Rabb threw his cell phone across the room and let out a growl of frustration. Chegwidden, who had come into the room at the very tail-end of the conversation winced slightly and shook his head. He understood exactly where Rabb was coming from, but he knew the man would have more luck bashing his own head against a brick wall. Bronwyn was doing what she thought she must, and she wouldn't be coming home until she'd done whatever it was she had gone off to do. Yes, it rankled him that she hadn't told him what she was doing, but he trusted her. He had faith in her. Boone was with her, and he'd never allow any harm to come to her on his watch. And Sergei, of all people, had somehow managed to hitch along for the ride. No, Bronwyn was protected, not that she couldn't handle herself, but it was still comforting to know that - whatever she was up to - she wasn't alone.

"Probably you don't want the kids to see you having a tantrum," he chided Rabb.

Rabb startled, then turned to face his future father-in-law. "She's been gone for weeks, and she still won't tell me what she's doing!"

Chegwidden nodded, then gave his shoulders a shrug. "Do you trust her, Harm?"

Rabb's face went blank for a moment. "I... of course I trust her, Sir. I trust her with my life."

Chegwidden nodded again. "But do you trust her with HER life?" he prodded.

"I..." Rabb began, shaking his head. "I... it's not that I think she's incapable of taking care of herself."

"No?" Chegwidden stared at him.

Rabb stared back for a moment. "She's the strongest person I've ever met," he admitted. "Strong, capable, fierce, brave..." he trailed off thoughtfully.

"All true," Chegwidden agreed.

"I just... it's... I..." he stammered, unable to articulate his feelings.

"She'll be back when she's finished her mission. For good or for bad, she finishes what she starts. If you know her as well as you think you do, then you know this about her. I don't know what she's doing out there, or why Boone and Sergei went along, but whatever it is... I trust her judgment. I trust her skills. And I trust that she's going to come back to us. If you don't... if you can't do that, then I suggest you re-evaluate your plans for a future together."

"I do!" Rabb yelped in protest.

"You do... what?" Chegwidden eyed him.

"I trust her. I know she wouldn't have gone if she didn't feel strongly about whatever she's doing," Rabb informed him. "I just... I miss her, Admiral. The twins miss her. I lost over five years with her because of outside forces and I just..." he trailed off helplessly.

"I know, Son. I also know that coming down on her isn't going to get you what you want. It's counterproductive and only serves to give the impression that you're trying to control her. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of her temper, you better find a way to deal with your feelings and overprotective instincts."

"He is missing you."

"He is behaving like an overprotective donkey's behind," she countered, shoving her satellite phone back into her rucksack.

"Even overprotective donkey's behinds need love," Boone quipped.

She glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised. "Speaking from experience, Sir?"

"Most definitely," he winked at her.

She shook her head but said no more. Instead she chose to look out at the vast expanse of countryside before them.

"My mother would be very happy to know that we are together - my brother and I."

"I'm sure she would," Bronwyn nodded, using the back of her hand to wipe the perspiration from her forehead.

"You still have anger toward her... for not telling my brother about me when they met," he arched an eyebrow at her.

She continued to stare off into the distance, mulling her answer before speaking. The truth was? She really wasn't sure how she felt about it. Sometimes she was angry with Sergei's mother, and other times, she understood why she'd kept her mouth shut. She'd been afraid of losing her only child to his American brother. Afraid he would leave her, leave Russia, to embrace his American heritage and his only remaining family. She should have known better - Sergei would have never left her behind. But, being a mother herself, she knew how easily reason could be overruled by emotion.

"Sometimes," she finally replied. "But I understand her fear, so no... I don't blame her."

He nodded, following her gaze toward the horizon. "I am sometimes angry as well," he admitted.

She actually knew that.

"And I am sometimes not," he added quietly.

She reached over and took his hand in hers. "We can't change the past," she murmured. "All we can do is be thankful for the here and now and whatever opportunities open up for the future."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "As you and my brother have done," he nodded. "I have said it before, my brother is indeed a lucky man to have the love of a woman such as you."

She shrugged and shook her head. "I'm the lucky one, Sergei, despite said donkey's behind behavior, but thank you for the compliment."

"You are still confident we will find what we seek?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "I'm hot. I'm tired. I'm desperately missing your brother and the twins. But I'm still determined and, yes... I'm confident."

"Then let's get on with it," Boone groused.

They had been traversing the countryside for three weeks now and hadn't found anything, one way or the other. Rabb was getting beyond impatient for her to come home, but she couldn't leave. Not until she found... something... to either prove or disprove her belief. It was completely irrational, she knew that, but she couldn't let it go. One word. Two meanings. Boone and Zhukov had steadfastly refused to give up or leave her behind to continue the mission on her own, not that she'd ever imagined they would.

Two days later, they rode into a tiny, isolated village, saddle-sore and weary. The sun was already beginning to set, which was good news for the heat-baked trio. With any luck, the village would have something passing for a hotel where they could wash off the grime and heat of the day. Fortunately, luck was with them and they were directed to a house-like building at the furthest edge of the tiny village. It had, in fact, once been a private home but now served as a rooming house-slash-hotel. It contained just four rooms, but they only needed two. The proprietress was an amiable elderly woman, who graciously welcomed them and instructed them in no uncertain terms to wash up while she fixed them a meal. Bronwyn really had no appetite, the heat had done that in, but their hostess wouldn't take no for an answer.

After washing up, she felt somewhat revived, though still bone-weary and sore. She stepped out the back door to catch some of the cooler evening air when she saw a figure in the distance. The small rooming house sat in front of a large field where crops were grown. It was toward the rear of this field where she'd seen the figure appear. Her heart stopped, her breath caught, and she just knew - even without seeing his face - that this man was the object of her mission. She froze in place, her scrambled brain struggling to come up with an approach. Any one of the dozens she'd been tossing around in case her mission proved a success, but they'd all flown right out of her head at the sight of the man. He suddenly tensed, seemingly sensing her scrutiny from a distance. He slowly turned and looked toward the house. He couldn't have seen her any more than she could see his features, but he seemed to study her intently. After a moment or two, she finally unfroze and did the only thing she could think to do at the time. She waved at him. He stared at her for another moment, then offered a half-hearted wave in return.

With that, she was down the steps and walking briskly through the field and straight toward her quarry. He stood, rooted to the same spot as he curiously watched her draw closer until she stopped and stood just a foot or two in front of him. Her eyes had adjusted by then to the darkness and, as they met his eyes, she smiled brightly, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she stared up at him. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, but he finally cleared his throat and greeted her in perfect Russian.

"S chem ya mogu vam pomoch?" (Is there something I can help you with?)

"Da. Tam yest," (Yes. There is) she replied as her tears began to flow in earnest. "No ya schitayu, chto mogu pomoch vam bol'she." (But I believe I can help you more.)

He began to speak, but she held up a hand to forestall him. "I know it's very late in coming, but I've come to bring you home..."

His eyes widened and he stood frozen in shock, wariness creeping over him.

She stepped one foot closer, smiling up at him reassuringly and reached out a hand to him. "You don't know me, but I would know you anywhere."

"Who..." he began uncertainly, unaccustomed to English after all these years. "Who are you?"

"My name is Bronwyn O'Malley. I'm a Lt. Commander in the United States Navy, and, like I said, I've come to bring you home... Hammer."

He started in shock at the old nickname he hadn't heard in so many years. "Home..." he repeated the word, a look of despair and longing clouded the still handsome face.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Little Harm isn't so little anymore," she smiled, pulling out her phone and quickly scrolling through the screen to her photo gallery.

She pulled up a photograph of herself and Harm, taken the night he'd asked her to marry him. Rabb, Sr. stared at the image, disbelief warring with joy at the face of his son, who looked so much like him it could have been a photograph of himself at that age.

"Not so little anymore," she repeated herself, then scrolled to the next photo. "And, I'm pleased to inform you... these are your grandchildren... Trevor and Logan..." she trailed off as he dropped to his knees, transfixed by the image of the twins.

She lowered herself to her own knees and put the phone in his trembling hands. "I know this is a shock, Sir, so take all the time you need..."

"Or not."

Bronwyn looked up behind her to find Boone standing there, staring at the object of their search with a mixture of stunned disbelief and utter happiness.

Rabb, Sr. blinked up at him, the same expression on his face that Boone wore. "Tom?" he croaked hoarsely.

"I'll be damned," Boone muttered, shaking his head. "I wasn't absolutely certain, but I will never ever doubt anything you say, Bron..."

"Tom?" Rabb, Sr. repeated.

"Yeah, it's me, Hammer," he smiled warmly at his old friend and wing-man before dropping to his knees to embrace him.