A JAG Fan-fiction Story © 2002 Sheri Mitchell
	Sometimes, serving his country can ask too much of a man.
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Mac was a wreck.

For the past three and half months, virtually every known international government agency, and a few that would prefer to remain unknown, had been working to secure Harm’s release. In the end, a covert operation she hadn’t even been told about finally succeeded in getting him out of the Afghan prison.

She damn near broke down and sobbed when she heard the news, but there’d been too many people in the room at the time, people who would have asked questions about that kind of display from a simple colleague and friend. So she’d settled for a big grin and a spontaneous hug from Harriet Simms.

Later that night, in the solitude of her apartment, the tears had finally come, tears of joy, anger, frustration and relief. Harm was safe. He was alive, and from all accounts, remarkably unscathed. Actually, there had been very little detail on his condition and that bothered her. Was there something they weren’t telling her?

If there was, she’d find out today. Harm was finally being transferred to Bethesda. At last, she would be able to see him for herself. Admiral Chegwidden had flown out to the carrier the moment Harm was taken aboard, so he was the only member of the JAG staff who’d actually seen him. He’d been as evasive as everyone else when she asked about Harm’s condition, but now, as she made her way to his office, Mac had the feeling she was going to get some details.

Petty Officer Tiner admitted her to the inner office the moment she arrived. Admiral Chegwidden was waiting, standing in front of his desk. Before she could even attempt a formal greeting, he waved to a chair. "At ease, Colonel. Take a seat."

She did as he requested, perching on the edge of it, her spine straight, her hands folded in her lap. Instead of going around to his own chair, the admiral leaned against the front of the desk, folding his arms across his chest. "I imagine you’re planning to go out and see Cdr. Rabb."

"Yes, sir. Just as soon as I can get away," she admitted.

"Well, before you go, I think you need to be aware of a few things."

Here it came. She knew there was something they hadn’t told her. She clamped down hard on her over-active imagination before it could fill in the blanks with all sorts of horrors.

To her surprise, the admiral sat down beside her, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Physically, he’s fine. He’s a little underweight and he was dehydrated when they first got him out. He’s a little beat up, but that’s to be expected I suppose."

The admiral was stalling, and that was so unlike him, it had Mac really scared now. "Sir, I know there’s something you’re not saying, and I’d really appreciate it if you would."

"All right. Physically, Cdr. Rabb is in reasonably good shape, but emotionally, he’s...well, Colonel...he’s a mess. He’s not himself right now, and I want you to be prepared for that before you go to see him."
Mac had to take a moment to let that sink in. She couldn’t seem to draw a full breath as she struggled to understand what the admiral was trying to tell her. "Sir, what did they.... Was he...tortured?"

"Psychologically, you mean? We think so. Unfortunately, the only one who knows for sure what went on in that prison is Harm and he’s not exactly enthusiastic in talking about it just yet. We’ve gotten bits and pieces, but the doctors have advised us not to push him. They’re pretty sure he’ll add detail as time goes on."

Mac swallowed – hard. "What...what should I expect when I see him, Admiral?"

"He’s not a basket case, if that’s what you mean, Colonel. He’s not in a rubber room wearing a white coat with extra long sleeves, but he’s not the man we knew."

Terrified of the answer, Mac couldn’t stop herself from asking the question. "Will he ever be again?"

The admiral heaved a sigh. "That, no one knows."

BETHESDA NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER – 11:00 EST

Her heart pounding in her ears, Mac followed the burly male nurse down the corridor to Harm’s room. She watched in shocked horror as he took out a set of keys and reached to unlock the door. "You keep the door locked?"

"It’s just a precaution, ma’am, till he’s had a full assessment. Don’t be alarmed by it. It’s SOP, that’s all."

Something in his overly zealous explanation didn’t quite ring true, but she opted not to say anything more for the moment. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. Steeling herself for almost anything, she stepped inside.

Harm lay on the bed against the far wall, dressed in a normal set of gray sweats. He was propped up against the headboard, reading a newspaper. His face was battered and bruised, with the remnants of several cuts healing slowly.

He looked up when she entered and for a moment a dark, almost terrified expression crossed his face. It came and went in the space of a heartbeat, but it was enough to throw Mac off her stride. She stopped in the middle of the room, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Uh, hi." Her voice came out softer and more timid than she’d intended.

"Hi." The dark expression was gone, replaced by one that was completely unreadable. He continued to gaze at her in silence.

Resisting the urge to squirm, Mac clasped her hands in front of her. "How are you feeling?"

"I’ve been better," he admitted, his tone slightly guarded. "Mac, what are you doing here?"

The question knocked her completely off balance. "I...I came to see if you’re all right. I’ve been worried sick about you."

"I’m fine."

The proclamation was so patently false it was ridiculous, but she didn’t call him on it. She stood a moment longer, desperately searching for something to say. "Everyone at the office is asking about you. They’d like to come and visit now that you’re back."

"I’d rather they didn’t," he replied, "at least not for a while."

"I understand." She didn’t understand a damned thing! Talking to him was like conversing with a robot. There was no light in his eyes, no inflection in his voice. It was as though everything inside him was dead. Sorrow welled up inside her, threatening to spill over. She swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat.

He tossed the newspaper aside and rolled to a sitting position. He waved her to a chair in a gesture that was the first faint sign she’d seen of the Harm she knew – and loved. "Mac, I don’t know if they told you, but they’ve got me on all kinds of medication. It’s really messing me up, but they tell me it’s only temporary. I’m sorry if I seem...different."

No one had told her about medication! That explained a lot. She nodded as she slipped into the chair. "I know you went through a lot. You’re not going to bounce back instantly."

"Apparently not," he said roughly.

She instinctively reached to put a comforting hand on his arm, but he drew away before she could touch him. Mac tried hard not to be hurt by the gesture, but didn’t quite succeed. "Harm, don’t try to be superman this time, all right? Let things take their course. Before you know it, we’ll be going head to head in the courtroom again."

"Don’t be so sure," he warned her. "I don’t think I’ll be returning to active duty."

"Of course you will!" she said urgently. "Don’t let it get you down. I’m sure you’ll be all right in time."

"Mac, you don’t understand. I don’t want to go back." He fixed her with a hard, determined gaze. "I’m quitting the navy."

More shaken than she’d expected to be, Mac left the hospital a short time later. She got into her car but stopped short of starting the engine. The admiral was right. That wasn’t the man she knew. The only tiny hope she had came from the few tiny glimmers she’d seen of the old Harm. She knew he was in there somewhere. The question was, could he ever find his way out again?

It was a long moment before she was ready to start the car and head back to the office. Lt. Harriet Simms and Lt. Bud Roberts ambushed her just inside the door to Ops. "Ma’am, how is he?" Harriet asked.

Mac hesitated, not sure what to say. She opted for at least part of the truth. "He’s doing okay, but he needs some space right now. He’s asked if you and the others could wait awhile before visiting."

Bud briefly took his wife’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "We understand, Colonel. Next time you see him, tell him we’re all thinking about him."

Mac smiled, but it felt a little thin. "I will, Bud."

Escaping to her office, Mac closed the door and dropped into her chair. Right now, she didn’t even know for sure when she would see him again herself. Sitting there, seeing him so... destroyed...had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, and it didn’t seem like he got anything from her visit. If she thought her presence could be a comfort to him, she’d swallow her own pain and go every day if he wanted, but it was obvious he didn’t want it. She got a very clear message that he didn’t want her around at all.

BETHESDA NAVAL MEDICAL CENTER – 13:00 EST

Harm followed Petty Officer Matthews down the corridor. The stocky young man was at least a head shorter than Harm, but he was betting the kid out-weighed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to Harm that he should probably be upset about being kept in a locked room and escorted everywhere, but he just couldn’t muster the energy to feel anything at all.

It was the damned medication. The doctors warned him it might have this effect, but at the time, he’d welcomed the opportunity to feel nothing. In fact, he’d been desperate for it. The doctors promised him the medication would stop the nightmares, the cold sweats, and even the horrifying moments when he was back in that deep dark hole, reliving the entire thing.

For the most part, the medication had lived up to its billing, except for the nightmares. They weren’t quite a vivid, but he still had one at least twice every night. The lack of sleep should have been a problem, but with the drugs sapping his energy like this, all he did was sleep all day anyway.

He stepped into his room when Matthews opened the door for him, and for the first time, the room felt...empty. The last time he’d been in here, Mac had been here too. She’d left when the petty office came to take him to the dining room for lunch. Now, she was gone and he was alone again.

He’d spent the last three months or more alone virtually all of the time. The only time he wasn’t sitting in his cell, he was being interrogated by sweating men in dirty, stinking clothes. After the months of isolation, with those men as his only human contact, it didn’t really surprise Harm that he didn’t feel like having a lot of people around. In fact, he really didn’t want anyone around at all—except Mac.

When she’d walked in here this morning, he’d had a momentary flashback to the endless hours spent in that underground pit. The memory of her had been the only thing that kept him going.

Harm wished he could have told her that, or at least said he was glad to see her, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he sat there, listening to her talk and remembering how much he’d wished for that voice when the only sound he heard for days on end was his own heartbeat.

Mac visited Harm twice more that week. Both times it was like talking to an automaton. He said all the right words, he’d even half-smiled once, but there was nothing behind it. She’s seen artificial intelligence experiments with more personality than he had.

Seeing him like this was killing her. She had to have some hope, some small reassurance that he wouldn’t be this way for the rest of his life. When she left his room after the second visit, she went straight to his doctor’s office, one floor below.

The doctor, Cmdr. Bailey, invited her into the office and offered her a chair. "I understand you want to discuss Cdr. Rabb."

"That’s right. Can you tell me how he’s doing, really? He says he’s fine, but it’s pretty obvious that’s not the case."

"He is improving, even it doesn’t look like that way. We’ve got him on high does of lithium at the moment, along with a few other things, to help him over the rough spots. That’s why his emotions seem a little flat right now."

"A little?" Mac shot back, not quite able to stop herself. "That’s an understatement!"

"We’re going to start reducing the dosage next week and see how he handles it. He’s been through a significant psychological trauma. It’s not always easy to predict the path recovery will take."

Mac wanted to scream! The man was spouting euphemisms and carefully worded phrases that meant nothing. It took a huge effort, but she kept a grip on herself. "What exactly happened to him over there? He won’t talk about it, but maybe if I knew, I’d understand how to help him."

"We all feel the same way, Colonel, including me, but the truth is, we don’t really know a lot about what went on in Afghanistan."

Mac rose to her feet. "Well, I know someone who might."

Mac went straight from the hospital to the office of Clayton Webb. It had been his covert operation that finally got Harm out. If anyone knew what the conditions were over there, it was Webb.

The receptionist was a little annoyed when Mac asked to see Webb but said she didn’t have an appointment. However, when she called upstairs, Webb came down immediately. "Colonel, I knew it would only be a matter of time till you darkened my door. Come on, let’s talk outside."

Mac followed him out to a small patio with several concrete tables and benches. "Clay, I never got a chance to thank you for rescuing Harm. I heard after it was all over that you took a pretty big risk."

He shrugged. "It was a calculated one."

"You were there, weren’t you, during the extraction?"

"I was," he replied cautiously.

Mac folded her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. "Do you know anything about what happened to Harm, before you got him out, I mean. He’s...he’s in pretty rough shape, but he won’t talk about it."

Webb took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If it had been me in there, I probably wouldn’t want to talk about it either. I can tell you we found him in an underground cell. It looked like he’d been there awhile, if you know what I mean."

Mac was all too afraid she did. A rush of horror ran through her.

"If they used their standard techniques on him, it means they would have kept him completely isolated, with only enough food and water to barely keep him alive. At irregular intervals they would have pulled him out for interrogation. I’m not sure you want to know what methods they use for that."

"Probably not," she admitted, "but I think I need to know."

"They do a lot of the same things we do," Webb answered with his usual bluntness. "Bright lights, temperature extremes, but they also employ a few things we don’t."

"Such as?"

"Mac, why are you doing this?" he asked abruptly. "You don’t need to hear all the gory details."

"Yes I do," she countered. "I need to know what he went through so I know how to help him. He’s a mess, Clay."

Clayton Webb’s voice took on a tone she’d never heard before – compassion. "You forget, I was there when they pulled him out. If you think he’s a mess now, you should have seen him then."

Mac fought down the rise of bile in the back of her throat. "Was it...bad?"

"Yeah," Webb replied softly. "It was bad."

He wasn’t about to tell her just how bad it really was. He thought he’d seen a lot in his career, but when they hauled Rabb out of that stinking hole in the ground, Clay discovered a whole new definition of hell. The moment they lifted him out, Harm dropped to the ground in a fetal position, trembling violently. Clay didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of Cdr. Harmon Rabb, Jr., fighter jock, ace lawyer, and all around kick-ass navy officer, cowering at his feet, arms shielding his face from God only knew what.

It was not an image he was going to share with anyone, especially not Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie. He knew what that pain-in-the-ass navy lawyer meant to her, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Throughout the following week, Mac began to see changes in Harm as he came off the medication, and not all of them were good. She arrived at his room early one afternoon to find him pacing like a caged tiger. There was a wild look in his eyes that frankly scared the hell out of her. "Harm? What’s wrong? You seem upset."

"Yeah, I’m upset! I am so damned sick and tired of being locked up in here! I spent three and half months locked up and that was more than enough, thank you. I want out!" He stalked to the door and banged on it with his fist. "I want out of here now!"

Desperate to try and comfort him, Mac put a hand on his back. "Hey, it’s—"

He whirled around, his hand snaking out to catch her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don’t touch me!" Eyes, blazing, he advanced on her, forcing her back several steps. "From now on, I decide who touches me and when! Is that clear?"

"Yes," she said as calmly as she could. "I understand. Harm, you’re hurting me."

Instantly, his rage fled. He dropped her wrist, staring at her, shock and confusion all over his face. "Mac? Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to..."

He pulled her into his arms and she went, trying hard not to tremble as he held her tightly against his chest. "I’m really, really sorry, Mac. You know I’d never intentionally hurt you, don’t you?"

Her cheek against his chest, she nodded, but the awful truth was, she didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know what he was capable of.

Very slowly, he drew back, keeping her in the loose circle of his arms. "Can you forgive me?" If she couldn’t, he didn’t know what he would do. His biggest fear in all of this was that he would hurt someone close to him, either with words or actions, but the thought of what he’d almost done to Mac was enough to crush him.

She didn’t answer for a long time. He was beginning to panic when she finally gave him a small, thin smile. "Yes, I forgive you."

Relief rushed through him. With an involuntary groan, he pulled her against him again for a brief, tight hug before letting her go. "I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I...I wasn’t really...here."

"Where were you?" she asked softly.

He stalked away from her as the cold, hard fury seeped into him again. "Not somewhere you’d want to go, believe me."

"Not by choice, Harm, but no one gave you the choice, did they?"

"No, they didn’t," he growled, "and I don’t seem to have much choice about reliving it all the time either, so I’m not going to talk about it too!"

Over the next two weeks, Harm’s moods gradually began to balance out naturally, without the aid of medication. He was a long way from being back to normal, but he was beginning to feel a little more like himself. The only problem now was convincing the damned doctor.

Cdr. Bailey insisted on almost daily counseling sessions. The man had the annoying habit of whistling as he walked down the corridor, and Harm was rapidly learning to hate the sound. It heralded another round of useless questions and psychobabble.

Whistling as usual, Bailey arrived one afternoon just as Harm was dozing off. He’d had a rough night, laying awake for hours after a truly brutal nightmare. Tired, grouchy and not in the mood for verbal swordplay, Harm tried in vain to get Bailey to leave him alone.

"I can’t do that," Bailey said gently. "It’s been nearly four weeks. You need to start talking about what happened to you."

"Don’t tell me what I need," Harm snapped.

"It’s my job to know what you need, Commander. If you won’t talk about the events themselves, then let’s explore how you felt about them instead."

"How the hell do you think I felt?" he demanded.

I imagine you felt pretty angry," Bailey replied calmly.

"Brilliant deduction! How much did it cost the navy to teach you how to figure that one out?"

"How about scared?" Bailey asked, ignoring his sarcasm. "Were you scared?"

Harm stared at him. "Yeah, I was. What does that tell you about my so-called scarred psyche?"

Bailey shrugged. "It tells me you’re normal. I’d be a hell of a lot more worried about you if you’d said you weren’t scared. You know, if it had been me going through what you did, I’d probably be feeling degraded, too. Was it a degrading experience, Commander?"

Harm spun away from him, unwilling to answer that one, even to himself.

"I would have felt violated, powerless." Bailey’s voice dropped to a low volume. "Did you feel that way, Harm?"

Rage blasted away all other emotion. Harm spun on the man. "No! I did not! I’ve been trained in how to respond in the event of capture. If you’d seen so much as one second of combat, Commander, you’d know that!"

Bailey’s tone continued in that same maddeningly quiet, calm cadence. "Cdr. Rabb, I have seen combat, and I’m one of the people who designed the training program you went through. It’s based on the fact that a normal human being will feel any or all of these things in a hostile situation. If you felt inadequate and powerless against your captors, all it means is—"

"If I felt that way, all it would mean is that I was powerless!" Harm was virtually screaming now, but he didn’t care.

Bailey sat back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. "Exactly. Thank you for making my point for me."

Harm stared at him. Impotent rage turned his voice cold, low and hard. "You son of a bitch. You manipulated me. You’re as bad as they are! Quit messing with my head!"

Very slowly, exuding a calm that was unavoidably infectious, Bailey rose to his feet. "Harm, I didn’t do anything of the sort. All I did was ask some questions that made you think about how you feel. I didn’t put words in your mouth, you did, and it’s about time."

Without another word, he left the room. Harm stared after him, feeling the familiar draining as the adrenaline flowed from his system.

How did Bailey do that? It was as though he’d reached into Harm’s mind and pulled out things he didn’t even know were there. How the hell did he know?

That night, Harm woke up screaming.

It was happening so often now, he’d started keeping a bottle of water beside the bed to ease his raw throat. The worst part was, he could never remember the dream itself, only the deep, grating terror that hung on long after he awoke.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he fumbled in the dark for the water bottle. He took a long swallow then dampened a corner of the sheet to wipe the sweat off his brow. Flopping onto his back, he closed his eyes, knowing it would be hours before he got back to sleep, if at all.

Mac was always telling him to give himself time, but it was beginning to feel like all the time in the world wasn’t going to be enough. True, the flashbacks had stopped, but as soon as they had, the blasted nightmares got worse!

Cdr. Bailey said it was just his unconscious mind working things through when his conscious mind refused to deal with them. What a load of hogwash!

In all his years in the navy, Harm had been to hell and back more than once. He’d survived dumping a Tomcat in a freezing, storm-tossed ocean, missile strikes, knife fights, gun battles and more. Hell, he’d even stepped on a land mine and lived to tell about it. Mac had saved his bacon on that one, lugging in an ammo box to replace his weight on the pressure sensitive mine.

Mac had saved his six on more than one occasion and, truth be told, she’d done it again. She just didn’t know it yet. He might have a few screws loose, but he was alive. If he hadn’t had her memory to hold onto through the endless days and weeks in that pit, he might not be here at all.

He needed to tell her that. He needed to tell her a lot of things. He just didn’t know how.

The following weeks saw an achingly slow improvement. Harm’s greatest relief came as the nightmares began to ease. As his mood improved, he was finally moved off the "cracker-jack ward", as he’d started calling it, and onto one of the standard rehab wards. At last, he saw an end to the locked doors and constant supervision.

Mac made sure she was on hand for the big move. She’d been going to see Harm every chance she got lately. Unlike the early days of his hospital stay, he seemed to enjoy her company again. He almost always greeted her with a big smile and lately, she got the feeling he was trying to think up ways to extend her visits.

As he stowed his few belongings, she went to close the door. "No, leave it open," he said quickly. "I don’t think I’ll ever close my door again!"

Mac chuckled, understanding how he must have felt. "So, now that you’ve got the run of the place, what do you want to do?"

He stuffed the last of his things in the night table drawer and turned quickly. He flashed her a grin. "Something I’ve been wanting to do for ages. Go outside!"

They stepped out into the sunshine a few minutes later, strolling out to the carefully manicured grounds. Harm was still moving a little stiffly and Mac slowed her gait to accommodate him. As they walked, his hand brushed hers, then tentatively closed around her fingers. The gesture startled her, but it also filled her with joy. She squeezed very gently, sending him a silent message. He could hang onto her for as long as he wanted.

Meandering along a path beneath an honor guard of huge oak trees, they walked in silence for several minutes. "So," he said finally, "I’m starting to think about what I might do when I get out of here."

"Really?" She was afraid to say more. He was still determined to leave the navy and as much as that prospect frightened her, she had made up her mind to be supportive.

"Yeah. I thought about becoming a flying instructor. I might even open a school."

"That could be interesting," she offered. "You’ve got ‘Sarah’ to use as a trainer."

He nodded. "But I’ve got a buddy who has a bush-plane business out in Oregon. He flies tourists in and out of remote lakes. He’s been bugging me to come out and see the operation. I’m thinking I just might do that."

"You mean join him in the business?"

"Uh-huh."

Mac’s steps faltered. Oregon was clear across the country! She’d never considered the fact that if he left the navy, she might never see him again. The thought brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her. She tried desperately to hide it, but he stopped, looking down at her with concern. "What’s the matter?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly.

"Doesn’t look like nothing to me," he replied. Tugging on her hand, he led her to a bench under one of the trees. "I upset you, didn’t I, talking about leaving."

"Harm, I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want. I wouldn’t even try. If you think being a bush pilot in Oregon is what you need to do, then I’m behind it one hundred percent."

"It would mean leaving you, and that does bother me, but..." He pushed a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. "Hell, I don’t know what I want." He suddenly pushed to his feet. "Belay that. I do know. I want to get out of here, just for a little while."

As though someone had thrown a switch, he was suddenly full of animation, his eyes glowing brightly as he grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. "Come on, let’s run away! Just for a couple of hours. We’ll go find an ice cream shop or something."

Mac laughed, but it was more to cover her unease at the abrupt shift in his mood. "Harm, we can’t! You’re not allowed to leave the grounds, and you know it."

"So what? No one will miss us for a little while. When was the last time you played hooky, Mac?"

"Marines don’t play hooky," she replied, only partly teasing. "And neither do naval officers, at least not the good ones." She tugged on his hand, pulling him back a step. "And you are one of the good ones, Harm."

"I used to be," he said softly, "but not anymore. It’s gone, Mac. It’s all gone. I used to be able to look inside and line up all the things I used to define myself, but they’re just not there anymore. Duty, honor, the sense of purpose that kept me going when nothing else could. It’s all gone!"

There was such anguish in his eyes, Mac couldn’t stop the tears that welled up. "I know," she whispered, "I know." She stepped closer. "But that doesn’t mean they won’t ever be there again. Give yourself some time, Harm. Please, for your own sake. Don’t make any quick decisions. You don’t know how you’re going to feel in a couple more months."

He startled her by skimming his hands down the length of her arms then capturing her hands. He lifted and folded them between his own, holding them against his chest. For a long, long moment, his eyes searched her face. "They kept me buried in a hole in the ground," he whispered. "With only a two-foot wide grate above my head. It was too small to stand up or lay down in. All I could do was sit, with my knees stuck up under my ears. People walking by threw scraps of food and...other things...in through the grate."

Mac didn’t know why he was suddenly telling her all of this, but she didn’t speak, didn’t move. She was afraid to even breathe for fear of breaking the spell. It was the first time he’d told her anything about what happened to him.

"I don’t know how long I was in there, but the whole time, I kept seeing your face. A couple of times, I thought you were actually there with me, but most of the time I knew it was just a memory and I made up my mind I was going to get out of there and come back so I could see your face for real again."

With trembling fingers, he reached out, drawing his fingertips across her cheek in a feather-soft caress. "Whatever I decide to do, I still want you in my life, Mac. I need you in my life."

She caught his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek. "And I’ll be there," she whispered. "I’ll always be there."

Long after Mac left that afternoon, her words continued to echo in Harm’s mind. Her unwavering strength and support confounded him sometimes. It didn’t seem to matter what he threw at her, she was always there for him. She always had been.

For as long as he’d known her, Mac had been a stable force in his life, an anchor that kept him grounded when life seemed to be flying apart around him. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d come to depend on that – on her.

Somehow, he doubted Tim was going to get a business partner after all. Harm just couldn’t see himself leaving here, leaving Mac. But he couldn’t see himself back in uniform, either, so where did that leave him?

He didn’t have an answer to that one.

Weeks later, when he was finally released from the hospital, he still didn’t have an answer to his question. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and the feeling was overwhelmingly terrifying. He’d never felt like this before. For as long as he could remember, back even before his father disappeared, Harm had known exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

Determined not to let the indecision swamp him, he forced himself to be content to just drift awhile longer. He was still on indefinite medical leave. There was no rush.

He continued outpatient therapy, both physical and psychological, at the hospital and in between, worked on getting back into a normal routine again. He’d missed his customary morning run, but when he tried to resume it, he quickly found out just how far he was from being back to normal. He could barely manage three miles at a slow jog.

The road back was proving a lot longer and steeper than he’d figured on, but it wasn’t insurmountable. He’d get there, he was sure of that. The only problem was, he didn’t know where there was.

After two weeks at home, waking up in his own bed was beginning to feel normal again. The nightmares still plagued him, but he didn’t think he was screaming loud enough to bother the neighbors. At least, no one complained.

Rolling over and stretching, he glanced at the clock, then did a double take. It was almost eight o’clock in the freakin’ morning! He hadn’t slept this late since he was out of diapers! Rolling out of bed, he stumbled down the stairs, intent on nothing more than getting some caffeine into his blood.

Before he even made it to the kitchen counter, the phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he diverted and grabbed the cordless in the living room.

"Cdr. Rabb, it’s Lt. Roberts."

"Hey, Bud!" Suddenly, Harm didn’t mind the interruption quite so much. Bud was one of the people he missed the most from work. "How’s it going?"

"Not bad, sir. How about you?"

"It’s going, Bud. How’s Harriet and AJ?"

"They’re both great, sir. I swear AJ’s growing taller every day."

"I’ll bet he is," Harm replied with a grin. Bud’s total captivation with his son was infectious.

"You can see for yourself on Saturday, sir. I’m calling to invite you to Harriet’s birthday party."

Harm’s smile evaporated. He’d had visits from individual members of the JAG staff, but he hadn’t been together in the same room with all of them since...before. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. They’d all be asking when he was coming back, and he wasn’t ready to make a general announcement yet. He wanted to find the right time to tell each of them in his own way.

"Cdr. Rabb, are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I don’t know about the party, Bud. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try, okay?"

There was a slight pause, and Harm could clearly envision the frown wrinkling Bud’s brow. "All right, sir, but we’d love to see you."

"I know. I’ll try. Thanks for the invitation."

On her way to check some case files, Mac nearly ran into Bud as he came out of his office. He was frowning. "What’s the matter, Bud?"

"Ma’am, excuse me. I didn’t see you." He paused, then heaved a sigh. "Colonel, did I just make a mistake?"

"I don’t know. What did you do?"

"I called Cdr. Rabb to invite him to Harriet’s birthday party. He said he’d try to make it, but I got the feeling he really doesn’t want to come."

Mac saw the hurt on Bud’s round, expressive face. "Aw, Bud, no, you didn’t make a mistake. It was very nice of you to think of inviting him. He’s probably feeling a little awkward, that’s all. You wait and see. I’ll bet you he shows up."

"Well, I guess we’ll see, ma’am, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t hold my breath." With a slight shrug, Bud continued on his way. Mac retraced her steps to her office, grabbing the phone. Harm was going to go to that party if it killed her!

When Harm’s phone rang not fifteen minutes after Bud’s call, he had a pretty good idea who was calling, and he wasn’t disappointed. "Hi, it’s Mac."

"Morning," he greeted, still working on his first cup of coffee.

"Harm, Bud just told me he invited you to Harriet’s party and you blew him off."

"I did not blow him off," he replied defensively. "I told him I’d try."

"And he saw right through that old line. Give the guy some credit, all right? He’s not stupid. What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go?"

Harm sighed. "I don’t know. Part of me wants to...."

"Then that’s the part I’ll pick up on Saturday. Be ready by thirteen-hundred."

Before he could argue further, she hung up. Harm stared at the phone for a moment before slowly setting it down. He thought about calling her back and telling her no, but he knew how perilous it could be to get in the way of that Marine when she got up a full head of steam. It looked like he was going to the party after all.

An unfamiliar nervousness bouncing around inside him, Harm followed Mac to Bud and Harriet’s door. She rang the bell and the door opened a moment later. Bud grinned at him. "Commander! I’m glad you could make it." He turned to Mac. "Afternoon, Colonel. Come on in. Things are just getting started. Drinks are in the kitchen, snacks on the table."

Harm continued to follow Mac as she made her way into the kitchen. He couldn’t quite believe he could be this uncomfortable around people he knew so well. They all kept stopping him to say hello, wish him well, or tell him they missed him, but no one asked the dreaded question. He glanced at Mac, chatting with Harriet near the sink. Had she told them?

No, she wouldn’t do that, but he was betting she’d told them not to pressure him about it. Part of him was grateful for it, but another part felt guilty as hell for putting her in a spot like that. He added this to the very long mental list of things he needed to thank her for.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, Harm lost a lot of his initial discomfort, but as the various conversations going on all over the apartment gradually shifted to work-related topics, he realized how little he now had in common with these people. They still shared the bond, the sense of family that came from serving together. He remembered how it felt, that shared sense of purpose, but he couldn’t summon it, no matter how hard he tried. Despite everyone’s best efforts to include him, he was a stranger now, on the outside looking in.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Setting his wine glass aside, he went in search of Mac. He found her in the kitchen, talking to the admiral. "Excuse me, Admiral, but I need to speak to the colonel for a moment."

"No problem," the admiral said with a smile. "I was just on my way to find some more of those cheese crackers."

Harm turned to Mac as soon as the admiral was out of ear-shot. "Mac, I’m going to go. I’ll take a cab. You stay and enjoy yourself."

"I don’t think so, mister," she replied firmly. "If you really want to go, I’ll drive you home, but is something wrong?"

"No, I just..." He knew how loudly she’d protest if he tried to tell her he just didn’t feel like he belonged here. "I guess I’m just tired."

She looked at him, as if decided whether to argue, but after a moment, she set her glass of soda aside. "Come on, then. I’ll drive you home."

He protested all the way down to the street, but she refused to even consider letting him take a cab. Once they were in the car, she turned to him. "Now, want to tell me what the real problem is?"

"Not really," he said honestly.

With a tilt of her head, she started the car. "Okay, but you’re not going home to sit there alone and brood. How about coming over to my place?"

"Aw, Mac, no. I dragged you away from the party. I’m not going to tie up your evening too. You can come back here after you drop me off if you want."

"What I want, flyboy, is to make sure you’re all right. Now, come on over for a little while. One of my neighbors gave me a bottle of wine for looking after her cat. She doesn’t know I don’t drink but I didn’t want to offend her, so it’s been sitting in my cupboard ever since. You can have a drink and just relax."

"How do you do that?" he asked abruptly.

"Do what?"

"Keep a bottle in the house like that and not...you know..."
She shrugged. "Actually, it’s not hard. I really don’t have any desire to drink anymore. I know what it almost did to me. I’d have to be crazy to want to go there again. But I don’t mind if you drink, and you know it."

Sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, Harm let the warmth surround him. Only part of it came from the small fire glowing in front of him. Some of it came from inside, from the relaxing effects of the wine, but most of it came from the gentle but unwavering support he got from the woman beside him.

Reluctantly, he set his glass aside. "I should go. It’s getting late."

"It is not," she countered with a soft smile. "It’s only ten-thirty-nine."

He gazed at her for a long moment. "Man, I wish I could do that."

"What?"

"Keep track of time like that. I sure could have used it in that cell. They used to cover up the grate, sometimes for days or weeks. It was constantly dark and I lost all track of time." He glanced at the fire and got caught up in watching the dancing flames. "No, it was more than that. Time just stopped altogether. I didn’t know if it was day or night. Those words didn’t have any meaning anymore."

He hesitated a long time and Mac got the feeling he was no longer talking to her directly. She said nothing, but slid her hand into his. He clasped it tightly and went on in a low, rough voice. "I... There was no past or future. Life was only second by second. My entire existence was just a single heartbeat at a time."

He turned to her abruptly, squeezing her hand so hard it hurt. "It was all part of their plan."

"What plan?" she whispered.

"The plan to break me down. When I was first captured, they acted like they needed to get information out of me fast, as though I might be rescued at any moment. That went on for days, but then they started to slow down. I know now that they were just giving me false hope so they could tear it down a piece at a time, tear me down a piece at a time.

"After about a week, they acted like they had all the time in the world. Sometimes, I didn’t see anyone for days, then they’d haul me up by my wrists and interrogate me. When I wouldn’t cooperate, they’d pull me up higher, up into the blazing hot sun and leave me there, hanging over the pit."

Mac tried to swallow, but her throat had gone completely dry. The pain in Harm’s voice didn’t come from the memory of his physical discomfort. She could tell that from the devastated look on his face.

"Sometimes, guards would take a swipe at the rope with knives or swords as they went by, as though they were going to cut me down, but they didn’t. Not right away. They left me hanging there till I...begged them to cut the ropes."

Mac was fighting back tears now, knowing what it must have done to him to beg. He was a proud, stubborn man – frustratingly so at times. He hated to show any kind of weakness. Begging that way would have stolen something very precious from him.

"When they did finally cut the ropes and I fell back into the pit, they’d cover it up and leave me again. Once, they dropped me from so high I hit my head and passed out. When I came to, everything was dark. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening. I...I thought I was...dead. I could hear voices above me, but no one answered when I shouted. I thought I heard...your voice, Mac. I thought you were...."

He hesitated, gazing at her with a pain so great it stabbed into her own heart. "What did you think?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I...thought you were...standing above me...on my grave."

"Oh, Harm!" She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and neither could he. His words came out in a rush, pouring from him as fast as he could get them out.

"Mac, I just about gave in then. When they dragged me out of there again and I realized where I was, all I could think about was making them stop, but they wouldn’t. They kept at me and at me, no matter what I did, they wouldn’t stop. They wanted information I didn’t have, but if I’d had it...Dear God, Mac, I’d have given it to them! I would have done anything to make them stop! They won! The bastards won!"

He came apart completely then. Mac threw her arms around him at the same instant that he reached for her. He clung to her, sobbing, trembling violently from head to toe. "How could I let them win? I should have been stronger! I should have been able to take it!"

Mac couldn’t answer him right away. She was crying too hard herself.

For his sake, she pulled herself together quickly. Moving away slightly, she brushed his hair back – it was getting so long now – and lifted his chin so he would look at her. "Harm, listen to me. The men who interrogated you may have been crude and unsophisticated, but the ones guiding them weren’t. They’re ruthless, well-trained masters of manipulation. Do you understand? It wasn’t your fault! Every man has his breaking point, and they’re trained to find it."

He just looked at her, tears streaming down his face. In his eyes, she could see the reflection of his tattered soul. Feeling her own heart beginning to shred, she leapt to her feet, grabbing his hands and pulling him up with her. She had to get through to him!

"Listen to me," she implored. "You didn’t do anything wrong. You did what you were trained to do. You survived!"

"Only because of you," he said in a strangled whisper. "Even when I started to give in, they wouldn’t leave me alone. I was coming apart at the seams. I needed something to hold onto, something to remind me there was another life, something beyond the pain, the cold and the heat, the hunger and thirst." He stroked her face with shaking fingers. "I hung on to you!"

He pulled her into an embrace so strong, so desperate, it drove the breath from her lungs, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around him and held him just as tightly. He was sobbing again, and this time, she let him cry it out. This had been a long time coming and he needed it desperately.

What seemed like hours later, he finally drew away, collapsing in a heap on the couch. Hurrying into the bathroom, she grabbed a cool damp cloth and brought it to him. Sitting down beside him, she started to gently wipe the tears away. He took the cloth from her and scrubbed harder, dragging the cloth across his cheeks and down his neck.

He finally threw it aside and flopped back against the couch, tipping his head back. She let him rest for a few more minutes, but she couldn’t resist the urge to stroke the hair off his forehead. His eyes opened and he turned to look at her, but didn’t raise his head. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

She was genuinely shocked. "For what?"

He waved a hand in the air. "For all of this. I don’t think your job description includes dealing with an ex-partner blubbering like a baby in your arms."

Mac’s own tears threatened to well up again. "Where you’re concerned, my job description has always included being a shoulder to cry on." She gave him a tiny smile. "This time, it just happened to be literally."

He gave a single, humorless bark of laughter. "No kidding."

Now he was starting to piss her off. "Damn it, Harm, you are not invincible! You feel things, just like any other human being. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to show it? You always keep things locked up inside you."

"Well I sure as hell didn’t tonight."

"No, and I’m glad! You needed this!"

For a moment, his eyes searched her face. "I guess I did," he admitted slowly. He swallowed, sitting up, his eyes flaring with an intense glow. "There’s something else I need, Mac."

"Name it."

"I...I don’t want to be alone tonight. I just need..."

His voice trailed off, the sentence unfinished, but to Mac, it was finished. He just needed.

Settling herself into a corner of the couch, she caught his shoulder and guided him down till his head was in her lap. Wrapping one arm around his shoulders, she stroked his hair with her other hand. "Go to sleep, Harm. I’ll be here for as long as you need me."

Part 2