Title: There isNo Tomorrow

Author: Nan

Rating: PG

Notes – Wow, next weeks previews are amazing! However, I must say – it seems like we are getting set up for a pretty angsty grand finale for our two heroes. The following story is my episode reaction piece for the second to last JAG ever – "Dream Team." Mixed in with a little speculation on the finale – "Fair Winds and Following Seas"

This picks up right where 'Dream Team' ended – Harm's been told about his promotion in the JAG boardroom. There are a few spoilers in this story, okay?

It felt like a permanent fog had settled on his brain. It was like all the thoughts in his head were mired in some sort of swamp of indecipherable feelings. He tried to recall the last time he had felt like this. He was familiar with this mazy, muddled type of feeling. But the last time he had been hanging from tree by his chute. Or in the hold of a decommissioned carrier. Or slouched over in the open cockpit of crumpled biplane.

Only this time, he wasn't in Russia. Or Alameda. Or Paraguay. There was no associated blunt force trauma. This time, he was at the polished cherry wood conference table at JAG in Falls Church. Sitting upright in a leather chair to the right of General Cresswell. And yet, his head ached like he had gone ten rounds with Wild Bill.

Harm suspected that more than a month of three to four hours daily sleep time was starting to take its toll. His usual work load at JAG coupled with the four hour round trip to Blacksburg each evening compounded the issue. But up till five minutes ago, he had been functioning quite well.

The load of proverbial bricks had hit him, when Cresswell announced that Mac was leaving for San Diego and his next billet was London. Bud, across the table, was still grinning as he made his report on the case of the Power Bar junkie and the Puffer fish poison. Bud was pleased, basking in the reflected glory of both his mentors' good fortune. There was no one like Bud, who could take as much pleasure in his friends' promotion as he would in his own.

Well, that begged the next question. If Bud was happy - why wasn't he? Cresswell had just announced his promotion to Captain, for God's sake. Captain! The dream of reaching O6 had been moved to a metaphoric dead dreams folder years ago. Filed right next to the one about being the CAG on the SeaHawk. But somehow, he had done it. It was official. He was now 'Captain Rabb.'

But instead of pumping his arm in the air in victory, all he could think of was that lopsided grin that was currently plastered on Mac's face. A grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. Those beautiful, luminous, caramel macchiato eyes. Eyes that took him back to a meeting nine years ago in a rose garden.

It was over. Harm and Mac no longer worked at JAG, Falls Church.

That stupid, nine year, back and forth, 'thing' that was neither friendship nor courtship. The thing that stood between them. That whatever thing, that weird thing, that loyal thing, that life and death thing. In 72 hours, it would all be gone.

There would be no more 'closing the gap.' How could anyone close a gap that was 6000 miles? Let's face it, 'gap closing skills' was the one thing neither he nor Mac excelled at. They couldn't close the gap when their offices were less than ten feet away. The odds that they could do something now were big, astronomical; to say the least. He finally got the point.

And since Christmas it had gone so good. Since Mac's accident on Christmas Eve. There had been an imperceptible shift in the time/warp continuum. Mac enjoyed his company. They had stopped fighting. And they were talking. He started to believe that just maybe, he could be the one to make her smile. Not Webb, Brumby or Dalton. Him, Rabb, Harm, Flyboy. The only one for Mac. Forever.

And if Mattie's plane crash hadn't happen, there may been some legitimate improvement in lessening that damn gap.

Mattie's accident had shredded the fragile bridge that he had started to erect with his partner. He pushed everyone away. But he pushed Mac harder than anyone. Cause he knew that she knew. Knew the reason why.

Damn her! She could always read him. Even when he was foundering in a cold ocean a hundred miles off Cape Fear, she knew him.

And she was going to tell him why he felt so guilty about Mattie. And she would be right. And he couldn't face that yet.

If he only had more time and Mattie was a bit better… then maybe he could face Mac again. And work on lessening the gap.

Mattie! Harm's head spun like he had pulled some G's. Hadn't he promised her last night at the hospital that things would turn out okay? She was still coming to terms with the extent of her injuries. And Tom didn't even know his daughter was awake! What was going to happen to Mattie? Only 72 hours.

He physically willed himself to resist the incoming tsunami of emotion that threatened to overtake him. Staff call was ending and Cresswell wanted a few words with him. Behind the general, he could see Bud lined up to express his congratulations. Coates was smiling. Vukovic was grinning. Even Sturgis was lingering to offer a lukewarm sentiment. He looked around for Mac. He caught a glimpse of a shapely, marine green object exiting the oak door to the conference room. She was gone.

It was over. He had nothing. Neither Mac nor Mattie. A high price to pay for an extra strip of gold lace on navy blue uniform.

There was something satisfying about the sound of packing tape ripping off a roll. Harm pressed the clear sticky plastic to the box; sealing it with his fingers. He looked around his apartment. Five and half hours of work and already it was starting to take on that moving look.

He reviewed his mental list. He had been down to Blacksburg to talk to Mattie's doctor about the possibility of care in London. Tom Johnson was still no where to be found but he had neighbors and relatives looking for him. He had also called legal services at JAG to look into regaining custody. He was too damn busy to do it himself this time.

Two things he still needed to do. He still had not found eight hours of time to string together for a decent night's sleep. And he hadn't seen Mac since the announcement in the boardroom.

He was going to make one last request of his ex-partner. Cresswell had warned him that his presence was expected at the British Embassy for a formal reception tomorrow night. As the Force Judge Advocate based in London, it was just the first taste of his new political obligations. Well, if he was going to go - he wanted Mac to be his date. One last time with the most beautiful woman in the corps.

Harm picked up a flat box form from the pile and walked over to the dismantled kitchen. He was wrapping wine glasses in paper when he heard a light tapping on his door.

Without looking up, he called, "Come in. Door's open."

He heard soft footsteps and instinctively knew it was Mac. She was standing in the middle of his former living room, watching him pack kitchen utensils.

"Hi," he said feeling suddenly tongue tied. He went back to his packing. How do you tell the woman you love – that you love her? Especially when she has one foot out the door, yet again.

"You look terrible," she said quietly.

He snorted. "You keep telling me that."

"Congratulations, by the way. The Navy finally got something right." Harm could feel her eyes studying him.

"You too," he said sincerely. And he was surprised to find that he meant it. There was no woman, or man for that matter, more dissevering of that promotion. He wanted; no he needed to see her do it. To assume command in the fashion she had been trained to do. She had worked for so long to get to this point. Nothing should stop her now. She was incredible.

He felt her come closer. She reached out and stopped him as he reached for another wine glass. Next thing he knew, he was facing her; looking into those eyes. She held each of his big hands in one of her soft ones.

"Are we ready for this?" she asked softly.

He felt control slipping away. She was standing on her toes, moving her lips upwards to his. And he couldn't resist. He reduced elevation and placed his palms on her back, crushing her warm firm body to his. He was so damn tired. And this felt so right.