Disclaimer: Don't own JAG blah blah…..

A/N: Sorry for the really long delay, I had three weeks vacation wit no computer access and was very busy before and even more now. With 12 to 14 hours work every day, there's not much time for writing and my social life is non-existent. I will update, it will just happen slowly so have patience. If I get many reviews I'll try to update sooner. To make up for the delay I've made this chapter longer than usual.

Part 12

"Why the Hawaiian shirt, and why so cheerful, where's your suit and your usual negative attitude," Harm smiled slightly when Webb appeared in the doorway. "Are you going to Hawaii," he continued.

"No, Western Samoa, it's kind of the same thing. It's and island somewhere in the pacific, it's damn hot and has lots of palms and stuff." Webb looked down at the shirt. "I'm just trying to blend in, not too many people in business suits travel to Samoa."

"But why Samoa," Bud interjected.

"We think Palmer headed in that direction, we're on the way to the airport" Gunny entered the room, wearing the same outfit as Webb. He had let Webb off at the main entrance and had been driving around a little to find a parking space.

Mac hadn't caught up with Harriet, she lost her in one of the many corridors and returned to Harm's room. When she spotted Webb and Gunny in their rather unusual outfits she just had to laugh.

"What?" Webb asked, he had his suspicions why she was laughing.

"Identical Hawaiian shirts and kaki pants? Come on, isn't that a little too much the guy-couple-in-the-nineteen-eighties look?" Mac said with a chuckle.

"Uh, it was his idea," Gunny and Webb quickly stated simultaneously, pointing at each other.

"But if I may say so, you would make a fine couple," Harm tried to keep a serious tone. With that they all burst out in laughter, even Gunny and Webb joined in. But Harm's laughter didn't last very long, it was too painful. He tried to hide the pain, Mac and the others had enough concerns, but it wasn't easy when it felt like a missile exploded an inch from his head whenever he moved it.

- - - - -

"We will make it to Atafu before the storm arrives, won't we?" Palmer asked the pilot who had introduced himself as Bob, a little worried. They were still an hour from their destination, and the dark skies were much closer to the small plane now than an hour ago, thunder could be heard in the distance. They had also experienced more and more turbulence the last hour.

"Sure we will, Mr. Ramsey, and even if we should get into the storm, this baby can ride it off, she has never let me down," the suntanned, slightly overweight pilot grinned and patted the arm-rest of his chair.

"Of cause she hasn't let you down, yet, if she had she wouldn't have been flyin' around now; she probably would have been on the bottom of the ocean somewhere." Palmer sounded slightly nervous.

"No worries, we'll get there before the storm," the pilot reassured him while opening a can of coke and drinking it all at once.

"By the way, how long have you had this plane," Palmer asked.

"Around a month," was the answer he got, but not the one he wanted.

Almost an hour went by in silence, Palmer sat in the back, oh he could have killed for a drink to calm his nerves, literally, but the pilot had only coke, and that wouldn't make it any better. The storm came closer and closer, it was unpleasantly close when finally the pilot said that Atafu was in sight and that they would arrive in 15 minutes. Atafu was a tiny green spot in the vast blue ocean. Palmer was relieved. The pilot called the tower and got his landing permission, it wasn't actually a tower, more a small shack made out of mostly sheet iron, palm leaves and a few crumbled bricks. They approached the dusty airstrip, when suddenly a lightening illuminated the sky, the plane started shaking violently and suddenly a loud thunk was heard from the left side of the plane.

"What was that?" Palmer said upset; he had gone from slightly to very worried.

"Oh shit, that was the left motor, it's dead," Bob yelled back, desperately trying to steer the shaking plane towards the strip. "Don't worry, I've seen worse before, I haven't told you how my previous plane met its end, have I? Let's just say that losing a motor when in a one-motor plane is worse than losing a motor in a two-motor plane," he said laughing while trying to land the plane.

That was definitely not reassuring; Palmer felt his stomach turning inside out and closed his eyes. All the color drained from his face.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Palmer signed of the cross and started praying. He couldn't believe he heard himself say that, he hadn't done that for so many years. But before he knew it he felt the plane touching the ground and losing speed as it went down the runway before halting completely. They had made it. As soon as they stopped Bob jumped out of the plane to take a look at the damages.

"Damn, the motor is completely busted. We have to get a new one; we can't proceed with only one motor.

"Can we get that here?" Palmer looked around. It didn't seem promising. Except for the shack and a fuel pump, there was not much there.

"Nope, have to get it from Samoa, will probably take at least a couple of days."

"A couple of days, I haven't got the time for that," Palmer said impatiently.

"Why? Is someone looking for you, are you on the most wanted list or something," Bob joked.

If he only knew how close to the truth he was. Palmer was depressed. Would he never get to his small tropical paradise? Palmer was in a state now that was absolutely nothing like what he used to be. Nothing of him reminded of the scheming, unprincipled Palmer that Harm knew.

An old man with a cane limped out from the shack. He had a long whit beard and only two teeth left in his mouth, and it seemed like they were barely hanging on, like everything else about the man. He approached them. "You almost fall from sky after lightening, but you a good pilot" he said in broken English, looking at Bob.

"Malo ni Tainafi," Bob made a low bow, reached out his right hand and his look made Palmer understand that he should do the same.

"Your plane broken, then you stay with us until plane is fixed. We go to village." The old man wandered off towards a large group of coconut palms.

"What about the low bow, do you know this man?" Palmer asked Bob wondering after the man had left.

"His name is Tainafi, he's one of the elderly in this village, and that's the way the elderly should be greeted around here. I've often fueled up my plane here, so you can say I know him," Bob explained.

They started to follow the old man, and about ten minutes later they arrived in a small village with mostly small huts made out of the only thing it seemed they had a lot of, palm trees, but a few brick buildings, amongst them a church were placed in the middle of the small settlement. They were led to a palm hut on the outskirts of the village; inside there were two beds and not much more.

The old man pointed at the church. "You welcome to join our service tomorrow morning." Then he turned around and left the hut.

"I'm not going to service, that's for sure," Palmer stated.

"I'm not very religious, but I'll go. The villagers would feel offended if we as guests wouldn't show up. The church is everything for this people."

Palmer didn't like the church. He was dragged there every Sunday by his parents when he was a kid. He was home schooled, so it was the only time in the week he was allowed to leave the house, but also the only time he would have liked better to stay home. He hated the old father preaching about eternal damnation for those who didn't believe, or those who didn't follow the then commandments. People were crying and shaking of fear whenever they met the father's eyes. And then there was confession every week. Palmer wasn't old when his philosophy changed from "Thou shall not kill" to "An eye for an eye." His parents had been his first victims, the day he made his last confession, on his14th birthday. He played the role of the scared little boy perfectly. He had told the story about how burglars killed his parents so convincing that no one even doubted it, already then his acting skills where great.

Bob followed Tainafi to the only phone in the village so that he could call his base in Samoa and make them send a motor with the next plane.

- - - - -

"Time for physiotherapy, Mr. Rabb," a cheerful voice announced. A woman in her fifties entered the room smiling. Harm didn't look forward to this. His head was pounding, so he had tried to move his head as little as possible, so it wouldn't get worse. Physiotherapy meant that he would be moved around quite a bit. That would be painful.

"I don't think I'm ready for this, I don't feel good," Harm tried to find a way out.

"It's just some gentle stretching, it will do you good," the woman was as cheerful as before, it started to annoy Harm. Couldn't she see that he was in pain?

Mac sat by the window and observed. She was concerned. The old Harm would never say no to some exercise. It wasn't only that, she could se a kind of worrying pattern emerging. Whenever people he knew visited he was his old self, joking and smiling, but when she was alone with him and especially when hospital personnel was there, he was another person, withdrawn and complaining about everything. She didn't like this new side of Harm.

"Don't be a chicken, Harm. You can't spend the rest of your life in bed," Mac teased.

"But my head…"

"It's only natural to have a bad headache after what you have been through, in the beginning physio will be painful, but as your body gets accustomed to the movement, it will get better," Rose, the physiotherapist interjected, somehow she managed to smile through the whole sentence.

"Come on, Harm, do it for me,"

- - - - -

It was early Sunday morning; festive looking people came from every building in the village and went towards the church. When Palmer and Bob arrived the church was already filled up, only some seats in the back were free, something Palmer found good, it made it easy to sneak out after a few minutes. But he had only finished the thought when he heard a familiar voice telling them to go sit with him in the front row, Tainafi made very clear that his guests should sit with him. Now it wouldn't be so easy to sneak out after all. The service was nothing like the service in the pietistic society where he grew up. People were singing and applauding, laughing and almost dancing, they seemed to enjoy themselves very much. But he didn't like this either, he found the whole church-thing creepy. Around an hour later the service was over and the people went back to their huts or shacks.

"You confessed lately?" Tainafi stopped Bob and Palmer when they were about to leave the church.

"I'm not catholic, so I don't confess, but I think Mr. Ramsey here is," Bob placed his hand on Palmer's shoulder.

"I was, but not anymore," Palmer hurried.

"If you doubt, confession will do good," little, old Tainafi pushed Palmer towards the confession booth.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been over 20 years since my last confession. Oh, yes I've sinned during that time, quite a lot actually. I've killed quite a few people. And if you tell this to anyone, you'll be the next in line." With that Palmer rose and was about to exit the booth. The father was lucky; he didn't understand a word of English, Bob on the other hand, who had gone back into the church to get away from the heat, couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He hurried out of the church; Mr. Ramsey couldn't know that he had overheard parts of the confession. What should he do now, and who was Mr. Ramsey really?

- - - - -

Two days later, and the pain in Harm's head was as excruciating as before, and lately he had also gotten these dizziness attacks, that made everything spin and him seeing stars. He had been set up for a new CAT-scan, but nothing out of the ordinary had been found. Harm knew he couldn't get morphine for all eternity, so what should he do if the pain didn't go away? Physiotherapy was a pain every time. He had tried to make the very persistent physiotherapist understand that he wasn't ready for her therapy yet, but that was like talking to the wind. She had been bending and stretching everything on his body that was possible to bend and stretch, and even if he couldn't feel that, only a small discomfort, the constant moving of his body also meant his head moving, and that was the problem. And she was so damn cheerful all the time, talking and laughing, asking all these questions about what he used to do and what his life used to be like, like that mattered, it was the past. He would never do it again, never defend any clients or prosecute, never fly, so why rip it open? He had also doubts that the physio would do any good. He hadn't got more sensation in his left arm, and probably he wouldn't either, he would probably need help with just about everything, have 24 hour care. But was that a life? Maybe, but not something he looked forward to. Why had this happened to him?

Sturgis had been visiting Harm as often as his huge workload allowed him to. He worked from early morning to late evening every day to get through all the cases that were waiting. It was difficult to get to the hospital during visitor hours. He had talked to Harm and Mac, both when they were alone and when they were together. He could understand Mac's frustration over Harm's constant mode changes. He could also understand why Harm was frustrated, but not why it seemed like he didn't even tried to get better. That was not the Harm he knew. He had seen right through the mask Harm put on when he visited. Now Harm didn't bother to put on the "everything is ok mask." Sturgis was just annoying anyway.

"Oh come on, I didn't think there were any quitters in the Rabb family," Sturgis exclaimed when Harm once again complained about the physiotherapy not doing any good.

Harm's eyes lightened at that comment. "I'm not a quitter," he said irritably.

"This will cool you make you more comfortable," Mac entered the room holding a tray with a small bucket with water and a sponge.

"Oh, hey Sturgis how are you," she continued and set the tray down on a small table between her and Sturgis.

"I'm not a quitter," Harm muttered again.

"Give me one reason to believe it," Sturgis challenged.

"Can't you just realize, like I have, that I won't get better, for crying out load?" Harm's question was directed to both Sturgis and Mac.

"Harm, don't say that. You'll get better, but you have to try if you want to succeed, you of all persons should know that by now," Mac said aggravated.

"You still haven't given me a good reason," Sturgis continued, he picked up the sponge and threw it from one hand to another.

"Go to hell," was Harm's answer to the request, he immediately regretted what he'd said.

Sturgis stopped playing with the sponge, that was it, he had enough of Harm's whining, suddenly he threw the sponge in Harm's direction. Mac looked puzzled at the whole scenario playing out in front of her. She was going to say something but stopped out of a sudden. Sturgis also suddenly stopped in the middle of his motion, he was about to rise from his chair.

"What," Harm snapped.

"Y,-your arm," Sturgis stuttered and pointed towards Harm's right arm. Mac looked like she didn't know if she was going to cry or laugh.

Harm carefully moved his head to be able to look at his right arm. He couldn't believe what he saw. His arm was elevated a few inches from the bed, and his hand was holding the sponge.