"Bud, have you seen Commander Rabb?"
Mac frowned as Bud shook his head. Harm wasn't in his office, where she'd assumed he would be. His coat and cover were still hanging on the coat stand so he couldn't have gone far but his desk looked as if it hadn't been touched all afternoon.
"I think I saw him heading towards Records," Harriet offered as she shrugged into her coat, getting ready to leave for the night. "That was over an hour ago, Ma'am. I don't know if he's still there."
Her frown deepening, Mac nodded her thanks. "I'll see you both in the morning."
On automatic pilot she headed out of the bullpen and down the corridor towards the stairs. It wasn't until she was half way down the first flight that her common sense kicked in, stopping her in her tracks. The closed blinds in his office had told her that he'd been brooding; she'd seen him do it before. Experience told her that the best thing to do was leave him alone, he'd snap out it eventually.
Her heart was still in charge though.
Trotting down the stairs as quickly as her heels would allow her, she made it down to the basement of the JAG building in record time. It was late in the day and most of the staff had gone home. The basement, always quiet anyway, had taken on an eerie quality as she walked down the corridor towards the Records room. If Harm was down here he was being awfully quiet about it she suddenly realised. Harriet probably had been right, Harm was long gone, which meant there was only one other place he could be; the head.
Imaging the look on Harm's face if he found her loitering outside the men's room she was smiling to herself as she pushed the door to the Records room open. Her smile slipped as she took in the scene inside.
"What..."
A small pile of files lay fanned untidily across the floor. Next to them a box was laying on its side, the lone file inside it a testament to its original use. Stepping over them she leaned down to pick them up, then froze as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Harm was sitting on the floor, between two rows of filing cabinets.
With a ghost of a smile he greeted her. "Hi, Mac."
Hunching down beside him, her heart lurched. Leaning back against a filing cabinet, he was cradling his left arm protectively across his chest. He looked stiff and uncomfortable and his faint grin was locked in place.
"What happened?" she asked. Closer inspection of his pale face didn't make her feel any better but she knew that keeping the mood business-like was the only way she was going to get Harm to talk.
Quirking an eyebrow upwards, he gestured at the top shelf of the filing cabinet. "Lost a fight with the box."
There was a trace of self-mockery in his voice that had her shaking her head. "Can you move?"
Harm rolled his eyes. "It was just a box, Mac," he shot back. "Just give me a second..."
She let him have his lie for a second, part of her hoping he really had just knocked the wind out of himself. When his face crumpled in a grimace seconds later as he tried to move it took all her self-control not to reach out and touch him.
"Shoulder hurt?" she asked, struggling to keep it light. A simple knock on the shoulder shouldn't have laid him out like this. She'd seen him suffer much worse and be back to himself within days.
"Must have come down on it harder than I thought."
The sardonic note was back in his voice and she knew he was trying to bluff her. Images from the night before swam to the surface, reminding her how he'd needed her help. Not that he'd ask for help of course. Not even now, when it looked as though he could barely move. Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision.
Pushing herself to her feet, she touched him lightly on his good shoulder. "Don't move, sailor. I'll be right back."
Startled, he looked up. "Where are you going?"
"To get your coat."
"Why?"
Knowing that he wasn't going to like what she was going to say, she flashed him an encouraging smile. "We need to get you out of here-
With a sharp shake of his head, Harm cut her off. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
"Harm..."
"A minute, Mac."
There was a note of desperation creeping into his voice but she forced herself not to react to it. "You can't stay down there."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Great. Let's go."
"In a minute..."
"You said that a minute ago."
"Who's counting?"
"Me."
"Mac..."
There was a note of warning in Harm's voice that at any other time would have had her backing off, giving in. She didn't miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she ignored his plea and with one last glance over her shoulder, headed back upstairs again.
Entering the bullpen she was relieved to discover that Bud and Harriet had gone home. Not that it really would have mattered if they were there; she knew she could rely on them to be discreet if the situation called for it. But the last thing Harm needed right now was an audience. Tiner's desk was empty too she noted several minutes later as she headed back out of the bullpen, carrying both her and Harm's coats and covers. With any luck that meant the Admiral was still at the Pentagon; trying to hide something from the ex-Navy SEAL was virtually impossible.
Back down in the basement, she discovered that Harm had managed to pull himself up into a nearby chair. If the beads of sweat on his forehead were anything to go by he hadn't had a lot of fun getting there. For a moment she considered reminding him that she'd told him not to move. Then he met her gaze, his eyes dark with pain, and the thought dissolved. Nagging wasn't going to help. Reaching deep inside herself she retrieved a smile and put it on.
"Here you go." Shaking out his coat, she gave it to him, standing back to shrug on her own. Muttering his thanks he struggled his way into it. Keeping her hands clasped firmly behind her, Mac resolutely hung onto her impassive smile as a few choice curses coloured the air.
"Good to go," he announced finally, using the support of the chair to bring him to his feet.
'Good to go' was a bit optimistic, Mac decided, watching him as straightened up. 'Straighten up' was a bit optimistic too. Favouring his injured side, he wouldn't look out of place on the deck of a listing ship.
"Look, Mac, you don't have to take me home," he told her, breaking into her thoughts as they slowly headed towards the stairs. "I'll just get a cab."
"A cab?" Exasperated, Mac felt her smile slipping. "Harm, you can barely stand up straight."
"I'll be fine."
"You're not fine," she shot back, tiredness and concern making the words come out sharper than she'd intended.
His lips thinning into a stubborn line, Harm threw her a dark look as he started up the stairs. Not trusting herself to speak, Mac followed him in silence. Lost in her own thoughts she took a split second too long to react as Harm faltered on the third step. Before she could do anything, he'd reached out for handrail with his injured arm, grunting with pain as his shoulder took his body weight.
"Okay, that's it." Draping his good arm around her shoulders she helped him straighten up. "I'm taking you to the hospital, Harm. No arguments."
As they started back up the stairs - his arm still draped around her shoulder - she braced herself for the protest she was sure he would make. It never happened. Risking a glance to her left she found him concentrating on his feet, every step obviously taking an enormous amount of effort.
Not good, the little voice at the back of her mind superfluously pointed out. This was not good at all.
Mac frowned as Bud shook his head. Harm wasn't in his office, where she'd assumed he would be. His coat and cover were still hanging on the coat stand so he couldn't have gone far but his desk looked as if it hadn't been touched all afternoon.
"I think I saw him heading towards Records," Harriet offered as she shrugged into her coat, getting ready to leave for the night. "That was over an hour ago, Ma'am. I don't know if he's still there."
Her frown deepening, Mac nodded her thanks. "I'll see you both in the morning."
On automatic pilot she headed out of the bullpen and down the corridor towards the stairs. It wasn't until she was half way down the first flight that her common sense kicked in, stopping her in her tracks. The closed blinds in his office had told her that he'd been brooding; she'd seen him do it before. Experience told her that the best thing to do was leave him alone, he'd snap out it eventually.
Her heart was still in charge though.
Trotting down the stairs as quickly as her heels would allow her, she made it down to the basement of the JAG building in record time. It was late in the day and most of the staff had gone home. The basement, always quiet anyway, had taken on an eerie quality as she walked down the corridor towards the Records room. If Harm was down here he was being awfully quiet about it she suddenly realised. Harriet probably had been right, Harm was long gone, which meant there was only one other place he could be; the head.
Imaging the look on Harm's face if he found her loitering outside the men's room she was smiling to herself as she pushed the door to the Records room open. Her smile slipped as she took in the scene inside.
"What..."
A small pile of files lay fanned untidily across the floor. Next to them a box was laying on its side, the lone file inside it a testament to its original use. Stepping over them she leaned down to pick them up, then froze as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Harm was sitting on the floor, between two rows of filing cabinets.
With a ghost of a smile he greeted her. "Hi, Mac."
Hunching down beside him, her heart lurched. Leaning back against a filing cabinet, he was cradling his left arm protectively across his chest. He looked stiff and uncomfortable and his faint grin was locked in place.
"What happened?" she asked. Closer inspection of his pale face didn't make her feel any better but she knew that keeping the mood business-like was the only way she was going to get Harm to talk.
Quirking an eyebrow upwards, he gestured at the top shelf of the filing cabinet. "Lost a fight with the box."
There was a trace of self-mockery in his voice that had her shaking her head. "Can you move?"
Harm rolled his eyes. "It was just a box, Mac," he shot back. "Just give me a second..."
She let him have his lie for a second, part of her hoping he really had just knocked the wind out of himself. When his face crumpled in a grimace seconds later as he tried to move it took all her self-control not to reach out and touch him.
"Shoulder hurt?" she asked, struggling to keep it light. A simple knock on the shoulder shouldn't have laid him out like this. She'd seen him suffer much worse and be back to himself within days.
"Must have come down on it harder than I thought."
The sardonic note was back in his voice and she knew he was trying to bluff her. Images from the night before swam to the surface, reminding her how he'd needed her help. Not that he'd ask for help of course. Not even now, when it looked as though he could barely move. Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision.
Pushing herself to her feet, she touched him lightly on his good shoulder. "Don't move, sailor. I'll be right back."
Startled, he looked up. "Where are you going?"
"To get your coat."
"Why?"
Knowing that he wasn't going to like what she was going to say, she flashed him an encouraging smile. "We need to get you out of here-
With a sharp shake of his head, Harm cut her off. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
"Harm..."
"A minute, Mac."
There was a note of desperation creeping into his voice but she forced herself not to react to it. "You can't stay down there."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Great. Let's go."
"In a minute..."
"You said that a minute ago."
"Who's counting?"
"Me."
"Mac..."
There was a note of warning in Harm's voice that at any other time would have had her backing off, giving in. She didn't miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she ignored his plea and with one last glance over her shoulder, headed back upstairs again.
Entering the bullpen she was relieved to discover that Bud and Harriet had gone home. Not that it really would have mattered if they were there; she knew she could rely on them to be discreet if the situation called for it. But the last thing Harm needed right now was an audience. Tiner's desk was empty too she noted several minutes later as she headed back out of the bullpen, carrying both her and Harm's coats and covers. With any luck that meant the Admiral was still at the Pentagon; trying to hide something from the ex-Navy SEAL was virtually impossible.
Back down in the basement, she discovered that Harm had managed to pull himself up into a nearby chair. If the beads of sweat on his forehead were anything to go by he hadn't had a lot of fun getting there. For a moment she considered reminding him that she'd told him not to move. Then he met her gaze, his eyes dark with pain, and the thought dissolved. Nagging wasn't going to help. Reaching deep inside herself she retrieved a smile and put it on.
"Here you go." Shaking out his coat, she gave it to him, standing back to shrug on her own. Muttering his thanks he struggled his way into it. Keeping her hands clasped firmly behind her, Mac resolutely hung onto her impassive smile as a few choice curses coloured the air.
"Good to go," he announced finally, using the support of the chair to bring him to his feet.
'Good to go' was a bit optimistic, Mac decided, watching him as straightened up. 'Straighten up' was a bit optimistic too. Favouring his injured side, he wouldn't look out of place on the deck of a listing ship.
"Look, Mac, you don't have to take me home," he told her, breaking into her thoughts as they slowly headed towards the stairs. "I'll just get a cab."
"A cab?" Exasperated, Mac felt her smile slipping. "Harm, you can barely stand up straight."
"I'll be fine."
"You're not fine," she shot back, tiredness and concern making the words come out sharper than she'd intended.
His lips thinning into a stubborn line, Harm threw her a dark look as he started up the stairs. Not trusting herself to speak, Mac followed him in silence. Lost in her own thoughts she took a split second too long to react as Harm faltered on the third step. Before she could do anything, he'd reached out for handrail with his injured arm, grunting with pain as his shoulder took his body weight.
"Okay, that's it." Draping his good arm around her shoulders she helped him straighten up. "I'm taking you to the hospital, Harm. No arguments."
As they started back up the stairs - his arm still draped around her shoulder - she braced herself for the protest she was sure he would make. It never happened. Risking a glance to her left she found him concentrating on his feet, every step obviously taking an enormous amount of effort.
Not good, the little voice at the back of her mind superfluously pointed out. This was not good at all.
