A/N: Yes, Harm has regrets, and he realizes he made a big mistake.

Apparently, a guest reviewer didn't read my author notes on the first chapter. Sorry to disappoint you, (not really) but this WILL be a Harm and Mac story. Or maybe the reviewer is what Radiorox calls a "Rabid Harm Fan."

Photograph

July 27, 2010

Harmon Rabb Jr. reclined the first-class seat of the 777-300 jet, then stretched his legs. He'd always hated flying commercial—never enough leg room for someone his height—so he'd purchased a first-class ticket. The seating was luxurious with pillows, a duvet, comfortable chair, and his own television (not that he was interested in watching anything).

The flight time was almost twelve hours. A Hornet would have gotten him to San Diego a lot faster, but Navy transport was no longer an option. Forty-eight hours ago, he'd become a civilian. His decision to leave the Navy hadn't come easily, but five years in London in a command post had taken their toll. Harm hated the political aspects of his job. As Force Judge Advocate, he rarely got to be in the court room. He never went out on investigations, an aspect of being a JAG he found the most exciting. He'd kept his flight status, but there hadn't been too many opportunities to fly.

After leaving DC, he didn't try to keep in touch with his old friends. He'd heard from Bud and Harriet a few times in the early years. A J Chegwidden once stopped in for a visit on his way to Milan. Harm had nothing to say to Sturgis Turner, a man whom he once called a friend. But when Sturgis accused him of murder without doing a complete investigation, any bonds of friendship were permanently broken.

And then there was Mac. After the way he treated her the night she came to his apartment, he knew she'd never call. His actions made certain that would never happen. He still wasn't sure why he'd acted the way he did that night. Said the things he'd said.

Harm had thought after her accident on Christmas Eve, they were making progress. He'd been willing to take things slow, let Mac set the pace. Although Cresswell rarely allowed them to work together on cases, the few times they had Harm had offered to cook dinner so they could pour over the details of a case without interruptions from anyone at the office. A few times they'd gone running together, much like they had in the early years of their friendship. Even though Mac had grown more serious over that last year, they'd even shared a few laughs. He thought the ice was melting.

After getting the news of their new assignments, he'd gone to her apartment with every intention of telling her how he felt about her. But when he got there, he couldn't seem to find the words. How was it that he could influence members of the court with his words and become tongue-tied around Mac? It was just as well. Better to have remained silent than make a fool of himself.

But no matter what happened, Mac had been his friend for nine years. She didn't deserve to be treated the way he'd treated her. He'd spent the better part of five years kicking himself in the ass for what he'd done.

All water under the bridge now. Even if he did run into Mac, he doubted anything he said or did could repair the damage. He hoped she'd done well. She was certainly more suited for a command position than he was. If she was still in San Diego. He halfway hoped she wasn't.

What was he thinking? The chances of them running into one another were slim. He would only be in La Jolla for a couple of weeks anyway.

Harm looked out the window of the plane. The sun was setting over the ocean. It was going to be a long flight. Might as well get some sleep.

La Jolla, California
Three Days Later

It was mid-morning before Harm awakened. After a quick shower, he dressed then went downstairs to the kitchen. Trish was still home.

"Any chance of getting a cup of coffee?"

"Darling! Good to see you awake before noon." She brushed a kiss on his cheek.

"Jet lag. And I'm not exactly young anymore."

"Nonsense. Age is a state of mind. And its obvious you've stayed in good shape physically." Trish filled a mug with coffee, then sat it on the counter in front of Harm. "At any rate forty-seven is not old."

"Almost forty-seven, Mom. I still have a few months to go. So, why aren't you at the gallery today?"

"There's a big exhibit tonight, so I'm not going in until later. In the meantime, my assistant is more than capable of handling things. You remember Jennifer Presswood, don't you?"

"From high school?"

"Yes. You took her to the prom."

"That was a long time ago. I saw her at our ten-year class reunion. She was married some football jock."

"Was married. They're divorced. She's been working for me about a year now. Sometimes I don't think she's aged a bit. She'd like to see you while you're in town. Why don't you come to the exhibit tonight?"

"Don't think so. Art exhibits aren't exactly my thing."

"Oh, you don't have to pay attention to that. I'm proud of my son and I'm sure there are several people who would love to see you."

"Like Jennifer."

"For one."

"No, thanks. I'm not much for socializing these days. I'll just hang out here."

Trish motioned to the table. "Talk to me, darling."

"Mom."

"No, Harmon. You've been brooding for years. Ever since you moved to London. And suddenly, not long before you were sure to get your star, you resign. What's going on?"

Harm didn't want to talk about his life with anyone, but he knew his mother wouldn't give up. Might as well get it over with now. At least tell her enough to pacify her. He took his coffee to the table.

Trish poured another cup, then sat opposite him. "I'm waiting."

"I was tired of the Navy. Didn't like the politics associated with a command position. I put in my years. It was time."

"What are you going to do now? Go into private practice?"

"Don't know yet. I plan to take a few months off then decide."

Trish smiled. "Well, now that you're back in the states, I'm sure you'll want to catch up with some of your old friends from JAG. How's Mac?"

Harm knew his mother well enough to know she was fishing. Although she'd never come out and asked him, she had to be curious as to why he no longer mentioned her. He gave her the same answer he did before his trip to Russia years ago. "She's fine, I guess."

"You haven't talked to her?"

"Not in five years."

"Is that why you always act like you ate sour grapes for breakfast? I thought she was your best friend."

"I thought so too, Mom."

"What happened?"

"Nothing I want to talk about. Not now. Not ever." He pushed away from the table. "I'm going to change and go for a run."

Later that Evening

Harm sat on the patio of his parent's house, nursing a beer, and staring at the photograph of he and Mac. Someone had taken their picture in Afghanistan. Harm always kept it nearby, along with a few others. One of them taken at little A J's christening, another at the NATO ball, one during a Christmas gathering at the Roberts' house.

A cool breeze blew from the ocean, making the evening pleasant. This was much nicer than the weather in London.

As expected, Trish Burnett didn't give up easy. After his run, she'd tried to talk him into going to the gallery. When he refused, she tried a different tactic. "Well, that's okay. We'll just have Jennifer over for dinner later this week.

Harm knew she was concerned, but he was a grown man. He didn't need his mother to interfere with his love life. Or lack thereof. He'd gone out with a few women while living overseas, but never anything serious. Truth was, he didn't want a serious relationship. If he couldn't have Mac…

He shook his head. She'd once said the navy was all he had. Now he didn't even have that. What he did have was the photographs, and he'd cherish them until the day he died.

The sliding doors opened. Frank stepped onto the patio holding two glasses of bourbon. "Want something stronger than that beer?"

"Sounds good." Harm took one glass from him. "I thought you'd be at the exhibit."

"I put in the mandatory appearance."

Harm chuckled. "Not your thing, huh?"

"Can't understand what people see in a canvas where it looks like someone threw several buckets of paint on it. They call that art?"

"I'm with you there."

"Is everything all right, son?"

"Did Mom put you up to asking?"

Frank took a sip of bourbon. "No, although I know she tried to talk to you today. She's just concerned."

"I know that."

"I'm happy you came to see us, and you're always welcome here, but maybe you need some time alone. I love your mother, but she won't give up easy."

Harm rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"She means well."

"I know."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Harm knew his stepfather was right. He needed some time alone to think. To decide what to do with the rest of his life.

"Frank?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still have that place in the Bahamas?"

"I do."

"By chance is it available?"

"It's always available for family. Thinking about going there?"

"Yeah. The sooner the better."

"It's yours. I call the caretaker and have them make sure everything is ready for you."

"Thanks, Frank. I'll leave in a couple of days. I'll book a flight."

"No need for that. You can take my private jet."

"That's very generous of you."

"As I once told you, you're the only son I ever had. I'm just glad I can help."

"Thanks. I'll leave day after tomorrow."