A/N: The idea for this story popped into my head a few days ago. I think all of us agree Mac had a messed up childhood—a drunken father, a mother who abandoned her, turning to alcohol at an early age, a failed marriage.

But Harm, although raised by a loving mother and stepfather, didn't have an ideal childhood either. It couldn't have been easy for a young boy to understand why the father he adored was missing and likely not coming home.

We learned bits and pieces about Harm's life and the search for his father in several episodes—A New Life, Déjà Vu, The Prisoner, Ghost Ship, People vs. Rabb, culminating with To Russia With Love and Gypsy Eyes. We later learn more about Harm Sr. in Ghosts of Christmas Past and Legacy.

This story is set mostly during season three and four. It will be slightly A/U, but several events will follow the series. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I intend to delve a little more into Harm's personality and the events that caused him to become the man he was. Let's face it, for all his smooth exterior and cocky aviator personality, he needed to deal with some emotional issues. Of course, Mac will be there by his side.

I hope this chapter doesn't sound too "adult." It's been a long time since I was six years old, so it's hard to write through the eyes of a child. Also, I don't know when Harm Sr. deployed for what proved to be his last tour, but in this world, he was present for little Harm's birthday in October.

Disclaimer: Don't own them. If so, Harm and Mac would have gotten together long before Fair Winds and Following Seas.

Missing

La Jolla, California
December 26, 1969

Six-year-old Harmon Rabb Jr. touched the wing of the model F-4 Phantom, carefully placing it back on the shelf. It was his prize possession, given to him by his father on his last birthday. "Someday you too will fly a fighter jet," the young lieutenant had said.

If there had been any doubt before, Harm knew from that moment he was destined to become a Naval aviator. The two of them had gone to Belmont Park. His father had carved their initials on one of the roller coaster cars.

It was a special day for both father and son. A week later, Lt. Rabb deployed for his second tour in Vietnam.

Harm left his room, then weaved his way through the crowd of people in the house. Friends, neighbors, and relatives were all here. Even Grandma Sarah had come from Pennsylvania.

Trish Rabb had been sad since two men in Navy uniforms showed up at their door late on Christmas Day. Harm only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but it was enough to know the news wasn't good.

We regret to inform you…Lt. Harmon Rabb...shot down…Christmas Eve...missing.

Missing. That wasn't so bad. Harm's friend Tommy got lost one time, and the police looked until they found him. They brought him home safe and sound. Harm was confident someone was searching for his father and would bring him back too.

He glanced into the living room where his mother sat on the sofa with Grandma Sarah, dabbing her eyes. The Christmas tree stood by the window. Yesterday morning, decked in lights and tinsel, it looked almost magical. Presents from his grandparents, mother and father, and of course Santa were piled around its base.

No one had bothered to turn on the lights today. The tree looked sad. Empty. Lonely. An echo of the mood that hovered over the Rabb house.

Harm had always loved Christmas, and even though his father wasn't home this year, his mom went out of her way to make the day special. They attended a chapel service on Christmas Eve, then came home and put out milk and cookies for Santa. After opening the gifts, they ate dinner with another family who lived on base.

It was after they returned home that the two officers showed up on their doorstep. What had been a happy day turned into one of sadness.

Harm went into the kitchen. He took a cookie from a plate sitting on the table. Food was everywhere. Shortly after receiving the news, neighbors began bringing things over, but Harm had yet to see his mother eat anything. He hated seeing her so unhappy.

A couple of women, both whose husbands were in the Navy, stood near the back door, talking in low tones.

"I can't imagine what Trish is going through."

"Don't know what would be worse. Knowing your husband is dead or that he's missing and may never be found."

"I know. It's possible he was taken prisoner. Can you imagine going through life like that? I think it would be better to know he's dead rather than face the uncertainty."

No! They're wrong. My father isn't dead.

Harm took a step backward, bumping into the table. Surprised by the noise, the women looked in his direction and saw tears welling up in his eyes.

"I didn't know he was standing there," one of them said.

"Honey, we're sorry. Please don't—"

But Harm turned and fled the room. He ran right into the base chaplain who was walking down the hall.

The man bent down and put his hands upon Harm's shoulders to steady him. He had a kind face and gentle voice. "Hey there. Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Harm shook his head, unable to speak.

"Don't cry. Your mother needs you. You must be strong for her. You're the man of the house now."

Harm took a deep breath, nodded, then straightened his shoulders. Without saying a word, he went back into his bedroom and closed the door. He would not cry. Why was everyone giving up so quickly? Someone would find his father, and one day soon he would come walking through the front door.

He couldn't be dead.