ABOUT THE SAME TIME AS THE WEDDING
A.J. CHEGWIDDEN'S RESIDENCE
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

This is Chuck Roberts for ZNN Headline News. Our top story is the crash of a Navy F-14 Tomcat in the Atlantic Ocean about 100 miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina shortly before midnight last night. The Navy has now released the names of the two pilots who were rescued this morning. They are Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., 37, of Washington DC and Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes, 30, of Pensacola, Florida. They were flying from the carrier USS Patrick Henry to Norfolk Naval Air Station in Virginia when they went down during a storm. Commander Rabb, a decorated pilot who has twice been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, now serves as a lawyer with the Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps Headquarters in Washington and was aboard the carrier for his carrier landing qualifications. When asked why a lawyer would be flying off a carrier, a Navy spokesman said that it is not unusual for former pilots to keep up their flight qualifications if they are able and that Commander Rabb had received the highest score of the pilots completing their qualifications aboard the ship. The Navy refused to speculate as to what caused the plane to go down, only that the wreckage has been located and is being raised from the ocean and an investigation into the cause of the crash is ongoing. In other news ….

Trish, whose eyes had been transfixed to the screen as they showed footage of a Coast Guard salvage vessel pulling a piece of a wing of the Tomcat out of the water, didn't even turn when she heard someone enter the room. "I was wondering when it would start hitting the news," she mused, her voice carefully controlled. She hadn't seen any of the news reports the first time Harm had crashed. By the time the story had hit the airwaves, she and Frank had already been on a plane headed east, first to pick up Sarah from Pennsylvania then on to Landstuhl. By the time they'd reached Germany, the furthest thing from their minds was watching AFN to see what was being said about the crash. She never saw the video of the burned out wreckage of his plane or the scorch marks on the deck of the Sea Hawk where the plane had impacted. Before, it had not seemed real until they reached Landstuhl a day after the crash and saw how bad off Harm was. Now, she couldn't see her son, but she was seeing his plane being pulled out of the water in pieces. It made everything seem more real, brought home just how close she'd come to losing her only child again.

A.J. sat down on the couch next to her, cradling a coffee mug in his hands. "It's been on the news since very early this morning," he said. The television in his office had been turned to ZNN while they'd waited for news at JAG and he'd seen the initial reports which had said little more than a plane had gone down in a thunderstorm, along with the standard line about 'the names of the pilots are being held pending notification of next of kin'. "They're just now releasing the names of the crew." He studied her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his coffee. To all outward appearances, she was calm and composed with almost no visible sign of the strain she'd been under for the last fifteen hours. Only the tight grip she kept on her own coffee mug, her knuckles turning bone-white, gave her away. "I thought you'd be getting some sleep."

"Couldn't sleep," she said with a tired shrug. "I know Harm has been rescued and by all reports is doing as well as can be expected at this point, but …." She trailed off, staring into the brown liquid filling her mug.

"As a parent, you want to see for yourself that he's okay," A.J. finished the thought. "Or at least talk to him."

Trish laughed softly at that. "I don't know if that would do any good," she said, attempting a joking tone. "If I were to talk to him, he'd insist that he's fine, even if he's not. He wouldn't want me to worry. He takes after his father that way. Harmon used to downplay the danger he was in over in Vietnam, if there is any way to downplay being in the middle of a war."

A.J. was silent, unsure what to say. What did one say to a woman who had lost her husband in the line of duty and had almost lost her son several times? He was saved from having to reply when Trish continued in a soft, faraway voice. "When Harm decided to go to law school and didn't fly for almost five years after his accident, there was a part of me that was glad. I know that sounds awful, hating the thing my son loves to do most in this world, but I told myself that if it came to a choice between him being alive and safe doing something else and him coming home in a pine box because he was doing something he loved, I'd rather he be alive. Of course, I can never tell Harm that. But he can't seem to stay out of trouble, even when he's not flying, can he? I think even if he were to suddenly decide to leave the Navy, he'd still find a way to get into trouble."

"Probably," he replied noncommittally. He was pretty sure that Trish only knew a fraction of some of the things her son had done or gone through and he decided it wasn't his place to fill her in. Privately, he admitted her assessment of Harm was dead on.

"I know, Admiral," Trish said, suddenly turning towards him. She studied him intently and A.J. had the uncomfortable thought that it was almost like she was trying to read his mind. "I probably don't know everything that's happened to Harm since he's joined the Navy. It's almost funny. For all the strain between them for so many years, there are a lot of things Harm would tell Frank before he'd tell me. He thinks he needs to protect me." She laughed softly, bitterly. "Of course, it never occurs to him that it worries me more when I don't know. When he doesn't tell me, it almost seems as though he's trying to hide how dangerous what he's doing is. He did tell me that he was going out to the carrier this week. But it sounded so damn routine, as if he was doing nothing more dangerous than taking a drive around the block. But apparently, his professional life isn't the only thing he hasn't been keeping me filled in on. Sometimes, I just wish my son would talk to me."

"I think that's the wish of just about every parent," he said wistfully, remembering how neither he nor Marcella had known their daughter had dated a Mafioso until investigating after she'd been kidnapped. Francesca had known how her parents would react, so she'd kept quiet. He could see how similar actions by her son could get to Trish.

"Probably," she agreed. "Even if they do open up when they're younger, I think they get to a certain age where they just claim up on you. Of course, Harm grew up at such a young age because of what happened to his father. I think he felt that if he confided in me, he would be burdening me when I had so much to deal with on my own." She stared down at her mug again before changing the subject. "Admiral, on the news, they made a point of mentioning that Harm isn't an active pilot. Could that influence the investigation into the accident?"

"Well, they were right in that it's not unusual for pilots who have moved on to other things in the Navy to still keep up their flight time," he pointed out. "It's unlikely to even be considered as a factor, especially considering how well he did on his quals."

"What about other factors?" she asked, a note of hesitancy in her voice.

"What do you mean?" he countered, confused. "Are you asking if there is a question of pilot error? Or if there's a problem with his eyes again? I mean, obviously, the weather might have been a factor …."

"Not really," she said, sighing. "I'm not sure what I'm asking. I wonder …." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Admiral, can I ask you something?"

A.J. wasn't sure he wanted to hear her question, just from the hesitancy in her voice as she asked, but he nodded anyway. She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead, "How has Harm been recently? Has there been something, um, I don't know, bothering him? Maybe something that affected his judgment when he was flying home, in spite of how well he did on his quals?"

"What makes you ask that?" he countered. She'd just been saying she wished Harm would talk to her more, so he doubted he had confided in his mother his feelings about Mac's wedding. But what else could she be talking about? As much as he wanted to assure her that Harm didn't let his emotions get in the way of his doing his job, he knew it would be a lie. It was a quality that made him such a passionate advocate in the courtroom and made him so stubborn, sometimes beyond the point of reason.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Just a feeling. I was surprised to hear this morning that Mac was supposed to get married today. Harm never said a word about the fact that his best friend was getting married. And then there was Mac's absence this morning. I only know about her what Harm's told me, but her reaction seems a little extreme for someone who's only a friend. Oh, I would expect her to be upset, but to disappear completely? Her fiancé was upset, and justifiably so, but her sister seemed to be less than concerned about the fact that Mac was nowhere to be found. Almost as if she expected it."

"And?" A.J. asked, realizing where she was going with her questions and knowing that he did not want to get into it. However, it wasn't as if he could easily avoid the subject – not without making her more suspicious than she already appeared to be. Hell, the rate they were going, everyone else was going to figure out what was going on before Mic and Renee did.

"And I'm not sure," she replied. "There are just a lot of facts here that don't seem to make sense. Practically since he's met her, it's been 'Mac said this' or 'Mac did that' – at least until he went back to flying. After that, he hardly talked about her at all. I got the feeling that something had happened sometime when he left – or maybe after he got back - that changed everything, but …. he never would tell me what it was. After a while, I stopped asking." She shook her head as she rose from the couch, walking over to stare out the window. "I'm sorry for going on like that. As a commanding officer, you probably try not to get involved in the personal lives of your people."

A.J. chuckled ruefully. "Sometimes it seems unavoidable," he said. "But being a commanding officer doesn't mean I don't care."

"I know," she said, smiling as she turned away from the window to face him. "You didn't have to open your home to us. Thank you for that. You know, Harm has talked about you, too. He thinks very highly of you …. although I'm sure he's probably driven you crazy at times. He has that affect on people."

They both laughed, the tension eased slightly, as A.J. said, "There have been times …."

"Maybe …." Trish began, trailing off when Frank entered the room, her expression becoming a little brighter. A.J. watched as they embraced, wondering how someone who had been raised by two such loving and committed people could drift so easily from relationship to relationship.

"You promised you'd get some sleep," Frank admonished his wife, his gentle tone belying his words.

"I promised I'd try," Trish countered, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. "I just couldn't make my eyes stay closed. I need some reassurance that Harm is okay. Anyway, don't think I didn't notice your own tossing and turning."

"We haven't heard anything further from the carrier," Frank suggested, ignoring her comment about his own lack of sleep, "so I think it's safe to assume that Harm is holding his own." He glanced at A.J. for confirmation, the other man nodding. "Tomorrow morning he'll be transported to shore and we'll be able to see for ourselves."

"I know that here," she said, tapping her temple with her finger, "but it's a little harder telling my heart that."

"I have a suggestion," A.J. said, startling Trish slightly. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "I'm expecting a call from the ship later today – before we left JAG, I called Captain Ingles back and gave him the number here. The doctor said Harm was on oxygen, so I don't know if they're letting him do any talking right now, but maybe when the captain calls, we can arrange for you to speak to Harm for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Admiral," Trish said gratefully.

"A.J., please," he insisted.

"Okay, A.J.," she said. "I'll try to remember that. I still remember being an Ensign's wife forty years ago and saying 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' or calling by rank everyone above us. Old habits are hard to break."

After a moment's silence, A.J. changed the subject. "Is anyone hungry?" he asked. "I know you haven't eaten since you got here. I could fix something."

"We had something on the plane," Trish replied.

"Well, I did," Frank contradicted her. "You just pushed your food around on your plate."

Trish laughed half-heartedly as she kissed her husband's cheek. "As you can see, my son isn't the only one who worries," she teased, although it sounded a bit forced. "Thank you, A.J.. Something to eat would be wonderful. Can I help?"

"No, that's okay," A.J. said, rising from the couch. "My ex-wife taught me how to get around in the kitchen. Just relax – watch some TV if you'd like."

After A.J. left the room, Frank led Trish towards the couch and pulled her down next to him. She set her mug on the coffee table in front of them. "How are you really, Trish?" he asked, clasping her hands in his.

"I'll be fine, darling," she insisted firmly. She then sighed as Frank shot her a look which clearly said he wasn't convinced. "I'm just tired of getting phone calls or having men in uniforms show up at my front door. When does it end?"

"You know Harm," he said in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone, although he had the feeling it would be lost on his wife right now. "He's not happy unless he's right in the middle of the action. He would not be content just sitting behind a desk."

"I was hoping when he became a lawyer …." she mused, her voice trailing off. When she continued, her voice had a hard edge to it. "But since then, he landed a crippled jet on a carrier at night when he was still having vision problems, he was accused of murdering a member of the Russian mafia in his search for information on Harmon, he was reported dead during his first trip to Russia, there was that situation at the Sudanese embassy that was all over the news, he nearly drowned aboard a destroyer, if his brother had not shown up in a POW camp he would have thrown away his career to run off to a war zone and now this. And that's not even counting the situations he's been in while he was an active pilot – the Gulf of Sidra, his first crash, flying over Kosovo. And those are only the situations I know about. Knowing Harm, there are probably others I've heard nothing about. When does it stop?"

"Trish …." Frank began in a placating tone, massaging her fingers, but she shook her head.

"I know what you're going to say, Frank," she said, a barely detectible tremor creeping into her voice. "Harm is an adult and has the right to live his life the way he wants …. " She broke off, struggling to control her voice. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that Frank barely heard her. "I love my son, but there is a part of me that hates the way he lives his life."

"I know," he replied, releasing one of her hands and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer. There were times he hated it, too – hated how it tore his wife up inside every time Harm got into yet another dangerous situation, hated how they hesitated each time the phone rang then sighed with relief when it wasn't bad news about Harm, hated how they wondered if someday that dreaded call would come. A few years ago, Trish had asked him how he could be so calm while they were waiting for word from Russia on Harm and Mac's fates. When he'd thought about it later, the best he could figure was that he had tried so hard to be supportive of Harm in order to strengthen their relationship that he conditioned himself to bury deep any negative feelings about some of the situations Harm found himself in. "I guess the only thing we can do is have faith that he'll be okay. Our son's probably the strongest man I've ever known."

She managed a smile at the phrase 'our son'. She never forgot how lucky she was to find a man who would let not only her, but her son, into his life, even if his presence hadn't entirely been a welcome one by Harm. Things had been better in the last few years since the first trip to Russia, but she still hoped that someday Harm would be able to admit, to himself if not to Frank, how lucky he had been to have Frank as a part of his life. "I know that," she said. "That strength is what helped his father survive for over ten years in a Soviet prison camp. I just wonder …. do you think sometimes that Harm's so busy being strong that he's cut himself off a bit from the rest of the world?"

"What makes you say that?" he asked, surprised at what seemed to be a sudden change of subject.

"Sometimes I wonder …." she sighed heavily, trying to find words to give voice to stray thoughts she was trying to string together coherently. "Does anyone really know or understand what he's thinking or feeling? When I first met Renee when I stopped in Washington to wish Harm a 'Happy Birthday', I couldn't help wondering what they have in common, if she really knows what makes him tick. I mean, she's a nice enough woman …. Of course, I wonder sometimes if he lets anyone close enough to really know him."

"I haven't really talked to her enough to say," Frank said, silently admitting there was something about Renee that struck him wrong. He didn't doubt that she was very worried about Harm and maybe she did love him in her way, whatever that way was. But she'd seemed so …. clingy, for lack of a better word, when he, Trish and Sarah had first shown up. He had the impression of someone trying to stake their claim, especially after her somewhat snide remarks about Mac being nowhere to be found. He couldn't imagine Harm choosing to spend his life with someone like that. What he thought Harm needed was someone who understood all his demons and still stood by him, guiding him through the rough spots, but who also gave him the freedom of space when he needed it. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was based on what he had seen and heard over the years, there had only been two women like that in Harm's life. The first had died five years ago this month and the second had for some inexplicable reason come within hours of marrying another man.

"Do you think it bothered him," she wondered, almost to himself, "watching the one woman who seems to understand him so well prepare to go down the aisle with someone else?"

Frank reflected that it was a good thing he wasn't drinking coffee himself or he might have choked on it. "What makes you say that?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"The way he's barely talked about Mac the last few years," she explained, "the way he never even mentioned she was getting married, um, even the way Mac has been nowhere around. If Harm were simply her best friend, why isn't she here, letting her fiancé comfort her as they wait for word? I'd say this qualifies as 'for better or for worse'. I'd almost think she's suddenly realized that the man she loves isn't the one she's going to marry, but the one who almost died last night."

"You got that just from Mac's not being here and Harm's recent lack of talking about her?" he asked, surprised. From his conversations with Chloe and Bud, he knew that Trish was very close to the truth. However, not knowing the entire story and knowing that Mic and Renee were still in the dark as well, he felt uncomfortable talking about it, even with his wife.

"Call it mother's intuition," she said, picking up her mug from the coffee table, wincing as she sipped the now cold liquid. She set the mug back down and turned slightly to face Frank head on. "Or call it the only explanation that seems to fit all the facts. But I can't help but wonder how much it may have tormented my son that he was flying back to Washington to watch a woman he obviously cares a great deal for marry another man."

"We don't know that, Trish," he said, wondering if maybe he shouldn't just tell her what little he knew. Not that he didn't trust her with the truth, but he sensed that this situation was volatile and the slightest spark could result in a conflagration. "Anyway, have you ever known anything, short of his previous medical condition, to affect the way Harm flies? Trish, when he's up in the air, that's the only thing that matters to him. Everything else is unimportant."

-----

HARM'S APARTMENT

Renee leaned back against the door she'd just closed behind her, holding back tears as she looked over the dim apartment. It was so quiet, almost eerily so. There was usually some kind of noise, whether it was the radio playing softly in the background or the soft rustle of papers as Harm read over a case file. Even if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would be comforted by the soft reassuring sound of Harm's breathing as he lay next to her. It was normally so ….

She shook her head, trying to dispel the depressing thought. Thinking like that was almost like thinking that it would stay that way, thinking that Harm wouldn't be coming home. He was coming home, she reminded herself – the Admiral had said so. Tomorrow, Harm would be transferred to Portsmouth then he should be back home by the middle of next week. Everything would be fine. She just had to keep telling herself that.

Her eyes fell on the plain brown paper back she was clutching to her chest. She'd taken the stuff Bud had packed for him last night and kept it with her, telling Bud and Harriet that she would take it with her to Portsmouth in the morning. Looking through the bag after she'd been dropped off at her place, she realized that Bud had forgotten to pack some things and had called a cab to take her to Harm's place. Also, she needed to pick up her car, which she'd left outside his building last night when she'd run into Bud and Harriet. Of course, neither of those were her real reason for being here ….

She was alone. She'd thought, as they were all getting ready to leave JAG, that she would stay with Harm's family wherever they were going to be, just so that she could be closer to him in some way. As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Harriet had casually asked where the Burnetts and Harm's grandmother would be staying. When Trish had mentioned the Admiral's house, Renee had been about to ask if anyone minded if she accompanied them when Sarah Rabb had looked her over and suggested that Renee needed to go home and get some sleep.

It had been said kindly, Renee couldn't doubt that, and the older woman's tone had sounded the proper note of concern, but she nonetheless felt as if she'd been dismissed. Harm's family was closing ranks and no outsiders were welcome. She might have been Harm's girlfriend for going on a year and a half, but she wasn't family any more than she was a welcome part of the JAG 'family'.

In a dark corner of her mind, she wondered if their reaction would have been similar if it had been Mac standing in front of them, worn and weary from a sleepless night worrying about the man she lo- …. Renee shook her head, trying to banish the thought. Mac was in love with Mic, she told herself, her inner voice not as firm as she would have liked. Once this was all over and Harm was home safe and sound, Mic would reschedule the wedding and there would no longer be that specter standing in the way of what Renee wanted.

Squaring her shoulders, trying to project an air of determination, even if there was no one to witness it, she went up the stairs to the sleeping area, setting the bag on the bed, pulling out the contents and spreading them out so she could see exactly what was there and what was needed. Looking over the sparse contents of the bag, she wondered how someone who traveled as much as Bud did could be so woefully inadequate when it came to packing. He'd packed a uniform, underwear and socks, but no casual clothes like sweats that Harm could wear in the hospital and no toiletries of any kind. He could probably also use some books to keep him occupied while he was laid up, she thought. God only knows how long that will be.

Mentally making a list of what she thought Harm would need, Renee started by searching his closet for his other travel bag. After a few fruitless minutes of searching, she decided that maybe Bud had been right when he suggested the other bag was sitting in the back of the SUV, having been left there after a previous trip. Shrugging it off, trying not to think about any reason why it wouldn't be there despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind, she decided to just put everything back in the paper bag and stick everything in one of her suitcases before she headed for Portsmouth in the morning.

Opening one of his drawers, she pulled out a worn, comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt with 'US Navy' stenciled across the front. She set the clothes on the bed and stared at them for a long moment before pulling off her sweater and picking up the sweatshirt and putting it on. It was hardly the kind of thing she would wear normally and it was way too large for her, falling to mid-thigh, but it was his and somehow wearing it made her feel a little closer to him. Closing her eyes, she could even imagine that the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his skin as she would pull the favored sweatshirt off him, the feel of the firm muscles beneath her fingertips.

A smile on her face, she sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, imagining that it was his arms holding her tight. With a sad sigh, she opened her eyes as her smile fell. He wasn't here right now. "Why, Harm?" she whispered to the empty room. "Was it worth risking your life just to get back in time to watch her marry?"

There was no answer of course from the silent room and she dropped onto the bed, laying her head on one of his pillows, squeezing her eyes shut against the threatening tears, drawing her knees up to her chest as if by curling up in a ball she could close off the pain. But no matter how much she tried, how could she stop thinking about the fact that he apparently found it so easy to risk his life just to keep a promise to another woman. Would he do the same for her? Could he? Or was she fighting a losing battle for a heart that only had room for one woman, no matter how unattainable she might be to him. He hadn't exactly offered a denial when confronted about it ….

Drawing in a shuttering breath, she opened her eyes, determined to forget about everything except the fact that Harm would be coming home to her. She would get up and pack Harm's things and go to Portsmouth in the morning and he would get better and all would go on as before.

You make that sound like a good thing, the little voice in her head countered.

"Not just a good thing," she whispered to the empty room, her voice sounding uncertain to her ears. "It will be better. There will be nothing to come between …."

She pushed herself back up into a sitting position, blinking back tears as she focused on the nightstand beside the bed. "What the hell?" she murmured, running her hand over the bare spot where the picture of Harm and his brother had resided since his return from Russia. Twisting her head around, she didn't see it on the other nightstand and it wasn't with the things that Bud had packed for Harm.

Puzzled, although she couldn't quite pinpoint exactly why, she got up from the bed and began to search the apartment. It could be something completely innocent. Harm could have moved the picture for some reason. She couldn't say why it was so important, just that it was. She had to find that picture. She wracked her brain, trying to remember if the photo had been in its proper place Wednesday afternoon, but she couldn't remember for the life of her. She'd been too wrapped up in her disappointment at his departure that afternoon to really pay attention to the minute details of his décor.

She was in for another shock when she reached the living room and was confronted with the empty space on top of the bookcase where the picture of Harm and his father usually sat. Now that picture she was positive he would not have moved. Think, she ordered herself. Where could they have gone? She was nearly positive that the photos had been in their proper places when Harm left on Wednesday – or rather, she doubted that he would have taken them with him - and she knew Bud had not taken them.

"No …." she said, shaking her head, as she tried to dispel the horrifying thought that had just occurred to her. But she couldn't. It was like a tentacle, wrapping itself around her mind and refusing to let go. "No!"

Calm down, she ordered herself. You've got two missing pictures and you immediately think …. what? Come on, would Mac really show up and steal two of Harm's favorite photos? Why? Let's think about this rationally.

She nervously paced by the door, trying to make herself think of a possible explanation, any other reason why the photos were missing. There had to be something ….

Realizing that she was driving herself crazy, she went into the bathroom, intending to splash some cold water on her face. She needed to calm down. Harm would need her to be strong for him, to take care of him. Turning on the faucet, she held a finger under the water stream, waiting for the water to warm up to a tolerable temperature as she studied her face in the mirror. God, I look about ten years older, she thought. Maybe just a little bit of concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes.

Cupping her hands under the water, she splashed the tepid water on her face, then turned off the faucet, shaking her hands out over the sink. Grabbing a towel off the bar, she gently patted her face dry, then wiped her hands. Feeling a little better, she opened the medicine cabinet and reached for her makeup, her hand stopping in mid-air as she got a look inside.

Harm kept a shaving bag packed full of travel sizes of most essentials – shampoo, shaving cream, toothpaste, and mouthwash – that he just threw in his duffle when he was packing for trips. That way he knew he'd never have to worry about making a late night run to the store for something when he was trying to get ready for bed.

However, most of his regular toiletries that he kept at home were missing. There was a noticeable space on the shelf where his shaving cream usually was. Growing increasingly frantic, she did a quick inventory of the bathroom and discovered several other things missing. Ending her search in the shower, where Harm's bottle of shampoo was no longer next to hers on the shelf in the corner, she bit back a screech of frustration. At the end of her rope, she curled her fingers around her conditioner and hurled the bottle against the wall, barely noticing when the top broke off the bottle at the neck and conditioner splattered all over the glass blocks enclosing the shower.

Shaking with anger, she ran for the phone, her fingers trembling as she tried to remember the phone number she wanted. At one point, she threw the phone down in disgust as she punched in the wrong number for the fifth digit. She didn't even both trying to tell herself to calm down. She was furious and intended to stay that way. Grabbing the phone again, she managed on the second try to dial the correct number, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the line to be picked up on the other end.

The phone was answered in the middle of the second ring. "Sarah, is that you?" Mic answered his cell phone, hoping against hope that Mac was finally getting in touch with him. "Where …."

"I'm not Mac," Renee retorted angrily. On top of everything else, the last thing she needed was Mic calling her by that woman's name. In her current state of mind, it hurt nearly as much as it had when Harm had done it several months earlier. "But she's been here."

"Renee?" he asked, hopeful. "You've seen Sarah?" All thoughts of the credit card receipt and its possible implications were driven from his mind. If he could see her, talk to her, she would have some explanation. He was sure of it.

"No, but she's been to Harm's," she replied impatiently. "There's stuff missing."

"I don't understand," Mic confessed, his voice calm. Whatever it was Renee was going on about, it had her mad as hell, he realized. "What do you mean there's stuff missing?"

"There's stuff missing," she repeated, frustrated that he didn't seem to understand the implications of what she was saying. "Look, just get over here. We need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Okay, Renee," he agreed, trying to push aside the growing fear in his mind, the building sensation that everything he wanted was slipping away from him and he couldn't hold on. "Are you at Rabb's?"

"Yes," she said, drawing in a shaky breath. "I came here because I needed to be close …."

"Renee, I need directions," he cut her off, not wanting to hear her go on about Harm. "I've never been there before."

Quickly she shot out directions, while Mic thanked his lucky stars that he had a good memory and that Harm's place was relatively easy to get to. He didn't think Renee would appreciate it if he asked her to repeat herself so he could right everything down. "Mic, I …. " she trailed off, choking on the fear forming a lump in her throat. Her voice was so soft when she spoke again that he had to strain to hear her. "Please just get over here."

Mic was already halfway out the door when the call was disconnected, nearly forgetting to lock Mac's apartment door behind him. He tried to tell himself that Renee was understandably emotional – the man she loved had nearly died – but he couldn't make himself truly believe that she was simply overreacting. There were just too many odd occurrences which didn't seem to add up in any way but one which was bad for him, and for Renee.

-----

Renee was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the wall, open photo albums on the floor surrounding her, when Mic pounded on the door, the sound reverberating in the dim apartment. "It's open," she called out in a dull voice, not even looking in his direction when Mic opened the door and stepped into the apartment.

If Mic had allowed the calm, rational part of his mind to convince him that Renee was overreaching on this, those thoughts fled when he got his first glimpse of her. She looked completely devastated and seemed unaware of her surroundings. "It's a bit dark in here, don't you think?" he commented, flipping on the light switch by the door.

Renee blinked, startled by the sudden brightness. The only light in the apartment had been what little had been coming in through the windows, which faced the wrong direction to get direct sunlight in the mid-afternoon, even if there still hadn't been clouds from the previous night's storm partly blocking the sun from view. "Is it?" she murmured. "I hadn't noticed."

Mic lowered himself to the floor beside her, turning around one of the albums to study the picture on the page the album was open to. Harm, leaning on a cane, was standing in front of what looked like a barn, his arm slung over Mac's shoulder, her arm around his waist as her head rested against his shoulder. He wondered at the age of the picture. Both of them looked several years younger than they were now. Mac's hair was even darker and had a bit of curl to it. They seemed so relaxed and at ease with each other, much like they had before Harm had left JAG. He pulled the picture from the album and found a date stamp on the back from when it had been developed – May 1991. 10 years ago. He'd never asked, had never really wanted to know, but he hadn't had a clue that they went back that far.

"There's a bunch more of the two of them," she commented, her voice oddly firm, as if she was doing everything in her power to control it. "They seem to go back years. Mic, what are we fighting against here?"

He wasn't quite ready to concede that point yet. "What makes you think we're fighting against anything here?" he countered. He flipped to another picture, this one of an even younger Harm and Mac with Harm's grandmother, without a date on the back. "If they couldn't make anything work in all this time, and we don't know that they even tried, why now?"

"Ever seen 'When Harry Met Sally'?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Mic looked confused at the apparent change of topic and shook his head.

"It's a movie," she explained. "Harry and Sally met during college and over the years they became best friends. At one point, they slept together and it nearly drove them apart, but they finally figured out that they loved each other and got married." Her voice suddenly got quiet as she added, "It took them twelve years."

Mic shook his head, but otherwise didn't react, although under other circumstances he might have been amused and less than surprised that Renee would draw comparisons to a movie. "This isn't a movie, Renee," he pointed out gently. "I have Sarah and you …."

"Have Harm?" she finished with a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I've got him, alright. When he was leaving for Norfolk the other day, you know what he told me when I was concerned about him getting back in time for the wedding? That he'd promised her that he would be back!"

Mic took in a long, slow breath, willing himself to remain calm, even as he wondered if he should mention the receipt he'd found. Suddenly, he remembered Renee's frantic phone call and asked, "You said earlier that Sarah had been here."

She lifted her head from here it had been resting against her knees and he was mildly surprised when he got a good look at her face. He'd half-expected tears – although he wasn't sure if they would be more for Harm's current condition or her fear that she was losing him. There was a flash of anger in her eyes – certainly understandable given her previous statement. But they were also filled with a steely determination. He recognized in her a kindred spirit, unwilling to back down from a fight for what she wanted.

"There are some things missing," she said, the same resolve evident in her voice. She motioned towards the bookcase by the door. "Up there is where Harm's favorite picture of him and his father usually resides. And on the nightstand in the bedroom normally is one of him and his brother. And one of his travel bags is missing, along with some things from the bathroom."

"And how do you know Sarah was here?" he asked, reaching for any other explanation, even as he recognized the ring of truth in what she was saying.

"Last night, I showed up here and ran into Bud and Harriet …." she began to explain, her expression changing into an odd mixture of surprise, disappointment and just a hint of anger as she realized something. "They had to have known …."

"Who knew what?" he asked.

"Bud and Harriet," she replied. "They knew something was up. They talked me into staying down in the car with Harriet and baby AJ while Bud came up here supposedly to get some things with Harm." She got up and heading to the bedroom, Mic hesitating only a moment before following her. He followed her gaze to the items still laid out on the bed. "Bud came back down with a paper bag with some of Harm's stuff. I pointed out that Harm had two travel bags and had only taken one with him this trip. He – or was it Harriet – came up with some inane excuse about maybe Harm had left the other bag in the back of his car after a previous trip. But the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Why wouldn't he take it out of his car? And look at this stuff. As much as Bud travels, you would think he would know how to pack. And why would Bud and Harriet have come by here in the first place? I came because I wanted to feel close to Harm. They said they'd thought to pick up some stuff for Harm when he is transferred to the hospital, but that doesn't make a lot of sense. That sure wasn't my first thought when I showed up here last night. I just came back here to pack some more things now because I needed something to do."

Mic had to concede that point to himself. But he wasn't about to admit that aloud. Instead, he tried to counter her arguments. "Bud and Harriet are your friends," he said. "Do you really think they'd lie to you?"

"Not intentionally, but you said it yourself," she replied. "We're outsiders here. We're tolerated only because of our relationships with Harm and Mac. But if it came to protecting Harm and/or Mac, you can bet neither of them would think twice."

"Bud is my best man," Mic pointed out, his tone uncertain.

She snorted. "With all due respect, Mic," she said, "who else would you have asked? The Admiral is giving Mac away. Harm …. well, he'd probably rather walk over hot coals before he'd even cross the street for you."

Mic almost smiled at the visual that created in his mind before he remembered to whom he was talking. "But how do you know it was Sarah?" he asked.

"Who else would it be?" she countered. She suddenly turned and headed for the door. Mic thought about following her as she stepped out, but she was back before he made up his mind, holding up a key. "Harm keeps a spare key in a rather obvious place out in the hall. I'm sure she would know where it was." Mic froze as she came closer, his shock written all over his place. "Mic? What is it?"

"She wouldn't have needed a spare key to get in," he said quietly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. "Not long I came back to the States, she was going to, well, I guess the where isn't important. I was staying at her place to look after Jingo while she was gone. She was showing me some of the keys on her ring and what they go to. She had a key that looks exactly like that one on the ring. I only remember because she seemed to hesitate before telling me the key wasn't to anything important that I needed to worry about."

"She has a key …." she murmured. "I wouldn't be surprised to find out he also has one to her place." Mic started to reach into his pants pocket to show Renee what the key to Mac's apartment looked like when she waved him off. "Don't bother. I don't think I want to know. Correction. I'm sure that if you show me Mac's key that I'll recognize it as one that Harm as. But see no evil, right?"

"So now what?" he asked, a hint of dejection creeping into his voice. "You call me over here to tell me my fiancée has apparently been here and now you want to bury your head in the sand?"

"No," she began uncertainly, before stomping her foot on the hardwood floor. "No! I'm not burying my head in the sand. I'm just determined to believe that Harm is too damn honorable to pursue a married woman, or one who is almost married anyway."

This time, Mic was the one who snorted. "And what if your faith in his sense of honor is misplaced?" he asked derisively, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Slowly, his motions deliberate, he pulled out the receipt he'd stashed in there before leaving Mac's apartment and held it out to Renee.

She took it and unfolded the yellow slip, scanning it with an obvious air of indifference. "What is this supposed to be?" she demanded. "It's a credit card receipt. So what?"

"It's for the Breezy Point Officers' Club in Norfolk," he informed her, instantly regretting his harsh tone at the dawning look of horror that crossed her features as she began to put two and two together. In for a penny, he thought, softening his tone as if it might soften the blow. "It is for a breakfast for two. The slip is dated Thursday morning. This past Thursday. Two days ago. I found it on Sarah's desk at home. I went there hoping that she was just hiding out there rather than being God only knows where."

It was a long moment before Renee could make herself speak and when she did, her voice had a noticeable tremor. "So are you trying to tell me that your fiancée and my boyfriend are having an affair?" she asked, immediately jumping to the most obvious conclusion. I will not cry, she told herself, repeating it over and over in her head like a mantra. I will not cry.

"I'm telling you that it appears my fiancée and your boyfriend had breakfast together two mornings ago," he said, trying to inject an air of certainty into his voice that he sure as hell did not feel. There were just too many odd little events which seemed to make no sense unless one considered the possibility ….

"And you know this was simply a Thursday morning thing because you spent Wednesday night with your fiancée?" she retorted. It was fleeting and under other circumstances, she might have thought she didn't really see the pained look that flashed in his eyes before the mask fell over his features. But she latched onto it immediately as he stonily returned her heated gaze. "You didn't. You don't know where she was Wednesday night, do you?"

Reluctantly, Mic nodded as he explained, "I tried calling several times. But her sister arrived in town that day and I just assumed when I couldn't reach her that they were spending time together …. " His voice trailed off as he remembered something else and he clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "She wasn't wearing the ring. I went to pick up her Thursday afternoon for a late lunch. Chloe was there and Sarah wasn't wearing her ring. She said she'd taken it off while taking a bath and just hadn't put it back on. But she didn't look like she'd just gotten out of a bath."

Renee sat down next to him on the bed, unknowingly crumpling the receipt in her fist. She wanted to scream and cry and lash out at something, but wasn't sure which to do first. Or if she should do any of them. "Do you really think …." she began, unable to make herself utter the thought aloud, although she couldn't stop the image that formed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but could see so clearly in her mind the two of them, wrapped up in each other. Damn her, he's my boyfriend, she thought darkly, a small part of her wishing that Mac were standing in front of her right. She'd be nowhere near as calm as Mic seemed to be trying to be. She's got her own man. Why does she have to go after mine? Why can't he just accept that she belongs to Mic and stay away from her?

"I bloody well don't know," he whispered, staring down at the floor. "I just wish Sarah was here. If I could ask her …."

"I asked Harm once," she told him, "if he was in love with Mac. He'd …." She trailed off, remembering the pain she'd worked so hard to hide when Harm had called her 'Mac'. She took a deep breath and continued in a soft voice, "I was joining him, um, in bed after I'd gotten out of the shower once and he called me …. by her name. He bought me all those roses to apologize, but I couldn't just brush it off as easily as he seemed to. I asked him if he loved her and do you know how he responded?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that he came back with a firm denial," Mic said dryly, already knowing how she would reply.

"He said they fought all the time," she confirmed. "He wouldn't even look me in the eye when he said it. If he had, then I might have known …. I said that I was counting the days until you two got married." She flopped back onto the bed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. "Does that sound pathetic?"

"Probably no more so than my wishing that Rabb wouldn't get back in time for the wedding," he admitted, "or hoping that once I have that wedding ring on Sarah's finger that it will be like a switch will be thrown and she'll just forget about any feelings she might have had for Rabb. I don't think it's pathetic at all to know what you want and to go after it."

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, meeting his gaze. "But at what cost?" she wondered aloud. "What if they don't want the same things?" She studied him for a long moment, recognizing the flicker of pain in his eyes that he was trying so hard to hide as a mirror of her own. "Mic …. look, don't take this the wrong way, but how sure are you of Mac's feelings for you? It did take her how long – ten months? – to move the ring over."

Mic just looked at her, unable to open his mouth to speak. When she'd finally moved the ring, he'd been so thrilled that he'd tried not to think about the reasons why or why it had happened when it had. If there was any connection between Harm's talk about resigning his commission to head for Chechnya and Mac's sudden decision, he'd refused to let himself think about it. She'd agreed to marry him and that was the only thing that mattered, he kept telling himself.

"That's what I thought," Renee said in resignation, dropping back onto her back.

"I thought you weren't giving up," he pointed out.

"I don't want to," she admitted. "I'm just not sure how to go about it."

"I marry Sarah," he said, trying to inject firmness in his tone that he definitely didn't feel, but they both needed the bolstering right now. "Then you and Rabb …. " He stopped himself, positive that Renee didn't want to hear him say that maybe once Mac was out of his reach that he would make himself settle for what Renee was so willing to give him. Anyway, it wasn't fair to Renee, who had turned into a good friend the last few months. "Well, I don't know there, but you're a smart, determined woman."

"Why can't Harm be more like you?" she mused, then managed a laugh, realizing how that might come across.

Mic laughed with her. "I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented," he said in a half-teasing tone, the best he could manage at the moment.

"No one ever has to wonder what you're thinking," she clarified. "You're so open about what you think and feel. Sometimes I wonder if Harm even knows what he feels sometimes."

He could relate. He'd sometimes, in his more worrisome moments during the interminable wait for Mac to move the ring to the proper hand, wondered the same thing about Mac. A nagging voice in the back of his mind, which he'd done his best to ignore, liked to point out that if she loved him as much as he did her, the ring would have been on her proper hand from the moment he'd first slipped it on her finger. Hear no evil.

For a long moment, they were both lost in their own thoughts, trying not to think too hard about how everything seemed to be falling apart around them while hoping, almost with desperation, that once Harm was back on dry land and on the road to recovery that everything would return to the status quo.

Renee was the first to break the silence. "So now what?" she asked, the question as much for herself as for him.

For a moment, the mask fell away completely and Mic let his anguish show clearly on his face. Then it was back and he almost seemed to be the same confident man he normally was. "I wish I knew," he admitted. "Bloody hell, I wish I did."

-----

THAT EVENING

SICKBAY

USS PATRICK HENRY

Harm started to prop himself up on his elbow, wanting to gaze down on his sleeping wife, but thought better of it when the room started to tilt around him, brightly colored spots appearing before his eyes, and he sank back onto the pillow with a sigh. Whoever heard of getting dizzy when you were still lying down? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium, but the spots were still there and he felt his head throbbing even more. After a moment, he cautiously opened his eyes to find that Mac had awoken and was watching him with concern. The room didn't seem to be moving around so much, but that annoying throbbing was still there. "You okay?" she asked, stroking his temple with her fingers.

Grinning, he slowly leaned closer, careful of his aching head, lightly touching his lips to hers. When he pulled away, she was giving him a look of mild amusement. Not a bad diversionary tactic, but a diversion just the same. "Okay, I tried," he said in a hoarse whisper, apparently reading her mind. "I'm fine. I just tried to get up a little too fast. That's what I get for lazing around in bed all day."

"Poor baby," she teased. He captured the hand at his temple and brought it to his lips, bringing a pink tinge to her cheeks. "Maybe after dinner we can ask Doctor Reed if we can get you up and walking around a little bit. After all, I'm curious to see if your hospital gown opens in the back."

Harm tried to laugh, but what came from his mouth sounded more like a frog croaking, so he gave up. "I didn't realize I'd married a voyeur," he shot back. "Wait a minute, I do recall a few days before Bud and Harriet's wedding …."

Mac laughed as she remembered the incident he was referring to, when she and Carolyn had been checking out the 'evidence' to determine whether it was him in the newspaper photo. "And I'm sure the great Harmon Rabb has never had a problem with women checking him out," she countered.

He ignored the crack – women looking at him were simply a fact of life and not really one he dwelt on – and marveled, "Is it supposed to be like this? Marriage, I mean."

"I don't know," she replied, sharper than she intended to. Her expression softened at the hurt expression which briefly crossed his features. "I'm sorry. Just some not so pleasant memories coming to the forefront. In a way, this is all new to me as well. It's nice being married to someone that I actually like."

If that was all she was looking for, she could have gone ahead and married Brumby, he realized. For some reason, she seemed to like him well enough. But there had to be more to this than just that, so he chose to turn it into a joke. "I hope you married me for more than just liking me," he said, a look of mock hurt on his face.

She laughed as she kissed his furrowed brow. "It feels good, like we've got our old relationship back," she said wistfully. "I can't remember the last time we were able to tease each other like this." She gave him a brilliant smile as she linked her fingers with his. "I think marrying you may have been one of the best things I've ever done."

"One of the best?" he teased, quirking an eyebrow at her, ignoring the sharp stab of pain at that simple motion.

"You …." she began, stopping as her stomach growled, loudly enough that Harm heard.

Suddenly, he dropped the teasing tone and asked her seriously, "When was the last time you ate anything?" He was worried, knew that she'd probably been half out of her mind over the last day because of him. And how much sleep had she gotten? He'd been so in and out of it all day that she could have laid there pretending to sleep and he probably wouldn't have realized it.

"I don't know," she answered vaguely, unable to meet his concerned gaze. "I guess last night at the rehearsal dinner."

He started to lift his arm, as if to look at his watch, before he remembered that he wasn't wearing it. He vaguely remembered one of the corpsmen removing his watch and Academy ring and setting them aside somewhere after his flight suit had been cut off of him. "It must be close to dinner time," he pointed out, although he was fuzzy on exactly how long he'd been lying in sickbay. Most of today seemed a blur, although there were moments that stood out in his mind. Like the moment they'd been pronounced man and wife. Or the beautiful light in her eyes as she'd stepped through the hatch into sickbay for their wedding. Or hearing her say 'I love you' to him for the first time. "Why don't you go to the officer's mess and get something to eat?"

"I could stick around and share whatever you get for dinner," she suggested with a hint of seduction in her voice. Lazily, she traced the muscles of his shoulder with her fingers and even through cotton of his hospital gown, he felt a warm flush and tingling from her gently touch.

Harm had a brief flash of the two of them feeding each other in bed, licking and nibbling food off each other's bodies. Maybe later. It was something else to remember for the honeymoon. "I doubt you'd want what I'll be getting," he said. "I didn't get lunch except through this …." he motioned to the IV in his right forearm " …. because they were worried with all the water I swallowed that I wouldn't be able to keep anything down. Tonight, I get to try broth and Jell-O."

Their expressions were mirrors of each other as they both wrinkled their noses at the thought. "Anything the mess could come up with would be better than that," she said, "although not by much." She slipped out from under the covers and crossed the room for her bag, grabbing her spare uniform. Harm watched her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. She made even his boxers and an old t-shirt of his look sexy. Too bad he couldn't …. Experiencing another flash of pain, he closed his eyes, but even in the darkness of his mind, everything seemed to be spinning wildly out of control.

She quickly stripped, conscious of the fact that a member of the sickbay staff could walk in at any time. Regardless, she was a bit disappointed when he closed his eyes, his head rolling to the side, as she was pulling on her pants, although she rationalized his behavior by reminding herself that he was probably still exhausted, even if was pretty good at pretending otherwise. Typical Harm, she thought. Shrugging, she pulled on her blouse and buttoned it from the bottom up, hoping he would open his eyes again to catch a glimpse of her lace-covered breasts. So what if she wanted to show off? He was her husband and she'd been dying for him to notice her as a woman for nearly five years. Not to mention the fact that a darkened VOQ room had not given much opportunity for looking. They could have turned on the lights then, she supposed, but it had seemed better in the dark. But now they could come out in the light, even if it was only for a day until they got back to shore. Here, their relationship was sanctioned. She almost laughed at the thought.

"Harm?" she asked as she finished fastening her blouse. Assuming that he'd simply fallen asleep on her, she crossed the room, dropping a goodbye kiss on his temple. "What the ….?" she murmured. Under the hand which was resting on his arm, his muscles were tense, rigid. "You're not having a bad dream, are …?" She jerked back as his arm spasmed under her touch.

"What?" she wondered, looking him up and down. Suddenly, his entire body jerked and an alarm went off on one of the monitors. "Oh, God," she gasped, momentarily startled. Almost as a reflex, the Marine took over. Although surely someone had heard the alarm and was on the way, she shouted, "I need a corpsman in here …. NOW!"

Desperate, afraid he might hurt himself, she leaned over the bed and tried to hold him down by the shoulders as two corpsmen raced into the room, followed closely by Reed. "Colonel," Reed called out as he stopped at a table to snap on a pair of latex gloves, "don't try to hold …." His attempted warning came too late as Harm's left arm jerked violently, catching Mac in the midsection. Even weakened as he was, her 120 pounds was no match for his 200. The force of the blow knocked her away from the bed and into a metal cabinet behind her.

Reed nodded to one of the corpsmen, who moved to help Mac up off the floor, where she was on her hands and knees, fighting to catch her breath. The petty officer tilted Mac's head to the side, gently probing the bruise already forming on her cheek where the side of her face struck the cabinet as she fell. "You'll have a pretty nasty bruise, I think," she told Mac, "but the cheekbone feels intact. I can get an ice pack for you …."

"Doesn't matter," Mac muttered, rising to her feet as she shook out the hand and wrist she'd broken her fall with, shaking off the petty officer's helping hand. She rotated her wrist, satisfying herself and the other woman that it wasn't broken. "Just help my husband. Please." She took a step towards the bed, but forced herself to hold back. As much as she wanted to somehow comfort Harm by her presence, she knew that she'd only be in the way right now. Just let them do their jobs, she told herself. But it was so hard. She wanted to help him, as he'd helped her so many times in the past. Memories of their desperate flight in Appalachia swam through her mind as she tightly clasped her fingers together, her wedding and Marine Corps rings digging into her fingers, not that she noticed.

"Valium, five milligram IV push," Reed barked. Williams rushed over with a capped syringe and removing the cap, he swiftly injected the contents into Harm's IV. Reed glanced at one of the monitors and swore under his breath. Mac followed his gaze, trying to figure out what the readout meant. After a moment, she realized that the number flashing 'zero' in bright red was referring to his respiration. Turning accusing eyes towards the doctor, she opened her mouth to speak, but Reed interrupted before she could say anything, "A momentary lapse in breathing is not unusual during a seizure. It should restart on its own."

"Should?" she demanded, incredulous. "Isn't there more you can do?"

"We'll intubate as soon as the seizure is over," he explained gently. "We can't …." He stopped suddenly as Harm began vomiting, quickly rolling him onto his side so he didn't choke on it or inhale it when he started breathing again. "Williams, get some towels."

In a moment, the nurse returned with some towels and set them on the bed behind Harm. "Oh, my," he murmured, suddenly noticing an area of discoloration on the back of Harm's head. "Doctor, take a look at this." Reed leaned over as Williams brushed back Harm's hair. His fingers palpitated the bruise, feeling for depressions in the skull which might indicate fracture.

"Sweet Jesus," he breathed, his eyes meeting Williams'. He kept his voice low so as not to alarm Mac. "Get us set up for a CT-scan now. Then call the comm room and tell them to set up a satellite hookup with neurosurgery at Portsmouth." As Williams rushed off, Reed turned to one of the petty officers. "Johnston, get me an intubation tray, 7.5 tube, and a vent machine."

As the petty officer took off, Reed studied his patient for a moment and, satisfied that the valium seemed to be easing the spasms, he turned to Mac. "We'll insert a tube in his throat and hook him up to a ventilator," he informed her. "It will help him breathe by forcing air into his lungs if he has another episode."

"Will he?" she asked.

He steadily met her gaze as he replied, "I can't say for sure." But his eyes betrayed him. She could see that he was uncertain about whether Harm could survive another episode. The seizure apparently over, the display on the monitor changed as Harm began breathing again and the alarm silenced. Reed rolled him onto his back and reached for the intubation tray, swiftly inserted the tube in Harm's throat as Johnston listened through a stethoscope to Harm's breathing.

"Good sounds, Doc," Johnston reported, draping the scope around his neck.

"Good," Reed replied. "Let's get warm air pumping through the vent and get him cleaned up. Also, draw some blood and run a CBC just to rule out anything else besides a head injury as the cause of the seizure. I'll be in my office with the Colonel. Bradford, go tell Williams me know as soon as the CT machine is set up." He motioned to Mac to follow him.

She did so reluctantly, pausing to kiss Harm's sweat-drenched brow. "Hang on," she pleaded softly. "I can't do this without you."

Reed stripped off his soiled lab coat and tossed it in a hamper just outside his office, motioning Mac go on in. She stood looking out the window, watching as Johnston swabbed the inside of Harm's elbow with an alcohol pad and applied a tourniquet, poking around for a good vein to draw blood from. Reed came to stand behind her, watching the activity. "How long will he remain unconscious?" she asked.

"I can't say," he said honestly. "Many patients regain consciousness immediately after a seizure, although they may continue to drift in and out for a bit afterwards."

"But not always," she said.

"Colonel, your husband suffered a generalized tonic-clonic seizure," he said, "or what a lay person would call a grand-mal seizure. When we rolled him over as he started vomiting, Nurse Williams noticed some bruising on the back of his head."

She immediately realized the implication. "He suffered a head injury? Why wasn't this caught sooner?"

"It appears so," he replied. "We'll know more after the CT-scan and a consult with neurosurgery at Portsmouth. As for why no one noticed, there are some head injuries which do not present any symptoms for hours or even days after the event. Until now, we had no reason to suspect there was cause for concern. But I can't say for sure until we do the CT and see what we're dealing with."

"So what now?" It amazed her how calm and level her voice sounded, because she was sure that if she unclenched her hands, still clasped tightly in front of her, they would shake uncontrollably.

"We continue to monitor him for any signs of recurrence," he explained, "although hopefully the valium will help to prevent any future episodes or at least lessen their severity. I don't care to speculate further than that until we've had a chance to run some tests."

"What's the worst-case scenario?"

"Colonel …."

She turned around to face him, her bearing determined. "Worst case," she repeated firmly.

Sighing, he relented, "Worst case would be bleeding or a skull fracture requiring surgery. Regardless, I'm almost positive that we'll end up transporting him to Portsmouth tonight instead of waiting for morning. The seizure and the fact that he has yet to regain consciousness are pretty good indications of the severity of his injury. But I'm no neurologist. That's why comm is setting up a satellite link to Portsmouth. It will also give them a chance to know what they need to be prepared for when he arrives."

"I want to be in there," she insisted, turning back to face the window. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she watched Johnston wipe Harm's face clean. How had everything managed to go so wrong so quickly? He'd seemed fine – or as fine as one could be after an unplanned nine and a half hour swim in the Atlantic. Harm was one of the strongest people she knew. It was surreal to see him so weak, so helpless. "When you talk to the doctor from Portsmouth, I mean." From his reflection in the glass, she could tell he was about to protest. "I'm his wife. I insist on being included in any conversations about his condition and treatment. I will not let you sugar-coat or dissemble with me."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Although he could probably try to bar her, he sensed this was not a woman who would take no for an answer. Nor was she one for whom the truth needed to be softened. He could see it in her eyes even as he heard it in her tone and in her words. She knew what Harm was facing. She'd seen it.

There was a knock at the door and Reed called out, "Enter."

Williams poked his head in the door. "Sir, the CT scanner is ready," he reported, "and I ordered Johnston to start the contrast solution in the Commander's IV. We've got Captain David Stafford, chief of neurosurgery, on satellite from Portsmouth."

"When you put the Commander into the scanner, make sure and immobilize his head," he instructed, "just in case he has another seizure. Colonel?"

Mac followed him into another room with a panel with knobs and buttons which seemed incomprehensible to her and several monitors, one of which was showing a Navy Captain sitting behind a desk studying a chart. That one was the satellite hookup, she realized. Another monitor was turned off. A large window gave a view of the other room, where Harm was being transferred from the gurney to the gantry which would slide him into the scanner. One corpsman strapped him securely onto the gantry while the other hung his IV and made sure there were no kinks in the vent tubing.

"Captain Stafford?" Reed said, getting the other man's attention. Stafford set down the file he was studying and turned to face the video camera on his end head-on. "I'm Doctor Charles Reed, chief medical officer aboard the Henry. This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, the patient's wife. She's asked to be allowed to sit in on the consult."

If Stafford had a problem with that, he didn't let on. "Colonel," he said in greeting. "Doctor Reed, your nurse gave me an outline of Commander Rabb's situation. If you could fill in the blanks for me."

"37-year-old Caucasian male," he began, his voice taking on a lecture tone as he opened Harm's chart and gave a cursory glance at his notes, "ejected from an F-14 last night at approximately 0352 Zulu. He was pulled from the water at 1322 Zulu this morning by a Coast Guard helo and given basic first aid on the flight to the Henry. Body temp was 88.2. Preliminary exam showed no obvious signs of physical injury aside from a bruise and gash above his left eye and some bruising on the left side of his rib cage. X-rays negative for broken ribs. Patient was conscious and fairly alert, pupils equal and reactive, so the forehead injury was not judged to be a serious concern. By late afternoon, patient's temperature had risen above ninety-five degrees. There was no sign of underlying injuries until he suffered a generalized tonic-clonic, um …." He paused and glanced at his watch, "onset approximately twenty minutes ago. During the event, my nurse discovered a scalp hematoma at the back of the head when we rolled the Commander onto his side. As he came out of it, his temp read 99.0. Normally, that would be no cause for alarm, but given his recent hypothermic state, it's likely a sign of the elevated temperature which often accompanies cranial injuries. Exploration did not reveal signs of a fracture. We intubated and have continued valium as a prophylaxis."

"Any aura?" Stafford asked.

"None that I'm aware of," he replied. "Patient was checked about an hour and a half ago and reported no problems. This seemed to come out of nowhere."

Mac jerked her head around to stare out the window as the realization washed over her. "Oh, God," she whispered, loud enough that Reed heard her.

He turned and stared at her. "Colonel, is there something that we should know about?" he asked gently. "Did the Commander say anything …?"

"He was feeling dizzy," she replied slowly, replaying the memory in her mind with a new awareness. "He tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but fell back against the pillow. He just said that he tried to get up too fast. And he's been complaining on and off of a headache. He just seemed to think it was because of the stress of everything and lying around in bed all day. But it wasn't, was it?"

"Colonel, there's no way you could have known there was more to it than that," he tried to assure her, recognizing a note of censure in her voice. "If it weren't for the head injury, it probably would have been no more than that. If the Commander had mentioned those symptoms to me, I probably would have thought the same thing. Taken by themselves, those are fairly innocuous signs. And nobody had any reason to suspect that he'd taken a blow to the back of his head."

There was a short burst of static as the intercom clicked on. "Doctor Reed," Williams said, "we're ready out here."

Reed turned on the other monitor, then waited until Williams had exited the room before turning on the scanner. Mac glanced at the monitor, but didn't understand what she was seeing, so she settled for watching Harm's still form, willing some of her strength to him. Harm, I wish I could know that you know what I'm thinking, she thought. Just hang on, Flyboy. We've got so much lost time to make up for.

The whirl of the scanner fading into the background, her mind drifted once again to the Appalachians. Harm tenderly washing her wound as best he could, his fingers stained red as he wrapped the gauze around her leg; his arms securely holding her as she feverishly tossed and turned through the night; the coolness of the water as he gently pressed his wet scarf to her sweat and dirt-streaked face. Even after they'd flown to safety, he'd barely left her side during the three days she'd spent in the hospital.

But in all the things they'd been through, he'd always seemed so strong, so invincible. He'd even bounced back after nearly drowning aboard the Suribachi. She almost laughed, remembering how he'd seemed the picture of health while she'd come down with a several cold. But within a few days, Australia happened and the state of their health was pushed far down on their list of concerns. What would have happened if things had gone differently back then? It all went back to that. If things had gone differently back in Australia, how many of the events of the last year and a half, up to and including last night's events, would never have happened?

"Colonel?" She was brought out of her reverie by Reed's hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled. How long had she been standing there, lost in thoughts of what might have been? She tried to figure it out, but couldn't make her mind concentrate enough to determine the time. Her thoughts refused to stray from the man on the other side of the glass fighting for his life. "Doctor Stafford was about to discuss his diagnosis."

"Already?" she asked, taking a shaky breath as she watched the gantry slowly withdraw from the scanner. He was so still. At least she could be thankful that he'd gotten through that without incident. But that was small comfort given the circumstances.

"These things go pretty fast these days," Reed said. He pulled a second chair up and gestured for her to sit down.

She did so, finally unclasping her hands, wiping her sweaty palms on the legs of her pants. "So tell me, Doctor Stafford," she began, addressing her remarks to the man who could give her the answers she sought, "what's wrong with my husband and what can you do for him?"

"Colonel, your husband has what is known as an intracerebral hemorrhage," Stafford said, "or bleeding inside the brain itself. This type of bleeding often does not show itself for hours or even days after the initial injury. In fact, it often takes more than one CT-scan for the bleeding to show up. Fortunately, knowing that it's there allows us to treat it as soon as possible."

"By surgery?" she asked calmly.

"Depends on the size of the hemorrhage," he replied. "In your husband's case, right now, the mass doesn't cover that large an area, but I expect we will have to surgically evacuate eventually. If his condition doesn't change significantly during the flight to Portsmouth, we'll probably run another CT-scan to reevaluate. We will have a surgical team standing by when you arrive, just in case circumstances warrant immediate surgical treatment."

"So now what, we just wait?" Mac demanded, unable to keep the hard edge off her voice. "Can he even sur –" She paused, choking on the word. When she began again, there was a noticeable tremble to her voice. "Can he handle the flight to Portsmouth?"

"Colonel, it's not a matter of whether or not he can handle it," Stafford said, his tone and gaze sympathetic. She looked at Reed and saw the same eyes, the same truth, there. She bit down on her lower lip, barely noticing the metallic sting of blood on her tongue. "We don't have a choice."

-----

ADMIRAL CHEDWIDDEN'S HOME

MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

"It was the first time I'd assigned them as opposing counsel," A.J. related as he passed the plate of garlic bread to Trish, seated at his left. Supper had begun in an almost oppressive silence, so he decided to try to lighten the mood a bit by telling stories of some of Harm's less harrowing exploits at JAG. They had yet to hear from the Henry, which A.J. took as a good sign. "It was just a few months after Mac had come to JAG."

Trish smiled and murmured her thanks, taking a small slice of bread for herself before handing the plate off to her husband. "I vaguely recall Harm mentioning the case," she said, her smile the most relaxed and easily given than any other A.J. had seen from her that day. "He seemed a bit …. puzzled, for lack of a better term …. by her attitude."

A.J. laughed. "I would agree with that assessment," he said. "When Chief Connors, the defendant, had requested new counsel and Mac was the only one available, I admit I was curious how they would react. After the initial awkwardness of their first meeting, they were managing to become a formidable team. I wanted …." He trailed off as he caught the look that passed between his three guests. "What is it?" He wondered briefly if he'd made the wrong decision in talking so easily of Harm and his job. Although he hadn't meant to, he'd overheard part of Trish and Frank's earlier conversation.

Three minds shared a single thought. They were all aware of the reason for Harm's reaction when he first met Mac, even if they'd yet to meet Mac for themselves. He'd confided in his grandmother and Sarah in turn, since Harm had not specifically said she shouldn't, had told Trish and Frank. It was Sarah who finally spoke up, deciding to tell enough to satisfy A.J., yet really explaining nothing. "I think Harm was still finding his bearings a bit," she said. "In just a little over a year, he'd graduated law school, joined JAG, had recently lost a …. dear friend …. and was being introduced to his third partner."

A.J. nodded thoughtfully and decided to let that subject drop. Although he suspected there was a lot more to it than Sarah was saying, judging from the unease in the looks that had been exchanged, he decided that it wasn't really his business. "Anyway," he continued, pretending not to notice when they all visibly relaxed, "I needed to see if they could work just as well against each other as together." He chuckled at the memory. "It was interesting, to say the least. Harm has always been good at, um, compartmentalizing. Everything was separate – work, friendships, etc. Mac, on the other hand, took everything so personally. It was almost like setting a match to gasoline."

"Harm was bothered," Frank jumped in, agreeing with A.J.'s assessment. He thought the other man might have made a fair psychologist. "Not so much by the case, but how Mac reacted to it. He thought that what happened between them in the courtroom should have no bearing on their friendship outside it, while he said Mac seemed to take his more …. ruthless tactics in the courtroom as a personal affront."

"Exactly," A.J. confirmed. "At first, they were awkward in court. I sat in on one session and almost didn't recognize the two attorneys I was watching. They seemed so tentative, as if they were unsure how to react to being thrust into these new roles. But once the gloves were off …." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I supposed I should have expected things to come to a head eventually. They are both equally stubborn and could only push against each other for so long before everything blew. I just never expected how."

"When Harm first told me about firing off that weapon," Sarah said, smiling indulgently as it seemed only a parent or grandparent could. "He sounded almost embarrassed, as if he couldn't believe how far he'd gone."

"That must have been only in retrospect," A.J. laughed, "because when I called him on the carpet, although he said all the right things and made no excuses for his behavior, he seemed completely unrepentant."

"That sounds like Harm," Trish said, smiling. "If Harm has any regrets about anything, he usually keeps them to himself, usually buried under the mantle of indifference to the consequences of his actions. Frank and I saw the same thing when he returned from Laos." Despite her expression, there was an undercurrent to her words which A.J. couldn't help noticing and he remembered their earlier conversation about Mac's wedding. If Harm was bothered by his best friend's wedding, he only knew. He'd never let anyone else see.

A.J. glanced around and noticed that everyone was just about finished eating. "Why don't we take our coffee into the living room?" he suggested, rising to clear his plate from the table. The others followed suit, despite A.J.'s attempts to wave them off.

"It's the least we can do," Sarah said, in a tone that would not permit any argument. "You've been so kind to us, Admiral. You know, Trish isn't the only Naval wife here. I don't recall many commanding officers who would have taken us into his home the way you have. There were so many rank distinctions in my day – officer and enlisted, lower ranked officers and the higher ranked ones. Anyway, I figure that anyone who has put up with our Harm the way you have for over five years deserves either our gratitude or our heartfelt prayers and sympathy."

Everyone laughed at that, each remembering their own trying times dealing with the Rabb stubbornness which Harm had inherited in abundance. A comfortable silence settled over them as they cleared the table, A.J. and Frank loading the dishwasher while Trish and Sarah put the leftovers away. Fifteen minutes later, they were seated around the coffee table in the living room, sipping coffee while A.J. paged through a photo album he pulled off the bookshelf, showing Harm's family some of the more relaxed moments of the JAG 'family'.

The album was open to some photos of the ceremony at JAG where Harm had received his medal from the Romanian king, A.J. telling them of some of the lighter moments while Harm had been tasked with 'babysitting' the princess, when the phone rang. Conversation suddenly stilled, everyone exchanging thinly-disguised wary looks as A.J. answered the phone. "Admiral Chegwidden," he said.

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant Dennis aboard the Patrick Henry," said the voice on the other line. "I've got Doctor Reed for you. Let me transfer you."

While the comm officer made the shipboard link to sickbay, A.J. activated the speaker on his phone, smiling as he explained, "I'm being transferred to Doctor Reed."

Trish smiled, murmuring 'Thank God' under her breath as Frank and Sarah each grasped one of her hands. They heard the click signaling the transfer was made, but there was no sound from the other end. "Doctor Reed?" A.J. asked.

It was another moment before someone spoke and they all had to strain to hear the softly spoken "Admiral?" It took another moment before A.J. recognized the shaky voice as Mac's. He could feel everyone's eyes on him and he momentarily thought about disengaging the speakerphone, but what was done was done. He just wasn't sure he could answer the inevitable questions that were to come.

"Mac?" he asked, chalking up the slight tremor he heard in her voice to the strain of the past day. Although he could never remember hearing Mac ever sound like that, she probably had not been through so much in a single twenty-four hour period as she'd just gone through. The realization accounted for the unusual familiarity with which he addressed her. He sensed she needed a friend right now, not a commanding officer. "I assume you're calling with an update on Harm's condition? I should tell you that Harm's parents and grandmother are here with me. You're on speakerphone."

If he'd thought to warn Mac, it was completely lost on her, so wrapped up was she in what she was trying to say. "Admiral, um, Harm …." she began, struggling to put into words what had happened. She gripped the phone tightly in her hand, as if by doing so she was holding onto her tenuous control. Reed put a hand on her shoulder, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head. She could do this. She had to.

A sense of foreboding coming over him, A.J. looked back at everyone and saw varying degrees of apprehension settling over their features. They may not have known Mac as he did, but they knew something was not right, something beyond Mac's seemingly inexplicable presence aboard the Henry. "Mac?" he asked again. "Take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

"We're leaving for Portsmouth," she finally said after another long pause. A.J. could tell from the tight, clipped tone in which her words came out that she was fighting to keep a lid on her emotions. "Tonight, as soon as Harm's ready for transport. He …. he …."

They all heard a muffled bang as Mac dropped the phone onto the desk, accompanied by a soft cry and indistinct voices in the background. A.J. glanced over as Sarah closed her eyes and crossed herself, while Frank wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her against him, resting his head against hers. After a moment, another voice came over the line. "Admiral, this is Doctor Reed."

"Doctor, I have Commander Rabb's family here," he said. "What has happened?"

"Commander Rabb had a previously undetected head injury," he said, keeping the explanation as brief as possible even as he realized there was no real way to soften this blow. "Just under an hour ago, symptoms appeared and we ran a CT-scan, which revealed bleeding at the back of his skull. We suspect he struck his head somehow in that location, perhaps being tossed against a piece of wreckage in the water during the storm, which probably caused the bleeding. After consulting by satellite with the head of neurosurgery at Portsmouth, the decision was made to transport the Commander to Portsmouth immediately. He'll be reevaluated upon arrival to determine the course of treatment, but the neurologist, Doctor Stafford, is expecting that surgery will have to be performed."

"Doctor, this is Trish Burnett," Trish jumped in. "Commander Rabb's mother. How could this head injury be undetected for so long? And isn't it dangerous for my son to be subjected to a helicopter ride in his condition?"

Reed paused, studying a spot on the far wall of his office. This was the one part of his job he could never get used to, one skill they could not teach in medical school. "The nature of this particular injury is such that the symptoms may not present for hours, or even days, after the initial injury," he explained. "And right now, it is more dangerous not to move him."

"So you're telling me that my son will die unless he is flown immediately to Portsmouth for surgery?" Trish asked, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hands of her husband and mother-in-law even tighter.

Realizing that she would appreciate nothing less than an honest answer, he answered bluntly, "That is a very real possibility."

"I see," she replied lifelessly, squeezing her eyes shut against threatening tears. "And you or another doctor will be accompanying him on the flight, I assume?"

"I will," Reed confirmed, "as well as a couple of corpsmen to monitor his condition. He will be well taken care of." That was as much as he dared say. As much as he realized he needed to be honest, there was such a thing as being too honest. Although he suspected that she already knew deep down, simply because she'd been present during her husband's seizure, neither Reed nor Stafford had told Mac just how long the odds were that Harm would even make it to Portsmouth alive. He expected, due to the relatively rapid onset of symptoms given the type of injury, that the hemorrhage would only grow. Even if the time delay in getting him into surgery did not kill him, the helo ride might. He tried never to think of odds, only concentrated on doing the best he could for each patient presented him. But in this case he had to admit to himself that the odds were long indeed, even if Stafford had talked to Mac of reevaluating Harm's condition upon arrival.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said softly, unable to think of anything else to say. She heard it in the doctor's tone – her son was at death's door. Harmon, look out for our son, she thought. I can't lose him too – not like this. "Can you put Colonel Mackenzie back on?" Three pairs of eyes focused on her, surprised. What could she want to say to Mac that couldn't wait?

"Colonel?" Reed asked, holding the phone out to Mac. When she didn't respond immediately, staring off at some point in the distance, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he was surprised to see that although her eyes were filled with tears, her cheeks were dry. "Your mother-in-law would like to talk to you." To those listening on the other end, the words were indistinct, the voices muffled.

Mac hesitated a moment before taking the phone, Reed's mention of her mother-in-law bringing home for her what A.J. had said earlier – Harm's family there in his home, listening to her on the speakerphone. Had they heard Reed just refer to Trish as her mother-in-law? It wasn't supposed to happen like this, she thought before banishing the musing from her mind. Right now, she could have cared less if Mic and Renee had been there, listening to every word that was said. The only thing that mattered to her, that she could force herself to focus on, was Harm. "Mrs. Burnett?"

"You must love my son very much to fly all the way out to a carrier on the Atlantic Ocean for him," Trish said softly.

Mac didn't even hesitate. "With all my heart," she replied, just as softly, but with a firmness which gave weight to the honesty of her words. If anyone listening was surprised by her declaration, especially when she was supposed to have married someone else that day, none showed it.

"Then take care of him," she said, her quiet pleading bringing fresh tears to Mac's eyes. "Look out for my son."

"I've always tried to," Mac said, trying not to choke on the words. Perhaps that should be 'I always did prior to two years ago', she reprimanded herself. If she'd been looking out for him since then, surely a way could have been found to keep everything from spiraling so far out of control. If only she'd really paid attention to what he'd been saying in Sydney. If only she hadn't taken Mic's ring. If only she hadn't moved it to her left hand. If only …. if only …. if only ….

"Thank you," Trish said, nodding at A.J. to indicate that she was finished.

"Mac, I will notify everyone," he said, hoping that Mac would read between the lines and realize that 'everyone' meant exactly that. Even though he realized she had more than her share to worry about, he needed to prepare her for what was to come. "Then we'll head to Portsmouth ourselves, although I imagine you'll be there long before we will."

If his words penetrated through the fog enveloping Mac's thoughts, she gave no indication of it. "Probably," she said. "Captain Ingles said the ship traveled west during the search and hasn't turned back out to sea, so we're only about forty-five minutes to an hour out by helo. Harm will possibly be in surgery by the time you arrive …." Her voice trailed off as she unknowingly playing with her wedding ring, pushing it around her finger with her thumb.

"Mac …." he began, uncustomarily at a loss for words, for he too had read the bleakness in the doctor's tone, realized that Harm was literally in yet another fight for his life, the second in less than twenty-four hours, realized that the odds were against him. Then again, who would have predicted that he'd be able to survive for nine hours in the chilly May ocean? "We'll see you in Portsmouth."

"Goodbye, Admiral," she said, then they heard a click and silence indicating the line had been disconnected.

A.J. clicked off the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed audibly. He quickly composed himself and grabbed his keys off the end table, holding them out. "Why don't you put your luggage back in my SUV while I start calling everyone?" he suggested. "We can leave as soon as I'm finished."

Frank took the offered keys and stood, holding onto Trish's hand as she rose with him. As she entwined her fingers with his, he remembered their flight to Germany ten years earlier and how, save for a couple of trips to the bathroom, her hand had never left his on the long flight from San Diego to Pittsburgh, then Pittsburgh to Frankfurt. Now, just as a decade ago, all they could do was hold onto each other while the doctors tried to save the life of their son.

Sarah got up to follow, then turned back to A.J.. "He's dying, isn't he?" she gave voice to the words they'd all been thinking. If Trish and Frank were disturbed by her vocal bluntness, neither gave any indication. But as A.J. studied each drawn, worried face in turn, he could see that they were all thinking the same thing. They all realized that Reed had offered no assurances that Harm would be okay once he arrived in Portsmouth. Assuming he does, he thought. All A.J. could do was nod, finding sympathy for a woman who'd been blessed with such a long life – he pegged her age in the early eighties – yet had been cursed with so much tragedy and heartache and for the parents who had been down this road before.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said, patting his shoulder in a maternal gesture before following Trish and Frank out of the room. A.J. picked up the phone, bracing himself for another round of phone calls, the second in less than twenty-four hours.

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY

"Colonel?" Reed asked, clasping her shoulder. She didn't appear to have heard him, was staring down at her hands in her lap, again twisting her wedding ring her finger. He gently shook her. "Colonel?"

"She asked me to take care of him," she whispered brokenly, leaving Reed unsure if she was even aware of his presence, his hand on her shoulder. "She asked me to take care of him and it's my fault he's lying there …."

"Colonel," he said more firmly as he shook her less gently. He was concerned that she seemed to be blaming herself for a situation beyond her control, but there was nothing he could do about that. Perhaps she could talk to a crisis counselor after they arrived at the hospital or perhaps Father Gilly could be of some help. He'd already requested, and received permission from Captain Ingles, to accompany them on the flight.

Finally, she looked up at him. "Doctor Reed?"

"The Commander is just about ready to be taken up to the flight deck," he told her.

She simply nodded and got up to follow him out of the office. She squared her shoulders, determined to be strong for Harm, but she was unprepared for the site which greeted her in the sickbay's intensive care ward. While a couple of corpsmen completed the last connections to connect Harm to portable monitors which could be carried on the helo, Father Gilly sat on a stool next to the bed, his head bowed in prayer. Her eyes blazed as she advanced on him, demanding, "What are you doing?"

He realized what she was thinking and tried to assure her, "I'm saying a prayer for the sick. With your permission, I could perform the Anointing …."

"I will not let you perform Last Rites," she said angrily. "He's not going to die."

"Sarah," he said gently, holding out his hand to her. She stared at him warily, but didn't move. Sighing, he dropped his hand. She wasn't the first reticent relative he'd ever dealt with on this topic. "Last Rites is a misnomer and only refers to the sacrament when performed at a specific time, such as when one is at the point of departing from his earthly life. The sacrament the Anointing of the Sick is for any seriously ill person and is also appropriate for a person facing a serious operation. The organs of the five external senses are anointed with holy oil and prayers offered to the Lord for the renewal of health. Sometimes that renewal comes in the form of a return of bodily health and sometimes it comes in a renewal of spiritual health as the soul departs …." He trailed off at the look of horror on her face and tried a different tact. "The purpose of the sacrament is to strengthen our hearts against being discouraged in the face of illness. It is a recognition that we accept God's will in …."

"How can this be God's will?" she demanded, walking up to the other side of the bed and taking Harm's left hand in hers. Her gaze fell on the ring on his finger. "We're supposed to have the rest of our lives together. And babies – we've talked about a little boy with my looks and his brains. Or I can see a little girl with her daddy's eyes and smile. She'd have to beat the boys off with a stick when she got older ….The rest of our lives isn't supposed to last only a few hours."

"I wish I had the answers you seek, Sarah," Gilly said. "If I did, then I would be God. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like, but then I remember the awesome knowledge and responsibility that goes along with it and I am content to be his messenger, to interpret his teachings and to light the path for others to follow."

"I just …." she began, only to be interrupted by the approach of Reed. "Colonel, it's time."

Leaning over, she pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment as she closed her eyes. She gave his hand a squeeze then stepped back, silently watching as the corpsmen made sure the various equipment and monitors were secure, then lifted the litter on which Harm would be carried onto the helo.

Gilly walked up to her and tentatively put an arm around her shoulders, prepared for her to shrug him off. He was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder, choking back a sob. "Come, Sarah," he said, starting to lead her towards the hatch. They took a couple of steps, then she broke free of his grasp, darting to the table beside where Harm had lain. She grabbed the pictures she'd put on display earlier, clutching them to her as she rejoined Gilly.

"May I?" he asked, motioning towards the frames. She nodded and held the photos out to him. He immediately noted the resemblance and gestured towards the older of the two photos. "His father?"

"Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Senior," she said, her eyes tracing the image of the little boy who would grow into the man she'd fallen in love with. "His call sign was also Hammer. He was shot down Christmas Eve, 1969."

"I heard that story after the tail hook incident," he recalled, "when Harm received his new call sign. You know how scuttlebutt is on ship."

She nodded towards the other picture as they followed Harm's litter down the passageway to the elevator which would take them to the flight deck, normally used to transport munitions. "He was taken to Russia and after ten years in captivity, escaped," she continued. "He spent the last two years of his life on a farm deep in Siberia with a brother and sister, dying when he saved Pitchka from being raped by Russian soldiers. She was pregnant with Sergei when he died. Harm met him nine months ago, the last time we were in Russia."

"I take it from the uniform that he's in the Russian military?" he asked.

"He flies … flew helos for the Russian army," she replied. "He's been in a Chechen POW camp since just before Christmas." She turned to Gilly, her eyes flashing with anger. "When I asked how this could be God's will, I wasn't just asking for myself. Harm's grandmother is eighty-two. Her son was barely two when her husband was shot down during World War II. She didn't know the fate of her only child for almost thirty years after he was shot down. She already carries the burden of worrying over her younger grandson, a prisoner halfway around the world. And Harm's mother and stepfather – they've been down this road, when Harm suffered his ramp strike ten years ago. How much is one family supposed to take?"

"I wish I had the answer for that," he replied, realizing how lame that sounded. She was a lawyer. Her job was to seek answers, uncover the truth. She likely was not one who tolerated being told there were no answers. From what he recalled of past conversations, Harm wasn't either. They were well matched in that.

"So do I," she murmured as they stepped onto the elevator, looking at the pictures one last time before stashing them in one of the travel bags slung over her shoulder. She stepped up to the litter and took Harm's hand in hers, trying to ignore how limp it felt in hers. "Hang on, Harm," she whispered, leaning over so that her mouth was against his ear. The petty officer beside her pretended to be interested in a speck of something on the far wall of the elevator. "You've never given up on anything in your life. Don't you dare start now."

-----

Continued in Drifting On A Lonely Sea Chapter III – Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad