Chapter 5

Harm gripped tightly to the edge of the coffee table in a failed attempt to sit upright. His head was pounding something awful - a clear indication of the overconsumption of alcohol he managed to control half a year earlier. He wasn't quite an alcoholic but the cusp between what that was and what he'd become was too fine a line. And so he stopped drinking, cold turkey save for an occasional nip used to unwind.

Last night the nips were plentiful and as he eyed the bottle of scotch, he cringed a little. Too much had been consumed, evident by the way his body swayed when he finally managed to stand. The cottage spun like a top, his mouth felt so dry and his breath…Lord knew that not even swallowing a tube of paste would remove the stench.

A shower made him feel marginally better as did the coffee and six Advil he downed in one shot. He'd be late to work but at least he could hide in the bush until the hangover subsided.

Unfortunately, the scotch hadn't offered that alcohol induced amnesia. And as he drove to the worksite Harm remembered Mac's wedding and the reception that followed - the night his life was changed forever.

2 Years Prior

River Farm

Alexandria, VA

The gardens were stunning even if a ridiculously large white tent had been erected to protect the two dozen tables and a parquet dance floor. Ornate flowers with twinkly white lights adorned every corner of the space giving it a warm and welcoming ambiance. It was breathtakingly beautiful and he might have been more impressed if Harm actually cared at all about the pomp and circumstance of this particular event.

Renee had outdone herself but rather than gush over his girlfriend's accomplishments, Harm found his seat and sulked. All attempts to avoid the reception fell on deaf ears. The venue was owned by the American Horticultural Society and managed by a friend of Renee's who was pleased to call in a favor. She wouldn't be caught dead without a date and since he wasn't the one driving, Harm was stuck.

Funny, for a man who was used to such formal events, he felt like an absolute buffoon in dress whites and wasn't sure why he wore the damned thing because his injury wouldn't have allowed any of the duties of a groomsman. Maybe he just wanted Mac to notice him in an outfit she once deemed overrated even if he no longer had goldwings over his heart.

"Look, they're here."

"Great." He grumbled and turned towards the entrance where the newlyweds crossed through a floral archway. The groom no longer wore a tux, just a simple beige suit with his tie half undone. And the bride…oh, the bride, Harm was dying of pride just watching her. Mac changed into a cream coloured dress with an A-line skirt and intricate little diamonds that made flowing patterns up the bodice.

It was the thick set of straps that disappeared over her shoulders that made him insanely curious and when she turned he was relieved to find it was not not bareback. There was fabric separating her husband's hand from the flawless skin Harm once touched. The same skin that was covered in goosebumps in those stolen minutes on the Admirals porch when he could no longer control his desire for her.

He still remembered everything with great accuracy. How she felt. How she tasted. When a soft mew of compliance escaped the back of her throat as he pulled her flush against him.

Mac fought but only for a moment because the second his tongue made a pass across the seam of her lips, she opened for him like a flower. It sent a spark between them that he couldn't have prepared for. Nor could he have prepared for the numbing sense of loss the second they pulled apart. There was a cruelty in the way Mac casually returned to her fiance not realizing the heart she'd broken and now crushed as she took a lap around the dance floor in the arms of her new husband.

Tonight would be the death of him and as some guests came to inquire about his health, Harm could no longer summon even a polite half smile.

No alcohol - it was clearly written on the bottle of the painkillers he was taking but he still imbibed both from the glasses happily delivered by the wait staff. He survived the dancing, the dinner and the speeches but when the party was in full swing, Harm wouldn't survive her. Mic had asked Renee to dance and when Mac set her sights on him, Harm tried to politely decline.

She held her hand out and laughed when he patted the back of her palm. "No silly, come dance with me."

"Hah. Are you kidding me? Do you know how bad my knee hurts?"

Mac rolled her eyes when he tapped his cane. She might have joked about the weakness of Sailors over Marines but it wasn't very funny and only caused Harm's foul mood to worsen. "C'mom, flyboy you're not supposed to deny a bride on her wedding night."

"And if you were my bride, I wouldn't deny you anything but…Sorry, Marine. No can do."

The radiant smile Mac had plastered on her face disappeared, replaced by a questioning glance she only used when grilling hostile witnesses on the stand. "Is it that you can't dance with me or you won't?"

"Does it really matter?" His words were slurred. The medication and alcohol mixing in a way that was making it easier for the vitriol to spew out unchecked. "You're not mine to dance with. I lost. Brumby won, case closed."

"I wasn't a prize to win."

"Of course you were. This," He waved his hand between the two of them, "was all a game."

She took a step back, clearly affronted by his comment. The happy glow washed away from her expression and he saw some of that deer-in-the-headlights look when Mac didn't get her way. It was when she leaned close to him that Harm caught an edge to her voice that scared him a little. "You had chances. Plenty of chances to state your intentions and-"

"And you went right to him just because I couldn't make up my mind on time…On your time…You didn't even give me one damned day. Less than twenty-four hours later you're screwing Bugme, taking that stupid ring and that makes you what everyone thinks you are..."

"What does everyone think I am?"

A whore, he wanted to say but Harm managed to stop himself from speaking the crass word. The damage was already done and there was no way to retract any of his sentiments. Nor did he want to. "It wouldn't have changed things anyway. We were never gonna work out. We both know that."

"You don't know that." One solitary tear slid down her cheek that Mac promptly brushed away. The way she stared at him filled Harn with such a pang of guilt. "Can't you just be happy for me? Please?"

"No, I can't."

"Fine, sit here and sulk all night. And thank you for making me feel like shit on my wedding night, Commander."

Her wedding night. Fuck. He'd now spend the next few nights imaginging Mic's grabby hands all over her - claiming her. It was nauseating. "Pleasure is all mine. Enjoy that wedding night, Colonel, you're a pro at those."

More vitriol, unchecked and hurtful. He really couldn't stop it anymore which was why Harm

wouldn't have objected if she wound back and slapped him. His shattered pride was turning him into the jerk she once accused him of. Worst of all, he enjoyed her discomfort and the sizzling anger that numbed the pain of heartbreak. "Do it, Colonel. I dare you to make a scene."

It was Clayton Webb in his two thousand dollar Armani tux that slid between them stopping Mac's palm from hitting Harm's face. She'd come close to embarassing the both of them but somehow Webb managed to guide the grumpy sailor away from the bride and towards a small bar at the farthest corner. "Two whiskey's neat and make sure it's not a well drink."

The spy tipped so heavily he might as well have bought a bottle but it did produce a generous pour of a finer spirit, one that offered cleaner hangovers. He eyed the Naval Commander leaning against the bar for support and snorted at how poorly Harm represented himself, a feat he deemed impossible with dress whites.

"What's so amusing?"

"You look like shit, Rabb and that's kinda hard to accomplish with your looks and that uniform."

"Hah. And you look like a rich boy that mama dressed, what's your point?"

"My point is-" He stopped and handed Harm a drink and then turned to watch the newlyweds slow dancing. They made a lovely pair, he thought but then he really didn't know much about Mic save for a few points here and there he found redeeming. "She is stunning, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." But Harm wouldn't look, he couldn't. Never look back.

"I always thought about you two…you know, shacking up? The chemistry was there from the start… I assume the two of you were sleeping together for a while."

"No." He cut Clay off gruffly and with a murderous look the spy ignored.

"Not once?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No!"

"Jesus, thank God I'm not a betting man."

"What's our fucking point, Webb?" Harm's tone caught the attention of a few other guests that wisely kept away from the two men. He snorted at their retreat, downed the drink in one gulp and set it down so that that barkeep could give him another.

"Woah, take it easy, man… Just chatting with you."

"Sorry. It's just..shit..." It's said that alcohol makes you speak the truth which was why it was so easy to say the words to someone else. "I'm in love with her…and it doesn't really matter that I am." He finally turned to the dancefloor, catching the way Mac swayed in Mic's arms. She was happy, or pretending to be and he would give anything to be the man making her smile the way she did. "I'm gonna have to live with that day in, day out until one of us transfers out of JAG."

There it was, what Webb assumed was making the Naval officer act so out of character. He'd seen Harm's scowl from across the reception floor and the overall way he carried himself since stepping foot in the venue. It wasn't the injury, as he first assumed but a broken heart that was eating him alive. He understood, of course because he too had nursed that kind of pain a year earlier when his lover had broken things off due to differences men in his occupation couldn't explain. It was better now but it did take a great deal of groveling to be on good terms again. With Harm and Mac he wasn't sure that time would heal that kind of wound. "How long until you return?"

Harm shrugged and took a small sip of his refreshed drink. "I can ride a desk, rubber stamp starting next week but I'm not getting my wings back, not this time."

"Rumor has it you were kicked out of the review board meeting?"

He turned to Webb and offered a sad smile. "You heard huh? I tried to plead my case, that plane was a bucket of nuts and bolts. They were right though, too many ejections…I still think the Navy doesn't take kindly to me destroying twenty million dollar airplanes, twice."

"Bureaucracy always ruins things, doesn't it?"

"Yep."

Webb leaned against the bar and studied the man at his side who seemed like a shell of his old self. This Harm was bitter, insecure and projecting a kind of anger that he felt in waves. It wasn't his wisest move to engage someone so broken but, in his experience, it was the perfect kind of recruit - a person with nothing left to lose. His friend would be an asset to the agency, a man born to defend God and country. "How about I get you out of Dodge for a while?"

At first it hadn't registered that the spook had offered him a job because he was too busy watching her and the way the kangaroo was all over his bride like a cheap suit. Harm's insides were boiling and the alcohol in his veins didn't improve the mood one bit. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I can get you out of Washington long enough for you to decide what you want to do. Give the Navy a break."

Harm smirked and motions with his head towards the dance floor. "Give her a break you mean."

"Whatever works."

"It'll look like I'm running away."

Webb had the audacity to laugh, "Do you really care what anyone thinks? Look, it's easy - I tapped you for an assignment just like I had in the past. It won't be more complicated than that."

Knowing how many of the spookster's assignments had gone South, Harm should have immediately declined. But, there was a promise in Webb's words - adventure, adrenaline and the overall need to get the hell out of Washington and out from under Mac's shadow. "What's the job?"

"Not anything specific, a chance to serve and protect. Aren't you military types all into that sort of thing? Maybe you can fly a plane…We got plenty of planes."

"I'm grounded, remember?"

"We're not that picky."

Harm glanced back towards the dancefloor and then down at the dress whites that were missing one key element - his wings. The uniform looked boring without them - overrated as Mac would say. "How long?"

"Four months? Maybe six... you keep your rank, your pension and go back to Falls Church when you're done. If you want that."

"Is it dangerous?" Harm asked although he'd already made up his mind. "Never mind, don't answer that." His head was spinning, the alcohol made his limbs feel heavy and numb but his heart was hammering like he just ran a marathon.

He'd left JAG once before and although he promised Chegwidden never to leave again, Clay's offer would make it easy. "How soon can you get me out of Washington?"

That was the beginning of the end because the following week while Mac was on her honeymoon, Webb was making sure orders got passed down the proper channels to insure his transfer. It was a move that Chegwidden hated; unlike Harm he saw past Clay's lies and tried to stop his senior attorney from ringing a bell that could never be unrung.

"Get your shit together, Elliott." Dak Martin, one of the older members of the crew, and a man Harm saw as an enemy was laughing. He stood atop a felled log, a sardonic smile spread across his lips as Harm retched every last drop of alcohol he'd consumed.

It had been a while since he'd been that hung over - at least six months that he'd gone cold turkey and traded the heavy spirits for soda water with a twist of lime and the occasional beer. Lord he hated throwing up especially in front of the men who all had an inkling that he would never fully be one of them. "Fuck you, Dak."

"Fuck me? Naw, pretty boy, you're the one who's fucked." Dak hit a button on a device attached to his belt that lowered the choker cables a mere foot away from where Harm stood.

"The hell you doing, Dak?" If he hadn't stepped back the heavy bell on the ends of the line would have hit his head. Even hung over, Harm was still a force to be reckoned with and in three big steps he dropped onto the opposite side of the log Dak occupied. "You could have killed me."

"Oh please, Elliott…Grow a fucken pair and start working, you pussy."

Harm had always been even keeled, ignoring the yappering of a man who rarely got along with anyone on the team. Dak was older, incredibly surly and a complete asshole no one could fire due to his experience on all logging equipment. It was easier to ignore his antics and deal with the crap that came out of his mouth until now.

Verbal sparring would only go so far and without a thought Harm's fist connected with the side of Dak's face. It sent the older man crashing down onto the springy ground and forced some of the other men to pull Harm off of Dak. He got in two good hits but a third was stopped in mid air. Lord did it feel good to slam his fists into human flesh and ease the frustrations he carried for the past year.

"Let me go!" Another logger's hold stopped his flailing arms and Harm nearly stumbled as he was pushed aside. "Before anyone asks, Dak started this."

Dak was being helped up, his face bearing streaks of blood and an eye that had begun to swell. "You have no business being on his hill while you're hung over! You're a liability, you'll get someone killed."

The last part stung but Dak was right although Harn would never admit it. "I'll work the landing then."

"No! You'll go home without pay." Another voice said and when Harm turned around he saw their boss and owner, Chris Bennings (CB), standing twenty feet away. "You know better than this. Go home, sober up and get your shit together."

"I'm fine, CB. I threw up whatever I drank yesterday…I can do this just put me up on the landing." He pleaded while Dak asked for just the opposite.

"He's a bum, CB…Doesn't have the balls to work here and-"

"And neither do you, Dak. At least David is here no matter what unlike you." In the end, Bennings had a soft spot for David Elliott, no longer a greenhorn logger but a man who caught on rather quickly and became a mentor to his wayward son, Ace. "Alright David… But if you fuck up just one time, you're off my mountain, understand?"

"Aye…Understood."