Everyone had pulled their chairs up or were standing around Gunny's desk, where the speakerphone had been patched into the communications link between the Patrick Henry and the rescue aircraft. So far, all that they'd heard had been static occasionally broken by routine commands and reports.
The static was broken once again. "We have a raft, Captain," Paddles reported. Everyone in the bullpen perked up a little bit at the news. Renee clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip, Mic hovering behind her chair. Chloe gripped Harriet's hand tightly, biting her lower lip, while Kyle placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder and Bud placed one on Harriet's while he cradled a sleeping little AJ on his hip. Jackie rested her head against her husband's shoulder; Carolyn and Loren sat side by side, their hands gripping the armrests of their chairs. A.J. stood over them all, looking outwardly impassive with his arms crossed over his chest. No one uttered a word.
"Coordinates?" Ingles asked, mentally crossing his fingers. CIC was just as silent as JAG Ops as everyone listened for what they all hoped would be good news.
"38 degrees, 37 minutes, north latitude. 74 degrees, 34 minutes, west longitude," Paddles reported back.
"Vector the SAR aircraft," Ingles ordered the air boss.
He walked over to Ingles. "Captain, weather's getting worse," he reported. "Chopper could be outside the safe recovery envelope."
"We'll reevaluate when we get to the scene," Ingles said. He understood the risks, but he wasn't about to give up the opportunity to rescue one or both of the downed officers.
"Roger that," the air boss replied. He ordered the helo pilot, "Prepare to fly. Vector to starboard."
"Viking, what's your speed and altitude?" Ingles asked Paddles.
"180 knots, 100 feet," he reported back.
"That's low and slow," Ingles said.
"It is, Sir," Paddles agreed.
"Be careful, Paddles," Ingles said, concerned about the possibility of losing another pilot.
Paddles didn't acknowledge the warning, reporting, "I'm going to drop flares for the Angel." He released three flares in a triangular shape around the raft below.
"Viking three zero four," the helo pilot said, "this is Angel two one. What is your location?"
"I'm directly over him, Angel," Paddles said. "I'll give you vectors in. Heading three five zero, three miles."
"Roger, Viking," the pilot said. The phone fell silent and more than one person listening closed their eyes, uttering silent prayers. After a few moments, the pilot came back on, reporting to the Patrick Henry, "City Desk, I've got the flares and I've got a strobe. I'm on top of him now."
"Angel, this is the Captain," Ingles cut in. "What's the weather?"
"Uh, ceiling's about a hundred feet," he reported. "Swells now about thirty."
Not the best weather, Ingles knew, but he also was aware they couldn't pick the conditions, especially not with two lives at stake. "How lucky do you feel, Lieutenant?"
"Piece of cake, Skipper," the Lieutenant said confidently as a frogman was lowered into the water. The rescue line was quickly fastened to the figure in the raft and the helo crew quickly reeled in the line. "We got him, we got him. He's cleared the water. He's coming up now."
At JAG, no one dared breathe, realizing that getting him out of the water was only half the battle. They still had no idea what his condition was. But they would know in a minute or two. Renee unclasped her hands and crossed her fingers, murmuring under her breath, "Please, God, let him be okay."
On the helo, a crewman removed Skates' helmet as she coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. The Lieutenant turned around and quickly took in the scene, then reported, "Sir, it's Lieutenant Hawkes, Sir. She's on board."
Several gasps were heard in the bullpen as Ingles asked, "Any sign of Commander Rabb?"
"No, Sir," the pilot replied. "Let me ask the Lieutenant." No one could hear anything while the pilot presumably asked Skates where Harm was, and then he came back on the line. "Lieutenant Hawkes didn't see Commander Rabb eject, Sir."
Damn, Ingles thought. "Any speculation as to where he is?"
"Hard to say, Sir," he replied. "He could have punched out late. That would put him fifteen, twenty miles in any direction." The pilot gasped as the helo suddenly lurched and he clutched the controls, fighting to keep the craft level and in the air.
"What's happening, Angel?" Ingles asked, concerned with what he was hearing.
"We're getting pushed around, Skipper," the pilot replied through clenched teeth.
"Can you keep her in the air?" Ingles asked.
"I'm trying, Sir," he replied, just a hint of desperation apparent in his tone. "I'm trying."
Ingles sighed, knowing what he had to do. It was a difficult decision, but a necessary one. "Viking," he ordered Paddles, "take another sweep of the area before we call it quits."
The groups at JAG exchanged looks at that, the women tearing up. Those who had been around the military for any length of time knew that time and the weather were working against Harm. Renee looked up at A.J.. "Admiral …." she began, fighting back tears.
"This is Admiral Chegwidden, Captain," A.J. said. "When will you launch again?"
"When the weather improves, Sir," Ingles replied.
A.J. didn't like it, but he knew probably better than anyone else in the room the dangers involved. "Understood," he said reluctantly. "Carry on."
Renee stifled a gasp and jumped up, fleeing into Harm's office, dropping into his chair, her hand covering her mouth as she fought to keep from losing it. She glanced up at a noise to find Mic standing framed in the doorway, his fist tapping gently on the door. "I don't understand why this is happening," she said tearfully, "why he was even out there."
"I don't know what to say, Renee," Mic said sympathetically. "But if they found Skates, they'll find Harm."
"I was just so sure that was him," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "And then to hear them say that Skates didn't even see him eject. Mic, I'm trying not to, but I'm afraid that …. it's starting to go through my mind that maybe he's …. dead."
"Renee, everything I've heard about Harm makes me believe that he'll get through this," he tried to assure her, not really entirely convinced himself. Although he'd never pulled sea duty with the RAN, he knew that when taking into account the time of year, the weather and the difficulties of searching in the middle of the night, that the odds weren't good. He would rather do just about anything than admit that to Renee, however. He was almost glad Mac wasn't present, her reaction to all this a huge question mark in his mind. He wasn't sure how he would feel about her reaction. There were some things that he was convinced he was better off not knowing – or ignoring.
Renee seemed to accept his assurance – or perhaps she wanted desperately to believe that everything would be alright. She began searching through Harm's desk drawers for tissue. "I probably look a mess," she said, opening one drawer after another. "Trust a man not to have tissue in his desk." She suddenly stopped as her fingers brushed against what felt like a picture frame in his bottom desk drawer. Puzzled, she pulled it out, and then dropped it in the center of the desk as if she'd been burned.
Surprised by her reaction, Mic moved closer to the desk and looked down, visibly dismayed at the framed portrait of Harm and Mac with baby AJ. He quickly tried to reassure Renee and himself. "You know Harm and Sarah are little AJ's godparents," he said weakly. "I think I recognize that dress as the one Sarah wore at the baptism. That was back when I was still with JAG and I was present at the ceremony. It doesn't mean a thing."
"If that were true, then why would he have it hidden away?" Renee asked. "You'd think he was trying to hide something." Of course he was, she realized darkly. He'd been hiding and dancing around what she suspected were his feelings were for Mac. This only reinforced the thought for her.
"Maybe he used to have it on his desk and decided to put it away," Mic suggested.
Renee could see the doubt in his eyes and latched onto it. "You don't really believe that," she accused. "Have you ever seen it on his desk before, back when you worked at JAG?" Mic didn't answer, but as far as Renee was concerned, he didn't need to. "It was all supposed to be over tomorrow. You would marry Mac and then I would finally have my miracle."
"That can still happen," Mic said, trying to convince himself as much as her.
"How?" Renee demanded in a whisper, her tone angry. "Mac's not even here. She's gone off God only knows where without even telling you – her fiancé. My God, she's the entire reason he's out there. He told me before he left that he'd promised her he would be back in time for the ceremony. He told her he'd be here for the wedding, so come hell or high water he was going to be here and now it might have cost him his life. He can't even admit what he feels for her, yet he'd die for her."
"Renee, I don't know if I'd go that far …." Mic began, hoping to calm her as troubled as he was by her assertions, jumping slightly when she suddenly threw the picture against the wall, the glass shattering. The crash caused the muted conversation in the bullpen to come to a screeching halt as everyone looked at each other, as if wondering who was going to check out the commotion. Harriet and Carolyn, closest to Harm's office, exchanged a look and decided to brave the lion's den together.
"Um, do you need anything, Ms. Peterson?" Carolyn asked hesitantly.
Renee looked apologetic and slightly mortified that everyone seemed to have noticed her outburst. She glanced out the open door into the bullpen and everyone suddenly looked away, pretending to suddenly be busy doing anything else besides staring. "I'm sorry, I don't know what …." she said.
"We're all worried about him," Carolyn assured her, "and I'm sure you more than most. We understand completely." She didn't really, but she wasn't going to admit that. She'd seen Harm with Annie, and then with Jordan and Renee was just so different from those women that Carolyn wasn't quite sure what he saw in her. But she'd been around longer than any of his other girlfriends, in spite of the obvious undercurrents Carolyn had always seen between Harm and Mac.
"Thank you," Renee said, taking a cleansing breath as she wiped her eyes. "I could use some tissues, I guess. I was looking in Harm's desk for some …." She trailed off as she remembered that looking through Harm's desk had been what had led to her outburst.
Carolyn laughed but it sounded empty. "What man is going to have tissues in his desk?" she asked. "I've got a box on my desk. I'll go get it."
"It is hard on everyone," Harriet said, kneeling down to carefully pick up the broken glass as Carolyn left. "Most of us have known Commander Rabb for nearly five years. He'd probably never admit it aloud, but the Admiral thinks of him like a son. And he's like a brother to Bud and me and godfather to our children …." She picked up the picture frame, realizing what had caused Renee's emotional response as soon as she turned the picture over. She recognized the photo, not only as one that had been taken by the professional photographer at AJ's baptism, but as one that had been present in Mac's photo album – one that Chloe had pointed to as proof of Harm and Mac's feelings for each other. Was that just early tonight? It almost seemed like a lifetime ago.
Harriet pulled the wastebasket over to her and carefully shook the frame out over it, careful to keep her expression neutral. She was growing more concerned that someone would have to explain everything to Mic and Renee. The longer Mac was gone, the more questions the two of them were bound to ask, questions that she shouldn't be the one to answer. But what if the two people who should answer those questions weren't in a position to do so?
"Why don't you get some rest?" Harriet suggested. "Some pillows and blankets were rounded up when Loren and Commanders Imes and Mattoni went out for food earlier. I don't know that anyone will be getting much sleep tonight, but we're setting up a sleeping area in one of the courtrooms. The Admiral promised to wake everyone up if there is any news."
"I don't know …." Renee began.
"Come on, Renee," Mic said. "It couldn't hurt to try to get some rest. I think I'll try that myself."
Renee looked so lost and forlorn that Harriet felt an enormous wave of sympathy for her. She did like Renee and although she knew Harm and Renee didn't belong together, she was sorry the other woman was hurting and was going to be hurt even more when this was all over. "The Commander's been in tight spots before," she reminded her again. "We all just have to have faith that he will get through this."
"How do you people do this?" Renee blurted out, startling Mic and Harriet slightly. "Military people, I mean. How do you do this knowing that you – or friends of yours – might go off somewhere and not come back? Harm's father never came back from Vietnam. How could he go off knowing that he might never come home to his wife and son?"
Harriet and Mic exchanged a helpless look. "I'm not sure it can be explained, Renee," Harriet said carefully. "For the Commander, it's kind of like the family business. The Navy's in his blood. I don't think he could not serve – or not fly - any more than he could stop breathing. There are sacrifices to be made when you take the oath to serve your country, but that's understood when you sign up. And I guess it's something that those who love people in the military have to learn to live with. I know when Bud was on that sub with Raglan a year and a half ago, I'd never been so scared in my life. But I knew that was part of the job. Maybe it's easier for me to understand since I'm in the Navy myself. I wish I could explain it to you so that you could find some peace, but I'm not sure I really can."
Carolyn returned with a box of tissue before Renee could press Harriet further. "Here you go," she said, holding out the box. Renee took it with a half-smile of gratitude and pulled out several tissues, dabbing at her eyes. "Harriet, did you tell her about the pillows and blankets in the courtroom?"
"I did," Harriet confirmed. "Mic, why don't you take Renee to the courtroom while I finish cleaning up the glass?"
Mic held out his hand to Renee. She hesitated a moment before getting up and walking around the desk, taking his hand. She tried to hand the box of tissues back to Carolyn, but the other woman waved her off. "Just take it to the courtroom," Carolyn said. "Someone else may need some." After Mic and Renee walked out, Carolyn grabbed a broom and dustpan that she'd left just outside the door, handing Harriet the dustpan while she started sweeping up the glass. "I also picked these up when I got the tissues."
"Good thinking," Harriet commented idly, her gaze drawn to the framed picture she'd set down on the floor.
"Nice photo," Carolyn said. "That's from AJ's baptism, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harriet replied sadly. "Bud and I hired a professional photographer and we got a few taken of AJ with his godparents."
Carolyn shook her head as she swept the pile of glass into the dustpan Harriet held. "This makes no sense," she said.
Harriet looked up at her sharply, realizing that she wasn't talking about Harm's disappearance. That was perhaps the only simple thing about this entire situation, the only thing that made any kind of sense. "When you think about it," she pointed out, "nothing's made sense for the last two years."
"You're probably right," Carolyn said, leaning on the broom as Harriet dumped the glass in the trash can. "Once, I would have thought in a situation like this that Mac would have been on her way out to the carrier, come hell or high water …." Her eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together in her mind. "Harriet, you don't think ….?"
"I think that the four of them have a lot to work out when this is all over," Harriet said vaguely.
Carolyn shook her head again and sighed, reading between the lines. There was something brewing and it was big. What if Mac really was on her way out to the carrier? "I guess what Mic and Renee don't know won't hurt them right now," she said.
"Exactly," Harriet agreed.
-----
SOMEWHERE
ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
THREE HOURS LATER
He wasn't sure anymore how long he'd been out here. His watch seemed to have stopped after he'd punched out. He's already checked it a few times, hoping it had just been his imagination, or that he wasn't seeing the face very well due to the salt stinging his eyes. He'd tried keeping track in his mind, but found it so hard to concentrate as he struggled against the huge swells, the water which seemed to find its way into his mouth and nose just through the simple act of trying to breathe, and the bone-chilling cold that even his insulated flight suit couldn't seem to ward off. Of course, he didn't have Mac's sense of time – she'd have been able to tell him down to the second how long he'd been in the water. The thought brought the hint of a smile to his face.
We've got thirty-three minutes, Commander.
How'd you do that?
I've got great timing.
He nearly chuckled at the memory, remembering just in time that he needed to keep his mouth closed. He felt a swell rising up and held his breath, closing his eyes against the stinging salt water. But it was getting so hard to breathe in the cold water and his lungs burned with the exertion. Somehow, he managed to hold his breath until he broke the surface again, gasping for breath. How much water had he breathed in during the time he'd been out here? Taking in normal breaths was so difficult and becoming more so as time passed. He realized that pneumonia would probably be a concern.
Think of something more pleasant, he ordered himself mentally. He summoned an image of Mac in his mind, the way she'd appeared in one of his dreams – hallucinations? – a few months ago, clothed only in a towel and water droplets. Of course, now he knew what she'd been hiding under that towel in his dreams, knew how soft her skin felt beneath his touch
He felt another swell coming upon him and prepared himself to ride it out, and then felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. Reflexively, he gasped, swallowing water. Almost immediately, he gagged and spit it back out. There was jet fuel in the water. Had the plane gone down close to where he'd gone into the water? Possible, he thought. He'd been pushed around by the wind as he'd gone down. Considering that he'd been in the water for several hours at least – as best as he could figure, anyway – and given how rough the seas were, he could have been pushed around by the water, ending up close to the impact site.
He lifted a hand to his head, idly noting that his arm was shaking. Or was it just his imagination? His vision was blurred, his eyes feeling like they were full of grit. He pulled his hand away, but in the dark and rain and with his gloves, it was hard to tell if there was any bleeding. If he was near where the jet had ultimately crashed, maybe he'd just been thrown again a piece of the wreckage. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to have some more dreams like he'd had the last time he hit his head.
Mac's image formed again in his mind, just out of the shower and with an expression that could only be described as 'come hither'. He wondered what she would taste like, all sweet and dewy, fresh from a shower. He'd been tempted to find out three days earlier at Norfolk. Had it really been only that long, he wondered. It almost seemed like another lifetime ago – or perhaps only a dream.
He'd woken up that morning to the sound of the shower running and had debated with himself whether or not to join her, needing to feel her one last time before they parted, perhaps forever. But then he'd heard the unmistakable sound of silence as she'd turned the shower off and he'd been keenly disappointed when she'd come out of the bathroom a few minutes later already dressed.
She'd sat down on the edge of the bed as he'd sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist, while he'd noted with more than a little satisfaction that she'd seemed unable to keep her gaze from falling to his lap and what was barely hidden by a thin layer of cotton. They'd ended up in each other's arms, his fingers tangling in her still damp hair. It had smelled sweet, he remembered, like strawberries and something else fruity. It might have seemed an odd scent for a Marine, but he knew better than almost anyone that she was also a woman, very passionate and desirable.
With visible reluctance, she'd broken off the kiss, resting her forehead against his as they'd both gasped for breath, quietly reminding him that he needed to get ready to leave for the carrier. He'd seen the tears starting to form in her eyes then and he'd been uncomfortably reminded of the day he'd walked out of JAG, walked out on her.
Damn you. Why am I the only one crying?
He had sworn to himself that he would never do that to her again, never again be the cause of her tears, but it had turned out to be a fool's promise. She'd cried as they struggled to come to terms with their convoluted relationship at her engagement party. She'd been close to tears several times as they made love, finally giving free reign to them as they'd faced parting at the terminal.
Was she crying now? Had she already been informed that he'd gone down? The carrier would have informed A.J., he knew. As his commanding officer, they were duty-bound to inform him. Then they would have informed …. he couldn't remember. Mac had once been down as his emergency contact, a sheet inserted in his personnel folder just before he'd left for Russia the first time, before she'd shown up on the plane to accompany him. Had he ever changed that? So much had happened in the last two years, but he couldn't remember making another designation.
If that was the case, that he hadn't changed it, then she already knew. He was used to being there, to being the one to comfort her and to wipe away her tears. Now, more than ever, he would be the reason for those tears. They finally seemed to be, if not on the same page, closer to it than they ever had been regarding their feelings for each other. Sarah, I'm sorry I'm hurting you, he thought. I'm so sorry.
-----
AIRFIELD
NORFOLK
NAVAL AIR STATION
NORFOLK, VIRGINIA
As soon as she pulled into the parking lot, her headlights caught a familiar and now heartbreaking sight – Harm's SUV. Although there were other cars in the parking lot – probably terminal workers, mostly – his was all alone in the center of the lot. She pulled into the space next to it and killed her Corvette's engine, just staring at the SUV, remembering when they'd parked side by side here just three days earlier. He'd driven through the parking lot that morning, bypassing more than one empty space until he'd found two side by side so they could park next to each other. Had it only been that long, she wondered. So much had happened that it almost seemed like a lifetime ago - or just a dream.
He'd gotten out of the car and had leaned against it while she'd hesitated, not quite ready to get out of her car, knowing that they would just be that much closer to saying goodbye. The sun had been peeking through the clouds and had seemed to shine down on him, as he'd crossed his arms over his chest and patiently waited for her. Despite the flight suit, he didn't look so much like the normally cocky, self-assured flyboy she knew so well. There had been a cloud hanging over his expression, his own private dread of the coming goodbye. At least, that's what she'd hoped it was at the time – a hope born out by his defeatist attitude when he'd called her from the carrier.
After a moment steeling her resolve, she'd finally gotten out of the Corvette and stood in front of him, her fingers reaching up to brush over the patch over his heart. At the time, she'd thought it a bit appropriate since flying had always seemed to come first in his heart. Then she'd found his letter and his wings in her purse and everything she thought she'd known had been turned upside down and inside out even more than it already had been.
This time, Harm wasn't standing there waiting for her and she had to work a little harder to convince herself to get out of the car, finally reminding herself that the sooner she got into the terminal, the sooner she would find out if the personnel there had heard any news from the Patrick Henry. Biting her lower lip, she got out of the car and opened the trunk, retrieving the bags she'd packed for herself and Harm. Slinging them both over one shoulder, she purposefully strode towards the terminal.
The terminal was nearly empty, with flight ops presumably scaled back because of the weather, a single man in a khaki Navy uniform conversing with a Lieutenant, his name tag giving his name as Bradford, behind the counter. She stepped up to the counter, gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her head jerked up when she heard the words 'Patrick Henry'. "Excuse me," she broke in, "are you talking about the COD that's supposed to be heading to the Patrick Henry in the morning if the weather breaks?"
The man in the khakis turned and looked at her, revealing the gold oak leafs of a Lieutenant Commander and a name tag with the last name Drake. His expression inexplicably hardened and Mac wondered where she knew him from, finding him vaguely familiar. "I guess it didn't take long for JAG to jump all over this, Ma'am," he said with barely concealed bitterness.
"I don't understand …." she began.
"I recognize you, Colonel Mackenzie," Robert interrupted. "I remember you from when you prosecuted my fiancée – Beth Hawkes."
Mac remembered where she recognized him from as soon as she heard Skates' name. He'd been present every day at Skates' court-martial and after she'd seen them together during one of the recesses, she'd realized that he was Skates' boyfriend. "Commander Drake, I'm sorry, but you have the wrong idea," she said.
"Colonel Mackenzie," Lieutenant Bradford interrupted, noting the undercurrent of tension between the two, "we have a message from Captain Ingles on the Henry."
"Harm?" she asked, her voice trembling. Robert began to reevaluate his initial reaction to her, realizing that this wasn't the voice of someone headed out to conduct an investigation. This was a woman barely concealing her fear over the fate of someone very dear to her.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Bradford said sympathetically. "They found Lieutenant Hawkes, but there's still no sign of Commander Rabb and …. they had to call in SAR because of the worsening weather."
A gasp was Mac's only noticeable reaction to the less than welcome news. "What about the COD we're supposed to be on?" she asked. "Has a decision been made about whether it's a go?"
"The weather is starting to clear here," he replied, "but the Henry still isn't in the clear. A decision won't be made until closer to daybreak. We have a back room with some cots if you'd like to try to get some rest and there are vending machines just down the hall from that."
Mac nodded as Robert placed a hand at her elbow, guiding her. She accepted the obvious concern, realizing that they were in the same boat. "How is Skates?" she asked.
Robert managed a weak smile, his relief that his fiancée was okay overshadowed by the fact that there was still a man missing, someone Skates cared a lot for, someone whose unknown fate was a torment for the woman beside him. He was touched by the concern he heard in her voice for Skates. "She's waterlogged, but the doctors report she's going to be fine," he replied. "They patched me through to the Henry when I first got here and I was able to speak to her."
"I'm glad," Mac said softly. "What, um …. did she say anything about Harm?"
"Well, she said that it was dark and storming and the wind was blowing pretty well," he said, unable to keep the hesitancy out of his voice.
"But?" Mac prompted.
They found the room Bradford had mentioned and Robert led Mac to one of the cots lining the walls, sitting down with her, his hands resting on his knees, his hands clasped. "Beth said that she didn't see Commander Rabb eject," he said with extreme reluctance.
Mac paled, but otherwise didn't react to the news except to reach into the pocket of Harm's flight jacket and to close her fingers around his wings, as if she might draw strength from the cool piece of metal. "Like you said, the weather's bad and it's dark outside," she echoed, trying to convince herself. "And Harm's a survivor. Some of the things he's been through …." She trailed off, afraid that she couldn't hold back the tears if she said any more.
Robert saw the internal struggled being played out in her eyes and decided to change the subject. "Colonel, I want to apologize for my behavior when you first walked in," he said. "I was way out of line and there's no excuse …."
"It's okay," she said, waving him off. "I think it's safe to say that we're both under a lot of stress right now. I probably would have thought the same thing in your place."
"Still, I'm sorry," he insisted. "Commander Rabb's obviously someone very special to you."
Her expression softened and Robert thought he could see just the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. "Very special. I just wished I'd taken the opportunity in the past to let him know just how special."
"The first thing I told Beth when I got her on the line was 'I love you' over and over," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "She probably thinks I've lost my mind."
Mac bit her lower lip, wishing that she'd been able to say that much just once before all this had happened. So many opportunities lost – even just a few hours ago on the phone, she'd stopped herself from uttering those three little words, wanting to say them in person, not knowing that it might end up being her only opportunity. It scared her to think he might die without knowing exactly how she felt and she clutched his wings just a little tighter. Please, God, she thought. If you'll just bring him back to me, I promise I'll never let the opportunity pass by to let him know how much he means to me.
She looked up at Robert and attempted a smile, although she was sure it came out looking something more like a grimace. "So how did you and Skates meet?" she asked, needing a distraction, any distraction.
"Well, I'm a public affairs officer," he said, leaning back against the wall behind them. "Skates was involved in a crash a few years ago in which the pilot died. The PAO on the SeaHawk need a little help deflecting all the media attention, especially since the deceased pilot had recently accused the CAG of sexual harassment, so I was sent TAD out there to help out and pretty much ended up shadowing Skates for about a week, helping her handle media requests for interviews and such."
"I remember that incident," Mac said. At Robert's questioning glance, she explained, "Harm – Commander Rabb – and I were on the Sea Hawk investigating Lieutenant Isaacs' claims. We witnessed the crash and Harm was the one who saved Skates' life when she nearly went over the side of the carrier."
"She'd told me he saved her life and that's how she'd met him," Robert said. "When he returned to active flight status, she was so thrilled to get to fly with him."
"Yeah," she said softly. "He seems to really inspire devotion in a lot of people – when he's not driving them crazy."
He laughed. "If I wasn't so secure in my relationship with Beth, I might have been concerned. So how did you two meet? I assume through work since you're both at JAG."
"Pretty much," she replied, a far away look in her eyes. "He was receiving his first Distinguished Flying Cross in the White House Rose Garden …."
-----
To be continued…
