Before Chapter IV, a jag fanfic

1654 ZULU

Harm and I eat in his hotel room after ordering room service for dinner. His fingers brush against the case folder, and he furrows his brow.

"We'll go back to Larson tomorrow, Harm. Don't worry about it, we'll find out who got Rossi," my attempt at reassurance goes unnoticed.

We've been ordered to go back to JAG by Thursday, tomorrow, to let the Italian authorities handle Rossi. Harm asked for an extension from the Admiral (since Chegwidden seemed to be in a particularly amiable mood prior to learning of the Larson case, Harm's hopes were high), but he was denied.

He sets his meal aside on the coffee table from which we're eating, "Mac, we weren't even needed here. Webb's CIA friends did more work than we did, I just want to find out this one little thing, so our trip isn't completely useless."

I snort, "Little thing?"

He starts hypothesizing, with his hand thoughtfully cupped around his chin, "Larson said when he walked in, he only saw Harper's body. Assuming he's telling the truth, he must have gone in while Rossi was out, and then…why don't we take a walk?"

Where did that come from? I arch an eyebrow, "Harm, it's raining outside…"

"It's drizzling a bit, come on, I need to clear my head-"

I stop him before he goes into a diatribe about the case and how clearing his head helps wonders in solving murders, "It's not like I have anything better to do." I glance at my empty plate.

I don't know what I'm thinking as I follow Harm out, but I do. It's nearly night, and the sky has become a lovely shade of dark blue and purple. The streets that were previously cluttered with people are virtually empty, except for a few vendors packing up, and some young love-struck couples strolling on the sidewalk. My mind drifts back to our conversation as we left the restaurant the first time, I'm not sure why. I want to clear up all the mishaps in Paraguay once and for all, I want Harm to come back to me.

"You know, when I said I cared about you…I really do," I say as we walk.

He tilts his head to look at me, "And when I said it meant a lot to me," he pauses, "I really meant it, it does."

We come upon a bench on the street, and Harm, who has been carrying our umbrella all this time, graciously puts it over me as I sit.

"A girl could get used to this," I say with a sheepish grin. I can't believe I just said that.

To my surprise, he responds, "Anything for you." He turns away, but sits beside me. He's careful not to be too close, but ensures the umbrella is safely over my head.

I take a deep breath, I might as well plunge all the way, "In Paraguay, all those things I said-"

"Mac, don't…" even in the dim light, I can see in his eyes; though he's willing me to stop, he wants to talk.

I breathe in, "I was angry, and I was in that hellhole for a while…I wasn't being rational. I'm so sorry, for the horrible-"

This time, Harm interjects quite forcefully, "I don't need an apology, Mac. It's alright."

"You're going to get one, like it or not."

He nods, accepting it. Harm's presence has become increasingly comforting, I feel much more at ease than the instance in the elevator. He shifts the umbrella to his other hand and gives out a low chortle.

"What?" I say, a smile tugging at my lips. I find it a bit funny, and a bit sad that this man's laugh can bring so much joy to me.

"I was just thinking…" he sighs, "about us."

"Oh."

He nods, "Yeah. We've known each other for eight years now? And we've hurt each other…a lot, and still, we've managed to hold on to our friendship all this time."

I know it's the truth, but I tell him what I've thought all these years, "I suppose we have hurt each other, Harm. But we've helped each other; all the things we've helped each other get through, it outweighs the pain."

Harm shifts the umbrella again. I snatch it from him, his arm is obviously getting tired. He's about to protest when I give him a look that shuts him up. I hold it up, careful not to hit his head when all of a sudden, I pull it down in front of us.

"Mac, what're you doing?" he nearly yells, but catches himself as the rain showers down on him.

I fold up the umbrella and shrug, "It's nice and warm." I have no idea what I'm thinking, but find it amusing when he hikes up his jacket, "afraid of a little sniffle?"

Harm gapes at me with mock disbelief in his eyes, "You know that I fear nothing."

"How about we head back to the hotel, Mr. Fearless?" I stand up, careful to keep the umbrella out of his reach as he trails behind me. We go incredibly slow, but I don't mind. It seems we're finally starting to sort out the mess of Paraguay; I forgot how good it felt to be around my partner so often.

I stop after some time, at the rate at which we are going, it'll take another fifteen minutes to reach our destination. The night sky is now pitch black. Stars speckle the horizon, and I see a small blinking dot moving above us, a plane. I stop and point at it, "It sure looks nice from down here, but I can't stand it when I'm up there."

Harm towers above me, and looks up, his gaze following my finger; he's standing so close that I can smell his cologne. Never has an aircraft captivated me so much, I dare not move. I drop my hand down as the dot disappears as it leaves my line of vision.

He has shoved his hands in his pockets, and glances down at me every so often, as if to make sure I'm still here.

When we get to my hotel room, I usher him inside quietly. We both take off our jackets, which are now sopping wet, and hang them in the tiny closet. I quickly make my way to the bathroom, bringing out two of the hotel's towels and throw one to him. I go through my luggage hastily, finding some flannel pajamas and a standard T-shirt. I start to dry my head by rubbing it quite furiously with the towel, I'm sure Harm is doing the same outside.

I see he's sitting on the bed, the towel in his hands. His hair is relatively dry now, and a bit messy. I glance in the mirror and realize mine is sticking out and has gotten puffy.

"I look like a mess," I say with a smile.

"No you don't. You look great," he states, quite matter-of-factly as he looks up.

I try futilely to smooth out my hair, but it manages to bounce back out of place again.

"Mac…do you love Webb?" he asks. He's not letting it go this time.

I make my way over to him and sit on his right side, "I don't know. I know it sounds stupid, but it just felt nice to have someone's attention like that. I haven't experienced something like that since Mic. I actually thought the relationship might have gone somewhere, but it's been falling apart lately." Harm tilts his head, he wants me to go on, "We haven't been able to spend more than a day every few weeks together. I really don't think I could build a relationship on such a rocky foundation."

"Webb helped us here, with Freeman," Harm adds.

Who's side is he on anyway? "Yes but…"

Harm leans back on the bed nonchalantly, and crosses his arms under his head, "So you're ending it?" I don't respond. "I think I know why you went with him. He saved your life in Paraguay, and you felt obligated to pay him back…well, I think." He thinks that he's offended me, but he's actually hit a nerve.

I turn away, "Maybe it started like that, but when I got to know him more, it evolved into something deeper."

I lean back too, and prop my head on my palm, a gesture very reminiscent of Paraguay, "I just don't know anymore."

The hotel phone rings and I reach over to grab it, I simply don't understand how people manage to call at such inconvenient times, "Hello?"

De Luca's strained voice comes on the other line, and Harm sits up in attention, "Colonel Mackenzie? Larson has escaped from jail."

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1911 ZULU

"How did this happen?" Harm demands. He puts his hands on his hips and towers over the much shorter guard menacingly.

The guard looks frightened upon hearing Harm's tone, "I don't know, Sir. He said he was feeling sick, so I went to cell. Then, I open it, he throws up on floor. He grabs me and says he snap my neck if I don't let him go. Then he grabs my gun and runs out."

"Past the front desk?"

"Yes, he has gun, he's dangerous."

I turn around, exasperated, "Lieutenant?"

De Luca nods, "Colonel."

"We need public support on this search, alert local television stations, radio, post up his pictures. We need to find him."

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1957 ZULU

Back in Harm's hotel room, he is at the desk in the corner, finalizing the report on the laptop. De Luca urged us to go to the hotel, saying that we would be of no help at the station just milling about. I sit on the couch, flipping channels on the television; Harm insisted he would finish the report, so I'm just here, waiting for a call from the police station. They promised to contact us when they got a lead, but so far, it's been fruitless.

"It's really depressing, I haven't thought about it until now," Harm murmurs, without moving his eyes off the computer screen.

I turn off the TV.

Harm closes the laptop and gets up. He comes near me gives a little 'oomph' as he sits down on the couch, "The fix Larson is in, he tried his best to help Harper. And she finally gave in, too. She was going to stop her drugs, and they would probably get together, have a couple of kids and grow old together. Now, Larson can't even say he loved her, and he really did."

"It must be excruciating," I lean my head back on the couch. Harm does the same and glances at me.

"I could relate," Harm admits.

"Really?"

"Well, several times. I think the biggest one Diane. But even Meg…Lieutenant Austin."

Harm's previous partner? I had no idea he felt that strongly about her, "You loved her? And you didn't get to tell her before she left?"

"I cared about her, I don't think I'd call it love. That's why I said I could relate to, not totally understand Larson. After Meg left, I was upset, disappointed that she didn't tell me about why she went. I thought our relationship was getting deeper, more intimate," he's seems quite captivated by the stucco on the ceiling, "But it wasn't all bad – I met you," he adds.

I smirk, "Yeah, and then I ran away like an idiot and nearly got us killed by my Uncle's renegade gang."

"That was pretty dumb," Harm chuckles. I sit up and raise my eyebrows. Harm shrugs, bringing his head up. He has a huge grin plastered on his face, but the smile fades after a moment, "I hope they find Larson soon, and I hope he hasn't done anything stupid."

"I guess he was angry – at the cops for keeping him in the jail, himself for not saving Harper, everyone," I am reminded by the close proximity of Harm, "We all do stupid things when we're angry."

Harm nods, "That's true. Especially for me."

"And me. Every time I've hurt you, Harm. Or anyone else I care about, usually it's because I was too angry to realize what was doing."

Harm clears his throat, wanting to change the subject. I don't know how or why I have come back to this, but I suppose we've been avoiding the conversation. "You know Harm, I don't think I love Clay, not yet. I don't know if I ever could," I whisper.

"Only because he goes out on assignment so often?"

I breathe in, "No, because of you." Oh God, what am I doing?

He wears a bemused expression, "Me?"

"You…I haven't had a successful relationship in years because I-" I will myself to stop before I blurt something out that will get us both hurt and re-break what has slowly been patched up over the past few days.

He understands, despite my lack of proper sentence structure, "In Paraguay, you said we could never have…"

"I was angry in Paraguay. I was so angry," I'm struggling to keep my voice steady, "and I ruined everything between us."

"We're still holding on, Mac. And I'm going to keep on holding as long as you'll let me," Harm says gently. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it softly.

I don't know where the filter between my brain and mouth is today, "I'll let you do anything."

As if on cue to interrupt yet another emotionally jarring conversation, my phone rings shrilly. Harm reaches out across the coffee table and pulls it towards him. He hands it to me.

"Hello?" I say, skipping formalities. I look anywhere but Harm, and awkwardly shift the phone from one ear to the other.

"Sarah!" it's Freeman, "Someone saw your missing guy, he's at the docks, same area where the woman was murdered, we still need to find him though."

I don't want to leave, but duty calls, yet again, "We'll be there in twenty."

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1032 ZULU

"He's in there," Freeman says, pointing the building where Harper's body was discovered. When we arrived, Freeman was alone, it seems he's helping us of his own volition, not because the agency made him, "We should go in."

I stop him as he pulls out his gun, "Wait, I'll go in first. When we talked to him at the jail, he didn't seem like a bad kid-"

"Mac, don't be stupid," Harm hisses and pulls me aside, "the guard said Larson was armed."

I take a step back and look at Freeman, who is wearing an amused expression, "Not anymore, found his gun discarded a few hundred feet back there."

I give Harm 'the look' and walk towards the building, but he follows me regardless. I can't stop him, and I don't try.

Surrounding the building, there is police tape; I duck under it and briskly make my way to the entrance.

Inside, we immediately see Larson's figure, a mere shadow in the dim light. He's leaning against one of the many boxes against the walls.

I walk up to him, unsure at first what to do, "Andrew?"

"Go away…Ma'am," his tone is harsh.

Harm stoops down to meet with him at eye level, "What're you doing here Petty Officer?"

Larson snorts in contempt, "After what I've done, I don't deserve to be called a PO. Hell, I'll be kicked out of the Navy, spend a few dozen years in jail…"

"What did you do?" I ask.

He buries his face in his hands, "I killed that man. Rossi…I killed him."

"When?" Harm whispers, making sure not to be to pushy.

"I wasn't lying when I said I heard the scream, Sir. I ran into the warehouse, and saw her body, Lisa. I ran up to her. There was a gun on the crate beside me, and I just picked it up, and saw the man walk back into the warehouse, with the knife in his hand. He ran up to me, saying something in Italian, and I knew he did it. I knew he killed her. I just shot him, right then and there."

I breathe in, he was guilty all this time, "Then?"

"I ran back to the ship, with the gun. I threw it overboard and got to my quarters. Then I told the police a few hours later about Lisa's murder," he looks up, his expression is confident, "I have no regrets. That bastard deserved to be tortured after what he did…I'd do it again. But Lisa won't come back."

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1114 ZULU

I hang up the phone just as Harm comes out of his bathroom and smile mischievously. It's started to drizzle again, and the impatient patter of water can be heard against the thick glass of the window. Inside the hotel room, only one light is on. The rest of the illumination is provided by the reflections from the street lamps outside.

He heads to his luggage and tucks some clothes away slowly, "Who'd you call?"

"The airline. Ordered you a veggie meal. I didn't want to hear your stomach screaming in pain all the way back to D.C. again."

He stands up to his full height and ambles towards me. He studies me for a moment, "Thanks."

Harm managed to convince the authorities to hold off on the trial in Italy. Larson will be in court in D.C., a few weeks from now. Harm aims to defend him, just as the Admiral asked him to, and I'll be right behind him.

"How about one last walk in the rain Sailor, before we get on that plane?"

He's a bit surprised, but the hesitancy melts as he puts out his arm with a warm smile. I turn off the light, and we head outside together. I'm sure I'm grinning so much that the Admiral knows how happy I am all the way from D.C.

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END CHAPTER IV

[ A/N ] Thanks for reviews. I'm going to extend the story to when they go back to Washington and start Larson's trial.