There were times, Sturgis reflected nostalgically, that he wished he were still serving aboard a submarine. On a submarine problems weren't given time to fester. It wasn't an option with everyone working in such close quarters. People either sorted their problems out or they kept them to themselves. End of problem.

As he pushed open to the door to the bullpen, juggling his early morning coffee in one hand, his briefcase and cover in the other, he wondered if he could ask the Admiral for a reassignment back to submarines. Right away if possible, before Harriet had a chance to explain why she looked as if the world had just ended.

Too late he realised, as Harriet caught his eye, her lips quivering with a weak smile of welcome. With a nod he acknowledged her, keeping on the move and heading straight for his office. Part of him felt guilty, particularly as he felt Harriet's eyes following him around the bullpen but he already had a pretty good idea what the problem was. And if that was the case there was somebody else he needed to speak to first.

Leaving his things on his desk, he retrieved his coffee before wandering past Harm's office, giving it a cursory glance. The blinds were open but the office was dark, as he'd expected. Taking a deep breath he kept walking, forcing himself not to stare at the unoccupied desk inside. By now the whole bullpen would have heard rumours about Harm but he doubted anyone knew all the details. From the way he was being watched though, and not just by Harriet, it appeared the rest of the staff thought he knew what was going on. As he stopped outside Mac's office, raising his hand to knock on the door, he stifled a wry snort. He doubted anyone knew exactly what was going on with Harm, probably his friend least of all.

Not waiting for a reply he opened the door, gently closing it behind him. Heading straight for the visitor's chair he sat down without ceremony, sipping on his coffee before nodding at Mac sat opposite him.

"Colonel."

"Commander."

On a different day he would have smiled at the stiff formality, as would Mac. Today the words fell dead, lost in the feeling of uncertainty that had enveloped them both. With a sigh he slid further down his chair, wrapping both hands around his coffee. Submarines, a little voice in his head reminded him, you should have stayed with submarines.

Or perhaps not, he decided, watching the woman sitting silently across from him. He'd made good friends at JAG HQ, very good friends. And he'd caught up with an old friend as well. Now, they needed him.

Putting his coffee on the desk in front of him, he drew himself up. "So, how was little AJ, last night?" he asked, trying hard to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

The silence dragged on for a moment but finally Mac shifted in her chair, blinking tiredly as she finally met his gaze. "Good, he was good." She paused, her expression confused. "How did you know I looked after AJ last night?"

"I have my sources," he replied, throwing her a smile then wiping it as she frowned back. "Harriet," he explained, gently. "Last night, she was worried about you," he added hurriedly, as her frown deepened, "she wanted to talk to some-"

Mac waved him to silence. "It's okay. I know…" Sighing loudly, she stopped. He gave her a moment, watching as she rubbed her eyes tiredly before flashing him a weak smile. "AJ was lovely," she started again, sitting up straighter as she spoke. "We read Thomas the Tank Engine and he went straight to sleep."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Did you sleep?"

He knew the answer, even before she shook her head and whispered 'No'. It wasn't just the way she kept rubbing her eyes or the dark shadows that had appeared beneath them. She looked pale and her normally immaculate uniform was rumpled. For a moment he wished Harm were in his office so that his friend could see what he'd done to the people who cared about him; to the person who cared about him the most.

"I couldn't." She sounded so distant that he wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to herself. "I kept thinking about yesterday, about Harm, about the Admiral. Perhaps if I'd talked to Harm again-"

"Mac."

"- he would have gone to the hospital on his own. Maybe if I hadn't gone straight to the Admiral-"

"Mac!" Reaching across the desk, Sturgis gently touched her on the shoulder. Jerking backwards, she looked up at him and then away but not before he'd seen the tears in her eyes.

"Damn!" Routing through her desk drawers, she found a box of tissues and tugged angrily at it. "Damn him, Sturgis. Sometimes I don't know whether to hate him or…" She trailed off, the tissues crushed in her fists.

"You had no choice," he replied quietly, sympathising with her thoughts. "He didn't give you a choice."

Mac's tone, when she replied, was resigned. "I know. I just wish I understood what's going on."

Despite the seriousness of the question, Sturgis couldn't help smiling. "Make's two of us."

He was rewarded as Mac shook her head and managed a weak smile in return. "At least I'm not the only one." Throwing the crushed tissues in the trash, she picked up a pen instead, absently twirling it in her hands. Finally she looked back up at Sturgis. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Since yesterday? No. Left him messages but he hasn't called." Retrieving his coffee he took a sip before asking tentatively; "You?"

Mac shrugged. "Same. Left messages."

"Oh." Taking another sip, he grimaced as he realised the coffee had gone cold. Putting it back on the desk, he tried to think of something to dispel the cloud of despondency that had settled over them both again. "Maybe he was too tired to talk. You know how hard those Physio guys will make him work," he suggested, until Mac waved him to silence.

"He might lose his wings," Mac reminded him, the matter-of-fact tone she was struggling to maintain not masking the pain in her eyes. "His wings, Sturgis. Because of me. Do you really think he's going to call me?"

"Eventually," he heard himself replying, despite his niggling doubts and the look of disbelief on Mac's face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to explain. "He's been through a lot. The shooting. His guilt about Robinson. And now this. He just needs some space. Once he starts feeling better he'll start thinking straight again."

There was a long silence before Mac replied. "Does he ever think straight?"

For the first time that morning Sturgis genuinely felt like smiling. "No. But that's one of the things you love about him."

Mac chuckled. "I think I need my head examined." Shaking her head she put the pen down then tugged her uniform jacket back into a neater shape. Sitting up straight, she looked more like the professional Marine Colonel that everyone was used to seeing. As long as you didn't look into her eyes, Sturgis thought, remembering the last time he'd seen that look of fear there. That time the fear had also been for Harm, fear that Shayler's bullet had done irreparable damage. At the time they'd just been grateful that he'd survived the surgery. They'd never thought about the long-term effects.

With a mental shake he forced himself to his feet. Harm had survived the surgery, he reminded himself, he would get through this too. He couldn't look away from Mac though. She was drowning, terrified.

"I'll go and see him this afternoon," he offered, his cold coffee in one hand. "I'll check he's okay."

As Mac nodded, gratefully jumping on his offer as if it were a life raft, he knew exactly at that moment what she meant about either hating Harm or loving him.