A single drop of water slid down the window pane, barely illuminated by the lights from the parking lot outside. It started out at a fairly rapid clip, and then slowed as it intersected with another drop making its own way down the glass. Then it continued on its way, slower this time, before splitting in two suddenly, perhaps due to an imperfection in the glass. One slide off at an improbable angle towards the corner of the window, disappearing from her field of vision. The other continued its downward journey, more or less in a straight line, finally splattering on the window sill. At the top of the pane, another raindrop began its jagged journey down, following the path of the first about a third of the way down before suddenly veering off on a path of its own.

What had they called it in Jurassic Park? That's right – chaos theory. Mac could relate. Just hours ago, hadn't she and Harm said how everything was going to happen. Everything would be nice and neat and orderly – at least as much as possible given the admittedly unusual circumstances. But how could they have known about the circumstance lurking in the background, just beyond their sight, which would so dramatically alter the outcome. For a brief moment in time, everything seemed to be going as right as it ever had in her life. But appearances were deceiving and the reality of her orderly existence was fleeting.

The hospital staff seemed to think everything would be alright. Shortly after Father Gilly left on his cafeteria run, another nurse had poked her head through the door. An older woman with a motherly look about her – at least what Mac imagined someone's mother should look like – had gently asked if she needed anything and sought to reassure her by talking about how good the surgical team was that was working just down the hall to save Harm's life. She made non-committal noises which must have sounded like agreement to the nurse, since she did leave Mac alone with her thoughts.

But if tonight had taught her anything, it was the futility in making plans and predictions. She thought she had her life planned out with Mic, had convinced herself that any feelings she might have had for Harm beyond friendship were something of the past. But then a stolen night in Norfolk – no, it had actually begun two weeks earlier, when a stolen kiss under the stars had broken open a lock to which she'd thrown away the key.

In the space of just over twenty four hours, she'd moved from one certain truth – that she would become Mrs. Mic Brumby – to another – that she was now Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Then she'd moved from the reality of the new life she and Harm were going to build together once their other relationships were straightened out to not even knowing whether or not Harm was going to survive the next few hours. She wanted to believe it. She needed to believe that he would survive and they would have their happily ever after. She just wasn't sure if she could afford to believe only to have it all shattered once again.

She felt their presence before she noticed their blurry reflections in the window, could feel their eyes upon her. How could they not stare? She gripped the edges of Harm's jacket, pulled it tighter around her to ward off the chill. She and Harm had often joked about her someday meeting his family – the timing just never seemed to work out before. When they were in California on a case, Trish and Frank were traveling somewhere else. When Trish and Frank happened to pass through DC, it would be Harm and Mac who were traveling.

And Harm's grandmother – that was another story. Harm had invited her on more than one occasion, but something always seemed to come up which allowed Mac to bow out without sounding like she was making excuses. She'd been apprehensive about meeting the woman Harm held in such high esteem. Not because she thought the older woman might dislike her – although she did wonder how much Harm had really told his grandmother about her – but it seemed so intimate a gesture, even more so than meeting his parents. From talking to Harm, he seemed to be closer to his grandmother than to his parents – perhaps because she'd for so long been his only blood link to his beloved father – and she sensed that it would be Sarah Rabb to whom he would look for approval of the woman he would marry.

Slowly, she exhaled the breath she'd been holding since she first felt their presence, taking a few precious ticks of the clock to prepare to face them. As steady as she could force herself to be, she turned to face them, focusing her gaze on A.J.. Even under the circumstances, it was force of habit to give her commanding officer her attention. Or was it something else, a concern about facing Harm's family? She pushed the question aside and made herself open her mouth. "Hello, Admiral," she said simply, her tone aching with fatigue. "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Mrs. Rabb."

A.J. was stunned at her appearance and not just because of the inexplicable bruise nearly darkened to a blackish purple under her eye. He'd seen Mac run the spectrum of emotions, but he couldn't remember seeing her look so …. lost, so uncertain. Not after Dalton had died in her arms, not even after Harm had walked out of her life two years ago. Lines were etched around her eyes, born of lack of sleep and worry, while she looked small and vulnerable with Harm's too-large jacket pulled around her, the cuffs falling down over her hands, her fingers barely peaking out, her knuckles white as they gripped the edge of the sleeves.

He noted the formality with which she addressed him, but he swallowed back his automatic response. She didn't need Admiral Chegwidden, who would eventually have to deal with issues resulting from the turmoil of the past day. There would be time to confront all of that later. Maybe when he wasn't so worried himself about the man fighting for his life. Right now, she needed A.J., who had to set aside regulation to be a friend when she needed one, especially with her former fiancé on his way, unaware that his place in her life was now a thing of the past. "Mac, why don't we all sit down?" he suggested, gesturing towards the couches. "I'm sure the Commander … Harm's family would like to hear any news that you have regarding his condition."

She stared at him a moment, her brain slow to process what he was saying, before she nodded and returned to her place on the couch, folding her legs under her, wrapping her arms around herself. Concerned about her bearing, but chalking it up to the stress and strain she'd been under, everyone else was silent as they took seats. A.J. sat on the couch Father Gilly had previously occupied, at the end closest to Mac. Trish and Frank sat next to him, their hands tightly clasped in a large knot between them.

Sarah chose to sit next to Mac, keeping a respectful distance between them. From what Harm had told her, she figured that Mac was not one who easily let people get close. She hovered just outside Mac's personal space, without appearing to do so, but ready with a comforting embrace should the situation warrant it.

Mac shivered involuntarily as she tried to make the words come out of her mouth. What was she supposed to say to these people? They'd never even met, but now they were family. They shared a common bond in their love for the man clinging to life, but they couldn't be more different. Trish and Frank, despite the thinly veiled pain etched in their features, exuded a calm that Mac could only hope to feel. But then they'd been down this road before – another crash, another hospital, but the same story. The words had changed but the tune was still the same.

A.J., well he was as inscrutable as ever. He was hard to read, even outside their normal roles of commander and subordinate.

Sarah – now she was a bit of a surprise. Perhaps it was the way Harm had always talked about her, and what Mac had read between the lines, but she'd expected someone larger than life. Who else could command the ultimate respect of an arrogant flyboy? Physically, she was small. Next to her grandson, she probably didn't even reach his shoulder and she looked like she might blow away in a strong wind. But there was steel in her bearing, born of eighty-odd years of overcoming tragedy and heartache. Mac desperately wished for some of that strength for herself. The woman next to her had survived the loss of both husband and only child and had faced the possibility of losing both her grandsons at various times. She wondered how Sarah to persevere through all that when she couldn't even figure out how she would go on without Harm if she had to.

"Would you like a blanket, dear?" Sarah asked, pulling free the one she was sitting on and holding it out. Mac nodded and let Sarah drape it over her and tuck it around her. For a moment, Mac flashed back on a rare childhood memory of her own grandmother. Her mother had spent a night in the hospital – courtesy of her father, as usual – and Joe had dropped her at her grandparents' doorstep while he spent the night drinking himself into oblivion, full of remorse after the fact for what he'd done to his wife. She'd woken up in the middle of the night, violently shaking from dreams of what had transpired, and her grandmother had tenderly tucked her back into bed, hovering on the edge of the bed until she eventually drifted off.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rabb," she heard herself say. So her vocal cords still did work. She could do this. Staring down at her lap as she gathered her thoughts, she began haltingly with the most recent news, "Not long ago, someone came here – a nurse, I guess – and said that the surgery appears to be going well and it's about half over."

"Thank God," Trish breathed as Frank squeezed her hands, his eyes alight with thankfulness. Her gaze turned to Mac and she felt a wave of sympathy. She remembered the waiting, the utter helplessness, the fear of not knowing. It was this common bond which had her debating over asking the question foremost in her mind. But the driving need to know what had happened to her little boy won out. "What happened to my son, Mac? Everything seemed to be okay, then …."

Her gaze was still downcast as she continued, "It was just before dinner. We had been talking about …. we were just talking and he just …. I thought he'd fallen asleep. He'd been out in the water all night, unable to sleep, unable to rest and I thought he was just tired." She looked up, her eyes wide as she remembered the horror of those few brief moments which had seemed to stretch into infinity. "I just thought he was just tired."

"Did he slip into a coma?" Sarah asked softly, trying to draw her out. "Is that why they started to suspect ….?"

"Not yet," she murmured. "I mean, the doctor didn't say anything about a coma. I don't know. He didn't regain consciousness, but they were keeping him drugged because …. because of the seizure."

A.J. suddenly understood. "Is that how that happened?" he asked, gesturing towards her face.

She nodded. "I didn't know what to do," she said hoarsely. Tears threatened again and she took a few seconds to force them back before continuing. "He started shaking and I yelled for help. When Doctor Reed came in, I think he tried to tell me not to try to hold him down. Then he shook me free and I fell against a cabinet or something …. after it was over, the doctor was requesting a satellite hook up with a neurosurgeon and they said he had to come here …."

As her voice trailed off, Sarah slowly reached over and, when Mac didn't pull away, clasped one of Mac's hands in hers. "I imagine it's hard considering what you've seen today," she said, her tone so gentle and comforting that Mac responded without consciously thinking about it, curling her fingers around Sarah's, "but you've known Harm long enough to know that he is a survivor. He told me how you were there for him in Russia the first time, how he wasn't sure what he would have done if you hadn't been there to steady him. Did Harm ever tell you about his crash ten years ago?"

Mac shook her head. "Occasionally, he'd drop a comment here or there," she replied, "but most of what I know is through …. scuttlebutt."

"By the time we got to Germany," Sarah remembered, "nearly a full day had passed since the accident. After being flown in from the carrier, he spent the better part of that day in surgery. He had internal injuries, had to have pins put in his hip and one ankle, and his collarbone was broken – and that's just the major injuries. They told us that he'd ejected out over the deck and wasn't able to get enough height for his chute to open fully and slow his descent. They went out of their way not to tell us, but we all saw it in their eyes. They were surprised he'd even survived." She glanced at Trish, who nodded in understanding of the silent message and continued the story.

"As his mother, I've seen Harm sick," Trish said, her barely detectable tremor in her voice the only sign of the lingering pain of that long ago day, "and I've seen him with various injuries you expect of an active boy growing up. But I'd never imagined …. You could barely tell he was there; he was wrapped in so many bandages and plaster and he had all these tubes and wires attached. I wanted to believe that my baby was going to survive, but looking at him lying there so bruised and broken, there was this tiny voice in the back of my mind that kept insisting there was no way. But eventually he opened his eyes. Then the tube in his throat was taken out. I think that's when I knew he was going to make it, when he told me in a voice just barely above a whisper not to cry."

Mac almost had to laugh at that. That one statement sounded so much like Harm. He would have been worried less about his own condition than with the pain he was causing those around him – until his mind cleared and his thoughts turned to the one who hadn't survived the crash. Knowing Harm, she could understand why that simple request had convinced Trish that her son was going to make it.

"Harm's always seemed …." Mac trailed off, unable to think of the words to adequately describe it. How could such a complex and charismatic personality be distilled into a few syllables? "Larger than life, I guess. If I didn't know him, I wouldn't think a person like him could exist."

"But then something reminds you that he's human," Frank concluded sadly.

"Yeah," she replied a bit hesitantly. Had she really said that in front of Harm's family and her commanding officer? She almost sounded like some kind of groupie. Maybe the lack of sleep and the worry over Harm was catching up with her. She didn't normally talk like that. Covering her mouth with her free hand, she stifled a yawn, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing at the corners of her eyes.

Trish and Frank were the first to see it, although neither of them realized the importance of what they were seeing. They knew Mac had been engaged and just assumed she hadn't taken the ring off yet. It didn't process in their minds that the ring she was wearing didn't have the diamond typical of an engagement ring.

A.J. was about to suggest that Mac try to get some sleep, since the surgery would last several more hours at least, when he saw it. Immediately, he clamped his mouth closed, unable to believe what he was seeing. He knew it wasn't her engagement ring from Mic. He knew what that ring looked like. Hadn't he been the first to notice it at the airport in Sydney? He squinted, trying to get a closer look without appearing to do so. It almost looked like …. as she dropped her hand, he focused on her eyes, but they were unfocused, staring ahead at some distant point. She didn't even seem to be aware of his scrutiny.

"You're tired, dear," Sarah said gently, squeezing Mac's hand. "Admiral, we should let Mac try to get some sleep. Any further questions can wait until later." When A.J. didn't reply, Sarah glanced at him, following his gaze towards Mac, but she couldn't see what he was staring at. "Admiral?"

A.J. shook himself out of his reverie at her insistent tone. Now wasn't the time for questions, especially ones that he wasn't sure he really wanted the answers to. Anyway, maybe he was wrong. Maybe it didn't mean anything. "Mac?" he said firmly, finally drawing her notice. She turned to him, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to clear them. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"I'm not sure I could …." she began, trailing off when the door to the waiting room opened.

-----

As Mic pulled into a parking spot across the driveway from the emergency entrance, the only one in the hospital open this late at night, he glanced around, his eyes searching for the familiar red Corvette. "Damn," he swore under his breath when he didn't see it, the only car he recognized being the Admiral's SUV. He'd wanted to talk to Mac as soon as he saw her, hopefully convince her to came home with him and let Renee worry about Harm's condition.

His soft exclamation caught his companion's attention. "Did you say something?" Renee asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Sometime after they'd passed Richmond, she'd managed to fall into a fitful sleep, tormented by dreams of a flag-draped coffin. She'd woken up at one point, but one look at Mic, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white as his hands gripped the steering wheel, and she decided not to bother him. Although Mic wasn't a heartless bastard, she also wasn't under any illusions about how concerned he was about Harm's condition, outside of how it concerned Mac. He'd been so nice to her, probably nicer than he needed to be and she sensed that she needed all the allies she could get into her corner.

The JAG staff wasn't about to fall all over themselves showing concern for her state of mind. She was tolerated, and just barely she sensed, only because she was Harm's girlfriend. No, it was Mac they were going to rally around, forming a protective shield around her while Renee was left on the outside. She did get along with Trish, but she expected little from that quarter. Frank and Sarah had seemed standoffish with her and when it came down to it, Trish was going to stick with her family.

"Nothing important," Mic replied, unbuckling his seat belt. It wasn't important to Renee, he knew. "Let's get inside. I'm sure you're anxious to find out how Rabb is doing."

Mic," Renee said, her hand on his arm, stopping him as he started to get out of the car. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"No worries," he said, shrugging. "I hope for your sake that Rabb will be okay." He didn't add, nor did he have to, that it was as much for his sake as for hers. It had been hard enough to compete with Harm. He wasn't sure how he would fare against the specter of his memory.

They were silent as they walked into the hospital together, Renee's apprehension growing as each step took her closer to Harm. She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't stop the questions. What if he didn't make it? A.J. had not said much when he called to inform her that Harm was being transferred to Portsmouth that night instead of waiting until morning. She knew next to nothing about medical matters, but she couldn't imagine any circumstances in which Harm being transported to Portsmouth ahead of schedule was good, especially when surgery was involved.

"Excuse me, Petty Officer," Mic said to the man sitting behind the admittance desk in the emergency room, "can you tell us where we might find someone who's been taken into surgery?"

"Yes, sir," the petty officer replied. "The surgical unit is on the third floor. Go through those doors and take a right. Go down the hallway and take your first left. Go down that hallway and you'll run into the main elevators. Take it up to the third floor and go left when you get off. OR is down the hallway that will be on your left."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," Mic said, leading Renee away. They found the elevators easily enough, but were now cooling their heels, waiting for one of the four elevators to descend from the upper floors.

Renee tapped one foot impatiently as one of the elevators started to descend from the fifth floor, seemingly taking forever. "Are there stairs around here?" she asked. "This is taking too long."

Mic glanced around, not noticing anything that might indicate a stairwell within his line of vision. "The elevator will be here before we can find them," he said, trying to placate her.

Renee bit back a retort as a man dressed in a Navy khaki uniform walked up beside them carrying a paper bag. He was about to hit the up button when he saw it was already lit. He smiled at Mic and Renee as he stepped back to await the arrival of the elevator.

"It's about time," Renee muttered when the elevator finally arrived and opened before them. After they stepped on, Mic pressed the '3' button and turned to the other man. "What floor, Commander?" he asked, noting the man's rank insignia.

"I'm going to the third floor as well," he said. The doors closed and with a jerk, the elevator began its journey.

Renee stared down, studying her manicure, while Mic glanced up at the ceiling, wondering where Mac was. He wasn't really surprised that A.J. was the first to the hospital since he was transporting Harm's family. But he would have expect Mac to have raced to her friend's side, although he tried not to think of the obvious, what it said about Mac and Harm's relationship that Harm would become her sole focus. They were supposed to be getting married, but while he'd spent most of his day – outside of comforting Renee – apologizing to caterers, florists and others putting the wedding together about the short notice cancellation, Mac had been God only knows where. Did he have to nearly get himself killed to receive that kind of devotion from his own fiancée? He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

The elevator arrived on the third floor and they all disembarked, Mic pausing as he tried to recall the petty officer's instructions. "Renee, did the petty officer say right or left off the elevator?" he asked her. She shrugged helplessly. She hadn't even paid attention to Mic's conversation with the emergency room attendant, expecting him to remember the directions.

Their companion from the elevator had started on his way, then turned back when he heard Mic's question. "Maybe I can help you," he suggested. "Are you looking for ICU or the surgical ward?" They were the only places he knew someone would be visiting at the hospital in the middle of the night.

"Surgery," Mic replied. "Her boyfriend was in an accident."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied. "I'm keeping a woman company whose husband is also in surgery. Father Patrick Gilly." He moved the bag he was carrying to the other hand and held out his hand for Mic to shake.

"I'm Mic Brumby," Mic introduced himself. He turned and gestured towards Renee, who was hovering behind him. "And this is Renee Peterson."

"I'm sorry to meet you under such circumstances," Gilly said, nodding towards Renee, who barely seemed to register the conversation. "I'll include your boyfriend in my prayers."

When Renee didn't say anything, Mic replied for her, "I'm sure Renee appreciates that."

Gilly motioned to them to follow him. "I'm on my way back to the waiting room in the surgical ward," he said, "if you'd like to follow me."

-----

Chloe bounded through the door of the waiting room, seeming to possess more energy than anyone had a right to in the middle of the night, evading her father's attempt to hold her back. She fell to her knees in front of Mac and threw her arms around her. "I'm so glad to see you," she said in a rush. "We were all so worried about you. How's Harm?"

Mac returned the hug, grateful to have someone she could talk to. It was so hard talking to the others – A.J. was still somewhat bound by his role as her superior even under the circumstances and she barely knew Harm's family. The closest she'd come to having someone to share her fears with was Skates and Robert and they were still on the Henry, due to fly to Portsmouth on the same morning helo which originally would have brought Harm to the hospital. "He's still in surgery," she replied, "but – but the reports seem promising."

"Thank God," Harriet said, looking for a place to put down her half-asleep son. Mac looked up at her as she released Chloe and gestured for Harriet to hand him over.

"Aun' Mac," AJ murmured sleepily as Mac cuddled him close to her, kissing the top of his head. "Where Unca Harm?"

She glanced up at Bud and Harriet, who shrugged helplessly. "He's been asking after the Commander all day," Bud explained. "I don't know how, but he seems to know that something is going on with him."

Chloe nodded. "Yeah, when we were all at JAG this morning," she began, and then glanced at her watch, "no, yesterday morning, he went into Harm's office and asked where he was."

Mac managed to smile down at her godson. "Uncle Harm had a boo-boo," she said, trying to put it in terms a two-year-old might understand.

"Owie?" AJ asked, looking up at her with blue eyes which were suddenly wide awake.

"Yeah, owie," she agreed, nodding. "Uncle Harm has an owie and he's here to make it better."

"Tiss make better," AJ exclaimed. It took Mac a moment, then she blushed as she translated the toddler-speak. "Mommy tiss my owie." He pointed to his arm at a scrape near his elbow.

The childish statement brought chuckles around the room, easing the tension slightly. "I wish it were that simple," Mac murmured, unaware of the eyes suddenly focused on her again.

Trish leaned over to Frank, smiling for the first time in hours. "Harm has to get better," she whispered firmly. "That is a woman in need of children."

Frank smiled and draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her against him. He recognized the statement for what it was, aside from the obvious desire for grandchildren to spoil. "He will," he reassured her with certainty. For his wife's sake, and his own, he refused to contemplate otherwise.

Little AJ lost interest in the topic of Harm's injuries, distracted by the bright, shiny object in his field of vision. "Priddy," he proclaimed, reaching for Mac's hand.

Mac jumped, startled, as AJ pulled at her hand, trying to get a closer look at the band of gold which had captured his attention. As she realized what he was looking at and noticed the strange glances from the others out of the corners of her eyes, she berated herself for not remembering to remove the ring. It would have been easier to make up some reason for its absence for Father Gilly – she could have claimed it didn't fit quite right - than to explain its presence to everyone else.

"That looks like a wedding ring," Chloe stated the obvious. Mac started to wish a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her. Of all the things for Chloe to say ….

Mac was saved from having to come up with an immediate response when the door to the waiting room opened again, only to have her heart leap into her throat. Oh, God. This was the last thing she needed right now. Why couldn't they have shown up just a few minutes later, after she found some way to deflect the questions?

The first through the door, Renee went immediately to Trish and Frank, seemingly unaware of the stillness in the room as everyone waited with baited breath for Mac's explanation. "Frank, Trish," she said, squeezing onto the couch between them and A.J., placing her hand on Trish's arm.

Gilly crossed the room and handed Mac the bag he'd brought up from the cafeteria. "They didn't have much down there this time of night," he said as she took the bag, her expression dazed, making no move to open it. He seemed to be unaware of the sudden increase in tension as he continued, "I got you a chicken salad sandwich, some chips and some orange juice."

Mac blinked as she suddenly realized she was being spoken to and turned her gaze away from the door, which Mic had just walked through. "Thank you, Father," she said, her response rote.

Mic, his eyes immediately drawn to Mac, started crossing the room to her, determined to take her out of there for a talk, but stopped in his tracks as Renee jumped up from the couch, her tone accusatory. "Wait a minute," she demanded, her hands balling into fists at her side. This is not happening, she told herself. No! She pointed at Gilly. "He said he was here with a woman whose husband was in surgery after an accident." She turned her heated gaze on Mac and took a step towards her, until Bud intercepted her, mindful that his son was sitting in Mac's lap. Little AJ whimpered at the sound of the loud voice and buried his face against Harm's jacket while the man he was named after contemplated the best way to diffuse this situation. "Who do you think you are, claiming to be Harm's wife?"

Mac glanced at Mic, his expression a cross between disbelief and anger. Swallowing nervously, she lifted her chin and decided to confront the situation like a Marine. "I'm not claiming anything, Renee," she said firmly, her voice infused with a calm she didn't feel. "I am Harm's wife."

-----

To be continued….