A/N: Yes, Harm is alive. (You seriously didn't think I could kill him, did you?) If you didn't read the updates to the previous chapter, I changed a couple of things. (See authors note for "Alive.") Also, I don't believe the show gave us the date of Harm's ramp strike. In the episode "Yeah, Baby," Mac said he spent three years in law school and four years at JAG. That would have him starting Georgetown in 1992, so I'm estimating the crash happened sometime in 1991.

Voices

Remote Island, Atlantic Ocean
June 12, 2001
0530 Local

It's pizza night and my stomach's growling. What do you say we trap this time?

I don't know, Mace. I kind of like going around in the moonlight.

What moonlight? It's blacker than the inside of a coal miner's nose out here.

Tomcat 173. You're at a mile and a quarter. Call the Ball.

One-seven-three Tomcat. Clara, 3.6.

Bend left, Harm.

One-seven-three Tomcat. Ball, 3.5.

Below the glide path, Harm.

I'm on the glide path.

You're a little low. You're a little low!

Power! Power! Power!

He awoke with a start, then sat up in the makeshift bed, his body drenched in sweat. Taking a few deep breaths, he willed himself to calm down.

The dream began three nights ago and recurred nightly. It was the same each time. If only he could get past the part where someone yelled, "Power."

Tomcats. Glide paths. Traps. Calling the ball. The lingo sounded familiar. Why? What happened, and why did he keep having this nightmare?

Trying to sleep was useless now, so he got out of bed, pulled on some clothes, then went outside. Might as well take a walk on the beach. He sat in the sand, far away from the water's edge, then tried to recall anything that might be related to the dream.

Think. The person in the back seat called you Harm. Malcolm calls you that.

Somewhere, from the recesses of his mind, a memory surfaced. You were a pilot.

He watched as the first rays of sun peek over the horizon, the rose to walk farther down the beach.

Eject! Eject! Eject!

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The canopy opened. You ejected. Flames were everywhere.

"Oh, God, no."

A wave of nausea washed over him.

He had crashed a Tomcat on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

And in the process killed a man.

June 12, 2001
0700 Local

Malcolm hated to admit there were times when living on an isolated island had its disadvantages. He had no means of contacting anyone, something his friend Sam had repeatedly reminded him of.

"You should invest in some type of communication device," Sam had said during his last visit to the island. "If you became ill or had an accident, you have no way of getting help. You could die, and no one would know for weeks or months."

He had shrugged it off. "Then I would die a happy man."

That was before he found a half-drowned Navy Commander on the beach. He had brought the younger man to his hut and did his best to nurse him back to health with the limited resources he had.

Of course, he'd expected the Navy to launch a search and rescue effort. But almost three weeks had passed with no sign of anyone. The commander didn't express any desire to get off the island. Maybe it was because of his memory loss that he felt comfortable here.

During the first few days after arriving, "Harm" muttered something about a storm, a malfunctioning plane, and the water being cold. He kept calling for someone named Mac.

Malcolm wasn't sure who that person was but figured it was a relative or close friend. And the night before he found Harm washed up on the beach, there had been a massive storm, the likes of which he hadn't seen in years.

At one point during those first few days, Malcolm asked his name, and he replied, "Harm."

That, at least, was a good sign. But on day five, when he regained consciousness, he seemed to have lost all his memory. He didn't know his name or remember anything about how he had come to be on the island. Friends, family, career—everything seemed lost.

Malcolm didn't know how to deal with people with amnesia, so he didn't tell him anything other than his name and hoped he would remember on his own.

Should I tell him the truth?

What truth? The only thing you know is his name, and he's a commander in the US Navy. You only assume he had some kind of accident and had to eject from a plane.

You could tell him he's in the Navy.

He looked up when Harm entered the hut. His face was pale.

"You had the nightmare again?"

"Yeah, it woke me up again. Couldn't go back to sleep, so I went for a walk on the beach. I wish it had only been a nightmare. I thought if I concentrated hard enough, I might remember something."

"From the look on your face, you did remember."

"I'm an aviator in the US Navy. I fly Tomcats. I was returning from a mission, something went wrong with my vision, and I crashed an F-14 on the deck of an aircraft carrier. Mace, my RIO, punched us out early.

"So, you ended up in the ocean. Didn't the Navy conduct a search and rescue? You couldn't have landed far from the carrier. Why couldn't they find you?"

"I didn't come down in the ocean. I landed on the deck. Mace didn't make it."

"When did this happen?"

"May 1991. Just before I came here."

"Something doesn't add up. I found you on the beach, half-drowned, and in stages of hypothermia. Tell me what you do remember. Then, I'll tell you what I know."

June 12, 2001
1930 Local

Harm decided to take another long walk along the beach later that evening. He thought he was close to regaining his memory this morning, but after the talk with Malcolm, it was clear he had a long way to go.

After breakfast, the older man said he was going to the other side of the island to fish and wouldn't be back until late, leaving Harm alone with his thoughts.

He'd been here almost three weeks, and no one was searching for him. And how had he ended in this place? The last thing he remembered was ejecting from the Tomcat before waking up on the island.

Okay, it didn't make sense. Harm was positive he'd come down on the deck of the carrier, not in the water. He knew Mace didn't make it, and that the crash happened in 1991. He held the rank of Lieutenant. Other than that, he couldn't recall anything else about the accident.

According to Malcolm, this was 2001. He was still in the Navy, still flying, and was a full commander. How could he have forgotten ten years of his life? Was there anyone special in his life? Was he married? Have children?

Harm shook his head. If any of that were true, he felt sure he'd remember.

You and me. Have a baby together?

That voice. So familiar, yet so distant.

He ventured close to the rocks.

Water's cold out there.

A sudden chill enveloped him, even though the evening air was warm.

Water. I was surrounded by water. The waves were overpowering. I couldn't get to the life raft.

He shook his head. He hadn't ejected into the ocean.

Harm, I'm not a strong swimmer.

As soon as the memory surfaced, it faded. The tide was coming in, and the waves began to crash upon the rocky crevice.

A different woman's voice. This person was a mere acquaintance, maybe even a friend, but not a close one. The first woman he had a close connection with. Of that, he was sure.

He walked a little further when he heard the first voice again.

"Harm? Where are you, flyboy. I know you're alive. Please come back to me."