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Part 4

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0943 Zulu

22 January 2003

Oasis in Afghan Desert

Afghanistan

Ahmed snuck quietly out of his blanket and walked over to the fire where the stranger lay. Even after all this time, he was still unconscious, and the boy knew that it wasn't a good sign. He picked up the still-damp cloth from where his mother had laid it and put it on the stranger's head.

The man stirred. "Sarah," he murmured.

"Papa," Ahmed called softly.

"Go back to bed, son," his father's groggy voice answered. "Your mother and aunt will take care of the stranger."

"But Papa, he said something," the boy protested.

"Bed, Ahmed, now."

Ahmed sighed, then patted the stranger's chest. He frowned as he felt some paper in the pocket of the man's clothes. Curious, he unzipped the pocket and pulled out a picture. It was a picture of the stranger with a woman and a young girl. "Papa, there's a picture of the stranger and some people in his pocket," he said.

Ahmed heard cloth rustling as his father pushed back his blankets and walked over. "It is probably his family, son."

"The girl?"

"My guess is that she is his daughter, and the woman is his wife. Bed, *now*, Ahmed."

Ahmed laid the picture next to the stranger and patted it gently before he stood to go back to his pallet. It was good to know that the stranger had people waiting for him at home. And it was possible that the man could recover; then they could return him to the people he loved. He pulled the blankets up around his chin, shut his eyes, and began to weave stories about the stranger and his family for himself until he drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

2215 Zulu

29 January 2004

Dulles International Airport

Washington DC

Coates glanced at the picture of the Commander's parents one more time, then looked back at the stream of people coming out of the gates. Admiral Chegwidden had ordered her to pick up Harm's parents at the airport. Coates grimaced; she would have done it even if he hadn't told her to. She owed Harm. If it weren't for him, she would probably still be the screwed up kid she'd been a few years ago.

Coates swallowed against the lump in her throat, trying to force down the tears that pricked her eyes when she thought of the man who'd been her friend. She'd been so happy for him when he and the Colonel had finally admitted their feelings; Mac had even asked her to be one of the bridesmaids at their wedding.

She mustered a smile when the Commander's parents walked out of the gate, then walked over and held out her hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, I'm Petty Officer Coates; the Admiral sent me to pick you two up."

Mr. Burnett took her proffered hand and shook it. "Thank you, Petty Officer," he said quietly.

"Follow me, please," she requested as she started towards the baggage claim. It wasn't long before they'd collected the Burnetts' luggage and loaded it into the car. Mrs. Burnett had yet to say much; her husband was leading her around as if he were afraid that she would bolt ant any given moment. Coates opened the back door of the sedan and helped them inside.

"It's okay, sweetheart," she heard Mr. Burnett murmur.

"No, it's not," the low, angry reply followed. "My baby is dead, just like his father; and it's the damned Navy's fault. They *could* have let him stay safe with JAG instead of sending him out on the same *damn* kind of mission that killed Harmon."

Coates started the car, pulled out of the parking lot, and handed the attendant the ticket and money to cover parking. She deliberately ignored the murmured voices behind her; she couldn't deal with it and drive at the same time. Perhaps later she could offer comfort, but she was having a hard time dealing with Harm's death, too. The funeral was scheduled for the next day, and Tiner had volunteered to help by picking up Harm's grandmother, Mrs. Rabb, from her home in Bealsville to attend.

Tears pricked her eyes yet again and she swallowed hard to try and avoid the tears. It had fallen to her to put the announcement in the paper, and the memorial service had been scheduled for 0800 local the next day with the graveside service scheduled for directly afterward.

Commander Rabb had touched so many lives; the response to the news had been overwhelming, and it looked like the little chapel where the memorial service would be held would be standing room only. Coates eased into the traffic on the freeway and sighed. It wasn't fair that he was gone, but it was a risk they all took--especially career officers like Commander Rabb.

She would be forever grateful to him for helping her straighten out her life. The best memorial to him that she could think of was to keep going, and to try and make a difference the way he had. It was all any of them could really do, as a living testament to what he had done for them. She'd had a little crush on him at the beginning, but that had soon turned to friendship. Her world was a lonelier, darker place with the loss of the man that she'd called friend.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

1005 Local

29 January 2004

Rabb Farm

Bealsville, Pennsylvania

Sarah Rabb stood by the window and stared at the driveway, waiting for the young man who had volunteered to get her arrive. She hadn't quite believed it when she'd gotten the news. She hadn't *wanted* to believe it. In her seventy-eight years, she lost both her husband and her son, but she wasn't prepared to lose her grandson, too.

She was tired of losing people. Sarah glanced at the star in the window and grimaced. There were no more Rabbs to inherit the farm when she died; Harm was gone, and Sergei was firmly ensconced in Russia. She glanced around the familiar room, then looked out the window again only to see the front porch and an empty driveway with snow piled along its sides. A lump rose in her throat as she thought about the young man that they were burying the next day. In her mind's eye, she could see the baby, the little boy, the teenager, and the pain and guilt-ridden young man that he had become after his ramp strike.

Sarah had been so happy when he'd asked for the ring for *his* Sarah. She had hoped that it meant that she would soon have great-grandchildren, but that was not to be so. She sighed again, wishing that she could erase what had happened. 'Foolishness, Sarah. You're getting foolish in your old age,' she scolded herself. 'You can't change history.'

Sarah closed her eyes and laid her face against the cool glass of the window. Her husband, her son, and now her grandson, all gone because they had devoted their lives to protecting freedom. She, of all people, knew the price of it; freedom wasn't free. She opened her eyes and stared unseeingly at the sere winter landscape. The trees in her front yard rose bare and dead-looking in the cold air. A sad smile twitched her mouth as a dark sedan bearing the JAG logo pulled into her driveway, came to a stop, and a young man climbed out.

Sarah reached for her coat and put it on before she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She opened it at the Petty Officer's knock. "You must be Tiner," she said quietly.

"Ma'am," he answered, reaching for the suitcase that was sitting just inside the door. "If you'll just follow me," he turned and headed towards the car.

Wordlessly, Sarah followed, a sad smile on her face. She'd seen the pain in the young man's eyes, and she knew that he must be hurting over her grandson's death, too. She remembered Harm's description of him, he'd described him as sort of a kid brother. Briefly, she wondered how Sergei was taking the news as she climbed into the car and allowed the Petty Officer to shut the door behind her.

Silently, he walked around to the other side, climbed in, fastened his seatbelt, and started the car. He turned the vehicle around quickly and headed down the gravel driveway. The interior of the car was silent; the only thing to be heard was the crunch of the gravel beneath the tires and the sound of small rocks ricocheting from the wheels as they drove away. Sarah studied the young man closely. "How well did you know my grandson?" she asked as she clasped her hands together in her lap.

She caught Tiner's sidelong glance as he prepared to answer. "Not well, ma'am," he admitted. "I didn't see much of him out of the office. He was a good guy."

Sarah lapsed into silence again and stared out the window. The scenery flashed past in a blur of farmland interspersed with patches of still wooded areas. It was a long trip to Falls Church, and it looked like it would also be a quiet one.

Tiner looked at her again. "We'll be going to the Roberts' place first; there's to be a gathering of all the people who knew him best later on tonight, ma'am."

Sarah nodded in acknowledgement, and continued to stare out the window. The lump again rose in her throat, and her gut twisted at the thought of facing so many people before the memorial service. She'd rather just spend the time with his Sarah and the child he'd taken custody of. Before she could stop them, slow tears began to trickle down her face, catching themselves in her wrinkles and making their progress down to drip off her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away; sometimes all a body could do was to let the tears come, because tears could bring healing. Her grandson was missed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

1822 Zulu

29 January 2004

Somewhere over the Atlantic

Commercial airplane

Sergei squirmed uncomfortably in his coach-class seat. He'd been cooped up in airplanes for almost eighteen hours, and he was more than ready to stretch his legs. Bad enough that his brother had been killed, Galina had left him because of it. Apparently, the fact that he had to come back to America for his brother's funeral was the final insult. He grimaced; perhaps their break up was for the best. It was true that they'd been having problems, but he didn't understand why she got upset over the fact that he had to go back to the States for a while!

Stoically, he repressed the tears that welled up when he thought about the brother that he'd barely had a chance to know. It he hadn't gotten restless and gone back to Mother Russia, things might have been different. If only. Those were the words that swam through his head. If only he hadn't been selfish. If only his brother hadn't been so overprotective. If only his brother's mother had let them have the отвратительный* DNA sample.

Perhaps if they'd been able to get him citizenship, he would have stayed longer than a few months. Perhaps he could have joined the Marines and flown helos again. Perhaps he could have stayed with his brother and gone to school. Now they'd never know, and he'd never have a real relationship with his brother. Growing up, he'd always dreamed of the older brother that his mother said he had. He'd dreamed of his father's family. Then, a year after he had gone back to the country that birthed him, his grandmother had called with the news that his big brother had died.

It wasn't fair! Now he'd never have nieces and nephews to spoil, and he'd never be able to be at Harm's and the beautiful Colonel's wedding. Sergei sighed and attempted to focus on the magazine in front of him. He wished he'd been there; perhaps he could have done something to stop it. Perhaps he could have saved his family. His mother wasn't in the best of health, and with Harm's death, and Galina's desertion, he felt very much alone in the world.

Sergei shook his head silently when the stewardess asked him if he wanted anything. Tears pricked at his eyes as he thought about the brother who had tried so hard to protect him. He'd almost flown back after he'd found out from the Colonel that Harm had been thrown in the brig, but Galina had stopped him. He grimaced and repressed his grief. He *would* have come immediately if it weren't for his now ex-fiancee.

Nothing would stop him from coming now. Harm was MIA, just like their father, but unlike Harmon Rabb, Sr., he was presumed dead. Perhaps his brother's mother might be willing to see him, perhaps he could learn more from her about the brother who was almost a stranger. His lips tweaked in a sad smile. It was ironic that he could now be granted the life-long dream of knowing his older sibling now that he was gone.

Sergei turned and stared out the window, watching the ocean pass by underneath him. There was something soothing about the passage of the waves; it was as if it were crying for him, so that he didn't have to. He sighed and tried to stretch out his legs. The plane was scheduled to arrive in Washington in two hours, and then he could take a taxi directly to JAG Headquarters. He was sure that he could find out more about his brother's funeral once he got there than Grandma Sarah had been able to say through her tears. He shifted in his seat and thumbed through the magazine. He wanted, no he needed, to say good bye, but he couldn't until he got there; and the next few hours stretched before him like an eternity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

2400 Zulu

29 January 2004

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, VA

AJ flipped through the papers on his desk, searching for a specific file. He *needed* that file, dammit. It contained the last of the information that he needed for the funeral arrangements. He frowned and lifted another folder before he found it. Everything was in place; the pilots for the missing man formation had volunteered from both Pax River and his old squadron, Chaplain Turner had volunteered to conduct the services, and men whose lives the Commander had touched had volunteered to be his pallbearers. Most of the Recon Marines that Harm had trained as "Gunny Post" had contacted him as soon as the obituaries had hit the papers. The rest of the pallbearers had been volunteers from SEAL team six.

AJ looked up with a puzzled frown as he heard a commotion coming from outside his office. An irate woman pushed past Coates and stormed into his office. "Admiral Chedwiggin?" she asked harshly.

"Chegwidden, Ma'am," he answered, as he stood to walk around the desk. AJ held his hand out to her, hoping that he could defuse the situation. "Ma'am, if you would like to have a seat, you can tell me how I can help you."

The woman glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. "I don't think so," she snapped. "I just wanted to meet the man who caused my *son* to die." She dropped her arms and stepped closer. "My name is Patricia Rabb Burnett; and I'm holding you personally responsible for my son's death."

AJ took a step back, not wanting to really confront her. "Ma'am," he began gently. "I'm sorry for your loss--I miss him, too."

Before he could say anything more, Trish closed the distance between them. "You have *no* right," she snarled. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was her fist heading towards his face. Say what you would about Harm's mother, he thought before he blacked out entirely, she had a great right hook.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

*damned