Author's note:  Before the angry mob starts gathering in my front yard, please remember my inviolable Happy Ever After rule.
It WILL all work out, but I'll leave it up to you to figure out how I'm going to pull it off.

LONDON, ENGLAND 16:20 GMT

Captain Harmon Rabb, Jr. stood motionless in the corner of the room, watching junior officers and enlisted personnel scurrying about, utterly absorbed in the normalcy of their lives. Nothing about his own life felt normal. He was in a different JAG office, on a different continent, surrounded by unfamiliar personnel. Hell, even his uniform was different. The captain’s bars on his shoulders weighed a little heavily if he let himself think about the new responsibilities that went with them, but he was ready for this. He was ready for his own command.

He was also ready for the changes taking place in his personal life. Mac and Mattie would be leaving DC in – he glanced at his watch – a little over half an hour and as soon they arrived, the three of them would begin their new lives as a family. He and Mac were planning their wedding, juggling the enormous logistical problem of trying to get all of their friends and family here. It would have been far easier if there had been time to get married before he left to assume his new command, but there had barely been time to celebrate their announcement.

They were also making plans to formally adopt Mattie. Tom had offered no resistance to Harm’s application for custody but the slow grind of the civilian legal system meant Mattie had to stay in Washington when Harm left for London. Until all the paperwork had been processed, he couldn’t take her out of the country. Mac, bless her, had offered to stay behind, helping Mattie prepare for the biggest trip of her life. It didn’t help any that she was still in a wheelchair, but her spirits were good and plans were already in place for her to begin therapy as soon as she was settled here in England.

With a single dry laugh, Harm shook his head. Things might not feel normal, but damn they felt good!

WASHINGTON, DC 11:20 EDT

Mac stood quietly observing the flurry of activity in the passenger area of the naval airfield at Andrews Airforce Base. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d stood in this room, but today everything was different. She was leaving here for the last time, and she was going as a civilian.

That was probably the biggest adjustment in a long list of changes her life was going through. She still couldn’t quite believe she was no longer a marine. She was still officially a member of the corps until her terminal leave was over, but she would never again put on a uniform.

What really surprised her was how little that thought bothered her. She was moving into a new phase in her life, as a wife and as a mother to the young lady sitting in the wheelchair parked in front of her. A wife and a mother. Both were roles she had pretty much given up hope of ever experiencing, yet here she was.

Her heart expanded with a warm glow as she looked down at the excited grin on Mattie’s face and nearly burst from her chest when she thought of the tall, handsome naval officer waiting for both of them on the other side of the Atlantic.

She couldn’t wait to be with him again, to see the love glowing in his eyes as he reached for her, to feel the heat of his body as he wrapped his strong arms around her. It had been a long hard road, getting to the place they were now and they both deserved the peace they had finally found with each other.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a tall, slim petty officer. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but she couldn’t quite place him. His features seemed somehow heavier than they should, making her wonder if she had met him a long time ago, when he was younger.

He bobbed his head, looking contrite. "Excuse me, ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but there seems to be a mixup regarding your flight to the UK."

"What kind of mixup?" Mac asked with a frown.

"Uh...the manifest shows only yourself." He gestured to Mattie. "We don’t have the young lady scheduled to travel with you, and since she’s going to need special seating..."

Mac saw the worried look that immediately wiped the smile from Mattie’s face and dropped a hand on the girl’s shoulder. "Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted out." She turned her attention back to the petty officer. "I arranged for this flight personally over two weeks ago and I know I stipulated there would be two of us and that they needed to accommodate a wheelchair."

The petty officer bobbed his head again. "I’m sorry, but there’s obviously been a miscommunication somewhere. If you could come with me over to Administration, I’m sure we can fix the problem."

Mac glanced at her watch, more for show than anything else. She knew exactly what time it was. "Our flight is scheduled to leave in less than half an hour and Admin is clear across the airfield. We won’t have time—"

"We’ll make time, ma’am. If we don’t get this sorted out, you won’t be able to make the flight anyway. Please, just come with me and everything will work out. I promise you."

Heaving a sigh of frustrated resignation, Mac picked up her small carryon bag and leaned down to release the brakes on the wheelchair. "All right, but we’ll have to hurry."

LONDON, ENGLAND 19:35 GMT

Stretching stiff back muscles, Harm rose from his desk and scooped up a stack of files. Reviewing the service records of his new staff was one of those jobs that had to wait until the quieter hours of evening. He carried the files to a wire basket on top of the file cabinet in the corner. PO Baxter, his yeoman, could file them in the morning and if Harm was really lucky, he would be able to add the rest of the files on his desk to the basket before leaving tonight.

A soft knock on the door startled him. Who on earth would be looking for him at this time of night? He turned from the cabinet. "Enter."

The lieutenant commander who stepped through the door immediately reminded Harm of an older, heavier version of Bud Roberts. He stopped in the middle of the room, briefly coming to attention. "Good evening, Captain. I’m glad I was able to catch you before you left."

In the unconscious habit of all military personnel, Harm glanced briefly to the man’s sleeve. The insignia above the rank caught him off guard. "Working late, Padre?"

The chaplain shrugged. "I work when I’m needed."

"You could have waited till morning to introduce yourself," Harm pointed out. "There was no need to—"

"Actually, Captain, I had planned to stop by tomorrow but something has come up that can’t wait."

Now Harm’s curiosity was piqued. He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Then have a seat, Padre."

"Thank you, sir. Will you join me?" he asked, moving to the chairs.

There was something about the padre’s manner that was beginning to put Harm on edge. Like most chaplains, he was soft-spoken, but there was a hint of sad compassion in his dark eyes. Cautious now, Harm slipped into the chair beside his. "What’s on your mind?"

Folding his hands in his lap, the padre hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. "I’m afraid I have some...difficult news, Captain. I just received a phone call from Gen. Cresswell in Washington. There’s been a...mishap...with the aircraft carrying Col. MacKenzie and young Miss Johnson."

Cold fear slithered up Harm’s spine. "What kind of mishap?"

The padre hesitated again and suddenly Harm was finding it hard to breathe. The chaplain’s dark eyes flooded with deep sorrow. "I’m so sorry, Captain. The plane crashed on takeoff. There...there were no survivors."

Utterly stunned, Harm simply could not make the padre’s soft, sad words sink in. Mac and Mattie’s plane crashed? No survivors? That simply wasn’t possible. In just a few hours, he was going to pick them up at the airport. They were going to—

"Captain?" The padre’s warm, gentle hand closed over the back of Harm’s. "I know this must be a tremendous blow. I want you to know—"

A burst of anger flooded through Harm and he yanked his hand away, lunging to his feet. "This is some kind of joke, isn’t it? Who are you really and who put you up to this?"

That damned gentle, compassionate look never left the man’s eyes. "I assure you, I am Lt. Cdr. Brian Hillerman. I’m a navy chaplain and I would give everything I owned to be wrong about this."

"You are wrong!" Harm growled.

"Perhaps it would be best if you contacted Gen. Cresswell."

Harm’s anger flared even higher because that’s exactly what the man should have said if his story was true, but it...couldn’t...be.

Father Brian Hillerman watched the horrifying reality try to grab hold of the tall, stern captain. The frown knitting his dark brows slowly melted into a broader look of confusion. Very slowly, that look dissolved into a desperate, frantic denial.

"No," he croaked. "Oh please, God, no."

"I’m so sorry," Brian said softly, his heart constricting painfully as grief forced all the other emotions from the captain’s face. The big man literally seemed to deflate as he sagged into the chair.

"How?" The word squeezed from the captain’s throat, his gaze locked on the floor at their feet.

"According to Gen. Cresswell, the cause is still under investigation."

The padre’s words seemed to come from a long way off. Harm still couldn’t quite assimilate the news, but the pressure on his chest was becoming unbearable. "I...I should..." A steely resolve settled deep inside, spreading to claim his entire being. "I need to go to them."

"Of course. If you’d like, I can—"

Harm barely heard the padre’s words. Leaping out of his chair, he dove around the desk and grabbed the phone. JAG HQ was number one on the speed dial and a few seconds later the phone was ringing. The voice that answered was rough and quiet, barely recognizable as PO Coates.

"Coates, it’s...is it...true?" Harm could barely force the words past the constriction in his throat.

There was a long pause and then her voice came again, softer and filled with infinite sadness. "Yes, sir. It’s true."

Harm’s world – his entire universe – simply imploded. Staggering backward, he dropped into his chair, his six barely catching the edge of the seat. Dragging a hand down his face, he fought to think through the numbing fog filling his brain.

"I...I need a flight..." he finally managed to squeeze out.

"Already booked," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Gen. Cresswell arranged space for you on the first thing leaving Britain."

Her voice started to strengthen as she focused on the details, but Harm barely heard them. He finally got it together enough to grab a pen and scribbled down the information. When she finished relaying the details of his itinerary, another long silence spread out.

Dragging in a deep breath, Harm asked the one question foremost on his mind. "What...what happened, Jen?"

There was an even longer pause this time. "The plane...exploded just after takeoff. There’s..." He heard her haul in a ragged breath. "There’s not much left, sir."

Harm’s already crushed heart folded in on itself again. He knew from bitter, vivid experience the devastation wrought by an exploding aircraft but his mind refused to deal with the horrifying reality of what that would mean for Mac and Mattie.

"Captain Rabb?" Coates’ quiet voice pulled him out of the horror.

"Yeah, Coates?"

"I’m...I’m so sorry."

"Me too," he whispered hoarsely. "Me too."

Harm never would remember the flight back to the states, but somewhere along the way, the naval officer inside him began to reassert itself. By the time the plane was on final approach, he was functioning almost normally again – until he saw the collection of vehicles gathered near one end of the airfield. Flashing lights of blue and orange and white lit that end of the tarmac in a bizarre rendition of a Christmas tree.

He couldn’t see much from his seat on the starboard side of the plane, but it was clear the crash site encompassed a huge area, extending into the tall stand of trees lining the airfield. Instantly, he was assaulted by the remembered smell of a crash site, the acrid combination of aviation fuel, burnt plastic, wiring and other materials, all overlaid by the odor of damp pavement and earth. His stomach did a sudden flip-flop and he drove the memory away.

Gen. Cresswell was waiting for him when he disembarked. The general’s face was a carefully controlled mask, but he couldn’t hide the grim lines around his mouth or the pain in his eyes. He stepped forward as Harm came down the stairs, meeting him at the bottom. Purely out of habit, Harm started to salute, but Cresswell held out his hand instead. "Captain – Harm – I’m very sorry for your loss."

Swallowing hard, Harm gripped his hand. "Thank you, sir."

A moment of awkward silence stretched out.

"General, I want to see the crash site," Harm announced finally.

Cresswell immediately shook his head. "I don’t think that’s necessary. A team of investigators is still collecting evidence. They’ll report to me the moment they find anything...significant."

"Sir, I want – I need – to be there."

Cresswell’s expression hardened, but the compassion never left his eyes. "No, Captain, you don’t."

"Sir, I appreciate your efforts to...protect me from this, but to be honest, no one can do that. I need to know what happened and the best way to do that is to assist in the investigation."

Cresswell shook his head again. "I’m heading the investigation myself, Captain, and I want you as far away from it as possible. You’re too close to it."

"And you’re not?" Harm shot back.

Cresswell’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t comment on the breach of protocol. His voice took on a strange tone that was at once gentle and stern. "Not as close as you are."

Harm could see wasn’t going to win this argument, at least not here and now. Reluctantly, he followed as Cresswell headed toward the building.

"Family members are gathered in one of the conference rooms. That’s the first place any news will be announced, so—"

Harm stopped so abruptly, Cresswell took two more steps before he realized it and turned back. Harm hit him with a penetrating gaze. "Sir, with all due respect, that is first place the carefully scrubbed and sanitized news will be released. I’m not some civilian dependent who needs to be coddled and protected."

Cresswell regarded him silently for a brief moment. "No, you’re not a civilian dependent, Captain, but you are family."

The word struck Harm right between the eyes. Family. The two people on that plane were the only shot he had left at finally having a family of his own and now, in a single instant, that chance was gone. The horror of that tried to descend on him, but it wouldn’t quite settle in. It flitted around him like an angry insect, looking for a place to land.

Gen. Gordon Cresswell watched the flow of emotion play across Rabb’s face. The very fact that so many emotions were waging war with each other on the captain’s features told Cresswell that reality hadn’t sunk in yet. The last thing he wanted was to have the truth shoved down Rabb’s throat by some grisly discovery at the crash site. He’d known it was going to be tough to keep Rabb away from there, but he had to do it, any way he could. Maybe it would be best to get him off the base entirely.

"All right," he said firmly. "I’ve instructed the investigators to report directly to me with anything they find. The first place they’re going to look for me is in Ops. You can accompany me back there."

With a curt nod, Rabb diverted his course, turning toward the parking lot. He didn’t say a word until they were in the car and headed off the base. "Is there any preliminary determination of the cause, General? Was it an accident, or..."

He let the sentence trail off, but Cresswell knew what he was asking. "At this point, they’re leaning toward an explosion in one of the fuel tanks. There’s no indication of the cause of the explosion, but there’s nothing to suggest foul play."

Rabb nodded absently and Cresswell wondered just how much of that sank in. He also wondered how much any of it mattered. Accidental or intentional, the crash had taken the two people Rabb cared most about. He thought about what it would be like to lose Cammie and her mother in one devastating blow. He wasn’t sure he would survive it and, glancing at Rabb in the growing twilight, he wondered if anyone could.

Walking into Ops a short time later was the most surreal experience of Harm’s life. All eyes turned to him and Cresswell as they walked through the big double doors. He saw the profound grief and sadness in every pair of eyes but he couldn’t share it. It was as if he was locked in some kind of transparent bubble, kept apart in some fundamental way from everyone and everything.

All activity ceased the moment he stepped into the room. Bud, Sturgis, Coates, they all froze, gazing at him with those sad eyes, but still, none of that pain got through the impenetrable barrier around him.

Until Harriett Simms walked right through it, put her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a tight embrace. "Harm, I’m so sorry."

Those soft, whispered words slid through him and he felt the first tiny cracks in the barrier protecting him from a reality to horrible to bear. Swallowing hard, he hugged her back, gathering strength until his armor repaired itself. When it had, he straightened, somehow finding a tiny smile for her. She returned it, but it was the saddest thing Harm had ever seen.

Still insulated and isolated, like he was watching it all on a movie screen, Harm listened while Cresswell was given the latest update. The crash site investigation and victim recovery efforts were continuing. It was slow going but NCIS, the JAG investigators, and even the NTSB, were operating with an unprecedented level of cooperation. As soon as there was any news, it would be relayed to Cresswell. Until then, all any of them could do was continue the awful vigil.

And so it went for the next day and a half.

The hours passed in a blur of endless waiting, punctuated by useless updates. Still utterly numb, Harm did his best to assimilate the information but nothing Gen. Cresswell passed on mattered enough to really stick with him, nothing except the fact that they hadn’t found Mac or Mattie yet.

Harriett was a constant presence, hovering over everyone like the natural mother she was, but even Harm noticed she paid special attention to him. It seemed every time he looked up, she was there, offering him coffee or a sandwich. The coffee he accepted, but the very thought of food turned his stomach. Someone, probably Harriett but he couldn’t quite remember, brought him a change of clothes from the hastily packed bag he’d thrown together in London, but the fresh uniform was still sitting on the corner of the desk.

A gentle hand slid across his back and came to rest on his shoulder. With effort, he focused on Harriett’s compassionate gaze. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "How you holding up?"

He shrugged. "I’m holding."

The truth in that struck Harm hard. His life was completely on hold and had been from the moment Chaplain Hillerman walked into his office.

"Can I get you anything?" Harriett asked, concern mingling with the compassion in her eyes. "You’ve hardly eaten anything for two days."

He shook his head. "I’m fine, Harriett, honest."

She didn’t look convinced. "I know how hard this must be for you, waiting like this. Surely there will be some news soon."

"And then what do I do?" His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. "What do I do after we get word that Mac and Mattie are lying in a morgue somewhere?"

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, her voice low and choked with emotion. "You start to grieve."

From across the bullpen, Gordon Cresswell watched the interaction between Rabb and Lt. Simms. Gripped by an uncharacteristic indecision, he stood motionless, trying to decide the best way to handle this. He didn’t know Rabb well enough to know how the man would take the news he was about to deliver. Should he do it in private, or with the other senior staff present?

Watching Harriett Simms offer her quiet strength gave him his answer. Rabb was going to need all the support he could get.

Moving through the room, Cresswell spoke quietly to each of the senior officers. He approached Rabb last. "Captain, would you join me in the conference room?"

Rabb’s features tightened instantly. He slid off the desk he was parked on, slipping out from under Harriett’s hand in the process. Cresswell fired her a quick but significant look. "You too, Lieutenant."

Harm saw the look that passed between Harm and the general. This was it, the news he had been waiting for – and dreading – for two days. Operating solely on autopilot, he followed Cresswell to the conference room, automatically taking his customary seat at the table. He tried so hard to ignore the fact that Mac wasn’t sitting beside him, that she would never again be at his side, but the reality of it hung in every corner of the room.

Cresswell sat quietly for a moment, his gaze going to each person in turn. It stopped on Harm, filling with a unique sadness Harm didn’t fully understand. Softly, Cresswell cleared his throat. "Although no news we could have received would be considered good, I’m afraid what I have to tell you is...more difficult that we were expecting."

He paused to let that sink in, but Harm simply couldn’t understand his words. It sounded like Cresswell was saying things were somehow worse than expected, but how could they get any worse?

"The recovery teams have finished their task and are satisfied there are no more remains to recover. They were...unable to find Col. MacKenzie or Miss Johnson."

It took several moments for the general’s words to wind their way through Harm’s brain. Unable to find them? What did that mean? They were on that plane...weren’t they?"

"Sir," Bud’s voice seemed to come from far away. "Did anyone confirm they were actually on the plane?"

Cresswell nodded slowly. "The manifest listed both of them and a witness recalls seeing them board."

"Then why...?"

"Their seats were directly over the fuel tank that exploded. It would appear..." Uncharacteristically, Cresswell hesitated, swallowing hard a few times. "It would appear there’s simply nothing left to recover."

Those last four words slammed into Harm like a volley of deadly missiles, driving the air from his lungs with a harsh, explosive cough. Cresswell’s voice came from a million miles away, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "I’m very sorry, Captain. This has got to be the worst possible outcome, but the investigators were very thorough."

Somehow, Harm managed a mute nod, but he couldn’t lift his gaze from the intricate pattern of wood grain on the table. He studied the swirls and lines, as if they could somehow create order out of the chaos in his mind.

Cresswell’s voice droned on. "There’s nothing more any of us can do here for now. I suggest we all go home and get some rest. Capt. Rabb, do you have accommodations?"

Harm heard his name, but it took him a long time to figure out how to even form words. "Uh, no," he said finally.

"You can stay with us, sir," Bud spoke up quickly.

"Yes," Harriett agreed instantly. "Come home with us."

"No...I..." Harm simply couldn’t get his mind working well enough to decide where he should go at this point.

"We insist." Bud’s tone was gentle and firm all at the same time. "You should be among friends right now, sir, not in some barracks somewhere."

"I agree," Cresswell stated. "Go get some rest, Captain."

The general rose to his feet, followed more slowly by the others. Harm rose too, but his limbs felt like rubber. Somehow, he made his way toward the door. The fog surrounding him muffled the sounds in the room, but snippets of conversation slipped through in a disjointed stream.

"General, when will the investigators have a preliminary report..."

"By early tomorrow morning..."

"This is so awful...." Bud’s whispered words drifted forward from behind Harm.

"Will there even be a funeral?" Harriett asked softly. "There’s...there’s nothing to...bury."

The soft, sad words settled over Harm with the weight of the world. Reality slammed into him, making him stagger. He felt a supporting hand on his arm, but couldn’t focus on who it belonged to. Deep, deep down within him, a grief bloomed, more profound than anything he’d ever known. It swelled to consume his entire being. A pain that was literally more than he could bear seared his soul.

His vision blurred by hot tears that refused to flow, Harm spun away, crashing through the doors and stumbling blindly through the familiar corridors and rooms. Oblivious to his surroundings, he kept going, not knowing or caring where he was headed.

He finally came to a stop, but it took him a moment longer to realize why. He was in Mac’s old office. Blinking away enough of the stinging moisture to focus on his surroundings, he kicked the door shut with his heel, locking out the rest of the world. Out there, Mac was gone, irretrievably lost to him forever, but in here he could still feel her presence, still catch the subtle hint of her scent in the air.

It had been weeks since she was last in this room and the lingering scent was fading fast but suddenly, it was all he had left of her. He pulled in a rough, ragged breath, trying to draw the essence of her deep within himself.

It wasn’t working.

He could feel her slipping away with every breath he took.

Harm had suffered fate’s cruel humor many times in his life, enduring personal tragedies that had left him staggering, but this final blow was just too much to bear. A few short days ago, he had been looking forward to a future filled with love and happiness, and then, in one brief, fiery instant, all that had been ripped away from him.

A low growl started deep down in his chest, rising steadily until it erupted as a sharp, agonizing cry of grief and rage. Arms flung out, he swung around, sweeping the desk clear in one savage lunge. With another roar, he spun and swept the empty wire racks from the top of the file cabinet. It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t fair! His life was going to be as empty as this office, nothing but a hollow reminder of the vibrant woman who would never again occupy the barren corners of his heart.

Rage blasted through him, washing away all rational thought. He was only vaguely aware of grabbing the desk and heaving it over on its back.

Out in the bullpen, Bud heard the first crash inside Col. MacKenzie’s office and lunged for the door but a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him. Gen. Cresswell slowly shook his head. "Leave him be, Commander."

"But..." Another crash exploded from behind the closed door. "But it sounds like he’s destroying the office!"

"Let him," Cresswell said softly. "There’s nothing in there that can’t be replaced. What he’s lost never can."

A lump rose in Bud’s throat, squeezing off his breath and his voice. Swallowing hard, he nodded, flinching as yet another, much louder, crash came from inside the office. Instinctively, Bud looked for Harriett, and was hit by the sudden realization of what it would be like to know he would never again be able to turn to his soulmate for the stability of her love and support.

Cresswell turned and strode toward his office, firing a few pointed looks as he went. Everyone did their best to at least look like they were busy, everyone but Bud. He stood rooted to the spot, every crash, every thump and shout from behind that door knifing through him like a physical blow. Tears clogged his throat as wave after wave of fresh grief crashed over him. Some of that grief was for himself and for the very special friend and mentor he had lost, but more was for that man on the other side of the door. Col. MacKenzie was at peace now, gone beyond pain and sadness and grief. For Capt. Rabb, those things were all that was left.

In an isolated cabin in rural Maryland, Clark Palmer sat back and grinned at the small portable television. On the screen, investigators swarmed over the wreckage of an airplane while a reporter droned on about the tragic crash. She was speculating on the cause, something about a stuck fuel valve and some faulty wiring. Whatever the cause, Clark couldn’t believe his luck. This couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned it. In fact, he wished he had planned it. When he escaped from Leavenworth, his plan was to torment the man who’d put him there, but this was so much better than his original idea. Clark’s only regret was that he couldn’t be there to witness firsthand the total destruction of his nemesis.

Utterly spent, Harm sat on the floor, his back against the wall beneath the window. His breath came in gasps through a throat raw from venting his rage and grief. The explosive power of those feelings was gone now, replaced by a dull ache he knew would be with him for the rest of his life.

He had no idea how long he’d been in here but it seemed like hours more before the door finally opened a tiny crack. Harm didn’t bother to look up. There was only one person he wanted to see in that doorway and that would never happen again.

He felt rather than saw someone approach, hesitating a moment before reaching down to him. Another pair of hands appeared on the other side and together, his two friends helped him to his feet.

"Come on, sir," Bud said softly. "It’s time to go now."

Harriett’s touch on his other arm held just as much warmth. "You’ll feel better after you get some rest."

Harm didn’t have the strength to argue, but he knew it wasn’t true. Nothing would make him feel better and there would never again be any rest for him. Still, he let them lead him from the room because it simply didn’t matter anymore where he went.

The Roberts-Simms Home 09:40 EDT, The next day

"No," Harm growled, oblivious to the shock and surprise on Bud’s and Harriett’s faces. "I said no funerals and that’s final! As you pointed out, Harriett, there’s nothing to bury."

Her expression changed to one of horror. "I didn’t mean for you to hear that!"

"Well, I did," he snapped. He wasn’t really angry with her; he was just plain angry. "All you did was state the truth. I don’t blame you for that, but the fact is, there isn’t much point to having a funeral, now is there?"

"But you – we all – need a chance to say goodbye, to find some peace."

Harm exploded out of his chair. "That’s not ever going to happen!"

Bud rose more slowly. "Captain – Harm – please, we’re only trying to help."

Blowing out a long, slow breath, Harm turned to his friend. "I know you are. I’m sorry for yelling, but I mean it, Bud. Go ahead and plan a funeral for Mac if you want, but I’m not going to be there." Spinning on his heel, he stalked to the door.

"Where are you going, sir?"

Harm hesitated, but didn’t stop, didn’t turn. "Straight to hell, Bud. Straight to hell."

Wandering aimlessly through Bud’s neighborhood, Harm did his best to simply quit thinking, quit feeling. After what simultaneously felt like hours and mere seconds, he finally caught a cab. Without thinking, he gave the driver his old address. He realized his mistake right away, but what the hell.... The place was his till the end of the month and he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

Part of him wanted to be in Ops, exploring and analyzing every scrap of information about the crash but another, much larger, part of him couldn’t go anywhere near JAG right now. He couldn’t face all those sad eyes and soft condolences, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the details of the crash. His own imagination was vivid enough. It didn’t need to be fueled by grim reality.

Bud and Harriett were so reluctant to accept the fact that there were no remains, but Harm wasn’t having any trouble with that at all – at least, not on an intellectual level. He knew all too well the devastation of an explosion aboard an aircraft. If Mac and Mattie were sitting directly over the fuel tank...

At least it was quick.

Viciously shoving away those thoughts, Harm surveyed the stacks of boxes littering his apartment. The movers were supposed to arrive – God, was it tomorrow? – to take his belongings to the airport.

Indecision flooded through him. Should he let them take the stuff? He had no idea how long he was going to stay in DC. There was nothing to keep him here, really, but he couldn’t see himself just flying back to England and resuming his command.

It wasn’t like him to be so indecisive and he hated the feeling. He was used to being in control of his own life but suddenly, he had no direction, no course to follow. Everything he had envisioned for the future was gone.

The sharp trill of his cell phone spilled into the empty apartment, painfully loud even from inside his pocket. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but heaved a sigh and pulled it out. "Hello?"

"Captain, it’s Bud. Are you...okay?"

"I’m fine, Bud, and for crying out loud, call me Harm."

"I’m sorry if we upset you. We didn’t mean—"

"I know. Forget about it."

"Where are you?"

Harm hesitated, looking around at the barren walls and stack of boxes. "I’m at home, at my apartment."

"Oh." Bud’s surprise was plain. "I thought you’d moved out of there."

"Not completely. The lease isn’t up till the end of the month, so... Thanks for letting me bunk with you, and thank Harriett too, but I’m going to stay here, at least for a few days."

"Are you sure about that, sir?" Bud asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I am. I...I just need some time alone."

"Well...all right..." Harm could clearly hear the reluctance in Bud’s voice. "If you need anything, anything at all, we’re just a phone call away."

"I know that. I really do appreciate everything you and Harriett have done for me. I just need a little time to get my balance back."

Standing in his living room, Bud Roberts heard the tone of Captain Rabb’s voice and knew it would take more than a little time for him to overcome this, but maybe he was right. Maybe he did need some time alone to start the process. "Take care of yourself, sir, and I mean it. We’re here anytime, night or day."

"Thanks, Bud. I’ll be in touch soon."

Bud wanted to say more, but the line went dead. Slowly, he hung up the phone and turned to Harriett. "He’s at his old apartment."

"Maybe that’s for the best," she said softly. "The familiarity might help a bit."

"I hope so. He sounds so...lost."

"He is lost, but Harm is one of the strongest people we know. He’ll recover from this. It just won’t happen quickly." She dropped onto the couch, absently toying with one of the twins’ stuffed animals. "I can’t help thinking it would be easier if there was something...tangible...left. It’s going to be so much harder to find any sort of closure."

"I know." Bud sat down beside her. "That still bothers me. I know their position on the plane put them closest to the blast, but I still can’t believe there was nothing left."

"Bud..." Harriett’s tone was full of warning. "You’re starting to get that look."

"What look?" he demanded defensively.

"Like a dog with a bone. You’re going to gnaw away at this till you find some kind of satisfactory explanation, but maybe there isn’t one this time."

"There’s always an explanation, Harriett. Harm and Mac are the ones who taught me that."

Read Part 2!