1400 Local, May 4, Falls Church, VA

"Admiral on deck!" Gunny Galindez barked as Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Tom Boone stepped into the JAG bullpen.

"As you were. Gunny, is Capt. Rabb in his office?" the highly decorated flag officer asked. "Yes sir he is. May I show you the way?" "No, gunny. That will not be necessary. I have been in that office more times that I want to remember." With that RADM Boone walked off toward the largest of the glass walled offices on the opposite side of the bullpen.

Victor Galindez, Gunnery Sgt., USMC, could not help but think, "Jesus. There's a tough guy if there ever was one" as the admiral knocked on Harm's door. "I know that's the captain's new boss, but I am not sure I would want to have to report bad news."

Without raising his head Harm signaled the guest at his door to come in with the wave of a hand. "I'll be right with you as soon as I finish this up." "That's fine. I can wait." The visitor's voice snapped Harm to attention so quickly that he almost dumped his chair over backward. "Sir, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry about it Harm," Adm. Boone said as he smiled at his long- time acquaintance and periodic defender. "If I had wanted to be piped aboard I would have let you know I was coming. How are things going with getting wrapped up here?

"The last couple of cases are on the downhill slide sir. I should be completely out of a job here within the week," Harm said. "I have also been getting a ton of paperwork, staff studies, and briefing invitations since the ball started rolling. I really haven't had a chance to get into much of the paperwork, but as soon as I have that last of these briefs filed I will climb into the ring with the paperwork monster."

"Harm, don't worry about it right now. There will be more than enough time to try to digest staff work later. The main things I want you to do for me 'right now' are finish here; take a few days leave to clear your head; round up some administrative help, get current in a Plastic Bug (F/A- 18), and read some military history. Once the last of the administrative bullshit is out of the way I'm going to stick you on a very fast track, and I don't want to have you focused on anything other than the work at hand.

"Captain, I don't want to wave the flag at you here, but if our work is done right we will alter the course of US naval history. The damn cold war is over, and in many ways the world is a more dangerous place because of it. And to make it worse right now we have too many senior officers who are still getting ready to fight the Red Banner fleet, nuke the 'Commies' or storm ashore on some beach on the Kamchatka Peninsula and that war, thank God, was over before the shooting really started.

"Get your shit together Harm. We have a ton of work ahead. I want your recommendations for staff postings, budget projection, and a general work plan before you take off on leave. Oh, before I forget, 'welcome on board.'"

For the first time in years Harmon Rabb was confronted with the real possibility that he was in way over his head and it was time to swim for shore. A rain-soaked night trap on a pitching deck with a damaged Tomcat really looked good right now. At least there a thousand administrative details were not likely to kill him with a million paper cuts.

It was time for some serious mentoring. "Tiner, is the Admiral busy?"

1400 Local, May 4, At sea with the 3rd MEF

"Mac, we've got responsibility all the hell over this end of the Med and the upper end of the Persian Gulf and very little in the way of home- grown analysis of the situation. All of the deep thinkers in Washington and at 6th Fleet seem to be busy on something else. We need to grab all of the assets we can assemble and get a current threat analysis done yesterday," Lt. Gen. Ben "Blackwater" Buckner said to his new G-2. "The intelligence operation here has been a mess. I don't think we are hurting for information . we're hurting for coherent analysis. And the Southern Command feather merchants at McDill are too busy soaking up the Florida sun to help much on this side of the world.

"Now that we are a little more sure that we are secure you need to crank your troops up for some real analysis. Our threat board looks like the one in the Pentagon because we are just using their guidance. We need to do more in theater. Remember, the 'deep thinkers' didn't think the Japs would bomb Pearl Harbor or the Nut of Baghdad invade Kuwait.

"We're now in a position to directly receive more of the intelligence take from NSA and others. We need to update our contingency plans and be a lot surer we are looking at the most realistic possibilities.

"Get after it Colonel. Also, good job in cleaning up after your predecessor. Jesus that was a disaster. How many people did you salvo off after you and the JAG from Naples got done?"

"Twenty-six, Sir, and we're still a little short handed after that blood letting. Has COMMEDFOR recovered from his near stroke yet?" Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie inquired with a straight face.

"Yeah, Mac. He's recovered but I don't think that pansy-assed Air Force one-button he's got running the intelligence operation will ever get over it. In fact, there's a rumor that some Washington hot shot from Foggy Bottom or Langley was seriously talking about having him court marshaled for dereliction. The general also said that the Washington gunslinger asked about you."

'Well, well. Clayton Webb is still the master spook,' Mac thought. 'His family is so well known in conservative political circles I'm surprised he's still in the field and not in some big office.'

"Mac, I don't want to kill your afternoon. Thanks for the update. You are dismissed."

Later Sarah Mackenzie sat at her desk and took a moment to think back over the last few weeks. Professionally it had been almost a mind-altering experience. The jump from the relatively well ordered world of JAG to the fleet and into a highly visible intelligence posting was almost enough to cause a nose bleed. When she reported for duty with the 3rd MEU the intelligence shop was a mess. The commander had been fired. Most of the troops were either poorly trained or under motivated to perform. And to top things off no one had a handle on what the 3rd was really in the Med to accomplish or what they were really capable of for that matter.

Mac had been set back for a couple of days while she processed how deep the swamp she now commanded was before moving out. Things were not great now, but at least the intelligence operation was handling information, building a clearer understanding of the risk situation in their area of operations, and taking a detailed look at their likely scenarios of deployment. Now, if the region's lengthy list of political extremists, religious radicals, and nuts in general would just not do anything stupid for the next few weeks maybe we will really have our shit together, she thought.

Now, if things on the personal front were just a little better life would be okay. Not great, but at least okay.

The last few days in Washington before heading to the Med had been a roller coaster ride of epic proportions. Her tenuous engagement had collapsed from the weight of the baggage both parties were toting; a growing personal relationship with her long-time partner had been caught up in a swirl of white water involving too many old partners, job-related hyper stress, and just general confusion and fatigue.

Sarah Mackenzie had to uproot her entire life, leave a job she loved, travel half way around the damn world, move into a new home about the size of the average bathroom ashore, salvage a sensitive intelligence position, and look good in the process. "My world. Welcome to it. Shit!" Having her professional life turned inside out was part of the job; having her personal life come unraveled was another story.

Mac's thoughts turned to Harmon Rabb and their chilly parting as she looked over the azure, calm ocean. "Where is all of this going to wind up?" As Mac stood watching the gently moving sea her mind could not help but slip back in time and think about the last few weeks in Washington.

April 19, Washington, DC

The last few days had not been easy. Her fiancée had flipped out over the transfer insisting that she resign her commission and stay in the states. When Mic pushed the issue she pushed back and the conversation got heated. After both people vented their respective pent up supply of invective, Mac pulled the engagement ring off her left hand, flipped it at Mic Brumby's feet and walked the hell out of the door.

An unsuspecting Harm found her several hours later sitting on the couch in his apartment with an open Stoli bottle on the table and a drink sitting along side quietly sweating onto the glass tabletop. "Mac? Are you okay, Mac?"

"Yeah. Fucking Peachy. I really can't describe how peachy things are. In fact if it got any better you would have to medicate me just to stand the fucking joy. How has your day been?"

Harm was rarely at a loss for words, but Mac's little speech, coupled with the virtually toneless delivery stopped him cold. His partner rarely swore, and when she was upset she very seldom expressed herself in a voice so completely devoid of emotion. 'What the hell do I now?' So, he simply did what Mac had done so frequently over the years when he was teetering on the brink. He walked on into the loft, pulled his jacket off, and just sat down beside her pulled her onto his shoulder.

"Mac, I'm here for you." Then the brittle cover Sarah Mackenzie had pulled over her life shattered into a million tears, and Harm was reduced to patting her back and whispering that it would be okay. As he was trying to comfort his partner he couldn't help but think about better times. After a bit Mac started to get her composure back, or at least regain a little emotional balance and awareness of where she was.

"Harm, how long have you been here? How did you get in?"

"Mac, you were sitting on my couch when I walked into my apartment. When did you get here? More importantly, what's wrong?"

Without looking up Mac rambled on:"In no particular order, I really don't know how long I have been here. I must have wondered around the district for a couple of hours and just seemed to wind up here and used my emergency key to get in. I'm here because I can't think of any other place to be; other than under the bar at McMurphy's and Larry ran me out of there. I think coming here was his idea."

Harm thought he knew Sarah Mackenzie like the inside of a book, but as he stared at the shell of a person sitting along side he decided he didn't know anything about his long-time partner and best friend, then the 'what's wrong question was answered with a lightning bolt between his ears. "Mac, Sarah, what did Mic do? What has happened over the last 48 hours while I was in Norfolk?"

Sarah Mackenzie was seldom at a loss for words, but the language just failed her. The tears started again, partially because of frustration, partially because of the sense of loss. More than anything else the bitterest tears were caused by anger directed internally because of the nearly empty Stoli bottle and externally because things were just soooo fucked up.

"Harm, I'm really sorry about just showing up. Mic and I had a four- star fight about my transfer. I already had a belly full of his attitude and that was just the last damn straw. I really don't remember a lot of what was said, but I have a very clear memory of the look on his face when I threw the engagement ring at him and walked out the door. After that things get a little misty," Mac explained when she got a grip on her emotions again.

"I really needed to get away. I really didn't want a drink, and I really don't need to be here unloading another load of garbage on your doorstep. I'll just . . . ."

"Mac, you won't do anything. You will sit down, and you will depressurize," Harm ordered as his partner started to pull herself off the couch. "It's been years since you seriously practiced your DWI technique, and I really don't want to have to bail your happy ass out of the lockup."

The sharp needle of Harm's comment hurt Mac to the core, but when she turned around to lash out the Cheshire cat smile on her partner's face took most the sting out of the moment. "Counselor one of these days your Alligator mouth is going to seriously overload your leaky little boat and that damn smile is not going to get you out of trouble."

"You're probably right Mac," Harm said, "but right now I'm betting I could take you in an unfair fight. No joking now. You don't need to be on the street. You don't need to be home alone, and for sure you don't need another hit or two off the Stoli.

"For Christ's sake also don't get all maudlin either. It sounds like you have had one to many life changes dumped into your lap and popped a circuit breaker. I'll find you a set of sweats and you can crash on the couch tonight and we will try to find some way to 'fix' things in the morning."

LTC Mac Mackenzie, old school USMC and Silver Star winner, was AWOL. Sarah Mackenzie, gold medal winner in the 2001 screwed up life competition was just too tired to fight it anymore. She took the sweats and t-shirt from Harm as he headed for bed, changed and crashed into a heap on the couch. As she drifted into the arms of vodka-induced sleep she was overtaken by the idea that yet again she had turned to the only person, other than her Uncle Matt, who would take her in, make her mad, take away most of the anger with a smile or a joke, and tell her that somehow they would 'fix' things tomorrow when she climbed full of shame back onto the proverbial wagon - Harmon Rabb. Shit!

0230 Local, April 20

Something, the different surroundings, movement, a funny noise, something soaked through the haze and Mac opened her eyes to very quietly look around to see (1) where she was, (2) what the hell was going on, and (3) something else. Silhouetted in the dim light was the tall shadow of a familiar figure pulling an Afghan up to cover her in the cool room. The conversation that followed was classic: "Huh? What the hell? Harm? Oh shit."

"Be quiet Mac. You were cold as a clam. Now go back to sleep." With that she slid back into the darkness only to be rousted from sleep before dawn by the call of nature. Coming out of the bathroom Mac looked at her partner sleeping soundly, and it was just more that she was ready for. The hangover, the mess in her life, the uncertainty waiting in the Med, moving away from the one guy she knew who accepted her virtually unconditionally. It was just too much right now.

Mac pulled the covers back and slid into bed with Harm slowly. She curled up against his back and went to sleep again this time more deeply.

0715 Local, April 20

Mac's day in the Rabb household started with a bang. More accurately it with a crash (something shattering against the bedroom wall) followed by shouting, slamming doors and then a thundering return to silence. 'What the hell happened?' Mac asked herself as she tried to fight off the effect of the now fully developed hangover and she climbed out of the bed. 'Harm's bed? Oh, shit!'

Mac navigated out into the living room to find Harm staring at the door with a very strange expression on his face. "Harm, what, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, Mac. I'm fine. The flying vase didn't hit me. The bookend just hit the mirror, not me. And, thank Christ, Renee does not carry a gun, so I didn't get shot. I guess I really am okay. How do you feel?" Harm obviously wasn't hitting on all cylinders, and Mac really was having a hard time focusing on the here and now. "Okay. Harm I'm really trying now. What happened?"

"The short version: Renee flew back from the coast on the Red Eye and let herself in. The noise from the door woke me up, and I sat up just as we both saw you asleep - in my bed. Then the shit hit the fan. It was a show. For a little girl she put on one whale of a performance, and I'll bet she didn't learn some of the language at the UCLA Film School. I don't want to think about the long version right now, but I think it's a safe bet that she's busy making reservations on the 9 o'clock flight back to LA right now," Harm said with a shrug at the end as he turned to face Mac. "That's about as good as it gets at this hour. I'm going to start the coffee, take a shower, then see what else the morning will hold. At least it's Saturday and I don't have the duty, so I'm hoping the rest of the morning will unfold uneventfully. Give me 15 minutes to trot through the shower then that end of the apartment is all yours."

The full meaning of the morning's slam-bang start was finally starting to soak through to Mac. "Renee? Goddamn, Harm I didn't . . . ." The rest of the thought evaporated. 'Isn't this lovely.' Mac managed to reason as the coffee pot bubbled into life. 'I'm going to stagger into the kitchen, pour about half of the fucking coffee down my throat along with a batch of drain cleaner and pray for a quick and merciful death,' and with that another day of the Harm and Mac saga started.

Things did not improve dramatically over the balance of the weekend, but life in general did look a little better by Monday morning at least until Staff Call kicked the new week, Mac's last week at JAG, off.

April 22, Falls Church, VA

"Attention. Admiral on deck!"

"Good morning Gunny. As you were people." The Admiral took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed the senior staff. "It occurs to me that this the last time we will all be around this table as a team. Mac's last day is Friday, and I am guessing that Captain Rabb will start spending more time on his new assignment in the near future. So, Mr. Roberts you will start having to pick up some of the slack in addition to your current caseload, and our new people will start reporting for duty today.

"Harriett, please be sure we have everything under control for CDR Pike and LCDR Austin this morning; Gunny, effective immediately you will be reassigned to the investigations section. You're going to be short-handed for a bit, but we do not want NCIS poaching on JAG territory.

"To handle the last of the scuttlebutt issues, there is no news on the new JAG. The Chief, SECNAV, and BUPERS are still beating the bushes. Once there is something concrete I will let you know, so don't let your imaginations get out of control." With that the morning's business was started.

Staff Call broke up just over an hour later, and as everyone was heading across the bullpen for coffee refills Kate Pike walked through the door and back into Harm's life. Literally. Or at least into his arms when he made the turn out of the kitchen. The coffee went one way, and the two officers wound up tangled in a huge, attention-getting hug.

"God, Harm. I've been waiting for a big hug from you, but I didn't expect it right now," Kate laughed as both officers disentangled themselves. "Damn, you look good, particularly for a guy being exiled to the Pentagon. I've got to make my manners with the Admiral. Take me to lunch and we'll get back up to speed," Kate breezed as she hustled off to the Admiral's office.

Mac watched the show with ill-concealed interest while Harm watched Kate's rolling walk toward Tiner's desk. "Okay flyboy. Cage those eyeballs and reboot your mind. We've got to get the final report drafted on the Feinberg incident before noon or we will both be in trouble."

Meg Austin's late afternoon arrival, after Harm's lengthy lunch with Kate Pike, wasn't as dramatic, but just as physical and emotional. The tall Texan had reported to the Admiral before Harm and Kate returned from lunch, and when she walked out into the bullpen she made a beeline for Harm's office. Through the open door and two strides to the desk Meg all but jumped into Harm's lap. "Heads up. Incoming! Where's my welcome back hug Captain?"

The laughter that followed echoed through the office and into Mac's consciousness. 'Damn. I guess the entire club is here. I can't wait to see how this all works out now that two of Harm's old partners are back in the fold.' Despite her best efforts not to delve into how Kate Pike and Meg Austin fit into the complicated picture that was Harmon Rabb, the investigator in Mac had developed a very interesting story line.

When Harm and Kate were partners their incendiary relationship was the worst kept secret in Washington, a city known for not keeping confidential matters confidential very long. In fact, it was widely accepted that Kate's departure from JAG to a high profile NATO job was her reward for leaving quietly rather than stick around as a potential embarrassment to the incoming JAG - one A. J. Chegwidden.

Meg Austin was another story. In fact the lack of a clear story line was startling. Harmon Rabb had been linked at one time or another with virtually every single female who passed through the JAG headquarters operation. In fact there was a particularly interesting story about Harm's short relationship with Harriett before she and Bud got hooked up.

No one could tell a verifiable Rabb/Austin story, but everyone who worked with or around the two officers was convinced there was a lot more fire than smoke in that relationship. Webb even offered the offhanded observation that Meg's sudden departure from JAG was the price paid for a long weekend in Maine.

'Sarah stop this,' Mac mentally shouted at herself. 'You are looking at Kate Pike and Meg Austin like they are they are poaching on your turf. Why? Either someone has been seriously spiking your catnip or you are bordering on being jealous of two women and their relationship with a man you have just barely been able to call a friend at times as recent as a few weeks ago. This is such bullshit. You've got to get a grip and hang on for a few more days.'

Looking at her reflection in the window Mac's pragmatic side knew this was all true. If Harm was interested long term in Kate Pike that would have been a 'done deal' long ago. Meg Austin was another story. The tall blonde Texan just looked sooo good. 'Sarah. Stop this now.'