Disclaimers in part I.
1210 Zulu/0710 Local
Mac's Apartment, Georgetown – 27 November 2002
"You're only ten minutes late, Sailor. Good job," Mac greeted her partner when she opened the door.
"Please tell me the appointment for the 'vette isn't really at 0720," Harm begged, stepping in with vague disappointment that she was all ready to leave for the day.
Mac looked at him with a teasing, lighthearted smile. "Of course not. It's 0745. But if I had said that…"
"I'd be pulling up at 0730 and facing your wrath for the rest of the day. How come you know me so well?" He pushed the door closed and opened his arms.
She accepted his invitation. "Because that's what best friends do – they know each other well enough to avoid pushing buttons most of the time. On a completely different note, can I tell you how glad I am that we're in winter dress now?"
He blinked in surprise. "I thought it was dress whites and gold wings that set a girl's heart to pounding."
"Not mine," she denied, wondering if he knew how big a lie it was. "No, it's just that I can hug you without worrying whether my makeup will show if it rubs off."
That was something he'd never given much thought to, actually. But then, he'd never really let too many women hug him in uniform unless there were compelling reasons, like grief or fear. With Mac, at least this week, it was becoming a habit for an entirely different, pleasant reason. "Okay. How come you didn't do this yesterday?"
"I had things to do yesterday that required the car. Let me get my coat and briefcase and we'll be set to go."
A few minutes later, they were in their separate cars, Mac leading him to the specialty shop where first he, then she, now both got their Corvettes serviced.
In her little red sports car, Mac laughed at Harm's question. If he knew where she had gone yesterday and why, he'd flip. But this, she could feel, was their time to make the romantic part of their relationship work, however slowly it might happen, and she wanted to be ready physically when the time came. For the first time in her life, she had medication for birth control. There would be no condoms with Harm because he would, she prayed, be the last man she ever shared her bed with. Except maybe their sons, when they were nursing infants. That thought made her laugh more.
In his big silver Lexus behind her, Harm saw her laugh and wondered what radio station she was listening to. Even from behind, she was beautiful when she laughed. She was beautiful no matter what…well, except when she was drunk, and one experience of that was more than enough for Harm. He marveled yet again at her resilience; lesser women and men would have gone back to the bottle numerous times since her one slip if they had lived her life and he knew that several of those times would have been at least in part his fault.
Those thoughts turned to the many times she had gone out on a limb for him: Russia the most obvious, but numerous times in the courtroom and on assignments when she stood by him to help him find the truth. And she had been the first to be honest about her feelings for him that night in Australia that made up one of his recurring nightmares. Another recurring nightmare involved him making it back from the Seahawk in time to watch her marry Mic anyway, even after he bared his soul on the Admiral's porch at her engagement party. That, he had vowed, would never happen again. Harm had asked her to spend Christmas Eve with him on the spur of the moment, but a plan began to form in his mind as he waited for a break in traffic so he could turn into the shop.
The shop owner treated all his female customers like they had brains in their heads, so in no time Mac was knocking on the passenger side window of the SUV to be let in. Harm popped the lock and she climbed in, grousing about the height of his truck and the length of her skirt.
"I would like to register my approval of the length of your skirt," Harm replied with a carefully held straight face. It was dead-on regulation minimum, right to the top of her kneecap when standing at attention. Of course, regulation maximum gave her only another inch and a half, which wouldn't help with getting in and out of the SUV – and was also perfectly fine with Harm.
"And the tightness, I'm sure," she griped. That, too, was regulation and in Mac's mind the bigger problem with getting in and out of cars and SUVs.
"You wear it well." This time he turned his head just enough to let her see the sincerity of his smile.
She smiled in return and reached for her seat belt. "Thank you, Commander." They rode in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. "Harm, could I ask you a huge favor?"
"Sure, Mac. What is it?"
"If I set my VCR, would you make sure that it records the Muppet movie that's on Friday night and then not watch it until I can watch it with you?" She dropped her voice in embarrassment.
Harm laughed hard enough to breeze through a yellow light for which he could have stopped. One of the few things that had kept them from losing complete touch with each other in the past three years was their mutual affinity for all things Muppet, discovered by accident the first time they took care of their godson, little AJ Roberts. Mac had grown up on Sesame Street; Harm, just a few years but a full TV generation older, had gotten hooked on The Muppet Show while babysitting in his neighborhood as a teenager. "For you, anything, honey."
"Anything? Honey?" From her tone, she expected him to wiggle out of one or both of those statements.
"Yes. Anything, honey."
With a look, they decided that "honey" was an acceptable addition to their vocabulary. "In private, of course," they added together, making them both laugh as they were saluted through the guard gate at JAG Headquarters.
=====
1730 Zulu/1230 Local
The Roberts' Home, Rosslyn, Virginia – 28 November 2002
"Harriet, thank you so much for allowing us to come at the last minute," Sturgis Turner said to the pert blonde who opened the door to welcome him inside. "I can't believe we couldn't get to Manchester last night."
Chaplain Turner clapped his hand on his son's shoulder. "Sturgis, I keep telling you that we can't change the weather, so it's pointless to stress about it. Your sister certainly isn't and she's got ice and snow to deal with."
Harriet Sims Roberts smiled at both men. "Well, sirs, we're delighted to have you here – to be honest, we were disappointed that you had other plans when we first invited you."
"Harriet, you are a very kind friend." Sturgis leaned down to kiss her cheek as he stepped inside.
The older man gave her a hug as well as a kiss before she closed the door and took their coats from them.
"Comman – Harm is in there with Bud and Little AJ and Mikey," she said, indicating the den to the left of the front door. "Mac is in the kitchen but says she wants to be there for the kickoff of the Detroit-New England game. Something about Tom Brady being hunky, I think she said."
"Harm will love that," the younger Turner commented with a knowing look at the young lieutenant.
"I think that's why she said it, sir."
"Sturgis."
Harriet tried again, to the amusement of Isaiah. "I think that's why she said it, Sturgis."
"Much better." He turned to go into the den.
"Did I hear you say that Mac is in the kitchen?" the chaplain asked, following his hostess.
Mac must have heard her name because she stepped out into the dining room to greet the man. "Chaplain Turner! I'm so glad you're here."
"Well, as your father-in-law for the foreseeable future, I suppose it's only proper…" He hugged and kissed her too, eliciting a squeal of laughter in the process.
Harriet shook her head. "I hadn't thought about that aspect of this assignment, sir."
"Isaiah, Harriet, please. You, too, Mac – unless you'd like to further irritate that pilot of yours and call me 'Dad.'"
Mac pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and shook her head. "Thank you, Isaiah, but I think I've annoyed my aviator enough today just by talking about the offensive line of the New England Patriots." Only then did it occur to her that she had just admitted to a more than friendly – albeit still forming – relationship with Harm, and she blushed furiously.
The hostess and the chaplain laughed; Mac was saved from an answer when the doorbell rang, but Isaiah had to help her save face. "You're good together, Colonel. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise," he counseled softly. "Especially not the Department of the Navy."
Harriet led Admiral Chegwidden into the kitchen so he could leave the appetizers to cook in the oven. "Well, Chaplain Turner, it's a pleasure," the ranking officer said, extending his right hand to shake with the older man while balancing the hors d'oeuvres somewhat precariously in his left.
"Isaiah, please," Turner corrected for the second time that day. "I think our hostess is going for the family touch."
"Yes, I am, and I've already slipped up twice by using ranks and 'sirs', so keep after me. AJ, let me have that tray before you drop it." Harriet took the appetizers from the admiral as he moved around the chaplain to his chief of staff.
"Happy Thanksgiving, AJ," Mac said, grinning at her commanding officer.
AJ debated how to greet her for about five seconds, then gave up and hugged her, hoping that Harm wouldn't choose that moment to enter the kitchen. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mac. It's ten minutes till kickoff."
"Internal clock says 12 minutes and 10 seconds." The grin stayed firmly in place on her radiant face as she stepped out of his arms with a squeeze of his hands.
A new voice popped up from the other side of the breakfast bar. "My internal clock says it's lunch time."
"Harm, we had this discussion when you picked me up."
"Come on, Mac, I didn't know you were serious."
AJ chortled. "Harm, when has Mac not been serious about food?"
Chastised, the aviator swiped a handful of mixed nuts from the dish beside the beverage set-up and slinked away, only to be called back to greet the newcomers properly. "If you hurry, AJ, you'll hear the experts' picks for today's games," he said by way of officially welcoming his commanding officer after he'd shaken hands with Sturgis' father.
"Please. New England and Dallas. No brainers," Mac scoffed.
"But Detroit always does well on Thanksgiving and the Redskins are a better team, Mac. You're going down on this one." He managed to leave this time, taking another handful of nuts with him and trailing the admiral and the chaplain in his wake.
"May I ask what's on the line?" Mikey asked, meeting the three men in the dining room on his way to the kitchen. He wondered to himself if the commander was as dense about football as he obviously was about the colonel.
"Dinner at 1789 when she gets back from her assignment."
And that, Mikey thought, proves that a degree and a commission from Annapolis don't guarantee intelligence in all realms.
Bud looked away from the large screen TV when his son got a running start into the front hall toward his godfather's legs. "What if you split the games, Harm?"
"Point spread. Ten or more total, I buy, less than 10 she buys." He kept moving, dragging the bundle of energy around his legs back into the den. "AJ, be careful down there."
The little blonde beamed up at his father's mentor. "I will, Uncle Harm."
"Harm, as your surrogate father, I advise you to save up for that dinner. It's Dallas at home against the Redskins, man. Guaranteed touchdown difference there, minimum." Isaiah Turner sounded like the prophet for whom he was named.
Sturgis grunted. "I'd rather be watching basketball, but since the NBA sees fit to have only two games and those are both after football…"
"Sturgis, just watch the football game," his father commanded, moving over on the sofa so Mikey Roberts could have his seat back.
Mikey shook his head as he sat down; watching the Turners reminded him that not all fathers and sons had such difficult relationships as he and Bud did with Big Bud.
Several quiet moments passed as the pre-game show wound down. Just as the CBS color commentators came on screen, the man who delivered babies in the JAG offices and got them named after him looked down at Harm's legs. "Where's Little AJ?"
"I don't know – "
A pronouncement answered the question. "Make room for Auntie Mac!" Little AJ yelled as he led his godmother into the room. He stopped and looked at the men gathered. "Uh, oh, Auntie Mac. There's no chairs. You have to sit in Uncle Harm's lap."
Harm and Mac both flushed furiously as the others roared with laughter; Little AJ joined in although he had no idea what he had said that was so funny.
"What's going on in here?" Harriet wondered out loud as she came in with a tray of glasses and an ice bucket.
"Your son," the admiral started, pausing to laugh, "just busted his godparents publicly."
Little AJ, now confused and somewhat afraid that he would wind up in trouble, tried to explain it to his mother. "I just told Auntie Mac to sit in Uncle Harm's lap 'cause there's no chairs."
Harriet looked at the reddened, laughing Mac and Harm and couldn't help but join the raucous hilarity; she set down her burden and went to hug her son. "AJ," she said with motherly amusement and affection clear in her tone, "someday we will tell this story and you'll get it. For now, just trust me when I tell you that you did a good thing."
AJ's wide eyes grew wider and he nodded seriously at his mother, who, like the rest of the adults, was still laughing. "Okay, Mama." He turned around to survey the crowd and discovered that Uncle Mikey was crying. Not knowing that one could truly laugh until one cried, he assumed the worst and went to his young relative. "Don't cry, Uncle Mikey. Auntie Mac will still like you, too."
The second quarter of the New England-Detroit game was well underway before anything remotely resembling normal conversation could happen in the Roberts' household.
Dinner was served at the end of that game, with dessert to follow the Washington-Dallas game, by prior agreement between Harriet and Mac. As the hostess and Harm set dinner on the table, Big Bud arrived, sober and in a remarkably good mood. He even had a gift for Little AJ, which thrilled the child no end.
"Dad, you really didn't have to do that," Bud said with a smile to take any reprimand out of his tone as he reached out to hug his father.
Big Bud returned the hug. "I know, son. But I saw it and thought that I'd have a lot of fun playing with my grandson and his new Matchbox track set." He traded up to hug his taller, younger son. "You look real good, Mikey. Academy life agrees with you."
"Yeah, Dad, it does." The midshipman and his brother exchanged a long, confused look over their father's shoulder. "You look good, too."
The older man stepped away and lowered his head, humbling himself before his sons. "I've started going to AA," he confessed softly. "After Bud's…well, let's say that what happened was a wake up call like I've never had before."
The sons reached out to him and the three shared another hug before they went together into the dining room.
The admiral was the first to greet them. "We've sworn off rank and rate for the day, so I guess you'll have to go by Big Bud," he said as he extended his hand, not really happy to see him but wanting to be civil for all concerned. "Can I get you a beer?"
"No, thank you, AJ. I'll get some soda or juice in a few minutes." He turned to be greeted by Mac and Sturgis, leaving a confused AJ to stare at Mikey and Bud.
"AA," they said together with identical shrugs.
AJ smiled at them, some of his initial irritation dissipating with that welcome news.
Only Mac recognized the pin on Big Bud's lapel; she whispered her congratulations to him as she hugged him briefly. "Thirty days – and counting?"
"Forty-three," Big Bud whispered back. "Help me?"
She nodded. "What can I get you?"
"Whatever you're having would be fine, Mac."
Mac went to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Harm and Harriet. "Was that Big Bud I heard?" Harm asked before Harriet could.
"Yes."
"Asking for whatever you're having?" queried the man's daughter-in-law incredulously.
"Yes. AA. Forty-three days and counting." She filled two glasses with ice from the freezer and moved to the sink.
Harriet smiled and shook her head. "Miracles never really do cease once you know where to look for them." She slipped around Harm to deliver the gravy and mashed potatoes to the table.
"Redskins are going to win by 1," Harm taunted, sidling up behind Mac at the sink to kiss her cheek. The Patriots had won by 8.
"Dallas by a touchdown and you're going to owe me a night at 1789 – honey." She returned the favor. "Thinking about what you're going to say when we sit down?"
"I," he declared, still standing behind her and wishing his hands weren't dripping with turkey juices from his carving duties, "know exactly what I'm going to say. You?"
Mac slipped out from him. "I have a pretty good idea, but you're going first."
Little AJ came in with a message that he enunciated with excruciating care, making it obvious that he had been well coached. "Uncle Harm. Auntie Mac. Uncle AJ says to get your sixes into the dining room or he'll come in here with a camera. Does 'conduct unbecoming' ring a bell?"
Mac set the two glasses down and bent over to hug her godson. "How long did Uncle AJ work with you to say that?"
"Since Daddy came home."
Chegwidden had been a frequent visitor during Bud's recovery process and it had been a given that the group would spend Thanksgiving together. Harm and Mac exchanged helpless glances; they had been handily had by their commanding officer.
A few minutes later, Isaiah Turner had the attention of the table and said grace. As the turkey went around the table, the person dishing the turkey shared what he or she was most grateful for in the past year – above and beyond the obvious ones of life, good health, family, and friends.
Mikey Roberts, just by happenstance, picked up the platter first. "Well, I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to better myself at the Academy, and that I have such wonderful role models to set my standards by." He started to pass it to his right; Mac nudged him and he passed left instead to Harriet.
The blonde shrugged and smiled as she piled moist white meat onto her plate. "I'm thankful for so much that it's hard to say just one thing. But I guess beyond the obvious, I'm most thankful that Little AJ likes his school so much – I don't feel guilty dropping him off when I go to work. AJ?"
AJ Chegwidden looked around the table before he spoke. "I'm thankful that I have the best job in the entire United States Navy, and it's all because of you. Certain others notwithstanding…" It was a breech in decorum, but since no one at the table, with the possible exception of Isaiah Turner, willingly sought to be in the same room with the person to whom he referred, he figured he could get away with it. The wave of suppressed laughter assured him of that.
"AJ," the chaplain chided, taking the platter from him, "I'm shocked. In all seriousness, I am thankful that I still have the opportunity to minister to God's children, wherever and whoever they are. Even the ones I don't like. On to you, Sturgis."
"I'm thankful no one has called me Alec Baldwin in the past ten days," the submariner commented dryly, earning a good laugh. "But since I know that Mac will now be calling me that the entire time we're away on assignment…" He waited for another ripple of amusement to fade. "I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to better myself, as well, by working with and competing against the very best military lawyers in the world."
"Here, here!" Harm raised his glass.
"He was talking about Mac and Bud and me," AJ reproved with a wink at Mac.
"Busted, Sailor," Mac murmured when Harm pouted.
"Moving on," Big Bud began. "I am thankful that I've been given the chance to make amends and get on the right path, and that I have people praying for me and working with me to help me do it." When he set the platter down, his older son reached out to squeeze his hand in acknowledgement.
Bud, too, looked around the table, making eye contact with each individual before he spoke. "I am thankful," he started in a quiet voice, "that I have a big screen TV on which to watch Thanksgiving Day football because it makes me a very popular man." Harriet groaned while the others laughed; Bud put his hand up for silence and went on. "Seriously, I am thankful that I have hope and several wonderful reasons to go on living a full, rewarding life that one day will include touch football on Thanksgiving Day before Detroit loses to the invaders from afar and Dallas slaughters whomever the unlucky visitor is."
"Amen to that," Sturgis approved, lifting his glass for a real toast this time.
When the glasses were settled back on the table it was Harm's turn. The aviator served himself and Little AJ some turkey before he began. When he did, he looked in only one place, which everyone in the room could have predicted. They could not have predicted his words. "I personally am most thankful for bees."
Nor could they have known Mac could turn the shade of scarlet she did at his words. They were wrong in assuming embarrassment brought the color to Mac's face, but the real meaning of Harm's words was so personal between the star-crossed officers that explaining it, even had one or the other been so inclined, would have been impossible.
"'smy turn!" Little AJ had waited long enough; from his seat between his godparents – carefully chosen and requested a long time ago – he demanded his turn to speak.
"Go ahead, AJ," his namesake urged, letting parents and godparents off the hook.
"I'm glad my new house is big enough for everyone I love to come today." The Roberts' previous apartment had been fairly spacious, but AJ's point was well made. No way could the entire gathering sit at the same table in the same room. "Your turn, Auntie Mac."
She, too, looked in only one place when she spoke. "I'm thankful for halves."
Harm didn't blush, but the smile on his face got inexplicably – and unbelievably – wider and brighter as he held her gaze. Once again, the real meaning was completely lost on those watching, but the sentiment came through loud and clear. Things were finally moving on the Rabb-Mackienzie romance front.
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0230 Zulu/2130 Local
Mac's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
"I wish I could change it all so you wouldn't have to go," Harm said as Mac sat down beside him on the couch and placed the two cups of coffee on the table in front of them.
"I know you do, Harm. But you can't and I won't back out, so we'll just have to hope that we can nail Colonel Waters or clear him quickly so I can be back to see the end of your first trial as a judge."
He lifted his eyebrow as he slipped his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. "What, so you can laugh at me?"
"No. So I can be even prouder of you than I already am." She picked up her cup then laid her head on his shoulder, tilting her head at just the right angle to sip contentedly and lean at the same time.
"Thank you," he whispered. He, too, reached for his drink; he kissed the top of her head before he settled back against the sofa. "Did you mean it, earlier, when you said you were thankful for halves?"
"Your brains and my looks or my brains and your looks, whichever halves our children inherit are just fine with me, honey." That certainly made a bold statement, she thought. It wasn't quite what she'd meant to say, but it left no doubt how she felt. She looked at him and noticed that the blue-green eyes she could lose herself in so easily were wet with tears. "Harm?"
Without a word, he put his cup down and took hers from her to place it next to his on the table. He reached over her body and pulled her into his lap, cradling her against him and rocking her as his tears continued. "Sarah. My sweet, sweet Sarah."
Mac relaxed into his embrace, feeling again that odd synchronization as their hearts steadied into a unison beat. She trailed the fingers of her left hand through the tears, amazed at seeing her tough sailor cry twice in one year.
They sat like that for a long time, savoring the contact and the intimacy, before he spoke in a husky, angst-tinged voice. "I talked to Sturgis the other day when you were out," he started. "He was wondering what to do about a ring for you. I told him I would take care of it."
Mac inhaled sharply as Harm shifted under her a little, digging into his right front trouser pocket for a moment before he settled again. He held his closed right hand on her thigh.
"I couldn't personalize it too much," he apologized, looking up to meet her soft chocolate eyes. "But I couldn't let you go without something to remember that I'm back here waiting for you." Harm lifted his hand and opened it to her, revealing an elegant gold band. "The inscription reads, 'To my princess, my beloved.'"
Mac choked a little on tears of her own as she let his words take root in her soul. "Oh, Harm." The words came out as a moan that would have been erotic under other circumstances.
He smiled at her, letting the depth of his love begin to show. "Sarah, when you come back, we'll figure out where it really belongs, but for now…"
Mac's eyes widened as Harm took her left hand and slid the ring onto her fourth finger, kissing it into place with tenderness she still wondered at, even after all the times she had seen it and been its recipient. She took his face between her palms and bent to kiss him, but he interrupted her.
"Please don't," he begged, putting his hands over hers and turning his face to kiss each open palm. "Not because I don't want to, Sarah, but because if I do, it won't stop there."
She read the desperation in his eyes and understood suddenly how hard he was fighting his own desire, and why. It was the single most selfless thing any human being had ever done for Sarah Mackenzie, and for it she loved him even more. She had been thinking about giving him a token to keep, but his incredible gesture made her change the item in her mind.
"You okay?" he murmured against her palms after several seconds of silence.
"I'm speechless," she admitted, turning her hands over to catch his and draw them together between their bodies. She took a deep breath. "I was going to give you my Globe and Anchor to keep for me, but after this…" she wiggled her newly be-ringed left hand in his right to emphasize her point, "…I thought of something else that's even more important to me. And easier for you to keep close to your heart."
"Mac, I don't think that black lace bra you wore in Afghanistan will fit me," Harm teased with a smile, unable to keep the joke inside.
"Honey, if I left you a bra, it wouldn't be a black one," she shot back with an impish grin as she took her hands from his and put them behind her back. "Now, seriously." Her hands came back in front of her and she reached up to his neck with one while her left remained in her lap.
He squirmed as her gentle fingers found the steel ball chain of his dog tags and lifted it up over his head. "Open that for me, please, then close your eyes," she ordered in what he had always imagined might be her bedroom voice.
He did as she asked; after a long moment, he felt her arms lift and the tags drop onto his chest, a bit heavier than before. Then her hands glided up his chest and under the tags before she told him to open his eyes. He saw her gift and knew just what he had been given.
"Keep my ring safe, Harm."
"Are you sure, Sarah? I know what this represents to you." It was her Marine Corps ring, the one that represented all she had overcome to be the woman who sat in his arms – the ring that reminded her of the past she never wanted to return to and the future she wanted so badly. And then he realized the new meaning it would have for her after he left with it tonight. Us. "Sarah," he breathed in awe.
"Keep us safe, Harm. For me. For us." She closed her eyes and lowered her head to his chest. "You could stay," she whispered. "Just to hold me."
He needed no convincing; a short time later, he had been out to his car for his overnight bag and both he and Mac had changed into sweats and t-shirts. They stood in her bedroom on either side of her double bed, nervous even without any impending sexual activity.
"Well, this will be a first for this bed," Mac quipped, earning a funny look from Harm. "New mattress and box spring," she answered his unspoken question.
I guess I really did wonder that, Harm smiled to himself. It's time to do the same at my place, too. He lay down on the bed in one swift motion. "I want you in my arms, my princess, my beloved."
Mac joined him, snuggling across his chest with a delighted, peaceful sigh. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, my love."
