A/N: When I began writing chapter eight, I ran into a problem. I felt like I'd written myself into a corner with no way out. After much deliberation, I decided to rewrite the first part of this chapter. The differences are subtle, but I think necessary. I've also made a few changes to the first six chapters (re-worded a few things or corrected some typos). However, there is nothing with those changes that affect the meaning of the story.

Alive

Flashback

Remote Island, Atlantic Ocean
May 30, 2001
0830 Local

Malcolm enjoyed his twice-daily walks along the beach, where the only sounds were the ocean waves and the call of seagulls. It was a perfect way to begin and end each day. On his rare visits to the mainland, old acquaintances often asked him if the solitude bothered him.

His response was always the same. "No. It's what I've chosen."

After Vietnam, he went on to finish college and held a successful job. He was fortunate in some was not to have suffered as much as some of his comrades. Many of them still carried the scars of that war. But he'd never felt entirely comfortable. Here on the island, "his" island, he had found peace.

Now his solitary life had been disrupted. It wasn't the first time he'd found strangers on the beach. Sometimes adventurers would invade his space. But how this man came to the island was unusual. The naval aviator wasn't here by choice. But somehow, fate or the gods had put him in this place. Had the commander not washed ashore on the remote island, Malcolm was convinced the man wouldn't be alive.

It was touch and go for a few days as the man drifted in and out of consciousness. Malcolm relied heavily on his training as an Army medic. Living alone, he made sure to have an ample amount of first-aid supplies. Dealing with the hypothermia had been the hardest thing. Warm IV solutions would have been ideal, but he'd managed by removing the wet clothing and using blankets and warm compresses.

The man swallowed quite a bit of seawater and had numerous cuts and bruises—including marks around his neck, which were made by shroud lines. His left knee was swollen and bruised, but there were no broken bones. The first two days he was awake only long enough to drink some water. By the third day, he stayed awake long enough to eat some broth. He spoke only a few words and then only if spoken to. On day five, he seemed much stronger.

He was awake sitting outside the hut when Malcolm returned from his walk. The man acknowledged him as he approached.

"It looks like your back among the living."

"Yeah. Where am I?"

"You're on a remote island in the Atlantic. Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really."

This wasn't good. Malcolm already knew his name and the fact he was a commander in the US Navy from the patch on his flight suit.

Still, he asked. "What is your name?"

The younger man looked perplexed. "I… I don't know."

North of Union Station
June 11, 2001
2030 Local

Mac knew she should go back to her apartment, but she was reluctant to leave Harm's place. Whether it was a dream or a vision, the image of Harm walking along a seashore was the first she'd had since seeing his empty life raft the night of the accident. For the first time in almost three weeks, she had hope.

She had tried countless times to connect to him both at work and home. She'd even visited the wall one evening to visit with his father. She believed Harm Sr. was looking out for his son, recalling the day they went flying not long after she came to JAG headquarters when Harm told her about "Sarah."

My grandfather earned his Navy wings in a Stearman like Sarah. My dad and I were gonna restore her. But he was shot down in Nam.

So, you and your grandfather restored her?

No, my grandfather was killed flying off the Hornet in '42. My grandmother kept it tarped on the farm. After my crash, I spent a lot of time up there. At first, I didn't want to take it off. But when I did, restoring her became everything. It was like Dad was with me again.

With the way that clearing appeared out of nowhere, I think he still is.

But she hadn't been able to connect with Harm. Not at her apartment, not at the wall, not even in Harm's office. Guess she couldn't call it Harm's office anymore. By the end of the day, Lt. Commander Hughes had moved things in. Mac wanted to slap the smug son of a bitch.

But now, at Harm's home, with all his personal belongings still around, she felt close to him. Maybe she'd stay here tonight. After all, she had a seabag in the car.

She started toward the door when she the sound of a key in the lock. Who could it be? She held her breath as the door opened to reveal Trish Burnett.

Trish gasped as she saw Mac.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Burnett. I have no right to be here. Harm had given me a key and I—

"Darling, there's no need to apologize. I know how much you mean to my son."

"It's just that I feel closer to him here and I…" Mac paused. How much should she tell this woman? She barely knew Trish Burnett. Certainly not well enough to confess she'd had a vision of Harm being alive.

"He's not dead. I don't know how I know, but I believe it. That's why I wouldn't allow them to call the chapel service a memorial. My son is alive, and I'm not going to give up hope."

Mac looked at the older woman. She'd been through a lot in her life. Her first husband being shot down in Vietnam, not knowing his fate, her only son having a ramp strike that could have killed him. Years later, learning Harm Sr. survived his crash and lived in Russia for several years. The news that he'd fathered another son. Trish Burnett was a strong woman who had endured much in her life. The idea of Harm being alive wasn't the wishful thinking of a fanatical woman. Mac could confide in her.

"I believe it too. Mrs. Burnett, I want to tell you something. I don't let everyone know for fear they'll believe I'm crazy."

"Please, darling. Mrs. Burnett is too formal. Please call me Trish. And let's sit down." She nodded toward the sofa.

After they were seated, Trish said. "Please continue."

"In the past, I've had visions. The first time was when my little sister Chloe…" Mac told Trish the story of the time Chloe was missing and how she had seen her in the woods. "I hope you don't think I'm crazy."

"Of course not. There are inexplicable forces at work that none of us can explain. I gather the incident with your sister wasn't the only time."

Mac shook her head. "The night Harm's plane went down, I saw his life raft. I was able to pinpoint the location, and the rescue team did find it. I've tried hard to find him since then. When I came here tonight, I lay down on his bed. I must have fallen asleep, but I'm convinced what I saw wasn't a dream. He was walking along a beach. There was a rocky cove nearby. I didn't see his face, but I have no doubt it was him."

Trish nodded. "I see."

"The thing is a few days earlier I saw something similar. A sandy beach, a rocky crevice. Someone was lying in a bed. I had opened a file for a case Harm had been handling. When I saw his handwriting, I…" Mac's voice broke, and Trish reached to take her hand.

"Go on, darling."

"I had just read some of his notes when I had the vision. Right after that, I had to go to a staff meeting." Mac shook her head. "You probably do think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy at all. My son is alive."

"Yeah, I believe he is too."

Trish smiled. "What are we going to do about it