OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
APPROX. 480 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

A storm tossed ocean and a single man, fighting for his life out in it. His arms thrashed heavily about as he struggled to remain afloat. Mac jerked awake suddenly, banging her head on the window her head had been resting against. She rubbed the side of her head, blinking her eyes to clear the sleep from them.

"Are you okay, Mac?" Robert asked quietly.

She focused on the concerned face of Skates' fiancé next to her. "I guess I was dozing," she said, gazing out the window with tired eyes. The storm outside was finally over, but that didn't make the situation any less dangerous for Harm. "I was dreaming …. I saw Harm out there, fighting against the swells …."

Robert glanced down, not sure what to say, what comfort he could offer. The woman he loved was safe in sickbay aboard the Henry, recovering from her injuries. Mac didn't have the luxury of that knowledge. The last report they'd received from the carrier was that there was still no sign of Harm, nearly two hours after search and rescue had resumed. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

She glanced over at him and nodded. "Thank you," she said. She looked out the window again, trying to block the dream from her thoughts. "How far out are we?"

"I think I just heard the crew say we are at twenty nautical," he replied. "We should be landing in a few minutes. They said something about seeing the carrier out the forward windows."

Mac nodded, wishing there was more she could do. She couldn't remember feeling this helpless even when Harm had been trapped below decks on the Suribachi. At least then the Admiral had been able to affect the outcome, but they'd also known exactly where he was.

She brushed the threatening tears from her eyes and stared down at the photo album lying open in her lap. It was open to some photos from a JAG softball game several years ago. In one photo, he was standing at first base, having just gotten a hit. That one she'd taken from the dugout. In another, the two of them were high-fiving each other at home plate after they both had crossed the plate when Harm had hit a home run. She thought Harriet had snapped that photo. Full of life and laughter, that was how she wanted to remember ….

No, she thought, shaking her head. Thinking like that was akin to an acknowledgement that Harm wouldn't be coming home and she refused to think that. She was sure that if he was dead that she would feel it and she didn't feel it. If she closed her eyes, she could feel him with her, his arms around her, holding her tight. She could feel his tender touch, brushing the tears from her cheek, as he'd done before. That was the feeling she had to hold on to.

"Sir, Ma'am," the COD pilot said, turning his head towards them, "you need to make sure you're strapped in. We'll be touching down in a couple of minutes."

Mac snapped the photo album shut and stashed it back in her travel bag before checking the harness holding her in her seat. She glanced over at Robert, who offered her a weak smile of encouragement. She just wished that being aboard the Henry would make her feel better, but the only thing that could do that would be to board that ship to find Harm waiting for her.

Involuntarily, her fingers tightened around one of the straps of her harness as the COD's tail hook caught the two wire on the deck of the Henry. She didn't think she'd ever get used to that feeling. Before her first visit to an aircraft carrier, she thought commercial landings could get bumpy. She smiled sadly as she remembered that first trip ….

-----

USS SEAHAWK
NOVEMBER 1996

"There she is, Ma'am," Bud said excitedly, pointing out the window of their COD at the aircraft carrier looming larger with every minute. "The USS SeaHawk."

"Coming home, Bud?" she asked, remembering that Harm had mentioned that Bud's last tour of duty had been as PAO aboard that carrier.

"Yes, Ma'am," he exclaimed.

She exchanged an indulgent look with Harm over Bud's head. She had to admit that the young man's enthusiasm was infectious. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been around anyone so wide-eyed. Her life thus far hadn't allowed much opportunity to interact with people like that. But in the last month she'd discovered that she was working with different kinds of people than she was used to.

One of those different people being her partner. Her initial impression was confused, mostly owing to his odd reaction upon meeting her. The man had looked like he'd been sucker punched. Her second impression had been that he was cocky, overly confident and convinced that with his smile and charm he could get anything he wanted, including any woman.

Fortunately for their developing friendship, it was the third impression that stuck with her. She'd held a gun on him and he still hadn't thought twice before offering to defend her uncle and spin things so that her own career was protected. He was willing to lay it all on the line for two people he barely knew. In that way, he reminded her a lot of her uncle.

She was about to say something when she was suddenly jolted in her seat, grasping the straps of her harness as they came to a stop on the deck of the carrier. "What was that?" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Harm chuckled and shook his head. "I take it you've never been tail hooked before," he said with a trace of smugness.

Arrogant pilot, she thought, mentally sticking her tongue out at him. He'd simply turned away, struggling to contain his laughter. It had only made her want to stick her tongue out at him for real ….

-----

She shook her head to clear it as she realized that Robert was calling her name, telling her that they were on the deck. "Sorry," she said, unstrapping her harness. "I was just …. thinking."

"I understand," he replied, gathering up the sea bag he'd brought with him. He realized how hard this had to be for her. He was stepping on board the ship and would get to see Beth. She was stepping on board …. to what? More uncertain waiting. He wouldn't have wished that on anyone.

"Thank you," she said softly. Despite his initial reaction when they'd met, he'd provided a friendly ear as they'd sat up overnight, unable to sleep while waiting for the COD which would take them to the carrier. She guessed it came from a shared experience, the fear over the fate of a loved one, even if he quickly found out this his fiancée was okay. He'd listened to her stories of the often wild times she and Harm had shared, laughed with her, and even shared some of his own stories of Beth. Honestly, it felt good to talk about Harm and her feelings for him without worrying about who might be hurt or how tangled things had managed to get. For the first time, everything had seemed so simple, so clear. She was in love with Harmon Rabb and it felt so good to be able to talk about it, especially with a practical stranger who had no preconceived notions of their relationship.

She picked up her own bags and stepped off the COD coming to attention at the sight of Captain Pike and a Lieutenant Commander wearing the insignia of the medical corps. She and Robert both came to attention and saluted. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?" Mac said.

"Permission granted, Colonel, Lieutenant Commander," Pike said. "I'm just sorry it had to be under these circumstances. This is Commander Reed. He's the doctor who treated Skates."

"How is she?" Robert asked, concern clearly etched across his tired features.

"She'll be fine, Commander," Reed replied. "She has a couple of broken ribs, some pulled muscles, a lot of bumps and bruises. She's resting down in sickbay. We'll probably observe her for few more hours, and then release her later today. A few days resting, then she should be free to return to duty with no problems. I'll escort you down to sickbay." He turned to Pike. "With your permission, Sir?"

Pike nodded, and then turned to Mac as Robert and Reed walked off. "Colonel," he said, "the Captain is waiting for us up in CIC. He thought you'd appreciate a status report."

"Thank you, Sir," she said, taking a deep breath. "I would." She silently followed him up to the combat information center, coming to attention again as they stepped in front of Ingles. "Colonel Mackenzie reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Colonel," Ingles greeted her, nodding. "As you were." He motioned them to a relatively quiet corner of CIC while Mac waited with baited breath. "As I'm sure you're aware, SAR went back out about two hours ago."

Mac nodded. She realized that Ingles was trying to break what ever news he had as gently as possible, but right now, she just wanted to know. "Sir …." she began.

Ingles nodded in silent acknowledgement of her desire to know now. "The Viking found an empty life raft approximately twelve miles from where Lieutenant Hawkes was picked up," he reported. He'd held this news back during the last communication with the COD. This was information he'd thought best imparted in person.

Mac turned away to stare out the windows at the now calm sea. God, Harm, she thought, blinking back tears. She barely registered his words as Ingles continued, pointing out that finding the raft at least confirmed that Harm had been able to eject, which had been a big question mark throughout the night. For all they'd known, they might have been chasing the ghost of a man who'd gone down with his plane. But all she could focus on was the fact that the raft had been empty. She may not have spent any extended time aboard Naval vessels, but she didn't need to have served a shipboard billet to understand what an empty life raft meant.

"The Viking dropped several sonar buoys around the area where the raft was found," Ingles said as Mac turned her attention back to what he was saying. "If he finds one, it will allow us to home in on him."

Mac silently digested the information. She didn't want to know what the odds were. She needed something to hold onto and as long as Ingles said nothing about the chances of Harm finding one of the buoys, of him even still being alive, then she had hope to hold onto. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and closed her fingers around Harm's wings. Finally, she turned back around, her eyes glistening brightly with unshed tears. "Thank you, Sir," she said, trying to inject her voice with the confidence she desperately wanted to feel.

"Colonel, I don't know if you're a religious person," Pike said, "but some of the Raptors have gotten together with Father Gilly, the ship's chaplain, to hold a service to pray for Hammer's safe return. I am heading down there myself …."

Mac hesitated. Religious was the last thing she would call herself, despite Mic's attempts to make them appear so as they'd prepared for their wedding. On the other hand, even if God had never really looked out for her, maybe he would see fit to watch out for Harm if she asked. If nothing else, she could do this much for him. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, I'll attend the service …. Sir," she said softly, remembering only as an afterthought to express the proper respect due a superior officer.

"If there's any word, Colonel," Ingles assured her, "you'll know right after we do."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, coming to attention again. "I appreciate all that you're doing."

As Ingles watched Mac and Pike leave CIC, he shook his head, hoping that everything he was doing, all that the SAR crews were doing, would be enough to bring Harm home safely.

-----

As she walked into theship's chapel slightly behind Pike, she felt nearly every eye in the room on her. She tried to tell herself that she was imagining things. Everyone had stood and snapped to attention as the CAG had entered the room – of course everyone in the room was looking in their direction. But as Pike called 'As you were', she still felt the eyes, watching her. As she surreptitiously glanced around the room, she was sure she recognized many of the officers as members of the Raptors squadron who'd been around back when Harm had been, back when she'd prosecuted Buxton. To them, she was the enemy. She'd gone after one of their own.

A man standing by the front row of pews stepped up to them. "CAG," he greeted Pike, and then turned his attention to Mac. "Colonel Mackenzie, I don't know if you remember me …."

"Tuna," she remembered. "You were Harm's roommate when he served here." She shivered and pulled Harm's jacket tighter around her.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "Hammer spoke of you often and …. last night …." He struggled to find the proper words without getting too deep into personal matters which it was probably best to stay out of. He smiled weakly. "He was looking forward to the chance to …. Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"Tell me," she said, granting him unspoken permission. "Please." Sensing their need for privacy, Pike stepped aside to speak with some of his pilots.

"Hammer was …. depressed, I guess," he said, "when he got here. I mean, he went out and did his quals – received the highest score of any pilot – but he took no joy in it. I didn't really get the chance to talk to him about it. But I saw him after he called you, Ma'am, as he was getting ready to leave the ship. He – he looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He indicated that you two had a lot of things to work out, but he sounded …. hopeful, Ma'am. He sounded hopeful."

She closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. Please, let us have that chance. She opened her eyes and tried to smile at Tuna. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I think I needed to hear that."

Tuna held out his arm to her. "May I, Ma'am?" he asked.

She nodded and hooked her arm around his, allowing him to lead her to the front pew, where Pike was already seated. Tuna glanced around at the other pilots, his silent gaze telling them that she had just as much right to be there as they did. Some glanced away while others suddenly found something of interest in their hymnals.

Mac look down, studying her hands in her lap, twisting her Marine Corps ring on her finger, her bare left hand catching her gaze. It probably should have been odd to see the ring gone after so many months, but instead it felt like a weight had been lifted. There had been times – often after a look or a gesture from Harm – when it had felt like she was wearing the Rock of Gibraltar on her fingers. After her engagement party, it had been heavy and felt like it was burning her finger.

But now it was gone. She'd removed it for the final time as she'd prepared for bed after taking Chloe back to her hotel last night. After all the heartache, the ring slipped off her finger just as easily as it had slipped on back in December. This time, she was determined that, unlike the other day after she returned from Norfolk, the ring would not go back on her finger. It didn't matter what Mic wanted, what he would say to try to change her mind. This time, the only thing that mattered was what Sarah Mackenzie wanted and what she wanted could be summed up in two words – Harmon Rabb.

Tuna clasped her hand for a second and she looked up to see that the priest, a short graying man wearing a Navy khaki uniform with the silver oak clusters of a full Commander, had entered the chapel. With a bit of trepidation, she stood with the rest of the congregation.

"Please turn to the inside front cover of your hymnals and join in singing the Navy hymn, Eternal Father, Strong To Save," the priest said. Mac picked up a hymnal out of the seat pocket in front of her and flipped it open, her heart stopping in her throat as she glanced over the words. She was familiar with the song but had never really paid attention to the words. After the first line, she joined the singing in a shaky voice.

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at They word,
Who walked'st on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

Mac was about to close her hymnal as the final verse trailed off when about half the room – all pilots as far as she could tell as she glanced around the room – quietly began singing another verse.

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
Through the great spaces in the sky.
Be with them always in the air,
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,
For those in peril in the air!

-----

SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

He'd given up on trying to keep track of how long he'd been struggling on the vast ocean hours ago. All he knew was that it was now day and the storm had finally dissipated, the sun finally making its presence known. He kept his eyes closed. Between the salt water burning his eyes and the sun's blinding light, it was simply too painful. Everything was becoming too painful. His chest felt like it was on fire with every breath he drew into his lungs. It felt like lead weights had been tied to his arms and legs as he tried to move them to keep the circulation going.

It would be so easy. All he had to do was let go, just stop trying and never open his eyes again. Then all the pain would go away ….

Since when did Harmon Rabb become such a defeatist? a soft, feminine voice asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen throat couldn't form the words. It's just too painful, he thought.

And do you really think it will be any less painful for those you'd be leaving behind?" she asked.

Harm wasn't sure if the voice was just in his head. He opened his eyes partway, then squeezed them shut against the dazzling white light. Oh, yeah. He was all alone, out in the middle of the ocean. There was nobody there.

Technically, you're right, the voice said. I'm a figment of your imagination. A hallucination. You're suffering from stage-four hypothermia. But if hearing voices will keep you fighting, then just keep listening to me. Keep listening and remember what you're fighting for – whom you're fighting for.

Sarah, he thought.

Yes, Sarah, she said, a trace of sadness evident in her tone. You've got another chance – the chance that you and I never had.

You and I? he thought confused, struggling to concentrate. Suddenly, it came to him. Diane.

He allowed her image to form in his mind – not his final image of her, bloodied and lifeless. This was an earlier image. She'd come up to visit him on his grandmother's farm when he'd been restoring 'Sarah' after his crash. He hadn't known she was coming – his grandmother had called and invited her up, thinking her presence might raise his spirits – and he'd been surprised when she stepped into the barn, the sun shining through the door behind her, making her look almost like an angel in her white sundress.

That had been when he'd started to acknowledge that maybe he wanted more with Diane than the close friendship and teasing flirtation they'd shared in the past, but there hadn't been time to pursue it then. Within a few weeks, she'd been reassigned to Naples and, shortly after that, he'd started law school. Although they'd kept up their contact over the next few years, they wouldn't have the opportunity to actually see each again until they planned to get together on her return from a tour of duty aboard the SeaHawk ….

Who else? she asked with an ironic laugh. Kind of appropriate, don't you think? We wasted so much time and look what happened. I died before we could work things out between us. What did you tell Sarah – 'we missed more than we connected'? Do you really want Sarah to go through the same thing, tormented by what might have been if only the two of you hadn't wasted so much time, too?

I love her, he thought, Diane's ghostly visage replaced in his mind by Mac's living one. She looked as she had on the Admiral's porch, tears in her eyes as they'd struggled – with their feelings for each other, with what they thought would be goodbye.

I know, Diane said sadly. He felt a breeze against his cheek and wondered if that was his imagination, too, like the soft voice pleading with him. You need to tell her what you never got the chance to tell me. Sooner or later, it will be too late, just like it was for us. And if you don't keep fighting, that time will come sooner. But you have to keep fighting.

So hard …. he thought, feeling himself start to slip away.

He almost smiled when he heard Diane sigh in his head, imagining her shaking her head at him. I never thought I'd ever have to convince Harmon Rabb not to give up, she said. He could hear the exasperation in her voice and the familiarity of the tone gave him a warm feeling. Their personalities might have been as different as night and day, but like Mac, Diane rarely took any of his attitude. What happened to the man who spent nearly thirty years looking for his father or the one who went after my murderer on the flimsiest of evidence?

He's been out on the ocean fighting for …. The thought trailed off as he tried to remember. What time had he crashed? How long had it been since the sun had come up? How long have I been out here?

He heard her laugh, a beautiful bright sound he thought he'd never hear again. I'm a product of your imagination, remember? she asked. How am I supposed to know if you don't?

I don't know …. He gasped, the sound sounding more like a croak through his cracked lips, as he bumped against something, startled more than hurt by the impact. He was too cold and numb to really feel much of anything. He'd been hitting things half the night as he floated amid the debris that used to be his Tomcat and he'd long since lost the ability to feel most of it.

Here's your chance, Diane said. He swore he could feel her warm lips brush over his – or maybe it was just the breeze again. Open your eyes.

Can't, he thought. Hurts too much.

Damn it, Harm, she practically shouted. Can you imagine what Sarah would think if she could see you right now, this close to giving up? What happened to the man who's never said die in his life, who's always pushed and fought until he got what he wanted?

He almost felt like laughing at the admonishment, but he was too tired. What is this, reverse psychology? he mused.

Isn't that what you did to Sarah in the Appalachian Mountains? she asked.

How'd you …. oh, yeah, you're in my head, he remembered. And why do you keep calling her 'Sarah'? I don't ….

He could see her smile as clearly as if she really was standing in front of him. Yes, you do, she said. That's how you think of her. She's 'Sarah' in your mind, the woman you love. Now fight for her. Hold on just a little bit longer ….

Her image drifted from his mind as he felt a bump from being thrown against something again. He reached out and felt something hard sticking up out of the water. Sticking up out of the water? Despite the pain, he forced his eyes to open, struggling to focus on the metal object in front of him. It took a few minutes for his vision to clear enough so that he recognized the object – a sonar buoy.

He summoned the strength to drape his arms around it, resting his head against it. Hold on, she'd told him. Now he had something to hold on to and …. there was something else, something shrouded in fog in the back of his mind. If only he could remember ….

Finally, the answer came to him. A radio. Many buoys came equipped with a voice transmitter, especially if they'd been dropped by one of the rescue aircraft that he was sure had to be somewhere overhead. He moved his hands slowly over the buoy until he found what might be controls for the transmitter. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes more so he could see the controls. After a moment, he thought he could make out what should be the on/off switch. Flipping it, he prayed that he could make himself heard.

-----

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

"Sir, I'm picking up something," Lieutenant Jenna Jenkins reported to Paddles. She turned to the veteran pilot, her expression hopeful. "It's from one of the sonar buoys we dropped when we found the raft, Sir."

"Let's here it," Paddles ordered. Jenkins flipped a switch on the Viking's radio, static filling the speakers.

"The radio's definitely been activated," Jenkins murmured. "But it's hard to hear anything."

They listened for another moment before Paddles' eyes widened. "Is …. there?" a barely detectible voice came over the radio. "This …. Commander …. is …. out there?"

"Thank God," Jenkins whispered.

"Triangulate our position and let's get a helo over here," Paddles ordered. "Lieutenant, looks like our prayers may have just been answered. City Desk, this is Viking. We have a signal and what sounds like a voice from one of the sonar buoys we dropped earlier. We're moving in to check it out."

"Location?" Ingles asked.

"35 degrees, 15 minutes north latitude," Paddles reported. "73 degrees, 28 minutes west longitude."

Ingles turned to the air boss. "What's the closest rescue helo to those coordinates?"

"There's a Coast Guard craft about five nautical from that position," he replied after a moment, having checked the electronic map for location of all SAR craft relative to the buoy's location.

"Have them stand by to move in," Ingles ordered. If they weren't chasing ghosts on this, he knew that every minute, every second, counted in getting Harm out of the water, In the background, he heard the air boss relaying the message to the helo while he awaited further word from Paddles.

Everyone in CIC seemed to be holding their collective breaths as the radio crackled and hissed, the sound broken by routine chatter from the Viking crew. After what seemed to be an intermittable wait, Jenkins voice was heard saying with barely concealed excitement, "We're over the buoy and it looks like he's down there hanging on."

Everyone looked at each other, hardly daring to hope. They all knew that finding him was only half the battle. After nearly nine hours in the water, it was still an uphill battle for survival, assuming that he was still alive. He could have tethered himself to the buoy somehow, and then …. They all listened as the Coast Guard helo moved into position and a frogman was lowered into the water. Finally, at 1248 Zulu, came four words that they'd been waiting all night to hear. "I've got a pulse," called the frogman into his radio.

Ingles briefly closed his eyes, inwardly relaxing just a little as the radio chatter continued as the frogman prepped Harm to be lifted into the helo. A few minutes passed, and then a transmission came to the carrier. "Patrick Henry, this is Coast Guard 195," the helo pilot said. "We've got your pilot and are en route. ETA twenty-two minutes."

"Understood," Ingles said. "We'll be waiting." He flipped on the ship's intercom and called sick bay. "Doctor Reed, the Coast Guard just picked up Commander Rabb, ETA twenty-two minutes."

"Understood, Sir," Reed said. He didn't have to ask Harm's condition. After nine hours in the water, he knew what he would likely be facing. "I'll have a team up on deck to meet them." Sick bay became a hive of purposeful activity as the Navy's equivalent of an emergency room trauma team leapt into action, preparing to receive their patient.

In one corner of the room, a dozing Skates was awakened by the sudden commotion and looked at Robert with a hopeful expression. "Do you think …?" she whispered hoarsely.

Robert motioned to a passing corpsman, who hurried over with a look of concern. "Are you in pain, Lieutenant?" she asked.

Skates shook her head gingerly, mindful of the headache pounding behind her eyes. She'd already been given something for that. "What's …?" she began, gesturing towards the rushing crew.

The corpsman managed a slight smile despite the gravity of the situation. "Commander Rabb was just picked up," she reported. "He should be down here in just under half an hour."

"Thank God," Robert breathed, clasping Skates' hand. Skates closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek.

The corpsman moved off, satisfied that Skates didn't need any medical help, leaving the two alone. "Robert," she said fearfully, "he's been out there for nine hours."

"I know," he replied, trying to sound comforting. But it was hard. This was one of those times when ignorance would have been bliss. He looked down at their joined hands. "But he's apparently still alive or else why all the hustle? I guess now all we can do now is be thankful that he's come this far and have faith that he will make it the rest of the way. To hear you and Mac tell it, he's practically indestructible." He attempted to smile confidently, but it came off as obviously forced.

"Yeah," she said with a heavy heart. "Indestructible." But how long could he continue to be so?

-----

"Make sure he's securely strapped in," a Coast Guard corpsman ordered as the helo headed towards the carrier. "We don't want him to get jostled around any more than necessary. What's his temp?"

"Eighty-eight two, Chief," another corpsman replied. "Resps very shallow – it's hard to get an accurate read. He's lucky if he's getting eight a minute. Pulse is very weak …. thirty-two a minute."

Warm and dead, the Chief corpsman repeated in his mind. Warm and dead. It was the primary rule of thumb when dealing with hypothermia and near-drowning patients. A patient was not dead until they were warm and dead. A patient with a low body temperature was almost in a state of suspended animation. "Where are those blankets?" he demanded.

"Here, Sir," another crew member called out, tossing several blankets towards the Chief. One was draped over Harm's torso and legs, a second folded and placed over his neck, a third wrapped around his head. He kneeled next to Harm's head and noted Harm's pale face and blue lips.

"Commander, can you hear me?" he asked, close to Harm's ear. "I'm Chief Petty Officer Lengel. You're onboard a Coast Guard helo inbound for the Patrick Henry."

Harm opened his mouth to speak but couldn't make anything come out. He tried to clear his throat, but only succeeded in bringing on a fit of coughing. "Don't try to talk, Commander," Lengel said. "Just try to open your eyes for me. Can you do that for me, Sir?"

Tired, Harm thought, trying to open his eyes. But his lids felt like they were made of lead and he only managed to make them barely flutter open before giving up. "That's okay, Commander," Lengel said encouragingly. "At least I know you're still with us. We need you to stay awake. Can you do that?"

Harm made a gesture that Lengel took to be a nod. "Good," he said. His voice took on a Southern drawl as he tried to humor his patient. "Just hang in there and we'll get you fixed up right quick."

"Mmmm …." Harm moved his lips again, little more than a mumble coming forth.

"It's okay, Commander," Lengel said. "You don't have to say anything. Just try to stay with me, although if you want to try to laugh at my jokes, I won't object."

Harm gasped, frustrated. He slid a hand out from under the blanket and tried to grasp the Chief's wrist, but his hand fell limply back down onto the cot. Lengel pulled the blanket back over his hand. "You need to stay covered," he said. "You lose heat faster in your extremities."

"Uhhh …. 'arah," Harm gasped. Lengel leaned closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Finally, he was able to make out a single word. "Sarah." Clearly exhausted with the effort of saying just that little bit, his head rolled to the side.

"Commander, stay with me," Lengel said forcefully, resisting his first instinct to grab and shake him. For a hypothermic patient, that could be disastrous. Harm's eyelids fluttered, but he otherwise did not move. "Sarah? Is she your wife?" Harm managed to make a gesture that seemed to be a shake. "No? Your girlfriend?" He hesitated, and then barely moved his head up and down.

"Well, I'm sure she'll soon be informed that you've been rescued," he said reassuringly, "and you'll be able to see her once you're transported to shore."

"'ove …. her …." he mumbled.

Lengel smiled. It always helped when patients had something or someone to fight for. In seventeen years working search and rescue, he lost track of the number of people rescued whose first thought was for those at home worrying over their safety. "Soon, you'll be able to tell her yourself," he said confidently.

-----

Mac listened to the service in a daze. She was finding little comfort in the words of the priest or in the presence of Harm's fellow pilots, all of whom were clearly concerned. She didn't want to know how God would comfort her in her need. All she wanted was Harm – alive and, if not well, then on the road to recovery.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the priest said, making the sign of the Cross. Mac shook herself out of her reverie and hastily crossed herself, trying to focus on what the priest was saying, reminding herself that she should pray on Harm's behalf. But it wouldn't stop her from wanting to know why Harm and why now. "The Lord be with you."

"And also with you," everyone replied.

"I am the Savior of all people, says the Lord. Whatever their troubles, I will answer their cry, and I will always be their Lord," he continued in a soothing tone. "We come here today both in thanksgiving for the safe return of Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes and to ask for your comfort and aid as we pray for the rescue of Commander Harmon Rabb. Lord Jesus, we ask you to provide shelter to the lost until he is brought home to those who love him. Lord have mercy."

"Lord have mercy."

"Christ Jesus, show us your mercy and love in our time of trial. Christ have mercy."

"Christ have mercy."

"Lord Jesus, even when I walk through a dark valley, I will fear no harm for you are at my side. Lord, have mercy."

"Lord, have mercy."

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen." As Father Gilly sat down, Tuna stood and smiled briefly at Mac before walking up to the lectern.

He opened the lectionary and stared down at the page, not really seeing the words. In his years in the Navy, he'd been fortunately enough to not know someone who had crashed – until now. And this time it wasn't just any acquaintance, but his former roommate. He blinked several times, finally clearing his vision and said in a halting voice, "A reading from the book of Psalms ….

"You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,
Say to the LORD, "My refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust."
God will rescue you from the fowler's snare, from the destroying plague,
Will shelter you with pinions, spread wings that you may take refuge; God's faithfulness is a protecting shield.
You shall not fear the terror of the night nor the arrow that flies by day,
Nor the pestilence that roams in darkness, nor the plague that ravages at noon.
Though a thousand fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, near you it shall not come.
You need simply watch; the punishment of the wicked you will see.
You have the LORD for your refuge; you have made the Most High your stronghold.
No evil shall befall you, no affliction come near your tent.
For God commands the angels to guard you in all your ways.
With their hands they shall support you, lest you strike your foot against a stone.
You shall tread upon the asp and the viper, trample the lion and the dragon.
Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high.
All who call upon me I will answer…."

Tuna's voice trailed off and everyone looked around, jumping up and snapping to attention when one by one they caught sight of Ingles standing by the door. Mac clenched the back of her pew, the gesture hidden by the sailors between her and the skipper. "Please," she whispered to herself, realizing that there was only one reason why he would no longer be monitoring the SAR efforts from CIC. She quickly pulled herself to attention when she realized that Ingles was coming towards her, forcing herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly.

Ingles kept his eyes on her, but spoke loud enough that the entire room heard him. "Commander Rabb was picked up about twenty minutes ago by a Coast Guard helo," he said as Mac squeezed her eyes shut, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Similar sighs were heard throughout the chapel. "They're inbound, ETA five minutes. He will be transported directly to sickbay. I know many of you will want to see him – Doctor Reed will inform the CAG when he is allowed to have visitors." Mac's eyes snapped open at that and she opened her mouth to protest, but Ingles cut her off. "I will escort you to sick bay, Colonel. After the doctor examines the Commander, he will want to talk to you. According to the Commander's medical records at Bethesda, you hold his medical power of attorney."

Mac stood there stunned for a moment before she remembered. Giving each other medical power of attorney went back to Appalachia and Mac's shooting. About a week after she'd been released from the hospital, she first broached the subject. If, in the course of their many travels, one or the other was injured, Mac said she wanted to know that the person she trusted most was making important decisions for her if she couldn't. Harm, still bothered at that point over his perceived guilt in her shooting, had resisted discussing the subject at first, then agreed. Thankfully, until now, they hadn't even come close to needing to invoke the agreement. She was also grateful that, in spite of everything that had happened between them personally and the fact that they rarely traveled together anymore, they'd never thought to revoke the powers of attorney. Finally, she nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

Silently, she followed Ingles out of the chapel, walking briskly behind him as they headed for sickbay. They were about halfway there when she decided to ask a question that had been on her mind since he announced Harm's rescue. "Sir, what do you know of Harm's …. Commander Rabb's condition?" she asked.

Ingles continued walking as he answered, "Colonel, that's probably a question best asked of Doctor Reed."

"With all due respect, Sir," she said, "the Coast Guard must have said something when they informed you that they'd picked him up."

Ingles stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. Mac studied him intently, but could find nothing in his expression that hinted at the answers she sought. Finally, he sighed and said, "The Commander was just barely hanging on, both literally and figuratively. They found him clinging to a sonar buoy the Viking had dropped in the area when they found his raft this morning. His pulse was reported to be very weak and he's severely hypothermic."

"So he's alive," she concluded, "but far from being out of the woods."

"That would be one way to put it, yes," he concurred.

"Then for now that's enough," she said firmly, squelching the voice in the back of her head that didn't feel nearly as confident. "If nothing else, Commander Rabb is a survivor." He has to survive, she thought, so I can kick his six for scaring the hell out of me. She swore she could hear him laughing at her threat inside her head.

-----

They hadn't even had a chance to approach Doctor Reed for introductions when the trauma team burst through the doors bearing the stretcher carrying Harm, Chief Lengel racing behind them, rattling off Harm's vitals and filling the Navy team in on what the Coast Guard team had already done for him. Gently, they transferred Harm onto a bed and Reed began examining his patient, barking orders to his team.

"Cut those wet clothes off him," he ordered, warming his stethoscope before sliding it under Harm's clothes to press it against his chest. After a moment of listening to his heart and lungs, he continued. "We need a warming blanket. Get an IV started, normal saline, heated to one hundred four, five cc's per kilogram per hour. Commander, can you hear me?" He swore under his breath when Harm didn't even move his eyelids in response. "Commander, we need you to stay with us."

Mac drew in a shaky breath as she listened, slowly stepping towards the head of the bed. Reed looked up at her and was about to order her out of the way when something in her expression stopped him. He nodded at her to continue. She bent over Harm, her mouth next to his ear. "Harm, it's Mac," she said firmly. "Come on. I need you to hang on. Listen to my voice. Damn it, that's an order, Commander."

Satisfied that he'd given the Navy corpsmen all the information he could, Lengel stepped over to Ingles. "Sir, have you been in contact with the Commander's family?" he asked. "On the helo, he kept trying to ask for someone named 'Sarah'. From what I was able to decipher from his gestures, she seems to be his girlfriend."

Ingles cocked his head towards the bed and Lengel followed his gaze to the Marine softly pleading with Harm to hang on, his eyes widening in surprise. When imagining the kind of girlfriend an aviator might have, the idea that she might be a Marine never entered his thoughts. Nor had he thought that she'd be aboard the carrier, waiting. He turned back to Ingles. "Sir, I don't know what's going to happen with the Commander," he said quietly, so as not to be overheard. "But on the helo …. I think he was trying to say he loves her. If …. well, maybe someone can tell her that, if he doesn't have the chance …."

Ingles nodded. "Thank you, Chief, for your assistance in rescuing the Commander," he said, silently declaring the previous subject to be closed. If all went well, he'd never have to relay the conversation.

"I hope …. you'll let us know how everything turns out?" he asked. Ingles nodded again. "With your permission, Sir?"

"Dismissed, Chief," he said, turning his attention back to the efforts to keep Harm alive. Occasionally, Mac's voice would rise and fall as she seemed to alternate between pleading with him and ordering him to hang on.

"Harmon Rabb, listen to me," she said, "you promised me. You promised that you'd return to me. Do you remember what you said when I made a comment about making promises that you can't keep? 'I haven't yet.' Don't you dare let this be the first. Come on, it's supposed to be our time now. Finally, after all the misunderstandings and miscommunications, we were going to get it right."

Her tears fell freely as she brushed her lips over his cold, blue ones, seeming to forget that they were far from alone, gasping at the chill of his skin beneath her touch. "Too bad that doesn't work in real life like it does in the fairy tales," she said ruefully, her voice dropping in volume again. "I've never really believed in them, but I began to wonder last night, as I went to bed knowing that you were coming home to me and that we were going to try to making things right. Were we going to get a chance at the 'happily ever after'?"

She tenderly brushed the back of her hand over his cheek. "Can you feel me?" she wondered. "Can you even hear me? Please, Harm, just give me some kind of sign that you're still with me. I need you to come back to me. I need you like I've never needed anyone or anything in my life and I know, even if you'd barely admit it, that you need me just as much."

An idea came to her and she stuck her free hand in her pocket, pulling out his wings. "Do you remember what you wrote when you gave me your wings?" she asked in a whisper. "Come back to me so you can tell me that in person and so I can give these back to you. I need to hear you say the words, as much as I need to say them to you." She rested her head against his forehead, jerking back up when she thought she heard a groan. Maybe I just imagined it, she thought when she detected no further response from him.

Sighing heavily, she was brushing tears from her face when she was sure she heard another groan from him. "Harm?" she said, trying to contain her excitement, her words nonetheless coming in a rush. "Can you hear me?"

Finally, he barely opened his mouth and managed to hoarsely whisper a single word, "Sarah."

"Yeah," she said tearfully. "It's Sarah. I'm right here."

"Dreaming …."

"No," she said, slipping her hand under the warming blanket and curling her fingers around his, carefully not to clasp his hand too tightly. She shivered at the chill in his fingers. "I'm here. I flew out here this morning with Skates' fiancée. Someone had to come and kick your six for scaring us all half to death."

Harm wanted to laugh, but it came out as a cross between a cough and a gasp for breath. "'s my Marine," he murmured, his voice slurred.

"Yeah," she said, smiling for the first time in hours. Normally, she'd probably take him to task for his possessiveness, but right now she didn't care. He could proclaim her his from the mountaintops if he wanted to. "I'm your Marine."

Harm summoned his strength and managed to utter the words she'd been waiting so long to hear from him. "Love you."

She cried out softly and pressed her lips to his again. This time, he managed to move his lips almost imperceptibly against hers. "I've waited so long …." she began as she pulled back, and then broke off, shaking her head. Now wasn't the time for admonishments. Later, she'd have plenty to say to him on that score. But not now. "I love you, too."

Harm drew in a shuttering breath and managed to open his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry, tear stained face above him. It tore at his heart. He hated to see his Sarah cry, especially if it was because of him, which it all too often was. No more. He promised himself that everything would be alright between them and he'd never give her cause to cry again. Nothing was going to come between them ever again. His words oddly distinct and firm, he finally focused his gaze on her and whispered, "Marry me."

-----

To be continued…