Foolish Lover's Game

by TracyJean

Harm and Mac try to reconnect when he returns from flying, but Harm's actions end up push Mac into Mic Brumby's arms

2. Part 2

1 FEBRUARY

0004 ZULU

USS SURIBACHI

ATLANTIC OCEAN

"How long has he been down there?" Bud asks me, concerned about the news that I have just given him, that Harm is trapped in the ship's brig after a collision with a reef caused the brig's overhead hatch to become blocked by falling debris.

"Thirty-seven minutes," I reply. That is hardly what could be considered a long time, but something about this situation just doesn't feel right. As I listen to Bud talk about being trapped in a carnival fun house once, I try to convince myself that Harm will be okay. After all, he has been in tight spots before and he has always survived.

I smile at Bud's story and distract myself by asking Bud about Jingo. After updating me on my dog, Bud then tells me what he has found on some of the players in the case Harm and I are investigating. As I thank him for the information and hang up, I can't help this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

~*~*~*~

0126 ZULU

Well, in a way we're making progress. The Captain, despite the concern about what this situation will do to his career, has decided to call 2^nd Fleet to tow the ship off the reef we collided with. Unfortunately, the work crews seem no closer to being able to rescue Harm and the others from the brig.

Harm and the XO are on the phone right now, the Commander assuring Harm that the crews are working to clear the debris and that it shouldn't be long until they are free.

As the XO passes the phone to me so that I can talk to Harm, I am relieved just to hear his voice. "How are you?" I ask, the concern evident in my voice.

"Mac, take my mind off of this," he asks me. I can hear Petty Officer DeMara, the prisoner he was interrogating, yelling in the background and banging what I assume to be the door to his cell.

Though for a slightly different reason, I need the distraction also. I relate to him what I have learned about the murder and how the body was found. I ask him if he has spoken with DeMara about the murder, but he tells me that the prisoner is preoccupied. I can hear that.

"Well, at least he's locked up," I try to comfort Harm. DeMara may be unstable, but he can't do anything to Harm from where he is.

"Yeah, so are we," Harm reminds me. It sounds like this situation is getting to him, too. If I thought it would do any good, I'd head down to the brig myself and encourage the rescue team along in their work. Harm sounds like he is in desperate need of being rescued right about now.

~*~*~*~

0235 ZULU

I'm back on the phone with Bud. Life seems to be just great all around, doesn't it? I think sarcastically. It seems like Bud has nothing but bad news for me about the goings on back home. All pretty minor, but I was hoping to have something good to take my mind off my growing concern for my partner and my – my friend.

Bud tells me that Renee Peterson called for Harm. I wonder what he sees in her. I don't think he's serious about her, they've only had dinner together once. At least, I hope he's not serious about her. I don't want him to be serious about her. That night they had dinner together was a night that I had asked him to have dinner with me. I don't want to think that he refused me just to be with her. Then again, for all I know they could have agreed to meet for dinner before I had asked Harm out. And for all I know, that dinner could have been to discuss the recruiting commercial that she was shooting with Harm as the star. But if that is the case, why would she be trying to get a hold of him now?

After discussing Renee for a moment, Bud brings my mind back to what I am trying to forget, how concerned I am for Harm. "It's over three hours now, ma'am," he reminds me.

"I know, Bud," I say. God, I know. With my sense of time, I have been so aware of every minute of those hours.

Bud asks me what's going on and I try to sound like it is no big deal, the complications the crew has run into in trying to free Harm and the others.

"Well, he is going to be alright, isn't he?" Bud asks, concerned.

"Of course," I reply, wishing that I sounded more convincing. Or that I was more convinced myself.

Bud picks up on that. "You don't sound convinced, ma'am," he replies.

"I'm sure the worst is over," I try to reassure him. I just wish I was sure of that myself. But I can't help this feeling growing stronger in the pit of my soul that this is just the calm before the storm.

~*~*~*~

Not long after my ship to shore call with Bud, I have another discussion with the XO about the status of the rescue. I am fed up with the excuses and delays. I want Harm out of there now. I want this feeling of dread to go away.

"How's it going, Commander?" I ask firmly.

"They're on top of it, Colonel," he tells me. I can tell that he is not happy with my question and he tries to brush past me, but I move to block his path.

"Well, maybe they'd have better luck if they got off of it," I say angrily. I will not let him leave until I feel better about this situation.

"You making jokes?" he asks angrily.

"My partner's down there," I remind him firmly.

"Yeah," he says, his tone apologetic. He explains that some of the debris blocking the hatch is jammed in and they have sent for a cutting torch to cut through it. Then he says something that causes my heart to stop beating in my chest.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ship that is taking on water," he says before he walks around me to leave. Instead of going away, that feeling of dread is stronger than ever. Something deep inside tells me that the ship taking on water is a serious blow to Harm's chances of. . . .

No, I've got to stop thinking like that, I tell myself firmly. The hull breech could be anywhere. It doesn't necessarily pose a danger to the brig. But why can't I make myself believe that?

~*~*~*~

0322 ZULU

Admiral Chegwidden's arrival, with that of the USS Manassas, boosts my spirits just a little bit. The Manassas is going to tow the Suribachi off the reef and maybe a two-star admiral can get the Captain and the XO to move faster as far as Harm's rescue is concerned.

After the Captain briefs the Admiral on the current situation, I ask, "What about the rescue teams?" The Captain and XO seem to have pushed that to the back of their minds as they deal with this mysterious leak that no one can seem to locate. While being on a ship that may or may not sink does concern me, the fate of Harm concerns me even more.

"Making progress, Ma'am," the XO replies. "Shouldn't be long now."

I am fed up with hearing that, just a variation on the answers I have been getting ever since Harm became trapped. But before I can reply, Admiral Chegwidden jumps in, "Well, I understand that's what you've been saying for the last few hours." Maybe that will get them moving.

After the Captain tries to excuse the slow response, the Admiral asks firmly, "Okay, best case scenario – where's this leak located?"

"In a non-functioning compartment," the Captain replies.

"Worst case?" the Admiral asks.

Before he answers, the Captain pauses just a second. Dear God, no, I think. Don't let him say what I think he is about to say. But God doesn't hear my plea.

"The brig, Sir," he answers and I have to keep reminding myself that I am an officer in the United States Marine Corps and that I have to remain strong. But I can't stop the look of horror that crosses my face and when I turn to the Admiral, I see the same look in his eyes.

~*~*~*~

The Admiral and I have gone to the officer's mess for a cup of coffee and to get away from the bridge. I don't think I can listen to many more of the Captain and XO's assurances that they will rescue Harm and the others. Right now, I don't want assurances – I want to see Harm walk through that door.

"Dead calm," I say sadly, looking out a porthole into the black night.

"Spare me the depressing metaphors, Colonel," the Admiral tells me.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I say, "I'm sure he'll be alright."

"Yes, he will," the Admiral says firmly.

"Now convince me," I tell him. That's what I need right now, someone to break through all my doubts and fears and tell me that Harm will make it out of this.

"Colonel, the Commander is too damn pig-headed to leave this world. He will find a way out," he says. He sounds so convinced. I wish I shared that conviction, but I am growing more scared with every minute that passes without Harm being rescued.

~*~*~*~

0410 ZULU

"What the hell kind of leader are you?" the Admiral yells at the head of the rescue team. He has just informed us. . . .Dear God, I can't even complete the thought. I don't want to believe what he has just told us. I can't believe it. "No decent officer on this planet would leave men behind." All I can do is stand there and listen, my hands clasped in front of me so that I can resist the urge to hit something. All the time a single thought keeps repeating itself in my mind. No, this can't be happening. Dear God, don't let it end like this, without me telling Harm everything about how I feel.

The Lieutenant and Captain both make excuses about why the rescue is on hold, but neither the Admiral or I want to hear any of it. The Admiral continues to argue in favor of the team going back down to pull Harm out of the brig.

"Admiral, both men have been reported dead," the Captain reminds him firmly. The Admiral says nothing and with his back to me, I can't see the expression on his face. But from his tone, I have a feeling that the look on his face matches the horror and disgust on my own.

Right now, I want nothing more in the world than to sink to my knees and scream out my anger and frustration and my grief. I remember a conversation I once had with Harm, when we thought that Clayton Webb was dead. I remember how I told him that as a Marine, I expected to see people die, but not after I joined JAG – not like this. I remember the feel of his hands as he brushed the tears from my cheeks. No, it can't happen like this. There's so much I still have to tell Harm, so much that he needs to hear.

I force myself to remain calm and to think. What can I do? What would Harm do in this type of situation? Then the answer comes to me. He'd do what we did when we thought Clay was dead. He'd investigate. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to investigate. And I'll start with the one man who knows the truth. . . . Chief Petty Officer Sturtevant, the man who was rescue from the brig. The man who reported Harm dead.

~*~*~*~

"They both drowned," Chief Sturtevant tells the Admiral and me in sickbay, "trapped beneath the water line. I managed to pull the Commander out, but – it was too late."

The Admiral and I both shoot questions at him, trying to poke holes in his story. Not that it takes much effort. He claims there was nothing he could do, but I can feel that what he is telling us isn't the whole truth. Or is it that I don't want it to be the whole truth? Am I so desperate to hang on to the belief that my best friend – the man I have grown to love – is still alive that I will refuse to believe anything the Chief tells us.

But I'm not the only one who feels the need to hang on to the belief that Harm is alive. The Admiral goes on to the Chief about any number of ways that the three men could have saved themselves, while the Chief just looks ahead with an infuriatingly stony gaze.

Finally, the Chief looks at both of us and says, "Sir, Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I did the best I could." I look from Sturtevant to the Admiral, desperate to see something in either of their faces that will convince me that my worst fears have not come to pass.

~*~*~*~

After our interrogation of the Chief, the Admiral and I head back to the bridge for another talk with the Captain.

"Colonel, you have no evidence they're alive," the Captain tells me.

"The only evidence they're dead is Chief Sturtevant's statement," I point out.

"And we're not signing off on the Chief's statement," the Admiral adds, shaking his head.

"Admiral, I don't know what to say," the Captain says. "Gut feels are all well and good, but any attempt to go back down there will risk not only this ship but the lives of the men on that mission."

"Point made," the Admiral says. Please don't tell me he is giving up.

"I'll make it as many times as I'm allowed, Sir," the Captain responds. "I hope you understand, Admiral."

"I understand," the Admiral says firmly. I can sense the barely contained fury behind his statement. "Perfectly." From the tone of his voice and the way he leaves the bridge, I can tell that he is about to move heaven and earth to go down to the brig and determine Harm's fate for himself. Now all I can do is wait – and pray. Pray that I will have another chance with Harm.

~*~*~*~

Thank God, I keep telling myself after word reaches the bridge that Admiral Chegwidden has pulled Harm out of the brig – alive. Reminding myself, as I have done many times tonight, that I am a Marine, I resist the urge the race to sickbay and beat Chief Sturtevant to within an inch of his life for making me believe for even a second that Harm was dead.

As we sit around a table in the officer's mess and Harm tells his story, I am comforted somewhat by the fact that Sturtevant will have plenty of time to contemplate what has happened tonight. Time in Leavenworth, since Harm informs us that the Chief is the murderer, not DeMara. I wonder what kind of charges we can tack on to the murder charge for leaving Harm and DeMara in the brig to die.

As Harm sits down next to me at the table, I can't help glancing at him every few seconds, as if to reassure myself that he is alive and here with me.

"How did you know they were alive?" the Captain asks.

"We didn't, Sir," I admit reluctantly, glancing at Harm.

"But you were so confident."

I guess I fooled him. Because I did not feel anywhere near as confident as he makes us sound. But I brush that aside and reply, looking at Harm with a smile, "Well, I suppose it comes from our experience with the Commander."

Harm smiles at me in response and I can't help feeling that seeing his smile once again is the most wonderful thing in the world. It also reminds me how precious life is. I nearly lost Harm tonight without ever having a chance to tell him how I feel. No, that's not entirely accurate. I had plenty of chances, I just never took them. I was too afraid to take them - afraid that it wouldn't work out between us, afraid that he wouldn't feel the same way I do. But if I have learned nothing else tonight, it is that I have to take the chance and let him know. I just have to.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING MONDAY

7 FEBRUARY

1530 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Aaaa-choo. Damn. You'd think I'd been the one trapped in a brig filling with water on the USS Suribachi. I'd started feeling run down Friday, the day after we returned from the Suribachi. Barely making it through the work day, I had planned to go home, lounge around my apartment for the weekend and be over this cold by Monday. It's not like I had anything better to do this weekend.

Harm had taken leave on Friday and went away somewhere for the weekend, which put a damper on my plan to talk to him and lay everything out in the open about our feelings for each other. I had called Friday and left a message on his machine, asking him to call me as soon as he returned. He did return my call Sunday evening, but I had run to the convenience store for some more medicine and missed him. I just hope he didn't get it into his head to go away somewhere with Renee. Talk about something to put a damper on my plans. I don't get what he sees in her. At least his past girlfriends – Annie, Jordan – had some substance to them. I could tolerate them and even hold an intelligent conversation with either one of them. Renee seems to be all flash and style.

The question of whether Harm went somewhere with Renee hasn't been my only concern the weekend. Mic still sends me daily e-mail messages about the weather and water temperatures in Australia. Then, of course, there are the postcards of the beaches there. If I want a beach, I'll go to Florida. Or maybe California. After all, Harm's parents live in California and on a beach no less. With this cold, summer weather would be so wonderful right now, but what part of 'no' does Mic not understand? No matter how many times I tell him. . . .why can't Harm pursue me like that?

The elevator opens and Bud and I step out, Bud telling me about his close call with an eighteen-wheeler on the Beltway. Like me, Bud is sniffling and sneezing, so I don't feel so bad about my own discomfort. I guess misery really does love company.

After another sneeze and a 'Gesundheit' from Bud, I declare, "I'm not getting through this winter without pneumonia."

"It's the convertible," A smug and perfectly healthy Harm points out, a slight smirk on his face. As I strip out of my coat, I can't help wondering how he can look so healthy when he's the one who nearly drowned last week. Maybe he spent his weekend away somewhere warm. Maybe I should have taken leave on Friday as well and requested that he take me with him. Now there's a *very* nice thought. "I caught colds every winter when I had my 'Vette. Now I four-wheel through the snow, sipping my morning and listening to Jimmy Lefave."

Typical Harm humor and it's not often that I hear him tease me like that anymore. Maybe once I talk to him, I'll be hearing him tease me a lot more. But right now I'm in no condition to appreciate his brand of dry humor. "Very. . . ." I begin before being cut off by another sneeze.

"Gesundheit," Harm says.

". . . .funny," I finish, shooting Harm a mock glare. But he just ignores me and continues to sip his coffee. I want to ask if he has plans for dinner tonight, but Gunny comes up to us before I can even think how to ask.

"Sirs, Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you in his office ASAP. If I may. . . ." He holds out his hands and Bud and I hand him our coats.

"What's up, Gunny?" Harm asks.

"Don't know, Sir," he replies. "But Commander Brumby called him this morning from Australia."

"Brumby?" I ask, stunned. I thought he was back in Australia permanently. As if his e-mails and postcards weren't bad enough. Just what I need right now.

After Gunny confirms, Harm remarks, just a hint of derision in his voice, "The man's like a boomerang."

As we all head for the Admiral's office, with me trailing slightly behind as I take advantage of the box of tissues Gunny handed me, I can't help agreeing with Harm's assessment. E-mails with weather reports and now calls to the Admiral. When am I going to have some peace from Mic Brumby?

~*~*~*~

The case the Admiral is briefing us on sounds pretty interesting, but why are we getting involved, despite the fact that it was one of our sailors murdered? The murderer was a Aussie, so it is their responsibility to try the man.

"Commander Brumby has requested our assistance," the Admiral says once he is finished giving us a brief overview of the case.

"Forensics, Sir?" I ask. But that doesn't make much sense if the body had already been identified twenty-eight years ago. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of frustration and disbelief on Mac's face.

"No," the Admiral replies. "Evidently, the suspect refuses to talk until he has spoken with a US Navy JAG officer." This is making even less and less sense.

"So says Commander Brumby," Mac retorts, clearly not believing the story. But why? Her attitude makes as much sense as this entire case.

"You have reason to doubt him, Colonel?" the Admiral asks, surprised. I guess he didn't think Mac would call into question Brumby's veracity. After all, they were so close before he went back down under.

"Sir, the Commander's been trying to get me to Australia since the day he left," she says angrily. I thought she liked the guy, not that I really want to think about *that*. I have never understood what she saw – or sees, I guess – in that smug, self-serving. . . ."He even offered to buy me a business class seat on Qantas."

"Wow," Bud says, apparently impressed.

I quickly jump in, "Probably an upgrade with mileage."

"He e-mails me Sydney's air and water temps daily," she continues, frustrated. She's getting awfully worked up about this.

"That's right," the Admiral adds. "It's summer down under." Do we all really need to hear this? I don't care about the water temperature, the air temperature or the fact that it is summer in Sydney, Australia. I guess my boomerang analogy was accurate. The man is out of sight, but far from out of mind.

"He even sends me postcards of the beaches," Mac goes on.

"As I recall, they're topless." This from the Admiral again. Good, then let Brumby go ogle the women at the topless beaches and leave Mac alone. God, where did that come from? Mac is a friend, my best friend and after the last few months, I know she doesn't feel the same way about me as I do about her. Now if I could only make myself remember that we're supposed to be just friends. . . .

Mac is almost furious when she finishes, "But I never. . . .never thought he'd pull a stunt like this!"

"He didn't." Bud and I turn and look at the Admiral, stunned, but Mac goes on for another moment about Brumby's presumption before what the Admiral just said sinks in.

"He didn't, Sir?" she asks, surprised.

"No, Mac," he replies. He pauses a moment, almost as if he's trying to figure out a graceful way out of this situation. "He requested Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Roberts."

Maybe Brumby's smarter than I gave him credit for. I start to smirk, but Mac glances in my direction and I drop the expression. She looks embarrassed and again I don't understand her. I would think, after the way she just went on about the way he's been bugging her, that she would be happy that he's not using this case as an excuse to get her down to Australia. Or maybe she really does want to go to Australia. God, I don't want to think about that possibility.

~*~*~*~

I practically storm out of the Admiral's office, I'm so mad. Mad at Brumby that he has driven me crazy enough to open myself to embarrassment like that. Mad at myself for going on like that. And now I'm getting mad at Harm and Bud because they will not let it drop. What is with that man? He doesn't even like Brumby, so you would think that he would be thrilled that I am annoyed with Brumby's attentions. But no, he's got to crack jokes about it.

"Oh, uh, Bud," Harm says, deadpan, "when you're making flight arrangements with Commander Brumby, make sure that he knows that we're expecting favored nations."

"Business class on Qantas, Sir?" he asks. I resist the urge to turn around and throttle Harm.

"Oh, Mac," Harm calls out to me and I do turn around, glaring at him. "What hotel was Mic going to put you up at, the. . . ."

"No another word," I interrupt angrily, pointing my tissue box at him.

He laughs and teases, "Come on, Mac, you left yourself wide open in there."

"Yeah, I know," I retort. "You've all had your laugh. Now drop it!" As I turn for my office, I sneeze again, getting 'God Bless You' in different languages coming from all directions. Shooting Harm another glare, I stride into my office and let the door slam behind me.

Tossing the tissue box on the my desk, I sit down and grab a file, determined to bury myself in work until I forget. . . .Damn, I was going to ask Harm if he'd like to have dinner with me tonight, but Mic is dragging him away halfway around the world. Mic Brumby really knows how to annoy me. Damn you, Mic Brumby.

~*~*~*~

1930 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Brumby's really devoted to Mac, I see as Bud and I step off the plane in Sydney. The man won't stop harassing her via e-mail and regular mail, but he spends his time down here ogling other women. There's a part of me that wishes Mac could see this, then maybe she's drop kick him and he'd finally get the picture to leave her alone. But why do I care? Mac and I are just friends and her private life is her business. Yeah, right. I still don't believe that, no matter how many times I try to tell myself that. "Some people never change," I remark with a smirk as Bud and I walk up to Mic.

"My thoughts exactly, Commander," Brumby says, his usual annoying grin on his face. He holds out his hand and I take it. "Welcome to Oz." What is he trying to do, break my hand? I return the grip with equal force, but fortunately Bud jumps in before any bodily harm is done. I shake out my fingers as Bud and Brumby shake hands, then they begin walking off as Bud takes out his collection of baby AJ's pictures, Brumby ignoring my presence.

He does the same at the car, placing Bud's bags in the back and leaving me to fend for myself. It's on the tip of my tongue to remind him that I am a senior office, but when he teases me with the keys to his Land Rover, then pulls them back after reminding me they drive on the left down here, I see a perfect way to get even. I insist on driving and even pretend that I was just being nice and opening the door for Brumby when I almost got in on the wrong side of the car.

The drive begins smoothly enough as Brumby explains the details of the case to us, but then Bud cries out and I swerve back onto the correct side of the road. I glance back and Bud looks like he's about to have a heart attack in the back seat, but my apparent lack of driving skills doesn't seem to bother Mic as he continues explaining the case.

Brumby tells me to take a right at the circle and I follow his directions – literally – nearly causing an accident as I go around the circle in the wrong direction.

"Down here, we go around the circle to the left, mate," Brumby says, seeming to enjoy correcting my driving.

"You said take a right," I retort, pretending innocence.

"After going around the circle to the left," he clarifies, shaking his head. I manage to keep the smirk off my face.

As we pull into the Naval base, I pull in on the wrong side of the guard shack, bringing a gentle rebuke from one of the guards, "Begging your pardon, Sir, but in Australia we drive on the left side of the road."

I turn to Brumby, feigning ignorance, "Why didn't you tell me?" He just shakes his head as he shows his ID to the guard. As I pull away from the gate, Brumby again reminds me which side of the road to drive on.

We drive around the perimeter of the base until Brumby tells me, "That's my spot up ahead between those two cars, mate." I pull just ahead of the spot, preparing to parallel park.

Brumby unfastens his seatbelt and turns to me. "Better let me park it," he suggests, Bud echoing the sentiment. I turn and glare at Bud.

"I'll give it a try," I reply, turning my attention back to my driving. I manage to park it perfectly on the first try. Brumby looks over at me, surprised. After I get out of the car, I explain with a straight face, "My stepfather had cottage in the Bahamas. That's where I learned to drive." I toss the keys through the open window to Brumby.

As I begin walking away, I can hear Bud ask, "Sir, don't they drive on the left hand side of the road in the Bahamas?"

I can just barely hear Brumby's 'Bloody hell' and I let myself smile. Gotcha.

~*~*~*~

2210 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

While Harm and Bud are enjoying the summer sun in Australia, I'm stuck here, trying to sign documents with the Admiral in an office where the temperature's just barely above freezing.

"Why is it so damn cold in here?" the Admiral asks. "I can barely sign my name." He should consider himself lucky. At least he's not wearing a skirt.

"Furnace conked out again, Sir," Tiner replies, handing me another document to sign. There's a part of me that wishes that I was in Australia right now.

"Get the damn thing fixed," the Admiral orders.

"Maintenance is on it, Admiral," Gunny explains as he walks into the office, carrying a folder. "But it's older than I am and needs to be replaced."

"Not in this year's budget, Gunny," I reply with a sigh.

"Then Tiner and I better start chopping some firewood, Ma'am," Gunny retorts.

"What is it, Gunny?" the Admiral asks as he hands the last document to Tiner, who leaves the office.

"The FBI reports on the fingerprints Commander Rabb e-mailed from Australia, Sir," he replies, handing the folder to the Admiral, who opens it and quickly reads over the report.

"I see the deceased is alive," the Admiral summarizes.

"Yes, Sir," Gunny responds. "I'm trying to locate his wife to tell her the good news/bad news. Your husband is alive, but you gotta repay the money you got from Uncle Sam."

"Sounds like bad news/bad news," I reply, glancing up at Gunny.

"Yes, Ma'am, it does," he says, smiling.

"We'll have to ship the body buried here back to Australia," the Admiral says. An idea begins to form in my mind.

"I prepared the necessary papers for your signature, Sir," Gunny says.

Curious, I turn to Gunny and ask, "Where's he interred, Gunny?"

"Nashville, Tennessee, Ma'am," he replies before turning to the Admiral. "I assume you'll want an NCO to escort the body home, Sir."

"Absolutely," the Admiral replies.

I take the opportunity to speak up, "You just signed off on my cases, Sir, and I have some leave coming. I could escort the body to Sydney." He doesn't need to know that I have ulterior motives for making the request. Maybe what Harm and I need is to be away from Washington. Plus it would give me the chance to get out of this damn cold.

The Admiral just looks at me over his glasses as Gunny interjects, "Protocol only requires an NCO, Ma'am." I'm sure he was hoping to be assigned the duty, but rank has it's privileges and I intend on taking advantage of them.

"Considering the circumstances," I explain, hoping to justify my making the trip, "having an officer escorting the remains is the least we can do."

"Well, hell, I'd like to get out of this damn cold," the Admiral says, as if that's the reason I'm requesting this assignment. It is, but of course that's only part of it. He looks at me for a long moment and I work not to appear to anxious. Finally, he hands me the paperwork and orders, "Take a week. I can't spare you and Commander Rabb longer than that. Dismissed."

"Aye, Sir," I reply, unable to stop the smile from forming. I stand and come to attention. "Thank you, Sir."

I have to resist the urge to rush out of the office. I'm getting out of this office, out of the cold. . . .and I'm on my way to Harm.

~*~*~*~

0130 ZULU

CRUSTACEANS BEACH CAFÉ

MANLY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Great, we get to suffer through more of Brumby's leering at the women, both the topless ones on the beach just outside the café and the waitress taking our order. She makes a comment about my dress whites and gold wings and Brumby has to try to flirt with her. I guess the man can't stand not being the center of attention. Maybe that's why he hasn't figured out yet that Mac's not interested in him. Maybe it's inconceivable to him that a woman – any woman - might not be interested in him.

I try to bring the conversation around to our case, but Brumby's not interesting in talking about anything until we confirm that he actually is Petty Officer Kevin Lee. He seems very sure of his guilt in the murder, especially since the victim has been revealed to be an Aussie and the accused an American, instead of the other way around. I can't resist getting a dig in. "Did you feel that way when you thought he *was* Dunsmore?" I ask. Mic opens his mouth to reply, probably with some smart aleck remark, but the ringing of my cell phone rescues me from having to listen.

"Commander Rabb," I say into the phone.

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, Sir," Gunny says smartly.

"Gunny," I greet him, hoping he's calling with our ID. "Hey, how's Washington?"

"Doing a terrific imitation of Antarctica, Sir," he jokes. "How's the weather down under?"

"You really want to know?" I counter, looking out over the beach.

"That good, Sir?" he asks.

"Better," I say with a grin. Brumby may not be my favorite person, but any assignment that gets me out of the frigid cold and snow in Washington is okay. I change the topic to business. "Did you get the fingerprints?"

"Yes, Sir," he replies. "They belong to Petty Officer Kevin Lee, US Navy." I pull the phone away from my ear and pass the news on to Brumby, who doesn't look very pleased with the news. I thought he was convinced that he did murder Dunsmore? I put the phone back to my ear and tell Gunny, "The Admiral's going to need to authorize the return of the body to Australia."

"It's already done, Sir," he informs me. "Colonel Mackenzie's leaving with the remains in the morning."

What? "Mac is?" I ask, stunned. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brumby taking a sudden interest in my conversation with Gunny.

"Yes, Sir," Gunny replies. "She volunteered."

The last thing I want is Mac down here around the arrogant Brumby. Then again, maybe she'll give him the brush off for good when she sees how he eyes all the other women around here. But why on earth would she volunteer to come down here? Unless she actually does want to see Brumby. . . .but I don't want to think about that. Gunny says that Harriet is there and would like to talk to Bud. Still stunned over the news that Mac is coming here, I hand the phone to Bud without saying a word.

"Mac is what, Harm?" Brumby asks, but I barely notice that he is even talking to me, let alone answer him.

I'm startled out of my reverie by Bud yelling at me, "You didn't tell me Harriet was on the phone." He frantically tries to dial JAG on my phone when I realize what Bud just said, thinking he was speaking to Gunny, and that I didn't inform him Harriet was on the line.

"I didn't know you were going to talk about breasts," I protest. "I'm sorry."

Brumby draws my attention away from Bud's attempts to reach his wife and explain. "She's escorting Dunsmore's body back, isn't she?" he asks, sounding entirely too pleased at the prospect. There's a part of me that would like to point out that if he wants Mac so much, why is he so busy eyeing every female he sees.

I glance over at him and admit the truth, knowing that he's going to find out sooner or later, "I'm sure it was the Admiral's idea."

"Must have been," he says with a smirk. I glance at him, then look away as Bud rejoins us at the table, upset because Harriet had already left JAG.

"When are we flying home?" Bud asks, sounding desperate. I guess I can't blame him. But with Mac on her way, I don't really want to leave and have her here alone with Brumby.

"Soon as Commander Brumby releases Petty Officer Lee into our custody," I reply. I have a feeling I know what his reply will be, but in my mind I'm already planning a strategy to dispute Australian jurisdiction. Given Brumby's attitude a few minutes ago, I'm not sure Petty Officer Lee can get treated fairly down here.

"Not gonna happen, mate," Brumby replies, just as I figured he would.

"Why not?" I counter. "I'm sure the usual port of call agreement was in effect at the time the Chicago docked in seventy-two. It gives us jurisdiction."

"This isn't some drunken sailor busting up a pub," Brumby argues, standing and leaning towards me.

I stand and lean forward, getting in Brumby's face as I argue back, "He's one of ours, Mic."

He counters, "He might be one of yours but he murdered one of ours and he did it here, so he'll damn well be tried here."

Our waitress, returning with our order, stuns us by leaving our tray and taking off running. Then I realize that only two of us are stunned by her actions. Brumby acts like this is some big joke and I realize the truth. That was Jenny, Petty Officer Lee's Australian wife.

When I voice my conclusions, Brumby says with a laugh, "Give the man a meat pie." It takes everything I have in me not to deck the bastard right here in the restaurant. Well, as long as there's a dispute about jurisdiction, I'm sure as hell not leaving Australia and Mac won't be left alone with this self-serving bastard.

~*~*~*~

SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN

I've given up on trying to sleep, so right now I'm staring out the window at the endless ocean below. I'm the one who volunteered for this little detail, but my stomach is all tied up in knots over everything.

On the one hand, I've got Harm. He's the best friend I've ever had and even the distance between us since he returned from flight duty doesn't negate that. On the outside, many people see him cocky and self-assured. But I've seen the man behind that façade and he's one of the kindest, most compassionate people I've ever met. I can't remember a time in the four years that I've known him that I haven't wanted him, but the timing never seemed right. First we had to get to know each other. Then there was Dalton and Annie. Then my husband returned, dragging up events from my past that I'd just as soon had remained buried. Then he found Jordan – of course, I had kind of sworn off men at the time after the fiasco with Chris and John. Then, when I was finally ready to admit to myself that I had long ago fallen in love with Harmon Rabb, he broke my heart into about a million pieces when he told me that he was returning to active flight status.

That's when Mic really became a bigger part of my life. He was assigned as my partner after Harm left, but – and this is nothing against Mic – it just wasn't the same. Every time we worked together, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help comparing how things would happen if it had been Harm with me. The working relationship I developed with Mic Brumby, while not bad, just did not compare to the one I'd shared with Harm.

Then, there was Mic's pursuit of a personal relationship with me. He's chased after me almost from the first moment we met, even after he tried to pin Chris' murder on me. But he really stepped up his actions after Harm left. I guess he saw Harm as his rival and with the competition out of the way. . . .But I resisted at every turn. I had just admitted to myself that I was in love with Harm and, even though he was gone, I couldn't let myself fall into a relationship with another man.

To be honest, Mic is a nice guy and if it hadn't been for Harm, who knows? Maybe I would have let myself get involved with Mic. I mean, it's certainly flattering the attention he's paid me. But every time he would ask me out, I would wish that Harm would do that. Even that one night when Mic kissed me just before he went back to Australia, I couldn't help wishing that Harm was the one kissing me. So I pushed Mic away. But of course, for him it didn't stop there. Even half a world away, he still insinuated himself into my life, never giving up his pursuit of me.

So now I'm on my way to Australia, about to be caught in the middle between the man I want more than anything and the man who wants me more than anything. Between the man whose feelings I can't begin to decipher and the man who is practically shouting that he wants me from the rooftops. I know Harm would hate the comparison, but why can't he be more open with his feelings the way Mic is? Maybe then my stomach wouldn't be so tied up in knots.

~*~*~*~

0215 ZULU

MANLY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

I hang up my cell phone after my conversation with the Admiral during which I laid out my concerns over jurisdiction. But he agrees with Brumby and decides the Petty Officer Lee is to be tried here. I turn to Bud and tell him that the Admiral did agree to speak with Harriet, trying to smooth things over with her regarding Bud's comments earlier. I frown a little as Brumby walks up to us.

"Well?" he asks, a bit too eagerly for me.

I'm biting my tongue as I reply, "We're accepting Australian jurisdiction."

He sounds even more eager as he smiles and says, "The Admiral overruled you, did he?" I hold my tongue, knowing that if I try to respond with it not be pleasant.

"I want to speak to Petty Officer Lee one more time," I say after staring at Brumby for a long moment, dropping the subject of jurisdiction.

Brumby checks his watch and shrugs. "Ah, He's on his way to the Long Bay Correctional Complex to await trial," he informs me, "but I can arrange for you to see him."

I somehow manage to hold back my anger as I ask, "You transferred him before we agreed to jurisdiction?"

"I never had a doubt who had jurisdiction," he retorts smugly. "You did." I stare at him for another long moment before he asks, "When are you flying home?"

What? Does he think I'm going to take off on the next flight out of here and leave him here alone so he can pursue Mac? I don't think so. "When I'm satisfied Petty Officer Lee is properly represented," I reply.

He laughs. Breathe, Rabb, and try not to think about how you'd like to knock the daylights out of him. "Are you afraid of my being alone down here with Mac?" he asks.

As if I'm going to admit that to him. I carefully keep my expression neutral so that he won't realize how close to home he hit. I do reply as I step closer to him, a hint of anger evident in my voice so that he knows I mean business, "You know, Brumby, one of these days, you and I are going to strip blouses."

"Always assumed we would, mate," he replies, stepping towards me. "Question's only been when."

Bud and I depart as quickly as possible. Now's not the time for this. We take the ferry across the harbor and as we disembark and begin walking along the Circular Quay, Bud brings up my inevitable confrontation with Brumby.

"You aren't really going to fight Commander Brumby, are you?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I don't really want to talk about it, so I joke, "Don't think I can take him, Bud?"

Bud rushes to reassure me, "Oh, no, I'm sure you'll put up a good fight, Sir."

I have to laugh a little at that. "But you're not betting on me, huh?" I conclude.

"Sir, he was a professional boxer," Bud exclaims, growing more concerned, probably because I'm not denying that I will eventually fight Brumby. "Which is why you can't fight him because his fists are lethal weapons."

"I promise not to sue," I retort.

Bud grows serious and comments, "You must really hate him, Sir."

I shake my head. Hating him requires too much thought and I try not to think of Brumby at all. But sometimes that's mission impossible. "I don't hate him," I insist. "He just bugs me. He always has. I don't know if it's that smug grin or the Crocodile Dundee accent or the way he. . . ." I trail off, not wanting to discuss this further. I had sworn to myself that I was not ready for a relationship with Mac, but it's not that easy to turn off my feelings.

"Chases after Colonel Mackenzie, Sir?" Bud finishes.

God, am I really that transparent? I turn to stare at him. "Et tu, Brute?" I ask.

"Sir, with all due respect," he continues boldly, "I think there's some validity to what Commander Brumby said." He certainly has changed. I can't imagine him having this conversation with me a few years ago.

I try to cover by passing off my concern as that of a friend. "Look, Mac has been either a partner or a worthy adversary for the past four years," I explain. "I just don't want to see her make another bad choice with a man, you know." That sounds reasonable enough. I mean, I've seen Mac have to deal with Dalton, Chris and the fallout from her relationship with Colonel Farrow. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't express my concern?

"Well, are you certain Commander Brumby is a bad choice, Sir?" he asks. I'm not sure if he truly believes that or is just playing devil's advocate.

"What, you don't think so?" I counter. Hasn't he been paying attention to the way Brumby's been acting – ogling the women at the airport, Jenny at the café and the women on the beach? This is the kind of man he thinks would be good for Mac? Then again, have I ever met a man who I truly think would be good enough for Mac?

~*~*~*~

1940 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Wow, it's so warm here! That's my main thought as Mic walks up to me, his usual grin on his face as he salutes. I return the salute and we smile at each other. "Welcome to Australia, Colonel," he greets me.

Before I can reply, I am overcome by a violent sneeze and Mic hands me a handkerchief, which I accept gratefully. "Thanks. I ran out of tissues," I explain.

"We'll bake that cold out of you," he jokes.

Sounds wonderful. Maybe coming here wasn't such a bad idea. "Oooh," I exclaim, "it's so nice and warm."

"Look, I'm off duty," Mic tells me. "What do you say to a day at the beach?"

It crosses my mind to refuse, but what's the harm in simply going to the beach? It's not like I'm agreeing to a date with him. He's just being nice, offering me a nice day in the sun so I can try and get over this cold. If I keep telling myself that, then maybe I can put up with his dogged pursuit, if he starts it again up now that I'm here in person. "Oh, that sounds great," I say, looking forward to warming up in the bright sun. I look around, surprised. "You know, I expected Harm and Bud to meet me here," I say. I really wanted to see Harm.

Mic almost sounds pleased when he tells me, "They're meeting with their defendant."

The alarm bells begin going off in my head. I have a feeling this whole situation's about to go to hell in a hand basket. "Harm's defending Petty Officer Lee?" I ask, stunned. Why would Harm agree to this? I thought Australian courts had jurisdiction. Can he even argue before an Australian court?

"Not that it will do him any good, though," Mic counters. "I'm prosecuting." He winks at me before moving to open the car door for me.

Oh, no. The other shoe just dropped. Forget about to go to hell. This situation's already there. "Oh, Mic," I say with a groan. I resist the urge to cringe when he laughs and I'm wishing now more than ever that I had never volunteered to come on this trip. Nothing good can come out of this. Nothing.

~*~*~*~

2100 ZULU

MANLEY FERRY, SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

After a stop at the hotel to check in and change into something a little more appropriate for a day at the beach, Mic and I are now on the ferry across the harbor on the way to Manly Beach. So far, Mic has been nice and not too pushy, so I've let myself relax and just enjoy the beautiful weather. Although I am trying to ignore the fact that he had beach gear with him in his car when he picked me up at the airport, as if my going to the beach with him was a foregone conclusion.

"I can't believe this is February," I say with a smile. This is definitely what I need to get over this cold.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Mic asks.

"It is gorgeous!" I exclaim, pushing my blowing hair back off my face. I look over the railing at the beautiful blue harbor. "The air's so clean and the water's so blue."

"There's a few sharks down there, though," Mic informs me, pointing at that water, and I look at him, surprised.

"What? In the harbor?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says nonchalantly, as if sharks so close to shore are a normal part of life in Australia. "But not the man eaters, though. The sharks you have to worry about wear Speedos."

I look at him as if to say 'Oh, Mic," but in spite of myself, I laugh at the statement. I know he's just flirting and this is typical Mic behavior, so I can't let myself get too mad. Anyway, I've managed to hold him at arm's length for well over a year now. I don't think a day at the beach is going to change that.

Soon, the ferry docks and Mic leads me off. "It's been so long since I've had time off," I comment, "I'm afraid I've forgotten how to have fun."

"Well, no worries. I'll fix that," Mic says confidently, laughing. I have an idea that his idea of fun and mine are not quite the same. It's on the tip of my tongue to remind him that we're just friends, but I don't want to start a confrontation. I just want to enjoy the beautiful weather and the company of a friend.

"The sand feels so great," I proclaim as we walk across the beach towards the water. "It feels so warm between my toes."

"We have the nicest beaches in the world," Mic brags. "Beats the hell out of being stuck in DC, doesn't it?"

We manage to find a good spot on the beach and I drop my bag as Mic lays out our blanket and sets up our chairs. I smile happily, enjoying the feeling of the warm sand between my toes and the beautiful blue of the water. I whip off my hat and enjoy the feeling of the warm breeze in my hair. "Oh, God, it's beautiful!" I exclaim.

"I knew you'd love it," Mic replies.

"What's not to love?" I shoot back with a laugh. I strip off my sundress, revealing my bright blue bikini.

"Very nice. . . ." Mic begins, stripping out of his own clothes to reveal a pair of blue Speedos, before switching gears at my slightly annoyed glance, "bikini, that is."

"I knew that's what you meant," I say, shaking my head. For a second, I wonder again about the wisdom of coming to the beach with Mic. The attention's flattering, but it's not what I want. But it's nothing I can't handle. I am a Marine Colonel, after all.

"Yeah, but you're in Australia, Mac," Mic continues in that flirtatious tone. "Wear an Aussie bikini"

Oh, no. From the tone of his voice, I have a feeling I don't want to know what an Aussie bikini is. Wary, I say, "I'm afraid to ask."

Mic grins at me and says in a reassuring tone, "Oh, no worries. It's a two piece – a hat and a bottom."

What? I stare at him, stunned. I know he didn't just say what I think he just did. I see him looking around the beach and I look around myself, stunned at the sight of other women sunbathing topless. I was so caught up in the feeling of the warm sand and the beauty of the water that I hadn't even noticed the other sunbathers. This idea is getting worse all the time. But not all the women are topless. I still have a chance to defuse this, although I don't think Mic will appreciate it. He's giving me one of his grins, as if he's looking forward to seeing me without my top. It's time to put my foot down. I turn and give him a look that says 'Yeah, right'.

"Mic, I'm a Marine Colonel," I insist. "I have to maintain a certain level of decorum." Even if I am on a beach with liberal clothing policies half a world away from my duty station. I can just imagine if Harm. . . .no, I'm not going to think about that. Harm's not going to see me on this beach, topless or otherwise. He probably won't even know that I'm here with Mic.

"You're not a Marine Colonel out here, Mac," he says. "You're just the most beautiful woman on the beach." There's a part of me that's touched and flattered – what woman wouldn't be by such praise? – but he's not the one that I want to hear those kinds of statements from.

Mic moves behind me and begins to untie the straps of my top. No. He's being very presumptuous, trying to remove my bikini top. There's a part of me that wants to grab the straps and tie them back around my neck and drop kick him into next week. But I don't want a public confrontation. I'll give him a piece of my mind later. "Oh, ah. . . .why don't you just tie it behind my back so I don't get strap marks?" I suggest.

"Come on, Mac," he encourages me. "When in Rome. . . ." I turn and look at him, slightly annoyed. I roll my eyes as I turn back and he hesitates a moment and I almost do grab the straps from him, but finally he complies with my request with a sigh.

Satisfied that I'm still appropriately covered, I settle into my chair and pull a magazine out of my bag. Mic moves his chair slightly so that he can get the best view of me, not that he's seeing much with my top still on. I ignore him, determined to just enjoy myself and not think about his unending pursuit of me. After a few minutes of basking in the sun, I feel a shadow cross over me and I look up as a reflex. My heart catches in my throat when I see Harm and Bud standing over us.

I drop the magazine onto my chest and force a smile. "Hi!" I proclaim brightly. I wonder if anyone notices that I sound too cheerful. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Wonderful," Harm replies flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. God, he's jealous. He just found me on the beach with another man and. . . .God, he thinks I'm topless. With the magazine covering my chest, he can't see that I have my top on.

I turn to Bud and ask, "Oh, hey, Bud, did you get my message about dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies, sounding a bit embarrassed about the idea of catching me topless, while Mic looks disappointed that I have dinner plans with Bud. "Dinner sounds great."

"Oh wait, I assumed we'd be having dinner, Mac," Mic says, almost sounding like he's pouting.

"Don't assume, Mic," I say pleasantly, with just enough of an edge to hopefully put him in his place. Suddenly, I remember something and tell Bud, "Hey, Bud, let me give you these pictures Harriet sent."

I reach beside me for the photos that Harriet had given to me to pass on to Bud, careful to keep the magazine over my chest. Why? It's not like Bud and Harm are going to see anything if the magazine slips, except that I *am* wearing my top. Maybe there's a small part of me that wants to see Harm jealous and wondering. After all, why would he be jealous if he didn't have feelings for me? And he clearly is jealous and curious, from the slightly disgusted look on his face to the way he's trying to look around my magazine. Or maybe it's not that he's curious as to whether I am wearing a top. Maybe he just wants to see me without it. But now, in front of Mic and Bud, is not the time to extend that particular offer.

Bud is flipping through the pictures I just gave him, marveling at his son. "Wow!" he exclaims. "He's gotten so big!" While Mic and Bud talk about baby AJ, I look at Harm looking at me.

"What?" I ask innocently.

I laugh at the expression on his face and Harm tears his gaze away and turns to Mic. "Brumby, you questioned the witness without talking to his lawyer," he says firmly. "That's unethical."

Mic is completely unrepentant when he replies, "Don't know if that's true even if she was his wife. . . .which she wasn't."

"They've been married for twenty-eight years," Harm shoots back.

"A bigamous marriage," Mic counters. "He already had a wife."

I'd better step in before this escalates any further. "Would you two save it for court?" I request. "I'm trying to defrost here."

"Well, don't over-expose yourself," Harm retorts. "You'll burn."

"Don't worry, mate," Mic says smugly. "I rubbed her down with plenty of sun block."

Damn him. How dare he insinuate – in front of Harm, no less – that he's had his hands on my body like that? I turn and shoot Mic a dirty look, but the look that Harm gives him is even dirtier.

Bud jumps in quickly before the situation can explode, "Sir, isn't it time that we go? Sir?"

"Yeah," Harm finally says. "As they say, four's a crowd." Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Mic looks happy that they're leaving, as if he's won something. That's what he thinks.

"Hey, how about dinner tomorrow?" I ask Harm as he starts to walk off. There's so much I want to say to him, especially now that he thinks that Mic and I. . . .I have to explain.

He turns back and hesitates, almost as if he's not sure. Eventually, he replies, "I'll call."

Mic just can't resist getting in one last shot at Harm. As they walk off, Mic calls out, "Don't forget your wigs when you come to court."

Great, I think as I roll my eyes. Bud and Harm shoot each other a look and Harm asks in disbelief, "Wigs?"

As they turn again and walk off, Mic asks me, "When are we going to have dinner?"

I turn to him, furious. "Never," I declare angrily, "if you use me to provoke him again."

"Oh, come on, Mac. . . ." Mic begins, but I cut him off.

"No, I won't come on," I retort. I drop my magazine back into my bag and retie my top around my neck. "I can't believe you did that. I had a long flight and instead of enjoying myself at the beach, what do I get? You playing your game of one-upmanship with Harm. I refuse to be put in the middle like that. I'm going back to my hotel and I'm going to get some rest and *maybe* I might have dinner with you later in the week. But if you ever use me like that again. . . ."

I let the threat hang in the air. Mic tries to assure me, "I wasn't using you. . . ."

I interrupt again, "It damn well felt like it. Don't do it again."

I grab my bag and sundress, fastening the dress around me as I walk off. I hear Mic behind me, scrambling to pack up the blanket and beach chairs. I don't care if he follows me or not. In fact, I'd rather he didn't. Right now, all I'm concerned about is how to salvage any hope I have of a relationship with Harm.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT

0800 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Between my pleading jet lag and Mic's need to work on his case, I have managed to avoid him since the beach yesterday. He did leave a couple of messages at the hotel, saying that he wanted to apologize, but I just left a message for him at his office saying that I was tired and would see him in court tomorrow. Without Mic and his persistence to worry about, I could concentrate on rehearsing what exactly I was going to say to Harm.

Now, Harm and I are on the ferry going across Sydney Harbor. I dressed up a little, wearing an off the shoulder top and a skirt, both of which show off my body. After the attention that Harm was paying to me at the beach yesterday, how could he not appreciate the effect? I smile, content, as I listen to Harm tell me about his two near run-ins with Clay Webb. Harm seems so much more relaxed than he did yesterday when he saw me at the beach. That should make this easier. Determined to keep things easy between us, I comment about his story, "Didn't know Webb was multi-lingual."

"Maybe he's not," he replies with a grin. "Both women were stunning, though."

Now that's a typical male response. Who needs to worry about talking when you're around a beautiful woman? Fortunately, I know that Harm's not usually that shallow. If he were, I'd definitely be in trouble. "Are you saying that a man doesn't need to understand a woman as long as she's beautiful?" I tease.

Harm leans against the railing and turns to face me. "Look, even speaking the same language," he replies, his tone serious in response to my teasing comment, "what man understands a woman?"

There's a feeling of something in the air and it's the feeling that we've reached a turning point. It's now or never. "You're referring to me," I say with a little laugh. When he doesn't respond, looking away from me, I press on, "Ha. Let me guess. You don't understand why I went to the beach with Mic."

Harm continues to avoid my gaze, staring out over the harbor as he comments, "The Opera House is really beautiful, isn't it?"

I'm trying to open up with him and he's talking about a building!? "Smashing," I mutter, uninterested. I try to draw his attention back to our conversation – or at least, the conversation that I want to have. "So what bothered you? That I was at the beach with him or that you thought I was topless?"

Finally, I got his attention and he turns back to me. "You weren't?" he asks, stunned.

"Harmon Rabb, you are a prude!" I tease, hoping to get him to lighten up. But it's not working.

"I am not!" he protests seriously. "Look, I don't care if you want to go topless."

Liar. If he didn't care, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. I would think as good a lawyer as Harm is, he would sound more convincing. "You do if it's in front of Mic," I argue.

"You work with the guy, Mac," he counters. "You wouldn't go topless in front of me, would you?"

The question, probably rhetorical, hangs in the air between us as we just stare at each other. There are so many ways I could respond to that comment, but I pick the one that I hope will get him to open up about his feelings for me. "Is that a request?" I ask, all hint of teasing gone from my voice. I've never been more serious in my life.

For a moment, he just stares at me. Is he considering how to answer my question or trying to figure out if I'm serious? Looking uncomfortable, he looks away from me and up at the Sydney Harbor Bridge, which we're passing under right now.

"You know, they wrote 'eternity' on this bridge," he says quietly, "in lights on New Year's Eve." After a moment when I don't respond, he finally looks back down at me.

"Is that how long we're going to wait?" I eventually ask, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice. Oh, God, please say 'no'. Please. But no one's listening to my prayers and my heart breaks when he responds.

"Mac. . . ." he says, drawing out my name. He may as well have said 'yes', because his lack of a response has the same shattering impact on my soul. But I press him further, determined not to give up on him – on us – yet.

"We're not in Washington," I point out, shaking my head. "We're not even on the same continent."

"Location doesn't change who we are," he counters. What is that supposed to mean? That we still work together? So do Bud and Harriet, but they made it work. Or that his feelings for me are only those of friendship, whether in Washington or here in Australia?

"Most men would disagree with you," I say sadly.

"I know," he admits. "I disagree with me sometimes, too."

"But you still can't let go?" I ask. Right now, I wish that Harm weren't the honorable gentleman that he is and that he could forget all about rules and regulations. But if he were, he wouldn't be the man that I've fallen in love with.

"Not yet," he replies softly.

I'm fighting back tears as I say softly, "You're just this way with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. . . .only with you," he agrees and I wish that I could be one of those other women, the ones that he can let himself get involved with. But I guess some things just aren't meant to be – no matter how much we want them.

I look around for a moment as I take a deep breath, trying to control my trembling. "I suppose I should be flattered," I say, dejected. I don't want to be flattered. I want to be loved.

"You should, Sarah," he says and my breath catches in my throat. This is only the second time he's called me Sarah and the first was the day I left JAG to go with Dalton. Is that what this is? Is this another goodbye, only this time to any hope I have of a romantic relationship with him?

I don't want to talk about this anymore. I can't talk about this anymore. It's just too painful with my heart lying around me in about a million pieces. Forcing a smile as I tear my gaze away from his, I ask, "Where are you gonna take me for dinner?"

"Luna Park," Harm replies, pointing across the water. I guess that makes it obvious what he feels for me. I mean, an amusement park is where you'd take a friend, right? If I meant more to him, then wouldn't he pick someplace a little more romantic? I didn't dress up with the intention of going to an amusement park.

"An amusement park?" I ask with a laugh, trying to mask my disappointment.

Harm shrugs as he points out, "You like hot dogs."

"And what is Mister 'practically-a-vegetarian' going to eat?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light and teasing. But it's so hard. I remember accusing Harm once of being able to turn his feelings off like a bilge switch. Right now, I wish I could ask him how he does it. Then maybe I wouldn't have to feel this pain in my heart.

"A corn dog," he jokes and I force myself to laugh, Harm joining in. His laugh sounds so easy. He doesn't have to work at this at all, does he? Of course not. He's not the one who just had his heart trampled on. We look at each other for another moment before I force myself to look away. Maybe if I don't look at him, I can manage to turn off my feelings.

As we step off the ferry, I stare at the park, wishing. I guess an amusement park could be romantic. Strolling through the park, hand in hand, eating cotton candy. Maybe competing for some stuffed animal. But I guess it doesn't matter since he just made his feelings quite clear.

Suddenly, I realize that Harm's not with me any more and I turn around, finding him standing at the other end of the dock. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"This is where Seaman Dunsmore died twenty-eight years ago," he explains. I guess I was just fooling myself. I had this whole idea in my head about what tonight was going to be like and he brought me here to talk about the case. "Petty Officer Lee's wife says she screamed, but she couldn't be heard because of the noise from the park."

Harm walks towards me and gives a small nod. I hesitate a moment, then turn towards the park and scream as loud as I can. We both watch for some kind of reaction, but there is none. I turn back to him and say, "I don't know how noisy the park was that night, but I think we can assume that kids have not gotten quieter over the years. You know, Harm, I think it's also safe to assume that there's no evidence here." I just want to get out of here, go back to my hotel room, and pretend that this night never happened.

But Harm's not paying any attention to me, caught up in the case. He begins moving around me in a fighting stance as if he were holding a knife. "Plenty of room for a knife fight," he points out.

"Your defendant killed the Aussie with a knife?" I ask. Since I'm not directly involved, I only know what Admiral Chegwidden told us when we were first briefed about the case. That seems like a whole other lifetime ago.

"He didn't kill him," he protests, shaking his head as he continues to circle around me. "Dunsmore fell on his own knife. It was an accident."

"And how did he do that?" I ask in disbelief.

"Dunsmore came at Lee with a knife," he explains, motioning to me. I stare at him for a moment, not wanting to do this, before I finally hold my hand up as if I'm holding a knife on him. But my heart's not in it. Harm grabs my wrist and it's all I can do not to yank my arm away from him as if I've just been burned. "They struggled. Lee got behind him. . . .like this."

Harm moves around behind me, one hand still around my wrist, while he wraps his other arm around my throat. Just a few minutes ago, I would have given anything to be held in Harmon Rabb's arms. But knowing that it doesn't mean anything, now I want nothing more than to just get away.

Trying to forget about what being held by Harm does to me, I joke, glancing back over my shoulder at him, "Uh huh. You know, if this wasn't a reenactment, I'd have you on the dock with my foot on your neck."

He ignores me – I guess he's good at doing that – and continues, "They struggled. . . ." We begin moving across the dock, ". . . .across the dock and tripped over. . . .a cleat." We stop suddenly and stare down at the dock. "There are no cleats." Finally, Harm takes his hands off me and I can't help being a little relieved and disappointed at the same time. Now, I don't have to pretend that his touch doesn't affect me. "The ferry ties up to pilings."

"Maybe there were cleats in seventy-two," I suggest.

"Alright, say there were cleats," he replies. "Where would they be?"

"Well, they'd be right here where the ferries tie up," I reply, stating the obvious.

But that's not the only thing that's obvious. "So how would two men struggling with a knife trip over a cleat and fall onto the dock?" Harm asks.

"They wouldn't," I reply, realizing. "They'd go right into the harbor. Harm, your client is lying." Now that we've done this, can we get out of here? I don't know how much more of this I can take – being so close and yet so far.

~*~*~*~

2130 ZULU

MANLEY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

This case is just getting worse and worse. First, I practically get suckered into taking this case and now the defendant's wife claims that what she really knows about the night that Seaman Dunsmore died will destroy her husband.

Bud and I just stare at each other as I wonder how I'm going to salvage any kind of defense. Something catches Bud's eye on the beach behind me and he suddenly asks, "Sir? Is that Colonel Mackenzie topless?" I stand and turn to look in the direction he's pointing and see Mac on the beach with Brumby. To say that I am stunned is the understatement of the year. What the hell does she think she is doing topless on a beach with Brumby?!

Determined, I stride across the beach towards them, Bud following behind. I stop right in front of Mac and she looks up at us, a smile on her face while Brumby is busy looking at the view hidden from me behind the magazine that she's holding. "Hi!" she proclaims brightly. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Wonderful," I reply flatly, crossing my arms over my chest. I thought I knew her, but the Sarah Mackenzie I know wouldn't do something like this – sitting on the beach topless while Brumby leers at her. Or maybe that's exactly what she wants. She was the one who was so upset that she wasn't going to be coming to Australia in the first place. She's the one who volunteered to bring Seaman Dunsmore's body home. Brumby looks up at me as I stare at Mac, that annoying grin on his face. I'd love to be able to wipe it off.

Mac turns to Bud and asks, "Oh, hey, Bud, did you get my message about dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies, sounding a bit embarrassed as he tries to look anywhere but at Mac. Unable to help myself, I try to peek around her magazine. "Dinner sounds great."

"Oh wait, I assumed we'd be having dinner, Mac," Brumby says, almost sounding like he's pouting. Good, if she's having dinner with Bud, then I won't have to worry about her being with Brumby. But why should I care? I mean, she did come to the beach with him and. . . .I don't want to think about the rest of it and what it means.

"Don't assume, Mic," Mac says pleasantly, smiling at him. She turns back to Bud and says, "Hey, Bud, let me give you these pictures Harriet sent."

Mac reaches beside her for the photos that Harriet had given to me to pass on to Bud, the magazine remaining over her chest. I try to look over the top of the magazine, but she's holding it against her so that nothing is visible.

Bud is flipping through the pictures Mac just handed him, conversing with Brumby about the pictures while I can't tear my eyes away from Mac. I should, though. She's obviously made her choice. I just never thought she'd be this blatant about it.

She looks up at me, apparently amused. "What?" she asks innocently. As if she doesn't know.

I finally manage to tear my gaze away and she laughs. Now it's obvious that she's amused by this whole situation. There's a little part of me that's angry. I don't find this situation very funny. What happened to the woman who was crying in my arms the day I left JAG all those months ago? What happened to the woman who acted annoyed at all the attention Brumby was paying her, even after he had left Washington? I guess it wasn't unwanted attention after all. I almost don't recognize this woman sitting on the beach in front of me. Frustrated, I decide to take it out on Brumby. He makes such a good target, particularly now. "Brumby, you questioned the witness without talking to his lawyer," I say firmly. "That's unethical."

Brumby is completely unrepentant when he replies, "Don't know if that's true even if she was his wife. . . .which she wasn't."

"They've been married for twenty-eight years," I shoot back.

"A bigamous marriage," he counters. "He already had a wife."

Mac steps in before I can argue back. "Would you two save it for court?" she requests. "I'm trying to defrost here."

"Well, don't over-expose yourself," I retort, a bit sarcastically. "You'll burn."

"Don't worry, mate," Brumby says smugly, his usual annoying grin still present. "I rubbed her down with plenty of sun block."

Damn him, I think as I shoot him the dirtiest look I can manage. Mac shoots him a look as well, but hers doesn't make any sense. She's the one who chose to come here with Brumby and. . . .expose. . . .herself the way she has. I idly wonder what are the odds that I'll make it off this beach without throwing away my career by throttling the smug bastard.

Bud jumps in quickly before the situation can explode, "Sir, isn't it time that we go?" I ignore him, still glaring at Brumby and Bud asks again, "Sir?"

"Yeah," I finally say. "As they say, four's a crowd." Brumby smiles, obviously pleased at my retreat. I don't consider it a retreat. I just don't believe in humiliating myself by staying someplace where I'm obviously not wanted and putting myself through the torture of watching the woman that I have feelings for acting so cozy with another man.

"Hey, how about dinner tomorrow?" Mac asks me as Bud and I start to walk off.

I turn back and hesitate, not sure how to respond. I don't know if I can tolerate an evening with Mac, not after what I've seen here. Eventually, I reply, "I'll call."

Brumby just can't resist getting in one last shot as I turn again to walk off. As we walk off, he calls out, "Don't forget your wigs when you come to court."

Stunned, Bud and I just stare at each other and I ask in disbelief, "Wigs?"

As we walk off the beach, I force myself not to look back. I just wish I could get the image out of my mind of Mac topless on the beach with Mic Brumby. I thought. . . .I guess it doesn't matter what I thought anymore. Obviously, I'm nothing more than just a friend to her. I guess I've got to live with it, just like I've been living with it since the day I returned to JAG.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT

0800 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Mac and I are on the ferry going across Sydney Harbor. She's dressed up, which I don't get. She looks like someone trying to impress a man, but she's got Brumby to impress. I try to convince myself that I'm immune to the effect, but it's difficult. I try to keep the conversation casual and light by telling her about how Bud and I almost ran into Clayton Webb twice here in Sydney. But just that much takes an enormous effort on my part. I try to remind myself that I'm a lawyer and it's my job to be convincing, whether to a jury or the woman that I care for. As I finish discussing the Webb and his women, she comments, "Didn't know Webb was multi-lingual."

"Maybe he's not," I reply with a grin. "Both women were stunning, though." Yeah, let's think about what those other women looked like and not about Mac standing here in front of me wearing an outfit that hugs her body in all the right places. No, I can't think like that. Not anymore.

"Are you saying that a man doesn't need to understand a woman as long as she's beautiful?" she counters with a laugh.

I lean back against the ferry's railing and turn to face her. "Look, even speaking the same language," I reply, my tone serious, "what man understands a woman?" Right now, I'm thinking about how much I do not understand her, at least not in the last two days.

"You're referring to me," she says with a laugh. I can't think of anything to say, knowing that she's right, and I look away from her. I really don't want to have this conversation, because then I have to think about her and Brumby. . . .She presses on, "Ha. Let me guess. You don't understand why I went to the beach with Mic."

I turn away as I grip the railing, imagining that it's Brumby's throat I've got my hands around, unwilling to look her in the eye, staring out over the harbor as I comment, trying to change the subject, "The Opera House is really beautiful, isn't it?" I don't really care about the Opera House, but I care even less about having this discussion.

"Smashing," she mutters. To my frustration, she doesn't take the hint and returns to our previous topic. "So what bothered you? That I was at the beach with him or that you thought I was topless?"

Oh, my God. Stunned, I turn back to her. "You weren't?" I ask. But that doesn't make any sense. If she wasn't topless yesterday, why would she let me believe that she was? I can't imagine Mac stringing me along, teasing me like that. Then again, after yesterday, I'm not so sure that I can honestly say what Mac would do in any given situation.

"Harmon Rabb, you are a prude!" she exclaims. What does that have to do with anything? Whether or not I am a prude – which I am not – has nothing to do with this discussion. I thought she knew me better than that. Being on that beach and seeing all the topless women didn't bother me.

I should just tell her that it was the sight of one woman, apparently topless, that bothered me. But what would be the point now? "I am not!" I argue. "Look, I don't care if you want to go topless." Right, and if she believes that I've got a bridge to sell.

"You do if it's in front of Mic," she counters.

I am not about to admit that she's hit the nail right on the head. Again, what would be the point unless she is enjoying playing Brumby and I off of each other? And Mac wouldn't do that. Right? "You work with the guy, Mac," I argue. "You wouldn't go topless in front of me, would you?"

That last part just kind of slips out before I can stop myself and the rhetorical question hangs in the air between us as we just stare at each other. "Is that a request?" she asks, all hints of laughter gone from her voice.

I just stare at her. Now, I'm even more convinced that this can't possible be Sarah Mackenzie standing in front of me. The Mac I know wouldn't spend yesterday letting Brumby fawn all over her and then practically proposition me the following night. As much as I want to take her in my arms and carry her off somewhere, I can't – not under these circumstances. Let's not even talk about how screwed up my life is right now and how I am in no condition emotionally for a serious, long-term relationship. And that's what I would want with her. But only if she wants it, too. And a woman going back and forth between two men is not in a good place for a long-term relationship, either.

Feeling uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is going in, I look away from Mac and up at the Sydney Harbor Bridge, which we're passing under right now. "You know, they wrote 'eternity' on this bridge," I say quietly, trying to change the subject again as I grip the deck railing even tighter, "in lights on New Year's Eve." Mac doesn't respond immediately and I begin to think that maybe she's decided to drop the subject. Feeling safer, I look back down at her.

"Is that how long we're going to wait?" she asks, obviously not taking the hint.

Wait for what? For Mac to decide if it's me or Brumby she wants? For me to throw everything away for a roll in the hay with her? For her to decide that she wants more than the casual relationship with me that she's apparently suggesting? "Mac. . . ." I say, drawing out her name.

"We're not in Washington," she points out, shaking her head. "We're not even on the same continent."

"Location doesn't change who we are," I counter. Being away from Washington doesn't make my life any less screwed up. Being away from Washington doesn't make her relationship with Brumby any less real. Being away from Washington doesn't make me want to honor her any less.

"Most men would disagree with you," she says.

"I know," I admit. Being away from Washington also doesn't make me want her any less. But I can't do it, not like this. "I disagree with me sometimes, too."

"But you still can't let go?" she asks.

Let go of what? I'm not entirely sure what she's referring to. Maybe she wants me to let go of everything I believe in for one night with her. I give her the answer that I think she expects and the one that will probably get me out of this awkward situation. "Not yet," I reply softly.

She asks softly, her voice sounding a bit odd, "You're just this way with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. . . .only with you," I agree. Of course, I am. I've never felt for a woman, even Diane, what I feel for the beautiful, courageous woman standing in front of me. I value and honor Sarah Mackenzie too much to settle for just jumping in the sack with her on a whim. I want to give her roses and candlelight dinners and everything that men are supposed to give the woman they love more than anything in the world. I just wish to God she wanted me to give her those things. But she doesn't.

Mac diverts her eyes for a moment before she finally replies, "I suppose I should be flattered."

"You should, Sarah," I say gently in agreement, glad that she seems to understand what I'm telling her. Now it's time to put this conversation behind us. In another place and time, when my life is not so screwed up and she's put Brumby behind her, then it will be our time. I guess I just need to be patient and wait while we both work through some issues. But I can do that, for her. Only for her.

She smiles, apparently agreeing that this conversation is over and asks, "Where are you gonna take me for dinner?"

"Luna Park," I reply, pointing across the water.

"An amusement park?" she asks, laughing.

I shrug as I point out, "You like hot dogs."

"And what is Mister 'practically-a-vegetarian' going to eat?" she teases, sounding more like her old self. Good. I would have hated for this situation to ruin our friendship, not after it's taken so long to work our way back towards each other. If we can't be together right now the way that I would like, I still have our friendship to hold on to.

"A corn dog," I joke, raising my eyebrows. She laughs and I join in. I force myself to relax my grip on the railing, glad that we seem to be putting this awkward situation behind us.

As we step off the ferry, Mac stares at the park while I walk around the dock, studying it, trying to imagine in my mind the scene in 1972.

Mac turns to me and asks, "What are you doing?"

"This is where Seaman Dunsmore died twenty-eight years ago," I explain. "Petty Officer Lee's wife says she screamed, but she couldn't be heard because of the noise from the park."

I walk towards her and give a small nod. She hesitates a moment, then turns towards the park and screams as loud as she can. We both watch for some kind of reaction, but there is none. She turns back to me and says, "I don't know how noisy the park was that night, but I think we can assume that kids have not gotten quieter over the years. You know, Harm, I think it's also safe to assume that there's no evidence here."

She probably has a point, but something just doesn't sit right, not since my conversation with Jenny yesterday, and I'm determined to figure out what it is. Anyway, concentrating on the case helps me push aside. . . .other concerns. I begin moving around Mac in a fighting stance as if I was Seaman Dunsmore holding a knife on Petty Officer Lee. "Plenty of room for a knife fight," I point out.

"Your defendant killed the Aussie with a knife?" she asks and I remember that wasn't covered in the briefing that Admiral Chegwidden gave us before we left Washington. And I don't suppose her time with Brumby was spent talking about. . . . No, I've got to stop thinking about that. Mac and I have reached an understanding and I've got to let it rest for now.

"He didn't kill him," I protest, shaking my head as I continue to circle around her. "Dunsmore fell on his own knife. It was an accident."

"And how did he do that?" she asks in disbelief.

"Dunsmore came at Lee with a knife," I explain, motioning to her. She stares at me for a moment, before finally holding her hand up as if she's holding a knife on me. I grab her wrist and continue, "They struggled. Lee got behind him. . . .like this."

I move around behind her, one hand still around her wrist, while I wrap my other arm around her throat. She puts her hand over mine and I have to force myself to concentrate on our reenactment and not the tingling sensation where her hand is touching mine.

She jokes, glancing back over her shoulder at me, "Uh huh. You know, if this wasn't a reenactment, I'd have you on the dock with my foot on your neck." That sounds like my favorite kickass jarhead.

I resist the urge to smile and continue the story, "They struggled. . . ." We begin moving across the dock, ". . . .across the dock and tripped over. . . .a cleat." We stop suddenly and stare down at the dock. "There are no cleats." I drop my hands, stunned. "The ferry ties up to pilings."

"Maybe there were cleats in seventy-two," she suggests.

"Alright, say there were cleats," I reply, considering. "Where would they be?"

"Well, they'd be right here where the ferries tie up," she replies, sounding as if it were so obvious.

Yeah, it is obvious and that's not the only thing that is. "So how would two men struggling with a knife trip over a cleat and fall onto the dock?" I ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

"They wouldn't," she replies. "They'd go right into the harbor. Harm, your client is lying." As we stare down at the edge of the dock, I can't help but wondering what is wrong with my life. My personal life is so screwed up and now this big case – that I'm opposing Brumby on, no less – is sinking fast and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do to stop it.

~*~*~*~

5 DAYS AFTER THE FERRY RIDE

HYDE PARK

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

I wish I knew how he does it. I pretty much humiliated myself, throwing myself at Harm on the ferry, and he has managed to act like the whole conversation never happened. The last few days, he's been treating me the same as he always does and he makes it look so easy. On the other hand, I have to force myself to smile and act normally towards the man who rejected me, the man that I thought I loved and who I thought could love me. I recall accusing him once of being able to turn his feelings. . . .'on and off like a bilge switch' is the phrase that I think I used. A part of my wishes that I could ask him how he does it. Maybe I could learn how to do it, too, and then I wouldn't have to pretend and then it wouldn't hurt so much.

Court is in recess and I go outside with Harm and Bud, sitting on the bench next to Bud while Harm stands over us, still in his robes for court but minus the wig. I didn't really want to be in such close proximity to Harm – after all, it's easier when I don't have face him and don't have to act like there's nothing wrong, don't have to act like there isn't this big, aching hole in my heart. But someone has to translate for poor Bud, who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time between Harm's and Mic's fists a few days ago.

"I feel so helpless sitting behind you, Sir," Bud mumbles through his wired jaw. Harm looks at him, confused.

Come on, Mac. You can do this. You can talk to Harm without falling apart. "He said he feels helpless sitting behind you," I translate. See, that wasn't so bad, was it? Yeah, right. I don't know if I can ever convince myself of that.

"You're guarding my back, Bud," Harm comforts him, smiling.

Bud mumbles, "Thank you, Sir."

"He said 'thank you'," I pipe in, managing a smile myself.

Harm asks me, "How is it that you're the only one who understands him?"

God, he had to ask me a direct question, didn't he? This was easier when I was just translating for Bud. Breathe, Sarah, and just answer the question. You can get through this. "Well, my father's jaw was wired when I was a kid," I reply. That wasn't so bad. Maybe it will get easier as I keep talking and let myself relax into the conversation. "I guess it's like learning a foreign language."

"I'd rather be speaking French," Bud says.

I imagine he'd be laughing if his jaw wasn't wired, so I force myself to laugh as relate what he said to Harm. I even manage to smile at Harm. Harm laughs as well, but it quickly turns to a groan of pain as he grabs his side. The sight of Harm in pain nearly shakes my resolve to act normal. I want nothing more than to comfort him right now, but I've humiliated myself enough. I simply ask, "Broken rib?"

Harm grimaces as he corrects me, "Ribs. Two."

"I can't believe the Admiral forced the two of you to fight," Bud says.

That was directed at Harm, but I don't translate, responding to Bud, "I don't think it took much forcing." Although I'm not sure I understand the reasons, not anymore. I used to think that a lot of the hostility between Harm and Mic, at least since Harm returned from the Patrick Henry, stemmed from jealousy, plain and simple. I mean, he certainly acted like it when he would get his digs in about what he perceived to be mine and Mic's relationship back when Mic was still at JAG. But after our conversation on the ferry, I just don't know anymore. I used to think that I knew Harm so well, but I was wrong about his feelings for me, wasn't I? I guess I was just reading things that weren't there.

"With all due respect," Bud says, managing to sound a bit forceful even through his wired jaw, "it's really your fault, Ma'am. They were fighting over you."

I freeze for a second, looking down at my coffee cup as all the bandages that I'd wrapped around my aching heart are ripped off with one statement from Bud. It shouldn't bother me, because I know that Harm doesn't feel that way about me. But there's a part of me that wishes that it was true, that they had been fighting over me. Then I would know that I stand a chance with Harm.

"What did he say?" Harm asks. He sounds so serious, all traces of humor gone from his voice.

Angry at this situation, at Harm's lack of feelings, at my feelings that I can't control, I lie, "That, uh, you deserved what you got." I get up and start walking without a backward glance, not stopping until I'm back inside the courthouse. Only then do I let my mask slip as I lean against the wall, wishing that a lot of things were different and that all of this could be easier.

~*~*~*~

FIVE DAYS LATER

NEW SOUTH WALES SUPREME COURT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

After the ups and down that this case has taken, I even had doubts that I could pull this one off. But I did it, as evidenced by the not guilty verdict just handed down by the jury. As Petty Officer Lee takes off to go straighten things out with his wife before we take him back to the States to clear up the desertion charge against him, Brumby comes over and offers his congratulations.

"Congratulations, Harm," he says. The smug bastard actually manages to sound sincere. "Didn't think you could beat me on my home court."

The smile I give him actually is genuine – after all, I did win. I joke, "The wig made it an even playing field."

"Didn't take him into custody," Mac says as she walks up to the table. She sounds so relaxed, so normal and I'm glad. After our conversation on the ferry, I was a bit worried that it would be awkward for both of us – wanting more and not being able to have it right now. We're finally getting our friendship back on track after all these months and I was worried that what happened might have an adverse effect. Fortunately, we have apparently managed to put the conversation behind us for now, to be picked up again at some date in the future – hopefully the near future – when we're both ready to pursue what was hinted at that night.

"Oh, he's not going to run, Mac," I reply confidently. "Not when all he has to do is pick up a few papers to be free."

The Admiral walks up to us and offers his congratulations, shaking my hand. After a moment, Mac echoes the sentiment and offers me her own hand. I shake it, relishing the brief contact, until Brumby has to spoil the moment. "I'd have expected more than a handshake if I'd won, Mac," he cuts in.

Mac doesn't look happy with his bold statement. Although angry myself, I manage to sound pleasant when I retort, "You always expect more than you deserve."

"Mic," Mac says before he can follow up the dirty look he gives me with a reply to my cutting remark, "I'm leaving tomorrow. Would you like to have dinner tonight?" Mac, what are you doing? Has she lost her mind again? Or maybe she never regained her sanity after Manly Beach. I can't keep the look of disgust off my face.

I'm tempted to wipe that smug look off Brumby's face, but I'm still bearing painful reminders of my last go around with him. He replies, "I'd love it, Sarah." Remain calm, Rabb. Let's not make a scene in front of the Admiral. You don't need to suffer through any more of his ideas of non-judicial punishment.

Before they leave, Mac says, "Great. I'll see you at the airport, Harm, Admiral."

As I watch them leave, the Admiral says, "Well, you win some and you lose some." Bud pats my back, almost as if he's offering his condolences. As they leaves, I wonder what the hell all this is supposed to mean. It's just dinner, right? And we're going back to the States tomorrow and Brumby's staying here. He'll be out of our lives again, hopefully this time for good and we can get back to normal. Then I can work at straightening out the mess that is currently my life and I'll finally be ready to let go for Mac.

~*~*~*~

THAT NIGHT

1130 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Sarah Mackenzie, what the hell is wrong with you? You're going out to dinner with a man who wants to shower you with attention, who went so far as to wear dress whites, and all you can think about is how a certain US Navy Commander looks in dress whites and gold wings. Harm doesn't feel about you the way you want him to, so stop thinking about him and try to enjoy this evening. Right. Maybe that would be easier if we weren't on this damn ferry. As we go across Sydney Harbor, I can't stop thinking about another ferry ride. . . .

Sarah, why don't you try talking to the man? Not talking leaves too much time for thinking and it's obvious that too much thinking is no good. "I can't believe you're wearing a formal dress uniform," I say as we walk along the deck. Not bad, Sarah. I even manage a smile, although Mic can't see it walking behind me. But maybe if I keep smiling I can convince myself that I'm in a good mood and what happened the last time on this ferry doesn't bother me anymore.

"Special occasions call for special attire," Mic replies seriously.

Special occasion? "We're just having dinner, Mic," I reply, managing a light laugh. I hope he's not assuming again.

"We're having more than that," he counters.

Okay, so he is assuming again. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised. I'm not sure I'm in the mood to deal with Mic's assumptions, but I know that if I weren't out for dinner with him right now, I'd be back at my hotel right now staring at the walls of my room and wondering what the hell went wrong the last time I rode this ferry. And I'm getting tired of dwelling on it. "Don't presume, remember?" I remind him, still smiling.

"I'm not," Mic disagrees, his voice sounding so serious. "I'm talking about having a serious discussion." I take in a shaky breath, hoping that this isn't going to be something similar to Manly Beach. At least I don't have to worry about him rubbing this in Harm's. . . ."I know you like me."

What kind of statement is that? No, Mic, I generally go out to dinner with men that I hate. "Of course, I like you, Mic" I reply, laughing, as we stop and I turn to face him, unsure of what else to say, of what kind of answer he's looking for.

He steps closer and puts his hands on my waist, gently rubbing upwards. That feels good, but. . . ."I'm in love with you, Sarah," he says and my heart stops in my chest. He what? He didn't just say that. No. For a brief second, I wish that it was Harm standing in front of me, wearing his dress whites, declaring his love for me. Stop it, Sarah! It's Mic standing in front of you, not Harm. It will never be Harm. He made that perfectly clear. I start to protest, holding up my hand, but Mic silences me.

"For once in your life, just listen," he says quietly, staring at me intently. I can't believe we're having this discussion. Then again, a lot has happened on this trip that I can't believe. "I've loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I've never acted so foolishly or ached so hard in my heart in all my life."

Oh, God. I'm hearing all the right words. He's saying everything that I've ever wanted to hear from a man in my life. . . .everything that I've ever wanted to hear from. . . .No. Don't go there. I look into Mic's eyes and I see so much sincerity and love there. I wish that I could respond the way he wants me to. Maybe I can. I mean, he's obviously crazy about me and I do care about him. I lean forward slightly, about to kiss him, but he stops me. "No, let me finish, please," I requests, "while I still have the strength." I nod. I want to hear these things. I just wish. . . .well, that's not important any more.

"I knew that getting you to love an ocher like me would take a miracle," he continues. He looks up at the stars above us and moves slightly behind me. "Look," he adds. I look up, losing myself in the beauty of the stars above us. "I'm pray one will fall from the Southern Cross tonight."

Slightly confused by that last statement, I look back down to find Mic holding a diamond ring in front of me. I can't help but laugh, but it's a nervous laugh. I can't help thinking that this can't really be happening. I mean, men don't take women that they've never even dated on ferry rides in full dress uniform, declare their love and offer them a ring.

"Oh, my God," is the only thing I can think of to say. This is just. . . .I suddenly feel overwhelmed. But my mind keeps drifting to topics that it shouldn't be thinking about and I realize that I can't do this to Mic. He's offering me the world and I can't stop thinking about another man.

I gently push his hand away as I turn to face him. "Ah, it's impossible, Mic," I say, shaking my head, no longer laughing.

"Once you'd have said me holding you in my arms under the Southern Cross would be impossible," he counters with a smile as he wraps his arms around me.

I manage a laugh again, but it's a forced one, as I agree, "You're right."

He shrugs as he continues, "I mean, I know it won't be easy. God knows we've got a lot to work out. Your career. Mine." He just looks at me for a moment, his hand gently caressing my shoulder and I feel myself responding just a little. He's being so sweet and saying all the words that I need so much to hear. But he assumes that when I talk about impossible, that I'm referring to things like careers and the ten thousand miles that will shortly be between us. But those aren't the only things that would need to be worked out. There are others, things that he knows nothing about – like my feelings for another man that I can't seem to turn off. "But I'm willing to make any sacrifice. Any. If you'll just be my wife."

There's a catch in his voice as he says that last part and I find myself responding for reasons that I can't completely understand or explain. I'm so touched and I let myself kiss him, trying to imagine what it would be like to be Mrs. Mic Brumby. But there's too much inside me that's unsettled and it's not fair to subject him to that. I break off the kiss and step back. "I need time to think," I say gently. I don't want to hurt him, not after the way he's poured his heart out to me. I don't want to hurt him the way that Harm has hurt me.

"Absolutely," he promises and I release a shaky breath and manage to laugh. I'm still not quite sure I believe that this is happening to me. To say that this is unreal is the understatement of the year. After a moment, he smiles and asks, "Well?"

I know he's just trying to be funny, so I laugh gaily, playfully slapping his chest. "More time," I say. But I'm serious about needing time. I can't just turn off some feelings and turn on others. But maybe I can learn to.

"Wear my ring," Mic asks. I start shaking my head, feeling even more overwhelmed. He said that he'd let me have time, but he wants me to wear his ring? "On your right hand," he quickly adds, taking the hand in question and placing the ring on my finger before I can even think to offer a protest. "Until you decide."

I look down at the ring on my finger, still thinking that I'm eventually going to wake up and find that this is all a dream. "Then all you have to do is swap it over to the other hand," he continues, still holding my hand. He shrugs as I flex my fingers, the ring feeling foreign on my hand. "Or not." What am I supposed to do now. I really shouldn't wear his ring, not now, but now that he's put it on my finger, I do I tell him that?

He kisses me again and I tell myself that I could do a lot worse than a man who is willing to give me the moon and the stars. I have done worse. Why shouldn't I take what he's offering? Men like him don't come along every day. And maybe if I tell myself this enough times, I'll make myself fall in love with him and I'll be able to forget about. . . .other things. And other people.

~*~*~*~

THE NEXT DAY

0415 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

I can't believe this. Yesterday, I was on top of the world, having beaten Brumby in court on his own turf. Now, I know that I got a guilty man off. How could I have done that? How could I have fallen for such an obvious setup? Since I now know what happened, I can look back and see exactly how Bud and I were led to 'discover' Jenny's affair and to use it against her in court.

I know exactly how it happened. I let my personal feelings control me. I was so determined to win one over Brumby that I lost sight of the truth. I let my jealousy and strong distaste for the man cloud my judgment. Way to go, Rabb. I guess that proves that I was right to ask Mac to wait for me instead of jumping into anything right now. My life is so screwed up and this latest incident just makes it even more obvious. What can I say in my defense except that Brumby brings out the worst in me? My only consolation in all this is that we can press the desertion case against Petty Officer Lee, going full speed ahead with a court-martial for desertion in time of war instead of letting him walk away with his administrative separation.

"Did he show up yet?" Brumby asks as he and Mac join us, Mac in her uniform and Brumby in shorts and a rugby shirt. I try to force down the twinge of jealousy I feel at seeing them walk up together. I try to tell myself that it doesn't mean anything.

"Not yet," I reply dully, unable to tear my eyes away from them. My only consolation with this situation is that we're about to get on a plane that will take us back to the States, leaving Brumby behind and out of our lives.

"I can't wait to see the look on that bastard's face. . . ." he begins. Brumby and I actually do agree about something. Wonders never cease, I guess. I suppose if I were him, I'd be pissed, too.

Bud mumbles something that I take to mean that Petty Officer Lee is headed this way. I turn my head and find that I'm correct in my interpretation of what Bud just said.

He smiles as he joins us, carrying his bag. "Told you I'd be here, Commander," he says.

"So you did," I reply, just staring at him. After the way he played me, there's a part of me that's going to enjoy this.

"No hard feelings," he tells Brumby, although the smile has fallen from his face. "I know you were just doing your job."

"None at all, mate," Brumby replies, sounding so cool about it, although I can imagine that he's actually seething inside. After all, he failed to successfully prosecute a defendant who it turns out actually is guilty.

We all start at Lee for a moment and he looks at us, beginning to feel that something is not quite right. "Is something wrong?" he asks.

"On the contrary," I reply, "something is finally right. Lieutenant Roberts?"

As Bud handcuffs Lee and reads him his rights, I inwardly breath a sigh of relief. I may have screwed up this case, but I'm going to make it right. Soon, I'll make everything right. "Should have waited until after the court-martial to celebrate," I tell Lee firmly after he is informed that he was caught celebrating with Jenny and Harold. "Though we can't try you for murder one again, I *am* going to nail you for desertion in a time of war."

"I hope you go for the death penalty, mate," Brumby tells me.

We're getting ready to leave Mic Brumby behind forever, so I find myself able to admit that I agree with him on something. "Absolutely, mate," I reply, continuing to stare at Lee. He screwed with the wrong lawyer.

The Admiral orders Bud to take Lee on board the plane and I bend down to pick up my carry on bag. "Colonel, are congratulations in order?" the Admiral asks.

I straighten back up, stunned, and turn to look at Mac, who is fiddling with her hair, a diamond ring sparkling on her finger. Oh, God, no. Please, no.

~*~*~*~

At the Admiral's question, I look at the ring on my hand, still surprised to see it there. It still doesn't seem real. It still doesn't feel real. "Ah, it's on the right hand, Sir," I explain, noticing Harm's eyes on me. I can't quite read the expression on his face and I shouldn't really care. After all, he made his feelings quite clear that night. It doesn't matter what he thinks nor do I care what he is thinking. Yeah, right.

"Ah, so it is," the Admiral replies, nodding. But I barely notice, unable to tear my gaze away from Harm's.

"A friendship ring?" Harm asks. Damn you, Harmon Rabb. You didn't want me. What the hell do you care what kind of ring it is? If I decide to move it over to my left hand, why should it matter to you at all? Why can't you just let me be happy? Why do you begrudge me taking everything that Mic is offering me, the things that I had wanted you to give me? But no, you couldn't let go and now I'm wearing another man's ring. And that's something that you're just going to have to live with, because I'm not going to let you – or any feelings that I might have left for you - ruin my chance at being happy.

"For now," Mic replies. I glance at him, but then my eyes follow Harm as he follows the Admiral towards the gate. I shouldn't be looking after him. I've got Mic now. I turn to Mic, who does as I requested earlier and simply kisses my cheek.

"I love you, Sarah Mackenzie," he says.

I smile, telling myself that this is a good man and that I could be happy with him. "Oh, Mic," I say softly, putting my arms around him and kissing him. I can feel Harm's eyes on me and I deepen this kiss. I shouldn't be doing this, letting my. . . . feelings for Harm dictate my actions with Mic, but I can't help it. I want him to know what he could have had, what we could have had together. And I want him to think about what not letting go has cost him.

~*~*~*~

I glance back, my heart sinking as I watch Mac kiss Brumby. God, how can this be happening? Why, Sarah? I just needed her to wait for me. I just needed a little more time. I had thought she understood that. She couldn't have hurt me more if she'd plunged a knife into my stomach and twisted it.

I think the Admiral senses the direction of my thoughts, because he stops and turns to me. He advises me, "Commander, never look back."

I force myself to tear my gaze away from. . . .what's going on behind me to look at him. "No, Sir," I agree sadly, nodding. He continues towards the gate and I follow. He's right. I shouldn't look back. I won't look back.

I hand my ticket to the gate attendant and wait patiently to be checked in and my boarding pass returned. I won't look back. No, I won't. But I'm fighting a losing battle and, unable to help myself, I turn back, watching the woman I love in the arms of another man and wearing his ring while my heart breaks.

~*~*~*~