Miramar Air Base, Guest Housing

0410 hours

San Diego, California

Insomnia wasn't common for Harm, but when it hit, it hit hard. He would usually go for a run if he couldn't sleep, but, as he was on base, his options were limited until about an hour before sunup. Too many paranoid enlisted men and women for his liking. His abdominal muscles were already sore from doing sit-ups and his arms were ready to give out from all the push-ups he'd done. He had counted sheep and done some breathing exercises he'd learned in flight school, but he couldn't manage to drift off.

Guilt, he knew, was going to kick his Flyboy ass until he made things right with Mac.

Resigning himself to another sleepless night, Harm padded over to the small desk where he had plugged his laptop in to charge the battery. He booted it up and accessed the Internet, figuring he could check his e-mail to see if the Admiral had sent him any information on upcoming cases that he would need to know. There weren't any, but Harm wasn't really expecting anything until closer to the end of his two-week teaching period.

There was, however, a message from Mac.

Opening the message, Harm steeled himself for what he was worried would be in Mac's message.

Hey, Flyboy,

I would have contacted you sooner, but I thought it best to take some time to breathe before reaming you out. So I've taken a few days to calm down and, though I'm not happy with the way you left, I'm not mad about you leaving. I have to admit that I was at first—cursing your name, plotting ways to kill you without leaving any evidence—but I know that flying is your first love and I can't think of anyone better suited than you to pass on that love for flight to the next generation of pilots. I wish you had told me in person that you were leaving DC, though. If it was a case, I'd understand the lack of advance notice, but you should have known you were leaving at least a few days before you had to leave.

But that's not the reason I'm writing this.

Admiral Chegwidden sent me to San Antonio to investigate two Navy officers who ran over an eight year old boy. I haven't had a chance to get any real details since I didn't get in until an ungodly hour this morning and most results from both the hospital and the crime lab are still pending, but I have a feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye. I'm not sure if it's the case, or the fact that I know that the Admiral thinks I'll be working on this case long enough to need you to come in as back up once your done teaching, but either way there's something… wrong about all this.

I'd like to talk to you about some things, if you've got the time. You've got my number.

Please be careful up there, Harm.

Love,

Mac

P.S: Meg says 'hi'.

Harm reread the letter a few times; trying to discern from her words just how much trouble he was in. Even though she had said she wasn't angry anymore, he knew Mac. She might not strike back right away, but eventually, during a future unrelated fight, she would come back to this moment. Harm knew she would.

Figuring that he was in for a healthy dose of Jarhead anger in the near future, Harm mentally calculated the time difference between San Antonio and San Diego. Mac was two hours ahead of him, making it 0621 for her.

Knowing Mac as well as he did, Harm knew that she would have been up at five to go for her usual run, and when she got back she would hop in the shower then devour as much greasy dead animal as she could before heading out to get an early start on the case.

Deciding that while she was devouring what would probably amount to about a pound of pork and pork by-products was the best time to catch her—Mac was a slave to her stomach—Harm grabbed his phone and started dialling.

The Ranch

0625 hours

San Antonio, Texas

"I cannot tell you have glad I am that you're not into all the health food crap Harm is always trying to push on me," Mac said as she and Meg sat down to breakfast complete with bacon, sausages, toast smothered in butter and jam, strong coffee, and orange juice.

"I still can't get over the fact that he's never even tried a Beltway Burger. I used to live on those," Meg smiled.

"Your basic food groups. Starch, grease, dead animal, and ketchup," Mac grinned before stabbing a chunk of sausage with her fork.

"I remember that speech," Meg replied.

Suddenly, a computer-generated rendition of Anchors Aweigh came from Mac's briefcase that was sitting on the counter. Meg looked at the Marine with a raised eyebrow that Gillian Anderson would be proud of and Mac shrugged. "Personalized ring tones," was all she said before retrieving the phone and answering the call. "MacKenzie," she said, turning her back to Meg to give herself the illusion of privacy.

"Hey, Mac," Harm said sheepishly.

Even though she had known it was Harm—the ring tone gave it away—hearing his voice caused her heart to skip a beat or two. "Hey, Flyboy. Break any hearts yet?"

Harm chuckled. "Not that I know of. What about you?"

"Not yet, but it's still early in the day," Mac replied with a smile. Becoming more serious, she said, "How does it feel to be flying again?"

"Good, but I can't wait to get back to JAG," Harm said honestly. "Flying isn't my life anymore."

"So you're not going to run off and spend a few more months playing with Tomcats and shining your gold wings?" Mac asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her fear that he would do just that.

"No. After I'm done with this the only plan I plan on flying is the Stearman that's been collecting dust for the last year," Harm said.

Mac breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't wanted to admit it aloud, but ever since Harm had taken off she had been worried that he would decide that flying was where he wanted to be and that she would never see him again. Ever since he had gotten the lazer eye surgery without telling her about it—no matter what he said, it wasn't just like getting your teeth cleaned—she had felt like every Tomcat they saw would be the straw that broke the camel's back, the snip at the ever-fraying thread that was Harm's life away from F-14 Tomcats. "Good to know," she said honestly. "So where are you, anyway? You didn't even tell me what continent you're on right now."

"I'm still on the continental United States. I'm actually at Miramar, for the moment," Harm replied.

"You're on base? Won't your mother kill you if she finds out you're opting to stay in shoddy living quarters over the beachfront wonder that she and Frank live in?"

"Usually she would, but she and Frank are travelling so the house is empty. It's too annoying a commute when I don't have the incentive of a home cooked meal waiting at the end of the road," Harm said.

"Like you haven't spent the last thirty years cooking for yourself anyway," Mac rolled her eyes. "Wait a second. You in San Diego right now… it's only four thirty one. Why aren't you sleeping? You're not flying without getting a solid night before, are you?"

"Maaaaccc," Harm whined. He hated it when she used her I am very disappointed in you, Harmon David Rabb Jr voice.

"Don't you dare Maaaaccc me, Harm. It's my prerogative to worry about you, Harm. I've sat at your hospital bed too many times. The thrill of counting the ceiling tiles while waiting for you to wake up from your latest emergency surgery is far past gone," Mac said firmly. "Now hang up and get some sleep. We can talk later."

"Fine. But, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"I am sorry about not telling you I would be flying," Harm said honestly. "I wanted to… I did. But I couldn't. I don't know why. I just couldn't tell you."

Mac sighed softly. "I think I understand. And I'm not angry anymore. A little disappointed, but not mad."

Harm groaned loudly. "Crap. Disappointed is so much worse than angry," he grumbled. Mac giggled, unable to help herself. "I promise I'll make it up to you, Mac."

"Mmm, I'll hold you to that, Flyboy," Mac smiled. "Get some sleep. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Be careful," Harm said.

"You too," Mac replied softly before whispering a goodbye and hanging up.

Texas' JAG headquarters

0805 hours

San Antonio, Texas

Even without Mac's uncanny and eerily accurate sense of timing Meg knew that they were late. Appointments were rarely kept to schedule during investigations, though, being the military, the structure was set in stone and those not following the 'mission outline' were not looked upon favourably.

Meg and Mac had arrived at the compound well before eight, had gotten through all the security checks without any problems, and, once Mac was checked in as an approved visitor on base, they were on their way to Meg's office where they would be conducting the interviews.

Unfortunately they had been waylaid by several reporters that weren't supposed to be on base in the first place, several other officers, and Meg's usual partner who was being sent on an investigation out of state.

Everyone wanted to know what was going on with Lleavaier and Miller.

Being that it was a JAG building filled with JAG lawyers, Mac thought that some knowledge about talking about ongoing investigations would be readily available in the memories of those who wanted news, but it seemed that, since someone from the DC office had been brought in on the investigation, the news was bigger and therefore made for juicier gossip.

"I hate being late," Mac muttered as Meg opened up her office, her assistant standing at her side with several pink slips of paper with messages on them.

"I'd think you'd be used to it, working with Harm for so long," Meg said good-naturedly.

"Yeah, you'd think," Mac said distantly.

Meg put down her briefcase and dropped her cover on top of a filing cabinet before looking at her assistant expectantly. The young enlisted woman jumped to her duties. "Commander Austin, you have calls from Commander Branch regarding the Kipling Court Marshall, Captain Sun regarding the Lawson Article 32, Captain Norton regarding the Bishop D-and-D, your mother's oncologist regarding her pain management, and an Admiral Chegwi…"

"Chegwidden," Mac said instantly, knowing how often people had a hard time with her CO's name.

"Chegwidden," the woman nodded, flashing Mac an appreciative smile, "regarding the Lleavaier and Miller investigation."

"Thank you, Ensign," Meg said before dismissing the woman. "I'm never going to get used to having someone take my messages," she said with a weak smile before heading to the coffeemaker she had sitting on a table across the room from her desk. "Coffee?"

"Please," Mac nodded, sitting down in a chair in front of Meg's orderly desk.

"I wonder what the Admiral wants," Meg said as she poured two cups of coffee.

Mac shrugged. She knew no one could have possibly complained about the investigation yet, as it had yet to start, and she didn't think she had pissed anyone off simply by arriving, other than maybe the poor man who was sitting next to her on the plain who had been sickened by the crime scene photos she had been flipping through while eating the meagre dinner provided by the airline.

Checking the time, Meg his SPEAKER and quickly dialled the number from memory. Coates answered almost immediately with her usual greeting.

"Admiral Chegwidden's office, JAG corp."

"This is Commander Meg Austin. I'm returning the Admiral's call regarding the Lleavaier and Miller investigation."

"One moment," Coates said.

They were put on hold and Meg looked at Mac. "She wasn't there when I was in DC, was she?"

"No. That's Jennifer Coates. The Admiral has been through a few yeomen since you left," Mac said.

Meg nodded and then the Admiral came on the line. "Congratulations on the promotion, Commander," Chegwidden said. "I'm sorry that I didn't realize you were made a full commander. I would have congratulated you when we spoke before."

"Thank you, sir," Meg blushed. Even though she had only worked under him for a few months she respected AJ Chegwidden's opinions and missed his no-nonsense attitude that meshed in a perfect paradox with his unending concern for his staff.

"Have you had a chance to speak with Colonel MacKenzie yet?" Chegwidden asked.

"She's right here with me, sir," Meg said. "We went over the basics on the investigation last night after she arrived and we are waiting on Lleavaier and Miller to arrive as we speak."

"Good morning, sir," Mac said warmly.

"Mac," Chegwidden said. They could almost hear him nod his head. "Any word from Rabb?"

"I spoke with him this morning, sir," Mac said. "He is enjoying the chance to fly again, but he said he can't wait to get back to the courtroom."

"Good. Now Mac, Meg, I don't think I have to remind either one of you that this story must not make it to the press," he said sternly, back on the official business track.

"We are doing everything we can to keep this quiet, but, as it was a civilian child that was injured it will be a story that the press will do anything to get the inside scoop on," Meg said.

"We intend on wrapping up the investigation as quickly ad quietly as possible to reduce any further ill will between the Wade family and the United States Military," Mac jumped in immediately.

"Unfortunately, sir, we have already been accosted by reporters, both local and national, regarding our investigation," Meg continued, their narrative seamless. "It might be best to release some kind of statement later today. That might assuage the press for a little while."

"Talk to the parents, find out what their standpoint on press relations is, and get back to me after you've heard the stories from all parties," Chegwidden ordered.

"Aye aye sir," they said together. Then the Admiral hung up.

Mac knew it was hard for him to run investigations from his desk when it was bound to be a public relations nightmare. If this had happened in DC or at least close to the main JAG headquarters the Admiral would have a tighter reign on things. Unfortunately they weren't around DC, and Mac could already see the case spinning out of control.

And they hadn't even spoken to the accused yet.

Half an hour after their chat with the Admiral, Meg and Mac split up to talk to Lleavaier and Miller respectively. Mac, being the senior officer of the JAG team, was interviewing Miller, while Meg interviewed Lleavaier.

Mac was sitting at a table in a conference room that she had been allotted as her office for the duration of the investigation. Miller was sitting across from her, fidgeting with her cover, clearly nervous.

"Tell me what happened," Mac said, pen poised, ready to get to the bottom of the fiasco.

Miller sat up a little straighter—a feat Mac wasn't sure was even possible—and then she started speaking. "Lleavaier and I were comin home from our TOD. We had to use civilian transport to get back to San Antonio, and it had been a long day. It was a little after six and we went through the McDonalds drive through because neither one of us felt up to cooking for one when we got to our homes. The main roads were full of rush hour traffic so we took side streets. As we passed the school… the boy came out of nowhere… we thought we hit a raccoon."

"And instead of stopping to check to see what you did hit, and to see if the 'raccoon' was alright, you sped off?" Mac asked.

"You ever tried checkin on a pissed off 'coon, ma'am?" Miller asked.

Mac ignored the question. "Who was driving the vehicle at the time?"

"I was," Miller said.

"And what is your driving record like?" Mac asked, though she had both Miller's and Lleavaier's DMV records in her briefcase.

"Not perfect, but I've never done anything like this before," Miller said honestly. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

"This is still on the record," Mac cautioned. Miller nodded her understand. "Granted," Mac said.

"I'm a good driver, ma'am. I'm sure you have already checked with the DMV, or are going to, so I won't lie and say I've never been in any accidents. I have. When I was seventeen I was speeding and I hit another car. No one was seriously hurt, but it was… it took me a long time to get past the guilt I felt from that night. Joining the Navy helped me more than I ever thought possible, and I cannot lose it," Miller said. "When I felt the car go over something… I panicked. It wasn't even the same type of situation, but… I had a flashback and all I could think was 'I've gotta get outta here'."

"Have you had any kind of formal counselling regarding your earlier accident?" Mac asked.

"Yes ma'am. Both civilian and Navy," Miller said. "I've never had any problems with flashbacks before."

"A lot of the time they only crop up during times of great stress or when you are reminded intimately of the original event," Mac said, remembering the line from her own experiences with psychologists regarding her personal demons.

"Yes, ma'am, I've been told that, ma'am," Miller nodded.

Mac took a moment and then said, "What happened the next morning?"

Meg was sitting at her desk when Mac finished with Miller. "What do you think so far?" Meg asked.

"I think that this isn't going to be the quick and easy 'just to get me out of DC for a few days' case that the Admiral promised me," Mac said, sinking down into one of the chairs in front of Meg's desk.

Sorry about the lack of Harm in this chapter. I promise more Harm in Chapter 4.

The Gillian Anderson reference is to the X-Files and her signature disbelieving arched eyebrow.

The details on flashbacks are true, though it is not always the same for everyone. Some people have constant flashbacks (though that is usually seen in people who have been through war or have watched someone they care about die a violent death) and some people have flashbacks in the form of nightmares (this is the most common, though, being a nightmare, there are usually some psychological emblishments over the original trauma) but a lot of people, especially those who are in high-stress occupations (police, military, medical, judiciary areas, basically anything where lives are on the line) are able to compartmentalize what happened to them until something triggers a flashback. Triggered flashbacks are usually the most traumatic because the person is not used to dealing with them and they usually end up feeling like they are reliving the original trauma while dealing with the effects of whatever acted as a trigger.

I've decided to name the boy Ryan. It was suggested by a reader, and I've always liked the name. I've written down the other suggestions, however, because I always have a terrible time naming characters.

And, since I have yet to do this, I do not own JAG, it's characters, or anything else. I am not making any money off of this, and if I did own JAG et al, DJE would not be leaving at the end of the season, JAG would not be moving to San Diego, and Mic and Renee would have never become the contrivances they became on the show, and Harm and Mac would have gotten together sometime before Harm's return to flight because that's where a lot of their problems started.

Please let me know what you think of this story so far. There are still quite a few chapters to go, including some Harm/Mac fluff and stuff.

M