Disclaimer: I wish I owned it.

A/N: FYI - I won't be posting the next chapter until at least Sunday.

--
La Jolla, CA
Thursday
1706 Local

He waited for his mother to answer the door, all the while resisting the urge to run after the cab that had brought him here and race right back to the airport.

She pulled the door open, and her face lit up with surprise and excitement.

"Harm!" Trish pulled him in for a big hug. "It's so wonderful to see you! What a surprise! Is Sarah with you?" She pulled back to look at him. In the space of a heartbeat, her smile disappeared and a mild panic immediately set in on her features. "What is it? What's wrong – is it Sarah?"

"No," He was quick to assure her, "Mac's fine..." He swallowed. "I just came back from an assignment ... in Russia..." The look on her face made him lose his words.

"This is about your father." It was a statement. He watched the mask settle over her, the one he used to see her wear so much when he was younger.

"Why don't we sit down?" He led her into the house, his arm around her shoulders. "I'll make us some tea." He was hedging, he knew.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" She tried to joke, but it came out sounding strained.

He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, and was about to set the water to boil when she grabbed his wrist.

"Harm." It was her no-nonsense tone, "I don't want tea. Just tell me." Her entire body was rigid, anticipating something terrible.

He hated having to be the one to tell her, hated that he was even here. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed in DC and ... and, what?

He took a seat on the chair next to hers.

"I was on assignment in Russia. I met a soldier in the Russian Army, Sergei Zhukov. He ... he knew dad."

Trish eyed Harm warily. "Knew him how?"

Harm cleared his throat. "When dad escaped from the Siberian Gulag ... he ... well, he was taken in by a Russian woman."

"I don't understand." Trish frowned, looking confused. "You've already told me this."

"Sergei was ... is the woman's son. Dad, he..." Harm floundered. He couldn't do this.

"What, Harm?" She smoothed a hand over his cheek, her expression now one of concern. "Honey, it's okay."

He shook his head. "No, I mean..." Just get it out, Hammer. "Sergei is dad's son. With the woman. From there..."

Trish's hand dropped from his face. She searched his eyes, disbelieving. "Are..." She shook her head, cleared her throat, her voice shook. "Are you sure?"

"Sergei had a picture of dad." Harm stared at his hands, because he couldn't bring himself to look at her face. He shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have told her. Why was he dredging this back up for her ... "His mother is the same lady who showed me where dad was buried. She told me how he died. How he always looked towards the horizon..."

He kept staring at his hands, until he realized that his mom wasn't saying anything. He glanced up at her, wary of seeing what she was thinking. Her jaw was clenched taut. He couldn't tell if it was out of anger, or to keep the tears at bay.

She rubbed her fingers against her temple, and he realized that she didn't know what she was feeling either.

"C'mere, Mom," He pulled her in for a hug, holding her tight. She held him as well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a connection with her. For the first time as a conscious thought, he wished to connect with her over something other than their separate bonds with his father, her husband.

"You're crying," He whispered, feeling her shake slightly, hearing her tears.

"I'm overwhelmed."

"I'm sorry."

She pulled back abruptly, her eyes rimmed red, teary.

"You are not apologizing." She was firm, again that no-nonsense tone.

"But—"

"Not buts. You are not apologizing," She was scolding him now.

He didn't know how to respond, how to explain.

"We weren't married for very long, you know," She said, suddenly far away in thought.

"Six years is a long time."

Her eyes fixed on his. She shook her head.

"He was deployed for half of that. Every time he came back..." She trailed off, and he watched as her sadness turned distant. "It was so wonderful. He made me very happy, Harm. That's what I'm going to remember." She said that last part for his benefit, he knew.

"You make it sound so easy." He was almost resentful. How did people forget each other like this? Build lives, build futures on the shifting grounds of an unresolved past?

Tears welled in her eyes,

"It's not," She shook her head, another tear fell loose. "It's not."

He heard her pain, and immediately felt guilty and inadequate. He couldn't understand any of this.

"Harm," She cupped his jaw. A strength steeled her words, and they trembled under the weight. "Darling. I don't want you feeling bad about this. Not for me."

"But mom..." He wondered if she was putting up a front for his sake.

"Harm. I spent a lot of time wondering what he was doing, how he was doing, where he was. If he was hurt, dying, dead. And now I know. I know where he is. I know how he spent that time after his plane went down. I know that he didn't die lost, abandoned. I can't pretend it doesn't still hurt. I think it always will, but time puts everything into perspective."

He studied her face, and was satisfied that she was being honest, if exaggerating. His admiration for her strength took him by surprise. He held it between his fingers, studied it, let the light glint off its imperfect form. All those years ago he thought she was dishonouring his father's memory by moving on. Only now was he seeing a new side to her, uncovering what he'd let sit in shadow. He supposed it was due to the benefit of time and his own cobbled path through life. And hindsight.

"You're incredible." He told her.

She looked at him in surprise.

"I don't know how you can ... How..." He struggled to find the right words.

"I had help, Harm, support. I still do." She rubbed her thumb along his cheek. "And I let the people I love, who love me, be there for me. You. Nana and Papa, before they passed. Grams. Frank."

He nodded, his thoughts drifting to Mac who was two and a half thousand miles and three time zones away, missing her.

--

La Jolla, CA
Thursday
1916 Local

Harm waited as the phone rang, waiting for her to pick it up. He was sitting in the living room, staring out the bay windows at the beach. But all he could see was her face.

"Harm," Her voice floated through the line, a balm to his frayed emotions. "Hey."

He collected himself so he could answer.

"Hey, Mac."

There was a short silence on the line. He knew he should say something...

"How'd she take it?" She finally asked, hesitant and concerned.

He sighed, thinking of his mother. She'd excused herself to her room right after their talk. He could understand her need to be alone. "She put on a tough front, but I know her. She's hurting."

"That's normal."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of her voice. He didn't think he'd ever missed a woman the way he was missing her. "I know. Doesn't make it easier."

"It doesn't." She agreed, then hesitated. "How are you?"

Terrible. "Alright."

"Harm, sweetheart..."

He felt a flutter of wings, feather-light over his heart when she called him that. He quickly blinked back the sudden emotion that blurred his sight. He shut his eyes.

"Sarah..." To his dismay, his voice cracked. So much for being a paragon of strength.

There was the barest of pauses on her end. "I can be on the next flight."

"No, Mac. You don't have to..." But how he wished she would. He should be stronger than this. "I just ... I just..."

"Next flight, Harm." She said firmly. "You do not have to do this alone."

He didn't know what to say. The idea that he didn't have to ... That he didn't want to do this alone. It was too new to him to make sense of.

"Only if you want me, Harm." She said, her voice soft and, he thought, tinged with worry. "I don't want to impose or ... or crowd you. But you don't have to do this alone."

"I..." He took a deep breath. Maybe this would be a form of strength too. "I don't want you getting into trouble with the admiral...." It was a lame excuse, and blatantly transparent. But he just couldn't bring himself to ask outright.

"I'll be on the next flight," She said decisively. All he could hear in it was assurance, a promise.

He let out a deep breath, already anticipating her arrival.

"Okay." He said, his voice rough with his attempt to sound normal. "Next flight."

He struggled to find a way to thank her, not knowing how to do so.

"I ... I'll pick you up at the airport." He told her. "You should pack a sweater. It can get a bit cool here in the evenings."

"Okay."

"And make sure to forward me your flight details."

"I will."

He held the phone to his ear, not saying anything, and listened instead to the sound of her breathing across the line.

"I miss you." He said.

"I love you." She replied.

--
La Jolla, CA
Thursday
1958 Local

Frank walked up the stairs and towards their bedroom. He'd run into Harm downstairs in the kitchen, and was surprised and pleased to see his son. It was a wonderful surprise, except that Harm had seemed more sad than anything else. He pushed the bedroom door open, and found Trish sitting on the bed, staring into space.

Strange, he thought. With Harm stopping for an impromptu visit, he thought she would want to spend every moment she could with him.

"Evening. I just found Harm in the living room. Was he on an assignment nearby? He told me Sarah will be down on the first morning flight..."

He trailed off at the lost look on her face. It seemed she hadn't even noticed his entering the room. He made his way to the bed, sat down beside her.

"Trish? Honey?" He took her hand in his, rubbing it gently. "Are you alright?"

"Harm fathered a son." Her voice was detached, calm. Distant.

"What!" He exclaimed, appalled. And furious. "Does Sarah know?"

"No," She shook her head slightly, "Not that Harm."

"Then wh–" He stopped as the pieces clicked into place. Although this made even less sense, "You mean your first husband?"

She nodded. "Harm found out a few weeks ago."

He put a hand on her knee, not exactly sure if she wanted comfort or ... actually he had no idea what to do.

She quickly stood up and began pacing.

"It shouldn't bother me." She was impatient with herself, angry at something; he wasn't quite sure what. "For god's sake, I got married. But it does. It does bother me."

"When did this happen?" He asked carefully.

"After he escaped."

"That's a long time," He truly had no idea how she could even begin to process this, nor whether he should be comforting her, or letting her rant.

"I know." She gave an impatient shake of her head. "Like I said, it shouldn't bother me..."

"It's okay for you to be bothered by it, Trisha," He soothed.

"How can you say that?" She turned on him, now most definitely angry.

"He was your first love. And you spent a lot of time hurting over him, worrying about him. And it hurts to know he..." Frank hesitated, worried of further upsetting her.

She looked at him, her lip trembled, she broke into tears. "Oh, Frank."

He stood up quickly and pulled her into his arms.

"This is all so confusing." She buried her face in his neck. "I feel like ... I don't know how to feel."

"That's probably normal," He reasoned, "You just found out. Let it sink in a bit."

They stood in silence, and he held her. He turned his face to settle in her hair. He loved the way she smelled, how she felt. He would be forever grateful for what he'd found in her. He had spent more time than he would admit to worrying her first husband would return, wondering what she would do if he did.

"I love you, Frank. You know that."

"I know, Trisha, honey." He kissed her hair. "I know. "

She tightened her arms around his waist, breathed in deeply, a move she often made when gathering her composure.

"How is Harm taking this?" Frank asked, now better understanding why Harm had looked the way he did downstairs.

"He's upset."

"Understandable." He thought of Harm's fixation with his father. "You know how he gets when he's determined."

"Obsessed, you mean," She mumbled. He heard a smile somewhere in there.

"It probably hurts to think his father didn't invest the same in coming home, as he did in trying to bring his father home." Frank sighed. Sometimes, all he could see when he looked at Harm was that lonely, angry little boy who shielded his heart behind his single-minded drive.

"I think he's more upset for me, than anything else ... I didn't do a very good job in figuring out how he's taking all this. I was too worried about myself," She said with disgust.

"Hey, now. Don't be so hard on you." He rubbed her back. "Will he be staying?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "The weekend, I think he said. I should probably sit him down for a proper talk before he leaves.

"Honey, it's okay to feel whatever you are feeling."

She nodded.

"I love you, Trisha."

She nodded again, and he held her.

"Frank."

"Hm?"

"Did you say Sarah was flying in?"

Frank nodded.

"Wow," Awe in her voice this time. "He's letting her?"

Frank nodded again, couldn't help the burst in his chest. "I'm proud of him."

She looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I know. Amazing; that he agreed to her coming."

"She's good for him."

"She is. Wonderful."

"Daniel looked over her portfolio." He informed her, referring to his financial advisor. "She has a sound investment plan, as well. Smart girl."

Trish laughed, "Frank, you are something else."