...Watching every motion in this foolish lover's game
Haunted by the notion somewhere there's a love in flames
Turning and returning to some secret place inside
Watching in slow motion as you turn to me and say

Take my breath away
My love, take my breath away

"Take My Breath Away" by Berlin, copyright 1986.

1305 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I look at the stack of folders on my desk with a frustrated sigh, trying to decide where to start.  That's part of the problem with TDY; the paperwork seems to grow exponentially while you are away so that you can't even find your desk on your return.  Then again, Harm would say that I could never find my desk anyway.

Damn, just the thought of his name threatens to bring fresh tears to my eyes.  I thought this was supposed to get easier.  I didn't think I had any more tears left to shed over his leaving.  'Time heals all wounds.'  Bull.  I thought those wounds were healing, wanted - no, needed - to believe they were healing, only to have them all ripped open again during my recent trip to the USS Patrick Henry.

Sure, we have exchanged e-mails periodically over the months since he left.  He has written to me about the latest mission he is flying or about the extra workload he is pulling as the ship's legal officer.  I have written about my latest investigation or the latest accomplishments of our godson.  But nothing too personal. 

I would never write and tell him about how I missed him so much that it was like a knife cutting through my soul, about all the tears I had shed after he had gone, about the nights I had spent in his apartment, sleeping in an old Navy sweatshirt of his in a desperate attempt to be closer to him, to hold on to the memories of what would now never be.  He would never know of all the dreams I had, dreams in which there was finally nothing separating us - no designator change, no military rules and regulations, no obsessions.  Just the dreams of a man and a woman who finally shared one heart, one soul.

And if he would never know these things that I've kept locked in my heart for the last five months, there are just as many things that I will never know about him.  Did he shed any tears at all after he left me standing in the bullpen, staring after him helplessly as he walked away carrying a large piece of my heart and soul with him?  Did he spend restless nights tossing and turning while memories of me invaded his thoughts and dreams?  Did he ever find himself just staring off into space, wondering what I was thinking or doing at that exact moment?  Did he keep locked in his heart that same love for me that I felt for him?

Then I was ordered by Admiral Chegwidden to the Patrick Henry to conduct an investigation into the bombing of a Russian transport in Kosovo by a member of Harm's squadron.  During the long flight from Washington to Naples, I had found sleep impossible as thoughts of my former partner invaded my consciousness.  On the helo from Naples out to the Patrick Henry, the butterflies were fluttering in full force in my stomach and I had to force myself to breath as I counted down in my head the minutes and seconds until I would see Harm again.

Then I had stepped out onto the carrier deck and there was the object of all my hopes and fantasies standing right in front of me, that familiar flyboy grin of his firmly in place, making me go weak in the knees.  Then we were in each others' arms, a warm hug between friends and I had to force myself to let go, to not lose myself in the maelstrom of feelings this simple touch generated in me.  It was almost as if we had never parted.

Until I removed my flight vest.  Even before I looked at his face, into his eyes, I could feel him stiffen.  My momentary confusion lifted as I looked at my shoulder and remembered that just a week earlier, I had traded in the gold oak leaf clusters of a Marine Major for the silver ones of a Lieutenant Colonel.  I tried to brush it aside, to dismiss the promotion as if it was no big deal, to use humor in an attempt to lighten the moment, but it was no use.  I could see it in his eyes.  It was a big deal.  Maybe that's why I hadn't mentioned the promotion in my last e-mail, the one I had sent informing him that I would be coming to the Patrick Henry.  I had feared this very reaction.

Was he angry, upset, bitter?  I don't know.   I couldn't read what he was thinking by looking into his eyes.  I do know that I had screwed up, been subjected to court-martial, stood in front of an Admiral's Mast, done things that would have gotten most people booted out of the service.  Yet here I was, just months later, with a promotion and a new position as the Admiral's chief of staff.  Harm had gone back to what he loved doing, to what he had trained half his life to do and he was still a Lieutenant Commander.  I stayed and I got promoted; he left and he was being held back.  Would he have gotten a promotion too if he had stayed at JAG?  I think so - no, I know so, probably even before I got mine.  The one question I didn't want to ask myself, the one question I didn't want to hear the answer to was 'Does he resent me for it?'.

Nothing was the same after that.  Of course, it didn't help that we found ourselves on opposing sides of Lieutenant Buxton's court-martial.  It wasn't the first time we had been on opposing sides, but this was different.  Don't ask me how or why.  I don't know the answer to those questions.  It just was different.  And it broke my heart.

Oh, I managed to keep it all hidden away neatly inside.  I even smiled and joked with him after the trial was over.  I tried to pretend that nothing had changed.  But as Bud, Mic and I boarded the helo for our return flight to Naples, as I caught one last glimpse of Harm standing on the deck watching us leave, I had to admit the truth.  Everything had changed.  Everything.

I am brought back to the here and now by an insistent knock on my open office door.  I look up to find Mic Brumby standing there, a smile on his face.  God, not now.  He has been trying to get me to go out with him almost since we met, but I have managed to fend him off so far, even since he stepped up his campaign in the wake of Harm's departure.  Not that there is anything wrong with Mic Brumby, except for the most important thing of all.  He's not Harm.

"I just wanted to see if perhaps you were free for lunch, Colonel," he says, careful to keep his tone professional, as if I was just another colleague.  But I know it is just a façade.  I'm not just another colleague, not to him.  Why couldn't Harm have pursued me like that?

I look up at him and smile, aware that the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes, but I don't care.  I'm not in the mood for Mic Brumby's persistence.  Not when I'm trying to bind up the wounds on my heart again.  "I'm sorry, Mic," I say, shrugging, "I've still got a lot of paperwork to catch up on." That much is certainly true.  He just doesn't need to know the rest of it.

"Are you sure?" he persists.

The man just doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer.  But that is the only one I am prepared to give.  The only one I can give.  "I can't," I assert, diverting my attention away from him by grabbing the top folder off my pile and opening it.  Then I realize what a big mistake that is.  The file I grabbed is my report on the Buxton court-martial.  Damn.  I do not need this.

Anything else Mic might try to say to change my mind is interrupted when Gunny appears at my door.  Bless him.  Mic backs away and promises, "Another time, Colonel," before he heads back to Harm's office.  No, it's his office now.  I have got to get it together and stop making everything about Harm.

"Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you in his office," Gunny says.

"Thank you, Gunny," is my automatic reply as I push my chair back from my desk, grateful for the distraction, any distraction.  With steady, measured steps, careful not to let outwardly show the turmoil in my soul, I head for the Admiral's outer office, where Tiner tells me that I am to go on directly in to see the Admiral.

I enter the Admiral's office to find him standing behind his desk, looking out the window onto the yard below.  I recognize the stance.  It usually means something is weighing heavily on his mind.  As an automatic reflex, I close the door behind me.  Somehow, I sense that what the Admiral is about to say is for my ears alone.  I come to attention in front of his desk, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge my presence.

"Please take a seat, Colonel," he says, finally turning around to look at me.  I do as he requests, curious about what he wants.  He takes his seat and looks down at some papers on his desk for moment before looking up at me, an unreadable expression on his face.  What is this about? I wonder.

"I just got off the phone with the SecNav," he begins, as I wonder anew what this is all about.  If this is about a case, why am I the only one in here? Why not include Bud or Mic or one of the other JAG lawyers?  I fold my hands in my lap and wait patiently for him to explain.

"I have just been informed that we are getting a new lawyer," he continues, removing his glasses and tossing them on the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Is that what this is about, a new lawyer at JAG?  I don't want to hear anything about a new lawyer.  No matter how many lawyers come and go from here, none of them will ever bring the same fire and intensity into the courtroom as Harm.  None of them ever could.  And then my heart stops as I hear the Admiral's next words.

"Our new lawyer is one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.," he finishes. He leans back in his chair and looks at me expectantly.

I didn't hear him right.  I couldn't have.  Admiral Chegwidden did not just tell me that Harm is coming back to JAG.  It must be another lawyer, someone whose name is similar.  I just want Harm back in my life so badly that I am hearing things wrong.  That has to be it.  "Harm is. . . .coming back?" I manage to say, my voice almost a whisper, like a prayer, as I hope with everything that is in me that I heard him correctly.

"Yes, Colonel," he replies, not commenting on my unprofessional demeanor. Perhaps he can see how hard this is for me.  "Apparently, it has been determined that his career would be better served by a return to JAG."

Determined?  By whom?  Is Harm coming back because he wants to or is he somehow being forced to leave flying again?  Oh, God, I want him back.  I just want him to want it too.  I try to push all these questions aside and ask, "When will Commander Rabb be returning?"  Commander Rabb.  Let's try to keep this professional.

"He will report for work here first thing Monday," Admiral Chegwidden tells me.  "Due to your close friendship with the Commander, I thought you would like to be the first to know.  I will have a meeting with the staff tomorrow morning and inform everyone else then.  Dismissed."

I stand quickly and snap to attention.  "Aye, aye, sir," I say automatically.  I turn to leave, but pause, my hand on the door knob.  I turn back to the Admiral and say, "Thank you, sir," before leaving the office.

I stand in the Admiral's outer office for a moment, willing my heart to start beating again.  He's coming back on Monday.  Monday.  Monday.  It becomes like a mantra to me.  Today is Thursday.  In just four days, Harm will be back.  Back to JAG.  Back to me.

I quickly head back to my office, my steps hurried, but I don't try to moderate my walk.  Everyone will probably just assume Admiral Chegwidden handed me some new case that I want to get started on right away.  Oh, the Admiral handed me something alright.  Something far more important than any case could ever be.  He just handed me a lost piece of my soul.

1305 ZULU
USS PATRICK HENRY
ADRIATIC SEA

I stand on the observation deck, the wind and the blast from the jets ruffling my hair, watching the Tomcats take off for yet another day patrolling the skies over Kosovo, a part of me saddened by the fact that I am not up there with them.  Today is my last full day on the Patrick Henry. Tomorrow, I will begin the long journey back to my former life, back to JAG. . . .

Back to Sarah.  When I am like this, I can't think of her as Mac.  Mac is the name of someone's friend, my best friend.  Sarah is. . . .what?  What is she to me exactly?  I know that the feelings I have for her go beyond mere friendship, into an area that I can't begin to quantify or describe with words.  I've tried not to think of her that way, but I can't control the feelings in my heart and soul the way I can control other aspects of my life.  I'm not sure I want to.  I am sure that I've never felt this way about anyone before, not even Diane.  Once, I would never have thought that I could get past the loss and despair I felt when Diane died.  But I did. Because of Sarah.

As happy as I was to return to flying, it hurt me more than I can put into words to leave her.  When she came into my office that last day to say goodbye and I held her in my arms, I wanted so much to hold on forever, to never let her go.  She was crying as if her heart was breaking and I wanted to cry, too.  Oh, how I wanted to.  I wanted to cry, to find comfort in her arms, to find the words to say everything that I was feeling.

Why didn't I?  Was it because I was afraid to finally let her know everything I was feeling and find out that she wouldn't feel the same?  Or was it because I was afraid that she would return my feelings and beg me to stay?  Both.  Or neither.  I wish I knew the answer to that question.  So I shed all my tears in private where no one, especially not her, could see that the outwardly strong, confident and self-assured officer that everyone knows is human just like everyone else and can have his heart broken.

Maybe there had also been a part of me that had been afraid that if I let go and let her in, then I would want to stay, would need to stay, more than I wanted and needed to return to flying.  I had tried to tell myself that I had to return to flying, that it was in my blood and that I couldn't let anything stand in the way of that.  Not even her.

So when we exchanged e-mails, I kept them impersonal, talking about the latest mission over the Balkans or some of the drudgery of my duties as the Patrick Henry's legal officer.  I never wrote about how much I missed her.  Or how I would become lost in thought and wonder where she was and what she was doing.  Or how she haunted my dreams.  She could never know everything that I have been keeping locked up in my heart and soul for five long months.

Her messages were equally devoid of anything of a personal nature.  I would read about her latest investigation or trial.  Or she would pass on tidbits about our godson's first smile, the first time he crawled or how much he is growing.  But she has never told me if she sees my face, hears my voice every time she closes her eyes.  I have never read if she automatically turns to ask my opinion about something, only to find that I am not there.  If she has been harboring any of the same thoughts and feelings that I have been, she has never let me know.

When it was announced that Lieutenant Buxton had killed some Russian peacekeepers, I knew even before I got her e-mail that she would be coming out here.  This was an important case with international ramifications.  It only made sense that the Navy would send its best lawyer out here, even if she is a Marine.  After I received her message that she was coming, I had wished that I had her ability with time.  Then I would have counted the hours and minutes until her helo touched down on the carrier deck.

I had stood there on the deck as the helo touched down, eagerly taking in the first sight of my jarhead in nearly five months.  Then she was in my arms and I had to resist the urge to hold on tight, to never let her go again.  It was as if time had turned back and I had never left.

Until we were inside the carrier and she removed her flight vest.  I had frozen when I saw the silver oak leaf clusters on her shoulders that signified her new status as a Lieutenant Colonel.  When had this happened?  Why hadn't she shared this with me?  She had tried to brush it off, to make it sound like it was no big deal.  A promotion?  No big deal?  Not after everything that she had been through in the last year.  As happy as I was for her, it hurt that she couldn't bring herself to share her good news with me.  I had thought that I meant more to her than that.  That we meant more to her.

Maybe she was embarrassed that she had been promoted and here I was, stuck as a Lieutenant Commander.  I don't know.  Would I have promoted too if I had not returned to flying, if I had stayed at JAG?  I know it sounds arrogant, but I think I would have been.  I am confident in my abilities as an officer and as a lawyer.

Unfortunately, here on the Patrick Henry I am just an aging retread competing against officers who were in grade school when I was where they are now.  Do I resent her for being promoted because it hasn't happened to me?  No, I don't.  But I did start to wonder at that moment if leaving JAG was the best thing and that I can't stand.  I wanted to be in the air again.  It means everything to me.  Or at least that is what I keep telling myself.  I thought that if I told myself that enough times, I would actually believe it.

After that moment, nothing was the same.  She had reached out to me, but I made it sound as if I was brushing her aside, more concerned about the affect on my image with my fellow aviators than with reconnecting with an old and dear friend.  As soon as that lame joke about her giving me the bubonic plague was out of my mouth, I had wished more than anything that I could have taken those words back.  It had pained me to see the brief flash of pain in her brown eyes and to know that I was the one who had caused it.

Dear God, the last thing I had ever wanted to do was hurt her, but for some reason, it seems that I couldn't help myself.  Maybe it's true what they say, that we can only be hurt by the ones we love.  If so, then I must love her so much to have caused her so much pain, between my abandoning her for the air and my thoughtless remarks when we saw each other for the first time in months.

When we faced off during the court-martial, everything was the same, the two of us on opposite sides as we had been many times before, both arguing passionate for our causes, even if one of us did not wholeheartedly believe in that which we were fighting for.  But at the same time, everything was different.  I can't put my finger on it, can never find the words to explain it.  It just was.

Oh, I tried to pretend that nothing had changed.  I even managed to plaster a smile on a face and smile and joke with her after the trial as I tried to pretend.  But as I stood on the carrier deck, watching the helo take off that was carrying her back to Washington and out of my life, I had to admit the truth to myself.  Everything had changed.  Everything.

Maybe that is why, when the CAG suggested that I had nothing left to prove in the air and that it was time for me to move on, it didn't hurt as much as it probably should have.  Deep down, I have to admit that he is right.  Now it is time for me to leave flying on my terms and not due to circumstances that I have no control over.  I do want to return to JAG.  Buxton's court-martial, as distasteful as it was for me, showed me that the law is as much in my blood as flying is.  There is so much I can do at JAG, both for the Navy and her officers and sailors and for myself.

Just four more days.  On Monday, I will walk back into JAG Headquarters.  I know things will be different.  I left.  I will not be the top dog at JAG when I return.  After all, there is a certain jarhead who ranks above me now.  But I know it will not be long before I am back on top of my game, even if I have to grovel before the Admiral for a few months before I am there.  But I will be there.

But even more importantly, in four more days I will be returning to her, to my beautiful jarhead, to Sarah.  As I look out over the Adriatic Sea with the sun high in the sky on this Thursday, one of the last days that I will have to spend without her, I wonder yet again where she is at this moment and what she is doing.  If it's just after three here, then it is just past nine in the morning back in D.C.  She is probably in her office right now, going over case files, perhaps preparing to head into court in a bit.

Does she know yet that I am returning?  I wish I could be there, to capture her face in my memory when she finds out, to read in her eyes if all the hopes and dreams that I harbor in the depths of my soul are echoed in hers.  I want to believe that it is so.  I need to believe that I am returning to more than just a job, that I have something to come home to besides work and a cold, lonely apartment.  As I stare out over the water, I send my thoughts westward on a wave of prayer, with the hope that perhaps somehow she can sense across the miles what I am thinking.  Hang on just a little bit longer, Sarah.  I'm coming home.  I'm finally coming home.

2155 ZULU
HARM RABB'S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON D.C.

I'll never know how I got through the rest of the day at work after my meeting with the Admiral.  I'm not even sure if I accomplished anything while there.  I probably didn't.  The whole day seemed to pass in some kind of misty haze of emotion as one simple thought kept repeating itself over and over in my mind, like a stuck record.  He's coming home, he's coming home, he's coming home.  Did anyone notice that I was not entirely there?  Was it obvious when someone had asked me something that it would take me a moment to register what was being said to me before I could even begin to think of forming a response?  Could they see in my eyes every daydream I had today, imagining the moment he will walk through those elevator doors?

Intellectually, I know I am being ridiculous.  Until tomorrow morning, I am the only person besides Admiral Chegwidden who knows that Harm is returning.  No one else knows.  No one.  I just can't help it if my heart isn't listening.  In my heart, I am sure that the whole world can see what an emotional mess I am and what - or rather, who - is the cause of it.  In my soul, I know that everyone can hear the rapid pounding of my heart and can read the turmoil in my mind.

Since I can't get my mind off of Harm anyway, I decided that I would spend my evenings preparing his apartment for his return, which is why I am here now.  I figure that I will clean tonight and spend tomorrow evening shopping to stock the fridge and cabinets.  Not that the place really needs to be cleaned except for some light dusting.  After all, no one has lived here for five months, which is really my fault.  Harm left so quickly once the Annie Lewis case was wrapped up that he didn't have time to find a renter, so he left that particular job to me.  I just couldn't bear to do it, to lose one of the last tangible links to him that I had, so when he asked about it in one of his e-mails, I said that I hadn't been able to find a renter yet and left it at that.  He didn't need to know that I was in no mood to even try.

Harm had left the utilities connected, figuring that it would be easier for me if I had to get in here for some reason if the lights and water still worked.  He had already made arrangements for the bills to be paid out of his bank account, so that hasn't been a concern.  If someone had rented the place, he had reasoned, the cost of utilities could be included in the monthly rent.  He just never knew how often I needed to get in here, how his home had become my refuge during those long, lonely summer nights when the pain in my heart was too much to bear and I needed to be close to him, even if it was only figuratively.

I sit down on the couch and pull my knees up against my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs as I spend a few moments trying to sort through my tortured thoughts.  Even after all these months, I can still feel his presence here, hear the sound of his voice, even smell his after shave.  If I close my eyes and imagine hard enough, I can even see him standing in front of me, that familiar grin on his face that has always warmed my heart.  This apartment is filled with ghosts, but sometimes those are my greatest comfort.  Maybe now I am truly beginning to understand why he held onto the hope that his father was alive for so long.  If he could hold onto that, then maybe it made the pain that much easier to bear.

Okay, Marine, enough of the armchair psychology, I scold myself as I will myself to get up from the couch and do something, anything.  Finding a notepad and pen, I head for the kitchen and make an inventory of everything I think he will need.  As long as I have known him, I know what he likes to eat, even if I tease him about it, and I know what health food stores he does his shopping at.  Stocking the kitchen will not be that hard.  I even begin to mentally plan a coming home dinner for him, then kick myself for being too presumptuous.  I don't know what he is thinking.  For all I know, he could want to try to reconnect with Jordan.

Jordan.  There's a subject that I have tried not to think about during the last five months.  I know that she was not happy about his leaving, Harm had hinted at that but I didn't really know much beyond that aside from the fact that I had seen how stiff and distant she had been at AJ Robert's christening.  Then about a month after Harm left, I ran into her at Bethesda while I was there for my annual physical.  We had always been on friendly terms, even if we weren't really friends, so I had made small talk with her for a few minutes.  Then I had asked if she had heard from Harm.

Even before she had opened her mouth, the look in her eyes and the way her hand had tightened around the chart she was holding told me everything. There was a part of her that hated him for leaving, that couldn't understand how he could give her up to return to the air.  That I will never understand.  In my mind, if she had really loved him, then she would have understood why he had to go back to flying, would have known that if he had stayed, then he would have lost a piece of himself and he would not have been the same person that she loved.  How could she, as a psychiatrist, even think of forcing him to choose like that?

I lost any respect I might have had for her in that moment, even before she managed to spit out, "Harm and I said everything that needed to be said before he left."  That statement killed our conversation very quickly, as I forced myself not to get into an argument with her about it and to just walk away.  I hate that Harm left, but I could never, not in a million years, even think of hating Harm for leaving.  But Jordan did hated him for leaving and in turn, I began to hate her.  I just haven't been able to figure out if I hate her because she hurt my best friend or if it is because she is so obviously undeserving of his love and attention.  Probably both.  Probably also very petty of me, but I don't care.

I force myself not to think about it and decide that perhaps it is best if I ask him before planning a welcome home dinner.  Maybe he will have something better to do.  I hope not, but I don't want to risk a broken heart when I am so unsure if his feelings go beyond mere friendship.  I think that would hurt even worse than his leaving ever could.

Finished making my list, I tear the paper off the pad and fold it carefully, tucking it away in my purse until tomorrow.  I take a deep breath, trying to tear my mind away from the tormenting thought that his feelings for me might not run as deep as mine for him, trying to force my mind back to the task at hand.  Opening the cabinet under the sink, I find a can of furniture polish,
some window cleaner and some rags.

I decide to tackle the furniture first and attack it I do - with a vengeance.  It doesn't matter to me if it really needs to be cleaned or not.  I take polish and rag to every available surface, rubbing and scrubbing until everything shines.  Even as much as I want to do this for Harm, to give him a clean place to come home to, I realize that I am doing this as much for myself.  I need to keep busy.  I need to try and stop thinking so much.

After I finish with the living room and kitchen, I move into the bedroom, trying to keep my mind focused on what I am doing now and not on what I hope will happen in that room in the future.  I try not to imagine. . . .  Just don't think about it, I tell myself.  Suck it up, Marine.  Only when I think that last bit, it's not my voice in my head, but his.  Oh boy, have I got it bad.

Fantasies about Harm are nothing new.  Those go back almost as far as our friendship.  I had my first real, full-fledged fantasy about him that night in the Appalachian mountains.  At the time, I told myself that it was my mind's way of dealing with a stressful, life-threatening situation.  Either that or hallucinations from my fever.  But that one was far from the last. I remember something Chloe once said about how she wasn't sure how much I had told her about Harm was real and how much was just my fantasies.  Was I that obvious?  Did Harm ever realize or did he just dismiss what Chloe said as something a little sister would say to embarrass her big sister?

I dismiss all these thoughts from my mind as I sink to my knees beside the bed, resting my head on the cool sheets as I finally allow myself, after a long day of conflicted thoughts and fears, to forget everything but the hope and dream of finally being in his arms and revealing everything that I'm keeping locked up in my heart.

2155 ZULU
USS PATRICK HENRY
ADRIATIC SEA

I lay quietly in my bunk, trying desperately to find the comfort that sleep will bring, even as I tell myself that it will be a losing battle.  I try to pass off my inability to sleep as excitement about the journey I will be beginning tomorrow.  I will spend the morning outprocessing, taking care of the mounds of paperwork associated with my designator change and my PCS. Then I will depart the Patrick Henry for the last time, heading for Aviano Air Base, where I will spend the night before catching a Saturday morning flight to Andrews AFB and home.

But I know it's not just the excitement that is keeping me up tonight.  It's nerves.  I'm afraid of what I will find when I get home.  Or what I won't find.  Or maybe both.  I wish I knew what to expect, but I'm afraid to know.  And afraid to ask.

All day, I had played with the idea of e-mailing Sarah or taking a few minutes to give her a phone call.  So many times today, I have found myself near one of the ship's phones and I am so tempted to pick it up and dial.  I need to hear her voice so badly, as badly as I've ever needed anything in my life.  But does she want to hear from me?  That question torments me.  I wish I knew what she was thinking, but I am so afraid to ask, so afraid to find out that she doesn't feel the same.

Why am I afraid?  Another question I keep asking myself.  This is my best friend I'm talking about here.  We've already shared so much as friends.  She's been there for me at some of the lowest points of my life - the search for my father in Russia, my confrontation with Diane's killer, my court-martial and brig break.  So why can't I tell her that I want her, that I want us to be more?

There are no easy answers to these questions.  I wish there were.  I'm a lawyer; it's my job to bring the answers to light.  To find the truth.  What did Bobbi Latham once call me - her 'truth detector'?  Would that I could detect it here.

I tell myself that I need to stop thinking about this and I decide to think about what I am going to do once I am home.  At least I have a home to return to.  I had asked Sarah to find someone to rent my place after I left, but she never did.  Fortunate for me.  I think that I need a sense of familiarity in my life as I explore all these unfamiliar feelings. 

Mentally, I make a list of things I need to get.  One of the first orders of business will be to stock the fridge.  The last thing I want is to spend my first days home going out to eat or ordering takeout.  I want to cook for myself, something I haven't been able to do for five months.  Maybe I'll even make my famous meatless meatloaf, if only to see Sarah's reaction.

As thoughts of her return to my mind, I toss around in my mind the idea of inviting her to dinner on one of my first nights home.  Just the two of us, Harm and Sarah, reconnecting after being so far apart for so long.  It sounds like heaven to me.

But I know there are some things I need to take care of first.  Like Jordan. Things ended badly between us and I owe her at least a phone call, a chance to get together, to explain and to apologize.  I never meant to hurt her, but she never understood.  To be honest, despite the fact that she is a psychiatrist and it is her job, I don't think she ever really understood me at all.  Maybe that was what made me realize how wrong Jordan was for me.

When I told Jordan that I was thinking of leaving, she was furious, telling me she had fallen in love with a lawyer, not an aviator.  But Sarah, as upset as she was, she understood.  My leaving tore her apart - I saw that on my last day - but she understood.  I just wish I had seen the difference between the two women earlier.  Maybe then I would have already been able to open up to Sarah and I wouldn't be lying here, my stomach all tied up in knots, worried about the possibility of my dreams all turning to ashes.

I close my eyes again, trying once again to seek refuge in sleep.  But I can see her clearly in my mind.  I can hear her voice and feel her touch and, realizing that sleep will not come easy this night, I lose myself in my dreams and fantasies of everything that I want to be.

SATURDAY
1405 ZULU
SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
WASHINGTON D.C.

I stand near the window, looking out onto a sunny fall day, wishing that my feelings could be so bright and clear.  Any moment now, the military transport flight carrying Harm from Aviano Air Base will be landing at Andrews.  Harm had not contacted anyone to let us know his itinerary, but Bud did some checking and found out what flight he was on.  Harriet and Bud are planning on being at the terminal to meet him, along with the godson that Harm hasn't seen in five months except through pictures.  Both of them had tried to insist that I should be there also to welcome him home.

Why aren't I there?  I've questioned my decision not to go all last night and all this morning.  I wanted to go, wanted it so badly.  But as Thursday turned into Friday and Friday passed into Saturday with no word from Harm, I felt I had no choice but to stay away.  Harm has not contacted me - no phone call, no e-mail - to even let me know he is coming home.  Something is keeping him from reaching out to me and it scares me to think of what that might be.

As I stocked his kitchen last night, I kept going over and over in my mind the reasons why he had not contacted me.  Jordan.  My promotion.  The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry.  Was it all of them?  Or none of them?  More than anything else, I wish he would just talk to me. Why doesn't he want to talk to me?

1455 ZULU
AIR MOBILITY COMMAND TERMINAL
ANDREWS AFB, MARYLAND

As Bud and Harriet gather up my luggage, passing off little AJ to me, I can' t help but think about the one who isn't here.  Why didn't she come to welcome me home?

I've heard nothing from her.  No phone call, no e-mail, nothing to say that she was looking forward to my return.  I know that she knows.  Harriet told me that Admiral Chegwidden announced my return to the entire staff at a meeting yesterday morning.  I wanted to ask them what her reaction was to the news, but I was afraid to, afraid that I would not want to hear their answer.

As Thursday became Friday and Friday turned into Saturday, and there was still no word from her, I tried not to think about the fact that she has not contacted me.  I tell myself that I don't want to know what her reasons might be.

So lost in these tortured thoughts, it takes me a moment to register that Harriet is talking to me.  Forcing myself back to the present, I say, "I'm sorry, Harriet.  I wasn't paying attention."
 
"That's okay, sir," she replies brightly.  I wish I had her enthusiasm.  "I was just saying that it must be a little overwhelming being back home."

I smile grimly and nod.  It is overwhelming, but not for the reasons she perhaps is thinking.  It's overwhelming to think that everything that I have hoped and dreamed for might never be.  But I don't say that.  I can't say that.  Instead, I toss off some lame remark about how everything seems different.

As we leave the terminal, Bud and Harriet in the lead, me following behind carrying AJ, I try not to think about everything that is missing right now. Or who.  But then I hear Bud say something.  He probably was thinking I wouldn't hear.  But I do.  And it tears me up inside.

"I'm just sorry Colonel Mackenzie didn't want to join us," Bud said to his wife, softly enough that most people probably wouldn't have heard.  But my heart and mind are tuned into her name and what I hear sends all my hopes and dreams crashing back down to earth.

As we walk through the parking lot, I keep going over and over in my mind the reasons why she is not here.  Jordan.  Her promotion.  The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry.  Was it all of them?  Or none of them? More than anything else, I wish she was here.  Why doesn't she want to see me?

MONDAY
1110 ZULU
HARM RABB'S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON D.C.

If my love life were an airplane, it would have suffered a ramp strike this weekend.  Not exactly the most comforting thought first thing in the morning as I am preparing for my first day back at JAG, but I'm not really in the mood to be excited about returning back there, not this morning.

You know what I did this weekend, aside from getting my body reacquainted to this time zone, that is?  Absolutely nothing, nothing except alternate between staring at the phone, wishing Sarah would call or that I could find the courage to call her, and picking up the phone to leave yet another message on Jordan's answering machine.  God, what a mess.

When I had gotten home on Saturday, I had found a note from Sarah on my kitchen counter.  No, not Sarah.  Mac.  She had signed the note 'Mac'.  The note itself had been brief and to the point.  She had cleaned the apartment and stocked food in the kitchen.  That's it.  No 'Welcome home', no 'I'll see you'.  Nothing.  I had crumpled the note in my hand, feeling angry and hurt and I don't know what else.  If Bud or Harriet had noticed my darkening mood, neither one of them said a word.

After I had claimed, rather lamely, that I had things to do and the Roberts had left, I began my vigil by the phone.  I had stared at it for a long time, wishing she would call, almost willing it to ring.  I had contemplated calling her, demanding to know what she meant by cleaning my place and stocking my kitchen, then leaving me with nothing but a brief note.  I had needed to ask her why she had cared enough to  prepare my apartment for my return, yet hadn't care enough to come to the terminal to welcome an old friend home, even as I had told myself that I didn't think I wanted to hear her answer.

Then, angry with Mac, I had placed the first of what ended up becoming many calls to Jordan, asking - no, almost begging - her to call me.  I had told myself that I still cared about her and that it was a good idea for us to try to get back together.  But even as I had thought it, a little voice inside my head had insisted that I was just trying to substitute Jordan for Sarah - no, Mac.  I had tried to think of her as Mac, tried and had failed.

Now, as I get into my uniform, I try to turn my mind to what I am going to be doing at work today.  A couple of hours this morning will be occupied by in-processing at the personnel office at the Washington Navy Yard before I finally head to JAG around ten hundred hours.  That's the moment I am dreading, when I walk back into JAG headquarters for the first time in five months.  What kind of reception am I going to get from everyone?  Can I face Mac, feeling what I am feeling, now almost sure that she doesn't feel the same?

1110 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I toss my briefcase on my desk and sit down with a heavy sigh.  Today is Harm's first day back and I don't know how I will feel when I finally see him.  This weekend, I had waited for the phone to ring, hoping he would call, at least to thank me for cleaning his place and buying him food.  But he never did.  I had thought about calling him, wanting to shake some sense into him, needing to know why he didn't care enough to contact me and let me know he was coming home.  As the weekend had worn on, I had just about convinced myself that it was obvious that his feelings for me were nowhere near the same as my feelings for him.

Then last night, as I had drifted off to sleep, I had found myself once again contemplating his return and what might have been.  Even as I had tried to force the thoughts from my mind as I lay in my cold, lonely bed, I had begun having the most erotic thoughts and fantasies.  The dreams of everything I had wanted to be with his return had haunted me, making sleep impossible.  After sleeping fitfully most of the night, I had finally gotten frustrated enough to get up and come into work early.  To what end, I don't know.  It's not like being at JAG, where we have shared so many memories, is going to make me stop thinking about him.  I wonder if anything can make me stop doing that?

"Good morning, ma'am.  I have that information you requested."  Gunny is standing outside my door, a file in his hand.  I motion for him to come in, grateful for the chance to concentrate on something else besides lost hope and shattered dreams.

"Thank you, Gunny," I say, taking a quick glance at what he has just handed me, impressed with his thoroughness.  Convincing him to forgo his early retirement and come to work at JAG was one of the best decisions I have made as Chief of Staff.  Looking up from the file, I see Gunny still standing in the doorway, looking at me expectantly.  "Was there something else, Gunny?"

"I just wanted to ask a question, ma'am," he says.  "I'm curious about the new lawyer coming in today."

Just great.  Gunny would bring up the one topic I am trying my hardest not to think about.  I can understand why, though.  Gunny likes to get a feel for people before he trusts them.  That's why he sandbagged me in court that one time the way he did, because he didn't know if he could trust me to do the right thing with the information he had.  Despite the fact that the episode got us off on the wrong foot, it is one of the qualities that I admire most about him.  I can definitely understand about not trusting too easily.

Taking a breath, I try to keep my voice neutral as I respond, "Commander Rabb is one of the finest attorneys I have ever met and probably has the most integrity of almost anyone I know.  You can trust him."  As I say it, my voice softens and memories start replaying in my mind.  If Gunny notices that I have suddenly developed this faraway look in my eyes, he is professional enough not to comment on it.  "Thank you, ma'am," he says, turning to head back to his desk in the bullpen.

Left alone again with my thoughts, I stare at the walls, thinking again of Harm's return, wondering what will happen when he walks through that door. Can I face him, feeling what I feeling, almost sure now that he doesn't feel the same?

1400 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

This is worse than I could have ever possibly imagined.  I can live with the new Gunny acting like a guard dog and stopping me on my way through the bullpen.  After all, he doesn't know me.  And Tiner certainly welcomed me back with enthusiasm.  But the bottom fell out of everything the second I stepped into the conference room.

Nobody acknowledged my entrance.  A few of them looked in my direction, but nobody said anything.  They were all laughing and joking about a case Bud and BugMe had been opposing counsel on.  As I sit down across from Mac, I feel so left out.  The people in this room have always been almost like a family to me and now it is like I am an outsider here.

After that bit of torture is over, I follow the Admiral back to his office. He's going on about the recent 'tail hook' episode.  I react modestly as he recounts the incident.  I was just doing my job, saving my fellow aviators from enemy fighters and helping them get their damaged aircraft safely back to the carrier.  End of story.  I may be overly confident at times - many would say arrogant - but I don't spend all my times replaying past accomplishments in my head.  Then I get the first bit of happy news I've had since I returned to JAG - I have been nominated to receive my second Distinguished Flying Cross.  But the announcement does bring back memories of the first DFC I received.  That was the day I met her in the Rose Garden.

Admiral Chegwidden and I sit down in his office and I wonder what mindless task he's going to assign me to first.  But he surprises me when he hands me an actual case for me to defend.  Not that I think he is petty, as he suggested.  When Mac left, she was almost persona non grata as a lawyer around her for a while.  I was not expecting anything to be different with me, Distinguished Flying Cross notwithstanding.

I take a quick glance at the file he hands me, a DDO case.  Not the most spectacular case in the world, but it's a start.  Then the Admiral drops his bombshell.  The defendant in my case is the son of the Secretary of Navy.  Talk about your hot potatoes.  This could be either the best or the worst thing to ever happen to my career.  I'm not sure which at this point.  I leave the Admiral's office, intently studying the case file.

I am in Mic's office, going over some information on his computer, thankful for something to take my mind off the staff meeting.  I can't think about it now, how lost and out of place Harm seemed.  He looked so sad and hurt and confused - and lost.  Most of all lost.  I just wanted to take him aside and reassure him that everything was going to be okay, that he had a place here at JAG, anything to comfort him and keep his mind away from the possibility to leaving again.  If I could survive my return, he can survive his.

Oh, no, I think as I look up to find Harm standing in the doorway, that lost and confused look on his face again.  He then turns and looks up to the nameplate over the door, seeing Mic's name where his used to be.  I feel so bad for him again.  At least I hadn't been gone long enough for someone to have taken my place.  I can't begin to imagine what he is feeling right now. I just wish I knew a way to make it better for him.

"Sorry," he says, "force of habit."  I can't help but look at him with sympathy in my eyes.  My anger over his lack of communication this weekend has completely dissipated as I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say to erase that look in his eyes, the one that says 'What am I doing here?  I don't belong.'

"No worries, mate," Mic says, completely oblivious to Harm's discomfort, not that I really expected anything different.  "You're next door to Mac now."

He nods to Mic as an automatic gesture of courtesy then looks my way.  We lock gazes for a moment as he finally greets me, but it is far from the greeting that I had wanted or expected.  "Colonel," he says neutrally, his voice betraying nothing.

"Commander," I return the greeting, just as neutrally.  "I was just coming to see you."

He doesn't acknowledge this as he glances around the office, his eyes taking in all the changes.  This has got to be so hard for him.  I can hear it in his voice as he says quietly, "They painted in here.  I could never get them to paint."

Mic laughs, a bit smugly in my opinion, as he replies, "All in the way you ask, I guess."  I want to shake him for his insensitivity.  Can he possibly be that completely blind to how much Harm is hurting?  Or am I the only one who sees it?  Even after all this time apart, am I so in tune to him that I can read his moods and gestures with only the smallest hints and clues?

I can see that Harm is thinking of Mic as an insensitive brute too in the look he gives him.  He then looks at me, but I can only look for a moment before I have to look away, wishing I could say something, wishing there was something to say.  I want more than anything to erase the pain in his eyes.

Mic stands and turns the topic to work.  I guess we all need the distraction at this point.  "Oh, I understand you're defending Leftenant Nelson," he says.  Maybe this is what Harm needs, to concentrate on work instead of all these changes around him.

He nods, the mask of neutrality slipping over his face again.  "That's right," he says.
 
Then Mic has to go and get a shot in at Harm and I wish I had something to throw at him.  "If you lose, Harm," he points out, "you'll always be known as the man who let the SecNav's son go to prison."

"Well, you'll be the guy who put him there, Brumby," he shoots back, making a clucking noise.  I want to cheer.  That sounds like the old Harm I know, the one who never took anything from anyone.  He winks at me then leaves for his own office.

I look at Mic and shake my head, having managed to control my impulse to hit him with something.  But right now I don't care about Brumby.  I have to talk to Harm.

I can't believe I managed to get through that little exchange.  Everything has become so turned around and twisted that I don't even recognize anything around here anymore.  Not even my best friend.  When I first saw her in there, leaning so close to Mic, it cut through me.  That should be me sitting in there, Mac standing over my shoulder as we go over our cases together.  She's my partner, damn it.   I guess I am learning why they say 'You can't go home again'.  First, flying didn't turn out as I had expected and now this.  I'm wondering if I really belong anywhere anymore.  I haven't felt like this since that time just after my crash, when I was recovering up at my grandmother's farm, restoring my airplane.

I walk into the office that Brumby said was mine to find Bud packing his things into a box.  I wish he had told me on Saturday that it was his office I was taking over.  Then I probably would have contacted the Admiral and tried to arrange something different.  Maybe I could have convinced him to let me have my old office back.  That would have served BugMe just right.

As Bud finishes gathering his things, I pick up the phone to call Jordan again.  As badly as things have gone here this morning, I think I need to find something familiar to hold onto.  As I hear her answering machine pick up yet again, I look up to see Mac and Bud nearly collide in the office doorway.  She suggests that I finish my call.  Indicating that I will be with her in a moment, I leave another message for Jordan, asking her to call me.  I can see Mac looking away, shifting nervously on her feet.  She looks just as uncomfortable as I feel.  I guess I really was expecting too much when I thought that she might welcome me home the way I really wanted her to.

Trying to keep my voice devoid of any emotion, I say, "Colonel."

"Out there it's Colonel," she tells me.  "In here it's Mac."  I sense she is trying to put my mind at ease, but what's the point?  What difference is what I call her going to make?  I look at her and try to smile and she smiles back, but it's just so. . . .awkward.  I can't remember it being like this since Arizona.  Hell, Arizona was much better than this.  At least then I didn't have my memories of how things used to be.

She breaks the leaden silence between us first, sighing as she says, "So how 's it feel being back?"

I shrug, "Like I left yesterday."  I pause, then add sadly, "And I've been gone a hundred years."  I don't know why I just told her that.  I guess I'm finding it hard to break my habit of confiding in my best friend.  Why can't this be any easier?

She grimaces slightly as she replies, "Yeah, I know the feeling."  As she sits down, she tries to lighten the moment by adding, "Except, you know, when I came back I was condemned to writing mindless motions for a month."

"And now you're the Admiral's Chief of Staff," I point out.  It took her nearly a year and a half to get from there to here.  Is that how long it's going to take me?  Is that how long it will be before I start to feel comfortable here, around her?

She seems a bit embarrassed as she qualifies, "Not officially."  I don't know why she would feel embarrassed.  I don't begrudge her the successes she 's had.  I'm not petty.

She takes a breath, almost as if she's bracing herself.  Then, with two sentences, she manages to lift my spirits then send me crashing back down to earth.  "Are you free for lunch?  Brumby and I are going to grab a bite," she tells me.

Is she kidding?  What could possibly be going through her mind that she would suggest I have lunch with her and BugMe.  Why doesn't she just hand me a knife and I'll slit my throat, thank you very much?  The last thing I in the world I need is to spend my lunch feeling sick as I watch her cozy up to that. . . .that smug Australian.  Thankfully, I have a legitimate excuse for bowing out.  "Bud and I have to go to Norfolk," I reply, unable to keep the relief from creeping into my voice.

She looks disappointed, but I don't understand why.  What was she thinking? She sounds upset as she suggests, "Well, maybe another time."

I look down at my desk, trying to think of a way to end this conversation quickly and with as little pain as possible.  I really don't want to have this discussion.  I look back at her and answer, "Sure."  Yeah, right. Maybe when hell freezes over.

She must have heard it in my voice.  Walking out, she echoes my answer under her breath, the disbelief in her voice.  She knows that I don't like Brumby. If she does, I don't care, I just don't want her flaunting it in my face.  Maybe if I tell myself that I don't care enough times, I will begin to believe it.

THE NEXT DAY
1805 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

After that fiasco in his office yesterday, it surprised the hell out of me that I managed to get Harm to agree to have a late lunch with me today. When I think back to that conversation, I can't believe myself.  If I had been him, I wouldn't have agreed either.  What in the world had possessed me to suggest a lunch with me and Brumby?  Unfortunately, I already know the answer to that one.  I was hoping to make him jealous, to force his hand. Then I flash back on the awkward scene in Mic's office shortly before that and I realize that jealousy is the furthest thing from his mind right now.  Right now, he is just hurting too much.

Desperate to make amends, wanting to do anything to lift his spirits, I am determined to make today's lunch a success.  As we walk out to the courtyard carrying our lunches, we discuss my promotion.  After his reaction on the Patrick Henry when he first found out, I am surprised that he would pick this as a topic of conversation, but when he comments on the way I handled a recent case, I occurs to me that he does sounds happy for me and maybe just a little bit proud, too.  I just wish he could have been here with me to share in my glory.  He even manages to look a little apologetic when I tease him about all the cases I got stuck with after he left.  Is he sorry that he left me?  Probably best not to think about that right now.  We seem to be off to a better start today.  Maybe we can just forget yesterday ever happened.

As we begin eating, I turn the discussion back to him and his return to flying.  "What about you?  Did you find what you were looking for out there in the wild blue yonder?"  I keep my tone light, but there is an intensity behind the question.  I need to know that he really wants to be here.

He nods, but he looks far from thrilled.  Somehow, I don't think it's the question that bothers him so much as the answer.  "Yeah," he replies softly. He pauses for a moment, that lost look that I have seen so much the past day and a half in his eyes.  He then adds, "Eight years too late.  Not much of a career left for me in aviation at this point."

"Yeah, but you knew that before you went back," I point out.  I don't mean it to sound like a shot at him.  I do understand why he had to go back.  I just wish he sounded more sure about coming back.

"Well, maybe I thought I could beat the odds."  Even as he says it, I can tell that he knows deep down it was a losing cause even as he embarked on it.

I take a breath and ask the one question that I most want to hear the answer to.  "So, what's next?"

He looks away for a moment as he sips his coffee, almost as if he doesn't want to answer the question.  Finally, he looks back at me and answers, "JAG."  As he leans closer to me, he begins to sound even more sure of himself and his answer, but I can tell that he's not completely there yet. "Guess I had to leave to, well, you know, figure out how much I like this place."

I'm not sure how to respond.  I want to say something, anything, to make him feel better about coming back.  I want him to know that I am there for him if he needs to talk, a shoulder to lean on, anything.  But I can't seem to find the right words.

I know that she's not completely happy with my answer.  Neither am I.  But how do I explain everything that I am feeling right now?  Right now, I need her to tell me that everything will be fine, that she will help me settle back into my life here.  But the words I want to hear don't come.  Even if she could find the answers for me, anything she might say is interrupted by BugMe's untimely arrival.

"Colonel," he greets her.  He then looks at me, almost as if he is just now realizing that I am here.  I resist the urge to hit him.  "Commander," he finally greets me.  I am annoyed that he is here, interrupting what had been a halfway decent conversation, even given the current unanswered questions between us.  Mac, I can't tell what she is thinking.

Forcing myself to be polite, I indicate the empty seat at out table as I suggest, "Brumby, have a seat."

Thankfully, he says he can't stay.  Maybe he's smart enough to realize how much I do not want him here interrupting my time with Mac.  But he's not going away either.  "I had an interesting chat with Commander Burke," he tells me.  I already know where this is going.  I also had a chat with Burke.  "You know he's willing to drop the charges."

I look up at him for a moment.  Does he really think I am just going to walk away and allow him his victory.  As I look away, I say firmly, "We're not interested."  I wonder if they realize that I'm not just talking about the case.

He laughs and I have to again resist the urge to wipe that smug look off his face.  "Well, why in the bloody hell not?"

Okay, maybe he's not as smart as I thought.  I spell it out for him.  "We don't like the conditions."

"Well, is that your client's position or yours?"  Now he's questioning whether I have my client's best interests at heart?  Buxton's court-martial notwithstanding, he obviously doesn't remember what kind of attorney I am, what kind of man.

"His position is my position," I answer firmly.  As far as I am concerned, that is the end of this discussion.  Now, if he will just get the hint and leave.

Finally, he nods.  "All right," he says.  "I'll see you in court."  He then winks at Mac as he departs.  "Colonel."

Mac looks at me and I can see the question in her eyes.  Just great.

"It's under control," I say.  I just wish it really were.

I can see she doesn't believe me any more than I believe myself as she mutters, "Yeah."  Wonderful.  Things had not been going too badly and after one unwelcome visit from BugMe, even she is questioning me.  I've just lost my appetite.

THE NEXT DAY
1400 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I am getting a headache.  Harm, Mic, Bud and I are all in the Admiral's office discussing the Nelson court-martial.  It didn't take long for said discussion to turn into a full-fledged shouting match between Harm and Mic.  I just don't understand Harm right now.  He can be passionate about his cases; it's one of the qualities I most admire about him.  But this isn't passion.  It's bullheadedness, plain and simple.  I can't remember Harm ever sounding like this, except maybe right before we ended up on the USS Watertown.  Then again, at the time, I was being just a stubborn and argumentative.

I just want this to end so I can crawl back to my office and take some aspirin.  "Admiral, I don't see a settlement here," I cut in.  "I see a battle of wills between two pigheaded sailors."

Well, that shut both of them up.  They give me identical looks of astonishment.  Who, them, pigheaded?  I resist the urge to snort and add quickly, "Referring, of course, to Lieutenant Nelson and Commander Burke."  I can see neither of them believes me.

"Well, there is one thing we agree on, Sir," Harm tells the Admiral.

I can almost hear the weariness in his voice as he asks, "And what is that, Commander?"  Given that this is SecNav's son, Admiral Chegwidden probably just wishes this case would go away.

"There will be a trial," Harm says firmly.

Damn pigheaded sailor.  Do we really need to go through all this?  As I think it, I realize that it is not the case that I am thinking about.

2215 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Ever have one of those days where you wish you could just turn back time and start the day over?  Today definitely qualifies for me.  Things went from bad to worse as the day progressed.  First, there was that debacle in the Admiral's office.  Then court, which was nowhere near what I would call a success.  Finally, I had to witness the spectacularly unsuccessful meeting between my client and his father.  I may not like the SecNav and I know he feels the same about me, but I did feel sorry for him in there.  He was trying his hardest to reach out to his son, but Lieutenant Nelson wasn't buying.  Then again, I have too many father-son issues of my own.  I am probably not the most objective person on the subject.

As I head back to my office, Gunny hands me some information I had requested.  That man has been a godsend during this trial, turning up all kinds of useful information.  Mac made a good decision when she convinced him to come on board.  He could give Bud a run for his money in the research department.

Great, this is all I need, I think as I walk into my office to find Mac waiting for me.  It's getting late and I just want to get out of here and forget this day ever happened.  Hell, after the fiasco yesterday at lunch with Mac and last night with Jordan, I'd like to forget the last two days happened.  I don't think this can be anything but unpleasant.  With the first words out of her mouth, I am proven right.

"The old Harm would have gone for Burke's jugular," she points out.  Et tu, Brute?

As I sit down, I respond, a bit exasperated, "Not you too."

She mimics how she thinks I should have questioned Burke.  I don't want to hear this.  "Come on, Harm," she insists.  "You know how to do it."

"Oh, the media'd love that," I reply sarcastically.  "'Ship's Captain rattled during emergency, blames junior officer.'"

She sounds exasperated as she shoots back, "You're supposed to be worrying about your client's image, not Commander Burke's."

"Look, if we're going to make the law our lives, we have two choices," I insist.  Yeah, I'm a fine one to be lecturing her on making the law our life.  "Respect it or manipulate it."

Forcefully, she retorts, "Your client still takes priority.  If you can't see that, I can recommend Bud take over the case."

Angrily, I respond, "Well, that won't be necessary, Colonel.  But just do we 're clear, I will not destroy one good man to save another.  Not while there are alternatives."

Just as angry, she gets up to leave, getting in one last shot before she does, "And when the alternatives run out, Commander?"

The worst part of all this, I realize as I sit alone in my office, is that I know she is right.  I have screwed this up royally.  I just don't know how to fix it.  And I'm not just talking about the case.

What is going on with him? I wonder as I sit alone in my own office.  I don't recognize the man I just left in Harm's office.  I know this has got to be hard for him coming back.  He hasn't exactly received the warmest reception on record.  Hell, when I came back, Harm welcomed me with open arms, going to bat for me with the Admiral.  Not that he was exactly in the Admiral's good graces at the time, but that's another story.

I can't believe that he's bungling a case that a rookie lawyer could argue in his or her sleep.  Somehow, I suspect it is more than just the case, but I don't want to ask.  At this point, I don't want to know.  I'm afraid that after the last few days, he is really regretting his decision to come back to JAG.

It's not his abilities as a lawyer I doubt.  Hell, he got Buxton off, didn't he?  The way he argued that case, the passion he put into it, even when he found it personally distasteful, that is the Harmon Rabb I know.  It's like the old Harm, the one I know and. . . .care about, is still gone and some stranger wearing his face is wandering the halls of JAG in his place. 

As the thought crosses my mind, I make a mental note to myself to check and make sure Clark Palmer is still in Leavenworth and I laugh weakly.  I wish it could be something as simple as that.  But I know that isn't it and I don't know what to do.  I don't know how to fix it.

ONE WEEK LATER
1400 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Harm still seems like he’s having trouble finding his way back at JAG, but it’s nice to know some things still haven’t changed.  He has just walked into the staff meeting late.  That squid still has no sense of time.  As he makes his excuses to the Admiral, I move towards my seat but the Admiral suddenly calls, “Attention to orders.”  As I snap to attention, along with everyone else in the room, I wonder just what is going on.

I doesn’t take long to figure it out as the Admiral starts reading from what looks like an award citation.  Like everyone else, I had heard about the stunt with the tail hook which saved the lives of Harm’s wingman and his RIO.  We’d all even heard rumors that he was going to get another Distinguished Flying Cross out of it.  Looks like the scuttlebutt in this particular case is true.

As the Admiral continues, I can’t help but think back three years to another award ceremony, another Distinguished Flying Cross.  I still remember that day as if it were yesterday.  That was the day I had first laid eyes on Harmon Rabb, Jr.  I can still remember everything – every word, every gesture, the look in his eyes when he first saw me.  There were sparks there from the very first, at least on my part.  I wasn’t sure about him at the time.  I couldn’t comprehend the look in his eyes, the feeling of déjà vu he admitted to.  It was more than a year before I knew the reason, before I knew about Diane.

After that, after he managed to find some closure concerning her death, I thought things – had changed between us.  In Russia, when we had no one to depend on but each other, we seemed to be closer than ever.  When I was court-martialed for murdering my husband, Harm stood by me, even though I had hurt him with my omissions.  On the USS Watertown, it was like we were in perfect synch with each other towards the end, working together in a fight for our lives.  When he revived me and pulled me into his arms, I didn’t want to let go.  I wanted to hold on forever.  But then he returned to the air and every dream I thought we could have shared left with him.

Outwardly, despite the turmoil in my soul, I manage to remain impassive as the Admiral finishes the citation and pins the medal on Harm’s coat.  Then I hear the Admiral say something about me doing the honors and it takes a moment for what he is requesting to sink in.  Everything seems to move in slow motion as I walk up to Harm.  God, I hope no one can see how my knees are shaking.

Harm gives me a half smile as he teases softly, “Gently, Marine.”  Can he see how much I want this?

I hold onto him to steady myself as I press my lips to his cheek.  As I pull away, a charged look briefly passes between us and I force myself to turn away and head for my seat. 

I can’t help but look at Mac as she walks away from me.  When she held onto me and her lips touched me, I had to force myself to remain still, not to react.  I wanted so much to take her into my arms, to forget everyone else in the room with us.  But I can’t do that.  Too damn much has happened.  We’re not the same people we were six months ago, not the same people who met in that Rose Garden all those years ago.

The Rose Garden.  I remember everything that happened that day with perfect clarity.  I remember the stunned feeling when I first saw her, looking so much Diane that I could barely string two words together in a coherent thought.  There were several more moments when I would look at Mac and see Diane, but it didn’t take long for me to see her as her own person, one worthy of my respect, my friendship, my. . . .

Once I thought there could have been more than just friendship between us.  When we were in Russia, Mac did so much for me, came farther on my behalf than anyone.  When I was facing court-martial for murder, she was unhesitating in her support, even when the evidence was stacked against me.  On the Watertown, even after we had been fighting, when we were both injured, she became my voice and I became her eyes as we fought for our lives.  Then when Hodge tried to strangle her and after I had to bring her back, I took her into my arms and I never wanted to let her go.  But then I returned to flying and every dream we might have shared was left behind with her.

This was why I didn’t want to do this, to have this ceremony.  I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from thinking of before, of the first Distinguished Flying Cross that had been the beginning for us.  I force myself to turn away from her and back to the Admiral.

“Sir, I’m flattered,” I say, “also a little confused.  I believe I requested no ceremony be conducted.”

“Yeah, I ignored it,” he answers as he takes his seat. 

Can’t he see how hard this is for me?  Doesn’t he know about all the memories this brings back for me?  I have to force myself to pay attention as he briefs me on my latest case.  As he’s doing so, he hands me his handkerchief, gesturing that I have lipstick on my cheek.

As I wipe it off, I look again at Mac, but she looks down at the table.  Is she blushing?  It’s so hard to tell what she is thinking.  Didn’t this used to be easier?

As the Admiral moves on to other cases, I can’t help but tune everything out but her.  I wish I could talk to her about this, but this isn’t the right time.  Will there ever be a right time for us?

My attention is unwillingly drawn back to the meeting when Brumby speaks up.  I’d almost forgotten that he was even here. 

“Sir, might I request the prosecution on this one?” he asks the Admiral.

“What, see an easy score here, Commander?” the Admiral counters.

“Not at all, Sir,” he replies.  “Just an opportunity to lock horns with a worthy adversary.”

My eyes still on Mac, I see her smile and it hits me like a ton of bricks.  This is her case they are discussing and she seems to welcome the attention that BugMe is paying her.  I can’t help the pain I’m feeling; I just hope no one else notices the jealous feeling that I can’t seem to bury down inside.

The Admiral is right when he points out Brumby’s enthusiasm.  It’s almost nauseating the way he chases after her.  I really need to get out of here.  Fortunately, the Admiral concludes the meeting and we are all free to leave.

As I hand the handkerchief back to him, I reiterate for the Admiral my feelings about the ceremony, telling him that I had been hoping to avoid reminders of my aviation career so that everyone could see how committed I am to JAG.  That is true, as far as that goes.  It’s just not my only reason.

“Clear to me,” he responds.  “Anyone confused by the Commander’s feelings?”

I can’t help but smile sadly as I head for the door and wait for Mac.  At least one person here seems to be confused by my feelings.  Why else would she encouraging Brumby’s attentions?

I know she’s right when she points out that I’m overcompensating.  But it’s not just because of the upheaval returning to JAG was brought into my life.  I just don’t know where I stand and I wish to God I did.

“There’ll be a period of adjustment for all of us,” she tries to reassure me.  “My suggestion is don’t push it.  You know, let it happen.  We’ll get the rhythm back.”

Will we?  I wish I could believe that, but I don’t see a place for me in her life right now.  She has Brumby now, apparently.  What does she need me for?

I can’t help getting a shot in at him.  “Well, Brumby certainly dances to your beat,” I point out.

“And by that you mean?” she counters.  She almost sounds upset, but why would that be?

“He’s still on your scent,” I reply, pointing out the obvious.

“We’re friends,” she insists. 

Yeah, right.  Like she and I are just friends?  I don’t think so, not after the reaction I saw in the briefing.  “No man is interested in being friends with a woman who looks like you,” I say, but she simply responds with a dirty look.

I continue, “Well, except for me, of course, because, you know, I’m like a brother, but the point is you encourage him.”  Why the hell did I say that?  My feelings are hardly brotherly for her; I’ve told her as much before.  But she can’t seem to recognize that.

Damn him, I think.  Brumby and I are just friends.  Harm’s the one that my feelings are more than friendly for.  Why can’t he see that?  And why did he have to come off with that crack about being like a brother?  I question how he thinks I am encouraging Brumby.

“How?!” he counters, almost as if he thinks it should be obvious.  “He says he wants to lock horns with you, you smile.”

I have a hard time keeping the frustration out of my voice as I respond, “Well, what should I have done?  Ordered him to drop and give me fifty?”

Harm answers quietly, disappointment in his voice, “You like him.”

What the hell does it matter to him?  Isn’t he the one who just told me that he was like a brother to me?  At this point, I can’t keep the anger out of my voice as I say, “You haven’t been here in six months, so the fine points of my relationships with anyone are lost on you.”  Yeah, most of all the fine points of my relationship with him.  Well, he made his feelings clear with the “brother” comment.  Now, it’s my turn.

“And, you know,” I continue angrily, “when it comes to my relationships, you are not necessarily on a need to know basis.”

He nods and responds sarcastically, “Yes, Ma’am.”  For a moment, our gazes lock and what I see in his eyes makes me want to take back everything I just said, but he just turns and walks away from me – from us – shaking his head.

Oh, God, what did I just do? I think as I return to my own office.  It’s almost as if a door just slammed in my face.  How did this happen?  I said, she said, I said.  Does she really feel that way, or was she just reacting to what I had said?  I wish I knew.

I also wish I could take back that “brother” comment.  I can’t believe I said that, but her feelings for Brumby seem so clear to me, so I guess I have no choice but to walk away.  I have no choice but to settle for less than what I want.

A part of me wants to go back in there and remind her of another comment, one the exact opposite of the foolish remark I just made in her office -

“Harm, I know this is like dancing with your sister, but maybe you could pretend to like it,” she had told me as we danced together at the NATO ball several years ago.  It was not long after we’d met and the reality of my growing feelings for her were just beginning to sink in.

“Mac, I don’t think of you as my sister,” I had replied honestly.  I’m still not sure what had possessed me to say it, but it’s one of the truest statements I’ve ever made.

 "You don’t?”

 “No, I don’t.”

How much I wish I could go back in time, before I foolishly left JAG without carefully considering all the ramifications of that decision, the personal as well as the professional.  I wish I could go back to when I seemed so sure that there could be more between us than just the bonds of friendship.

0024 ZULU
SARAH MACKENZIE’S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
WASHINGTON, DC

What happened between Harm and me today?  At first, he seemed to slam the door closed on the possibility of a more intimate relationship between us, but as we looked at each other before he left my office, I couldn’t help but wonder if the door was truly closed.  He said he only thinks of me as a sibling, but I remember another time, another place, another reality –

“Harm, I know this is like dancing with your sister, but maybe you could pretend to like it,” I had told him.  I knew I’d had strong feelings for him almost from the beginning, but after the awkwardness of our initial meeting, I couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if he could ever look at me like I wanted him to.  If he would ever look at me without seeing her.

“Mac, I don’t think of you as my sister,” he had replied and I couldn’t help the hope that surged through me at his words.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

But which statement reflects his true feelings?  What does he really feel for me at this moment in time?  My heart and mind are in a quandary as I go to answer the door.

A part of me is disappointed that it’s only Mic, but I invite him in anyway.  The other part of me realizes that I need something to keep my mind off Harm.  But my mind refuses to stray off that topic.  First, Mic has to say that he brought salads for us.  That’s something Harm would eat.

Then, as we sit down on the couch to discuss our case, I can’t help but remember the numerous times that it was Harm and me sitting down to dinner and a case file, either at my place or his.  How many times had we had evenings just like this?

Mic starts flirting with me and I can’t help but respond, just a little.  I have to admit that it is nice to have a man pay attention to me like that.  I just wish it were the right man.

That point is brought home in vivid color when Mic leans in to kiss me.  Suddenly, I realize that I’m substituting and that isn’t fair to Mic.  He’s been nothing but nice to me.  It’s not his fault that he’s not Harm.  “Mic,” I say softly, “I’m not ready for this.”  I’m not ready to give up on that door possibly remaining open between Harm and me.

“That’s alright,” he tells me, but I can hear the disappointment in his voice.  He just doesn’t realize that this is for his own good.  He deserves better than what I can give him right now.

2225 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

“I’ll copy that, Bud,” I say, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave Mac and me alone.  I have to do something to make up for my thoughtlessness and stupidity yesterday.

Fortunately, Bud does take the hint and says, “Okay, Sir,” before walking off, leaving Mac and me alone at the copy machine.  This probably isn’t the best place for this conversation, but I’m not sure at this point that she would consent to speak with me alone.

“Um, you were right,” I begin hesitantly as I wish I were better at stuff like this.  “I was imposing my opinion of Brumby onto yours.”  I mentally cross my fingers, hoping she’ll recognize the apology in my words and voice and give me another chance.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, but I’m not sure what she’s thinking.  Is she truly accepting my apology or does she just not want to talk about it?  I need to find out.

“No, I mean, I should believe you,” I continue.  “I think you know how you feel.  Besides, you and Brumby have no chemistry, so I’m sorry.  Okay?”  I probably shouldn’t have added that last part, but I don’t know how else to say it.  I hold my breath waiting for her response.

“Sure,” she says.  But she doesn’t sound completely sure.  And she doesn’t say any more.  I have no indication of what she is feeling.

“Okay,” I say.  This could have gone better, I realize.  But at least she’s not angry with me anymore.  At least, I don’t think she is.  That may be the best I can hope for at this point.

How many times have I heard Harmon Rabb use those words in all the time I’ve known him?  I’m sorry.  I can probably count the number of times on one hand.  But what is he truly sorry about? I wonder as I go back into my office.

Is it his remarks about Brumby?  I know they’ve never gotten along.  I don’t think Harm ever really forgave him for his treatment of me during my court-martial.  Even if I’ve managed to get past it, he never has.

What about his “brother” remark?  Maybe he has realized that he isn’t just like a brother to me.  I wish he would just tell me that.

The thing that scares me most is that it might be neither of those things that he is sorry for.  What if he’s sorry that he ever came back to JAG?  I don’t know if I could take that.

I’m not angry at him anymore.  In his own fashion, he did apologize.  That may be the best I can hope for at this point.

TWO WEEKS LATER
1317 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Everything finally seems to be settling back down into a normal routine around here.  Harm seems to be slowly getting his rhythm back and so do we.  I'm finally beginning to feel like I just might have my best friend back.

For the first time since Harm's return, we are paired on a case together.  True, we are on opposing sides, but it feels so good just to be working with him again.  Our usual banter is still absent but there is none of the tension or arguments of the last few weeks either.  We may not be completely relaxed in each others' presence yet, but we are definitely moving in the right direction.

I'm on the phone when Harm knocks on my open office door, a folded document in his hand.  I motion him into the office then return to my conversation, feeling better than I have in weeks.  "I can't come up this weekend, sweetheart," I say regretfully into the phone as Harm waits patiently for me to finish.  "Maybe at Christmas."

"So," Chloe asks me, her voice full of hope, "are you dating that bodacious Harmon Rabb yet?"

Oh, God.   I know Chloe is convinced - not without cause, I have to admit - that I am in love with Harm.  But did she have to ask me that with him standing right here in front of me, watching me with knowing eyes?  Of course, she doesn't know that.  Hell, if she did know that he was here, she'd probably still ask anyway.  That's my Chloe. 

I try my hardest not to blush as I glance at Harm, wondering if he can see how I am affected - by his presence and by Chloe's question.  I look down as I tell Chloe, "Uh, no.  No, actually, that really would not be appropriate." But I can't help wishing that I could answer the question differently.

"Hey," Chloe continues, oblivious to my discomfort, "I had a dream last night that the two of you got married and I was your flower girl."

How I wish that particular dream would come true, but the events of the last few weeks have left too many doubts in my mind that it will ever come to pass.  The regret I feel sneaks into my voice as I reply sadly, "Not all dreams come true."  I force myself to be more cheerful as I add, "Look, I'll talk to you this weekend, okay?"

"Love you," Chloe says.

"I love you, too, Chloe," I say wistfully.  "Bye."  Sadly, I hang up the phone and turn my attention to the man waiting patiently.  I have to try and forget all these feelings that the conversation with Chloe brings forth in my mind.  Even as the thought occurs to me, I know in my heart that it will be a losing battle.

I feel better than I have since I came back to JAG.  I finally feel like I am settling back into my old life here.  What was it Mac had said about getting our rhythm back?  She was right.  I'm finally getting it back and so are we.  I am pleased that I finally seem to be getting my best friend back. 

For the first time since I came back, we are paired on a case together.  We are on opposing sides, but it feels so good just to be working with her again.  The usual banter between us is still not there, but neither is the tension or arguments of the last few weeks.  We may not be completely relaxed in each others' presence yet, but we are definitely moving in the right direction.

Listening to her on the phone, I can't help the jealous feeling as I listen to her, obviously missing whoever she is talking to.  Why couldn't she have missed me like that?  I try to bury the thought, telling myself to be content that our friendship is returning.  Is she blushing?  I wonder what is being said on the other end of that line that could cause that kind of reaction in her.

I breathe a sigh of relief when she finally says the name of the person she is talking to and I realize that it is just Chloe.  But that gets me wondering anew what Chloe said to cause Mac to blush and avert her eyes away from me.  I recall another comment of Chloe's that made Mac blush once upon a time. . . .

"Commander Rabb, Mac's told me all about you.  In fact, you're all she talks about."

"Really?"

"Yeah, although sometimes it's hard to tell what parts are true and what parts are just - well, you know - her fantasies."

Was Chloe right?  Does Mac fantasize about me?  Were they talking about me just now?  It would certainly explain the blush I thought I saw and her embarrassed look as she averted her eyes.  What I wouldn't give to know the truth, to know if she feels the same way that I do.

As Mac finishes her conversation and looks up at me, I smile at her.  "How is your little sister, anyway?" I ask.

"Wonderful," she says, a hint of sadness in her voice.  "But ever since she found her real family, I don't get to see her that much."

I would like to comfort her, the way I used to always do.  I lean cross her desk, hoping that my presence can provide some kind of comfort, that she will realize that she can confide in me. 

"I miss her, Harm," she says.  She sounds so sad and I can't help but think of the last time Chloe was here and how sad she was when Chloe left.  And that brings up another memory of a promise made. . . .

"Five years from this moment, if neither of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid."

The memory brings a warm feeling to my heart as I ponder, not for the first time since that spring day, what a child of ours would be like.  One thing I am sure of.  Mac will make a wonderful mother for our child.   I've seen her with Chloe and I've seen her with our godson. 

That thought is foremost in my mind when I ask her, "Anybody ever tell you you have great maternal instincts?"

"Not as often as they tell me I have a great karate chop," she jokes and we smile at each other.  It's a nice moment that continues as we discuss our case.  It's almost like days of old as we go back and forth about the case and the possibility of a plea agreement.  I even catch a hint of the old banter as she laughs, teasing me about dreaming that she would go along with my plea demands.

As I leave her office, telling her confidently that I can do better than her plea suggestion by winning the case, I feel better than I have at any time since returning from the Patrick Henry.

TEN DAYS LATER
2335 ZULU
THE ROBERTS' RESIDENCE
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

Following Bud's harrowing adventures aboard a hijacked submarine, Harriet insists that Harm and I come to dinner at their place.  It's so nice to have a chance to relax with friends away from the office and all the pressures there.  The purpose of the evening is threefold, according to Harriet - celebrate Bud's safe return, honor Harm for his part in the resolution of the situation and a chance for little AJ to spend time with his godparents. 

It's reason number three that is foremost in my mind right now as I watch Harm play with little AJ while Bud runs that train that Harm got for him around the tracks.  Harriet is putting the finishing touches on dinner while I stand at the entrance to the kitchen, conversing with Harriet, while watching the action in the living room. 

As I watch Harm bounce AJ on his knee and makes airplane noises, much to the baby's delight, I can't help but think back to that warm spring day when that little boy first came into our lives.

"Five years from this moment, if neither of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid."

At first, I thought he was joking, but he was serious and after a brief moment, so was I.  I had just said goodbye to my little sister again and I was missing her terribly.  Plus, we were caught up in the thrill of watching little AJ make his entrance into this world.  But as I watch Harm entertain our little godson, I am reminded of one of the reasons I agreed to what many would probably view as a crazy promise.

Not long ago, Harm asked if anyone had ever told me that I have great maternal instincts.  Now, I wonder idly if anyone has told him that he has great paternal instincts.  Harm will make a wonderful father for our child.  He seems like such a natural with AJ.  And I remember seeing how good he was with Josh Pendry several years ago, back when he was dating Josh's mother.

As I stand there and watch Harm and AJ, a smile on my face, Harriet joins me and she watches for a moment also, a matching smile on her face.

"It's wonderful having the Commander back, isn't it, ma'am?" she says. "Sorry, I mean Mac."  Harm and I had already both insisted on being called by our first names when we first arrived this evening.

"Yes, it is," I reply.  I can't help feeling so relaxed this evening.  After over a month of tension and missteps, everything seems to have finally fallen into place.

"He's so wonderful with AJ," Harriet continues, smiling as Harm, a smile on his own face, catches sight of us and waves AJ's hand in our direction. 

Yes, he is, I tell myself.  And he'll be just as wonderful with our child someday. 

After dinner, where Mac and I spent as many comfortable moments laughing with each other at little AJ's antics as Harriet fed him as we did enjoying each others' company, we all adjourned to the living room where Mac and Harriet are now playing with AJ on the floor while Bud and I make small talk as we watch the scene in front of us.  It's so nice to have a chance to relax with friends away from the office and all the pressures there. 

I can't help the smile on my face as I watch Mac hold AJ on her lap, holding in front of him the stuffed bear we both bought for him.  I am reminded again, as I was not long ago, of what a great mother Mac is going to make someday and of our promise to have a child together. 

Bud, a smile on his own face as he watches his little boy, says, "It's good to have you back, Sir - I mean, Harm.  It wasn't the same without you around here."

"It's good to be back," I reply with a sincerity I feel for the first time since my return.  For the first time, I feel that I truly am back.

"She's really good with AJ, isn't she?" he asks.  It's almost as if he knows what is holding my attention.  She chooses that moment to look up at us and smile, pointing at us to draw AJ's attention in our direction.

Yes, she is, I tell myself.  And she'll be just as wonderful with our child someday.

Continued in SECTION II.