and jumpy, and still having nightmares. If
something doesn't change soon, I think I'll have to risk the
admiral's wrath and ask for a transfer to another continent. Every
day, it hurts worse to see her, knowing that it's too late. I
honestly hope Mac and Clay will be happy. They're both good people
and deserve to be. But I don't think I want to watch. Scratch
that. I know I don't want to watch.

So that is how I've spent my summer vacations. Failing people I
love, losing people I love, hurting people I love. It's probably a
good thing that I never managed to 'let go' with Mac. I love her way
too much to add her to that list."

Mac set the legal pad back down on the coffee table and wiped the
tears from her eyes. It was obvious that she and Harm had some
talking to do, but something told her it wasn't quite the right
time. The sound of her stomach growling startled her. She had lost
all track of time while she was reading. It was 1830. No wonder she
was hungry. She rose from the sofa and went in search of Harm.
He was half asleep again, his arms once more clutching a pillow. She
could see the dried trail of a tear that had snaked down his cheek.
It almost seemed a shame to wake him, but he must need some food.

"Harm." She spoke softly. "Wake up."

He stirred and rubbed a hand across his face. "Sorry about that. I
guess I fell asleep again. What time is it?"

"1830. I was thinking we should go find something to eat."

"You go ahead, Mac. I'm not really hungry." He got up from the
bed. "I can order a pizza for you if you want to go over the case."

She shook her head. "Harm, when was the last time you ate?"

He shrugged. "Last night."

"Then you need to eat. And you don't look like pizza would be the
best choice. Come on. Put on your shoes. I'm taking you out."

"Mac, please. I don't feel like it." His face was pale in the early
evening light.

"That's because you haven't eaten in twenty-four hours. Now quit
arguing with me. I'll take you some place where you can get soup or
an omelet, all right?"

Too weary to argue anymore, he acquiesced. Sometimes Mac was like a
force of nature. It was easier to just go along with her. He found
some shoes and headed down the steps to the living room. "You
driving?"

"You bet. I want to get there in once piece. You still look like
you might pass out on me."

"Thanks. You know, Mac, that's one thing I've always liked about you-
-your ability to feed my ego."

She grinned at him. "That's me, Suzie Cheerleader." She led the
way to her car.

***************

Harm sat silently in the passenger seat as Mac navigated through the
streets of Washington. He had looked at her, trying to see some sign
of reaction to what she had read, but her expression gave nothing
away. For her part, she chatted casually about office gossip and
filled him in on the statement she'd gotten from their witness. When
she pulled into the parking lot of a casual, family-style restaurant,
he raised an eyebrow.

"I figure that you can get any meal you want here," she said. "And
they have plenty of dead cow for me."

As they waited for their food, Harm garnered the courage to say, "I
think I'm surprised that you haven't said anything about what I
wrote."

Mac sipped on her water. "We need to talk about it, Harm. But
definitely not here. And not till you've had some food. I think I
need a little space before we talk too."

"I see." But he wasn't sure he did. At least she didn't seem
angry. That was worth something. "I'm sorry I ditched out on you
today."

"Well, don't be. If you felt half as bad as you looked, you needed
to stay home and sleep." She grinned wryly. "That didn't come out
too well, did it?"

"No, but I understand." His smile almost reached his eyes. "I guess
I shouldn't have done that last night, but once I got started, I
couldn't stop. The next thing I knew it was five-thirty, and I felt
like hell."

"I know."

There was compassion in her voice, a tone he hadn't heard in a very
long time. Perhaps the discussion wouldn't be quite as difficult as
he feared.

Harm and Mac talked about inconsequential things over dinner. She
teased him about his vegetarian omelet, and he pretended to shudder
over her bacon cheeseburger.

"Can't you feel your arteries clogging with every bite?" His good
humor was returning with every mouthful of food.

"No. Don't you feel the need to graze when you see a meadow?" she
shot back.

"Thanks, Mac. This was a good idea." He leaned back in the booth
and sipped on his water. "I'm glad you came over."

"Me too." She put her hand on his. "It's going to be all right,
Harm. You're going to be all right."

He sighed. "I hope so."

"I know so." She looked at him, compassion in her eyes. "You ready
to leave?"

"Yeah." He reached for the check, but she was quicker.

"I told you -- my treat. You can leave the tip, if you want."

********************************

2000
Harm's apartment

"I know I said we need to talk, but if you don't feel up to it
tonight, I understand." Mac gazed at the still face of her partner.

"It's fine. Might as well get it over with." Harm unlocked the door
and let them into the apartment. "Want anything?"

"Not right now, thanks." Mac seated herself on the couch and was
pleased when Harm sat down beside her.

"Fire away," he said.

"Well, for starters, I'm curious as to why you wrote this."

"My counselor told me to."

Mac's eyes widened. "Since when do you have a counselor?"

"Since last night."

"What prompted that?"

"I'm gonna blame it on Bud. He was asking my advice the other day
about using Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a defense for a client
of his. While he was describing the guy, it suddenly dawned on me
that he could have been talking about me."

"And that got you worried?"

"Actually, I was already worried. It more or less gave me something
to go on." His fingers played with a pen. "Anyway, I made an
appointment with a counselor and went to see him. He suggested that
I try writing down the things I find difficult to talk about."

"And then what?"

"I take the pads in with me next week and I guess we talk about that
stuff."

"Does he think you have PTSD?" Mac asked.

"Yeah. He said he's amazed I'm not in a padded suite somewhere."
Harm tried to grin but failed.

"How do you feel about that?" she asked gently.

"Actually, sort of relieved. At least it's something I can fix. And
I guess it's somewhat understandable. I know I'm not going crazy
now."

"That's good." She licked her lips. "Why did you tell me to read
it?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure. Maybe because you
deserve to know why I haven't been able to be what I sometimes have
thought you wanted me to be. Maybe because I didn't want to wait to
deal with it till my appointment next week."

"Do you regret letting me read it?"

"Jury's still out on that one. I guess it depends on what happens."

"Do you mind if I ask you about some of what you wrote?"

"No, go ahead." He leaned back into the corner of the couch.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about China?" She sounded hurt.

"It was before I knew you. It's not the sort of thing that comes up
in casual conversation. 'Oh, by the way, did I ever tell you about
the time I was a prisoner in China?' I guess if it had come up, I
would have told you about it."

"What they did to you was unspeakably cruel." She fairly bristled
with indignation.

"Mac, it's all right. It could have been much worse."

"How?"

"They could have made me hallucinate about the SecNav."

She rolled her eyes. "You must be feeling better. That was awful."

"Seriously, you'll probably think I'm nuts, but I think my dad really
was there with me. How else would I have come up with the name of
the Chinese colonel who was there when my dad might have been?"

"Maybe he was. Maybe he's like your guardian angel."

"If he is, I'm grateful. But he's probably thinking, 'Damn, son,
can't you stay out of trouble for a little while?'"

"He wouldn't think that. He's seen you in action too many times.
We've all grown accustomed."

Harm groaned. "What else?"

"Harm, when you were writing about Paraguay, you sounded like you
think you're somehow responsible for the death of everyone you've
ever cared for."

"I am."

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "No, you're not. Harm, you can't
save everyone. You're not Superman. Didn't you ever watch that show
about Lois and Clark? Even Clark finally understood he couldn't
save everyone. And you don't have super powers."

"I know. But I can't help feeling responsible. If I'd gone to
Russia..."

"You'd never have come back. And you had nothing to do with Diane's
death."

"You can't say I'm not responsible for Gym's death. Or Jordan's. If
I hadn't insisted she get that gun..."

"Harm, stop. You'll make yourself crazy with 'ifs.' If Jordan
hadn't gotten the gun out of the cabinet, she wouldn't have been
shot. If the colonel hadn't been going to see her in her
apartment...If the woman across the hall wasn't crazy...There were
lots of factors which led to Jordan's death, and they had nothing to
do with you. Harm, it's not your fault. Trust me. This is one area
in which I have expert knowledge. In fact, I distinctly remember
having this exact conversation with you once, only you were the one
doing the talking."

Harm shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Do you have to quote me to
myself?"

"When you were right, yeah."

"That is one of the issues I guess I need to work on--not blaming
myself for everything."

"I'd say so." She took a deep breath. "This next one's harder.
When you said you wished you knew what I want from you--do you really
want to know?"

"I'm not sure." He sucked on his bottom lip. "I mean, I do. But
I'm afraid to know, if that makes any sense at all."

"It does. I feel the same way about you." She turned on the couch
to face him directly. "Harm, I want you to be honest with me. You
were right. I was hurt that you were investigating Loren behind my
back. I now understand why, but I thought that we were close enough
that you would have told me. Every time one of us has tried to keep
something secret from the other, we've run into problems, haven't we?"

He nodded dumbly.

"So that's the first thing. I want us to be open and honest with
each other. We're both way too good at misunderstanding each other
when we're left in the dark. So can we promise each other to quit
shutting the other one out?"

"Yes. I think I'd like that." He gave her a tender smile.

"Good. The next thing I want from you is for you to quit hiding from
your emotions about yourself. I know it's hard for you. It's hard
for me. Maybe that's one of the reasons we haven't managed to get it
together yet. We both have a lot of ghosts to deal with. Harm,
you've helped me deal with my ghosts. Will you let me help you deal
with yours?" She reached out and touched his arm.

Harm placed his hand over hers. "I can try, Mac."

"And then I want you to accept my apologies.

"For what?"

"For not being there for you during your trial. I could blame it on
the pencil sharpener and the admiral's orders to stay away, but you
and I both know that had the roles been reversed, you wouldn't have
let it stop you. I guess I was so mad about the mess on the Seahawk,
that I just didn't think how you would feel. I'm really, really
sorry. And apparently, I really need to apologize about Paraguay."

"Mac, don't."

"Harm, there is nothing between me and Clay except friendship and
shared horror. I do not now, and never have, felt anything the least
bit romantic about him. I honestly don't think he really does about
me either. In all the years I've known him, that was the first time
he ever said anything remotely nice."

"Mac, you don't have to tell me this."

"Yes, I do. You have been tearing yourself up inside for months
because you think that you lost me to Webb, haven't you?"

He stared at her wordlessly, his answer written on his face.

"Harm, how stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're stupid at all."

"Why would I want to be with Webb? As you yourself once said, he's
devious twenty-four-seven."

Harm grinned at the memory. "I don't think that's exactly what I
said."

"Close enough." She chuckled. "You know what I mean. How could I
want Webb, when there are better men around? One in particular."

He looked her straight in the eye. "Mac, please don't say anything
that you're going to regret in ten minutes or tomorrow or next week.
As much as I hate to admit it, I'm too messed up right now to cope
with any more disasters."

"I know. And I'm not going to say anything that I will ever regret.
My only regret is that I wasn't paying enough attention to you for
the past two years."

"I'm really confused now." Harm took both her hands. "What are you
trying to say?"

"That I haven't done a very good job of being your friend lately. I
forgot that you freeze like a deer in the headlights when asked a
personal question. But I asked them and then didn't give you time to
answer. That wasn't very fair."

"Well, I can think of a few times when I left you in the lurch."

"For heaven's sake, Harm. Stop beating yourself up. You had to go
with Renee. I know that. I knew it then." She gently squeezed his
hands. "If you had deserted her for me that night, you wouldn't have
been the man I love." She gazed into his eyes, willing him to
believe her.

"Mac, I..." His voice trailed off as the significance of her words
hit him.

"Yep. Definitely a deer in the headlights." She grinned at
him. "If you don't believe me, ask Sturgis."

His eyes widened in shock. "Ask him what?"

"Ask him when I told him I was in love with you."

"When did you?"

"Oh, about a year and a half ago. And don't get mad at Sturgis for
not telling you. I threatened him with his life if he told you."

"And he, being a practical man, believed you."

"Of course. Actually, I think he's a little afraid of Marines." She
took a deep breath. "And the last thing I want from you, since I saw
it in blue and yellow, is for you to love me and to let me love you.
But not until you're ready, Harm."

He pulled her into his arms. "Mac, I do love you. I have for a long
time. But right now, I'm an emotional wreck. I don't know how long
it's going to take me to get things sorted out. I can't ask you to
put your life on hold."

"Harm, you aren't asking me to do that. I'm volunteering. And in
the meantime, I want to help. I won't ask for anything you're not
ready to give. All right?"

He dropped a kiss on her hair. "Mac, I don't deserve you. But I'm
not going to turn you down this time." He gazed lovingly into her
eyes. "Just let me get through this, and then we'll do it right.
I'll buy you all the shoes you want."

Mac pulled his face toward hers and placed a gentle kiss on his
lips. "I'll hold you to that, squid. I'm holding you to that other
promise too, but all in good time."

Harm's smile lit up his face. "There are some other things I'd like
to do before we close that deal, Mac."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, things that entail ticking off the admiral and making my
mother ecstatically happy. And probably require one pair of
uncomfortable shoes for you."

"We'll see." She smiled happily at him. "Now, I'm going to say
goodnight, so you can get some sleep. We have a case to prepare in
the morning."

"I'll be there." He pulled her to her feet. Encircling her waist
with his arms, he kissed her gently on the forehead. "Thanks, Mac.
For everything."

"You're welcome. Now come walk me to my car."

"Do I get another kiss if I do?"

"You'll have to come down to find out." She tugged on his hand and
pulled him out the door.

**********

Harm leaned into the window of Mac's Corvette. "Thanks again. For
everything."

"Any time, Harm. Remember, I love you."

He blinked back a tear. "Me too, Mac. Me too."

*********************************


18:00
Office of Stan Webber, L.C.S.W.
Washington, DC

Stan ushered Harm into his office, noting with interest the two
yellow legal pads Harm had tucked under his arm.

"So how have you been this past week, Harm?" he asked as he motioned
to him to sit on the couch.

"Better, I think." Harm nodded at his own words. "Definitely
better. I think I actually got through a couple of nights with no
nightmares."

"That is good." Stan smiled. "So did you get much done on your
homework assignment?"

Harm's "flyboy" grin spread across his face. "Oh, yeah." He handed
the two tablets to the therapist.

Quickly fanning the pages, Stan noticed that both pads were
full. "Wow. You don't do things half way, do you?"

"Not normally, no. Most of the people who know me would tell you
that I can be obsessive about certain things."

"I can believe that." He glanced at the first page of the pad on
top. "Let me look over these for a couple of minutes, and then we'll
talk about some of what you've written.

"All right." Harm picked up a magazine and thumbed through it while
Stan skimmed his "essays."

Several minutes later, Stan raised his head. "So did you spend some
time every day working on these?"

Harm grinned ruefully. "No. I went home from here, grabbed some
dinner, and started writing. The next thing I knew, it was five-
thirty in the morning."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. I felt like hell. So much so that I called in sick."

"I take it you don't often do that."

"No, I can't afford to. With my job, if I call in sick, then other
people suffer."

"But you did it last Wednesday."

"I had to. I was in no shape to work. And luckily, I didn't really
have anything that had to get done that day except interview a
witness for a case with Mac."

"How did you deal with that?"

"I called Mac and asked if she wanted me to reschedule. She said
she'd do it by herself, so I said fine. And then I turned off the
ringer on the phone and crashed."

"And things were better on Thursday?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's because of taking the day off or
because of Mac. I think probably because of Mac."

"Care to tell me about it?"

Harm shrugged. "She tried to call me late in the afternoon, and when
I didn't answer the phone, she came over to my apartment." He took a
deep breath. "And she inadvertently saw the legal pads."

"Did she read them?"

"No, she put them back as soon as she saw it was something personal.
But then I told her to go ahead and read them."

"Did she?" Stan kept his voice neutral.

"Yes, she did. I went back to bed and fell asleep, wondering what
had possessed me to let her see them."

Stan looked at Harm appraisingly. "Did you ever figure out why you
told her to read your essays?"

"I think because I had written so much that I wish she knew--things
that I've never been able to actually say to her."

"How did you feel after she read them?"

"Like someone had taken a vegetable peeler to me and stripped off all
my skin. Vulnerable. Exposed."

"Understandable. How did Mac react?"

"She didn't, at first. She came and woke me up and said, 'Let's go
find some dinner.'" Harm smiled at the thought. That was Mac --
always hungry.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And we went out and had dinner. And then we went back to my
apartment and talked some about my essays."

"How did she react?"

"I think she cried a little. She asked a few questions, like why
hadn't I told her about China. And then she asked if I really wanted
to know what she wanted from me."

The therapist sat quietly, waiting for Harm to continue.

"And I said yes. And she told me. And then we talked about some
things we should have talked about a long time ago. And if you're
about to ask how I felt about that, the answer is it felt good. I'm
glad we talked. We talked about some of the other stuff, too." Harm
looked a little uncomfortable. "She told me I shouldn't feel so
responsible for a lot of what's on those two pads."

"Smart woman. She's right. You're not responsible for any of it."

"Then why do I feel like I am?"

Stan tossed the question right back to him. "You tell me. Why do
you feel responsible for things that were completely out of your
control?"

Harm frowned. "I don't know. Maybe I don't want to admit that
anything is out of my control." He took a long breath. "In the air,
you have to be in control or you die. It's very simple. I can
control my plane. People, however, are another thing entirely. You
can't control them unless they want you to."

"No, you can't," Stan said gently.

"So where does that leave me?"

"Learning some techniques to help you take control of the things that
you can control, and also learning what things are beyond your
control and therefore not your responsibility." Stan looked at his
notes on Harm. "You have a half-brother in Russia, right?"

"Yeah. I just found out about him a couple of years ago."

"So you were raised as an only child."

At Harm's nod, Stan continued. "That is probably part of why you
tend to feel responsible. People told you that you had to be 'the
man of the house' when you were a very young child. That tends to
make kids do one of two things--be too responsible or rebel. The
other part is your career. You are a naval officer. It's your job
to be responsible for people and events--when it's appropriate. The
challenge is learning how to distinguish what you are responsible for
and what you aren't."

"Okay."

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I did a little research on your
profession, and I got the impression that one of your
responsibilities is investigating mishaps and determining
responsibility. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Now, are there ever incidents where you determine that nobody is
really responsible? That it was an accident?"

"Of course." Harm wondered where Stan was heading with this train of
thought.

"What about times when someone thinks they are responsible, but you
determine that they aren't?"

Harm looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Yes, sometimes that
happens too."

Stan nodded. "Now let's look at some of the events that have been
bothering you, but instead of obsessing about them, I want you to
look at them as objectively as possible--like you would if you were
investigating the incident had it happened to someone else."

"All right."

"First of all, where are you with your father's death? Have you
really come to terms with it?"

"I think so, for the most part. Going to Russia and finding out what
really happened at least gave my mother and me some closure. It
didn't keep me from feeling like an idiot for going to the wrong
place to look in 1980 though."

"Let's look at that objectively. You were how old at the time?"

"Sixteen, almost seventeen."

"Harm, was there any reason on earth for you to think that your
father might have been in Russia?"

"No, not really. It wasn't until years later that there were even
rumors that POWs had been taken to the Soviet Union."

"So should you feel like an idiot for looking for your dad in
southeast Asia at that time?"

Harm bit his lower lip. "I guess not."

"Since we're talking about your trip to find your father, let's talk
a little about the girl in Laos."

"Gym?" A shadow crossed Harm's face.

"Yes. You feel responsible for her death."

"Because I am."

"I'm having trouble understanding that. You told me last week that
you had tried to talk her out of going into the jungle with you.
Isn't it true that she chose to be where she was? And her mother had
given her permission to be there?"

"I suppose so."

"You wrote that her mother was shot and screamed, and that Gym ran to
help her."

"Right."

"So if she hadn't run to her mother, she wouldn't have been killed?"

"I guess not."

"And you tried to help her?"

"Yes, but Stryker held me back." Harm's voice was anguished.

"So you did everything in your power to save her?"

"Yes, but it wasn't enough."

"Harm, what would have happened if Stryker hadn't pulled you back?"

"I probably would have been killed too."

"Right. And if you had been killed, would it have changed things for
Gym?"

"No."

"How do you think that your mother and stepfather would have felt if
you'd been killed?"

"I know, Stan. It would have killed my mother." Harm shifted in his
seat. "But I haven't been able to let it go."

"Well, what would you tell a client of yours that wasn't responsible
for a death? Or someone that you thought was falling on his sword?"

"I'd tell them that they should let it go. That there are some
things that can't be helped."

Stan gave Harm a look filled with compassion. "Exactly. So how
about telling yourself that?"

Harm shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Look at it this way. Do you think that you've helped anyone in the
years since then?"

"Of course."

"Saved any lives?"

Harm nodded. "Yeah."

"So how about forgiving yourself for surviving, Harm?"

"It's hard."

"I know. But don't you think that all the lives you've saved over
the years might have atoned for any guilt, real or imagined, that you
bear?"

Harm rubbed his eyes. "You don't ask much, do you?"

"Nothing you haven't asked from others, Harm. You really weren't
responsible for her death. I want you to tell yourself that every
day." Stan paused a moment. "You know, if Gym loved you, I have a
feeling she'd want you to forgive yourself."

Harm stared at him wordlessly.

A quick glance at his watch had Stan putting down his pen. "Harm,
our time is up for today. Next week, same time work for you?"

"Sure."

"Good. Now, I hope this week's assignment is a bit easier than last
week's. I want you to practice a new technique any time you start to
feel tense or stressed. It's called progressive muscle relaxation.
Starting with your feet, you tense each muscle group and hold it for
about five to eight seconds. Then relax it. Imagine the tension
flowing out of your body as you relax the muscle group. Stay relaxed
for about fifteen to thirty seconds, then move on up to the next
group. Try this before you go to sleep at night, too. It should
help alleviate any lingering nightmares."

Harm nodded. "I'll try that. It sounds like it might help."

Stan rose. "And one other thing. I'd like you to spend some time
thinking about all the good things you've done for people. If you
get a chance, maybe jot some of them down. But just a list this
time. And no all nighters, okay?"

"Got it." Harm stood as well. "I'll see you next week."

"Take care, Harm. Remember, you don't have a red cape."

Harm shook his head. "What is it with people and the Superman
comments?"

"You give people the impression that you think you should be him,
Harm. And it's tearing you up inside. Even Superman had his moments
of weakness."

"I know." Harm put his hand on the doorknob. "I'll see what I can
do about that."

"Good. See you next week."

********************************

1800
Georgetown Coffee Shop

Kat Brown peered intently at Mac. "So how have you been this past
week?"

"Not bad. Things have been kind of crazy at work, but I think they
might be about ready to slow down again." Mac played with the straw
in her glass of juice. She blew her bangs off her face. "Man, it's
hot this week."

"Mac, it's Washington in August. What do you expect?" Kat grinned
at her friend. "And speaking of work, how's Harm? Did you get a
chance to talk to him about counseling?"

Mac sighed. "Yes, but it turns out, it didn't matter. He had
already decided to find a counselor."

Kat's eyes widened. "Really. That's extremely interesting. I
wonder what prompted that. From what you've told me, he doesn't seem
like the type to go looking for help."

"I was surprised too. Apparently one of our colleagues asked him
about using Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a defense for a client,
and the conversation cut a little too close for comfort." Mac sucked
down some juice. "He went for the first time last week."

"And?"

"And he almost had a breakdown afterwards. I'm not so sure that he
should be seeing whoever it is that he's seeing."

Kat's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean 'he almost had a breakdown'?"

"The counselor told him to write down his experiences that bother him
and to write about his feelings both at the time and now. He wound
up staying up all night doing it and made himself ill. That can't be
good, can it?"

"Mac, lots of therapists tell patients that have trouble talking
about things to write about them. It puts a little distance between
the person and the trauma. As for Harm staying up all night writing,
doesn't that sound to you like he was opening up for perhaps the
first time in his life? Maybe he got on a roll and was afraid to
stop. "

"That's what he said." Mac chewed on her bottom lip.

"What else has you worried about him this week, Mac?"

"Kat, he seems a little more relaxed than he did a week ago."

"That's good news."

"I guess. But to be perfectly honest, having read what he put down
on paper, I'm wondering if he's ever going to be able to get past
some of it."

"You read it?" Kat was definitely intrigued. "How did that happen?"

"Like I said, he stayed up all night writing his 'journal' and made
himself sick. I tried to call him after I finished work, and he
didn't answer the phone. I got worried, so I went to his
apartment." She stopped, remembering her fear when he didn't answer
the door.

"And?" Kat prodded.

"And he was unconscious on his bed."

"Unconscious or asleep?"

"In between. He didn't even twitch when I called his name. And when
I touched him, his reaction was weird."

"Oh? How weird?"

"He screamed for me not to touch him and grabbed both my wrists. His
eyes opened, but it was like he was having a nightmare. He finally
recognized me as I spoke." Mac shuddered at the memory.

"Sounds like he's been involved in some scary stuff at some point,
Mac."

"Yeah. Scarier than I really knew, apparently." Mac sighed. "He
told me to read it."

"His journal?" Kat raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

"More like heartbreaking. Kat, I had no idea about some of the stuff
he wrote about. I mean, I thought I knew pretty much all there was
to know about Harmon Rabb, but there were some incidents that I'd
never heard about before that gave me cold chills. And even the
stuff I knew, I had no idea how some of it had affected him."

"Well, didn't you tell me that he's a very private person when it
comes to discussing his feelings?" Kat shrugged. "I'm not surprised
that you didn't know everything. The important thing is what you do
now."

"Unfortunately, I think my previous reactions to his trying to open
up may be part of why he doesn't talk about his feelings." Mac
stared into her drink. "He made some comments about how I never
express sympathy when he needs it."

"Ouch. How do you feel about that?" Kat asked.

"Unfortunately, it's true. I have always blown him off. I didn't
know that he wanted sympathy. Most guys don't. They want a quick
fix. And if I'm honest, it makes me uncomfortable to see him feeling
vulnerable. I mean, if Harm is vulnerable, then what about all the
rest of us?" Mac squirmed on her chair. "So how do I feel? Bad.
Like I've been a lousy friend. I mean, I say he's my best friend,
but you were right last week. I haven't really come through for him
a lot of times when he's needed me."

Kat tried to reassure her. "But it sounds like you did last week.
And what is important, is what you do from now on."

Mac frowned. "But I don't know what to do now. I mean, we had a
long talk last Wednesday, after I read his journal. But since then,
he hasn't brought any of it up again; and as I said, things got kind
of crazy at work, so we were both so busy we barely saw each other
half the time." She inhaled deeply. "Kat, in the journal, he said
he loved me. But when we talked, he said he couldn't do anything
about his feelings for me right now. Is that normal?"

"I don't know about normal, but it's intelligent."

"Oh?" Mac was surprised by the comment.

"Mac, he's suffering from a fairly serious emotional disorder right
now. He shouldn't be making any commitments to anyone right now
beyond himself. Harm needs to be spending his energy on healing
himself. Once he gets that taken care of, he'll be able to spend
time and energy on someone else." She paused a minute to let her
words sink in. "I'm not sure you realize just how serious this can
be. A lot of people in his position aren't able to work. It sounds
to me like he's doing a heck of a good job keeping things together
right now." A thought occurred to Kat. "Does Harm know how you feel
about him?"

"Yeah. I told him Wednesday night. It seemed only fair to tell him I
love him after I read that he loves me." She sighed heavily. "I
just wish that I felt like I had the right to hold him--hug him."

"Why don't you?"

"I don't know. I told him I love him, but I wouldn't ask for more
than he was ready to give."

"And you think he's giving you nothing?"

Mac shook her head. "I don't know that it's nothing. I just don't
have a good feel for how much he wants me to say to him or how much I
should push him to talk. Or if he wants to be touched."

Kat considered the problem. "Hmm. If I were you, I'd take my lead
from Harm."

"Then we'll never talk about anything, Kat." Mac grinned wryly.

"No, I don't mean wait until he initiates the conversation. I mean,
think about any time that you've been upset, and he's helped you deal
with the situation. How does he treat you? Does he ask leading
questions that get you to open up almost without realizing it? Or
does he just give you a quick fix suggestion?"

"If I don't want to talk about something and he thinks I should, he
usually does ask leading questions, come to think about it."

"So you should do the same for him. That is obviously a style that
he favors. Don't push hard, but ask him questions that he can't just
answer with yes or no. You can let him set the pace, as long as he
keeps talking. And don't try to spend all night discussing his
feelings or his traumas. That would be a recipe for disaster. He
needs to work through his issues, but he needs downtime from the
process as well."

"I see."

"And for god's sake, Mac, remember to give the guy time to process
things. He's not going to be able to completely stop shutting his
feelings up inside overnight. It's a learning process, and it sounds
like he's about thirty years behind schedule." Kat smiled
slightly. "And I'm not sure he's the only one."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Kat." Mac grinned at her
friend. "Are you implying that I'm not always that good at
interpersonal communication?"

"If the shoe fits..." Kat relented. "What I'm trying to say is be
available for Harm. He needs to know that he can talk and you'll
listen. It sounds like when he does talk, unlike most guys, he's not
looking for a quick solution so much as for permission to have the
feelings he has. He needs to know that someone cares that he's
hurting. And my guess is that you are the only one he knows that
he's willing to let in behind his defenses at all."

Mac nodded. "True."

"I'd try to touch base with him outside of work. Maybe not every
day, but certainly on days when you haven't really seen much of him.
Let him know that you're in his corner."

"I can do that." Mac suddenly realized it was 1900 hours. "Kat, I
need to run. Harm's about to finish with his counselor. I thought
I'd call him and see if he wants to eat together."

Kat grinned. "Good idea. Remember, if he's coming from a session,
he may be feeling a bit raw. It all depends on what they talked
about today. So let him set the pace."

"All right. Harm sets the pace, but I ask the questions. Got it.
Thanks again, Kat." She gathered her purse and rose from the
table. "I'll talk to you later."

"See you later, Mac." Kat stared at Mac's retreating form, a bit
bemused. Who'd have ever thought that Mac would actually take advice
on how to deal with Harmon Rabb?

***************************

1905 local
Parking lot
Georgetown

Mac reached for her cell phone as soon as she was in her car. She
hit the first number on speed dial and waited for Harm to pick up.

"Rabb." His mellow baritone came across the air.

"Hey, Harm. It's me."

"Hi, Mac. What's up?"

"Not much. I was just wondering if you had eaten yet."

"No, I had an appointment. Why?"

"That's right. Anyway, if you haven't eaten yet, I was wondering if
you wanted to get together. We could do Chinese or pizza at my
place."

Harm considered the offer. It certainly beat leftover tofu salad at
his apartment. "Sounds good to me. You want me to pick something up
on the way over?"

"You can bring the drinks. I think all I've got is tap water." She
grinned at his mock groan. "Do you have a preference for food?"

"Either one is fine. Surprise me."

"All right. See you in about twenty minutes?"

"Fine. I'll be there." Harm listened to her say good-bye, added it
himself, and cut the connection.

******************

Twenty minutes later, two cherry red Corvettes pulled up to the curb
in front of Mac's building. Harm sat in his car and watched with
appreciation as Mac's long legs stretched out into the street. He
had never before realized what a picture she made as she slid out of
her vehicle. He might just have to make a habit of watching her get
out of her car. Grinning broadly, he grabbed the bag of soft drinks
and got out himself.

"Hi," she said, holding up a bag that could only have come from the
House of Huang.

"Hi, yourself. Whatever that is, it smells great." Harm followed
her into the building.

Once in her apartment, she set out the food while he rummaged in her
cabinets for plates and glasses. "I brought ginger ale and juice.
Which do you prefer?"

"With Chinese? Ginger ale. I could make some iced tea if you'd
rather have that."

Harm shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm still avoiding caffeine after
lunch." He put the plates on the table and returned to the kitchen
for the glasses of ginger ale. As he seated himself at the table, he
grinned at Mac. "I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm trying to feed us," she said with a smile as she spooned some
fried rice onto her plate.

"You're trying to keep me from having another meltdown." Harm
grinned at her. "It's all right, Mac. I appreciate the concern."
He dug into his lo mein. "I think I'll be okay tonight, though.
Things were less intense at the counselor's today."

"That's good, I guess. Do you want to talk about it?" she asked
between mouthfuls.

"After dinner. Didn't you know that talking about serious topics
while eating will give you indigestion?" His eyes twinkled.

"No, Harm, I didn't. I think you're making that up."

He chuckled. "What makes you think that?"

"Because if it were true, then poor Sturgis would have it all the
time. And he never asks Harriet for Tums." She smiled triumphantly
and continued eating.

*********************************

2000 hours
Mac's apartment

"Good choice, Mac," Harm said as they cleaned up the remnants of
their dinner. "Thanks."

"No problem. I figured you probably were destined to eat leftover
sushi or something if I didn't rescue you." She flicked some soap
suds at him. "So what would you like to do now? It's fairly early.
Want to go for a walk?"

He raised an eyebrow. "In this heat? It's still over 90, Mac."

"Actually, I was thinking of a walk to the ice cream store on the
corner." She grinned at him. "You know--the one with the giant
chocolate chips in the raspberry ice cream."

Her motive suddenly became clear. "Oh yeah. I could get up for
that. You want to go right now or in a while?"

"Now, of course. I'm hungry." Her eyes twinkled up at him.

Harm chuckled. "Mac, have you ever not been hungry?"

"I don't think so. I guess I just have a really high metabolism."
She dried her hands. "C'mon. Let's go get some dessert." Mac gave
him a sly grin. "I think they might even have Tofutti for you."

"I'm gonna get you for that one, Mac, someday when you least expect
it."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"A promise, of course. And you know what that means." Harm grinned
at her as they headed for the door.

**************

"So." Mac swirled her tongue around the scoop of raspberry chocolate
chunk ice cream. "How did things go today?"

They were strolling through the park near Mac's apartment, ice cream
cones in hand.

Harm shrugged as he ate some of his own ice cream. "Okay, I guess."

"So what did you talk about?" She licked the cone again.

"Like I told you, some of the stuff I wrote down." He stared at the
frozen treat in his hand.

"Tell me about it," she said softly.

He breathed in deeply. "We talked about Gym, and about how guilty I
still feel for getting her killed."

Mac allowed her free hand to brush his. He clasped it gently and
continued walking down the shaded path.

"Why do you feel guilty, Harm?"

He caught the ice cream drips with his tongue before replying. "The
same reason I feel guilty about a million things. If it hadn't been
for me, she wouldn't have been there to get shot. And intellectually
I know that she and her mother made that choice, but I still feel
responsible inside." He tossed the rest of his ice cream cone in a
nearby trash can. "Maybe if I could figure out why I always feel
like everything is my fault, I could figure out how to stop feeling
that way."

She gently squeezed his hand. "Have you always been that way?"

"Good question." He cocked his head to look at her. "I don't know.
Maybe."

"What were you like as a child?"

"Hmm. Before or after my dad was shot down?"

"Both." Her voice was warm and concerned.

Harm took several steps before he spoke again. "I think I was a
pretty typical kid when I was little. I remember running and jumping
in the house. But after my dad got shot down, I got a lot quieter.
I remember worrying a lot back then."

She kept pace with him, even as his stride lengthened as he
talked. "About what?"

"Everything. What my dad would do if he did come home and we had
moved. How would he find us? Mostly about what would happen to me
if something happened to my mother. I only ever saw my grandparents
about once or twice a year since we lived in California, and they
lived on the east coast. And I worried about what would happen if my
mother got tired of putting up with me. I remember trying to behave
really well so she wouldn't want to get rid of me."

Mac felt her heart lurch when she heard the matter-of-fact tone in
his voice. She could imagine how he must have felt. "Did you ever
think that somehow it was your fault that your dad was shot down?"
she asked.

He stared off into the distance. "How did you know?"

"Because when I was a kid, I used to think that it must be my fault
that my father was a drunk and that my mother deserted me."

"Mac, you know that's not true." He stopped in the middle of the
path to face her. "You had nothing to do with their problems and
failings."

"True. And you had nothing to do with your father being shot
down." She willed him to believe her. "Kids just aren't that
powerful."

"I know. But when you're a kid, you think of the times you were
angry and said something like you wished your parents would go
away." He grinned slightly. "Like in 'Home Alone' when Kevin wakes
up and realizes that he made his family disappear. Or you remember
that your dad told you to do everything your mother told you and he'd
be home soon, but you didn't always obey her."

"Until your dad didn't come home?"

He sighed. "Yeah. After that, I tried really hard for the longest
time to be perfect." Still holding her hand, he turned back to the
path and resumed walking.

"So what happened?" She meant to lighten his mood, but he took the
question seriously.

"Frank. When I was twelve, and all the POWs came home, my father
didn't. The Navy said they didn't know what had happened. There
were some reports that he'd been seen in prison camps, but no one had
seen him for years. The next thing I knew, Mom was going to court to
have him declared dead and getting married to Frank."

"And you didn't like that." It wasn't a question.

"Hell, no. It felt like the worst kind of betrayal. It seemed like
she was saying that I wasn't enough for her--wasn't doing a good
enough job as man of the house. She had given up on my father. I
couldn't believe that she would do that, but she did."

Mac slanted a look up at his somber face. "I can understand that."

He gently rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. "I'm ashamed to
say that I was a real pain to Frank--never gave him a chance. That's
when I quit trying to be perfect. After all, I had obviously failed
in my efforts, or Mom wouldn't have wanted to add someone to the
family. I guess that's when I became a loose cannon." He grinned
ruefully. "I smarted off all the time and avoided being home
whenever possible."

"So how did you manage to be in a position to get into Annapolis?"

"I was angry, not stupid. I kept my nose clean at school and did my
schoolwork. It was just at home that I rebelled."

"I see." Mac wondered if he had really been all that rebellious. It
was easier to envisage him as mischievous than as a surly teenager
with a chip on his shoulder.

"It wasn't until right before we went to Russia that I really made
peace with Frank. I don't think I knew until then just how much he
cared about me." He grinned again. "And yes, I feel guilty about
that too."

Mac inched over closer to him on the path. "Harm, don't you think
it's about time that you stopped feeling guilty about everything
that's wrong in the world?"

"Yeah. And when you figure out how to do that, tell me, okay?"

"Have you talked to your counselor about it?"

"Some. I guess maybe that's what this week's assignment is about."

Intrigued, she asked, "What are you supposed to do?"

He rolled his eyes. "Make a list of all the good things I've done
for people." He gave a harsh laugh. "He said not to stay up all
night doing it. I figure it should take about five minutes, tops."

"Tell you what, you make a list, and I'll make a list. We can
compare them when we're done."

"You keeping score, Mac?" he teased.

"No, both lists are of the good you've done. I think it will be
interesting to see the differences in our perspectives."

"Uh huh." He didn't sound too convinced.

"Anyway, it's about time to head back to the apartment. I don't know
about you, but I'm getting hot again."

"All right." He followed her out of the park.

***************

2115
Mac's apartment

Harm dropped down in the corner of the couch while Mac went to her
desk in search of writing utensils and paper. She grabbed a couple
of legal pads and pens, and joined him, sitting in the opposite
corner.

"Was it something I said?" he asked, noticing the distance she'd put
between them.

"Nope. I just don't want you peeking at what I'm writing down.
Remember, the purpose of this exercise is to see what good things
you've accomplished in your life -- and whether or not you realize
it. So no cheating." She grinned at him as she tossed him a pen and
a pad.

"Like I said, five minute job." He uncapped the pen and began to
write.

Mac, on the other hand, stared off into distance, composing her
thoughts. There were so many instances she could think of where
Harm's actions had saved someone else. It was difficult to decide
where to begin.

Twenty minutes later, Harm was prowling around Mac's living room
while Mac was still busily writing on her legal pad. He had been
correct in his assessment that it would be the work of only a few
minutes for him to list his 'accomplishments.' Mac sighed as he made
the circuit of the dining room, living room, and kitchen for at least
the fourth time. It was one thing for her to tease him about having
a fighter jock ego; it was another to be confronted with the fact
that he had only spent about three minutes listing the times he felt
he might have made a difference in someone's life. She couldn't wait
to see exactly what was on his list and compare it to hers.

Harm came to a stop in front of the refrigerator. Opening it, he
called over his shoulder, "Interested in something cold to drink?"

"Sure. Juice would be good." Mac wrote down the last, and perhaps
most important, good deed on her list and put down her pen.

He handed her a bottle of juice and sat down beside her, his thigh
only inches from hers. "Okay, Mac. I'm ready if you are."

She took a long drink of the orange juice before looking him in the
eye. "Let's hear it, then. Who did you put down on your list of
people you've saved?"

He picked up his legal pad. "Admiral Boone, Annie and Josh, Skates,
and Keeter."

She stared at him in disbelief. "That's it? That is your entire
list?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Seems kind of short to me." She looked down at her own list, which
was considerably longer.

He shrugged. "Am I to infer that you came up with a longer list?"
He sipped some juice, somewhat curious as to who would be on her
list.

"You might say that. I have a very long list, and I imagine that
it's only scratching the surface."

"I can't imagine how. Do I get to see?" His hand reached for her
pad, but she pulled it away.

"Nope. I'll read it to you. It's actually quite impressive." She
smiled mischievously at him.

"Ma...ac..." he began.

"Ready?" At his nod, she began to read. "First, there is my uncle
Matt."

"I didn't save his life, Mac," he said quietly.

"I disagree. Besides, this is my list. Next, there is Cpl. Magida
and everyone else in the Admiral's office that day."

"That was purely self-preservation. I was afraid of what Admiral
Chegwidden would do to me if I didn't act."

"Uh huh. Anyway, from him we go on to the Howlers squadron. And
then there was Lt. Nivens and her baby in Ireland. And let's not
forget me when we were in the Appalachians..."

"Mac, that one definitely doesn't count. It was my fault you needed
saving."

"Harm, hush. Just pay attention, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And then there was that princess. And don't forget how you saved
Webb at Estruga's plantation in Colombia."

"One of the bigger mistakes of my life," he muttered.

"Do you really mean that?"

He sighed. "Not really. I just can't help but remember that he got
you into that mess in Paraguay."

"I could have refused to go."

"Right. As if that would have ever happened. I know you too well to
believe that, Marine."

She nodded. "You're probably right. Anyway, let's keep looking at
the list, okay? After you saved Webb, there were the Recon Marines
when you were undercover, all the people in the hospital with the
terrorists, the crew of that Russian ship during the war games, me
when Coster was stalking me..."

Harm held up his hands in surrender. "All right, already. You've
made your point. I may have missed a couple of people when I made my
list."

Mac smiled sweetly at him. "And I haven't even gotten to the list of
people whose careers you've saved."

"I think I've got the picture, Mac." A wide smile spread slowly
across his face. "I don't suppose you want to let me have that list
before I go see the counselor next week?"

"Not a chance, Flyboy. I do believe the point of the exercise is to
get you to realize that your existence on this planet has some
purpose. I already know that. You need to discover it."

"C'mon, Mac, please let me see it," he pleaded.

"Nope. Not until you have actually put some effort into your own
list. Then I might let you check it to see if you missed any." She
reached for her juice bottle. "In the meantime, I suggest that you
learn the following by heart: grant me the serenity to accept the
things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and
the wisdom to know the difference. And then say it on a daily basis."

He cocked his head as he looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, Mac,
I'm not sure that I need to be seeing a counselor."

"Oh? I thought it was helping." She was really puzzled by his
comment.

"Yeah. It is. But I'm not sure that talking to you isn't helping
more."

"Maybe. But I think you should keep seeing him for a while. I'm
just going with my gut here, Harm. I think you should still see a
professional who actually knows what he's doing, don't you?"

"Undoubtedly. But talking to you really does seem to help."

She reached out and touched his arm. "I'm glad, Harm. And you know
that you can talk to me any time."

"I know. And on that note, it's probably time for me to head home."

"Okay."

She rose with him and followed him to the door. "You gonna be all
right tonight?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for everything, Mac." He looked down at
her, his eyes full of longing.

"You're welcome." She stood on tiptoe and placed a gentle kiss on
his cheek. "Go home and get some sleep, Harm."

"I'm going. You sure you won't let me have your list?" he asked
hopefully as he turned the doorknob.

"Not a chance. But you can have yours." She handed him the pad he'd
been writing on and laid her hand on his arm. "Now, go. It's
getting late, and I heard a rumor we have to work in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mac." He turned and left her apartment, his step
lighter than it had been in months.

As soon as she saw him disappear down the stairs, Mac turned and went
to her front window. She gazed down at the street, watching him
slide into the driver's seat of his Corvette. As the engine roared
to life, she wondered what had possessed her to kiss him. At least
he hadn't seemed to mind.

**********************************

Harm's head was spinning as he drove home. Not only had Mac invited
him over for dinner without the pretext of work, but she had actually
allowed him to hold her hand as they walked in the park. And then,
as he was leaving, she had actually kissed him. True, it was on the
cheek, but he wasn't sure that it wasn't about all he could handle at
the moment. Her easy affection warmed his heart more than anything
had for months. Harm allowed himself to hope that he might actually
get past the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and be able to approach
Mac with his heart in the not too distant future.

************************

1500 local
Three days later
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters

A sharp knock got Sarah Mackenzie's attention. She looked up from
the brief she was studying to see Harm lounging casually against the
door frame of her office.

"Got a minute?" He was holding a legal pad in one hand.

"Sure. Come in and shut the door."

He handed her the pad and dropped into the chair in front of her
desk. "I wanted to know if you thought this was better." He licked
his lips nervously.

"This" was Harm's revised list of people he'd helped. Mac studied it
carefully, curious about the additions. He had definitely put more
thought into the project, noting lives saved and careers salvaged.
Many of the names appeared on her initial list. Not for the first
time, she marveled at the sheer heroism of the man. A simple list
didn't really tell the tale about him, however. Harm had risked his
life innumerable times to save someone else. He had risked his
career on numerous occasions in his constant quest for the truth in
the courtroom. It boggled her mind that he could have such an
unassuming attitude about his own accomplishments that he would have
only listed a handful of people on his initial list. There was still
one name, however, that was missing from his list--her own.

"Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"You still haven't put my name on the list. Any particular reason
why you haven't?"

He shifted in his seat, his features slowly flushing. "I guess
because I don't see that I've ever really saved you."

"How can you say that, Harm? You've saved me from psychos,
terrorists, and occasionally from myself."

Harm shook his head slowly. "It doesn't seem that way to me. Every
time I saved you, I was really saving myself."

Mac swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her
throat. "Harm..."

"Don't worry. It's just the way I feel. I told you years ago that I
want never to lose you. That hasn't changed." He squared his
shoulders. "Anyway, does this list meet with your approval?"

"It's much better, Harm. Still not as long as mine, but I think
it'll do." She smiled tenderly at him. "Doing anything for dinner
tonight?"

"I was hoping that I could convince this Marine lawyer I know to let
me cook for her. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds like an excellent idea, as long as I can identify
what I'm eating," she teased.

"Mac, when have I ever served you something that you couldn't
identify?"

"Do the words 'Harm's meatless meatloaf' have meaning for you?" She
grinned at him, taking the sting out of her words.

"Geez, Mac. That was years ago. Aren't you ever going to let me
forget that?"

"Probably not." She giggled at the stricken look on his face. "It's
too much fun to remind you."

Harm chuckled. "All right. Why don't you come over about 1900?" He
stood as he spoke.

"I'll be there." Mac smiled again. They might be taking baby steps,
but it seemed like they were finally going forward together. It made
for a nice change after the roller coaster ride of the past year.
She watched him as he walked back to his office, a bit of jet jock
swagger back in his step.




****************

1915 local
North of Union Station
Harm's apartment

Mac sat on a barstool and watched as Harm put the finishing touches
on shrimp stir-fry. "That smells delicious," she commented.

"So you can identify it, huh, Marine?" He grinned at her.

"Yeah. There even seems to be some protein in it that didn't have
roots at some point." Mac sipped on the tonic water he'd handed
her. "I still don't understand what you have against good, old-
fashioned meat."

"Actually, I don't have anything against good, old-fashioned meat. I
just have something against Beltway Burgers combo meals. I mean,
honestly, I can feel my own arteries clogging just watching you eat
one." He turned the burner off and transferred the stir-fry to a
couple of plates. "Come on. Time to eat." He led her to the dining
table.

************************

An hour later the dishes were washed and dried, the table was
cleared, and the leftovers were in the refrigerator, ready to go to
JAG Ops the next day for lunch. Mac eyed Harm and made a decision.

"Let's talk." She headed for the sofa.

"Okay." He followed her willingly, curious about what she wanted to
talk about this time.

"I've been giving your list some serious thought," she began.

"Mac, please. It's not that big a deal." He was sprawled in the
corner of the sofa, one arm on the arm and the other draped across
the back, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Yes, it is. It's a very big deal. A huge deal, even." She scooted
over closer to him on the couch. "You have been kicking yourself for
years about not being in the right place at the right time to save
some people that you loved, right?"

He nodded his agreement.

"Have you ever really considered the times when you were in the right
place at the right time? I mean really thought about it?"

"Hey, I made that list."

"I know. But did you really think about the significance of your
role in saving all those people?" Mac wasn't about to drop the
subject till Harm completely understood what she was trying to show
him.

He shrugged in confusion. "I'm not really sure what you're driving
at, Mac."

"You tear yourself up about your father, but the reality is, you
couldn't have done anything."

"I guess."

"And anything you might have done in Laos would have just gotten you
killed."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." She laid a hand on his arm. "Whether you like to
admit it or not, both your father and Gym were in the situation they
were in because they chose to be there. Darlin and Josh and the kids
on that Tiger cruise, on the other hand, did not choose to be in
their situations, did they?"

"No, of course not."

"And who figured out how to save them and go to them in time?"

He inhaled sharply. "I guess I see your point."

"And you got to Paraguay in time, Harm." She squeezed his arm
gently. "And you not only saved me and Webb, but you salvaged our
mission. What more can anyone ask of you? What more can you ask of
yourself?"

"When you put it that way, I guess not much." He pinched the bridge
of his nose. "It's hard, though, you know? I just..."

"Can't ever accept the fact that you've done more than your fair
share? That whatever good you've done, it's enough? And considering
how much good you've done, it's a lot more than enough?" Mac's
expression dared him to disagree with her.

"I don't know. I'll work on it, all right?"

"All right. But see that you do. It's time to let some things go,
Harm." She stroked his arm on the back of the sofa. "You're a good
person. You need to quit obsessing about the things you can't do."

He looked unconvinced, but he said, "Aye, aye, ma'am. I'll take it
up with my counselor next week."

"Good. I'll look forward to seeing your progress." She leaned over
and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for dinner, Harm. It
was delicious." Her eyes crinkled. "Company wasn't bad, either."
She untangled her legs from beneath herself and stood. "I need to
get home and get to bed early. I've got a meeting at 0700."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. I'd like to bitch about the idiot who scheduled
it, but..."

"It was you?" He grinned as he stood up.

"No comment." She laughed as she retrieved her purse and fished
around in it for her keys.

"I'll walk you down." He grabbed his own keys and followed her out
the door.

**********

Harm leaned in through the driver's side window. "Call me when you
get home so I know you got there safely, all right?"

"Harm, I'm a big girl."

"I know. But I'll sleep better knowing you're safe."

"Fine. I'll call. Thanks again for dinner." She put the key into
the ignition and turned it.

"It was my pleasure." He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on
her lips. "Goodnight, Mac." Then he backed away from her car.

She put the car in gear and drove off, speechless at his action, but
secretly thrilled. They were definitely making some progress.

******************

After that night, they fell into a comfortable routine. Harm's cell
phone would ring as he approached his car every Tuesday following his
counseling session. Mac would just happen to ask if he'd eaten yet,
and at his negative reply, she would suggest that they get together.
They would then spend the evening together, sometimes discussing
Harm's counseling session, other times discussing a case. One night
Harm suggested that they run together a couple of times a week, and
before either one of them knew it, they were spending almost as much
time together outside the office as at work.

Harm continued to make progress dealing with his Post Traumatic
Stress Disorder, but one issue was keeping him from making a full
recovery. He prayed every night that he could just bury it--there
was no way he could ever talk about it with anyone.

*********************************
1800 local
early October
Stan Webber's office

"Hi, Harm. How've you been this week?" Stan Webber held out a hand
to his patient.

"Not too bad." Harm returned the handshake and took a seat on the
leather couch.

Stan paged through his notes on Harm. "Still having nightmares?"

Harm winced. "Yeah. A few times a week."

"Are you ready to talk about them yet?" Stan prodded.

"No."

Stan was taken aback by the adamant tone in Harm's voice. Harm had
been the ideal client: cooperative to a fault, over-achieving on
his "homework" assignments, and making rapid progress at coming to
terms with his issues and problems. If it hadn't been for the man's
unwillingness to pursue the subject of "leaving a part of himself" at
the CIA, Stan would have been telling him that he no longer needed
counseling. But Harm had steadfastly avoided the topic, and in the
past few weeks, as Harm had dealt with his Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder, it had become increasingly clear to the therapist that the
naval officer had reached a plateau. If he didn't start dealing
with that point in his life, Stan feared Harm was destined to be
plagued with nightmares for the rest of his life, to say nothing of
never quite healing completely.

It was time to push in a slightly different direction. "Harm, do you
want to share why you aren't willing to talk about the dreams you're
still having?"

Harm gave a short laugh. "Trust me, Stan. You don't want to know
about my dreams. Hell, I don't want to know about my dreams."

"Why is that?"

Harm got up from the sofa and began to prowl restlessly around the
room. "You know, Stan, maybe I ought to tell you about them. It
might teach you that some places are better left unvisited." He
stopped near the window and stared sightlessly out into the distance.

Stan sat quietly, waiting for Harm to continue. When ten minutes
passed without Harm saying a word, Stan finally spoke. "If you don't
want to talk about your nightmares, how about your time with the
CIA? I got the impression from reading your journals that something
happened during that time that really bothers you."

Harm continued to stare out the window, but he opened his
mouth. "That's an understatement. 'Bothers' me. Yeah. You could
say that. You ever kill anyone?" He whirled around in time to catch
the look of shock on his counselor's face. "I didn't think so. My
recommendation is don't. You wouldn't enjoy it." He returned to
look out at the darkening sky.

"Shall I take the question to mean that you have killed someone,
Harm?" Stan's voice was gentle, nonjudgmental.

When he answered, Harm's voice was low and sad. "You know, about
four or five years ago, I was taken hostage in my apartment by a
sociopath. While he had me tied up, he taunted me with the number of
people I'd killed by his count. Given that several years have
passed, I'm sure the number is significantly higher by now."

"Harm, you're an officer in the Navy. Isn't killing part of the job
during time of war? How many wars have you served in?"

Harm shrugged. "I've lost count. A lot of the combat I've seen was
technically 'peacekeeping.' Libya, Desert Storm, Kosovo,
Afghanistan." He laughed harshly. "It's not the killing in combat
that bothers me. For one thing, when I've been in combat, it's
usually been in a Tomcat fifteen, twenty thousand feet up in the
air. I see a target on a radar screen and fire a missile. Half the
time, all that happens is a building turns into rubble. Nobody dies."

"What about dogfights? Ever shoot down another plane?"

"Yeah. But those were military pilots who knew the score. If they
hadn't been shooting at me and my wingman, I wouldn't have shot at
them. When you're in a fighter, you know when the other guy has you
in his sights. You always have the choice to get shot or try to get
away. They chose to come after me, knowing that I had a missile
locked on them." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "No, the deaths
that you relive are the ones where you looked the guy in the eye and
pulled the trigger."

"Somehow, I don't think I would have expected either a fighter pilot
or a Navy lawyer to ever be in that type of situation."

"Neither did I. Certainly not when I went into the JAG Corps."

"So how did you wind up in situations where you had to shoot
people?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Investigations that went
to hell, TADs to other branches of the service, getting loaned to the
CIA. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad luck." Harm
sounded resigned. "I once shot a woman right between the eyes in
front of dozens of children. I've often wondered how many of those
kids realized what had happened."

It took nerves of steel, but Stan managed not to gasp. "I'm sure you
must have had a good reason for doing that."

"She was going to set off a bomb strapped to her body and take all
the kids with her. I did use a silenced weapon, so maybe they didn't
know exactly what happened."

"Do you want to talk about that?"

"Not particularly." Harm left his post at the window and returned to
the couch. "Stan, I'm sorry." His tone was almost apologetic. "I
don't think that you want to know about the rest of my demons. They
aren't pretty."

"I don't suppose they are. But I would have thought that by now you
would realize that the only thing that helps exorcise those demons is
facing them -- getting them out into the daylight and dealing with
them."

Harm inhaled deeply. "I do understand that. If I've learned only
one thing from you, it's that keeping stuff inside just lets it
fester. But there are some things that are too awful to share with
anyone, especially someone who cannot possibly comprehend what it's
like to see the eyes of someone who is about to die at your hand."
He rubbed his face with his hands. "To be honest, some of this
stuff, I really just want to bury. Bury it so deep that even I can't
find it."

Stan carefully considered his response. It was obvious that Harm was
more upset than he'd been since his first visit, but if he pushed the
officer too hard, it might be counterproductive. "How about going
back to writing it down? That worked pretty well for you when you
did it before."

Harm shook his head. "I can't. Not right now. It's too fresh in my
mind." He glanced at his watch. "Look. My time is about up,
right? I'll think about it before next week, all right?"

"All right. But remember, the only way that you are going to get
through all this is to face it -- all of it." He rose from his
chair. "I'll see you next week. Keep using the relaxation
techniques and be sure to eat right and get enough exercise."

"Okay. Sorry to have been such a pain in the six today." Harm
strode quickly out the door, eager to leave the unpleasant memories
in the office.

Stan watched him leave and noted the tense lines of his shoulders.
Not for the first time, he wished that Harm had a wife or at least a
girlfriend to go to at times like this. Everyone needed someone to
accept them unconditionally, and it seemed pretty clear that Harm
didn't really have anyone in his life to fill that role. There was
his partner, but Stan doubted that Harm often let go of his darker
emotions in front of her. It looked like it was going to be a long,
lonely night for Commander Rabb. Stan made a few notes and closed
the file.


*****************

1900 local

Harm slumped in the driver's seat of his SUV. The session with his
counselor hadn't gone well at all. He knew that Stan was right. He
had reached a point where he could live with just about everything in
his past--everything except the period from his resignation to his
return to JAG. Those weeks haunted him more than anything ever had
with the possible exception of his ramp strike. But he couldn't see
any way to deal with the memories. Most of what he saw in his dreams
was classified; he couldn't tell Stan about it. And he definitely
couldn't tell Mac. There was no way that he was going to put himself
into the position of watching her recoil from him in either fear or
revulsion.

Harm scrubbed his face with his hands. He was between that
proverbial rock and hard place. He needed to talk about the events
that were haunting him, but there was no one to talk to. And he had
meant it when he told Stan he couldn't write about his nightmares.
The idea of putting them into permanent form terrified him. Once
written down, the words would take on a life of their own. There
would be no way to call them back. They would solidify on the paper,
becoming so permanent that there would be no way to ever deny them.
And denial was part of what was getting him through the days. All he
needed to do was figure out a way to get through the nights.

He sighed wearily and realized he was still in the parking lot
outside Stan's office. Harm turned the key in the ignition and then,
as the engine revved, realized that his cell phone hadn't rung. Mac
hadn't called him with her usual Tuesday evening, coincidental
invitation to dinner. Remembering that she had gone out to Quantico
after lunch on an investigation, he recalled that she'd said she
might run late. Harm pulled out of the parking lot, feeling a
desperate need to see Mac, even if he couldn't tell her why. Five
minutes later, he found himself heading towards Georgetown. She had
to return sooner or later. He hoped she didn't mind if he waited for
her at her apartment.

***********************

2030
Georgetown

Mac pulled her car up to the curb in front of her building and sighed
in relief. Home at last! She had had the afternoon from hell out at
Quantico, investigating a case of dereliction of duty that had more
denials than the Clinton impeachment trial. She was tired, hungry,
and frustrated. The sight of Harm's SUV parked a couple of places
down the block just reminded her of her aggravation. It was Harm's
counseling night, and she knew he'd come to rely on her phone calls
and invitations to dinner after his sessions. The "debriefing"
seemed to help him almost as much as the counseling itself. She'd
felt terrible about not being able to get together with him, but
having gotten tied up at the Marine base, she'd imagined he'd go home
after his appointment. Mac mentally reviewed the conversation they'd
had as she left for Quantico. She was sure that she'd told him not
to expect her home on time. So what was he doing here? Afraid that
she wouldn't like the answer, Mac strode down the sidewalk to see if
he was sitting in his car.

Finding the SUV empty, Mac walked quickly to the door to her building
and practically flew up the steps. Arriving at her apartment, half
expecting to see him parked on the floor in front of the door, she
discovered that he must have used his key to enter and then relock
the door. Her heart was in her throat as she opened the door.

Harm was stretched on her sofa, apparently asleep. As she approached
him, she could hear him muttering, his tone anguished.

"No. Won't do it. Can't do it. No." His head thrashed back and
forth on the sofa cushion as sweat beaded on his brow. He was
clutching a throw pillow like a life preserver.

Mac dropped her cover and briefcase on the coffee table and spoke
softly. "Harm. Harm, it's me, Mac. Wake up."

He continued to mutter, oblivious to her words. "No. Mac. Can't.
No."

Even more worried, Mac placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to
wake him. "Harm, come on. Wake up." When she got no response, she
gently lifted his head and shoulders and slid onto the sofa, holding
him in her arms. "C'mon, Sailor. Nap time is over. Wake up." She
shook him slightly, and he finally stirred.

"Oh, god," he mumbled as he awoke to find himself half lying across
Mac's lap. She let go of him as he tried to straighten up to a
sitting position.

"Okay, Harm, what's going on?" She frowned when she saw him wince at
the sharp tone of her voice.

"I guess I fell asleep waiting for you." His voice was thick and
groggy. He rubbed his eyes as he turned halfway to look at
her. "What time is it, anyway?"

"2040." She looked him over with a critical eye. "How long have you
been here?"

"I guess about an hour and a half. I'm sorry, Mac. I wanted to see
you, but you hadn't gotten back from Quantico. I didn't mean to fall
asleep."

"It's all right, Harm. But I still want to know what's going on with
you."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing, really. I guess I've
just gotten used to spending time with you on Tuesday nights."

"Right. And the Admiral sings tenor. Want to give it another try?
There is a reason I came home to find you asleep on my couch, stuck
in some sort of nightmare."

"Do you mind if I get some water?" He stood and headed for the
kitchen without waiting for a reply.

"Go ahead. Make yourself at home, Harm." She stood as well. "I'm
going to go change, and then you and I are going to talk. Have you
eaten dinner?" She walked toward her bedroom.

"Not yet, no. Want me to order a pizza?"

"Sure. Ham and mushrooms on my side, okay?" Her mouth was slightly
muffled by the sweatshirt she was pulling over head.

She returned to the living room to find him on the telephone, calling
in their order. "You're getting the whole pizza with ham and
mushrooms?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd live dangerously tonight." He flashed her
his 'flyboy' grin as he hung up the phone.

Mac dropped down beside him on the couch and tried to decide where to
start. His face was shuttered, his eyes wary. She thought she had
seen the last of those walls, but apparently she'd been wrong. "So
how was your counseling session tonight?"

"Okay." He checked his watch. "They said the pizza would be here in
about thirty minutes. So how were things at Quantico?"

"Irritating. And quit trying to change the subject." Mac rolled her
eyes at him. "What did you and your counselor talk about?"

He shrugged. "Nothing much, actually."

"Uh huh. So what was the 'nothing much' that had you come over here
and collapse on my couch?" She was relentless in her pursuit of his
truth.

"Mac, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" Harm rose and
wandered over to the window. He pulled the curtain back with his
right hand and stared into the night.


"No, not okay." Mac rose and joined him at the window. Wrapping an
arm around his waist, she said, "Harm, something upset you between
when I left for Quantico and when you finished your counseling
session. I'm thinking it was at counseling."

He tried to laugh. "Haven't you ever heard of doctor-patient
confidentiality?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm asking the patient to let me in on what's
wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Mac." He took a deep breath.

"I don't think so. In fact, I think whatever went on at counseling
is why you were obviously having a nightmare in here when I got
home." She inched closer to his side. "Harm, please, tell me what
the matter is."

He whirled away from her arm and the window. "I can't. Just drop
it, all right?" He flopped back down on her sofa and covered his
face with his hands. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Mac. You don't deserve for
me to give you a hard time. Look, I'll go home and leave you in
peace." He reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty which he
dropped on the table. "For the pizza when it arrives." He stood
back up and walked toward the door.

Mac beat him to it. "Damnit, Harm! You are not going to leave. Now
go sit down." She glared at him as she stood, arms akimbo, in front
of the only exit to the apartment. "I'm waiting." Her foot tapped
sharply on the hardwood.

When he took a step forward, she countered by taking one toward him.
Eyes narrowed, she said, "Harm, you're not going to intimidate me by
your height, so don't even try. We both know that I could have you
on the floor in five seconds if I wanted to." She smiled
tightly. "So go sit back down on the sofa. And then you can try to
explain to me why you're acting this way."

"Hell." He gave up and returned to the couch, his shoulders slumped
in defeat. Harm waited till Mac was sitting on the sofa beside him,
one leg tucked beneath her before he spoke. "Mac, I'm sorry."

"So I heard." She tried to grin, but the effort felt forced.

"You're right. Counseling tonight was kind of rough. That's why I
came over. I needed to see you, to remind myself of what's good in
my life." His mouth twisted. "But somehow I managed to start a
fight. I'm sorry."

"You didn't start a fight, Harm." Mac reached out and gently touched
his arm. "For some reason, you don't want to talk to me about
whatever is bothering you. I thought we agreed to be open and honest
with each other."

He sighed in exasperation. "We did. And I have been open. I can't
talk about what's bothering me. Not to anyone."

"I don't believe that."

"It's classified."

"I've got clearance."

"Mac, it's not just that. I can't tell you about it."

"Me specifically?"

He nodded.

"Is it about whatever happened when you were in the CIA?" Her eyes
widened at his sharp intake of breath.

"Yeah."

"So talk to me."

"Mac, I can't."

She could see tears pooling in his eyes. "Fine. If you don't want
to talk to me, and you can't talk to your civilian counselor, then
talk to the Admiral."

"No way in hell." His features were ashen.

"Harm, you have to talk to someone. You were having a nightmare when
I got home. I'd be willing to bet that you're having them at night."

He said nothing.

"How often? A couple of times a week?" She kept on pushing.

"No, not a couple of times."

"More? More than five times a week?"

"About four or five. Happy now?" Harm looked anything but happy.

"No, not in the least. What's the matter?"

"I guess it's the result of getting past the rest of my issues."

"You lost me."

"Thanks to counseling and talking things over with you, I'm no longer
obsessing over the events and people that used to haunt me. I've
come to accept the way a lot of things turned out. I don't even feel
guilty for most of it." He bit his lip. "The unfortunate side
effect of that is that I don't seem to be able to bury the stuff with
the CIA anymore."

"And it's giving you nightmares."

"Yeah. Almost every time I go to sleep." He ran a hand through his
hair.

"So tell me about it. That's what got you over everything else."

"No." His eyes were the color of a storm-tossed sea, and his mouth
was set in a grim line.

"Fine." She reached over to the coffee table and picked up the
telephone. "Then talk to the Admiral." She began to punch in his
number.

Harm's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "Don't do it, Mac."

"Why not?" She looked at him, her shoulders squared back as if at
attention and her eyes flinty.

"I can't talk to him. Not about this." His voice cracked on the
words.

"You can't not talk to him, Harm. You won't talk to your counselor
or to me. You have to talk to someone. That leaves the Admiral, the
way I see it."

"God, Mac, what do I have to say to convince you that this is
something I have to deal with myself?"

"There aren't enough words in the English language to convince me of
that. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like my wrist back, please."
She looked down where his long fingers were wrapped around her
wrist.

"Not a chance. Not if you're going to put in the rest of that phone
number."

"Harm..." She set her teeth, determined to win this battle. "You
have two choices. Either you talk to me, and you do it now, or you
talk to the Admiral."

"And if I say I'll talk to the Admiral, will you put down that phone?"

"Sure."

At that moment the doorbell rang, and Harm had no choice. He had to
let go of her wrist so he could pay for the pizza. He grabbed the
twenty dollar bill from the table and moved to the door, keeping a
watchful eye on Mac the entire time. Harm handed the money to the
delivery guy, grabbed the pizza, and closed the door in thirty
seconds flat.

Mac got up and went to the kitchen in search of plates and drinks.
She was outwardly calm, but inside she was torn between being furious
with Harm and feeling like crying for him. She returned to the
living room and plopped the plates and soft drink cans on the coffee
table. "If you want a fork, you know where they are," she said as
she tossed a couple of paper napkins at him. Sitting down on the
sofa, she grabbed a slice of pizza and took a bite out of it.

Harm retreated to the corner of the sofa and snagged a piece of
pizza. He chewed on it slowly, his eyes warily watching his
partner. He swallowed some Sprite, then took another mouthful of
pizza.

As soon as she saw his hands were full, Mac turned to Harm. "You
want to explain to me just what you thought you were doing back
there?"

"Keeping you from scuttling what's left of my career?"

"Wait a second. You said you'd talk to the Admiral if I put down the
phone."

"Actually, I asked you if you'd put down the phone if I agreed to
talk to him. I never said that I would." He took another slice of
pizza from the box.

"Not funny, Harm." Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you think it would
scuttle your career if you talked to the Admiral?"

"Gee, I don't know." He practically sneered at her. "I can see it
now: Hello, Admiral Chegwidden. I was wondering if I could talk to
you about some problems I've been having....No, nothing to do with
any cases. I've been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
and....Yeah, well, since I wasn't in the Navy at the time, I didn't
get any counseling when we got back from Paraguay. I've been seeing
a guy in private practice. And it seemed to be helping a lot, right
up until we got to the dings on my soul from being in the CIA. And
that's where I've kind of run into a small glitch. I can't tell him
anything that happened because it's all classified. But if I don't
tell someone, he says I'm gonna be a head case for the rest of my
life....No, nothing too severe. If you consider nightmares five
times a week not too severe. I don't know about you, but I always
enjoy existing on a couple of hours of sleep a night. Keeps you on
your toes, you know?"

Mac sat immobile, afraid to disrupt the words pouring out of Harm's
mouth. The sarcasm wasn't pleasant to hear, but at least he was
talking.

Harm swallowed some Sprite. "Where was I?...Oh, yeah. Did I
remember to thank you, Admiral, for whatever the hell you did that
had me resigning my commission and signing on with the CIA? You knew
I'd do anything to save Mac, didn't you? What was it? Deniability?
Fear of the SecNav's wrath? You set me up, didn't you? Set me up to
save Mac, which I will never regret, but set me up to lose my soul.
And that I'll regret forever. Jesus. How the hell am I supposed to
look at myself in the mirror anymore?"

He suddenly slumped in his corner of the sofa. Resting his elbows on
his knees, he buried his face in his hands. "Do you see why I don't
want to talk to the Admiral about this?"

His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.

"Then I guess you better talk to me."

"I can't, Mac. I just can't." He sounded defeated.

Mac scooted over closer to him and draped an arm around his
shoulders. "Harm, I don't want to fight about this with you, but you
have to talk to someone. You've convinced me that the Admiral is a
bad choice, given the depth of your anger with him; but that pretty
much limits your options. You either talk to me, or I drag you down
to Bethesda and get you a psych eval." She sighed heavily. "When I
first got home, you kept mumbling 'I can't. I won't.' What was that
all about?"

"Reliving my employment with the Agency. When I tried to get
information about your whereabouts, the Deputy Director, a guy named
Kershaw, told me that he couldn't tell me anything, but he could tell
the Admiral, and then it would be up to me to get it out of the
Admiral. And he told me that if I ever found myself out of uniform
to give him a call."

"And?" She tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"The next morning, Chegwidden called me into his office and told me
that you and Webb had missed your last two check-ins. I asked for
permission to go to Paraguay TAD to look for you. He said no. I
asked for leave. He said no. I said I quit. And he said okay."

"That's all?"

"Pretty much. It's always nice to know how much you're valued, you
know? Anyway, the next thing I knew, I had a call from Kershaw,
offering me a job in the Agency. And he held out the carrot--if I
took the offer, my first assignment would be to go to Paraguay to see
what I could do."

"And you saved me and Webb. And found and destroyed the Stingers. I
know that part."

"Yeah. What you don't know is what Kershaw told me to do before I
left D.C." He sucked in air. "And if I tell you, I'm afraid that
you won't want anything to do with me."

"That doesn't make any sense, Harm."

"I did what he told me to do, Mac."

"What's so terrible about that?"

"Mac, Kershaw told me to 'eliminate' the loose ends in Ciudad del
Este and the surrounding area."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"And God help me, I did it." He rushed on. "When Gunny and I got to
the compound, I didn't just knock people out or wound them. I shot
to kill. One guy..." His voice trailed off.

"What about him?" Mac whispered.

"Ever snap someone's neck? You can hear it. Like when you break a
small branch of a tree. I put my arm around his neck and snapped
it." He closed his eyes. "And when we got back to Ciudad del
Este...Kershaw wanted the leak eliminated."

"Did Kershaw know who the leak was?"

"I'm not sure. He thought it was Edward Hardy. Kershaw called me
when we got back to civilization and told me to kill him."

"Just like that? Kill the guy in cold blood? Did he give you any
proof that Hardy was the mole? Because Webb thought he had figured
out who the mole was, and he shot that guy in the back of the head. "

He shook his head. "He told me that he didn't need proof. Hardy was
the logical person, all things considered. And that since the guy
had taken to drinking alcohol for breakfast, it didn't really matter
if he was the mole or not. He was a liability to the Agency and a
security risk because of that."

She sat there in silence, trying to understand what had been asked of
him. For a person with Harm's extreme sense of honor and duty and
his devotion to truth and justice, to be ordered to execute someone
instead of bringing him in for trial must have been soul-
destroying. "Is that what you were saying 'I can't' about?"

"Yeah. I told Kershaw that I didn't operate that way, but he
said, 'Maybe you didn't when you were in the Navy, but you're not
there anymore. And this is how it works in the Company.'"

"Good lord, Harm. What did you do?"

"I went to his office with a silenced gun. And I told him what
Kershaw wanted." He swallowed hard. "And then I told him I'd give
him a choice. He could die with a little dignity, or he could die
like the rabid dog that Kershaw thought he was."

His shoulders were shaking beneath her arm. Mac bit her lip to keep
from saying anything to stop Harm from getting it all out.

"And he said he'd like to have a little dignity. So I let him write
a note to his wife, and then I watched while he pulled his own gun
out of a drawer." He drew in a long, shuddering breath. "And then
I watched Edward Hardy blow his brains out." He paused a minute
before resuming his account. "Then I called Kershaw and said mission
accomplished. And I mailed the letter to his wife. And then I came
back to Washington and discovered that I'd sold my soul to the devil."

When he finally looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been
staring at, his face was covered with tears. Mac felt her own heart
breaking as she gathered him into her arms. "Oh, god, Harm."

She pulled him to her, and his arms went around her waist. Laying
his head on her shoulder, Harm wept silently, his body trembling at
times. And Mac cried with him, her tears absorbed by his hair as her
face rested on the top of his head.

Twenty long minutes later, Harm stirred in her arms. He pulled away
from her a bit and opened his mouth. "Mac, I'm so..."

"Don't you dare say you're sorry." She placed a gentle finger on his
lips. "If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I shouldn't have
gone on that mission. You told me you were worried, that you had a
bad feeling about it. I should have listened to your instincts. But
I didn't. And my actions put you into an intolerable position. Can
you ever forgive me?"

He pulled his arm across his face, attempting to wipe away the
tears. "Mac, stop. This is one reason why I didn't want to tell
you. It's not your fault. You did what you thought was right by
going. If you hadn't gone, Clay and Gunny would almost certainly be
dead. I would not have gone down there to save Webb. And we didn't
know that Gunny was with him." He took in a shuddering
breath. "It's my problem, Mac. I've got to figure out some way to
live with the memories. Can I at least apologize for getting your
sweatshirt all wet?"

"Sure." She put a gentle hand on his chin and turned his face to
meet hers. "Harm, I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm
about to say."

At his nod, she continued. "You did your duty. You obeyed an order
from your superior. It may have been unpleasant, and I'm sure it was
more difficult than firing on someone in the heat of battle, but you
did what you were supposed to do. Even if Hardy wasn't the actual
leak, his lack of attention to what was going on down there was
allowing the leak to exist. And because of that, some innocent
people died, and more would have if we hadn't found the missiles.
Now, I know that you would have infinitely preferred to haul the guy
back to Washington in handcuffs and put him on trial for treason, but
I don't see this as being all that different than the situation with
Gayle Osbourne. We made that tape and gave it to Clay. And he gave
it to someone like Kershaw..."

"Who gave an order to someone like me." His voice was flat.

"Yeah. The only real difference is that this time, you were a little
closer to the situation. Harm, you did what you had to do." She
gazed into his eyes, willing him to believe her.

"Uh huh. Keep telling me that for a few years, and maybe I'll come
to believe you." He pulled away from her embrace. "Uh, Mac, if
you'll excuse me, I need some water."

She released him and watched him stride down the short hallway to the
bathroom. She could hear the sound of running water. When he
returned, the traces of tears were gone from his face, but his eyes
were still red-rimmed and bloodshot.

"Mac, I don't know what to say." He sat back down at her side.

"Don't say anything. You'll get through this, just like you've
gotten through everything else." She leaned into him, and kissed his
cheek.

Harm felt some of the tension drain away at her action. Apparently
she wasn't as revolted as he'd worried she might be.

"Harm, I think you should try to get some sleep. You're obviously
exhausted."

"You're right." He started to stand to leave when she caught him off
guard.

"So, do you have a sea bag in the SUV?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Because I think you should stay here tonight. You don't need to be
alone right now."

He looked at her, perplexed. "You think I'll do something stupid?"

"No, not at all. I just think you'll sleep better if you're not
alone...and not in the bed where you keep having nightmares."

He mulled over her suggestion for a minute. "Okay. If you're sure.
I can sleep on the couch."

"No, you can't. Your legs are way too long. You'll sleep in the
bedroom."

"I can't let you give up your bed for me, Mac."

The corners of her mouth turned up. "Who said that I was planning to
do that?" She stood and took his hand. "Now, let's go get your
bag, and then we can get some rest."

*********************************

0530 local
Georgetown

Mac awoke to the shifting movement of her mattress. Harm was
attempting to slide silently from the bed. She opened one eye and
feasted on the sight of his bare chest. Definitely a sight she could
get used to.

"Harm, what are you doing up so early?"

"It's not that early. I need to run today. Wanna join me?" He
flashed her a grin.

"Sure, just give me a minute to wake up completely."

"No problem." He headed into the bathroom.

Mac stretched her arms and legs before climbing out of the bed. It
had certainly been an interesting evening. After Harm's meltdown in
the living room, they had put the leftover pizza in the refrigerator,
collected his sea bag from his SUV, and fallen into bed. Both of
them had been so exhausted from the emotional turmoil that they had
barely had time to say goodnight before they were asleep. Mac smiled
a little. Either she had become a very deep sleeper in the last
twenty-four hours, or Harm had finally gotten a good night's sleep.
She hadn't heard him stir once all night long.

"I'm gonna go get us some juice, Mac," he called as he left the
bathroom.

"Thanks. I'll be with you in a minute." She finished tying her
running shoes, then went to wash her face and brush her teeth.

**************************

0630 local
Georgetown
outside Mac's apartment

Two sweaty, disheveled military officers were breathing heavily as
they returned to their starting point.

"Whew! I needed that." Harm was wiping the sweat from his forehead
as he sucked on a water bottle.

"Yeah. Just what the doctor ordered." Mac took a giant swallow from
her own water. "You want to come up for breakfast?"

He shook his head. "No. I better just go home and get a shower and
get changed for work."

"Want me to throw your bag out the window?" She grinned broadly at
him.

"I think I can manage to navigate the stairs, Mac. But it's already
six-thirty, and we both need showers, and I need a uniform."

"Probably so." She turned to enter the building. As the climbed the
stairs, she asked him a question that had been nibbling at her
consciousness since the night before. "Harm, last night, you said
you didn't want me to scuttle 'what's left' of your career. What was
that supposed to mean?"

His chest rose and fell. "Just what it sounds like. You saw how
things were at JAG last spring. After this summer, my career is
dead. I only came back to the Navy so I wouldn't lose my pension.
I've got two more years, and then I'll go away quietly. If I'm
lucky, maybe you and Bud will miss me."

"Harm, I don't understand what you're saying. You've got another
ten, fifteen years at least ahead of you."

"No, not really. If I still had Admiral Chegwidden's support,
maybe. But somehow, I lost that. And I have no idea how to regain
it. So if my name ever even comes up for promotion, I can guarantee
you, it won't go far."

"Harm..."

"Don't worry about it, Mac. I've pretty much come to terms with the
idea over the past few months. I'll find something to do in a couple
of years." He grinned and said, "Maybe I'll get married and live
off my wife's income. Have a kid or two and be Mr. Mom."

"Yeah, that could work." She considered the idea. It definitely
could work. She decided to put the idea in storage and take it out
later when things had settled down.

They reached her apartment then, and the conversation died.

**********************

0930
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters

"Colonel, the admiral would like to see you in his office." Jennifer
Coates smiled brightly at the Chief of Staff. "ASAP."

Mac closed the folder she was using and stood. "Did he happen to say
what it's about?"

"No, Ma'am. Just that he wanted to see you immediately."

"Thanks, Petty Officer. Dismissed." Mac followed her across the
bullpen to the admiral's office, wondering what her CO had neglected
to say at staff call.

"Colonel Mackenzie reporting as ordered, Sir." Mac snapped to
attention, just inside the admiral's door.

"At ease. Close the hatch and have a seat, Colonel." The admiral
rose from his chair and walked around the desk, taking a seat in the
leather chair beside the one where Mac was sitting. "Colonel, you
know I try not to pry into the lives of my people very often." He
spoke softly.

"Yes, Sir." She gazed at him, curious as to where he was heading.

"However, I'm concerned about Commander Rabb. I was hoping you could
shed some light on the subject."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Admiral." Mac wasn't at all sure she
liked the direction this conversation was heading.

"Do you have any insight into what's going on with him?"

"With all due respect, Sir, I think that is a question you should be
asking him." After Harm's visit the night before, the last thing she
felt like doing was giving the admiral any insight into Harm's psyche.

"In case you haven't noticed, Mac, the commander and I seem to have a
slight problem communicating with each other lately unless it's
specifically related to work."

"I hadn't noticed, Sir."

"Mac, it has not escaped my notice that you and he seem to be getting
along better than you have in years. I'm worried about him. He
looks like something's bothering him. If anyone knows what's going
on, it's you."

Mac looked him squarely in the eye. "I really don't feel comfortable
discussing this, Admiral. I would be violating his confidence if I
said anything at all."

Chegwidden's gaze was penetrating. "So there is something going on."

"Admiral, I couldn't say. If you want to know something about
Commander Rabb, I suggest that you talk to him." She smoothed out
her skirt. "Sir, will that be all?"

"It certainly seems to be." His tone was dry as he said, "Dismissed,
Colonel."

She stood at attention. "Aye, aye, Sir." She wheeled around and
strode from the office.

The admiral cursed beneath his breath as he watched her retreating
form.

********************

1200
Falls Church
O'Malley's Deli

Meredith Cavanaugh carefully stirred the sugar into her iced
tea. "Something seems to be troubling you, AJ."

Her fiancé nodded in reply. "You could say that. I've had the
feeling for a while now that something is bothering Commander Rabb."

Meredith nodded. "So have you asked him about whatever problem you
think there might be?"

"No. I was hoping it would take care of itself."

"But it hasn't?"

"Not really." The admiral bit into his sandwich, tension coming off
him in waves.

"How long have you been concerned about him?" Meredith stabbed some
lettuce with her fork.

"To be honest, since late last winter, early spring."

She nodded again. "I see....Or perhaps I don't see. One of your
people, a man to whom I believed you were fairly close, seems to be
having a difficult time, and you let things ride from say...March to
October?"

AJ had the grace to look embarrassed. "Actually, more like
February. But primarily since the end of March, I suppose."

"Ah. What exactly are you concerned about? Is he not doing his job
well?"

"No, not that at all. He just doesn't seem to be himself. Harm's
never been a particularly open book, but lately it seems as if the
walls he has have turned into ramparts." AJ ran his hand over his
head. "It's like he's lost the ability to enjoy things."

"Perhaps he has." She speared a tomato. "Just what have you done
about your concerns?"

"I asked Colonel Mackenzie today if she could enlighten me about
what's going on with her partner."

"I'm sure that was a huge success." Meredith gave him an indulgent
smile, even as she wondered at his cluelessness.

"Oh yeah. She literally told me that she wouldn't tell me a thing."

"But you got the feeling that she knows the answer?"

"Most definitely. She knows exactly what's wrong with Rabb."

"Did she give you a reason for her reticence?" Meredith took a sip
of tea.

"She said she felt that I should talk to him. And that she couldn't
say anything to me because she didn't want to break a confidence."
He bit angrily into his sandwich.

Meredith's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Well, I think that she gave
you the answer you need."

"She didn't tell me a damn thing."

"Of course she did."

"No, she didn't. She told me to talk to Harm if I wanted to know
anything about him." His eyes narrowed. "You're right. She did.
Now, since you seem to understand my people better than I do, do you
have any ideas on how I can make that happen? Harm only speaks to me
if spoken to or if protocol demands that he speak first."

"Interesting. How long has that been going on?"

"Since he returned to duty."

She sipped on her straw. "Definitely interesting. You know, AJ, I
think you really must talk to him. Something happened to that man
while he was away from JAG."

"Yeah, he flew planes for the CIA." He took another bite of his
sandwich. "Anyway, things were strained before he left."

"And whose fault was that, AJ?" Her gaze pierced him to the soul.

"I'd like to say his."

"I think I hear a 'but' in there, dear." Meredith relentlessly
pursued an olive around her plate.

"That's because there is a 'but.' He accused me of testing him at
one point. He was right."

"And do you test the other officers under your command?"

"No." He picked up his glass of water and looked into it, as if
there would be answers there.

"So why test Commander Rabb?" Meredith's tone was gentle but
inquisitive.

"Because I expect more from him. I felt he wasn't living up to my
expectations."

"When you say you expect more from Commander Rabb, do you mean more
than you expect from other officers or more than you normally get
from him?"

AJ glowered at his plate. "More than from other officers. He's got
more ability than any of them. He should be in a position to sit in
my chair one day. But it's not going to happen if he keeps screwing
up."

"I think I'm beginning to understand. You want him to be better than
everyone else, so when he's only as good as everyone else, it's not
good enough."

"Essentially, yes."

"And have you let him in on this concept?"

"I shouldn't have to. He's an intelligent man. He should see how
the land lies."

Meredith sipped on her tea. "I'm not so sure that I would agree with
that."

"Why not?" AJ was completely baffled by the statement. It all
seemed so clear to him.

"Dearest AJ, you're forgetting that Mac and I have been friends
longer than I've known you. She has shared some things with me over
the years."

"Like what?"

"Like how hard you were on Commander Rabb when he returned from his
little adventure on the Patrick Henry. Or how you seem to come down
twice as hard on him as you do on anyone else, even if more than one
of them did the same thing. And then there are the smaller, less
visible things -- like making Mac your chief of staff, even though
the job could have and probably should have been rotated to someone
else by now. Of course, there is also the way that you left him
hanging out to dry when NCIS was investigating the unfortunate murder
of Lt. Singer."

"Meredith, I was under orders." He tried to stem the castigation he
could sense coming.

"Nonsense. You knew he didn't do it. Yet you caved in completely
when it was suggested that you order your staff to stay completely
out of things. If the forensics people hadn't figured out that the
dirt on his hat didn't match the dirt in her uniform, that poor man
would be sitting in Leavenworth at this very moment, paying for a
crime that he did not commit."

"He got himself into trouble on that one."

"And you, of course, have never gotten yourself into a difficult
situation?" She reached across the table and took his hand. "You
could have acted behind the scenes to clear his name. You didn't
even let him choose his own counsel; yet one of the problems you had
with him last year stemmed from some petty officer being allowed to
choose Harm as his lawyer, even when he told you that he didn't think
he could be objective." She returned to her salad. "But I could be
wrong."

AJ sighed in exasperation. "No, the hell of it is, you're not
wrong. You forgot to mention the fact that I didn't let him take
leave to go look for Colonel Mackenzie in Paraguay."

"Yes, well, I think there are probably some facets to that entire
situation that I'm not aware of."

"There are."

"And they are undoubtedly classified, so I'll never be privy to
them. But yes, that was, I'm sure, another situation that has
contributed to the strained relationship between you and the
commander."

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. "You know, Meredith, it's amazing
how quickly you can get to the heart of almost any matter."

She smiled tenderly at him. "I help you get to the truth, dear."

"Yeah. You still haven't answered my original question. How am I
supposed to get the man to talk to me when all I've heard out of his
mouth for the past eight weeks has been 'Aye, aye, Sir' or 'No, Sir'?"

"Hmm. It needs to be somewhere away from the office. And definitely
out of uniform. You want to break down barriers, not reinforce
them." She took a long swallow of tea. "I'd suggest one of your
homes, but if you go to his apartment, he might view it as an
invasion of his privacy. And if you invite him to your house, he
might feel even more pressured." She looked up at the ceiling for
inspiration. "Some place with alcohol might not be a bad idea. Buy
him a beer; relax him a little."

"Bars are too noisy to talk, even on a Wednesday."

"Good point. You could take him for a drink and then suggest that
you continue the conversation in a nearby park."

"I don't suppose you know of any bars like that?" he asked.

"No, but I would imagine your Petty Officer Coates does. She strikes
me as a most resourceful young woman."

"She is. All right, I'll try to talk to Harm and see if I can find
out what the hell is eating him." AJ finished his sandwich, thinking
that it tasted a lot more like sawdust than roast beef.

*****************************

1330
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters

AJ stuck his head in Harm's office upon his return from lunch. "Got
a minute?"

Harm leaped to his feet and stood at attention. "Yes, Sir."

"As you were." AJ waited until Harm had sat back down before he
spoke again. "Harm, I was wondering if you were doing anything
tonight?"

"No, Sir. Do you need me to stay late?" Harm could feel mouth go
dry. Ever since Mac had dropped by his office to tell him that the
admiral had been questioning her, he'd been expecting to hear from
him.

"No, not that. Actually, I wanted to buy you a drink. We haven't
had much chance to talk since you got back."

"That's not necessary, Sir." The last thing on earth Harm wanted was
to be one-on-one with the admiral with alcohol in his veins. It
would be incredibly easy to forget himself and say enough to be
brought up on charges.

"I believe that it is, Commander. I'll see you at the Capitol Lounge
on Second Street at 2000 hours."

"Aye, aye, Sir." The taste of bile rising in his throat, Harm
watched the admiral return to his own office. Harm closed his eyes
and began counting to a thousand. There weren't enough relaxation
techniques in the universe to help him get through the rest of this
day.

**********************************

2005
Washington, DC
Capitol Lounge

Harm entered the bar, his eyes narrowed against the smoke as he
looked for the admiral. Sitting in a dentist's chair waiting for a
root canal would have been preferable to meeting his CO for a drink,
but the admiral hadn't sounded like there was a choice when he issued
the invitation. He finally spied the admiral sitting at the far end
of the bar, nursing a drink. Harm made his way to the back of the
room, hoping that the admiral wouldn't want to stay too long.

"Sorry, Sir. I couldn't find a parking place." He made his excuses
to his boss.

"No problem, Harm. What's your poison tonight? Bourbon or beer?"

"Bourbon is fine, thanks." He watched the admiral signal the
bartender, then blinked twice as his CO ordered a double Wild Turkey
on the rocks. Harm's mouth turned up in a grin. If he was going to
go down tonight, at least he'd go in style.

Once the bourbon had been served, Harm waited silently for the
admiral to start the conversation. Given what Mac had told him about
the conversation she'd had with Admiral Chegwidden, he expected to be
grilled about his recent moods. So he was somewhat surprised by the
other man's question.

"So what do you think of the Redskins' chances this week?"

Harm accepted the topic at face value and gave a noncommittal reply,
adding that he still followed the San Diego Chargers for the most
part. Conversation ebbed and flowed around various sports topics as
the two men sipped their bourbon. Once he could see the bottom of
his glass, Harm set it down on the barn and turned to the
admiral. "Thanks for the drink, Sir. I should probably be going.
I've got court in the morning." He stood and held out a hand.

Ignoring the offered handshake, AJ stood as well and motioned toward
the door with his head. "Walk with me, Commander."

Harm followed him out of the bar and down Pennsylvania Avenue, past
the Capitol building. The admiral led him into the Mall.

They walked in silence for several minutes--AJ wondering how best to
begin the real conversation, Harm wondering how to make his escape.
Finally, the admiral's voice broke into Harm's thoughts.

"What the hell's going on with you, Commander?"

Taken aback, Harm stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me, Sir? I don't
think I understand the question."

"I asked you what the hell is going on with you. It's a simple
question."

"Nothing's going on, Sir." Harm stared at his one-time mentor. "I
don't understand what you're driving at."

"I think you do. You haven't been yourself lately. You look like
hell. You have dark circles under your eyes, so you can't be
sleeping very well. You never smile, and when members of the staff
socialize, you're never there." AJ returned the stare.

"Is there a problem with my work, Admiral?"

"No, of course not."

"Then with all due respect, I would prefer not to continue this
conversation, Sir." Harm looked AJ in the eye. "I prefer to keep my
private life private."

"Damnit, Harm! I thought we were friends."

"So did I, Sir. So did I."

"Then talk to me, Harm. I can tell that something is wrong. I'd
like to help if I can."

"I can't, Sir." Harm turned away from the admiral and looked down
the length of the Mall. "You said it all. We were friends. A year
ago, I could have talked to you." He began to walk again.

"But now you can't?" AJ kept pace with the younger man.

"No, Sir. Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Admiral, if you have to ask that question, then you have your
answer." He kept his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead.

A hand shot out, and an iron grip seized Harm's forearm. "What the
hell is that supposed to mean?"

Harm stopped and turned back to stare at the admiral. "Permission to
speak freely?"

"Of course."

"Admiral, there was a time when I thought that we were friends, as
much as any officer and his CO can be. You were my commanding
officer, my mentor. Somehow, in the past year, I've lost your
respect and your confidence. And while I have a fair idea of what I
did to lose those, I don't have a clue how to regain them. So if
it's all the same to you, I'd rather just do my job, keep my nose as
clean as possible, and get out of your hair in a couple of years when
I've got my twenty and can retire. If you prefer, I can talk to my
detailer about a transfer out of Headquarters. But in the meantime,
I don't feel comfortable discussing anything personal with you."

"Why not?"

Harm shrugged his shoulders. "Would you believe me if I said I
didn't want to spend the next two years scrubbing barnacles off
garbage scows in the Aleutians?"

"And what makes you even consider that as a possibility?"

"Admiral, I pretty much had this conversation with Mac last night.
And we agreed that had I been talking to you, I'd have been facing
charges of conduct unbecoming at the very least."

"Interesting." The admiral steered Harm toward a park bench beneath
a light. "Let's sit down. I have a feeling this is going to take a
while." Once they were seated, the admiral turned back to Harm. "I
feel like Alice in Wonderland. Nothing you've said makes any sense
to me."

"Sorry, Sir." Harm stretched his legs out and leaned back
wearily. "I'm not trying to be difficult. It's just that every time
I think about what I'd say if we were to ever have this conversation,
I get so angry that I forget who I'm talking to. Not a good thing
when talking to one's CO."

AJ scowled at his companion. "What would it take to get you to talk
to me?"

"I don't know. A written guarantee that nothing I say will ever be
held against me?"

AJ started to laugh, but then he saw the expression on Harm's
face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why? What can possibly be that bad?"

Harm stared off into the distance, his lips pressed tightly
together. Part of him badly wanted to just open his mouth and let
the words flow, but the more rational, reasonable side was telling
him to control himself. He had a lot to lose and very little to gain
by opening up to the admiral.

"I don't suppose that you'd be willing to take my word as an officer
and a gentleman that anything you say to me tonight will go no
further and will not adversely affect your career?" The admiral's
eyes bored holes into Harm.

"See? I've already insulted you. I can't talk to you, Sir." Harm's
face fell. He looked down at the ground, his hands dangling loosely
between his knees.

"Fine. You want it in writing; you can have it in writing. I trust
you won't be too picky about the paper it's on." AJ pulled his
checkbook from the inner pocket of his jacket and ripped out a
deposit slip. He scribbled on the back and then signed it. "Here.
My written guarantee not to hold anything you say tonight or the way
you say it against you in the future." He shoved the slip of paper
in front of Harm's face.

Harm took the paper, suddenly embarrassed. "Admiral, I'm sorry. I
don't seem to be able to get anything quite right lately."

"Which is why we're here, Son." AJ's voice lost the angry
tone. "What is going on?"

Harm inhaled deeply. "I don't even know where to begin."

"I've always found the beginning to be a good place."

Harm gave a slightly twisted smile. "Do you have all night, Sir?"

"As long as it takes, Harm."

"Yeah. You noticed I haven't been sleeping too well. Something Bud
said to me about six weeks ago got me thinking. I decided that maybe
I could use some counseling."

"I don't remember seeing any paperwork about that."

"You didn't. I'm not using anyone in the Navy. I'm seeing someone
in private, civilian practice." He took another deep
breath. "Anyway, after a very intense session, the counselor gave me
a diagnosis."

"Let me guess. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." It wasn't a
question. "How far back does he think it goes?"

"Christmas Eve, 1969."

"I guess I'm not surprised. People didn't think about kids needing
counseling back then." AJ turned slightly on the bench so he could
face Harm. "That could explain a lot of things about your basic
personality, but you've still managed to seem all right to people
around you until recently. What happened to change that?"

Harm rubbed his face. "A number of things. I think it started with
Bud's injury. Mac and I had had a run-in with a land mine of our own
only a week or so before his. I stepped on a mine, but I was lucky.
It was the kind that doesn't go off until you take your weight off
it, and Mac figured out how to trick it long enough for me to get to
safety."

"So they teach Marines stuff like that, huh?"

"Actually, after it was all over, she told me she saw it in a
movie." Harm grinned at the memory. "After Bud got hurt, I felt so
guilty. It could just as easily been me, and I don't have a wife and
kid to support."

"True, but you also don't have a wife and child to support you." The
admiral's tone was matter of fact.

"I never thought about it that way." It was an intriguing thought.
How would things be different for him if he had a wife? Some of his
reading had indicated that patients with PTSD recovered more quickly
if they were surrounded by a loving family. Harm felt a pang of
regret until he remembered that Mac had been with him all along. She
might not be his wife or girlfriend, but he couldn't imagine a
romantic partner being any more supportive than Mac had been
throughout this ordeal. Given the choice of a wife or Mac, he'd take
Mac any day. Then again, a wife named Mac would definitely be the
best choice.

"Anyway, not long after that, Loren was pregnant, and I really did
believe that my brother was the father. And what can I say? I lost
it. She wanted an abortion, and I did my damnedest to talk her out
of it. I told her that I'd adopt the baby and raise it."

"So there wouldn't be any more fatherless Rabb children?"

Harm nodded wordlessly. "She told me Sergei wasn't the father, but I
knew he'd been with her at the right time. She'd lied to me so many
times about important things that I couldn't believe her. And now I
wonder if I'd just stayed out of it, if she'd still be alive. She'd
have had her abortion, and Ted Lindsey wouldn't have killed her
because she wouldn't have been blackmailing him."

"Forget that thought, Commander. That's an order. Lt. Singer may be
dead because she blackmailed Cdr. Lindsey, but that has absolutely
nothing to do with anything you said to her." His eyes
narrowed. "Unless, of course, the blackmail was your idea."

"No, Sir!"

"Did you think your brother killed her?"

"Yes. I don't know why. I mean, he's a good kid. But for a minute,
I remembered that he had been in town about the time we thought she
was killed, and I wanted to protect him until I could find out the
truth."

"So that's why you acted like such an idiot with NCIS?"

"Pretty much, yes. And by the time I realized that I had managed to
convince them I was suspect number one, they were reading me my
rights and slapping handcuffs on me."

AJ took a deep breath. "And now we come up to the part where you and
I apparently ceased to be friends."

"Yes, Sir." Harm stared across the darkened Mall.

"You're undoubtedly angry about how I handled that."

"No, Sir. I'm angry, but not about that. I'm confused about that."
He shifted positions on the park bench. "I had told you I didn't do
it. I thought you believed me. But then you ordered everyone to
stay away from the case. And I had requested to be allowed to select
my own attorney, but that didn't happen. I was assigned that anal-
retentive pencil sharpener, who if she really did get nine of nine
acquittals on murder cases, must have had slam-dunk cases. Because,
frankly, Admiral, if she were a civilian lawyer, I'd be thinking
about suing her for malpractice."

"I see. Do you want her charged with dereliction of duty?"

Harm winced. "No. I have no desire to go through any of that in a
courtroom again. I just want to understand. Why? Why did you leave
me out on that limb? Why did I get the feeling you gave NCIS a
saw?" He jumped up from the bench and began to pace. "Admiral, you
had to have seen how badly they conducted their investigation. Why
didn't you do anything to help me? Or at least let Bud and Mac?"

When Harm's route brought him back face to face with the admiral, he
stopped and waited for an answer.

"Harm, there was nothing I could do," the admiral began.

"You've got to be kidding! You're the freakin' Judge Advocate
General of the whole damn Navy!"

"Harm, the SecNav made it clear that JAG Headquarters staff was to
stay completely out of it. Coming so quickly on the heels of the
audit, there wasn't much I could do to argue the point." AJ
shrugged. "To be honest, I thought the case would be dismissed due
to lack of evidence and motive."

"They had plenty of evidence--just all circumstantial." Harm glared
at the admiral. "You know, when I was in the brig, I had nightmares
about being in Leavenworth with all the people I helped send there.
People like Clark Palmer. If I'd been convicted, would you have done
anything then? Or would you have left me to Palmer's tender mercies?"

"Damnit, Harm! That's unfair!"

"The hell it is. You're the one who wanted to have this
conversation. Not I. So what's the answer?"

"Of course I would have done something then. But don't forget, your
own behavior is what got you into trouble in the first place."

"Don't worry, Admiral. I don't forget that for a minute. My own
stupid, misguided loyalty to various causes and people is responsible
for where I am now--mentally ill and staring at the ruins of my
career."

Harm picked up his pacing while the admiral ran his hand over his
head and wondered why he'd been so insistent on getting Harm to talk.

"Harm, that's not true."

"No? Think again, Sir. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is an
official mental illness--certified by the American Psychiatric
Association or whoever does that crap." He walked several feet
away, then whirled back around. "There's one thing I need to know."

"What's that?"

"What on earth did I ever do to make me deserve what you and Kershaw
did to me? I've been trying to figure that one out for weeks." His
hands clenched at his sides.

"I don't think I know what you mean, Harm."

"Cut the crap, Admiral. I'm not stupid. You and Kershaw played me
the same way you play a trout. I just want to know why. What did I
do to make you despise me that much?" His face twisted in pain.

"Nothing. I don't despise you, Son." AJ stood and put a hand on
Harm's rigid forearm.

"Sir...please...don't...touch...me."

AJ could almost hear the ice clinking on Harm's words. He removed
his hand and took a step backwards to look into Harm's face. What he
saw in the younger man's eyes chilled him.

"Harm, talk to me. Why do you think Kershaw and I played you?"

Harm drew in a deep breath, shuddering as he did so. "You gave me no
choice but to resign my commission or let Mac die. How long did you
wait after I left your office before you called him? And don't tell
me you didn't because I'd hate to think you were a liar. My phone
was ringing before I'd even opened up the program to start typing my
letter of resignation--Deputy Director Kershaw offering me a job with
the CIA since he'd heard some scuttlebutt that I was leaving the
Navy."

"You wanted to go find Mac. He had the information and the means to
get you to Paraguay. I figured you'd be grateful."

Harm stared, dumbfounded at his CO. "Grateful? Oh, of course. I
guess I should be grateful for the opportunity to work for the
Agency. It was certainly educational." He shot the admiral a
venomous look. "You know what happens to an agent that's become a
liability?"

"Yes. The Agency sends out a 'sweeper'--like they did with Gayle
Osbourne."

"Did you ever wonder what kind of man becomes a sweeper for the CIA?"

"Someone like Palmer, I suppose."

"Sometimes. And sometimes, it's someone like me." Harm turned on
his heel and looked away from the admiral.

"Harm! What the hell are you saying? You were flying planes for the
CIA."

"Of course I was. After I 'tidied things up' in Paraguay." He spun
back to face the admiral. "Why did you put me in that position?
I've been wracking my brain, but I can't think of anything I've ever
done that was bad enough to deserve that kind of payback."

"Are you telling me that Kershaw had you assassinate someone?" The
admiral's voice rose in anger.

"Assassinate is such an ugly word, Sir. It sounds almost criminal.
No, the CIA prefers to say 'eliminate' or 'tie up loose ends'
or 'neutralize.' But if you prefer, then yes, I was ordered to
assassinate the bureau chief in Ciudad del Este. That's why I have
circles under my eyes." Suddenly drained, Harm returned to the bench
and sank down on it. "Kershaw told me that you and he had agreed to
all the details."

"That lying sonofabitch."

"Who?" Harm was startled at the comment.

"Kershaw." AJ sat down beside Harm. "You weren't the only one who
got played. That lousy, no good..."

"Sonofabitch?"

"Yeah. You're partially right, Harm. I did force you to resign. It
was the only way that you could go to Paraguay. Kershaw was very
aware of the way you were snooping all over Washington trying to find
information on Mac and Webb's whereabouts. He called me and offered
me a deal. He needed a pilot for a short time. You wanted to go
rescue Mac. If I agreed to let him have you for six weeks, he'd give
you what you needed to find her. But you had to leave the Navy."

"I'm not seeing your point, Admiral." Harm pinched the bridge of his
nose. "That's essentially what happened."

"True, but I promise you, there was never any mention of you doing
anything besides going to Paraguay to rescue Mac and Webb and then
into the CIA air wing for five or six weeks. He never said anything
about using you as a sweeper or for any other type of mission for
that matter."

"Seems like a rather important detail to leave out, Sir."

"I agree. To be honest, I really did think it might be the best
thing for you at the time."

"To leave the Navy?"

"No, but to get away from Washington and Headquarters. You weren't
happy most of last winter and spring. You've admitted that yourself."

Harm nodded silently.

"I figured that six weeks in a cockpit might help you refocus on what
was important to you--might help you find whatever it was you were
missing."

Harm snorted in derision. "Instead, I wound up losing a piece of my
soul."

AJ's voice was gentle as he said, "Tell me about it, Harm."

Harm closed his eyes. "We had just gotten back to Ciudad del Este.
I got a call from Kershaw telling me to 'eliminate' all the problems
in the local office. When I told him that I didn't operate that way,
that I'd be happy to return the problems to the US to stand trial, he
told me that I wasn't in the Navy anymore; and the Agency had
different rules." He breathed deeply several times. "I went to see
the bureau chief, and I think he knew as soon as he saw me why I was
there. I told him I'd give him a choice. I couldn't just do it,
Admiral. It's one thing to shoot someone that's about to shoot you
or someone else. It's another to shoot someone in cold blood."

"I know."

"I gave him the choice of suicide or 'elimination.' He chose
suicide. But I couldn't give him the opportunity to pick up a phone,
so I had to make sure he did it." He swallowed hard. "I think he
must have had a hollow-point bullet in his pistol."

"Oh, God, Harm." AJ's stomach churned at the thought of what Harm
had witnessed.

"Yeah." He rubbed his eyes. "You know what really bothers me? I
don't even know that I think the guy was the leak. His secretary
disappeared completely, right after I arrived in Paraguay in the
first place. I'm afraid that Edward Hardy might have just been a
drunk who'd been out in the cold too long."

"You may be right. But it doesn't really change the situation. Even
if Hardy was just a drunken, broken-down agent who'd outlived his
usefulness, and the secretary was the real mole, he was still
responsible for what happened in that office. We both know that,
Harm." AJ placed a hand on Harm's arm, and this time the younger man
allowed it. "You did your duty, Son."

He drew in a ragged breath. "That's what Mac said. And I suppose
that on one level I believe that. But on another..."

"You feel guilty as hell."

"Yeah. And angry as hell that I wasn't allowed the choice of whether
or not to be in that position in the first place."

"Do you believe me that I didn't know? And that I am very, very
sorry that I didn't? If I'd known what Kershaw wanted you to do, you
know I would have told you up front."

Harm sighed heavily. "I have to, Sir. I've never known you to lie.
Anyone and everyone in the CIA, on the other hand..."

"Could call themselves 'Liars R Us.'"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Want me to deck him?" The admiral's tone was dry.

"Don't tempt me, Sir."

AJ laughed, then returned to an earlier comment Harm had made. "What
did you mean about getting out of my hair in two years?"

"I can retire then, Admiral."

"Somehow, I never figured you for the twenty-and-out type,
Commander." He sounded disappointed.

"I never did either until recently."

"So what changed?"

"Other than the less than stellar fit-rep I expect I'll get this
year?"

"Why do you expect that?"

"Because of the way things have gone at the office."

"Harm, we need to talk about that, but not right now. When we talk,
I want it on the record."

"Yes, Sir." Harm looked intently at the admiral. "So where does all
this leave us?"

"I hope it leaves us each with a new understanding of the other. I
wish you'd come to me when you first started having problems, Harm.
We probably could have avoided a lot of what's happened in the past
year. But I understand why you felt that you couldn't. And I deeply
regret that."

"Thank you. I'm beginning to wish I'd talked to you sooner myself."

"Good. Now, I don't know about you, but I think it's time we either
called it a night or went back for another bourbon." AJ rose from
the bench.

"I was telling the truth about having court in the morning. I should
probably head home."

"All right." The admiral held out his hand. "Harm, believe me when
I tell you that things will be better. You will get past this."

Taking it, Harm said, "Thank you, Sir. For everything."

"One other thing, Commander."

"Yes, Sir?"

"I meant what I said. Before the week is out, you and I are going to
have an official meeting to discuss your future in the Navy."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

They walked back to the Capitol Lounge to retrieve their cars, more
attuned to each other than they'd been in months.

*********************************

2230
North of Union Station


Harm was still shaking his head in astonishment as he pulled up in
front of his apartment. He had definitely not expected the off-base
meeting with the admiral to turn out the way it had. The admiral had
been much more understanding than he'd expected him to be. And as
usual, Mac had been right. It had felt good to talk to their CO.
He'd have to call her and let her know.

Scratch that idea, he thought, as he recognized her Corvette parked
across the street. She must have gotten worried about him and come
to check on him. Harm didn't know whether to be pleased or
irritated. It wasn't like he was a child, who needed constant
supervision. On the other hand, he had given Mac plenty of reason
over the past couple of months to think that he did need someone
keeping a watchful eye on him. Eager to see her, he took the stairs
two at a time.

"Mac, it's me!" he called as he unlocked his door. Pushing it open,
he spied her curled up cross-legged on the couch, a file folder open
in her lap. "Is everything all right?"

"You tell me," she said as he removed his flight jacket. "I tried to
call you about an hour ago. I got your answering machine here and
voice mail on your cell phone."

"I turned it off while I met with the admiral."

"You're just now getting back from that?" She looked surprised.

"Yeah. He wasn't exactly in a hurry to cut to the chase." He strode
across the room and flopped down onto the sofa beside her. "So why
are you here?"

"Like I said, I called you and got no answer--I guess about nine-
thirty. I figured that you'd have one drink and get out of his line
of fire as fast as possible. I was a little worried, so I came over."

He draped an arm around her shoulders and gently squeezed. "Thanks,
Mac. But as you can see, I'm still in one piece." He
chuckled. "Heck, I'm even still in the Navy."

She rolled her eyes. "That is remarkable. How did you manage that?"

"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you." His eyes twinkled
with amusement.

"Harm..."

"Okay. I told him if there were no problems with my work, I
preferred to not discuss my personal life. And he asked what it
would take to get me to talk to him."

"What did you tell him?"

"That it would take a written guarantee that anything I said wouldn't
affect my career."

"You didn't?!" Her eyes grew wider at his nod. "How did he react to
that?"

"After getting insulted and asking me if his word as an officer and a
gentleman wasn't good enough, he pulled out his checkbook and wrote
the guarantee on a deposit slip."

"I don't know what surprises me more--that you actually said that to
him or that he actually did it."

"I know. It surprised the hell out of me." Harm cocked his head so
he could look into her eyes. "You were right, Mac."

"I was? About what?" She smiled up at him.

"Talking to Admiral Chegwidden." Harm's eyes drifted shut. "Maybe
it's because of some of the things he had to do as a SEAL, but I
think he does understand more than almost anyone else what Paraguay
did to my soul."

"More than almost anyone else?"

"Yeah. You understand the most. You were there. You met the
people." His hand gently moved up and down her upper arm. "You know
what Kershaw had me do. And you've been supporting me ever since I
realized that something was wrong and I needed help." He opened his
eyes again. "Thank you, Ninja Girl. I'm not sure I could have come
this far without you."

"Yes, you could have. Maybe not as far this fast, but you'd have
made it without me. I'm just glad that you've let me help." She
reached up and squeezed the hand that was on her shoulder.

"Me too. One of the smartest things I've ever done." He grinned at
her surprised expression. "I can't thank you enough for all you've
done."

"It's no big deal. You'd do the same for me." Mac yawned. "I think
I'm tired. How about you, Flyboy?"

"I guess it is getting late. Do you want anything to drink or eat
before you go? I could make us some tea or some hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate would be good." She watched him rise, then followed
him to the kitchen area. She watched him fill the pan with milk,
then rummage in the cabinet for cocoa powder, sugar, and
cinnamon. "Harm, would you like me to stay tonight?"

"Mac, I'm almost 40 years old. I don't need a babysitter. I'll be
okay by myself." Harm made the comment, but hated feeling that he
ought to make it. He couldn't imagine anything he wanted more at
that moment than to spend the night with Mac in his arms.

Hearing the defensiveness of his words, Mac said, "Who said anything
about that? I just thought that it would be nice if we both got a
second good night's sleep. And being together seemed to make that
happen last night."

Harm stirred the milk on the stove. Grinning at her, he
replied, "You're right. I slept better last night than any time I
can remember. But I hate for you to have to go to all the trouble of
having to go cross town in the morning."

"I won't. I'm a Marine, remember? I always have a sea bag in the
car." She smirked at him.

"Uh huh. How could I have forgotten?" He poured the cocoa into a
pair of mugs. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, this is fine." She sipped the hot drink. "Harm, this is
delicious."

"Thanks." He smiled at her above his own mug. "It's the lack of
preservatives."

Mac rolled her eyes. "You know, I still can't figure out how you
survived on a ship for six months at a time--having to eat mystery
meat and canned fruit and vegetables."

"I was flying a Tomcat. That made up for a lot."

"Do you still miss it?"

The tone of her voice made him think carefully before replying. "Yes
and no. I certainly don't miss six month deployments. And I don't
miss sleeping in a berth instead of a king-sized bed."

She nodded in understanding.

"But I do miss the simplicity of the life. You said it yourself.
You can focus on just what's important, without all the daily
distractions that you have on shore. The mission is a lot more clear
cut than it often is at JAG. And the politics are minimal."

"And you still always seem happiest in a cockpit. I've seen your
face."

"Yeah. Well, I spent most of my life thinking that I'd be a naval
aviator, preparing for that career. And while I love what I do as a
JAG lawyer, it's not quite the same. I once told the admiral that
returning to JAG after flight duty wasn't a fall back position, but
that's not entirely true. It was the only logical move to make to be
in a position to have a long career in the Navy. I lost way too much
time between 1991 and 1999 to have stayed an active pilot. The
surgery was too late." He shrugged, then smiled. "Besides, there
are some pluses to being at JAG."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah. If I'd never had to leave flying, I'd never have met you."
He turned to rinse out his mug.

"True. And think of all the adventures you'd have missed." She
smiled slyly at him.

"Good point. I might have lived my entire life without seeing a
Beltway Burger." He held out a hand for her empty mug. "And on that
note, I think it's time for bed."

Fifteen minutes later, they were lying face to face beneath the
comforter on Harm's bed, a beam of moonlight dancing across her
face. Harm reached out a tentative hand to brush a stray lock of
hair from her cheek. "I could get used to this, Mac," he said, his
voice soft and low.

"Me too." She grinned slightly as she added, "This comforter is
really warm. I guess we don't have to worry about sharing body heat
tonight."

His 'flyboy' grin split his face from ear to ear. "I could go turn
down the heat if you like."

"No need to do that on my account."

"No? How about on mine?"

She tried not to laugh. "Roll over on your back."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am." He complied with the order, curious as to what
would come next.

Mac scooted over closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. One
arm snaked across his midriff while her other hand squirmed its way
beneath his pillow. She wriggled around for a minute before settling
down with a loud, contented sigh. "Ah, yes, much better."

"As long as you're happy, Mac..." His right arm curled around her
shoulders. She fit perfectly beneath his chin.

"Mm hmm. You make a great pillow." Her hand slowly caressed his
waist. "Harm?"

He pulled his brain back to focus on what she was saying instead of
what she was doing. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you talked to the admiral. You seem, I don't know, more
relaxed. Less tightly wound."

He paused to consider her words. "You're right. I feel more
relaxed. And maybe even a little optimistic about what comes next."

"And what might that be?"

"Not sure. The admiral told me that we would be having a meeting
about my future in the Navy this week."

"What did you say to make him say that?" She snuggled in a little
closer.

"I may have mentioned getting out in two years."

"Ah." She drew back so she could look up at his face. "Tell me you
weren't serious."

He drew in a deep breath. "You and I talked about it last night,
Mac. It's just that the way the admiral reacted, I'm beginning to
think that maybe things aren't as bad as I thought."

"They aren't, Harm." She put her head back on his shoulder. "You
know, you'd be a lot happier if you set somewhat lower standards than
perfection for yourself."

"I'll see what I can do, okay?" He dropped a light kiss onto her
hair.

"Good. And now, Harm, I think we really should try to get some
sleep. Last time I checked the calendar, we have a date in the
courtroom tomorrow." Mac closed her eyes.

For the first time in weeks, Harm didn't have to use any relaxation
techniques to fall asleep. Having Mac tucked up on his shoulder was
better than a sleeping pill. Within minutes, they were both sleeping
dreamlessly.

*************************

1500 local
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters

"This court is in recess until 0900 tomorrow." Captain Sebring
banged his gavel on the block.

Harm looked at Mac and smiled. So far, their prosecution of a
larcenous chief petty officer was going according to plan. They
closed their briefcases and walked slowly out of the courtroom.

Jennifer Coates was waiting for them as the entered the
bullpen. "Sir, the admiral wants to see you in his office
immediately." She turned to Mac. "And Colonel, you have a call on
line two." She held out her hand. "I'll put your briefcase in your
office, Commander."

"I guess he really does mean 'immediately,'" Mac murmured to her
partner as he turned toward the admiral's office.

"Yeah. Cross your fingers, okay?"

"Will do." She gave him an encouraging smile and went to answer her
telephone.

"Enter!" The admiral's voice boomed as Harm knocked on the door.

"Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sir." Harm stood at attention
just inside the door.

"At ease. Close the hatch and come sit down." The admiral closed
the file he was reading and removed his glasses.

"Yes, Sir." Harm took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing the
admiral's desk.

Admiral Chegwidden pushed the intercom button to speak with
Coates. "Hold all my calls. I don't want to be disturbed unless
it's the President himself."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

He clicked off the intercom and looked at the officer sitting
motionless in front of him. "Well, Commander, I have a number of
things I'd like to discuss with you."

Harm swallowed nervously. "Yes, Sir."

"I'm curious. Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Nowhere, Sir. I can't envision anything that far ahead."

AJ looked at him intently, his brow furrowing. "Really?"

Harm nodded. "Yes, Sir. Apparently it's one of the symptoms I have."

"Not being able to envision the future?"

"Yes, Sir. I can barely see into next week." Harm sounded
tired. "It makes it a challenge to set long-term goals."

"Let me be sure I understand what you're saying. You can't see
yourself in the future, so you have difficulty making plans for it?"

"Pretty much, yes."

The admiral pursed his lips. "And I suppose it's possible that some
of the more hare-brained stunts you've pulled could be related to the
disorder?"

"That's what I've been told, Admiral. Apparently, the inability to
envision being around in the future causes you to take more risks."

"Because you think you're immortal?"

"No, Sir. Because you don't. It's difficult to explain. It's as if
since you aren't going to be around long term, it doesn't really
matter what you do. You might as well do the dangerous things. If
you die, you die. You're going to anyway."

AJ sighed. "All right. I guess there is some sort of twisted logic
there. So how long has this been the case with you?"

Harm thought about it a minute. "I think since my ramp strike."

"I see. Makes sense, I suppose." AJ nodded, a decision made. "All
right, Harm. You said last night that you expected to retire in two
years."

"Yes, Sir."

"Is that really what you want to do?"

"I don't think so. But the way things have been going for the past
year, I figured that it wouldn't really be my decision." Harm wished
desperately that he weren't pinned to the chair by the admiral's
gaze. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to jump to his feet and
pace, but military protocol demanded that he stay put.

"What makes you think that?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I believe I was in here being chewed out
by you more last year than in the first year I was under your
command."

"You probably were, Commander. Do you know why?"

Harm shifted uneasily in the chair. "I assumed it was because you
were displeased with my performance."

"Never assume, Commander."

"Aye, Sir." Harm wished fervently for a glass of water.

"Harm, I'll be honest with you. There were times when I was less
than thrilled with your performance in the past year. But that
doesn't mean that you were doing a bad job."

"I think I'm confused, Admiral."

"Harm, this is difficult to explain, but it has to do with my
expectations for you. You are by far one of the most talented
attorneys in the JAG Corps. So I expect more out of you. And when
you only perform as well as everyone else, I'm disappointed. Last
year, for whatever reason, some of the time, you didn't meet my
expectations. And so I let you know it. But as has been recently
pointed out to me, that isn't particularly fair to you." The admiral
ran his hand over his head. "And especially given what you were
going through, it was extremely unfair to raise the bar so much
higher for you."

"You didn't know, Sir."

"No, I didn't. And that, Commander, was a mistake on your part. Had
you told me about the difficulties you were having after the trip to
Afghanistan, I would have been more understanding. Hell, I might
have even sent you to counseling on the Navy's nickel."

"Yes, Sir."

"I trust that I can rely on you to tell me if you're having serious
problems in the future."

Harm inhaled deeply. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now let's talk about your future in the Navy." AJ opened a
folder on his desk. "I hope that your comments about retiring in two
years were made because of your erroneous belief that you faced a
dead end."

"Yes, Sir."

"Because I think it would be a big mistake. You wouldn't be happy in
civilian practice, Harm."

"No, Sir. I agree."

"I do, however, envision you in this chair one day." AJ smiled
slightly at Harm's surprised expression. "But...not for a few years
yet."

"Of course not, Admiral." Harm's head was spinning.

"For one thing, you need some more extensive command experience.
You've done a fine job with your section, but before you get to this
office, you have to have served as the head of one of the regional
JAG offices."

"I know, Sir." Harm wondered where the Admiral was heading with this
train of thought. He wasn't ready to leave Washington, not when he
and Mac seemed to be on the verge of a new type of relationship.

AJ watched the flicker of emotion on Harm's face. He let him stew
for a minute before continuing. "I've been thinking that it might be
time to do a little reshuffling of duties around here. It's time to
give you some more administrative experience. At the same time, the
judiciary needs another more or less full-time judge. And since it
was pretty clear that you are temperamentally unsuited to being on
that side of the bench, you're definitely not the one to go that
route." AJ rose from his seat and came around his desk to lean on
it. "After you have gained some more administrative experience here,
assuming you perform to your usual high standards, then in two or
three years, it will be time for a transfer to whichever regional TSO
needs a commander at that time."

Harm blinked. "Yes, Sir. I don't know what to say, Admiral. I'll
do my best."

"I'm sure you will, Commander. I trust that you will keep the plans
I'm working on to yourself."

"Of course."

"I also trust that you will keep me informed about your personal
progress." He leaned slightly forward. "I do care, Harm. If
there's anything I can do to help, for God's sake, let me know. You
don't have to face it all alone, Son."

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Harm
replied, "Thank you, Admiral. I will. Letting me vent last night
actually helped a lot."

AJ's smile reached his eyes. "Good. And I meant what I said about
decking Kershaw. You can't do it--not enough rank. I can."

Harm laughed at that. "Thank you, Admiral. I'll think about it."

"Dismissed."

Harm stood at attention. "Aye, aye, Sir."

**********************************

1600 local
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters

Mac was on the telephone when Harm left the admiral's office, so he
gave her a brief wave and wandered into the break room. He was still
stunned by what the admiral had discussed with him. Suddenly, the
future didn't seem so bleak.

Harm was stirring sweetener into his tea when Mac appeared in the
doorway. "Hey. How did things go in there?"

He smiled broadly. "Better than I had any reason to expect.
Unfortunately, beyond telling you that it looks like I may be staying
in the Navy longer than I have been thinking lately, I'm not at
liberty to say anything else."

"Wow! Big plans then, huh?" Her mouth turned up at the
corners. "So when will you be able to tell me what's going on?"

He shook his head. "No clue. The admiral sounded like he's still in
the thinking it through stage." He took a sip from his
mug. "Actually, I'm much more interested in whether or not you want
me to cook dinner tonight."

"Depends." She grinned at him again.

"On what?"

"On if what you cook had roots or feet."

"Ma...ac." He tried to sound offended, but failed miserably. "You
really shouldn't be so mean to me. Here I am, offering to make you a
good, home-cooked meal, and you quibble about the details."

She couldn't hold back her laughter any more. "All right. Yes, I'd
love for you to cook dinner, as long as it's not tofu. I really do
draw the line at that."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am." He smirked at her expression. "It's really not
that bad. You just need to give it a chance."

"Harm, anything that you have to say, 'It's really not that bad,'
about...is." With a triumphant smile she turned to go back to her
office.

He rolled his eyes and followed her back into the bullpen.

*************
16:30

"Colonel? The admiral would like to see you in his office."
Jennifer Coates's cheerful voice came over Mac's intercom.

"I'll be right there." Mac sighed and pushed her chair away from her
desk. She had really been hoping to get to leave on time for once in
her life.

As she walked past Harm's office, she stuck her head in the
door. "Harm, I just got called to the admiral's office. If I'm not
out by the time you're ready to leave, why don't you go on, and we
can meet back up at my place whenever?"

"Okay. I need to go to the grocery store anyway if I'm gonna cook.
I guess I'll see you when I see you."

"Sounds like it." She straightened her uniform jacket and went on to
the admiral's door.

Petty Officer Coates spoke up. "He said to go on in."

"Thanks, Jen." Mac knocked briefly on the door, then entered the
office. "Colonel Mackenzie reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Come in. Close the hatch, Colonel." The admiral was standing at
the window, looking out into the parking lot. "Have a seat."

Mac sat in her usual chair in front of the admiral's desk and waited
for him to proceed.

Admiral Chegwidden came and sat down at his desk. "Colonel, I've
been putting off discussing something with you, but I can't put it
off much longer."

"Yes, Sir."

"You know the judiciary has been shorthanded for a while now."

"Yes, Sir."

"About a week ago, Admiral Morris asked if I would be willing to send
you over to his staff on a permanent basis."

"What did you tell him?" Mac's interest was piqued.

"Nothing, yet. Until today, I wasn't sure that I could spare a
senior attorney."

"But now you are?" She couldn't help herself. The question popped
out before her brain realized what her mouth was doing.

Chegwidden's eyebrows almost met his non-existent hairline. "I
thought you didn't know anything, Colonel."

"No, Sir. I don't."

"Of course you don't." His dry tone left her in no doubt that he was
aware of exactly what she did know. "But to answer your question,
yes. I think I can afford to lose your services in this office,
should you choose to take the position with Admiral Morris." He
toyed with a pen. "There are a couple of things for you to consider
before you make a decision. Obviously, you would be setting your
feet on a different career path than the one you've been on. And
it's possible that there would be no turning back."

"Yes, Sir."

"Admiral Morris believes, and I concur, that you make a fine judge
and with time, might one day step into his shoes."

Mac blinked at his words. "Me?"

"Yes, Colonel. You've done an excellent job in all the cases you've
heard. You're a fine litigator, but you have a remarkable ability to
become completely open-minded when sitting behind the bench."

"Thank you, Sir."

"The second thing to consider would be that you would no longer be
working with Cdr. Rabb." He watched her closely. "There would be no
more TADs, no more investigations together." He relaxed a bit when
he saw the smile in her eyes. "I know you two have been through a
lot together. Do you think that you could handle the change in your
working relationship?"

Mac swallowed hard. "I believe that we would both strive to do what
the Navy and the Marine Corps need us to do, Sir."

"Good. So do you want some time to think it over? I need to give
Admiral Morris an answer in the next day or two, but I can at least
let you sleep on it."

"Thank you, Sir. I probably should at least think about it
overnight, although my inclination is to say yes." She looked at him
expectantly. "Is there anything else, Sir?"

"Yes, Colonel. If you decide to switch over to the judiciary, I'll
need to replace you as chief of staff. I was considering giving the
job to Cdr. Rabb, but I'm interested in your opinion."

She tried not to look elated. "I think the commander would be an
excellent choice, Admiral. He's always done a superb job with his
section, and he's certainly one of the best when it comes to training
new attorneys."

The admiral smiled slightly. "I'm glad to see we're in agreement on
that, Colonel. If you do go to the judiciary, should I ask Admiral
Morris to make sure that the commander never has to appear before
you?"

"That might be wise, Sir." She smiled. "We didn't seem to manage
too well in that scenario. I had trouble not judging him more
severely than opposing counsel."

He nodded. "I have the same problem myself, Colonel." The admiral
looked at his notes. "Unless you have any questions, that will be
all."

She stood, smoothing out her skirt. "No, Sir. No questions."

"Dismissed."

"Aye, Sir." She turned to leave.

"Oh, Colonel. Before you leave, thanks for the advice yesterday."

She stopped and turned to face him. "I don't remember giving you any
advice yesterday."

"About Commander Rabb."

"I just told you to talk to him."

"Exactly. Great advice, Colonel. Now go on home and think about
what you're going to do."

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh, and Colonel?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"If you want to ask his opinion about your moving to the judiciary,
fine. But let me be the one to talk to him about his prospects."

"Understood, Sir."
*******************

As Mac left the admiral's office, she almost tripped over a
distinguished looking man standing in front of the yeoman's desk.

"I need to see Admiral Chegwidden immediately." He was leaning into
Petty Officer Coates's face.

"Yes, Sir." She buzzed the admiral. "Sir, there's a Mr. Kershaw to
see you."

AJ smiled. Fate was definitely taking a hand in matters. "Send him
in, Coates." He stood to greet his visitor.

CIA Deputy Director Harrison Kershaw closed the door behind him as he
strode into AJ's office.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" AJ asked, coming
around his desk. He motioned to Kershaw to sit in the chair recently
vacated by Col. Mackenzie.

"Well, I don't know if you'll consider it a pleasure when I tell you
why I'm here, AJ." Kershaw smiled at the admiral. "I need a favor."

"And just what might that be?" AJ's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I need to borrow Commander Rabb for a few weeks."

"Really." AJ's tone was icy.

"Yes, really. I need a pilot with Rabb's, shall we say unique,
qualifications."

"No." The admiral folded his arms across his chest and glared at the
man.

"Seriously, AJ. I need Rabb."

"I'll just bet you do. But you aren't going to get him." AJ's eyes
were flinty, and his jaw was clenched.

"It's just a couple of weeks." Kershaw was beginning to sound
irritated.

"I don't give a rat's ass if it's just a couple of minutes. You're
not getting Rabb. Understood?"

"No, I don't understand. I thought we had an understanding."

At that remark, AJ grabbed Kershaw's lapels and hauled him halfway
out of the chair. "So did I, you lying sack of ...." He was cut off
by the choking sound coming from Kershaw's mouth. Loosening his grip
a little, AJ continued. "You told me three months ago that you'd
help Rabb get to Paraguay if I let him fly for you for six weeks. I
said all right. That was the extent of our 'understanding.'" His
hands tightened on the other man's lapels. "Kershaw, there are very
few things I will not occasionally tolerate. But I will not be lied
to, be lied about, or be witness to the destruction of innocence.
You managed to do all three."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kershaw managed to gasp.

"The hell you don't." Chegwidden's eyes bored holes into his
victim. "You lied to me about what you wanted Rabb to do. You lied
to him about what I agreed for him to do. And you almost destroyed
that man's soul. Hell isn't going to be hot enough for you."

"I swear..."

"I wouldn't if I were you. You told Rabb I knew you were going to
use him as a sweeper. That was a bald-faced lie. You told me all
you were going to have him do was ferry planes. Another damn lie."

"Come on, AJ. Rabb's no innocent child."

"Not anymore, he's not. But he was. The man has a highly developed
sense of integrity and honor--something about which you apparently
know nothing."

"He knew what the score was."

"The hell he did. He had no clue what you were going to ask of him.
I'm not saying he might not have made the same decision, but at least
he'd have had a choice. And I will not let that go unaddressed."

Kershaw pushed ineffectively at the admiral's hands, trying to break
the iron grip on his clothing. "Just what do you think you're going
to do about it?"

AJ's mouth turned up on one corner. "This." He removed his right
hand from Kershaw's jacket and before the CIA operative knew what was
happening, a powerful fist smashed into his nose. AJ released the
other lapel and watched the man drop back into the chair. Raising an
eyebrow, the admiral commented, "You might want to get that looked
at. Looks like it might be broken." He threw his visitor a
handkerchief.

"You...you..." sputtered the director. "That's assault and battery.
I could press charges."

"I know. But you won't." AJ smiled at him.

"You don't know that." Kershaw held the handkerchief to his bleeding
nose.

"Yes, I do. You won't press charges because you don't want the
Secretary of the Navy, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of
Homeland Security, and the President to learn that you ordered a
highly decorated military hero to assassinate a drunken agent who'd
become an embarrassment to the agency."

"And you wouldn't want them to know that your 'military hero' did
just that." Kershaw attempted to sneer.

"Ah, but there's the rub, as Shakespeare would say. Rabb didn't
assassinate your man. The guy committed suicide. His wife has the
note he wrote prior to committing the act." AJ took a moment to let
the information sink in. "So you are going to go home and put some
ice on your nose; and in the morning, if it's still painful, you're
going to call a doctor. The appropriate response to the
question, 'How did you break your nose?' is 'I ran into a door.'
Understand?"

Kershaw nodded.

"And don't ever ask me to borrow any of my people again unless you
want to be reading intel reports on the locker room talk at Vassar
basketball games."

The Deputy Director glared at the admiral in fury. The naval officer
appeared to have won not only the battle but also the war.

Admiral Chegwidden turned to his desk and pushed the intercom
button. "Petty Officer Coates? Mr. Kershaw would like to be
escorted to the parking lot." He returned his attention to the man
and watched as he followed Coates out of the office.

****************************************

1800
Georgetown
Mac's apartment

"I'm home," Mac called as she entered her apartment. "I'm going to
go get changed."

"Okay. I should be finished by the time you are." Harm placed a
casserole dish in the oven and put the finishing touches on the
salad. After putting the bowl in the refrigerator, he pulled out a
couple of bottles of juice and went out to the living room to wait
for Mac.

Several minutes later, she came out of her bedroom, the olive green
uniform replaced by a pair of snug jeans and an oversized sweatshirt
proclaiming it was the "Property of the US Navy."

"I've been wondering where that was," Harm said as he handed her a
bottle of juice.

Mac laughed. "Hey, I found it in my laundry basket. Possession,
counselor, is nine-tenths of the law."

"I see. Does this mean I get to keep the CDs I found in my car last
week?"

"So that's where I left them." Mac grinned at him. "But no, you
don't get to keep them."

"But if possession is nine-tenths of the law..."

"That's different, Harm." She hurriedly changed the subject. "So
what's for dinner? It smells delicious."

"Stuffed shells in marinara sauce and salad." He allowed the
diversion.

"Yum. I'm starved."

"You're going to have to wait another fifteen minutes or so. Think
you can make it?"

"I think so." She swallowed some juice. "You will never guess what
happened after you left the office." Her eyes danced in amusement.

"What? Tiner came back and swept Jen up and carried her away caveman-
style?" He grinned at her.

"No, but it's an interesting image." She took another sip of
juice. "As I was leaving the admiral's office, there was a civilian
telling Coates that he had to see the admiral immediately."

"Okay. So what's the big deal?"

"He said his name was Harrison Kershaw." She paused a moment,
watching the emotions flicker across Harm's face: anger, hurt,
wariness. "Anyway, the admiral told Coates to send him right in."

"And?" His voice was tight.

"And the door closed. Several minutes later, the admiral buzzed
Coates and asked her to escort Kershaw to the parking lot. When he
came out of the admiral's office, he was clutching a bloody
handkerchief to his nose."

Harm gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Well, I'll be damned. He
actually did it."

"Who did what?"

"The admiral. He asked me if I wanted him to deck Kershaw." A slow
smile spread across Harm's face. "Man, I wish I'd seen it." He
started to chuckle and within seconds was laughing heartily. "I
suppose it's too much to hope that we'll ever hear exactly what
happened."

"Probably so. I mean, it would be really unprofessional of the
admiral to assault the deputy director of the CIA, wouldn't it?" She
joined in Harm's laughter. "Kershaw had on a really expensive-
looking suit. Wouldn't it be a shame if it was ruined by the
bloodstains?"

"Oh yeah. A terrible shame." Harm shook his head. The admiral
never ceased to amaze him.

The kitchen timer sounded then, and Harm rose to check on their
dinner. Mac followed him into the kitchen.

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

"You want to slice the bread?" He pointed to a crusty baguette lying
on the cutting board as he served the shells. He went to the
refrigerator and got out the salad.

Mac helped him carry the food to the table. Sitting down, she sighed
in contentment. "Harm, someday, you are going to make someone a
marvelous wife."

"I am? Why is that?" He reached for a slice of bread.

"Because you're a fantastic cook, you pick up after yourself, and you
know how to do laundry." She savored a mouthful of pasta. "I bet
you even know how to use a vacuum cleaner."

"So are you saying that's all 'women's work'?" Harm's grin was
almost boyish.

"Touché." She acknowledged the hit, then turned her attention back
to her plate.

*********************

Dinner over and the kitchen cleaned, they carried their tea into the
living room. Harm took his favorite spot in the corner of the sofa.
Mac curled up next to him, their thighs only millimeters apart.

"Harm, I want your opinion on something," Mac began.

"I'm listening." He sipped from his cup. "What's up?"

"You know when the admiral called me in this afternoon?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"He wanted to talk to me about a new job opportunity."

Harm felt something clutch at his heart. "I see."

"Apparently Admiral Morris has asked him to transfer me permanently
to the judiciary."

Harm felt the band around his chest relax. "And?"

"And Admiral Chegwidden told me that it was my decision, but I got
the feeling he thinks I probably ought to take the transfer."

Shocked, Harm asked, "He does? Why?"

Mac grinned at him. "Harm, it would be an interesting challenge.
And if you and I ever manage to get ourselves together..."

"Mac, I don't want you leaving JAG just so we can be together. You
love being in the courtroom. If things work out where one of us
needs to leave headquarters, I can go to the Pentagon or somewhere."

She looked up at him, love in her eyes. "Harm, if I go to the
judiciary, I will be in the courtroom. There's no need for you to be
noble."

"I'm not being noble."

"Sure you are. As usual, you're putting what you perceive as someone
else's needs in front of your own. And while I love that trait in
you, it's not necessary in this case." She drank slowly from her
cup. "I really enjoy being a judge."

"And you're good at it; I'll grant you that." He smiled wryly.

"Whereas you..."

"Aren't. I admit it. I am not cut out to be a judge."

"But if I become a judge, then I won't be in the same command as
you. And if we ever do figure things out, we won't have that issue
to deal with."

"So what do you want me to say, Mac? That I think you should take
the job? Or that I don't want you to take it so that your office
will still be next door to mine?" His green eyes looked intently
into hers.

"I want to know what you think. If you were me, would you take it?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm not you. And I don't want you taking
the job because I say to." Harm shrugged. "Mac, you're absolutely
correct. It would solve the issue of being in the same command if I
ever manage to convince you to marry me. But that is a bad reason to
do it. If you really think that you would be as happy or happier in
the judiciary than you are now, then take it. But take the job
because you want the challenge, want to 'spread your wings,' and
really, truly like being a judge."

"Well, I do. I like it a lot. So that settles it. I'll take the
job." Mac scooted closer to Harm.

"I'm gonna miss you, partner." He casually draped his arm across her
shoulders.

"I'm not going to San Diego. I'm just going upstairs one floor."

"I know. But I'll still miss you being next door." He gave her
shoulder a slight squeeze. "We can still eat lunch together, can't
we?"

"Silly. Of course. Dinner too."

Harm finished his tea and replaced the cup on the coffee table. "So
how soon will this take effect?"

"I'm not sure. The admiral said he had to give Admiral Morris an
answer tomorrow or the next day." She shrugged her shoulders. "But
realistically, Admiral Chegwidden will need a couple of weeks at
least to get a new chief of staff up to speed."

"Good point. Wonder if he'll ask Sturgis."

"No clue. I guess we'll find out after I tell him I'm taking the
job."

Harm shifted his position slightly so that he was facing her more
directly. "If we've taken care of the staffing situation at JAG, I'd
like to change the subject."

"Oh? Am I going to like it?"

"I don't know. I hope so." He took a deep breath, then let go of
his lifeline. "Mac, will you go out to dinner with me on Saturday?
Maybe dancing after dinner?"

Mac swallowed the lump that had appeared out of nowhere in her
throat. "Did you just ask me out on a date?"

"Yeah." He sucked on his bottom lip, anxiously waiting for her to
reply.

"If I say yes, does that mean that I'll finally get a real kiss from
you?"

His voice was low as he said, "Mac, you've always gotten real kisses
from me. Every single one."

"In that case, I feel like a prize fool."

"Never that, Mac." He tipped her chin up with a gentle finger. "Are
you ever going to put me out of my misery and tell me if you'll go
out with me? 'Cause it's been over two years since I've been out on
a date, and I'm beginning to think I must have forgotten how to ask
out a woman."

She giggled. "I think it must be like riding a bicycle. You did
just fine, Harm."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Then will you please answer me? A simple
yes or no will do. I'm getting a little nervous here."

She leaned into his side. "Of course I'll go out with you, Harm. It
sounds like fun."

"Good. And on that note, I think it's time for me to head home." He
removed his arm from her shoulder and stood up. "I had fun tonight,
Mac. Thanks for everything -- especially the story about Kershaw."
Harm smiled warmly at her.

"No, thank you. You're the one who cooked the great dinner." She
stood with him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? I don't want
you having any more nightmares."

"I'm sure. I really need to go sleep in my own bed--alone." He
looked down into her troubled eyes. "Mac, I think I'll be fine. But
I need to find out. I have to be able to get to sleep by myself."
He put his arms around her waist. "And there's another reason I need
to go to bed by myself."

"What?" Her hands were gently stroking his upper arms.

"This, Mac." Harm leaned down and gently placed his lips over hers.
At the same time, he pulled her closer so that she could feel the
hard planes of his body. As his mouth moved tenderly on hers, his
hands caressed her back.

Mac's hands went up to his neck, pulling him even closer, and her
lips opened to his questing tongue. She melted under the sensation
and felt her knees give way as he deepened the kiss.

Harm moved a hand up to her head, his fingers threading through her
hair, gently teasing her most sensitive spots. Finally, the need for
oxygen drove him to break the kiss, only to hear a moan of pleasure
in his ear. "See what I mean? I'm not numb anymore, Mac."

"That's a good thing, right?" She looked up at him, her eyes dark
with passion.

A slow smile lit up his face. "I think so, yeah. Just not a good
thing tonight. I'm not sure I can keep my hands off you if I don't
leave soon. I mean, we haven't even been on our first date. I
wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about me."

"Too late for that, Harm. You're forgetting how long I've known
you." She laughed at his dismayed expression. "I understand. I
really do. And I love you for it."

"Whew! You had me worried there for a minute, Marine." He dropped a
chaste kiss on the top of her head. "God, I love you, Mac." He
pulled her back in close for a hug. "Want to run in the morning?"

"If I do, can we at least get ready for work at the same place?" Her
expression was full of mischief.

"I don't know. What's put that look on your face?"

"What look?"

"The one that tells me you've got some sort of ulterior motive."

"Tell you what. I'll tell you tomorrow over breakfast."

"Okay. I'll pick you up at five forty-five."

"I'll be ready." She pulled his face down for a quick
kiss. "Goodnight, Harm. Sleep well. And call me if you can't, all
right?"

"Aye, aye, Ma'am." He threw her a mock salute and headed for the
door. "Goodnight, Mac."

She closed the door behind him and went straight to the window,
watching until his car pulled away from the curb. Then she turned
off the lights and made her way to her bedroom, hoping that all his
dreams would be of that incredible kiss.

*********************************

0745, Friday
Falls Church, Virginia
JAG Headquarters


"Mac, I can't believe you did that to me!" Harm's long strides could
barely keep up with her as they entered the bullpen.

"What? All I did was grab my lip gloss." She tried to look
innocent, but her mouth kept twitching.

"Ma...ac. I wasn't dressed. All I had on was a towel."

"And your point?" She could barely keep from laughing at his
indignation.

"I was shaving. I could have sliced myself to ribbons."

"I'd have kissed it all better."

"And tell me again why you couldn't wait until I was through in the
bathroom to get your lip gloss." He glared at her laughing face.

"Because if I had, you wouldn't have been standing there in nothing
but a towel and water droplets."

He groaned. "Mac, you know, I've been thinking, ever since breakfast
really, maybe it *is* a good thing for you to go the judiciary."

"And why is that?"

"Because if you're going to be like this from now on out, I'm not
sure I can face you in court...or in the bullpen...or in the
conference room...or in the admiral's office. I'll be blushing all
the time."

"You're a big boy. I think you can take care of yourself." Before
Harm could respond, she said, "Talk to you later. Gotta go see the
admiral." Mac handed him her briefcase and cover and headed for her
appointment with the admiral, leaving Harm standing in the middle
of the bullpen, his face as red as a beet.

He still couldn't believe that she had had the nerve to barge into
the bathroom while he was shaving. He couldn't remember when he'd
been more embarrassed, unless it was the time his mother caught him
with his hand down Mary Ellen Smith's blouse in seventh grade. Thank
God Mac hadn't noticed the effect her appearance had had on him. It
didn't help that he couldn't shake the feeling that she had done it
deliberately. Life with Mac was going to be interesting, that was
clear. Harm hoped he'd survive it with his dignity intact.


*******************

"The admiral would like to see you in his office, Sir."

"Thanks, Jen." Harm saved the file he was typing and rose from his
desk. He crossed the bullpen, pausing only to notice that Mac was
not in her office.

"Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sir." He stood at attention
inside the door.

"Close the hatch and have a seat, Commander." The admiral's voice
was friendly.

Harm sat beside Mac in front of the admiral's desk.

AJ Chegwidden looked closely at Harm, trying to gauge how the younger
man was doing. "As you know, Admiral Morris has asked for Colonel
Mackenzie to be permanently assigned to the judiciary. She has
agreed to the move, which becomes effective in a week or two,
depending on how quickly she can clear her caseload and train her
replacement as chief of staff." The admiral looked intently at
Harm. "Do you think you can get up to speed in that amount of time,
Commander?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe I can." Harm couldn't stop the smile that
touched his lips. Even though he had had a feeling this was coming,
it felt really good to know that the admiral had confidence in his
abilities. "Thank you, Sir."

AJ nodded to Mac. "That will be all, Colonel. I need to speak with
Commander Rabb for a few minutes, then I'll be making an announcement
to the entire staff. After that, he's all yours."

"Yes, Sir." Mac rose, came to attention, and left the office. The
door closed quietly behind her.

The admiral pursed his lips and regarded the younger man for a minute
before speaking. "Harm, I wouldn't give you the job if I didn't
think you were the right person for it. It's undoubtedly long
overdue, and for that I apologize." He glared at Harm as if daring
him to contradict him. "I have complete faith that you will do an
admirable job as my chief of staff."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll do my best."

"And Harm, I meant what I said yesterday. I'm here to listen if you
need an ear."

"Understood, Sir."

"Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to mention. Yesterday,
after you had left for the day, Harrison Kershaw appeared. He wanted
you back."

Harm's eyes widened in surprise. "He did? What did you tell him?"

"I told him to take his fancy suit out of my office--that JAG was out
of the business of bailing out the CIA. So should he approach you,
tell him no."

"Aye, aye, Sir." The commander's tense shoulders relaxed at the
command.

"I don't know what you may have heard, but the deputy director
apparently had an accident with a door on his way out of JAG ops."
His mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

Harm smiled. "Well, Sir, I trust that the door wasn't damaged."

"No, but I can't say the same for Kershaw's nose. It looked a lot
like Webb's did when his nose ran into my fist in Moscow."

"That's really a shame, Sir." Harm almost choked on the laugh he was
trying to stifle.

"I thought you'd feel that way, Commander." AJ grinned at his new
chief of staff. "Now, unless you've got some questions, I have an
announcement to make to the staff."

"No, Sir. I'm confident that the colonel will teach me everything I
need to know." Harm stood.

"So am I, Harm. So am I." AJ followed the commander to the bullpen.

*********************

1800 Tuesday
Washington, DC
Stan Webber's Office

Stan Webber carefully eyed Harmon Rabb as he ushered him into his
office. The last time he'd seen the naval officer, the man had been
ready to crack from some internal agony that he refused to share with
anyone. Today, however, the man seemed relaxed and verging on
content. The therapist couldn't wait to find out what had happened
in the past week to create such a difference in the commander's
demeanor.

Harm took his usual seat on the couch and waited for the inevitable
question.

"So how was this past week, Harm? You seemed pretty stressed when
you left here last Tuesday, but today something is definitely
different." Stan grinned. "If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if
the pod people had come."

Harm laughed. "Not likely, Stan. No body snatchers in Washington."

"So what did happen?"

"Mac." Harm's face took on an almost dazed expression. "Mac
happened."

"Mac? As in your colleague at work?" Stan flipped through Harm's
file, looking for her name. It jumped out at him -- a case of long-
term, unrequited love on both their parts from all appearances.

"Yeah."

Stan gave Harm a long, appraising look. "So are you going to give me
some details or are we going to play twenty questions?"

Harm shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry, Stan. It's just that
thinking of Mac has been doing weird things to my concentration
lately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I guess it really got going last Tuesday. As you said, I was
pretty stressed when I left here. And after I got out to the car, I
must have just sat there for about ten minutes before I remembered
that Mac had gone out on assignment that afternoon."

"And...?"

"Well, she's gotten into the habit of calling me on my cell phone
every Tuesday, right about when I'm leaving here. She acts all
innocent and suggests we grab some dinner together."

"Maybe it is innocent," Stan suggested.

"Right. Purely a coincidence that she calls every Tuesday at exactly
1900 hours. Mac isn't that randomly consistent." Harm
smiled. "Anyway, she didn't call last week. And it finally dawned
on me that she'd told me she was going to be late returning to town.
But I was so upset that I really needed to see her, even if I
couldn't tell her what was wrong. So I went over to her apartment
and waited for her."

"Was she there?"

"No. I was so tired, from not sleeping because of the nightmares I'd
been having, that I fell asleep on her couch. And when she came in,
I was having a nightmare."

"I see." Stan was beginning to get the picture.

"So she woke me up. And one thing led to another, and before I knew
it, she had pushed so many buttons that I lost it and blurted out
what had been eating away at me."

"And how did she react?"

"She surprised me. I had really thought that she'd be disgusted if
she knew about it. But she wasn't. Mac pulled me into her arms and
held me for a long time while I cried." Harm chewed on his bottom
lip. "I don't remember anyone but Mac ever holding me while I
cried. And then she told me that I should quit feeling guilty; that
I had done my duty. And I almost believed her."

Stan jotted down another note. "Then what happened?"

Harm shrugged. "Then we went to bed, and I got the first good
night's sleep I'd had in close to a year."

"I see. Anything else happen to cause this change I see in you?"

"Oh yeah. The next day, the admiral cornered Mac and grilled her
about me." Harm grinned. "And trying to deflect him, she told him
he'd have to talk to me if he had any questions about me."

"Did he?"

Harm nodded again. "Yes. He practically ordered me to meet him for
a drink that night. And when I tried to leave, he hauled me off to
the Mall and pissed me off so much that I told him off."

"I thought there was a lot of protocol in the military, Harm."

"There is. Like I said, he pissed me off. He kept demanding that I
tell him what was bothering me. So, thinking that he'd drop it, I
told him the only way I'd talk to him about anything personal was
with a written guarantee that it wouldn't come back to bite me."

"And he gave you one?"

"Yeah. So then I let him have it. Told him how angry I was with him
about the stuff that happened at work last spring and this past
summer. Swore at him." Harm shook his head in wonder at his own
nerve. "I can't believe I actually did it. But between you and Mac
pushing the night before and the admiral on Wednesday, I lost it."

"I take it this had the effect of clearing the air?"

"Yeah. Apparently some of what I believed to be true was false, and
he had some erroneous impressions too. And then he told me the same
thing Mac did -- that I'd done my duty and should stop feeling
guilty."

"So have you?" Stan's tone was carefully neutral.

"I think so, for the most part. I mean, I expect that I will
occasionally feel guilty in the future, but nothing like I'd been
feeling. You were right. I did need to talk about it."

"That's good, Harm. I'm glad you found someone you could talk to
about that time in the CIA. How have things been at work since your
conversation with your CO?"

"Is that a subtle way of asking if I'm being sent to the Aleutians in
the near future?" Harm grinned at his therapist.

"No, I'm curious as to how you're feeling at work, having cleared the
air to some extent."

"Believe it or not, I sort of got promoted. I've been named the
admiral's chief of staff."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Apparently, the admiral thinks I still have a future in the
Navy."

"That's good. But I'm more interested in what you think."

Harm pursed his lips. "I'm beginning to believe that I do too." His
eyes twinkled. "Even more important, I think I've actually got a
future with Mac."

Stan gave a low whistle. "Really?"

"Yeah. I took her out on a date Saturday." Harm smiled at the
memory. "A real date. Dinner in a fancy restaurant and dancing
afterwards."

"Sounds like fun." Stan was intrigued. If Harm had taken anyone out
on a date, then he was beginning to believe that he did, in fact,
have a future. This was a very positive development.

"It was. I can't remember the last time I had such a great time."
Harm's eyes took on the dazed look again. "It was perfect."

Stan bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at the goofy
look on Harm's face. The man was almost forty years old, but he had
the expression of an adolescent in the grip of his first love. "Glad
to hear it, Harm. Your Mac must be a very special woman."

"Oh yeah. She is very special. Did I tell you she's a Marine?
She's saved my six more times than I can count."

"My guess is that you've saved hers a time or two as well." Stan
strove to keep a straight face.

Harm shook his head. "It doesn't seem that way to me. Any time I've
saved her, I was just saving myself. I honestly can't imagine what
I'd do without her in my life."

"I'd be willing to bet that she feels the same way about you, Harm."
It really did appear that the two officers shared a special bond, a
bond which seemed to be doing Harm as much good as the therapy
was. "Listen, our time is about up. I'd really like to meet this
Mac of yours. Would you be willing to invite her to your next
session? And do you think she'd be willing to come?"

"I'd be happy to ask her. And I think she'd come." He gave a
crooked grin. "She'd probably like to meet the man who helped me get
my head out of my six."

Stan closed Harm's file. "Good. I look forward to meeting her.
I'll see both of you next week." He held the door open for
Harm. "Is she going to call you by the time you reach the parking
lot?"

"I certainly hope so, yeah." Harm was whistling as he strolled down
the hallway to the outer door.

True to form, Harm's cell phone began to ring as he reached his car.
He clicked on the talk button, sure that it was Mac. "Rabb."

"Hey, Harm. It's me."

"Hi, Mac. Let me guess. It just occurred to you to suggest that we
get together and find some food." He chuckled at her gasp of
surprise.

"How'd you know?"

"Because you've been calling me every Tuesday at 1900 hours ever
since you found out that I have counseling at 1800." He smiled at
her thoughtfulness. "I'd love to have dinner with you. Got any
ideas, or do you want me to think of something?"

"I'm open to suggestions." He could hear her giggling on the other
end of the connection.

"Really? Any suggestion at all?"

"Harm, we're talking about food...for...dinner." He could tell she
had tried to sound stern, but she failed miserably.

"Oh." He allowed a note of disappointment to creep into his
voice. "All right. Let's see. We had pizza last week. I guess
it's time for either fried chicken or Chinese then. Do you care
which?"

"No, I trust you. How about I meet you at your place in half an
hour? I'll bring dessert."

"Okay. Sounds good to me. See you soon." He cut the connection and
put his car into gear.

**************

1930
North of Union Station
Harm's apartment

Mac was sitting cross-legged on his sofa when Harm opened the door, a
bag of carry-out food in one arm. "Hi, Sailor. Something smells
good."

"Mu shu pork for you and shrimp fried rice for me." He grinned at
her expression. "Don't tell me you really thought I was going to
stop for fried chicken?"

"No, I thought you were teasing me and were going to stop at Beltway
Burgers." She stuck out her bottom lip and tried to look pathetic.

"Mac, the day I stop at Beltway Burgers is the day you'll know that
I've either completely lost my mind or I've decided to butter you up
for a major favor." He was pulling cartons out of the bag and
placing them on top of the island.

"I see." Her eyes crinkled with amusement.

"You know, you could get up and come help me." He flashed her
his 'flyboy' grin.

She nodded. "I could." She stayed where she was. "But this couch
is really comfortable. Almost as comfortable as you looked this
morning in your towel."

Harm's face flushed with remembered embarrassment. "Mac, I..."

"All right. I'm coming." She uncurled her legs and
stood. "Honestly, Harm. I fail to see what the problem was. I've
seen you in boxers. How is a towel that different?"

"I don't know, Mac. It just is." He carefully spooned food onto two
plates. "Truthfully, I think the reason I got embarrassed is that I
can't help but think you did it on purpose."

"To what end, Harm?" She bit back a laugh.

"I don't know. That's what's got me worried." He shook his head and
waved a spoon at her. "Maybe I'm self-conscious about my body." He
bit his lips to keep from laughing.

"Uh huh. And I'm the Easter bunny." She opened the refrigerator and
pulled out a couple of bottles of mineral water. Mac perched on a
stool and handed him one. She waited until he had a mouthful of
fried rice. Then she said, "If it makes you feel better, Harm, I can
assure you that you have a lovely body. At least the part I saw."

When he quit coughing up the rice that had gone down the wrong way,
Harm stared at her. "Mac, are you trying to kill me?"

"Nope. I've got much more interesting plans for you than that,
Harm." She smiled at him again.

Harm swallowed half his water in one gulp before abruptly changing
the subject. "Mac, my counselor asked me to bring you next week.
Would you mind going with me?"

"Of course I'll go. Any particular reason why he wants me to go with
you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. He just said he would like to meet
you. Maybe he wants to know what kind of woman can put up with me
for all this time."

"Well, it does seem to take a Marine." She grinned at him over her
food.

**********

Thirty minutes later they were ensconced on the couch, soft music
playing in the background. Mac was tucked under Harm's arm, her head
on his chest. One of her hands was making slow, sensuous circles on
his ribs while the other was gently playing with his ear. Harm's
head leaned back, his eyes closed. A small smile played on his
lips.

"So, Harm, just how traditional are you?" she asked.

His eyes flew open. "What do you mean?"

"How traditional are you? Do you think the man should always ask out
the woman or do you think it's all right for a woman to ask a man out
on a date?" Mac's hands continued their assault on his senses.

"I think it's fine if a woman asks a man out. Why?" He couldn't
help wonder where she was heading with this line of thought.

"So you'd be okay if I asked you out? Because I wouldn't want to
make you nervous or anything."

Harm bent his head to look into her eyes, to see that they were
dancing with mischief. "Of course I'd be okay. Lots of men liked to
be asked out. It takes the pressure off."

She smiled. "Good. Are you free on Friday? I was thinking we could
go see a movie."

"A movie would be fun." He twisted around and pulled her into a
hug. "Mac, how many dates do we have to go on before we're a couple?"

"Two, of course." She smiled up at him.

"Good. Then can tonight be considered a date? Because I really
would like to be half of a couple with you."

"Harm, I think we've been a couple for at least a month." She kissed
him lightly on the lips. "You're just too oblivious to have noticed
before now."

"Well, my mother always said better late than never." He gave her a
wide smile, then lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her hungrily,
his mouth moving sensuously over hers as his hands caressed her
back. Harm ran the tip of his tongue around the edge of her lips,
seeking entrance to her warm mouth. She opened to him, her tongue
seeking his. One of them moaned; Harm wasn't sure who. Her hands
slid beneath his tee shirt, and she caressed the warm skin covering
his ribs. "Oh, God, Mac..." he groaned. "You're gonna be the death
of me."

"That's the general idea, Flyboy." She pulled her head back and
looked at him, her expression tender. "And now, it's time for me to
run. Some of us have a lot to get accomplished at the office
tomorrow."

He pulled her back for another kiss. "I'll help you."

She giggled. "You certainly will. But right now, I really do need
to go. I love you, Squid." She kissed the tip of his nose. "You
know, you really are kind of cute. Especially when you try to look
pathetic."

Harm chuckled. "What makes you think I'm trying to look pathetic?
Every time you walk out that door, I feel pathetic." He kissed her
again. "I love you too, Mac." He untangled himself from her embrace
and stood. "C'mon. I'll walk you to your car."

**********************************

1800
Washington, DC
Stan Webber's Office

"Mac, I'd like you to meet Stan Webber. Stan, this is Colonel Sarah
Mackenzie."

"Please, call me Mac." She held out her hand to Harm's
counselor. "It's good to meet you."

"Hi, Mac. I'm delighted to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
He smiled at her as he shook her hand. Turning to Harm, Stan
said, "Harm, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Mac alone for a
few minutes."

"All right." Harm was puzzled, but he sat back down in the waiting
room while Mac followed Stan into the inner office. He picked up a
copy of "Time" and began to leaf through it.

Stan showed Mac to the sofa, then seated himself in his usual
chair. "Thanks for coming here today, Mac. Harm has talked so much
about you that I wanted to meet you."

Mac grinned. "You wanted to see for yourself if I was really that
awful?"

"Not at all. He speaks very highly of you."

Her mouth twisted wryly. "I read his journals, Stan. I know what he
said about me."

"True. When he first came to see me, he seemed to have some
conflicting feelings. But that seems to have changed. I was curious
about what might have happened."

She licked her lips. "I talked to a friend of mine who's a
psychiatrist because I was worried about Harm. He's had a pretty
rough year as you no doubt have noticed. I guess you could say that
she kind of opened my eyes to some unproductive ways I had of dealing
with Harm."

"Oh?"

"So I've tried to do better. And my friend seems to have been
right. Ever since I started following her advice when talking to
Harm, things have been a whole lot better."

Stan nodded. "That's good. I'm curious. You've known Harm a lot
longer than I have. How do you think he's doing these days?"

"Honestly? At times I barely recognize him. He's so much more
relaxed than I've ever known him to be, and he's a lot more open
about his feelings than I've ever seen him in the past. Whatever you
did for him seems to have been very effective." She went on, "What
about you? How do you think Harm is?"

Stan smiled. "I think that Harm has come farther and faster than
anyone I've ever treated. That's one reason I wanted to talk to you -
- to make sure he's actually healing and not just intelligent enough
to fake it."

Mac was amazed. "Do people really do that?"

The therapist nodded. "Happens fairly frequently. Don't you have
clients who lie convincingly about being innocent?"

She nodded. "Good point. To answer your question about Harm faking
it, no way. For one thing, he's not that devious. For another, no
one told Harm to get counseling. He decided he needed it. So he has
no reason to fake getting better. He truly wants to be healed."

"Good. I'm glad to hear my opinion confirmed. My only advice to you
is to keep an eye on him for a while. If he starts to put those
walls back up, either force your way in or get him to come back here."

"Will do. I really do appreciate what you've done for Harm. I was
extremely worried about him a few months ago."

Stan shook his head. "I didn't do that much. Harm's the one who did
the hard work. I just pointed him in the right direction."

Mac bit her lower lip. "You know, there is one thing that I'm still
not sure I understand. What made this time different than any other
event in his life? Why did Paraguay push him over the edge when
nothing else ever did?"

"Oh, I think Harm has had a mild case of PTSD most of his life.
Certainly since he went to Vietnam. He was just always able to keep
it under control before. My guess is that it was a combination of
the isolation during his trial and then whatever happened while he
was employed by the CIA. His defenses got overwhelmed, and he
couldn't bury everything any more. It's actually probably a good
thing."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the main way that Harm kept it under control was by
controlling all of his emotions, to the point of being unable to
completely let go in relationships. And I don't think I need to tell
you that's not a particularly good way to live one's life."

"No, you don't. But that explains a lot." Mac rolled her eyes,
thinking about her erstwhile partner on a certain ferry ride.

"Not being able to cope this time forced him into getting help, and
in the long run he'll be much better off. Harm should be able to
have healthier relationships with the people in his life now."

"Let me thank you again, Stan. I owe you one."

Stan chuckled. "You can invite me to the wedding. Now let's bring
Harm back in here." He rose and went to get him.

Harm lowered himself warily onto the sofa next to Mac. "So do I even
want to know what you two were talking about?"

Mac smiled tenderly at him. "We were talking about you, of course."

"Harm, how have you been this week?" Stan's expression indicated
that he already had a fairly good idea.

"Not too bad, other than having to put up with a cruel taskmaster at
the office." A wide grin split his face.

"You talking about me, Squid?" Mac tried to look indignant.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to only take a week to teach me
everything I need to know to take over your job." He spread his
hands, palms up. "I just do what I'm told. Although I could have
sworn the admiral said 'two weeks.'"

"I distinctly remember him saying that once he made the announcement
to the whole staff, you were all mine."

Harm laughed. "Yeah, well I had hoped that you wouldn't take that
literally except outside the office. But no...you decided to take it
at face value in the office." He turned to address Stan. "And she's
been making me work ten, twelve hour days for the past week."

"It doesn't seem to have hurt you any, Harm. In fact, I'd say you've
been loving every minute of it." Stan opened Harm's file. "Harm,
given the progress that you've made over the past couple of months, I
think you're ready to move on with your life. You're essentially
healed in my opinion. That's not to say that you will never
experience another flashback or bad dream, but they should be very
rare and not really affect your life on any kind of regular basis.
You really don't need any additional counseling at this point."

Harm was stunned. "You're serious?"

"Yes. You haven't had a nightmare in at least a couple of weeks.
Your whole affect has changed since I met you. You're relaxed and
able to joke around. You have looked at every issue and come to
terms with all of them. You don't need me any more." He grinned at
Harm. "Besides, you've got Mac. She seems to know how to keep you
in line."

Mac nudged him with her elbow. "See? What have I been telling you?"

"I'm gonna be whipped, aren't I?" His smile lit up his face.

"And you're going to love every minute of it." She reached for his
hand.

"Is that an order?"

She laughed aloud. "Do I have to make it one?"

Before Harm could answer, Stan broke into the conversation. "Harm,
I've got one more suggestion for you. Lots of people find that they
get some final closure if they burn their journals. It's a good way
to permanently put those demons to rest."

Harm looked thoughtful. "I can see how that would be good. I think
I will do that."

"Great." Stan looked at his watch. "Harm, our time is up. It has
been a pleasure working with you. There's no reason for you to come
back unless something else comes up."

As they all stood, Harm held out his hand to Stan. "I can't thank
you enough. You gave me my life back."

"No, you did that. I just provided the road map and taught you a few
skills." Shaking Harm's hand, he added, "Keep my number, but I doubt
you'll need it." He turned to Mac and said, "And try to keep him
from running off to war zones for a while. He could use the respite
from trauma."

"Will do." Mac shook Stan's hand as well. "Thanks again." She took
Harm's hand and followed him out the door.

**************

"So where do you want to eat? My treat."

"Really? How about La Tours?" Harm grinned at his soon-to-be-ex
partner as he turned the key in the ignition. The Corvette roared to
life.

Mac cocked her head and looked him over as she considered the
suggestion. "I don't think we're dressed for it, Harm."

"Hmm. You don't think they'd let us in wearing jeans and
sweatshirts?" His mouth twitched as he bit back a grin.

"Probably not. How about Wong's Organic Noodles?"

Harm's eyes narrowed as he turned his head to look at her. "You
serious? You would actually eat there?"

"Sure. Why not? Besides, tonight is your celebration."

"It is? What am I celebrating?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"Getting released by Stan. Getting named chief of staff by the
admiral. Getting kissed by me." She leaned across the console and
planted a moist one on his cheek.

"Ah. A triple play, I see." He grinned at her again. "You sure you
don't just want to order a pizza or something simple?"

"Harm, I'm sure. I'm taking you out to dinner at the restaurant of
your choice." Her eyes danced as she continued. "And if you're
smart, you'll take advantage of the situation, because it may never
happen again."

He put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. "All
right. You win. Wong's it is. Remind me to stop at the grocery
store before I take you home though."

"Okay. You gonna tell me why?"

"Yeah. We need to buy some marshmallows."

Mac's brow wrinkled. "Marshmallows?"

"And Hershey bars and graham crackers--unless you have some in your
kitchen."

"No, I don't think I have either of those. What do we need all that
stuff for?"

"To make s'mores with. I was thinking we could build a fire in your
fireplace and roast the marshmallows while we watch my journal go up
in flames." He shifted gears as he navigated the early evening
traffic. "The s'mores can be our dessert."

She giggled at his expression. Harm looked like a kid about to show
off his favorite toy.

*******************

2100 local
Georgetown
Mac's apartment

"Mmm. These are really good, Harm." Mac bit into her second gooey
s'more with relish. "How come I've never had one of these before?"

"You must not have been a Cub Scout." Harm stretched his legs out
across her floor toward the fireplace. He had been feeding the fire
page after page of his journal. Stan had been right. There was
something very cathartic about watching the horrors of his life
shrivel up and turn to ash right before his eyes. "Must not have
been a Brownie either. I'm pretty sure that Brownies make 'em too."

"Nope. I don't remember my school having a Brownie troop." The tip
of her tongue tried to reach a smear of melted marshmallow that had
somehow gotten on her nose.

"Here, let me get that." Harm leaned over and kissed her
nose. "Hmm, didn't quite get it all. I better do that again." He
kissed her again. "And I do believe I see some chocolate on your
fingers." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He placed
his lips around her fingers and swirled his tongue around the tips,
cleaning away all traces of the sticky treat. "Much better."

Her whimper sent an electric thrill through his body. "Oh, god,
Harm." Her voice trembled as he dropped a kiss on the palm of her
hand. She scooted over until she was practically on top of him.

Harm leaned back against the sofa but did not release her hand.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he looked down at her face and noticed
yet again how very beautiful she was. God knew he didn't deserve
her, but he wasn't going to argue with fate any more. He loved her
more than he'd ever thought it was possible to love anyone, and she
seemed to return the feeling. If she'd have him, he'd seal that deal
they had coming due in the spring. But first things first.

"Mac, I think I have a problem." His voice was practically a whisper.

"Yeah? Can I help?" She looked up at him, concern in her eyes.

"I don't know. I was just sitting here thinking that I need some
advice from a friend, but since you're my best friend, I don't know
who to ask."

"You lost me there, Harm. Why not ask me?"

"Well, I need some advice, but it's about you. So how can I ask you?"

She shrugged. "I would think that after everything we've been
through, you could ask me anything."

He took a deep breath. "Okay. If you're sure. Promise you won't
get mad at me?"

"All right." She straightened her shoulders. "Fire away."

"Well, I was wondering just how long a guy needed to date a woman
before he proposed to her. You know, is there some magic number of
weeks or months or times they've gone out together?"

Mac drew in her breath. "Yeah. I can see why you hesitated to ask
me that question."

His face fell. "I'm sorry, Mac. I should've kept my big mouth shut."

"No, it's not that. It's just that I don't know what to say. I
mean, what if I say a number and you wanted it to be shorter? Or
longer?"

Harm squeezed her hand. "It's okay. Forget I said anything. It was
a dumb idea."

"No, it wasn't. I just don't want to give you the wrong answer."
Inspiration struck her. "I've got it. There is no magic number.
You do it when it feels right."

Harm looked at her, his face suddenly very serious. "You're sure
about that?"

Mac nodded. "Absolutely."

He turned sideways to face her and took both her hands in his.
Inhaling deeply, he moistened his lips and said, "Mac, Sarah..." His
voice caught..."You know I love you--more than I've ever loved
anyone, more than I thought I ever could love anyone. I told you
once that I never want to lose you. What I couldn't tell you that
night was that I want to be with you forever...."

He could see moisture glinting in her eyes in the firelight. The tip
of her tongue peeked out between her lips, and her breath came in
short gasps. "Harm..."

All his vaunted skill with words deserted him as he gazed into her
eyes. "Mac...um...will you marry me?" The words rushed out of his
mouth, and his patented 'deer-in-the-headlights' expression plastered
itself on his face.

Mac threw her arms around his neck. "Yes!" She covered his face
with kisses. "Yes, I'll marry you." She drew back to look at him.

A single tear spilled out of his eye before he pulled her close
again. Burying his face in her hair, he murmured, "Thank you. I'll
do my best to make you happy."

"You already have, Harm." Mac tilted up her face. "By the way, I
love you too."

He grinned. "That's convenient."

"I thought so." Mac giggled. "Harm, don't you think you should kiss
me? I mean, you did propose, and I accepted."

"I could do that."

Harm bent his head and touched his lips to hers. As he threaded the
fingers of one hand through her hair, his lips moved gently on hers.
Mac's mouth opened to him, her tongue darting out in search of his.
She ran it delicately around his lips before thrusting it into his
mouth. Tremors shook his body as she caressed his waist with one
hand and ran another up and down his thigh. He moaned, then pulled
her closer and deepened the kiss. He slid a hand under her
sweatshirt and stroked the smooth skin of her back. Mac arched her
back, trying to get even closer to the hard planes of his body. The
lack of oxygen finally caused him to break the kiss.

"So when shall we do it?" he asked.

Dazed, she said, "Do what?"

"Get married." He pulled his hand out from beneath her shirt. "When
do you want to get married?"

"Tonight would be good."

Harm's face lit up. "You serious?"

"A little. But I guess we better not run off to Vegas."

"I don't mind."

"No, but your mother might." Mac's laugh rang out. "And the thought
of how Harriet would react is enough to give me cold chills."

"You're not telling me that you, a big, bad Marine, are scared of
Harriet?" A chuckle rumbled up from his chest.

"Yep. Terrified. And if she enlisted Coates..."

"We'd be dead meat."

"Exactly."

Harm hugged her tightly. "So, back to my original question. How
soon do you want to get married?"

"Soon. I guess one thing we need to decide is where and how big of a
wedding to have."

"Mac, as far as I'm concerned, that's your call. I just want to
marry you. If you still want to get married on a hillside, let's do
it." He frowned. "Of course, we'd have to find a hillside in a
warmer climate. I have no desire to wait till late spring."

"You mean no dress whites?" She grinned at him.

"I thought you said they were over-rated?" He nuzzled her neck.

"I did say that, didn't I? Hmm. Do you have winter mess dress?"
I've always kind of liked you in summer mess dress. And you do look
good in navy blue."

"Of course I do. I just never need to wear it."

"Well, if you don't want a big wedding, we could probably get it
together in two or three months."

"Mid January? Works for me. If we can get enough leave for a real
honeymoon, we could go to the Caribbean."

"Ooh, I like it." She twisted around to face him. "Do you want to
try to get the chapel at Annapolis?"

"If you want. I meant it when I said I'm flexible. What's important
to me is being married to you. The wedding is just a means to an
end. I want whatever makes you happy."

"You always have, haven't you." It was a statement.

"Yes, Mac. Always." He gazed into the flickering firelight. "So
are we set? Mid January, try to get the chapel? Can we ask Chaplain
Turner to marry us?"

She smiled. "That would be perfect. And we can worry about
everything else later. Right now, I think it's time for another
kiss."

"I can do that." He bent his head to hers and obliged.

******************************************

January 16, 2004
2100
Carrol's Creek Restaurant
Annapolis, Maryland

Harm leaned against a pillar, taking a breather before rejoining his
wife of almost two hours. His heart swelled with happiness beneath
the ribbons on his chest. If anyone had told him a year before that
he'd be standing here tonight, a gold ring on his left hand and plane
tickets for the Bahamas in his pocket, he would have scoffed at
them. Had someone told him that he would ever be this happy, he'd
have laughed.

"She certainly is a beautiful bride, darling." Trish Burnett
interrupted her son's thoughts.

"Hi, Mom, Frank. And yes, she is. She's always beautiful."

"Even in camouflage BDUs?"

"Yes, Mom. Even in dust-covered BDUs. Mac is always beautiful."
Harm smiled at the memory of their time in Afghanistan. Mac had
appeared to have the time of her life there. She had been laughing
and funny and beautiful.

Trish patted his arm. "And you look very nice, too, Harm."

"Thanks, Mom." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Just how long do
Mac and I have to stay here?"

"I think you should at least cut the cake, dear. Impatient to be
alone?"

"Slightly." His eyes followed Mac as she moved to a different table,
chatting easily with their friends.

Trish patted his arm again. "I see someone I need to speak to." She
was gone, leaving her husband behind with her son.

Harm addressed his stepfather. "Frank, I want to thank you."

"You do?"

"Yes -- for putting up with me all these years. For making Mom
happy. I'm sorry I was such a pain when I was a kid."

"It's all right, Harm. Believe it or not, I did understand."

"Still -- I appreciate all you've done for me. If Mac and I have
children, I hope I'll be half as good a father."

"Thank you." Frank looked his stepson over carefully. "I don't
think I've ever seen you look so content, Harm. Is it being with
Mac?"

Harm considered his reply, and then it was oblique. "Have you ever
heard what pilots ask their backseaters right before they begin a
combat or reconnaissance run?"

"Can't say that I have."

"The pilot asks, 'Are you with me?' And the person in the backseat
says, 'To hell and back, Sir. To hell and back.'" He took a deep
breath. "Let's just say that Mac would make a fine RIO."

"I trust that you're going to explain that cryptic statement, Harm."
Frank put his hand on his stepson's shoulder. "I won't tell your
mother if you don't want me to."

"Fair enough. I haven't said anything to you because I didn't want
to worry her."

"Understandable."

"Anyway, do you know anything about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"
Harm's voice was low.

"I've read a little. It was called combat fatigue back before the
Vietnam War. Why?"

"Some events over the past year pushed me close to the edge, and I
went to see a counselor. Apparently, I'd been dealing with a low-
grade, chronic version for years."

"Since your summer trip to Vietnam? I often wondered just what you
didn't tell us about that."

"Yeah. At least since then. Anyway, after the trial and the trip to
Paraguay, it came roaring back."

"And Mac was supportive, I take it."

"Frank, she was unbelievable. Part of the way they treat PTSD is to
get you to relive the traumas and talk about them."

"Sounds like it could be pretty harrowing."

"No joke. It can be very disturbing. All the old emotions come
flooding back."

"And I'd be willing to guess in your case, feelings that you had
suppressed in the first place."

Harm smiled at his stepfather's perception. "Oh yeah. There are
those who would tell you that I've spent most of my life suppressing
my emotions." He shrugged. "And others who think I'm completely
controlled by my emotions."

"I don't know that the two are mutually exclusive, Harm."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you're controlled by your emotions because you suppress them.
Sooner or later the pressure has to get to you; and when it does,
they erupt like a volcano." Frank hunched a shoulder. "I think you
have tried to control your emotions, mostly because you've been
afraid of being hurt. But I've never noticed that it did you any
good."

Harm gave him a sharp look. Frank knew him better than he
thought. "You're right. It hasn't."

"So tell me about Mac going to hell and back with you."

"Oh yeah. Well, in the course of reliving some stuff that would give
Mom nightmares for the rest of her life, I had some very rough
times. And Mac was with me all the way. Listened to or read all the
gory details. She never backed away. I'm not really sure I'd have
gotten through it without her."

"I can imagine. I take it that your mother and I don't begin to know
the half of it?"

Harm looked sheepish. "Probably not. And I don't think you really
want to. Suffice it to say, between the counseling and Mac's support
through it all, I'm in a lot better mental shape than I have been
since I was seventeen. So that's probably why I seem happier to you."

Frank clapped him on the shoulder. "Glad to hear it. You deserve
some happiness, Harm. Now what do you say we go find your wife and
get her to cut that cake?"

A broad smile lit up Harm's face. "I like your style, Frank."

The two men left the comfort of the pillar and went in search of Mac.

****************

2200

"So what do you say we blow this joint?" Harm whispered into Mac's
ear as they swayed to the music playing in the background.

"Are you serious?" She looked up at him. "We just cut the cake a
few minutes ago. I've barely gotten to dance with you."

"I know. But we have close to an hour's drive to the hotel. And I
was hoping to do a little private dancing there." His grin spread
from ear to ear.

"You're so bad." She smiled back.

"I think you'll be changing that adjective before the night is
over." He wiggled an eyebrow.

"You gonna be gentle?"

"But of course." He gave her a tender kiss. "So what do you say?
Throw the bouquet and hit the road?"

"Only if you promise to be good."

"Absolutely. I promise. And you know what that means."

"Oh yeah." She gave a blissful sigh.

****************

Thirty minutes later a thrilled Jennifer Coates was holding Mac's
bouquet as the newly-married couple made a dash for the car. Light
snow was falling, adding to the magic of the evening. Jen turned to
Chloe and said, "They seem so happy, don't they?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Nauseating is more like it. I swear, Mac
has been more gushy than any of the girls in my school for the past
few months. It's hard to believe she's a Marine."

"True, but she's also a woman. And I think lately the woman has been
controlling the Marine."

The younger girl shrugged. "Maybe. All I know is that it sure took
them long enough. I told Mac she should grab Harm years ago. And
you know what she said?"

"No, what?" Jen was intrigued.

"That he was just a friend. I mean really. How blind was she? Or
how stupid did she think I was? I was just a kid, and I could see
how he felt about her. And how she felt about him."

"Well, Chloe, sometimes people get ideas in their heads and have
trouble giving them up. Perhaps that was their problem. Maybe they
didn't recognize their own feelings."

Chloe shook her head. "No, their problem was that they were both
afraid of being rejected. Which is sort of crazy, if you look at
them. I mean, Mac's beautiful and Harm is a hunk. So if you ask me,
they were just plain dumb." She snorted. "But they finally figured
it out, so maybe now we can start taking bets on when they'll have a
baby."

Jen laughed. "Chloe, you're a little late on that one. The pool's
already up to over a thousand dollars."

"So do I get to get in?"

"Sure, how much and what date?"

"May this year is when they get pregnant. Ten bucks." Chloe stuck
out her hand.

"You're on, Chloe." Jen returned the handshake, and the two returned
to the warmth of the restaurant.


*******************

2300
Sheraton International Hotel
Baltimore, Maryland

Harm inserted the key card into the lock on the room where he and Mac
would spend their first night together as husband and wife. He felt
a rush of emotion as he looked at her, standing patiently while he
fumbled the key card. She was so beautiful, so intelligent, and so
loving. He didn't deserve her love, he knew, but he didn't care. He
was going to spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of her.
The door finally open, he held out his arms.

"You ready?"

"For what?" Her eyes danced.

"To be carried over the threshold."

"Can your back take it?"

"I'm willing to see." He advanced on her. "I must admit, I'm not
really sure what the proper procedure is here since I've never done
this."

"You've never swept a girl off her feet?"

"Not hardly. Not even you." He pulled her close and kissed the tip
of her nose. "So just how is this done? Do you jump up into my
waiting arms or do I bend over and grab?"

"You bend a little and I jump a little." She wrapped her arms around
his neck.

"Okay. Ready?"

At her nod, he bent and picked her up, then carried her through the
doorway. Setting her back down on her feet, he pulled her in for
another kiss. His head bent down, and he placed his lips on hers,
moving gently, asking for entrance to her mouth. Mac pressed herself
close to him and allowed his tongue to part her lips. As they kissed
hungrily, she unbuttoned his sport coat and tried to shove it off his
shoulders.

"Slow down, Mac." Harm was trying to untangle his arms from the
jacket. "I still need to bring in our luggage."

"Oh." She sounded deflated. "Need help?"

"No thanks. Why don't you check out the room and see if it's okay?"
He retreated to the hallway to retrieve their suitcases.

"Ooh, Harm. Did you see the size of this bed?" Mac looked like a
kid in a candy store.

"No, why?" He dropped the luggage on the floor and moved farther
into the room. "Ah. It's definitely big." He cocked his head and
thought a minute. "I think it looks lonely. Maybe we should keep it
company."

"I agree. But I think we're wearing way too many clothes." She
reached up and loosened his tie. "Is there a reason we got all
dressed up to drive to a hotel?"

"So my mom would have pictures to show off to all her friends back in
La Jolla."

"Ah. I see." She finished with his tie and went to work on his
shirt buttons. "Is there a reason that you have on a tee shirt?"

"It's cold outside, Mac." He reached for the hem of her sweater.

She pushed him away with a laugh. "Not so fast there, sailor. My
tote bag and I are going in the bathroom. You can undress me some
other time."

"Is that a promise?" He tried to leer, but his sense of humor got in
the way, and he began to chuckle.

"Sure. But I promised Harriet I'd wear the nightgown she gave me
tonight."

"Oh lord. Please tell me it doesn't have little Star Wars things on
it."

Mac's giggle warmed his heart. "Not likely. I think she's still mad
about the baby's name."

"Yeah, well, can't really blame her, can you?"

"No. But you'd think she'd have figured it out before it was too
late." She gave him a quick kiss and went to find her bag. "I'll be
out in a minute."

She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Harm to kick off his shoes
and remove his slacks and socks. He rooted through his own luggage
in search of the candle he'd brought. Then he turned back the covers
on the bed, set the radio to a station playing soft, romantic music,
and lit the candle. His preparations complete, Harm lay back against
the pillows on the bed and waited for his bride.

The door opened and Mac came out, a long white silk gown swirling
around her legs. Thin spaghetti straps kept it from sliding to the
floor. Harm's breath caught at the sight.

"You are so beautiful." His voice was a husky whisper. He opened
his arms as she joined him on the bed. He tipped up her chin with a
long finger. "Mac, I love you. Thank you for marrying me."

"You know, you don't have to be grateful, Harm. I love you too. And
believe me, marrying you is the most selfish thing I've ever done. I
get to have the hottest husband in the universe, to say nothing of
the most loyal." She stroked his cheek with her hand, then pulled
his face down for a kiss.

They kissed for long minutes, allowing their excitement to build
slowly. They took their time; but when they finally joined, Harm
could have sworn that he lost all sense of where he left off and Mac
began. They truly became one.

***********

The candle was guttering in its holder. Mac stirred in Harm's arms
as they lay entangled beneath the covers. "You know, Harm, this bed
didn't need to be this big."

His chuckle tickled her ear. "No? What makes you say that?"

"Well, we're only taking up about a third of it."

"True, very true. You will notice however, that it's the first bed
I've ever been in that my feet weren't hanging off the end. So I
kind of like it."

"That the only reason?" Her finger drew lazy circles on his chest.

"No, there are some more. Would you like me to show you?" He bent
down to kiss her.

"Oh yeah." Mac lifted her face to her husband. "Harm, what is it
that the RIO says?"

"I'm with you to hell and back."

"Well, I think I've just been with you to heaven and back."

His reply was muffled by her kiss.



The End.