Chapter 25: Appointment Day

Author's Note: I've been trying to post this for two days. Site issues. Some good news though... Wheelchair parts that I began the process to order last April are supposed to be here on Thursday. Cross your fingers, say a prayer, light a candle… and maybe do a rain dance too. With any luck, it might actually happen.

Friday, January 4, 2008

JLSO San Diego

1415 HRS

She peruses the document one last time for any errors or omissions, scrawls her signature in the appropriate place then hands the paperwork over to the petty officer on the opposite side of her desk. "What's next Coates?"

"You're done."

"I'm done? Fourteen minutes and forty-nine seconds ahead of schedule. These days that's good; even for me."

The petty officer smiles. "If I may make a suggestion, Colonel?"

"Go ahead," Mac says genially.

"This is the beginning of a big weekend for you and the captain. Don't run, but don't walk to the elevator either. Get out of here before somebody has the chance to accost you with mundane military matters. We'll hold the fort down. See you Monday Ma'am."

I'll be here it 0700 is not before. Don't let them burn the place down in my absence Coates."

"Not a chance, Ma'am."

Dispensing with rank as she picks up her briefcase and cover, Mac inquires, "You use that gift certificate for The Healing Touch yet, Jen?"

"Not yet. Maybe this weekend. Haven't decided for sure yet. The place is a little upscale for me; I think."

Mac chuckles with understanding. "I momentarily forgot how to breathe when she gave me mine."

"Mrs. Burnett gave you a gift certificate to the same spa?"

Mac nods. "I had an afternoon appointment on my wedding day. Good thing Harm and I can't afford the place on our own. He'd never see me again. I'd move in… permanently. I'm fairly certain she extended the same generosity to both Skates and Harriett. "

Coates nods. "The two of them I can understand. One of them will carry her grandchild. They deserve a little pampering; but why me?"

"Because you helped take care of the first one; Trish will never forget that Jen."

"I didn't do that much."

Hand on her office door, Mac chuckles as she firmly plants tongue in cheek. "No, you only moved in, acted as chaperone, adviser, friend, big sister, and part-time co-parent to a delightfully headstrong, neglected teenage girl… That's all. No serious sacrifice there."

"My only regret is that the position no longer needs to be filled. I miss her… every day."

"We all do Jen. We all do." Mac smiles with compassion and nods her head, signaling for the younger woman to exit the office ahead of her.

As the petty officer returns to her desk, she murmurs discreetly, "Good luck today, Colonel."

The marine nods once in silent appreciation and makes a beeline for the elevators.

Twenty-two minutes later she taps quietly at the door to classroom 27-G and waits for an invitation. When Mrs. Kefauver, the plump middle-aged schoolteacher who is more gray than ash blonde, answers with a polite "Yes, come in please." Mac opens the door only wide enough to be seen, smiles and points to Laura; hoping to retrieve her niece with as little disruption as possible.

Laura smiles brightly when her teacher nods agreeably; dismissing her from class ten minutes early. She closes a workbook, and quickly jams it into her backpack while simultaneously quietly commanding Candy, who instantly responds with a wagging tail to the familiar face at the classroom door, to 'wait.'

While the girl carefully attaches her book bag to the front of her walker by looping the shoulder straps over the small hand grips and gets to her feet; several of her classmates begin to chuckle and whisper amongst themselves.

One sandy-haired, buck-toothed little boy is bold enough to ask, "Geez Laura! The Marines came to get you! What did you do?"

Laura shakes her head, but before she can answer her teasing classmate, pride shining in her dark eyes, her friend Liam responds sarcastically, "At least the Marines want her, Genius! I bet they'd kick you out of boot camp before lunch on the first day. " which incites a round of raucous second grade laughter.

The insulted young man hurls his eraser at Liam Harrell's head, but he misses and the slightly chewed pink editing tool lands in the basket on the front of Laura's walker.

"Okay kids; that's enough! Say hello to Colonel Mackenzie, Laura's aunt.

Mac smiles and nods politely in response to the loud unharmonious chorus of greetings and she tries not to chuckle aloud when one blue-eyed little girl looks at Laura with a mix of hostile incredulity and unmistakable envy.

The blonde scowls and hisses in a loud stage whisper "Your aunt's a marine?"

Laura's smile stretches a little wider, and Mac doesn't miss the odd look that seems to be a bizarre mix of both challenge and compassion in her niece's eyes as she passes the little girl's desk without comment.

"Laura, on your way up here, bring me that eraser." The teacher instructs. "Jeremy, you can have it back when class is over."

Laura does as she's told, but she glances back at the little boy called Jeremy apologetically.

Jeremy, in turn, shrugs affably. "See you Monday, Laura."

As Mac quietly pulls the door closed behind her niece, being careful not to catch Candy's tail in it, she hears a young voice ask, "Why is she leaving early?"

It's Liam's voice that answers, "Because her aunt can't pick her up at regular time and she can't come to my house like usual, but Laura's okay, she's not sick or nothing. It's just for today. Principal Drew said she could miss ten minutes."

"Oh, good. Long as Laura's okay."

"Your class seems to like you." Mac comments as they move toward the end of the wide corridor.

Laura nods happily. "Most of them anyway."

Mac nods, taking a guess at who might be excluded from the group of Laura's friends. "Who's the blonde?"

"That's Jenny Chatham."

"The one who's mean to you? I thought you said that was better lately."

Laura shrugs. "Sometimes she's better; sometimes not. I don't care so much anymore."

When they reach the entrance, Mac opens the door for her and takes the end of Candy's leash in her hand. "How come?"

"I don't think she's very happy. If Liam is right then, her dad's a jerk." Laura says; stating the opinion plainly, with no evidence of malice in her voice.

As they traverse the front walk, Mac says, "That's not a very nice thing to say."

Laura shrugs again, undaunted, and declares flatly. "It's not a very nice thing to be either."

Mac starts to speak, then closes her mouth. She can't exactly fault the young girl's reasoning. "What does Liam have to say that makes you think that?"

"Liam's says that Jeremy says that Jenny's dad is in the Coast Guard because the Navy wouldn't take him. I don't know if that's true, but Jenny told Liam that she told her dad that when she grows up she wants to be in the Coast Guard, just like him. I think that's really nice of her, but she told Liam that her dad said girls don't belong in the Coast Guard, just like they don't belong in any part of the military, because girls can't hack it. He doesn't think any girl should be allowed to wear any kind of uniform. If he really did say that, then he sounds like a jerk to me. Jenny's not nice to me most of the time. He's really her other dad. She has a different last name than him, like Uncle Harm and Grandpa Frank, but he's been her dad ever since she was a baby. She picks on me because I don't know who my dad is, but she doesn't know her first dad either. I think it's stupid and mean, but maybe her other dad is mean to her. Maybe he doesn't treat her nice the way Grandpa Frank treats Uncle Harm. That doesn't seem like a very nice thing for him to say; especially not when Jenny says she wants to be just like him. If he did say that, then I feel sorry for her even if she is mean to me. There's lots of girls in the military. I don't think it's fair for him to say she's not good enough just because she's a girl. I bet you don't like it either." Laura looks up at her aunt expectantly as she offers a hand to help stabilize the girl while she climbs into the backseat of the Jeep.

"You're right. I don't think anyone should be automatically excluded based on gender alone. I think there are some people who don't belong in the military. Some of them are girls, but just as many of them are guys too." Mac fastens her niece's seatbelt and makes certain the child safety lock is engaged before she closes the rear door and then slips in behind the wheel. "If her dad does say those sorts of things to her, that is awful and I'm proud of you for showing a little empathy. It's not always easy to be nice to people who aren't nice to you."

"What's empathy?"

"Empathy means the same as understanding or compassion." Keeping one eye on the road ahead, Mac glances in the rearview mirror and watches her young niece mull this over. "Keep being nice to her… unless she does something to seriously scare or hurt you. You might be the only person who is nice to her."

Laura shakes her head. "Liam's nice to her too. She yells at him a lot. When she starts yelling, we mostly just leave her alone. Sometimes Liam yells back. I used to too, but that just makes her worse. "

Before Mac can decide what to say, Laura changes the subject. "Are we going to get Uncle Harm, or is he meeting us there?"

Mac smiles. "We're going by his office. Then he and I are going to drop you off at Grandma and Grandpa's."

"Can we go inside when we get to Uncle Harm's office?" Laura inquires with enthusiasm.

"He's supposed to meet us outside, but I'll bet you two chocolate chip cookies for dessert that he won't be outside when we get there. He'll get busy and forget to watch the time. He'll still be at his desk. We'll have to go in and get him… or we could just call him and tell him to come out." Mac teases; guessing what the girl's response will be.

Even though she loves to go inside and visit his office, Laura feels obligated to fight for her uncle. She grins. "I'll bet you three cookies he will be outside!"

When she stops at a red light, Mac reaches back and shakes the little girl's hand with enthusiasm. "You gotta deal, baby!"

Author's Note: Steamboat, moles are not indigenous to the area where I live. However, I do know that they usually live underground and they're highly sensitive to light. Exactly what are they like when they become testy? I've never seen one, except for perhaps on nature shows. So, I wouldn't know a serene mole from an agitated one.

SPECWAR

1451 HRS

Mac smiles in triumph. "Sorry kiddo, looks like no cookies for you, and three for me!"

"Hey! No fair!" Laura protests in earnest.

Mac shakes her head; not easily swayed. "You said he'd be out here. He's not."

"You bet me he would still be at his desk. He's not there either. See! Here he comes now!"

Mac follows the little girl's finger and catches sight of her husband just before he pushes through the heavy glass doors and sprints for the familiar Jeep.

Opening the passenger side door, he reaches in and quickly pats Laura's knee in greeting before sliding in opposite his wife. As he offers her a quick kiss, Laura sings out from the backseat "You weren't exactly right!"

"Well, neither were you." Mac counters; chuckling.

Laura squints; wrinkles up her nose and offers hopefully, "One and a half cookies each?"

Unable to fault her logic, Mac smiles and agrees. "Seems reasonable."

Harm's blue eyes sparkle as he laughs at the two of them. "Are you two betting on dessert servings again? What is it this time? How many red lights you could catch or avoid on the way over here?"

Laura giggles. "Aunt Mac said that you would get busy and forget to watch time. That you would still be at your desk and we would have to go in and get you. I told her you would be here waiting." Laura sighs dramatically. "We was both wrong."

Enjoying the moment, Harm scowls at his wife. "You bet against me, Jarhead?"

Laughter bubbles out of the Jeep's driver. "You bet your sweet six I did!"

"Hey, I'm as excited about today as you are!" He feigns insult, "I'll have you know, I've been watching the clock all day. Can I help it if a two-star called just as the clock struck 1445? I got him off the phone as quickly as I could without getting my 'sweet six… " he looks pointedly at his wife. "thrown in the brig."

She nods with comical exaggeration "Excuses, excuses… Harm, I swear, you're going to be at least five years late for your own funeral."

He eyes her as if her elevator goes all the way to the penthouse, but no one's home. "And that displeases you?"

"Not expecting the witty come back, she laughs. "Good point Flyboy."

As Frank and Laura chatter and Mac returns from her quick trip upstairs to change, she notices, not for the first time since their arrival, a peculiar look on Trish's face; as if the woman is struggling to hold something back.

"You sure you don't wanna go out honey?" Frank inquires.

While Mac eyes Trish curiously; trying to discern what's out of place with her, Laura answers Frank's question. "Na uh Grandpa. It's too windy. Too cold. Let's stay here and just watch a movie and eat popcorn."

Frank grins. "I got something called Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, and something called Cars."

Laura giggles and bounces gently on the balls of her feet. "Definitely Cars. I love Mater. He's goofy, and he talks funny, too!"

"Mater?"

"Yeah, like ta-mater. He's a tow truck!"

Harm eyes Mac's change of wardrobe. "More comfortable?"

Mac looks down at her navy-blue sweats and running shoes. "Not exactly the highlight of fashion, but definitely more comfortable. Soft flexible waistband at least, though, I guess comfort is a relative thing. It all depends on how much damage the doctor does today."

"Shall we go then?"

"Not just yet. There's something on your mother's mind. I just haven't been able to figure out what yet."

Surprised, Harm turns his attention to Trish. "Mom?"

"It's nothing."

Easily persuaded, he steps toward Mac once more, but the marine stays where she is, on the second to the bottom step, as still and calm a glass of water as she eyes the older woman patiently. At length, she declares softly, "Trish, either spit the canary out or swallow him before you choke on him."

Harm's gaze volleys back and forth between the two women, at a loss, while Frank chuckles quietly. "Trish, honey, I think she's onto you. Just ask!" He encourages.

She scowls halfheartedly at her husband and then shakes her head resolutely. "It's not… right. That's not how this is done."

Still confused, Harm raises an eyebrow. "Can I buy a vowel?" he queries dryly as he watches the light of understanding flicker into existence in his wife's dark eyes.

She smiles encouragingly. "It's okay with me Trish if it's okay with Harm."

He watches indecision and pleasure do battle with each other in his mother's eyes. He waits another three seconds before gently demanding, "Will somebody please tell me what we're talking about?"

Mac smiles warmly at Trish and rolls her eyes in response to Harm simultaneously. "She wants to come with us… for the egg harvesting."

Caught by surprise, his gaze once more returns to his mother. "Mom?"

She smiles but shakes her head once more. "It's ridiculous. Grandparents are not supposed to be involved in the conception of their grandchildren it's just not… proper."

Mac's laughter is a lively outburst. "Oh, the hell with that! She declares, drawing looks of shock from everyone in the room. "We may as well throw the rule book out the window! Nothing about this process has been or will be typical. If it can't be typical, then why does it have to be proper? That doesn't sound like very much fun to me. We've already sucked most of the fun of it. It couldn't be more clinical. And proper or not, in this type of situation, such a request is a lot more common than you might think Trish. In fact, I think it might be one of the pluses to doing things this way. The whole family can be involved if that's what's wanted."

Trish gazes hesitantly between the two of them; still mildly uncertain.

"Look, it's not as if I'm going to be naked. It won't bother me if you're there. There's precious little about this procedure that can be construed as romantic. Harm and I have something special planned just for ourselves later this evening. You won't be intruding upon that." She waits for Harm to nod his own encouragement before she continues. Oddly enough, having extra family in the room might be one way to make this whole thing more meaningful; less sterile… less scientific."

She inhales before explaining further."When I started doing research about surrogacy, one of the first stories I read was about a girl who discovered in her teenage years that she was born without a uterus. Her mother took her to the doctor when she was 16 or 17 concerned because she hadn't yet started her period. The girl was devastated by the unexpected news. I mean, who thinks to check newborn baby girls to be certain they have uteruses. No decent parent would let doctors do that. It's just sort of assumed. Anyway, a few years later, as newlyweds, this girl and her husband began looking for a surrogate. The whole procedure was in its fledgling stage back then; just getting started. The girl's mother was only in her early forties at the time and, with only a few well-managed complications, she delivered her own grandchildren. The whole story was mildly unsettling, but also unspeakably beautiful. If people can do that, then I don't see any reason why you can't come watch my doctor stick a syringe in my belly."

She pauses, glancing at Harm, wanting him to have his chance to speak up.

When he nods, he concludes, "What's the big deal, Mom? How many grandmothers can tell their grandchild,' I saw you before you were even conceived.' He smiles awkwardly. "or at least part of you anyway?" He glances at his stepfather. "Frank? Not how we planned it, but care to join us?"

Frank shakes his head. "No, thank you. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to wait until I can hold the baby in my arms and spoil him or her rotten. Don't ruin the magic of that first moment by showing me how we got there. Miss Laura and I will stay here together for movie night. Trish, honey, decide to stay or go before you make them late."

Mac laughs warmly and teases. "Yeah, because if I miss my appointment and have to spend even one more day, much less another six weeks, taking those stupid hormones I am moving in with you. I miss life without wild mood swings and hot flashes. Harm and I can't spend too much longer in the same house without, coffee and sex. That's just cruel and unusual! So, not to rush you or anything… " Stepping to Trish's side, Mac wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes affectionately, "but, for the love of God woman… Hurry up!"

"Mac!" Harm hisses. While Trish laughs.

"Well, if you sure I'm not intruding…"

"Mom, if you were, we wouldn't be inviting you. Come watch Mac's doctor do her thing. Laura calls this a science experiment, but I promise you, Dr. Frankenstein had absolutely nothing on Dr. Rebecca Thayer."

Author's Note: Steamboat, your answer for my last question gives a whole new meaning to the words 'whack a mole.' Around here shovels are commonly used for killing snakes and smacking aggressive pit bulls on the head; at least by those who don't see fit to leave nature to its own devices. I, myself, am a whole lot more content to leave the snake in peace and I have found that nine times out of ten, if you leave the aggressive dog alone, no matter what the breed, it will leave you alone too.

Anyhow, on with the story!

In the time it takes to make the short drive, Trish entertains herself with a casual inspection of the Jeep's backseat. She happily discovers that it's roomier, not to mention a great deal more comfortable, than she thought it would be. When that's done, she fills most of the time that's left quietly observing the pair in the front seat.

Mac stops her idle humming along with the music softly emanating from the car's stereo. She glances into the rearview mirror. "Are you comfortable back there? I would've let Harm drive. You could have had the front passenger seat."

"Don't be ridiculous darling. I told you, I'm fine here. There may actually be a little more room back here than in the backseat of my Chrysler. I confess, I was expecting something a bit more utilitarian than leather seats with individual temperature and stereo volume controls.

Mac smiles. "Welcome to the civilian version of Jeep." She turns her attention to Harm. "Did you disengage the child safety lock?"

He squints; unfamiliar with what she's talking about, so her gaze returns to the rearview mirror briefly. "We're going to have to let you out when we get to the clinic. When the safety lock is engaged, the rear doors can only be opened from the outside."

Trish chuckles softly. "That would have come in handy 40 years ago."

"Hey, I wasn't that bad!" Harm protests and flashes his grin.

"Humph!" is his mother's only reply for him. To Mac, she says, "Pull into a parking lot or a driveway and he was out of the car before it stopped moving… unless you stopped in front of the school. He didn't walk anywhere either! Sometimes he was in front of the car, or close to it, before the wheels stopped rolling."

Mac laughs. "Sounds a lot like our oldest godson. A.J. is a pint-sized human tornado; constantly in motion. I remember calling Harriet one afternoon a few years ago. She was recovering from a mild panic attack. Her toddler had slipped out of the house without her knowing about it. When she found him, he was running, as fast as his little legs would carry him, down the middle of the road; fascinated with the yellow line. He'd used a long stick to open the gate latch that he was still too short to reach on his own. Harriet threatened more than once to tie cowbells to all the house's exterior doors, so he couldn't escape without her knowing about it."

"That's as bad as him." Trish points an accusatory finger at the front passenger seat. "He walked early. He started pulling up on the furniture before he was even nine months old. By ten months, he was already stable on his feet and moving; fast! And he would climb on anything! At 12 months old, I found him on top of the refrigerator. I still have no idea how he got up there. I said, 'You come down from there right now!' Wrong thing to say! He smiled at me, said 'Okay Mama.' and jumped! If I hadn't been standing right there… He was completely fearless! The thought never entered his little head that I might not have been able to catch him. Talk about blind faith! The way he trusted me was enough to stop my pulse." Two months later, I heard him laughing outside. He too, was good at slipping out of the house undetected, and it was one of those laughs that lets a mother know, 'I'm having way too much fun. You better come check on me fast because I'm up to something.' Well, Harmon was home. I don't remember why he was on the roof that day. All I remember is that he got down and went, for just a moment, to speak to a neighbor who was also outside. He left the ladder against the side of the house. So, I walked into the backyard, looked up, and nearly had a heart attack right where I stood. My baby was up there, head thrown back; the sun shining down on his little face, arms spread wide, running the ridge pole as fast as he could from one end to the other, and laughing like a loon!"

"Oh God!" comes the outcry from the driver's seat. "Trish, don't tell me these horror stories; not now… unless you're trying to get me to rethink this whole 'baby' thing."

Harm reaches over and pats his wife on the knee. "Don't listen to her." He grins and lowers his voice slightly. I think she embellishes." He declares with feigned innocence; "I don't remember that at all!"

Laughing; Mac shakes her head with certainty. "Harm, don't forget how well I know you… the adult you. Just because you can't remember doing it, doesn't mean you didn't!"

"After the stunt from the top of the refrigerator, I was terrified to tell him to come down from the rooftop. I went up to bring him down myself, and he argued with me about it! He didn't want to come down. He was having too much fun… and me… I wanted to kill his father for leaving that ladder up against the side of the house where he could get to it! I will advise you now to finish this home remodeling project you're working on before my grandchild can walk; or better still, before he or she can even roll over unassisted. This is his child we're talking about! The halo this child wears will be slightly crooked, and possibly bent or dented as well…" Trish starts out laughing, but then finishes by adding softly, "I can also promise you, that you'll never regret it, Mac."

Mac glances in the rearview mirror making meaningful eye contact as she takes one hand from the wheel, reaches over and caresses Harm's cheek. She assures in a hushed voice, "I already know that Trish."

Trish smiles hopefully "Maybe some of your practicality will override the Rabb adventure gene. Laura's kin to you and she's such a sensible little thing."

"Ha!" The harsh noise erupts from Mac.

"You don't think so darling?"

Mac moves the hand caressing her husband's face and extends her arm fully; putting it on display. "I've fractured this arm three times, and each time I was incredibly lucky that it wasn't any worse than a simple fracture. The first time I did it, I fell off a roof. I was older than Harm, but nobody came up to bring me down. In fact, nobody knew about it until the next morning. Well, nobody except for Eddie."

"What were you doing on the roof?" Trish inquires patiently.

"Crawling out of my bedroom window."

"Umm hmm, let me guess… you were what? Fifteen or maybe sixteen… and there was a boy involved… This Eddie?"

Taping the breaks to let another driver pass, Mac shrugs and thinks it over before responding.

"No, I was eight… but I suppose there was a boy involved; at least… after the fact.

See, it was a Friday night, or I guess maybe it could've been a Saturday night. Joe was drunk. He'd had his fill of smacking Mom around. He'd finished screaming obscenities and had moved on to sobbing and begging for forgiveness, and he was getting quiet too. I knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out. Mom was quietly doing her 'Everything's gonna be okay Joe.' routine.

It was summer in Arizona. Even after dark, the heat was oppressive. It would rain briefly later that night, but it hadn't started yet, and I felt trapped, as much by them as by the sticky humidity that made my T-shirt and jeans stick to me. I wanted out. So, I collected crumpled dollar bills and loose change from a couple of my hidey-holes, places where I stashed things I didn't want Joe to find, and I took off for Eddie's house. I figured we'd go down to the commissary together and I'd buy us a couple of ice pops.

Only, Mom yelped unexpectedly. The fight was over, but he must have broken something that night, or her injury was worse than she thought, and she must've moved too quickly and the pain caught her by surprise. The noise set Joe to yelling again scared me, and I let go of the eave before I had a good grip on the tree branch. I landed on my arm, got up, and was headed for the front walk before I heard him trip over his own boots and scream for me to come put them away. He must've passed out before he could come looking for me. The next morning my arm was still aching so, when I left Eddie's, I went down to the base hospital. One of the doctors called my mother. When he x-rayed my arm, he told Mom it was fractured in two places; just below the joint in my elbow, and another hairline fracture in my wrist. I told her what happened. She told Joe that I fell off my bike. He wouldn't let me ride my bicycle for two months after that, but he never knew I didn't spend the night at home."

"You didn't tell anybody about it when it happened?" Trish asks; a note of maternal pain in her voice."

"God no! My arm hurt. Big deal! I was more scared of Joe than I was of a couple of little twinges. Eddie was on his back porch in a sleeping bag. I ran all the way to his house. He must've heard me coming because, he was up, and through the screen door before I made it to his back porch steps and we didn't stop running until we were sitting on the curb outside the commissary with their ice pops. Later, He gave me a pillow and a plastic sandwich bag full of ice for my arm. I fell asleep on his back-porch swing listening to the old ceiling fan with its bad motor. The thing was noisy. It sounded like a rusty old bucket of bolts helicopter coming in for a landing, but I didn't care. I was safe."

"Didn't you say you broke it three times?" Trish asks somberly.

Mac nods. "The third time wasn't exactly a fracture. Eight years after I fell off the roof, I got really lucky and gouged my scapula."

"With what?"

"A really big chunk of gravel."

"Darling, how on Earth did you push gravel deep enough to gouge bone?"

"It happened when Christopher laid down a bike."

Trish instantly notices the horrified look her son gives his wife. Apparently, this is news to him too. With uncertainty she comments, "I'm not exactly convinced that's lucky."

"She means a motorcycle." Harm says with a disturbing calm to his voice.

"Yes, I figured as much. I'll also assume that 'laying one down' is nowhere near as harmless as it's meant to sound."

Mac shakes her head and offers his mother another smile via the rearview mirror. "No, there's nothing harmless about laying an Indian down on the gravel shoulder of the road."

It's Harm who winces; not Mac. "How fast was he going? And where does a 16-year-old get money for a classic bike like that?"

"Too fast; hence the loss of control. Well, that and he never did have the best reflexes. I was the better driver. Also, he wasn't 16. I was. He was almost 20; and he didn't buy it… he stole it."

Both mother and son groan with displeasure.

"By the time I finished picking gravel out of my shoulder, he had the thing back on its wheels and running. As bike accidents go, it wasn't too bad. But I still told him I'd never get on another bike with him… unless I was the one driving."

She laughs dryly; a hollow humorless sound. "He was furious when I wouldn't get back on the bike with him… Well, if I'm going to tell the truth, he may have been mad because I stood out there on the side of the road and very loudly told him 'Vy ne mozhete upravlyat' stoimost'yu der'mo' Which only made him that much angrier. He screamed at me. 'Damn it, Sarah! I'm not Russian! If you're going bitch about my driving, could you at least do it in English?'

Trish watches Mac take in Harm's angry scowl with a sideways glance as she continues.

"Anyway, I told him that for somebody who wasn't Russian he seemed to understand me just fine." She giggles and shrugs with self-satisfaction; trying, without much success, to sooth her husband's ruffled feathers.

When her attitude doesn't do much to lighten his mood; she takes his hand. "I was okay, Harm. Okay enough to walk about eight blocks to the nearest hospital. I knew my shoulder was messed up; only I couldn't tell exactly how bad. It felt a lot worse than it actually was and I wasn't sure I could handle the bike at that point. So, I walked."

"Did he go with you?"

"No. He didn't, and that was okay. He was in a bad mood before I insulted his driving. So, he wasn't the best company. And the truth is, I did it on purpose. My shoulder hurt, so I lashed out at him. He never could take criticism; especially not about his driving. It was better he left, trust me."

"I don't care what you said to him, or why you said it. He shouldn't have left you. "

"I'm telling you…" She says patiently. "I was okay… and I wanted him to leave."

"I don't care if you did want him to leave. He shouldn't have!"

"Harm, he wasn't you…" She kisses the hand in hers. "He wasn't going to stay with me and make sure I got to the hospital safely even though he was mad at me. That's something you would do."

"Mac, that's something any decent guy would do!"

"Well, I didn't have a lot of decent people in my life back then. It was a long time ago Harm. There's no point being mad about it; not now."

The flint in his stubborn jaw makes her smile. "You can't punch him in the face for it. He's dead. He has been for a long time… And you're not. I know you wouldn't leave me stranded on the side of the road, bleeding, no matter what tongue I cursed you in."

She squeezes his hand when the sour expression on his face begins to soften.

When she turns her gaze back to the road, he watches her quietly for a moment and finally smiles. "I refuse to feel sorry for the guy, Mac. He should've taken better care of you, but I don't envy him either… you standing on the side of the road screaming at him… in Russian… That was a sight! I bet you were scary even before the Marine Corps got hold of you."

She smiles as if he's just paid her a compliment and switches off the car stereo. Seeking a lighter, cheerier, subject she asks; "Did you ever make it to Z in that book of baby names?

"Yeah, I did.

"Find anything good for a boy?"

"Meh… Zachary."

Mac picks up on his disinterest. "It's just as well. I don't think there's a little boy alive named Zachary who hasn't, at one time or another, been referred to with the words Zac-attack. That's almost as bad as Mac-attack."

Harm turns in his seat as much as his seat belt will allow and smiles at his mother. "She really has a problem with nicknames; which is ironic considering she lives her life using one."

"Mac just made me feel safer when I was young, and eventually it stuck. People seemed to like it, and Sarah always sounded so… fragile… to me. The last thing I wanted anyone to know was that I was fragile. No one ever said it without making me feel vulnerable and scared until you came along."

When he squeezes her hand gently she smiles and returns to the subject of baby names. "Now you can flip the book over and go through the girl's names." Slowing for the final turn before reaching the clinic, Mac glances in the rearview mirror once again. "The book's design is unusual. Read it from one cover, and its boys' names. Flip the book over and start again from the opposite cover, and its girls' names. There are notations beside names that are considered to be unisex. Some of the names we've come across are a little bizarre; some of them even a bit scary."

"I'm okay with anything the two of you pick as long as it's not one of those ridiculous sounding celebrity baby names." Trish declares agreeably while Harm groans.

"Actually, I have a theory about that." Mac pauses for a second, trying to figure out what the absent-minded driver in the car in front of them is up to. When she can safely give them her attention again she continues. "All those ridiculous celebrity baby names; I'm guessing, or maybe I'm just hoping, that those children probably have different names. The ridiculous, yet memorable, names may be released to the public for safety reasons. I mean, the way people are about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, not to mention any other celebrity couple out there, if you were them… Would you want your child's name released of the public? If I'm wrong, I feel sorry for Gwyneth Paltrow's little girl… Apple. Her little brother born in 2006 was marginally better… Moses. At least that's a name; and not a fruit."

As Mac pulls into the parking lot at the San Diego Fertility Clinic, Trish observes a subtle but noticeable change in her son's posture. He's tense for some reason. She watches a silent look pass between the newlyweds. She finds that she can't decipher her son's wordless message to his wife, but she knows it's received loud and clear. Even out of context, Mac's response could not be more easily understood if she had spoken it aloud. She simply smiles and pats his thigh telling him without words; "I've got this."

Not certain she should call attention to her own presence in the moment, she simply smiles when Mac steps out of the Jeep and immediately steps back to open the rear door for her. Before she's out and straightening the hem of her blouse Harm is at her side; offering each of them an arm. "Shall we?"

Author's Note: Annie, I've never heard it said quite that way but I completely understood what you meant. The French are quite right. 'Dogs don't make cats!' The U.S. equivalent would be, 'Like father; like son' or perhaps 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.' Either one would be interchangeable with your country's colloquialism.

To the guest reader who wrote the review that consisted of three paragraphs. Please don't apologize for the rant. I know what it is to feel passionate about the preservation of our wildlife. I completely understand why you deliberately try to frighten the deer in your backyard. If they were here, they would meet the same tragic fate if they became overly comfortable with humans. When it comes to wildlife, my mother's favorite lesson to teach is; "If you don't understand it, leave it alone!"

And now, with regard to this chapter, my goal here is to write this scene with as much class and dignity as possible; and hopefully with a little humor and romance too.

San Diego Fertility Clinic

The automatic doors slide open and they are greeted by the customary rush of cool, stale, air that smells faintly of antiseptic and emits itself from every reputable medical establishment on the planet.

Getting her bearings, Trish glances at overhead and wall mounted directional signs. Before she can ask any questions regarding their destination, Mac offers, "We still have about half an hour before my appointment Trish. Harm and I are going to need just a few minutes to ourselves before then."

Mac smiles when his mother nods and then hands over a folded $10.00 bill from her pocketbook. "The cafeteria is it that way." She points. "Let us buy you a really bad cup of coffee. If you want, you can probably buy something to read in that gift shop over there." She nods her head sideways in the appropriate direction. "We'll be up on the fourth floor, but I'll be back down in less than fifteen minutes and then we'll go sign me in. Will you wait for us down here?"

In reply, Trish removes a book from her own handbag and steps in the general direction of the cafeteria. "See you soon." She smiles and waves as the couple steps into an elevator.

Upstairs, on the fourth floor, they thank the nurse who discreetly points them in the direction of room eight where they are told Harm will find everything he needs already waiting for him.

They approach hand in hand until he stops short of crossing the threshold of the appointed room. "Okay." He smiles and says in a hushed voice. "I think I'm on my own from here."

"Is there some reason you have to be? It doesn't all have to be so clinical you know." She whispers warmly.

"Maybe not; but this part does."

Stepping as close as she dares in public, she rests a hand on his chest and breathes quietly "Really? You sure about that?"

"Yes."

She smiles. "Fast answer. You got a girlfriend stashed in there, Flyboy?"

He chuckles; shaking his head. "Nope."

She acquiesces. "But you don't want me in there?" She questions; not needing to hear the answer.

"No." He says softly and flashes another smile.

"Why not?" She teases.

"A few reasons…"

"I'm listening…"

He touches her face and enjoys the feeling of her leaning into his caress. "First" he whispers, "I can't do this with you watching me."

"You can't… are you sure?" She flirts. I could help; you know."

His blue eyes sparkle with laughter accompanied by the slow burning embers of pleasure. "You already are helping; but beyond this, no, I'm afraid you can't."

She pouts. "Why not?"

"One, you have to go back downstairs. You told Mom you'd be up here for less than fifteen minutes. I can't believe neither one of us thought about this, when we invited her to come along. Two…" he runs the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "You're not supposed to be… getting excited… at least not for a few more hours anyway."

She raises an eyebrow seductively. "And you think this would… Excite me?"

"I do."

"Pretty confident there, Squid."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Sarah…" He breathes tenderly. "But exciting you has never been a difficult thing to do… and lately… I don't even have to try."

She tries to remain serious, to offer some form of objection, but she can't even keep a straight face. Giving in, she wraps her arms around his waist, buries her face in the curve of his shoulder and laughs. "Yeah, I know. I can't help it!"

"I know."

"If all these stupid hormones ever filter out of my system, you might actually have to make an effort again."

"I'll look forward to it."

"Like me better that way? Calmer; less excitable, when the irrepressible urge to molest you doesn't strike in aisle six of the grocery store?"

"Not what I meant. I don't mind having you this way either. I just meant you're worth the effort… always…whether the effort is to get you to behave… or to get you not to."

She smiles and holds him tightly. "Harm, there's part of me that still can't believe we're doing this. It still feels like a dream. Thank you."

Rubbing her back, he returns the embrace. "You don't have to thank me."

"I know." She murmurs. "That's why I did."

She's slow to do it, but eventually, she lets go of him. She stays close long enough to breathe against his ear. "I have to go now. The lingering scent of your aftershave is about to get me into trouble." She places a feather-light kiss against the pulse point in his neck and quietly slips away.

On the sixth floor, and hoping he's in the right place, he pushes through a door and leaves a waiting area behind. A bright-eyed nurse in pink scrubs looks up from her work behind the counter to his left with curiosity in her gaze and then offers a warm smile of greeting to the tall man in Navy dress.

"My wife is back here somewhere; I think. Sarah Rabb?"

She nods and points him in the general direction. "Room three. It's just up around the corner on the left."

As he nears said corner, a familiar raven-haired nurse passes by on her way elsewhere and greets him enthusiastically. "Hello, Captain. Tell Sarah we'll be with you in less than five minutes."

"Thanks, Marisol."

When he makes the turn, he finds the door to room three clearly marked and his wife stepping out of a wide doorway across the hall. "Hey, I know you!" He teases; flashing his grin.

She meets him in the center of the wide corridor and takes the hand he offers. "I certainly hope so!" She smiles. "If you don't, then it sure makes meeting you here seem odd."

"Should you be doing that?" He tilts his head toward the restroom door she just exited as it swings slowly closed behind her; stalled on its hinges to keep from endangering slow-moving patients who may not be steady on their feet. "I thought the doctor said a full bladder was best for ultrasound clarity?"

Nodding, Mac shrugs and offers quietly. "What she wants most is for me to be very well hydrated so the bowel is clear and won't obstruct the image. Besides…" She jokes. "I was nearing critical mass. Rebecca's got approximately twenty minutes before I have no choice but to do that again."

"Need more water?"

She shakes her head adamantly. "Please no! I got a little carried away with the water. In the last 2 ½ hours I've had about sixty-four ounces, and your mother just gave me a big bottle of grapefruit juice from the cafeteria. If I drink anything else, you'll have to stop halfway between here and home."

"I just bumped into the nurse. She says less than five minutes."

"Good. Maybe we can get this over with before my next mad dash."

Before they step toward the door of exam room three, she lowers her voice to an even more discreet decibel. "Everything go okay?"

He shrugs. "Didn't get any complaints."

She smiles and steals a quick kiss as she pulls him along with her. "Imagine that!" she whispers with a touch of sass.

As she enters the exam room she adjusts her tone to one less intimate. Smiling at Trish, who sits, reading her book, in the room's only chair, she announces, "Look who I found out in the hall."

"She did not!" He counters playfully when his mother smiles at him. "I found her!"

Mac rolls her eyes but smiles anyway as she settles back against the edge of the examination table. Intent on sliding back to a more comfortable position, she changes her mind halfway through and reverses direction, allowing both feet to return to the floor. She stands and concentrates on separating the hem of her sweatshirt from the hem of the T-shirt beneath it. As she attempts to remove the former while holding the latter in place, Harm steps forward placing his hands around her waist; firmly anchoring the T-shirt in place to make things easier for her.

"Are you sure you wanna do that? It's a bit cool in… here." He pauses as he notices color rising in her neck. At first, it's nothing more than a faint blush but the color deepens; changing rapidly to that of harsh sunburn before it begins coloring her face as well. Just the light caress of his fingertips against the delicate flesh of her neck and the warmth she radiates surprises him. "Okay, never mind… Your thermostat's gone wonky again."

"Yes, it has." She sighs with resignation.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asks sincerely.

Fanning the air beside her own face; she shakes her head in the negative and then replies irritably, "Stop touching me!" only to add a bit more softly, "At least until the broiler decides to turn itself off again."

He takes a step back as she settles herself once more atop the short exam table; knees bent, feet crossed at the ankles and swinging slightly. However, despite her most recent complaint, he's not at all surprised when she reaches out, hooking a single finger behind the top button of his shirt and gently pulling him closer only to let go of him as if touching him were unpleasant. He resists the urge to shake his head or laugh. In recent weeks he's gotten used to this kind of contradictory behavior. She doesn't want to be touched in these moments… She just wants him close.

It takes a moment for either of them to notice the amusement in Trish's eyes as she leaves her seat and hands Mac a ½ empty bottle of grapefruit juice.

The marine removes the cap and takes a long pull from the cool bottle as she raises an eyebrow. "What? What are you laughing about?" she asks drawing a curious look from Harm as well.

"I'm not laughing… Not really darling."

"Yes, you are! You're just very nice about it."

"You two are very entertaining."

She shakes her head in response to their puzzled expressions. "You squabble like brother and sister… She did not! I found her!… Stop touching me! You sound like a couple of five-year& olds. You also protect each other the same way… Ferociously; just like brother and sister. Earlier Mac, when you told of that motorcycle accident; he was ready to do battle. You hold hands and flirt like teenagers, and you fuss and fret over one another like a little old couple married more years than they've lived apart."

Trish finally does laugh out loud when the couple exchanges yet another odd look. It's Harm who shrugs and Mac who answers, "We've always been this way." Before they finish in unison, "Well, almost always."

Not one of them is aware that the door has opened until Rebecca Thayer speaks, calling attention to herself and interrupting Trish's laughter. "I wish I found all my patients waiting for me this happily."

She offers her hand to Trish. "Dr. Rebecca Thayer."

Stifling her laughter, she responds in kind. "Trish Burnett. I'm his mother." She smiles and nods her head sideways; indicating her son.

"Oh good!" the statuesque blonde smiles enthusiastically. "I like to meet all my babies' family members."

"Yes, well Laura has talked about the science experiment so much until I just wanted to see part of it for myself… as long as I'm not in the way?"

The doctor shakes her head. "Goodness no! They brought you along, so obviously they don't think you're in the way. I welcome grandparents. If you get in my way, I'll nudge you… easy enough."

As she talks, she looks her patient over, holds up a finger, and pokes her head through the door momentarily. "Marisol?" she calls hoping her assistant is near enough to be heard without shouting or leaving the room to go and find her.

"Yes, I'm coming… Just two shakes…" Comes the patient reply from the obviously busy nurse.

"Before you do, see if you can find Sarah an ice pack, a snow cone, or maybe a nice cool igloo in Alaska somewhere." The doctor calls out with equal parts mirth and urgency. "She's roasting in here!"

While they wait, the doctor washes her hands thoroughly in the room's sink, dons gloves and then motions without words for her patient to get more comfortable.

Mac slides back a few inches on the table before reclining, lifting her shirt and loosening the drawstring in her sweatpants to expose her abdomen for a quick physical examination.

The doctor gently palpitates one side of Mac's lower abdomen and then the other; paying careful attention not only to what she feels, but also to her patient's facial expressions and mood as she carefully searches for any sign of abnormality.

More comfortable with maintaining eye contact, than watching the doctor's movements, Harm smiles at his wife and offers her his hand to hold; temporarily forgetting about the no touching rule but quickly recovering when she scowls at him comically and gently swats his hand away.

"What's this all about?" The physician asks; smiling at a couple curiously.

Mac grimaces. "Under normal circumstances, I'm usually the one who's cold. I swear his resting body temperature is normally 3° higher than mine; which usually works well for the two of us. Typically, he keeps me warm. He's hot! He always has been. But right now, my hormones are attending some Bacchanalian orgy without my consent or participation. I'm melting from the inside out… and he wants to touch me!"

Rebecca Thayer chuckles quietly and continues her work as Marisol slips into the room closing the door behind herself with an elbow. Ice pack in hand, the nurse gently plops it on Mac's chest just; below her neck.

Mac relinquishes the bottle of juice to Trish's waiting hand and repositions the ice pack to better suit herself as she moans in gratitude. "Marisol you're a… god…" Mac stalls briefly as a sudden, unexpected, reaction to pain registers on her face.

The young nurse smiles and announces with pluck. I'd prefer goddess… but you're welc… Hey, that wasn't on purpose; was it?"

"No, it wasn't." The doctor answers calmly for her patient.

Even more gently than before, her fingers repeat their last movement; as Harm's shoulders stiffen and Trish instinctively places a hand on Mac's shoulder. "Sarah, is it worse when I press in, or when I let go?"

With all their levity fleeing the room faster than any one of them can blink, Mac concentrates diligently. After a weighted pause, she answers, "I can't tell for sure which is worse… The rebound pain I think, but neither one is pleasant."

"Okay, everybody relax. Let's just have a look before anyone panics." The doctor says with a bright smile. She reaches for the wand on the nearby ultrasound machine and by the time she realizes that the machine needs to be repositioned Marisol is already attending to it.

Mac jumps slightly and involuntarily inhales in response to the cold gel the doctor squirts on her firm belly.

"Sorry, this stuff is cold even for people who aren't in the grip of a killer heat wave." She uses the electronic wand to help spread the gel around while Marisol goes from repositioning machine to turning it on.

"It's okay. The power surge is starting to subside." Mac says while making an effort to stay calm as she notices the bright blue of her husband's eyes and the worrisome set of his jaw. He's scared. She tries a smile and reaches for his hand.

"Should I step outside?" Trish inquires quietly.

Mac reaches for the hand still resting on her shoulder and holds on tightly.

Understanding the unspoken message, Trish stays where she is as images begin to flicker and flutter in and out of focus before finally becoming clear on the ultrasound display screen.

Everyone stares at the screen, though more than half of the room's occupants don't really know how to interpret what is seen there.

"Uh huh…" The doctor murmurs more to herself than to anyone else after an interminable moment. "Just what I thought."

"What?" Harm demands tensely.

Rebecca Thayer holds up a hand; silently asking for their patience. "Hold on. Just let me… check the other side. She draws her words out, slowly and calmly as she moves the wand to the opposite side of Mac's abdomen. They all hold their breath until she has a good look, sees what she wants, and then double checks twice just to be certain before she speaks.

At length, she smiles at her patient. "Good girl. We're still in business." She makes eye contact with both Harm and Trish. "I knew we weren't going to get through this without at least a few hiccups. I just found the first one, but it's nothing that can't be remedied. Sarah is okay… And we can still proceed as planned." The doctor grins facetiously. "She's just growing a really impressive ovarian cyst over here on the left."

Trish relaxes almost completely while Harm's tension eases only marginally.

Mac touches his face. "I'm okay, Harm." She tries to soothe him. "We talked about this. It's a common side effect with fertility drugs and hormones like the ones I've been taking. Most ovarian cysts are benign and can be treated without surgery." She squeezes his hand and let's go of Trish's as she looks to her doctor for confirmation.

The woman nods. "Fortunately, only the left ovary is affected. You're not bright pink anymore either. If you've recovered from that hot flash, we can harvest from the right. If we get enough to attempt fertilization, we'll stop the hormones immediately. If not, we'll at least let you have a break from them while we treat the cyst, Then… We'll try again… but before we worry about that, let's see what we can pull from the right ovary today. With any luck, this phase could still end today."

Mac waits for Harm's reply, wanting to encourage him, but sensing at the same time that she needs to let him come to it on his own. He's silent for a long moment before he faces the doctor. "It's still alright to do this today?"

She nods. "It is. It's even advisable that we at least try. The sooner we do the harvest, the sooner she can stop the injections. That's what caused this. It won't get better unless she stops."

"And doing the harvest today, or at least trying to, it won't make things worse over there on the other side?"

"She's not going to be any less uncomfortable, but no, there isn't an increased risk that harvesting from the right would cause a greater problem with the left." She smiles patiently. "Right now, the cyst appears manageable; without surgery. The longer we wait, the more uncomfortable she will get. We can't leave the cyst untreated, and she can't take the hormones while treating it."

"You want to give it a try; don't you?" he asks quietly.

Mac nods, her dark eyes pleading with him. "If it works, this could all be over. I'll take some birth control pills if stopping the hormones isn't enough, the cyst will shrink and dissipate, and we could move on to the next step; but if you need a few minutes to think about it, I'll sit right here and wait."

He's quiet for a bit longer.

"The longer we put her through this, the smaller our chance of success gets; correct?"

"There's some variation with every patient, but yes, and that's the general trend. Success, when it happens, usually happens early."

Trish watches the two of them as they watch each other; carrying on a conversation no one else hears. She marvels at the obvious connection; the bond between them and smiles when at last her son nods his consent.

Mac offers him a sweet kiss before nodding for the doctor. "Okay, we're in, but do your best work, Rebecca. Talking him into doing this again… That's not going to be easy."

She hugs him tightly while she can; only letting go of him when she's forced to. She lies back again and watches the nurse prepare the large gauge syringe. She listens intently as her doctor instructs her calmly and patiently to take slow, shallow breaths during the procedure; in through her nose and out through her mouth with a three-second pause between an exhalation and the next inhalation. Focusing on that will help her through the procedure. She shouldn't talk or move at all. It's okay for Harm or Trish to talk quietly to her, but they shouldn't expect a response.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the sensation of their hands; she feels the gentle pressure of her doctor's fingertips clad in latex against the tender flesh of her abdomen; Harm's warm strong fingers laced with hers, and his other hand gently caressing her face; Trish's softer, but equally strong, and reassuring touch still resting in its place on her shoulder.

For the first time since childhood, she tunes in and deliberately listens to the ticking clock inside her head, and she begins to count. She will count the seconds until it's over. However, unlike those dark moments in her childhood, this time she's waiting for something good to happen...and this time she's not alone.

Author's Note: After the seriousness of the last few chapters, not to mention that of upcoming chapters. I thought a quick visit with Laura might be in order. This chapter was inspired by recent conversations I've had with Byrthhelm. Thanks for feeding the muse!

Burnett Residence

Dinnertime

Trish precedes Harm and Mac through the front door and she's pleased when she smells dinner in the oven. "I know you two have plans but come in long enough to say goodnight to Laura. I'm sure she will be overflowing with questions."

Leaving the foyer and heading for the living room, she is surprised that they are not greeted by anyone other than Laura's dog.

Even Candy isn't overly enthusiastic. Upon hearing car doors close outside, the dog had opened her eyes and rose from the large pillow where she was napping to go investigate; compelled to make sure the new arrivals were worthy of entry. She ambled slowly across the living room and poked her head through the archway into the foyer.

When she sees friendlies entering the house, she softly thumps her tail against the door frame twice before she slowly pads back to her pillow with every intention of reclaiming the nap they interrupted.

Realizing she doesn't hear the television, Trish starts to call out. "Frank? Laur…" She stops short when she steps into the living room and sees Laura curled up in her husband's lap; the two of them sound asleep in his favorite chair.

She holds a finger to her lips for Harm and Mac's benefit before she tiptoes into the room and covers the two of them with the plaid throw blanket kept draped over the back of the sofa. She slowly and very carefully removes a dusty smelling book from Laura's grasp and places it on the end table beside Frank's chair on top of the tall stack of books waiting there.

Leaving the room on silent feet, she shoos Harm and Mac down the hall to the kitchen. "They've been up to the attic." She says in a hushed voice. "They found some of your old books." She tells her son. "Looks like they wore themselves out digging through old boxes. You two want coffee?"

Harm shakes his head while Mac declines saying, "No, not tonight." which draws a look of surprise from him.

"What? I haven't had more than two cups in the last six weeks. The first 4 ½ were Hell on Earth. I'm finally starting to get used to it. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to have a nice big cup tomorrow morning and I'm going to enjoy it immensely, but I think I'm going to try and limit myself from now on. God forbid we should have to do this again, but if we do, I don't want to face another caffeine withdrawal like the last one. No more drinking coffee like its water, not if I can help it, and definitely not before somebody's pregnant."

"I thought you quit completely when you started the hormones." Harm questions.

That was the plan. I had a few really bad days at the office. I threw up the white flag a couple of times. Trouble was, I'd enjoy the first few sips and then I'd feel guilty and dump the rest. It was depressing; reminded me of the times I tried to quit drinking before Uncle Matt stepped in. Didn't like that, and don't want to go back to that."

Trish nods offering support as she opens the oven door to check on dinner. "I don't envy you. I'd be in trouble if I had quit coffee. If you think you've got it under control now, don't give that up just because you can."

"We'll see. I'm certainly going to try. The worst of it's over now… At least I think it is. What smells so good?"

"Meatloaf and sourdough bread," Trish answers closing the oven door. She removes a packet of vegetables from the freezer as Laura saunters into the kitchen and removes two books from the small basket on the front of her walker and places them on top of the bar before she carefully climbs onto a bar stool and slouches sleepily.

"Hello darling."

Laura yawns and opens both books, resting them side by side on the counter, as she responds to her grandmother. "Hi. I didn't hear when you came in." The little girl reaches for Harm; seeking a hug, and he obliges eagerly.

"You were sleeping. Good thing the oven is set low."

"Grandpa said it would be okay." She shrugs and yawns; unconcerned

"What have you got there? Mac asks, stepping close enough to see for herself.

"Uncle Harm's old books. Well… some of them. There's lots!"

Mac lifts the cover of one book. 'The Wind in the Willows.' I read this. It's about a little mole; if I remember correctly. And what's this one? 'Biggles and the Prince of Arabia.' I don't think I've read that one."

"It's a book about a fighter pilot and his adventures. There's a bunch of books about him I think, 'cause there's like 50 of them in the attic."

Mac smiles warmly. "I can see your uncle reading something like that. That's not hard to imagine that all."

"There are more than just what I had in the series… Somewhere around 100 I think. I didn't have the whole set, but I think I got close. Mom obviously still has the ones that survived my childhood."

Laura eyes her uncle curiously. "Survived?"

Trish smiles at the girl and nods vigorously. "He read some of them so many times that they literally fell apart. He even set fire to one of them."

Aghast, Laura scowls at her uncle. "You burn books?"

"Of course. not Sweetheart. Not on purpose anyway."

"He was a few years older than you are now. He removed the light fixture from a bedside lamp and put it under the covers with him. He fell asleep and burned the book and nearly himself!"

"Uncle Harm! You're supposed to use a flashlight!

He flashes his grin. "Yeah, I know. She took my flashlight away from me." He points an accusatory finger at his mother.

Laura turns her attention to Trish "Why'd you do that?"

"It was late darling, and a school night too. I wanted him to go to sleep. It never occurred to me that he might take the lamp apart or nearly set himself on fire. Please don't do that, okay?"

Laura shakes her head adamantly. "I won't. I don't wanna catch fire! Ouch! Na uh, not me. No way!" For a moment, she looks at Harm as if she thinks he might be looney tunes. "You know, that wasn't a very smart thing to do." She says with extreme seriousness.

"Yeah, I know, I didn't do it again…"

"Bet not. That must've been scary."

He smiles and whispers loudly. "It was… But it wasn't half as scary as my mom screaming at me; telling me she'd never let me read another book as long as I lived."

Laura's eyes go wide with dismay. "That might be worse than catching fire! I love my books."

He pats her shoulder. "She got over it eventually. But she wouldn't let me read in bed for a long time after that."

Laura passes a look between the three adults trying to imagine what it would be like not to be allowed to read in bed. After a few seconds of heavy silence, she shakes her head as if trying to rid her mind of unpleasant thoughts. Moving on to more pleasant things, she turns to her grandmother. "Is dinner almost ready?"

"It is. Let Grandpa sleep for another ten minutes, then go wake him up!""

"Okay." Laura says enthusiastically, finally shaking off the last remnants of sleep as the thought of food and something else occurs to her. "Hey, what are you guys doing here? I thought you were going on a date."

Mac pushes her bangs out of her face affectionately. "We are. We had to drop Trish off first. We'll be leaving very shortly."

"What did the doctor say?" Are we getting a baby or not?"

"We're one step closer. The doctor was able to get what she needs. Now we just have to wait and see if she can make it happen. If she does, Miss Harriett will be back for another visit sometime soon."

Laura shakes her head solemnly. "This is taking too long. I want the baby now!"

Harm chuckles. "You think it's taking too long? Hang in there kid. Me...I was ready to do this eight years ago!"

Author's Note: Annie, I too have seen the sunrise many times over because I couldn't put down a book until I was done, and no matter how good the ending is, I'm always disappointed when it's over because there's nothing more to read. My visit with the characters within is over. Maybe that's why I like series as much as I do. I have a few favorites and the characters become almost like distant relatives that you visit with, cherish, and then leave behind until the next visit. When I finish a book, I console myself with the notion that I'll just have to kill another year while the author writes the next installment.

Last summer I read 'W is for Wasted by Sue Grafton.' While I love the series, I'm going to have to start all over again after she makes it to Z. Otherwise, I'm going to miss Ms. Milhone once she finally solves her last case.

Since Patricia Cornwell married, the Scarpetta series just isn't what it used to be. Kay, her protagonist, has changed and not for the better. I own the series up to and including 'Port Mortuary.' However, I was so disgusted with it. I haven't bothered to spend the money on the rest. I did read Red Mist courtesy of the library, but I hated it. I also read The Bone Bed. It was a long-needed improvement; her first decent book in years, in my not so humble opinion. I've yet to read the latest two, 'Dust' and 'Flesh and Blood.' I didn't realize I was two books behind until just now; when I checked Cornwell's website. Time for a trip to the library; maybe. Gotta talk to my gal pals and see if either book is worth the walk to the other side of town.

Rabb residence

Sometime after 2100 HRS

His body still warm with pleasure, Harm's mind gradually, returns to the world inside their bedroom. He'd been lost in his desire for her. Now, she's still, she's quiet, and her breathing is rhythmic. She must be asleep. The ceiling fan overhead turns slowly; creaking softly. From this distance, the tumbling ocean waves outside are little more than a whisper.

'We never even made it to the front door.' He muses to himself wryly.

"Something wrong?" her hushed words are a tender surprise.

He rolls onto his side and folds himself around her; cradling her back against his chest as he chuckles quietly. "I thought you were asleep. No, nothing's wrong."

He runs the palm of his hand over the rumpled satin that still covers her hip and she places her hand over his; reveling peacefully in the feel of his touch.

"Well, something's on your mind." Her quiet words are neither a question nor an accusation; just a simple statement of fact.

He shifts slightly, resting his head in the palm of his other hand as he looks down at his own body and his own badly rumpled clothing. "We're kind of funny; you and I."

"We're funny?"

"Sure, we are. Married more than four months, and we still haven't managed to do something as commonplace as going out to dinner alone together in public."

She giggles softly. "I know. Who'd have thought dinner for two at a nice restaurant would be such a hard thing to accomplish."

"Disappointed?"

She turns in his arms and eyes him as if he's asked her an utterly ridiculous question. "How could I be?" She smiles like the cat who swallowed the canary and found great satisfaction in it.

"Still, I'm beginning to think you and I have some sort of obscure problem with the typical date. "

She shrugs wholly unconcerned and begins idly playing with one of the loose buttons on his open shirt front. "Who cares. I used to think going out on a date with you would be fun. I still do, I haven't changed my mind; it's just that staying home with you can't be beat. If we never go out, that'll be just fine as long as all our evenings alone together begin the way this one did."

"You sure? I got a bit carried away; I think. Too carried away to even bother getting undressed. "

She gently touches his face and declares in a whisper, "If that was you getting carried away… you should do that more often."

"Hmm… and see, I thought you liked me being… attentive."

"Oh I do! I'm not saying stop… Please don't ever stop… Just, sometimes it's okay to focus on what you want."

"I do! Every blessed time! But that's all I was thinking about tonight Mac."

Gently teasing him, she arches an eyebrow. "Yes, I know."

Laughing, he declares, "It's your fault! You walked in here wearing this dress. I swear I was going to behave like a gentleman, but then you brushed past me."

She tries to bite back her own laughter. "And the gentleman in you got clobbered by a neanderthal… just that easily?"

"Hey, I plead the fifth! You should never have gotten within arm's length. Not before we made it out the front door."

She nods with a comically sarcastic look on her face. "It's all my fault because… you could reach me?"

"Yes!" he declares with vigor. "If you're going to wear dresses that fit like a second skin and are fashionably worn with next to nothing underneath, then you should stay at least an arm's length away. Otherwise, I just get… sidetracked."

"Hmm… I think, if this dress hasn't been damaged beyond repair, I'll keep it. If for no other reason, just so I can sidetrack you whenever I want. And, for the record counselor, I've never minded being within an arm's length of you. I kinda like it when you can reach me."

"Except for when you're having one of those crazy hot flashes? " He teases.

"Even then. I don't mind being close enough to touch, I just don't want you to actually do it. Not then. Hopefully, those crazy hot flashes are over with now, or at least they soon will be. I hope she got enough. I hope it works. I don't wanna do that again, not if it can be helped Harm. That was not fun; not at all!"

He tries to snuggle a little closer. When it can't be managed, he holds her just a little tighter until he finds himself suddenly worried. He loosens his embrace marginally as he asks, "How's your belly? Still sore?"

She nods. "It'll be worse tomorrow. And the bruise that's still surfacing will be nasty looking by then."

He frowns. "She bruised you?"

"Couldn't be helped. She tried to be gentle. But I bruise badly just getting blood drawn. This was a bit more prolonged."

"And I come home and pick tonight to throw you into bed…"

"Throw is a bit harsh. I may have been hauled into bed, or maybe even manhandled. But I wasn't thrown."

"Did I hurt you?"

"If you had, you would've known it. You weren't that far gone."

He flashes his grin. "You sure about that?"

"Positive, I was perfectly safe; in no danger at all."

"Well, I may not have hurt you. But we've definitely missed our reservation. You'll be getting hungry soon."

"Are you kidding? I'm already famished. Have we got anything to eat in the kitchen?"

He nods. "Cupboard's not bare yet, but it's getting close. We have to go to the grocery store this weekend." He sits up. I can throw something together tonight, and there are eggs and biscuits for breakfast."

"Okay… maybe in half an hour. "

"I thought you were famished?"

"I am, but we're taking a shower first."

"Oh, we are, are we?"

"Uh huh, we are." She leaves the bed and reaches for his hand as she heads for the master bath.

Following willingly, he begins to shrug out of his wrinkled shirt. She turns catching him halfway through the act and stops him with gentle hands.

Confused, he raises an eyebrow. "Sarah, rolling around in bed with half of our clothes still on might be fun sometimes, but I don't think the same rule applies to the shower."

"Oh, I know that." She says in a sultry voice. "But if you don't mind, I'll undress you myself."

He nods and tilts his head slightly; catching on. "It's your turn now; is it?"

"It is..."