Title: What A Long Strange Week It Has Been

Chapter/Day Two

By: Liz D

Normal Disclaimers – Thanks for logging in. Written: September 2003 SATURDAY - 1130 EST

Sarah Rabb Residence

Bethesda, PA

Mac wondered on her drive to Pennsylvania that morning, why she hadn't ever met Sarah Rabb. She also wondered if the grieving grandson would want to see her that morning particularly after their parting the night before. She struggled with going or not going, but in the end decided that whatever else, they were friends and he needed a friend. The rest of it could be tabled until … mostly likely never. The near missed intimacy they shared would not be addressed, discussed or otherwise acknowledged; par for the Harm-n-Mac course. She could live with that. She was used to it. She was comfortable with it.

So who was Sarah Rabb? Harm's grandmother for sure; but who else? Was she a little old lady who baked cookies and knitted? Mac rather doubted that. Harm had said once that she was a woman that he loved and respected more with each passing year. She was a stabilizing force in his life, his touchstone to the past and the future. She kept him linked to his father and his heritage and forced his eye to look ahead. Would her death shake the foundation that was Harmon Rabb or would he now finally pick up the mantle and carry the name of Rabb on to the next generation? That was up to Harm.

She saw him immediately when she entered the house. She could tell he was having a hard time concentrating. He appeared to have still not gotten any sleep. He was dealing with the details, the arrangements; the minutia of death. The kitchen was full of strangers – at least strangers to her and most likely to him - who came to pay their respects, to offer assistance and bring food. It appeared that they knew each other better than they knew him, so they were consoling themselves – a good thing for Harm. Someone told Mac that he was on the phone dealing with the funeral home – again – picking flowers of all things. How the hell was he supposed to know if she would prefer delphiniums or irises? Pick one. She liked blue. Mac felt an overwhelming need to protect him from all this minor stuff. But what right did she have? They weren't married; they weren't involved – well at least not in the strictest sense of the word. She was a friend. That is all. All she could do was offer support.

There was something more off about him than just dealing with arrangements. He seemed to be at the breaking point. Surely not everything he was dealing with was minor. What about Sergei? Surely he had met his grandmother during his brief stay in the states. Would he come from all that way? Did Harm have to make the arrangements? Dealing with the red tape on that would be very aggravating, but again minor. What else could it be? What about Harm's mother? Harm had told Mac once that Grandmother Rabb and the former Mrs. Harmon Rabb Sr. were never friendly and it had only gotten worse after his mother remarried. They probably hadn't exchanged more than a Christmas card (if that) in the last ten years. Did he have to get between these two women one last time? Did he have to fight with his mother at a time when he needed her the most? No. She would come and come for him. People would rise to the occasion.

So what else could it be? Maybe there wasn't more to it than the death of a woman so close to him. Maybe there was. How much of what happened last night with Mac was still affecting him. Could that little incident send him into a tailspin? True he had over stepped what was expected – but did it really matter that much? He had to know that Mac would forgive him. But how many times was he going to be able to screw up and be forgiven? She knew the answer to that, which is why she came: at least one more.

"Harm?" Mac's voice cut through the din.

"Hi, " he said taking the phone away from his ear. His entire expression changed as if to say 'Thank God, the marines have landed.' She was glad to know that she could still be responsible for taking some weight off his shoulders. "Hang on," he put up his finger and went back to his conversation. He wrapped it up quickly and turned his full attention to Mac. "Thank you for coming," she knew part of that was said because that is what people say when other people come to pay their respects, but she had to believe that a large part was because he actually was grateful. Her goal right then was not to make him answer for recent events, it was solely to give support and lend a hand.

"You look exhausted," she observed. "Did you get any sleep?" she was not hard or cold; she was being direct like she always was. He really did look like death warmed over.

"Not that I remember," he said with an honesty born of exhaustion. "Mac, about last night …"

She could tell by that look in his eye that he had no clue as to where that sentence was going. All she saw was a plea for her to bail him out. Of course that could have been the look in her eyes being reflected back. She put up her hand. "Don't. You don't need to say anything. It's OK. I know. It wasn't personal. I understand," she looked away.

Harm was appalled. "Not personal?!" He grasped her arm. "Mac - of course it was personal!"

The Hopkins – Annie and Lowell Hopkins – Sarah Rabb's oldest and dearest friends interrupted. They had to be in their early nineties. Annie wrapped Mac up in an embrace. "I am so sorry dearie," she began in a voiced quaked with age and wisdom. "But she is in a better place now. She was so proud of you." Mac was confused. "You know she never stopped talking about little Harm's beautiful wife."

"No, Mrs. Hopkins." Harm tried to clarify. "Mac and I aren't --."

"Of course you are. Just look at the two of you, as if God made your for each other." The old woman led Mac away as Lowell prevented Harm from following.

In the corner by the window Annie continued. "She was ready to go, dear," she said in a grandmotherly tone. "It is good that it was quick. She had lived a full and productive life. In her later years all she ever wanted was to see you two happy." Mac looked over at Harm. "A great grand baby would have been nice – but she never begrudged you waiting."

The entire scene started taking on a very surreal quality. It was becoming a little bit too much to bear. Mac smiled. She looked at Harm and nodded to let him know that she was a marine and could handle this. He just looked uncomfortable and frustrated. Did he want to finish that conversation? What did he say? That it was personal? What did that mean – exactly? The kiss or the leaving … which part or both were persona? Mac shook it off – that would be all they said about it. It was over. She focused her attention back on Annie Hopkins. Mac really liked the old woman. She was full of wisdom and clarity of thought that most young and middle-aged people never achieve. Mac had not had the benefit of an older female in her life; this was new to her. After the first twenty minutes, she did not bother to try to explain that she and Harm were only friends, especially when Annie introduced her to everyone as Harm's "pretty marine lawyer wife." Well three out of four ain't bad.

Late in the afternoon, people started clearing out. Harm found Mac in his grandmother's study. She was looking at all the pictures on the wall. Many of them were taken recently and were of friends and neighbors, most of whom Mac now knew by first name. There were pictures of Sarah and her husband, Harm Sr. through all the ages of his life, and select pictures of Harm during the key moments in his (graduations etc). There was actually one of Harm and Mac. It was taken at JAG for some fundraiser they did. They were standing together, Harm's arm was around her shoulders protectively, and Mac's wrapped around his waist. They were out of uniform and were leaning into each other looking as if the camera had interrupted a very private moment. She couldn't remember when it was taken. Mac had to admit to herself that they did look like a married couple in that picture.

"Hi," he said. "You OK?"

"I should be asking you that," she said without turning around. "You look a lot more like your Dad when you were young."

"Yeah," he sat on the edge of the desk on the other side of the room. "He was taller."

"Your grandmother was a very beautiful woman."

"She was," he said sadly. "I am sorry about Annie and Lowell."

"Don't be. It's fine," she shook her head to let him know that she was OK. "Is Sergei coming in?"

"He should be here in a couple of hours. You would think we were trying to get a top level Al Qeda member in with all the paperwork we had to fill out."

"And you mother?"

"She'll be here – for me – she'll come," Harm owned.

"Good."

There was a stiff silence.

"Mac – we need to talk," he said tentatively.

"Do we?" she shook her head. "I think you have some other priorities right now."

He heaved a heavy sigh. "You are a priority, Mac."

"Let's not do this now." Mac finally turned to look at him.

"I think we should."

"I don't." Mac decided she needed to take the offensive. "Why do Annie and Lowell think we are married?"

"My grandmother must have told them about you."

"She told them that we were married? Was she senile?"

He smiled that smile – no his grandmother was the sanest person he knew. "No, I am sure she told them we were partners and the Hopkins made up the rest themselves."

"Why would she tell them anything about me at all? I have never met your grandmother."

Harm's face washed with sadness. "You should have. You would have liked her. I'm sorry Mac."

She shrugged. It was just one more apology to stack on the pile.

"I am always apologizing to you, aren't I?"

She pulled a fake brave smile – the one she had been wearing all day. "No worries – as Mic would say – I suppose you didn't get around to having us meet because things have been so strained with us of late."

He looked up at her. He was annoyed. "Would you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"I don't know if you are bucking for sainthood or if you really believe what you are saying," he pushed his hand through his hair.

"What?"

"Stop making excuses for me!" He blurted out with a lot more force than he had intended.

"Me?"

"Yeah you," he stood up and started pacing the room. "You have been making excuses for me for years and what is worse --- I have let you. And more often than not you're wrong."

She looked confused. "I make excuses for you?"

"All the time. You explain things away – make excuses – to justify something that I have done or not done. Do you do it for me or for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Mac I am not sure why I didn't introduce your to my grandmother but it was not because things were 'strained.' They haven't been 'strained' for seven years."

"With that you come up with a statement like I have been making excuses for you for years?"

"OK – how about this – When I kissed you on the pier, I wasn't kissing Diane. When I kissed you at your engagement party, it was not a goodbye kiss, it was everything but. When we got caught under the mistletoe it was not an awkward moment – not for me. When I asked you not to go to Paraguay it was not because you had one foot out the door. And when I kissed you last night it was most definitely personal."

Mac was blown away.

"Brother?" Sergei voice's cut the room. Mac looked away and Harm slowly turned his attention to his brother. They hugged. Harm was just about to ask Sergei to excuse them, when Mac slipped from the room. "Damn it Sara," the other voice in her head said. "You are a marine, stay and fight like one."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

He was on the porch about an hour or so later. Sergei was in the kitchen eating. Thank God all those people brought food. It was still early yet. He could drive to Georgetown and force her to talk to him. But clearly she didn't want to talk. She had made up her mind.

"Brother?" Sergei handed him the phone. Harm cocked his head as if to ask who? "Mother."

"Mom? Hi. . . . When? . . . Is Frank coming with you? . . . Of course. . . . OK, well whatever you decide. . . . Good. . . . I'm OK. Got my brother here. . . . Right. Thanks Mom. . . . I love you too. See you tomorrow," he clicked the phone off and handed it back to Sergei.

"Mac went home?" Sergei asked.

"You know she did."

"Is she coming back?"

"Don't know."

"What is wrong with you two? Are you two . . ," he suggested.

"No."

"Thanks the problem."

"I know."

"So do something about it."

"It's not that simple." Harm's words sounded weak.

"Ya know what brother? It is that simple," he pushed the phone into his chest and walked back into the house.

Harm thought for a moment and then dialed.

"Mac? . . . It is Harm, are you there? . . . Please pick up. . . . OK, maybe you aren't home yet. Please call me when you get this. We really need to talk about this. . . . We – the both of us – have got to stop running away. . . . Ok, I'll be waiting for your call," he hung up. Didn't feel any better. In fact that probably made things worse.