A JAG Fan-fiction Story © 2003 Sheri Mitchell
	On the verge of finding everything she ever wanted, Mac suddenly loses more than she ever imagined.
	Rated: R For language
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"Harm, wait up!" Mac hurried to catch up to her long-legged partner as he strode toward the elevator. "I need to ask you a favor."

"If it keeps me in this building more than ten minutes, the answer is no," he said with a grin. "I have a whole week’s leave starting right now."

She smiled back at him. "Don’t worry, it won’t. I just want to borrow your wok. You won’t need it while you’re off charting unknown waters."

He chuckled. "I’m not exactly charting unknown waters. Steve and I sail the same route every year."

"Then where’s the fun in it?" she teased. "It must be boring by now. There’s nothing new to see."

He fixed her with a look. "You don’t go sailing for the scenery, Mac."

"Speak for yourself," came a deep voice from behind him. Steve Grant, Harm’s soon-to-be first mate, stepped off the elevator. "I’m looking forward to the scenery, the two-legged kind."

"Well, there is that," Harm agreed with a grin.

Years of practice kept the smile firmly in place on Mac’s face, hiding the jolt of dismay that went through her at the thought of Harm sailing from port to port in search of women to impress with his…nautical prowess.

"Well," she interjected, keeping her tone light and even. "Can I borrow your wok while you’re gone?"

"Only if you pick it up before 0600 tomorrow. That’s when we’re leaving."

Steve wrapped a playful arm around Harm’s shoulders, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "It’s just a quick hop to Florida and then a week of fun and relaxation. You should come along, Colonel. You’d have a great time."

"Uh, no thanks," she said with a grin. "I prefer my vacations with a little less testosterone in the air."

Steve grimaced as though mortally wounded. "Oh, ouch!" He glanced at Harm. "She always this sharp-tongued?"

"Hell no," Harm replied, then fired her a wink. "She doesn’t really get revved up till she gets into the courtroom."

Laughing and shaking her head, she dropped a hand briefly on Harm’s sleeve. "I’ll stop by tonight and pick up the wok."

"Sounds good. I’ll be home all evening. I’ve still got some packing to do."

"Aw, don’t tell me you’re bringing that guitar of yours? You not only scared the women away last time, you drove all the fish away too with that thing!"

Mac left the…boys…to their playful banter, deciding someone had to get some real work done around here.

HARM’S APARTMENT – 18:40 EDT

"It’s open!" Harm replied in answer to the knock on the door.

As expected, Mac came in and swung the door shut behind her. She looked tired and Harm felt a momentary stab of guilt. She could use a vacation just as much as he could. When Steve was teasing her earlier today about coming along, a pretty big part of Harm wished she had said yes, but if she had, he probably would have spent the whole trip trying to figure out how to get rid of Steve. He’d dreamed more than once of spending a week alone with Mac on a sailboat.

"Hi," she said brightly, her tone the one she used to hide fatigue.

"Come on in," he urged. "I was just about to make some tea. Want a cup?"

"I’d love one," she replied, abandoning the effort to sound chipper. Dropping onto a stool at the kitchen island, she dragged off her cover and set it aside.

"You sound beat," he commented, free to acknowledge it now that she had.

"I am," she admitted. "I’m looking forward to the weekend but I have to admit I envy you. You don’t have to go back to work for a total of eleven days."

"You must have some leave coming," he noted, filling the kettle. "Why not take some and get away for a few days?"

She shook her head. "Too much work to do. The Pierson trial is coming up."

"So wait till after it’s over. I’ll be back long before then, so the admiral won’t balk at having two of us away at the same time."

She shrugged. "Maybe. It depends on what else comes up in the meantime. Remember, with you gone next week, anything new that comes through the door goes straight into my lap."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I’ll say a little prayer every night that nothing new comes up."

She laughed. "Thanks, that should help a lot."

Busying himself with getting out cups and spoons, Harm watched her from the corner of his eye. Despite how much he was looking forward to this trip, he was going to miss the easy back-and-forth with her. He always did when they were apart.

"So where’s Steve?" she asked. "I figured you two would be poring over charts and maps all night."

"Naw, we save that for on the plane. Besides, like I said, we follow the same course every year. We’ve both damn near memorized it."

"So when one of you drops the charts overboard in a drunken stupor, you’ll still be able to find your way home?" she teased.

He chuckled, but shook his head. "You know perfectly well neither of us will drink much when we’re underway."

"No," she laughed. "You’ll save that for in port."

He gave her another one of those looks. "Well, what do you expect? We are both sailors! Getting plastered in every port is sort of a tradition, you know."

"As long as that’s all you get in port," she shot back with a grin.

"Oh, and just what else would you be worried we might get?" he countered. He was teasing, but a part of him really wanted to know her answer. Did she worry that he might have a girl in every port? He didn’t, of course, but there was no way he was going to tell her that. If he did, he might have to explain why and he had a hard enough time trying to convince Steve he really didn’t want to go carousing anymore.

"Arrested," she said quickly. "I’m worried the two of you will get arrested and there won’t be anyone to bail you out."

Nice dodge, he admitted silently. It was one of her best non-answers yet. The woman had more evasionary tactics than most fighter pilots he knew, but then, she wasn’t the only one guilty of ducking the hard questions. More and more often lately, he was tempted to sit her down and explain to her how things were, but each time, he chickened out.

When the tea was ready, they carried their cups to the couch and sat down. Before long, they were deep into a discussion of the upcoming Pierson trial. It was going to be a tough one and Harm didn’t envy her the job of prosecuting. When the case first came up, he would have offered to sit second chair, but since he was going to be away for a whole week during the preparatory stages, it didn’t seem fair.

Over an hour later, she set her long-empty mug aside and rose to her feet. "I’d better get going. You said you had some packing to do."

An abrupt and unexpected streak of longing shot through him and he came to his feet in a rush. "Mac…"

She turned back expectantly, but what the hell was he supposed to say, Don’t go yet because I’m going to spend a whole week away from you and I don’t want to let you go before I have to? Oh, yeah, that would sound just great!

"You forgot the wok," he said instead.

She heaved a sigh. "I really am losing it."

Taking her cup to the sink, she turned and got the wok out of the cupboard. She was as at home in his kitchen as he was and for some reason, the thought struck him hard. Maybe that was the problem, they were too damned comfortable in each other’s lives. Maybe what they needed was to shake things up a little.

In two large steps, he caught up with her as she opened the door to go. She turned to say goodbye but before she could say a word he stepped in close and put a hand on her shoulder. "I’ll see you in a week, don’t work too hard."

For once in his life, he gave in to the urges inside him and leaned down, kissing her gently. He felt her momentary shock, then felt her relax and respond. Instantly, Harm knew he was in trouble. In the space of a heartbeat, the kiss got away from him and took on a life of its own.

Of their own accord, his arms slid around her, pulling her close. The wok in one hand, she slid the other up his chest, her palm curving over the back of his neck as her lips parted beneath his. Her tongue tangled with his, sliding across it like a match scraping on a striker. Heat blossomed in his gut and spread rapidly outward, claiming his entire body.

Stifling a groan, he wrestled with indecision. He desperately wanted to draw her even closer, but if he did, nothing on earth would be able to pull them apart. He hadn’t meant to let it go this far, to let it get out of hand like this, but he couldn’t help himself.

Dredging up the last faint wisps of control, he ended the kiss and stepped back. Breathless, her eyes dark as midnight, she gazed up at him. Her lips were swollen and ripe for another kiss and when she licked them, he damn near gave in to the urge to do just that.

"I…uh…" She fumbled for the door knob behind her.

Very slowly, he reached around her and opened it. "Have fun with the wok," he whispered.

"I…thanks," she mumbled. "Have…a good trip."

"I will. See you a week from Monday."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye." He watched her back out the door, not once taking her eyes from him until the door finally closed between them.

Heaving a ragged sigh, he dragged a hand down his face. How symbolic that was! There was always a door closing between them, right when he most wanted to open it.

Mac somehow made it down to her car, but she didn’t remember the trip. Harm’s impulsive move had shaken her to the core but she didn’t know what surprised her more, that he had done it, or that she had responded so completely.

Her lips were still tingling and she could taste him every time she licked them. She swore she could still smell his clean spicy scent clinging to her. He had kissed her like that once before and she had always wondered if it was just some trick of the moment that made it so devastating. Now she knew. Her body hummed with the residual effects of being in those powerful arms, of running her hands over that hard chest and feeling the corded strength in his neck, the flesh beneath her hand searing her with his heat.

Moaning, she sank forward, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. When he got back, they needed to have a very long, very overdue talk. It was going to be a long week.

It was going to be a long week. Harm reached that conclusion the day he and Steve sailed from Miami. A sudden and unexpected storm was brewing and according to the weather service, it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. They had talked about turning back but they were over halfway to their destination and, with the storm headed nearly straight at them, if they turned tail now, they’d take the brunt of it from the stern. If they had to go through the middle of this thing, Harm wanted his bow into it.

The winds were ferocious, straining the boat and its rigging far more than Harm would have liked. It blasted him in the face, stinging his cheeks with a cold bite that shouldn’t have been there this time of year. This wasn’t going to be a little squall they could maneuver through quickly. It was shaping up to be a battle royal.

Steve came up from down below, shrugging into a rain slicker. Coming over, he scanned the sky. "It’s getting worse."

"Yup," Harm agreed. "This is not going to be fun."

"You know the ladies aren’t going to be happy if we’re delayed too long. Candy was only able to get two days off. If she flies all the way to the Bahamas to be with me and I don’t show, I’m going to be hamburger when she finally catches up with me. Tammy’s got a little more time, but she’s still going to be steamed if we don’t show up on time."

Harm shook his head. "That’s not my problem, and you can’t do anything about the weather, my friend."

Steve chuckled. "I know. I chose a career in intelligence so I didn’t have to work out in weather like this. I’m not thrilled with spending my free time in it."

Harm laughed as well. Steve had to be the only career navy officer he knew who hated getting wet. "Well, just keep us on course and we’ll get there eventually. If Candy has to leave before we get there, I’m sure she’ll forgive you."

Steve gave him a skeptical look. "You don’t know her very well, do you?"

Harm laughed again, then turned his attention back to fighting the wind.

Steve briefly dropped a hand on Harm’s shoulder. "Why don’t you go get some rest while you can? I’ll take it for a while."

Harm hesitated, then turned control over to Steve. He could use some sleep and had no doubt Steve could handle things on his own for a while. Despite his constant griping about getting wet, he was a better sailor than Harm was. Harm’s first instinct in weather like this was to go over it or under it, an easy feat in a Tomcat but impossible to accomplish in a thirty-five foot sailboat.

Going below, Harm rolled into his rack, not bothering to remove the light but warm floater jacket he wore. Mac had given him this coat last year for his birthday. She’d made some teasing comment about needing something to keep him a float the next time he felt like parting company with his aircraft, but he’d seen the slightly haunted look in her eyes. Mac didn’t talk much about his crash or the events following it, but he knew it had been a rough time for her.

Physically, Harm was exhausted. He’d been battling the high winds for close to three hours, letting Steve get some sleep. He half expected to drift off instantly but the moment he closed his eyes, Mac’s smiling face slid into his mind, just as it had the past two nights.

Part of him kept hollering that he never should have kissed her that way but another part kept demanding to know why. What he felt for her went so far beyond simple attraction it was almost scary. For years, that nagging voice inside him had been coming up with reasons why they shouldn’t be together, but lately, a louder voice had been insisting he was on the verge of cheating them both out of the most complete happiness either of them had ever dreamed of.

Assuming she didn’t kick his six around the block the next time he saw her, it was time they sat down and talked, really talked, about this…thing between them. He needed to know if she felt as much for him as he did for her. The problem was, her response to his kiss was more than enough evidence of the answer to that question and it scared the hell out of him.

Somehow, Harm managed to push the thoughts aside and surrender to the fatigue because he was sound asleep when he was rudely dumped out of his rack onto the deck. He tried to get to his feet but it took two tries with the boat was pitching so badly. Hanging onto anything he could find, he managed to make it above deck.

He stepped out into hell itself. The sky was a solid black all around them, with no sign of the moon or stars. The boat struggled valiantly against the heaving waves, bucking violently. Cold winds blasted torrential rain straight into his face, nearly choking him. Coughing and sputtering, he fought his way toward Steve.

"How long have you been fighting this?" he shouted over the roar of the wind.

"Not long! It’s getting worse every minute, though!"

"You should have called me!" Harm yelled back.

"I tried!"

Harm nodded. He was three feet from Steve and could barely hear him. There wasn’t a chance he would have heard the shouting when he was still below. Turning, Harm set to work doing everything he could to ensure the fierce winds and monster waves didn’t get the better of their craft.

After a few minutes, he thought maybe they were winning, then a huge wave lifted the boat and slammed it down hard, knocking him off his feet. The deck pitched to an sharp angle and Harm barely managed to catch hold of a line and keep from sliding off. He started hauling himself up, frantically pulling on the rain-slick line, but he’d only managed to pull himself a foot or two when a horrendous crash momentarily blocked out even the roar of the wind.

All hell broke loose and Harm quit trying to figure out what was happening and started concentrating on survival. The horrifying sound of splintering wood and fiberglass wasn’t stopping. The boat was literally coming apart around him. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Steve sliding down the steeply pitched deck and watched in sickening helplessness as his friend was bounced over the rail and disappeared.

Harm had managed to wind the line around his wrist, but he abandoned even that small bit of security now. He needed to get his feet under him. If he could—

Something huge and heavy slammed into him and a searing pain shot through his left arm. A massive piece of – something – bounced off him and slid out of sight, but another chunk of twisted wreckage stayed behind, caught on some unseen obstacle. It was also pinning his arm, keeping him suspended above the heaving waves he knew were somewhere below him in the darkness.

More debris slid toward him, careening off anything in its path, including Harm. Twice he was nearly struck in the head by objects big enough to do some serious damage. If he stayed here, dangling on the now nearly vertical deck, it was only a matter of time until something slid out of the darkness and killed him. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t his arm that was pinned, it was the sleeve of his coat. Desperately, he unzipped it and struggled to work free.

Just as he was pulling out of the coat, the boat rose to the peak of another wave and dropped. When it hit, he was thrown free but now there was nothing to hold onto at all – nothing but the image of Mac’s face that sprang into his mind as he slid over the side and plunged into nothingness.

JAG HQ – 14:04 EDT Wednesday

Mac knew something was wrong the minute she entered the admiral’s office. He wore a dark frown but what worried her the most was the way it was tinged with a deep underlying concern. "Have a seat, Colonel."

Mac did as she was ordered, but the apprehension skittering through her doubled when the admiral rose and came around the desk to lean against it directly in front of her. It was never good when he felt the need to remove the symbolic barrier of command represented by the ornate desk. He folded his arms across his chest and Mac’s mouth went dry.

"I just received a call from search and rescue services in the Bahamas. It appears Cdr. Rabb and Lt. Cdr. Grant are overdue."

"By how much?" she asked, swallowing past the sudden constriction in her throat.

"Twenty four hours. The authorities were alerted by two women who were supposed to meet them when they arrived."

Mac tried hard to ignore the jab to her heart that came with the knowledge Harm and Steve had women waiting for them. For days, she’d been trying to avoid reading too much into that devastating kiss he’d given her, but she wasn’t succeeding very well. "Maybe they simply changed their plans."

The admiral shook his head. "The women flew down from the states with definite plans to meet up. They’re certain Rabb and Grant wouldn’t have changed the itinerary without letting them know. A pretty hefty storm blew through the area a couple of days ago. It caught a number of pleasure craft off guard and left the authorities scrambling for a while, but there’s been no radio contact with Rabb’s boat since they left Miami."

Mac’s heart was dropping fast. Her gut clenched into a painful knot. "Are they searching for them now, sir?"

"Yes. I offered to contact any US Navy vessels in the area, but for now, the Bahamian officials can handle it. If they need to widen the search area, they’ll let me know."

Still stunned, Mac gazed at the admiral, not sure what to say. Abruptly, he pushed off the desk and lowered himself into the chair beside hers, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. "The storm was apparently pretty brutal, considering it blew up virtually out of nowhere, but both Rabb and Grant are accomplished sailors. They may have found safe harbor somewhere."

A wave of emotion more profound than anything she’d ever experienced swept over Mac so suddenly she had to choke back a sob. "Sir, please, with all due respect, I know the score so save the encouraging words."

To her surprise, he shook his head, his gaze dropping to the carpet. "I can’t do that, Colonel. I need to say them as much as you need to hear them."

Petty Officer Charles carefully guided the small boat toward the wreckage the Northland had spotted only moments ago. In the bow of the boat, Lt. Westbury kept his eye on the debris, his gut clenched in a rigid, painful knot. There was a lot of wreckage here, nearly enough to account for a thirty-five foot sailboat and, right in the middle of it, was something that could only be a human form.

Burying the apprehension and dread, he verbally guided the petty officer toward the large piece of debris with the telltale shape draped over it. He didn’t know Cdr. Grant, but he remembered Cdr. Rabb from an investigation he’d conducted several months ago aboard the Northland. The seas had been pretty rough and Westbury recalled watching the tall, confident officer move through the ship as though he was born there, nearly oblivious to the pitching, rolling deck.

That was a man who was made to be at sea and, from the whispered accounts spreading through the crew, he was equally at home in the air above it. If that shape coming ever closer in the wreckage was what he thought it was, the sea had claimed one of its own.

PO Charles expertly guided the boat up beside the right chunk of debris, now clearly a wide piece of the boat’s hull. The shape they were after was tangled beneath a mass of twisted railing and other unidentifiable wreckage. There was only one way to secure it. Steeling himself, Westbury reached for the arm. The instant his hand closed over it, his gut turned over. His gaze shot to Charles, taking in the anxious look on his face. Very slowly, Westbury shook his head and watched as the hope in the petty officer’s eyes slowly went out.

Fear, anger, grief and an overwhelming helplessness became Mac’s constant companions over the next few days. She gave up eating on day two because every time she did, it felt as though she’d swallowed hot coals. Everyone in the office was nervous and on edge. Until the USS Northland joined the search, just getting regular updates was difficult. Once the navy vessel became part of the search contingent, JAG personnel were able to stay in the loop, but simply sitting and waiting for news was slowly driving Mac insane.

She tried to keep busy, but since no one else in the office was operating at peak efficiency either, the entire pace of the office slowed. Critical or important tasks got done, everything else was delegated to the nebulous time frame of ‘later’. Prowling her office, Mac knew if she didn’t do something to dissipate the growing tension coiling inside her, she was going to go crazy. Hoping to take her mind off things, she scanned her list of assignments for one of those ‘later’ projects and decided to get to work on a brief she needed to prepare.

Going to the file cabinet, she yanked the drawer open and started digging through the files. She found the one she wanted but, as she started to withdraw it, she heard the office door open then close. File in hand, she turned.

Admiral Chegwidden stood just inside the door. His face was a carefully controlled mask, but there was a look in his eyes he couldn’t hide, a terrible wrenching sadness. The file in her hand crumpled as a soul-deep dread washed over her.

"No," she breathed.

He came forward in two quick steps. "Searchers have found wreckage positively identified as being from Harm’s chartered boat. It appears it broke up and sank. There was a coat caught up in the debris, Harm’s coat…and there was blood on it."

"That blue floater jacket," she said softly. She didn’t know how she knew, she just did. "I…I gave it to him for his birthday."

The admiral nodded, as though absorbing that bit of news. They’ve conducted an extensive search in the area of the wreckage but…both men aboard are missing and presumed drowned."

Everything within her, the very light in her soul, simply went out. She gazed at the admiral, struck by how he suddenly looked like a two dimensional image, a flat and shallow representation of her CO, not the man himself.

Abruptly, he took a step forward and became human again. "Mac…are you all right."

She spun away from him, suddenly terrified that he might try to touch her, to offer comfort, but if he did, she would shatter into a million pieces. "I’m fine, sir. Thank you for informing me."

She heard the whisper of his shoes stopping on the carpet. There was a long pause. "You’re welcome, Colonel. I’m going to be informing the rest of the staff shortly. I wanted you to hear it in private first."

"Thank you, sir," she said again, still not looking at him.

He hesitated a moment longer, then turned to go. He left the office door open and she heard him gathering everyone together out in the bullpen. Something drew her to the door but kept her from going out to join them. She listened to the admiral repeat what he had told her and heard the collective gasp from the assembled staff.

Bud Roberts’ face was slightly ashen when he turned around after the briefing. He cast a glance toward his wife. "It’s like déjà vu all over again," he said bitterly.

Ignoring protocol, Harriett reached out and took his hand. "They’ll find him, Bud. He’s going to come home."

"Yeah, maybe, but…" His gaze dropped. "I have a feeling it’s going to be in a body bag this time."

Doubled over on his hands and knees, Harm grabbed two fistfuls of sand as his stomach did its best to turn completely inside out. The tiny island that had saved his and Steve’s life was now slowly killing them. With no source of fresh water, they were forced to drink the brackish sludge that bubbled up from the hole they’d dug farther inland. The salty water also explained the limited and stunted growth of the vegetation on the islet. It did little more than provide some protection from the sun. What little they’d eaten in the past three days had come from the sea when they weren’t too sick to wade out and cast the makeshift fishing line Steve had constructed.

The date on Harm’s watch said it had been five days since the storm, meaning he had drifted, largely unconscious on that piece of debris, for three days. He vaguely remembered coming to and spotting Steve floating nearby, draped across a small piece of wreckage. At first, he thought for sure Steve was dead but as he pawed in the water to bring himself closer, Steve had slowly lifted his head.

They used the cord from the hood of Steve’s slicker to tie the two chunks of the boat together into a makeshift raft, but Steve had to do most of the work. Harm’s vision was a mess and his hands wouldn’t quit shaking. He thought he remembered Steve saying something about a concussion, but he wasn’t sure.

The blurred vision was clearing and the pounding in his head was easing off now, but he was still so weak the trembling in his hands was getting worse. If they didn’t find some clean water pretty soon, nothing else was going to matter.

Steve had somehow managed to avoid any serious injury during the sinking, so he was fairing a little better, but the lack of fresh water was taking its toll on him too. His face was pale under the blotchy sunburn and his lips were dry and cracked as he stumbled over to Harm and dropped into the sand beside him.

Granted a brief reprieve from his stomach’s rebellion, Harm rolled over, flopping onto his back. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get off this Godforsaken pile of dirt and sand?"

Steve chuckled softly. "Find me the biggest steak ever carved off a cow and not get up till it’s gone."

The very thought had Harm’s stomach roiling again. "Oh, please, forget I asked."

Steve laughed again. "What about you? What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we’re rescued?"

Harm’s answer was as quick as Steve’s but he didn’t voice it. For days, his dreams had been filled with images of Mac, coming to him out of a hazy mist, her arms open to draw him in. The practical side of him said he needed food and water the most, but there was another part of him that wanted only to descend into those open arms and stay there forever.

"Well?" Steve prompted. "What are you going to do?"

"Give up sailing," Harm replied firmly.

The next two days passed in a blur. Harm and Steve took turns fishing with the string from Steve’s jacket and a safety pin Harm had been using in place of the pull tab on his vest’s inside pocket zipper. He’d never been a big fan of sushi and he vowed that when he got off this island, he would never look at a piece of raw fish again.

The wind was whipping the foliage above him, snapping them around like flags on a ship as he lay on his back, conserving what little strength the food had given him. Steve pushed through the sparse growth and dropped to the ground beside him. "Looks like we’ve got another storm coming up." He made a scoffing sound in his throat. "Just what we need."

Harm forced himself to sit up, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky visible through the leaves overhead. "Actually, it just might be."

He and Steve looked at each other, speaking with one voice. "Rain!"

Mac was beginning to dread the admiral’s sudden appearances at her door. The news was always the same – another search grid completed with no sign of Harm or Cdr. Grant – but this time, Chegwidden’s expression was even more grave than usual. Another jolt of raw fear went through Mac.

Without preamble, the admiral delivered the news. "There’s another storm going through the search area. It’s becoming too dangerous so they’ve suspended the search." He paused, and she knew there was more.

"They…they won’t be resuming it, will they, sir." It wasn’t a question.

He silently shook his head.

A chill ran through her, settling as a block of ice in the pit of her stomach. It was over. The vessels would retreat to the safety of their home ports, leaving Harm in the grip of the unforgiving ocean – forever. After his brush with a watery grave two years ago, Mac had felt as though they had been given a second chance, but somehow, they’d never managed to get to the same emotional place at the same time. Now, the sea was reclaiming him, taking back what it had offered and she had been too stupid to take.

"Colonel?"

The admiral’s concerned tone yanked her out of her thoughts. Her head sprang up.

"Are you…all right?"

She nodded, unable to get a single word past the constriction in her throat.

Yet again, AJ found himself calling his staff together to deliver bad news. There were very few aspects of command he truly hated – this was one of them. He explained about the storm and, after pausing to gather his rapidly slipping composure, delivered the final blow.

He watched in silence as his staff members responded to the news, each according to his or her personality. Lieutenants Roberts and Simms turned immediately to each other. Sturgis Turner slowly closed his eyes, his mouth drawing into a tight, thin line. Tiner stood slack jawed, his young face a mixture of disbelief and sadness.

And Mac. Mac stood apart from the others, one hand gripping the doorframe until her knuckles turned white. Her face was as expressionless as she could make it, but her eyes…AJ would remember the look in her eyes as long as he lived.

A blow like this was not going to be easily overcome, not by any of them. They all accepted the possibility of losing a comrade in the performance of their duties, but to have such a vibrant, vital part of their team torn from them by a cruel twist of fate wasn’t the kind of thing any amount of training could prepare for.

The shock was still fresh, but it wouldn’t remain so. These people needed to grieve, to find some closure that would help them start down the road to healing. Hell, he needed closure. "Tiner, join me in my office, please."

One week to the day after Harm was reported missing, the admiral convened a special gathering in the courtroom. Rabb’s official status wouldn’t be assigned for a long time yet but he wasn’t willing to leave his people wide open and bleeding the way they were now. The private, informal gathering would give them all a chance to seek the beginning of the end to this nightmare.

Wrapped in the military discipline that had gotten him through more than one rough time in his life, AJ strode into the courtroom, then froze as his carefully constructed composure momentarily crumbled. Damn Tiner anyway. The kid was too good at his job.

AJ had instructed him to create some kind of ‘presence’ for Harm, a symbol they could focus on during the coming moments, but he’d never expected something so…poignant…from the young petty officer. In front of the judge’s bench, Tiner had erected a podium, but faced it backwards, so that the sloping surface faced the courtroom.

Two white candles flickered on the level top. Below, Rabb’s cover lay carefully displayed on a piece of black velvet. Beneath it, glowing in the dancing candlelight, were his wings.

Swallowing hard, AJ dug deep, calling on reserves he hadn’t needed in a very long time, and forced his expression to something approaching neutrality. He moved to the front of the room, stopping beside the memorial and turned to face the assembled staff. For a brief instant, he swore he could feel Rabb standing right beside him, the essence of the man was so completely represented by the touching memorial Tiner had created.

For a long moment, he simply surveyed the group of people in front of him. From admirals to enlisted, they all gathered. Judges, colleagues, support staff, they all came, seeking the same thing AJ was hoping to find.

"Thank you all for coming," he began. "This is an informal gathering to honor a friend and colleague. There’s no formal agenda. Instead, I thought perhaps some of you would like to say a few words."

He scanned the faces, not really expecting anyone to volunteer to be the first. He dragged in a deep breath.

"As I look around this room, I see the faces of the people whose lives Cdr. Rabb touched the deepest, but I can’t help thinking about all of the other lives he has touched. The comrades he served with, victims he sought justice for in this courtroom, the innocent lives he saved in countless missions as an aviator. He was the epitome of what it means to serve one’s country."

He pulled in another breath, forcing it past the tightening in his throat. "He was also a royal pain in the six at times, but that too because he was driven by an uncommonly profound sense of duty that wouldn’t let him give in or give up – even when I ordered him to."

As he’d hoped, that brought a slight chuckle from the crowd. They all knew how many times AJ’s own six had ended up in a sling thanks to Rabb’s overzealous pursuit of the truth.

"He was one of the finest officers I’ve ever had in my command and he was a damn fine man. Like all of you, I’ve lost a friend but my greatest grief is that the world has lost the valor and compassion, determination and daring that was Harmon Rabb Jr."

For a long moment, silence reigned as each absorbed AJ’s words. He scanned the faces again and when he reached Lt. Roberts, the young lawyer gave him a significant look. AJ nodded immediately. "Lieutenant?"

Roberts stepped forward and with a nod to AJ, turned to face the crowd. "The first time I met Cdr. Rabb, he was stepping off a helo onto the deck of the Seahawk. He’d been called out unexpectedly and didn’t have time to change uniforms. Even in full dress whites, I’d never seen anyone look more at home than he did on that carrier deck–" His eyes panned the room in a gaze that encompassed it and all that it held. "Until I saw him in here."

He paused, his gaze flicking to the defense table as though seeing Rabb there, deploying his devastating oratory skills in a passionate plea to the members. "When a few people heard I was transferring to JAG, all they could talk about was this hotshot lawyer who changed venues when his ego outgrew the cockpit of a Tomcat, but I found out quickly just how wrong they were. He became my mentor and, gradually, my friend."

A smile touched his lips. "Being Cdr. Rabb’s friend was an experience all its own." That brought tiny smiles from all of them, but as he continued, Roberts’ expression sobered. "Being Harmon Rabb Jr.’s friend meant knowing you’d always have someone to cover your six if you needed it. You could always depend on him when it counted. But he knew how to push my buttons too, and, more importantly, when they needed to be pushed. Without him, I wouldn’t be standing here as a lawyer, proud to count him among my colleagues. He will be forever missed and—" His voice cracked slightly and he swallowed hard. "—forever in our hearts."

AJ let the moment hang, then stepped forward. For a brief instant as he faced Bud, all rank fell away and they were simply two men, clinging to every scrap of what made them military officers just long enough to get through this. He took Bud’s hand in a firm grip, dropping the other hand on his shoulder. Roberts’ eyes met his for a moment, then he looked away, ending the handshake and moving back to the group.

Desperately trying to hang onto what little self-control she had left, Mac watched Bud return to his place beside Harriett. It felt as though all eyes were on her, expecting her to be next. Before she was even aware of moving, she was facing the group. She looked from one sad face to the next.

"You know what? I can’t do this." Tears flood her eyes. "There simply aren’t any words to describe what Harm meant to me. I’ve lost a partner, a confidante, a worthy adversary and…the best friend I ever had."

And the only man she would ever truly love.

Somehow, Mac made it through the rest of the reminiscences. When it was clear no one else wanted to speak, the admiral nodded to PO Tiner, who brought forward a cart laden with glasses of Harriett’s famous fruit punch. He handed out the glasses, then took one for himself and stepped back. The admiral again faced the assembled officers and staff.

"To do this right, this ought to be some wickedly aged bourbon," he paused to let the chuckles roll through the room, "but we’re all still officially on duty, so this will have to suffice." He hoisted his glass. "To Cdr. Harmon Rabb Jr."

"To Harm!" echoed through the courtroom as one and all raised their glasses in salute.

Mac sipped her drink, barely tasting the pungent concoction and for one brief instant, she desperately wished there was a stiff shot of vodka in it but then, sounding as clear as if he was standing at her side, Harm’s voice echoed in her head. Suck it up, Marine.

And she would. Even in death, he gave her strength. She wouldn’t dishonor his faith in her by letting the grief destroy everything she had built for herself. She would get through this, as she had so many hard times, with the strength and determination that had so gradually yet so completely replaced her dependency on the mind- and memory-numbing effects of alcohol. She would get through this, but the true casualty would be the part of her that had been utterly and wholly Harm’s from the moment they met.

Abruptly, she set her glass down and fled the room. She had to get away, she had to be alone with the small part of Harm that was left to her, the part that would belong to her for as long as she lived.

A smaller version of the storm that had ended the search for him hung over her as she dashed to her car. It wasn’t raining yet, but the sky was a dark, swirling gray of almost unfathomable depths. Harm’s eyes turned that color sometimes, when he was angry or excited – or aroused.

That was one place she could not go. The smoldering sexual tension had been at times almost impossible to bear. It hovered between them like a living thing, weaving back and forth, creating an invisible bond that, while sometimes stretched to the limit, was never truly broken. Until now.

She drove aimlessly, for once in her life unaware of the passage of time. She had no idea how long she’d been on the road when she became aware of a subtle, almost unconscious force beginning to direct her. Each time she made a turn or chose an exit, it was as though she was being drawn somewhere. It wasn’t until she pulled into the parking lot of Thomas Point Park in Maryland that she realized what had been guiding her.

It was her own need to find answers where there were none. Here, she could face the angry gray of the sea, to gaze upon the choppy waters that had stolen an incredible man from too many people who still needed him – from her.

Folding her arms tightly around herself, she stared out across the open water.

Damn the sea for needing to flex its power over the lowly humans who dared to think they could conquer it!

Damn the sense of adventure that dragged Harm out into that unforgiving world of wind and waves!

And damn him for leaving her here all alone!

Now, she had nothing but memories and a tantalizing hint of the happiness that could have been hers and now would never be. Out of nowhere, a sob wrenched from her throat as the small, needlelike raindrops began to fall. Another sob followed as the tears coursing down her face mingled with the rain. Dropping to the sand, she pulled her knees up tight to her chest and buried her face. Alone with only the wind and rain as witness, Mac finally, inexorably, broke down.

Read Part 2!