Stormy Weather

by TracyJean

Harm and Mac fall into each other's arms and storm clouds begin gathering in their lives as a consequence

3. Part 3

1 HOUR LATER

I stare up at the ceiling, unable to find peace in slumber. I wonder how Mac manages to do it, looking so content and restful curled up against me in sleep. I'd hate to think that it's because so much has happened in her life that she's used to events like what happened today. I brush a lock of hair off her face and study her relaxed expression. I wish that I could find that kind of peaceful rest.

I try to concentrate on the feeling of the beautiful woman in my arms, but my mind keeps stubbornly drifting back to that phone call earlier. Depending on how I decide to handle it, all this could be over soon, one way or the other. I just wish that I knew what to do.

I know what I want to do and, in another time and place, I would probably go with my first instinct. But there's so much to consider. What would Mac think? Would she understand or would she only see my anger dictating my actions in the same way that Mic's anger led to all this? Could the resolution to our current situation mark the end of us as well before we've really had a chance to begin?

I think those concerns are the only thing staying my hand – the fear of what Mac will think, of what my actions might ultimately mean for the two of us. I've already managed once to nearly destroy our relationship because of my actions. It would kill me to do that again. God, could she right? Might we need professional help if we are to have any chance of getting through this together. That idea scares me, too, as much as anything else about this situation does. I know that I should be willing to do absolutely anything and everything to hold us together, but I don't know if I can do that.

I keep remembering when Mom tried to get me to talk to someone when she was preparing to marry Frank. I could imagine everything that a therapist would say. 'Let it go. Accept that your father is gone and not coming back. Move on with your life and let your mother move on with hers.' All that I would hear would be everything that I didn't want to hear, simply variations of what I would eventually hear years later. . . .

. . . .when the Navy ordered me to see a shrink in the aftermath of my crash. 'Let it go. Accept that Mace's death wasn't your fault and that there was nothing you could do to prevent the crash. Move on with your life and your career.' Eventually, I did make my peace with what had happened and with Mace's death, but it wasn't because of anything any psychiatrist said. Only getting back into the cockpit and ultimately saving Thomas Boone's life helped me to begin laying those demons to rest.

What will I hear now? 'Let it go. Accept that Brumby's actions and Mac's suffering aren't your fault and that you couldn't prevent his lashing out. Move on with your life and your relationship with Mac.' But it is my fault. As I look back on the last four years, I see so many things that could have made a difference. There are so many 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' haunting me, taunting me at every corner. If just one tiny thing had been different, anywhere along the line, maybe this train wreck that is currently our lives could have been prevented.

Careful not to disturb Mac, I slowly slide out of bed and head to my desk, sitting down and staring at the phone for a long moment. I reach for the phone then pull my hand back, clenching it into a fist, pressing it against my forehead. No, I can't do this. It's not worth the price that I would pay. Nothing would be worth that price.

But this has to end. I have to end it. It was my actions that started us down this path, so I have to be the one who puts an end to it. I reach out again and this time I do pick up the phone. Checking Caller ID, I dial the last number that is shown on the display, quickly, before I can change my mind.

It seems to take forever, enough time for me to contemplate hanging up, but the phone actually only rings twice before being answered by a sleepy voice on the other end, "'Lo?"

I take a deep breath before saying softly, with a worried glance towards the bedroom, "It's me."

There's a cold, sickening laugh on the other end and my blood runs to ice in my veins. "I figured I'd be hearing from you," Mic says and my free hand clenches into a fist. Too bad he's not standing in front of me right now. Maybe Mac will forgive me just long enough to defend me and keep me out of Leavenworth for what I want to do to the smug bastard. "You're so predictable that way, ready to defend your whore. Tell me, have you been screwing her the entire time? Maybe she committed adultery with you, too, when she was still married to her husband."

"Neither Mac nor I owe you any justification for our actions," I respond tightly. I know that Mac didn't tell me word for word what Mic had said to her and I kept telling myself that I didn't want to know. But if what he's saying to me is any indication of what he said to her, then the bastard had better pray to God that I never get my hands around his neck. And his mentioning Mac's marriage reminds me why I've never been able to stand Brumby in the first place. Mac should have done a lot more than just slap him after her trial. And how the hell did she get from that point in time to trying to convince herself to fall in love with him? Unfortunately, I know all too well the answer to that question. It was me. I was the one who had pushed her into Brumby's arms and into denying herself. "And how does anything that you *think* that we've done justify what you did to Mac, what you're continuing to do to her? You claimed to love her so much, but how can you hurt her like this?"

"How can I hurt her?" he exclaims, laughing as if I just said the funniest thing in the world. "Let's see, I offered her everything in the world and I had it thrown back in my face. Not to mention the fact that she's worn my ring for the last nine months. She was going to be my wife."

"So you think because of all that she owes you something?" I demand, incredulous. If I hadn't thought before that Brumby was deluded. . . .God, what if Mac had actually said 'yes' to the bastard before she'd manage to come to her senses? I can imagine this being a whole lot worse if the ring had been residing on her left hand and I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Thank God for tiny favors. "She never said 'yes'. Wearing an engagement ring on your right hand doesn't make you engaged."

"She would have said 'yes'," he insists and I take a calming breath, for all the good that it will do me. I don't know if I can calm down. But he's not in front of me and the only thing lashing out at this moment will accomplish is waking Mac up and I don't want to do that. She can't know about this, not yet, not until it's all over, not until she can do nothing to stop me. "But we both know why she didn't. She would have said 'yes' if only you'd stayed away from her. But you've never liked me and not only did you have to beat me in court, you couldn't stand the fact that I had her and you didn't. So you just had to do something about that, didn't you?"

This is getting us nowhere and I don't intend to sit here all night and listen to his sick delusions. "What do you want, Mic?" I ask in a harsh whisper.

"We settle this," he says, a sneer evident in his voice. "You and me, just like in Sydney."

I doubt this will be anything like Sydney. That was about one-upmanship and simple – if you could call it that – competition, both at work and with Mac. This is about revenge, on both our parts. He wants to make me pay for what he sees as my stealing Mac away from him and I want him to pay for what he did to Mac yesterday morning. Regardless of the reasons, I have to do this. "When and where?" I ask, already trying to figure out how to get out of the apartment to meet him without Mac realizing what I'm doing until it's too late. If she were to figure it out and show up, the results could be disastrous.

"Zero six hundred," he says immediately. "There's an alley at the corner of 7^th and F Streets. Know the area?" He's obviously got this all thought out, or he thinks that he does. I know the area, which is not that far from here. He gets me to a not-so-good area of town, roughs me up, maybe even tries to kill me and thinks that it will get blamed on random street violence. Does he really think the police wouldn't suspect him after everything that's happened? But his overconfidence gives me an advantage, even if it's only a small one, and I need every advantage that I can claim against him. I just hope that it is going to be enough against him.

"Agreed," I respond. I hope that Mac won't be up by the time that I have to leave. If she is, maybe I can say that I'm going to get her breakfast and want to surprise her with something, so she should stay at the apartment. I don't know if I can pull that one off though. She knows me too well and often can see right through me. I just have to pray that she's still asleep. I just have to pray.

"I look forward to seeing you there," he tells me. "Although I don't think you'll enjoy it very much."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to this," I retort just before clicking off the phone. I stare at the phone for a long moment before setting it back down on the base. Just about three hours and this will all be over. I just have to wonder if it's the kind of over that I can live with. Taking a deep breath as I try to push those grim thoughts from my mind, I open the center desk drawer and pull out my gun and an extra clip. I don't think I can go back to sleep now, so I strip the gun down to clean it and as I do, a conversation from the past replays in my mind.

'Mind if I strip it down for you?' I manage a grim smile at the memory. God, everything was so much easier back then. Brumby was around at that time, still relatively new to JAG and he hadn't really insinuated himself into our lives yet. Back then, it was usually me and Mac against the world, like when we thought Clay had died and she insisted on staying here to keep an eye on me since Palmer was on the loose. I had known that she hadn't wanted to be alone, any more than I really did, but I didn't say a word. In those days, words were often unnecessary between us. Or maybe that's always been our problem. Maybe it's that we didn't talk when we really needed to or that we never could figure out when we did need to say the words.

What if I had taken the chance that night and taken her into my arms, the way I'd wanted to? She'd looked so vulnerable and mournful and I'd wanted nothing more than to hold her, comfort her, make love to her. But I hesitated and the moment was lost, like so many of the moments between us the last four years, lost and never to be recaptured.

I don't hear a sound except for the clink of metal as I take apart my pistol, no footsteps sound on the wood floor, but I feel her approach. I have always been able to feel her presence, even before we admitted our feelings for each other. She's been so much a part of me that, even before I could bring myself to admit that, when I was foolish enough to separate myself from here, it felt as if I was missing a vital part of myself.

Act cool, Rabb. I'm sure if she had heard anything, she'd already be giving it to me with both barrels without a second thought and without letting me get a word in edgewise. "Can't sleep?" I ask, not looking up from my the cold gun in my hands.

"Seems to be an epidemic of that tonight," Mac says, leaning against the edge of the desk, facing towards me, her hand on my shoulder. She squeezes gently, offering comfort, but I can't tear my mind away from how much what I'm about to do may hurt her. "Do you really think Mic might come here and try something, even with the police making sweeps of the area?" I look up to see her nodding towards my pistol. She assumes that I'm keeping the weapon handy in case Mic decides to stop by, just like that night when we were on guard against Clark Palmer.

"I don't want to take any chances," I reply, noting her weary expression. She looked so much more at peace when she was sleeping. Again, I mentally damn Mic Brumby to hell for doing this to her. "He's obviously not going to stop and the police haven't picked him up yet. I wouldn't put it past him to be able to get past them." Not entirely accurate, but a valid concern nonetheless.

"So what happens if he does show up?" she asks, her fingers gently massaging my tense muscles. I wish that I could find it in myself to forget about Mic for just a few moments and lose myself to her loving touch. "Are you just going to shoot him?" My eyes widen in surprise at the blunt question. Would it really matter to her all that much if I did? And what bothers her more – the idea that I might shoot someone or that Mic might be the one who gets shot? I'm scared that she still can't stop herself from caring about him somewhere down deep inside.

"I'll do whatever I have to do," I insist. I look down at the gun in my hands, pondering what to say without saying too much. "It just want this over. He's hurt you so much. . . ."

"I'm not the only one who hurting, Harm," she points out, gently prying my fingers from the pistol and setting it on top of the desk to the side. She then settles onto my lap and drapes her arms over my shoulders. "You don't have to pretend that you're okay because you feel some macho need to be strong for me. I know you too well. I know you're hurting. We need. . . .I'm sorry. Forget about that. But we need to try to take our minds off this, at least for a little while." She shakes her head and I imagine that she was going to bring up the idea of going to the shrink again. But it's just after three in the morning and we're both too tired and too keyed up for this discussion. But we will have to discuss it, no matter how much I do not want to. I know that. I think it's one of the few things that I do know for sure right now.

"I know," I say sadly, looking down at my lap, hoping that she understands my acknowledgement of what she's trying to say. I look back up at her and manage a weak smile. "We'll talk about that later, promise."

"Thank you," she replies, pressing one hand against my cheek. I close my eyes, trying again to concentrate on the sensations her touch generates in me. Please, God, let us survive this. I don't know what I'll do if I lose her again, not now that I know what it's like to be with her. "Why don't we go back to bed and try to get some sleep?"

I open my eyes, taking hold of her hand still flat against my cheek and our eyes lock. For a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, we just stare at each other, our breath caught in our throat. I'm not sure who makes the first move, all I'm aware of is that one moment we were just staring at each other and in the next our mouths are fused together as hands move roughly over clothing and exposed skin, desperate to touch and to taste. Does she feel it too, the desperation of the moment, as if these might be our last like this?

I stand, pulling her with me, intending to take her to the bedroom and back to my bed, but the aching need unleashed proves too powerful for both of us and we somehow end up against my desk, pulling and yanking at the cotton barriers between us.

My mouth descends on hers hungrily again and somewhere in the back of my mind it occurs to me that I should take it easy, be tender with her, that I might scare her after everything that's happened. I pull my lips away from hers and gently nuzzle her cheek, intending to slow down and savor, until I feel her hot breath against my ear and hear her husky voice, sounding as full of desperation as I feel. "Harm, I don't want it slow," she pleads. "I trust you."

Why can't we just forget the rest of the world and stay like this forever, for the eternity that she wants from me? In the heat of our passion, I can willingly promise her anything that she wants of me. But promises can be fleeting, especially in the cold, harsh glare of our reality.

Gasping for breath, our passion spent, I wrap my arms tight around her and collapse back onto the chair, pulling her with me. I brush my lips against her damp hair, tears stinging my eyes as I fight not to break down. "I love you," I whisper, my voice shaking. She lifts her head up just enough to meet my eyes and in the soft moonlight, I can see the glistening wetness of tears filling her own eyes.

"I know," she replies simply, her fingers brushing away a stray tear from my cheek. I take her hand and press my lips to her fingertips, savoring the feel of her soft skin against mine. "I love you, too. And it will be okay."

I wish it were that simple, that I could believe her assurances. Maybe if I close my eyes and wish hard enough. In the depths of my mind, wrapped up in her arms, her scent, her taste, I think that I can believe almost anything. If only it were that simple.

+++

TWO HOURS LATER

I reach out to brush her cheek, but my hand stops just inches above her soft skin. I want so much to touch, but it might wake her. She shifts in her sleep, one hand curling around the pillow beneath her head, the sheet moving with her, revealing soft curves. "I love you, Sarah," I whisper, amazed at how easily the words come to me now, syllables that I stumbled and stuttered over for four years. I just hope when this is all over that I haven't lost her forever, that she will understand why had I have to do what I'm about to do and give me another chance.

Pulling my hand away, clenching it into a fist, I force myself to turn and walk away. As I leave the apartment, carefully pulling the door silently closed behind me, it occurs to me that I was finally able to follow the Admiral's advice. I was able to leave without looking back.

+++

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

The moonlight's gone now and the clouds have moved back in. If I had the desire to really consider it, I might find some symmetry in the weather, in the way that the storms come and go, much as the storms have been coming and going in our life this weekend. Do I have the right to call it that? Do we even have a life together? Can we have one when all this is over?

I stare down at the ground, my features distorted in the eerie glow from the street light above me and the puddle of rain water at my feet. It's like looking at a reflection of my life. I'd like my life to be so perfect, so orderly and I struggle and fight with everything that I have in me to make it so. But more often than not, my life is like my reflection, distorted and out of focus. Once, I would have thought that finally having Mac in my life, sharing my life, would bring everything into focus for me. I once thought the same thing about flying and about finding the truth about my father's fate.

My head lifts at the sound of a car slowing nearby, my movements so steady and smooth. It's almost like a calm has settled over me, the serenity that comes from knowing that this will all be over soon. As I watch the street, waiting to see the familiar figure coming towards me, one hand reaches behind my back, seeking the cold comfort of the gun tucked into my jeans. As long as he never comes anywhere near Mac again, I can handle anything that might and will happen here in the pre-dawn darkness. I just have to keep telling myself that and then maybe I'll stop believing it.

Finally, he's coming towards me, his features cast in shadows, his measured steps splashing and echoing in the cold, dark and wet alley. He stops a few feet away from me, a satisfied smile on his face, the two of us looking for all the world like two gunfighters meeting at high noon. But I'm not so sure that the good guy will get to keep the girl this time.

"Hello, Harm," he says, sounding for all the world like we're two acquaintances passing each other by on the street.

"Brumby," I say, even that single word sticking in my throat. I didn't come here to talk to him.

"So you managed to drag yourself away from the arms of our whore," he sneers. He looks so smug and I realize what he is doing. He's trying to get to me, but he won't understand until it's too late how badly that strategy is backfiring on him. He's only strengthening my resolve. "That's what she is, isn't she? Just a few days ago, she was sharing my bed and now she's sharing yours. Or was she always going back and forth between us before all this? I always knew she was a hot little bitch, but I'd never thought she was so hot for it that it took two men to satisfy her needs."

He laughs, a cold, hard sound that grates my every nerve and I clench the hand behind my back into a fist and take a deep breath, reminding myself to remain calm. Bastard. He will pay for this, for everything that he's saying about Mac, but I have to bide my time, lull him into a false sense of confidence. For now I have to remain calm and turn the other cheek. What is they tell children to control their anger, count to ten? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. It's not working. How about trying another language? Uno. Dos. Très. . . .

Without warning, Mic suddenly charges me, lowering his head and barreling into my stomach with all the force of a battering ram. My fingers tighten around the grip of my gun and I pull it from behind my back as we hit the wet ground, but he brings his balled fist down hard on my wrist, forcing the weapon from my grasp as an involuntary cry of pain escapes me.

In the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I'll need to have it x-rayed, but I force the thought from my mind and concentrate on rolling to the side as Mic attempts to bring his clench fists down on my stomach. I get out of the way just in time and take a small satisfaction in his own cry as his fists hit asphalt with a loud crack. It's a tiny start in making up for the pain that he has and will continue to put Mac through. I scramble for my gun on hands and knees, ignoring the burning sensation in my wrist, but Mic comes down on top of me and forces me flat on the ground, pinning my injured wrist under me and forcing my forehead into the rough asphalt but this time, I manage to bite back the pain.

Mic quickly climbs to his feet, kicking my gun out of the way in the process. I start to get up, favoring my wrist, shaking my head to clear it, contemplating a new plan of attack taking into account that I've pretty much lost my dominant hand, a plan that will allow me to at least hold my own. As I turn towards him, my eyes widen at the cold glint of a steel blade staring back at me.

"I wonder how many people get knifed around here everyday," Mic muses, holding the knife steady just inches from my face. "Remember when you car was stolen? It became so obvious that you were playing with fire living in this neighborhood. I don't think many people are going to think twice about finding you facedown in an alley, your wallet gone. Just another robbery gone so terrible wrong like dozens of others in DC every day."

I almost smile. It's a small comfort to know that I'm still one step ahead of him. My wallet is safely back at my apartment, sitting on my desk or maybe on the floor with the other things that got knocked off the desk a few hours ago. Regardless, considering that Mic's wanted by the police already for assault and vandalism, even the dumbest cop could connect the dots on this one and the ones that I'd met in the course of yesterday's events are anything but.

I relax in the face of the sharp blade and now I do smile. His expression twists into any angry snarl in the face of my calm countenance. "What?" he demands. I merely smile wider as Mic is grabbed from behind in a chokehold, a strong hand closing over his right wrist, forcing him to drop the knife as sirens echo in the distance, growing louder with each second. Barely ten seconds have passed, Mic gasping for breath as an arm squeezes his throat just enough to making breathing difficult, when the first police car pulls into the alley, breaks squealing. Two officers jump out, guns drawn, and Mic is pushed into their arms and swiftly cuffed as his rights are read to him. The hand that was just restraining Mic reaches out for me and I take it with a grateful sigh.

"Thank God you had the sense to call me," the Admiral says as he pulls me to my feet, the hand moving to my elbow to steady me as a wave of dizziness passes over me. I nod grimly, grateful as well that I'd made that call from my cell phone as I was driving here. I honestly don't know how this would have turned out otherwise, whether it's the question of if I could have survived Mic's assault to whether I could have stopped myself from killing Mic if given the chance. I needed the Admiral to protect me from myself as much as from Mic.

He slowly leads me to his rental and helps me lean against it, staring into my eyes by the light of an overhead street lamp. "We should probably get you to Bethesda," he suggests, "get you checked for a concussion as well as getting that wrist x-rayed."

"Mac," I mumble. Now that it's over, I need so much to see her, to hold her and to tell her everything. I need to see the look in her eyes when she hears that it's finally over and hear her reassurances that everything will be okay.

"After you called me," the Admiral says, a steadying hand still on me as I slump against the car, "I called Lieutenant Roberts and told him to go over to your place and stay with her until he hears from me. He's under orders not to let her out of his sight."

I manage to laugh at the idea of Bud trying to get Mac to stay put. "I'm not sure that your orders are going to have much effect on her right now," I explain in response to his puzzled glance.

"I believe the Lieutenant is being accompanied by his wife and son, who were up rather early this morning," he responds. "She'll stay put."

I'm not sure how Mac will feel about everyone suddenly finding out what's happened, but maybe it's a good thing. Beside preparing her for the questions she will face tomorrow or the next day when she returns to work, maybe it will help her to be able to talk to another woman, a friend this time, not a police detective and not Renee, no matter how sympathetic.

Detective Summers walks over to us, her hands on her hips. "I don't suppose it would do any good to explain to you military types about the concept of 'taking the law into your own hands'," she says, sounding more bemused than angry. "It's a good thing that the cops sweeping your neighborhood got suspicious when they saw your car gone from your building."

"I guess luck's finally shining down on me," I mutter somewhat sarcastically, rubbing my forehead, brushing away grit and gravel.

"Detective, can we continue this discussion at Bethesda?" the Admiral asks, helping me into his car. Even in my current daze, I wonder how the 6'3" Admiral manages to drive this sardine can. I haven't been this cramped since the Watertown. I have to scrunch down in the seat just to rest my aching head against the headrest. "I've got an officer who probably has at least a mild concussion and a broken wrist."

"Okay, Admiral," she says, giving me sympathetic look. "You know, Commander, you took a pretty big chance. He could try to claim that you assaulted him."

"Yeah, that's why I'm the one on the way to the emergency room and he's on his way to jail," I comment dryly.

"Was it worth it, Commander?"

"I'll let you know after I see Mac," I answer honestly. Only then will it truly be over.

+++

6:05 AM

"Harm," I mumble, my mind still wrapped up in the fog of sleep, "whatz racket?" I roll over with a groan, pulling a pillow over my head, but the incessant pounding invading my slumber doesn't stop. "Harm?"

When I receive no answer and the pounding still doesn't stop, I roll back over, ready to shake Harm awake, only to find that I'm alone. I run my hand lightly over the space beside me, deciding that I've been alone for a while judging from the cool sheet beneath my fingertips. He must not have been able to sleep again and decided to go get us some breakfast. That's the only logical explanation. I just wish he would stop doing that.

Not the going to get us breakfast – or any meal - part. When I'd once told Harm that men I'd spent the night with usually made me breakfast, I'd been joking, a way of lightening the mood in the midst of our dire circumstances at the time. Most men that I've been unlucky enough to be involved with weren't that considerate, or if they did start out that way, it didn't last for long. It sure didn't last with my most recent relationship. What I wish is that he would stop leaving me alone in this huge bed. I really need to wake up in his arms, his comforting embrace telling me without words that everything will be finally be okay. In his arms, I can actually make myself believe that, even if only for a little while.

The pounding, which had stopped momentarily, starts up again, even more insistent, bringing with it a loud bark from Jingo, and I start to push back the covers, ready to give whoever it is hell for waking me up when I freeze, my hand clutching the sheets tightly. Oh God, what if it's Mic? What if he was waiting for Harm to leave so he could come after me again? Who else would be pounding on the door like that just after six in the morning? Okay, think, Marine. Where's Harm's gun? I slide over to his side of the bed and pull open the nightstand drawer. Empty. I check the other stand with similar success. Wait a minute. His desk.

I jump out of bed and run across the apartment to his desk, yanking open each drawer, growing more frustrated when I don't find it. He must have taken it with him when he left, for protection. Good idea, but it leaves me without any protection as my gun is still back at my apartment, left there in the excitement after what had happened. Anyway, why would I have needed it since Harm already had a weapon here? Jingo wanders over and stands next to me, eyeing the door warily as I kneel on the floor, pushing aside papers and books that had gotten pushed off the desk earlier, searching for the phone. If it is Mic, he's soon to find himself looking down the barrel of a police-issue revolver as they handcuff his sorry ass and haul him off the jail. That thought only makes me feel slightly better.

As my fingers close around the black plastic of the phone's handset, I am startled to hear a familiar voice shout from the other side of the door, "Colonel Mackenzie? It's Bud and Harriet."

I slump back against the desk, releasing a breath that I hadn't even realized that I'd been holding as Jingo nuzzles my shoulder, instinctively knowing the person on the other side of the door is a friend and won't hurt me. Thank God. The idea that it might have been Mic on the other side of that door scared me more than this Marine Lieutenant Colonel would care to admit. I take in a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll be there in a minute," I call out, drawing in a few more steadying breaths as I stand and head back to the bedroom to throw some clothes on.

A moment later, dressed in a pair of boxers and one of Harm's button-down shirts, I open the door a crack, the bruised side of my face hidden behind the door as I smile sleepily as my friends as baby AJ waves at me from his father's arms. I reach out and clasp his tiny hand gingerly, hoping the expression that I'm giving him looks kind of like a smile. "You're up early," I comment lamely, the only thing I can think of to say.

"Well, ma'am," Bud begins, his voice hesitant. I can't tell if he's nervous about dragging a senior officer out of bed so early or finding me in Harm's apartment wearing his clothes. "We. . . ."

I cut him off as it suddenly occurs to me that when Bud called out, it was *my* name he called, not Harm's. A feeling of dread settles in the pit of my stomach like a dead weight and I swallow hard, hoping to dispel the unpleasant feeling. But it remains there, haunting me, taunting me. "How did you know that I was here?" I demand, regretting my tone as soon as the words leave my mouth. It's not fair to take it out on Bud and Harriet because I've managed to royally screw up my life.

"Can we come in, ma'am?" Harriet asks, smiling as she absently rubs her swollen stomach. Way to go, Mackenzie. Let the pregnant woman stand out in the hallway. I pull the door open wider and motion them inside. As Harriet enters after Bud, she begins, "The Admiral said. . . ." stopping suddenly, clasping a hand over her open mouth. It takes me a moment to realize what she's staring wide-eyed at, what they both are staring at. As soon as I'd pulled the door open and allowed them in, I'd lost my shield, the barrier hiding my face from public view.

Before I can think of anything to say, Harriet recovers from her shock and throws her arms around me, hugging me awkwardly and I swear that I feel my goddaughter kicking between us. It's oddly comforting in it's own way. "The Admiral asked us to come over," she explains tearfully, "but he didn't tell us why. He didn't tell us about this. . . ."

I pull back and look from Harriet to Bud, confused. "What do you mean, the Admiral asked you to come over?" I ask, remembering to moderate my tone. That feeling of dread inside me grows more intense and I rub my forehead, trying to fight off the headache forming behind my eyes.

"Just that, ma'am," Bud replies, pushing the door closed then setting AJ on the floor, watching out of the corner of his eye as the little boy toddles over to Jingo, patting the dog's head while grinning back at his parents, that sweet little innocent grin of babyhood that seems to disappear all too soon as children grow up and realize just how bad the real world is. "The Admiral called us and asked us to come over here, saying that you might need someone to be with you."

"Why would I need someone else to stay with me when. . . .he didn't say anything about Harm, did he?" My finally words come out in a rush as that feeling of dread becomes full fledged fear mixed with something else. Damn him to hell if he's gone where I think he has. Damn him.

"No, ma'am," he continues, shaking his head. "He just asked us to come over here."

"Stop with the 'ma'am', would you?" I snap, covering my mouth as soon the words leave them. Bud and Harriet both look more saddened than upset at my tone. Harriet puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me towards the couch.

"Why don't we all sit down?" she suggests, sounding like someone's mother. That's what she is. She's a mother and maybe it's instinct to act like that. Or maybe it's just Harriet. My own mother was never like that. "I'll fix us some breakfast while you relax, ma'am. . . .Mac." We sit down on the couch and I lean back, closing my eyes. They snap open again when Harriet whispers, "Bud, what are you looking at?" Then her face reddens as she realizes what he's looking at.

Oddly, I almost start laughing as I follow the direction of Bud's gaze to the desk, all the drawers still open, most of the content from the top scattered on the floor. It might look to the casual observer as if someone had been in a hurry looking for something on or in the desk. . . .except for the pile of clothes next to the chair. Earlier, after taking the edge off our hunger for each other, we left everything as is when we'd dragged ourselves back to bed, reasoning that we could clean up the mess in the morning. Only Harm's not here and I'm faced with two junior officers trying to decide whether they should be embarrassed or amused. I can't help smiling a little as I remember when I'd first tried to trick Bud into revealing that he and Harriet were hot-bunking several years back. Like so many other pleasant memories, it seems like that was another lifetime ago or maybe even part of someone else's lifetime.

I jump up from the couch and bend to scoop up the clothes, my cheeks flushing pink with my own discomfiture. "I'll just clean up a little," I begin, stopping as it suddenly hits me like a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I sink to the floor, clutching the clothes to me as if hanging on to a lifeline. "He couldn't sleep and when I found him, he was cleaning his gun here at the desk," I whisper, barely aware of my friends staring at me, uncertain what to do. "He was. . . .I don't know how to describe it. Lost and desperate and. . . .we didn't even think. . . ." I trail off as the little voice in the back of my mind finally gets my attention, reminding me that, friends or not, my sex life is hardly appropriate subject matter for a discussion with two junior officers.

But I can't stop thinking about those few scorching hot moments just hours ago. When I'd fallen into his arms, so many different emotions had been driving my actions. Pure need for the man denied to me for four long years. Loneliness at waking up by myself in his huge bed. Fear of my dreams of the man I'd considered giving myself in marriage to, the one who'd hurt me immeasurably. A desire to forget every man who'd ever been a part of my life but the one now with me. And maybe a need for affirmation that not all men are like Mic, that a man can be just a little rough without it crossing the line into brutality.

As for Harm, I'd thought that he'd been driven by ghosts – the ghost of the relationship that we could have had the last four years, the specter of what Mic had done to me, the apparition of blame for his part in all this. But I now realize that it was something more. It was desperation to hold me, to make love to me, perhaps for the last time. He knew. Even as he was burying himself in me, pressed up against his desk, he knew that something was going to happen today, something that could be the end or the beginning of everything.

We were both so lost in our own driving emotions that we even forgot such a fundamental as protection. Previously, we'd been so careful to use a condom, cognizant of the fact that we'd both been with other people mere days ago. But in the wee, dark hours of this morning, it never even occurred to us. I suppose I could rationalize that it shouldn't be too much of a problem. After all, we were both in monogamous relationships for so long that it would be reasonable to assume that disease isn't really an issue. But that pesky little voice in my mind is back to remind me that I haven't taken the Pill since Thursday.

Oh, God, I think as I look up at the ceiling, blinking away tears as it hits me full force the trouble that may visit us because of this. For the last year and a half, there's been little that I've wanted more than to carry and give birth to Harm's child. But instead of rejoicing at the tiny possibility that I just might find myself pregnant with his baby, I feel sick to my stomach. I don't think I could handle it if it were to happen like this, overshadowed by such black clouds as those currently hanging over our life. Just one more way I've managed to screw up my train wreck of a life.

AJ wanders over and presses a small hand to my cheek, his expression solemn. Children are amazing sometimes. It's like an instinct. They can tell when the people around them are happy or sad and they react to that. Forcing a weak smile, I drop the clothes I'm holding and gather the little boy into my arms, rocking him gently as I press kisses to the top of his head. AJ snuggles against my chest, content for the moment just to be held. He's usually such a wiggle worm and I wonder if he instinctively realizes how much I need to hold him, to hang onto something sweet and innocent and pure.

"Mac?" I hear Harriet ask and I look up to find her standing over me, holding a bottle of water out to me while Bud busies himself cleaning up the mess of papers and books on the floor around me. I climb up off the floor, hoping that my trembling isn't too obvious, still clinging to my godson, and take the offered bottle. I go over to the couch and curl up at one end, settling AJ into my lap as I play with the cap on the bottle, twisting and untwisting it. "I'd thought to make you some tea, but the Commander doesn't have any."

"Could you imagine Harm drinking tea?" I muse, my voice dull, as Harriet sits back down on the couch herself, trying not to be too obvious about her scrutiny of me.

"I suppose not, Mac," she answers, shrugging. She pauses for a moment, indecision flashing across her features, then she says gently, "I'm sure the Commander's okay. I mean, the Admiral apparently knows what he's up to, so I'm sure everything will be just fine."

"I wish I could believe that," I reply softly, resting my forehead against the top of AJ's head. "But Mic's such a loose cannon. . . ."

"Mic!?" Harriet exclaims softly and I lift my head up to find both her and Bud looking at me with identical expressions of shock and puzzlement. "Oh, dear God. . . ."

"I didn't even think," I quickly explain. I gesture to my face. "You just assumed some stranger did this? I wish. That would almost be easier than. . . .than. . . ."

"Dealing with the fact that the man you thought you loved did this to you?" Harriet finishes for me, her tone sympathetic. She reaches over and pats my arm sympathetically, but I flinch as she just happens to touch a spot still tender from bruises. Her eyes widen slightly. "More bruises?"

I nod. "Both arms and on my hip," I tell her. Bud finishes cleaning up and settles in the arm chair, looking at me with sympathy and something else that it takes me just a minute to comprehend. Understanding. Bud understands, to an extent anyway, what I'm going through because he's been there himself with his father. He understands the demons better than Harriet, dear as she is, ever could with her upper class upbringing and parents willing to give her everything she could have ever wanted and probably many things that she could never even think to want. "And probably on the back of my head from where I hit the door knob."

"I don't know what to say, Mac," Harriet says nervously, fiddling with the hem of her blouse. "I'd never thought Commander Brumby. . . .well, he always seemed nice enough."

"Seemed that way, didn't he?" I muse sarcastically, angry again at myself for not letting myself see through his controlling attitude. "Except when he wasn't taking into account my feelings or when he was telling a national magazine that I was his fiancée when I wasn't or when he was constantly surprising me when I told him that I don't like being surprised. Finally, I decided. . . .well, there were some other things besides Mic's behavior driving my decision, but I told Mic that I couldn't marry him and. . . ." I trail off, unable to continue as Mic's brutality flashes through my mind, but I don't need to continue. I'm sure Bud and Harriet can figure out the rest.

"'Some other things'?" Harriet asks, drawing the conversation away slightly from what Mic did. Harriet is good, seeming to know instinctively just when to push and when not to. "You mean Commander Rabb, don't you? You finally figured out that he's the one that you love, didn't you?"

That's Harriet, as perceptive as always. I nod, sniffing back tears. "I love him so much that I ache inside when he's not around," I confess tearfully, rambling slightly. "I was so devastated when he had returned to flying and when he came back to JAG, we just couldn't seem to connect. He thought that I'd had gotten involved with Brumby while he had been gone and, God help me, I never bothered to correct the assumption. Maybe I wanted him to be jealous and make a move for me? I don't know, and God I know that sounds awful, but then we almost lost him on the Suribachi and that scared the hell out of me, so I tried to tell him how I felt. But we kept getting our signals crossed, we weren't listening to what the other was saying and I completely misread him and thought that he was rejecting me. Then Mic came along, saying and doing all the right things. He seemed to be offering me everything that I'd wanted from Harm and I jumped at it as if I were drowning in the middle of the ocean and he was offering me a lifeline. Then I'd showed up at the airport wearing Mic's ring and Harm must have felt like I'd stuck a knife in his gut, thinking that I was going to wait for him then finding out that I apparently wasn't. But he had to be so noble and step back, letting me be with Mic if that was what I wanted or what he thought that I wanted. I guess we'd both thought that we'd gotten so good at the denials and the pretense, but we'd never realized that we could only pretend so long before everything blew up in our faces and it finally did Friday night. . . ."

"Mac, it's okay," Harriet tries to a assure me, scooting a little closer so she can put her arm around me. "You're probably the strongest woman I know, but even the strongest person in the world needs to let themselves lean on their friends once in a while. Everyone has their breaking point and I'm sure with everything that's happened and not knowing where the Commander is or what he's doing right now, you've reached yours."

"Ma'am. . .Mac," Bud begins, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten hear. I look over at him through blurred, watery eyes. "You and Commander Rabb have always been there for us, helping Harriet and I when we've needed it. It's time for you to let us be there for you, for both of you."

I somehow manage to briefly flash both of them a grateful smile. "Thanks, both of you," I say. Before I can say anything else, the ringing phone interrupts us and I visibly tense, terrified at whom might be on the other end and at what they might say. Is it Mic, with more taunts and threats? Or could it be the Admiral, telling me that Harm and Mic have met with disastrous results? Or even Harm himself, full of apologies and explanations for leaving me alone to go after Mic? My breath catches in my throat as Bud gets up and picks up the handset from the desk, handing it over to me.

Taking a shaky breath in an attempt to steady myself, I pause a moment, then click on the phone. "Hello?" I ask nervously, Bud and Harriet's eyes steady on me.

"Mac, it's Admiral Chegwidden," the voice on the other end says and I close my eyes, thanking God that it isn't Mic.

"Sir, where is he?" I demand before the Admiral can say another word. "Is Harm okay?"

"He'll be fine," he tries to assure me, but my mind automatically latches onto his use of the future tense.

"What do you mean, 'he will be fine'?" I ask, hardly caring about the sharp tone I'm using with my CO. "Where is he? What did Mic do. . . ." I barely notice as Harriet squeezes my shoulder in a comforting gesture as I throw questions at him faster than he can answer..

"Mac, Mic is in jail and Harm is in the emergency room at Bethesda being looked over, *just as a precaution*," he interrupts firmly, placing special emphasis on the last part, but I barely hear that. My mind won't let go of the fact that he's in the emergency room, injured, because of Mic, because of me. "He will be fine, but for an apparent concussion and a possible broken wrist."

"We're on our way," I insist, hanging up on the Admiral before he can think to say anything else or to protest. I jump off the couch, handing AJ to his mother. "Harm's at Bethesda and Mic's in jail. I need. . . ."

Bud takes AJ from Harriet as he nods assent. "I'll take AJ down and get him strapped into the car," I hear him suggest to Harriet as I head for the bedroom to change. "Why don't you stay with the Colonel while she changes?" He leaves with AJ, but I barely notice that, my mind wrapped up in fear and concern and even anger.

"What did the Admiral say about the Commander's condition?" Harriet calls out from the other side of the partition separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, her back towards me to give me some small measure of privacy, but I barely notice that either, my mind overloading with so many thoughts and feelings that I can barely process it all.

"He's got a possible concussion and a broken wrist," I reply hurriedly, stripping off the clothes I'm wearing and throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. "The Admiral insists that he'll be fine, but. . . ."

"You need to see him, ma'am," she finishes as I bound down the stairs, not even turning to make sure she's following as I head for the door. I head for the stairs, stopping only when Harriet calls out to me and I hear something jingling. I turn back to find her standing outside the door, holding up my keys. "Do you have a key to the Commander's place, ma'am, so we can lock up?"

I shake my head as I head back to her, taking the keys from her hand. "Wasn't thinking," I murmur, locking the door.

"I understand," she says sympathetically. I finish securing the door and head again for the stairs, this time forcing myself to maintain a slow pace out of deference to Harriet. "But I'm sure the Admiral's right and the Commander will be fine. He's survived worse than this, I'm sure."

"Maybe," I murmur noncommittally. I know he's had worse physical injuries than what was described to me, but it's not the physical that concerns me so much. What the hell was he thinking, going after Mic?

We exit the building to find the minivan idling in front of the door, Bud and AJ both securely strapped into their seats, both front and rear doors open on the passenger side of the car. Harriet and I both climb in, Harriet in the front seat and me next to AJ in the back. As Bud takes off out of the alley with a squeal of tires that would do my Corvette proud, AJ reaches out a small hand to me, smiling his sweet little innocent smile. I take his hand as I lean my head against the back of the seat, closing my eyes as I try to close my mind to everything except the soft hand clasping mine.

+++

My attempt at finding some peace of mind only lasts until Bud pulls up in front of the hospital's emergency entrance to drop me off before going to park the car. I climb out of the car and race inside, doing little to control my trembling. The Admiral said he was fine. I keep repeating that to myself like a mantra, but I can't make myself believe it. I don't know if I can find it in me to have faith in anything anymore. I race up to the main desk, pressing my palms flat against the top of the counter, my breathing heavy and uneven as if I'd just run the fastest, most grueling mile of my life.

The petty officer behind the desk looks up at me, her lack of interest and boredom this early Sunday morning quickly turning to concern. "Can I help you, ma'am?" she asks. "How bad are you hurt?"

I shake my head almost violently. "No, it's not me," I explain quickly, realizing that she's assuming that I'm the patient. Not an unreasonable assumption given the black and blue mark under my right eye. "I'm here to see a Commander Harmon Rabb. He was brought in this morning with a possible concussion and broken wrist."

"Let me see," she says, punching a few keys on the computer in front of her. "Was he a walk-in or brought in by ambulance?"

"Mac," a voice calls and I forget about the petty officer as I turn to see Detective Andrea Summers heading in my direction.

"What's going on?" I demand shakily as she reaches me, trying not to think about what it means to find a police detective here. "What happened to Harm?"

"Why don't we sit down and I'll explain?" she suggests, taking my arm and leading me towards the chairs. "He's a lucky man. He did a foolish think going after Mr. Brumby, but at least he had the sense to call your Admiral for help."

"Sounds like Harm," I say, laughing shortly. "He's never been one to sit around and wait for others to solve problems that he thinks he can solve himself. Damn Squid."

"I don't want to alarm you," she says gently, "but I have a feeling that you'd appreciate no whitewashing. He's very lucky. Mr. Brumby had a knife and from what Harm has said already, Mr. Brumby was intent on killing him, which is the point at which your Admiral showed up. Fortunately, he will be fine apparently and if the DA's enterprising enough, a good case could probably be made for attempted murder."

I look up at the ceiling and breathe a sigh of relief. At least that's something. On top of everything else he's done, Mic should be out of our lives for a very long time while he's paying for his crimes. I look back down as Bud and Harriet come towards us.

"Mac, how is he?" Harriet asks as she sits down next to me with AJ in her lap, Bud taking a seat across from us. AJ holds his arms out to me and I take him onto my lap. For some reason that I can't explain, holding my godson is such a comfort to me. Maybe if I hold onto him long enough, I can lose myself in the innocence of childhood.

"I haven't been to see him yet," I reply, fighting back more tears. I can't remember the last time I've cried as much as I have this weekend, but I can't seem to make myself stop. "Everyone keeps telling me he's going to be okay, but I need to see that for myself, right before I kick his six to the Adriatic and back for scaring me to death like this."

Harriet pats my hand and suggests, "Bud, why don't you go up to the desk and find out when she can go back and see the Commander?"

"Thanks, Harriet," I manage softly. "I don't know what I'd do. . . ."

"Remember? It's time for Bud and I to maybe pay back a little of all you and the Commander have done for us over the years," she reminds me, squeezing my fingers. "That's what friends do."

"I guess," I whisper. I shake my mind, trying to banish the negative thoughts haunting me. "I'm sorry. Harriet, this is Detective Andrea Summers of the DCPD. She took my statement yesterday after. . . .well, anyway, Detective Summers, this is Harriet and that's her husband Bud Roberts and this is their little boy AJ."

Bud rejoins us and says, "He's upstairs in x-ray right now, but the petty officer said that he should be back down in a few minutes and someone will take you back to see him then. I was also told that the Admiral is making a few phone calls and will be back in a few minutes as well."

"I'd almost forgotten about the Admiral," I admit quietly. Maybe Harm and his one-track mind are rubbing off on me after all these years. I almost smile at the thought.

"Ma'am. . . .I mean, Mac, can we get you anything?" Harriet asks. "Maybe something to eat or some coffee. We did get you out of bed, so I know you haven't had breakfast yet."

"I'm not really hungry." I can hear Harm's voice in my head, laughing at the absurdity of that statement. Since when am I not ever hungry? But I'm not sure that I could keep anything down right now, I feel so sick to my stomach.

"Hngy," AJ proclaims, giggling.

I smile at him. "You're hungry, huh? Maybe Daddy can get you something to eat while we wait for Uncle Harm."

"Unca 'arm," he adds. "Pwane." I laugh as I hug AJ close.

"Maybe Mommy and Daddy will let Uncle Harm and I take you for a day soon and we can go to the airfield and see the plane," I suggest and he nods happily in agreement, although he probably understands little of what I just said beyond Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Harm and plane. Harriet had told me that he and Bud had taken AJ to the airfield a few months back while I had been busy letting Mic snow me with his sweet talk and that AJ's new favorite word had become 'pwane' after that day.

I'd have given anything to have seen that and, when told the story, I hadn't been able to help thinking about the baby deal and I'd allowed myself to imagine Harm taking our child to the airfield for the first time. But then reality had intruded in the form of Mic asking me what had me looking like I was a million miles away and I'd tried to convince myself that I should feel guilty, thinking about having a baby with another man when Mic was there trying to give me the world. Would that I had listened to my subconscious back then. Any half-decent shrink could probably tell me that being unable to stop thinking about a man who was only supposed to be just a friend should have been like a flashing neon sign, it was so obvious. But I think I'd stopped looking at and listening to the obvious a long time ago.

"Unca AJ," AJ calls out and I look up to find the Admiral coming towards us.

Before I can launch into my anxious version of 'Twenty Questions', the Admiral holds up a hand as he sits down next to Bud. "I was just on the phone with the police, arranging a time to go in and give them my statement about what happened this morning."

"What did happened exactly?" I ask, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. It doesn't matter that, Sunday morning or not, off-duty or not, I'm still speaking to my commanding officer. "And don't leave anything out. You know I won't stop until I get it all out of you. . . .Sir."

"I'm aware of that, Mac," he says gently, seeming to not be bothered at all by my tone while Bud and Harriet look slightly stunned. "From what I've been able to piece together from what Harm's said, Brumby called him sometime during the night. . . ."

"Damn him," I exclaim, startling everyone around me, including the baby in my arms. Instantly contrite, I begin rubbing his back to soothe him, rocking him in my arms. I continue in a softer tone, but no less harsh. "He lied to me. The phone woke me up, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. He *told* me that it was just a wrong number."

"Anyway," the Admiral continues, ignoring my outburst, "he later called Brumby back and agreed to meet him."

"That's why he was cleaning his gun," I realize, my voice soft as this morning events replay in my mind. I was right. He did know then that something was going to happen. I must have come out of the bedroom just after he'd called Mic back. "I just thought he couldn't sleep and needed something to do, just like that night when Clay. . . .I'm sorry, please go on."

He does so, saying, "On his way to the meeting, he called me and told me what was going on. I arrived at their meeting place just as Brumby was pulling a knife on Harm and the police arrived shortly after I'd restrained Brumby. Apparently, they'd driven by Harm's place and had noticed your rental missing and got suspicious and went looking for him."

"Sir, I'm grateful that you were there to help," I say, carefully choosing my words, trying to remember this time that I am speaking to the Admiral. "But I wish that you could have talked him out of this instead of agreeing to help him."

"Colonel Mackenzie?" I look up to find the petty officer from the desk standing next to me. "Commander Rabb has been brought back down and the doctor said you can go back to see him now."

"Thanks," I reply, handing baby AJ back to Harriet as I stand, ready to follow the petty officer back. Before I can leave, I'm stopped by the Admiral's hand on my wrist.

"Mac, normally I probably wouldn't say anything," he begins slowly, as if trying to figure out how to best phrase what he's about to say. This is so unusual that I can't help but pause to listen. "But I think that you need to understand something and I don't know if Harm will want to even mention it. He didn't call me because he wanted my help to bring down Brumby."

I shake my head, puzzled. "I don't understand, Sir," I admit. "Then why did he call you?"

He stands and leads me a few feet away to allow us some privacy. "Mac, he called me because he was afraid," he continues, "and not of what he thought Brumby might do. I think he full expected Brumby to try to kill him and he was prepared for that."

I suppose that makes sense to a degree. Harm's been up against Mic once before and probably knew what to expect based on that experience and on Mic's current anger. But confusion is still hanging over me like a cloud. "Then what was he afraid of?"

"He was afraid of what he might do to Brumby," he says quietly, "and of how you might react to that."

+++

The Admiral's words echo in my mind as the petty officer leads me back to a trauma room at the end of a long hallway. I know that Harm is capable of killing. I've even seen him kill before. But before it's always been in the line of duty or in the interests of protecting himself or others. It had just never occurred to me that something – or someone – could drive Harm to cold-blooded violence. But there's something more and, even if I can admit it to no one except myself, it scares the hell out of me. More than Mic, I'm the one who's driven Harm to this.

When I enter the room, Harm's head is turned away from me and it looks like his eyes are closed. Silently, I make my way over to the bed, carefully studying every bruise, every scrape as I lightly brush my hand over his hair. Despite everything, he actually looks relaxed in sleep. Maybe it's a peace that comes from knowing that everything's finally over, a peace that eluded him last night and this morning. A peace that I can't seem to find myself.

I plant a soft kiss on his scraped and bruised forehead and his eyes flutter open, his expression slightly dazed. Looking into his beautiful eyes, any anger that I'd felt for what he done, for how he'd deceived me dissipates and I sit on the edge of the bed, clasping his good hand between both of mine and kissing his fingertips. "You scared me," I admit, resting my cheek against our joined hands. "When Bud and Harriet showed up and I'd realized that you'd gone after Mic, I was terrified that something might happen to you."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, diverting his eyes. "I just didn't want to risk you coming along and Mic trying to hurt you again."

I don't want to think about that right now, so I change the subject. "How's the wrist?" I ask, nodding towards his other hand resting on the bed, encased in a temporary splint.

"The x-ray confirmed it's broken in two places," he replies. "The nurse said they'd be back in a few minutes to put the cast on."

"I get first dibs on signing your cast when it's dry," I say, trying for gaiety, but failing miserably.

"That goes without saying," he responds, unable to raise his voice beyond dull and lifeless. We both fall into an uncomfortable silence, eyes darting around the room, quickly darting away when by chance our gazes fall on each other. I sigh softly, saddened that we seem to have taken a step back from each other. Mic's in jail but he's still managing to cast a shadow over our lives.

After a moment, Harm finally speaks again. "I was talking to the Admiral earlier," he says. "He had a suggestion and I'm beginning to think that it's a good idea and that we should at least consider it."

"He wants us to take some time off," I conclude, remembering our conversation yesterday when he'd suggested taking a day or two.

"Well, he suggested a little more than that," he continues, sighing. "He thought that maybe we could get away for a few days, take some time to relax away from everything that's happened."

"I don't know," I reply. "I'm so tired of running, Harm. I've spent the last year and a half running away – from you, from what I feel, from what I want – and I don't want to do it any more. I *can't* do it anymore."

"You're not the only one who's been running and who's tired of it," he counters quietly. He sounds disappointed, probably thinking that I'm dismissing the idea out of hand. Way to go. Still need to work on those communication skills, Mackenzie.

"Did you have something specific in mind?" I ask, trying to show an interest in the idea. I don't understand. I'd thought that when Mic was behind bars that it would be like this humongous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but instead I feel like I'm staggering under an even greater weight. I guess freedom really isn't free. I just hope that we can live with the cost.

"Well, if you'll recall," he points out, "I had suggested that we go away in 'Sarah' next weekend. Well, that's probably out because of this." He lifts his right arm slightly off the bed, grimacing slightly and I wince.

"Do you need something for the pain?" I ask, concerned and unable to banish the thought that he wouldn't be lying here if it weren't for me.

"They already gave me something when I got here," he replies, slowly shaking his head. But that causes him pain as well. Even thought he doesn't say a word, I can see it in his eyes. "Anyway, I had been thinking about taking you up to Pennsylvania to meet my grandmother. Maybe we could still do that, just driving instead of flying."

"You'd want to take me to meet your grandmother?" I question, slightly incredulous. I gesture towards my face. "But what about. . . .after everything I've done, I'm hardly the kind of girl you'd take home to meet the family."

"Hey, watch who you knock," he says, trying to effect a teasing tone, about as successfully as I had just a moment ago. "That's the woman I love that you're putting down. Anyway, my grandmother won't care about any of that. She'll probably take one look at you and decide that she needs to fuss over and take care of you."

"I wouldn't know what that would feel like," I muse sadly. It's funny. Harm's been through so much tragedy in his own life, but I'd give anything to have had his childhood. At least he knew that his family, even Frank thought he'll hardly admit it, loved him and would do anything for him. Outside of my Uncle Matt, I'd never had anyone care for me like that.

"When I need to get away to think or deal with things," he says, "I usually end up at Gram's. She just has this way of making me feel better, even without saying a word. I'd really like to share that with you."

I look down at my lap, nibbling nervously on my lower lip. I'm so scared with everything that we might fall apart and I don't know what to do about that. Maybe this is a good place to start. I just wish that I wasn't going to be meeting this woman whom I've heard so much about under these dark circumstances. "I think I'd like that," I finally agree.

Harm pulls his hand from mine and presses it against my cheek offering me a small smile. I close my eyes, waiting to hear him tell me that everything will be alright. It saddens me when the words that I need so much to hear right now don't come.

+++

THE END

Look for the sequel, 'Searching For Sunny Skies', coming soon.