Hello again! While I was writing the little JAG drabbles, they inspired me to try this short story. Apparently I've fallen in love with Harm and Mac all over again, and I can't stop writing them. Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I don't know many technical details about flying Tomcats. Please forgive me! I hope you like the story and thanks for reading!
He doesn't remember anything.
Sarah MacKenzie could hear nothing else but the doctor's last four words echoing inside her head. On the eve of what was supposed to be her wedding to Mic Brumby, Harmon Rabb had just crashed a fighter plane into the Atlantic Ocean.
While Harm had spent the night drifting in cold, storm-tossed waters, Mac had spent the night praying for his rescue and survival. Her heart had lifted when she heard that the search and rescue helo had finally pulled him from the water, only to break down again when she heard that he was unconscious and dangerously hypothermic.
Now that he had finally woken up, safe and warm in a hospital bed at Bethesda, the doctor had just reported that he didn't remember anything – or anyone.
"Will his memory come back?" Mac asked.
"We think it's temporary," the doctor replied confidently. "This type of amnesia is very common in accidents like this. It takes time, but the memory usually does return. You can see him now, but he's not going to recognize you, so try not to overwhelm him with too much at once."
Mac nodded agreeably. Anything to be able to see Harm, to make sure that he was really alive. She glanced over at the small group of friends who had accompanied her to the hospital – the admiral, Mic, Chloe, Bud, and Harriet. All had been worried about Harm and had tried to comfort her as they awaited the news of his rescue. She took a deep breath and prayed they would continue to give her strength as they faced the friend who no longer remembered them.
He looks horrible, Mac thought as the group entered Harm's hospital room.
He lay motionless in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, a wide gauze bandage taped across his forehead, and various monitoring wires attached to his arms and chest. His face was bruised and discolored, but most of all he looked drained, as if the accident had put years of age on him.
But he was alive.
"Commander," the admiral said quietly.
Harm's eyes opened slowly and he surveyed the group that had gathered around his bed.
"So I've been told," he whispered hoarsely. His voice was low and scratchy, as if every breath he took was a major effort.
"He doesn't even remember his own name." Renee Peterson sat perched on the bed next to him, one hand stroking his hair and the other clasped possessively over his arm.
"Commander Harmon Rabb," he croaked.
"That's because the doctor told you," Renee explained. "He also had to remind you that I'm your girlfriend."
"I'm sorry—"
Renee patted his hand. "It's okay, don't talk, sweetheart."
"I'm Admiral A.J. Chegwidden," the admiral introduced himself. "Judge Advocate General of the Navy and your commanding officer."
"Lieutenant Bud Roberts, sir," Bud said. "And my wife Harriet. We work with you at JAG."
"I'm Chloe," the little girl piped up. "I'm Mac's little sister. Well, I'm not really her sister. Mac's more like my surrogate mother. You guys helped her find my real dad, so I moved with him to my grandparents' farm, but then I came back for Mac's wedding, but then the wedding didn't happen because—"
"Chloe!" Mac interrupted. "You heard the doctor. We don't want—"
"To overwhelm him," Chloe finished. "Sorry."
Harm blinked in confusion. His eyes moved from Chloe to the pretty brunette standing next to her.
"Mac?" he guessed.
"Yeah, I'm here, Harm." She couldn't stop herself from taking a step closer to him.
His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to place her in his memory but couldn't.
"Did I miss a wedding?"
Mac shook her head. "You didn't."
"I'm sorry—"
"No, don't worry about it. It's the least of our concerns."
She saw Mic shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye.
"Harm, this is Mic Brumby," she said. "My fiancé."
"I'm sorry." Harm sighed. It seemed to be the only thing he could say to everybody.
Mic's eyes darted nervously from Mac to Harm. "No worries, mate," he finally said.
But he bristled slightly as Mac laid a friendly hand on Harm's shoulder.
"You just work on getting better," she said. "And getting your memory back, okay?"
"Excuse me." A young nurse stood in the doorway holding some medical supplies. "I just need to check the commander's vitals and draw some blood."
"Of course," the admiral replied, motioning to everyone to move aside.
As his guests obediently started to file out of the room, Harm felt Mac's fingers run down his arm and squeeze his hand. He squeezed back lightly, and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with relief.
And for a reason he couldn't remember, he didn't want to let go.