I sigh as I close the file open in front of me.  We've been at this for almost two hours and we're no closer to hammering out a defense angle then we were when we started.  I look over at Mac and find that she has lost interest in the case also.  Instead, she's leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, her hands rubbing her shoulders and neck. 

I can't help looking at her, safe in the knowledge that she can't see me.  I imagine myself rubbing the tension from her shoulders.  Nothing I haven't done before for real, but in my thoughts it goes farther than that.  My hands slip down her body until they find the lower edge of her sweater, gently tugging it upward until I pull it over her arms and head.  I place my hands on her now bare stomach, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingertips before they move higher to cup. . . .

She opens her eyes to find me looking at her.  Can she tell what I am thinking?  I hope not.  I've missed having my best friend around and I want that back.  She can't ever know that I want more.  I always have.  But she's made her choice and I have to live with it.  I'll be happy for her. . . .even if it's slowly killing me inside.

I've got to stop this.  Deciding we need some kind of diversion, I suggest, "Why don't we go out and get something to eat?  There's several places within walking distance."  We need to get out of this apartment, out of this confining space.  Or rather, I do.

She stares at me intently.  It's almost as if she can see right through me.  After an intense moment, she tears her eyes away and answers softly, "Sounds good.  We could use a break."

Why do I have a feeling that she's not just talking about this case?

We ate at a little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria near Union Station and we're now just wandering around, enjoying each other's company.  I can't remember the last time we did anything like this.  We used to run together all the time, have dinner at each other's places even if we weren't working on cases - there are so many things that we used to do that I miss.  But now she has Mic, I have Renee and unfortunately, both have a somewhat possessive and jealous nature.

But none of that matter right now.  Renee has gone to California on a shoot and to be frank, I am happy to put some distance between us.  Lately, she has been dropping a lot of hints about things that I want no part of, at least not with her.  A few weeks ago, when my mother stopped by unexpectedly on her way home from Europe, I had the hardest time forcing myself not to react when Renee suggested that I ask Mom where Frank had gotten her new ring.  Just when did we get that serious?  To be honest, for me she is just a distraction from the pain that is slowly eating away at me inside.  I need to put a stop to it.  As much as I can never love her the way she apparently wants me to, I am too much of a gentleman to let it go on with her expecting things that I just don't have it in me to give.  I just have to figure out a way to let her down gently.

I look over at Mac walking next to me, her gaze fixed on some imaginary point off in the distance and I idly wonder where Mic is.  He must be out of town or otherwise occupied tonight.  I can't imagine that he would approve of Mac spending the evening at my apartment, even if it is for work.  Hell, I don't think he really approves of us remaining friends.  But even if I can never have more, she's the best friend I've ever had and I refuse to let him take that away from me.  Not now that we're finding our way to being the best of friends again.

"Pleasant night tonight," I say idly and I'm not just talking about the weather.

She looks at me, an unreadable expression on her face, as she simply replies, "Yes, it is."  Then she smiles at me, a smile that warms me up inside.  How long has it been since she's smiled at me like that?  I can't remember and I hate that.  Not for the first time, I wonder if we would be at this place right now if I hadn't returned to flying.

No more thinking like this, at least not for the rest of this evening.  I just want to relax and enjoy spending time with Mac.  "Do you want to walk around some more or are you ready to head back and work on the case?" I ask, grinning at her.

She appears to ponder the question for a moment.  She then answers reluctantly, "I suppose we should head back.  We still have a lot of work to do if we have any hope of getting Linson off."

She's right, of course.  Without another word, we turn around and start heading back in the direction we came from.  We walk in companionable silence for a few minutes, but I want to hear her voice.  But what can we talk about?  There are so many things that it is best not to talk about between us if I want the evening to remain pleasant.  Finally, I settle on something that has nothing to do with our significant others or this impossible situation between us.

"Have you talked to your uncle recently?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets.  There is a slight chill in the air and it is only getting chillier as the evening wears on.

"I called him a few days ago to wish him a happy birthday," she says, looking straight ahead.  "He sounds good, I guess.  As good as someone sitting in Leavenworth can sound, anyway.  He said to say hello."

"That's good to hear," I respond.  I really like Matt O'Hara and wish there was more that I could have done for him.  As it was, given the gravity of his crime, I was extremely lucky to get him off with as light a sentence as I did.  He's also the only person that Mac's given her respect and love to that actually deserves it as far as I'm concerned. 

"So what about you?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing her arms with her hands to ward off the chill.  I want so much to take her in my arms and warm her all over, but I can't.  "Have you spoken to your parents recently?"

"Actually, Mom stopped by for a quick visit a few weeks ago on her way home from Europe," I tell her.  "She and Frank renewed their wedding vows over there.  She looked very good.  Frank had some business to take care of, so he wasn't with her."

"So did you have a nice visit with her?" she continues, glancing at me.  I smile at her, glad that she has finally relaxed enough that she can look at me.  So much of this evening she has been looking anywhere but. 

"Actually, it was a little awkward," I reply, the smile dropping from my face as I stop walking to lean against a sign post.  She stops also and just looks at me, waiting for me to explain my last statement.  I look down at the ground for a moment, studying the cracks in the sidewalk.  Here's another of those impossible situations.  Finally, I add, "I was going to tell her about Sergei, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" she asks.  I look up to find her brown eyes studying me intently, the compassion evident in their depths.  She probably the only one who could ever truly understand how difficult this all is.  After all, she's the one who was in Russia with me not once, but twice.  She was there with me on the banks of the Taiga when I wept for my father.  She was there right after I found Sergei, the first of my friends to find out about him.

"I don't want to hurt her," I say quietly.  "When I said that I wanted to talk about my trip to Russia, she started going on about our previous trip and how it had brought closure for her and how she had finally been able to lay my father to rest in her mind.  I couldn't open up those wounds again."

She unfolds her arms and puts her hand on my arm, trying to offer what comfort she can.  "I'm sorry," she says softly.  "I wish this could be easier for you.  I know how much you love your mother and how much you're growing to love your brother.  But let me ask you something?  When you asked Sergei to come live with you here, what if he had accepted?  Would you have told your mother then?  If he was living with you, there'd always be the possibility that she would stop by or call and he would be there."

She knows me so well.  I've asked myself those same questions.  Honestly, as much as I want to get to know my brother better, there is a part of me that is glad he didn't take me up on my offer.  This way is just easier right now.  Not by much, but it is easier.  "I don't know," I answer truthfully, looking down at the ground again. 

"Harm, I. . . ." she starts, stopping suddenly.  I look up again and find her looking up at the sky just as I feel the first drops hit my face.  Damn.  When we left, I didn't even look at the sky to determine if there was a chance of rain.  We don't have an umbrella with us. 

I grin at her and say, "I guess we really have to head back now.  Maybe it won't rain too hard and we can get back to my place without getting too wet." 

Famous last words.  As soon as they leave my mouth, the sky opens up, drenching us in a matter of a few minutes as we start walking quickly in the direction of my building.  Then we see a bright flash, followed quickly by the loud rumble of thunder.  Oh, great.  This evening just keeps getting better.  Damn it, it's November and there's a chill in the air.  Since when do we get thunderstorms this time of year?

We look at each other for a brief second then break out in a run.  Unfortunately, we only make it a few blocks before we have to stop for a traffic light.  Too bad we can take advantage of DC's mass transit system, but there is no subway station or bus stop near my building.  We'd have to get out and walk and we would still get soaked.  Since we are already pretty much soaked, we wouldn't really see any benefit from riding the bus or subway.

I glance over at Mac as we wait for the light and to my surprise, she looks *happy*.  My surprise must be evident in my expression, because she says, "Even you've got to see the humor in this situation – getting stuck out in the rain, having to walk home.  Didn't you ever go outside and play in the rain as a kid?"

"It doesn't rain much in Southern California," I remind her.  The light finally changes and we dart across the street and continue our run.  I'm freezing now and I can't even feel my feet in my soaked shoes and socks any more.  God, am I looking forward to stripping all this off and stepping into a hot shower when I get home.

Oh, shit.  That just reminds me that I have a companion getting just as soaked as I am.  Being the gentleman that I am, there is no question about letting her use the shower first.  But the idea of Mac stripping her soaked clothes and getting into the shower causes thoughts to form in my head that I shouldn’t be thinking.  Well, at least right now I don't have to worry about taking a cold shower to cool myself off.  Mother Nature is taking care of that for me just fine.

We come to another traffic light and we grab onto the traffic light pole as we stop, both of us out of breath.  I see her shivering in the cold rain and I don't even hesitate before taking her into my arms, trying to share some of my body heat with her, even though I'm just as cold and wet as she is.  She settles into my embrace as another flash of lightning streaks across the sky.  I hold her tightly in my arms as we wait for the light to change and she brings her hands up in front of her face, blowing on them and rubbing them together in a vain attempt to warm them.

When the light changes, I release her with reluctance and we are on our way again.  This time, the fates are with us and we make my building without having to stop for any more lights.  Bypassing the elevator – which is still waiting to be fixed – we race up the stairs, leaving puddles of water in our wake.  We finally reach my floor and while I fight to get my hand into the pocket of my jeans to withdraw my keys, she wraps her arms around herself, practically jumping up and down in an effort to warm up.  I manage to pull my keys out and after fumbling for a moment trying to get the key into the lock, I manage with shaking hands to unlock to door.

Opening the door, I pull her inside and drag her towards my bedroom without even stopping to flip on the light.  Stopping by the bathroom, I order, "Get undressed and into the shower.  I'll get some sweats for you to wear."

Leaving her there, I return to the door, fighting to pull the key out of the lock.  My fingers are so cold they don't want to work.  I get the key out finally and push the door closed, locking it from this side.  I return to the bedroom to get some clothes for Mac to wear and am surprised to find her still standing by the bathroom, her fingers fumbling with the button on the waistband of her jeans. 

Quickly, I get a towel from the bathroom and grab her hands, rubbing them briskly with the towel to dry them and to get the circulation going again.  She's shivering, but this time I resist the urge to take her into my arms.  It is just a few steps, both figuratively and literally, to the bed and we can't do that.  I just have to keep telling myself that. 

I stop what I'm doing and look at her hands.  They're dry, at least.  As for warm, I can't really tell since my own hands feel like they're damn near frozen stiff.  I hand her the towel and am about to leave to give her privacy when she stops me.  She returns the favor I just did her, wrapping my hands in the towel and rubbing.  I gasp as I feel the sharp, needle-like sensation that tells me the blood is starting to flow again.

Her hands still, but instead of letting go, she holds onto my hands still wrapped in the towel.  A heavy silence hangs between us as we both look down at our hands, neither of us apparently willing to be the first to break the contact.  I have to force myself to breathe as this moment stretches between us.  It would be so easy. . . .

A flash of lightning illuminates the dark room and reflexively I look up.  She looks up at the same moment and our gazes lock.  It seems like an eternity, the two of just standing here staring at each other.  Even as I remind myself that this can't happen, I am pulling her roughly against me, my mouth descending on hers hungrily as I toss the towel aside.  Her lips part as her fingers thread through my hair, holding my head in place as my tongue slips into her warm mouth, probing and seeking.

She responds eagerly, her tongue dueling with mine as she backs up until she is pressed between me and wall.  Even cold and wet, she feels so good.  My mouth leaves her and I press kisses along her jaw and down her throat as she leans her head back as far as she can.   My groan seems to echo through the whole apartment as she rocks against me.  I want so much to bury myself in her, to finally taste and feel what I've only experienced in my dreams.

I tear my mouth away from her and rest my forehead against the wall, my eyes closed.  I want this so much, but it can't be just a one night stand and then we go back to others as if nothing happened.  I wouldn't do that to anyone, let alone Mac.  And if we go much farther, I won't be able to stop.

"Mac," I say hoarsely, panting for breath.  "If we're. . . . going to stop. . . .have to now."

"Don't stop," she pleads softly, without hesitation, her breath hot and arousing against my ear.  "Please don't stop."

That's all I need to hear as I drag her the last few steps into the bathroom.  As quickly as possible, given the condition of our clothes, we manage to strip them all off, tossing them in a pile a few feet away.  I'm about to pull her into my arms again, but she stops me with a look.  Then she does something that, despite what we are about to do, still manages to shock me.  She yanks that damn ring off her right hand and tosses it on top of the pile.  "I can't go back to him," she explains quietly as I pull her back into my arms, resisting the urge to pick her up and spin her around, "not after this."

"Nor I to Renee," I assure her.  I want her to understand what this means to me.  As my lips find hers again, I blindly reach for the knob, turning the shower on full force.  The hot water stings as it hits my chilled skin, but I barely notice.  I'm already warming up inside and it has nothing to do with the hot water cascading over us.

I pull away from her and step back.  After imagining for so long, I need to see her.  I don't know if it's really possible, but the reality of what is before me is so much better than the fantasies that I've lived with for the last four years.  She is more perfect than I've imagined in my dreams and I tell her so.  To my surprise, she blushes at the compliment.  I can't be the first man to ever tell her how beautiful she is.  But something tells me that none of those others made her blush and I feel a surge of pure male pride. 

"You're beautiful, too," she tells me, her voice a husky whisper as her own gaze travels slowly over my body, "so much more than I imagined."  Even more surprisingly, I find myself blushing at her words.  Maybe it's the knowledge that she's apparently fantasized about me as much as I have about her.  Or maybe it's the fact that, as much as we've dreamed about this moment, building each other up in our minds, we are finding reality so much better than the best fantasies.  Or maybe it's just that nothing's ever meant more to me than this thing that we are about to do.

Trying to catch my breath and my legs no longer able to support me, I fall to my knees, Mac still wrapped around me.  I sigh sadly as she pulls away from me and weakly, I reach up and shut the shower off.  I lean back against the wall of the shower, my eyes closed as I try to bring my breathing under control.  After a moment, I feel her next to me and I open my eyes to find her leaning her head back against the wall, too.

As the air cools around us, I realize that we should get up and dry ourselves off.  After that, I don't know.  The need to get some work done on our case is warring with my desire to carry her to my bed and to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, exploring all that we've only imagined over the years.

I turn my head to find her studying me intently, her eyes alight with humor and satisfaction.  I lean towards her and brush my lips against hers, a soft warm kiss that holds the promise of things to come.  As I pull back, I smile as I tell her quietly, "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie."

We are still wet from the rain and our shower, so I'm not entirely sure, but I think there are tears in her eyes as she replies, "I love you, too, Harmon Rabb."

I am momentarily disoriented when I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, but then the events of the evening come flooding back with crystal clarity.  I turn my head and study the man lying next to me.  He's one of the most intense people I know, but he looks so peaceful in sleep, like a little boy.  Is he always like this or is it just because he has finally 'let go'?

Quietly, I slip out of bed and begin opening drawers in Harm's closet, searching for something to wear.  My clothes, along with his, are still lying in a wet heap in the bathroom.  Finally, I find a USNA sweatshirt that I find falls to mid-thigh when I put it on.  Glancing back at Harm, who is still lost in the land of dreams, I silently leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen.

I search his refridgerator for something edible, smiling as I remember that this is Mr. Health Nut.  I'm not going to find Beltway Burgers in his kitchen.  I finally settle on some leftover pasta salad and sit on one of the bar stools to eat and to think about what Harm and I have unleashed tonight.

Unfortunately, his letting go has opened up a rather nasty can of worms.  Not as far as my feelings are concerned.  I have never been in doubt about my feelings about Harm.  To be completely honest, my accepting Mic's ring had less to do with any feelings I may have for Mic and more to do with Harm's rejection of me on the ferry.  I hate myself for leading Mic on for all these months, for letting him believe there was the possibility of a future for us.  I even hate myself to a degree for falling in Harm's embrace before finalizing things with Mic.  As much as I've unintentionally hurt Mic all these months by keeping him in limbo and as much as I am about to hurt him by finally ending it, I should have owed him the courtesy of finishing things with him before falling into another man's arms and bed.

But as much as I know that it was wrong for Harm and I to fall into bed with each other while things were unresolved with our significant others, I also know that, from my end at least, I could not deny what I have wanted for four long years.  As we stood in his bedroom, cold and wet from the rain, a torrent of feelings was unleashed between us and I couldn't *not* act on them. 

I feel the burden of that lies entirely on me.  He did offer me an out.  If I had just said the word, he would have backed away from me no matter how much he wanted me.   But I was the one who asked – begged is probably more like it – him not to stop.  And, being completely honest, if I had it to do all over again, I would do the exact same thing.  There are just some things – some feelings – that are too powerful to ignore or contain.

I also have to admit that as much as I regret the way things stand with Mic, the situation with Renee, even the four years lost between Harm and myself, I could never regret finally finding the satisfaction I've always craved with Harm.  I could never regret being in love with Harm.  I just wish all of this could be easier.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts and self-recriminations that I don't hear Harm approach until I feel his hand on my shoulder.  I jump slightly, startled, then relax when I realize that it is just Harm.  Wordlessly, I gesture to the stool beside me and he sits down and looks at me intently.

I look down at the counter top, not quite ready to meet his eyes.  I can feel his concern, but I don't think he can help me with this one.  No one can.  I've created this mess with my life and I've got to be the one to clean it up.

Another long moment of silence passes before Harm finally says a single word hesitantly.  "Mac?"

"Hmmm?" I murmur.  I still can't bring myself to look up at him.

"Do you regret what happened tonight?" he asks.  I can hear the hesitancy and even a little hurt in his voice and I find yet another reason to hate myself.  The last thing I want to do is hurt him

"No," I quickly reassure him.  "That's the one thing about this entire situation that I don't regret."

"But there are things that you do regret about this situation?" he adds.  The hurt is gone from his voice, but the hesitancy is still there.  I don't want to talk about it any more than he does but it does have to be dealt with.  And I should be honest with him if I want us to have a real chance at making it.

I push the bowl of pasta salad away and look down at my now bare right hand.  "I never should have accepted Mic's ring," I say.  Oh, great.  That's really brilliant.  He already knows that.  He's thought that since I first showed up at the airport wearing the ring, even though he's never said it aloud.  He never would say it.  He loved me enough to step back and let me be with Mic if that was what I really wanted.

I finally look over at him and find him looking at me impassively, merely waiting for me to continue.  That's so Harm.  He would never judge me, even when he knows that I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.  Sighing, I continue, "My accepting Mic's ring was a knee-jerk reaction.  You had rejected me and that hurt me, so when Mic offered me everything that I had wanted from you, I thought 'What the hell?  What do I have to lose?'  I just didn't realize at the time that I was going to lose myself in the process."

"For what it's worth," Harm says quietly, "I never meant to reject or hurt you.  I only meant. . . ."  He trails off and looks at me uncertainly.  "I guess it doesn't matter what I meant.  I'm just sorry that you were hurt by what I said."

I pause, uncertain about whether I should pursue that or not.  Do I really want to deal with the pain of that night again?  Then again, maybe we have to revisit that night and clear the air about it before we can move forward. 

"What did you mean?" I ask.  "That night on the ferry, I mean."

Harm looks away from me and is quiet for a long moment. As I watch him search for the right words, for the first time it occurs to me that what happened on the ferry hurt him as much as it hurt me.  To bad neither of us had the courage to have this conversation nine months ago.

"Everything was very tense when I returned from the Patrick Henry," he finally says, studying the countertop as I was just minutes ago.  "I didn't seem to fit in at JAG the way I had before, Brumby had taken my place. . . .in everything, and even my relationship with my best friend suffered."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.  "I should have been more welcoming when you returned.  I. . . ."

"Mac, it's not your fault," he interrupts.  I hold up my hand to stop him before he can say more.

"Please, I want us to be completely honest here," I say.  "No matter how much it hurts.  Will you let me finish, please?"

He nods towards me and I continue, "I guess – no, I was hurt when you left.  I took that out on you, however unintentionally, when you returned and I'm sorry for that.  Seems kind of funny, doesn't it, that we got along for the most part when I was on the Patrick Henry for Buxton's court-martial, but it all fell apart between us when you came back to JAG.  I could have treated you a lot better.  I saw that you were feeling out of place and instead of being there for you as a friend, I only made things worse."

"I never blamed you for it," Harm says, taking my hand in his and rubbing my now bare ring finger with his thumb.  "I blamed myself.  I never should have left.  I knew deep down that I was past my prime as an aviator, but my ego wouldn't let me accept that.  If I had stayed, I never would have felt out of place, Brumby wouldn't have taken my place at JAG and – and in your life, and I would have still had my best friend."

"And you would have gotten promoted earlier, too," I point out.  My promotion was such a source of discomfort between us and then when his promotion did come, it was hardly under the best of circumstances.

"Mac, believe me, I was happy for you when you got promoted," he says emphatically, sensing the direction of my thoughts.  "The thing that upset me was that you didn't feel the need to share it with me.  I had thought we were best friends and I thought that best friends shared things with each other.  When you didn't share that important news with me, it did hurt me."

This is just great.  Instead of 'he said, she said', we've got 'I thought, you thought'.  In a way, it's hard to believe that as long as we've been friends that we could read each other so wrong for so long.  "Harm, the reason I didn't tell you immediately about my promotion," I explain, "is that I didn't want to hurt you with the fact that I had gotten promoted and you were stuck as a Lieutenant Commander.  I thought you were happy flying and I didn't want you to start thinking about what might have been if you'd stayed."

"We're really something, aren't we?" he muses.  "You didn't tell me about your promotion because you didn't want to hurt me, yet I felt hurt because you didn't tell me about your promotion."

"Yeah, we are," I agree with a bitter laugh.  "I guess that's how we ended up where we are right now, in this situation."

"That's part of it, I guess," he says.  "But aside from everything that was going on and that I was feeling when I returned, there was also that op-ed piece that nearly derailed my promotion and ended my career, and. . . ." he trails off and jumps off his stool, dropping my hand, walking around the counter to the refridgerator.  "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll just have some water," I reply.  What was he about to say?  Something else is bothering him, something that he is very reluctant to talk about, and for the life of me, I can't figure out what it could be.  He hands me a glass across the counter, an identical one in his own hand.

I reach across the counter and take his free hand in mine, trying to offer him what comfort I can.  "Harm, whatever it is, you can tell me," I tell him.  "I want you to know that.  I don't want us to fall apart again because we can't talk to each other."

Harm takes a deep breath before he continues, "I know.  I don't want that either.  It's just. . . .it's about my father."

His father?  He found out something about his father?  I guess it's just another sign of how far apart we had drifted that this is the first I'm hearing about this.  "What about your father?" I ask gently.

It's another moment before he finally replies, "Last Christmas Eve, when I went to the Wall, I met a woman who told me that she had met my father on the Ticonderoga the day before he was shot down."

"How did he meet a woman on a combat ship?" I ask, confused.  Woman have only been allowed on Navy ships since 1994.  Suddenly, it occurs to me.  "USO?"

"Yes," he replies.  "She was part of Bob Hope's troop, which did a show on the ship on Christmas Day.  From what she told me, her fiancée had been a Marine aviator who had been killed in action the previous week.  She was very upset and my father comforted her."

"Comforted her?" I echo, trying to process all this in my mind.  "Did they have an affair?"

"Honestly, I don't know," he says quietly.  I can see by the look in his eyes, from his posture, how much this is hurting him.  "She did say they kissed, but I just have this feeling that she left things out of her story.  There were some timeline gaps in what she told me."

"So it bothered you, this idea that your father might have cheated on your mother the night before he was shot down," I conclude.

There's another long pause and I briefly wonder if I should just drop the subject.  But we need to hash all of this out, no matter how painful.  If there's nothing else that I have learned this past year, it's how dangerous lack of communication can be.  Finally, he replies, "Yes.  At the time, he had no idea that he would never return home.  By contrast, when Sergei was born, he'd been held prisoner for eleven years and probably had given up hope by that time of ever returning home."

"So all this was going through your mind in Australia?" I ask, bringing the conversation back around to where it began.

"I was. . . ." he begins, looking up at the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts.  He finally looks back at me and I can see the pain so clearly in his eyes.  I squeeze his hand comfortingly.  He gives me a small smile and continues, "I wasn't sure who or what to believe in anymore.  I was so messed up and then you opened up to me on the ferry and I felt I had no choice but to shut down.  I didn't want to hurt you."

"I don't understand," I say, keeping my voice neutral.  That last statement doesn't make any sense to me, but I don't to risk saying anything that might hurt him.  We've come a long way today and I don't want to jeopardize that by ill-thought comments.

"Mac, if I had let myself get involved in a relationship with you at that time," he says, staring at me intently, "it would have self destructed.  I was in no shape emotionally to get involved in a deep, committed relationship, which is what I wanted with you."

"I can see your point," I admit.  "If our positions had been reversed, I probably would have felt the same way, especially given my track record with relationships.  But I do wish you would have told me all this.  Harm, I would have understood."

"We weren't exactly communicating very well, as you'll recall," he points out and I have to admit to myself that he does have a very good point.  Nothing had happened in the previous four months since he had returned to JAG to make him think that he could still talk to me like we used to.  "And, well, I thought. . . ." he trails off again, looking away from me.

"What is it?" I ask gently.  "Please tell me."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says.  I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, turning him back to face me. 

"Harm, just tell me what it is," I insist.  "I promise I won't get mad or upset."

"I was confused," he finally tells me, "by your actions on the ferry.  It seemed to come out of the blue and I wasn't entirely sure what you wanted or where you wanted us to go."

"You thought that I might have been suggesting a casual relationship," I say, again careful to keep my voice neutral.  It does hurt me that he would think that – I thought he knew me better than that – but I can also see, given everything else, why he would think that.  God, how did we get to this place?  "Just a fling and nothing more?"

"Mac. . . .Sarah, I'm sorry. . . ."

I place my fingers over his lips, silencing him.  I shake my head as I tell him, "Harm, I promised that I wouldn't get mad or upset and I'm not.  I can see why you might think that and it does hurt me, but not because you thought it.  It hurts me that things had gotten so bad between us – and that's my fault as much as yours – that you could even think that about me."

"When you said that I couldn't let go and I said 'Not yet'," he explains, "I wanted you to give me some time.  I wanted you to be patient and wait for me to work through my problems so that I could devote myself to building a lasting relationship with you.  When I said that I was only that way with you, I meant it.  I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, Sarah."

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize that Harm has called me Sarah for the second time in under a minute.  Why couldn't we have had this conversation nine months ago?  If only. . . .

"When you showed up at the airport," he continues as he brushes a stray tear from my cheek, "wearing Brumby's ring, I thought that was your answer.  And I thought that you couldn't have been serious about a relationship with me or else why would you turn around and accept another man's ring?"

"And now here we are," I muse sadly.  "We're finally on the same page as far as our feelings for each other, but we still have Renee and Mic to deal with."  And I'm looking forward to that as much as I would having my teeth pulled.

"I know," he says, just as sadly.  "Although, to be honest, I've been having problems with Renee recently."

Sounds like his love life had been going just as great as mine had been.  We sure know how to pick them.  Maybe that's what makes us so perfect for each other.  "What kind of problems?" I ask.

"She's been dropping a lot of hints," he explains, picking up our now empty glasses and rinsing them in the sink.  "When Mom was here recently, she and Renee were here talking like old friends when I got home.  Renee pointed out this new ring Frank had gotten Mom and suggested that I ask where he got it."

"She's pressuring you about marriage?" I ask, amazed.  Renee has never struck me as military wife material.  God, would she be in for a surprise if Harm were actually that serious about her.

"In a roundabout way," he admits.  "She's also been objecting a lot to my being called away on cases all the time."

"But that's your job," I point out strongly.  His statement has just proved my point.  "Doesn't she understand that?"

"This is the same woman who was upset because I missed three of our first four dates because of cases," he reminds me.  "She was upset when I went to Russia, she was upset when I went to Cuba.  And she's expecting me to marry her.  She has no understanding of what it means to be a military wife."

I can't help it.  A laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth trying to hold it in.  Harm gives me a puzzled look and I struggle to bring myself under control.  Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I explain, "I was just thinking that Renee has never struck me as military wife material."

"I have the feeling that her next step would be to try and talk me into resigning from the Navy," he continues.  I could see her trying to do that.  I can't imagine Renee ever being happy with Harm traveling all the time.

"At the risk of sounding like I'm criticizing," I say, "how did you get involved with this woman?"

"Well, our first date, if you want to call it that, was supposed to be kind of a celebration dinner that the commercial was finished," he explains.  I remember that night.  That was the night Mic and I ran into him.  I wonder.  I had asked Harm to grab some dinner with me that day and he had declined, which is why I had agreed when Mic had asked me out.  But what if Harm had already agreed to this celebration dinner with Renee before I had asked him?  He wouldn't have been in a position to say yes and yet again, I turned to Mic as a knee jerk reaction to what I saw as rejection by Harm.

"That was the night Mic and I saw you," I conclude.  When he nods, I decide to go for broke and clear something up.  "Harm, when I had asked you to dinner that day, had you already accepted Renee's invitation and that was why you turned me down?"

"Yes," he replies.  He thinks for a moment, then adds, "That's why you went out with Mic that night, wasn't it?  I had turned you down, so you turned to him."

"Right after you turned me down," I explain, feeling bad yet again at the mess that is my life, "Mic walked up and asked me to dinner and I jumped at the invitation."

Harm sighs, but doesn't say anything about my bad habit of turning to Mic when I'm conflicted about Harm.  He returns to the subject of his relationship with Renee.  "Our second date," he continues, "I missed because I was on the Suribachi.  At that time, our relationship was completely casual, at least on my part.  At the risk of sounding like a, well, male, I was just looking for companionship."

Meaning he was just in it for the sex.  Typical male.  But we're not here, having this conversation, so that we can blame or condemn each other.  We're trying to work through all our issues.  Or at least put them on the table.  I don't think we can resolve everything between us in one night.  Not with Mic and Renee still hanging over our heads.

"It only became more serious, well, after Australia," he adds.  "When you showed up wearing Mic's ring, I thought that was it.  I was determined to be happy for you if that was what you wanted and to try and move on with my own life."

"That's really something," I point out.  "I thought you rejected me and that pushed me into Mic's arms and when you thought I rejected you, it pushed you to Renee."

"What about you and Mic?" he asks, the reluctance obvious in his voice.  I know he doesn't want to hear about my relationship with Mic, any more than I really wanted to hear about his relationship with Renee.  But it does need to be discussed.

I look down at the countertop again, pondering my answer.   If there's nothing else I've learned since Mic moved back to Washington, it's what an idiot I have been getting involved with him for all the wrong reasons.  Even if Harm and I hadn't finally connected tonight, it would have ended with Mic, probably sooner rather than later.  Being in such close quarters, trying to force a relationship to work, only emphasized that. 

"When he moved to Washington," I explain sadly, "I tried so hard to make it work, even though I knew deep down that my heart wasn't really in it.  But the more I tried to make it work, the more it seemed to fall apart."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that," he says.  "I'm sorry that I drove you to it."

"I was the one who made the ill-advised choice to accept his ring because I couldn't have what I really wanted," I remind him, my voice full of self-recrimination.  "I blame myself much more than I blame you for this situation we find ourselves in.  Anyway, I could have walked away at any time after we've had problems, but I kept crawling back to him, apologizing for things that I probably had no reason to apologize for."

"Like what?" he asks.

"When you were in Cuba," I relate, "there was this party given in Mic's honor by his new firm.  He insisted that I had to go to this party with him because it was important to him.  I let that one slide, figuring that if I was considering marrying the man, I could take his wants and needs into consideration."  I paused, remembering the humiliation and anger I felt at the party.

"Did he hurt you?" Harm presses, a hint of anger in his voice.  I know that if Mic really did hurt me, Harm would be the first in line to rake him over the coals for it.

"The people at this party, they reminded me a lot of the kind of people at Dalton's firm," I explain.  "Then Mic's boss pulls him aside and they just leave me standing there, not knowing a person, and I could hear them talking about me like I'm some kind of trophy on display.  And some of the other people, mostly men, were staring as well.  I felt so uncomfortable and Mic didn't seem to even care, so I called him on it as we were leaving."

"And he didn't take it well," Harm guesses and I nod.  I notice his hands clench into fists and I cover them with mine, hoping to calm him down.

"He basically accused me of being childish and irrational because I was letting my past with Dalton color my perceptions," I continue, "and then he pretty much told me to shut up and to get into the car."

"Not to criticize, but the Mac I know would have told him in no uncertain terms where to go," Harm points out.  "Your past with Dalton is a part of you and you can't just ignore that."

"Yeah, but the Mac you know was MIA," I say sadly.  "I did what he wanted and then later I went to his apartment and apologized for being childish.  And then when he told me, instead of apologizing for his own behavior, that he agreed that I had been acting childish, I just accepted it.  But how can I be involved in a relationship with a man who appears to have no consideration for my feelings?"

Harm doesn't say anything, but I can sense his anger at Mic.  Harm has always been very protective of me and even if we weren't now intimately involved, I know he would still be angry for me.  I continue, "Then, when I was trying that case on TV, there was an article in People magazine about me."

"I know," he says quietly.  "I saw it.  It scared me that I had to read in a magazine that you had moved the ring over.  The next time I saw you, I was so relived when I saw that it wasn't true."

"He told them that I was his fiancée when I'm not," I exclaim, my voice rising in anger.  "I called, but he wasn't home, and I left a very angry message on his answering machine to the effect that at the rate things were going, I wasn't going to be his fiancée ever.  When I finally saw him, he didn't understand what I was so angry about.  All he talked about was how we were practically living together and how I was wearing his ring, so that made us engaged.  How could I have been so stupid!?"

By the time I finish my tirade, I'm shaking in anger and Harm quickly comes back around the counter, taking me into his arms.  He runs his hands up and down my back in a soothing manner, whispering words of comfort as I struggle to control my anger.  It keeps playing over in my mind how stupid I've been, getting involved with a man I don't love and letting him begin to control my life.  This is the same man who tried to pin a murder charge on me and I came this close to agreeing to marry him.

I pull away slightly, remaining wrapped in his arms, and look up at him.  "Can we continue this later?" I ask hopefully, a tremor still evident in my voice.  "I just can't talk about this right now."

"I understand," he says softly, kissing my forehead.  "It's getting late anyway.  Do you, um, do you want to stay here tonight?"

I nod, biting my lower lip.  I'm so upset right now that I don't want to be alone.  "Will you hold me?" I plead, tears threatening to fall.  "I just need to be held right now."

"Anytime, Sarah," I whispers as he pulls me tight against him, kissing the top of my head.

I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling so safe and loved in his arms.

THE NEXT MORNING

As I move around the kitchen, making breakfast for Mac and myself while she still sleeps, I ponder some of the things we talked about last night.  It was a really big step for us, opening up like that last night.  I just hope that it was worth it.  I hope that, with all my obsessions and fears, I am not just another bad choice that Sarah Mackenzie has made in men.

I’m not the easiest person in the world to get to know or to be with.  I know that.  All the women I’ve been involved with have known that.  But this time it means so much more.  I am afraid that, even as long as she has known me and understands me, that my obsessions and fears might be too much for even Sarah Mackenzie to deal with on a daily basis.  I don’t want to end up being just as bad for her as Chris Ragle and Dalton Lowne were or as bad as Mic Brumby appears to be.   I want this to work out more than I’ve wanted just about anything else in my entire life.

I turn as I hear a noise and see Mac coming towards me, wearing the same sweatshirt she had put on last night.  I open my arms up to her and she walks right into them, wrapping her arms tight around me.  It’s almost as if she’s clinging to me.

I cup her chin and tilt her head upward so that I can see her eyes and I can see the pain so clearly etched in their depths.  “Mac?” I ask tentatively, hoping that she will open up to me as we did with each other last night.

“It’s nothing, really,” she tries to assure me, but I’m not buying it. 

“Please, tell me,” I beg her.  “I want to help.”

“You can’t,” she replies sadly, lowering her eyes.  “Not with this.  Mic’s due back later this morning and I need to go see him.”

“To tell him that it’s over?” I ask, a note of hope in my voice.  I know we talked about this and she even took off that damn ring, but I have this strange need to hear her say the words.

“Yes,” she says, no trace of doubt evident in her voice.  “I want to be with you so much, but I want our relationship to start off without these dark clouds hanging over our heads.  And as much as I’ve led him on and am going to hurt him, I owe it to Mic to break it off now before you and I go any further.   I want to get on with my life, with our life, and he needs to have the opportunity to get on with his as well.”

"I know what you mean," I reply sadly.  "You want to hear something funny?  Right now, I'm wishing that Renee would get back from California.  Odd, isn't it?  I want her to get back just so I can break up with her."

"No, it isn't odd," she tells me.  "It's. . . .I don't know.  Maybe it's just that we have this need for finality while wanting to not hurt Mic and Renee any more than necessary.  I mean, I know this is going to hurt them, but we do need to do it in person and not over the phone.  I know I'm rambling, but am I making any sense?"

"You're making perfect sense," I say, laughing a little at her ramblings.  I guess I'm not the only one who's nervous about all of this.  I'm not sure if I should be comforted or worried that she is as nervous as I am.

"So when is Renee due back?" she asks as she pulls out of my arms and moves over to the counter to fix herself a plate of the blueberry pancakes I finished making just before she woke up.

"I'm not sure," I respond, moving behind her and putting my hand on her shoulder.  She turned her head to look at me but doesn't say a word.  That worries me a little, but with everything that is weighing down on us, I think I understand.  "When I talked to her a few days ago, she said there were problems with her shoot and she would be delayed but she wasn't sure how long.  Almost makes me wish that I could break up with her over the phone, just to get this over with."

"But that's not you," she points out, finally turning completely around to face me, placing her hands on my cheeks.  "That's not the Harmon Rabb I fell in love with."

"Yeah, but that same Harmon Rabb is the one who is being unfaithful to the woman he's been seeing for ten months," I point out bitterly, instantly wishing that I could take back those words once I see the hurt look that settles in her eyes.

"Maybe I should ask you the same thing you asked me last night," she says, her voice trembling and eerily quiet.  I can tell that she's fighting back tears.  "Do you regret what happened last night?"

I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against me as my own tears threaten to fall.  God, how did we get ourselves into this situation?  And I don't mean what happened last night.  Like her, I could never regret that.  It's everything else about this situation that I regret.

"God, Sarah, no," I whisper against her hair, holding her as if I'm afraid to let her go.  "No, no, no, no."  I keep whispering as I press kisses against the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice breaking.  "I had to. . . ."

"You had to ask," I finish her sentence quietly.  "I know."  I walk her over to the couch, breakfast the last thing on my mind.  I sit down and pull her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.  She leans against me, burying her head against my neck.

After a few quiet moments of just holding each other, Mac pulls back slightly and looks up at me, this incredible look of love in her eyes.  I wonder how I got so lucky, with all my mistakes, that this incredible woman loves me.  "I love you, you know that, don't you?" she says, smiling at me.

I nod, unable to speak for a moment.  Those three words are exactly what I need to hear right now, a reminder that we have something worth fighting for and something that is worth all the pain that we are going through.  "I love you, too," I finally reply, taking one of her hands in mine, entwining our fingers. 

"Then we can get through this," Mac declares confidently, lifting up our connected hands to kiss the back of mine.  "Together, you and I do make a pretty good team."

"Yeah, I guess we do," I reply, managing a small smile for her.  I pause for a moment, considering what I am about to ask.  I want to know, yet I don't want to know.  Finally, I decide to just forge ahead.  "What time is Mic due back?"

"His flight lands at eleven," she replies, looking down at our joined hands.  "I thought I would go over to his apartment about an hour later to see him."

"You don't have to pick him up at the airport?" I ask.  I really don't want her to spend any more time in his presence than necessary, especially given what she told me last night.  I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that he will not take this well at all.  "Would you like me to go with you?"

"No," she says firmly, looking up at me.  "No offense, but I'd rather just leave you out of this.  Mic doesn't need to know that you and I are now together.  All I plan to tell him is that it isn't going to work out.  I definitely don't want a repeat of what happened between you two in Australia.  And the answer to your first question is also no.  He rode to the airport with his boss and is getting a ride home from him."

I know she is trying to protect me, but I am worried about her having to face him alone.  If something happened to her. . . .  I shudder involuntarily at the thought.  "What if I parked a few blocks away?" I ask hopefully.

Mac shakes her head.  Here it comes, the 'I'm a Marine' speech.  "Harm, I can take care of myself," she points out.  "I can handle Mic just fine.  I'll tell him it's over, hand him back his ring and wish him well.  That's the beginning and the end of it." 

"Mac," I say, stopping suddenly.  I consider carefully what I am about to say, not wanting to offend her Marine sensibilities.  After all, this woman could probably take me down with one hand tied behind her.  "Sarah, I want you to promise to carry your cell phone and call me immediately if you need anything, even if it's just a shoulder to lean on."

"I probably will take you up on that shoulder when I'm finished," she tells me softly, kissing my hand again.  "I don't want to hurt him and I know this will.  I know you have never liked him, but I do care for him.  Just not in the way he wants me to."

"I know you do," I concede.  I have never understood it.  Just like I never understood what she saw in Dalton Lowne.  Chris Ragle I kind of understood given the time in her life when that relationship happened.  But I'm not going to tell her all that, given how much she is agonizing over how she is about to hurt Mic.  She has learned from all those past relationships and that is part of what makes her the person she is today.  It's the very thing that Mic Brumby appears to have condemned her for.

We sit here for a few more moments, taking comfort in each others' touch.  Eventually, Mac pulls out of my arms and stands, looking down at me.  "Aren't you going to feed me?" she asks, her hand on her hips.

In spite of my still somewhat dark mood, I can't help but laugh.  There are some things that are absolutes and Mac being hungry is one of them.  In an odd way, it gives me hope that everything will be just fine.  Managing one of my few genuine smiles this morning, I hold my hands out and she pulls me up from the couch. 

Mac pushes me towards the table while she heads for the kitchen.  "You made breakfast," she says, "so the least I can do is serve.  Sit down."

Instead of sitting at the table, I stand at the bar, watching her as she moves around the kitchen preparing two plates of pancakes for us.  She definitely makes a sweatshirt look sexy, although I know it's probably more the idea of what she isn't wearing under it that is holding my attention.

She reaches up to the top shelf in a cabinet for something and I am treated to the sight of the sweatshirt riding up until it is just barely covering her lovely rear.  The direction of my thoughts must be obvious on my face because when she turns around, she gives me a knowing smile.  "Enjoying the show?" she teases.

I just shrug, not trusting myself to speak right now.  If I did, I might tell her to forget about breakfast.  While that prospect might be very enjoyable short term, long term I would have an even hungrier Marine to deal with.   Smiling at the thought, I leave my place at the bar and sit down at the table, trying not to think about the scantily-clad woman behind me in the kitchen.

After a few minutes, Mac brings two plates piled high with pancakes out and sets them on the table.  Instead of sitting down however, she heads for the bedroom.  I hear what sounds like drawers opening and she returns after a moment still wearing my Academy sweatshirt but now with a pair of shorts on also, tied at the waist to hold them up on her slim frame.

"Show's over, Flyboy," she teases as she sits down across from me, digging into her plate of pancakes.  Maybe, but I have to smile as her eyes glance up every so often, her eyes fixed on my bare chest. 

"If the show's over, maybe I should go put on a shirt," I suggest teasingly while she laughs at the thought.

"I've missed that, you know," she muses, pushing a piece of pancake around on her plate with her fork.

"What?" I ask, although I think I know what she is talking about.

"Being able to tease each other like that," she replies.  "Remember the first time I threw you a red light?"

I smile at the memory.  The funny thing is that we had been arguing over a case, the first one we had opposed each other on.  Such a contrast to the last year when it seems like all we did was argue or, even worse, we ignored each other, without the usual teasing to remind ourselves that we were still friends.

"I definitely remember," I say with a grin.  "Let's see – I said you could plea bargain the case, you said 'In your dreams' and I replied that you wouldn't want to be in my dreams.  Then I threw you a red light in return for reading something sexual into what I had said."

"We were fighting," she points out with a trace of sadness in her voice, looking up from her plate at me, "but we were still able to tease each other and in the end, we had dinner together and put it all behind us.  I just. . . ."

"Wish we had been able to do that this past year," I interrupt.  When she nods, a sad smile on her face, I reach across the table and take her hand in mind.  "I wish we could go back and do so much differently, but we can't.  What we can do is try to move forward and not let it happen again."

Her smile grows a little brighter as she replies, "If nothing else, everything that has happened over the last year should have taught us how precious all this is.  I almost lost the most precious person to me and I don't ever want to go through that again."

"I don't either," I agree emphatically.  "I want to know that whenever we have a fight - and we both know that we will still have those occasionally – that I can still count on my best friend, the woman I love, still being there when all is said and done."

"Agreed," Mac says, smiling as she covers our joined hands with her free hand.  I place my other hand on top of hers and she smiles at the gesture.  We sit here for a few moments, just smiling at each other and enjoying the calm.  Finally, Mac nods towards my plate.  "Are you finished or did you want some more?" she asks.

"No, I'm finished," I reply. 

"Good," she says, pulling her hands away from mine and picking up both our plates.  As she carries them into the kitchen, she tosses over her shoulder, "Why don't you turn on the radio?"

"Do you have a specific kind of music in mind?" I ask as I turn the stereo on.

I look over my shoulder at her and she looks like she's pondering the question.  She puts our dishes in the dishwasher then joins me by the stereo, fiddling with the dial, pausing every few seconds to listen to another station.  Finally, she stops as the sound of the Beatles comes out of the speakers.  "How's this?"

"Fine," I reply, "but for what?"

"For dancing," she tells me with a grin as she holds out her hand to me.  "I think we need to relax a little."

"Agreed," I say, "but do you mind if I change first?"

She looks me up and down, her eyes focusing for a seemingly long period of time at the boxers that I'm wearing.  I lift an eyebrow at her, remembering her earlier comment about my enjoying the show before she put on the shorts that she is wearing.  She giggles a little at my expression, then answers with a pout, "I suppose if you must."

Giving her a quick kiss, I retreat to the bedroom, grabbing a sweatshirt and shorts of my own to wear.  As I pull on my clothes, I watch Mac through the partition, smiling as she dances around the living room to the sounds of the Rolling Stones.  I feel better already.  This is definitely one of Mac's more brilliant ideas.  Too bad it's still raining out or I might suggest that we take off for the weekend and go flying.  That's something else that I miss doing with her, something else that I can't remember when the last time we did it was.  Maybe next weekend.  I think we both need a chance to get away from all this, even if only for a few days, and forget about all the outside pressures on both of us.

Smiling I head to the living room, pulling Mac into my arms as the song ends.  She rests her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist as we wait for the commercials to end and the next song to begin.  "Hmmm, this is nice," she murmurs.

"I agree," I tell her, holding her tight against me.  "This is definitely a very good idea.  We need to relax.  Anyway, I was thinking.  If the weather's better, how'd you like to go up in 'Sarah' next weekend, get away from here for a few days?"

The look on her face when she looks up at me says it all.  She misses going flying as much as I do.  "Just leave the psychotic poachers at home and you've got a deal," she teases.

"Yes, Ma'am," I say with a grin, giving her a mock salute.  That's okay.  Going flying is about getting away from everything for a few days, not finding more trouble than we already have.

She laughs at my antics and my day brightens just a little bit more.  I guess that's appropriate given the next song that comes over the radio.  Smiling, I sing along as we move around the room.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day
When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I look down at Mac and see a sight that I haven't seen in I don't know how long.  There's a light in her eyes and a joy in her expression that. . . .I can't remember when was the last time I saw that kind of brightness on her face.  I do have to admit that it thrills me that I'm the one to put that expression back on her face.  I hope that look sticks around for a long time to come.

I've got so much honey, the bees envy me
I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I don't need no money, fortune or fame
I've got all the riches, baby, one man can claim
I guess you'd say what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl
Talking about my girl

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day with my girl
I've even got the month of May with my girl 

By the time the song ends, Mac is laughing loudly.  "Thank you for that," she says.  "I think we both needed to be cheered up."

I can't help but laugh, too.  She's right.  We do need this.  "Maybe I should be thanking you," I point out, "for still putting up with me after everything."

"Hey, we've put up with a lot from each other over the years," she points out in return.  The smile on her face takes any sting from her words.  She is right.  She usually is, although I rarely admit that to anyone but myself. 

"Well here's to a lot more years of putting up with each other," I say softly as we begin swaying gently to the next song, Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'.

Eventually, reality intrudes into our happy little world and Mac has to leave to go see Mic.  I know why she has to go and, in a way, I want her to go so she can get this over with and so we have one less cloud hanging over our heads.  But I hate the idea of her going to face him alone, even as I know why she doesn't want me to go along.  Not that I really want to go along.  If I were to never see Mic again, it would be too soon.  I just don't want her to have to face this alone.

"I'll be fine, Harm," she tells me for about the hundredth time in the last few minutes as she finishes pulling on her clothes from last night.  I had finally thrown all our clothes in the dryer last night before we went back to bed.  She sits down next to me on the bed as she finishes buttoning her blouse.

"I know," I reply, looking at her with a small smile.  "I just want to be there for you."

She turns and faces me and gives me a warm smile.  "You are going to be there for me," she says, her hand over her heart, "in here.  And I can get through this knowing that when it's over, I'll be coming back here to you."

"Just keep remembering that," I said quietly.  I lean forward slightly and kiss her softly, a goodbye until later kiss.  But she wraps her arms around my neck and deepens the kiss, pressing her body closer to mine.  I'd love so much to lose myself in her right now, but it's not the right time.  Reluctantly, I break off the kiss and rest my forehead against hers.

"You need to get going," I tell her, struggling to control the raging emotions inside me.

She nods and replies, "I know, but I will be back."

Without a word, I get up and go to the pegs behind the door where our jackets are hanging.  Mine being leather and hers being some kind of material that's dry clean only, I couldn't just throw them in the dryer.  I start to pull hers off the peg, only to realize that it's still wet.  "Your jacket's still wet," I inform her as she joins me by the door.

She returns to the bedroom and comes back out with the sweatshirt she was wearing earlier.  "I'll just put this on over my clothes," she says, pulling it on.  "The layers should keep me plenty warm."

Alarm bells begin going off in my head.  "What do you think Mic is going to say if you show up wearing a Naval Academy sweatshirt?" I point out, worried for her and for his reaction.

"I was planning to stop at home before I go over to his place anyway," she counters, "to change into some fresh clothes.   I can grab a jacket there and leave the sweatshirt behind."

"Okay," I concede, only slightly less concerned.  I won't feel completely better until she is back here and Mic is gone from her life.

"Harm. . . ." she begins, drawing out my name.

"I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands in surrender.  "You'll be fine.  Just try and hurry back."

"I will," she promises, giving me a brief kiss as I hand her an umbrella.  "Maybe when I get back we can order a pizza and do some more dancing around the living room."

"I look forward to it," I say as I open the door for her.  As she walks through, she turns and looks back at me with a smile.

"I will be back soon," she says before turning and walking to the stairs.  I stand there with the door open, watching until the stairwell door closes behind her.

Instead of taking the elevator, I walk up the one flight of stairs to my apartment, taking the extra time to do even more thinking.  Not that I have to think about what I am doing.  I've never been more sure about anything than I am about this.  What I keep going over in my mind is how I'm going to break the news to Mic that I won't marry him.  I go over about a dozen different scenarios in my mind and reject them all.  How do I break it off without hurting him too much?  As much as I can never love him in the same intense way that I love Harm, I still consider him a friend and do not want to hurt him.

I pat the front pocket of my jeans, feeling the outline of the ring through the denim.  Maybe I'm over thinking this.  Maybe the best approach is the simple one.  Hand him back the ring, apologize for taking so long to come to a decision and tell him simply that I cannot be the kind of wife he deserves to have.  Yeah, right.  And if it were that simple, then why would I be obsessing so much about this?

Now that's a funny thought.  Harm's the one with the obsessive personality.  Thinking about Harm brings a smile to my face and I feel a little of the weight that I'm carrying lift from my shoulders.  I just need to keep the end goal in sight.  I break it off with Mic and Harm and I will be free to be together, or we will once he does the same with Renee.  But the end result will be worth all the pain.

As I enter my apartment, I'm surprised that Jingo doesn't immediately trot over to greet me.  That's unusual.  I am about to whistle for Jingo when a voice startles me.  "Hello, luv," Mic says.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as I turn towards to sofa and see Mic walking towards me, his arms open.  I let him embrace me, trying not to stiffen as he holds me tight and presses his lips against mine.  Mic steps back and, fortunately, he doesn't seem to notice my hesitancy.  "I asked to be dropped off here," he tells me.  "I wanted to surprise you."

Surprise, Mac.  Why does this not surprise me?  Just another sign that I am making the right decision.  I look past Mic and see a man I recognize as his boss sitting on the couch, trying to ignore Jingo's request for attention.  I don't remember the man's name and I'm usually so good with names.  But I still have bad memories of that party and I really had no desire to remember the people I had met there.  "Hello, Sarah," he says, smiling at me.  For some reason, he reminds me of a used-car salesman.

"Hello," I reply, forcing what I hope is a warm smile.

"I really should be going," he says, standing and walking around Jingo.  The man obviously has no appreciation for a good, faithful companion.  I try to hide my distaste when he holds out his hand to me and I shake it.  "It was good to see you again, Sarah.  Mic, I'll see you Monday morning."

As Mic escorts him out, I set down my purse and take a few deep breaths.  God, how did this happen?  Instead of seeking out Mic on my own timetable and breaking this off in my own way, I'm forced into an even more uncomfortable situation by his continued insistence on surprising me.

Mic walks up behind me and puts his arms around me, but I pull away and turn around to face him, my arms crossed over my chest.  "Mic, what have I told you again and again about surprising me?" I ask, trying to keep my negative feelings in check.

"Come on, Sarah," he says, trying to take me into his arms again, but I hold up a hand to stop him.  He drops his arms and looks at me.  "You knew I was coming home today and we were going to be spending today together."

"Don't assume," I retort.  "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Sarah, I'm really getting tired of this," he says, his voice sounding whiny to my ears.  "I don't think it is too much to expect my fiancée to spend time with me when I get back into town.  I missed you when I was gone." 

This time, he succeeds in getting his arms around me before I can pull away and he pulls me close to him so that I feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against my stomach.  "Mic," I say in protest, struggling against his embrace.  "We need to talk."

"Later, Sarah," he says, pressing kisses down my throat as he tries to slide his hands up under my shirt.  "Right now, I need you."

Summoning all my strength, I push Mic away from me and take a few steps back to put some distance between us.  Before, I might have ignored my concerns and let him sweet talk me into sex, but now I don't feel a thing for him.  It may sound harsh, but after being with Harm just once, I can't figure out how Mic could have ever turned me on.

"Mic, listen to me," I say, trying to keep my voice conciliatory.  "We really need to talk.  I'd appreciate it if you would listen to what I have to say."

"What is it, Sarah?" I asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  I can tell just from his demeanor that he really has no interest in what I have to say.  Again, I wonder how I could have been so stupid all these months.

Taking a deep breath, I begin, "When you first offered me your ring, I was very flattered.  I'd always wanted more than just a career and you were offering me everything I'd ever wanted.  I thought that I could overlook the fact that we'd never dated, figuring that we could get to know each other later."

"But we do know each other," Mic insisted in that whiny voice again and I have to force myself not to cringe.  "I love you and you love me."

"Mic, I don't love you," I blurt out.  I have to go for broke at this point, since he's apparently not going to listen as I talk about all the reasons why this will not work.  "I thought that I would grow to love you as time passed, but it's just not working.  I can't make myself love you and you deserve better than that.  You deserve a woman who can make you the center of her universe.  I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

He's silent for a long moment.  I guess I managed to shock him.  I don't think he ever really considered the possibility that I would turn down his proposal.  Witness how he has continually referred to me as his fiancée despite my protests that I'm not.  Finally, he says, "But if you give me a chance. . . ."

"Mic, you've been here since May and it's now November," I point out, fighting for calm.  "It's not a matter of giving you a chance.  It's a matter of you asking me for something that I just don't have it in me to give.  I wish I could give it to you, because you deserve a woman who will love you completely.  But that woman is just not me and it never can be."

I take his ring out of my pocket and hold it out to him, the diamond glistening in the lamp light.  He doesn't reach out to take it from me, so I set it down on the desk.  Finally, he picks it up, turning it over in the palm of his hand.  "What brought this on?" he asks quietly.

God, the one question that I don't really want to answer.  I can't very well tell him 'Well, Harm and I had an incredible evening of lovemaking in his shower and now that he realizes that he loves me, I can't continue stringing you on'.  Somewhat lamely, I reply, "I've just been thinking about and examining this situation while you've been gone."

I can see the anger building in his eyes, but I stand my ground.  I refuse to let him push me around the way he has for the last six months.  "I gave up everything for you," he points out, his voice tight.  "You can't just waltz up to me after all these months and declare us over."

"Mic, please don't make this any harder than it has to be," I plead, beginning to seriously worry about his reaction.  In the back of my mind, I consider calling Harm, but reject that idea.  The last thing I need is to throw gasoline onto this fire.

He reaches out and grabs my arm and then stops, just staring at me.  As I realize just what it is that he is staring at, my worst fears seem to be becoming reality.  I can hear Harm's voice echoing in my head.  ' What do you think Mic is going to say if you show up wearing a Naval Academy sweatshirt?'  His eyes narrow in anger, staring at the blue USNA on the gray sweatshirt, and I wait for the coming explosion.  It's not long in coming.  "Where have you been, Sarah?" he asks angrily, his fingers digging into my arm, painful even through the layers of my clothes.

"Working on a case," I reply just as angrily, any pretense of civility gone as I try to yank my arm free of his grasp, attempting to pry his fingers off me.  "As if that's any of your business anymore.  I just told you that it's over."

"I won't accept that," he insists, maintaining his grasp on me.  "I won't lose you to him."

I finally manage to pull myself free, falling backwards against the desk.  I'm sure I'll have a lovely purple bruise on my hip in a few hours.  I rub my arm, trying to restore some sense of feeling as I retort, "This isn't about losing me to anybody.  This is about the fact that I do not love you and do not want to marry you."

"No," he insists angrily, looming over me.  I try to slip around him, but he presses himself against me, effectively trapping me between him and the desk, his legs on the outside of mine, holding them in place.  I can feel that he is still aroused and he's beginning to scare me just a little.  I remind myself that I'm a Marine and that I will handle anything he tries to dish out.  "You don't just dump me after wearing my ring for nine months, after I moved halfway around the world for you, after we've been practically living together and after all these plans I've made for us."

I push at him, but he holds fast against me.  Taking a deep breath, I try to speak as calmly as possible as I refute each of his arguments.  I need to try and calm him down.  "Mic, this isn't just about you and what you want," I tell him, my voice level with no signs of my growing anger or fear.  "A relationship between two people should be about what both of them want.  I already explained about the ring.  Yes, I did accept your ring and wear it on my *right* hand for nine months and I'm sorry if you feel I led you on – I probably did, even though that was never my intention.  As for the rest, I never asked you to move halfway around the world for me.  Now, it just appears to be to have been a move on your part to pressure me into making a decision.  We are not living together.  We do not spend every night together and you have your own apartment.  As far as any plans that you have made, when were you planning to include me in any of these plans?  How many times have I told you not to assume and not to surprise me?  Mic, I don't feel like I'm in a relationship of equals with you.  I feel like you're running the show and that I'm expected to just go along with whatever you want."

"But I did this all for you, Sarah," he insists.  His eyes flash with anger as he presses on.  "Has Rabb ever done any of these things?  What has he ever given up for you?"

Mic has no idea what all Harm has done for me since I've known him, even going back to the very beginning when he put himself and his career on the line for a complete stranger.  But I do not want to turn this into some kind of macho contest about what Harm and Mic have done for me.  I still want to leave Harm out of this if at all possible.  "But, Mic," I reply, "I never asked you to do any of that for me.  You've never consulted me on any of this and I don't feel that it is right for us to be in a relationship where you apparently have so little concern for what I want and feel that you make these huge, life-altering decisions without consulting me about it."

My calm tone apparently is having an effect, because Mic pulls away from me and I slump against the desk, relieved.  He starts pacing the room while continuing to plead his case.  Thankfully, he appears to have forgotten about what he imagines is Harm's part in all this.  "When I first met you," he says, his voice quiet, "I knew I'd never met anyone like you before.  That was very apparent after your reaction to the way I had treated you at your court-martial.  Then we grew closer over the following months, especially the following summer and I began to believe that you might feel the same way about me that I felt about you."

I force myself not to flinch when he mentions that summer, the one where Harm was off on the Patrick Henry pursuing his dreams.  At least he didn't mention Harm by name.  That gives me hope that we might get out of this situation with a minimum of scars.

"Then when we kissed right before I left for Australia," he continues, apparently lost in his own world right now.  He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to me right now, "I knew that you had fallen in love with me, too.  Then you came to Australia to see me and went to Manly Beach with me and then that ferry ride, when you accepted my ring, those were the happiest times of my life."

How could he have been so far off base?  Did I really lead him on that much?  Even when I accepted his ring, there had never been anything between us at that point to show anyone that we were anything more than friends.  God, what have I done?  How did I manage to make this big a mess of three people's lives?

"When I showed up at the Surface Warfare Ball and you accepted my presence, I took that as a sign that you were willing to move the ring over," he says while I struggle to contain my shock.  He took my acceptance of his arrival in the States as a sign that I would move the ring over, yet he doesn't think it odd that I haven't moved it yet after six months?

"Mic," I say soothingly, "I'm sorry for you that this hasn't worked out.  But I don't feel that it is fair to you to let you continue to have the idea that I might eventually move the ring over to my other hand."

"Sarah. . . ." he begins, interrupted by the ringing of the phone.  I make a move to answer it, but Mic waves me off.  "Let the machine get it.  I'd like to finish our conversation."

I take a deep breath, a bit angry at his order, but I nod agreement.  He has calmed down, so I feel I can extend him the courtesy of hearing him out, even if it will not change my mind.  I motion for him to continue.

"Being here with you the last six months has been wonderful, and. . . ." he continues, stopping when my answering machine picks up and we hear a familiar masculine voice.  Oh, God, no.  Any hope I might have had for this ending on a somewhat friendly note go up in flames as I hear the voice of the man I love.

"Mac, it's me," he says into the machine as Mic's eyes narrow dangerously.  "You're probably still at Mic's, but I was just looking over the Linson files – you know we never did get back to the case last night – and I realized that the Carter deposition is missing.  I was wondering if you could look around your place and see if you have it before you head back over here.  I'll see you later and I love you."

God, why did Mic have to show up at my place?  If I'd been able to go over to his place as planned, then this wouldn't be happening.  I open my mouth to speak, hoping to mitigate some of the damage that Harm has unwittingly done with his message, but before I can say anything, Mic lashes out and backhands me across the face.  The force of the blow sends me flying into the door, my head striking against the doorknob as I fall to the floor.  As I climb to my feet, dazed, I have the metallic taste of blood in my mouth from where I bit my cheek when I was struck.

Before I can rise completely, Mic grabs me by the upper arms and yanks me to my feet, pressing me against the door.  "So you were working on a case last night," he says viciously, practically spitting his words at me.  "But what were you doing the rest of the time before you wandered in this morning?  Have you been playing me for a fool this entire time, Sarah?  Why move the ring over if you can string me along and get some on the side from Rabb at the same time?  Were you spreading your legs for him while I was back in Australia, waiting for you to make a decision?  What about in Russia when the two of you seemingly dropped off the face of the planet?  Do you enjoy having two men panting after you?"

"It's not like that," I protest firmly, bringing up one of my knees to strike him in crotch.  Stunned, he releases me and falls to his knees, clutching himself.  I go for the doorknob, but he sees what I am about to do and grabs my leg, yanking me down to the floor.  He tries to climb on top of me but I am able to get enough leverage to kick him in the stomach.  Dazed, he loosens his grip and I manage to scramble to my feet.  Instead of going for the door this time, I race for my desk, yanking the chair out of the way and pulling open the center drawer as I hear Mic climb to his feet behind me.  Just as he reaches me, I spin around, holding my gun in my hands, the safety off. Jingo comes up to me and growls loudly, baring his teeth at Mic.

"Back off," I shout, holding the gun steady in front of me even as I am shaking uncontrollably inside as I imagine what he might have done to me if I hadn't been a Marine and more than capable of fighting him off.

"Sarah, let's talk about this," Mic says in a conciliatory tone, holding his hand out to me.  "Just give me the gun."

"There's nothing to talk about," I insist, resisting the urge to laugh.  He assaults me then he wants me to hand over my means of protection?  Maybe when Hell freezes over.  "I think you need to leave."

"But, Sarah. . . ." he begins.

"But nothing," I interrupt angrily.  "Get out of here and stay out and count yourself lucky that I don't call the police right now and report you for assault.  And if you ever come near me again, I *will* immediately call the police.  Make no mistake about that."

"I will not lose you, especially not to Rabb," he spits at me, his voice full of hatred. 

"Let me add something else, just so we're clear," I retort, still holding the gun steady, aimed for his chest.  "Not only are you not to come near me, I would not suggest going anywhere near Harm, either.  Now get out of here before I change my mind about calling the police."  When he still makes no move to leave, I scream, "NOW!"

Finally, he gets the message and swiftly departs.  Only after he is gone and the door closed behind him do I lower the gun, shaking visibly now that I am alone.  With trembling hands, I lock the door and fasten the security chain.  Jingo walks up to me, his tags jingling, as I sink to the floor.  I set the gun on the floor after clicking the safety back on and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck as I let go of my emotions and let the tears fall.

It may only be minutes or it may be hours that I sit on the floor, holding Jingo as I release everything that I kept bottled up inside during my confrontation with Mic.  I've lost all track of time.  Finally pulling away from Jingo, I brush the tears from my face as Jingo licks me, offering his own form of comfort.  Taking a shaky breath, I get up and sit down at the desk, setting the gun on the center of the desk in front of me, staring at the phone for a long moment before picking it up and dialing a number even more familiar than my own.

"Rabb."

I open my mouth to speak, but I find that I can't say the words.  After a moment, Harm says, his voice full of concern, "Mac?  Are you there?  I know it's you.  Your name is on the Caller ID."

"Harm," I manage to say, my voice shaking.  I can't say anymore, but I don't need to.  He hears all he needs to in my voice.

"I'm on my way over," he says and I can hear him grabbing his keys.  "I'll be over there in fifteen minutes."

"Harm," I say again, my voice barely above a whisper.  "Carry your weapon, just in case."

"Mac, why should I carry a weapon?" he asks, his tone growing even more concerned.  "What did Mic. . . ." 

I hate to do it, but I hang up on Harm.  I can't discuss this now, not over the phone.  I need Harm here.  I need to feel his arms around me.  I need to know that everything will be okay.

I am sitting slumped in my desk chair when I hear the strong knock at my door seventeen minutes and ten seconds after I hung up on Harm.  Getting up as I grab my gun, I click off the safety again before I check the peephole, then click the safety back on as I recognize Harm on the other side.

Slowly, I unlock the door and unfasten the chain, then pull the door open.  I look Harm straight in the eye as I pull the door open completely.  I've barely gotten the door open before he is inside the apartment, pulling me into his strong embrace as he pushes the door closed behind him.

Without a word, even though I can sense that he is just dying to speak, he leads me to the couch and sits down, pulling me into his lap as he takes the gun from my trembling hands and sets it on the end table.  I can feel him trembling as well as he runs his hands up and down my back trying to comfort me.  I can just imagine what I looked like to him when I opened the door.  My cheek stings where Mic hit me and I'm sure it is beginning to bruise.  I'm a little off balance, probably because of hitting my head against the doorknob.  I never knew something so small could hurt so much.  And, though he hasn't seen it yet, there's the eventual bruise that I'm sure will form on my hip from where I hit the desk.  Of course, I also may have marks on my arms from where Mic grabbed me several times.

I suppose I should count myself lucky.  It could have been so much worse.  If I wasn't so capable of defending myself. . . . No, I can't think about that.  Right now, it's Harm I'm worried about.  I know him and how protective he can be.  I'm sure that his concern for me and my state of mind is the only thing that is keeping him from rushing out and tearing Mic apart.

We sit wrapped up in each other for twenty-eight minutes before Harm finally speaks.  I can hear in his voice that same trembling I felt as he put his arms around me.  "Can you tell me what happened?" he asks gently, kissing my temple.

I nod and start speaking slowly, staring at some imaginary point across the room, trying to gather my thoughts and to keep a lid on my emotions as I tell the story.  "When I got home to change, Mic was here with his boss.  He said that he'd asked to be dropped off here to surprise me."

I pause, waiting for Harm to say something, but he merely takes one of my hands in his and squeezes it, silently encouraging me to continue, "After his boss left, he tried to, um, get me into bed but I pushed him away and said we needed to talk.  I tried to explain how I'd been flattered when he offered me his ring, but he wasn't listening to me and I ended up blurting out that I didn't love him.  I tried to explain all the reasons why I couldn't be the kind of wife he should have.  He kept going on about how if I just gave him a chance, he could change my mind."

I pause, taking a deep breath in an effort to retain my calm demeanor.  I can feel Harm's eyes on me, but I still don't look at him.  If I look at him, have to look him in the eyes, I might lose it.  Finally, I continue, "He asked me what brought it on and I just told him that I'd been doing some thinking while he'd been away.  I tried. . . .I wanted so much to keep your name out of it, but it was at this point that he noticed the sweatshirt that I'm wearing.  He then started in about how he wasn't going to lose me to you.  I remained calm and tried to deflect the conversation away from you and I think I was succeeding.  He seemed to be calming down."

I pause again, tears filling my eyes as I remember what happened next.  It is this part that I dread telling Harm the most.  I know what is reaction is going to be.  But I have to tell him.  He needs to know everything.  Hesitantly, I say, "The phone rang and Mic said to let the machine get it so we could finish our discussion.  I agreed because he had finally calmed down and I didn't want to provoke him any more." 

Harm's fingers tighten around mine as he realizes that it is his phone call that I'm talking about.  "Mac, you don't need to continue," he says quietly, his voice full of guilt.  He seems to realize that his message is what pushed Mic over the edge. 

Taking a shaky breath, I counter softly, "No.  I need. . . .you need to hear everything.  I want you to understand. . . ."

I take another breath and return to the story, promising myself that there are parts I will leave out.  Harm doesn't need to know word for word everything that Mic said.  He doesn't need to hear just how vicious, how vulgar Mic was.  "When he heard your message, he got very angry and backhanded me and I fell against the door.  He then grabbed me before I could get out the door and accused me of stringing him along while carrying on with you the entire time.  I kneed him and he let go of me, but then he grabbed my leg and pulled me down to the floor.  I. . . .he tried. . . .I managed to kick him and got away.  That's when I grabbed my gun.  It took some convincing, but I made him leave."

Finished telling my story, I finally turn and look at Harm and my heart breaks at everything I see in his eyes.  I can see so clearly his love and concern for me, his anger and hatred for Mic and what he has done and his guilt over his unintentional part in what happened here today.  I run my fingers over his cheeks as I press my lips to his, taking comfort from his touch and his taste.  As I pull away, I whisper, "It's not your fault, Harm.  Please don't blame yourself."

"Mac, it's you I'm concerned about," he insists softly, his voice shaking slightly.  "Did you call the police?  And I think maybe I should take you to the hospital."

"Harm, I'm fine," I insist, trying to use my strongest, most sure tone, even if I'm feeling anything but right now.  "No, I haven't called the police, although I told him that I would if he came after either one of us.  As far as the hospital goes, I don't think that's really necessary.  They're just bruises and they'll heal."

"Mac," he begins softly, gently brushing my hair from my face.  His gentle manner is such a stark contrast to the harshness I was subjected to just an hour ago.  "I really think you should let me take you to the hospital.  If it does become necessary to go to the police later, then we'll have official records of what happened today and a record of your. . . .injuries.  And I think you should let me call the Admiral."

Call the Admiral?  Why?  There's a part of me that blames myself and wants as few people to know about this as possible.  However, that may not be an option, depending on how bad the bruise on my face is.  I still haven't been able to bring myself to look at it in a mirror and there are some things that even layers of makeup cannot hide.  Maybe it would be a good thing to bring the Admiral into this.  Maybe he can keep Harm from doing something ill-advised, like going after Mic.  Because God knows that if Harm got it into his head to go after Mic, I don't think I could stop him.  I know better than anyone how Harmon Rabb can be with his obsessions and I fear that this will become another one to him.

Slowly, I nod.  "Yes, I want you to take me to the hospital," I agree.  He does have a point, the lawyer in me realizes.  We need to have evidence, just in case.  I just hope it doesn't come to that.  I just want this to be over.  I just want to be able to forget about it.  "And I think we should call the Admiral."

Harm exhales and I realize that he had been practically holding his breath, waiting for my response.  He looks down at my clothes and suggests, "Why don't you go change?  I notice you're still wearing your clothes from last night.  I'll call the Admiral while you're changing and ask him to meet us at the hospital."

I nod in agreement and climb off his lap, taking care not to appear to be limping from the pain in my hip as I make my way to the bedroom.  Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the mirror hanging above the dresser, my eyes fixed on the sight of the large purple and blue bruise below my right eye running along my cheekbone.  I trace the discoloration with my fingers, almost as if I can't believe its presence. 

Slowly, I pull off my clothes, clinically taking catalog of my bruises as another one is revealed.  As I pull off the sweatshirt and the blouse I have on underneath it, I note with detached interest the dark purple bruises shaped like fingers on my left arm, where Mic had grabbed me when he noticed the sweatshirt.  Similarly shaped bruises, slightly lighter in color, ring my right arm from when he had grabbed both my arms after Harm's phone message.  I pull off my jeans and, twisting around to see, I can make out the lower edge of a bruise at the bottom edge of my panties.  My hands shaking, any hint of detachment gone, I slide my panties down and gasp softly at the large bruise on my right hip, approximately the size of a baseball.

My hands shaking, I pull a new set of clothes from my dresser with the exception of a shirt.  I'll just put back on Harm's Academy sweatshirt.  I can't explain it, but I need to feel him close to me, even when he's not physically holding me.  Trying to control the trembling of my hands, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball and break down, I pull on my clothes then run my fingers through my hair, trying to gain some semblance of order in my appearance.  As I study my appearance in the mirror, I see Harm's reflection and I wonder just how long he's been standing there.  Did he see the bruises, a colorful, painful reminder of what happened here today?  As I turn around and slowly walk towards him, I see the answer in his eyes.  He saw. 

Fighting back tears, I walk into his arms, holding tight to him as if he's my lifeline.  "Oh, God, Harm," I whisper brokenly, my body shaking as I lose control of the emotions I've been trying so hard to contain.

I can feel Harm's body shaking also as he holds me and I wonder if he sees me as his lifeline as well.  "It will be okay," he says and I imagine that if I pulled back and looked into his eyes, I would see him trying to hold back tears as well.  "I promise, Sarah.  I'll make everything okay for you."

I nervously pace back and forth across the scarred linoleum, anxiously awaiting word.  As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Mac was whisked away from me and I am forced to cool my heels waiting.  I keep telling myself that she's okay, at least physically.  She is right in that the bruises will heal.  But it's not her physical injuries which concern me the most.

She's been through so much, survived so much.  Just how much more should one woman, no matter how strong, be forced to take?  I want so much to just take her into my arms and take away all her hurts and fears - hurts and fears that I caused.

God, we thought it was going to be so simple.  She would go to Mic, I would go to Renee and we would tell them it was over.  We would then be free to pursue a relationship of our own – finally on the same page after four long years of missteps, denied feelings and unspoken desires.  Would that it could have been that simple.  Why couldn't it have been that simple?

We should have known that it wouldn't be, couldn't be.  If it were, then it wouldn't have taken us all this time to get here.  Nothing has ever been simple and easy with us.  If it had been, then so much would be different right now.  That near kiss in Columbia would have been so much more.  There would have been no doubts in Mac's mind as to who I was kissing in Norfolk.  She would have known that she wasn't the only one crying the day I left JAG for what I thought was the last time.  And, most of all, Australia would never have happened and she would not have worn another man's ring for the last nine months.

I sink into a chair, ignoring the stares from others in the waiting room, resisting the urge to fall to the floor in a broken heap and scream with the injustice of it all.  I pick up a magazine off a nearby table in an effort to distract myself.  I stare at the magazine unseeing, crumpling the fragile paper in my hands, imagining that it's Mic Brumby I'm tearing apart.

I never saw this one coming.  Sure, I have never liked the man.  To my mind, he exuded all the charm of a snake oil salesman.  But he is a good lawyer.  And, to be honest, I had never seen any indication until Mac told me otherwise last night that he didn't treat her any different from the way she deserves to be treated.  What happened today came like a tornado – forming suddenly and leaving devastation in its wake.

I close my eyes against the pain in my heart, but I can't close my eyes against the images flashing through my mind – Brumby towering over Mac, trying to intimidate her; Brumby lashing out and hitting her so hard that she was thrown against the door; Brumby pulling her to the floor and trying to. . . .trying to. . . .

If Mic Brumby were to suddenly materialize in front of me right now, I honestly do not know if I could stop myself from killing him.

"Commander?  Harm?"

I open my eyes and see at eye level the lower edge of a man's Navy service dress blues coat.  Taking a shaky breath, I look up to see Admiral Chegwidden looking down at me, concern obvious in his eyes.

Another moment I've been dreading.  When I called and told him I was taking Mac to the hospital, I refused to go into details, telling him that we would explain everything when he met us at the hospital.  Under normal circumstances, I would have expected him to grumble a bit about that, especially since I obviously disturbed him getting ready to go into work, despite today being Saturday.  But he was strangely silent on the phone – perhaps there was something in my voice that relayed the gravity of the situation – and he merely said that he was on his way.  But now that he's here, standing over me, I don't know for the life of me what to tell him.

He sits down in a chair next to me and studies me, waiting patiently for me to explain everything.  But how do I explain this?  How do I tell my commanding officer, my mentor and my friend how my stupidity led to the woman I love being beaten?  How do I tell him that because of me, the man who asked her to marry him threatened her with rape?

He puts his hand on my shoulder as I bite my lower lip in an effort to keep it from visibly trembling.  But his gesture is of no comfort to me.  I wonder if there is anything that can ease the pain that feels like a knife wound in my gut.

"Harm, can you tell me what happened?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I draw in another shaky breath before replying softly, "Mac was beaten.  She called me and I insisted that she let me bring her to the hospital."

I can feel the shock emanating from him as he digests what I have just said.  "But how?  Who?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

Now there's the hard part to tell.  "Most of that story is Mac's to tell," I say cowardly.  I can't tell him this.  I'm not even sure I could put it into words if I wanted to tell him.  "She should be the one to tell you exactly what happened since she was there."  My hands tighten again around the magazine still in my hands.  I'm mildly surprised at this point that it isn't just so much shredded paper at my feet.

Firmly, he pries the magazine from my hands and sets it aside.  "Harm, Mac is one of the strongest people I know.  She will get through this," he tries to reassure me.

"I don't know," I whisper brokenly.  "Mac said the bruises will heal and she's right about that.  But what about the rest?  How does she live with the memories of what happened today?"

"Harm, she's been through rough times before – Dalton Lowne's death, being stalked, her husband's murder," the Admiral points out.  "She survived them all.  She will survive this one, too."

"Sir, you don't understand," I blurt out, jumping out of my chair and resuming my pacing, nervously running my hand through my hair.  No, he couldn't possibly understand.  He never knew how she had fallen off the wagon after Lowne's death.  I never told anyone and, after we got the Chief off for beating that prostitute, he was willing to let the matter drop as well.  He doesn't understand yet that one of the people Mac trusts most in this world did this to her.  He doesn't understand yet that one of the people she trusts most is responsible for this.  God, what if this drives her to the bottle again?  How can I live with myself if that happens?  How can she live with me?

"Mr. Rabb?" a female voice says from the doorway.  I whirl around and see the nurse who triaged Mac standing in the doorway.

"How is Mac?" I ask, my words falling out of my mouth in a rush of emotion.  "Can I see her now?"

"Ms. Mackenzie has asked to see you," she replies, her voice tight.  She sounds unhappy about letting me back to see Mac.  Wait a minute. . . .

Apparently, the Admiral is thinking the same thing that I am, because he demands, his voice low so as not to be overheard, but firm in its intent, "You don't think that he's responsible for this!?  Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie have saved each other's lives more times than I can remember, so the idea that he might have done this to her is abhorrent.  I suggest you act like a professional and keep your ill-considered opinion to yourself.  Now take us to see Colonel Mackenzie."

The nurse looks like she is about to argue with him, but one look at the fire in his eyes, the determination in his stance and she reconsiders.  Without another word, she leads us down the hall towards the emergency room cubicles.

As we walk, I consider Admiral Chegwidden's words and wonder if he will feel the same once he hears the entire story.  I may not have *done* this to Mac, but I am definitely *responsible* for what has happened today.  I can feel his eyes on me and I wonder what he is thinking.  I wonder what he will be thinking in a few minutes once he knows what I have done.

Still silent, the nurse pushes back a curtain and my heart breaks again at the sight of Mac and the visual evidence of what Mic Brumby did.  She holds her arms out to me and I sit down on the edge of the bed, taking her into my arms.  I hear the curtain close around us as I hold her tight, rocking her gently, whispering words of apology. 

After a long moment, she pulls back from me, tears in her eyes.  "It's not your fault," she tries to assure me softly, her soft brown eyes fixed on mine.  "I don't blame you for this."

But I blame myself.   Without meaning to, I've caused the person I love most in the world to be hurt in one of the most horrific ways imaginable.  Something of my tortured thoughts must show in my eyes, because Mac puts her hands on my cheeks and whispers, "Don't, Harm.  Please."

A discrete cough sounds behind me and we both turn to look at our CO.  Mac smiles uncertainly and says, "Hello, Admiral."  Even as I drove her to the hospital after we had already called him, she was uncertain of the wisdom of bring him in on this.  Not that I really want to either, but I think it's necessary.  If my worst fears become reality and Mic Brumby won't stay away from Mac, we'll need Admiral Chegwidden on our side just in case Brumby tries to harass her at JAG.

The Admiral pulls up a stool and sits down at the other side of Mac's bed.  "How are you doing, Mac?" he asks, his voice as gentle as if it were his own daughter he were trying to comfort.

"Physically, I'm fine," she replies, looking down at her lap.  "The bruises will all heal eventually.  I'm lucky, actually.  It could have been a lot worse."  Her voice catches a little at the last bit and I image that she is remembering with crystal clarity those horrifying moments when she thought that Mic would try to force himself on her.  She never said so in as many words, but her telling pauses and trembling voice as she related the story to me told me all that I need to know.  My hands tighten into fists and my thoughts darken as I wish for just five minutes alone with Brumby.  Just give me five minutes.  I'd willingly trade my career and time in Leavenworth for just five minutes.

"But how are you doing, Mac?" he presses gently.

Mac hesitates before she replies, struggling to keep her voice strong.  "As well as can be expected, Sir," she says.  "It's hard, but I'm coping."

Before he can say anything in response, the curtain pulls back again and the nurse is there with a woman whose demeanor screams police.  The nurse pulls the curtain closed again and the newcomer introduces herself.  "I'm Detective Andrea Summers, DCPD," she says, holding out her hand. 

Mac takes it, her grip visibly limp.  "Sarah Mackenzie," she says, her voice dull and lifeless.  She indicates me, then the Admiral.  "This is Harmon Rabb and AJ Chegwidden."

Detective Summers shakes each of our hands in turn then pulls up another stool, sitting down as she pulls a notepad out of her jacket pocket.  "Just take your time, Ms. Mackenzie," she says, smiling at Mac.  "We're in no rush.  Do you mind if I call you Sarah?"

"Actually, everyone calls me Mac," Mac replies.  "You don't have a problem with Harm and the Admiral staying, do you?  Admiral Chegwidden hasn't heard the story yet and I'd really prefer not to have to repeat it.  And Harm. . . .well, Harm's my rock.  I don't know what I'd do without him."

I smile wanly at her, not feeling very much like a rock right now.  But I'm trying.  She needs me to be strong for her.  I have to try and put aside my dark and negative thoughts so that I can help her get through this.

"I don't have a problem with it, Mac," Detective Summers says.  "In situations like this, the support of those close to you is very important.  I guess the first question I should ask is 'Do you know who did this?'"

Mac nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling on it nervously.  "I definitely know who did this," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.  "He's. . . .I don't know what to call him.  I mean, he wasn't really my fiancée, you know, since I wore his ring on my right hand.  But he did ask me to marry him. . . ."  Mac's rambling, something I don't think I've ever heard her do before.

I'm not surprised that it doesn't take long for Admiral Chegwidden to jump in.  "You mean Brumby did this!?" he asks, shocked.  I know he's always thought highly of Brumby, so this is probably a real blow to him.  Was I the only one not fooled by that smug, self-serving bastard?

Mac nods in reply, not looking at the Admiral as she does so, and explains to the detective, "Mic Brumby is a reservist in the Royal Australian Navy.  He came here two years ago as part of an officer exchange program with our Navy.  A year later, he was recalled to Australia and shortly after that, he asked me to marry him.  I wasn't ready to commit, but I agreed to think about it and wore his ring on my right hand for the next nine months.  He moved back to the States a few months ago to be closer to me and, I now realize, to attempt to pressure me into a decision.   Last night, I finally came to the conclusion that I couldn't marry him and was planning today to return the ring.  I was going to go over to his place, but when I got to my apartment, he was there waiting for me."

Detective Summers makes some notes on her pad, then looks up at Mac.  "So what happened when you got home and found him waiting for you?" she asks.

"He just got back from a business trip and he was anxious to be with me, if you know what I mean," Mac continues, wringing her hands nervously. 

"So he was trying to get you into bed?" the detective asks for clarification.

"Yes," Mac replies.  "I told him that we needed to talk and I launched into a list of the reasons why I couldn't be the kind of wife he deserved and why I had come to the conclusion that I couldn't marry him.  I gave him back the ring and he asked what had brought it on.  After all, as he pointed out, he's been back in the States for six months and I hadn't pushed him away yet.  I told him that I'd been doing a lot of thinking while he'd been out of town."

"But that wasn't all, was it?" Summers presses gently.

Mac laughs nervously.  "Is it that obvious?" she asks.  "At this point, Mic noticed the sweatshirt I was wearing and got upset.  I guess that doesn't make much sense, does it?  Couple of things I should explain.  Harm and I were working on a case at his apartment.  We'd gone out to eat and it started raining as we were walking back.  My coat was still wet, so I borrowed one of his sweatshirts to wear home over my clothes.  So that's what Mic got so upset about.  The second thing is that Harm and Mic do not get along.  Harm's been my best friend from almost the first moment I met him and I think maybe, in the back of his mind, Mic resents the close relationship that Harm and I share.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe he was possessive and wanted me all to himself.  Maybe he didn't think that a man and a woman could be just friends.  I just don't know."

Mac pauses in her ramblings and takes a deep breath.  "Sorry about that," she says, her shoulders twitching nervously.  "Anyway, Mic saw Harm as competition for my affections and he accused me of leaving him because of Harm.  He got angry and grabbed my arm.  I managed to pull away and fell against my desk.  I eventually managed to calm him down, but. . . ." she trails off and I realize what's coming next.  My phone message, left because I thought she would be at Mic's.  Unknowingly, I cause the entire situation to blow up with devastating consequences.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand.  I try to smile at her, but it's not much of one.  I just don't have it in me to smile about anything right now.  Maintaining her hold on my hand, she continues, "The phone rang and Mic requested that I let the machine get it so we could finish our conversation.  It was Harm, thinking that I had gone over to Mic's.  He was calling to ask about a file for the case we had been working on.  Mic had his own interpretation of the message, put two and two together and came to the conclusion that I had been cheating on him with Harm.  That's when he hit me.  I fell against the door and as I was getting up, he grabbed me by the arms and yanked me up, yelling about me and Harm and wondering if we'd been running around behind his back the entire time.  I kneed him and tried to get out the door, but he grabbed my leg and pulled me to the floor.  He tried to get on top of me and I think he would have. . . .I managed to get in a position to kick him and I got away, grabbing my gun out of my desk drawer.  It didn't take much to convince him to leave after that.  I then called Harm and when he came over, he insisted on bringing me to the hospital, just in case I decide to press charges."

"It was the right thing to do," Summers says.  "The problem in a lot of cases like this is the woman doesn't report it right away and then when she does, it's hard to get the evidence to back her up.  Not to mention what a good attorney can make of such a delay."

"Oh, I definitely understand," Mac says dully.  "We're all attorneys here."  She motions to me, Admiral Chegwidden and herself.  "Of course, Mic is too, so if I do press this, I can expect a fight."

"Let me briefly recap, just to make sure I've got this all straight," Summers says, bringing the conversation back around to the events of earlier.  "You were on your way to break up with your boyfriend but he was waiting for you when you got home.  When you tried to break up, he came to the erroneous conclusion, due to a chance phone call, that you were cheating on him and he beat you and you think he might have attempted to rape you if you hadn't managed to fight him off and grab your gun."

"I never said it was an erroneous conclusion," Mac says, so quietly that I almost don't hear her and I'm sitting next to her.  I glance around and I can see that the detective and Admiral Chegwidden heard her as well.

Detective Summers sets her pad down on the bed and looks at Mac expectantly.  I can't read Admiral Chegwidden.  He's so good at hiding what he is thinking a lot of the time and he's just staring at Mac, waiting for her to continue.  Mac squeezes my hand and gives me a wan smile.  I nod reluctantly and she explains, "Well, I had taken the ring off and decided to break it off with Mic, but since I hadn't officially informed him yet, then technically I guess you could say that I did cheat on Mic last night."  She doesn't have to say who with.  That part is obvious, even to the detective who doesn't even know us.

"I see," Summers says, sounding non-judgmental.  Good.  The last thing that Mac needs right now is to be judged for something that isn't her fault.  I just wish I knew with the Admiral is thinking.  He is quiet and I'm afraid to look at him, afraid to see a hint of what he is thinking.  "Let me tell you something.  I don't care if you were having sex with the entire defensive line for the Redskins.  You still don't deserve what happened to you.  No woman does."

"I know that," Mac replies softly.  "As a lawyer, I've handled assault cases before, it's just. . . ." she trails off, choking back a sob. 

I pull her back into my arms, rocking her gently, and whisper against her hair, "Shhh, Sarah.  It's going to be okay."

"Harm, don't you realize what he could do, what he could say?" she cries out, pulling away slightly to look me directly in the eye.  It's as if she's forgotten that we have an audience.  "An opposing lawyer could have a field day with this entire situation if it got that far."

"Mac, I don't care about that," I reply gently, brushing my hand against the bruise on her cheek.  "The important thing here is that Brumby pay for what he has done to you, what he has put you through.  You don't deserve what has happened, what you're going to go through trying to get past this."

"But I don't want to see you get hurt by all this," she insists.  "Harm, I love you and I don't want you dragged into this."

"But I don't want. . . ." I begin before being interrupted by a throat clearing.  I guess I forgot for a moment there about our audience, too.  We both look down towards the end of the bed at Detective Summers, who is closing up her notebook.

"I think I have enough here to file a preliminary report," she tells us as she stands, pulling something out of her jacket pocket.  She holds out a white business card, which Mac takes hesitantly.  "There's no rush on this, but if you decide to pursue charges or if anything else happens, please give me a call.  Is there a number where I can reach you if I have any more questions?"

"You can reach her at my place," I jump in before Mac can reply.  She gives me a look as if she's about to argue, but I insist, "I want you staying with me, at least until we can arrange with your landlord to get the locks on your apartment door changed.  Mic has a key, remember?"

I can tell by the look on her face that she hadn't even considered that.  She hesitates, then nods as the detective hands me her notebook and a pen.  I flip to a blank page and write down my home number, my cell phone number and the number at JAG, labeling each number.  "You can reach us at either my home or my cell phone over the weekend," I explain as I hand the items back to her.  "During the week, Mac can be reached at JAG headquarters.  If she's in court, someone can get a message to her."

"Okay," she replies, putting the notebook and pen back in her pocket.  She withdraws another card from her jacket and hands it to Mac.  "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you might want to consider giving this person a call.  She's helped a lot of people in similar situations."

"I'll think about it," Mac replies reluctantly.  She holds out her hand, which Detective Summers shakes.  "Thank you.  I don't know what I'll do yet, but I'll let you know."

"Fair enough," she replies, nodding toward me and the Admiral.  "I understand that the emergency room staff took pictures of your injuries, so I'll stop off and pick up those photos before I leave."  Once she's gone, Mac leans back against the raised head of the bed and sighs.

"I'm glad that's over," she says, turning her head to look at me.  She holds her hand up and I clasp it in mine, kissing the back of it as I cover our joined hands with my other hand.

"So, have they said when you can get out of here?"  I ask, anxious to get her home where I can take her into my arms and never let her go.

"The nurse said before you came back here that she would be back after the police left with a prescription for the pain and my discharge papers," she replies.  "We need to stop by my place and pick up Jingo and some clothes and stuff for me.  Then I could really use some lunch."

I try to laugh a little at that last remark, but the sound that comes out of my mouth is about as far away from a laugh as one can get, sounding more like a groan of pain.  "That's my Marine," I say weakly, "always thinking with her stomach."

"I'm counting on you to make sure that I get fed," she retorts, her voice sounding forcibly bright and cheerful.  "Admiral, would you like to join us?  I'm sure that, well, you want to discuss this situation further."

Wasn't she the one who debated me on the wisdom of calling the Admiral and now she wants to discuss this situation further with him?  Right now, I'm beginning to doubt the wisdom of my own suggestion.  Admiral Chegwidden hasn't said a word since the beginning of Mac's interrogation, when he was shocked by the identity of Mac's attacker.  I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Before the Admiral can reply, I stand up suddenly, dropping Mac's hand.  "I'm going to go find the head while you're waiting for your papers," I say in response to her questioning glance.  "I'll be back in a few minutes.  Promise."

Before I can run off, Mac grabs my arm and pulls me back towards her.  "It will be okay, Harm," she says softly, stretching up to kiss me lightly. 

I leave the cubicle, and Mac and the Admiral to the discussion that I'm sure will ensue now that I've left, and ask directions to the men's room.  The bathroom is empty when I enter, but I resist the urge to scream out all my pain and anger.  I need to hold it together.  I need to be strong for Mac, if she'll let me be.

I turn on one of the sinks and splash some cold water of my face, trying to regain control over myself.  I can just imagine what the Admiral thought of my rushing out like that, but I had to get out of there.  I couldn't take it in there anymore – Mac's calm acceptance of my presence despite my guilt, the Admiral's inscrutable silence.  I feel like the walls – or rather the curtains of the cubicle – were closing in on me.

I grip the edges of the porcelain sink in front of me, trying to keep from shaking.  I don't think my legs can support me anymore and this sink is the only thing keeping me upright.  After a few minutes, I hear the sound of the door opening, but I don't look up.  I figured it wouldn't take him long to come after me.

I can see the blue of his uniform out of the corner of my eye as he stands against the wall beside the sink.  "Mac is worried about you," he says, his voice normal as if we were talking about the weather.  "She asked me to come talk to you."

"I figured that, Sir," I mumble, drawing a raspy breath.

"You know, she believes that you are blaming yourself for what happened," he says.

I laugh bitterly as I reply, "I guess she knows me too well."

He sighs as he continues, "And I'm sure, as well as you know her, that you are aware that she is blaming herself.  After you walked out, she gave me a brief run down of what happened last night.  She said that you offered her the opportunity to put a stop to it, but she didn't take you up on it."

"That would be true," I admit, closing my eyes as I remember how good it felt, being pressed against her, and realizing that if we went much farther that I wouldn't be able to stop.  God, if we'd only known then. . . .

"I'm not going to stand here and tell you that I agree with what you two did last night," he says firmly.  I almost believe that I do hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"I never expected that, Sir," I reply sadly, opening my eyes again and glancing up in the mirror.  I don't think I could possibly feel worse if I were standing here having this conversation with one of my parents. 

"But Detective Summers was correct when she said that Mac did not deserve this," he continues.  "No woman does, no matter what the circumstances."

"I know that, Sir," I say quietly, but firmly.  "I could never blame her for this."

He sighs again and puts his hand on my shoulder.  I resist the urge to brush it away.  "I was not suggesting that you do," he tells me, his voice so sure and strong.  I really envy him his control right now.  "But I do know that you're not going to be of any help to her if you wallow in self-pity.  That woman in there is haunted by what happened, by what could have happened and she will need your strength and your love to get through it."

I jerk my head up at that last bit and finally look over at him.  Yes, I do see a bit if disappointment in him eyes, but I also see something else – his unconditional concern and support.  "Harm, I don't think I can remember a time when the two of you weren't in love with each other," he says, a half smile on his face.  "I was beginning to think the two of you were never going to admit that and I don't know what brought it on now."

"I don't think we could really explain it either," I point out, attempting to force a grin.  "It was like something just. . . .I don't know.  I really don't know.  I'd always told myself that I could never say anything as long as she was wearing that damn ring."

"And I don't know if I want to know," he continues, as if I hadn't just spoken.  "But that whole issue does take a back seat right now.  What's important right now is helping Mac get through this.  And on that point, you have my unconditional support."

"Thank you, Sir," I say gratefully.  "I think she's going to need all the support she can get, especially if Mic doesn't back off and leave her alone."

"You don't expect him to, do you, Harm?" he asks.

I shake my head as I shudder inwardly at the thought of Mic coming anywhere near Mac ever again.  "No, Sir, I don't," I admit.  "From some of what Mac said when she was telling me what happened today, he seems to think this boils down to some kind of competition between me and him.  He refuses to see that there were problems in that relationship that had nothing to do with me.  Mac told me some things last night that leads me to believe that even if we hadn't happened last night, that relationship would never have lasted."

"I'm afraid that I'm forced to agree with you," he says.  "I can't see Mic backing down either.  Just from what I've heard so far, he's possibly obsessed with the idea that if it weren't for you, he and Mac would still be together.  I told Mac that we could discuss that at lunch together.  Unfortunately, it's a bit tricky since he works for a law firm that had dealings with JAG.  It's a little hard to just go to his firm and insist that they keep him away from JAG without charges having been filed or a restraining order obtained.  We can certainly keep him away if he's not there on official business and I would definitely be willing to exercise my prerogative as the JAG to throw him out if he does get in and try anything." 

He finally drops his hand from my shoulder and gives me a small smile.  "Why don't we go get Mac and get out of here before she complains that you're not feeding her?"

"Yes," I agree, my voice dull and lifeless, "let's get out of here."

With the Admiral following us in his rental car – Mac and I manage to have a half-hearted laugh in my car about his continued attempts to retrieve his car from the police impound lot – we stop at Mac's to pick up Jingo and some clothes for her.  Her landlord doesn't keep office hours on the weekend, so it will be Monday at the earliest before the lock can be changed.  We debate for a few minutes about whether she should drive her car over to my place.  I insist that we don't need it, my argument coming from the position that I don't intend on letting her out of my sight the rest of the weekend.  She weakly argues the point for a few moments, but eventually concedes the issue.  I think that she wants to be out of my sight about as much as I want her to be out of my sight.  Deep down, although I doubt she'd admit it, I know she is afraid that Mic will come back.

Before we leave her place, we call and place an order for Chinese which we pick up on our way back to my apartment after a stop at a pharmacy to fill Mac's prescription.  As we enter my apartment, Jingo immediately takes up residence in the center of my bed, curling up for a nap.  "Just go ahead and make yourself at home," I call to him, trying to lift the mood.  Jingo lifts his head and gives me one of those canine looks that says 'I already have; got something to say about it?' then settles back into sleep.

Chuckling, Mac presses herself against my back and wraps her arms around my waist.  "Love me, love my dog," she teases.

I turn my head and lift my eyebrows at her.  It is good that her mood seems to have lifted – or is she just as good an actor as I'm trying to be?  "I do love Jingo," I protest, pulling her around and taking her into my arms.  "How could I not love a dog that is so protective of you?"

"Food's up," the Admiral announces.  While Mac and I were engrossed in our little discussion of Jingo, he set our food out on the table along with some plates. 

As Mac sits down at the table, I head for the kitchen.  "What does everyone want to drink?" I ask.

"Just water for me," Mac says, already digging into her sweet and sour pork.  The thought of my Marine and her stomach is enough to lift my mood just a little.

"Beer, if you've got one," the Admiral says.

I get the requested drinks and a water for myself.  I could really use a beer right now myself – or something stronger - but if there's nothing else I've learned from Mac, it's that alcohol doesn't solve your problems.  It might dull the pain for a while, but the problems will still be there when you come out of the alcohol-induced haze.  As I sit down after passing out the drinks, the Admiral jumps right into discussing how to handle this situation.

"Mac, as I already told Harm earlier, your relationship is not my primary concern right now," he says, looking from me to her.  "We will need to discuss it eventually and any impact that it will have on your working relationship, but that can come later."

"I appreciate that, Sir," Mac says sadly.  "It's funny.  A few hours ago I would have considered that a great concern, what will happen to us at JAG.  Now it hardly seems to matter."  I reach over and take her hand in mine, squeezing it and she gives me a grateful smile.

"Now, as far as Brumby is concerned," he continues, as if Mac hadn't spoken, "we have a bit of a situation there.  If you were to press charges or obtain a restraining order against him, then I could easily bar him from JAG and his law firm wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight about it.  But without something official backing us up, while I certainly intend to conditionally bar his presence, if he's there on official business, there's not a lot I can do.  His law firm could argue that we're not cooperating with their attorneys.  Now, if you'd like, I can certainly approach his boss and request that they not send him to JAG on official business or request that any necessary meetings take place somewhere else.  But with only a police report to back you up and no pending charges, he may not agree."

"I still don't know if I want to press charges," Mac admits, pushing her food around on her plate.  "Given the circumstances, it would get very dirty and ugly.  I don't know if I want to go through that.  Given that it's a first offense and it's my word against his, what kind of sentence would we be looking at even if he was convicted?  Not much of one.  Since he has dual citizenship, it's not like we could get him deported back to Australia even if he is convicted.  Anyway, I don't want to put you through all that."  That last bit is directed at me with a wan smile.

"Mac," I say firmly, "I don't care about me.  I'm worried about you."

"Harm, we already discussed this," she reminds me.  "Anyway, I did tell him all bets were off if he came after me – after us – again."  She turns back to the Admiral and adds, "I agree with your approach.  Until I decide whether or not to press charges, I think barring him from JAG except for official business is the best bet.  I don't have any pending cases involving his law firm, so avoiding him when he does come by shouldn't be a problem.  If it does become a problem, then we should probably take the step of requesting that he not be sent to JAG.  Harm, what about your cases?"

I mentally run through a list of my cases, shaking my head.  "No, I don't have anything either," I reply.  Thank God.  I don't think I could stand across from him in a courtroom without doing anything and Mac would probably kick my six for risking my career like that.  That imagery almost lifts my dark mood.

"Well, that's one less thing," the Admiral says.  "First thing Monday morning, I'll make sure the guards are aware of the restrictions regarding Brumby."  He stops and looks at Mac intently before adding, "Mac, speaking as your friend and not your CO, I hope you will think long and hard about pressing charges.  I can understand why you're reluctant, but I think you need some finality and also I believe Brumby needs a clear message that he needs to back off and back off now and he may not get that without police and court involvement."

"I understand that and I appreciate your support, Sir," she replies, "and believe me, I will probably be thinking of little else the remainder of the weekend."

"That's all I ask," he says, rising from his chair.  "I'm sure the two of you have a lot to talk and think about, so I'll leave you to it.  If you feel you need it, let me know and I'll grant you both a personal day on Monday."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Sir," Mac replies as we both get up to show him out, "but I do appreciate the offer."  A quick glance from her stops my intended protest.  I'll take it up with her later.  I don't want her to bury all this by throwing herself into work.

"Just let me know if you change your mind," the Admiral says as I open the door for him.  He stops in the doorway and turns back to face us.  "Harm, Mac, no matter what happens, I have every confidence that you two will get through this together."

"Thank you, Sir," I reply sincerely.  I'm grateful that, despite any disappointment he may feel about how this whole situation came about, he is behind us one hundred percent.

As soon as he is gone and the door is closed and secured, I head for the kitchen, stopping to pick up her water glass off the table.  I refill the glass for her and hand it to her along with two of her pain pills.  Throwing me a look, she washes the pills down with a swig of water.  Since the warning label on the bottle proclaims that they cause drowsiness, I lead Mac to my bedroom, half surprised that she doesn't protest.

Jingo lifts his head when he hears us coming and moves so that he is laying out of our way at one corner at the foot of the bed.  I lay down on my side, holding my arms open.  She lays down next to me, her back against my chest as I wrap my arms around her.

"Harm?" she asks softly.

"Hmmm?" I murmur, taking her hands in mine and entwining our fingers.

"Remember when we talked earlier about not regretting what happened last night?" she continues as I hold my breath, momentarily afraid of where she is going with this.  When I don't reply, she presses on, "I still don't regret what happened between us."

Her back to me, she can't see the thankful smile on my face.  I release the breath I was holding and reply as I kiss the top of her head, "I don't either."

I can't see her face, but I can sense her smile.  "Then we'll be okay," she proclaims.

I just hope she's right.  I hope to God that she is right.

INTERLUDE

As I carry my bags up to the apartment I use while in Washington, I wonder why I wasn't able to get a hold of that gorgeous lover of mine to get him to pick me up at the airport.  I kept calling his apartment and what did I get?  His answering machine.  No luck on his cell phone either.  He knew that I was out of town and that I could be back anytime.  I would have thought that he would be waiting for my call, as anxious to see me as I am to see him.  Aside from picking me up and helping me carry my luggage to my apartment, we could spend some time getting reacquainted.  After all, men have needs and we haven't seen each other in eleven days.  He better *not* have gone out of town on another investigation.  That man needs to get into a civilian practice where he doesn't have to drop everything and go out of town at the drop of a hat.

Walking down the hall – why the hell does my apartment have to be so far from the elevator? – I see a man standing outside my apartment.  He's facing away from me, so I can't tell who it is, but he does look to be well-built.  If I wasn't already involved. . . . Oh, well.  I am and I don't think my lover would appreciate my fantasizing about another man.  He's too much of a Boy Scout for that.

When I am within a few feet of the apartment, the man apparently hears me coming and turns around.  I do recognize the man.  I've only met him a couple of time, but I've certainly heard him talked about often enough by Harm's friends.  Never by Harm though.  He can't stand the man and mentions him as little as possible.  Burnby, Gumby?  Something like that.  He's the fiancée of that drab Marine Major that Harm works with.  What could he possible want with me?  Damn, Harm and the Major better not have gone out of town again.

"Can I help you?" I ask pleasantly as I drop my luggage next to my door and begin digging around my purse for my keys.

"G'day, Ms. Peterson," he says, pleasantly enough although there is something in his voice.  Maybe it's just the accent, but his words sound a little slurred.  A quick glance at his eyes and I begin to suspect it's less his diction and more the fact that he's been drinking.  Just what I need, to deal with a drunken sailor.  He's simply leaning against the wall and as long as he doesn't make a move towards me, invading my personal space, I can deal with him.  You'd be surprised the kinds of men I've had to deal with working in Hollywood.  Drunks, druggies, men with overactive libidoes.  I think I've dealt with it all at one time or another.

"Hello, Mr. Burnby," I say, finally finding my keys and inserting them in the lock.  He reaches down and picks up my suitcases for me.  "Again, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's Brumby.  Mic Brumby.  Just wanted to talk," he replies as I push open the apartment door.  He carries them into the apartment for me before I can suggest that I can get them myself.  Then again, why would I want to get them myself?  Nothing wrong with having a man do things for me once in a while.  "You and I have a lot in common."

"What, dating those military types who go out of town at the drop of a hat?" I comment as I toss my purse on a table near the door. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something that appears to be anger.  Damn, they did go out of town again.  Probably out of the country, too.  He's probably as mad about it as I'm going to be once I confirm that.  He ignores my question, however and holds up the suitcases he is carrying.  "Where would you like these?"

"In the bedroom is fine," I reply absently, gesturing in the general direction of the room.  I go to the answering machine and press the play button.  Three messages, two concerning various film projects I'm trying to land and one from a telemarketer.  Nothing from Harm.  Damn.  If the man was going to leave on a case, you would think he would at least have the decency to leave me a message and let me know.  Hell, I always carry my cell phone with me.  He could easily have reached me.

"If you're expecting a message from Rabb, don't," a voice behind me says, so smug and sure.  I turn around to find Mic standing behind me, his hands crossed over his chest.  "I expect he's got other things on his mind right now.  Or maybe not on his mind."  He laughs at that last statement, as if he just said something hysterically funny.  As I throw him a puzzled glance, he adds, "I wouldn't expect to hear from him, unless of course it is to tell you it's over.  Then again, maybe I'm underestimating the man.  Maybe his needs are such that he has to have someone else to fulfill those needs when you're not around."

"Excuse me!?" I exclaim, not quite sure that I understand what he was just rambling on about.  I'm not quite sure that I want to understand.  I already know that Harm and Mic do not get along.  Why would I take his word for anything concerning Harm?  "Harm's not like that, Burnby."

"Brumby," he corrects me, but I'm barely paying attention.  I'm more concerned about defending my boyfriend from the slick Australian.

"Whatever," I say with a wave of my hand.  "Harm is too much of a Boy Scout to do something like that.  The man is so honorable that it can sometimes be a bit of a bore."  Of course, he does definitely make up for that in other ways.  I can't help smiling at that thought.

"Then maybe you can explain why my fiancée spent the night at his place last night and why she came home this morning wearing his clothes," he counters, leaning slightly towards me.  I take a step backwards to put some space between us. 

"Harm and that drab, mousy Marine?" I question, laughing.  Yeah, right.   "What could he possibly see in her?  I mean – those clothes and that hair.  Please.  Harm has better taste than that."

Mic doesn't even notice that I just insulted his fiancée.  He continues to press his case.  "You haven't been around for all that long," he continues, a sinister smile on his face.  I'm beginning to believe that he's angry at Harm for something and is trying to get back at him through me.  I'm not buying.  He's enjoying telling me this entirely too much for it to be true.  "You haven't seen the way they've always been together, at least before Rabb went off flying.  Hell, they've probably been screwing each other the entire time behind our backs."

"I don't believe you," I state emphatically, picking up the phone.  He simply laughs at the gesture.

"Planning to call Rabb?" he taunts, still laughing.  "I wouldn't expect him to answer.  She's probably gone back over there, running back into his arms and into his bed.  They're probably screwing each other as we speak.  Why don't you just go over there – see for yourself?  Are you afraid that I might be right?  Or maybe it turns you on, the idea of your boy toy with another woman?"

I can't help the look of disgust that crosses my face at his insinuations.  "You're drunk," I proclaim as he laughs again.  I'm fast seeing why Harm hates this man so much.

"Oh, I've been drinking, but I'm not drunk," he replies, eyeing me in a manner that makes me feel uncomfortable.  I keep the phone in my hand, just in case I have to call 911 – or hit him with it.  I'd probably hit him with it then call 911.  "I do know what I saw when Sarah wandered in this morning and what I heard when I heard the message Rabb left her on the machine.  And she wasn't exactly falling all over herself to deny it."

"I think you need to leave," I say angrily, trying to bury down the flicker of doubt in my mind.  What if. . . . No, I'm not going there.  It's not true and that's all there is to it.  It can't be true.

"Are you sure?" he asks, leering at me.  I have feeling I know what's coming next.  "You know, maybe you and I could get to know each other better.  It could be. . . .fun."

"I don't think so," I state angrily as I stride over to the door and yank it open.  I guesture to the hallway.  "You need to leave now or I'm calling the police to have you escorted out."

"Just think about what I told you," he says as he moves towards the door.  "And if you change your mind. . . ."

"I won't," I retort strongly.  Not if he was the last man on earth.  "Now leave."

Fortunately, he does as I insist and I close the door behind him, resisting the urge to slam the door.  As soon as I am alone, I click on the phone and dial Harm's number.  After three rings, the answering machine picks up.  "Damn!" I exclaim as I click off the phone.  Turning it on again, I try his cell phone with similar success.  I toss the phone on the couch in disgust.

Maybe I should go over there.  Not to see if it's true.  I can't believe that it's true.  But I want to see my lover.  After all, it has been eleven days and I do have needs.

Continued in SECTION II