Guardian
A Case-related one shot
Harmon Rabb Sr. had gotten quite used to the afterlife over the years, to the point where he was able to find things he enjoyed about it. Being able to walk through walls was convenient, as was being perpetually invisible. Being able to teleport anywhere at will was also nice - turns out, there's no traffic when you're dead. Not exactly a fair trade off, but a trade off nonetheless.
He didn't make a habit of hovering around his loved ones - literally and figuratively. At the beginning, he'd avoided it almost entirely, finding it too painful and wanting to give everyone their rightful chance to move on - even though he knew they couldn't see him, his presence still felt intrusive.
He floated into La Jolla a couple of times to check in on Trish, but not too often. He liked to see how the gallery was doing, delighting in seeing Trish's dream finally flourish. Back when they'd been together - together together - it had been nothing more than a dream, but Harm Sr. had always known she could do it. And she had.
He also checked in on Frank too sometimes, just to see if he was treating their Trish right. Much to his gratitude, he hadn't found any issues besides the usual couple-y disagreements. If he had found any, Frank surely would've discovered some mystery scratches on some of the cars in the dealership, maybe even a broken windshield here and there. Harm Sr. was helpful with his hauntings for the most part, though he reserved the right to be a menace when he deemed it warranted.
Like with Tom Boone. It was always fun to rattle his windows when there wasn't a breeze outside, or knock a vase over when Tom (or his cat - Harm Sr. never would've pictured him as a cat person) were on the complete opposite side of the room. It was purely fun, a little teasing between old friends, but he'd finally laid off when Boone had a 'spiritual medium' come to sage the house. The sage hadn't worked, but Harm Sr. got the message.
But La Jolla was probably the place he visited the least, because that was where he felt he was needed the least. By the time Harm Sr. passed, he'd found that Trish had moved on a long time ago, and he was happy about that. She deserved to be happy, even if it meant they couldn't be together.
Sergei was visited a little more often, but Harm Sr. always felt a little weird about it. Unfortunately the dead (Ghosts? Spirits? Harm Sr. really didn't know what to call himself) aren't exempt from emotions, and he always felt guilty that his connection was much stronger with Harm, that he'd never gotten a chance to rightfully get to know Sergei, or even meet him. The guilt kept Harm Sr. away a lot of the time, though he was overjoyed when his two sons finally got to meet. Maybe the guilt wouldn't keep him away from his younger son for too much longer; Harm Sr. really hoped it wouldn't.
Then there was his older son. Harmon Rabb Jr. His namesake, his mini-me, his and Trish's baby. He remembered the first time seeing Harm, once he figured out the afterlife permitted travel. It was the fall of 1982, an unseasonably warm Saturday - Harm Sr. couldn't feel the weather, but he could tell by the way everyone living was dressed. Harm was at a park in Annapolis, playing basketball with some friends from the Academy.
Harm Sr. had accepted years before he died that he would never see his son again, never see what kind of man he'd grow into, but now he was seeing it plain as day, and the sight almost took his breath away. The three-year-old toddler he'd left to go fly planes over Vietnam was now a 19-year-old young man, and he was the most beautiful thing Harm Sr. had ever seen.
With the pride came an anger that was almost blinding. Why couldn't he have been there to watch his son grow up? Why couldn't his son have grown up having his father? It wasn't fair. None of it was, and it took Harm Sr. a long time to find acceptance in the fact that many things were never fair.
Watching over Harm became something akin to a drug, and Harm Sr. had to work hard to make sure he wasn't being too much of a bother. Most of the time, Harm Sr. could drift in and out of people's lives without a trace. But he found that, with Harm, if he reached out hard enough, he spoke to him loud enough, he could tell he was there, or at least that something was there. Sometimes this was helpful, but other times Harm Sr. felt like he was keeping his son from figuring stuff out on his own. Harm Sr. found himself still sometimes treating Harm like the three-year-old he had been when he'd left, the little boy that needed almost constant supervision because he was always getting into something. Harm Sr. soon figured out that you weren't supposed to give your adult children that kind of guidance, even from the afterlife. The point was to watch them mess up and make mistakes.
And boy, did he. There had been many occasions where Harm Sr. wanted to grab Harm Jr. by the shoulders and say "What were you thinking?"
Like when he ran off to Vietnam to find his father at sixteen, or when he stayed out drinking until three one night at the Academy knowing full well he had an exam at nine the next morning, or when he fired off a machine gun in the courtroom because that was totally a good idea, or when he ran off to Russia to try and find his father the second time, or all the times he fumbled Mac before they finally got together….
The list could go on. But for every one of those moments, there were even more Harm Sr. wished he could've been present for, to congratulate his son and tell him how proud he was. Like when he graduated from the Academy, or when he graduated from law school. Or other times, like when he flew an F-14 for the first time and when he was able to bounce back from the ramp strike accident. Or, Harm Sr's personal favorite, when his son became a father.
You get a lot of perks in the afterlife, and a special kind of foresight is one of those things. Sometime during the early 90s, when Harm was still recovering from the ramp strike and trying to decide what his next steps were while working on the biplane at the family farm in Belleville, Harm Sr. felt himself being pulled to a completely different place.
Durham, North Carolina. The Duke University campus to be specific, where a young marine captain was studying to become a lawyer.
The minute Harm Sr. saw Sarah Mackenzie, he knew she was someone special, and it didn't take him long to realize he adored her. She was whip smart, determined, and didn't take shit from anyone. While the entire picture was still fuzzy, Harm Sr. could see she would come to mean something to his son. A lot, actually. He couldn't see what exactly would happen, but he could feel the abundance of emotion, the depthness of the tie forming between the two of them.
Sarah was also the only person to ever give Harm Sr. a good scare. The irony isn't lost on him - a ghost getting scared! But it was true. He could tell Sarah had a sixth sense of sorts, he could tell pretty easily when people could, so he kept his distance to avoid making his presence too known.
But one late one night, he was following her home from a house party. She wasn't drunk, but it was the dead of winter and she was a young woman walking alone at night, so he wanted to make sure she got home alright. He was following nearly half a block behind her, but maybe the fact that she was alone made her more acutely aware of the energy in her surroundings, because she stopped abruptly, turned around and made direct eye contact with him.
The experience would've made Harm Sr's blood run cold if he still had blood. He wasn't sure if Sarah had actually seen him or if she'd just gotten the sense she was being watched and the eye contact had been a mere coincidence, but he didn't stick around long enough to find out.
As he drifted away, he noticed another figure. More importantly, another spirit. Crossing paths with other spirits wasn't unheard of, especially in crowded areas or the cliche locations like graveyards and historical sites. But on this deserted street, it was a little odd.
She was an older Iranian woman, and Harm Sr. could by the vague resemblance that she was probably Sarah's grandmother, or another female relative. They didn't exchange words, but they both exchanged a look with the understanding that they were there for the same reason. At least Sarah would be getting home safe, even if Harm Sr. left.
Over the years, as Harm and Sarah co-existed more closely, first as coworkers and then as something more, Harm Sr. would get to know Fatima O'Hara a lot better, and she would turn out to be great company. She had a great sense of humor and didn't gloat too much when Sarah was right and Harm was wrong.
That winter night, Harm Sr. rushed back up to Belleville as fast as he could (which meant he did it instantaneously) and rushed into Harm's bedroom at the farmhouse.
"Go to law school! Become a lawyer! That's what you need to do!" he practically shouted, negligent to the fact that his son was dead asleep.
Harm jolted awake, nearly falling out of bed in alarm, looking like he'd seen a ghost (ha!). He applied to law school at George Washington University two days later, mailing in his application the day before the deadline.
When Harm and Mac (Harm Sr. preferred Sarah to her nickname at first, but "Mac" had eventually grown on him) started working together the picture of what they would be made itself clearer to Harm Sr. He knew that they would one day get married and have a baby, not necessarily in the order, and that the baby would probably be a little girl but that detail hadn't been etched out completely yet. They would also probably have more children, the exact number of which was still a little fuzzy.
The downside of being able to sense future events was that you weren't given a timeline, so Harm Sr. spent several years pulling his hair out waiting for his son to finally make a move on Sarah. He thought it would happen in Colombia, but it didn't. He also thought it would happen when they made that stupid deal to have a baby someday, but it didn't. Then, the perfect opportunity had presented itself. Watching Harm and Mac talk on that ferry in Sydney, Harm Sr. was almost positive that would be their moment. However, his darling, idiotic son had different plans and dropped the ball.
That time, Harm Sr. wanted to more than shake Harm's shoulders; he wanted to knock him upside the head, with the hopes of knocking some sense into him.
"Just ask her out to dinner, son! It's not that hard!" was something he'd said to him on numerous occasions.
Watching Mac make the arrangements to marry Mic Brumby, Harm Sr. thought everything was lost. Why was this the only time the cosmos would lead him astray? He'd follow Fatima through Mac's apartment, around the flower arrangements and cake samples, begging for her to do something, to which Fatima would angrily reply "I'm trying!"
There was one time where this argument had taken place while Mic and Mac were watching TV on the couch, and Mac had ended up muting the television. She'd looked around in confusion, wondering aloud if two people were having an argument outside before eventually turning the volume back up.
However, things had a way of working themselves out, even if it was in a way that Harm Sr. hadn't exactly wanted. He wished it hadn't taken Harm having yet another near death experience to awaken his true feelings for Sarah Mackenzie, but that was how it had gone.
Harm Sr. had left them be for the first few weeks of their relationship, giving the two lovebirds some alone time because that was what they needed, and a parent never needed to know the details of their grown child's love life. Plus, he already knew Mac was pregnant. He didn't need the confirmation of hovering over Harm and Mac as they ogled multiple positive pregnancy tests.
Soon enough, Harm Sr. encountered a woman he adored more than Trish and Mac combined. He had never doubted his granddaughter would be anything short of perfection, but she had completely exceeded any previous perception he had of what that word could mean. He spent several hours floating around the labor and delivery floor of the hospital, steering clear of the delivery room on purpose, wanting to give Harm and Mac the appropriate amount of privacy to become new parents.
A couple of hours after Clara was born and things had quieted down, Harm Sr. finally entered Mac's hospital room to check on the new family. All three of them were fast asleep. Mac was in the bed, Clara was in her bassinet, and Harm was in the armchair, which he'd pulled out to sit between the hospital bed and the bassinet. They looked like the picture perfect family, and Harm Sr. couldn't have been prouder.
Harm Sr. wished he could've been there (actually been there) to hold Clara in the hospital, or be there for all her Christmases or birthdays or all of the other big things. He also wanted to be there for the smaller, more practical things, too. He wished he could be there to help out with the diapers, the bottles, or be there to offer to watch her for a night if Harm and Mac wanted to go out on a date. He wished he could be there to give Harm encouragement that he was going to be a great father, and reassure Mac that she was going to be a wonderful mother.
But he couldn't do any of those things, so Harm Sr. would do what he did best - keep a watchful eye, and make sure everyone always ended up okay.
FATHERS DAY 2002
1310 EST
VIETNAM WAR MEMORIAL
WASHINGTON DC
That morning, Mac woke Harm up with extra kisses, a card Mac had signed on behalf of herself and Clara, and, most important, a t-shirt that had Best Dad Ever printed on it in bold block letters. The shirt was ridiculous, and Harm told Mac so, but he'd still put it on before he came out to eat breakfast. By the time Mac had taken some pictures of Harm and Clara with the camera Harm usually used to take pictures of Mac and Clara, it finally began to sink in that it was his first Father's Day.
"How do you feel?" Mac asked, resting her chin in her hands from across the table.
Harm shrugged. "I don't know, it feels kind of weird."
He still wasn't the best at expressing his emotions accurately, but "weird" wasn't exactly a lie. Clara was only four months old, but every day Harm was discovering more and more things he didn't know about fatherhood. He hadn't been foolish enough to think it was all instinctual, but he wasn't expecting to feel this in over his head.
He felt like the perfect fit to be Clara's father, and yet he found himself wondering if every single thing he did was good enough.
"Are you happy?" Mac asked.
"Of course. How could I not be?"
She shrugged. "Then that's all that matters."
They were going to a barbecue at the Roberts' house that afternoon, but Harm had a certain spot he wanted to visit first. It wasn't his usual Christmas Eve visit, but Clara hadn't been around for that. Visiting the Wall on Father's Day wasn't something he'd done before, but now it seemed oddly fitting. Clara needed to be introduced to her grandfather, after all.
"Do you want me to come with you, or do you want this to be a daddy-daughter thing?" Mac asked once they reached the National Mall. It was a beautiful summer day, with a perfect blue sky and not a cloud in sight. "I can wait here if you want."
Harm shook his head. "No, I want you to come," he said. "It can be a family thing."
Clara was wearing a yellow dress with a tiny duckling stitched on the front of it. Mac had dressed her in it that day, remembering the offhand comment Harm had made a few weeks ago that it was his favorite.
Despite the usual hustle and bustle of the National Mall, the Wall was its usual quiet. It didn't take long at all for Harm to find his father's name, using a route he'd long ago memorized. He didn't know why, but he felt nervous. Even though Clara wouldn't even remember this, it still felt like a big deal - because it was a big deal.
While they were at the Wall, maybe it could be an exaggeration, but Harm swore he could feel his dad there with him. He wasn't the most spiritual person, and he had felt something that could be described as his father's 'spirit' or 'presence' in the past, but this time felt different than all the others. This time, when Harm looked over his shoulder, he almost expected to see his father standing there behind him, watching.
Little did Harm know, he was.
ONE YEAR LATER
JUNE 2003
"Daddy?"
Harm Sr. eyes widened. He looked down at Clara, who he quickly realized was looking back at him - and actually seeing him. It had happened a couple of times over the years - sometimes small children and pets would be able to see him, but it didn't happen often enough for Harm Sr. to consider it would be a problem with his granddaughter.
He looked over his shoulder, then back at Clara. She was sitting on the living room carpet, staring up at him with her big blue eyes. She was beyond precious, and Harm Sr. had no clue what to do.
"No, sweetie. I'm not Daddy. I look like him, but I'm not-"
"Daddy's TAD this weekend honey, remember?" Mac walked into the living room, and Harm Sr. retreated to the corner of the room like a true horror movie specter. Mac scooped Clara up into her arms, settling her onto her hip. "He'll be back on Tuesday. You know what, maybe we can call him tonight. Would that be fun?"
Clara looked at her mother for a few moments before turning to look back at Harm Sr. She pointed to the corner, which to Mac was empty.
"Look!" she insisted. "Daddy!"
Mac followed Clara's gaze with raised eyebrows. "Daddy's not there, baby….no one is…"
Shit, Harm Sr. thought.
"Maybe you should have your nap a little early today-"
"Mama, look!"
Harm Sr. waited in the corner of the living room with baited breath (ironic because he didn't need to breathe anymore) as he listened to Mac put a very fussy Clara down for a nap. He felt a little bad for her, because she was technically right. There was someone else here, even if it wasn't technically the right Harm.
Mac returned after a few minutes. She picked up one of Clara's stuffed animals from the carpet and sat down on the sofa, keeping the tiny white bunny in her lap. She turned, looking over at the corner of the living room where Harm Sr. was. She wasn't making direct eye contact with him like she had on the streets of Durham, but it was close enough.
"I know I can't see you," she said aloud. "But you're there, right? You're who she was pointing at."
It took Harm Sr. a few moments to realize Mac was talking to him, that he was the only person she could be talking to.
Mac gently tossed the bunny over to the corner. It landed at Harm Sr's feet. "Listen," she said. "If you're there, toss that back to me."
Harm Sr. paused for a moment, yet again unsure of what to do. He'd never had this kind of direct contact with a living person before. Were there rules for this kind of thing? Would throwing the stuffed animal back to Mac break some kind of code of conduct?
Mac, meanwhile, was watching the corner carefully, and Harm Sr. could tell she was skeptical.
He bent down, scooped up the stuffed bunny, and tossed it back to Mac.
She caught it with a smile.
This technically should've been a Family Ties update, but this seemed like it would fit better as its own stand alone piece.
I there are a lot of different views of the afterlife, and talks of the afterlife often bring up talks about religion which are always fickle, so I tried to keep this as plain and nondenominational as possible. My own views on religion kind of exist in a gray area. I was raised very southern baptist, but I've also had phases where I haven't believed in anything at all and other phases where I've let tarot cards and horoscopes dictate my every move, so it hasn't always been that black and white. Spirituality and religion have remained very fluid things for me and I think, regardless of what you believe or don't believe, the thought that your loved ones never truly leave you can be a comforting one.
I'm also leaving for a two-week trip starting this Saturday, and the US Father's Day is this Sunday, so I wanted to get this out before I got too distracted with packing and, well, vacationing.
Thanks for reading!
-Harper