You Learn to Let Go

by km1958

Complete story of 14 chapters. A possible sequence of events and consequences if Harm were to follow a different path in the Paraguay aftermath. Warning: you might not like the initial portrayal of Mac.

You Learn to Let Go, km, 2005.

Introduction: I have enjoyed JAG over the years because it was one of the few programs that featured an American Hero. A strong, attractive, larger-than-life hero. Over the years, that focus was re-directed toward an attempt to build an 'ensemble cast'. But the pattern had been set and attempts at change haven't worked over the years.

One thing most could agree on is that for every episode on TV, there were probably a handful of possible endings. More often than not, in my opinion, the ending the viewer saw was neither logical nor satisfying. In my mind, this is one scenario which is more logically possible, taking our hero in a far different direction than where he is on TV.

Please know that I have been pulled to this show because of the hero; most of the other characters, I don't even like. Nor do I care for most of the dynamics between several of the characters. I used to like Mac, but she has changed. Now, the character she has become is not what I think successful, independent women should be. She has a lot of baggage to address---something that is not done in the course of the show. I am however, an incurable romantic, so there is really nowhere else a story could go but to a Harm/Mac ending.

That said, I hope you find some enjoyment in this. I know where it is going; I just don't know how many chapters will be needed to get there. While it may seem endless, it won't be---I don't believe in 50+ chapter stories.

Standard disclaimers apply.

You Learn to Let Go Part 1

Family Court of Virginia
Mid-May, 2004
9:00am

As soon as he saw Ms. LaMoine enter the courtroom, alarms began to sound inside his head. Mattie looked up at him as she sat by his side; he knew she heard her own alarms. Harm had thought this was just a formality, since the original ruling of custody was for a six month time period. They hadn't fully completed five. Still, they had been summoned for a hearing, so here they were. Mattie's dad sat opposite them in the gallery but the look on his face suggested he was no more aware of the proceedings than they were.

Harm knew Ms. LaMoine kept a close watch on their situation. He was reminded of all the accounts in the news where social workers were less than diligent and children fell through the cracks. He couldn't help but wonder about this---why his case was so closely watched. 'You're an idiot if you think the rest of the world doesn't wonder about a forty-year old bachelor taking in an adolescent, and a pretty one at that. Things sure have changed since the days of Professor Higgins and Eliza Doolittle.'

The door to his left front opened and he began to stand as the court officer announced the judge. The others present followed his actions before being instructed to sit again. Harm noticed his palms were sweating, and that the hair on the back of his neck was standing as the judge looked at the case file. Finally, she began.

"Thank you all for coming. Ms. LaMoine has submitted regular reports on the custody of Mathilda Grace and has requested this hearing to keep the process moving forward. I'll be asking you several questions and then we'll see where this should go next. I see you have been performing well in school, that you have caught up to grade level and that your academic marks are quite high, especially given that you missed most of the first semester. Is this accurate, Miss Grace?"

Mattie stood as she began to speak.

"Yes, Ma'am. Harm, well, Commander Rabb worked out a schedule with the school and made sure I completed all the work. He arranged for me to receive credit for some things I did outside of school last fall that proved to them I knew the stuff they were trying to teach. Ha...that is Commander Rabb, helped me with some of the work, so did my roommate and I had a tutor for some things. Commander Rabb arranged for that with the school counselor."

"I'm impressed, Miss Grace," the judge said as she turned her focus to Harm. "I was of the understanding, Commander Rabb, that Miss Grace was placed in your guardianship. Who is this roommate?"

Harm stood, catching himself before he actually came to attention. He explained the requirements outlined by Mr. Whatley and the difficulty in moving to appropriate housing on such short notice, as well as it being the ideal location to give Mattie comfortable space away from the home of a lifelong bachelor. He detailed Jen's previous living situation and how he took the opportunity to meet both of their needs.

"Petty Officer Coates has been a lot of help. She's been able to offer a woman's perspective when Mattie needs it. She's backed us up when my job demands I travel, without Mattie being passed from pillar to post. It helped the petty officer, too, when she needed it." Harm went on to detail more of their living situation and the judge seemed to accept it. She then turn to address Ms. LaMoine.

"Ms. LaMoine, had you been aware of this?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Miss Grace was not left unattended and the living situation addressed the needs of an adolescent girl. She spent most of her free time with the commander. Given her grades and the encouragement from him regarding reconciliation with her biological father, it was deemed adequate for the time being."

The judge nodded. "So you're requesting that we proceed with Miss Grace' return to her father at this time?" Harm and Mattie exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Yes, Your Honor. Because the original placement was for six months, and it appears all is on the necessary path, Department of Childrens' Services recommends a transition back to her father's custody so that at the end of the six months, custody can be fully restored without further delay."

The judge questioned Tom about his progress and living situation, and then directed additional questions to Harm, Mattie and Ms. LaMoine. She glanced through the case file in front of her again then was silent for a short time.

"It would appear that many of the challenges facing this family have been addressed. You, Commander Rabb, seem to be responsible for much of this. You are to be commended, much more so than I thought when I first heard this case. Further, I am impressed by the way you two gentleman have cooperated in the interest of this young woman.

"Miss Grace will begin the process of the return to her father. Because I believe she needs to complete this school year where she is, she will remain at her current high school. She will, however, spend the weekends with her father. Because of the circumstances of this case, Ms. LaMoine, you will arrange for Saturday morning family counseling for Mr. Johnson and Miss Grace. Commander, you will get her there and you, Mr. Johnson will join them there. Mr. Johnson, your daughter will be your responsibility until Sunday evening when you will return her to Commander Rabb, ready to return to school the next day. Because I understand this transition may be trying for someone as young as Miss Grace, the commander will provide for attendance to individual counseling on Monday or Tuesday evening. Ms. LaMoine will arrange it. This will allow Miss Grace to address personal issues in her own time, in her own way. This will continue to the end of the school year when Miss Grace will return to her father's custody. The customary follow-up is expected, Ms. LaMoine." Because the judge noticed both Harm and Mattie pale at these instructions, she continued.

"However, I believe that the commander and Miss Grace have developed a relationship that is important to both of them. It is not my wish to hurt either one by severing ties too quickly. After school ends and Miss Grace is returned to her father, Commander Rabb is granted visitation every other weekend through the end of July. She is ordered to visit with him one
weekend in August. After that, and with approval of the Department of Childrens' Services, visitation may be at the agreement of all parties involved. Do you all understand these provisions?"

"Yes, Ma'am." "Yes, Your Honor." All four answered, not quite in unison.

The gavel was heard and the proceedings were completed. Harm was a bit dazed. As was Mattie. Tom was overwhelmed with relief and anxiety both, hoping Mattie would not react badly to this. Even he thought this might be moving too fast for her.

The ride back to JAG was quiet; but not strained. Solemn was a better description. After handshakes and hugs outside the courthouse, Tom had gone his way as Mattie and Harm had returned to the Corvette. Mattie returned to school to finish out the day and Harm drove away after a sad but reassuring hug. That in itself told Harm of Mattie's state of mind. She rarely looked for much physical contact and even rarer at school. Most of their physical contact was chummy, affectionate yet similar to what pals might share. She seemed younger and more apprehensive; more so than anything he had seen since their discussion at Grace Aviation in the fall, when he told her he was returning to JAG.

The elevator returned a distracted commander to the correct floor at JAG headquarters. As he headed toward his secluded office, he was grateful for that small silver lining. At least he would not be in the middle of the daily chaos. He'd need time to process all this, unprepared as he was for this ruling at this time. It had been his intent to help Mattie return to her father. It was just sooner that he thought. Lost in thought, he was caught unaware by the JAG chief of staff.

"Commander, so good of you to join us now that the day is half over."

The colonel had spent the morning dealing with a particularly exasperating client and Harm's absence had prevented her from solving the issue. To further compromise her mood, her lunch had been spent in a troubling conversation with Clay and his continual struggles. Of course, he added fuel to the fire regarding Harm's lack of availability during her morning frustrations.

Had he been focused, Harm would have heard the true tone of her voice. But not taking her seriously, he responded with a flip reply. "Well, Mac, you know me; I'm not as concerned with timing as you are." It seemed innocent enough, but she wasn't willing to let it slide.

"I beg your pardon, Commander!" There was no mistaking her tone of voice now. In fact much of the staff could hear it, and her, quite well. Everyone froze. "Are you also unconcerned with military courtesy? I hope this lack of courtesy is not becoming a common occurrence. Or is it just for the Chief of Staff? Is that why I was not informed that you were to be arriving late today? Maybe you've forgotten that I am a senior officer, even if it is by only a few months? Is that why you don't feel I deserve that kind of courtesy, Commander?"

Harm was taken aback. Momentarily stunned. Then furious. Given the events of this morning, he was uninterested in placating her. And he didn't really care what her problems were. He snapped to attention.

"No, Colonel. I informed the Admiral that I would be seeing to personal business for the first half of this day. I was unaware that I was to report to you."

"None the less, Commander, common courtesy would be appreciated. Your actions set a bad example for the junior staff, not to mention the enlisted personnel. I am, after all, the Admiral's Chief of Staff." She was not going to let this go. It never occurred to her that she might be over-reacting, much less that there were extenuating circumstances involved. Upsetting circumstances.

He was, at the very least, aware that this could easily turn into a public spectacle and he was unwilling to contribute to that. Tightening his stance even farther, one learned so many years ago after hours and hours of drill as a fourth year midshipman, a plebe, he spoke through clenched teeth, exaggerating his response. "Yes, Ma'am! My mistake, Ma'am. It won't happen again, Ma'am." He continued to stare straight ahead, seeing nothing but rather focused on some random point in space.

"See that it doesn't, Commander. Dismissed."

Executing a perfect turn on his heel, he headed to original destination; as far as he could get from the rest of the staff. From everything.

The admiral had quietly witness the scene from a distance then turned without notice back into his office. Coates stood by as he ignored her, and appeared to ignore the entire situation. She sighed. 'What a day!' Jen was looking forward to a report on the court hearing. The commander had down played it but she knew he had been puzzled by the timing. The fact that he didn't mention it to anyone at work told her he didn't want to deal with the questions and concerns. She had learned that about him. Whenever he was uncomfortable with something, he closed the subject, as though he couldn't deal with additional emotions. A public dressing-down would just make it harder to talk to him. She sighed again.

He was able to call on his military discipline (since he was still in that mindset) to refrain from slamming the door as he entered the quiet office. Even the admiral at his angriest had kept these scenes private. The admiral also asked for facts first. But not this Marine. She really did live by the adage: shoot now, ask questions later... He was livid! He paced for a bit, and then sat heavily in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He just stared, trying to calm himself. 'No sense in getting upset. For all the control you profess to have, you really don't control anything.' Cursing himself a fool, he stood. He'd do what he'd always done---focus on his duties. That would distract him enough from the emotions to think clearly.

Two hours later he was engrossed in paperwork. He closed a file, having completed the initial steps in a new case of routine legal matters. And immediately the thought returned: 'she's going back to her father.' It was the original goal, but still... he had come to enjoy this life, her company, her presence. It occurred to him the remaining time was short and that he needed to be free the last two weekends in June, so that when his visitation weekend was set, he'd be available. He turned to his computer and opened his e-mails. There had been one sent in late April giving the assignments for the weekends in May. He'd been assigned none which meant he surely would draw one in June. Harm didn't want to wait to find out which one. A preemptive strike might be the way to go. As Mac would remind him in her Marine way, it was best to be prepared. 'The best offense...well, in her case, was to be offensive.' He took a deep breath. 'OK, time to move on...' He looked again at the email and picked up his phone.

Less than ten minutes later, Harm heard the knock on his door. At Harm's response, a junior attorney presented himself at attention before the desk.

"Lieutenant Stevens reporting as requested, Sir."

"At ease, Mr. Stevens. I see by the schedule, that you have weekend duty soon. Is this correct?"

"Yes, Sir. This weekend." He didn't know the commander well enough to hazard a guess on the purpose for the question so he stood silently waiting for Harm to continue. He had witnessed the earlier scene and felt a bit self-conscious.

"I need to have my weekends in June available, so I'd like to take your May weekend if you think you can cover mine in June. Would this be possible for you?" Harm didn't want to pull rank for this purpose, but maybe if he made it sound formal, the junior officer would be inclined to acquiesce to a senior officer.

"Certainly, Sir. I have no plans yet for any weekend in June so I'll just wait until the assignments are posted to make any. Is that all, Sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you. That'll be all." Stevens turned to leave, and then stopped at the door. He turned to face Harm then stood quietly, waiting to be recognized again.

"Something else, Lieutenant?"

"Well, Sir...not meaning to overstep, Sir..." Harm could tell the younger man was a bit nervous. "I'm speaking for myself, Sir...but I don't know of one Navy guy around here, and most of the Marine enlisted, Sir, who'd disagree..." he trailed off, hesitant to continue.

Harm was suspicious now. The way today was going... 'in for a penny, in for a pound...'
"Speak freely, Lieutenant."

"Well, Sir... You see, Sir..." Harm leaned forward as if to nudge him along. "I don't think you set a bad example, Sir. If anything, just about everyone respects you more than most, especially the younger staff, Sir."

Harm didn't quite expect that, and certainly didn't know how to respond. He stood looking at Stevens, eyes wide but otherwise expressionless.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean any disrespect. I shouldn't have reminded you..."

Harm cut him off, "No, no, Lieutenant. It's alright. Thank you. Dismissed." This time he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Harm leaned back in his chair. A bit of his ego returned, 'this may turn out to have a small positive side for me, after all...'

A/N special recognition for those who understood the Professor Higgins & Eliza Dolittle reference. They are the main characters from 'My Fair Lady' For those who don't know, he is a mature, single British gentleman who takes in a young, rough, uneducated---though streetwise---girl and teaches her appropriate behavior for upscale London society.

A/N2 I will try to make note of official storylines NOT included in this fantasy: the whole fake Webb/death thing: not here; the lame Meredith explanation: not here either, although I do assume the betrayal took place; the admiral's retirement: not yet.

You Learn to Let Go part 2

It was late in the afternoon when a young clerk knocked on the colonel's office door. He had been sent by the admiral's yeoman, who had no desire to speak directly to the colonel, herself.

"Enter."

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Admiral Chegwidden asks that you come to his office before you secure for the day."

"But not now?"

"Anytime before you leave, Ma'am."

"Thank you. If that's all..." The clerk snapped to attention, pivoted, and left.

Even though the colonel had stayed in her office, occupied with her own paperwork, the tension throughout the office remained. The staff was decidedly uncomfortable having witnessed such a scene earlier, anxious that there would be residual fallout before all was said and done.

Mac completed the file notes she had begun, and seeing that several staff members had already left for the day, she organized her desk then headed toward the admiral's office.

His yeoman had secured for the evening so his door was open as he read through some of the reports of the day. Mac knocked and waited for his response. The admiral looked up and motioned her to enter.

"Close the hatch, Colonel, and have a seat." She waited for him to continue.

"You seemed awfully upset by the commander today, more so than I understand. Have there been other factors that led to a need for that degree of reprimand? Things I may not have been privy to? Especially since I did have a talk with him some time ago about 'pushing you buttons'."

She hesitated in answering. The admiral didn't seem upset with her but questioning her at all made her suspicious. In hindsight, she knew she had been too harsh, and inappropriate because of the public setting, but it seemed Harm had once again attained the status as golden boy and she had had enough of it all. Everyone else, herself included, had to struggle with the aftermath of life's obstacles. Yet after the initial discomfort of his return to the Navy from the CIA, he resumed his place as alpha male and top dog. The rest of the staff had quickly settled back into the routine, following his lead. She'd been unwilling to go along. As much as she was glad to have him back, as much as she had missed his effect on the workings of JAG headquarters, she refused to openly acknowledge it. She had liked the position she held in his absence. She was in the lead; and she wanted to be on top. It was unacceptable to her that the staff returned to him for leadership after his reinstatement. She certainly wasn't going to let the admiral know that Harm's presence was needed this morning and that it frustrated her. She wasn't really able to admit it to herself. Her pride wasn't going to allow for that.

"Mac, what's going on?"

Mac had been in this world long enough to know that she needed to present this in the most diplomatic way. Anything else had a good chance of backfiring. She'd experienced it before. Most recently, it was in the first few weeks of Harm's absence, when the staff didn't seem to recognize that Harm's absence was really of his own doing. She needed to present her case carefully.

"Sir, it would seem that the commander sometimes disregards some things. He doesn't seem to understand how much the younger members of the staff follow his lead. He knows, as well as anyone else here, that military discipline is successful because it applies to everyone regardless of rank. Yet there are many times when his disregard for the commonplace is not noticed nor are there consequences for him. As chief of staff, I feel it rests on me to make sure the staff doesn't pick up bad habits. In the interest of morale, they need to see that the rules apply to everyone, not just the lower-ranked, nor the enlisted."

The admiral took note of her lack of understanding of the irony: it was her response to the commander that lowered morale on this day. 'No sense adding fuel to the fire...'

"There's nothing else at issue here?" She shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir. What else would there be? This is an issue only because of the effect on the staff."

Her denial was almost humorous. Almost. "Well, Colonel, one thing the commander said is indeed true." She looked slightly confused. "Commander Rabb does indeed answer directly to me; always has. While you are my chief of staff and you are indeed longer in rank, he has been here longer, even with his, shall we say, short breaks away. That leaves him senior attorney. As such, it was never the practice for him to answer to you. Maybe it would be better in the future if you brought concerns such as these to me, when you notice them, and let me handle our erstwhile commander and his lack of discipline. He will answer to me on the occasions that his performance is, in any way, less than acceptable. Is this acceptable to you?" He hoped she would take this in stride if he focused on the chain of command, that she would follow the military discipline she so touted, without going into her usual 'Marine-mode'.

She nodded her agreement. "I understand, Sir."

"Good, good. If there's nothing else you feel we need to discuss..." pause "then that'll be all. Have a good evening, Colonel."

As she left, he couldn't help but wonder if the discussion hadn't gone too well. 'Time will tell...' He also knew he'd have to do at least some damage control with Harm. Maybe just a bit of subtle reassurance here and there and they could avoid any more scenes, or those uncomfortable discussions on feelings. Sometimes, there was just too much refereeing to be done with these people.

The following Saturday morning
JAG Headquarters
1030 hours, EST

Harm had left Mattie in the care of her father at the family counseling center. The arrangements had been made for a weekly 10am appointment on Saturdays. Harm had wondered how it would come together, given the fact that he didn't think the civilian world worked weekends. Apparently, an order directly from the judge worked well on state funded agencies with several young social workers.

He was actually glad to be pulling weekend duty. Harm had not a free weekend since he met Mattie in October. In the beginning she had work for him every weekend and he needed to fly. It had been therapeutic. Then he returned to JAG and he had been buried with the Imes debacle. The few hours he had free those first months were spent with Mattie. Then it had been Christmas and she was with him all the time. If he wasn't working, they were together. Mattie and Jen did things together but they were always when Harm was on duty. If he was available, she was with him. It had helped to rebuild her sense of self and it gave Jen the freedom she needed. But Harm had not had time to himself in months. He didn't know what to do with it now. Work had been his refuge in the past. It would keep him occupied today as well.

Mid-July, 2004

Summer came to the area as it did every year. It was miserable. Hot and humid. At least it didn't seem as hazy as in some years. There were more clear days than Harm remembered but he didn't see many of them. When Mattie had returned to her father in June at the end of the school year, Harm quickly learned that he only lived alone as well as he had because he hadn't known what he was missing. Now that particular innocence was gone.

It was in the first few days alone that Harm realized he was dreadfully lonely. The confrontation with Mac in May had changed their relationship. He tended to keep some distance and so did she. He knew she was quietly observing him, though she never said anything else. On a couple of occasions, the admiral would ask him about some situation or another; that on the surface suggested he might not be fulfilling his duties. But it was subtle, never presented as a reprimand. Harm suspected the admiral was hearing a bit grumbling but was attempting to remain objective. He accepted the explanations Harm gave in a detached, matter-of-fact way and life in the office went on.

They were civil, once again. Mostly because Mac realized she may have gone over the top---even if not, the public setting was unprofessional at the very least. So she treated it like many of the other conflicts they had over the years: she ignored it. And Harm seemed to follow suit. Subsequently, in the office they were behaving almost pleasant, after a few weeks. But it was different. In most situations at the office, he maintained at least a minimum of decorum; never truly showing his more relaxed side---his cocky, flyboy personality. Work was busy and she was occupied with her continuing relationship with Webb. Harm was busy with his work, as well, and he was just preoccupied. Part of it was because those around him had lives of their own, part of it was because he didn't have the energy to attempt even a cursory involvement. He quietly backed off, not necessarily with intent, it just kind of evolved. The others around him had not really noticed, again not necessarily with intent, it was just that way, and there were other obligations.

The only relationship he consciously altered was that with Jennifer Coates. The day Mattie packed the remainder of her belongings and left with her dad, Harm stood at the door with Jen.

"The rent is paid through the end of the month, and I'll help you next month if you need it. But you need to find a new roommate. I'll help you if I can."

"I've given it some thought, Sir, and I plan to put up some ads tomorrow. I just didn't want to be interviewing people with Mattie still here. I thought she might feel bad, like I was rushing her out. I'm gonna miss her, Sir." He knew this was just as hard on her.

"Me, too, Jen. Listen, Jen, there's something else we need to talk about... now with Mattie gone, we really have no explanation for any questions that might be asked. I don't want you to be doubted by anyone. I don't want you to risk your future. Any suggestion of impropriety could damage your record forever. You have quite a future in the Navy..."

"What are you saying, Sir?" He hesitated and she could see he was uncomfortable, no, more than that. He was unhappy. 'How much of this was his unhappiness over Mattie?'

"Jen, we can't keep up any kind of relationship. It would be...inappropriate...it could hurt you, and get me court-martialed."

"But, Sir, there's nothing going on here." She didn't want to acknowledge what he was not saying.

"It doesn't matter, Jen. Appearance is everything. There has already been talk and I've been able to dispel it, so has the admiral, all because this revolved around Mattie. Now she's gone. Those people who like to spend time speculating have too much to gossip about already. If you actually need anything, Jen, you know I'll always help you out. But, day to day, it has to be this way. We have to do it this way."

And that was how it went. Jen was unusually quiet the remainder of June, sometimes it appeared that she had been crying. But she never said and she never gave anyone the chance to ask. She got a new roommate in early July and began to seem like she was returning to her old self. But like Harm, another piece of her innocence was gone. She followed Harm's lead; kept her personal life out of the office. She knew he did it as a defense mechanism; that facing others' concerns and emotions made it too hard to control his own. She knew it was not the healthiest way, but it was easier and she found herself doing it too. One day, she'd be able to face it. Just not now.

Harm found that going home was just too lonely. So he didn't. He began to come in around zero seven hundred. He told himself it was because he couldn't sleep any later after decades of discipline. But in truth, there were two other reasons. He had gotten accustomed to getting up earlier with Mattie so he could get her to school and it was too quiet to stay in his apartment in the morning. He also didn't want to face his coworkers on the way in and all their small talk, questions like 'how was your evening?' An observer might know he was depressed. But it would never occur to him. Jen observed it, but he had clearly marked the boundaries and she couldn't bring herself to disregard his wishes. Too many others were disregarding him now. So she quietly watched and worried. But even she didn't know the extent.

Because he was still in the little office off the beaten path, she didn't know when he came and went. Further, her hours allowed her to leave at seventeen hundred. Most of the senior staff stayed until seventeen-thirty or eighteen hundred. What she didn't know was that after she had left along with most of the enlisted personnel, sometime between seventeen-thirty and eighteen hundred, he'd close the door and turn on his desk lamp, but only if needed. His office had the west window so he had natural light for a few hours. He'd work on his open cases, preparing for court, completing paperwork, organizing investigation findings. If he had a light workload, he'd take a few new files from the stack before he closed himself in his office. They were mundane cases, things for the clerks and the first-year attorneys, but they kept him occupied. If anyone ever noticed, it was never mentioned. Most likely, they didn't notice. The inbox for these kinds of cases was close to overflowing because of all the demands of increase of personnel on active duty. They needed more young attorneys but it was summer, and not everyone was available until they had passed the bar exam. By fall, it would level out, but for now, Harm was grateful for the work.

Most nights, he'd stay until twenty-one hundred. Then he'd go for a run, after the sun was down and the air began to cool. By the time he returned to his apartment--his empty apartment--he'd be too tired to do anything but shower and crash. He was even too tired to eat. He fell into a routine. On Tuesday, he'd leave at twenty hundred and meet Sturgis for basketball. They'd play hard for an hour or so then go for a beer. The talk was mostly about work, or Sturgis' growing relationship with Varese. Sturgis had more to talk about than normal and Harm was a bit more withdrawn than normal; it all evened out and neither seemed to notice it. On Saturday, he'd allow himself to sleep in a bit then he'd go to the office until sixteen or seventeen hundred, just to keep busy. Saturday evening he'd shop and begin a little laundry. Sunday, he'd finish his laundry, work out, clean the apartment and cook for the week. He found that he'd rather take his own meals. Buying a good meal took too much time and effort; the other option was junk food. So the days--and the summer--continued on.

His few weekends with Mattie were spent at her house. It was easier all around, and it allowed for a weekend of flying. But Monday would bring back the same routine--when the day was ending he couldn't face going home. Summer activities were keeping everyone's free time occupied, when they weren't playing catch-up because of vacations. So the days and weeks kept going by, almost in a blur.

Until Harm's cell chirped one Wednesday in late July.

Chirp, ChirpChirp, Chirp

"Rabb."

"Harm..."

He recognized the voice immediately; he also recognized that it didn't sound the way he always remembered his stepfather's voice. 'Oh, God, what?'

"Frank, what is it? What's wrong?" Silence...then...

"Harm, your mother...I'm so sorry, son."

"Frank, I'll get the first flight I can. I'll call when I have details."

"OK. I'll be waiting to hear from you..." Click.

Harm couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, couldn't even think. So he did what any trained military man did. He acted. He'd do what needed to be done and he'd think about it later. He'd need to see the admiral first.

Harm approached the admiral's office. There was no one in the outer office and the door was open. He took a deep breath and knocked on the frame.

"Come."

"I'd like to request a few days leave, Sir."

"Mr. Rabb?"

"It's a family emergency, Sir. I just received a phone call."

The admiral studied the officer standing before him. He knew Harm well enough to know that he didn't fabricate stories. He also knew that Harm had kept details of his personal life to himself after the return to JAG the previous fall. Harm's demeanor suggested he was no more willing to share than he had been for months.

"How long would you need to be gone?"

"I would think just a few days, Sir." Harm knew if he dragged this out, he'd be asked for explanations that he just didn't want to face. Since his return, he had been apprehensive about his level of vulnerability and rarely took the risks associated with letting his guard down. The encounter with Mac in May had reinforced that.

"Alright, Commander. I trust you will leave your cases in order before you go so that you may return to them without too much disruption. I'll expect you back for Monday morning staff call unless you contact me with further explanation."

"Thank you, Sir." And with that, Harm was gone. And the admiral was left to his thoughts.

Chegwidden had tried to respect Harm's need to play his personal affairs close to the vest. Had it not been for that scene in May, he would have pushed a bit more in the last several weeks. But now he was unsure that pushing would be beneficial. Further, the admiral had noticed Harm's more somber manner in the past several weeks. He had thought that Harm was getting back his stride in the spring. But that dressing down by Mac had shot any progress toward previous demeanor all to hell. Harm's work had been exemplary, even more so than in past years. His reports were on time, sometimes even early; all the 'i's dotted and all the 't's crossed. His court performance had been without flaw. Any cases he did loose were handled with the utmost professionalism while focusing on the rights of the guilty and minimizing damage to the greatest degree. He was always busy. But, the admiral never noticed Harm taking even a few minutes for down time. There certainly was nothing reminiscent of classic Rabb mischievousness. On the rare occasions that he noticed Harm entering the break room, it was brief and for a specific purpose. And while Harm was not unpleasant, he didn't seem happy. It was almost as though there was no life behind those eyes. Certainly no joy. He chuckled at the irony of that term, thinking of how Harm would slip occasionally into 'pilot-speak'. The admiral wondered if, after the challenges of the past year or so, the incident with Mac was the final straw---that just sucked the joy out of his life. Even his physical appearance wasn't quite right. It was nothing definite; very subtle. But Harm did look slightly different. Maybe it was time to do a little CO intervention. After Harm's return, he'd attempt a conversation or two.

'Yeah, that'll go over well---'cause Harm likes to discuss feelings about as much as I do.'

A/N This part isn't real bright and cheery---not so much angst-y as sad. So if you're not in the mood for it, stop now. This is all part of the set-up which brings us to the meaning of the title. This segment of the story was longer than I anticipated so it will continue in one more chapter. At the end of part 4, we'll be at a turning point in the story.

A/N2 If you're like me, you want to know where the journey is going to end before you invest too much time and effort. Re-read the intro (posted 4/14) and you should be reassured. I'm trying to follow the characteristics which have defined these people over the years, while remembering that everyone has human flaws and the results are different in everyone.

You Learn to Let Go, part 3

The following Sunday night
San Diego, CA
Commercial aircraft

When Harm took his seat, it was more like collapsing than sitting. He had checked his luggage so he only had himself to manage. It was a good thing, too. He looked into the dark evening sky, completely drained by the activities of the previous five days. He was dog-tired, almost dead on his feet. He could barely think straight. And he didn't really feel anything. 'I wonder if this is what they mean when they use the word numb.' He didn't remember this from the ramp strike. Between the pain, the guilt and the horror of it, he lived each emotion over and over for months. He hadn't even felt this way when he saw Diane dead on that stretcher all those years ago. The grief, anger and regrets he knew then were leashed by the involvement in the investigation. That kept it all from being so...final.

But this was different. This was final. There was nothing else. His mother was gone. He had barely spoken to her over the past couple months. He had withdrawn into himself after Mattie returned to her dad and without an actual awareness of it; he reverted to the pattern he had followed for years. After Mac's snide comment before the first custody hearing, he had made more of an attempt to communicate regularly with his mom and Frank. He also felt it set a good example for Mattie. But in June, he fell back into the old habit. For while he had made some semblance of peace with Frank years ago, there was still a divide between him and his mother. Years of (fully) unresolved issues from her decision to remarry, his trips to Vietnam and Russia, his relationship ('or more accurately these days, lack thereof' he thought ruefully) with Sergei, her disappointment in having no grandchildren, her worry over his continuing flight status, not to mention an entire continent and careers that didn't relate at all left them with a relationship that could not be described as close. Now any chance to change that was gone. Mac was right: he was a rotten son.

She had lived her life the best she knew how. She refused to give into the grief and fear she knew when left with a young, over-active son, not wanting to model weakness but not realizing how a young boy would interpret that. She tried to give him the things she knew a boy needed including a male role model in the house, even if it was akin to the proverbial substitute teacher. In the process, she also built a life for herself, which, in turn, freed him to build the life he wanted without regret. But now there were regrets. She had loved him. Through it all. She never failed to delight at his greeting over the phone. She always called him 'Darling' in that loving way that mothers do, trying to love her baby but respecting that he had become a man. Loving him through, and in spite of, the boundaries he placed along the way.

She had loved him. Through it all. They told him that, all the people offering condolences at the visitations. She'd speak of him often and was so proud of him. He, however, was aware of her fear and worry, so he backed off. And in denying that, he also denied her the opportunity to show her pride. He was uncomfortable with the emotion so he barred it as much as he could. Her scrutiny always brought out his emotions, just like one of her worried or disappointed looks when he was a young school boy. He realized now that to say he had been a handful was a vast understatement. No wonder she needed another adult to help her; and to run interference. Now, unlike his teenage years, he could see that a power struggle had begun even before Frank came into the picture. He wanted to care for her; he perceived that as his job. And in his mind that meant he would determine what they needed. But she had another perspective: that his young male mind was nowhere near mature enough to make determinations for their small family. What had begun as extended summer trips to Pennsylvania and continued until he was 15, he now realized were because his mother needed a break from him, (or at the very least from being what she thought he needed) and the demands of handling a willful boy who ran on emotions (even then) then later from the conflict associated with an hormone-driven, determined teenager.

But she had loved him. Through it all. Even Frank told him that. Harm had made the mistake of letting Frank know how his regret over their continued level of estrangement was eating at him. In his concern, Frank relayed one of their final conversations, and it just made it worse.

"Harm, she loved you. No one is perfect. She never expected you to be. She knew you had faults, just like she knew I had faults, she had faults, your father had faults. But she loved us all through it all. She had a gentleness and greater forgiveness than anyone else I have ever met. That's why she let you go to your grandmother's all those years, because she knew you needed something she couldn't provide: that connection to your dad. She'd cry all summer long, but she was determined to never let you know. She didn't want to hold onto you that tight.

---Pause---

I had gotten up that morning and she wanted to stay in bed while I showered. That was unusual for her. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong. I thought she sounded tired, sleepy even. And then she said to me, 'Frank, the next time you talk with Harm, tell him I love him'. I kinda brushed her off. Then she said, you know in that exasperated way she'd sometimes answer: 'just tell him for me, OK'. When I got out of the shower, I thought she fell back to sleep. She looked so peaceful. I dressed, then came to kiss her goodbye. She was almost fanatical about that. The kissing goodbye thing. She wanted each goodbye to be complete, in case it was the last goodbye. You know your dad had to ship out 24 hours earlier than expected that last time, and she had to say goodbye over the phone. She once told me that was the greatest source of her grief---that she hadn't kissed him goodbye and she never got another chance. Anyway, that was when I noticed she wasn't breathing. I called for AnnaMarie and 911 at the same time and, well, you know the rest..."

Yes, that conversation had definitely made it worse. The regret, the grief, the sadness was overwhelming. His mom was gone. Now he knew how much she loved him, and that definitely made it worse. Because she didn't know how much he really did love her. She faced great loss and yet raised him to be the man he was today, at least in part. And she provided him a step father that played a part in that as well. He'd have to tell Frank that as soon as he saw him again. He decided then and there, he'd visit Frank again soon. 'Or maybe I can convince Frank to come to D.C. over Labor Day...he'll be alone; in a house full of servants, he's even more alone than me. Maybe we'll drive up to Pennsylvania; Gramma always liked him.'

Harm leaned his head back as the dull roar of the engines lulled him into an almost hypnotic state. His mind kept replaying the whole thing.

Harm had called Frank as soon as he had made the flight arrangements after leaving Chegwidden's office. Frank confirmed his understanding of the reason for the original call and gave him a brief replay of the morning's events. Frank's staff at Chrysler must have snapped right to when he called them. A car and driver was waiting at the terminal when Harm arrived and three members of Frank's staff were at the hospital waiting with him so that Harm could have some semblance of a goodbye before she was taken away. They were serving two purposes: watching over him and beginning the process of making arrangements. Even though she had been gone for several hours, they offered Harm the opportunity to see her. He hated agreeing, but he needed to. And even though he had some experience of working around dead bodies, the sight of her took his breath away. Her body was already cold, but he held her hand one final time and stared at her lifeless face.

The next several hours were a blur as close friends, co-workers, a funeral home representative and clergy came by the house. By the time he went to bed, it was close to 3:00am D.C. time. He laid in his own bed, and kept remembering all the moments of all the years in this house, when his mother would walk by, maybe stop in with a snack, a bit of conversation, or a good night kiss. The next morning the two men were up by nine for more of the same; only this time they went over to the funeral home and the church.

That evening was the first visitation. It was packed. Co-workers, acquaintances from the art world, local business people all came to pay their respects. It moved Harm to know how many people cared enough to come, but it overwhelmed him, too. There were so many callers that the visitation lasted more than an hour longer than scheduled. Then closest friends were at the house with snacks and drinks. It was after midnight again before he got to bed. And it was another night of memory-filled grief. It was the next morning that Frank shared that story. Harm took a walk on the beach to try and regain some composure before they had to go back to the funeral home.

The afternoon visitation was three hours then three more hours in the evening. Harm had thought it was a bit much, considering the number of people who had come the night before. There couldn't be too many more that wanted to visit. Boy, was he mistaken. Close friends came and stayed for the entire three hours. Social acquaintances came and went all afternoon, as did more artists.

Then it seemed everyone who had come before, and then some, came back that evening for the Rosary service before following them back to the house for something akin to a Wake. Frank was still a practicing Catholic, and while his mother never converted she would frequently accompany Frank to his church and church activities. All the members of their small, local church knew them both and wanted to offer support. It seemed to comfort Frank but Harm found it overwhelming. Again they were up late into the night. Harm had never been as grateful for the hired household staff as he was that night. They had plenty of food and drink. And the visiting and mingling went on for hours.

The following morning Harm and Frank, along with his mother's closest friends were at the funeral home early for the final goodbye and the closing of the casket. It was the one time his public, stoic stance wavered. His mind and soul ached for the days when he could climb into his mother's arms for comfort and security. The reality that he hadn't known that kind of love in what had become decades, and that the chances of ever finding someone to love him even close to that much were slim at best, came crashing down and tore into him. He and Frank wept together for this woman they both loved so dearly, and grieved for with such different emotions: Frank's emptiness was borne of painful loss, Harm's emptiness came with much regret. And then the funeral.

It was a full mass; music, incense, ritual. Unlike days of old when only those in good standing with the Catholic Church got a full mass, now the service was provided with the bereaved in mind. Of course, it helped that his mother, though not really Catholic, was perceived as a member of the church. So, it was packed. Harm was surprised. He assumed that most of the people who came to the funeral home wouldn't come to the church; that it would be just a few close members of their circle. Once again, he was mistaken.

He was grateful to see that the cemetery was just across a courtyard. If they had to drive to the cemetery, it would have taken an hour to get everyone there. All the mourners processed to the grave with a three minute walk. After the graveside service, they all processed back for the luncheon.

By the time they returned to the house, he was on the verge of exhaustion. Frank noticed and sent him to nap a few hours, a direction he gratefully obeyed. A few close friends returned that evening and Harm wasn't quite so drawn. They left quite a bit earlier and Harm slept better and longer than the previous nights.

But the next morning, they were up early. There was much to talk about and a lot to do before Harm left. There were some decisions to be made about personal items, some paperwork to do; and while some things could and should wait for a less emotional time, both Harm and Frank wanted to do as much as they could. The volume of it was physically hard, the details were emotionally difficult. So they sorted, decided, shared, reminisced, and grieved all day long. Then it was evening and time to go to airport to catch the redeye back.

0753, Monday
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

Harm walked into JAG Ops appearing only a bit worse for wear. He wanted to maintain the façade; he wanted a break from it all. His flight had arrived in time for him to shower and dress in a clean uniform before heading into the office. He left his stuff in his office and headed to the conference room. The admiral was on his way in as well.

"Mr. Rabb, good to see you back, and on time, too."

"Yes, Sir."

"Though I must say you do look a bit tired. Is everything alright?"

"Yes Sir. I flew in on the redeye. I got some sleep so I'm able to assume my duties."

"Very well. Shall we join the others?"

That was the extent of it. As Harm suspected, the admiral wouldn't ask for much if he kept his answers related to work. Chegwidden didn't like touchy-feely conversations anymore than he did. Remaining superficial served them both well.

However, unbeknownst to Harm, there had been some grumbling on Thursday. Mac was actively involved in a discussion with Bud and a couple of others regarding Harm's absence. When Coates didn't know any of the details, the speculation started. Because of his pattern at the end of the work day, his co-workers assumed he had been leaving each day well before 1800. Even when one of them stayed late, they were unaware he was holed up in his little office. So they further assumed he was doing only his specific duties and nothing more. Everyone was still very busy, as they had been since spring and attributed some of the burden to their incorrect assumptions regarding Harm and his working hours. They were foolishly discussing it in the break room when the admiral walked in. Mac took the lead for the others and questioned the admiral's decision to grant Harm leave when everyone else was so busy. It was ill-advised to say the least. Since the winter, when the problems with Meredith took place, the admiral frequently exploded. So it should have surprised no one when the admiral was none too pleasant in the questioning of his decisions.

"While I certainly don't owe any of you any explanations, I will say that the Commander's work has been exemplary of late. I've had no complaints at all regarding his work, not even petty details to nit-pick. And while I don't have any statistics to back it up, it seems to me I see his signature on files cross my desk as often as the rest of you, maybe even more. And he has more big cases, between PR nightmares, congressional headaches, and maritime law cases, than any one of you."

He started to turn to the door then snapped back to face those gathered. His voice was now much louder, much more harsh.

"Snap to, all of you! You are all to keep your focus on your own work and leave me to my work. If you question my decisions again, I suggest you do it to me directly in the proper setting with the proper protocol. It would appear I need to remind you that this office gossiping about a senior office is unacceptable. Now if any of you wants to further research this, you may track all of our cases since the Commander's return to confirm that he is indeed shirking his responsibilities. If you find that to be the case, you can present me with the facts and I'll charge him with dereliction. That is, if you don't have enough work to do as it is. I'm sure you all have duties to see to. Dismissed!"

The admiral was practically growling as he walked back to his office. As they had heard the outburst all the way in the bullpen, the enlisted staff along the way buried themselves in their work, hoping to avoid his attention, and possibly his wrath.

'These people should know better by now than to mess with a SeAL.'

So the admiral decided then to discard his plans to attempt any talks with Rabb. 'Let the man work in peace... I'll just keep an eye to make sure he's pulling his weight and let it go at that. Maybe I'll make them all track cases and gather statistics anyway...the next one who crosses me may just find themselves with some extra busy work...'

2nd Week of August, 2004
JAG elevator
2000, Monday

After the last conflict, and Harm's return from leave, things had quieted down into a routine again. There seemed to be a lack of camaraderie but there was also a welcome lack of dramatics. And while he noticed that Harm was even more reserved, the work was getting done and they seemed more productive than ever, though the reason for that wasn't obvious. The new, young attorneys were slowly reporting for duty and being assigned to teams supervised by senior staff, who were able to delegate tasks and oversee work rather than do it themselves. Still the workload was unusually well-processed. Chegwidden decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, unless he needed to. He was beginning to consider retirement more seriously---so why look for trouble? If things were particularly good, he'd get the credit; if not, he'd announce his retirement and let someone else deal with it all.

Until this evening. Sheffield had wanted some bureaucratic paperwork done in the quest for more appropriations, so Chegwidden stayed later than usual. He signed out---as was necessary after 1930 taps, headed out the door---and into the rain. He had forgotten, while he was holed up inside, that the east coast was getting an extreme amount of rain this week; some hurricane wreaking havoc to the south was sending days of rain into the D.C. area. He wasn't even all the way out the door so he turned back to go get his umbrella. He didn't really want to drive home in a wet uniform. He walked back in to hear the two young marines on duty talking freely. Their voices portrayed...what? Disgust? Almost anger. It seemed they were talking about him so he decided to listen to the discussion for a moment or two.

"You know, they used to say his command was about the best to be in."

"I can't believe he's going home and the commander is still the last one here."

"I know. He was a SeAL---could be as hard-assed as any marine but it seemed he was always fair and they knew he'd back 'em up."

"I wonder what happened after the commander left. That's when it really changed."

"Well, it seemed to me it started to change when the commander got arrested last year. Gees, it doesn't seem that was almost a year and a half ago."

"Now, he treats the commander like this..."

"Yeah, and he keeps taking it. I don't know why he don't transfer out 'cause the old man sure don't like him..."

"And they say old marines are bad. You know those SeALs are nuts anyway. I guess when they get old, they..."

It was then that the admiral had heard just about enough, and that it was time to get the whole story. Something was going on here. If it was more of the same kind of stuff that he had called his own staff on a few weeks ago, he'd court-martial them himself. He cleared his throat. They turned, saw him, and snapped to attention, clearly aware they had been caught.

"Do you gentlemen have something to say to my face?"

They stood ramrod straight, staring at some well-defined point in the distance. "No, Sir!" one of them replied.

"Care to tell me who you are referring to?" Silence.

"Well, I know who the commander that got arrested last year is and I don't know of any SeALs around here, besides me of course, so I want to know what you are referring to." More silence.

He then stepped forward and got into the face of the younger of the two. "Speak freely, Marine."

The Marine hesitated but Chegwidden could tell the moment the young man decided he was going to live up to the Marine code. He wasn't going to abandon a fellow serviceman. "Well, Sir, it seems that eight weeks of punishment duty is awfully long for one person, especially for a senior officer." Hearing that, the admiral really wanted the whole story.

"Punishment duty? Who's being punished, Marine?"

"What else would you call it, Sir?" The young man realized he was awfully close to insubordination with that response so he toned it back before he continued. "I mean working that many hours, sometimes six days a week." It was then that the other Marine decided to join in.

"He's showing it, you know. Respectfully, Sir, the commander isn't that young anymore. And I know some young Marines that would have a hard time maintaining that schedule for that long. He's gonna get sick, Sir. You don't even let him get chow and he's loosing weight. You must have noticed that."

The admiral was clearly confused now. "Let's get this straight. You are talking about someone in my command?" Neither responded, so that answered that. "Are you talking about Commander Rabb?" Again, no response. "How do you know he doesn't eat?"

"When we first started to notice he was getting thinner. And he never went out to eat and never ordered anything in. So we started to kinda watch. Then a couple of us brought something in from home and shared it with him."

"Yeah, at first he said no, he didn't want to take our food. Then we told him our girls were giving us too much and we were getting fat so we had to do extra PT to keep it off..."

"...And it seemed a shame to waste all that good food. Then once in a while one of us would ask him some silly legal question..."

"...So then we'd pay him back another night with a couple of slices of pizza. We bring him something a couple times each week."

The admiral was speechless. After a moment of staring at the two, he spoke: "First off, if I ordered him to skip chow, do you really think Commander Rabb would disobey that order? Second, what do you mean he's working so many hours? How many hours does he work?"

"Well, we're not here when he comes in..."

"Marine, just answer the question." His patience was wearing thin by this point.

"Well, he has to sign in if he comes in before 0730. The log book says he comes in around 0700, Sir."

"And when does he leave?" Silence. "Marine?"

"Most nights, 2100, Sir."

"Most nights?"

"On Tuesdays, he leaves at 2000, Sir." The admiral was having a hard time accepting this, 'what has been going on with this man?'

"How long has then been going on?"

"Since the middle of June, Sir."

"You said six days?"

"Saturdays, Sir."

"Go on..."

"The log book says he comes in between 0800 and 0900..."

"...and leaves between 1600 and 1700, Sir."

"Every week?"

"No, Sir. It seemed like it was every other weekend but then he was away for a few days a couple of weeks ago. Since he got back, it's been every Saturday. Sir."

"Let me see the log." The young Marine turned it around for the admiral to see. "This is only for August."

"They're by the month, Sir. The others are in that desk over there."

"Get them, please." The young man did and handed the two books over. "I'll take these with me tonight." Both men blanched a little. "Don't worry, I'll bring them back in the morning, in the same condition they are in now."

The admiral turned to leave and the two guards began to relax. He turned back and they snapped to attention. The admiral had to repress a smile. He loved the reaction from young Marines.

"Incidentally, don't mention this conversation to anyone, especially Commander Rabb. It will be our little secret for the time being. That's a direct order."

Chegwidden called one last thing over his shoulder before he walked out the door. "For the record, I didn't order the Commander to do any of this, but I can promise that I'll be looking into it." And with that he was gone, for good this time.

A/N This turned out to be longer than I had anticipated. Maybe I ramble on too much? The next part will be a transition into the final stage, and I expect part 5 to be somewhat shorter.

A/N2 Not following the story: Mac is not facing fertility problems but she is almost forty so... The Mattie accident thing will not become a part of this story. There are many new officers on staff but we don't really need to know about any of them since we all know what JAG is all about anyway.

A/N3 I tried to relate only things I know about---so I don't sound too foolish. Hopefully, if you find discrepancies that neither follow the story, nor are based in reality ---you know, glaring mistakes--- you'll gently correct.

A/N4 special recognition to anyone who recognizes the reference below.

"You do what you gotta do and you know what you know,
You hang onto until you can't hang on; then..."

You Learn to Let Go Part 4

Tuesday, 0720
JAG Headquarters

Admiral A.J. Chegwidden entered through the main doors, a man on a mission. There were two different Marine guards on duty this morning. They looked a bit confused when he handed them the log books that he had taken home but a brief glare put an end to any questioning. He noticed Harm was indeed in, having arrived more than fifteen minutes prior. The review of the log books had confirmed what the Marine guards said. Harm was working close to 70 hours each week, and that was when he didn't work Saturday. He wasn't sure what upset him more: that one of his staff was engrossed in work to such a degree that even he knew was unhealthy---or that he had been completely unaware of it for almost two months. He couldn't imagine the catalyst for this degree of behavior. There was the chance he had tired of the surrogate parent thing, and in true 'Peter Pan' fashion was avoiding that. But the most noticeable detail during the winter months was that Harm was truly dedicated to the young Mathilda Grace. 'Maybe Coates could provide some clue.' It then occurred to him he hadn't heard his free-speaking yeoman mention Mattie for some time either. Yes, some fishing was in order.

He exited the elevator and decided a tour around the place might provide some clue. A few clerks were on site, as some were required to begin at 0700. The rest would be straggling in between 0730 and 0755. He saw the object of his concern at the copy machine and approached him. A young sailor noticed his entrance.

"Admiral on Deck!" He waived them off as fast as they came to attention. As the admiral was already approaching him, Harm remained at attention.

"You're in rather early this morning, aren't you, Commander?" He wanted to test the waters.

"Yes, Sir. I have court this morning and wanted a few extra minutes to prepare." Harm wasn't giving anything away with his response and the admiral thought pushing it might be premature at this time.

"Good man, Mr. Rabb. Carry on."

"Aye, Sir."

It was late morning before the admiral was able to attempt some subtle conversation with Coates. There had been various people in and out of his office, as well as a steady stream of phone calls. When Coates entered his office with some travel orders for a pair of junior attorneys, he took the opportunity to broach the subject.

"Now that fall is just around the corner, I imagine you will be resuming your studies?"

"Yes, Sir. Registration is this week."

"And your roommate---is she looking forward to going back to school?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What has she been doing all summer? I haven't seen her around at all."

"Of course not, Sir. She keeps busy with her own work."

"She got a summer job. Good girl. Doing what, if I may ask?"

"It's not a summer job, Sir. She's a clerk on the fourth floor."

"What do you mean 'it's not a summer job'? Isn't she going back to school in a couple of weeks?"

"She's going to take a couple of evening classes, just like I do?"

"And Commander Rabb allows this?"

"I don't think Commander Rabb knows she even takes classes, Sir."

"What do you mean he doesn't know? I thought he was her legal guardian." Coates froze. She didn't know what to say; she had forgotten that Harm had not shared the details of Mattie's situation with any co-workers. "Or have you become her guardian now?" The admiral was beginning to get agitated, 'so he did pawn her off on Coates, and I really thought he had been attached to her.' He continued to speak to her, with rather biting sarcasm, "So what, he decided he was tired of the parenting thing, or did he decide he was in over his head and now she's your responsibility?"

Jen hadn't wanted to tell him, since the commander hadn't, but she couldn't stand the admiral thinking poorly of Harm in this situation. She faced him directly and spoke clearly. "Sir, my roommate is Lynn Michaels. She's been stationed upstairs for the past year and a half. She wanted to move off base for at least some of her time here, so she moved in with me."

"What happened to Miss Grace?" Jen hesitated. "Coates?"

"She went back to her father."

"What? When?"

"She reconciled with him after the commander convinced her she needed to address her anger. It turned out his drinking didn't cause the accident, although he does have a drinking problem. She started going to meetings for teens who have alcoholic parents and they started talking. He finished rehab and the court saw they were working it out so she was placed back into her father's care when school got out."

"When did this all happen? And why didn't I know about it? And don't tell me it didn't involve me. It has long been customary to inform the CO of change in family status. I can't believe things have gotten so out of control..." He was on a rant now.

Jen wasn't sure how to react. She wanted to tell the admiral a thing or two, but she knew it could get ugly and any conflict over this may result in bothering the commander. She was determined not to do that---since it seemed no one else was concerned about him. Still she didn't want to let this ride.

"Respectfully, Sir, have you asked Commander Rabb about his personal life in the past three months?"

"What do you mean three? I thought you said she went back to her father in mid-June?"

"Yes, Sir. But the court date was in mid-May. They received the judge's ruling then. She started spending weekends with him during the end of the school year."

"Mid-May? When?" Well, at least one piece fell into place. "You mean that morning he had personal business---the day Colonel MacKenzie..."

Coates interrupted him. It still upset her to recall the scene, to the degree that she forgot military courtesy. "Yes, Sir. That day."

"So he doesn't see her anymore?"

"Not really, Sir. He was given visitation every other weekend after she left in June until the end of July. He had spent the last weekend with her a few days before he took leave that one week. He gets one weekend in August and Mattie told me they were getting together this coming weekend. Then that's it for weekends. They can visit once in a while, if Mr. Johnson agrees. The commander is trying not to undermine Mr. Johnson so Mattie won't be confused."

The admiral sat there, speechless for a minute. 'Well, there's a few more pieces...' He had gotten this far with Coates, maybe she could provide some more clues.

"So, what is the commander doing to keep busy now that he has his evenings to himself?"

"You would have to ask the commander, Sir."

"I thought you lived next door to him---so I'm asking you."

"You'd have to ask him, because I really don't know. I don't see him outside work anymore." With that statement, her demeanor did a noticeable---and emotional---about-face. 'OK, time to tread lightly...' The admiral softened his voice as he spoke again.

"Not at all?" She shook her head. "Why not?"

"The day Mattie moved out, the commander said..." and she went on to relate the discussion she had with Harm in the hallway. By the time she finished, the admiral could see that she was on the verge of tears. His head was spinning from all this, and he wasn't even involved. He could see it was very hard for her. Suddenly, he had a flash of understanding. There were two people in his office deeply in pain. One was not living: he was existing through work; and the other was sitting in front of him.

"Jennifer, sit down. It seemed to me that you and Miss Grace had gotten quite close, too. It must have been hard for you. Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"The commander seemed to want to keep it quiet. I think it's the only way he can deal with it---if he doesn't have to face it all the time. Here, he can escape from it. Work keeps his mind busy. It keeps my mind busy too. Besides, I like my new roommate. We have a lot in common. And I'm sure not going to disrespect his wishes. He's been so good to me. And with Mattie, it was almost like having a family. I haven't had a family since my mom died. Now I'm alone again. I think he is, too but he's certainly not going to tell anyone. But I can tell. He's loosing weight and he looks tired. I don't know what to do." By now the tears that he had seen in her eyes were streaming down her face. He handed her his handkerchief. A little reassurance was in order if anything were to be solved.

"Let me think about this and maybe it will work out yet. Why don't we follow the commander's lead and get a little work done. Then it will be easier to consider this rationally."

It was later that same day, while Coates was on break, that the admiral called one of the young clerks aside. He instructed the young man to find the case logs dating back to the first of May. The admiral couldn't imagine how staying in his office for so many hours were making anything easier for the younger man---until he recalled his own words from several weeks previous. He was indeed seeing Harm's name cross his desk more often. Harm actually was working all those hours---that was how he kept himself from thinking about it. The admiral realized this had thrown Harm for a loop; he was usually quite resilient to the obstacles that life threw at him. The admiral decided he would continue to gather the facts before he confronted Harm. He still wasn't sure how to do that but it was now apparent he needed to, regardless of his own level of comfort. 'My own level of comfort? Yeah, right. You have a responsibility for all these people whether you're comfortable or not---a damned fine time to drop the ball on that one. Maybe it is time to retire if I've start to forget that.'

JAG Ops
Tuesday evening
1950

The admiral sat at one of the desks going through the case logs, looking for more information on Harm's activities over the past months. What he found didn't ease his concern at all. Not only was he completing all his assigned cases, he was doing a significant amount of additional work as well. In the early part of the summer, when he was working alone before any of the young attorneys were assigned to work under him, he was completing a dozen or more extra cases each week. While they were mostly mundane paperwork-type cases, they were significantly lightening the load for all the others.

It was almost 2000 when he saw Harm walk to the elevator. The admiral called out to him.

"Commander." Harm stopped in his tracks and stiffened. Turning around, he responded in acknowledgement and waited for the admiral to continue.

"You're here late this evening, aren't you?"

His eyes flashed for a brief second, but no other emotion was displayed, nor was there any waiver in his voice.

"I can always find things to do and since I play basketball with Turner on Tuesdays, there really isn't much point in driving all the way into the district and back."

"I see. Well, give me just a minute and I'll walk out with you." He quickly placed the books in his office, along with the notes he had made; grabbed his umbrella and returned to where Harm was waiting uncomfortably. The admiral tried to make small talk, explaining he was staying late himself to review some mundane records. In truth he was hoping to determine if and where Harm might have a crack in his shields. But Harm was not willing to concede that this might be anything other than a rational course of action based on the plans he had to meet for a bit of friendly competition.

They parted in the parking lot. Chegwidden would finish his review the next day and then confront his worrisome senior attorney. It was time for intervention.

JAG Headquarters
Office of the JAG
Late Wednesday afternoon

It was quieting down in the office but the admiral sat at his desk continuing his review of the remaining log books. Coates had left a few minutes prior, having been dismissed by him for the evening. He finished reviewing the logs to date and was even more determined that this would stop today. It seemed that as the new attorneys arrived, the situation had further declined. In addition to the workload Harm was carrying, his team of young attorneys was completing slightly more than the other teams. Chegwidden figured it was because he had reviewed their work quicker and he was available to meet with them more readily throughout the regular work day, since he could complete his own work in the evenings and on Saturdays. This also meant that, in addition to being more productive, they were putting out a better quality of work. Over all, it was as though, between he and his team, they had the equivalent of an extra attorney. But the Marine guards and Coates were right: he was losing weight and he did look awfully tired.

With stealth that would make any SeAL proud, he approached Harm's little office and silently opened the door. It was not latched so he had that additional advantage. He watched Harm for a few minutes, who was studying a file before him, making notes as he read. The admiral cleared his throat.

It startled Harm and he snapped to attention. "Sir."

"Playing basketball again tonight, Mr. Rabb?"

"No, Sir. Just tying up a few loose ends."

"Anything terribly pressing? Due first thing?"

"No, Sir."

"Good, Good. Join me for dinner then. There's a quiet restaurant not far from here."

Harm was caught completely off guard and simply stared at his commanding officer. He wasn't sure if the admiral was serious; if so, he wondered how he could successfully decline.

"Well, Sir." The admiral cut him off---he wasn't going to let Harm get out of this.

"You said that you weren't playing ball tonight and that your work wasn't pressing. Do you have another specific obligation?" It was clear that the only way out of this was to lie directly to his commanding officer, so Harm did the only he could do in good conscience.

"No, Sir."

"It's been a while since I've had dinner with someone else. It will be a welcomed change. I'll meet you at the elevator in five minutes." And with that, he was gone.

approximately 1930
Lou's Place
Falls Church, VA

The admiral wasn't kidding when he said it was nearby. Harm was surprised he'd never noticed this place before. It was about a five minute walk from the front door of headquarters. However, it was rather small and tucked out of the way. The admiral was also correct when he said a quiet, little place. It had a peaceful, pleasant atmosphere and an impressive menu. He had made small talk on the walk and throughout the process of getting settled into their seat. As soon as the waiter took their order and walk away, he started.

"Well, Commander, you've always had a healthy respect for protocol, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Sir. I try to remain within the bounds." He was getting more leery which each passing word.

"So if you were asked to continue that, you would?"

"Of course, Sir!"

"And you'd respect a request from your commanding officer even though you may not want to?"

"Without a blatant disregard for lawful orders, Sir, I would."

"And you understand the responsibility of a commanding officer is for all the aspects under his command?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, good. So tell me Commander...Harm...what the hell is going on?"

"Sir?" His sixth sense in overdrive, he was stunned.

The admiral maintained a stern demeanor, deciding how to proceed. If Harm were prone to panic, it would be in this kind of circumstance. Things were so different these days; this might be the situation to push him past the limit into panic. The admiral altered his tone and continued.

"Let me relate to you a discussion I recently had with two young Marines..." He shared the gist of the story, then: "so I'll ask again, what's going on?"

Harm had lowered his gaze during the story; as it went on the further he hung his head. Harm was silent for so long the admiral was beginning to think he'd have to think of a different approach. It almost startled him when Harm did speak.

"I never noticed how quiet my apartment is. I get there and I can't wait to leave again."

"What made it change?" He knew the answer but he felt Harm needed to tell the whole story if they were going to get anywhere with this. Harm began to share some of the details of Mattie's return to her father; how after his return from his quals in the spring, the summons for the hearing was waiting for him and how it all just slipped away in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. The only break in the discussion came when the dinner arrived. After the waiter disappeared, the admiral encouraged him to resume. He would try to both listen and think of the next leading question and by the time the dinner was finished, most of the story had been told. Harm explained how easy it was to stay under the radar---while right in front of an entire staff that he had once considered almost family. All he had to do was stay in his office down the hall, and no one ventured that far unless it was for a specific reason. Without being in the middle of the activity, he simply wasn't noticed when coming and going. And apart from the duties of JAG, everyone's lives were going on. He ruefully chuckled when adding the final comment.

"Mac was right, ya' know. After the worst of it was over, and we were back at the hotel, sniping at each other on and on, Gunny and Webb came in. Gunny let her know I had resigned. She asked how I could, then proceeded to point out that I shouldn't have---since the Navy is all I have. I've realized it's all I've ever had and now it's all I ever will. I was so focused, for as long as I can remember, on reliving, then completing my dad's life that I never made one for myself. For just me. It seems the only time that isn't so depressing is when I work. So I work."

"Harm, this can't go on. Look at you. You fatigue is showing; how long before it starts to affect your judgment? Then how will you feel, what will you think? And you are getting too thin. Yeah, you've put on a few pounds since you were that young man all those years ago and you could have stood to take some of them back off, but you're getting too thin. If you think things seem empty now, how do you think it will all be if you're sick?"

Harm shrugged. "I don't know, Sir. I think I don't know anything anymore. You know I really thought you were dead wrong when you said I wasn't a team player." He looked up at the older man sitting across from him with more emotion than he had displayed all evening. "I don't think there's much worse you could have said to me. But now all I want to do is work hard at working hard and stay away from everybody and everything else. Now I guess you are right." The bitterness was starting to show itself and Harm was on a role. "So, I don't really get why you'd want to deal with this anyway. I'm doing my work and not pushing anyone's buttons. I mind my own business and stay out of the way. You haven't had to reprimand me or anyone on my team all summer. And we get a hell of a lot of work done in the process. So if it's all the same to you, I'll just continue my duties." By the time he finished it was bordering on challenge.

But the admiral wasn't going to rise to the bait. This had the potential to be far too serious to the man's long term personal and professional life. Someone had to keep his wits about him and Rabb was not in top shape to do that. 'Talk about being on the thin edge...'

"Harm, it's not all the same to me." Harm started to react but the admiral stopped him with a motion of his hand. "Please let me finish. You spoke, please allow me the same courtesy. First, when I offered you your commission back I said we'd start fresh. I meant that. I assumed you would proceed in that manner as well. Second, I admit that I was harsh. But, in fairness, some of it was true. You did have the tendency to go it alone when the going gets tough---when the spots are particularly tight or the danger level is running high. And apparently, you're still doing it.

"Believe it or not, I've always had a certain level of...affection...for you. You're a fine officer and a credit to the United States Navy. You have many admirable qualities, not the least of which is your loyalty to---and trust in---me. Part of my anger last year came from the fact that I had that same trust in you. I trusted you to make everything OK. But when you came back and I got only bits and pieces of the mission, I felt you hadn't done everything that needed to be done. Yeah, the Stingers were taken out and Mac was back safe and sound, even though Webb was quite a bit worse for the wear. But Sediq was still out there and I've been around long enough to know, even without knowing all the details, that he'd be back. And you hadn't worked things out with Mac. After the worry and the tension---you should have seen Coates and Sims while you were gone---the prospect of more of the same from the two of you was more than I wanted to face. And my feeling that the outcome may have been more complete if you'd asked for help rather than insisting on going it alone made me snap.

"Still, I accept now that everyone was injured in some way. I could have reacted differently and helped you all overcome the trauma if I wasn't so reactionary myself. But I didn't see the 'injured' part of it. And I still don't know it all. I have since surmised that Mac lived and saw some horrific stuff but what about you? I've seen you in far worse shape with far uglier stuff and you came through that better. What really happened to you?"

Harm stared at him a few moments. He was dumbfounded to hear it all spoken so rationally. What did happen to him?

"After Gunny and me got to the site and saw what had happened, and bloodying my own hands more than I ever want to admit; after we -more of less- secured the area, and while I was working to get Webb evac'ed, she kissed him." The admiral sighed, almost an impatient moan. "You said you wanted to know..." The admiral again focused and Harm continued. "After the trial, Mac being gone and me just about frantic; after I risked the permanent loss of the only stability I know---you know: military discipline and all that---she kissed him full on the lips. I had heard bits of their conversation but it doesn't really matter. She kissed HIM. That slimey, conniving spy who dragged her into another of his 'ill-fated' missions, with no back-up, mind you, and she kissed him. It felt like a knife in my chest. Then the chase for the stingers, the plane crash..."

Now the admiral did interrupt, "What plane crash?"

"We found the guys with the Stingers---from the air---and one of them had a shoulder missile launcher. We took out the Stingers and got hit in the process. I was able to control it enough to get us a hard landing in some trees. Anyway, after that came the constant sniping and my headache---it took me a whole month to recover from that concussion---and then when all was said and done she said 'never'. She may as well have sliced my chest open and ripped my heart out. It ended then. Between my career and her, there was nothing left. Then I had to face you. You want to know what happened? Well, I know she just lived a trauma that she would always have as part of her past. But she spit on the part of my future that I had sacrificed for her life and then stomped on the rest of what I thought would be my future. But you know what? I did overcome that. And I started again. But now everything is gone again and I'm back to where Mac said I was. It's all I have: the Navy, my career. There's nothing else and now I can see that there will never be a chance for anything else."

Even the admiral could feel the hopelessness and he was just listening to the description of this. It was quite a while before the admiral spoke again.

"Harm, work with me. Don't try to keep doing this alone. Let me offer a couple of suggestions. Maybe the future may hold something you aren't expecting."

Harm considered that for a few minutes and then acquiesced. Maybe it was the words the admiral had spoken, or maybe that it was a two-star admiral speaking, or maybe it was his current level of vulnerability, or maybe it was the simple act of someone reaching out. "What are you thinking?"

"I won't ask for much. I know there's a youth center near your place. Pick one night a week and go hang out there. Maybe they can benefit from your talents and it will give you the opportunity to see some other set of walls outside your office. I know the weekends are hard because they seem so long---believe me I know. So instead of working, let's do something on Saturday. It'll get you out and again you'll see something different. We can catch a ball game, or go fishing, or do some other appropriate thing. It will do us both good. I could stand to expand my horizons, too, you know."

After some thought, Harm agreed to consider the youth center but that was all he could manage at the moment. The walk back to the car was in silence and the admiral worried that it had been too trying for Harm. They returned to the JAG parking lot and Harm responded to the admiral's concern.

"I'm alright, Sir. I'll think about maybe going to the center tomorrow or Friday."

They said their goodnights and parted ways; Harm almost overwhelmed and Chegwidden still worried, although not quite as much.

Things turned around a bit after that. Harm didn't work as late although he stayed later some nights than the others. And he still came in early. He did go around to the Youth Center and found they had a group of high school aged guys playing basketball a couple of nights each week. The organizers always appreciated older guys to keep the focus on the game. After the first time, they shared with Harm that some of the guys appeared to be struggling and might respond well to someone new so they suggested he play it cool and try to appear approachable. The combination worked well for Harm and he felt freer, after just one game, than he had in some time. He decided to return again one evening the next week.

Harm declined the weekend offer because this was his weekend with Mattie. His last scheduled weekend. So he made plans with the admiral for the following weekend, deciding to meet early Saturday morning.

Chegwidden had been feeling his age the past few weeks and was attempting to return to the more structured fitness routine that he had maintained for years---but had changed when he was seeing Meredith. He had been somewhat out of sorts since walking into her room that night all those months ago. He vacillated between anger and self-doubt. He still didn't understand how he could have so profoundly misinterpreted the level of their relationship.

So they started the day with a lengthy visit to the fitness center, then took advantage of the hot-tub. The admiral even convinced Harm to allow himself to be introduced to the luxury of massage. Harm had experienced many massages over the years---all as part of the various physical therapies he had to endure after any one of his many mishaps. He never knew how relaxing they could be. They followed this by taking some time to watch one of the baseball games taking place on base. But in true Washington fashion, the sun was brutal and it was hot!

The next stop was an early dinner at the 'O' club. They had talked some, this time trying to keep things on a more even keel. However, the admiral did tell Harm about Meredith. That served to give Harm a reminder that there were other people who had problems, too. He mused that that fact alone helped him gain more perspective than anything had in weeks. They parted making plans to visit the Naval Academy the following weekend for the some special activities that were being held. Academy alumni were always welcome at events but some were more attractive than others. This was one of those events. Then Labor Day weekend would be upon them and Harm was planning on visiting his grandmother.

Labor Day weekend came and went. Harm had driven to the airfield Friday night after he secured for the weekend. He arrived at Blacksburg well into the evening and visited with Mattie and her dad then stayed the night in their home. The next morning, after a flying lesson, Harm flew up to Pennsylvania to visit with his grandmother. He had asked his stepfather to come for the weekend but one of Frank's assistants was getting married and another was having a new baby baptized. He felt obligated to stay for both events. They decided on a visit over the long weekend in October.

Harm spent the weekend at his father's boyhood home, a place where Harm, himself, had spent much of his childhood. He helped his gramma with several repairs that needed to be done on the old farmhouse and they spent quite a bit of time catching up. There were many things he didn't want to tell her, but there was much he enjoyed sharing with her. And he enjoyed everything she shared with him. Most of the people she talked about he knew from his younger years; even though he hadn't seen many of them since he was here all those years ago after the crash. It occurred to him, and healed his soul a bit to realize that he was wrong---at least in part. While he missed the love of his mother, he still had his grandmother and she had always loved him just as much. It occurred to him, after all the years, that not only was she his connection to his dad, he was her connection to her son---her only child.

He returned to the airfield mid-afternoon Monday, and after having dinner with Mattie and her dad, he returned to D.C. He felt a bit better than he had in some time. Things didn't seem as gloomy. Maybe he could find an even keel again...

Tuesday brought about a whole new perspective.

While he arrived early, it wasn't that early. He worked into late morning before he even ventured out of his office. The office was running smoothly, all the enlisted seeing to a variety of duties and it seemed quieter than usual. He looked around and discovered the other offices empty. Upon inquiring, one of the clerks told him that Bud was still at the brig sorting out a situation that involved several sailors who had been on shore leave in the District during the holidays, and that Sturgis was in court. Mac had called in and would not be in until afternoon.

He met with each member of his team, then entered into the bull pen mid-way through the noon hour, where he saw several female junior officers and enlisted gathered around Mac. They were involved in some bubbly discussion. His eye caught Jennifer Coates standing quietly in the doorway, uncomfortably watching the scene taking place before them. As he stood there, he began to understand what all the commotion was about. At their collective request, Mac was showing them the diamond ring she wore on her left hand. Her holiday weekend included a marriage proposal from Clayton Webb. His eyes met Jen's briefly then he turned and quietly left the room.

Back in his office, he sat motionless in his chair for some time. He replayed moments, events, situations and exchanges that had occurred over the years. His soul wanted to hang on to each one as long as possible. But even he knew that you can't hang on forever.

So he turned to his computer, typed in a brief letter, printed and signed it, then turn to the internet. After searching for a short bit and studying several options, he wrote a second letter, making reference to some of the options, then printed and signed that.

As he stood, straightening his uniform, he made a final observation: 'you hang on 'till you can't hang on, then you learn to let go'. It was time he learned to let go. With that, he began to walk toward the admiral's office.

A/N This brings us to the turning point. To recap---the situation at JAG has continued to deteriorate to the point that change is inevitable. The remainder of this story will take our hero through this change and into a new life. Some chapters will focus solely on him---others, well, not so much. Please keep in mind that sometimes things get worse before they get better and sometimes we take a step back for every two steps forward. Rebuilding one's life frequently is done in stages---this will take at least a few chapters to accomplish.

A/N2 I am sorry but I can't resist (skip this note if you don't care): In the world in which I live, where the subject of women's health is an integral part, 37 years of age, in reference to child-bearing years is in the 'almost 40' category (see part 4, A/N2). As far as I can recall, there is no canon regarding her actual age; only clues that lead to a conclusion, nor do we know her actual birthday. The premise here is that Mac turned 37 in 2004, which will make her 38 sometime in 2005. Which, in this setting, is when we will actually care about this detail. Apparently Jaka feels this minor detail qualifies as a "glaring mistake" (see part 4 A/N3) and wanted it clarified.

You Learn to Let Go Part 5

September 7, 2004
JAG Headquarters
Early afternoon

Harm approached Petty Officer Coats and asked to see the admiral. She informed him that the admiral was on the phone but she didn't expect it to last much longer. Harm decided to wait just outside the office door, which was closed. He sat just to the right of the door and waited, his brain a whirlwind. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he replayed many of the same scenes he'd been remembering in his office just a few minutes previous.

He bordered on a sense of despair. Then on something that could almost be called disgust. He settled on resignation.

Mattie's life had intersected with his when they both needed something far different than what they had. But she needed to return to her rightful path. She needed to be grounded in her own life. And it wasn't his life.

His mother was gone; there were no other options there. He recalled something he'd heard at the funeral: the only thing left to give our loved ones is the gift of remembering them. He had missed his chance to give her some of himself. He could allow that to hold him down, or he could build a new life instead. He knew what his mother would tell him.

After nine years of sharing various degrees of his life with Mac, she was choosing another path. He needed to find a new way to choose as well.

It wasn't so much that he couldn't hang on any more; it was that there was nothing left to hang on to. The short and the long of it was that he needed to learn to let go or he would never build something new. But what to build? That was where he floundered. He realized he floundered there for years---for if not this, then what? Now he had no choice, he had to find out 'what'. A few days away might help him sort it all out, and decide what could be next, what path he should look to follow.

As several more thoughts jumbled through his head, Coates announced that the admiral was off the phone. He took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and knocked on the door.

He stood at attention before the admiral, who was completing a thought on his computer. The admiral finished, then turned to look directly at Harm.

"At ease." Seeing the folders in Harm's hand and the look in his eyes, the admiral's curiosity piqued, along with his concern. "There was something you needed to see me about, Mr. Rabb?"

Silently, Harm handed him one of the folders. The admiral read the contents.

"This is rather sudden, isn't it, Commander?"

"Yes, Sir. But I have several days on the books and thought I might like to visit my stepfather for a few days."

"How few?"

"As many as you can spare, Sir." The admiral studied Harm's face, trying to determine what, if anything, was going on. Something about Harm's demeanor was way off and the admiral could tell all the progress that had been made in the weeks previous had vanished.

"Is there something going on, Commander? Something I should know about?"

"No, Sir. I haven't seen my stepfather in a while and I'd like to go see him."

Something about this was strange but... Maybe a few days away to visit his family would help.

"I'll tell you what. Tie up loose ends, at least to last a while and you can have the remainder of the week. After you've had a few days, you can call---shall we say Friday by 3:00pm here---and I'll let you know then if you need to be back on Monday morning."

Harm was grateful for any opportunity to get away for D.C. "Thank you, Sir." He remained motionless in front of the admiral, who took note that Harm was holding a second folder.

"Something else, Commander?" He motioned with his eyes to Harm's hand.

Again, silently, Harm handed him the folder. The admiral opened it and read the contents. He then sat speechless for quite some time. Finally he spoke.

"Are you this unhappy here, Harm?"

"That's not it, Sir. After all these years, I'd still like to stay in the Navy. But it's almost time for me to be considered for promotion. Then my days will be numbered. With my record, I know I have almost no chance at captain. But to have even a ghost of a chance I need something similar to command experience. I've been here for nine years, Sir. It's hardly a convincing picture for the promotions board to look at. I've included some possible openings, Sir, if you could consider allowing me to apply for transfer to one of them."

It was then that the admiral noticed a second page in the file. It was a list of possible billets and the date they were to be available for a reassignment. They were, for the most part, positions for which Harm was only marginally qualified, or more accurately over-qualified. While they weren't the worst options the Navy had to offer, they weren't all that conducive to promotion either. The one thing they did all have in common was an available date within just a few weeks.

"Harm, none of these are what I'd call a step up. At best, all of these would be a lateral move. Is there some rush?""

"No, Sir. But they might add some variety to my assignment record and they could serve as stepping stones to other positions." He was not going to admit to the admiral that he had already watched Sarah McKenzie plan a wedding. He wasn't interested in doing it again: 'been there, done that, still have the nightmares; thank you very much...'

"And if I deny this, then what? Are you going to resign again?" The alarms going off in his head were making the admiral testy.

"Absolutely not, Sir. I'll present you with the request again upon my return."

The admiral studied him for another minute before dismissing him: "take your leave, Mr. Rabb. We may discuss this on Friday when you call; and if not, then when you return. That'll be all."

Just as Harm reached the door, the admiral called out to him: "Commander, you mentioned wanting to visit your stepfather. Is he ill?"

"No, Sir, but thank you for asking. It's just been a while. There were other obligations we both had last weekend and I'd still like to visit him."

The admiral suspected there was more going on, and that Harm was being less than straight-forward (if he were in a generous mood, he'd say that Harm was being diplomatic) but he could tell Harm was even more unapproachable than he had been when he asked for leave in July. Harm also appeared more determined. Realizing that he may very well cause more damage than not, the admiral decided to back-off.

"Very well. Give your folks my best."

"Aye, aye, Sir." He turned and left, being unwilling to correct the admiral's reference to his family situation.

The admiral sat there for several moments, wondering why he felt that there was something right in front of his face but he still wasn't seeing it. He replayed the conversation in his mind a few times. On the fourth time through, he stopped on one word. In all these years, Harm had never mentioned his stepfather. That was it---and it seemed damned odd. But why? He stood and started to walk toward his yeoman's desk.

"Coates!" She jumped to attention.

"As you were. Do one of those search things on that damn computer. And do it quietly."

"What am I looking for, Sir?"

"Frank Burnett, Chrysler Corporation. You'll know it if you find anything important. Let me know."

"Aye, Sir."

The admiral thought it would be a good time for a little recon---to see if there was anything going on that might give a clue regarding the recent request from his senior attorney. He found out soon enough.

He got to the break room and found two young clerks carrying on like schoolgirls. They snapped to attention. He waved them off and the younger of the two started right in.

"Isn't it exciting, Sir? I hope I find an exciting man like that some day. His job is so glamorous. The colonel is so lucky."

Not being the kind of man to appreciate female exuberance (especially from someone who probably hadn't yet reached her nineteenth birthday), the admiral had to struggle to maintain some level of patience with the young seaman; he really was trying not to scare the enlisted too bad---at least not without some justification. She was rather new, so he had to look at her name tag.

"What are you talking about, Ms. Carmond?"

"Colonel McKenzie, Sir. Her ring is so beautiful. Did you see it? He must be really rich! Can you imagine it? Finishing work on Friday---and coming back engaged? It's so romantic!" She didn't even take a breath.

The admiral just stared at her. The rambling was now secondary to the real issue. While not knowing he was focused on another component in this turn of events, her co-worker still was close to mortified at the young woman: going on and on in front of the JAG himself! She grabbed her co-worker by the arm.

"Excuse us, Sir. We have to get back to work." With one leading and the other being dragged behind, they practically ran out.

Well, there it was: the catalyst for this latest turn of events. He took him a minute or two to gather his wits---and then his brain kicked into overdrive. They didn't make him a two-star for nothing. It was time to begin calling in old favors.

Jen was still surfing the net when the admiral returned. As she began to come to attention, she said she was still searching and he motioned her back to work.

"Keep me informed. Otherwise, no interruptions for a while, Petty Officer."

"Aye, aye, Sir"

He closed the door behind him. There were calls to be made. Most were more a formality than anything else but introductions had to be made.

He was just finishing up when the knock came at the door. After receiving the invitation, Jen entered looking somewhat hesitant.

"Yes, Petty Officer?"

"I didn't find anything of note about Frank Burnett, Sir. Works for Chrysler in California and has for many years. He's a vice-president now. Well thought of---well-respected. Between his salary and stocks, he has a net worth that's quite impressive. Married only once, for about 25 years, no children. He does have one stepson. His wife also had significant financial status as she was successful in the art world in Southern California before her death this past July. Lots of other stuff, Sir, but nothing real interesting." It was obvious from her recitation that she didn't know who she was talking about. Harm must not have shared details of his family with her. 'Wait! Her what?'

"What was that last thing?"

"Nothing real interesting, Sir."

"No, before that. About his wife?"

"She owned a successful gallery before she died a month or so ago, Sir"

"Oh, God..."

"Sir, you knew her? Sir, I'm so sorry. Do you want...?" He cut her off.

"Never mind, Coates. I mean it! Focus only on your direct assignments. Stay out of this! Leave me your notes. And mention this to no one. Understood? You're dismissed."

After she closed the door behind her, he began his own search, this time for Patricia Burnett. It was sobering, this news. No wonder Harm had returned looking so much more drawn after that trip. But it did indeed drive home the worst of all the implications. He was so separated from the rest of the staff that he shared this news with no one. It also reinforced the prospect presented earlier. It was time for Harm to find a new life; there were just too many things to overcome here for the man to ever again have a comfortable working situation. The decision he had already made would alleviate the immediate problem; but it was time to start some serious work for the long term.

Harm was organizing folders on his desk when the admiral entered. He snapped to attention.

"Admiral."

"As you were, Mr. Rabb." He closed the door before he continued. "I've reconsidered my earlier decision."

"Sir?"

"I'm not going to give you the next three days." Before Harm could even begin to react, the admiral continued. "We seem to have an inordinate amount of cases from the West Coast, some mundane, but some are rather detailed. Cases, which for some reason or another, seem to need to be handled by staff here. Rather than transporting all those people all the way to the East Coast, I'm going to send you out to San Diego to get things back on an even keel. Everyone can travel to that base with much less expense, not to mention the lost work time. You can have tomorrow to travel then report to the base commander on Thursday. I've told him that while you will be there every day; you are to set your own schedule for this week and next. That will give you time to visit with your stepfather and spread your leave time out longer. After that you can resume working full days. Does that seem like a reasonable option, Commander?"

"Yes, Sir." Harm was definitely not expecting this. "Thank you, Sir."

"After meeting the JAG staff there and getting a handle on the cases. If you need a specific clerk, I can send one of your team out. Try to get those people up to speed and, in the process, determine if there is some deficit there that initially led to this situation. Your cases here will be reassigned and your team can report to me for the time being. I will gather any cases originating there from the rest of the staff and have them shipped out to you. You'll complete them all. You are experienced enough that you should be able to handle any kind of case without kicking it back here. I know I can depend on you. Plan on being there two full weeks. Anything else that comes up while you're out there, handle it. Understood?"

"Aye, Sir."

"About the other matter, Commander. I'll do a bit of research myself and see how I want to handle it---what options are available. I should have an answer for you in two to three weeks."

"Thank you, Sir."

"One more thing, Harm. I am trying to respect your private life, but I do wish you had told me about your mother. I could have offered some support, more time off. My condolences, Harm, I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Sir. But it happened so fast and then the funeral was so intense. When I got back, I just wanted a break from it. And, then, well, it was all over; so what was the point?"

The admiral studied him for a bit, then spoke again. "Still, my sympathies, Harm. Please tell your stepfather, as well. Report in to me Friday then twice each week. We'll see what comes next."

"Thank you, Sir. For everything."

While Harm may have suspected, and the admiral most likely knew, neither acknowledged that this was probably the last interchange between them while both were stationed at JAG headquarters.

A/N A different tone this time. Lesser drama and details of the kind of thing I like to see in Harm. Still, he has a long way to go to start over so don't think we're just about done. Still other stuff to resolve... I hope you enjoy the character as much as I do.

You Learn to Let Go part 6

The Friday after Labor Day, 2004
1400 PDT
San Diego JAG office

Chirp, ChirpChirp, Chirp

"Rabb."

"Hold for the JAG, please; returning your call."

The voice on the other end was not Coates. It would have been nice to hear her voice. He stopped by her apartment late Tuesday evening, after organizing his case files and clearing his desk. She and her roommate had a group of young women visiting. It actually comforted him to see the sight. This was among his regrets---leaving her behind. He knew how she missed Mattie---and the little family they had become. At least living next door and being in the same office, he could reassure himself that she was doing OK; it made him feel that he hadn't abandoned her completely. Seeing her interacting with others, sharing such activities with a new roommate and other women her age, helped him to feel that she was building a new life. At least he didn't have to feel guilty about her, too

"Commander, how are things out there?"

"I'm just reporting in. Sir; I think I've found the source of the problem."

"You've been there only part of two days and you have it solved already then?"

"Well, no, Sir. Not solved. I just found the explanation. I knew there was something else when I arrived at 0900, Sir, and the attorneys on staff were just arriving as well." It had become clear rather quickly. Harm began to relay to the admiral his findings of his first two days.

It was just after noon when Harm motioned to the three lieutenants in front of him to sit. They had just returned from lunch and it was time to get to the bottom of the situation. He could tell immediately that there was more going on in regard to the level of productivity than the admiral knew. The polite way to describe the situation greeting Harm was that military courtesy was somewhat lacking. In point of fact---it was non-existent. He had already explained that he was sent out by the admiral to determine the cause of increased transfer of cases from this office to headquarters. The reaction by all three suggested they saw no problem with the situation as it was. Harm asked about the method of processing incoming cases. The three shared answers with him, and while taking turns at talking, one immediately struck Harm as leader, a 20-something man named Darrin Cavins.

"We have a variety of cases come in each day and we review them the next morning. "Anything that requires investigation outside the office is handled by a Lieutenant Graves, when we can get her."

"Yeah, she loves that investigation stuff. She thinks every case is some big mystery so she's happy to do all the grunt work. But sometimes she's not available..."

"...since she has a different commanding officer. So we send the extra cases requiring investigation to headquarters. The JAG has all those enlisted to do that investigating so the lawyers can do actual legal work."

"We then assess the amount of time required for the remaining work and anything that we feel can't be complete within a week, we ship to headquarters."

Harm knew he still hadn't gotten to the heart of it but he had a feeling he'd understand it all soon. He didn't actually address a particular one; he was still attempting to observe the dynamics among them.

"Are you having difficulty processing the cases or is the work load so great that you can't complete it in a reasonable amount of time?" Harm knew he was leading them now. He was vaguely familiar with the caseload that had been building up at headquarters. Some did require the investigation these young attorneys wanted to avoid. However, many of these cases were run-of-the-mill stuff; divided among the three they shouldn't even require too much more time per week. He, himself, was accustomed to working longer some days than others---he'd done it for years when necessary as had all the staff he worked with at headquarters.

The leader of the three took over, "No, they aren't all that difficult. A lot of it is stuff law clerks can do. But we don't have law clerks stationed to do all that mundane stuff. So we do what we can in a regular day and send the rest on. The JAG doesn't think we need clerks, but that doesn't mean we have to get stuck with all that paperwork. We did go to law school, and I signed on to be a Navy lawyer, not spend hours and hours doing busywork." Harm was put-off by the comments: 'funny, no one told me in all these years that Navy lawyers were above busywork...'

"How many hours do you spend now doing this work?" Harm was now talking directly to Lieutenant Cavins while the others had stepped back and appeared to be observing.

"We're usually in by 9:00. If any of the other areas on base call, we have to listen to too much flack when there's no one here by then. But we're usually out of here around four, five at the very latest."

Now Harm turned to one of the others; time to confirm the level of cooperation here. "1600, Lieutenant Perry?" He specifically spoke in military time. "I see. Most of the other officers on base report at 0700, don't they?" Harm struggled to maintain a demeanor pleasant enough to keep them talking.

"I don't really know. But they're regular military. Surely the Navy doesn't expect us to do anything other than what civilian attorneys do. We're here to fulfill our obligation...and getting a little experience in the process will help us out---we'll be able to demand a higher starting salary later."

"I understand that but officers generally don't leave until at least 1700..."

"...yeah, but they aren't attorneys, now are they?" Cavins stepped back into the conversation, deciding it was time to clarify how this office operated. He would soon realize that was a tactical error around a former fighter pilot.

Harm had been leaning against a desk in the center of the JAG office. He stood and began to move around the room, while the three continued to chuckle at Cavin's last comment. He chuckled, too, at the absurdity of it---and at the knowledge that he was about to lower the boom on these young kids. He knew there were officers that shared this same mentality, that they were only here to fill up space in repayment for an education, and that the Navy certainly must not think they were of the same level as officers with only a bachelor's degree. But to have three stationed together without a dedicated officer who understood how---and why---the military operated was not going to work. Well, it was time for some serious attitude adjustment. Harm took a breath and assumed the command presence that he had displayed so many times over the years. And while the volumn didn't increase, his voice took on that steely edge he learned so many years ago.

"Snap to, all three of you! Stand at attention! You will afford a senior officer the appropriate respect. While you may have degrees of higher learning, you do so at the benevolence of the United States Government. I trust you did not learn this level of ethical behavior while pursuing said degrees. Or did they teach you to short-change your generous Uncle Sam as repayment for the exorbitant tuition he covered for you?" One of the three started to open in mouth in response but a quick glare into his face at a distance of six inches (and that would be a generous description) caused him to refrain. "If you have forgotten all you were taught about military courtesy at OCS, I'll be happy to provide a refresher course. To begin with, you will address me as SIR! You will assume the appropriate stance in the presence of a senior officer. You will respect your fellow officers, regardless of educational degree or field of study. They, too, deserve all the privileges of a commission in the United States Navy. Further, this mentality you all seem to have regarding the amount and scope of the work for which you are responsible will be addressed in the coming days. If the JAG, himself; a two-star admiral, works for ten hours each day, you will follow that example. As of this moment, you will never again underestimate the level of importance of any of your assigned duties: the most trivial detail is important to any sailor looking to you to use that education you have been so magnanimously provided. Are we clear here?"

They were all taken aback and simply nodded their heads. 'This is going to be a hassle, squaring these three away. Maybe I should let Mac exercise her Marine mania on them. Whoa, don't go there, Hammer. You've been able to avoid thinking about her the last three days...' He raised his voice just a bit.

"Excuse me! I asked you if we were clear. The answer I'm looking for is 'Yes, Sir'!"

"Yes, Sir!" Though not in unison, they responded loud and clear.

"Good. If I see you shirking your duties again, you will definitely need to benefit from this unit cohesion you have going on---because I'll charge you all with dereliction and you can represent each other. And then, I'll have your ass! Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"You will review all your cases this afternoon and report back to me for a short de-brief at 1700. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" The third, and quietest of the three, began to speak. "But, Sir. You see...that is...well, I have plans with my girlfriend at 1700 at the beach..."

Harm was now nose-to-nose with him. "Well, then, Lieutenant, If you don't call her and inform her you will be delayed, she may think you are standing her up---especially when I throw your ass in the brig until I can bring charges on Monday morning." He addressed the three again. "You will get your personal lives squared away this weekend. Let those around you know you are now in the U.S. Navy and your first priority is to your duty. I don't want to hear about it again. Dismissed!"

After he had finished sharing with the admiral the details of that encounter, he outlined his plan. While reacquainting the three with military discipline and regimen, he would oversee the cases, introduce them to investigations and define the details of completing paperwork. He suspected they also let their physical fitness slide so that would be introduced as well. Harm told the admiral he was planning PFT at 0630 every other day and early joint working breakfast the other days to get them in the habit. He further recommended the admiral look into transferring one out and someone more disciplined in.

"Well done, Mr. Rabb. I appreciate your perseverance there. There is one thing that comes to mind, however. You're supposed to be taking some time to spend with your stepfather; how are you going to do that with this schedule?"

"It's alright, Sir, he doesn't get home from work until almost 1800 anyway. We have the evenings and the weekends. We played nine holes this morning before I came in. I realized this may be even better, actually. After all these years, and given the way things were when I was a teenager, we don't know each other that well. It's going to take some time.

"Also, Sir, I know you said plan on taking two weeks, but I am skeptical that the attitude adjustment required here can be completely addressed in that time, not to mention getting a handle on the backlog. Unless you find you can rotate another attorney to replace at least one of these men, I would ask that we re-evaluate the time frame at the end of the two weeks. I don't think they should be left without adequate leadership."

"Very well, Commander. I'll accept your assessment at this time. I still expect to hear from you at least twice each week. Anything else?"

"Actually, Sir, there is. As I said in your office, I know I don't have much of a chance at promotion and it won't be long before the up-or-out option applies to me. But today's incident reminded me of something, Sir. I like the Navy. I like military life. And it's not because it's the only life I know. Rather, Sir, it's the only life I know because it's the only life I want. I know I don't have any right to ask, given the past eighteen months or so, but I would like you to know, that if there is anything you can do to even extend my service, I'd be grateful, Sir. I know you have reservations about me, Sir but I assure you I've learned..."

"Harm. You're rambling."

"Yes, Sir." Even 3000 miles away, the admiral could hear a twinge of embarrassment.

"I'll see if there's anything I can do. If I find out anything, I'll let you know."

"Yes, Sir." Now it was resignation that was noticeable.

"Don't get discouraged just yet, Mr. Rabb. Have a good weekend, Harm."

"Thank you, Sir. You, too." And with that, the connection was broken.

Chegwidden was glad the week was coming to a close. The staff there was no happier when they were informed at staff meeting Wednesday morning that Rabb was in San Diego. Everyone was somewhat stressed, more so by the atmosphere than the workload, which was stressing enough on its own. Removing the cases associated with the West Coast office pacified them some, but there was still grumbling. The admiral heard it through the door as he stepped out of the room. He heard the comment that it wouldn't be all that different since Harm wasn't really helping that much with the workload, as they still mistakenly believed. When someone suggested that the level of productivity would even out since they were able to hand off so many cases to him, he stepped back into the room. They snapped to attention, knowing the admiral wasn't tolerating any discussion like this. They were all wondering why he was defending Harm so zealously after everything that had happened in the past year. They were surprised by his lack of emotion.

"I know you all are overworked, and this redistribution of cases will alleviate that to some degree. Still, there is a lot to be done. I expect you to maintain the level of productivity around here, especially since your teams should be assuming more independent duties by now. I know you all have duties to see to, so let's get started." He maintained a level voice throughout, and then looked at the officers before him. He wondered if there would ever again be anything resembling the atmosphere he enjoyed here for so many years, even with all the Rabb-related headaches. 'Yes, it's definitely time to consider retiring---only one task to accomplish, then I'm done...' He then barked at them all.

"Dismissed!"

Harm returned to the house in La Jolla later that same day. As long as could remember, AnnaMarie had been there, greeting him with warm eyes and a cheerful disposition. She was calming and uplifting at the same time. He knew she was a valued employee of his mother's for many years and that served to increase his affection for her.

He stood on the deck overlooking the ocean. He already felt better than he had for some time. His phone conversations with Mattie this week reminded him that, while they had separate lives again, his had been enriched by her. He was also reminded of all the clichés about unconditional love and how love transcends time and distance. It was natural that he would apply those thoughts to memories of his mother and it served to give him a few moments of peace.

Of course, sleeping in his old bed again didn't hurt. His room, still housing many of his boyhood and adolescent items, was almost like...a time machine, as Bud would say. It would, for a few hours, transport him to a simpler time, when the conflict around him included a pesky stepfather and the desire to prepare for the academy while enjoying the favors of the pretty, fresh teenage girls from school. It hadn't seemed simple at the time, but in retrospect there were hopes and dreams abounding all around him. Now he had to struggle to even see that there were other possibilities.

He was still standing at the railing in the uniform of the day when Frank arrived. After exchanging pleasantries, they both headed upstairs to change and then meet again outside for a drink before dinner. The ocean breeze was delightful; it served to calm him a bit more. He began to believe that he really could think more clearly with a few more days of this. Maybe he would be able to find a new life that could be full and satisfying. He still felt that 'enjoyable' would be a stretch, but no sense dwelling on that.

Dinner was delightful. AnnaMarie always indulged his culinary preferences. She did so with the most delicious California fare. There were plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, wonderful side dishes, and while she placed a steak on the grill for Frank, she added a fillet of fresh fish for him. She was a great cook (he'd never tell his gramma that) and he knew there'd be no complaints about being too thin after a couple of weeks in this house.

He and Frank talked some, but he didn't volunteer too much. And Frank didn't push; he never had. Frank shared that they had been invited to go sailing over the weekend and he had tentatively accepted. He could just as easily decline if Harm wanted to do something else, or just laze on the beach. Harm quickly reassured him that sailing would be just the ticket.

So the days passed for the next three weeks. He was able to clear his head a bit and get a better handle on his personal life. The office was shaping up some, even though he knew the others weren't all that enthused about military life. He chose three of the more difficult investigations for himself and assigned a different one to assist him on each. He then assigned each of them a lesser complicated case, also needing investigation, and he served second to their lead. While he tolerated no lack of respect, he allowed them each respect befitting an officer and they seemed to respond well to it. Further, they quickly realized that they could benefit from the attention and mentoring he was providing and that improved their level of receptivity even more. While two were responding especially well, the third, who had been more of the leader of the group, was a bit more reticent. Harm shared with the admiral that he probably needed to be the one to be transferred into a command where there was strong leadership.

At the same time, on the other side of the country, Admiral Chegwidden was addressing his own project. He had talked with flag officers in other commands, and spent a fair amount of time researching possibilities. He included in his plan that once an appropriate assignment was determined and detailed he would begin lobbying for accomplishment of the other component. There was a giant leap forward at the last monthly meeting Joint Admirals' Appointment with the Secretary of the Navy. He decided a quick trip to the West Coast was in order, both to check out the progress and to discuss with Harm the latest turn of events.

It was just before noon on a Friday in early October when the door of the legal office opened. Harm looked up, and was surprised at the figure silhouetted in the sunlight, in fact he was momentarily speechless. Actually, it was only a matter of seconds before he recovered. He jumped to his feet.

"Judge Advocate General on deck!" The others responded in kind and stood at attention.

"Admiral, I wasn't expecting you. Had I known I would have met you on the flight line, Sir."

"At ease, Mr. Rabb. Don't worry about it. It was actually enjoyable to watch all those sailors scramble when they realized an admiral was disembarking from the transport. I really need to get out more," he added a bit ruefully. He scanned the room, taking note of the surroundings and the staff. "This is the JAG staff, Commander?"

"Yes, sir." He went on to introduce the three attorneys and the legal man Harm had recently requested. They all presented the appropriate military decorum and Harm was relieved that he had succeeded in teaching them that much at least.

"What brings you to California, Sir?" The unexpected appearance of his CO was a bit disconcerting but Harm tried to remain politely respectful.

"Well, Mr. Rabb, I thought I might review the troops." Harm had to struggle to refrain from cringing. He looked at the admiral with question in his eyes. The admiral's own eyes twinkled slightly. He continued to speak to the younger officer.

"Besides, I have something to discuss with you regarding your future. Since it is almost lunch, why don't you escort me to the base commander's office---wouldn't want to disregard appropriate protocol, now would we---then you can show me the Officer's Club."

"Aye, aye, Sir." Harm turned to pick up his cover and spoke to the staff: "As you were, people." In the process, he whispered to the nearest lieutenant: "Call the CO's office and give them a heads-up." He turned back to the admiral who was looking out the door. "After you, Sir. To the right." Harm followed him out the door.

He was a bit surprised with the admiral's next comment: "You're taking away my fun, Commander." The admiral glanced over at him with what could only be described as a smirk. Harm resigned himself, not for the first time, to the fact that he couldn't get anything by the former SeAL.

"Yes, Sir."

It was an hour later that they were seated in the O Club, deciding on lunch. Harm hadn't taken all the fun out of the surprise visit after all. The base CO was out in the field and the staff was almost panicked in trying to locate him and get him back to greet an unexpected, visiting two-star. They activity resembled the proverbial chicken running with its head cut off; they were tripping over one another and apologizing all over the place. Finally, the CO was located and fifteen minutes after that he and his staff stood at attention before the JAG. After the usual pleasantries and an agreement for an official tour at 1500, Harm and the admiral left the office. Harm had to bite back a chuckle as he heard what sounded like a collective sigh of relief. He and the admiral had quietly shared a laugh as they heard the CO's voice bellowing behind them.

"What the hell is going on here? An admiral, for God's sake; and a two-star at that! Why wasn't I notified the second he was within radar range of this base? Did no one think it was noteworthy? Something maybe I should be aware of? Find out who greeted him and get him in here ten minutes ago!"

After they ordered lunch, Harm waited for the admiral to begin. It wasn't long.

"Harm, I have a proposition for you; direct from the SecNav." With that he had Harm's undivided attention. "I have had requests from a few CAGs for a while now to send someone to update pilots on the rules of engagement. It would appear that with the increased flight ops in and around Iraq, there is ample opportunity to disregard these. But we've been so burdened at JAG that I have been putting it off. With flight schedules and different air groups moving all over the place, it would be a logistical nightmare, not to mention there would be more time traveling than actually providing the training." Harm was not really following along, so he sat quietly while the admiral continued.

"This past month, a new concern was presented. There aren't enough Top Guns available to complete the necessary evals on the active pilots. In the past they've been pulled from active duty temporarily, but now that just isn't possible if all the air groups are to remain fully staffed. If they could even find someone to detail to the individual air groups, it would require that individual to either waste a lot of time on board ship, or they be flying back-to-back missions too often." Harm was beginning to get the picture and hoped it was what he thought.

"So I offered a suggestion. One experienced officer who could do both: you. You would fly backseat once per day and administer training each day as well. It would spread the whole process out a little bit but everyone could have their concerns addressed. Interested?"

"Yes, Sir. Where would this take place? How would it work?"

"For starters, to see how it goes, you'd remain TAD here, reporting to the specific admirals of the various air groups based out of here. If it all works, it will be a more permanent position. It has the possibility of extending a demand for your services, maybe even increasing your chances of promotion. You'll continue to watch over the staff here, to ensure they stay on the straight and narrow until an experienced lieutenant commander can be rotated in. There is someone newly promoted in Pearl that is scheduled for rotation in December. I can rotate one of them out of here then. How's the workload here now?"

"We're just about back on track, Sir. There is still some backlog but with four of us we should be able to catch up in another week. After that, given the average number of cases coming in each week, three attorneys should be able to keep up. Especially it they continue to have a legal man to do the scheduling and record-keeping."

"Good, good. Mr. Rabb, you handled this well. You identified the problem in short order and turned it around---all without need of my intervention. And all without ticking off the base commander. I appreciate that. You're definitely improving, Commander."

"Thank you, Sir. So I'll continue as I am now until the caseload is up, then I'll begin working with the air wing based here. I'll continue to monitor the JAG staff as well. Do I understand correctly, Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Rabb. I know it will be a lot of responsibility in the beginning but hopefully you'll be able to refine the process. When the JAG staff reassignments take place you'll have fewer demands, you'll be able to speed up the process a bit and then we should really be able to make a case to the SecNav. Keep in mind that if this doesn't go smoothly, there will be consequences for that, as well."

"Aye, Sir. Thank you. I won't let you down."

After the official tour with the base brass, Harm had invited the Admiral to his stepfather's home and Chegwidden decided a weekend in sunny Southern California wouldn't be so bad. The next morning, they played golf and enjoyed the ocean before relaxing around the grill with beers in hand.

It was late Sunday morning when Harm took the admiral back to the base to catch the transport back to D.C. The admiral took advantage of the drive to question the younger man.

"So, Harm...really; how are you doing?"

"OK, Sir. Actually, now with this news, pretty good. I've been thinking this past week that I really didn't want to go back to the headquarters." He glanced at the admiral to see him staring intently. "I'm not being disrespectful, Sir. And it's not a reflection on you. But it's not a place I want to be anymore. It's not the same. And it's not just the office either. It's everything there. I need to learn to let go of it all. But I need something new. A new perspective, new responsibilities, new challenges. I really appreciate everything you're doing for me. I know it's more than I should expect..."

"Harm, I meant what I said. We'd start afresh. I've tried to look at you without bias. You've done a good job at headquarters for many years. And, for the most part, you've served me well. You deserve to have your CO help you move on when it becomes the right thing to do."

"Thank you, Sir." Harm lifted the admiral's bag and handed it to the young airman standing near the transport.

"I'll continue to discuss this with the SecNav. Keep me posted. I'll let you know if anything new develops. Good luck, son." He extended his hand, which Harm took. Harm came to attention, even though he was out of uniform, and nodded to the admiral.

The airman approached the two officers. "Excuse me, Sir. They're ready." With that the admiral nodded in acknowledgement to Harm, turned and boarded the plane.

A/N Here we go again with more notes---after my proof-reader went over the last part, and I reread it after I added it to the VOY message box, I still found a few errors in the actual post. Please accept my apologies.

A/N2 Differing from the television program: I used to like Sturgis---before this past season. He seemed a bit like milk-toast, but a man of character nonetheless. For the purpose of this story, the change in character never took place.

You Learn to Let Go part 7

October 3, 2004
Southern California

Harm was enjoying the ride back from the base. Frank had offered the use of his Crossfire and Harm was grateful for the variety. The government-issue sedan was reliable, but Harm was missing his Corvette after all these weeks. The Chrysler was a reasonable substitute. His mother had a Mercedes that Frank had gotten her a couple of years back and its luxury was more than a few steps above Frank's car. But Harm was just as glad to have this opportunity. The Mercedes, while quite a ride, was just a bit sedate for his taste. After calling Frank to make sure it was alright to delay his return, he turned out of the gate and he went for a drive along the coast. He was enjoying the sensation: it was a nice change of pace.

It was mid-afternoon when he returned to the house to find Frank by the pool with a cold beer. AnnaMarie had left a salad and an Italian dish that only needed warming. They would enjoy that with a glass or two (or three) of one of the California wines that Frank enjoyed so much. Harm joined him after grabbing a beer bottle of his own.

"Thanks, Frank, for everything this weekend. I hope you didn't have something else you wanted to do."

"It worked out fine, Harm. I was glad for the opportunity to get to know your boss a little better. I know he has been key in your life for many years now. We could have done something more note-worthy if I had known he was coming."

"Yeah, that would have been nice. I sure was surprised when he walked through the door into the legal office on Friday."

"You didn't know he was coming?"

"No, but I'm glad I could ask him to stay here. He's been doing some things for me the past month or so, and it was good to offer him some hospitality." Harm seemed to grow more distant as he spoke and Frank waited to see where the conversation went.

But Harm remained silent for a while, so Frank spoke again.

"So how'd you like the car?"

"It's a nice ride---but not as nice as my 'vette," he smirked. "Really, thanks, though. It was nice to see the coast; I haven't done that in quite a while."

"It is a nice change. I enjoy it myself every once in a while. These days, though, I drive your mother's car, more often than not. It's a little more comfortable and she'd be upset with me for just letting it sit. Every few days I think that I should find it a good home. But then I wonder what she would say," he trailed off, his tone wistful.

It was the first time they had discussed her in anything more than a passing comment and Harm was still struggling with it. But he got the distinct impression that Frank wanted to talk about her a bit more in depth today. He didn't want to but he was unwilling to deny Frank the opportunity. He thought it best if he just let his stepfather talk.

"I've always appreciated her suggestions in many situations. I'd like to ask her now how to handle this..."

Harm got the impression he was supposed to know what Frank was talking about, but he just wasn't following. He'd wait to see if Frank continued. It wasn't a very long wait.

"You know, just a bit of advice on how to proceed, what to say, how to ask..." He trailed off so, after a moment, Harm thought he might offer some thoughts.

"Well, Frank, when I have a situation, I know I have to decide what it is that I need to know--then I form a question to get the information I want. What is it that you're looking for exactly? Can you describe that?"

Frank continued to look out at the clear California sky, then he finally spoke.

"I want to know what's going on with you."

Harm almost choked on his beer as his eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I've never pushed, Harm. And I don't want to start. But I know things aren't what they have been and I know you've been troubled. I've seen you become a bit less unhappy as the days have gone by, but I know there's something still bothering you. Your mother has always been the one to approach you---she always worried since you have the tendency to try to go it alone. I think she'd want me to help you if you need it, even though you may not want it. She was an expert at that, you know? But now she's not here and I guess I feel the responsibility is now mine. I still see you as my son, even though you're Harm, Senior's son"

Harm sat for a moment, wondering how he could redirect this before it went too far. He glanced up at Frank, and knew there wouldn't be much avoidance without risking the strides they had recently made in their relationship, one filled with discomfort primarily as a result of Harm's attitude.

"You've been talking to the admiral behind my back, haven't you?" He asked with a rueful chuckle. Frank pinned him with a questioning look. Harm got up to look out to the horizon.

"The admiral said that to me not so very long ago---going it alone. It's not so much that, it's that I don't know how to discuss it, much less who to approach..."

"I wish you would talk to me, Harm. Maybe I can't help; but maybe saying it all out loud will help you clear up any murky areas, as it were. I'll try not to press..."

Harm just stared ahead for a few minutes. Frank just waited. That was something he had learned about Harm a long time age: Harm needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts before he could speak. It really wasn't that long that Frank had to wait.

"The admiral came with a temporary transfer offer. I'd stay here for a while---if that's OK with you," he looked at Frank who nodded his head, "and continue to oversee the legal office plus take on new responsibilities. They would involve leading training sessions and evaluating some younger pilots. It could become long term." He had turned back toward the horizon.

"Harm, you're welcome to stay here as long as you want, or need to. Since I married your mother, my house has been your home. But what about JAG? What about D.C.?"

"That's what started all this. It's time to move on. There's a lot I've been hanging onto for some time now that's just holding me down. It keeps me from building something else, a life that's more complete than what I've got. I finally realized I really need to learn to let go. I haven't liked D.C. for some time and it's just gotten to a point where I want...no, strike that;" he turned again to look at his stepfather, "I need to move on."

"But why? Did something happen? Is there a problem at the office?"

"I guess you could say that. But it's really more than that." Harm gave him a brief---very brief---synopsis of Mattie's return to her dad, the downward spiral of his relationship with Mac, his declining relationships with his friends as their lives became more complicated and how all those things increased his isolation and sense of emptiness. He then told Frank that he had requested a permanent transfer and the admiral was trying to ensure that, at the very least, Harm wasn't decreasing his already questionable chances for promotion.

They sat quietly for some time. Harm felt that same sense of weariness return, now that he had thought about it all again. Frank didn't know what to feel, or what to say. After several minutes, he spoke.

"Harm, there's always room at Chrysler for an experienced lawyer. I could make a few calls, talk to a few..." Harm cut him off.

"Thanks, Frank. Really. But I really don't want to leave the Navy, at least not yet. I like this life. It's one of the few things I do know." He shared the rediscovery of his passion of military life just a few weeks previous during that first week here. He then added: "I've paid my dues and I enjoy the rewards of rank. I do appreciate the offer---knowing it's there helps. But I'm not ready to choose a whole different life yet. I want some change---but not a whole new life just yet. I'm not sure I can explain it to you."

"I do understand, son. I just want you to know I'd like to be involved in your life, and to help you if you need it. I hope you'll let me if the situation arises."

Harm decided he'd had enough of this deep reflection; it was time to lighten the mood. "What do you think, Frank? If I don't, I expect I'll hear about it from my mother---and my father, too. In the form of some serious haunting..."

Frank got up and, with a light chuckle, tapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get that dinner going."

Monday, October 4
0800
JAG Headquarters

The senior staff and Petty Officer Coates were already sitting around the conference table when the admiral walked in. While he usually waved them off before they were fully at attention, today he waited. And then waited some more. They all came to attention as he looked over the group. It was nothing like the morning staff meetings he'd known for years. The faces were mostly the same, only one was missing and there were only a couple of new faces sitting in today. Each week, two of the new attorneys sat in on staff call as part of their training. He couldn't help but wonder how things would continue to change in the coming weeks, especially if he were successful in his efforts regarding his senior attorney. The down side of it all was that once he arranged for Harm's transfer to be permanent, Sarah MacKenzie would be senior attorney. 'I'm glad I'm leaving...'

"As you were." He could tell they were beginning to be uncomfortable---and to question his actions. 'Just as well; maybe Ted Lindsey was right in one way: maybe we have been together too long.' It was entirely possible that they were too close and because of that military decorum was not necessarily what it should be. He needed to remind them far too often for his taste. "Or maybe I really have lost control of my crew...God, do I need to retire!'

He listened as each of them gave a brief synopsis of their caseloads, asking questions about progress, obstacles, and projected outcomes. When they had all made their presentations and he had shared details of new, or altered, assignments, he informed them of the end result of his trip the previous Friday to the West Coast.

"Commander Rabb's TAD has been extended. He has suggested, and I concur, that the staff, as it is now, can not efficiently function without experienced leadership. As other attorneys are to be rotated from current billets, I will review FitReps and assess prospects for a permanent placement there. One of the young lieutenants there will most likely be rotated here to further his training under the tutelage of one of you senior officers."

Bud Roberts, naive as he sometimes seemed to remain, spoke up even though the admiral had not indicated this was to be a discussion. "Won't Commander Rabb continue working with this lieutenant since the commander's been overseeing his work these past few weeks?"

"No, Lieutenant, he won't. Commander Rabb has been given additional TAD assignments which will extend his stay there. It is unclear at this time when the commander will be returning. Should he return in the same general time frame as the lieutenant's rotation, it will be purely coincidental."

"You said his stay will be extended, Sir? Doesn't he have family responsibilities too? Or did his ward go with him?"

The admiral looked to Jen, "Coates?"

"Mattie was returned to the custody of her father during the summer." They all sat quietly for a moment, each surprised by that news, but not really knowing what to think---or say--—about it.

Since the admiral hadn't bitten Bud's head off, Turner spoke up. He decided to dive into what could either become a discussion or a tongue-lashing. 'That's what submariner's do---we dive in deep.'

"May I ask what the additional assignments are, that Rabb is assuming?"

Actually, the admiral wanted them to inquire, or respond. It was time to start letting them discover all the details that made up the course of events which had begun several months previous and would continue, most likely into December, before the dust would even begin to settle. It would not be appropriate protocol to volunteer information, but he could attempt to lead them where he wanted them to go.

"Certainly, Commander. He will be providing training and refresher courses to the JAGs based out of the San Diego as well as some of those based with the various Pacific fleets."

They all sat, somewhat surprised. An assignment like that was sure to enhance one's service record noticeably. By rights, it could be easily shared as there were several different groups and individuals to work with, coming and going out of San Diego at various times. But the opportunity was going to just one person. Now it was Mac's turn to forge ahead; 'leave it to the Marines to run the greatest risk...'

"Wouldn't it be more appropriate to share that assignment, Sir? Commander Rabb isn't the only one skilled enough to offer such training." The admiral wanted to react to that, but was able to maintain his control as he answered.

"But he is the only one skilled to evaluate pilots on rules of engagement and aviation skills concurrently. He will be doing both as the different fleets and air groups dock at San Diego. Because he can't solely focus on that while he is still needed to oversee the legal office there, it will extend his TAD assignment. Once the rotations are complete, he will focus solely on his work with the JAGs and the pilots. After there has been adequate time to evaluate the effectiveness of such efforts, decisions will be made. Any further questions?"

Mac continued, "Sir, with the commander remaining away from headquarters for an unknown time frame, and the case load here continuing, shouldn't an experienced attorney be assigned TAD here, to help with the work load?"

The admiral almost did react here. These people seemed to be overly-concerned about their workload. 'Strange, since they weren't concerned enough to recognize the workload that Harm had been carrying most of the summer...'

"Colonel, you have twelve young attorneys at your disposal that have been arriving here for the past several months, since some of last December's graduating class completed OCS in the spring. Surely some of them must be up to speed by now---at least to the degree of handling a more sedate workload of their own. They should be able to provide dependable second chair assistance when needed, as well. I fail to see why, by now, the senior staff and all the juniors hanging around here can't maintain the workload. Certainly, you three, the other attorneys assigned here and all these novices can balance the productivity of one officer between yourselves, especially since anything originating on the West Coast will stay there with Rabb and that staff." His voice took on the hard edge they had expected for several minutes. They still found it somewhat unnerving.

"So I expect the productivity to remain the same. However, since you have mentioned it, we'll evaluate the productivity with a psuedo-internal investigation in mid-November in the event that you are correct in your assumption and that you cannot maintain without Rabb around. Now, if that is all...I believe you all have plenty to get started on now."

Bud spoke up once again. It was as though he would never learn. "I have had a couple of questions for Commander Rabb, Sir. When I called the base, they said he did not have quarters there. Do you know where he is?"

It couldn't have worked better if he planned it: their first test. 'Let's see if any of them pick up the clues I got.'

"Commander Rabb is staying at his stepfather's house and commuting to the base. It serves our budget rather well; in exchange for mileage and gas, we can forego housing and food allowances. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed their hospitality while I was out there. It was nice to spend some R & R with both of Harm and his stepfather. You'll have to e-mail him. Let's get to work, people."

Sturgis Turner exited the conference room feeling strangely ill at ease. He hadn't heard from Harm since he'd been gone, and that was only after he had received a voicemail the Tuesday he left canceling their weekly basketball game. 'Maybe I'll call tonight...' The nagging in the pit of his stomach continued, and the result was a decidedly uncomfortable sensation. He was not accustomed to it; he rarely was led by gut-reaction.

As it turned out, he didn't call that evening, nor the next either. He had been so busy that he didn't have time to formulate introductions to conversation and specific topics. He didn't think calling after all these weeks and starting out with 'what the hell's going on?' would be very productive. So he pondered it for another day.

It was a quiet Wednesday evening at home that he decided on a specific plan. He'd call Harm's mom---he'd known her for years; he could test the waters and see where the conversation went. 'Yes, that's what I'll do---I'll tell her that over the years, I lost the house phone number, that it was easy to find the business number on the 'web and that I'd rather call when Harm was off duty. Maybe she'll talk to me, she always liked me, maybe she'll take the opportunity...'

RingRing RingRing

"La Jolla Galleria"

"May I speak with the owner, please?" Sturgis didn't recognize the voice but he knew Mrs. Burnett had various assistants working with her over the years. He chuckled to himself as he recalled her introducing Harm to one or two that she had particularly liked and thought were possible marriage material.

"May I tell her who's calling, Sir?"

"Sturgis Turner."

"One moment, please." It was only a brief pause that he had to wait.

"Karen DuShane, speaking. May I help you, Mr. Turner?"

"I beg your pardon. I would like to speak with the owner. Is she available?"

The pause was longer than he expected and a bad feeling came about quickly.

"I'm the new owner, Sir. I'm happy to help you, though."

"What happened to Mrs. Burnett?" There was again a lengthy pause.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Mrs. Burnett passed away a few months ago. I am now the owner, but I assure you we are continuing the legacy she left us here at the gallery." Sturgis wasn't really listening after he heard the news.

"Um...Thank you." And he hung up the phone. The light went on that explained it all: "Harm and his stepfather..."

Thursday, October 7
0830
Office of the JAG
Headquarters, Falls Church

KnockKnock

The door was partially open to the admiral's office where Chegwidden was signing forms presented to him by Jennifer Coates.

"Enter."

Upon seeing Coates with his boss, Turner thought it best to return. "I didn't know you were busy, Sir. I can some back." He started to turn away.

"No, no, Commander. Come in. We were just finishing." He signed the last form and dismissed Coates. "Please close the hatch, Petty Officer." She nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

"Something you wanted to ask, Mr. Turner?" He noticed the troubled look on Sturgis' face immediately and surmised he was the one to pick up on everything. Sturgis stood quietly a minute, coming to an understanding of all that was taking place.

"If I may ask, Sir. How long have you known about Harm's mother?"

It wasn't the most respectful intro to conversation, but the admiral let it pass. 'He is probably the least to blame in all of this, and he did know Harm and his mother for 20 years...' but he wasn't going to share all the details. His attitude remained less than friendly.

"Since the he was ordered TAD to San Diego. I am correct in assuming you didn't know, then?"

"Yes, Sir. I was not aware. Do you know when?"

"My understanding is that her death was the cause for the commander's brief leave in July."

"Who else here knows about this?"

"As far as I know, no one. And no, he didn't tell me---I found out."

"Why didn't he tell anyone, Sir?"

"I don't know, Commander. You tell me. You were his friend for...how long? He and Colonel MacKenzie, as well as Mr. Roberts have worked together for years. He and Coates have been quite close since she began sharing in the care of Ms. Grace. He at least had good reason to want to keep any personal issues from me. And yet he approached none of you. Why, indeed, Commander."

"With all due respect, Sir, he didn't tell you when he asked for leave?"

"No, Commander." The admiral's voice took on the hard edge he had been controlling. "He asked for emergency leave for three days. I trusted him enough to know he would not take advantage of that or use it as an excuse. He didn't seem to want to discuss it, and as I said, I'm aware he has good reason to hesitate with me." Turner stood silently, trying to understand it all.

"If there's nothing else, Commander..."

"Actually, Sir, there is. With Columbus Day coming and the long weekend, I like to take a short trip, if you have no objections to me leaving the area."

"You aren't on duty?"

"Not until Monday, 1800 hours, Sir. I'll be back by then."

"See that you are. Dismissed."

Sturgis was able to secure early Friday afternoon and he caught the mid-afternoon transport to San Diego. Varese wasn't all that pleased that he was going away on a holiday weekend, especially since she was finally in town for more than just a few days. But as Sturgis explained more and more details of his long-time friend, she became more encouraging. He agreed to return Sunday evening.

As he reflected on the past several months, he came to recognize that he had been so preoccupied during the summer he only now was seeing things he should have seen all along. He should have noticed that Harm was looking more drawn as the summer went on and that his demeanor had become more withdrawn. Looking back, he couldn't remember when he had a sense that his friend appeared content with life. There had been a sadness, almost an emptiness about him that Sturgis failed to perceive back then.

Sturgis arrived at the base mid-afternoon and went directly to the legal offices. He hoped to catch Harm there, but if not he'd go out to the house. He had been to La Jolla a couple times over the years and with a brief look at MapQuest, he knew he could find the way if he needed to. He and Harm had been co-workers for the past few years, but they were comrades and friends dating back to a time when they were young men trying to find their way in the world. It was time to start re-living that.

A/N I had planned the storyline but a comment to the last VOY post caused me to rethink. In the process of discussing it with my proof-reader, she agreed that the conversation with Sturgis needed to be included. So I began to reshape this chapter. After struggling with it for several days, I went back to my original plan with some modifications. I thought it dragged too much with there being anymore focus on interaction between our hero and his old friend.

A/N2 Differing from the show: Harm's relationship with Sturgis remains positive. I had a hard time with the personality changes in Sturgis the past 6 months, so I haven't included it. Sturgis had been far too even-tempered to vary so much from the original description of that character for it to be believable in my mind.

You Learn to Let Go part 8

Tuesday, October 12, 2004
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
0850 EDT

Sturgis Turner approached the desk of Admiral Chegwidden and attempted to come to attention. Before he could accomplish that, he was motioned to sit. The admiral had asked Turner at morning staff call to report to his office. Sturgis was certain he knew the topic of discussion.

Harm had his back to the door when it opened to admit a visitor. The legalman filing at the cabinet near the door was the first to react.

"Attention on deck!"

The three junior officers snapped to attention as did Harm while pivoting to face their guest. Harm took note of the staff and was momentarily pleased to see the military courtesy and decorum on display. He was indeed making progress with them. It all registered within seconds; he then noticed the officer standing in the doorway. He had a sense of deja vu as he was reminded of an unexpected visitor walking through the same door the previous week. He then relaxed and greeted the guest.

"Commander Turner, welcome to San Diego."

"Commander Rabb." He remained standing in the same place and scanned the scene, taking in the surroundings. When he didn't speak, Harm acted.

"As you were, people. Come in, Commander. Please sit down." He motioned to the chair nearest the desk where he was working and spoke in a quiet voice.

"So what brings you out here, Sturgis? You should have let me know you were coming."

"I was recently made aware of some responsibilities I have ignored lately; duty that I've been shirking. I'm hoping I can address that today and tomorrow. I'd like to fly back on Sunday, if I accomplish what I need to."

"Anything you need help with?" Sturgis noted Harm's offer with additional remorse; Harm was always willing to offer help. But never willing to ask, and rarely willing to accept it.

"I'd like to talk if you're free for dinner. You available?"

He was fully prepared, though not entirely comfortable, when his CO presented his first question.

"Mr. Turner, how was your visit with Commander Rabb?"

"Good, but not entirely satisfying, Sir. Though I am glad I had the opportunity."

"You told him you knew of his mother's passing then?"

"Yes, Sir. I stayed at the house, as I have before. I had a good visit with him and his stepfather."

"They seem to be getting on well; I'm glad Harm has reconnected with Frank."

"They appear to help each other---though I'm not sure Harm sees it that way, Sir. I think he believes he's helping his stepfather with the grief but denying that he might also be benefiting in that way during this time together."

Chegwidden had wondered the about the very thing, but had been unable to clarify it all. He had hoped Turner, with his history with Harm, would be successful in gaining an understanding of how Harm really was with all the changes.

"So he talked with you about her?"

"Not really, Sir. You know how he is. He's not one to talk about personal things. He never really was, Sir."

Dinner conversation started out simple enough. Talk of work; specific cases, frustrating clients, endless paperwork. Harm was reminded that he missed the challenges of headquarters and D.C. but then he was quickly reminded of the reasons that prompted him to seek a change. Harm asked about Varese and at some point during the answer, Sturgis found the opportunity to broach the area of his concern.

"Harm, we've been friends a long time. It's been too long since we've taken some time to talk. I know I've been pretty preoccupied with Varese."

Harm brushed him off. "I'm glad it's working out, really. It seems like this is a good thing for you."

"Yeah, I think so. Still, you know how we always hated it when guys got all nuts over some girl and lost sight of everything else?" Harm nodded as he took another swallow of his beer. "I never thought I'd be like that."

"I'm sure that's not how you'll be, Sturgis. You know what that's like and you'll be able to keep a reasonable perspective. Besides, Varese doesn't seem the type to cling."

"She's not. She seems to be just the right balance. I'm sure part of it is her traveling, her performing. She doesn't want to give that up. But that makes it all the more difficult to understanding how I could have missed something so significant this past summer."

Harm just looked at him, giving Sturgis the opportunity to elaborate.

"Harm, I know about your mom. I am sorry. I just wish I'd known about it at the time."

Harm quickly realized where Sturgis was going to try to take this conversation. He knew Sturgis well enough to know that his old friend was more inclined to deep discussions than he, himself, was. And it would be deep if he let Sturgis dwell.

"I appreciate that, buddy. But it was so fast and you were away when I left. By the time you got back, I was dealing with it and didn't think to bring you up to date." Maybe if he downplayed it, his tactic would work and Sturgis would accept the explanation without too much ado.

"How are you doing? How's your stepfather doing with it all?"

"Sometimes are harder than others. Keeping busy helps. Frank and I kind of keep each other distracted. It makes it easier. Talking about it doesn't." 'Time for some distraction.' "Look, old friend, I was blindsided by it, but that's not really an excuse for not letting you know. You were always nice to her and she liked you. If you won't be comfortable at the house, I understand. It's not too late to go back to the base."

Sturgis knew it was time to back off. He had known Harm long enough to recognize commonly-used tactics of avoidance.

"No, it's alright. I'd like to catch up some more and relax. If I remember correctly, their pool deck is the perfect place for that." With that, they raised their glasses at the same time as Harm agreed, the tension diffused.

"That's the truth."

The admiral was not satisfied with just this information. But he also didn't know how much Harm had told Sturgis. So he would tread lightly with his questions and hoped to gain further information.

"Did you discuss anything else with him, if I may ask?"

"Some things, Sir. But as I said, he doesn't like to discuss personal matters. And even though we've know each other all these years, that hasn't changed."

It was Saturday afternoon and they were indeed relaxing around the pool. The setting was perfect as far as either man was concerned: warm but not too hot; a clear day; ocean air breezing all around; refreshing hors d'oeuvres---thanks to AnnaMarie who enjoyed indulging them as much as she always did---and cold beer. There was talk of sports and current events, of old friends and any recent acquaintance- or classmate-related news. Then a lull in the conversation provided Sturgis with an opening.

"The admiral told us a bit about the TAD. How's that going?"

"Actually, good. You saw them when you walked into the legal offices. They've squared themselves away quite a bit and the work is almost caught up. They were barely using the most basic of military courtesy when I arrived." He wasn't sure how much the admiral had told them all, and since some of it was speculation, he decided, for the time being, to stick to the facts of the initial reason for the assignment in San Diego. "I'll work with them for a while longer and make sure they have a sense of shouldering the entire workload, as well as sharing it, until the admiral makes the appropriate rotations. I have to tell you, though, it's kind of nice to work with these young attorneys. And the setting isn't too bad either."

"But it lacks the challenge of the cases you've become accustomed to at headquarters, and the significance of duties related to some issues on the Hill."

"Ah, yes; but it lacks the hassle, too. The stress, the headaches, the long hours..." He trailed off and Sturgis suspected some of it was false bravado. 'Time to dive in...'

"It also lacks Mac." He stated in such a matter of fact manner that Harm inwardly cringed. Since it wasn't a question, Harm saw no reason to respond. He didn't want to respond. So Sturgis continued.

"You've worked together a long time. You sure you want to do this?"

"Do what, exactly?"

"Harm, I'm not new to this game. I've been around the block a time or two..."

Harm interrupted him, hoping to diffuse and redirect the conversation: "And under it, too, you bubblehead. In fact, you've spent most of your career 'beneath the sea' so you could easily be called new to this game." The statement was delivered with some antagonism but Sturgis refused to be distracted by it. His tone sharpened just a bit.

"As I was saying... I've been in the Navy long enough to know what the additional TAD might lead to. Don't give me that 'I don't know what you mean look'---the admiral told us about the joint training and eval. position. I know there could be substantial opportunities---or implications---in it. Are you sure you want to do this? You could be permanently altering your career. You could have a chance at being named JAG---this may change that."

"Yeah, right. I once had a ship's captain tell me he'd read my service record. He described it as 'entertaining reading' or some equally condescending and insulting description. Me---being named JAG? Not hardly."

"Do you really want to separate yourself from Sarah MacKenzie so much as to possibly redirect your career?" Harm shook his head at that, in disgust---toward himself. He'd not only re-directed his career in the past, he had been willing to destroy it.

"Look, Sturgis, I know where you're going with this. So I'll tell you---but it goes no further than us. I've requested a transfer---permanently. And it has nothing to do with Sarah MacKenzie." He shook he head again as he looked out to the horizon. "After all these years, I realized everything had something to do with Sarah MacKenzie. But it doesn't anymore; my life has nothing to do with her anymore. It can't." Sturgis heard the resignation in Harm's voice; it bordered on defeat. Harm continued on.

"You appear to have been right all those years ago. We needed to deal with it. But we never did and now it's done. And I can't stand by and witness it again. I did that before and almost killed myself before it was over, figuratively and literally. I have to learn to let go of that and I have to learn to live something different." He turned to look at Sturgis directly.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do. I won't tell you it's OK, because not everything is. But this is helping. Whether it's working with these younger officers that need my experience and guidance or whether its being here with my step dad, or maybe both combined, it's at least easier to take on each new day. And I don't want to end my Navy career just yet. I like being Navy---always have. I don't know about you, but I still stand a little bit straighter when I fasten that last button on my uniform---even when I'm in khakis. I'm still proud to be a commissioned officer in the United States Navy. It may not be the thrill that it was the day we were commissioned or the day I got my wings, but I still want to wear the symbols of both. I know I'm damned lucky that I didn't burn all my bridges with Chegwidden; he's trying to help me extend my career a few more years. I know I'm far more fortunate than I deserve and I do appreciate that.

"But I meant it: I need to learn to live a new way---without Sarah MacKenzie. That's a reality and I have to let go of anything else. This may not be the only way, but it certainly seems to be a reasonable, maybe even promising, alternative."

"What about everyone else at JAG? What about Mattie?"

"What 'everyone else', Sturgis? I've been here---what, five weeks? I'm not faulting anyone, really! But the only one I've heard from is Bud---and that was when he wanted to ask for direction on cases. He never even mentioned how his wife and kids are, one of whom is my godchild. No small talk, just business. And Coates; you know as well as I do, why any contact with her is a bad thing.

"As for Mattie; she has her own life and her own dad. That's the way it should be. We e-mail frequently and we talk about once a week. I assisted in helping her get back her life and I'm grateful I had that opportunity, because I got something out of it, too. But I'm not part of her world and she can't be a part of mine. I know you'd like to think things could be different, that maybe we could 'fix' it. But I'm asking you, Sturgis; please. Support me in this and wish me the best."

"Always, friend, always." He lifted his beer bottle toward Harm, who returned the gesture.

Sunday came around and Harm once again found himself driving Frank's little Crossfire to the base. Both he and Sturgis knew that their paths, having crossed that spring after Harm's dip in the Atlantic, were most likely un-crossing again. Both were surprised that they felt a bit saddened by that fact. They had known each other, by actual count, for more than twenty years. But they stood awkward and uncomfortable at the prospect of a goodbye scene. Sturgis, always the more open of the two, made the first move. He extended his hand, and, when reciprocated, he pulled Harm into a hug. He spoke when their heads were side by side, a phrase he learned so many years ago.

"Fair winds and following seas, my friend." Harm nodded as he replied.

"You too." And with that came yet another closure.

Sturgis didn't relate all the details to the admiral, giving him only the briefest of overviews of the weekend. While he was grateful for the admiral's efforts in furthering Harm's career, he was conflicted in his feelings toward all the events and incidents that lead them to this place. As he pondered that, and though he would never speak it, he thought that maybe the admiral needed to consider retirement.

The situation at JAG headquarters remained the same for the next few weeks. Morale was stable, though not necessarily high. Attitudes were subdued but not necessarily negative. Behavior was acceptable, not extreme in either direction. In short, the ship was sailing on an even keel.

It was a Monday in the middle of November at morning staff call when the admiral decided to rock the boat, as it were.

"I see, by the last month's reports that overall productivity is down again. Not only was that the case in September, but now October, too. Colonel MacKenzie, as chief of staff, do you have any thoughts on this?"

"No, Sir. Prior to that, Commander Rabb was here, but since he was only doing his required work, the increase in the workload of the junior attorneys should have more than offset that. However, some of Commander Rabb's cases were quite delicate and he had experience with that kind of thing. Commander Turner and I are still acclimating ourselves to it, but it seems we don't yet have the honed skills in, shall we say, manipulating..." Chegwidden glared at her. "Excuse me--- maneuvering--- the political arena."

"I see." As he glanced around the room, he was aware that Commander Turner shared his reaction to the colonel's description of Harmon Rabb and his value to the staff there. He restrained himself, he knew the truth would be out soon; and proceeded to the task at hand.

"Well, let's get to the bottom of it, shall we? Colonel, I'd like you to review the case logs for September and October, as well as the three months prior. Please give me a breakdown of the statistics before the Thanksgiving holiday. Mr. Roberts can help you, along with your respective assistants. Commander Turner, I have a separate assignment for you, if you would meet me in my office after this. If there is nothing else...? Keep in mind, people, that you still have cases to see to even with this new assignment. Dismissed."

Upon return to his office, the admiral considered the entire situation. One of the most disturbing factors was Mac's animosity toward Harm. Not only was he a fellow officer, but they had shared many experiences over the years and she had called him her friend since almost the beginning. The actions taken on both sides played that out. The current status bewildered and baffled him; after all she was the one who took up with someone else, and was now engaged.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter."

"Reporting as ordered, Sir."

"I'd like you to investigate, and then provide some evidence regarding the productivity here. Specifically, I'd like you to research the amount of time the attorneys are working on a day to day basis. You may ask Coates for help, quietly of course. If there is something that will skew the results; it will show in excess time on site, which will be documented in the security logs. Likewise, if we are less productive because everyone is keeping the proverbial banker's hours, that will be shown as well. I know I can count on you to use discretion and prepare to report your findings with a clear, impassioned response."

"Absolutely, Sir! But begging the Admiral's pardon, sir; you already know what I'm going to find, don't you?"

"Dismissed, Mr. Turner."

The admiral sat back in the big leather chair he had occupied for, in his mind, far too long. 'Well, there's no turning back now...' He had received advance, though not official, word from the promotions board and he felt his final task was accomplished. It would be officially announced around Thanksgiving. He turned to his computer to compose his final communication to the Secretary of the Navy. He would present it to his superior the day the captain's bars were bestowed.

Now it was just a matter of time.

A/N For those of you who are unhappy with stories that don't paint Mac in the best of light, you still won't like this. So know that before you continue. If you do choose to read this, you have no reason to complain. You can always skip ahead.

A/N2 Meredith is still gone, you won't find satisfactory resolution here anymore than we did on the show. Chegwidden will not disappear completely after retirement, as he did on the show---but he won't be heard from much. Sturgis shows personality traits similar to his first two seasons, though a bit more examined. Bud is not included in any detail, nor will he be as I don't see the character as terribly deep. He wasn't for years, then seemed to be presented with more detail, but that kind of ended, too. I'm following that path.

You Learn to Let Go Part 9

Monday; November 22, 2004
1300
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Chirp, ChirpChirp, Chirp

"Rabb."

"Hold for the JAG, please."

"Coates, is that you?"

"Yes, Sir. How are you?"

"I'm doing OK, Jen. How about you?"

"Doing good, Sir."

"I talked with Mattie yesterday. She said you were going to her house for Thanksgiving weekend. That's good, Jen."

"Yes, Sir. It will be good to see her."

"I know she misses you. I'm glad you're going. It'll be good for you both."

"Yes, Sir. How's everything in California, Sir?"

"Good, Jen. Thanks for asking. But we better not keep the admiral waiting any longer. It was good to talk with you."

"Yes, Sir. Hold for Admiral Chegwidden."

She placed Harm on hold and buzzed the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Commander Rabb on line 2, Sir."

"Rabb?"

"Good morning, Sir. How are you?"

"Busy. How are things with your three lieutenants?"

"Fine, Sir. They're working on their own now. The backlog is caught up and they seem to be handling all the incoming cases. I confirm the case assignments and get reports on any investigations, as well as checking on them throughout the week. But I still wouldn't leave them without tighter supervision. Lieutenant Cavins, especially, appears to need a firm hand, Sir."

"I've taken up your suggestion. He'll rotate into headquarters after the beginning of December. I've already notified one of the officers coming out of Pearl that he is to take over there in San Diego. The orders are in process."

"Yes, Sir."

"I have news, Commander. Based on your reports, along with input from the various ship's captains and a couple of admirals, your newer responsibilities are to be made into a permanent position. SecNav would like you to complete your work there with the battle group that is in port now, that way you can keep an eye on the legal office until your replacement arrives. Then you'll be based out of Naples for the foreseeable future. Best guess at this time, due to the action on that side of the Atlantic, and the sheer numbers of both JAG's and pilots there, will probably be 18 to 24 months. Then they may send you to Asia to do the same. They could just keep rotating you all over until you've had enough. This may be your ticket to longevity. Otherwise, they'd have to have two separate individuals doing these jobs."

"Thank you, Sir. I'm sure I can continue to handle the assignment. I'm grateful for all you've done."

"Nonsense, Mr. Rabb. You've stayed out of trouble and gotten the job done so far. It appears to be a win-win situation for everyone. The young JAG's in the fleet get the instruction and attention they need and the pilots get the message they are being watched. Only JAG headquarters is on the short end of it all. And what will Washington do without you? Speaking of which, Sheffield would like us both to sit down with your new CO on Monday at 0900. I will tell you, that you may be called to troubleshoot delicate issues of international or maritime law over there. Prepare yourself for that."

"Absolutely, Sir. I won't let you down."

"Good man. Then I'll see you Monday. Unless you want to fly in earlier and begin to deal with your apartment. You'll have to get it all ready to ship to Italy."

"Yes, Sir. I may do that. I'll talk with my stepfather."

"Notify me if I can help. I'll be around. Francesca will be visiting some of the weekend, but I can spare a few hours."

"Thank you, Sir"

"Have a good Thanksgiving, Harm. See you soon."

After the call was disconnected, the admiral prepared to dial another number; this time without the assistance of his oft-curious yeoman. Sheffield assured him everything would be made official Monday morning. Harm deserved to have someone with him when an additional stripe was added.

Chegwidden reflected on the process. He was fully aware that he had skated awfully close to the edge this time. He had contacted all the captains that he could recall as having crossed paths with Harm and did a lot of lobbying for this promotion. He even subtly reminded several captains, some of whom sat on the promotions board, of various debts they owed Harm. He knew he came very close to crossing the line, if he didn't actually cross it already. 'What the hell? I'm retiring. What are they going to do? Send me away quietly---tell me to get out of town? Yeah, right...'

The other task for the week...meeting with his staff to review their special assignments.

Wednesday; November 24, 2004
San Diego
1200

Harm was wrapping it up for the day. He was going to fly back to the East Coast to tie up the loose ends regarding his apartment, the two cars, phone service and all the other similar things. Frank would be traveling with him, and although he didn't understand his stepfather's insistence, he was glad for the company on Thanksgiving. There would be no time upon his arrival for anything other than initial packing in his apartment, but there was Friday, and then the weekend. He even considered that with the help, they could finish up Saturday, and then drive up to his grandmother's until Sunday evening.

Same day and time
JAG Headquarters

"Coates." He spoke into the intercom.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Notify the senior staff that I will meet with them in the conference room at 1630."

"On the day before Thanksgiving, Sir?"

"Do you have a problem with that, Coates?"

"No Sir."

The admiral walked into the conference room at 28 minutes after the hour, followed politely by his yeoman. The senior staff was seated around the table with a few of the junior officers. His plan was to bring out the facts---cut right to the chase as it were---and then leave the rest up to the staff. He was hoping that with some of the details, the actual data, they would begin to look beyond themselves. The information Sturgis had been ordered to gather would push them along. He would not allow Sturgis to initially share it all, but he was confident it would come out when all was said and done.

"You have details to report? Commander Turner, would you share your report with the rest of us, just the bottom line, please---I don't want to be here through Thanksgiving dinner."

He looked at his co-workers while he began. He was still deeply troubled by what he had found, even though he finished his research the previous weekend; three days prior. He had Coates help him gather resources, but he did the review himself. When he saw all the information in front of him, he knew why the admiral had assigned it as he did; he knew just what the admiral wanted him to find.

"Sir, for the months of September and October, there are only minor differences between the after-hours work noted in security log books. Basic review of on-site/off-site records kept by Petty Officer Coates during regular duty hours doesn't reveal anything out of the ordinary. Various individuals of various rank come and go for investigations and off-site interviews, as well as the occasional personal matter. But no one individual accounts for a dramatic variance. However, further confirmation would require a complete, detailed review of each work day for the five months prior to November.

"I did find, Admiral, some serious discrepancies for June, July and August. There were no discernable differences between the daily activities of the summer months and the first two months of fall, meaning people were in and out about the same amount of time for the same reasons---investigations and interviews, mostly. But, overall, there was a significant increase in the total documented overtime during those first three months, anywhere from 20 to 30 hours each week were documented ..."The admiral cut him off before he could finish.

I see. Thank you, Commander. Now, Mr. Roberts, let's move on. Have you found anything that might help us understand the difficulty is consistent levels of productivity?"

Bud glanced at Mac before he began. He was not looking forward to reporting what they had discovered. He had found that while the complete case figures were quite similar across the board for September and October, there was a significant difference for each of the summer months. The figures indicating the amount of work completed by Harm during that time were in black and white but Mac wasn't very receptive to the implications. Bud didn't truly understand that her pride had taken a bit of a hit with the information they uncovered. The facts were there; she just didn't want to believe that she could be so mistaken.

The only conclusion that could be drawn was that not only had she underestimated Harm's efficiency, she misjudged his performance. It meant that she was wrong. And she didn't like to be wrong. She kept returning to the thought that the facts were not as they seemed. The voice in her head kept repeating that this must be wrong; there had to be something else. But the nagging feeling remaining: she had missed something. She wondered how that could have happened. 'Harm must have been hiding something...yes, that was it...this was Harm's doing.'

"Thank you. Now that we know what was happening during the summer; mainly that Commander Rabb was picking up additional slack, we can understand why our reports reflect a decrease. Now we have to come up with a plan to compensate. I'm open to your suggestions."

Mac continued to doubt the possibility. She was the first to speak.

"Admiral, we can't know all the facts before we speak to the commander. He's been in California almost three full months. Surely, the TAD situation should be resolved soon. When he returns, it will be possible to discuss this with him and determine how it is that these figures say what they do."

"Yes, Colonel, it will be resolved soon. I leave it to you to determine if there is other information to gather."

With that the admiral left the room. They all sat quietly. They didn't understand what was happening. Sturgis, with the information he knew regarding Harm's long hours over the summer, had a better idea of just how far this had gone. The confusion for him was the admiral's refusal to allow that particular detail out. He couldn't understand why the admiral wouldn't want the rest to know that part of it. There would be quite a reaction to the news. 'Well, maybe there would be. Or maybe that's why the admiral stopped him. He didn't want to hear it.'

While the others in the room remained caught in their own confusion, Sturgis' mind was processing it all. He had been so busy with his own life the past summer---he spent as much time with Varese as he could. He traveled quite a bit to spend the weekends with her. That had meant that most weeks he left as soon as possible on Friday afternoon and didn't return until the last possible moment on Monday morning. He made up for it by taking work home with him in the evening; if she had a chance to call, he could be easily reached and free of distractions. He had been focused completely on only two things---his work when he was on duty; and Varese when he was not.

The clarity brought about a feeling of disgust---at himself. He had let everything else go. Even friends. He looked around the room at the others. They were friends of Harm's too. But they were different kinds of friends. They were friends through their jobs; that was the basis for the relationships each of these people shared. The relationships may have come to include other personal details but that fact remained as the common ground between them all.

His friendship with Harm had been based on common goals, similar dreams and shared beliefs. It had a foundation formed during the days when both were boys striving to become men in a new and clearly-defined world. They learned to navigate the challenges of Academy life together and had developed a mutual respect and a strong loyalty in the process. It had withstood distance and separate, yet parallel paths. Each had come into his own in different ways, but they had done so, along with a few other close (Luke, Diane, Jack) friends, together. Two of them were gone now, both far sooner than they should have, both in tragic circumstances; and the other had veered so far from the original path that they completely lost touch. He was convinced though, that if he ever saw Jack Keeter again, it would be as it had been before---their bond was that strong.

But this thing with Harm was just not right. He could not accept that he had so completely missed the changes in Harm's life. They saw each other away from the office most every week and yet it escaped him completely. The worst part, of all the mess, was Harm's mother. Sturgis had left the office that Friday afternoon to vacation with Varese for a week, then went directly to an investigation. It had been most of a second week before he returned and the demands accumulated over that amount of time had kept him focused into the week after that. It troubled him that he hadn't even noticed he wasn't living his own personal values; he had gotten too caught up.

His thoughts were brought back to the present when Bud spoke. Bud, who was as astute at some times as he was clueless at others, had noticed the admiral's interruption when Sturgis was speaking.

"Commander Turner, were you going to say something else before the admiral stopped you?"

Sturgis was tempted to lower the boom on all these people. But his own glass house was standing clear and sparkling---providing a perfect target for all of them to throw stones. He knew he would be the pot calling the kettle black. He also knew what would be their reaction to this: 'let them beat their own dead horses---I have my own. God, could I use anymore clichés?' He looked at all those around him before answering.

"Yes, I was." He continued as they turned their attention to him. "The documented overtime, which is only seen if someone leaves after 1930, would total 20 to 25 hours most weeks and some weeks as much as 30 or more. That's the documented time---it doesn't include someone working until 18- or 1900 hours. Given that we work about 45 hours each week, these documented hours equals another part-time attorney."

"I worked late some nights during the summer and I rarely saw anyone working much later..."

"You wouldn't, Bud, if he was closed up in his office."

With that, Mac knew Sturgis had additional information. "What, Sturgis? What haven't you said? Please, by all means, share."

"The person working that much was assigned a small, little, out of the way closet. And he was working those hours consistently. Most days, he arrived before the rest of us and left long after us. No wonder we rarely saw him actually report or secure for the day. Harm was spending as much as fourteen hours a day here; and he was here several Saturdays, usually all day. So it's no wonder his productivity was so much more than the rest of us. And none of us ever realized how much extra work he was picking up."

They all sat speechless. What was there to say? They couldn't believe it, but there was no thought of disbelieving the presented facts, either. Mac was the first to respond, her defense mechanisms firmly in place.

"He at least had a few days break. He took those few days in July. I haven't had any days off in months. And Bud, like most of the staff with families, only takes an occasional day to do something with the kids, or if the kids are sick. And many on the staff work late---just not late enough to have to sign out. Most everyone puts in a ten hour day."

"Indeed, Colonel. But let's clarify the ten hour day." He spoke for everyone in the room to hear but looked directly at Mac. "Most of us take a 30 to 60 minute lunch. I don't remember the last time I saw Harm in the cafeteria, do you? And I never saw him outside all summer. In other years, he'd go out there often---he likes that heat. I think he stayed at his desk and had his lunch, if he ate at all. But he lost weight over the summer. As I think back, I didn't take note of it. But I know Coates did. Did you? How about you, Bud?"

"He makes his own choices. He's an adult; we're not responsible for taking care of him." Her defenses were locked in and she was in full denial now. This was not her fault. But Sturgis was determined to remain rational and calm.

"You're right about that---he is an adult, and a decorated Naval Officer at that. But he is also a friend and co-worker, and I thought that was the mantra around here: that we watch each other's back. And he doesn't necessarily make the choices you seem to think. He didn't choose to take a 'few days' break'. He went to California to attend his mother's funeral." At that, they all stopped, stunned. Coates gasped and Sturgis looked over to see a few tears had trickled down her face.

"Petty Officer, you lived next door to him, shared responsibilities for Mattie with him. Do you have any thoughts on this?"

"Not much, Sir. I know he misses her. I think he didn't expect to miss her so much. And it was kind of sudden---sooner than either of them expected. But after she left, he said we couldn't have anymore contact outside of the office, since fraternization might be suggested. So I didn't know anything else was going on."

Bud spoke up after that statement. "Why would he say that you couldn't have anymore contact? He's never stood on formality like that before. He knows you and I are friends, and he never said anything about that."

"Yes, Sir. Maybe because you're married and I know your wife, too. Maybe because I live next door. I don't really know, Sir. I just know I wasn't going to disrespect his wishes. But he didn't have anyone else close to him. Maybe that's why he worked so much. I think that's why he worked more when Mattie went to her dad's those weekends before school got out, because he needed to focus on something else. Maybe, after she was gone, all he thought he had left in his life was the Navy."

It was Mac's turn to gasp. Suddenly a light went off in her head. She'd said almost those very words to him all those months before. 'Why did you resign? The Navy is all you have.'

She knew Harm almost as well as she knew herself---and he was doing just what she would do. She'd done it before. When something came along that was too difficult to face, it was easier to dive into work, and surface when the fallout was past.

This was overwhelming to all of them. They had once been such good friends and so close. But Mac realized she hadn't seen him away from the office since spring, and she couldn't even remember all the details of that encounter. During the workday, unless he was in court, he remained in his office. If he actually wanted to see anyone else, he'd have to come into the bullpen. She didn't know of that happening very often. As a matter of fact, she saw it less and less as the summer wore on.

There was a bit more conversation around the conference table about various details but the only thing Mac could understand was that she couldn't understand any of this. She left the conference room in search of the admiral, hoping to get more details.

As she walked toward the admiral's office, she was informed by one of the enlisted staff that he had already left for the weekend. She would have to speak to him after the weekend---first thing Monday morning. She considered trying to contact Harm but rejected the idea. She didn't know what she would say. She hadn't talked with him in so long that she really had no idea how to even start. Then the uncomfortable feeling she had began to give rise to her customary defenses. He could have approached her. They were friends, after all. It was as much his responsibility as hers to maintain communication. He had been the one who didn't share these events with her. He was the one who took in a teenage stray when he had never gone to such extremes for others. He was the one who was suffering that loss, even though he never acted that way regarding her. He was the one who didn't let her know of his mother, who didn't turn to her for support. 'This was his own doing...no sense in discussing it.'

But that nagging feeling remained. To a trained observer, it was apparent that among other things, she was jealous. She also was feeling the loss of something very important in her life. She was frustrated not only by her lack of control in it all, but even moreso because she appeared to have no ability to impact it at all. There were regrets and injuries, pain and disappointment. A relationship with minimal satisfactory results and an excess of unresolved issues. It would require only minimal study to see this.

But Sara MacKenzie didn't see it. She couldn't see it. Her Marine pride would prevent it. Even Harm had seen it over the years and had occasionally joked about it: '...it shows weakness.' With all her baggage, her self-preservation instincts would not allow for that. She had been weak; it almost destroyed her. She occasionally committed other mistakes borne of weakness over the years and while the results weren't as disastrous as her drinking, they did cause significant damage in a variety of ways, and not only to herself. So she walked through life---sometimes it was more like storming through life---with her head held high. And frequently in denial.

Monday; November 29, 2004
JAG Headquarters
1258

Mac was looking over some documents just inside her office door, waiting for the admiral. She had arrived at headquarters earlier than usual that morning so she could talk with the admiral first thing but he hadn't been in all morning.

She had a wretched holiday. Webb had told her he planned on being in town so she made no plans for the long weekend. She agreed to have dinner with him at his mother's for the customary yet elegant thanksgiving dinner with the customary yet elegant guest list. It wasn't until she arrived at the Webb estate that she learned Clay wouldn't be returning in time for dinner but she couldn't very well leave---if she wanted the rest of the engagement and the wedding, not to mention the marriage, to proceed without problems. It was her first real taste of living in his world.

And it had been a miserable afternoon. She knew no one, but they knew each other. She didn't have anything in common with the people there and Mrs. Webb only did as much as etiquette required to welcome her. Mac didn't even want to think about Porter Webb. While Clay's mother wasn't completely awful, Mac knew there would be some challenges. Mrs. Webb was the epitome of breeding and grace; she was also concerned that her son select the proper kind of wife. Even though Mrs. Webb liked Mac well enough, her background and her career in the Marine Corps left the older woman unimpressed.

As it turned out, Clay did not return to town before the weekend was over. Since she had made no other plans, she stayed home. And stewed. The nagging feelings about Harm stayed with her and she didn't sleep well. So she was somewhat anxious---and cranky---as she stood inside her door waiting for the admiral's entrance.

She had discovered upon her arrival that the admiral had an early meeting with Secretary Sheffield that ran the entire morning. Chegwidden called shortly before noon and instructed Coates to assemble the entire staff in the bull pen for some announcements when he returned to headquarters at 1300. She had learned a long time previous that it was futile to speculate on reasons for such instructions. Still, she was getting impatient.

It was 1301 when she heard a voice from the bullpen.

"Admiral on deck." She stepped into the doorway and came to attention, as did all the other staff. He surveyed the room, as though he were preparing for inspection, and leaving them at attention for several seconds.

"At ease. I have three announcements to make. First, we will have a lieutenant joining us as of next Monday. Lieutenant Cavins is coming from San Diego. Colonel MacKenzie, he will be working with you. I'll provide you with more information later. Also, we will be joined later this week by a lieutenant commander who will be TAD here until a permanent senior attorney is chosen. He---or she---will be replacing Mr. Rabb, who has been detailed to a new position with the fleet. I just came from a meeting with SecNav who finalized the transfer for the newly promoted Captain Rabb."

Harm and two admirals sat with the Secretary of the Navy in his office discussing the details of the new position and the transition of implementing the new procedures when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sheffield called for the intruder to enter and the admiral's booming voice rang clear as the door opened.

"Attention to orders!" The men stood as Chegwidden handed a large envelope to his superior, who turned to directly face a surprised---and unsuspecting---commander.

He stood next to Frank Burnett, who, if it could be possible for the stepfather of a 41 year old man, was beaming with pride. A.J. Chegwidden was filled with pride himself. This young man, whom he had met as a new lieutenant commander all those years ago had, in spite of some risky detours, accomplished much in his career---and his life. As he heard Sheffield recite the oath of office and Harm repeat it, he felt for the first time in months, at peace with the accomplishments of his career. It was indeed time to step down and transfer the watch to the next generation of naval officers. Harmon Rabb had done his share to rock the boat but he had also navigated the crew to calmer seas on more than a few occasions. Chegwiddene was proud of what he was leaving behind. And the pride and confidence on the face of the man standing in front of this small gathering completed it all.

"Finally, a permanent senior attorney will be assigned to headquarters after the New Year---by my successor. As of 31 December, I will be retiring. I trust you will do your utmost to ensure a smooth transition for the new Judge Advocate General." He looked around at the staff, most of whom were stunned. "In the meanwhile, you all can find something to do, I'm sure. Dismissed." With crispness in his step borne of a lighter load on his shoulders, he executed a perfect about-face and entered his office. He left the staff behind him frozen in place with shock.

It took a moment or two---even she didn't know how much time---for Mac to gather her wits. She followed the admiral into his office and stood quietly at the open door. He was removing his overcoat and after he had hung it on the coat rack, he turned to see her standing there. She stood quiet and deflated, pale and hesitant.

"Yes, Colonel, can I help you?" She came into the office a step or two and spoke in a voice so weak he barely recognized it, and had never expected to hear from her.

"I'll never see him again, will I?"

A/N There is one section here that may be a bit racy. I don't think it is too bad, esp. after the VOY moderators helped me w/ editing.

A/N2 the post-Paraguay Sedik business did take place, but it is only minimally referenced here.

A/N3 Holy Trinity Catholic Church ( does exist in Washington, D.C. It's in Georgetown on N Street and is the oldest operational church in the District. The priest in this story is fictitious, however.

A/N4 Thank you to those interested in continuing the story. This chapter is all Mac---but some may still not like it. Again, I respect that, but I don't want to know. There's probably two or three more chapters until the conclusion---it all depends on how it logically breaks up.

You Learn to Let Go part 10

November 29, 2004
JAG Headquarters
1305

She followed the admiral into his office and stood quietly at the open door. He was removing his overcoat and after he had hung it on the coat rack, he turned to see her standing there. She stood; quiet and deflated, pale and hesitant.

"Yes, Colonel, can I help you?" She came into the office a step or two and spoke in a voice so weak he barely recognized it, and had never expected to hear from her.

"I'll never see him again, will I?"

The admiral looked at his chief of staff, a decorated Marine colonel who rarely showed any weakness. She was making up for it now.

"Probably not, Colonel. I doubt he'd agree, unless it was Navy business, which will be unlikely. And then, he'd probably send an assistant. With his promotion, you would have to get permission for him to see you. He is a full captain now, and that brings an inordinate amount of privilege over a Marine light colonel. If you ever do get your bars, it will be delayed by enough time that you'd have a hard time getting back on an equal level." She caught his implication immediately: he hadn't recommended her for promotion.

"Sir?"

"Colonel, I've submitted all the promotion requests I'm going to. And I doubt your new CO will feel inclined to submit any requests within the first year or so, they rarely do. Then you know that a recommendation takes at least a couple months to wind through the maze. It can take six months or more." She was now recovering from her emotional reaction and was adopting her usual defensive stance.

"Sir, I've been your chief of staff for years now and you indicated in the past you were pleased with my performance. You even recommended me for the bench on a few occasions. All this business with Harm..." He glanced at her, sending a warning look that reminded her to remember protocol and military courtesy. "...with Captain Rabb is not my fault.

"No, Colonel, it isn't. But you do have some responsibility in this---because you play a role in all of it."

"I didn't tell him to freak when I went with Webb. He took that course of action on his own, Sir. And it was just the beginning. He chose to enter into an unholy union with the CIA and then he chose to discontinue contact with anyone, even Bud and Harriett. The only time he contacted them was after the baby was born, and even then he handed a gift to Bud in the middle of something else. So I fail to see how any of this is my responsibility, Sir."

He wondered if it was worth trying to talk to her. Clearly she was refusing to see the entire story. It could very well be a waste of time to get her to see her part in all this. But he'd never know unless he tried. Besides, there was still something he could do to keep her from making yet another mistake with yet another man. And, he was sick of hearing how she was not responsible, to any degree, for the plotting of a course of action that had led to his senior attorney transferring out.

"Really? You're a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Marine Corps. There were problems during an assignment you had and there's been a ton of fallout from it. I know you have many admirable qualities, but know this---Webb asked for your assistance for one primary reason: he knew that the agency was not supportive of him nor his mission and would not back him up if it all went south. You, Colonel, were the answer to that---you're the only one that comes with built-in back-up---in the form of a man who, admittedly, has a hero complex coupled with a protective streak a mile wide and who tends to act---shall we say, a bit impulsively. You played right into Webb's hand when he came looking for help into another of his precarious plans. He sure found an easy mark in you. Yet you're the only player who denies any liability. I know I didn't handle the situation as I could have, and Rabb accepted the consequences of his actions. Even Webb is still paying the price for it all, not that he could deny the end result if he wanted to. But you, Colonel...you may have been an unwitting player in the production, but you were a player nonetheless. And you seem to be unwilling to see what the domino effect of that was."

"Clay did not play me. He needed help. We've helped him before, just like he's helped us on occasion. I agree---the mission may not have gone as planned, but it was not my mission to plan. I followed his lead and provided the back-up he requested. And Harm had done the same thing before..." The admiral cut her off at that point.

"Yes, he had. But he also took his own initiative when previous missions began to veer from the path, when the person in charge appeared to be losing control. But none of that changes the fact that we continue to bear the consequences. Like it or not, you are the center of the matter---and the primary reason we are still feeling the effects. This man was your co-worker for how many years?" The admiral's temper was beginning to show and he was right up in her face now. "He made, without hesitation, a decision based on your safety when others couldn't or wouldn't. He was then left to bear the consequences alone while the rest of the world returned to normal." In the heat of the moment, Mac forgot military courtesy.

"The rest of the world except Clay. He's still paying the price, too. He may never be fully healed. But Harm seems to have come out on top; tell me, Sir, what price is he paying now?"

"Apparently, none. He's owned up to his role in all of this and he's been able to move past it, even while experiencing some very difficult personal times. And I know Webb received the worst of it, by far. But it was his op---you know as well as I do that the commander in charge of anything bears the greatest responsibility." She started to defend Clay but the admiral knew where she would go with it. "I'm not saying he deserved it---no one deserves that kind of thing and it is a shame he has such scars from it---both internal and external. But you've worked closely with Webb and you know him because of that. I haven't. I know him by observing him; it's a far more objective assessment. I have no delusions about his motivations, his capabilities, nor his sincerity. But this really isn't about Clayton Webb. This is about you, about qualities you espouse and have generously bestowed on others in the past. This is about your loyalty to a fellow officer, your dependability where a co-worker is concerned, your allegiance to a long time friend, your compassion to an acquaintance who has faced some serious hits in the past several months---almost two years actually, if you include the murder charge, your respect for a man who never wavers in his devotion to duty and your faithfulness to a man who rarely wavers in his leadership of co-workers and subordinates. This, Colonel, is about your battle cry: Semper Fi.

"You don't have to accept any of this, you can deny that your actions have had any effect and even that this may have an effect on you. I don't have to see it---I'm leaving." And then, something happened that really threw her off, as if this conversation hadn't been unsettling enough: he softened his stance and his voice became that of a man who truly cared for her, not only as her commanding officer, but as a man who had seen her grow and change over many years and through many experiences.

"You don't have to believe anything but the best about Mr. Webb. I do, sincerely, hope he is what you believe him to be, not what I think he is. Believe it or not, I do hope you get everything you want in this world. I can only hope Webb wants that for you too."

Late December, 2004
Washington, D.C.

The days slowly passed after that discussion with the admiral. Mac e-mailed Harm once but never got a reply. Webb got caught up in whatever mission that had kept him away at Thanksgiving but was expected to return before Christmas. Mrs. Webb had invited Mac to share Christmas activities at her home. She accepted the minimum she felt she could and hoped it would all pass quickly.

If the previous month was any indication, they'd be settled into the New Year very soon. She had been so busy, both with the newly transferred lieutenant and the TAD lieutenant commander that she barely kept up with her own work, much less gain any ground. The Friday before his arrival, the admiral had given Mac the service record for her new charge, along with Harm's assessment and recommendations. 'Just what I need, another cocky sailor needing direction to tow the line... Why can't these Navy people take care of their own---Turner should have to deal with this---why do the Marines have to deal with these idiots?' As it turned out, he was more than adequate as a lawyer, as was the temporary attorney, but he needed close supervision. He was progressing but Mac didn't have confidence that he would remember appropriate protocol and display an acceptable work ethic on his own.

Consequently, her days were too full and she was exhausted by the time she returned home. Some of her exhaustion was due to the amount of energy she spent coping with each new day. She refused to acknowledge that she may be suffering from a loss, or that she should shoulder any responsibility for it. Still, the words of her commanding officer that morning in late November haunted her---usually at moments when she was caught off guard. Someone would say or do something that would bring it all back and she would have to go through the process of denial and repression all over again. Compounded with all of that was the fact that the office was not the place she had known it to be since the very beginning. There was a void that no one named, but all recognized---the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room. She vacillated between frustration at Harm for leaving them in this state, at Webb for leaving and staying much longer than expected and at the admiral for leaving them with a sense of a fear of the unknown and at her inability to get a handle on all her responsibilities. It left her emotionally drained.

It was the evening before Christmas Eve and Mac sat on her sofa trying to find the energy to go to bed. She was expected at the Webb home the next afternoon for their Christmas Eve celebration with family and friends, even though that meant missing her own friends and the annual Christmas celebration at the Roberts' home. It gave her a bit of a start to hear someone knock at the door. She was surprised to find, on the other side, an unexpected and unannounced Clayton Webb. She opened the door and simply stared at him for several seconds before stepping to embrace him.

"Clay, I'm glad you're back." She stepped back to look at him. "And even in one piece." She wasn't sure if she spoke with relief, sarcasm or bitterness. He was too weary to care.

"Sarah, I told you I'd make it back before Christmas. I thought we could have some time for us before we have to be at Mother's. You did tell her you'd be there, right?" He reached for her as he finished speaking.

"Yes, Clay. I told you I would." She allowed another hug then turned into the room. He closed the door then took off his overcoat before entering further into her apartment. She moved toward the kitchen offering him something to drink as she walked. He looked around her place as he accepted.

"I thought you usually decorated for Christmas?"

"I usually do. I've been too busy lately to bother. I don't have time to care about it." This time he did notice her tone was not what he expected for his return nor for the holiday season.

"Still swamped at JAG?"

"Yeah, even with the additional attorneys, there's so much to catch up on. Having to baby-sit a squid lieutenant doesn't help either." He thought he should know what she was talking about, or rather who, but couldn't recall. So he simply looked at her with a blank, non-committal face. She recognized it and explained. "You know, the one that gave Harm trouble in San Diego---he's been transferred here. And I get to be his keeper." He vaguely remembered then that she had told him about it during one of their few phone conversations when he tolerated her venting about her work.

"How come Rabb's not keeping him? Shouldn't this be his problem? You need to complain to Chegwidden, tell him to pass this guy back to Rabb. He brought him to Falls Church." He walked up behind her and hugged her from behind. "I'm here for a while and I don't want you distracted by this while I'm home." She shrugged off his touch and turned to hand him a glass of soda. She then passed him and returned to her place on the sofa. "Sarah?"

"So, can you tell me anything now that you're back? Like why I've been alone for more than two months?"

"Sarah, we've been through this. You know this is my life. Did you ever talk to Mother? She knows what this is like and she can explain it to you---since Father had the same life."

"No, I never talked with Mother, Clay. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to be alone this much."

"Sarah, you have lots of friends at JAG. I thought you spent time with them."

"They're all busy, too. Everyone's busy. There's so much to do."

"I thought you were back to a full staff. And you need to turn that new guy over to Rabb. He's taking advantage of you again. You need speak up for yourself---stop playing this gung-ho Marine who can do it all and let the rest handle more of it."

She looked away again, as though she were looking to another world. "Sarah?"

"Harm's not here for me to hand it off to."

"He's still not back?" She shook her head. "When's he coming back?" She continued to look away from him. This was not how he expected to spend the first few minutes with her. "Sarah?"

"He's not."

"What do you mean he's not? I thought he was ending his TAD to the West Coast."

"He was. He did. But he transferred. He's gone." Clay was fully aware he was sensing relief at the possibility---almost as much as surprise.

"Gone...permanently? Where? Why?"

"I don't know. The admiral just sprang it on us at the same time he announced he's retiring."

"What?"

"The admiral's retiring, as of next week. He announced it after Thanksgiving." Clay knew he was relieved at that, after the broken nose incident all those years ago. He sat down on the sofa and leaned his head back. He really was tired, and the last thing he wanted to talk about was JAG. On the other hand, knowing that they would be free of these two influences---Rabb and Chegwidden---perked him up a bit. She had close to a month to accept this; he shouldn't have to deal with it. 'Just as well I was gone until now...'

"Come on, Sarah. Let's go to bed." He stood up and taking her hand, pulled her with him. "I'll take your mind off it all, then tomorrow we'll spend the day with Mother. You'll see, you won't even notice..." She allowed herself to be led; not caring, if she had the presence of mind to notice, that he wasn't particularly concerned for her sake.

It was sometime later, having been led though the preliminaries, that Mac began to reevaluate the entire situation. Clay may have thought he was saying the right thing---he couldn't have been more wrong. He looked down at her and spoke in short phrases.

"There, Sarah...I know...what you need...it's why I love you...you're strong...you're independent...you don't need a lot...all that other stuff...distracts you...from me...oh, Sarah..."

She looked at him as he spoke, and suddenly it was crystal clear. She saw in his eyes, the same thing she had seen in the eyes of men before. It was the look of victory; of possession. He wasn't seeing her in her own right---reflected was the fulfillment of his needs. In a revolting jolt, she understood: she had never seen that look in Harm's eyes. It had never been about his needs. She just didn't recognize it for what it was. She lay still, frozen in shock.

After Clay's breathing had returned to normal, and he settled to sleep, she continued to lay still. Her disgust was growing by the minute, escalating to horror. It was as though this new realization awakened all the feelings she had been denying for so very long; feelings in the extreme having been compressed for so long. They were like a volcano exploding within her, overwhelming her. She could hardly breathe, she had to get some air. She had to get away, to get out.

She crept out of the bed, terrified that she would wake him, of having to see him. All she could think of was escape. She left the apartment, closing the door behind her as she ran out of the building into the dark. She continued to run without direction.

She was hysterical, quite some time later, completely unaware of her surroundings, as she sat on cold stone in a dimly lit garden. She had no idea where she was, and there was no awareness that she needed to know. All of the grief and loss, all the regrets and missed opportunities, all the terror of her experience in Paraguay, all the disappointments and a sense of hopelessness completely consumed her. 'Oh, God... Oh, God... Oh, God... Oh, God... Oh, God...'

"Have mercy on me, a pitiful sinner..."

She was startled by the accented voice, finishing her exclamation. She wasn't aware she had actually been repeating it aloud. She felt so broken she didn't even have the drive to bring up her defenses.

She looked up to the face of a man, through tears and swelled eyelids. He had eyes as soft as she had ever seen and a groomed beard resembling a mix of salt and pepper. A few inches from the beard, she saw the familiar white of a priest's collar. He spoke again.

"'Tis a wee bit cold to be here in our garden, doncha' think, child? And the tears, lass; you'll freeze that beautiful face." He gave a soft smile, and she stared at him, having difficulty comprehending his words. He lowered himself to sit next to her on the stone bench and looked directly into her face. He had more compassion in his voice than she thought possible. "I can see you're in pain, child, and look here: it's brought ya' to Holy Trinity at midnight."

She stood, wiping the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her face as she took a breath to stop crying.

"I'm sorry to trespass, Father. I won't bother you anymore."

"Come and sit, child." He motioned her back to the bench. "You're not trespassing in this garden of healing. It's here for those who are seekin' something, and I'd say, judgin' by th' state you're in, this is where ya' need to be. Surely, if you're here at this hour, you've no reason to rush away now.

"Around here, they call me Father Mike." She sat again and wrapped her arms around herself as she looked away from his questioning gaze. "And what be your name, lass?"

It took her a minute or two to form an answer to that question. She continued to have trouble focusing. "Sarah...Sarah MacKenzie, Father." At that, his eyes lit up.

"MacKenzie, ya' say." He extended his hand. "Monsignor Michael MacKenzie at your service. I hail from the emerald isle, mee-self. In what county be your roots, Sarah MacKenzie? Maybe we're long-lost kin." He was trying, through conversation, to calm her but he wasn't having much success.

"I live here in Georgetown---on M street." She was no longer crying but she wasn't composed either. She took his hand but he didn't let go after the obligatory shake.

"Your hands are stone-cold, child. You'll catch your death..." He removed his overcoat to reveal the traditional cassock of a Jesuit priest. He placed his coat gently on her shoulders.

"Tell ol' Father Mike why you're here cryin' at this late hour. What's troublin' ya' so?"

At that she began to cry anew, no longer hysterical; just deeply and painfully sad. She spoke through her sobs.

"I lost my best friend." At that, he softly wrapped his arm over his coat that covered her shoulders.

"Aye, yes, child; 'tis a sad thing to loose someone ya' love. But death is only a physical separation. Our Lord saw to that." She began to cry harder and it was difficult to understand what she said.

"No, Father, he's not dead. He's gone. He left me. I don't even know where he is."

"You're sittin' here where many a prayer has been sent heavenward. Maybe ya' have been led to this place of healin'. You can tell me about it, doncha' know, and maybe I can help ya' find some peace."

She sat for some time, trying to catch her breath. Something about the kindly gentleman prompted her to relate the story. She told him of her own past and of the history of a friendship now lost, the hurts and miscommunication, disappointment and despair, bad choices and hopelessness. She told him of her friend, of their times together and the qualities she loved in him. She told of his faithfulness and how she pushed him to abandon that quality. She abbreviated the turn of events beginning with the Singer-pregnancy investigation but shared how it all went to hell from there. She confessed her own lack of forgiveness and the resulting separation, and the spite that she had exhibited toward him that led to the end. By the time she told him of the catastrophe that was now her relationship with Webb, her teeth were chattering. He stood, pulling her with him.

"Come, child. We've some wonderful cocoa in the rectory. We'll warm ya' and talk a bit more. Maybe things aren't as bleak as ya' think." He wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her and led her to around a large building that served as activity center, to the rectory.

"My, but you're a wee thing, aren't ya'? All skin and bones, it seems. 'Tis no wonder ya' can't fight the cold. Ya' got no insulation, lass. Come along, now, Father Mike will fix ya' right up." He continued to chatter as they completed the short walk. Once in the rectory kitchen, he put some milk on the stove and got a blanket to wrap over her shoulders.

They talked for some time over mugs of hot chocolate. He asked questions about her work and her personal life. They talked about her spiritual life and he invited her to look to that for some strength. He told her of something she had not heard as long as she remembered: that there was unconditional love available to her. It gave her a desire to continue talking with him.

They talked of seeking help, and that there was no shame in that. Rather, he convinced her that shame could only come from a pride that prevented seeking help. He convinced her that she needed to understand why things were the way they were, then maybe she could accept the grief she felt and go on. Then she could choose where her life would lead. He invited her to return to meet with him if she didn't know where else to turn. She told him of the work she began, albeit against her will, with Commander McCool and how maybe that could be a source of help.

By the time she left the horizon was beginning to lighten. It was still some time before dawn but she could already tell it was going to be a clear day. She was completely drained, but felt less despair than when she began. She made her way back to her apartment and once there, collapsed on the sofa with the throw she kept draped over the back. She couldn't bring herself to go back into bed with Clay. She had been alone for so many weeks, waiting for his return. Now she wanted to be alone again---to take care of herself so she could find a way to feel whole and healed in a way she hadn't felt since before Harm had reactivated his flight status all those years before. Having decided she would make a call to Bethesda first thing Monday morning, she fell asleep.

A/N You may notice a couple of familiar snippets from the actual program. I wanted to include some stuff I thought significant/noteworthy/interesting.

A/N2 You may, or may not, like the portrayal of Mac here but then again the same could be said for Harm. You've been warned.

You Learn to Let Go, Chapter 11

It was late Wednesday afternoon before she was able to see Dr. McCool, who only agreed to squeeze her in because the holiday weekend was coming up. She had an hour appointment that felt like ten---on a torture rack. Mac wasn't sure if the appointment started out well or not.

"Colonel MacKenzie, I was surprised you requested an appointment with me."

"I know it's been a long time since I was last here, but I thought you'd be good a place to start, since you already know about some of it. At least I wouldn't have to do that part again." She tried to sound light and relaxed; the commander was unconvinced.

"I didn't say that, Colonel. You didn't really address that issue when we met before. I'd have to be convinced that you haven't just avoided it all these months." Mac looked away, offering no response and Commander McCool knew she was very close to the truth of it. "But what I was referring to was the fact that you didn't seem to care for me much then; how will this be different?" Mac walked over to the window before answering and the commander moved to sit in a chair in front of the desk as she waited.

"It wasn't you, really. It was more the fact that I was required to be here." She continued to look away.

"I know."

"I would imagine you get that attitude a lot." The commander chuckled lightly at that.

"I do. And I'm aware that it is not me, but rather the circumstance that people don't like, still..." She looked at Mac and waited. It was only a few seconds before Mac turned and recognized that she was expected to complete that sentence.

"I need to be aware of it, too. Is that what you mean?"

"If you equate me with the situation that brought you here to begin with, I won't prove very useful to you. Not only will you be fighting the process, you'll be fighting me. I'm sure you'd understand why there is very little success in that." Mac nodded. "So, Colonel, what brings you here today?"

"Well, it's not the same thing I came about before, even if you think I have been avoiding it. I'm not admitting guilt on that."

"I know that, too."

"Well, then why did you ask?"

"I didn't ask if that's why you're here---I asked what brought you here now. If you were here for the same reason, you'd be having a lot more trouble after all these months---you'd probably be an in-patient. No, my guess is that you got enough from the times we met before to cope and function---and you, like many in your situation, felt that was all you needed to do. But now, something else has happened, and because you are already using your coping reserves to keep a handle on that, whatever it is now has knocked you for a loop. So, I ask again, what made you decide to call now?"

Mac sat in the chair next to the commander and leaned forward on her elbows. "I don't know." Mac continued to sit in the same position, adjusting her hands to hide her face. McCool sat quietly waiting. It was a few moments before Mac spoke again.

"I met someone who convinced me that I needed help getting control of my life back. I realized I didn't have any that. I haven't for a long time---now I guess I realize why things are so...I don't know...not right?"

"Can I ask about that---not just the control part but someone convincing you to seek help? Can you tell me how that came about?"

Mac related some of her discussion with the older Irish priest and how she came to accept that she needed to understand the decisions she had made and the actions she had taken.

"So you went to a church and found a priest to talk with?" Dr. McCool was noted that Mac was sharing all the peripheral information---but not the actual catalyst. She sensed this was the kind of patient that needed more guiding.

"Not exactly." Mac looked down again as she answered.

"Not exactly? Then what exactly?"

"I was out for a run, trying to deal with it and I ended up in the garden outside the church. It's not so unusual really. I pass there sometimes when I run, so I went in."

"Do you go in often?"

"Not really."

"How often is not often?" Mac continued to look away. Her voice was getting lower as the questioning went on. Finally, she sighed. Then she looked up.

"Never. I had to get out. It all just hit me at once. My fiancé showed up late one night after a long trip and...I don't know...looking at him, I just suddenly understood some stuff I've been avoiding for a while. My boss had said some things to me a few weeks ago but I didn't want to believe him. Seeing Clay, what little he said, and other stuff, made me realize it was all true. I just couldn't deal with it. So after he fell asleep, I left. I needed to think. I just ended up in that garden talking to that priest."

"Late one night? So you went out after dark?" Mac nodded. "You must have really been upset---running alone in D.C. after dark---and ending up at a place you had never been to before."

"Why? I run at various times. I am a Marine, you know. I can take care of myself just fine."

"Yes, Sarah, I know you're a Marine. Actually, Colonel, that's what makes it even more curious. You're well-trained and yet you still exposed yourself to a safety risk. I'm sure that's not what they taught you in OCS." Mac shrugged and stood then walked over to the window. "So you saw this priest and just started talking with him?" Mac turned and faced the counselor directly. Dr. McCool suspected Mac was attempting to demonstrate that she was not going to back down, that she needed to make a show of strength.

"No. I was sitting there on the bench, trying to get a handle on everything I thought I once knew. He came up to me and then asked why I was there." Mac's voice held the petulance of a stubborn child. Dr. McCool wouldn't have been surprised if Mac had ended the sentence with a condescending 'so there!'

"So what'd you tell him?"

"I already told you what we talked about." Dr. McCool was experienced enough to know that it wasn't always the details a patient related---it was frequently what the patient was unwilling to say that was key.

"Yes, you did. But I'd like to ask what you answered when he asked why you were there."

Mac turned back to the window but said nothing. Her shoulders slumped and she raised her hand to cover her mouth. She flinched a time or two before she took a shuddering breath.

"I've lost my best friend. That's what I told the priest. I got to work one morning and he was gone. He never came back." At that, she began to openly cry, pain-filled breathy sobs. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and spoke again, her voice taking a rueful, bitter quality.

"You'd think I'd barely notice; I've been in the military long enough." Her voice started to quake again but she steeled herself. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I know the death of a close friend can be very hard..."

Mac interrupted her with a voice that, if described as bitter before, was now harshly acidic.

"Oh, he didn't die. That's what the priest thought, too. He went TAD for a while, then transferred. I heard he requested it. But, in true Harmon Rabb fashion, he didn't tell me. He never told me he was going and I never got to wish him luck. "

"When did this happen?"

"A couple of days after Labor Day."

"Close to four months ago?" Mac nodded. "So what happened now that prompted you to call?"

"I just realized it was over, that he just transferred and that was that."

"He transferred almost four months ago. What made it worse now?"

"Actually, he transferred right after Thanksgiving. But it's all real now."

"I see. So it's really been just a few weeks that he's been gone?"

"No, he's been gone since the beginning of September." She spoke more forcefully than expected and her frustration was showing. Dr. McCool knew she was pushing more than what might be comfortable but she also knew that Mac returning was not as certain as most of the patients she saw. She looked questioningly at Mac who, after a moment or two, continued.

"He was TAD until Thanksgiving and then his transfer became permanent. But he was away from here; no calls, no e-mails except the rare legal concern, nothing. Now I don't know where he is stationed. I think his responsibilities are finished there and he's been sent somewhere else." She was back to standing at the window, looking out, but looking at nothing in specific.

McCool continued to sit quietly in front of the desk, wanting to give Mac the opportunity to say more. She was also forming her own thoughts. When Mac didn't say anything more after a few minutes, she spoke.

"I think I understand. Correct me if I 'm wrong, Colonel. This friend of yours...who you worked with in the past?" Mac nodded. "...was sent elsewhere for a few months. Now he's permanently transferred, correct?" Again, Mac nodded. "Now I'm guessing that since he didn't communicate this to you before the fact, there was something awry between the two of you before. Stop me if I'm wrong. For the first few weeks, or even the first few months, that continued; it was just put on hold as it were. It never occurred to you that you wouldn't have the opportunity to set it straight." She paused to give Mac the chance to interject, but the only response was a set stare. "The crisis in all of this began when you realized he wasn't simply away. He was gone. As long as he was stationed here, whether you talked or not, he was still a part of your life. But the transfer served to severed ties, didn't it?" Mac remained still, with an expressionless stare, but silently, tears trailed down her cheeks.

"Can you describe in words what it is that you're feeling?" She handed Mac some tissue, who patter her cheeks then began to wring the damp Kleenex in her hands. Mac couldn't speak, she just shook her head.

"Frustration?" Mac nodded. "Confusion?" Again, a nod. "Regret?" A few more tears escaped. "Fear?" This brought about a response. There was an indignant fire in her eyes as she spoke.

"I'm not afraid!"

"No?" This simple inquiry broke though her defenses and she lowered her face into her hands.

"Grief?" Mac let out a long breath and began to lightly rock back and forth. "Can you describe what you're grieving?" Mac composed herself a bit and looked at the counselor when she replied. The despair was easily recognized.

"I don't know."

They talked a while longer about her present state and how she came to this moment in time. McCool presented some possible areas they might address in the coming weeks as well as the need to define what it was that Mac wanted to achieve. She was able to convince Mac, because of the level of emotional turmoil, to delay any kind of decision-making. She explained that change brought on by-or during-crisis usually brought on new crises and served only to shift the focus from one set of problems to another. Mac agreed to refrain from agreeing to anything, and to also hold-off on removing anything that currently existed; in effect she would maintain the status quo for the time being. The commander asked Mac to do what she had been trained to do---to simply put one foot in front of the other and continue on---giving them a chance to address issues, increase understanding, and develop plans, if she determined she wanted to actually make life changes. More importantly, Mac agreed to return the following week.

Mac began the first week of the New Year in trepidation. She had to frequently remind herself to follow the counselor's orders: just put one foot in front of the other. Fortunately, Clay got busy again and though he wasn't out of town all the time, he was often busy late into the evening. He spent some of each weekend with his mother and Mac encouraged him to---with the argument that neglecting Mrs. Webb would not help his mother accept her any better. It gave Mac a bit of space to think without additional guilt or conflict.

One of the first issues they addressed in session was the sense of chaos in Mac's life. She was able to come to understand that chaos was not because of all the thing going on---it was because of all the things going on without her conscious and deliberate participation in a way she desired, in a direction she chose to go. They explored how it came to be that Mac allowed the choices of others to dictate her choices and how she subsequently convinced herself that what she had was what she really wanted. She was able to understand that the difference between choices within a specific circumstance may or may not have been a specific choice, but rather an adoption of the circumstances.

Such was her career, and then her life, in the Corps. There was a logical progression which provided professional, and some personal goals. Achievement of those goals, while fulfilling, didn't necessarily translate into a fully satisfying life. She learned that while she had been living under the influence, she choose to abdicate the control of her life and surroundings. In the Corps, she chose to maintain control by adopting the parameters set by the organization itself. In a small way, it was similar. Her life was based on expectations and definitions of the military, and while she found pride and accomplishment in it, it was not a picture of what her life would be that she, herself, painted.

That was the piece she missed when she began living her life's journey: self-determination. They were able to overcome her initial resistance to the concept when they fully explored the value of her achievements and satisfaction she found in her professional life. She began to see that she needed to identify the areas of her personal life that existed outside the Corps and remained, even after all her years as a responsible adult, neglected.

It took several painful sessions to determine a blueprint for the life she wanted, and several more to discover what stood in the way of it. A particularly difficult topic was her plan to marry Clayton Webb. They spent more than one session discussing the basis for the relationship and Mac's role in it. Mac came to understand that she did not play an active role in it and she also began to understand that she never would. That was not who Webb was. The discussion brought to the forefront the concept of playing a passive role in one's own life---or actively choosing one's own path. It could not be determined by choosing an option if, indeed, she felt she had no other options to choose.

It also came from that discussion that Mac realized she would not really have the life she wanted if she shared it with Webb. What she had with him could only be described as false security. She would go through her life until he was available, then she would live his life. It took several more sessions to form a plan to break from him. She had to come to terms with making the choice to be single again. She had to separate being alone from being unsatisfied. She had to accept that she could not strive for what-ever it was that she truly wanted if she were is a situation because she felt she had no other options. She had to see that her actions had to be for herself, not because of another's desires. Once she accomplished all of those things, she could break it off with a clear conscience and the satisfaction of knowing she was doing this for herself.

He left again during the late winter and finally returned to early spring in D.C. Mac faced him with her new-found sense of self. She was able to transfer the strength of conviction she had long held in her professional life and exhibited in her public persona to her personal interactions. Upon his return, she met him at his apartment and she broke the engagement. He wanted to maintain contact, to allow for him to convince her this was a great thing for them both. He even attempted to persuade her by using the 'alone' argument. She had prepared herself in her counseling sessions for any tactics he might use and she stood her ground, making a clean break. She gave him back the diamond ring and inexplicably felt freer than she had in close to two years.

After she left, she attempted to understand why something that was essentially burning another bridge and seeming to be a step away from the life she wanted felt so good. Through her follow up with Commander McCool, she came to understand that the end of the relationship with Webb allowed her to let go of the experiences of Paraguay. She began to understand her willingness to be involved, her reactions to all that had happened to and around her, the long-term consequences and the fallout of all that had happened, and most importantly, the guilt she felt in so many regards because of it.

Once she came to terms with where she was, she was able to begin to look toward where she wanted to go. Several times during the previous weeks, they discussed her relationship, or rather the loss of her relationship, with Harm. In answering questions, she was able to fully understand the important role he played in her life and in how she had gotten to this point. Still she was totally unprepared to address the most recent question.

"If your relationship with Commander---now Captain---Rabb was so significant, why wasn't there more?" It was posed innocently enough; it was one of the few pieces that actually baffled McCool, as experienced as she was.

"Because he didn't want more."

"But you did?"

"It didn't matter if I did."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because he never said he did."

"Did he say he didn't?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"Did you ever say you did?"

"Kind of..."

"Kind of?"

Mac related the significant details of their conversation on the Australian ferry. When she finished, Commander McCool began questioning again.

"So you weren't really clear in what you wanted and he didn't say 'no,' he said 'not yet.'"

With a shrug, Mac replied, "Something like that."

"Colonel, it's exactly that."

"Yeah."

"So you didn't really attempt to get what you wanted?"

"There was no point since he didn't want the same thing."

"Did he say that?" Dr. McCool was getting frustrated herself that they were not progressing with this.

"No. But he didn't say otherwise, either?"

"Did you?" Mac just glared at her. She softened her tone, knowing the relationship between the two was both cause and effect to the problem being addressed currently. "Sarah, we've been talking for some time now about getting what you want---about taking the active role in that..." Mac stood abruptly and snapped at her, cutting her off.

"It doesn't matter what I want, since he wasn't interested. Isn't that obvious?"

"No, Sarah, it's not. Let's think about this. From what you've related to me, you weren't really getting along for several months and yet he was still around, even though there were a lot of difficult things going on in his life. You both maintained some level of contact. Then one day he was sent TAD, which seems on the level. However, it wasn't the same, was it? There was no more personal contact, only professional. And even that was only when absolutely necessary and by the most detached way possible; some e-mail, but mostly written reports forwarded to your office. Am I wrong?" Mac shook her head, her eyes showing the sadness. "And this day that he began the TAD, you came in to the office mid-day. Everything had seemed the same as usual when you left the previous workday. You had no reason to suspect anything would be any different. The only thing that was different was that you were now engaged---to a man about whom your friend wasn't particularly supportive." Again Mac cut her off.

"I know where you're trying to go with this. You're wrong."

"Am I? There's something I've learned after all my experience in this profession. People will only change when staying the same becomes too uncomfortable; when it becomes too difficult. Even with all the conflict, he was still there. When he did leave, it just happened to coincide with your engagement. But he didn't just leave, he severed ties; correct? That doesn't sound to me like a man who didn't want more. That sounds to me like a man who found it too difficult to stay."

Mac continued to replay the discussion in her mind for the entire drive. Even though rush hour was winding down, the drive to McLean took some time. The spring flowers were out but it was still chilly enough in the evenings to require a coat. The flowers were a reminder of how difficult the previous year or so had been on everyone---Meredith had insisted they plan bulbs in front of his home, arguing that his neighbors needed to see that he was more than just a crusty old bachelor. She approached the front door of her former commanding officer with more than a bit of hesitancy. She steeled herself as she rang the bell, reminding herself that she was going to approach this like the marine she was---tough, determined, confident.

The look of surprise on his face as he opened the door confirmed that she was not someone he expected to see. It strengthened her resolve: 'it always helps to keep the opponent off balance, guessing...'

"Colonel!"

"Good evening, Admiral. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, if I may."

He looked at her suspiciously then opened the door a bit more. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you. Sir. But, no. It won't take very long."

He sighed. "Go ahead."

"I know it's been a long time, Sir, but could you tell me why Commander, excuse me, Captain Rabb was chosen to be sent TAD in September?" The question did nothing to decrease the misgivings he had but he replied anyway.

"He had put in for leave that day. Since it was such short notice, I allowed him some time, provided I could put him to work in the process." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough.

"I see. If I may, Sir; is it true that he requested a transfer out of headquarters?"

"Yes, Colonel, that's true."

"Why did he want to transfer?"

"I believe he said something about furthering his career and improving his long-term chances for continued active duty."

"He wasn't that concerned about furthering his career in the past. And he's risked his chances for 'continued active duty' time and again. Why now?"

"You're asking me to speculate why advancing his career is important to him now; if he felt there was nothing else important enough to risk his career for or if he felt advancing his career might be the only viable future he might have. Sorry, I can't speculate." She wasn't sure if she heard sarcasm mixed in with his gruff words, or cynicism. "He told me he liked being in the Navy and that he wanted to stay in. I believe he told Turner the same thing." She stepped back and, out of reflex, stood at attention.

"Thank you for speaking with me. I appreciate it. Good night, Sir." She turned and began to walk back to her car.

"Colonel?" She stopped and looked at him again. "I'm going to Italy to visit my daughter soon. I plan to stop in Naples to see the captain, check up on him a little."

"Thank you, Sir." She got into her car and turned headed for Georgetown. She needed to think.

Naples, Italy
June, 2005

His head was throbbing. He was coherent enough to know that he wasn't in his own bed but he just couldn't bring himself to wake fully. He was comfortable and warm, which meant he was probably safe. He could tell it was getting light but he didn't think his eyes could handle it. If he could only sleep a bit more, then he could make sense of his surroundings.

Harm had stayed in California through the Christmas season and well into January. After the completion of the transfers in the base legal office, he was able to hand off the responsibility to the lieutenant commander coming in from Hawaii. There was a week's worth of overlap before he began to focus solely on the new position and then he wrapped up the work he began in California. While he hadn't worked with all the battle groups based out of San Diego, there was a greater interest in working in the Middle East, because of the escalating conflict there. So he was transferred to Naples and by the end of March, he was---more or less---settled.

His time was divided between the land and the sea. Sometimes he would fly backseat with a pilot from the base, sometimes he needed to observe carrier ops. The carrier flights also allowed for him to update his own quals, keeping his carrier flight status in tact. Most of the training for shipboard JAG's was done on the base when they were in port. So he was assigned an office there not far from a conference room.

He wasn't sure what he thought about it all, but he avoided being too introspective. Like most young men, his life had followed a set path. After leaving a (relatively) small living situation at home, he moved in with dozens of other young men, his age and circumstance. Then he rotated into a living situation where there were too many crowded in too little space but, like other pilots, and sailors, he initially thrived on it. As he progressed in rank and began his journey up the ladder, he was afforded a bit more space and by the time of his ramp strike, his living conditions weren't so crowded. While he was just beginning to anticipate, as most men in their mid-twenties did, a more independent living space, he still enjoyed the camaraderie of squadron life.

The ramp strike changed it all, and changed it all too soon. But because he needed to heal, physically and emotionally, he took to the solitary life rather well. And he became accustomed to it. Living alone for so many years, through law school and then in D.C., he developed a certain way of living. But Mattie changed all that.

Sharing his life was something he found he enjoyed. Maybe it was because he was approaching a phase of his life where he was inclined to look for a less solitary way. Maybe it was because Mattie needed him, and he found he liked being needed. Whatever it was, it was surprisingly difficult to return to living by himself. He felt alone. For the first time in his life he didn't like it but he didn't know how to go about getting something he would like. Then staying with his stepfather---and having the companionship of another person with whom he shared his off-duty hours each day---for all those months compounded it.

When he got to Naples, the novelty of a new place and new responsibilities wore off rather quickly. Admiral Chegwidden had come by while in Italy visiting his daughter and Harm enjoyed seeing the older man. But he found himself feeling as lonely as he did during the summer months in D.C. He didn't know anyone and those around him either had families or seemed awfully young. Days on a carrier were a bit easier because so many officers were in such a limited space. Whether they had families or not didn't matter---everyone was alone on a ship. And they kept each other occupied.

He found it particularly difficult when he was land-locked for a few weeks in a row. He'd taken to going to one of the nearby nightspots (and there were a few near his apartment) an evening or two whenever he was in town all week. Sometime he simply enjoyed the ambience; some times he took the opportunity to enjoy the favors of one of the beautiful local Italian women. It was easy to forget the loneliness---and the admonishments he'd heard since third class cruise about partaking of local feminine delights. And while he was not necessarily very pleased with himself, he at least was somewhat careful. Because of his maturity and experiences, he was able to identify most of the risky associations that were offered on any given evening.

Still, his sense of honor was compromised and while he tried to ignore that, he couldn't. It didn't help that it turned out Mac was right---he was a bit of a prude. He'd been sexually active for a long time, but he usually had some sort of a relationship with any would-be lovers. Since he first visited one of nightspots in mid-April, he enjoyed an evening of socializing and had at least a half dozen interludes with women whom he'd never seen before, nor since. But he enjoyed the sex and he was able to handle the loneliness a bit better.

And then it was late May. He couldn't even remember what triggered it---maybe it was the note from Coates included in some updated statues from headquarters. No mention of Mac; he assumed it was because Coates may have thought he would be upset since she must have married Webb by now. What she did mention were the newborn Roberts' twins. He wasn't going to say that it bothered him. He wasn't going to say he was reminded of a now-voided agreement he made several years back, or how it appeared that family was not to be his destiny. But his mood darkened and the loneliness rose exponentially.

A few more days passed and he found himself at one of the clubs he rarely attended. It was a bit wilder that his usual taste, but that night he just wanted the distraction. It was very noisy, and the drinks kept coming.

Which led to the throbbing in his head on this particular Friday morning. He began to think a little clearer and realized, that since it was light, it must be getting time for work. He opened his eyes to see it was well after 0800. His class was scheduled to begin at 0900. He felt his blood start to flow as he tried to recall where he was and how he got there. He remembered a variety of pretty girls, lots of loud music and some dancing---when he wasn't drinking. It was then that it really registered that he wasn't in his own place. He turned his head to see a sleeping young woman he didn't recognize, or even remotely recall. And worse yet, she was probably only half his age.

He jumped from the bed and quickly regretted it. Couple a throbbing head with fast motion while living the hangover resulting from the previous night, and he nearly fell flat, his head spinning. He scanned the room and saw the bathroom as the nausea approached crisis level. After he was sick and the heaves as passed somewhat, it all hit him. He was vomiting in the bathroom of someone he didn't know---completely naked, having had sex (he knew that much, he could smell it) with a woman whose name wasn't even on his radar. The realization of how risky it all was brought about another round of nausea. There were a myriad of possibilities, all mortifying. He could have been conned, robbed, blackmailed---not to even mention the possibility of unprotected sex. 'What was I thinking?...you weren't, you idiot!...oh, God, I haven't had this much to drink in decades...you're a fool...and completely out of control!...oh, God...I have to find my pants...where's my wallet...oh, God, my ID...I have to get out of here...I have to get to work...oh God...WORK!...I can see it now: being charged UA...' His brain was in overdrive while he got up and rinsed his mouth.

He began the search for his clothes, not far from panic. He found his shorts and, near the edge of the bed, a used condom. Well, there was some relief. A short time later he found the rest of his clothes, his keys and wallet---with his ID---still in his trousers' pocket. Even his phone was still in tact. He looked back at the girl---'was she much more than a child?'---as she started to stir. She blinked her eyes and said something in Italian. It sounded sweet enough but he didn't understand it all. He had picked up some of the language but nowhere near enough to understand a woman mumbling while he was in the midst of a hangover. He mumbled something about work, hoped she understood more English than he did Italian and backed out the door.

Once outside, it took a few minutes to get his bearings. He realized he wasn't far from his own apartment. There was one bit of luck: that she lived between him and the club he visited the previous evening, rather than a distance beyond. He started on a pace far too frantic for the early morning setting of the neighborhood. He forced himself to slow down and walk a bit more inconspicuously. He opened his phone and called the office. After lying through his teeth, sure no one believed that he was a bit sick but would be coming in soon, he reached the safety of his own place and went right to the shower. He doubted there was enough soap in all of Europe this morning.

As the day wore on, and his headache increased, the turmoil did too. Some tea and an occasional bite of plain bread kept the nausea manageable. But he was still on the verge. It was late afternoon when he paced his office, thoroughly disgusted with himself. 'You have got to get a grip---or everyone will know.' A thought popped into his head as he remembered a discussion he'd had months previous and he nearly discarded it. But he reconsidered, then pondered it for a while. He looked at the clock, and doing a calculation, nowhere near as quick as he usually did; he picked up the phone.

"Hi, Frank. How ya doing..."

About the same time in June
Bethesda Naval Facility

Mac had been seeing her counselor for six months. She had attended their sessions regularly when she wasn't out of town or if she didn't have a particularly difficult case that kept her late. She surprised even herself that she stuck with it and was actually seeing some change in her outlook.

Her conversation with Admiral Chegwidden began several weeks of discussion for her and Commander McCool. It was after that visit to his house that she began to accept that she had to make her own choices and make the life she wanted; no one else would provide it to her. They talked of the things she really wanted, the things she needed to feel she had a complete life. They talked about risk and how to face it, how to lower it while still taking the active role in seeking a particular goal. She knew what she wanted but was hesitant to consider that there might be a possibility. Dr. McCool helped her to see that she just might have a chance.

"Why do you expect the worst? That there is no possibility for you to get that which you desire?" Mac gave a rueful chuckle.

"Because it has been so long, not to mention how bad things were last year."

"But it's been so long for you, too. So let me ask you: who do you pictured your future with, who do you always think of when you consider what would make your life complete?"

"Are you going to make me say it?" McCool nodded. "Harm."

"Why?"

"Just because."

"Even after the conflict, the distance, a separate new life?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Mac shrugged and spoke at the same time, "Because it's him."

"Don't you think there might be a chance he's feeling the same way?"

So they began preparations, worked out a strategy, considered all possible outcomes and made alternate plans for each one. They role-played and practiced, discussed, fretted, conferred, planned, hoped; and finally, after several more months, Mac requested leave over the long Labor Day weekend and ordered airline tickets.

A/N a little challenge---can you identify the episodes for all the referenced moments?

A/N2 a second challenge---can you identify the movie quote? If so, DON'T list it in the outside message and ruin it for everyone. Put it inside a message.

A/N3 It may not be all that logical for the admiral to be near Naples---but it works for this story. Thanks for indulging me this artistic license...

You Learn to Let Go part 12

Naples, Italy
1725 (local)
Wednesday; 31 August, 2005
In front of the JAG offices

"Thank you for meeting me half way."

He simply looked at her, confused by her presence.

Mac had flown into Naples on Wednesday morning and had checked into her hotel before finding a place to wait outside the local JAG offices. She had prepared for her trip to Naples to visit Harm for weeks. With the help of her counselor, she set a plan in place. The details had come to resemble the kind of mission Harm and Mac had gone on several times during their years working together. Her training for those missions served to provide the template for this endeavor.

She drew on all her years training as a marine to face this challenge. She was a nervous wreck, but that was completely undetectable to an observer. She practiced relaxation techniques as she waited for Harm to step out onto the public street. She had done, with skills she gleaned over the years, some research to determine Harm's specific duty station and current activities. Once she found out he was in Italy from the admiral several months previous, it wasn't all that difficult to find out where he was exactly and when he would be out to sea.

It was later in the day and she waited. Like many U.S. military sites in Europe, there was only one entry into the site. She waited at a distance of about 50 feet, with a clear line of sight. She had to remind herself to breathe deeply, to slow her breathing down. But when he stepped out into the afternoon sun, she had to remind herself to breath at all. She had to keep herself calm. She stood and waited.

As soon as he stepped away from the gate, he froze.

Harm felt it immediately---something that had been lacking for a year. He felt a presence, an energy that had once been so integral to his life that he didn't even realize it as a separate force. He slowly scanned the area looking in the opposite direction and them making a sweep of the entire street. His eyes saw her standing there, but his mind didn't accept it at first.

Once she was sure he saw her, once she knew the connection was made, she took a step toward him. He stared at her; it slowly registered that she was indeed, standing so near to him. She took another step and waited. After a few more seconds, he stepped toward her, then waited as he continued to stare. He was afraid he was imagining it all---that like five minutes ago as well as the previous year, she was only a memory. Then he saw her take a third step toward him. She continued at a slow pace.

He began to walk slowly toward her, matching his steps to hers. His long legs carried him a bit faster and they met near the corner of the compound. She quietly took a breath to keep her panic at bay and smiled softly as she spoke. It echoed in his mind.

"Thank you for meeting me halfway."

A statement so simple, it was complex simply by its existence. He had no idea what it meant. The confusion registered on his face so she forged on.

"You're looking well, Harm. Four stripes look good on you."

Several seconds passed before he responded.

"Thank you." He shook his head, as though trying to confirm she was not a hallucination. "I didn't know headquarters was sending someone over, Colonel..."

"Sarah."

"Excuse me?"

"It's Sarah. I'm not here on business." 'No sense caving now...' "I came to see you, to see if you would be willing to talk with me. Actually, I'm hoping you'll be willing to listen. I'm not asking you to say anything. Maybe we could have dinner, if you're available?"

He continued to stare, still unbelieving. Seeing her standing in front of him, hearing her speak clearly and calmly, feeling that familiar ache after so much time gave the entire setting a surreal quality. His continued silence increased her anxiety but she was determined to maintain her composure.

"Harm?"

"Huh? What? Oh, dinner. Sure. But I have to call home first." As he was speaking, his phone began to ring.

At his words, Mac's heart stopped. 'Call home first...' She stood frozen, unable to consider the possibilities.

"Rabb...Oh, Frank. I was just going to call you."

'Frank? Frank? Who was Frank?' A bit of hope began to return.

"What?...You got what?...Invited to dinner?...Mrs. Stephanelli from across the square?...Do you want to go?...Then you should...Why not?...Frank, it's been over a year---I think it's OK." He looked at Mac, paused a few seconds then continued to speak into the phone. "Besides, something tells me mom is engineering this whole day. Go, Frank. Enjoy the evening. If you're not home when I get there, I'll come by and rescue you, OK?...I'll say it's past your curfew...Have a good time...Yeah...Yeah...It's OK...Yeah. See ya later." He closed his phone and placed it back in his pocket, then turned his attention back to Mac.

"OK. I'm all set." The awkwardness was back.

"I'm new in town. Do you know someplace nearby where we can get a decent meal---and talk, too?"

"Sure. There's a place not far. You don't mind walking a little?" She shook her head and he turned to the left. She reached out and grabbed his arm. Surprised at her action, he stopped and looked into her face.

"I know it's awfully late, but I am sorry about your mom."

"Thanks. I should have told you..."

"I'm even sorrier I was not being the friend you needed to me to be then. I hope you can forgive me someday..."

The whole scene still had him off-balance. He smiled at her then looked at her hand on his arm. She followed his gaze; then feeling self-conscious, she removed her hand. Wanting to avoid too much discomfort, she changed the subject.

"So there's a good restaurant this way?"

"Mm-hum." They fell into step and walked several yards before she spoke again.

"Do you still keep in touch with Mattie Grace?"

"Yeah. We e-mail a few times each week. She came here this summer with her dad for a couple of weeks. They had a great visit. She's a senior now. I had to work some of it so Frank took them sightseeing."

"Is Frank here a lot?" Harm looked at her then turned back to look ahead. After a minute, he spoke.

"He's staying with me for a while---he's been here since June." Something in his demeanor caught her attention but she reminded herself that she wasn't going to press him.

"Oh."

"It's a long story." Mac nodded.

"OK." She tried to keep her voice light.

They arrived at a small bistro soon enough and were quickly seated with menus. Harm had picked up some Italian words and phrases and he explained some of the meals he thought she might like. After they had given the food order and were settled, Mac asked about him about his work.

""Mac, you didn't come all this way to express condolences about my mom or to ask about Mattie, or to even talk about JAG. Why are you here?"

She set her hands on the table with all her finger showing.

"You once said to me, when we were talking about Mic leaving that he couldn't get past the 'thing between us' because 'we couldn't get past this thing between us'. You're right and I need to tell you a few things. Because I'm not happy the way things ended. Because you are far too important to me to never say goodbye. Because I needed to see you again before I could really learn to let go of 'this thing between us.' Why am I here--- because if nothing else, I want to see you one more time---to tell you all the things I should have told you a long time ago."

"Mac..." Just as he started to speak, he was distracted by the movement of her hands. He saw her fingers---and he saw the ring she wore was the OCS ring he remembered; it was the only ring on either hand. Whatever he was going to say was forgotten. He looked at her with the question weighing between them.

"I broke it off with Webb last spring."

"Why?"

"That's one of things I want to talk to you about. I've been trying to make some changes. I wasn't happy---I was miserable actually---so I began seeing someone. She helped me to understand some things and I realized I need to live my life differently than I have all these years.

"I've known for sometime most of what I want out of life---I could describe without too much trouble what I wanted my life to be like. But I never worked to get there. I waited for others to offer to get me there. That's why I got so frustrated with you. You wouldn't do that. You wanted me to choose what I wanted and claim it. I've had too much baggage---it kept getting in the way of doing that. I know I need to build my own future, not stand by while another Mic or another Webb attempted to hand me what they wanted my future to be. So I'm trying to do just that. That's what I'd like you to listen to."

He continued to stare at her. The Mac he knew didn't speak this openly. He was so confused by this that he wouldn't have been able to speak even if he had a clue what to say. Even if he knew where this conversation was going, it was too overwhelming.

She told him of her work with Commander McCool and talked of all the parts of her life that shaped her behavior. She spoke generally, giving examples of how her past affected her adult life. She talked of her dreams and hopes, of the life she wanted to look back on in her later years. She shared the painful process of admitting mistakes of the past and learning the lessons from each one.

She continued to talk while they waited for the food, then after their meals were delivered. She picked at her food; not only was she too nervous to actually eat, she was on a roll. If she lost her momentum, she might loose her nerve. As she continued, Harm was enjoyed the rich coffee he had become accustomed to over the past several months.

But he froze when she turned the conversation to the part of her life she had shared with him. She told him of the impact he had on her, of the force he had been in her life. She talked of activities they shared, some of which he barely remembered, that had played a role in becoming the woman she had. She acknowledged how knowing him had enriched her life and gave it a depth she hadn't previously known.

Harm was on the verge of embarrassment as she continued but it changed to concern as she refocused on her plans for the future.

"In another eighteen months I'll have my twenty in. I've decided to stay until then. I really don't want to give up my pension. I worked hard to get this far. Besides, then I can retire with some income and have some freedom in choosing the next path I want to follow."

She took a deep breath. If he had anticipated her next words, he might not have been so shocked when she spoke them.

"I'd like that path to include you." He stared at her, not speaking and his mouth gaping in shock. She recognized that in this way, she fully had the advantage and she used it to further her position.

"You see, I realized in the past few months several truths. Because of everything in my life, I don't think I really understood it all. Commander McCool helped me with that. I thought that since people in my life have, at different times, taken away the life I was living at the time, I thought I had to rely on yet other people to give me a new life. I was so unwilling to trust that I thought anything good couldn't be true---couldn't be real. But everything else seemed so...cliché. I thought if something was a cliché, it couldn't possibly have any merit. She helped me see that most clichés are true descriptions of repeating occurrences in our world. She helped me to see that what doesn't kill you really does make you stronger. She helped me understand that love at first sight may be a cliché---but it doesn't make it less real. Since it sounded so very cliché, I was never able to accept that I really did fall in love with you when you took my hand outside the White House Rose Garden all those years ago.

"I could never accept any of it as real. Because of everything, I didn't really feel I knew what love was, what it could be---I just thought it couldn't be anything that sounded like a cliché. My counselor helped me to see that love is all the clichés. It is knowing that the one you love is nearby because you can feel that energy. It is having your breath taken away when he looks at you, it is trembling knees when he stands close, it is that warm feeling you get when you think of him, it is like the girl said in that movie all those years ago---being terrified that I'll never again feel the way I feel when I'm with you.

"I was too suspicious to see it for what it is. I love you and I always have. I'm sorry that I never lived that love before. I see now that you loved me too and that you did live that, even if you never said the words. I regret that I couldn't accept it before. I regret that I was not aware enough to realize that while I have my own issues, you do too---and I never accepted that.

"You are who you are---and I love you because of that, even though I thought otherwise. Given the past year, I know I always will. I know now that you once loved me---that's why I came here: to see if you think you might be feeling the same as me, and if you would consider including me in your future---whatever path you take."

She took a deep breath, and realized that all the color had drained from his face---'I guess he's experiencing the clichés as much as me'. Still she continued.

"I accept that it may be too late. If you know you don't share my feelings, I would hope that you respect me enough, because of all we have shared, to tell me that straight. Then I can say goodbye and work on learning to let go. I can learn to build a different life. But if there's even a chance you'll think about this, I'll wait..." she looked directly in his eyes with all the intense sincerity in her soul, repeating something from long in the past..."as long as it takes."

She settled a bit in her chair. She began to practice those relaxation techniques again so she could wait. She hoped he would say something but she was determined not to push him. One of the possible scenarios she worried about was that he would have a decidedly negative reaction---she silently repeated, in rhythm with her breathing: 'just don't be angry...don't be angry...'

It wasn't long before she was distracted by the presence of the server bringing the check. She reached for it, and got the credit card from her bag.

"Wait!"

"No, Harm...I asked you to join me. I'll handle it."

"That's not what I mean. I...um..."

She turned her attention to his face, waiting for him to continue. Only her Marine self-discipline kept her breathing. Finally, she heard him speak again.

"How long is your leave?" 'OK, Mac you can handle this...'

"I have through Tuesday. I have to be back at headquarters Wednesday morning."

"I have to think about this."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yes, OK. I said I won't push you---and I'm not going to. I'll wait. I can just stay in my hotel until I have to check out Tuesday morning. After that, I'll still wait, if that's what you need, just not here in Naples."

"You'll wait?" He said it as though he couldn't possibly believe it---as though she was agreeing to some outrageous thing.

"I said I would. I know you may need to consider this for a long time---it took me a long time, and I've had a great counselor helping me. If you need to decide what you feel, and if you can trust me, I know that can take a long time. I'll wait. Because I know I'll never stop loving you. And if there's a chance...well, I'll wait for it."

"Friday afternoon."

"Excuse me?"

"Meet me outside the office in the same place at noon on Friday and we'll talk. Then... maybe... well, I don't know..."

"OK."

"OK?" She smiled at his discomfort.

"Yes, OK. I said I'll wait---and I will, even if it kills me." That brought a smile, small as it was, to him too.

A residential area just outside of Naples
Current home of AJ Chegwidden
Thursday evening
1850 (local)

He knocked on the door just as twilight was beginning to set.

"Harm. Well, this is surprise..."

"Good evening, Admiral." Though they had become something close to friends, they still maintained the level of military protocol both had become accustomed to. Harm didn't think he could ever treat his former CO with much familiarity; he had too much respect for the man to disregard years of training and practice. The admiral was no different: while he came to see the younger officer as something akin to a surrogate son, military bearing was all he knew---it defined his comfort zone.

"Forgive me if I'm intruding, Sir... I should have called." He heard music inside and began to reconsider the wisdom in coming unannounced. "You have company; I won't interrupt..."

AJ Chegwidden was staying in a small cottage not far from Naples. During his visit to his daughter in early spring, she convinced him to return to Italy after the baseball season ended. He had taken a position coaching at the academy in Annapolis and was enjoying both the game and the young midshipmen.

He returned to Italy early in the summer, after graduation and commissioning. He enjoyed the time spent with Francesca, sharing her life first-hand, and he enjoyed the setting. He had forgotten how much he liked this part of Europe. The culture was wonderful and the area was beautiful. It was a perfect change from D.C. in the summer. It was also a perfect opportunity for Francesca to re-introduce her parents and nudge them along a bit, since they were both alone. And it seemed to be working.

"Nonsense, Captain. Marcella's not really company. She's visits frequently. In fact, I've been trying to convince her to become something other than company altogether..."

"And I keep telling him he is a foolish old man. There is no reason to ruin a perfectly good divorce." The laughter in her voice made Harm smile but he remained silent. She approached the two men still standing in the doorway and extended her hand.

"It is nice to see you again, Captain. Please come in." As she gently pulled on Harm's hand to get him to step inside, she lowered her voice a bit, pretending to speak so her ex-husband couldn't hear. "It would seem that not only is he old, he also has no manners. You must not stand in the door. Can I get you anything, something to drink, maybe? We were actually discussing dinner, please join us..."

"Thank you, Ma'am. But I couldn't intrude." He glanced at the admiral while speaking, recalling a late night visit to the house in McLean several years previous, and a young woman offering a drink then. 'Better not mention that...'

"No, Harm, you must have driven out here for a reason. You might as well stay." In some ways, the admiral was the same as Harm had ever known him---but in others he was a different man completely. The next words from Mrs. Paretti offered something of an explanation, even if it did cause Harm to blush.

"Besides, Captain, you are so dashing in your summer uniform, it reminds me why I fell so deeply in love with him all those years ago. He may be able to use that to his advantage." Harm knew immediately how and why this woman could charm even the gruffest of SeALs; her warmth and grace could quickly disarm any man.

She turned and winked at AJ while leading Harm by the arm into the room. He knew in that moment who was in charge. Surprisingly, it warmed him a bit, blushing cheeks aside. He ruefully recalled the words both he and the admiral spoke to Bud at the bachelor debacle in a strip club several years previous. 'Better not mention that, either...'

""AJ, my darling, please provide your guest with a beverage. I will prepare dinner, a true Italian meal, while you gentlemen discuss whatever it is you discuss."" With that she turned and left the room.

Both men stood there, momentarily taken aback by the vivacity of the woman. She was still very beautiful and she gave credence to the phrase that life begins at fifty. Harm looked back to the admiral, wondering if he really should leave.

"Don't even think about it, Mr. Rabb. She'll have a fit if I let you leave. She accuses me of being over-bearing---imagine that! It will be far less to my advantage if we don't indulge her fantasy. You still drink bourbon?" The admiral spoke with a lightness that was unfamiliar to Harm, who allowed himself to be amused. That amusement was present in his voice as he acknowledged the older man's direction.

"Aye, Sir." The admiral chose to take the affirmative answer as a response to the bourbon query and poured them both a glass. He handed one to Harm and offered his own glass in a subdued toast. Harm lightly tapped the side of his glass to the admiral's.

"Thank you." They each took a sip of the fine liquor and then stood awkwardly for several seconds.

"So...what brings you out here this evening?"

"Well, Sir...um..." 'Just say it...' "Sarah McKenzie was waiting for me outside of the office yesterday afternoon."

"I see." The admiral's reaction was neutral, increasing Harm's confusion, and subsequent frustration. He stood and took a few steps to begin pacing. He turned back to the admiral and spoke a little louder than he should have.

"You do! Well, explain it to me, because I sure as hell don't see anything!"

The admiral chuckled lightly and gestured to the seat Harm had been in only seconds before.

"Sit, Mr. Rabb. Take a breath. I meant I see what brings you out here."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Relax, Harm." He waited a minute before continuing. "I take it she wasn't 'waiting for you outside the office' in an official capacity?"

"No, Sir." He stared into his glass, not really knowing what to say next. They sat quietly for a few moments.

"Did you talk with her?" Harm nodded. The admiral looked at Harm expectantly and waited.

"She wanted to talk---actually she said she wanted me to listen. So I did." Harm proceeded to relate the overall picture of the evening, without giving too many specifics. While he wanted some input from a man he revered, he didn't want to betray her personal story. And the admiral knew of their years working together. That was one of the reasons he came here instead of talking to Frank. The other reason was that he believed the admiral could be more objective---sometimes Frank was as bad as his mother had been when it came to the mention of a woman, especially this woman.

"In the end, she asked me to think about it."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know..." He shrugged, then leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. After several minutes silence, the admiral spoke.

"Harm, I can't tell you what to do. I can only tell you my experience. When we were here several years ago, and I saw Marcella again after twenty-some years, she told me she had waited for months for me to come after her; to show her she was important enough for me to take the same kind of action I did in my work. But I had accepted what I thought she wanted and we both lost, as did our child. Here Mac is, coming after you, because it appears she loves you that much. I know---and I think you do, too---that you're just as much in love with her..." Harm's eyes widened as the admiral's words and he started to reply. But the man in front of him held up his hand and continued. "I'm not blind, Harm. But you need to decide for yourself. As I said, I know you're in love with her. But we're both old enough to know love really isn't enough. The question here is: can you have faith in her? Only you can answer that. Sure, she's been carrying around stuff all these years---but so have you. She's made some changes: personally, and it sounds like the professional changes are in the works. You've made changes too. But is it enough to make it? Only you can answer that.

"That brings you to the heart of the matter. Trust. Do you trust her? Do you trust yourself? Is there enough trust to be willing to take a leap of faith? Again, only you can answer that. Now I know you both have your faults---deceit never seemed to be one of them. I can't say I've ever known her to lie to you. You both have this obsession with the truth. She may have kept certain details from you over the years, as you have done to her. But, from what you've told me, she's attempted to overcome even that.

"On the other hand, you both have a tendency to doubt the personal feelings of others. I did that, and I can never get those years back. I'm not saying I've had a bad life and that it was wasted. But it could have been so much more. You have to decide what you want to look back on, and then work to make it happen.

"I had, for years, dreaded seeing her ever again, even after Francesca came into my life. But in the very first seconds that I saw her, I knew exactly why---and what I missed all those years: I never stopped loving her. Have you stopped loving Mac? Will you ever? When you answer that, son, you'll know what to do."

Harm looked at him for a minute or two, then looked down in to the amber liquid. When he looked up again, the admiral spoke again.

"Let's go see what Marcella is doing, maybe hurry her along. All this talk is making me hungry."

Harm stayed for dinner and enjoyed the conversation with both of them. Their interaction continued to amuse Harm and actually lowered his anxiety a bit. Marcella didn't ask about any of it and they talked of many other things. She was able to put him completely at ease with the two of them. As he prepared to leave a couple of hours later, he felt a bit renewed. The banter between these two people who had known each other at such a young age but had lived such different lives, had found one another again. The wisdom they had gained through life's experiences gave them new hope and optimism. Harm began to think there might be some optimism for him as well.

Naples, Italy
Friday, 5 September, 2005
1215 (local)
In front of the JAG offices

Harm came rushing out of the gate and immediately looked in the direction of the spot he had seen Mac on Wednesday. He had gotten held up by a young JAG who didn't want to accept rulings from Washington HQ and was running fifteen minutes behind. Part of him was afraid she might have left. When he saw her, he stopped---both to catch his breath and just to look at her standing there. As he tried to calm his anxiety, it all became clear.

The admiral was right. They both struggled with having faith in one another. Everything said or done was cause for doubt. And yet, she had never lied to him. If there was one thing he could stake his life on it was that any commitment made by Sara McKenzie was stronger and more valuable than any precious stone or metal on this earth. And he'd make sure she could trust and believe in him too. He began to walk toward her. She was smiling as he approached.

"You're late, Flyboy. Some things never change."

"I was afraid you'd leave." Her tone turned serious, matching his.

"I know you. I know you wouldn't just stand me up."

He studied her intently and she began to feel uncomfortable.

"Do you really know that, Sarah? Do you really believe that I wouldn't do that to you?" She just looked at him, the intensity in his eyes unnerving her. Before she could respond, he continued.

"I thought about it---what you asked me to think about." She continued to look at his face, trying to anticipate what he was going to say next. He paused and she could tell he was struggling to find the words.

"It OK, Harm. I know it's hard to think about. I told you I'd wait.

"No!" He spoke more forcefully than he intended.

"No?" She began to feel the familiar pain, the heartbreak she knew before with this man. He saw it immediately in her eyes.

"Wait. What I mean is um...yes, OK."

"um? Yes? OK?"

A/N Only one more part after this to tie it all up.

A/N2 My proof-reader thinks a bit of this drags but she likes action and fast-paced progress. I like details. If you're like her, skim pages 117-120.

You Learn to Let Go Chapter 13

Mac was truly beginning to doubt if she had the patience to wait him out. 'I may have to kick him soon...breathe...remember what Commander McCool would say... breathe...' Harm was visibly uncomfortable, trying to say something. He caught his lip with his teeth, the way he did when ever he was uncomfortable saying something. 'God, I love him. He's so cute when he does that, just like a little boy trying to figure out how to weasel out of something.' Seeing his discomfort replenished her ability to wait. She stood still, looking---but trying not to stare.

"Um... I've been thinking... I'm glad you said what you did... I think the same... but... we can't do this anymore..." Mac again felt the familiar sensations begin but Harm just kept going, so she kept listening. "You said it yourself: you're sick of the dance... me, too... we can't keep doing... there's only one way this can work..." At that, Mac stopped breathing. "We've been missing the key all along... we need to stop that... we can't change who we are..." Mac thought her heart would stop, too---'Breathe, don't crumble now, McKenzie'.

"So we need to settle this now... we'll never be able to be an ocean apart... to plan a future...we both jump to conclusions... we'll start out with good intentions... one of us will say the wrong thing... miss a call or something... we'll start down that slippery slope... we've already done those... no, there's only one way to stop..." Mac was back to holding her breath. He was talking so fast and in such a fragmented way, she wondered if this was Harm-hysteria.

"There's one thing I know about you---your word is good. If you take an oath... or make a promise... you'll keep it... or die trying... me, too... the only way we can do this is to do that now... before you go..." She was completely lost now. 'Do what, exactly?'

She interrupted him. "Harm."

"It has to be this way..."

"Harm."

"I don't want to force you but..."

"HARM!"

"What?" His tone was completely innocent; as though it never occurred to him she might be lost in the dust of his rambling.

"Slow down. Or I may have to rethink this waiting thing. I have no idea what you're saying."

He took a deep breath.

"We need to swear an oath now..." He took another breath..."make a promise..." He took another breath and he took her hand in his... "take a vow..." It was starting to make sense. It was a little scary, actually, that she might actually understand the fragments of his thoughts and how they all fit together.

"OK."

"Then even being apart, we'll know... we can be confident..."

"OK."

"I know this isn't what you planned when you came, but I can't see you leaving any other way."

"Harm, I said OK."

"OK?"

"OK."

"OK? As in 'yes'?"

She smiled that impatient, amused smile he'd seen so many times over the years. Her voice echoed the sentiment.

"I can't very well give you the traditional, obligatory 'yes' without the traditional, obligatory proposal, now can I?"

He got that same awkward, shy-but-oh-so-mischievous smile she recognized from all their time together.

"Well, then, OK it is. Let's go!" With that he pulled on her hand and turned down the street.

They walked for several blocks, turning corners occasionally until they stood in front of a huge old cathedral. She stopped and tightened her grip on his hand, pulling him to a stop as well. He turned to her and saw the questions in her eyes.

"We need to settle a few things before we can go on. I propose..." he paused for effect. "...that we start afresh, with a clean slate as it were." She continued to look skeptical. "Come on...just humor me, OK?"

He led her in through the large entry doors and again through doors on the opposite side of the foyer. Once inside the big church, he turned and walked to the side wall. He followed that toward the front and then veered into a small chapel off to the side of the main altar. He took her toward one side where there was a large statue of some saint from long ago. They sat in small straight chairs facing it. Harm sat quietly for a minute so Mac followed his lead. She found herself bewildered by his actions. Besides the baptism of the Roberts' son, the only time she ever knew Harm to go inside a church was Christmas Eve services with the JAG staff. He turned to her and took a long, slow, calming breath.

"Mac, the other night you told me you regretted several things, and that you were sorry for others. Thank you for telling me that. I want you to know I accept your apology and I forgive you." She started to responded but he held his hand up to stop her. "Please, let me say the rest.

"I regret lots of stuff, too. I said and did things over the years that were thoughtless and hurtful, sometimes even mean and cruel. I acted in anger and frustration. And competition. I said many things that widened the gap between us and I didn't say some things you needed to hear. I am grateful to you for all you have given me and all you have shared with me over the years; my biggest regret is never telling you that. I am sorry---for everything that ever hurt you, or that caused problems for us. I hope you'll accept my apology and that you'll forgive me, too." He looked into her eyes with a sincerity that she had never seen in him. That alone was enough to convince her.

"Of course I forgive you---for everything." She smiled at him and he thought he never heard more healing words.

"I need to tell you more---there's so much more to apologize for..." He gently touched her lips with two fingers, silencing her.

"Mac, we could go on and on and we still won't cover everything. I know you've been working on stuff with your counselor. Well, I haven't had a counselor but I have been trying, too. I realized that I needed to learn to let go. By the time I realized that, I didn't even know what I was holding on to anymore; I just didn't know how else to live. But I finally realized that I can't hold on forever. I don't know if that makes sense. I just had to learn to live differently. It sounds to me like you did, too. I think we both learned to let go; but really have either of us been happy?

"So here we are. Let's agree to forgive---and when things come up, we'll talk it out and 'negotiate a plea agreement'." He then gave her a small, almost sly smile. "It is what we both do best---act like lawyers, and that usually means a lot of negotiating."

She smiled in return and kept looking at his face. They both kept still a short while, as though they each needed to process it all. They also needed a moment or two to prepare for the next step.

After a short bit she heard a slight creak from the far wall and she looked around the small room. She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling too.

"Wow, Harm. This is really beautiful." She took in all the colors of all the scenes---painted decades ago, probably centuries. Harm leaned his head back as well and, as he often had in the past few months, gazed at the artwork.

"How did you know about this place, anyway?" That question brought on a complete change in demeanor. She felt it immediately and turned her head to look at him. He turned to her with a look that could only be described as resignation.

"I need to tell you about Frank being here." He paused before he went on. She waited silently.

"Back in the beginning of June, I was having some trouble coping. I had been here for several months and I got started with some patterns that weren't all that great. Frank had told me he wanted to get away for a while; that the house he shared with my mom was just too empty. One Friday evening, after a particularly...alarming...situation, I called him. He was here by Sunday noon. I took a little time off to spend with him, some of the time he spent with the admiral and some time he just enjoyed the area. The following Friday, he took me to a restaurant he'd found with food that was far too rich and wine that was far too plentiful. Then he cornered me and wanted to know about it. So I told him. I want you to know, too. I don't want to start out keeping things from you.

"You know how you said you didn't like your life, that you were miserable. Well, me too. It was mostly because I was alone so much. I had been aware for some time, more than a couple of years, actually, that I was about ready for something other than the solitary life I had. I was thinking about it more, but like you said, I was unwilling to do what I needed to do to change that. I think I was waiting for someone to change it for me. Then Mattie came along. But then Mattie left. I found I couldn't go back to that life---the loneliness was too much.

"I started going to a few of the clubs around here. I was drinking more and occasionally enjoying the company of women I met there." He turned to look at her directly.

"Actually, it was more than occasionally."

Mac interrupted him by taking his hand and speaking.

"Harm, it's OK---a lot of single men get caught in that. You don't owe me any explanation."

"Maybe not. But I need to do this... Maybe a lot of men do---but I don't. I was never one for one night stands with women I don't know. I'm more careful than that." Again, he smiled a small, almost embarrassed smile at her. "I never wanted to get caught up in some commitment... Anyway, one morning I woke up in a strange bed with a woman I didn't recognize after a night I couldn't remember. I haven't drunk that much in years! In late May I was particularly down---I had gotten a note from little AJ and Harriet included a letter telling me he was finishing up kindergarten and wrote it all by himself. She also told me all about their growing family and it just drove everything home, though I would have never admitted it at the time.

"Anyway, Frank helped me talk it all out and I began to realize more and more. He was equally lonely, but he at least had staff to help him stay sane. Still, he decided to stay here with me and we've made something of a home together." Harm paused and looked around, momentarily confused.

"What made me start this...? Oh, yeah, you asked about the church... Anyway, the next morning, Frank dragged me here, sat me down in this very place, and told me I needed to pray---and to confess. Since I'm not Catholic, he told me just to take advantage of the surroundings and to speak my own confession directly to God. He also told me that I needed to do this so I could forgive myself. That's the hardest part---admitting that I have more weaknesses than I like, or than I think I should have.

"So I just sat in here. After a while, I began examining my life---and once I did, everything came into view. So...two hours later, I finally left and went looking for Frank. I found him outside talking with the priest. Frank asked me if I was able to find some peace---then informed me that true peace comes with penance---and that he had signed me up to help with some work in this chapel. So, most Saturdays this summer, I was here doing some kind of manual labor. It really has been surprising; Frank comes, too--- says he likes to be in these old buildings. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just work. It seems to give me a short escape from everything else.

"You know what, here's a coincidence---this priest was visiting here for the summer. From D.C. He went back this past week. He was from an old church in Georgetown. Frank said he's a monsignor---I don't really know what that means. He introduced himself as Father Mike. It struck me a weird---an Irish priest, visiting Naples from the U.S."

That gave Mac pause and she couldn't help but wonder again about clichés---and love that was meant to be... Harm suddenly turned sober again and she returned her attention to him.

"Mac, I'm not perfect. I have a lot of flaws. You may be signing on for more than you think. I think that's one reason why I tend to keep my distance; I don't want anyone to see all that. I've scared away others before. Are you sure you really want to deal with me?"

His demeanor became darker with each word, and he appeared close to defeated. It occurred to her, after all the time that had past, he had just as many demons as she did; they just had different names. She again recalled one of the many things she learned while working with Commander McCool. It was time to use that insight.

"Maybe, Harm, what's been needed here is a Marine who can keep Navy in its place. Seriously, Harm, my counselor says we are all beaten down in our lives, some more than others. And we all need someone to build us up. We've done that for each other for years---mostly in times of crisis. Now we can build each other up all the time. Maybe that's what we should do the best. Everything else will follow. I just know it."

"Mac, are you sure? I do think that if we're really together, it won't matter if we're an ocean apart. But you need to be confident. Are you really sure?"

"I am, Harm."

"About your career, too? You don't have leave the Corps. I'd never ask that of you."

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for me. That's another thing I got out of counseling---what it is that I want in life. I want a family. I want to be able to live that life. I've lived this life, with all the excitement and the adventure; with the travel at a moment's notice, the late hours, the demanding cases. No, it's time for something else. But I do want the retirement---then I can take some time off if I need to.

"I don't need additional stress. You know, I'll be forty before long. My doctor already told me it may be harder for me to get pregnant. If we still want to keep that promise, that may be the hassle you face. Are you really sure?"

He looked intensely into her eyes for several seconds then got that smile in his eyes that made her fall in love with him so many years before. He stood, holding her hand and spoke quietly.

"Mac, marry me." He smoothly lowered himself to one knee in front of her and touched her face with his free hand.

"Sarah, will you marry me?"

She smiled that soft, genuine smile he fell in love with so many years before, and leaned her cheek into his palm.

"Yes."

He pulled her up and into an embrace. They both laughed, then he released her and stepped back.

"OK, come on. Let's go."

As they walked down the stone steps outside, Harm dialed Frank.

"Frank, it's me... Yeah, she did... Yeah, we're going to get all the paperwork done now... You talked with the priest...? He agreed...? Eleven hundred, tomorrow...?" He looked at Mac as he repeated it back to Frank and she nodded her consent.

"OK... Dinner...? I don't know how long this will take---a couple of hours, at least..." Again Mac nodded in agreement.

"OK, yeah... Dinner would be great... Yeah, we'll meet you there... OK... That's fine... See ya then..."

It was several hours later when they met Frank at the same restaurant Harm had mentioned to Mac earlier, where the food was too rich and the wine too plentiful. Only this evening, the drinks were non-alcoholic and glasses were raised in celebratory toasts. Admiral Chegwidden had been invited by Frank and he arrived with Marcella on his arm. They were both in good spirits, even though there was no new agreement regarding their status.

It was decided that Marcella would stay with Mac in her hotel room because, as the vivacious Italian woman pointed out, she had to have appropriate attire and a feminine, Italian temperament was required to accomplish that on such short notice.

The next morning found them all reassembled inside the same old church. Frank stood beside Harm in front of the parish priest. Marcella stood opposite them on the other side of the main aisle. They all watched as Mac walked toward them on the arm of a man who had been so influential to them both for the eight years they had worked together.

The ceremony was short and to the point. There was minimal formality, even less ritual. Neither the bride nor the groom were practicing Catholics but the priest had agreed in response to a request from Frank. While the priest was leading them, Marcella leaned into the man who had come to stand next to her after turning the bride over to her groom..

"Maybe I can be convinced to do this again..." Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow and he reached with his opposite hand to give it a squeeze.

It was soon accomplished, bringing an end to an era of uncertainty and struggle. In its place was hope and promise. As the proclamation of marriage was made, they leaned into one other to seal it with kiss. Just before their lips met, she whispered to him.

"See, all the clichés are true..."

It was just before noon when the small gathering sat for a post-wedding dinner, enjoying a rich meal before sending the newlyweds off for a too-short honeymoon. Marcella had contacted an old acquaintance who managed one of the finer local hotels. She was able to arrange for a suite, with all the luxuries they could desire.

Harm had arranged to arrive late on Tuesday morning, after showing Mac to the airport for her return trip. With the Labor Day holiday recognized in his office, that allowed them less then 72 hours; they would enjoy every moment.

The bellhop, a man who had seen many a bride and groom in his numerous years of service, carried their bags and showed them in. Harm handed him a bill and the gentleman back out the door, closing it with an audible click.

They stood frozen, side by side, with only the backs of their hands touching. They both stared into the room, barely breathing. It occurred to Mac that, even at her age and stage in life, she felt like the proverbial young bride. Harm was even worse. He was wound so tight she could feel the tension emanating from him. Simultaneously their breathing became labored and he finally spoke---in a voice crackling with anxiety.

"Well..."

"Yeah..."

Neither moved and the air became heavier with hesitancy, and anticipation. Finally, Mac couldn't stand it any longer. 'Time for the Marine to lead the charge...'

She maneuvered her hand to take his and held it close to her side. She turned to him and reached behind his head with her free hand, pulling his face to hers. Their lips touched and that was all it took to set the fire ablaze. The hunger and desire took over and hands began to explore. Fingers moved to unfasten buttons or zippers and to move fabric to expose previously forbidden delights. She wrapped both arms around his neck as he slid his hands under her skirt to cup each side of an area he had dreamed about; an area left bare by a lacy, racy thong. Whatever logic and reason that remained before that moment fled and he took two steps forward as he lifted her off the ground, pinning her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in his strength and power.

A few short minutes later, as his awareness returned, he struggled to calm his labored breathing. She was stroking the back of his head, caressing the short hair just above the top of his neck. His lips were next to her ear and he breathed more than spoke.

"Mac..." She heard it immediately; that tone of voice he used when he was going to say something she didn't want to hear. She leaned her head back and spoke so clearly and firmly it gave him a start.

"Don't, Harm. Don't even say it."

"Mac..." This time she moved her right hand from the back of his head and covered his lips.

"Don't you dare ruin this moment by apologizing."

"Bu..." She pressed harder on his lips.

"Harm..." She spoke with warning in her tone but he twisted his head, determined to speak.

"No, Mac... It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wanted our first time to be perfect for you. You deserve that."

She tightened her legs around his waist and her grip on him.

"No, I deserve this. I deserve lust and passion. I deserve someone who wants me so much he can't think straight. You are not going to deny me that with some misguided chivalry."

She wiggled and loosened her hold.

"Now put me down so you can shower before I freshen up. Then I'll really drive you wild. Besides, you'll get your chance to do me while you, old man, recover. Our first time is just beginning."

While she was speaking, she picked up his bag and pushed him toward the bathroom. It occurred to him that he'd be off balance and out of control for the next 72 hours. He also considered that she had been in control for as long as he could remember; he'd never be able to deny that again.

Their time together was spent making love then sleeping long enough to recover so they could start again. They had a couple of breaks for food and re-making the bed. They accepted the clean sheets from the housekeeping staff but opted to remake the bed themselves---and invariably ended up in it before the job was complete. They talked and laughed, reminisced and dreamed.

And all too quickly, it was time to separate. They showered together one last time and helped one another dress. They even shared the packing. It was done without speaking, but they moved in unison. The trip to the airport was made in silence, yet they never let go of one another.

They stood at the checkpoint for a few minutes, committing each detail, each nuance to memory. She turned to enter and he stood stiffly, watching her walk away. He wondered briefly if that first week in 1996 was the precursor to this: now, as it had been then, in less than seven days, she turned his world upside down. And now, as it had been then, he knew his life was vastly richer than it was just seven short days before. Even with her leaving, he felt more healed and more whole than he ever had.

Just a few steps before the entrance, she turned back and ran into his open arms. They both held tightly, whispering their love over and over. Finally, he loosened his grip.

"I'll come when I can arrange some leave time."

"Me, too. And I'll e-mail everyday."

"Me, too. Take care of yourself."

"You, too. Remember---the clichés are all true."

At that, she hugged him tightly again, then turned to walk away. She disappeared into the crowd and just like that, she was gone.

A/N Finally! For those who liked this, thank you for your attention. For those who didn't but toughed it out anyway, thank you for your consideration and your manners. For those who didn't, and were unpleasant about it, well...they're not around anyway...

A/N2 I never like the way the TV show left so many loose ends, so I've tied up the ones I care about. I was especially disappointed in the disappearance of Sergei. He was such a likeable character and there was infinite possibility in expanding his character. The handling of it showed just how shallow the writers could be.

A/N3 Thank you all again for allowing me to play here. It has been fun for me to join the ranks of amateur author for this short while. I'm thinking of doing it again---with a story a bit more fun, though highly improbable. We'll see if I can get organized...

You Learn to Let Go Chapter 14---Epilogue

Late Spring, 2007
Rabb Farm, Pennsylvania
Early Sunday Morning

The sun was rising in the east and it appeared that it would be a beautiful day. Harm sat on the large front porch, rocking gently. To his left was a cup of his grandmother's hot coffee, coffee better than he found anywhere else. As was her habit for as long as he could remember, she was up before everyone else, putting on the coffee for her guests and preparing for the day.

He heard people starting to stir but chose to enjoy the solitude for just a bit longer. Late morning would find the family at the church the Rabb family had attended for generations. His gramma had pressed him, them, to come and hold the ceremony here where the Rabb roots were. It was important to her, and Mac easily convinced him they should honor her request. All the family had come for it. Even Sergei and Galina had come from Russia for the visit they had promised since before the whole Singer mess started.

Harm couldn't help but be amazed by the changes that had taken place since then. The downward spiral after her murder had just about destroyed all that had been built since early, 1997. He had a revelation a few months into his marriage to Mac; that as she suggested, they had started back at the beginning---and then he repeated the same mistakes of previous years. He, himself, provided the catalyst for the sequence of events that left so many broken and devoid of faith. He understood the true depth of the words from both AJ Chegwidden and his stepfather: he did indeed tend to face challenges alone. In needing to closely guard his sense of security, he held onto long-practiced behaviors that he justified as self-protection. Learning to let go of those behaviors and perceptions had been difficult, but he had somehow found himself immersed in the process without deliberate plan.

When he realized that, he initiated a conversation with Mac that had been among their most cleansing. They had found a few days to meet when Mac was returning from an investigation in the fleet. Harm had flown to meet her at the point of one of her layovers. They had spent hours offering explanations and apologies. In the end, the new understanding really did strengthen them.

He found there were many instances of that---covering many aspects of their relationship and their lives. They were able to see one another almost monthly, between their work demands and travel obligations. If Mac had notice of upcoming travel, Harm was able to adjust his schedule a bit. It gave them a taste of compromise, something they both needed to learn.

That had become apparent the first time Harm had taken leave to visit Mac in D.C. They were into the fourth day of an eight day visit and, with the desires of the flesh somewhat sated, other details began to be noticeable. After tripping over one another several times, some of the old behaviors came back into play. After a long-familiar heated discussion, they both found the passion easily transmitted into sexual desire. After similarly heated love-making, they found compromise and understanding was plentiful when the affection and respect, not to mention the release of physical tension, was at the forefront. These lessons would prove to be most useful in the following months.

Mac had joined him in Naples for the 4th of July the previous summer. Even though he was under the authority of command, it fell to his shoulders to host a subdued Independence celebration for American military there. There had been increased grumbling about the long separations from home and some higher-up had decided it might raise morale. Planning it hadn't done anything for Harm's morale but the news brought from Bethesda sure did. Thanks to some cursory help from the OB/GYN department, Mac had gotten pregnant much more quickly and easily than she had hoped.

The downside was that, because of her age and the overall status of her reproductive health, she might have difficulty carrying full term. Indeed, that did become a challenge. She had started to show symptoms of complications at five months and Frank traveled to the States to be with her. He got her moved into a two bedroom that opened in her building and was with her when the medical staff told her she needed to take medical leave, along with restrictions, early in the sixth month.

Harm had never had more respect for his stepfather than when Frank had to handle the reactions of an unhappy, impatient, hormonal Marine. The risk was considered low enough to travel when Frank offered to accompany her after several days of nothing but rest---and to provide seating in first class. So her care was transferred to the medical facility in Naples and the home that had housed two men had to make room for a growing mom-to-be.

The lessons learned over the first few months were quickly put to use. Harm acquiesced on many disagreements, for the most part because he understood how difficult the whole situation was, but there were a few differences of opinion that needed a negotiated solution.

Late one Saturday afternoon, after many heated words, Mac declared a need for some air and space---alone! Harm was loathe to let her out of his sight in her 'condition' but the mention of that brought a look that he recognized from years past; a look that made him thankful that 'if looks could kill' was just a figure of speech.

A couple of hours later, when Harm was beyond distraction with worry, Frank saw her through the window heading back with a look that he didn't want to face. He quickly decided to go visit Mrs. Stephanelli, with whom he maintained a pleasant friendship after that first dinner invitation the previous September. Mac walked in and approached Harm with a determined step and a 'take-no-prisoners' attitude. Harm couldn't decide if he needed to beg forgiveness, cave or stand his ground, fighting full bore. He didn't want to upset her but he knew there would be no peace if she felt patronized or handled. If he was surprised when she gently took his hand without breaking a few bones, he was completely shocked not only by the words she spoke, but by the tone as well.

"Let's make love."

Once again off-balance by this woman---and being a guy---he silently followed her into the bedroom. After the gentle loving they shared since she was so far into the pregnancy, before he'd even caught his breath, he felt her fingers pressing onto the skin of his shoulders. He opened his eyes to look up at her, enjoying the sight of her with their baby hidden away under the sphere in front of her.

"OK, counselor, I'll listen. State your case."

As had been established over the months, they both found it easier, and far more productive, to talk during these intimate moments. Harm did as she asked, stating his concerns and opinions. When he finished, she offered her rebuttal to every point but presented a couple on which she would compromise if he would counter-offer. An agreement was negotiated and he had to laugh when his pregnant, naked wife straddling his satisfied, naked body extended her right hand.

"Deal, Captain?"

"Deal, Marine." He pulled her down to meet his lips, and was reminded of all the reasons he loved her all their years of working with together.

It wasn't the end of heated discussions but it served to alleviate fears that they wouldn't be able to live together when she retired. She had held steadfastly to that plan, even though Harm challenged her frequently. She did, however, decided she would take a bit of extra time to enjoy the baby and extended her retirement date in accordance.

The only discord after the baby was born, only three weeks ahead of schedule, was over the issue of keeping the baby in bed with them. After much discussion, it was decided she would sleep in her basket until her early morning feeding, then remain in their bed until one of them had to get up.

Which was the catalyst for today's early morning rocking in the front porch swing. Mac had fallen back to sleep, but he wanted a few more moments in his memory of being with the long-awaited, and sometimes doubted, result of a hand-shake done so many years before. Harm would fly out that evening, leaving Mac and the baby in the States. Grampa Frank had begged for the opportunity to nanny, arguing that he never had children of his own and wanted to enjoy that before he was too old to meet the demands of an infant.

Harm had been able to adapt his schedule to remain primarily on base for the previous months, while Mac was with him; now it was time to pay the price. He'd be at sea, working with pilots and JAGs on distant ships for most of the time until her remaining months were completed. Then he'd balance his time on land and at sea. They both agreed to postpone any other decisions for the immediate future; after Mac had successfully argued that it might be prudent to put a different cliché to use: take it one day at a time.

The tiny bundle on his lap began to squirm at the same time her mother came out onto the porch.

"Her timing matches yours, at least when it comes to eating."

"How you guys doing out here?" Mac sat next to him on the old porch swing.

"Good. She's been sleeping." He turned so he could hand the baby to her.

"And you, sailor?" She settled the baby as Harm leaned back, closed his eyes and resumed rocking. Mac still had to remind herself to wait for him to speak; she knew the pending separation was going to be hard for him and it would take him a few minutes to form both thoughts and feelings into words. It was close to five minutes later when he finally spoke.

"I'm glad Sergei is here. Now she won't be alone anymore." She glanced over at him and he turned slightly toward her, with that half smile that suggested even he might be having trouble accepting all the nuances of that statement.

Sergei and Galina had arrived a week before they did. His mother had died unexpectedly the previous winter and the loss had been very hard on him. Regardless of what had transpired between him and Harm before he returned to Russia in the fall of 2002, his mother was the primary reason he chose to abandon attempts to remain in the States. While he felt guilty leaving her alone in such a harsh world, the truth was that, quite simply he missed his mother. He hadn't seen her since a few months before he'd been taken prisoner in Chechnya and all the experiences left him somewhat out-of-sorts. For all his talk of his capabilities---he was just like Harm in that, he was still rather young to deal with the chaos of war, a prison camp, a new home, and a new brother with new freedoms in a new country.

Galina had happily agreed, having experienced a different life in Russia since she was from a rather large family living in urban conditions. So they decided to try again for permanent status. Gramma was thrilled at the prospect of welcoming into the family home a grandson she'd never even met until he was an adult. Having been from a farming community, he was prepared to face the challenges and she welcomed the prospect of the family homestead returning to a working farm before she died. However, she did insist they consult Harm since he was listed as joint owner on the trust he'd insisted she form years before.

Harm gladly accepted the proposal but was still concerned about the immigration process---until Gramma came forward with a suggestion that maybe the DNA between her and Harm could be compared to the DNA between her and Sergei. She really shocked everyone when she, not fully understanding this new technology, was lamenting that she didn't have any of her son's DNA, only his baby hair and teeth. With that, Harm was certain that all the documentation that could now be presented would be enough.

When Harm had first arrived earlier in the week, he was thrilled to see his younger brother. But after the initial excitement wore off, they began walking on eggshells around each other; the previous experiences having left them both hesitant. After tolerating it for a day and a half, Gramma Rabb was having no more of it. So on Harm's second morning there, she sent the two brothers outside into the cool spring air with a list of chores to do around the farm. Frank and Galina had ventured out to offer help, as had Mac for a few minutes while the baby slept. When they came inside shortly after noon for lunch, they were both grumbling, and the others were keeping a discrete distance. Gramma asked a seemingly benign question and Harm snapped at her. And there was his mistake.

Sergei, Galina and Mac thought nothing of it as she approached him, but Frank, having seen Harm as a teenager with his grandmother, recognized her look immediately. When Harm looked up to face her, so did he. Mac was absolutely amazed to see Harm pale slightly. As soon as Gramma Rabb spoke, she understood why he did.

"You may be over 40 years old and over six feet tall, but you, boy, will watch your tongue. I'll not have it. I am still your grandmother and you will respect that!" Harm leaned further back with each word, and his eyes were wide.

"Yes, Ma'am." Without backing away from Harm, she then turned to Mac, sweet as could be.

"Tell me, honey; what is it they call it when one lawyer helps another lawyer, whose in charge of a case?"

"Sitting second chair?"

"Yes, that's it." She turned back to Harm and to the same tone she just used on him. "The two of you will go back out after we eat and begin the next chore---together. And you, Harmon, will be second chair. Your brother will be in charge. And you will get along. You want to act the big brother, fine; you can. I'll expect you to set the tone and keep the peace. If not, you'll pay the price. You didn't like going to bed without your supper as a boy, see if you like it anymore as a grown man."

She then reached out to him and his almost flinched. She'd rarely slapped him as a boy---when his mouth was just a bit too fresh, but the impact left him with an automatic response. Even Frank held his breath for a few seconds. But her words and actions took on a tenderness that only a grandmother could have.

"Baby, I know this is new to you. But he's a grown man, too. If he is going to work this farm, he has to find his own way. And you have to let him. When you work with young lawyers or pilots, you have to let them do their job. You have to do that here, too."

"That's different, Gramma. None of them are my brother."

"That's why it is no different, my angel. He's your brother and deserves your respect more than anyone. He has some experience at this, and I'll be here for a few more years, to help him along."

Things were definitely better after that and Harm completely enjoyed the remaining days, even with all the physical labor. Considering the physical shape he was in, he was amazed by all the aches and pains he felt by Saturday night. Gramma was driving them both, being of the old school that hard work solved everything. Harm had fleetingly considered once or twice that maybe bed with no supper, especially since he was exhausted by each day's end, would be a reasonable price to pay for a bit of defiance, until he speculated that she'd make him complete the task at hand alone to teach him a lesson, then still give him no supper in punishment. In the end, the man he'd become was amused at the absurdity of it all. Sergei worked just as hard, if not more so, but didn't complain at all. 'oh, to be 25 again...'

That thought brought him back to the present and to the sucking sounds of his infant in the arms of her mother. All the experiences of all the years had brought him to this moment. Maybe if he'd learned to let go of some of it sooner, it would have been an easier journey. But for him, the cliché had indeed rung true: 'ya hang till ya can't hang on...'

He was interrupted from his musings by the activities of this day.

"What did the admiral tell you?" Admiral Chegwidden was spending the spring in Annapolis coaching the academy's baseball team. Marcella had come with him and they were enjoying spring in all that was offered in and around Chesapeake Bay. They had re-married in Italy a few months previous, on the same date as their original wedding. When the season was completed they'd head back to Italy where their daughter remained and to the future they envisioned at another time and place.

"They'll meet us at the church. He said they're looking forward to spending the afternoon here. They're both fine with driving me down to Andrews later. So everything is set..." He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "God, I'm going to miss you two so much."

"I know; me, too. But it's only a few more months till I'm out. Then it'll be OK, you'll see." She turned to him with a little smirk. "Besides, you can't fool me. As soon as you're back among your cocky flyboys and your noisy toys with that stench of jet fuel, you'll forget all about everything else."

"Not this time." He leaned in a bit tighter and reached over to caress his daughter's head. "I don't want to forget this, not for a second." They sat like that for a few minutes, until an interruption came from the house.

"Come on, ol' buddy. You better power up. Your grandmother said if you make her late to her great-grandbaby's dedication, you'll be paying the price. Now most of these good people don't know what that means, but me and Sturgis do---and we're not interested in seeing it again." Jack Keeter had flown into Philadelphia and had driven out with Sturgis and Varese the day before. Sturgis had retired after completing his twenty years and then quickly married Varese. She had wrapped up a booking there earlier in the week and they waited for Keeter to arrive before making the several hour drive out to the farm. They had both been there before and welcomed the chance to celebrate this with their old classmate while mixing in a bit of nostalgia.

Harm kissed Mac on the cheek, pulled himself up and followed Keeter inside, only to see his brother fresh out of the shower, with no shirt, wet hair and a towel around his neck. As Harm passed him, Sergei took the opportunity, as younger brothers often do, to bait him.

"You are going to make us late. We must now wait while you still shower."

"We'll see who's waiting for whom. I can shower and dress in seven minutes." He spoke as he continued to walk past Sergei, who was now closer to the kitchen.

"Maybe once, but now, my brother, you are old." With Harm's back to him, he took the towel from his shoulders and snapped Harm's backside with it.

Harm spun on his heel and took a step forward. Sergei's eyes were twinkling with the Rabb mischief that Harm knew had been visible in his own eyes many times over. Sergei was choking back a laugh as he called out to an imaginary summons.

"Yes, Grandmother. I am coming now. Harmon was speaking to me..." At that he disappeared into the kitchen.

Harm chuckled himself as he yelled after him, "Coward!"

As he walked toward the shower, he thought of everything surrounding him, and spoke a vow to himself.

"I'm never learning to let go of this..."

Completed August 1, 2005