Chapter Three

Rehabilitation Center

Bethesda, Maryland

If Harm wasn't on assignment, he was visiting Bud every week to check up on his friend. This time, he had something on his mind that bothered him since he had talked with Harriet earlier that day.

"How are you feeling, Bud?" He asked after the initial greetings.

"To be honest with you, sir, I don't know how I feel yet."

Bud gave a humorless chuckle. "Incomplete, I guess."

"That's understandable, I guess. Just concentrate on getting better. Harriet and your friends will take care of anything else you need."

"How much 'better' do you think I'm going to get, sir?" Bud asked solemnly.

Harm looked at his friend and thought about his answer. He knew for a fact that most of the things he could say were empty platitudes.

"I don't know, Bud. That depends on you and your physician, I guess."

After an uncomfortable silence, Harm decided to bring up the topic that was on his mind.

"Hey, Bud. I spoke to Harriet earlier. She told me that you were thinking about leaving the Navy," he said.

Bud's head jerked toward him, startled, but Harm held up a hand.

"Don't worry, Bud. She hasn't spoken to anybody else about it; not even Mac. She's afraid you actually might do it."

He left it at that to see where Bud's head was.

Bud sighed. "Yes, I'm thinking about it. But I haven't made any decisions yet. Thanks to this," Bud knocked on his leg, "I'm eligible for a medical discharge. If I were to go into civilian law, we wouldn't have to worry about money."

Harm looked his friend straight in the eyes. "Come on Bud. As long as I've known you, money has never been your priority. So, tell me, what is the real reason why you are thinking about resigning?"

There was a long pause before Bud answered. "You know, getting back involves a lot of physical therapy. I'm not sure whether I want to suffer through that and the annual physical. Besides, I'm not sure whether I could perform the duties expected of me anymore."

"Do you think that you're unable to perform the duties or is it more the fact that you're unwilling to try and do so?"

Bud was silent as he thought about Harm's question. "Honestly, sir, it's both, I guess."

Harm silently thought about Bud's answer. "You know, I can somewhat understand where you're coming from."

"You, sir?" Bud asked surprised and a little incredulously.

"Yes, me, Bud. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Yes, of course, sir. We met when you and Commander Pike investigated a murder on the Seahawk."

"Exactly. That was the first time I was on a carrier since my crash."

Bud had an idea where he was getting at and asked the one question he had never dared before. "How badly were you hurt, sir?"

Harm sighed. "I had barely survived and had been injured severely. At first, the doctors told me that there was only a slim chance that I would be able to walk again. It had been a dark time, Bud."

"I didn't know, sir."

"How could you, Bud? I don't talk about it - even until this day," Harm replied. "Anyway, I remember what it felt like when I was in rehab. I know that it is painful, in more ways than one. That's why I am amazed at how you're handling it so far. Me, I lashed out at anyone who dared to get within reach. Family, friends, it didn't matter. I pushed everyone away."

"What changed?"

"There were two people who just wouldn't leave me alone. My grandmother and Diane."

"Lieutenant Schonke?" Bud asked hesitantly.

"Exactly."

They were silent for a moment, remembering the late Diane Schonke.

"Anyway, they reminded me that I would have to stop thinking about what I've lost and started looking on the positive side of things at some point," Harm said and saw Bud's face.

"Yes, Bud, I know exactly how that sounds. However, in the end, they were right. You still have a life, Bud. You have a wife and child that love and adore you, and you still have your friends. We will do anything in our power to help you get through this and stand by any decision you make."

"Thank you, Harm." Bud was silent for a moment. "At first, I thought you would tell me so suck it up."

"I couldn't do that, Bud. In the end, the decision is yours to make. There is no doubt in my mind that if you decide to stay in the Navy that you'll pass all the tests. And you will be successful outside the Navy, too, should you decide to leave. And we, I, will be right beside you."

Harm looked at his friend.

"Unless you decide to specialize on suing the Navy, like our esteemed former exchange officer from Down Under," Harm said.

"Don't worry, sir. That's not going to happen, either way," Bud said with the same revulsion Harm felt.

"I'm glad to hear that."

They enjoyed a quick laugh.

They spoke for a little while longer before Harm went home. He was spent after a long day at work.

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington, D.C

White House Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman was walking through the bullpen deep in thoughts when someone bellowed his name.

Josh's head swung around, attempting to locate the voice that had just yelled his name. "What?"

C.J. whacked him lightly with a folder, drawing his attention. "The natives are getting restless."

"Which ones? AP?"

"It doesn't matter which ones – they'll all get on the scent eventually. You've got to let me tell them something."

"All right, tell them what you know."

"See, that would be the problem because what I know is approximately nothing. But things are eventually going to get hot, and I'd like to be prepared."

"Look, when Leo tells me what our position is, I'll tell you, and then we'll go from there. I can't do any better than that," Josh told her. "We're all set for the thing in Atlanta on Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, knowing she wouldn't get anything further out of him.

"This is what I love about you, C.J. You're such a ray of light in this office."

"Josh, if you don't drop the sarcasm right now, I'm going to tell Amy that you recommended the Families First Initiative."

"I'm impervious to threats, but I'll shut up anyway, just to be a nice guy."

When she allowed him access to his office, Josh walked inside, but quickly stuck his head back out into the hallway.

"Hey, C.J., what was the name of that naval officer you met with about the Al-Qaeda tribunals?"

She turned back, wary of the question. "Rabb. Commander Harmon Rabb. Why?"

"No big deal. I just thought he was more of an admin-type officer."

"What makes you think otherwise now?"

"Well, apparently we're giving him some kind of commendation for combat service."

He tossed her the file, and she skimmed it.

What the hell? "Do you need this?" she asked, waving the file in her hand.

He shrugged. "Nah, I don't know why I got it in the first place. Help yourself."

"Thanks. I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I always need you, C.J. …"

Rolling her eyes, she strode toward her office and sat down at the computer. She had fought against the urge to check into Harm before, wishing to learn about the man the old fashion way, by talking to him. But now, after reading the file Josh had given her, she decided to change that. Obviously, there was more to that particular commander than met the eyes. Fortunately, information was her trade. She had nearly four hours before their next scheduled meeting at Café Maria, and she fully intended to use the time well.

Café Maria

Columbus Avenue, Washington D.C.

When C.J. arrived at the café - only eleven minutes late this time - Harm was already seated. There was a cup of coffee and a muffin waiting for her. When he saw her, he stood up.

"C.J.," he greeted pleasantly. "Hope you like blueberry. I took a guess," he said with a smile.

It was a good guess, but she didn't dare let down her guard just yet.

"So you're just another lawyer, huh?" she asked, leveling an accusatory stare on him as she took a seat. "Spend all your days in the courtroom and in that 'action-packed office' you spoke of?"

"Most of the time," he answered, unsure what to make of her rather aggressive demeanor. "Occasionally things get a little more exciting, but – "

"What would you call exciting?" C.J. asked. "Say, for instance, allowing a nuclear missile to lock onto your aircraft engine to steer it away from a carrier? Would that qualify?"

She whispered furiously, not wanting to attract the attention of the other guests in the café.

He winced. "You heard about that, huh?"

"I briefed it a few weeks ago. I just didn't realize until this afternoon that you were the pilot I'd been talking about. When I called up your service record, the file almost killed my computer."

She folded her arms. "So were you going to tell me what you're really like at some point, or were you going to let me continue to believe that you're just another one of the guys?"

Harm didn't like her attitude. "I didn't realize I was keeping secrets," he replied coolly. "Did you find my service record to be a page-turner?"

Despite her anger, C.J. could see the change in Harm's attitude from the friendly greeting to the guarded, passive-aggressively reply. But she didn't let it deter her.

"Well, the two Distinguished Flying Crosses were a good start, but I nodded off somewhere between you having been awarded the Order of the Crown by King Josif of Romania for saving him and his daughter and the part where you saved the life of two Russian Presidents."

Irritated, he met her gaze without flinching. "Was I supposed to list all that crap off as soon as we sat down at our first private meeting last week?" He asked her. "Sometimes I get into some weird situations. It's what I do. It doesn't define my existence. And I sure as heck don't walk around and advertise it. However, I did tell you about my crash and that is not something I normally tell people." He told her rather coldly. This time, his irritation and logical explanation why he hadn't told her everything about his life at their first private meeting got through to her.

C.J. sighed. "You're right, Harm, I'm sorry. That was a bad note to start the evening. I just didn't expect to see your name jump off the page at me when I read about the Seahawk incident."

"I guess, I understand. I did not mention the fact that I'd got my vision corrected and was reinstated on active flight duty, did I?"

"No, you missed that part. And I'm not sure I've quite figured out how you ended up chasing a missile, but now that I'm here, I'd sure like to hear you try and explain it."

Harm offered a half-shrug, looking more uncertain than she'd yet seen him. "Right place, right time, I guess. It's an exercise that all flight crews do. To be honest, I was very surprised that I still had the Missile-EX record on the ship. Anyway, since I still had the ship's record, they gave me a plane and said 'go' to it. There isn't much more to it than that."

"From your perspective, maybe, but from where I sit, there has to be more to it. They're giving you a medal for it, aren't they?"

Harm shrugged his shoulders. He didn't like to talk about his accomplishments. For all his self-confidence, Harmon Rabb didn't know how to handle praise very well.

"Look, C.J., could we maybe find something else to talk about? That week wasn't one of the high points of my life. Soon after I had sat through the longest post-flight debrief I've ever done, I was informed that one of my best friends was wounded in Afghanistan," Harm said solemnly.

"They tell me that I am a hero because I put my life on the line. But to be honest, it's making me feel a bit sick to my stomach. Yes, my actions might have saved thousands of lives. But, in the end, I just did what I have been trained to do. Unlike Bud who walked into a minefield to save the life of a kid, knowing full well that he could leave behind his wife and child. For me, that's real heroism, and I'm glad that he'll be awarded the Purple Heart."

Harm sighed. "Anyway, every time someone asks me about that day, I think about Bud who lost a part of his leg and has to learn to walk all over again. And, quite frankly, I just don't want to go back there, all right?"

C.J. looked at him and could see that this topic bothered him. "Sure, I understand," she started to say but stopped. "Well, no, I don't, but I can respect it."

C.J. took a bite of her muffin. "Good choice with the food. Anyway, since you got me a muffin, maybe I should let you choose the discussion topic."

They talked for a while before they came back to his flying.

"If you'd come to me this time last year and told me that I'd still be flying civil air patrol every third weekend, I'd have sent you off to get your head examined."

"You patrol over the District?"

"And New York, occasionally, when their Air National Guard (ANG) units are stretched too thin. I even flew over the Superdome for the first half of the Super Bowl last year. I sure don't mind logging the flight hours but at the same time…"

Harm paused to think about the right words. "It's the first time in my life where the pure love of what I do hasn't been enough to outweigh the reasons for having to do it."

C.J. had to stop and think about that statement for a minute. It was an insight into the mind of a combat aviator she usually wouldn't get. These men and women truly loved to fly. Yet they all had to know that any situation which would properly use their skills would be little more than a last resort. They trained endlessly for a day that everyone hoped would never come. But of course, despite all the hopes, the day had come once.

She shook her head to clear it. "Well, speaking as someone who spends a lot of time in one of the biggest targets in Washington, I'm grateful for your services."

"All in a day's work, ma'am." Harm tipped an imaginary cowboy hat.

Just then, a sharp sound from just over her shoulder caught her off-guard, and she jumped, startled. With reflexes honed in the cockpit, and some other unpleasant situations, Harm reached out to deflect the tray that was careening toward her, and it clattered to the floor.

There was complete silence in the café and all eyes were fixed on them for a moment. Then the other guests returned to what they were doing. The waitress apologized profusely, cleaning up the spilled drinks as quickly as she could manage, and C.J. realized just how hard her heart was pounding. Embarrassed, she looked away from her companion.

"Thanks for the save."

"No problem."

Having seen her reaction, he asked. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. I'm just – jumpier than I used to be, I guess."

"Being stalked will do that to you," he observed, remembering Mac's behavior during the time Coster had stalked her.

C.J. looked at him surprised for a moment, then she remembered that she had told him about Simon the other day. "I don't think it all started with being stalked. I think it probably started when I heard gunshots over my head in Rosslyn a few years ago, and it probably won't stop until I'm well and truly out of the public eye."

"That may be. But you handle it well, and I admire that."

She studied him critically. "You've got to know what it's like. You've been shot at, right?"

That earned a rueful smirk. "You don't want to know how many times."

"Well, imagine having it happen to you before you'd ever had any military training, and then you'll start to see why I can be such a wimp about it."

Harm's thoughts briefly flashed back to his time in Laos when he was a teenager but he didn't say anything about it.

"C.J., you are many things, but wimpy is definitely not one of them."

Something about the casual sincerity in those words warmed her heart. "Thanks, I think. Do you understand what I mean? I wonder if maybe you don't see me as the same kind of person you are."

"What do you mean? We're both serving the American people, in one form or another."

"Yes, but I came to this job late, after ten years of selling shallow bullshit and making an obscene amount of money doing it. I was Hollywood, for God's sake. I'm not ashamed of it, but at the same time, I'm not really in a position to declare myself a patron saint of democracy," she complained. "You, on the other hand, have been doing every single thing your country's asked of you since you were … what?"

"Seventeen," he supplied matter-of-factly.

"Seventeen? You can join up that young?"

"I went to the Naval Academy."

He met her gaze with surprising gravity. "Don't put me up on any pedestals, C.J. I'm at least as flawed as anyone in this room."

"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

"For now. But don't sell yourself short, either. Not too many people can do what you do every day and maintain their sanity."

C.J. had to smile at that honest compliment. "I knew this was a good idea. Good coffee and free self-esteem therapy in one package."

They shared a laugh, and she decided to charge ahead. "Listen, can I ask you for another somewhat strange favor?"

His eyes still flickered with amusement. To give him a little more time to think, he deflected her question with one of his own. "How well do we really know each other?"

C.J. instantly realized what he was doing, but wasn't put off by it. It was a legitimate question after all.

"That's kind of my point."

She sighed. "I was wondering when we meet next week - assuming that you still want to meet next week - since obviously, you're under no obligation here - "

"C.J.," he interrupted gently, ending her tangent. "Just ask your question?"

She bit her lip. "Would you mind wearing something civilian? It's not that I mind the uniform, but I'd like to see you out of it - "

Abruptly she halted, flames shooting up her cheeks. Harm lifted an eyebrow at her choice of words. "Oh, Jesus, you'd think I would've learned to express myself better than that by now."

Harm was rather amused by her choice of words. It's always funnier if someone else steps into it. He was infamous for choosing the wrong words – outside of the courtroom of course. "It's all right."

C.J. took a deep breath. "What I meant was that I've only ever seen you like this, and I'm afraid I'll never be able to separate you as an officer from you as a person. There is more to you than the Navy, right?"

"I'd like to think so." He waved a listless hand. "Sometimes it's hard to be sure."

"I know what that's like."

"I'll ditch the uniform if you tell me what C.J. stands for."

She hadn't expected that. "You don't know? I'm sure you could have looked it up somewhere."

"I could have, but I didn't."

"You really don't know that much about me, do you?"

He shrugged. "Only what you've told me so far. It didn't occur to me to check around."

Ouch. Although she could see that it wasn't a dig at her, she now felt bad for checking into him.

"The last time I had coffee with a guy, he spent three days watching me on C-SPAN just to pretend he was in the know."

"I don't own a TV."

She looked at him dumbfounded at Harm's simple statement. "Wow, just wow."

She shook her head, incredulous. "My entire day revolves around presenting the right media image. And you just let it all go by."

"Well, I do read newspapers." He half-heartedly tried to defend himself.

"Claudia Jean," she informed him succinctly.

"Claudia Jean?"

"Yeah."

"It's nice."

Their gazes locked, and once again she was impressed by his quiet intensity.

"I guess I'll see you next week. Without the uniform."

"All right. Have a good evening, Claudia Jean."