AN: Hi guys, thanks for all the reads so far. And of course, as always, the reviews :D

Oh, before I forget (again) thank you everyone for your birthday greetings. :)

And now on to the rest of the show! This is part 2 of 2.

Episode 12:
Code Blue (Part 2)

2020 ZULU
MERCY HOSPITAL CAFETERIA
WASHINGTON, D.C.

This was not how she planned to spend her weekend. First, her partner of 5 months, 28 days, 2 hours and 11 minutes was hit by a car, then after taking forever to see him, she barely spent 3 minutes with him before he sent her to the cafeteria to buy him an extortionately priced lunch. 'No salad, no matter how delicious should be priced that high. And it should come with some cow - not just what a cow eats.' she thought to herself as she finally paid.

She heard the rising uproar before the first barrage of bullets were fired. She dove to the floor immediately and saw them standing by the doors - terrorists!

They were taking over the hospital, remodeling the interior with machine guns and a clumsy ruthlessness that made them far more dangerous than trained soldiers. At least trained soldiers hit what they aimed for. Here, with about forty civilians and doctors held hostage, amateurs wouldn't even need to hit their intended target to make their point, so Mac knew now wasn't the time to play heroic Marine.

She tried to sneak out a side entrance, but stopped the minute she was discovered. She looked up and saw that even though the man held his machine gun loosely, by the time she overpowered him, his friends would have filled at least some of the other hostages with lead. So she gave up and allowed herself to be herded back to the others.

Mac took the time to assess the situation, quickly committing to memory the hostage takers names, defining characteristics and hierarchy. Mac recognized they spoke Farsi - the official language of Iran. They spoke it openly and loudly, feeling confident they didn't need to hide it. From everyone else they were right. From Mac though, she understood every single word they said.

Her secret though didn't remain one for long, since one particularly brave doctor foolhardily stood up to one of the hostage takers, using the bullying tone that may have gotten her through medical school, internship and this job, but would get her no where when the returning argument was the wrong end of an Uzi being stuck in her face.

Mac jumped to action, revealing her inherent Farsi skills - developed from spending her formative years with her Persian grandmother. She spoke quickly, talking the hostage taker down, talking his finger away from the trigger. If not for Mac, the good doctor would also be a very dead one.

She was successful and she led the brave doctor away but Mac couldn't help but curse the fact that for the next few minutes all the chatter in Farsi was about the fact that she could speak it too. One of them suggested shooting her. Another suggested something much worse, and that they could all take turns doing that something worse to her. But the voice of reason - or at least authority - issued from their de facto leader finally won out. They'd do nothing to her. They won't deviate from the plan.

Mac positioned herself closer to the brave doctor, partly to overhear the nearby terrorists discuss further instructions. However they were keenly aware of her now and so always moved out of earshot when she was near.

"Are you okay?" Mac asked the doctor rubbing her arm, bruised from where she had been roughly handled.

"I think so. What language is that?" the doctor kept her voice low, careful not to attract more undue attention.

"Farsi. My grandmother is Persian."

"What did you say to them?"

"I told them not to shoot. That you were just trying to help."

"Thanks. Who are these guys?" the doctor eyed them, wondering what they were after. With this much weaponry, why not hold up a bank - not that it was a better target, but at least she didn't work there.

"I guess they're Jihad or Hamas terrorists."

And finally it made sense to the doctor. "They're here for Barruch."

Barruch? Mac tried to place the name when the news reports circulating the overhead TVs in JAG Headquarters came back to her. Semadar Barruch - Israeli Minister of West Bank Security.

Minister Barruch's heart transplant would have normally passed by unnoticed, if not for the fact that he was an important official of a foreign government who had immediately and mysteriously jumped to the top of the heart transplant list.

To say that it had angered many of the patients on the list, their families and the general population at the blatant favoritism displayed here was an understatement. Protests around the Israeli Embassy as well as increased crime against Jewish communities nationwide had caused a deterioration between US-Israeli relations.

When the media finally uncovered the identity of the minister receiving the heart, it also alerted every terror cell and hardliner sympathetic to the Palestinian cause in the Western hemisphere and spurred them to action.

"Please somebody help me."

The plaintive cry drew the doctor immediately to her feet with Mac close behind, only for the Uzi wielding terrorist to manhandle the doctor once more, getting her reacquainted with the lethal end of his gun.

"She could be going into cardiac arrest." the doctor pointed to the elderly woman suffering on the floor.

The agitated terrorist didn't understand her words but decided that he didn't like the tone she said it. Mac stepped in to diffuse the situation again, her Farsi coming thick and fast informing the terrorist of the doctor's intentions.

Mac feared for a second that the terrorist would solve the elderly woman's heart problems for them, with the aid of a bullet. Mac tried to hold eye contact with the terrorist, hoping to hold his attention enough so he wouldn't be impulsive.

It worked as he waved the doctor through.

The doctor was instantly beside the old woman. "It's okay, you're going to be okay. Take a couple of deep breaths for me, alright?"

Seeing Mac beside her, the doctor turned to her. "That's two I owe you. I'm Jenna."

"Mac."

"You're with the good looking sailor who doesn't look both ways before crossing the street." Jenna pulled out her stethoscope from her lab coat.

"His name is Harm." Mac said, not realizing that even the thought of him drew a small smile to her lips.

"I hope your friend Harm is staying out of trouble."

"If I know Harm, he isn't."

Jenna worked quickly to examine the old woman's heart rate. "That's right, deep breaths." she coached her patient who did as she was told. "We can lower her BP if she calmed down, but without meds I don't think it'll help much."

"And them waving guns around isn't helping much either." Mac said as from this vantage point she had a clearer view of the room. Five terrorists, all armed and all on edge.

"Maybe you can tell them we really need to get her out of here." Jenna posited, sure with Mac's language skills they could do it.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jenna." Mac replied, her eyes still surveying the room. Even poorly trained, the terrorists obviously knew how to secure a room as all the exits were blocked. "If they feel we're too much trouble to keep alive, they might stop trying to keep us that way."

"Well that's just peachy to know." Unable to do anything more, Jenna removed her stethoscope, allowing the nurses to help calm the old woman's nerves. Needing a distraction, no matter how small, Jenna whispered to Mac, curious about a certain patient in particular.

"So your friend, Harm... is he seeing anyone?"

Jenna caught Mac's stare. "He said you two weren't together."

"We work together."

"But there's more." Jenna stated plainly.

"He's saved my life a couple of times."

"Heroic and handsome, a hard combination to beat." Jenna admitted, ignoring the slight twinge of jealousy that took root. Despite whatever Harm had said, obviously he cared for this 'colleague' enough to risk his own skin for her well being. And judging from Mac's reaction to his name, the feeling was mutual.

Mac changed the subject abruptly, "Are there any other ways out of here?"

"Unless you have the ability to turn invisible." Jenna deadpanned and drew only a humorless stare from Mac. "Maybe if we create a distraction."

"Too risky. I don't want to give them a reason to shoot at us."

Jenna glanced at the very composed young woman. While Jenna was confident of her own looks and charms, she also knew she paled in comparison to the exotic beauty beside her. If the good looking sailor was immune to Mac, he really had to be gay. She noticed the loosening sweatshirt around Mac's waist and the words emblazoned on it.

"USMC mean what I think it means?"

Mac looked at Jenna, surprised by the sudden left field question. Jenna surreptitiously indicated the United States Marine Corps initials clearly seen on her sweatshirt.

"You may wanna hide that better in case they can read." Jenna said.

"Well, let's hope they're not that bright." Mac replied before quickly retying the sweatshirt around her waist.

oxoxoxo

2124 ZULU
ICU WARD
LEVEL 4, MERCY HOSPITAL

Pain shot up Harm's leg as he crouched behind the ICU partition. He bit back a curse as he peeked above the barrier to see his latest hunter - a young terrorist of obvious Middle Eastern descent holding his Uzi a little too tightly. A novice. Unfortunately he was being coached by a more experienced extremist, meaning any move to overpower the younger man bordered on suicide.

The loud wail of the heart rate machine drowned out all sound so Harm couldn't hear what the two terrorists were saying. Harm had barely had enough time to drag himself and his aching knee into this room after he had tried and failed to resuscitate the dead old man.

The death wail attracted the attention of the young gunman. He entered the room beside Harm's, the thin part-glass partition was all that separated them. Harm saw the sorrow etched on the rookie terrorist's conflicted expression and it was reflected by his trembling hand as it turned off the heart rate monitor, plunging the ICU back into the unearthly hum of life sustaining beeps and pumping valves.

As the young terrorist moved away from the ICU ward the squawk of his walkie-talkie made him jump. He fumbled for it nervously and Harm wondered if the rookie was more afraid of the person on the other end than the situation he found himself in. That would explain why the young man was going along with this. Harm knew that while he may appeal to the rookie to give himself up, that spell would be broken the minute that radio squawked to life.

'Shit.' Harm cursed internally as he saw the rookie stay there, receiving instructions. In the quiet Harm could just make out the bone-chilling words coming over the radio.

"Zaki. Kill a patient."

Harm quickly looked around for something to overpower the young terrorist known as Zaki. He surveyed his surroundings for a weapon and found nothing better than an IV stand, and that was hardly going to cut it against an assault rifle even if it was wielded by an inexpert shooter.

He patted down the pockets of the green scrubs he had put on. He had found them in the doctor's lounge and changed into them so he wouldn't have to run around in a hospital gown. The pockets were empty.

Harm peered over the partition again and saw the conflict in Zaki's body language. He swayed to and fro, his gun swinging from side to side. He was choosing his victim, there wasn't much time to stop him.

Aside from the prone forms in the ICU ward, Harm knew of at least two other patients around the vicinity - the old Navy man named Walter Hume Harm shared a room with, and an extremely in-labor redhead whom he hadn't caught the name of. He had to hope that Zaki wouldn't find either.

Of course, one of the terrorists had spied him trying to diffuse one of the bombs at the stair door, so they knew he was around. Perhaps if he gave himself up... no, that would save one victim now, but with him dead, there was no way to stop the terrorists from claiming other lives.

He heard Zaki return to the room with the dead man and knew time was up. He heard Zaki release the safety mechanism of the Uzi and quickly covered his ears. Seconds before deafening gunfire ripped into the already deceased victim.

Harm snuck a look over the partition and saw Zaki start to disconnect the man from his machines and wheel out the bed. He was going to send the body down as a message to the police and who knew who else was waiting downstairs. They would receive the message that the terrorists were serious.

But they wouldn't know the truth, Zaki had chosen a dead man to shoot. Perhaps there was still hope to stop the bloodshed after all.

oxoxoxo

0004 ZULU
ROOFTOP HELIPAD
MERCY HOSPITAL

Summer made the night air thick with humidity, but Mac couldn't decide if the sweat sticking to her brow was one caused by heat, or one caused by fear.

The sound of rotors approaching made Mac aware of the red and white medical helicopter before she caught sight of it. She stayed off the helipad as the chopper settled down, but not before she cast an eye at the stairwell door.

She saw the muzzle of an AK-47 pointed at her, letting her know that she shouldn't get any bright ideas like try and escape on the helicopter. Seeing the doors of the chopper slide open, Mac started to move.

Only to be stilled by shouted Farsi reminding her that if she took another step, it would be her last. She froze and waited for the paramedic to set the cooler box down on the helipad and rush back to the safety of the helicopter. Only when the chopper had lifted off was she allowed to secure the cargo.

Picking up the cooler box, she turned around and saw the plethora of SWAT up on the roof. They waved her forward, telling her to act like she'd seen nothing. She kept her gaze low and moved back towards the stairwell where the terrorists pulled her along roughly and walked her down at gunpoint. While her physical movements were being closely monitored, Mac's mind was racing through a whole host of possible scenarios and plans.

Mac knew the SWAT team on the roof wouldn't move in until either one of two things happened. One, the hostage takers were distracted by their mission enough to let their guard slip. Or two, enough of the hostages were dead that storming in was the option of lesser evil.

So really there was only one option for Mac. She still couldn't help but worry that if she tried anything, she might only cause the second scenario.

oxoxoxo

0032 ZULU
MATERNITY WARD
LEVEL 4, MERCY HOSPITAL

Chief Walter Hume, US Navy (retired) looked at the young pregnant woman in labor on the bed and tried to get her to concentrate on her breathing, just like what the young whippersnapper advised him to do. Lt. Cmdr. Harmon Rabb Jr. - now what was it that he did again?

Sure, his memory wasn't what it used to be, not after he stood too close to a deck explosion on the USS New Orleans... no, it was the USS Minneapolis... no... well, it was the greatest US Naval warship of WWII. Walter never forgot a face, date or serial number. Was it his fault if the blasted doctors at this hospital got bent out of shape over the fact that he didn't remember unimportant details such as his rank, life or address? He was a Navy man, the sea was his address.

"Where are the damn doctors in this hospital?!" the cute redhead screamed and Walter quickly hushed her down.

"There there, missy. Breathe..."

Obviously the wrong words to say, as the pregnant woman grabbed Walter's by the lapels and pulled him to her face. "If you don't find me a doctor to get this baby out of me now, I'll see how many centimeters you can dilate."

Another contraction hit her causing her to release her hold on Walter's pajamas and let loose a tirade - bit out through tightly clenched teeth. It was not a loud tirade but it still made Walter's ears burn at her colorful language.

He was a sailor and he was proud he could swear with the finest of them, but whatever came out of this tiny woman's mouth had come straight from the bowels of hell itself to lay waste to everything on Earth. Walter was glad he was not this pretty firecracker's husband, because after the things she just said, he wouldn't be surprised to find him lying face down in a pool of his own blood with his head buried three states away.

"The Commander will find you a doctor." Walter said, gently patting the woman's hand, careful not to let her grab it in case she decided to rip it off him.

"What Commander?" she demanded in between breathing exercises.

"Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb Jr." Walter explained. At her confused and blank stare back, he described him to create understanding, "The young man just now."

"Oh... the shy handsome one."

That was one way of describing him, Walter nodded. "That's right and he's a hero. Navy SEAL." he added with a conspiratorial tap of his nose, "Nothing built tougher than a Navy SEAL. Why he once trekked four days in the Afghan desert with no sleep and little water just to find the enemy hideout once. Damn Ruskies were supplying the Arabs see, and..."

Keeping her entertained with Harmon Rabb's exploits as seen in Rambo III, Walter made the woman concentrate on something other than her impending contractions which were now starting to hit with more regularity and force.

After her latest contraction, she complained, "Well he better not be trekking through no desert for four days to find me a goddamn doctor!"

oxoxoxo

0210 ZULU
OUTSIDE THE O.R.
LEVEL 2, MERCY HOSPITAL

It was a blessing Mac spoke Farsi, so the terrorists conversation squawking over the radio held no secrets from her. It was also a blessing that she had, with the aid of a clever plan to fill the O.R with anesthesia gas, knocked out the remaining hostage taker in the operating theater.

Grabbing the Uzi from the incapacitated terrorist, Mac gave instructions to the team of doctors to lock down the O.R. as she rushed out the door. She had a squid with a gimpy leg to save.

Mac rapidly tapped the button of the elevator, willing it to arrive immediately. It didn't, meaning that each second that ticked by - 18 so far - worked her nerves to breaking point.

She knew that somewhere on the fourth floor Mustapha Ben Kessar - the leader of the terrorist group who took over the hospital was hunting down Harm.

She knew that as resourceful as her partner was, he was no Navy SEAL as they believed he was. She wondered how that particular rumor had started, but whomever started it was not doing Harm any favors.

The wait for the elevator was excruciating, so she checked the Uzi in her hand once more. A full clip, trigger set to semi-auto, no gunpowder smell - an unused gun. She hoped it stayed that way if possible. When the elevator finally arrived, she stepped inside, punching the button for the 4th level.

oxoxoxo

Harm heard the taunts of the leader of the terrorist group, heard him set down the cooler box with the transplant heart, heard the distinctive metal slap of the Uzi being waved in his hand. He heard it but he didn't pay attention to it.

His focus at the moment was the near imperceptible whine coming from the cardioversion machine charging up to maximum. He didn't know what charge to set so he had set it to maximum and hoped for the best. As the machine came to life, Harm knew he had only one shot at this and hoped that it was all he needed.

With the cooler box set down, Mustapha made his way closer to the infidel who dared to interfere with this holy agenda. He walked with cautious precision towards the tall man hiding around the corner, revealing a better angle for a kill shot. He stepped on the wet floor, drenched by the stupid American's feeble attempt to slow him down.

Harm heard the soft squelch of dress shoes on a puddle. He had noticed earlier the fact that the terrorist stalking him had decided that rubber soles were a luxury he didn't need, and gave thanks.

Ducking to avoid being shot, Harm whirled round and knocked the two cardioversion paddles down to the slick floor, sending DC current surging through Mustapha's uninsulated footwear, up his feet and through his body, tripping his heart and stopping it good.

As Mustapha fried, his finger spasmed and held on to the hair trigger of his Uzi, unloading its entire clip. Harm took cover until the shooting stopped.

Turning off the cardioversion machine, Harm quickly stepped out to assess the damage - one slightly crisped and very dead terrorist, numerous bullet holes in the ceiling, walls, floor and...

'Oh no.' Harm's face fell when he laid eyes on the organ transplant cooler box. Four very large bullet holes had pierced it, the plastic offering little resistance to hot lead. He ignored the liquid fire running through his knee as he rushed over to check the heart inside, hoping against hope the organ survived unscathed.

Popping open the canister revealed that the hope had been in vain. Harm's head dropped.

He heard the elevator ping as it arrived at his floor. Harm was instantly brought back to the present and searched for another weapon. Aside from the now empty Uzi in the dead terrorist's hand, he had nothing. Perhaps another run at electrocution...

Too late as he couldn't get up from his crouched position. He heard the soft footsteps run up round the corner. He looked up to face his attacker head on.

And saw the most beautiful sight in the world. Her short hair was tousled, her face flushed with effort and worry, her body in the tight running suit accentuating her very alluring curves, the gun in her hand making her all the more sexier.

"Don't shoot, Marine."

Relief flooded Mac's features and she lowered the Uzi.

"Harm are you okay?"

"Yeah. Though my leg is killing me."

She approached him quickly and he held up his hands to slow her, her well being suddenly more immediate than his own.

"Careful Mac, the floor's wet."

She noticed. She came up carefully beside him to wrap her arm around his waist. She supported him, allowing him to shift his weight off his miserable right leg. His own arm went around her shoulder as he rested more of his weight against her.

"What the hell happened? Where's Mustapha?"

Pointing round the corner, Harm showed her Mustapha's fate. She saw the dead terrorist and a second later, also saw the destroyed organ cooler box.

"The heart!"

"It's gone, he accidentally shot it. I'm sorry." Harm explained sadly.

"This isn't good, Harm. The minister needs a transplant now. What are we going to do?"

"I guess they'll need to find another heart."

"Where? Unless the terrorists are hiding one, there's no time."

Her words sparked an idea, maybe crazy, but what else did they have at this point? Harm looked down at Mac, capturing her with his gaze.

"They just might have a heart, Mac. Can you get the doctor up here?"

Using the walls as a guide, he released his hold on her and gently pushed her toward the elevator as he went in the opposite direction.

Mac was surprised by his sudden move. "Where are you going?"

Harm called back over his shoulder, "Gonna save the day."

Seeing him move rapidly down the corridor, Mac quickly ran to the elevator.

oxoxoxo

0334 ZULU
PRIVATE ROOM
LEVEL 5, MERCY HOSPITAL

Harm's crazy idea had worked. After Mac led the doctor and the police up to the ICU, Harm explained the situation. One of the terrorists, a young photography student named Zaki was not an extremist like the others. Harm revealed that Zaki was on the verge of helping him resolve the hostage situation when he had been shot in the head by one of his conspirators, and that Walter had managed to get him on life support.

"Seen too many of my friends on these machines to not learn a thing or two." Walter gave by way of explanation. Old age had claimed more of his buddies than war did.

With Zaki pronounced brain dead, they still needed permission from Zaki's next of kin to authorize using the young Palestinian's organs for transplant. In this case, it was his mother.

Utilizing State Department resources, Mac found the bereaved woman and got her on the phone within 30 minutes. Speaking in fluent Farsi, Mac informed the poor woman of her son's situation, and was horrified to discover that the woman had lost her other son, Rafat in a failed terrorist attempt. Despite her sorrow, the woman had stated that such was Allah's will, and if Rafat was the source of darkness that led her and her son to such a dark place, then perhaps Zaki's sacrifice would provide the peace necessary to return them all to heaven's graces.

With the transplant surgery a success, Mac was finally allowed to escort Harm to his new hospital room. In appreciation of his earlier heroics, hospital administration moved him to a private room of his own, on the floor where the cute nurses worked, Mac noted. Mac helped him onto his bed.

"You okay, Harm?"

"Yeah." he sighed as the sweet comfort of soft sheets soothed his aching body. "Hey, you've been here all day..."

"I couldn't leave the hospital, remember? Lots of angry men with guns."

"Yeah." he sighed again as he propped his leg up on the raised pad. The painkillers had kicked in but even then nothing eased the pressure and discomfort of his knee like completely resting it.

"You want me to stay?" Mac asked, her concern coming off in waves.

He smiled at her and took her hand. "Nah. Wouldn't want the Admiral to get the idea that you put me in the hospital..." he teased, "...even if you did."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so skinny, stick boy, you'd have survived fighting a car a little better."

"Or maybe if I'd been built for comfort..." he said as his head suddenly felt too heavy to keep up. He settled down on the pillows.

Noticing his fatigue, Mac stroked his hand, conveying as much comfort as she could, letting him know it was okay to fall asleep on her, all without words. A touch, a look, a smile. Mac didn't know when it had happened between them but that was often all they needed to convey their thoughts.

"Do you think the woman will name her baby 'Mac'?"

Mac smiled at that memory. He was referring to the baby he had helped deliver earlier during the hostage crisis. The little boy had wailed at being named 'Harmon Walter' after Harm and the old man. At the sound of Mac's name though, the baby had calmed right down.

"The boy has good taste."

"The boy is barely five minutes old. I think he's soft in the head." Harm smiled as he turned suddenly sleepy eyes towards her. "But I'm glad he's not named after me..."

"Why not?"

"Maybe, my son..." he yawned.

Mac saw his eyelids slide shut and felt his hold on her hand weaken. She noticed how the rise and fall of his chest evened out to slow, deep breaths, signifying he was out like a light. She waited a few more minutes to make sure he wouldn't wake before removing her hand from his light grasp.

As she exited the door to his room, she eyed the attractive nurses and hoped that none of them were tempted to play doctor with her flyboy in the middle of the night. Realizing she was overreacting and dismissing it as fatigue, she made her way to the elevators and punched the down button.

In all the excitement she'd forgotten all about the name Diane and she never ever got around to asking Harm about it.

It was only when the cab had pulled up in front of her apartment building that she realized that she had spent the last 20 minutes and 17 seconds wondering what a child with Harm's looks would look like.

Next Episode: Rendezvous (2x15)

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this. I'd like to know if you did. It'll be nice to know if you did.

As to the Diane factor - yeah, it's an ongoing situation as I figure out how it'll play out. Just because Mac may find out doesn't make it go away, Harm does have trouble letting go of stuff sometimes. I'll explain it better within a story next time out.

To fans of my other fics - I do realize that this isn't as shipper as the others. I am playing within the confines of the original TV show with this one - so yes, things will move at snail's pace by comparison to my other fics. However, there is one promise I can make - Harm & Mac will get together waaay before Season 10. After all, it is the reason why I'm retelling the story. :)

A Time & Place fans - I am working on Chapter 7, and the delay to that is not in any way due to my sudden prolificness with this story. If anything, writing this has made my struggles with ATP easier. :P

*No, neither Harm (nor DJE) was in Rambo III. But Walter Hume thinks he was. Moral of story: Don't stand too close to explosions.