A/N: Five chapters later, the plot finally…um…shows up. Yeah. Sorry about that. Thanks for hanging in there.

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Bethesda Naval Hospital, ICU

Mac

            "Ow," I mumble to myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain stabbing through my head. "Ow, ow, ow, ow." I try to lift my hand to my forehead and another jolt of pain stops me, this time from my arm. "Damn!"

            I twitch my other hand cautiously and encounter resistance. I crack one eye open, cautious of my raging headache, and come face-to-chest with a familiar uniform.

            "Harm?"

            I tap my fingers against his palm, trying to get him to let go, and he mutters something unintelligible in his sleep. I open my eyes fully, my headache settling into a holding pattern, and deduce from the sterile lighting and paint job that we're in a hospital. The dull throb in my right hand leads my gaze to it, and I see it's been meticulously bandaged and someone's set it on a pillow. I try carefully to move it again, and the resulting agony assures me I won't be writing briefs for a few weeks at least.

            Writing briefs…the thought leads me back to Harm, sleeping in an odd position next to me. His head is resting on my pillow and his torso is on the bed, but his bottom half is twisted around in one of those awful hospital visitor's chairs. His right hand is wrapped around my uninjured one, and I squeeze it before pulling mine away.

            That motion wakes him, and he blinks down at me for a moment before he really registers that I'm awake.

            "Hey," he whispers gently, sitting up and reaching over to brush my hair away from my face. "Welcome back, marine."

            "What happened?" I ask groggily, reaching for my injured arm with my free hand. He covers both of them with his hand, stroking my fingers with his longer ones.

            "How much do you remember?"

            I frown, trying to think. "Um…" I begin, then stop and look around. "Is this Bethesda?"

            "Got it in one," he tells me with a smile.

            "I'm completely lost. How did we get here?"

            His smile dims slightly. "You got here by helicopter after your accident. You and Bud were driving back from Norfolk, and you were hit by a truck."

            I frown. "How did we get to Norfolk? The last thing I remember, you and I were still on the Watertown."

            His frown matches mine. "The Watertown?"

            "Yeah. The submarine, remember? Low ceilings, shared quarters, you and me at each other's throats for two weeks straight? You warned me about Hodge, but he blinded me – I couldn't see, and I knew he was trying to kill you. Then he grabbed my throat and I couldn't breathe –" I shiver, trying not to remember the feeling of needing oxygen and not being able to get it, not being able to breathe and trying so hard. Knowing I was going to die.

            "I thought I was dead."

            There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He wipes them away carelessly, all of his attention focused on me.

            "You were," he whispers, taking a deep breath, and I know he's replaying it in his mind. "I had to do CPR. I thought I was going to lose you, Mac."

            I smile. "Can't lose me, flyboy," I assure him, and he gives me a watery smile in return. "So when was this car accident?" I ask, still unsure what's going on. "I don't remember anything after Hodge. How long have we been back?"

            He looks down for a moment, then back up at me. "Mac, the accident was three days ago, but we came back from the Watertown two years ago."

            I gape at him. "Two years?"

            He nods slowly.

            "When is it now? I mean, what's the date?"

            He checks his watch reflexively. "April 12th, 2001."

            I take a moment to think about that. "Jesus."

            "I'll get the doctor."

            He moves to get up, but I grab his arm. "Harm, please don't go. I have no idea what's going on. I don't want –"

            I break off, but he's figured out the gist of it. I don't want to be alone two years after the last memory I can recall. He reaches over me instead and hits what must be a call button for the nurse, because one comes in a few moments later.

            "What can I do for you, Commander Rabb – Oh!" she exclaims, seeing me. "Welcome back, Colonel Mackenzie. It's about time." She smiles. "I'll run and get Doctor Bynes."

            She disappears and I turn back to Harm, eyes wide.

            "Colonel?"

            "Lieutenant Colonel," he informs me, lips quirking into a smile. "I made full commander a few months later. I'm amazed you don't rub it in more often than you do. Ma'am."

            "Must have been slipping my mind," I inform him. "From now on, feel free to do the paperwork yourself, oh junior officer of mine."

            He chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll just pass it down to Bud."

            My mind latches on to that and I nearly jump out of bed. "Bud!" I exclaim, and Harm reaches out to restrain me. "Harm, you said he was in that accident with me. Is he all right?"

            "He's fine," he reassures me. "He broke his ankle; he'll be off crutches in six weeks. No major life-threatening injuries."

            "Good," I sigh, leaning back. "I hate to think how poor Harriet would manage, pregnant and…oh my god. She's not pregnant anymore. It's been two years."

            "They named him after the admiral. AJ Roberts," Harm tells me, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "I know this must be hard for you, but we'll figure it out, I swear."

            I nod slowly, and a memory comes flitting back to me; a fleeting glimpse of Harm on the front steps of JAG, and a promise…

            "Don't make a promise you can't keep, flyboy," I tell him, remembering, and his eyes widen.

            "I haven't yet," he whispers, and I nod. That was the right answer; it feels right. "You remember that?"

            "Not what it meant," I reply, "but I'm sure it was something important. I was so happy when you said it."

            He smiles again. "It was the most important promise I've ever made," he replies, and we're interrupted as there's a quick knock at the door before an unfamiliar, Santa Clause-esque man comes in.

            "Morning, you two," he says cheerily, grabbing the chart from the foot of my bed. I can't help imagining him in a red-and-white fur outfit instead of green surgery scrubs.

            "Morning, Doc," Harm replies easily, smiling at the man. "Mac, this is Doctor Bynes. He's one of your biggest fans."

            "Never doubted you'd pull through," he confides to me in a stage whisper, and I can't help smiling. He's got great presence.

            "There's something wrong with me," I tell him, and he gives me a quick grin.

            "Think it has something to do with being hit by a truck?" he guesses, and I laugh, surprised.

            "I think so," I reply. "Apparently, it's April of 2001."

            His pen stills on the paper, and he looks up at me solemnly. The humor is gone from his eyes. "When should it be?"

            "The last thing I remember is February of 1999."

            He sets the chart down slowly. "You're right, Colonel. That is a problem." He looks over at Harm, then back to me. "I'll schedule you for another set of scans, but your last ones came back normal. If I had to guess, I'd say this is a reaction to the trauma and it'll go away on its own eventually. Until then, we'll keep running tests. I think we ought to keep you here until we're sure."

            "I think that's a good idea," Harm agrees, and I nod. I'm not the world's biggest fan of hospitals, but until they can figure out what's wrong with my memory, I'm pretty sure this is where I should stay.