Oblivious to the spectacle he'd caused in the bullpen Harm stared out of his office window. A continuous stream of people were entering and leaving the JAG building but the normality of the scene outside was lost on him. Anger was eating away at him, engulfing the pain in his shoulder, making him blind to everything around him. Shaking, he rested his forehead against the glass, his fingers grasping the window frame with a white knuckled grip.

It was all still so real to him. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could replay the moment Robinson had died. He'd always enjoyed perfect recall. It'd been a useful skill for someone in his profession. Now it was a curse, his memory repeating every moment in minute detail, proving to him that he had every reason to feel guilty.

Mac had been right, she didn't know how he felt. No one did.

Sucking in an unsteady breath, Harm forced himself to focus on the scene outside, desperately trying to latch onto something that would keep the memories at bay. The burning anger snatched the chance away. Against his will he found his eyes wandering towards the Marine guard post, his eyes drifting shut as the memories broke through his barriers, swamping him, leaving him floundering helplessly as they dragged him along in their wake.

It had started off as a normal day. Too normal, he thought sarcastically, not for the first time. He should have guessed something was about to go wrong; nothing in his life ran smoothly.

Driving into work that morning Petty Officer Robinson's case was the one uppermost in his mind. It shouldn't have been he remembered thinking; he had more important cases on his desk that needed his attention. Petty Officer Robinson had been the one who had taken that option out of his hands; badgering him about his case every day, he obviously wasn't happy with the defence case that he, Harm, was building. With a sick feeling he remembered how the previous day he'd instructed Bud to intercept any calls from Robinson, his annoyance at the Petty Officer's persistence getting the better of him. It had been petty he realised with hindsight. If he'd taken the call himself, acted on it straight away then maybe...

That word again - maybe. Maybe if he'd spoken to Shayler the day before when Robinson had accused his superior of blackmail... Maybe if he hadn't let his decision be clouded by Robinson's service record...

With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes, leaning against the window as the memories increased in intensity. The trouble, he realised, was that he hadn't liked Robinson. Not for any one particular reason, he just hadn't liked him. With a service record that was blemished with more than one misdemeanour, he'd marvelled that the man had managed to get to the rank of Petty Officer and keep it. Hindsight though - again - had explained that too. Chief Petty Officer Shayler - the man he reported to - looked after his own, until he'd needed a fall guy of course.

But that morning, as he'd been driving into work, he hadn't known that. All he had was a message from Bud saying that Robinson had called the day before wanting to speak to him about Chief Petty Officer Shayler. Apparently Robinson had sounded nervous but that wasn't unusual; Harm couldn't remember a moment when Robinson hadn't appeared nervous, never prepared to stand by his statements, always looking for a quick way out. Bud had taken Shayler's statement the week before and having read it, Harm couldn't see any reason to talk to him again. The man was career Navy, he played by the book. His statement had reflected that; rarely deviating from the official line, he hadn't behaved like a man with something to hide.

At that moment, Robinson pointing his finger at Shayler had looked like another one of the Petty Officer's ploys to delay the inevitable. The man was guilty of stealing from the Navy. Of course, as the lawyer assigned to the defence he hadn't admitted that out loud. Until that point he'd managed to keep his thoughts at bay, applying the level of impartiality to the case that his job demanded of him.

When Robinson had jumped out in front of his car a few minutes later, however, all thoughts of impartiality had gone out of the window. Barely keeping control of his temper, he'd watched in amazement as Robinson pushed himself away from the hood of the car and ran around to the passenger door.

Reluctantly switching off the engine, he'd lowered the passenger window. Words of reprimand on the tip of tongue, he'd never got a chance to voice them as Robinson threw himself at the window.

"Commander Rabb, I've got to speak to you," Robinson had got in first, his words breathlessly tumbling over each other.

With an impatient jerk of his head, he'd cut him off. "I hope you've got a reason for this, sailor."

Robinson ignored him. "Why didn't you return my call?" he'd demanded, glancing over his shoulder. "I told the Lieutenant it was urgent."

"I got your call, Petty Officer. You're not the only case on my desk -"

Again Robinson had appeared to ignore him. More nervous than he'd ever seen him before, the Petty Officer kept looking back over his shoulder. No, he hadn't been nervous Harm remembered, nausea twisting his gut as the memory played out in his mind. He'd been terrified.

He should have seen it then, the panicked glint in Robinson's eyes, the tense, twisted line of his mouth. He hadn't though, too wound up in his own feeling of annoyance to see what was right in front of him. Instead he'd let out an impatient sigh, glancing meaningfully up the road towards the JAG HQ just a few hundred yards away.

"I'm late for a meeting," he'd replied, bluntly. "I'll call you after that-"

"No!" Robinson whipped round to stare at him. "I have to talk to you now! Shayler's after me. He's threatened to kill me-"

"I doubt that, Petty Officer."

"He called me last night," Robinson had insisted, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone. "He was outside my apartment. You've got no idea what he's like, sir. Please, you've got to help me..."

'Please, you've got to help me'. How many times had he replayed those words over in his mind? During the long nights spent in the hospital he hadn't been able to blank out the sound of Robinson's voice pleading with him. Now his voice was back, haunting him once again.

But he hadn't listened to his plea back then. Reaching down to switch the engine back on, he'd had his hand on the keys when the sound of a single shot cracked through the morning air, shattering the peace. It had taken him a second to figure out what it was. He'd heard gunfire many times. He just hadn't been expecting it so close to home.

His confusion growing he'd watched Robinson's mouth go slack and his eyes widen with surprise. Before he could act the Petty Officer had collapsed to his knees, a tell-tale red stain showing on the back of his shirt as he twisted around, his fingers desperately scrabbling for a hold on the passenger door as he went down. 'Gunshot' his mind had screamed at him but it had still taken him precious seconds to act. As Robinson lost his grip on the door he'd finally climbed out of the car.

The next few minutes were etched in his memory with perfect clarity. He could remember the surreal normality of the scene around him; the cars driving past, their drivers oblivious to what was happening in the road, the sound of birds singing; the orange glow of the sunrise as it rose over the skyline. And in the distance the sound of voices shouting.

A small part of him registered that help was on the way. The rest of him was focused on Petty Officer Robinson. On his hands and knees he'd crawled to the injured man's side, his stomach roiling as he took in the rapidly growing pool of blood.

"Hang in there, Robinson. Just hang on."

Reaching out, he forced himself not to react as he touched clammy skin. The man was going into shock he realised, Robinson's unfocused gaze telling him more than he wanted to know. Muttering more words of reassurance he'd ripped off his jacket, balling it up and applying pressure to the wound. Within seconds though the material was dark with blood.

Robinson had minutes, maybe less. Desperately he'd looked around for help. Hidden by the car, he had no way of getting the attention of the passing drivers. And running to the Marine guard post would mean leaving Robinson to bleed to death.

"Damn it. Where the hell are those guards..."

"You need help, Commander?"

Surprised, he'd looked up. An overwhelming feeling of relief had rushed over him as he came face to face with a middle-aged man in Navy uniform. Where the hell the man had come from he didn't know and at that moment he hadn't cared. Applying more pressure to the wound, he turned his attention back to Robinson. "This man's been shot. He needs medical help..."

"Sorry, sir. Can't do that."

Not sure that he'd heard right he'd looked up again, his brain vaguely registering the CPO's insignia on the man's uniform as he met his gaze. "You heard me, Chief. He needs help. Now." As the man stared back at him, making no obvious move to help, his brain started taking in more details about the stranger in front of him. The way he was staring down at Robinson, a hungry look on his face. The way his right hand was tucked behind his back as if he was hiding something. The name tag pinned on the front of his uniform...

His blood suddenly running cold, he'd forced himself to meet the other man's gaze. "Let me guess. Chief Petty Office Shayler?"

The other man's face broke out in a macabre impression of a grin. "You guessed it."

For a second they'd faced each other down, neither man moving. The sound of shouting voices had shattered the impasse. Kicking his brain into gear he'd searched for a way to gain the valuable few seconds he needed. Too late Rabb, he'd thought to himself as slowly Shayler had brought his right hand out from behind his back.

"He'd shouldn't have told you about our little scheme," Shayler ground out bitterly, the gun he was now brandishing glinting in the sunlight.

"He didn't."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Obviously not. But the shouting voices were getting louder and if bargaining would give the Marine cavalry enough time to get closer to them then he was willing to give it a try. "Put the gun down, Chief."

Shayler let out a snort of laughter. "Why?"

"Because if you give yourself up now a jury might -"

"I didn't do this just so a jury could take pity on me, Commander. He's already taken my career away from me," Shayler gestured angrily at Robinson's prone form before turning his angry gaze back on Harm. "Twenty-five years, Commander. What the hell I am supposed to do now?"

"So youshot him?"

With a shrug, Shayler had dismissed his question. "Why not, I've got nothing to lose."

In a moment of sudden clarity the whole scene had become horrifyingly clear to him. With Shayler convinced that he had nothing to lose, armed Marines about to appear on the scene any second and he and Robinson trapped in between them, he'd realised there was only one way Shayler wanted it to end. Locking down his own growing sense of fear he'd started looking for a way out. Too late he realised, looking back on the scene with hindsight. The sound of running feet was getting closer.

"Cavalry are on their way," Shayler had confirmed for him, his lips curled up in grim amusement. "Think they're going to get here in time, Commander?"

The question had been rhetorical but still he hadn't been able to resist looking over his shoulder. A lone Marine was heading down the road towards them, speaking rapidly into his radio as he ran. He wasn't running fast enough.

Taking a deep breath, he met Shayler's gaze again and gave it one more try. "Chief, put the gun down. I promise I'll help you. But you have to put the gun down, now."

"You want to help me the way you helped him?" Shayler asked, chuckling as he nodded at Robinson again. "I'm sure you'll understand, sir, if I don't take you up on your offer."

"Don't do this-"

Shaking his head, the Chief Petty Officer had raised his gun. "Sorry, Commander. But you're as guilty as him."

Survival instincts kicking in he leaned back to get out of the line of fire. In the distance he could hear the Marine shouting a warning but already it was too late. Shayler's finger was tightening on the trigger. The sound of a second shot cracked through the air...

Gasping for breath, Harm dragged himself back into the present. The glass in the window felt cool against his forehead and he focused on as he waited for the memories to fade. He was safe - he was in his office inside the JAG HQ. Mac was in the office next to his, the Admiral a couple of doors further along.

Dragging in several more deep breaths, he tentatively took a step away from the window. His legs felt shaky, the ache in his shoulder and side more pronounced, making the memories seem even more real.

What he had said to Mac in her office had been true. Shayler was guilty as hell. The man was obviously a good actor though. If he'd understood correctly what Robinson had been trying to tell him then the Chief Petty Officer had been party to the numerous thefts that had taken place over the years. Considering his rank, it stood to reason that he'd probably been the ringleader. And in order to keep the scam running for that long then he would have had to pull the wool over a lot of people's eyes.

Not this time, though.

A determined expression on his face, Harm brushed away the last few lingering memories and headed for the door. Robinson's defence case had been his responsibility. Just because the defendant was dead didn't make it any less so. He owed Robinson his guilty conscience reminded him. Nailing Shayler was the least he could do.