Title: "The Sweetness and the Sorrow"

Author: Sooz

E-mail: sooz9009@aol.com

Rating: PG-13 for language, adult situations

Classification: Romance, angst (H/M)

Spoilers: Anything up through "Hail and Farewell"

Disclaimer: Not mine, non-profit.

Summary: Harm helps Mac cope with a devastating illness. In the process, they find themselves bridging the divide.

Author's Notes: This tale is based on my own experiences with loved ones, and on the best research I could manage without getting paid for it. Everyone's experience with these issues is different, and I certainly am not an expert on either medical or military matters. Please forgive me if anything here is upsetting to you, and read no further. It is meant to be a hopeful story, for the shipper soul and for the human spirit.

The Sweetness and the Sorrow

Friday, 2200 Hours EDT

Officers Club, United States Naval Academy

Annapolis, Maryland

Between one breath and the next, your life changes forever.

It's never a big event -- a wedding, a funeral, a retirement party. Ceremonies that mark the passages may linger in the memory, but the real changes happen silently, in the flick of an eye. A smile catches your heart; someone says yes instead of no. Or the glass shatters, the aneurysm bursts, the car skids out of control on a patch of ice -- and just like that, everything is different.

For Harm, it was one word. Cancer.

In that one instant, everything froze. Time, heartbeat, sound. In that moment, there was only Mac. Her eyes, huge and black and fathomless.

Then her fingers tightened around his, and he started breathing again. He laid his right hand over hers and swallowed the icy ball of panic rising in his throat. "They're sure?"

She nodded slowly. "It wasn't my back at all." She tried a smile. "Thanks to you, they caught it very early. Most of the time, ovarian cancer has almost no early symptoms. It's really very lucky."

He felt a bright burst of anger and instantly got a leash on it. "My God, Mac," he breathed.

In his eagerness to comfort her, to offer hope, to waste no more time claiming the future, he had blundered into it, hurt her even more. He looked away and tightened his grip on her hand. "What will they do?" he asked after a moment.

"They said I need a hysterectomy. Then they'll decide about chemotherapy or radiation." Her matter of fact tone didn't deceive him.

Sounds from the party slowly began filtering back into his awareness. Music, laughter, the tinkle of crystal and silver, the chuckling sounds of the Severn River lapping at the pier where they sat. He watched her pale face as she turned and stared out at the lights sparkling on the water. Saw her give a tiny sigh, saw how tired she was. A million questions clamored at the back of his throat, but all that could wait. For now, he wanted only to shield her from any more, just for tonight. For now, he was certain of only one thing -- that he would give anything to spare her pain.

And that from this moment, nothing would ever be the same.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes, until the bagpipes started up again inside. With a brief smile, Harm stood and held out his hand. "Ready?"

Mac rose and slipped her arm through his, and he drew her close to his side. She was relieved that he didn't commiserate. Harm would always be more comfortable taking action than discussing feelings, and she was surprised and grateful for his steady control, for the warmth of his big hand wrapped around hers.

She felt his solid strength beside her, felt the warmth of hard muscle and bone beneath the fine fabric of his sleeve, and drew comfort from it. In a whirlwind of emotion, she found one thought that gave her a solid place to plant her feet. He would always be there. She knew it as she knew her own name.

The bright lights and noise of the party engulfed them as they stepped through the doors, and Harm blinked, feeling as if he had returned from another galaxy. Unconsciously he tucked Mac a little closer against his side.

Harriet was clinking on a glass, and gradually the room quieted. "Ladies, officers, and gentlemen," she called out. "The guest of honor sends his sincere thanks and regards. The mess is dismissed." The music started up again as the guests turned to each other in a polite clamor of surprise.

"You guys staying?" Sturgis inquired.

Harm looked at Mac and saw her quick nod. "No, I think we'll call it a night," he answered. "You?"

"Nah, I'm here stag. I'm a little surprised that the Admiral sneaked out like that, aren't you?" He fell into step with them as they moved toward the entrance.

"He didn't sneak out, Sturg. He just hates sentimental goodbyes."

"I guess. At least I had a chance to thank him when he signed my last fit rep. You?"

Harm nodded. "Yeah." He stuck out his hand. "Well, good night."

Sturgis looked keenly at them both, taking in the way they stood arm in arm, and nodded. "You too. Goodnight, Mac."

"Sturgis," she nodded, and waited while Harm gave his ticket to the midshipman on parking duty. "I can take a cab home," she said.

"You're kidding, right?"

She returned his smile. "Okay. Thank you."

The Corvette pulled up sharply, and the midshipman jumped out and snapped to attention. "Good evening, sir, ma'am. Nice ride, sir," the boy grinned.

Harm lifted his eyebrow as he held the door for Mac. "Next time you peel rubber in my car will be your last, midshipman."

"Aye, aye *sir*!"

Mac was actually grinning when he got in and gunned the engine. "Did you peel a strip off that poor kid, too?" she asked. Harm merely snorted.

They were cruising down Route 50 toward D.C. when he glanced over. "Mac. Is there going to be a service for Webb?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Tomorrow, 11 a.m., in Great Falls."

"You're going?"

"Of course."

"Want to go together?"

She turned to look at him. "Harm, I'll be okay."

"It's not that. I want to pay my respects. I owed him a lot."

She bit her lip. "I'd like to go with you, thanks."

When they got to Georgetown, he double parked and walked her to the door, leaving the Corvette's flashers on. "I'll pick you up at 0930, okay?" he said as she unlocked the door to the lobby.

"I'll be ready." She paused and looked up at him, taking in the veiled pain in his stern expression. "Harm. About what you said tonight -- about our deal." He winced, and she laid light fingers on his chest, above the rows of medals, above the gold wings. "You couldn't have known. And it meant a lot to me. Thank you."

He wondered which was worse -- her assumption that he was merely trying to be kind, or the realization that she was being kind in return. He brushed a quick kiss across her cheekbone, light as air. "Get some rest, okay?"

She gave him a tired smile and turned to go in, suddenly needing to be alone.

* * *

Part Two

Saturday, 1320 EDT

Great Falls, Virginia

The house was enormous.

Mac leaned back, running her eyes over the beautiful half-timbered edifice that slumbered among the huge old trees and manicured grounds. "Wow," she said.

Harm took her hand as she stepped from the Corvette. The bright red sports car stood out like a flag among all the sedate SUVs and sedans parked along the shady, private street. "You've never been here?" he asked.

She shook her head, awash in the weird feeling of unreality that had floated around her all morning. The Anglican service at the quiet old church; the elegant men who spoke of Clayton at prep school, at Harvard, on the Olympic Team; the tent in the cemetery, surrounded by a well-bred throng of polite mourners. The mahogany casket with its brass handles, topped by a simple spray of orchids.

She saw no one from the Agency, at least no one she recognized, and nothing seemed to have anything to do with the Clay she knew.

And all the while, Harm had been beside her, steady as a rock, saying little. Now she took his arm and paced beside him along the mossy brick walk to the door. "When were you here?" she asked. Then she remembered. "Oh. That time."

He nodded and reached for the heavy paneled door, only to have it swing open. A butler bowed them inside, looking distant and correct. It wasn't the same Agency guy as five years ago, Harm noted.

Mac breathed in the smell of old polished wood in the lofty entrance hall. "Mrs. Webb is receiving in the drawing room, madam," the butler said, and she followed Harm, glad that he seemed to know the way.

She nearly sank up to her ankles in a vast Aubusson carpet. Groups of elegant people were gathered here and there, chatting quietly, clutching drinks in crystal glasses. Harm led her to the line of visitors waiting to speak to the slim figure clad in black, who stood alone at the fireplace. An oil painting of the house hung over the mantel, and a concert Steinway stood to one side, covered with family photographs in silver frames. Mac felt a lump in her throat at a portrait of Clay wearing hunting pinks, caught at the apex of a jump on a big chestnut horse.

Porter Webb, regally composed, nodded to Mac with a gracious inclination of her head, but when she saw Harm, her eyes brightened. "Commander Rabb," she smiled, taking his hand. "It's good to see you again. Thank you for coming."

"I wish it could be under different circumstances, ma'am. This is Sarah Mackenzie."

Webb's mother had skin like delicate porcelain, cracked with a million tiny wrinkles where it stretched across her elegant bones. In the fiery intelligence of her deep set eyes, Mac recognized a glimmer of Clay.

"Ah. I see you found her, Commander," Porter said, extending her slender hand to Mac. There was no trace of recognition in her polite smile.

"How do you do, Mrs. Webb," Mac said, returning the delicate handshake.

Porter put her head on one side. "I believe you worked with Clayton a year ago, didn't you?"

Mac felt her lips go numb with shock, and she had to moisten them before she replied, "Yes, I did. Clay was a very special man, Mrs. Webb. I will always be glad I knew him."

"He was fortunate to have friends and colleagues like you and Commander Rabb," Porter said with a brittle smile, and turned to the next person in line.

The light touch of Harm's hand at her back steered Mac toward the dining room, where an imposing mahogany table was set with Spode and silver. Caterers were setting out platters of sliced beef tenderloin, chilled asparagus, and beaten biscuits. A silver coffee service gleamed on the massive sideboard.

"Hungry?" Harm asked.

"No," Mac said faintly. "You go ahead."

A uniformed maid with a crisp white apron stopped before them, offering a tray of Bloody Marys and Screwdrivers. Harm asked for ginger ale, and after a few minutes, another servant brought two glasses on a silver salver.

Ignoring the buffet, Harm gestured to the French doors and followed Mac outside to the terrace. It was cool and shady and surrounded by late-blooming azaleas in banks of magenta, salmon and white.

She sat on the low stone wall, grateful for the shade. Harm twitched the seam of his trousers and lowered himself beside her, taking her hand with a gesture that had already become automatic. She stared down at their entwined fingers, thinking that 24 hours ago this would have been awkward between them.

"You okay?" he asked again.

"I guess so," she replied, feeling hollow. "What did she mean, 'you found her?' "

He squinted, looking away. "I called her when you went to Paraguay. I thought she might be able to put me in touch with you."

They sat quietly for awhile, not talking. Mac watched the patterns of shade shifting across the flagstones and smoothed her skirt where it lay against the balustrade. Finally she said, "Webb and I dated for almost a year, and he never even mentioned it to her." She inclined her head toward the house.

Harm was silent.

After a moment she went on, speaking almost to herself. "We really cared for each other, you know. And a part of him wanted to come in from the cold. I think he thought I could help him with that." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "But Clay kept his life in little compartments. He couldn't bear to let anyone really know him."

"I'd say you had him pegged pretty well, Mac."

She looked around, taking in the elegant surroundings. "Well, I certainly would never fit into this compartment," she said. The familiar sense of not measuring up, of not being good enough, tugged at her, a hollow echo.

Harm frowned and said curtly, "You'd fit in anywhere, Mac." He hesitated before asking quietly, "Did you want to?"

She sighed, and felt some of the sadness go with it. "No," she said, relieved to know it was true.

His clear, expressive eyes studied her, whole and complete. Then he nodded once, decisively, and squeezed her hand.

She waited, then brushed a light fingertip across his cheekbone, noting with concern the blue shadows beneath his eyes, the faint lines of fatigue radiating from the corners. "Did you get any sleep at *all*?" she whispered.

"Not really. You didn't, either." It wasn't a question. His hand tightened on hers. "Mac, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Okay," she said with caution, recognizing his tone. This was the Rabb full court press.

"I spent the night reading on the Internet," he began. "There are two NIH comprehensive cancer centers in the area, the Kimmel Center at Johns Hopkins and the Lombardi Center at Georgetown, right around the corner from your place. Mac, they're the best in the country. Navy doctors are good, but the equipment and procedures aren't state of the art. The doctor you saw was what, an internist? Georgetown has people who specialize in gynecological oncology." He frowned at her. "I want you to get a second opinion. It's only prudent."

"Now there's a word I never thought I'd hear coming from you," she stalled.

"Mac" –

"As a matter of fact, the doctor agrees with you. She consulted with the oncology people at Bethesda, and they arranged a referral to Georgetown."

"When?"

"I have an appointment on Monday at 1330."

"May I come with you?"

"Harm, you have to prepare to transition the new Admiral on Tuesday, and I won't be able to help. You won't have time" –

"I'll make time."

"I can take care of myself. I don't want you getting in any more hot water because of me!"

"I know you can cope, Mac. But nobody should have to go through what you're facing alone. *I* don't want to face it alone, and I'll be going through it too, every step of the way, whether you like it or not."

Her anger welled up, a familiar refuge. "Why? Nobody's asking you to be Superman this time, Harm!"

"Because you matter to me, God damn it!" His eyes flashed.

She opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out. Somewhere a door opened and shut, and she realized more people were drifting onto the terrace, carrying plates and glasses and chatting quietly, sending a few incurious glances their way.

A firestorm of emotions had swept over them and departed, leaving them shaken and silent in the aftermath. Mac let out a tense breath.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Okay," he said, not making a big deal out of it. "So -- ready to go?" She nodded, and he hurried on, "Look, how about coming over for dinner tonight? I'll warn you, Mattie's cooking. I've been giving her lessons, but this is her first solo effort."

"Oh Harm. Don't you want to have some time with her, just the two of you?"

"Nah, she told me to ask you. Besides, I told her you'd eat anything."

She gave him a look as he offered her a hand and pulled her up. "Anything, huh? Just for that, I won't bring dessert."

"That's okay, I think she's baking a cake. The apartment may have burned down by the time we get back."

Together they went inside to make their farewells to Clay's mother.

End Part Two

* * *

Part Three

That night, 1800 Hours EDT

North of Union Station

With her hand raised to knock, Mac paused and listened to the upbeat blues coming through the door. The lonesome sound of Harm's guitar was the only sound she had heard on this threshold for a long time – Eric Clapton made a nice change. The music was so loud it rattled the hinges. Things sure had gotten livelier around here.

How many times have I knocked on this door, she wondered. Every time trouble hits, this is where I turn, like a compass pointing north. And no matter how things have stood between us, Harm has been there for me. She wondered now, with a faint sense of unease, how often she been there for him.

She squared her shoulders and rapped smartly on the scarred metal, hoping they could hear it. Harm's voice called out, and a moment later the decibel level went down and he threw open the door. "Hey, Mac," he grinned. "Come on in."

"I brought ice cream," she said, holding up a brown paper sack.

"Excellent idea," Harm said sotto voce as he closed the door.

"Hey, Mac!" Mattie waved from behind the island.

"Hi, Mattie," Mac smiled. "Wow, looks like you've been working all day." Every pot and pan in the kitchen appeared to be stacked around the sink.

Mattie blew a curl out of her eyes and grinned. "Nope, just this afternoon. But everything's almost ready."

"So what are we having?" Mac asked with interest as she slipped onto one of the stools and leaned on her elbows. "It smells great." Harm pulled a bottle of tonic water from the fridge, filled a glass with ice, and added a slice of lemon, and she looked up with a quick smile of thanks as he handed it to her.

"Vegetarian lasagna," Mattie announced proudly. "It's Harm's favorite, but don't worry, there's meat sauce for us. And I made salad and garlic bread. And lemon meringue pie."

"Wow," Mac said, eyeing the splattered mess on the stove top. "I'm impressed. My idea of cooking is opening a can. Or for special occasions, I call Chez Louis."

"I know, I totally lived on pizza for about six months last year," Mattie confided. "Harm was really grossed out."

"So are you mostly a vegetarian, too?" Mac asked, catching Harm's raised eyebrow.

"Not really, I mean, not *all* the time. I like to eat healthy, but let's get real," Mattie grinned. "Kinda like with this music," she tossed over her shoulder as she edged her way toward the CD player. Mac laughed.

"Hey, Slowhand is the master," Harm said indignantly.

"Harm, he's like a hundred and ten," Mattie said disdainfully, popping out the tray and inserting another disc. "Now this" -- music pounded from the speakers, accompanied by a singer wailing -- "*this* is great. Come on, Mac, you think this is hot, don't you?" Mattie began dancing around the living room until Harm turned down the volume. "Oh, come on!" she teased, grabbing his arm. He held her away with one hand and she wrestled playfully for the CD he held up. "Not that old stuff, no way!" she giggled.

Soft jazz piano filled the loft with a cascade of silvery notes. "Not a chance, Mats," Harm grinned. "Marcus Roberts is *not* old, he's great."

"Ugh," Mattie announced with a theatrical sigh. "You are so hopelessly square."

"Hey, someone has to expose you to the finer things in life."

With a sly grin, Mattie tossed her head and gave him a hip check as she brushed by. Harm laughed, bumping back, and Mattie giggled and hugged him. "Okay, okay," Harm said, "we'd better get the table set or we'll have to eat with our fingers."

"Talk about your finer things in life," Mattie grinned, gathering up silverware and napkins. Carefully she straightened the vase of daisies in the center of the table and lighted the candles while Harm filled glasses with water and ice.

"May I help?" Mac asked, watching Harm and Mattie with a funny little pang. Somewhere along the line, these two had become a family.

"Nope, thanks, got it covered," Mattie said briskly. "Harm, would you get the salt and pepper shakers?” Mac watched in fascination as Mattie tossed greens in a large bowl and filled three salad plates. They even had a routine down.

Harm held Mac's chair, and Mattie pulled a baking dish from the oven and set it on a brass trivet on the table with a flourish.

"Don't forget the bread," Harm reminded her, and Mattie grabbed the potholders and pulled out a loaf wrapped in foil. "Ta da!" she announced as she slid it onto a plate and carried it to the table. Harm held her chair, then seated himself.

"Would the chef like to serve?" he asked.

Mattie waited tensely as they took the first taste. "This is wonderful, Mattie," Mac gave her a warm smile.

Mattie relaxed. "Thanks," she said shyly. "Harm helped me. I mean, he sort of coached."

"You did great," Harm smiled.

While they ate, Mac let her encompassing anxiety retreat as she watched the ebb and flow of quiet affection between Harm and Mattie, feeling herself enveloped in the quiet warmth around the candlelit table. He looks happy, she realized in wonder. Who would have thought? Then she remembered how soon this too would be taken from him, and felt her heart twist.

"So Mac, Harm says a Russian gypsy told his whole future," Mattie said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that really true?"

"Have you ever known Harm to lie?" Mac asked with a smile, but she was curious.

"No. Never," Mattie said staunchly, as if she thought Mac might be suggesting such a thing.

"Me neither. And I was there. Except it wasn't the future, it was the past."

Mattie looked skeptical. "Where were you guys, at a carnival or something?"

"Siberia," Mac began, watching Harm squirm. "The gypsies gave us a ride."

"Why?" Mattie asked warily, sure she was being set up.

"We were on leave," Harm said with a warning glare at Mac, whose eyes were sparkling with mischief, and he gave her a grin, glad to see her smile.

"But what *happened*?" Mattie demanded, looking from one to the other.

"That's classified," Mac laughed.

"Kind of like your tattoo," Harm teased.

"*You* have a tattoo?" Mattie turned to Mac, astonished.

"Don't let it give you any ideas," Harm said quickly.

"But" --

"Um, Mattie, is there something else in the oven?" Mac interrupted with an anxious glance at the stove.

"Oh, no!" Mattie cried, leaping up. When she opened the oven door, smoke poured into the kitchen and the alarm went off. "Harm!" she called.

He grabbed two oven mitts, pulled a dish from the oven, and set it on the stove. "Open the door to the fire escape, Mattie," he said in a calm voice, and she hurried to obey. Harm lifted the blackened pie and set it outside, and Mac hurried to open the door to the hall. Finally, Harm reached up and switched off the buzzer.

"Okay, no damage done," he said, waving a dish towel to help the smoke clear.

"Shit," Mattie muttered. "It's ruined. I'm sorry." She turned toward the door, obviously mortified, but Harm took two quick strides and caught her by the shoulders.

"Mattie, it's no big deal," he said.

"I fucked up," Mattie whispered furiously.

"Hey, hey."

"Sorry," she apologized, her face bright red.

Harm drew her aside, his arm around her shoulders, and Mac heard him say softly, "It's okay, honey."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"That oven always overheats, remember? And besides, what's the deal about mistakes?"

Mattie heaved a sigh. "They're the only way you learn anything." After a moment she gave Harm a tiny smile and turned to face Mac. "Guess it's a good thing you brought ice cream, huh?"

"Rum Raisin."

"Awesome," Mattie gave a grudging smile, and Harm closed the door.

Mac turned on the hot water in the sink. "I'm so full I couldn't eat dessert yet, anyway," she said. "How about if we clean up first?"

"Aw Mac, you don't have to wash the dishes," Harm began, reaching for a towel.

"Nope, no men allowed," she elbowed him aside. "Come on, Mattie, let's show him how it's done."

Mattie began rinsing plates, and Mac stacked them in the dishwasher. Harm cleared the table, and beneath the sound of the faucet Mattie asked, "Do you really have a tattoo?"

"Yes, I do. A souvenir of a seriously misspent youth. I'd get rid of it, but it's tiny."

"And well hidden?" Mattie said with a tiny smile.

Mac laughed. "Very."

Mattie began scraping gunk out of a pan. "A lot of kids are getting them now. But it's hard to picture you with one."

"I ran with a pretty rough crowd when I was your age," Mac said. "I was completely irresponsible."

"*You*?"

"Yes, me. It took both my uncle and the Marine Corps to straighten me out, and that didn't happen until I was out of high school." Mac said.

"I'm so lucky Harm came along," Mattie said. Mac nodded, listening. "I mean, it was great to have somebody help with money and school and stuff, but that's not what I mean. He was cool about it, you know? I love him a lot," she whispered fiercely.

"He loves you, too," Mac said.

"I know. That's why I'm so worried about him when I leave."

"Is that going to happen?" Mac asked cautiously.

Mattie sighed. "I don't know. My dad wants me to move back with him, and he needs me." She rinsed a dish and handed it to Mac to dry. "Harm says we can ask the judge to wait and decide about custody before school starts again. That way I can spend some time this summer with my dad, and see how it works out before I have to tell the judge what I want to do."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"I guess," Mattie said, sounding uncertain. "But Harm needs me, too."

"Harm wants what's best for you, Mattie," Mac said. "So does your dad. That's how you know if someone really loves you -- they put you first. And they tell you the truth." That stung. She thought of Webb, and abruptly she wondered if she had done any better herself.

"But I really love both of them," Mattie muttered.

"You can love more than one person, Mattie. You might love them in different ways, but there's plenty to go around." Mac began wiping down the counter.

"That's what Harm says, too," Mattie said. "You guys didn't talk about me, did you?"

"No, we didn't. He told me you and your dad are working it out, that's all."

Mattie rinsed the sink, glancing at Mac from the corner of her eye. "Harm's going to be pretty lonely when I leave," she said casually. "Maybe you could sort of, you know, keep him company sometimes."

"He's my best friend, Mattie. We'll keep each other company."

"Oh. Okay, then." Mattie shrugged, clearly at a loss, and made rather a business of hanging up the damp dishtowels.

"Anybody ready for ice cream?" Harm asked. He leaned against the island, his eyes warm on the two of them.

Mac smiled, "Okay, and how about some coffee?"

"Sounds good," Harm said, and switched on the coffee grinder. Mattie gave Mac a faint smile and reached for cups and spoons.

Mattie was oddly quiet while she ate her ice cream, and she excused herself as soon as she was finished. Mac settled back into the sofa cushions with her feet curled beneath her and sipped her coffee, and Harm dropped into the chair and leaned back with a sigh, legs stretched out.

"She's so special. I can see why you fell for her," Mac said. Harm was silent, staring at the fireplace, and she said softly, "And you're wonderful with her. She's a very lucky girl."

Harm shook his head. "I'm the lucky one, Mac."

"I'd forgotten how melodramatic teenage girls can be."

"Yeah, she has her moments. She hates to get anything wrong, and she's so driven to be super-responsible. I keep telling her it's okay to enjoy being a kid once in awhile."

"She's very bright. And mature for her age."

"She's something, isn't she?" he shook his head. "She really likes you."

Mac nodded. "She loves you, you know."

"And I love her."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," she said without thinking, and looked up, stricken. "Harm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I know," he said quietly, his eyes somber. "I didn't think I'd ever say it, either. Then Mattie came along, and she was in the same boat. I thought I was helping her, but she helped me instead. Before I knew it, she was inside." He looked away with a wry smile.

"I don't think it was an accident, Harm. You let her in."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. After a moment he said, "Look, Mattie and I are going out to Blacksburg tomorrow. I'd ask you to come along, but we're going to take Sarah up and then go see her father."

"I'll be fine. But thanks," she said.

He glanced away. "I didn't tell her about -- you know."

"I know. Thanks." She smiled and set down her cup. "I'm going to take off."

He started to argue and stopped, seeing how tired she was. He rose and walked her to the door.

She paused with a hand on the knob. "I had a good time tonight," she said, meeting his eyes. "It really helped take my mind off -- everything. Thank you."

"Hey, *you* brought the ice cream," he smiled. "Thank *you.*"

She rose on tiptoe and brushed a quick kiss on the side of his jaw. "Good night."

Harm stood in the lighted doorway looking after her.

* * *

Sunday, 2100 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

She answered the phone on the first ring. "Hi," she grinned.

"When did you get caller ID?" Harm teased.

"I knew it would be you. How did it go today?" She snuggled deeper under the covers, listening to his voice.

"Pretty well, considering. Mattie's a natural in a plane, Mac, she's amazing. Must be in her genes or something. You should see her, she loves it."

"So you had a good time?"

"Yeah, we did. The new owner of the airstrip seems to be keeping Sarah in shape."

"Well, that's good." She hesitated. "How was Tom?"

Harm sighed. "Okay. Tense, but not as bad as the last time I saw him. He and Mattie seem to share a lot of stuff about AA and Alateen that I don't know anything about." He sighed. "She's moving out there on Saturday."

"Do you think he can handle it?"

"Hard to tell. But he's trying hard."

"Is the house all right?"

"He's been keeping up the payments, if that's what you mean. It needs a lot of work." She could almost see him run his hand through his hair. "I don't know whether this is good for Mattie or not, Mac. There doesn't seem to be much going on in that town in the summer." Now she could hear the worry in his voice. "She says there's a softball league, and a friend got her a job as a counselor at the church day camp. I told her she can come into DC to visit."

"That's all you can do."

"I know." He sighed, and she waited. "So what did you do today?" he asked.

"I went for a long run in Rock Creek Park," she said. "I figured it might be my last chance for awhile." He was silent, and she hurried on, "It was good. I needed some time to try to get my head around everything."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it did. It's funny, I go along and everything seems just as usual, and then all of a sudden I remember, and it feels like a trapdoor falls open under me."

"I know what you mean. But we'll get through it, Mac."

"Not too many other options." Another long pause.

"Will you sleep tonight?"

"I'm sure going to try. You?"

"Planning on it. Well, look, sleep tight, okay? And Mac" –

"What, Harm?" she asked when he stopped.

"Thanks for listening," he said.

* * *

Monday, 1145 Hours EDT

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Throughout the morning, time had expanded and contracted like taffy, the minutes dragging and the hours flying by. Short on sleep, strung up tight as a drum, Mac managed to keep her weird sense of unreality at bay by focusing on tasks at hand. She organized her current cases and reassigned them, cleaned up her files, and completed every scrap of paperwork. Now she sat staring at her strangely neat office, her sense of disconnection stronger than ever.

"Is that the top of your desk?" Harm asked from the doorway.

"Apparently," she looked up with a smile, glad to see him leaning against the doorjamb.

"Wow. I've never seen it before," he teased.

"Go ahead, laugh it up. I wanted to be organized in case I have to be out for a few days."

He nodded with a quick frown. "We have time for lunch before we have to be at your appointment."

"Harm, you don't have to keep trying to cheer me up" --

"I'm not trying to cheer you up," he snapped, and stopped. "Sorry. But let's leave now and get something to eat."

"Can we stop at Beltway Burgers?" She laughed at the expression on his face. "Wow, you must be desperate. Relax, I'm too nervous to eat, so let's stop at that sushi place you like."

End Part Three

* * *

Part Four

That afternoon, 1330 Hours EDT

Lombardi Cancer Center, Georgetown University Hospital

Mac's fingers twisted in her lap. When he laid his hand over hers to still the fidgeting, they were ice cold.

"It's going to be okay, Mac," he told her firmly.

"For some reason, I feel like I have to take a final and I haven't studied," she said, looking jumpy as a cat. They had arrived 15 minute early, and she had already handed in the clipboard with her forms to the nurse behind the sliding glass panel.

"It'll be okay," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. "We'll find out what we have to deal with, and that will help."

She started to speak when the door opened abruptly, and she flinched and tightened her grip on his hand. "Mackenzie?" a nurse called out.

"Yes. Here," she gulped, and stood up, clutching her purse. Harm stood too, and the nurse raised an authoritarian hand. "Doctor will see Ms. Mackenzie first," she said. "Then he'll talk with both of you in his office. We'll call you," she said to Harm.

Harm bit back his impatience and gave Mac what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She tossed him a quick, meaningless nod and followed the nurse. The door shut with a click.

Doctor? Harm muttered to himself. Why do nurses always call them 'Doctor,' instead of 'the doctor'? As if it were an office instead of a noun?

He threw himself back into his seat in the row of uncomfortable chairs. They were covered in ugly brown fabric and bolted together, as if it were an airline terminal, for Chrissake. Now he remembered why he hated hospitals, hated doctors, and hated all the bullshit that accompanied them. Harm flung his arms across the seats on either side and crossed his legs restlessly. Take it easy, Hammer. You know how much you hate feeling out of control.

Thirty minutes later, he flung down a month-old issue of Sports Illustrated and glared at the nurse's window. The hell with patience, he thought. I'm gonna kill someone.

"Commander Rabb?" a shrill voice called out. A different nurse stuck her head around the door.

He jumped to his feet and followed her down a hallway carpeted in industrial beige. She gestured to an open door, and he entered to find Mac seated in front of a utilitarian desk in a small office. A window filled one wall, and the others were crowded with diplomas and books.

"Hey," he smiled, and sat beside her in the other guest chair. "Doing okay?"

"Okay," she nodded. Every line of her body was tense.

He started to say something when the door boomed open and a figure in a white coat burst in. "Hi, I'm Dr. Levine," the man announced, pumping Harm's hand before he could get up and bustling swiftly behind the desk, where he dropped into the chair and opened the folder he carried. With his short, crisply curling light grey hair and beard, the doctor resembled a lean, fit, kosher Santa Claus.

Levine looked up, and Harm felt a shock as the man's intelligent, ice blue gaze focused first on Mac, then on himself, then back to Mac. "Colonel Mackenzie, from my preliminary examination and review of your records, there is no doubt that we are dealing with an early-stage ovarian cancer. I know that's frightening to hear, so I want to stress one thing, first and foremost." He gazed at her intently. "We have caught it early. The long-term prognosis for patients like you is excellent, and it's getting better all the time."

Mac nodded once. "What happens now?"

Levine stared at her. "May I ask, do you plan to have children?"

Mac cleared her throat. "They told me that was no longer a possibility."

"Until fairly recently, total hysterectomy was always performed in these cases. But the most current research indicates there's no benefit when the tumor hasn't spread beyond one ovary. In younger women, we make every effort to preserve childbearing capacity. For one thing, it's an advantage not to add early menopause to all the other things we'll be dealing with."

Harm felt Mac's slim fingers slip into his, and he gripped them firmly.

Levine folded his hands on the desk. "The crucial thing is determining the precise stage of the cancer. Visual examination is just the first step, and it's imprecise. I'll want to see for myself that your tumor hasn't spread to the surface of your ovary or to any surrounding organs, or to the pelvic wall. There are additional tests and biopsies we'll want to perform, to catch any tumors too small to see with the scope, and we'll want to inject fluid into the pelvic cavity and examine it for any stray cancer cells. If your tumor is Stage One, which I think it is, we'll remove only the affected ovary and fallopian tube, leaving your uterus and other ovary intact. Following chemotherapy, if all goes well, you would certainly have a chance for a normal pregnancy in the future."

Mac's grip on Harm's hand was becoming painful. "They said I might not need chemotherapy," she said. "Doesn’t it make you sterile?"

"Not necessarily. Patients’ reactions to the drugs are very individual. The best current opinion, which I subscribe to, is that chemotherapy is absolutely essential. Without it, the rate of recurrence increases and your survival rate drops significantly. Sterility is always a possibility, as is damage to other organs, but we’ve come a long way with reducing the side effects."

"What is the survival rate for this type of cancer?" Mac asked steadily.

Levine leaned forward and said with great deliberation, "In Stage One-A, when cancer has not spread beyond the interior of one ovary, five-year survival is 90 percent. That's very good, and the thing to remember is that it's an average. You're young, and you're strong -- you're in incredible physical shape. You don't drink or smoke, and you have no other condition that would affect treatment. Your outlook is excellent."

Harm felt the air go out of his lungs. He swallowed and discovered he didn't trust himself to speak. He was awed by Mac's composure.

She said, "What if it's worse than One-A?"

Levine's eyes sharpened. Gotcha, Harm thought. You won't underestimate her again, doc.

"If it's One-B, which means it has spread to the surface of your ovary or nearby organs, or One-C, where we find stray cancer cells in the pelvic fluid, then we will have to do a complete hysterectomy."

"And the survival rate?" Mac pressed relentlessly.

"Drops to 80 percent. That's still excellent for any cancer, Colonel, especially a virulent one that grows quickly. But I emphasize that you should focus on your specific situation, not averages."

Mac nodded once, decisively, and looked at Harm. "I agree. When do we start?"

Levine looked at her with respect. "I'd like to admit you this afternoon. We need to do a bunch of tests, including an MRI. We'll do the procedure first thing tomorrow morning. You'll have a full day to recover, then we'll give you the first course of chemo on Thursday. I'd like to keep you overnight the first time, until we see how you tolerate the drugs. After that, you'll get a treatment twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, for three weeks, and you'll have the fourth week off to let your body recover. We'll do six courses of treatment, 24 weeks. After that, we monitor you weekly for awhile, then monthly. If you're still cancer-free after six months, we'll declare you officially in remission, but we'll continue to check on you regularly." He leaned back. "I won't kid you, Colonel. This is a tough disease, and chemotherapy is no fun. But it's your best shot."

Mac had been watching Levine steadily. Now she turned to Harm. They didn't need words. After a moment, she said firmly, "Okay."

Levine nodded. "I'll have my nurse get the paperwork started."

* * *

Monday, 1825 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

When he came in, Mac was perched in the chair watching the evening news. She clicked the remote to mute and looked up expectantly.

Harm tossed his cover on the bureau and held up a duffle bag. "Toothbrush, hairbrush, pajamas, slippers, and your current novel. I gotta tell you, Mac, some of that stuff in your dresser is a lot cuter than these pj's."

She blushed. When he had offered to stop by her apartment to pick up some things, she hadn't stopped to think that he'd have to go through her lingerie drawer. He grinned as she pulled the thin hospital robe around her with dignity and stalked into the bathroom.

"Tell me you brought dinner!" she called while she changed.

"One cheeseburger with everything," he said, and set the takeout sack on the table. "Is it okay for you to have this now?"

"Must be -- they brought me a meal, if you can call it that." She emerged wearing her own flannel pajamas and gestured at the tray. "That stuff isn't recognizable as food." She hopped back onto the bed and unwrapped the burger and fries.

"How'd you get along this afternoon?" he asked, easing his tall frame into the chair and leaning forward. His clasped hands rested between his knees.

"About a million tests," she said. "You know, go here, go there, just like boot camp. I'm not sure I have any blood left."

"How was the MRI?"

"Worse than being strapped into the back seat of an F-14," she said lightly, but he noticed that she was barely picking at her meal. Finally she pushed away the burger half-eaten.

Harm held up a manila envelope. "I brought the medical leave forms for you to sign."

"I'll be back at work next week," she waved it away.

"You need to file if you're out more than three days, Mac. You know that."

She glared at the wall, then wiped her fingers fastidiously with the napkins and held out her hand. He passed her the papers and a pen. "I'll submit them for you in the morning," he said, tucking them into his jacket and watching as she sipped at her chocolate shake. "Look, Mac," he began reluctantly. "I'm really sorry I can't be here for you tomorrow morning."

"It's okay, Harm," she said. "You have the new admiral coming in. Besides, there's nothing you can do just sitting around waiting. I'd rather see you when I'm awake."

"I can make it by about 1600," he frowned. "Mattie and I have a hearing with the family court judge tomorrow afternoon to get permission for her to spend time with her father this summer."

"I should be there for *you*," she said gently. "You've got a hell of a day lined up."

"So do you," he muttered. "Anyway, I'll get here as soon as I can, okay? I want to hear what they have to say."

She nodded soberly and looked down, picking at the cotton blanket. After a long pause, she whispered, "I feel like I'm at the top of a big slide, and when I start down I'll be out of control."

He reached over and took her hand. "I know," he nodded. "But we'll get through this, Mac. We'll hang in there and we'll get through it, a step at a time."

She blinked furiously. After a moment she managed to say, "Okay."

* * *
Tuesday, 0900 Hours EDT

JAG Headquarters

"Attention on deck!"

With a muted thump, 75 officers and enlisted personnel snapped to attention, eyes front.

Admiral Harrison Prescott came to a rigid halt just inside the glass doors. Flanked by two aides, a Marine staff sergeant and a Navy lieutenant commander, Prescott surveyed the orderly rows of his staff with frosty grey eyes. "At ease," he snapped, and the ranks shifted to parade rest, moving as one individual. Prescott nodded once, and the lieutenant commander stepped forward and read the orders for the change of command.

Prescott continued to stare over the rows of people, and the silence began to stretch out. At last he said, "Staff call for senior officers at 1100 in the conference room." He nodded to the Marine, who bellowed, "Dismissed!"

Everyone broke ranks and milled around in quiet disorder as they headed back to their duties. Prescott marched straight into his office with the lieutenant commander at his heels. The Marine stopped in the outer office and spoke to Petty Officer Coates, who hurriedly gathered up her things and dumped them on an unoccupied desk in the bullpen.

A few minutes later, she looked up to see Harm frowning at her. "You're sitting out here now, Jennifer?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she answered, trying not to sound upset. "Staff Sergeant Morrissey will be the Admiral's administrative assistant. I'll be his clerical backup."

"Keep your chin up, Petty Officer. I'd better get in there or I'll be shoveling guano on Guam myself," Harm said under his breath and continued briskly to the Admiral's anteroom, where the sergeant jumped to attention.

"Go right in, sir," he said crisply. "He's expecting you." The man's square face and hard eyes were impassive, and the pale skin over his jaws betrayed a shadow of beard despite an immaculate shave.

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant," Harm nodded and opened the door. "Commander Rabb reporting, sir," he said as he came to attention.

Already the room seemed unfamiliar. The worn leather chairs had been replaced with handsome antiques, and an Oriental rug was spread before the fireplace. The young officer was busy at the mantel, hanging a Fitz Hugh Lane marine seascape that looked like it belonged in a museum.

Prescott finished reading something on his computer and tapped a few keys while Harm waited patiently. The discourtesy surprised him, but he realized he simply didn't care. He was finding it difficult to think about anything but Mac, who was probably in surgery right now. With an effort, he forced himself to focus.

Harrison Prescott had been the deputy JAG for eighteen months, but his visits to headquarters had always occurred when Harm was on assignment, and he had never met the man. Prescott had a reputation as a by-the-book guy, a solid administrator who had spent very little time in the courtroom and owed his career in the Navy to his impeccable background, connected by marriage to the President himself.

Finally the man swiveled his chair to the front and looked up. "At ease, Commander," he said curtly. "Have a seat." He picked up a sheaf of papers and went on, "I expected to be dealing with Colonel Mackenzie on the transition."

"The Colonel was hospitalized yesterday, sir," Harm said and laid Mac's forms on the desk. "She'll be out the rest of this week at least. Here are her leave papers."

"What the hell's the matter with her?" Prescott frowned. "This isn't some sort of elective procedure, is it?"

"No, sir." Harm waited while the man picked up the forms and began to read.

"My God," Prescott frowned. "Jesus, what a hell of a thing. Well, obviously she won't be back on full duty for a long time, if ever. Solves one problem, at least. Jack!" The lieutenant colonel stopped shelving books and stepped smartly across to the desk.

Prescott made the introductions with a wave of his hand. "Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Jackson, my aide. Commander Harmon Rabb." The two men nodded, sizing each other up. "Jack, you'll be in Colonel Mackenzie's office," Prescott said. "Have her stuff moved to an unoccupied office on the lower level, or put it in storage until a space opens up."

Jackson nodded, "Aye, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Sir -- " Harm started to protest and waited as Jackson left. He held Prescott's cool gaze. "Sir, Colonel Mackenzie expects to return to duty in a week or two."

"She will be undergoing treatment for months, correct?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Then it would be extremely unrealistic to wait until her health situation is resolved, one way or another."

When the meaning of the admiral's words sank home, Harm had to grip the arms of his chair until the red haze dissipated from his vision.

Unconcerned or oblivious, Prescott was scanning a folder on his desk. "You and the Colonel have worked together here at headquarters for years now, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that's why you're running interference for her on this matter?"

Harm took hold of his temper. "Colonel Mackenzie has no family, sir. We've been friends for a long time."

"A long time. Yes. Look, Rabb. Admiral Chegwidden compiled an outstanding record, and he did it by developing a team of fine litigators, headed by yourself. But I believe he extended your tour of duty here at headquarters what -- three times? -- and several others, also. Well, Commander, I might as well be blunt. That's going to change. I'll be bringing up new officers who deserve a shot at top level litigation, and many of you will be rotating to new billets in accordance with normal military procedure. It won't happen tomorrow, but it's time for some new blood around here."

"Understood, sir." Harm kept his expression neutral.

"Let's get something straight, Rabb. Your record as an attorney is exceptional, and so is your reputation for getting results. Silver Star, two DFCs -- Jesus. But your service record reads like a cheap novel. You'll be lucky to make Captain no matter what the hell that missing six months was all about, and you certainly won't make it unless you take an overseas billet with command responsibilities before you come up for promotion. I don't have time for dead wood on my staff."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Now let's go over these summaries before staff call. I'll be meeting with heads of all JAG divisions and overseas commands during the next month, and I'll expect litigation to keep moving smoothly."

* * *

Later that morning, 1145 Hours EDT

Conference Room, JAG Headquarters

"Well, that about wraps it up, gentlemen." Prescott closed the cover of his leather portfolio and stared down the long mahogany table. "I have a lunch at the Pentagon, but first I have a couple of announcements." Every officer at the table looked up expectantly.

"As of now, Lieutenant Commander Jackson will assume the duties of chief of staff," Prescott said. "All matters of personnel will be referred to him. Staff Sergeant Morrissey will serve as my administrative aide and keep my appointments calendar." His cool voice continued without skipping a beat. "Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie has been hospitalized with a diagnosis of ovarian cancer, and as of today she is on medical leave. Her assignments will be determined when she is cleared to return to duty. Dismissed."

An icy wave of rage swept over Harm, and he forced his expression to remain impassive as everyone came to attention and the Admiral left the room. Instantly Sturgis and Bud turned to him, their faces taut with shock.

"Harm? What's going on, man?" Sturgis demanded.

"Mac's having surgery this morning," Harm said reluctantly. "We'll know more later."

"Can Harriet call her, sir?" Bud asked.

"Of course, Bud. I know Mac will appreciate seeing her when she feels better, she just didn't want everyone to hear about it by public broadcast," Harm snapped. "That son of a bitch didn't waste any time, did he?"

Sturgis put his hand on Harm's shoulder. "Easy, man. How's she holding up?"

Harm let his breath out slowly. "They say they've caught it early, and her chances are very good. That's all we know right now."

"What can we do, sir?" Bud said.

"We'll pray for her, Harm," Sturgis said.

End Part Four

* * *

Part Five

That afternoon, 1630 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

She knew when he entered the room, and opened her eyes. "Hi," she smiled. Her voice sounded hoarse.

"Hi yourself," he said, seating himself gingerly beside her bed. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. I didn't get back to the room 'til about 1400, so I'm still a little groggy, that's all."

"Wow, what time did they start?" he asked, hiding his anxiety.

"It felt like the crack of dawn. Then they kept me in the recovery room a long time."

"Have they told you how it went?"

"Not really. They said it went okay, but I haven't seen Dr. Levine yet. It's hard to remember what they say when you're all doped up."

"Well, that's good. I mean, I wanted to be here when you talked to him."

"How did it go with Mattie?" she asked.

"All right. The judge approved her spending the time with her dad, I mean. We'll try it for a month and see how it goes, and we can ask for a change if Tom falls off the wagon or it just doesn't work out."

"Are you okay with it?"

He looked away, but she didn't miss the pain in his eyes. "Sure. Hell, I'm proud of her. It isn't easy to admit you were wrong and give somebody another chance. This is the best possible outcome for her."

"But not for you. You did a great thing, Harm."

"It's not about me." He looked away. "And I wouldn't trade the past six months for anything." Quickly changing the subject, he bent to retrieve a package from the floor, and with a wistful smile, held up a threadbare pink teddy bear. "Mattie sent this. She said it always makes her feel better, and she wants you to take care of it for her."

Mac felt tears threatening, and forced herself to smile. "Oh Harm. What's its name?"

"Hell, I don't know. Look, when she asked me why I was worried, I had to tell her you were in the hospital, but I didn't say why."

"That's all right, Harm. I just don't want everybody to hear until I can tell them myself." A pained expression flitted across his face, and she said quickly, "What?"

"The cat's out of the bag. Admiral Prescott announced it at staff call. It hit Bud and Sturgis pretty hard."

"Oh no." She grimaced. "Well, what are you gonna do. I just didn't want a lot of rumors and people fussing around." His expression warned her. "What else happened? Harm?"

"What makes you think something else happened?"

"You have that look."

"*What* look?"

"That 'how do I get out of here' look."

He gave a short laugh. "Mac, it's nothing. It'll keep."

"*Now,* Commander."

He sighed. "Prescott made his aide chief of staff and moved him into your office. The good news is, you're next door to me."

She stared at him. "Wow, that was fast."

"If it's any comfort, I think Prescott planned to do it anyway. This just gave him an excuse."

"It's not a big surprise, Harm. Anyway, it'll give me more time to try cases."

Harm might have looked inscrutable to anyone else, but she knew he wasn't telling her everything. Just as she started to press for details, Dr. Levine gave a loud knock on the open door and bustled in, his white coat rustling with starch.

"Hello, Colonel," he said cheerfully. "Commander. No, no, please sit down," he waved Harm back into his chair and pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the bed. "How are you feeling, Sarah?" he asked and reached for her pulse.

"Not too bad, considering I seem to have gone three rounds with a kangaroo wearing boxing gloves," Mac said. Levine chuckled.

"You've had two procedures in less than a week. You're bound to feel pretty beat up. But the good news is, we only had to take the one ovary. There was no sign that the tumor had spread."

Harm's hand tightened around hers. "Thank God," she heard him whisper, and their eyes met. Her heart was thudding erratically, and she saw him swallow hard.

"We'll let you have tomorrow to recover," Levine was going on, "and we'll start the chemo on Thursday morning."

Mac cleared her throat. "Can't I go home tomorrow and come back?"

"I'd rather keep you here, Sarah. We need to monitor everything you eat and drink tomorrow, and you'll need all the rest you can get. And we'll be doing some more tests to choose exactly the right drugs and dosages for you. There have been a lot of advances in custom therapy that targets each patient's type of cancer and minimizes adverse reactions, but it takes a few tries to get it just right."

"But I can go home on Friday?"

"If all goes smoothly, yes. Now get some rest, okay? I'll stop by to see you tomorrow."

When he was gone, she turned to Harm. "These guys never give you an absolute answer to anything, have you noticed that?"

"Yeah, I have. Just like we don't ever promise a client how the members will decide."

She had to smile at that.

* * *

Wednesday, 1300 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

"I am going to go nuts if I have to watch another episode of 'Law and Order'!"

Mac hurled the TV remote against the pillow with more force than necessary, and Harriet's laughter greeted Harm as he came in. He was relieved to see Mac bouncing up and down, nearly fizzing with suppressed energy.

"Hi, Commander!" Harriet greeted him cheerfully. She was seated on the unoccupied bed with her shoes off, and Mac was sitting crosslegged on hers. "I was just trying to convince the Colonel that staying home during the daytime has its perks."

"Hey, Harriet. How are you doing?" Harm smiled and kissed her cheek.

"We're just great, sir, thanks," she beamed.

"Harriet brought me some stuff from home," Mac smiled as he took her hand and held it. He didn't see Harriet's eyebrows ascend to her bangs. "I didn't want you to have to deal with girl stuff again."

"Hey, I liked it," he grinned. "Look, Mac, I'm sorry I can't stay, but I've got court this afternoon, and Mattie has her last volleyball game tonight. Do you need anything?"

"I'll be fine. Please thank Mattie for me, tell her how much I love the bear."

"I'll get here by lunchtime tomorrow." Mac gave him a reassuring nod, and he reluctantly picked up his cover, hating that she had to be on her own for the next 24 hours. With a wave, he called from the doorway, "Harriet -- try to keep her from assaulting any of the nurses."

* * *

Thursday, 1230 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

The curtains were drawn against the brilliant sunlight outside. He tiptoed into the room, thinking she must be asleep, and froze at the sight of her curled on the bed. He couldn't believe this was the same vibrant woman he had talked to on the phone last night.

Mac lay huddled on her side, clutching a kidney-shaped plastic basin. Her eyes were closed, and her face was so pale it looked yellow. Clear plastic tubes snaked down from two IVs. There was an unpleasant odor of chemicals and sickness in the air.

Harm clutched his fists. As he hesitated, Mac cracked an eye and one corner of her mouth turned up. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey Mac," he said, and sat carefully in the chair. "How's it going?"

She slowly shook her head and shut her eyes. He reached out and gingerly stroked the damp hair off her forehead. "You need to get back to the office," she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "But I can stay a little while. I just wish there was something I could do for you, Mac."

"You're" -- abruptly she retched, horribly. A thin stream of yellow bile dripped into the basin, and she heaved again. Harm jumped to his feet, frantic, just as a nurse came in.

"Okay, Colonel Mackenzie, how are we doing?" the woman said brightly as she whisked the basin away and handed Mac a fresh one.

"Just peachy," Mac mumbled.

"Isn't there something you can do to make her more comfortable?" Harm demanded.

The nurse checked Mac's IVs and said briskly, "I'm sorry, but this is normal for the treatment. It'll pass in a few hours." She gestured to the door. "Let's go outside, sir."

With a glance at Mac, Harm followed reluctantly and confronted the nurse with a furious whisper. "A few *hours*?"

"Try not to be upset, sir. It's helping her. It's just part of the chemo."

Harm turned away from the woman, afraid he'd say something unforgivable. He gripped the window frame until his knuckles turned white, and after a moment the nurse walked briskly away, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

He saw nothing of the sunny day outside the glass. A cold wind was rattling the shutters of his soul, ripping away his last tattered shreds of denial. He could no longer hide from the knowledge that Mac was suffering, that she could die. His helplessness mocked him as he stared into the abyss.

After a few minutes he steeled himself to go back into her room. Her eyes were closed, and he sat silently beside her, turning his cover around and around in his hands. He recognized rage and frustration as the masks of fear, and at that moment, Harmon Rabb knew he had never been more terrified in his life.

* * *

That evening, 1900 Hours EDT

North of Union Station, Washington D.C.

"Should I put these onions in now, or what? Harm? Earth to Harm," Mattie said, waving her hand in front of his face. He came to with a start.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Mats. Um, yeah. Lower the heat first." He stirred the pot of rice and covered it while Mattie tossed vegetables into the wok. Harm turned to the sink and began washing up a few odds and ends, not speaking.

He was absentmindedly pushing food around on his plate when Mattie blurted, "Harm? Are you mad at me?"

"What?" He looked up.

"You're acting like you're mad at me or something. Are you upset because I'm leaving?" Mattie glared at him. Her eyes were bright and shiny, and he knew she was trying not to cry.

"Oh God, no, Mattie -- I'm not upset with you. My mind was a million miles away, that's all. I'm sorry."

"Well you're upset about something," she tossed her curls. "You've been like this ever since Mac went in the hospital, so if it isn't me, it must be her. Harm, she's really sick, isn't she?"

He put his fork down. "Yes. She is."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"I hope so."

"But you can't tell me about it?"

"No, I can't, Mattie. Not ‘til Mac says it's okay."

Mattie sat very still, watching him carefully. "I'm not leaving," she announced.

"Mattie, I thought we had an agreement."

"I need to be here for you! Like you were there for me! Besides, what if I hate it? What if he gets drunk? What'll I do?" Suddenly Mattie looked very young.

"You'll call me, and I'll be there. But you need to give it a fair shot, okay?"

Mattie scowled down at her plate, cross and rebellious. Finally she said, "Can we still spend the day together tomorrow?"

"You bet. I'm going to pick Mac up at the hospital and take her home, then you and I are going to do what we planned. Are you all packed for Saturday?"

"I guess. I'm going to leave most of my stuff here, though."

* * *

Friday, 0900 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

Mac was dressed and waiting for him when he stuck his head in the door. She was sitting in a wheelchair, looking out the window and holding Mattie's bear on her lap.

"Hey, you look better," he greeted her, smiling for what felt like the first time in days.

"I feel better," she said. "But they told me I have to use this thing." Actually she still looked exhausted, and her hair was pushed back behind her ears, limp and shapeless. But she was smiling at him, and that was all that mattered.

He sat on the edge of the chair facing her, and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "It's so much worse than I expected, Mac. Yesterday -- "

"The treatment's worse than the disease," she said lightly. "But they tell me it gets easier."

"God, I hope so."

"Let's get out of here," she said.

He picked up her bag, released the brakes on the chair, and pushed it slowly through the door. Mac said over her shoulder, "Thanks for picking me up, Harm. Prescott doesn't sound like the type to approve a personal day."

"I have 30 days leave on the books, Mac, and I requested the time off last week. It's Mattie's last day before she leaves for Blacksburg, and I promised to take her to the Air and Space Museum, then out to dinner."

"I'm sorry to take up your time like this."

"Don't be an idiot, Mac."

* * *

Later

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

Since most of her neighbors were at work, they actually found a parking place right by the entrance to her building. Harm jumped out and made it around the Lexus in time to help her climb down, then fetched her bag as she shuffled carefully across the brick sidewalk. She stopped at the bottom of the high stone steps before slowly lifting her foot onto the first one.

Harm followed right behind her and held the door before opening the inner door with her keys. "I'll check your mail," he said, and unlocked the little cubbyhole in the foyer while Mac went inside.

He stuffed a few envelopes into his pocket and looked around. She was leaning on the newel post at the base of the stairs, looking up.

Hesitantly he asked, "Are you sure about this, Mac? ‘Cause I can carry you if" –

"No," she snapped, not looking at him. "I can do it. I just need to take it slowly." They started up step by step, with Mac holding onto the banister. Harm stayed at her elbow, trying not to let her see how much her effort upset him.

At the first landing, Mac paused and leaned on the railing. "I just need to rest for a minute," she panted.

"It's okay, Mac," he said. "We have all the time you need."

"They said it will get better after this," Mac said after a minute, as if reminding herself.

"Good."

She looked up quickly. "I'm okay, Harm. Really. And I need to do this, because you aren't going to be able to bring me home every time."

"We'll work something out, Mac. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, and straightened up. Cautiously she turned and made her way up the next short flight. She took his arm to walk along the hallway to the next set of stairs, where she grabbed the rail. "Just one more to go," she said with grim determination, and began climbing, one step at a time.

Halfway up, she swayed. Instantly he had his arm around her waist, taking most of her weight. "Three more steps," she panted, and he supported her as she lifted one foot, then the next, and again. Then they were at the top landing, and he dropped the bag and put both arms around her, holding her against him. His throat ached, and he could not have spoken if he'd tried.

Mac's arms slipped around his waist as she rested her head on his chest. He held her quietly for a long time, feeling her heartbeat slow beneath his hands, feeling the slight tremor in her limbs ease. "I'm ready," she said at last.

He put his arm around her waist, and this time she frankly leaned on him as they climbed the last short flight to the third floor. At last they made it to her door, and she eased herself onto the sofa while he carried her bag into the bedroom.

When he came back, she was reclining against the cushions, eyes closed. "Mac?" he whispered, thinking she had drifted off to sleep.

"Hm?" she answered. She opened her eyes and gave him the ghost of a smile.

"What do you need? What can I do?" he asked, perching on the edge of one of the wicker armchairs.

"Not a thing. I'm gonna rest and then I'm going to take a nice hot bath in my own tub."

"What about some tea or Seven-Up or something?"

"Please, don't mention anything about eating right now. The grocery store delivers. And a friend promised to stop by later. So get going, and have a good time with Mattie."

"I don't think I should leave yet, Mac."

"I'll kick your ass if you don't," she said. "Harm, your plans with Mattie are important. Give her my love, and tell her I'll be fine."

He watched her steadily, his eyes troubled, and she reached out and put her hand over his. "Go. Call me tonight, okay?"

His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek. As he went to the door, she called, "Harm?"

"What?" he turned back.

"Thank you."

End Part Five

* * *

Part Six

Friday, 1800 Hours

Harborside Restaurant, Alexandria, Virginia

"Wow, no wonder you made me get all dressed up," Mattie whispered as the maitre'd led them to their table.

"Wearing a skirt is not ‘all dressed up,' " Harm teased. The restaurant's outdoor seating area extended over the water and was strung with twinkle lights that glittered on the Potomac gliding past the railings. At this early hour, only a few other tables were occupied.

Mattie's ringlets stirred in the soft breeze off the water as she looked around in delight. "This is a pretty fancy place, Harm."

She was trying to sound blasé, and Harm concealed his grin. "Do you like it?"

"I like all of it. The Smithsonian was really cool, but I think the Aviation Museum here in Alexandria was the best," Mattie said. "All those old biplanes are right up my alley. Especially since I'm learning to fly one." She looked at him with a shy smile. "You'll still keep giving me lessons, right?"

"Of course I will, Mattie." His eyes were warm.

They ordered dinner, with Mattie firmly refusing to try the soft shell crabs and opting instead for pasta with shrimp, while Harm ordered grilled fish and vegetables. Mattie chattered gamely while they ate, telling him all her plans for the coming month, and Harm listened and marveled at how much she had grown up this year.

While Mattie attacked a huge mound of strawberry shortcake, he excused himself and walked down the pier to use his cell phone. Mac answered on the first ring, "Hi, how's it going?"

He laughed. "Are you having a psychic moment, or doesn't anyone else call you?"

"Are you kidding? Since you called the last time, the phone hasn't stopped. Harriet and Bud, Sturgis, a couple of friends. You're the only person I know who's left."

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"Tired," she admitted. "But I'm curled up in bed. How was the museum?"

"A big hit. We're having dinner at the Harborside."

"Mattie must be loving it."

"Yeah, I hope so. Well, I'd better get back. Are you okay for tonight? Do you need anything?"

"Thanks, I'm going to be asleep in about ten minutes. Give her a big hug for me, Harm."

"I'll do it. ‘Night, Mac."

Mattie looked up when he returned to the table. "How's Mac?" she asked.

"Good. She had a lot of calls today, so she's pretty worn out."

"Well, you've called her three times. I can see why she'd be tired," Mattie grinned impishly. Then her expression turned serious. "Are you ever going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Harm wasn't paying attention as he signed the check.

"That you love her."

"Mattie."

"I know, I know. But take her some flowers at least, girls love that." They left the restaurant and strolled across the wide wooden pier toward the parking lot. Harm started to retort with amused exasperation and stopped when he saw Mattie's face.

"Hey, hey, what's all this?" he asked, reaching out, but Mattie turned angrily away to hide the traces of tears in her eyes. She stood rigid, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Harm hesitated, then put his hand on her shoulder. "Mattie," he said gently, and abruptly she turned and buried her face in his jacket. He patted her back and waited.

"I'm sorry," Mattie gulped, swiping furiously at her eyes. "I'm just going to miss you so much. And I love you and I don't want you to be lonely."

Oh God, Harm thought, his throat aching with tenderness. He blinked away the sudden sting in his eyes and hugged her. "Mattie," he said after a moment. "Mattie, look at me."

Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his. He said gently, "I love you too, honey. I always will, no matter where you go. But you have to live your life, Mattie – not mine, and not your dad's. It's up to us to take care of you, not the other way around." He smiled at her. "And like I told you, Mac and I are working on it. The only thing you have to worry about this summer is being the best right fielder that softball team has ever seen."

Mattie gave him a tremulous smile. "Deal," she said.

* * *

Saturday, 0900 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

She pried her eyelids open and wearily considered the digital clock on her bedside table. When was the last time she had slept this late? She had lain awake much of the night, uncomfortable and unable to rest, but too tired to get up. It was nearly dawn when she finally dropped off to sleep.

A clap of thunder shook the bed, and she realized the storm must have awakened her. The room was still dark as rain lashed the windows and lightning flashed. Briefly she considered pulling the covers over her head, but sheer stubbornness pulled her out of bed. She plodded to the bathroom and winced when she flipped on the light, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

"Come on, Mac. You have to start feeling better," she lectured herself, rubbing crumbs from her eyes. Her skin and hair felt rough and dry, but the thought of lowering herself into the tub and climbing out again exhausted her. Wearily she turned on the shower and stepped in, and for an instant, her head spun with vertigo. Carefully, she steadied herself on the towel bar and reached for the shampoo.

The water felt like needles on her skin, and she fumbled ineffectually with the shower head, trying to adjust it. The old-fashioned chrome attachment was stiff with lime deposits, and she gave up, soaping and rinsing as quickly as she could.

She twisted the knobs to ‘off' and straightened up cautiously, feeling only a slight dizziness. Her thick terry robe was warm and soft, and she let it blot up the moisture rather than toweling herself dry. Her skin felt sensitive, and when she brushed her teeth, the taste of the toothpaste was nauseating.

Briefly Mac considered getting back into bed, but she couldn't stand the thought of lying on the same rumpled sheets after her long night. She would get dressed and have something to eat, and that would help, she told herself firmly.

She dragged on clean sweats and some thick socks and padded into the kitchen, where she set a mug of water in the microwave to boil. Some tea sounded good. Maybe some dry toast. Come on, Mac. It's just like a bad case of the flu. It'll pass.

The smell of the bread toasting was almost too much for her, but after sipping some tea with a little honey, and she was able to put the cool toast on a plate and carry it into the living room. She turned on a lamp, fetched her newspaper from the doorstep and sat on the sofa, pulling a comforter over her knees. Perfect. A rainy Saturday morning with breakfast and the Washington Post, who could ask for more?

By chewing very small bites slowly, she was able to finish the toast and keep it down. Definite progress. It was tiring to hold the paper up, so she leafed through it page by page. After a while, she rested her head on the cushion and closed her eyes.

Slowly she became aware that someone was knocking insistently on her door. "It's open!" she called, pushing her damp hair off her face. "Come in!"

The door swung wide to reveal Harm standing on the threshold with a dripping umbrella. "Hi," she greeted him, feeling unreasonably glad to see him, and her internal clock kicked in to tell her that an hour had passed. "Sorry, I must have dozed off."

He didn't take his eyes off her as he leaned his umbrella in the stand. "I got a little worried when you didn't answer the door bell or your cell phone. One of your neighbors let me in downstairs." He swiped at his wet forehead. "Tell me you don't always leave your door unlocked, Mac. You didn't even know it was me."

"I guess I left it open when I picked up the paper," she told him. "Why don't you get a dry towel? You look like a drowned rat."

"Thanks," he grinned, shrugging out of his wet leather flight jacket. "I had to park in the next block." He disappeared through the door to the bedroom and came back rubbing his hair with a towel.

"Would you like some tea?" she held up her mug.

"Yeah, sounds good. No, let me get it," he waved her off when she started to rise, and gratefully she dropped back into her seat.

"So how's it going?" he asked when he returned with fresh tea for both of them.

"Better," she said, determined to sound cheerful.

He put his head on one side, considering. "Looks like you got that bath," he teased, eyeing her damp hair.

"Shower, actually. I decided not to try climbing in and out of the tub again." His gaze sharpened, but he made no comment, and Mac quickly changed the subject. "Did Mattie get off okay?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug, and she noticed that he failed to meet her eyes. "Tom picked her up around ten. They'll have a tough drive in this rain."

"Did you decide what to do about the apartment?"

"Not yet. We don't know where she'll be next year, and it was important for her to know she'll always have a home to come back to." His quick smile couldn't quite conceal the shadow in his deep set eyes.

"I guess you still have to pay the extra rent, then."

"It isn't that much. Besides, I think Jennifer's enjoying having the place to herself for a change."

"She'll miss her, too," Mac said.

He looked down at the mug in his hands as if wondering what it was, and said quietly, "It's amazing how someone so small can leave such a big hole behind them."

Mac's heart ached for him, but she knew he didn't want sympathy. She picked up the stuffed bear sitting on the couch and hugged it. "Well, at least we still have this little guy."

Harm gave a half-smile and stood up, prowling restlessly around the room. He stared out at the rain for a minute, his expression bleak, before gathering their mugs from the coffee table and heading for the kitchen. She heard water running and closed her eyes, enjoying the sounds of him moving around in the other room.

When Harm brought another cup of tea, she accepted it with a smile. "Thanks, but you don't have to wait on me, Harm. It's nice just to have some company."

He sat down again and sipped at his mug. "Is there anything that needs doing around here, Mac? Laundry, chores, anything?" She grinned, and he demanded, "What?"

"I had a sudden vision of you downstairs in the laundry room with my lingerie. The neighbors would love it."

He grinned and stood up. "Well, I don't know about them, but it might have its kicks. Where's your detergent?"

She started to protest and stopped. She knew he was hurting, and if he needed to keep busy by doing her laundry, so be it. "All the supplies are in the linen closet," she pointed, "and the laundry's in the hamper."

She heard him stripping the bed, and a few minutes later he emerged with a full basket. "Do you have any quarters?" he asked.

"There's a roll in the desk," she told him. While he was gone, she got up, dried her hair, and turned on some soft music and the gas log. Suddenly the room seemed cosier than it had in a long time.

She was dozing again when he came in, and she heard him go straight into the bedroom. After awhile she opened her eyes to see him sitting patiently in a chair, staring into the fire.

"Hey there," he smiled.

"Hi." Sleepily she stretched.

"How about some lunch?" he said.

"I'm not hungry, thanks. But I'd love it if you'd stay and eat. There's some soup and stuff, or the deli on the corner delivers."

"Mac, you need to eat something."

She sighed. "I know. I had some dry toast this morning. But even the thought of eating makes me feel sick."

"Do you think you could handle some chicken noodle soup? Maybe some saltines?" She knew that look. He wasn't going to give up.

"Okay. I'll try."

And surprisingly, it tasted all right when he brought it to her in a large mug, with crackers on a plate. She sipped the soup slowly and was relieved that her stomach didn't rebel. Harm had soup too, and a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of milk. She watched him sitting in the chair that was too small for him, eating absently while he stared into the flames on the hearth.

"I'm glad you're here," she said suddenly. His eyes flicked to hers. "And you make a mean cup of chicken noodle."

He laughed at that and set his plate on the table. "Hey, Mac, I've been thinking. That tub-shower of yours is an accident waiting to happen. Would you mind if I put up a grab bar on the wall?"

She started to refuse, but something made her pause. Maybe the eagerness in his expression. With a little smile, she swiped her hand across the table and held it up, coated with a fine layer of dust. "Do you do windows, too?"

"No, but I was thinking about calling a cleaning service. They could come Monday morning while you're at the hospital."

"Harm, you don't" – His gleam of amusement stopped her. "I'm not an invalid, you know. Just because I haven't dusted since last weekend doesn't mean I can't take care of myself."

"Nobody knows that better than I do, Mac," he said quietly. "But why not let me treat you? You need to use your energy for getting well."

She glared at him. Damnit, she hated it when he was right. "Okay, but I'm paying for it," she humphed.

"If you insist. Relax, Mac, nobody will think you're not a good Marine."

"It's just – I hate feeling helpless."

"I know. It stinks."

She looked up, startled. "I forgot. You really do know how it is." The few details he had shared about his recovery from the ramp strike 13 years before came flooding back.

"Yeah. All you can do is keep telling yourself it won't last forever."

"You're right, I know you're right," she agreed, and pushed back against the cushions, trying to find a comfortable position. Harm watched for a moment before going into the bedroom and reappearing with a couple of pillows. "Here, lean forward," he said. He slipped one pillow behind her, the other beneath her feet.

"Thanks," she sighed. "That feels great."

"Why don't you stretch out on the bed? I gotta go home for some tools and make a stop at Home Depot. You don't look too comfortable there."

"It feels good to look at a different set of walls for awhile. I'm sick of lying down."

Harm nodded and carried their dishes to the kitchen. She heard water running and the dishwasher starting up, but she didn't hear him close the door behind him.

* * *

Later that afternoon

She awakened disoriented and confused. "Harm?" she called in a fuzzy voice.

A moment later he appeared in the bedroom door with a cordless drill in his hand. His alert look softened, and he came over to the sofa. "I'm here, Mac," he said, and she felt his big warm hand stroke the hair back from her forehead.

"Hi," she murmured. "What time is it? Oh, it's 1630. Wow, I guess I really slept."

"You were sawing wood."

"Was not."

"Were too. You drowned out the power tools."

"Huh," she grumped. "Can I see?" She struggled to sit up and untangle her legs from the comforter, and Harm reached down to help her to her feet.

"Easy there, tiger." Mac fluffed her tousled hair and shuffled sleepily toward the bathroom, where she halted at the door and stared in astonishment.

Sturdy stainless steel handrails were mounted beside the toilet and across one end of the tub enclosure, and another, longer rail slanted across the back wall. A narrow stool of white plastic with rubber feet and chrome handles stood in one end of the tub, where a sparkling new hand-held Shower Massage was installed.

"Wow," she breathed.

"I got a little carried away," he said, watching her doubtfully. "I hope you don't mind."

Mac swallowed hard and kept her face turned away. "No, I don't mind," she said after a minute. "It's wonderful."

"Mac?" He bent down to see her face, hidden behind her hair, and his face tightened with concern. "Are you all right? I'm sorry if I upset you" –

"You didn't upset me," she gulped. "I'm just not used to having someone help me with stuff. I really – thanks, Harm."

"Hey, it's no big deal. Thanks for giving me something to do on a rainy Saturday."

"Are you done?"

"Just need to clean up."

" ‘Cause I kinda need to use the facilities," she smiled.

"Oh. Oh! Sure thing. I'm outta here."

"You're not leaving?" she asked hastily.

"Nope," he smiled and closed the door.

End Part Siz

* * *

Part Seven

That evening, 1920 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment

"You know, this actually tastes pretty good," Mac said in surprise as she poked around in her bowl of rice. Darkness had gathered early outside the windows where the rain still streamed down the glass. "I'm glad you talked me into it."

Harm slid a spatula beneath a toasted cheese sandwich on the grill, slid it onto the cutting board, and sliced it on the diagonal with one deft stroke. "How about a glass of milk?" he called from the kitchen. "Or some cocoa?"

"Maybe later, thanks." He joined her at the table and watched as she nibbled at her rice. "You're getting awfully domestic," Mac teased. "I could get used to being waited on like this."

"I could get used to doing it," he said, his tone casual, and he picked up his sandwich. "My mom used to make rice with milk and cinnamon sugar on it for me when I was sick. It always made me feel better."

"I feel so much better, I'll be ready to go into work next week," she said.

"Just don't take it too fast, okay?"

"I know. But I'll go insane if I have to stare at these walls every day."

She could tell her light tone didn't deceive him, but mercifully he didn't push it. "Anything good on the tube tonight?" he asked.

"You must have other things you need to do, Harm. You don't have to hang out with me all weekend."

"I like hanging out with you."

"I don't need a babysitter, you know," she snapped and instantly regretted it. A veiled shadow flickered across his face and disappeared, and once again she resented his iron self-control.

He said quietly, "I've been wanting to spend more time with you for a long time, Mac -- but there haven't been too many opportunities. Do you want me to take off?"

"No. No, please stay." She found the grace to apologize. "Sorry."

He gave her one of his brief smiles and began gathering up their dishes. "Why don't you figure out what to watch while I clean up?"

"I can do that" --

"Let me spoil you a little, Mac."

She couldn't help smiling back.

* * *

Sunday, 1030 Hours EDT

North of Union Station, Washington, D.C.

She had promised to call when she woke up. He was back from his five-mile run at six and out of the shower by six-thirty, and by the time his phone finally rang, he was ready to go over to Georgetown and break her door down. He took a deep steadying breath and answered as casually as he could, "Hey there, sleepyhead."

"Hi," Mac said in a fuzzy voice. "I just woke up."

"That's good, Mac. You needed the rest."

"I was awake in the middle of the night. Guess that's why I overslept."

"I wish I'd known, I was awake too. How do you feel this morning?"

"Dunno. Better, I think. I'm gonna try out that fancy spa setup in my bathroom, then I'll be able to tell."

"Can I come by?"

He could hear a smile in her voice. "Sure. As long as you promise you're not blowing off something else you should be doing."

"Nope. I'll be there by 1100, okay?"

"I'll leave the door open."

"Don't worry, I'll knock."

"I'll answer."

"I'll look forward to it." He felt himself grinning as he hung up.

* * *

Forty minutes later

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

She opened the door wrapped in a thick terry robe, her hair slicked back. "Wow, right on time," she teased. "The new shower's so great, I could have stayed in there all day."

"I brought you a cinnamon roll, is that okay?" He held up the paper bag.

"I'll certainly give it a try," she smiled, closing the door behind him. "Harm, I should have thought of installing one of those hand-held things a long time ago. Thank you."

"Glad you like it, Mac. Coffee or tea?" he asked, heading for the kitchen.

"Tea, please. I'll be right out."

"Take your time." While he busied himself with heating water and getting cups and teabags, he stretched the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. His sleep had been thin and restless, and he was still tired, but the little knot of anxiety in his chest had loosened. She obviously felt better today. He began to whistle along with the kettle.

"You sound chipper this morning." Mac came in wearing a faded pair of old blue jeans with a t-shirt and a cotton sweater.

"You *look* chipper." He poured boiling water over the teabag in her mug.

"I can't believe how much better I feel," Mac agreed.

Harm sipped his tea while he watched Mac nibble at her cinnamon roll. Sunlight gilded the table and warmed the wood beneath his hand, and he watched the way it lay against the curve of her cheek. "Do you feel well enough to get out of here for awhile?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up. "What did you have in mind?"

He lifted one shoulder. "I brought the 'vette."

"Can we put the top down?"

"I was planning on it."

Sunday morning traffic was sparse, and soon they were tearing up the highway toward Annapolis. Harm glanced over from time to time at Mac, glad to see her smiling as the warm wind buffeted her hair.

He didn't really know where he was going until he found himself taking the exit for the Bay Bridge. It was too early in the season for beach traffic, and the Corvette soared across the smooth ribbon of concrete and steel with the misty blue of the Chesapeake sparkling far below.

Coming off the east end of the bridge, he took the left hand exit for no reason at all, and they cruised northward along winding country roads. Forty minutes later, a sign reading ‘Crystal Beach' flashed past, and he took the next left, heading toward the bay.

The road ended in a wide empty parking lot dusted with sand and encircled by an ancient post and chain link fence. A rusted sign swung creaking in the breeze, proclaiming that swimming was at your own risk. "What do you think?" he turned to Mac. "Want to stretch your legs?"

"Let's walk down to the water," she nodded. They followed a rutted path for a hundred yards to a wide crescent of sand scattered with bits of broken shell. Tiny waves lapped at the boat ramp, overlooked by a few deserted picnic tables. A rusted trashcan was chained to a post near a concrete bunker with restrooms, still locked for the winter.

The sun was warm on their shoulders, and a cool fresh breeze brought the smell of the sea. Here near the top of the Chesapeake, the mainland shore was a veil of misty blue on the horizon. They stopped at the line of seaweed marking the tide line, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "Cold?" he asked.

"No, but I'm glad I wore a sweater." She leaned against him, her arm around his waist, and Harm closed his eyes, relishing the softness of her body and the warmth of the sunlight on his face, watching the patterns play across the red screen of his eyelids. For now, it was simply enough to be.

Far out in the main channel, a huge ship blasted its air horns, and his eyes popped open behind his dark glasses. "Transport," Mac commented. "The Aberdeen Proving Ground's right over there." Abruptly she sat down and began pulling off her shoes and socks. Harm watched with a little smile for a moment before bending to untie his own sneakers.

Mac rolled up her jeans and wiggled her toes in the warm sand as she tilted her face to the sun. "Oh, this is so great," she sighed. "I love the shore, and I hardly ever get out here."

He dropped down beside her and leaned back on his elbows. "It's nice like this, when nobody's around."

"M-hm." She jumped up and waded into the shallow water, stepping cautiously on the pebbly sand. "Yikes, it's cold!" she squeaked as the water rose to her shins. With a happy laugh, she kicked up a silver arc of droplets that sparkled in the sunlight. She cavorted like a child, lifting her long legs high over the surge of the tide. Harm felt himself grinning even as an ache squeezed his throat.

Her burst of energy was as enchanting as a soap bubble, and as fragile. After a few minutes she waded out of the water and dropped down beside him. "So are you ever going to tell me?" she panted.

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is that's been bothering you since Prescott came aboard."

He let his breath out with a gusty sigh. His first instinct was to deny it, but he was through with doing that. "How could you tell?" he stalled.

"It didn't exactly require a psychic episode."

She waited, sure he wouldn't answer until he said, "Some of us will be rotating overseas as soon as billets open up. It'll probably start in three or four months."

Mac swiveled her head toward him. Her expression was unreadable behind her dark glasses. He went on, "Apparently Prescott doesn't think much of the Admiral's policy of keeping senior litigators at headquarters."

He watched her long slim fingers as they slowly sifted the sand, over and over. "Well, we knew it would happen sooner or later," she swallowed. His pain flared as he saw how hard it hit her -- first Clay, then her illness, and now this. He could almost see her Marine armor slip into place. He reached over and took her hand, stilling its restless movement.

"Mac -- I told you I would always be there for you. I meant it."

She was silent for a long time, staring out at the water, and he forced himself to wait. At last she said, "You also told me once, 'Geography doesn't change who we are.' "

He closed his eyes.

"You can't fight this battle for me, Harm. You'll always be just a phone call away. And when it comes to your career, I have enough on my conscience."

"Mac" –

"What other options *are* there, Harm? And don't even mention resigning again."

"Mac, my naval career is pretty much dead in the water, you know that. If I wait until next spring when my twenty is up, I can retire with all the benefits, but if I leave before that I'll still make a good income in private practice. Besides, Prescott came right out and told me I'll probably never make captain."

"With two DFCs and the Silver Star?" she bristled.

"He told me my service record reads like a cheap novel."

"Well, that's true enough," she agreed with a fleeting grin.

He tossed a pebble at the water with more force than necessary. "I've spent way too much time putting careers first," he told her. "I love the Navy, but I know what I really want." He glanced over and noted her dumbfounded expression, and one corner of his mouth turned up. "Don't look so surprised. I told you three years ago that you were the most important thing in my life, Mac." His gaze met hers squarely.

She removed her sunglasses with great care. "You also ignored me, picked fights, and resented my authority when I was on the bench."

"Guilty as charged." His resolute gaze held hers. "I acted like a horse's ass."

She stared at him in astonishment. After an endless interval, she looked away. "You behaved better than I did," she said bitterly, twisting her sunglasses, and he wanted to reach out to stop her before she broke them.

Instead he said quietly, "I tried to tell you a few times, but somehow it was never the *right* time. Funny, but I always thought there'd be time." He swallowed. "You don't have to say anything. But I'm through dancing, Mac."

She stared without moving, without breathing. "I can't do this now," she whispered.

"Look, I know it's too soon. I know you need time" --

She cut him off. "No! Don't you get it? I gave you up, Harm! It damn near killed me, but I stopped hoping we would ever be anything more than friends. I made a decision to get on with my life. And now -- now it's going to take everything I have just to get well." She blinked back furious tears. "I don't have the energy to risk it again. I just can't," she gulped.

"All right," he said quietly. "I understand. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Mac."

"This makes me feel like I'm using you," she muttered.

He was stung. "Did you think there were strings attached?"

Her face went white. "No. I – I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Friends help friends, Mac. That's what they do." He looked away and said, "And I'm going to be here, no matter what." His voice was low and fierce.

"Before you make a decision -- promise me we'll talk it over."

He didn't move. Didn't even blink. Then, "Okay," he said.

* * *

Later that day

Eastern shore of Maryland

By tacit agreement, they left all serious discussion behind at the beach. They ate a quiet lunch in a diner in one of the tiny towns nearby and spent the afternoon motoring along two-lane roads, weaving among the endless creeks and rivers that run into the bay. At last they chased the sunset across the Bay Bridge, following the powerful swath of the Corvette's headlights as they swept past the twinkling lights of Annapolis and on through the gathering dusk.

The dashboard lights outlined Harm's profile. His eyes were somber, his hands quiet on the wheel and stick. The highway unfurled before them, rushing beneath the hood of the car in an endless ribbon, and the roar of the wind made conversation unnecessary. As they came off the bridge, Harm glanced over at her and reached down to switch on the heater.

Mac stared ahead, not seeing the tunnel of trees flickering overhead. Instead, she was staring at a parade of ghosts. Dalton, Mic, Clay -- each a good man, in his way. Each of them had sparked her hopes for children, a life, a future. Each of them had wanted her. She had tried so hard to want them in return.

I wouldn't have needed to try so hard if they had been right for me, she thought. To be honest, I wasn't right for any of them, either. With a pang of regret, she reflected that each of them had known he was just a substitute for the man beside her.

How many sleepless nights have I wasted, thinking about Harm, she wondered. How many times have I longed for him when he was dating someone else, missed him when he was far away, and hated him for not noticing?

I found out the hard way that feelings don't stop just because the relationship does. And now, when I'm on the ropes, he decides he's ready.

A small, still voice cut through the anger echoing in her mind. How many times did he try to tell me? How many times did I cut him off, because I was hurt and angry, and turn to the first man who showed interest?

Maybe he wasn't the only one who felt rejected. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was afraid.

Why couldn't I see the insanity of trying to build a relationship when we were competing for the same cases, the same promotions, the same command? He had the strength to see it years ago. She squirmed at the memory. What would have happened, she wondered now, if he had said yes? A blazing affair with a painful aftermath, trying to avoid each other at the office? Or worse, marriage, with one of them having to transfer out, pretending they didn't resent losing their career?

It wasn't just me, damnit. He never wanted to be tied down. This is just Harm playing Mighty Mouse again. Tears stung her eyes and strangled her throat.

With a swift sigh of disc brakes, Harm wheeled the Corvette to a stop near the curb and backed into a parallel space with an elegant economy of effort. He turned off the ignition, and in the sudden silence Mac could hear the streetlights buzzing high overhead.

He opened her door and held out his hand. Her fingers were engulfed in his warm grip, and in spite of everything, she was amazed that his touch alone could still make her feel so safe.

Suddenly she was exhausted, emotionally and physically wrung out. He turned to lead her into the building, and she held back. "Harm -- I need to be by myself now."

Reluctantly he let go of her hand. "I'll pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow," he said.

"I'll take a cab to the hospital."

"Mac."

"Don't fuss, okay? I'll be fine."

"Will you call me?" He frowned. "Let me pick you up? If they let you go, Mac, don't even think about trying to get up those stairs alone."

"All right, all right."

"I mean it."

"I know!" she exploded. It didn't seem to faze him in the least. Damn him.

"Mac. It's okay to be scared," he said softly.

"I'm not scared!"

"Okay. But even Marines are afraid sometimes. It doesn't mean they can't handle combat." A tiny smile lurked behind his eyes.

In spite of herself, she felt a corner of her mouth turn up. "You're a fighter pilot. You've never been scared a day in your life."

"I am now," he said.

End Part Seven

* * *

Part Eight

Monday, 1600 Hours EDT

JAG Headquarters

Harm clicked 'Save' and closed the file. For the hundredth time, his hand reached for the phone, and he stopped with an impatient sigh. She would call when she was ready.

He swiveled to stare out the window. The brief he was writing was going nowhere -- he simply couldn't concentrate. Every five minutes, his mind wandered to the image of Mac with those tubes running into her, and he lost the thread of his argument.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip, and he snatched it from his pocket. "Rabb."

"Harm?"

"I'm here, Mac. How are you doing?"

"Okay. They say I can go home now." Her voice was very faint.

"I'm on my way."

"Thanks." The connection clicked off.

He swept a few papers into his briefcase, shut down his computer, and punched an extension on his desk phone. Morrissey answered on the first ring. "Yes, Commander."

"I'm securing early today, Sergeant. I can be reached on my cell if necessary."

"Aye aye, sir."

Twenty minutes later, the intercom buzzed on Morrissey's desk. "Get Commander Rabb in here," Prescott ordered.

"He's left for the day, sir," Morrissey answered.

Silence. Prescott snapped, "Get me Turner."

* * *

Later

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

"Okay, easy. Here we are." Harm pushed open the door and helped Mac inside.

"What the hell is *that*?" she demanded.

An enormous recliner upholstered in dark leather stood beside the sofa. The two tiny wicker armchairs had been relegated to posts against the wall.

"It's a present," Harm said. "If you don't like it, we’ll send it back."

"But how -- ?"

"I called your super. He let the delivery guys in."

She tottered slowly across the room and reached out a hand to lean on the massive chair. "Why?"

"You looked so uncomfortable on the sofa. Want to try it?"

Cautiously Mac perched on the seat and slid back. "How does it work?" she asked.

"Just lean back." She gave a feeble push and looked up, annoyed. He pressed on the backrest, and slowly the footrest came up and the back reclined. "It'll go almost flat if you want," he said.

"Wow." Mac looked up at him in surprise. "This is incredible. I may not move. Ever."

"Great." His smile was dazzling, and she couldn't help a little grin in return.

Wearily she closed her eyes, and a moment later she felt the comforter laid across her lap. She dragged it up around her shoulders and snuggled her face into its soft folds. She was aware of Harm moving quietly around, and she murmured, "Did the cleaning lady come?"

"Looks like it, yeah. They did a good job. Do you want anything, Mac?"

"Uh-uh."

"You doing okay?"

"Sure. I haven't barfed in hours." Her eyelids felt scratchy, but she dragged them open. He was sitting tensely on the sofa, watching her. "I'll be okay," she tried to reassure him.

"Mind if I stay?"

"Okay. Sure."

Some time later, she didn't know how long, she awakened enough to feel him slip a cool pillow beneath her head. She said something, her voice feeling fuzzy, and heard him say, "You're okay, Mac. Sleep now."

The last thing she remembered was the feel of a soft kiss on her forehead.

* * *

Tuesday, 0900 Hours EDT

Conference Room, JAG Headquarters

"That about covers it, gentlemen." Prescott closed the cover of his leather portfolio and looked up. "Dismissed."

The lawyers along both sides of the conference table rose, came briefly to attention, and began gathering their papers when the admiral said quietly, "Commander Rabb, please remain a moment."

Harm set his briefcase down and waited while the room emptied. Instead of inviting him to sit, Prescott leaned back in his chair. The door swished shut, and the room was silent.

Prescott spoke in his usual uninflected tone, but a perceptible chill wafted from him. "A call from PACFLEET came in yesterday at 1630. I had to send Commander Turner to handle that espionage case. Admiral Drake wanted someone immediately."

"Yes sir, I heard."

"I had intended to send you, Commander. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you had secured early."

"Yes sir. I had just left to pick up Colonel Mackenzie at the hospital."

Prescott nodded. "I need to clarify something here, Commander. Are you and Colonel Mackenzie married?"

Harm frowned. "No, sir."

"Engaged to be married?"

"No sir."

"I thought not. You are not a member of her immediate family, Commander. Therefore, it is unacceptable for you to take unscheduled personal time due to her illness. You may use your leave in accordance with regulations, but schedule it in advance from now on."

"Yes, sir." Harm stared straight ahead and managed to keep his tone respectful.

"That will be all, Commander."

Harm came briefly to attention, turned on his heel and left.

* * *

That evening, 1800 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

"Hi." He laid his cover on the table by the door.

"Hi, yourself." She was neatly dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, her hair was clean and fluffy, and she wore a trace of makeup that almost concealed the shadows beneath her eyes.

He decided not to ask how she felt. "What would you like for dinner?" he asked, heading toward the kitchen.

"Oh, I had something earlier, thanks," she said evasively.

Frowning, Harm pulled a cold can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and went back to the living room. Mac gestured to the recliner. "Go ahead, try it. I used to think they were the ugliest things I'd ever seen, but I love it." Her smile was wistful. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for everything, Harm.”

He was surprised, and faintly embarrassed. To cover, he made a production of sitting down and stretching out. "Wow. Now I know why you didn't want to get out of it last night," he teased. After she had slept through the evening, he had managed to tuck her into bed, pausing only to untie her sneakers.

Now she observed, "It's nice to see you sitting in a chair that fits. You always looked uncomfortable in those little things. So how did it go today? What's going on? How's Monty?"

Harm grinned. Someone had already nicknamed the new chief of staff ‘General Montgomery,' and Mac had pounced on it. Now Harm leaned back and told her, "Oh, same old same old. I got that brief done, finally. Sturgis left for an espionage investigation."

"I thought you were due to take the next investigation."

He started to shrug it off and his eyes met hers. "I was picking you up when the call came in."

"Was that a problem?"

"Yeah, it was. Prescott read me the riot act after staff call."

"Harm, you're a senior officer. You're allowed to determine your own schedule, within the limits."

"Not for anything but an emergency, apparently. Immediate family only."

"I see." She regarded him soberly, knowing that before all this, he wouldn't have told her about it. "I'll work something out, Harm. It's not fair to ask you to pick me up twice a week."

"I want to do it, Mac. I just have to put in for half days in advance, that's all."

"And you'll run out of leave in no time. I'll ask some different people. Harriet offered."

"Harriet is carrying twins. If you get dizzy on the stairs, you could both fall," he glared.

"I do have a few other friends," she reminded him tartly. "I'll spread the job around. Anyway, I'm handling it better than I did. And I can use the elevator at headquarters."

"Mac, you can't be thinking about going in tomorrow."

"I certainly am. I need to meet Prescott, for one thing, and I want to get a look at Monty."

"There's no need – look, Mac, at most you'll be able to work on Wednesdays. What's the point?"

"The point is, I don't want my career to go down the tubes while I get left behind! I need to see people, I need to feel like I'm worth – like I'm doing something worthwhile."

"Taking care of yourself isn't worthwhile? Getting well isn't worthwhile?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "I'm going crazy sitting around here alone all day!"

They glared at each other. She had gone very pale, and she was clutching a sofa cushion to her chest. Harm stood up and took a deep breath, willing himself to take it easy. He knew she would never change her mind, and getting angry wasn't going to help.

"May I pick you up tomorrow?" he said evenly.

"I can drive myself," she snapped. "I haven't forgotten how."

"The day will be tiring enough without fighting traffic, Mac."

She scowled at him for a full minute before she relented. "All right."

"I'll see you at 0700," he said, and picked up his cover. Arguing with Mac was usually a stimulating diversion, but not this time.

* * *

Wednesday, 0830 Hours EDT

JAG Headquarters

Mac straightened her jacket with a nervous tug and squared her shoulders. She still felt overwhelmed by the number of people who had crowded around to welcome her back and ask how she was. And now she had to meet a new commanding officer.

"He says to go right in, ma'am," Sergeant Morrissey said. She nodded, thinking that Morrissey was stern even for a Marine. The man's incurious black eyes seemed to bore holes in her back as she pushed open the familiar door and came to attention before the desk.

"Colonel Mackenzie," Prescott said, rising politely. "As you were. Please, sit down."

She had a fleeting impression that she had seen him, or met him, somewhere before, but it wasn't until he gestured stiffly to one of the chairs facing his desk that it clicked. Slim and fit, with hooded eyelids and a mouth like a bloodless wound – Prescott could have played the aristocratic commandant in the old prisoner of war movie she had watched last night. Mac bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

Prescott was saying in his cool voice, "I didn't expect you to report for work so soon, Colonel. I hope that means you're feeling better?"

"Yes sir. My doctor cleared me for light duty when I feel up to it. I plan to come in on the days I'm not receiving chemotherapy."

"Splendid. You do realize, of course, that you won't be serving as counsel on cases or conducting investigations for the time being?"

"Of course, sir. But I'd like to help out with routine matters wherever possible. It helps to keep busy."

"Yes, certainly. Well, Colonel, we can always use another attorney around here. I was very sorry to hear of your illness, but I'm sure you'll be back up to speed in no time. I'll ask Lieutenant Commander Jackson to show you to your new office." He stood, and she rose as well, realizing that the interview was over.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

Harm was lurking at the filing cabinets when she came out, and she walked over to join him, glad to see an ally. He asked quietly, "How did it go?"

"Okay, I suppose." She felt strangely hollow.

"Don't let him get to you."

"I'm not," she said with a quick smile. "Well, guess I'd better go introduce myself to my replacement." With her head up, she marched decisively across the bullpen to her former office and knocked at the open door. Harm sauntered casually over to the fax machine and waited within earshot.

"Excuse me, Commander," Mac said pleasantly. Jackson looked up and jumped to his feet. She said, "As you were. I'm Colonel Mackenzie." She stuck out her hand, and after a nearly imperceptible hesitation, Jackson shook it. His grip was oddly tentative.

To conceal her distaste, she gave him a friendly smile and said crisply, "I'll be in the office part time for awhile. If you like, I'd be glad to show you the ropes."

"Thank you, ma'am. But everything seems pretty straightforward. Your records were exceptionally well organized." Her attention sharpened at his faintly patronizing air, but she shrugged it off. She hadn't succeeded in the military by letting male attitude get to her.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. The operational tempo around here is pretty busy. I understand you're not an attorney, so some things are probably a challenge."

"Not really, ma'am. I've been Admiral Prescott's aide for the past year. You pick up the lingo."

Mac lifted an eyebrow. No, she wasn't imagining it. "Glad to hear it. In that case, Commander, I would appreciate it if you'd detail a yeoman to help me set up my new office space this morning. And I'll need to have my computer connected to the network."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry to put you out of your old office, by the way. But I'm afraid we won't be able to get you online until next week, Colonel. If I'd known you were coming in I could have made arrangements, but the IT people are in the middle of an upgrade to the online research database. They won't be finished until Friday."

"Ah. Upgrades must have changed, then. Most of the time they sit around playing chess while they wait for stuff to download. Did they tell you it would require all three of them?"

For the first time, Jackson looked disconcerted. "Yes, ma'am."

"They always try to pull that." She leaned forward. "I expect to see an IT tech in my office within 30 minutes, Commander. Is that clear?"

"Understood, ma'am."

Mac glanced around at the walls. "Love what you've done with the place," she said.

Harm smothered a grin as she stalked by, and managed to get to the glass doors in time hold one open for her. His solemn expression was marred by the glee dancing behind his eyes.

"You going downstairs?"

Mac gave him a death glare. "Yes."

"I'll be along in a minute." He watched her walk to the elevator before turning back to get the file he had left on top of the cabinet near the Admiral's office. As he picked it up, he could hear Jackson in the anteroom. The man didn't bother to lower his voice. "Now I know what those guys meant when they said that's one Marine who really stacks up. Her records aren't the only things in great shape."

Harm stiffened and almost missed Morrissey's quiet snort. "Whadda you expect when they make a female a senior officer?"

The edges of objects in Harm's vision sharpened to a razor's edge. He took one step to the door of the anteroom, and Jackson froze like a squirrel facing a speeding car. "Commander, wait for me in your office," Harm said, his voice dangerously calm. Jackson hurried out, and Harm swiveled his gaze to Morrissey, who was standing at attention, his face impassive. "Staff Sergeant, do you believe it is appropriate to display disrespect to an officer?"

"No sir."

"From here on out, keep your opinions to yourself or it will be your ass. Clear?"

"Aye sir. Sorry, sir."

"As you were."

Harm spun on his heel, walked to Jackson's office with quick strides, and closed the door. He stood with his arms crossed and stared at the young man, who stood rigidly at attention. At last Harm said, "I expect that kind of crap from an enlisted man, Commander, but are you in the habit of encouraging disrespect in the people under your command?"

"No sir."

"Ah. Then you must have been speaking of some *other* female senior officer, one with whom you are sufficiently acquainted to pass judgment on her competence?"

"Yes sir."

"So you're in the habit of disrespecting all female officers? Or only the ones you know?"

"Yes sir. I mean, no sir."

"Then just how would you characterize the remarks you made?" Harm's tone was silky. Anyone else would have recognized the warning signals, but Jackson breathed a little easier.

"Inappropriate, sir."

"Inappropriate. Macho frat house bullshit is ‘inappropriate,' Commander. Conduct Unbecoming is another matter entirely." Harm's voice remained even, but it had acquired a dangerous edge.

"Sir, I" –

"Because making those remarks was bad enough, but making them in the center of JAG Ops goes way beyond inappropriate, Commander. I strongly suggest you reexamine your attitude toward women officers, particularly those whose record puts your own to shame. And rest assured, if there is ever the slightest hint of this attitude in the future, you *will* be facing charges. Am I clear?"

Harm's chin was inches from Jackson, who was unconsciously leaning back. He gulped and stammered, "Yes sir."

Harm held his stare a moment longer than necessary. Without another word, he spun on his heel and left. The door rattled on its hinges behind him.

* * *

Moments later

"Hey, tiger. How's it going?" Harm leaned in at the door of Mac's office. The cramped space was crowded with a young petty officer putting files into drawers and a computer tech crawling around on the floor, connecting network cables. Mac looked up from her desk chair. She was very pale.

"We're getting there," she answered.

He nodded and continued down the hall to his own office. He was just booting up his computer when Mac tapped at his door. "You busy?"

"Court this afternoon – Judge Sebring."

"Mind if I hang out in here for awhile? I'm in their way." She gestured in the direction of her office, and without waiting for an invitation, she dropped into his visitor chair.

"How did it go with Prescott?" he asked.

"Once I got past the guard dog, you mean?" Harm smothered a grin. Morrissey did resemble the Marine mascot. Mac went on, "I don't know what I expected, but I guess I thought Prescott would want to ask me a *few* things. But he acted like it was irrelevant."

"I told you he's a pretty cold fish. Don't let it get to you, Mac."

"He didn't. But that smug little prick, Monty, almost did."

"Guess lieutenant commander tastes pretty good for breakfast, eh Marine?" This time, Harm did grin, and after a moment she returned it.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Fine.” She glanced around. "You know, I kind of like it down here. It's quiet. You even have a window."

"Yeah, and we have our own entrance – the back emergency exit is just down the hall. If I still smoked cigars, I could sneak out whenever I wanted."

"Well, I'm glad you gave up those nasty things at least," she said lightly. They both realized where that remark could lead, and she shied away. "Look, please don't let me bother you, I know you have work to do."

"It's okay. It's nice having some company for a change."

She tilted her head to one side and observed, "Something's bothering you, though." He opened his eyes wide, and she snorted. "That innocent look hasn't worked on me in years, Harm. Something upset you when you went back to the bullpen."

He hesitated. "I overheard Jackson and Morrissey making some ill-considered remarks," he said reluctantly, "and I dealt with it."

Mac crossed her arms, and her eyes were warm and knowing. "Are they currently changing their underwear?"

"They damn well better be." At her broad smile, he relaxed and grinned back.

End Part Eight

* * *

Part Nine

That afternoon, 1420 Hours EDT

Courtroom, JAG Headquarters

Harm was listening intently to Bud's cross examination when something plucked at his sleeve. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jennifer Coates holding a folded slip of paper. The abrupt break in his concentration made him blink.

One look at her tense face told him to snatch the note and open it quickly beneath the edge of the table. Mac's clear handwriting read, "Taking a cab home early. M." His gut clenched, but he kept his face impassive and forced himself to focus on the witness.

"Nothing further," Bud said, and limped back to his seat.

"Redirect, your honor," Harm said. Quickly he framed a crisp question, enough to blunt the impact of the previous testimony. Lieutenant Adair, his second chair, gave him a subtle thumbs up as he sat down.

"Recess for 30 minutes," Judge Sebring announced. "Reconvene at 1500."

At the bang of the gavel, Harm was on his way out the door, with Coates trotting to keep up. "Where is she, in her office?" he demanded over his shoulder. "Is she all right?" Harm gave up the elevator as futile and banged open the door to the stairs.

"I think so, sir," Jennifer panted behind him. "She told me to wait until court recessed, but I didn't know how long you'd be."

These stairs were too wide to grab the rails and slide down, damnit. He jumped the last three to the landing and ran down the next flight. He ignored Jennifer's light footfalls on the steps above him.

Harm burst through the door to the basement level and trotted to Mac's office door. She was slumped in her chair with her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes closed, but she opened them when he knelt beside her chair. "Hey," she said with a little smile.

"Hey," he said, brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek. "How's it going?"

"I'm okay," she said. "Just really tired. I thought I'd better go home and lie down."

"Have you called the cab?" At that, the phone rang. It was the guard at the gate, calling to let her know the cab had arrived. Harm carefully helped Mac to her feet and steadied her.

"Harm, I didn't mean to drag you out of court."

"You didn't. Okay, nice and easy now," he said. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and slowly they made their way to the elevator. Jennifer was already there, holding it open, and he said quickly, "Thanks, Petty Officer. Ride with us, please."

The doors slid open in the lobby, and Harm walked Mac slowly down the hall, with Coates following. He could feel a fine tremor in Mac's hesitant steps, as if she were made of glass. "Petty Officer, I'm detailing you to take Colonel Mackenzie home," he ordered. "I wish I could take you myself, Mac, but I'm due back in court in 20 minutes."

"I'll be okay," Mac protested. He ignored her and put an arm around her waist, and she clutched his hand as they slowly descended the front steps and crossed to where the cab waited. He helped her into the back seat and turned to Jennifer, who was hovering at his elbow.

"Coates, there are a lot of stairs at the apartment. Take it very slowly, okay? Stay behind her, or you'll never be able to catch her if she gets dizzy." Even as he bit off his orders, he dug some bills out of his wallet and pressed them into her hand. "Wait for me there, I'll pick you up after taps. Don't leave her alone, no matter what she says, and if anything happens, have the cab take you to Georgetown University Hospital. Got it?"

"Aye aye, sir. We'll be all right, Commander." Jennifer went around to the opposite door and got in.

Harm stood staring after them for a long moment before squaring his shoulders and heading back into the building. He didn't notice Captain Sebring standing at the window of his chambers high above.

* * *

That evening, 1830 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

"How's she doing?" Harm whispered, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jennifer dropped the magazine she was leafing through and jumped up from the sofa. "Okay, sir. I helped her out of her uniform, and she went to bed. I think she's asleep."

"She give you any trouble?"

Coates's eyes sparkled. "She ordered me to go home, sir."

"Good job, Petty Officer." He returned her brief smile and hesitated before he added, "I don't know how to thank you, Jennifer. You're always there when I need you."

"Back at you, sir." She frowned. "I just wish there was more I could do. She's really sick, isn't she sir?"

He sighed. "Yeah, Jen, she is. Anyway, would you mind taking a cab home? I don't want to leave her alone."

"No problem, sir." She reached for the phone.

"Do you need some more dough for the cab?" He reached into his jacket, but she held up her hand.

"Got it covered, sir. You gave me plenty before, even with a big tip. The driver helped us get in the doors downstairs."

With a wave, Jennifer let herself out. Harm rubbed the back of his neck and went to the door of the bedroom. When he peeked inside, Mac was lying with her back to him, the covers drawn up to her chin. He tiptoed to the window and twisted the blinds to block the late afternoon sunlight, and when he turned around, Mac was watching him.

"Hey," he said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "How are you doing?"

"Okay," she replied and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge. "Is Jennifer gone?"

"Yeah, I sent her home in a cab."

"I thought you were going to take her yourself." She straightened her rumpled, oversize t-shirt and began rummaging around in the top drawer of the nightstand.

"Jennifer will be fine. Are you getting hungry? Did you eat anything for lunch?"

"Yes, I had lunch. No, I'm not hungry." Mac slammed the drawer shut and demanded, "Where the hell is the remote?"

Harm lifted it from the bedspread and handed it to her.

Mac snatched it from him, propped herself up with several pillows, and clicked on the TV. "What are you hanging around for?" she snapped.

"I wanted the company," he said mildly.

"Look, Harm, I have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning. This is the best I'm going to feel for a few days, so you might as well take off."

"What is it, Mac?" he asked.

"What's what?"

"Whatever's bugging you."

"What do you mean, what's bugging me? I feel like shit, you're acting like a mother hen, and I humiliated myself today. What more do you want?"

"How did you humiliate yourself?"

She ran an impatient hand through her hair. "I told Prescott I'd be coming in three days a week. I ordered Monty to drop everything and set up my office. And then I couldn't even make it through one whole day. They're probably laughing their asses off right now."

"Nobody's laughing, Mac. Look, you tried and you did the best you could. But right now, your energy needs to be focused on getting well."

"Right now, I'm focused on asking you to leave me alone!"

"Mac" –

"Look, I know you're lonely right now, Harm, but I have no intention of being a substitute for Mattie, okay?"

He rocked back as if she had slapped him. "I don't" –

She shoved at him weakly. "Go on! Get out, Harm! Just leave!"

Mac always turned into a bully when she felt threatened. He caught her wrists in gentle hands as she flailed at him and said calmly, "I'm not going anywhere, Mac."

"Why? What's in it for you this time, Harm? I'm not one of your charity cases! I've never been good enough for you before, so why now?"

He froze. Mac's white face seemed to blur and dissolve into Mattie's face, and it was Mattie's voice that echoed in his mind -- "You just want to get rid of me!" Two scared, abandoned little girls, both hiding behind a brave front. Both sure that they were unlovable, because they had no one who loved them.

Something essential clicked into place. And now it was Mac's voice he heard, as the memories tumbled over each other, blurring into the present. "You've never had a weak moment in your life, have you?" "It means more to you than JAG, more than Jordan, more than . . ." "You're just this way with me, aren't you?"

Harm blinked, and focused on her furious stare. "I owe you an apology, Mac."

"Just go." She turned away, and the dejected droop of her shoulders nearly broke his heart.

"No," he said. She jerked up angrily, and he laid light fingers on her mouth before she could speak. "Please -- wait."

She went very still.

He spoke slowly and watched her intently. "I'm sorry for all the times I wasn't paying attention. For worrying more about our careers than about us. For being afraid to let you get too close." He cleared his throat. "I've made a lot of mistakes over the years, Mac. I can't wipe all that away. But I'd be grateful if you'd let me prove that *I'm* good enough for *you.*"

Her eyes widened. Time stretched and held, motionless. He held her gaze, feeling calm and sure, and simply waited.

A single tear brimmed over and traced a silver line down her cheek. Harm never knew who reached out first, but when he gathered to him, her arms slipped tightly around him.

For a long time they simply held each other, rocking gently. When Mac finally lifted her head, his eyes were wet, too.

* * *

Thursday, 0500 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment

She awakened with her head nestled in the curve of Harm's neck, his skin warm beneath her cheek. For a long time she lay there, feeling his chest slowly rise and fall, listening to the calm beat of his heart.

The room was cool in the dim light before dawn. With faint surprise, she realized she had slept the night through. They had been watching TV last night, and Harm must have turned it off. He was still wearing his white uniform trousers, but at some point he had removed the blouse. Now he lay on his back, the thin white t-shirt clinging to his powerful shoulders.

She must have moved, because he gave a little snore and opened his eyes. A warm smile spread slowly across his face. "Hi," he rasped, his voice rough with sleep.

"Hi," she smiled back.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to fall asleep," he muttered. "What time is it?"

"0530," she said. "I'm glad you stayed. I slept better than I have in forever."

"Me too," he said with faint surprise. He rolled to face her and laid his hand on the curve of her waist. "You look beautiful in the morning."

"Thank you," she said after a moment. She knew how pale and drawn she was, but she could tell he meant it. Slowly she ran her fingertips over his sandpapery cheek, and he reached up and brought them to his lips for a light kiss.

"I'm so glad you don't wear cologne," she said.

Harm's eyebrows went up. "So am I," he grinned. "No sane man uses that stuff past the age of 16. But is there another reason?"

"Smells are starting to bother me. Air fresheners, perfumes," she shrugged.

"How about some hot tea?" he asked.

"Will you stay and have it with me?"

"Sure. But then I've gotta get going." He rose and stretched before heading to the kitchen. While he worked, he smiled to himself, feeling relaxed and cheerful, and tapped out a quick drum roll on Mac's pots and pans.

A few minutes later he carried two steaming mugs and a plateful of dry toast into the bedroom to find Mac sitting up against the pillows. "What time do you have to be there this morning?" he asked, sitting on the side of the bed and sipping at his tea.

"Nine." She looked away.

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"You could take a cab to my place when you're done. It has the elevator, and you could rest there until I can give you a ride home."

She sipped her tea and thought about it. "Do you think I can manage the gate?" she asked. "It isn't heavy, but you know how it sticks."

"We had it fixed."

Mac sighed. "It's a good solution, Harm. It's just that" -- she looked away, and he waited.

When it appeared that she wouldn't continue, he probed gently. "What is it, Mac?"

"I hate it," she said, her voice low and vehement. "I *hate* it. I hate not being able to do things. I hate being helped. I hate *needing* help." She frowned. "It makes me feel . . . weak."

Harm remembered the times he had been laid up and silently agreed. But he suspected that for Mac, the frustration went far deeper than physical constraints. Self-confidence came to him as a birthright, but for Mac, strength and determination were her protection, her armor.

So he simply listened and nodded. "I know. But courage wears different faces, Mac. You have what it takes to get through this and get well. The rest doesn't matter."

"Okay," she agreed with a tiny smile.

He grinned back. "Great. You'll call me when you get home?"

"Sure. Besides, it'll give me a chance to go through *your* underwear drawer."

* * *

That night, 1830 Hours EDT

Harm's apartment

He let himself in quietly and bent to untie his shoes. The loft was very still, and dusk was beginning to gather high in the corners beneath the rafters.

Moving silently on sock feet, he climbed the three steps to the bedroom and was swept with a powerful sense of deja vu -- Jordan, sprawled across his bed, his heart in his mouth until he was sure she wasn't dead. Not that time, anyway.

He shook away the memories and tiptoed across the carpeting. Mac's eyes were closed, and she huddled beneath the covers, clutching one of his pillows in her arms. Her breathing was light and even, and he turned to collect clean clothes from the dresser.

"Harm?" she called sleepily.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry to bother you, Mac. Go back to sleep."

She rolled over to look at him. "I wasn't sleeping, really."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

He stripped the ribbons and insignia from his summer whites, tossed them into the bag for the cleaners, and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a clean t-shirt. Barefoot, he crossed to the bed and leaned over to stroke her hair. "I brought some work home," he told her. "Just yell if you need anything. Mind if I put on some music?"

"If it isn't too loud," she whispered, closing her eyes.

Harm moved silently into the living room, found his favorite CD, and dialed the amplifiers down. He opened his briefcase and laptop, placed neat stacks of papers on the glass table, and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension humming through his veins. He felt better having Mac here, but it was harder to ignore the worry.

Deciding he was hungry, he retrieved a covered dish from the refrigerator, set it in the microwave, punched a couple of buttons, and cracked open a cold bottle of beer. He leaned on the kitchen island, sipping it, letting himself relax while he stared out the window and listened to Ella crooning in a voice like silver lace.

The microwave dinged. Harm spooned steaming pasta onto a plate and slid onto a stool to eat at the island. Just as he started to take a second bite, he heard light footfalls, followed by retching sounds coming from the bathroom.

He was up the steps and across the bedroom like a shot. "Mac!" he called, and skidded to a stop, horrified to find her clinging to the toilet, her body wracked with dry heaves.

"It's okay, baby, you're okay," he murmured, kneeling beside her and sliding an arm around her waist. With one hand, he grabbed a washcloth, managed to wet in the sink, and held it gently to her forehead.

She fumbled at it with trembling fingers and pressed it to her face. "It's the food," she mumbled. "The smell. I'm sorry."

"Oh God, Mac, I didn't realize. Look, hang on, okay? I'll get rid of it." He ran back to the kitchen, grabbed the dishes and thrust them onto the fire escape, and slammed the door. He paused long enough to switch on the vent fan in the stove before hurrying back to the bathroom.

She rose shakily to her feet with his help and leaned against him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"*You're* sorry?" he whispered into her hair. "Mac, I had no idea, please forgive me."

"It's okay, really," she said, and shuffled back to bed. He drew the covers over her and sat on the edge of the mattress, stroking her hair. "Harm -- you need to eat," she mumbled without opening her eyes.

"I'll be okay," he said soothingly. "Rest now, Mac."

After awhile, her breathing evened out, and he rose stealthily. In the kitchen, he slipped outside and finished his cold dinner standing on the fire escape, watching the sun set over the roof of Union Station.

* * *

Later that evening

Harm threw down his pen and rubbed his eyes. This case was a loser, he could feel it. With a couple of clicks, he shut down his laptop. Enough, already.

Pausing to turn off the light above the kitchen island, he tiptoed to the bedroom. He was unwilling to rouse Mac, so he brushed his teeth in the dark, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into bed on the far side, slipping between the cool sheets.

"Harm," she murmured, and rolled over. Her hand brushed his chest and stroked it, and he caught it in his.

"I'll take you home tomorrow, okay?" he whispered.

" 'Kay," she answered sleepily. "S' nice here. I like your bed." She seemed to hear what she had said and stiffened a little.

"I like having you here," he smiled into the dark. "Sleep now, Mac."

Her eyes gleamed, her face a pale shadow in the darkness. A moment later, she slid toward him and laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

End Part Nine

* * *

Part Ten

Friday, 1500 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

The persistent ringing of the phone awakened her, and she rolled over reluctantly. The sheets felt hot and damp where they were wadded around her. Need to turn on the air conditioner, she thought groggily.

"H'lo?" she mumbled.

"Mac?" Harm sounded anxious. "I let the phone ring like 20 times. Everything okay?"

"Sure. Just asleep."

"I'm sorry to bother you. But I just found out, I have to go down to Norfolk. I should be home tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay." She rubbed her eyes and pushed herself to sit up. "Is there some big emergency?"

"Nah, but I have to interview a witness who's shipping out tomorrow."

"Have a safe trip. Call me?"

"Count on it."

* * *

Saturday, 0830 EDT

Mac's apartment

Saturday dawned bright and clear, and the sunlight streaming in the windows matched her mood. The nausea was gone, the dizziness was gone, and she managed to cook and eat a bowl of rice for breakfast. This really is like riding a rollercoaster, she thought. It feels exactly like recovering from a bad bout of the flu, over and over again.

Her legs were still a little shaky, but after showering and getting dressed, she felt ready for some fresh air and some company. She knew that trying to reach any of her friends on Saturday morning was hopeless – everyone would be out doing errands or driving the kids to soccer practice.

With her purse over her shoulder, she locked the door of the apartment and paused at the top of the stairs. A small voice told her this was stupid, but she ignored it. Going down wasn't so bad, as long as she kept hold of the railing. She rested for a moment in the lobby before descending the steep stone steps to the sidewalk.

The quaint old streets of Georgetown were alive with tourists and residents walking their dogs, and Mac strolled slowly along in the shade beneath the trees that lined the curb. The fresh summer morning smelled wonderful, and she was cheered to see the brightly colored umbrellas beginning to sprout outside the cafes on M street.

She pushed open the door to Starbucks and immediately backed out, overwhelmed by the smell of coffee that met her like a wall. Now there was a thought – a Marine who couldn't stomach the idea of coffee. With a shake of her head, she went into the deli next door, where she bought half a dozen bagels still warm from the oven. At the last minute, she smiled to herself and picked up a big cinnamon muffin, thinking of Harm. He had called last night from the VOQ at the Norfolk Navy Yard, tired and annoyed that his witness had provided no useful information.

The fragrance of freshly baked bread was almost too much for her, and she paid quickly and left. She walked home slowly, feeling unreasonably cheerful and enjoying the simple pleasure of being out on the street. Two blocks later, she decided to rest on the iron bench beside the historical marker across the street from her building.

Harm would be on his way home by now. A faint smile flitted across her face without her knowing, and she shivered a little with anticipation. It seemed odd to feel so happy, so hopeful, when the future was so uncertain. But something was happening here, and it was happening in its own rhythm, its own time. She had the sense of a rosebud unfolding, a butterfly with wings tightly furled, at last escaping from its imprisoning chrysalis and breaking free into the sunlight.

She lingered in the shade, watching a few people go by. At last she stood up. "Come on, Marine," she muttered. She wasn't looking forward to climbing those stairs.

* * *

That afternoon, 1645 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment

"Enter!"

Harm came in wearing jeans and sneakers, and broke into a smile at the sight of her curled up in the recliner with a book open in her lap.

"Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully. "How was the drive?"

"That's the only good thing about coming back on the weekend, all the traffic was headed the other way," he said. He shut the door and dropped onto the sofa. "How was your day, dear?"

She laughed. "My friend Jackie came by – you remember, the one who's a reservist now? And I talked to Harriet on the phone. She's throwing up more than I do."

At his expression, she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Hey, I'm kidding. I felt so well this morning, I even walked over to Starbucks."

He frowned, "Was that too much?"

"Nope. It was a little tiring, but I took it easy." She smiled and said, "Harm, some days I feel lousy, but the weekends are better. It felt really good to get out, on my own. I refuse to let this thing stop me from living my life." His eyes snapped to hers, but he seemed reassured by whatever he read there.

He nodded once, decisively. "You're right, Mac. You know what you can handle. It's just – the other night spooked me, I guess. I hate seeing you like that, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"I know," she agreed quietly. "I'd feel the same way if it were you." His astonishing green eyes widened, and something made her catch her breath.

Then he grinned, and the moment passed. "Okay. So what do you want for dinner? Or shall I eat out?"

"Not a chance. I want some of that fantastic chicken noodle soup."

"You got it. Hey, can we catch that rerun of ‘The Sopranos' tonight?"

"Rabb, you're going to turn into a real video head if you don't watch out."

* * *

Sunday, 0900 Hours EDT, Memorial Day weekend

He didn't spend the night.

Mac only admitted to herself that she was disappointed when she woke up alone in a bedroom full of sunlight. Her last memory was of lying with her head in the hollow of his shoulder and a soft kiss on her hair as she struggled to keep her eyes open against the flickering glare of the television screen. He must have let himself out after the movie ended.

And now here they were, tearing down the George Washington Parkway in Harm's Corvette, the warm wind buffeting their hair. Sunlight flickered over them in a blur of green and gold through the trees overhead, and the Potomac gleamed on their left.

She leaned her head back and laughed, full of joy to be out and free and flying along in a fast and extremely cool sports car. Harm glanced over, inscrutable behind his black aviator shades, and after a moment he reached over and wove his fingers through hers.

An hour later, they turned in at Mount Vernon, paid their admission, and joined the throngs of holiday tourists. Harm held her hand as they wandered through the beautiful old grounds, finally stopping at a bench overlooking the Potomac. The warm breeze caressed her skin.

"I can't believe you've never been here before," Mac teased. "How long have you been in Washington?"

"I know, I know. Residents never take advantage of this stuff."

"This was one of the first things I did when I moved here," she said.

"What was the first?"

"The Mall -- the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, you know. The Smithsonian. The Wright Flyer, the Spirit of St. Louis."

"Now you're talking. How about some ice cream?"

"I would love some ice cream. Vanilla."

He walked over to the concession cart nearby, and she leaned back. When her eyes popped open, Harm was looking down at her with troubled eyes.

"Thanks," she smiled, reaching for one of the two sugar cones he held.

"Getting tired?" he asked.

"Not really. The walk from the parking lot was farther than I remembered, that's all."

"Shall we skip the tour of the house?"

Mac nodded. "It's interesting, but I've done it before. And I don't think old George would mind." She licked at her cone.

Harm stretched out his legs. "It always amazes me how *real* these guys seem," he said. "Washington, Jefferson, Adams. Real men, who loved their wives and enjoyed tending their farms more than power or ambition, who served because it was the right thing to do. And they changed the world."

He said it casually enough, but the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Harm was neither romantic nor naive, which made his idealism all the more powerful. It had startled her before, and it moved her each time he allowed her to see it.

"You're just like them," she said now, surprising herself.

"Me? Mac, the last thing I'll ever be is a politician," Harm shook his head with a rueful smile.

"Being a politician doesn't have to be synonymous with expediency or deceit, you know. All the great admirals have to be able to function in the political arena."

Harm shrugged. "The odds of my ever making admiral are slim to none."

"They'd be lucky to have you," she said. He gave her a lazy grin.

"When the promotion board comes up, I'll send in the Marines," he said. "Besides" -- he stopped as his cell phone chirped. "Rabb."

His face told her it was important, and she sighed inwardly, knowing their blissful afternoon was over. When he clicked the 'End' button, she gave him a crooked smile. "Duty calls?"

"Yeah. Prescott wants me in Yokosuka by tomorrow, they're having trouble with a court martial. I'm on the next thing smoking from Andrews."

He collected their sticky paper napkins, tossed them into the waste can, and held out his hand. Mac took it, and they started walking back toward the car. "I'm sorry, Mac," he said.

"Don't be silly. I've had a wonderful day, and besides, we still have a long ride home. What time is your flight?"

"I have to be at Andrews by 1800."

"We'd better haul, then."

"Look, Mac, I was thinking. How about if you stay at my place while I'm gone? I may not get back until next weekend. I'd feel a lot better if I didn't have to worry about you climbing those stairs by yourself, and Jennifer would be right down the hall if you need anything."

She thought about it. "What about my TV?" she asked with a little smile.

"We can stop on the way back to my place and pick up anything you want."

She didn't reply right away. Then, "Okay. That would be great. Thank you."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders with a quick hug.

* * *

That afternoon, 1400 Hours EDT

North of Union Station

Mac pulled the elevator gate across and held it for Harm, who was carrying her television set. "You know, I never stopped to think whether your apartment is wired for cable," she said.

"And you’re asking *now*?” He shifted the bulky weight and grunted.

She quickly fished out her key, unlocked the door, and held it open for him. Harm staggered up the three steps to the bedroom and carefully slid the TV onto the top of the dresser. "Okay," he panted, "I'll go get the DVD player."

Mac dropped her duffle bag in the corner and said, "I'll hook them up later, Harm. You've got a plane to catch." She was painfully aware that it had taken a long time to get in and out of her apartment to collect her things.

"Two hours, plenty of time," he grinned and disappeared out the door.

Mac followed slowly and decided to wait on the sofa. He would need to pack and change, and she didn't want to be in the way. He returned carrying the last of her things and called, "There's water and juice and stuff in the fridge," and pulled his shirt over his head as he went into the bathroom.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It seemed only a moment before she felt his hand on her cheek. She blinked and saw Harm bending over her, dressed in khakis. "Hey," she said sleepily, and put her hand over his.

"I'm sorry I have to go, Mac," he said.

She stood and walked with him to the door, and he slid an arm around her shoulders. Hers went naturally around his waist, and she said, "Have a good trip. Call me."

He gathered her against him, and she hugged him fiercely. He mumbled against her hair, "Take care, Marine." Then with a quick kiss on the cheek, he was gone.

Mac crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. The loft suddenly seemed very empty. She went to the phone and called the neighbor who collected her mail when she was away, and then wandered to the refrigerator. Tofu, vegetables, sprouts, yogurt, orange juice, beer. Oh, Harm. With an indulgent smile, she selected a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island. She'd have to ask Jennifer to pick up a few things at the market.

It was very strange to sit here in Harm's loft all by herself. Memories echoed in the silent space – had it really been nine years ago that she had first seen this place? She remembered the smell of sawdust and plaster, the drop cloths draped everywhere. Nine years, and she was only now discovering that she scarcely knew him at all. The cocky, arrogant flight jock had developed reservoirs of patience and perception she had never even guessed at. When had he changed, or had he simply matured? Had she?

She ran her fingertips along the strings of his guitar and listened to its ghostly music. The bookcase fascinated her. When did he read all these heavy volumes on international politics and foreign relations? There were books on cars and aviation, she would have expected that, but very few popular novels. Instead, she discovered Hemingway and Steinbeck, Melville and Twain, Eliot and Yeats and even a well-worn volume of Shakespeare. It was oddly comforting to sit at his desk and handle the handsome leather blotter, the letter knife, the crystal paperweight. She turned on the CD player and picked up its jewel case. Ella Fitzgerald – this had been playing the other night.

She turned up the volume a little, pretending he was still in the next room.

* * *

Tuesday, 2100 Hours EDT

Harm's apartment

She caught the phone on its first ring. "Hey, sailor."

"I'll bet you say that to all the guys."

"How's Japan? How was the flight?"

"This case is a stinker, Mac. The JAG is a lieutenant fresh out of law school, and he completely screwed up the investigation. I spent the day re-doing all the interviews."

"And you had him taking notes the whole time."

"Well sure, of course. How else is he going to learn?"

"You're a good C.O.," she said, smiling.

"I don't know about that, I'm just trying to straighten things out over here. The local T.S.O. is a shambles. It's a good thing somebody finally called Litigation Services, or we'd be trying this thing in appellate court next fall. How are you doing?"

"Better than you, I imagine. I really think the treatments are getting easier. I'm recovering a lot faster." She decided not to enumerate how many times she had vomited today. "How was the flight?"

"All right. Had a layover at Pearl, didn't get in until yesterday afternoon."

"Wow, you've done a lot in a short time."

"I never can remember what day it is over here. Seems like I've been here forever. I miss you."

"I wish I could help out."

"Your legal skills would be a plus, Mac, but I meant I miss *you.*"

She went very still. Then, "I miss you too. Hurry home."

* * *

The next morning

Harm's apartment

Mac pried her eyes open reluctantly. They were stuck shut with something that felt like library glue. The little digital clock on Harm's bedside table said 8:30, and she sighed. She had lain awake for hours last night, finally falling into a heavy sleep at dawn.

She hauled herself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom with a passing thought that the walk-in shower was a definite plus. The grey quarry tile and shining chrome of Harm's bathroom were so different from hers, but she liked them.

She draped a towel over the heating rack, stepped carefully into the shower enclosure, and closed the glass door. The hot water came on almost instantly. She lifted the shower handset and sat down on the tile ledge, grateful that she didn't have to stand up.

For a long while, she let the hot water surge over her head and shoulders, soothing away the gremlins of the night. Her skin had grown more sensitive, and she soaped herself slowly with a bar of Cetaphil. Her hair felt greasy, and she couldn't remember when she had washed it last, so she forced herself to stand up to reach for Harm's shampoo in the rack. It seemed like too much trouble to get out and search for her own in her duffle bag.

When she flipped the cap, it smelled like him. She closed her eyes and massaged the lather through her hair, which she had been letting grow out. She could almost feel the texture of Harm's soft short hair beneath her fingertips.

She adjusted the handheld shower attachment and began rinsing, running the warm spray luxuriously over her scalp again and again. At last she reached up and twisted the control to "off," glad that she could reach it without getting to her feet.

The floor of the shower was two inches deep in soapy water, barely below the doorsill. Surprised, she swished the soapsuds away, and with a cool sense of dread, she lifted a dark mat of hair from the drain. The water sucked and swirled away in a spiral, leaving Mac sitting on the cool tile bench, staring at the dark mass clinging to her fingertips. Her nipples contracted in the sudden chill.

Slowly she rose and stepped out of the shower on shaky legs, wrapped a thick towel around herself, and wiped the steam from the mirror with the palm of her hand. She peered at her reflection, rubbing her fingertips lightly across her scalp. Her once luxuriant hair seemed thin and dry, and several strands came away on her fingers.

Mac 's knees trembled as she lowered herself to sit on the cover of the toilet. For a long time, she sat there, wet and shivering.

* * *

Her days became very quiet. Hours passed in silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator, the low voices on the television. Harriet brought her home from the hospital, and it was good to see her cheery face and listen to her chatter. But now she was alone, comforted only by the sense of Harm's presence surrounding her.

The nights were the worst. In the daytime, she could distract herself with phone calls, television and magazines, but at night, Pandora's box opened and fears swooped like bats around the darkened room. The sense of her own death hung over her, lurking just out of sight, ever present. She dreamed of children, and awakened with the sounds of their happy laughter receding in the cool grey light of morning.

The traces of Harm comforted her. She found him in his books, in his music, in the clothes hanging in his closet, in the oddments shuffled into his dresser drawers. Searching for stamps in his desk, she came across an unframed snapshot of herself and sat looking at it for a long time. It must have been taken at the Roberts' last Christmas party, when she had thought -- who knows what she had been thinking. She looked at her face now in wonder. Had she ever been that pretty? That happy?

Harm called every night, and she lay in his bed, listening to his voice. She forced herself to sound cheerful and upbeat. Afterward, she pressed her face into his pillow, trying to feel less alone.

End Part Ten

* * *

Part Eleven

Saturday, June 5, 1430 Hours EDT

Harm's apartment

Harm set his sea bag and laptop down carefully. "Mac?" he called softly. He had phoned her from Pearl, but the flight had been delayed and his cell phone battery was shot.

She was lying on the sofa, covered with an afghan. At the sound of his voice, she sat up, pushing the coverlet off her knees. "Hey, welcome back!" she smiled, rising to meet him.

They both hesitated. Then he reached out and enfolded her in an embrace. Harm held her close, shocked by the change in her. Her body felt so small, with new sharp edges and bones where he was used to taut muscle and curves. He stroked her shoulders gently, and at last she leaned back and gave him a brilliant smile. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he said.

"I was just resting. I called Andrews and they told me what time your flight was due." She gave him a quick hug, stepped back and leaned on a stool at the island. "Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks, I'm good." He helped himself to a cold beer from the fridge. "Thank God that flight is over. Troop seating all the way."

"Ouch. Sounds like you'll need the heating pad for sure." She gestured awkwardly. "Well, look, you probably have a million things to do. I'll call a cab and get out of your hair."

He cocked his head, taking in the sight of her neatly packed duffle bag standing ready behind the door. "I didn't stop to think you'd probably want to get back to your own place. If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll take you home."

She said shyly, "Actually, I'm beginning to feel at home here. I don't remember if I ever thanked you for letting me stay. That elevator saved me."

"I'm glad it worked out, Mac." He gazed at her, an overwhelming tenderness thickening his throat. "I hope you'll stay here any time you want."

Her eyes widened, and a faint tinge of pink brightened her pallor. "I'd like that," she answered.

"Good, ‘cuz I'm not hauling that TV again," he grinned.

* * *

The following week passed slowly for Mac. Simply getting dressed took more energy than she previously would have believed, but knowing that she would see Harm goaded her to make the effort. One evening, as she stood in her bedroom trying to fluff up her thinning hair with the blow dryer, she heard the front door slam and Harm's voice calling, "It's me!"

"Hi, me," she smiled as she entered the living room. She spied the pile of papers on the table and frowned. "Tell me you don't have to work tonight."

He turned from unloading his briefcase and gave her a smile that lit up the room. "Just a little prep for that Article 32 tomorrow morning," he said. "I hoped you'd run over it with me."

"Sure," she replied, secretly pleased. Harm often discussed his current caseload these days and consulted her on a regular basis. It was precluded when they were opposing counsel, but now there were no constraints, and she relished the sense that she still could contribute something useful, something that had nothing to do with illness. She suspected he knew that, and to her surprise, she did not resent it.

Now she slid her palm up his broad back and made slow circles between his shoulders as he bent over the papers. "Have you eaten?" she asked. Ever since the disastrous pasta incident, as he called it, Harm had begun eating at one of the neighborhood restaurants before he arrived.

"Nope, I thought I'd try this tonight," he held up a white paper sack. "Promise you'll tell me if it bothers you."

"Sure. What is it?"

"I stopped at that "Gourmet on the Go" joint around the corner. Grilled veggies, fruit salad, grilled shrimp with pasta, all cold. They promised there was zero garlic in any of them."

"That's a great idea," she smiled. "I hate making you eat out all the time."

"You don't *make* me do it, Mac, I want to."

"Let's sit at the table," she suggested, and put out placemats and napkins. "I'll get mine and join you." She set went to the kitchen and returned holding a bottle of Ensure with a straw in it.

"I still can't get over how much of that stuff you have in your fridge," he gestured with his fork. "Maybe we should buy stock in the company."

Mac lifted a shoulder and accepted his teasing with equanimity. "The doctor recommended it. It tastes good, it has plenty of calories and vitamins, and it doesn't make me sick." She decided not to mention that almost any other food was cloying or impossible to get down these days.

Harm sampled his dinner and looked up. "Okay?" he asked quickly.

"Fine, thanks. It's nice to share a meal with you again."

He smiled again, his eyes warm on hers.

After dinner, they reviewed the case file for the Article 32 and lobbed arguments and strategies back and forth for awhile. At last Mac held up her hands to signal time out. "I'm sorry, Harm. But I'm fading. Will you be okay with this tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. Why don't you go relax, and I'll clean up here."

She was leaning back in the recliner when she heard him drop into his usual place on the sofa, and she opened her eyes. Harm had picked up a well-worn paperback copy of ‘Master and Commander' lying on the coffee table and was examining it quizzically. "Is this mine?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yep. I started it that week you were in Japan, but I didn't finish. So I stole it."

He laughed. "Man, I haven't read this in years. It's a great story, isn't it?"

"I figured it must be – you have the whole set."

"Well, you either like ‘em or you don’t. The movie didn't do them justice – but if you're a sailor, you gotta love these books." He lifted an eyebrow. "They don't always portray Marines in a very flattering light."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"Let me know when you finish, and I'll give you the next one."

"At this rate, it'll be awhile. I can't read for very long, my eyes get tired. Good thing I bought another TV," she smiled.

"Hey, it's a great excuse to lie around in bed with you," he grinned. She laughed and looked away to hide the sudden flush that slid from her cheeks to her fingertips. The man is an incorrigible flirt, damn it. Why do I have to look like something the cat dragged in?

Harm was scanning the back cover and said, "Would you mind if I read a few pages? Aloud, I mean?"

"Harm, you don't have to" –

"Mac. I'd enjoy it. There's nothing on the tube tonight anyway."

"Okay," she nodded. When he picked up the book, she furtively wiped her eyes, relieved that he didn't seem to notice. He began reading, and her self-consciousness slipped away as she was drawn in, transported by the beauty of his voice. Harm had always had a gift for reading – poetry, fiction, even a legal brief – in a way that gave beauty and significance to the language on the page. Now she listened to the music of his speech and lost herself in the story.

She was drowsily watching the play of lamplight on the strong planes of his face when he marked his place and closed the book. His clear eyes flashed as he looked up. "Time for bed," he smiled.

She yawned suddenly.

"Come on, sleepy head." He pulled her to her feet.

* * *

Thursday, 1800 Hours EDT

North of Union Station

Dr. Levine gave her the following week off. When Monday passed with no treatment, it felt like the first day of summer vacation, and by Thursday she felt ready to take on the world. She went over to Harm's place to wait for him as if it were a treatment day, and met him at the door wearing a soft flowing skirt, a short-sleeved cotton sweater, and a touch of lip gloss.

"Wow," he smiled, setting his cover on the table. "You look terrific."

"I feel terrific. Come on, I'm taking you out for a change."

"Mac – hey wait a minute! Can I at least change first?"

"Get the lead out, sailor."

Ten minutes later, they were walking hand in hand toward Union Station. The lights were just coming on outdoors, and the big fountain glowed gold in the early dusk. They joined the crowds of tourists strolling through the plaza, surrounded by bright banks of flowers and cheerful music.

"I'm hungry," Mac announced.

"Mac, there's a dozen good restaurants inside" –

"Gelato," she breathed, her voice caressing the word as she gazed lovingly at the cart.

"Ice cream?" Harm said doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Cappucino, please," she told the man, and Harm watched with amusement as she licked at her cone with dainty care. "This is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," she sighed. Everything conspired with her effervescent mood, leaving her a little giddy.

Harm grinned. "I'm glad, Mac. Enjoy."

Even the billowing cloud of smoke from the barbeque cart failed to make her stomach lurch. Harm let her buy him a veggie burger from the sandwich stand, and they ate while listening to a steel band jamming on the corner.

"Come on, let's get out of the heat," Harm said. She followed him through the revolving doors into the vast central hall, where the air conditioning hit them like a cool wall. Harm took her hand, and they strolled along the marble floors, window shopping and people watching.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Raucous hurdy gurdy music spilled from an enormous carousel revolving beneath the great dome in a swirl of colored lights. Shrieking children clung to the brightly painted animals, their laughter filling the air like sparkling fairy dust.

She turned to Harm in delight. "I'm gonna ride," she grinned. His eyes widened, and she laughed and joined the queue of kids and parents. Harm shook his head and joined her.

"Hurry," she called as the merry-go-round slowed and stopped. "I want to get that big black horse." She jogged past the rooster and the tiger and climbed onto a gorgeous steed with an arched neck, a flying mane and tail, and brilliant red eyes. Mac grabbed the polished pole and slipped her feet into the steel loops just as Harm came up beside her. "Aren't you going to ride?" she teased. "If you can keep your feet off the ground, that is?" Harm's legs were so long he could straddle the next horse without climbing on.

"Hah hah, very funny," he grinned indulgently. "I'll just make sure you don't fall off, little girl."

The carousel began to turn, and Mac gave a happy bounce. "We're moving!" Her horse began to bound up and down in a stately rhythm as they picked up speed, and the lights of the midway whirled past in a brilliant stream of color. She laughed with sheer exhilaration, and her spirits rose even higher when Harm's laughter joined hers.

At last the ride slowed and coasted to a stop. He steadied her as she reluctantly slid off, his big hands spanning her waist, and he didn't let go. Mac felt his nearness tingle along the length of her body, and after an endless moment, he leaned down and kissed her, his mouth soft and warm on hers.

It felt like being struck by lightning. After an endless moment she stared up into his brilliant eyes, breathless and a little dizzy. There was no sound but the beating of her heart and his.

"Hey pal, ya gonna ride again or what?" somebody called, and Harm grinned and helped her off as the carousel started up again. His arm went around her shoulders, and she let him steer her through the crowd. He appeared calm and collected as if nothing had happened, but she saw the rapid rise and fall of the button at his open collar, and smiled to herself.

"Let's go home," she said in a low voice, and shivered when she saw his eyes darken.

They made their way slowly through the boisterous crowds. Mac felt only the nearness of his body as he walked beside her, the brush of his hip, the welcome pressure of his hand at her back. She felt as if she were floating on a cushion of warm air, buoyant and free.

The clamor of Union Station faded as they walked slowly up the street, and the warm darkness of the summer night enfolded them. They did not speak. When they reached his building, Harm leaned against his Lexus and pulled her to him, and his mouth came down on hers.

A soundless clap of thunder, black velvet night, stars whirling past. Mac surrendered to the urgency in his body and returned his kiss fiercely. At last they broke off and leaned against each other, panting. Her blood pulsed in her lips, in her fingertips, in the depths of her body, and an answering rhythm pounded clear and strong beneath her lips where she pressed them to his neck.

Her legs were trembling, and she couldn't slow her breathing. Harm's hands, gentle now, stroked the back of her head to her shoulders, slowly, calming her. "Shh," he soothed. "Shh."

At last she lifted her head. The streetlight overhead cut sharp shadows in the strong planes of his face, making him look stern. "Mac," he said, and his voice was low-pitched and rough. "Sweetheart, I would like nothing better than to take you upstairs and make love. But you have to tell me if you're ready."

She reached up and laid her hand against his cheek, noticing the faint rasp of whiskers along his jaw. Beneath the euphoria, her energy was melting away like sand in a fast current. Reluctantly, she said, "I wish I were. But I need to wait until I'm past this. Can you understand that?"

He nodded. "I asked you to wait once, too."

"This isn't fair to you."

"Let me be the judge of that."

The lights swam and her vision blurred. "Will there ever be a time for us?" she whispered.

"Yes."

She never knew how long they stood there, holding each other. At last she mumbled against his shirt, "May I stay with you tonight?"

Without a word, he pulled her against his side and led her into the building.

* * *

Sunday, 2100 Hours EDT

Harm's apartment

Music poured from the sound system and wove a tapestry of colors on the air. Harm leaned against the pillows with Mac in her new favorite position, seated snugly between his knees and propped up against his chest. He rested his forearm across her shoulders and absently caressed her arm while they listened to the music. Candles glowed in the darkened loft.

When the CD ended, he clicked the remote and let silence seep back into the room. Mac rolled her head to the side, and he thought she had fallen asleep until she said, "Last night of vacation."

He knew she dreaded resuming chemotherapy in the morning, and tightened his arm around her. He dreaded it, too.

"How was Mattie?" she asked, meaning the phone call earlier.

"She wanted to thank us again for coming out yesterday."

"It was good to see her. She seems to be doing great, Tom too."

He nodded, not wanting to talk about it any more.

She laid her hand over his where it rested on his knee. Her slim, capable fingers didn't begin to span his, even when she stretched them to the limit. She said softly. "Just three weeks." He knew she was talking about the next time she would have a week off from the hospital, and gave her a little hug.

"Sturgis's wedding is in four weeks."

"I ordered the gift to be delivered. I made it from both of us, was that okay?"

"You bet."

"Varese invited me to her shower, but I just don't think I can do it."

"That's okay, Mac. They understand."

She was silent. He leaned forward to see her face, and tilted her chin up to his. "What is it?"

She swallowed, and her hand tightened in his. "I'm scared to go back tomorrow," she whispered.

He wrapped both arms around her. "I know, baby. But everything will be okay." He wished fiercely that he had some way to guarantee that, other than the strength of his need.

End Part Eleven

* * *

Part Twelve

The warm June days melted into one another, each more beautiful than the last -- but her days were spent indoors now, measured out in hospital corridors and still, silent spaces. Without any discussion, she had simply begun living at the loft, and it seemed odd to her that she had found Harm at last, only to find herself slipping away.

She knew it was the chemo that was making her ill, and told herself over and over that it would pass, repeating it like a mantra as the clear fluid dripped into her veins. Nausea no longer devastated her, but she felt herself growing gradually weaker as the treatments took their toll. She was reminded of an old photograph, slowly fading between the pages of a scrapbook.

Mac stoically plodded through her routine, living for Sundays when she had a little energy. She made an effort to keep her spirits up for Harm's sake. She tried very hard not to be needy.

But as June eased into July and the air conditioners never stopped, she could feel her control stretching out like a fine silver wire, becoming tighter and thinner day by day.

Harm was working long hours on a big case. Often he did not get home until late. He arranged for the recliner to be moved to the loft, and she spent hours napping in it. In the evenings, he read aloud, finishing 'Master and Commander' and beginning 'Post Captain.' Sometimes he played his guitar while she lay in her chair, watching his hands as they moved over the strings. At night they shared the big bed, taking comfort from each other’s nearness.

The 4th of July came and went, and they saw the fireworks at the Mall on television. Monday was a holiday, and they both had the day off -- she would resume her treatments this week on Tuesday and Friday.

Monday morning she awakened alone. The sheets beside her were cool, and his running shoes were missing from the closet. A surge of longing startled her, and she swallowed hard, wishing she could go for a run. It occurred to her that he probably was glad to have some time to himself.

As she brushed her teeth, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her dull, sallow complexion and thinning hair filled her with dismay. The shadows beneath her eyes had become perfect half-moons, and her face looked gaunt. She had deliberately stopped looking at her body weeks ago, but now she took off her robe and stood naked before the mirror, appalled to realize how thin she was. Her muscle tone was lax, and her skin was dry. Even her breasts had shrunk, and she cupped her hands over her chest as if to shield them.

The sound of Harm's key in the lock sent her scurrying into the shower. She turned the water on full blast and crouched on the tile ledge, hugging herself, head bowed. "Hey Mac!" she heard him call, and she pretended not to hear, glad that the hiss of the water made conversation impossible.

A long time later, she emerged and quickly wrapped herself in a terry robe, belting it tightly. She could hear the whir of the blender, and knew he was making breakfast.

She padded barefoot down the steps and paused at the sight of Harm standing at the island. His shirt was off, and his running shorts clung to him, damp with sweat. Unaware of her, he took a gulp of orange juice directly from the carton and stared out the windows. The long, flat planes of muscle in his arms and back flexed as he reached for the blender and poured the contents into a big glass. His magnificent body shone with vitality.

She felt her soul shrivel into a tight little ball, and a desperate thought streaked through her mind like a shooting star -- why the hell is this man here with *me*?

* * *

When Harm looked up and saw her, he felt his smile stretch from ear to ear. "Hey, good morning," he called and lifted his glass. "Want some? The Rabb Special -- a gourmet vitamin smoothie."

"You're cheerful this morning," Mac said. "Thanks, but I'll pass." She took a cold bottle of Ensure from the refrigerator and sipped at it.

"I just beat my own personal best for five miles along the river path, and I have the whole day off to spend with you. What more could a guy want?" He slipped an arm around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. Her answering smile was tepid, and he let her go with an inward sigh. Keeping track of Mac's moods lately was discouraging. "Are you done with the shower?" he asked.

She nodded. He rinsed his glass in the sink and headed for the bedroom. "What would you like to do today?" he called. She didn't answer.

He showered and shaved quickly and pulled on clean boxers and a t-shirt. When he went to get dressed, he found her sitting on the rumpled bed, rubbing lotion on her legs. "Bud and Harriet invited us to come by this afternoon," he said, rummaging around in his sock drawer. "What do you think?"

"I thought you were going to take your bike out for a spin."

"Yeah, I need to do that," he agreed. "Want to ride with me to Bud and Harriet's?"

"All the way to Rosslyn and back?" she said irritably. "No, thanks. But you go ahead."

He turned and looked at her. She had pushed up the sleeves of her robe and was rubbing lotion along her arms. He said, "I'm sorry, Mac, I didn't think. I guess I hoped you felt better today. But how about a short ride through Rock Creek Park, what do you say?"

"I say you should go and enjoy yourself. Tell Harriet and Bud I said hi." She shifted her shoulders restlessly and closed the cap on the lotion, refusing to look at him.

Harm sat down beside her. "What's wrong, Mac?" She didn't answer at first, and her stillness reminded him of a volcano about to blow. Good. Whatever it was, she had been holding it in for too long. It was driving him nuts.

Mac put the lotion bottle down with a rap and snapped, "The matter is, my skin itches like crazy. And you should be out enjoying yourself, not cooped up here with me."

"I like being with you," he said mildly. He picked up the plastic bottle and squirted some into his palm. "If the bike is too much, we'll take the 'vette. But let's go out to Bud's. It'll do you good to see some other faces besides mine." He slowly rubbed the lotion between his palms. "Here, let me put this on your back."

She looked away, ignoring him. At last, just as he was about to give up and go wash his hands, she reached for her belt and slowly untied it. With a tiny shrug, she let the robe slip a little and turned her back to him, holding the terry cloth tightly across her breasts.

Gently he smoothed the lotion across her shoulders, carefully pushing the robe lower until her back was bare. Dear God, she was so thin. Her shoulder blades stood out like knife edges, and his fingers rippled over her ribs. He added more lotion and made slow circles with the flat of his hand, trying to be gentle, to soothe.

Her shoulders began to shake, and she bowed forward, clutching her robe. He realized she was weeping, and his hands went still.

"Mac?" he whispered. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

She shook him off and buried her face in her hands, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled. "What?" he said, leaning close to hear.

"I look awful."

"Mac" – he tried to protest, tried to put his hand on her arm. She jerked away.

"I'm ugly, and weak, and *useless,*" she snarled in a clogged voice, and wiped savagely at her eyes. "Why do you want me now, Harm? I'm nothing but a burden. I'm – I'm just *nothing,* period."

He was stunned. "Good God, Mac, is that what's been bothering you?" She snatched her robe around herself like a shield and tried to stand up, to walk away, and he gripped her shoulders, holding her beside him.

"Let me go!" She hit at him with her free hand, frantic now, and he caught her wrist.

"Not until you listen to me," he said. At last she quieted, but she refused to meet his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and fierce. "Damnit, Mac, don't you get it? I *need* you. It's not something you have to earn. Don't you dare say you're ‘nothing.' You're *everything,* to me."

"Why?" Her red, swollen eyes were accusing.

He was bewildered. "Because I love you," he said, as if explaining to a child. Good grief, wasn't it obvious by now?

"You do?" She looked at him as if he were speaking Swahili, and at last, he understood. Slowly, gently, he took her face between his hands. "Yes, Mac. I love you. I always have. I always will."

Tears streaked her face, and her nose was red. Her breath hitched. "I love you, too."

"Okay." He gathered her close and kissed her forehead. "Glad we got that settled."

* * *

Ten days later, 2330 Hours EDT

Harm's apartment

"Dr. Levine said it's very common for chemo patients to get depressed," she said, cradling the phone on her shoulder. "He gave me some medication, and it's really helping."

"That's great, Mac." The cell phone connection crackled with static.

"So are you going to make it back for Sturgis's wedding? You *are* the best man, after all."

"No problem, we're filing the papers tomorrow and I'm outta here."

"Promise me you won't hijack a Tomcat again."

"Tempting as that sounds, I promise. Besides, I don't think Captain Johnson would give me another ride."

"You already tried, didn't you?"

He laughed. "I got my quals in while I was here. That's all they'll let me do, this time. Listen, did you call the cleaners about my dress whites?"

"Sure did. They delivered them yesterday, and I got your decorations all squared away. All you need to do is jump into them and pick me up."

"I still don't see why I have to come to your place."

"My clothes are there, my shoes are there, my jewelry is there . . . Need I say more?"

"Oh, I remember now. You're a girl."

"Don't you forget it, buster."

* * *

Saturday, July 17, 1430 Hours EDT

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

Thank God there was a parking place. Harm braked the Corvette, jumped out, and locked it before he ran up the steps. God damn it, why did his transport have to be late today, of all days?

Impatiently he unhooked the collar of his tunic and pounded up the stairs two at a time. Dress whites were not made for July in D.C.

He let himself in and called, "Mac?"

"In here," came her voice from the bedroom.

He was at the door in two long strides and halted at the sight of Mac standing at the mirror, fastening an earring. She turned, and their eyes met. Without a word, she walked across the room and into his arms.

"You look beautiful," he said when he could breathe.

Her smile was radiant. "Thank you. Do you like it?" She gestured to her hair, a short feathery cut. He nodded. It was good to see her smiling.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she laughed. "I bought it yesterday. I had so little hair left, I decided what the heck. Go for it."

Harm touched the wig lightly and put his head on one side, considering. "You look like Audrey Hepburn."

Her smile became even broader. "A compliment indeed. Thank you." She kissed him again and paused as he studied her intently. "What?"

He slipped his fingertips beneath the edge of her wig and carefully slipped it off. She stood very still. "I know, I look just like Demi Moore in ‘G. I. Jane,'" she said lightly, to cover her nervousness.

Harm touched her smooth scalp gently. "This is the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Mac rolled her eyes. "You have got to be kidding."

"No joke, I love it. I love the way it feels," he murmured as he stroked her head with his palm. The shape of her head and her tiny, perfect ears was exquisite, accentuated by the sweep of her long throat. He bent and ran his lips along the nape of her neck and felt his body tighten as she caught her breath.

"Harm." Her great dark eyes were tender, even as she laughed at him. "I'm glad you like my bald head, but we have to get going or we'll be late."

End Part Twelve

* * *

Part Thirteen

Saturday afternoon, 1700 Hours EDT

Officers Club, Fort Meyer

The reception was in full swing, and the crowd in the ballroom at the Officers' Club was elbow to elbow with men in white uniforms and women in glittering dresses. Mac sat at an unoccupied table near the open doors with an uninterrupted view of the terrace, where the wedding party was posing for photographs. She smiled, cheered simply to be here. Thank God it was her week off from treatment, and she felt well enough to come.

She sipped at her Diet Coke and admired some of the fashions on parade. Her own dress was a simple linen sheath, bought last summer and never worn. It was too big now, and at the last minute, she had roped it in with a wide leather belt and flung a soft pashmina wrap around her shoulders, telling herself it would conceal how thin she had become. She wore just a touch of makeup, since too much made her look like a clown these days, and under Harm's warm gaze, she had felt almost pretty. At least until she greeted old friends and saw the shock in their eyes, quickly concealed.

She felt more comfortable here in the corner, watching Harm as he kidded with Sturgis. He was resplendent in his dress whites, towering over the rest of the wedding party. He certainly seemed to be dazzling the matron of honor, a stunningly beautiful African-American woman who looked no more than 25, and she appeared to be flirting outrageously in return. He looked up, caught Mac's eye, and winked.

"Mac? I thought that was you. What are you doing over here all by yourself?" a hearty voice boomed over the din of the party.

"Rafe? Wow, how long has it been? Are you still over at the Pentagon?" she smiled at the big red headed man with commander's bars on his shoulders, and he pulled out the chair next to hers.

"Yeah, I'm still at Disneyland East," Rafelson grinned. "Working for the General Counsel's office. How's everything at headquarters? You still knocking 'em out of the ballpark?" His grin was as sunny as ever, but she could see he was appalled as he looked at her. Just like everyone else today.

"I'm on medical leave," she said, and lifted her hand at his quick frown. "I'm okay, and doing fine, thanks."

"I'm sorry, Mac, I hadn't heard. You wouldn't think it would be so hard to keep up when you transfer ten miles down the highway, would you? Anyway, how is everybody getting along with Colonel Klink?"

Mac burst out laughing. "Is that what they call Prescott over there?"

"When they're being polite. Listen, are you here with anyone? Margie couldn't come because our youngest has the measles, so I'm on my own."

"Thanks, Rafe, but I came with Harm and we're at the head table, or we'd join you."

He nodded as if he weren't surprised. "There's a bunch of us here from the Class of '85," he said. "Sturgis is one of the last to bite the dust, so we have to give him a good send-off." He played with his cocktail napkin, and Mac wondered what was bothering him. Jack Rafelson was a good officer, and they had become casual friends when he was stationed at headquarters. He frowned and inclined his head toward the terrace. "How's old Harm doin'?"

"All right, considering he's best man," she smiled. "At least he didn't lose the ring." She frowned and said, "What's on your mind, Rafe?"

"That obvious, huh?"

"I don't think you came over here just to say hello."

He frowned. "Scuttlebutt has it that Harm's lookin' around for another assignment in Washington," he said.

"I know he's put out a few feelers," she said carefully.

"Any particular reason?" Rafe squinted, looking away.

"He's been at headquarters a long time, Rafe."

"Uh huh. Y'know, Mac, some of us who graduated from the Academy together come up for Captain's boards next spring. I always figured old Harm was one guy who'd be a shoo-in. But in my job I hear things, y'know? From what I hear, Prescott's giving him the shit detail, all the lousy assignments."

"Can you blame him for looking around?" she asked.

"I don't blame him at all. But a lateral move now won't look good to the promotion board. Harm was the fair-haired boy at JAG for a long time, but lately they're saying he's a wild card. You know how it works, Mac. Up or out. I'd hate to see that happen to Harm, he's the one of the best we've got."

"What options does he have, Rafe? Without Prescott on his side, he has two strikes against him."

"And he'll have three, if Prescott tells people Rabb wants to opt out of a transfer overseas." Rafelson sighed. "I always thought Chegwidden could have done more for his people before he retired. But I guess he called in all his markers to get that promotion for Roberts."

Mac nodded once, sharply. She felt a little sick.

Rafe put his hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze. "I know you and Harm are close," he told her. "I just thought he oughta know what they're sayin'."

"Thanks, Rafe."

"Thanks for what?" Harm's voice cut in. "Hey, Rafe, are you trying to steal my date?"

Rafelson jumped to his feet and pumped Harm's outstretched hand. "Hey, buddy, you know me, always hit on the pretty ones. How you doin'?"

The two men laughed and slapped each other on the shoulder, and Mac plastered on a smile. Finally Rafelson waved at her and moved off, and Harm held out his hand. "Come on, Mac, let's go find our table."

She rose and slid her hand into the crook of his arm, and together they worked their way across the room. It was slow going, since between the two of them they knew nearly everyone except for Varese's show business friends. At last they reached the head table, and Mac slipped gratefully into her seat. Harm sat beside her and leaned over to whisper, "You okay?"

"Sure, fine," she gave him a reassuring smile. "I just wish everyone would stop pretending not to be shocked at the way I look."

"You look beautiful," he said, and she knew he meant it. Beneath the table, he squeezed her hand.

Varese and Sturgis took their seats, and Harm rose, tapping his knife on a glass. Effortlessly he gathered the attention of everyone in the room, raised his glass, and grinned at Sturgis. "Ladies and gentlemen, fellow officers," he began. "It has been my honor and privilege to know Commander Turner since Plebe Summer, when he beat me to the last top bunk in Bancroft."

"Running late again, Rabb!" somebody called, and everyone laughed.

Harm continued, "I had to boost him up there every night for the rest of the summer, and to add insult to injury, I hit my head on his rack every morning." More laughter. "However, I got back at him with a knockout in the third year boxing championships."

Over the whistles and catcalls, Sturgis said indignantly, "That was a sucker punch!"

"Takes one to know one, Sturgis," Harm retorted, and more laughter drowned out any retort. At last Harm held up his hand for quiet, and said, "In spite of being a bubblehead, Sturgis, you managed to become a lawyer, and you had the good luck and good sense to persuade this beautiful lady to marry you. We wish you fair winds and a following sea, and Varese, I hope you have a good step ladder." He waited for the laughter to subside before raising his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Commander and Mrs. Sturgis Turner."

Mac joined the thunderous applause as Harm reached across to shake Sturgis's hand. Someone else stood to deliver the next toast, and Mac smiled at Harm, whose eyes were sparkling.

After many toasts and much laughter, everyone settled down to dinner. Mac managed to nibble at her meal while chatting with Bud, who was seated on her right. Finally, Varese rose with much rustling of her gown, and Sturgis led her onto the dance floor as the band swung into a new set.

"Do you believe these musicians?" Harm said, shaking his head. At her questioning glance, he said, "Two or three of those guys record for major labels. I guess they're friends of Varese's."

"Well, they certainly sound fabulous," Mac agreed. Varese looked gorgeous, she thought, watching her dance with Sturgis, wearing a slim golden sheath that shimmered under the lights. "She looks so happy," she said, almost to herself. Harm slid his arm along the back of her chair and leaned close to whisper something. Just then, the music paused, and Varese went up to the microphone. Someone started clapping, and everyone joined in, stomping and whistling.

Varese gave a dazzling smile. "This is for all the people we love," she announced. "Thank you for sharing our happiness and celebrating with us today." The band played an opening riff in a minor chord, and she beckoned with her free hand. "Come on, everybody. Come on and dance."

Harm looked at Mac and lifted his eyebrows. She rose and took his arm, feeling hideously self conscious as they walked onto the dance floor. A thousand eyes seemed to be gauging the ravages of her illness with pity, even as she could feel than speculating about their relationship. She lifted her chin with a spurt of defiance.

A few other couples drifted after them as Varese began to sing,

*The streets of town

Were paved with stars,

There was magic abroad in the air . . .*

Harm held out his arms. Mac stepped into his embrace, and she felt his big warm hand against the small of her back as they began to sway, drifting to the music. Someone had lowered the lights, and the room was in shadows except where late sunlight slanted through the tall windows. Candlelight bloomed on the tables.

As Varese's beautiful voice soared through the wonderful old song, Mac lifted her eyes to find Harm staring down at her with tenderness glowing in his eyes. He tightened his arms around her, and suddenly it was as if there were no one else in the room at all.

Mac's eyes filled with tears, and Harm frowned with concern. "Mac? Sweetheart, what is it? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she managed to whisper.

He tightened his embrace and rested his cheek against her temple. When the song ended, he steered her back to their table with an arm around her shoulders.

"What is it, Mac?" he demanded in a whisper as soon as they were seated. "Do you need to go home?"

"No. I'm fine, really."

He frowned, clearly not believing her, but willing to accept her word. She pulled herself together with an effort. Her energy was dwindling like thread running off a spool, but she dreaded the thought of attracting attention if they tried to slip away early.

"I wish Mattie could have been here," she said, hoping to distract him.

Harm said, "I do, too." His lips tightened to a thin line. "She's decided to stay with her father, Mac."

She nodded, unsurprised, but her heart ached for him. "I thought she might. When did she tell you?"

"She left a message while I was away, and I called her from the ship."

"I'm so sorry, Harm."

His face was grim, but he said, "It's the best thing for her. And it's not like we'll never see her, right?"

She laid her hand over his with a crooked little smile. "Remember five years ago, when we agreed to go halves on a kid?"

Harm nodded slowly. "How could I forget one of the dumbest, most immature things I ever said?" he asked lightly, but she could tell he was surprised that she had brought it up.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "In some ways, I think we already did."

He looked at her with such intensity that she held her breath, hoping she hadn't made it worse. And then he leaned close, his arm tightening around her shoulders, and pressed his lips against her temple. His breath was warm on her cheek.

Finally, Varese and Sturgis cut the cake, and it was time to go. Varese tossed her bouquet from the steps of the O Club, and one of her bridesmaids leaped high to catch it. The bride and groom ran through a shower of bird seed to their waiting limousine, and everyone cheered and waved as they drove away.

Harm wasted no time giving his ticket to the valet. They brought the Corvette around, and he helped Mac ease into her seat. It seemed to take a ridiculous amount of effort to lift her legs into the car. Harm climbed in and revved the engine, and at last they were on the way home.

She leaned back against the leather seat with a sigh. "Tired?" he asked, downshifting for an entrance ramp.

"Yes. But I'm glad I went. They seem really happy, don't they?"

"Yeah, they do. So, are you ever going to tell me what was bothering you back there?"

Mac sighed. Harm never missed a thing anymore. She debated with herself, but honesty won out. "Rafe made a point of telling me -- scuttlebutt says the promotion board won't like it if you make a lateral move to stay in Washington. Apparently the word is out."

Harm sighed. "So?"

"So it could cost you your Captain's bars."

"There's no guarantee I'll make Captain, even if I accept a transfer overseas," he said.

She was silent for so long he glanced over. "What?" he demanded.

At his inquiring glance, she swallowed her anxiety and said in a rush, "If we were married, they wouldn't transfer you."

He frowned, and the silence stretched out. She wished she could disappear, and was drawing breath to apologize when he said slowly, "Is that what you want, Mac?"

"I want you to stay in the Navy, because it's what you love."

"And I love *you.*" He kept his eyes on the road. "But can you honestly tell me that you want to get married now, except to keep me in D.C.?"

Tears pressed behind her eyes and closed her throat. "I can't see beyond tomorrow, Harm."

He nodded once, decisively. "Sweetheart, when we decide to get married, it will be because you’re ready. Not because it's expedient."

"But your career" –

"Oh, the hell with my career," he snapped. "I'll find a billet in Washington, and if the promotion board doesn't like it, so be it. I'll retire next spring and make a bundle in private practice."

She watched him with wonder. Only Harm could pull off a major declaration so casually. "When you're a rich and famous corporate lawyer, can we still go dancing?" she whispered. He smiled and took her hand.

End Part Thirteen

* * *

Part Fourteen

The following Friday, 1730 Hours EDT

JAG Headquarters

Harm slammed open the door to his office and snatched up the phone. "Bud? Hey, I'm glad I caught you. Listen, I know you need to get home, but I have to hand off the Mortensen case. Yeah, I know. But there's been another incident in Qatar, and Prescott wants me on a plane tonight. Sorry. Okay, give me twenty minutes to get the stuff together. Thanks."

He banged the phone down and glared at it. Without warning, his arm shot out and swept it off the desk. It crashed to the floor, and in an excess of rage, he seized a spiral bound manual and hurled it against the wall, where it burst open with an explosion of papers that fluttered gaily in the air.

"Excuse me, Commander." Harm whirled to find Captain Sebring standing in his doorway. "I knocked," Sebring said mildly.

Harm snapped to attention automatically. "Sorry, sir. Please, come in."

Sebring didn't seem fazed by the mess. He brushed aside a few sheets of paper from the visitor chair and sat down, and after a momentary hesitation, Harm seated himself behind his desk. "What can I do for you, sir?" Belatedly, he realized it was unusual for a judge to come calling like this, and his radar went up.

"Relax, Commander, this is a personal matter. I wanted to commend you on your performance in my courtroom over the past two months."

"Sir?" Harm felt badly off balance, and hated it.

Sebring held up his hand. "Forgive me if I'm out of line, here, but I'm aware of the situation with Colonel Mackenzie. I know from personal experience how difficult it can be."

"She's doing very well, sir, considering. But I'll tell her you asked, thank you."

"I don't mean her, Commander. I meant you." Sebring smiled grimly at Harm's confused expression. "The Navy doesn't train us for these situations, Commander. Sometimes we get so focused on being strong for others, we don't notice we're getting close to the edge ourselves. You've managed to keep doing an excellent job in spite of circumstances, but it's got to be taking its toll."

"I'm all right, sir, but thank you."

Sebring steepled his fingers. "I thought I was all right, too, until I wound up in court with you defending me. You're a hell of a lawyer, Rabb. Don't let the situation with Prescott push you to do something stupid."

"Sir?"

"I keep my ears open. Now, what I'm about to say doesn't leave this room, agreed?"

"Yes sir."

"Prescott doesn't like you, but he's using you to troubleshoot all of his most difficult situations. You make him look good to the brass, and he'll remember it next spring."

"I'm just doing my job, sir."

"And it's difficult when your attention is divided, right?"

Harm sighed in frustration. "Do you remember what you told me, sir, that time? You weren't worried about yourself, you were only concerned about who would care for your wife when you were gone. I'm all Mac has, sir, and every time she needs me, I'm sent on assignment."

"And you're getting so strung out, you're ready to blow."

Harm glared at him and remained silent.

"Rabb, you're human. Don't try to handle this all by yourself. Talk to somebody."

Harm said angrily, "When, sir? When am I supposed to do that? I just got pulled off a big case again to go to the Gulf, leaving tonight."

Sebring nodded, unoffended. "How about if I look in on Colonel Mackenzie while you're away?" he asked.

"Sir, we couldn't ask you" --

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"Sir, it doesn't seem fair" --

"What you're too polite to say, Commander, is that after losing my wife to cancer, it might be too much for me to deal with it again?" At Harm's stricken expression, Sebring said, "Helen has been gone nearly two years. I'll be okay, and so will the Colonel. Please tell her I'll stop by tomorrow, unless she'd rather I didn't. And she can call me anytime. Judges have a little more discretion in their schedules than attorneys." He gave one of his wolfish grins.

Harm took a deep breath, and relief swept over him. "Thank you, sir. That will be more help than you can imagine."

"Oh, I can imagine, all right," Sebring said gruffly.

Bud tapped at the door. "Excuse me, sir," he said when he saw Sebring. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, Commander, we were just straightening some things out," Sebring said.

* * *

Wednesday July 28, 2230 Hours

Dulles International Airport, Washington, D.C.

Harm came striding up the concourse, his long legs carrying him past slower pedestrians. His white uniform stood out among the rumpled travelers coming off the trans-Atlantic red-eye flight.

Scanning ahead, he saw Bud Roberts waiting just outside the security barrier, wearing civvies. Bud waved, and Harm raised his hand. A stab of anxiety shot through him. This couldn't be good.

Bud's serious, level gaze met his, and even before they shook hands, Harm knew. "Is it Mac?" he demanded.

"She's in the hospital, sir. I didn't want to leave a message on your voice mail." Bud held up his hand to forestall Harm's next questions. "She's going to be okay, sir. They just wanted to keep an eye on her -- apparently she was running a temperature. Captain Sebring took her to the hospital this morning, and we couldn't get word to you while you were in transit."

Harm wheeled and started walking rapidly toward the terminal until he realized Bud was limping to keep up, and he forced himself to slow down. "I had a feeling something was wrong," he said, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "I got her voice mail when I called from London." He glanced around impatiently.

"Over here, sir," Bud pointed to the luggage claim area, but Harm waved him off impatiently. "I only have my briefcase and sea bag, Bud."

"Is your car here, sir?"

"No, I left from Andrews. Didn't expect to be coming home on a commercial flight. Where the hell can I get a cab?"

"This way, sir." Bud held up his keys, and Harm changed direction with a quick nod.

"Thanks, Bud."

* * *

Forty minutes later

Georgetown University Hospital

He pushed open the door and tiptoed into the silent room. A soft light burned above the bed by the window. The other one was empty.

He stood at the foot of her bed, turning his cover in his hands.

Mac appeared to be sleeping. She looks so small, he thought, swallowing against the ache in his throat. Her body barely made a ripple in the covers. An IV was taped to the back of each hand.

"Harm?" she murmured, and opened her eyes. Slowly a broad grin crept across her face. "I knew it was you."

"Hi, baby," he smiled back, moving quickly to the bedside. "I came straight here. Bud picked me up at the airport."

"How did you get in here?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's so late."

"Hey, I just talked a bunch of Arabs into letting us build an airstrip. I can talk a nurse into letting me into your room."

"Flirt."

"Mac, she's old enough to be my mother." He sat on the edge of the plastic chair and carefully eased his fingers beneath hers. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now," she said, rolling her head toward him. "But I look like hell, don't I?"

Her eyes were encircled with brown shadows, and with her bald head, she looked very old. "You look beautiful," he told her. "But Mac, what happened? What's wrong?"

"I started running a temperature, so this morning I called Dr. Levine, and he said to come in. I was afraid to take a cab alone, so I called Captain Sebring, and he came. Then Levine said my immune system has gotten run down, and next thing I know, I'm on intravenous antibiotics." Her voice was getting scratchy, and she coughed.

"Take it easy, Mac. Rest now."

"You need to go home and get some sleep, Harm." Her fingers tightened in his.

"I slept on the plane. I can stay awhile."

* * *

Thursday, 1700 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

"Hey there," he said. At the sight of her smile, he felt himself relax for the first time all day.

"Hey yourself," Mac said. Her bed was raised to a nearly sitting position, and he leaned down and kissed her. She still looked worn and pale, but her eyes were sparkling with life. He dropped into the bedside chair and tossed his cover onto the little rolling table.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Pretty well, I think. Levine won't tell me when I can go home, though." She waved her hand, dismissing it. "Harm, I know we talked about it on the phone while you were gone, but I have to tell you, Captain Sebring has been wonderful to me. He came by today at lunchtime, just to tell me you were tied up with the debriefing."

"Pretty nice of him, considering you tried to send him to Leavenworth a couple of years ago," he teased.

"And you got him off. He thinks the world of you, by the way."

"Yeah? Well, a lot of good it does." His tone was bleak.

"Tell me," she said.

With a deep breath, he said, "Prescott gave me the word today. I've been reassigned to JAG command at PACFLEET as executive officer. I have to report to Pearl a month from today."

"Wow. You must have impressed Prescott. That's a great opportunity."

"I know." He looked down at his hands, and after a moment he went on, "I've been away so much, I haven't been able to line up anything else -- the only opening I found for an O-5 was supervising contracts at the DOD, and they want somebody who specializes in it."

"Good. You'd go crazy there. Besides, it would be a waste of your talents."

"My talents would be put to pretty good use in civilian litigation."

Mac pushed herself up a little higher against the pillows and said, "Harm, you promised we could talk about this before you decide. Will you do that for me, just this once?"

He felt tension ball up inside, but in spite of himself, he felt a corner of his mouth turn up. "Okay."

She leaned forward and said, "Forget about everything else for a minute. Do you want this assignment?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."

"You were born to be a naval officer, Harm."

"You want to get rid of me?" He didn't move, didn't take his eyes from her face.

"No." She reached out for his hand. "But I don't want you to live with regrets because of me. When you gave up the Navy to go to Paraguay, you saved my life. But even *you* can't pull that off this time." Her eyes smiled. "But in a couple of months, this will all be over, and I'll be okay. I could come to Hawaii to join you. Separations are a fact of life for military couples. We can do it, too."

"I told you I would always be there for you, Mac."

"I know. And you will."

Amazing, he thought. Even feeling lousy, she's tougher than I am. There was a new serenity about Mac that he had rarely seen in her. It seemed to flow over him in a soothing tide, easing his soul. Slowly he shook his head in wonder.

"What?" Mac was watching him intently.

"Just you," he said, and he pressed her fingers to his lips. "Okay, sweetheart. Start planning a honeymoon in Hawaii."

End Part Fourteen

* * *

Part Fifteen

Saturday, 1400 Hours EDT

Georgetown University Hospital

Harm hurried down the hall toward Mac's room, his running shoes silent on the vinyl floor, and nearly crashed into Dr. Levine in the doorway.

"Oh excuse me, doctor," Harm said, stepping back.

"Commander Rabb," Levine replied, with a grave twinkle in his eye. "Don't rush, she isn't going anywhere." Harm frowned, and Levine gestured to one side. "Can we talk for a minute?"

They walked a few paces down the hall. Levine said, "Her temp's still slightly elevated. Not a big deal, but I'm going to keep her over the weekend. The chemo has depressed her immune system, and we can't risk her developing pneumonia."

"What about next week? Will you still start the next cycle of chemo on Monday?"

"Let's see how she's doing by tomorrow. I may keep her here while we resume the treatments, but we'll just have to see. Chemotherapy is like walking a tightrope, Commander. It has to be strong enough to kill any lingering cancer cells without harming the patient. The Colonel is a very strong woman, physically and emotionally. She's doing very well. This is just a minor setback."

Harm blew out the breath he was holding and nodded. "Okay. Thank you." They shook hands, and Levine hurried off. Harm muttered "Suck it up" under his breath and pushed open Mac's door.

* * *

Sunday Aug 1, 1100 Hours EDT

Georgetown University Hospital

This damn parking garage was becoming all too familiar, he grumbled to himself as he locked the Lexus and sprinted for the stairs. He had overslept, awakened grumpy, and was still shaking the cobwebs out of his brain as he hurried across the street to the shining chrome and steel entrance to the Cancer Center.

As he crossed the cavernous atrium lobby, Harm glanced around with a sour eye. Just look at this damn place, he thought. It's a temple, dedicated to the gods of modern medical technology and designed to cow and awe the supplicants who come to beg for help. This joint is more imposing than any corporate headquarters I've ever seen, and I guess it's supposed to look like an elegant hotel, but my God, it's cold. No matter how many potted plants they scatter around, they can't hide what it is -- a place of death.

He shook off his gloom with an effort and took the elevator to Mac's floor. Navigating this building was like finding your way through the Outer Banks in a heavy fog, and it depressed him to realize that the route had become familiar. He waved to the nurses at the station, who also were becoming familiar, and hurried down the bright wide hallway.

He pushed open Mac's door cautiously, in case she was asleep. And then he heard her voice, faint but unmistakable. "No," Mac's voice begged. "Please, please stop."

Harm barged through the doorway. A nurse he had never seen before was leaning over Mac, doing something. "Now just hold still," he heard her say.

With one swift stride, he seized the woman's hand in a viselike grip and said, "Whatever you're doing, stop it."

The nurse drew herself up with a scowl of indignation. "I'm trying to start an IV here, sir. I'll have to ask you to step away."

Harm ignored her. Mac lay back against the pillows, one thin arm extended. It was blue with bruises, and a thin line of blood trickled from the back of her hand. Her face was wet with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, between hitching breaths. "It just hurts so much."

"It's all right, baby. It's okay," Harm murmured, stroking her forehead with a gentle hand. "They won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

"Sir," the nurse said again. "Excuse me, but I have to start this IV line. Her veins are like spaghetti, it's not my fault."

Harm wheeled and stood between the nurse and the bed. Speaking very quietly, he said, "Whoever you are, leave now and send in someone who knows what they're doing."

The woman opened her mouth and closed it again. Without another word, she whirled and marched out, quivering with indignation.

Harm reached through the steel side rails to cover Mac's thin hand with his own. She gulped and raised her other hand to wipe at her eyes, and he quickly grabbed a Kleenex to blot her tears. "Thank you," she gave him a shaky smile.

"You're welcome. She's lucky you didn't give her a karate chop," Harm smiled.

"I'm just so tired of needles," Mac said. "I didn't mean to start whining."

"You whine all you want," he told her.

"What's going on here?" a stern voice demanded. A trim grey-haired nurse in blue flowered scrubs glared at him from the doorway.

Harm straightened up and looked her in the eye. "Thank you for coming. The nurse who was here before was hurting Colonel Mackenzie. I asked her to send someone else."

The new nurse's name tag read "Saunders." After glaring at him another moment, she relented. "She's a fill-in," she said. "We're short staffed this weekend." With quick, efficient movements, she examined Mac's arm and clicked her tongue. "Well, that must have hurt," she said more kindly. "Let's give it a try in a different spot, all right?" Almost before Harm realized what she was doing, she taped the new needle in place and attached the tubing. "There we are, all set," she smiled at Mac.

"Thank you," Mac whispered.

"You're welcome. Now tell this big guard dog of yours not to bite people on my staff." Nurse Saunders smiled at Mac, gave Harm an amused scowl, and bustled out.

* * *

That afternoon

After a tasteless lunch in the deserted cafeteria, Harm went back to Mac's room carrying a carton of ice cream, but when he got there, she was sleeping. He stood looking down at her, shifting from one foot to the other. There were a million things he needed to be doing today. But he didn't want her to wake up and find him gone. He had been gone too damn much lately.

He eased into the big armchair and opened the issue of "Newsweek" he had picked up in the gift shop. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. The hospital was very quiet on the weekend.

When he realized he had finished an article and had no idea what it said, he tossed the magazine aside and got up, prowling restlessly until he ended up at the window. He leaned his forehead on the cool glass and stared sightlessly at the parking lot below.

Nine years. Nine goddamn years, wasted. Even as he berated himself, he knew it wasn't true. He and Mac had been like two planets whirling in separate orbits around a central point, their careers in the military. He had been a guy in a hurry with a lot to prove and a horror of being tied down. She had been a lonely, unhappy girl, unsure of her abilities, with a chip on her shoulder.

For so long, he had refused to trust the intensity of the attraction. At first, he was sure it was simply her resemblance to Diane. Later, he told himself it was just physical -- a man would have to be dead not to want her.

But like an inexorable gravitational pull, they kept moving closer. Even when one of them flew off on a tangent, the force of it pulled them back. It had made him nearly crazy to see her get involved with one wrong guy after another.

When did it happen, he wondered now. When did I start to love her? He didn't know. At some point, he just knew. She was as necessary to him as breathing. Even when he was too self-centered to admit it.

I was such an idiot, he thought in disgust, not for the first time. There will never be enough time to make it up to her. If I get the chance.

His mind shied away then, and he dropped back into the chair, closing his eyes and trying to relax. At some point he must have drifted off, because he woke to a boom of thunder that rattled the windows. Rain tapped on the glass, and it was getting dark outside.

A faint voice echoed in his mind. "It's getting dark in here." His eyes snapped to Mac, but she was lying quietly. Had he heard her, or only dreamt it? Something about the wisp of memory was achingly familiar.

The thunder boomed again, and she stirred. "Harm?" she muttered.

"I'm here, Mac," he said, reaching over to put his hand on her. Her eyes opened, and she stared blankly at the ceiling.

He frowned. "Mac?"

She blinked, and slowly rolled her head toward his voice.

He stood up abruptly, leaning over the side rail. She stared at him in confusion, her eyes glassy. Two hectic spots of red stood out on her sallow cheeks. He grabbed the control box hanging on the rail and punched the call button.

"Yes?" came a tinny voice.

"Colonel Mackenzie isn't feeling well," he said, not taking his eyes from her. The urgency in his voice must have gotten through, because a moment later a nurse came in, walking fast. She reached for Mac's pulse and took her temperature, and said, "Her temp's gone up. I'll call Dr. Levine and see if he wants to order any additional meds." She hurried out, and Harm reached for Mac's hand.

"You're going to be fine, sweetheart," he said, forcing a smile. "They'll give you something to make you feel better."

"Okay," she whispered.

More people came and went, and Harm stayed beside her, not moving, not letting go of her hand. After awhile, Levine came in, and Harm stepped back when he realized he was in the way.

"I'm going to move her upstairs," Levine said in an undertone, taking Harm aside. "I want her in intensive care so she'll be monitored more closely. Don't worry, she's not in any immediate danger. It's just a precaution."

"Can I stay with her?"

Levine's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You're my secret weapon, Commander. She does better when you're around. I'll tell them to cut you some slack."

"Thanks, doctor." They wheeled Mac out the door, and he sprinted to catch up. He held her hand as they rode up in the elevator.

* * *

That night, 2300 Hours EDT

Georgetown University Hospital

Harm pushed through the heavy glass doors and stood on the steps, taking deep breaths. The wet pavement gleamed with recent rain, and the air smelled fresh and wonderful after the sterile medicine smells of the hospital. A few cars went by, their tires swishing in the puddles.

He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his old leather flight jacket and headed to his car, parked all alone on the upper level of the garage beneath buzzing florescent lights. He scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing he was tired, and forced himself to focus on his driving.

At home, he flipped on the lamp by the door and went straight to the refrigerator. A cold beer sounded good right about now. He cracked off the cap and sank half of it, then leaned one hip on a stool while he stared out the dark windows at nothing. After awhile he got up, beer in hand, and wandered over to turn on some music. A sweater of Mac's was hanging on the coat rack, and he straightened it carefully before trudging up the steps to the bedroom.

A small pair of white Keds stood neatly side by side beneath the chair. Slowly he picked one up and held it, then slipped his fingers inside. She had such little feet. Her robe lay across the chair, and he let his fingers linger on its soft folds. Here in this room they shared, her presence was a living thing, and everything he saw seemed to reproach him.

Harm slammed the beer bottle down on the bookcase on his way out.

* * *

He walked for a long time, not caring where he went. The streets were deserted, and he supposed he should have been concerned about getting mugged, but it didn't seem important. Finally he found himself circling back toward the loft. He didn't want to go home. On an impulse, he turned into the bar on the corner.

He hadn't been in here much. It was dark and musty and the décor ran to formica tables and neon beer signs, with a television set tuned to a baseball game on cable. Only a couple of people even looked up. He slipped onto a stool with a cracked vinyl cushion and glanced at the bartender. "Jack Daniels."

Harm sipped at the shot, welcoming the burn in his throat, and gestured for another. Warmth spilled through him all the way to his toes, and he remembered that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Awhile later, a hand fell on his shoulder. He squinted at it before slowly raising his eyes to find Sturgis standing there, looking trim and neat despite the hour. "What the hell are you doin' here?" Harm said, and turned away.

"Bartender called me. He found my card in your wallet." Harm vaguely patted his pockets, looking confused, and Sturgis held it up. "Looks like your lucky day. The neighborhood bartender is an honest man."

"I'll walk home."

"Yeah, and we're walking now. Come on, man." Sturgis put his hand on Harm's shoulder, and he shook him off.

"Lemme alone, Sturgis."

Sturgis eased onto the stool beside him and signaled for coffee. The bartender slid two cups onto the varnished wood in front of them and picked up Harm's empty glass. Leaning on his elbows, Sturgis sipped at his coffee and finally said, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not partic'larly." Harm picked up his coffee and glared. "Plannin' to get a lot drunker."

"Well, I'd say you were probably overdue," Sturgis said reasonably. "How's Mac doing?"

Harm snorted. "Just great. They put her in intensive care today." The welcome fog around him began to dissipate, and his eyes stung as the lights blurred in his vision. He managed to rasp, "She's so sick, Sturgis."

"What happened, buddy?"

"Infection. She's so weak, she can't fight it off."

"She'll be okay, Harm. You gotta believe that."

"All my fault," he blurted.

"How's that?" Sturgis's voice remained calm and kind.

"Never there. Never paid ‘tention." He put a hand over his eyes. Somehow, it was easier when he didn't have to look at Sturgis. "Sometimes, I feel like it's happening to *me.* I wish it were me, an' not her." He clenched his fist and brought it down on the bar. "There's nothing I can goddamn DO!"

"Did you tell her you love her?" Sturgis was watching him intently.

Harm lifted his shoulders in a hopeless shrug. "Yeah."

"Then you did the best thing you could, Harm."

Somehow, the weight over his heart eased a little. He untangled his legs and managed to stand, and felt Sturgis take his arm. "Thanks," he remembered to call to the bartender, and got a wave in return. "You pay ‘im?" he mumbled as they navigated out the door.

"Yep. Come on now, keep walking. You're gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, buddy. And you're going to have to explain to Varese why I smell like bourbon."

End Part Fifteen

* * *

Part Sixteen

Thursday August 5, 1900 Hours EDT

Mac's room, Georgetown University Hospital

"Here you go, Mac. Let's see what they whipped up for your dining pleasure." With a flourish, Harm lifted the cover from the tray and said, "Wow, lime Jello. Your favorite."

"I am so sick of Jello," she grumbled, and he grinned. She was propped up in bed giving him a rebellious glare. Obviously she felt better.

He picked up the dish and sniffed. "Mm, yummy! Okay now, here comes the airplane – open wide." He waved the spoon around, making airplane noises, and he could tell Mac was trying not to laugh.

"Give me that," she said. She grabbed the spoon and without warning, flipped a glob of green Jello at him. It landed with a plop on his shirt. "Oops," she said, eyes dancing.

Harm felt himself chuckling as he swiped at his shirt with a napkin. Mac began to giggle, and he shook his finger at her. "That's cold, Mac. Just wait ‘til you can fight back."

"Just as soon as they let me out of here," she said, and picked up the spoon to finish off the Jello. "I feel like I'm in jail. There, all gone." She held up the empty dish with a grin.

"Good girl. You get a prize." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers gently.

"Can we watch CSI?" she said hopefully.

"Oh gross, Mac, how can you possibly enjoy that stuff!" he groaned.

"Just because you can't stand the sight of a little blood" –

"A *little*? You call putting some guy through a meat grinder little?"

"It's only make-believe."

"Okay, okay. But I don't have to look at the bad parts."

"You're such a wimp," she teased. "Okay, I give up. Read to me?" He sat down beside her and picked up their current book. She leaned back against the pillows, and when he glanced over, her eyes were shut. He started to close the cover, and she murmured, "It's okay, I'm listening."

So he read for awhile, feeling a strange sense of peace. Maybe some of it was because she was past the crisis for now, but mostly it was just Mac. She seemed to handle the tough stuff with stoic acceptance, yet she could still relish each moment of joy. He wished for some of her serenity.

Mac drifted off to sleep, and he marked their place in the book and turned on the Discovery Channel, set to mute. He held her hand, and after awhile something made him look up.

A.J. Chegwidden paused in the doorway, one hand raised to knock.

Harm jumped to his feet. "Admiral!" he whispered.

A.J. entered silently, carrying a pot of tulips and looking strangely ill-at-ease. "Rabb," he nodded. "How is she?" He was staring at Mac, and Harm was surprised by the shock on Chegwidden's face until he remembered that the Admiral hadn't seen Mac since May. He gestured to the hallway, and A.J. set the flowers on the table and went out.

Harm followed him down the hall until Chegwidden whirled and demanded, "Good God, Harm, I had no idea. I just got home a few hours ago and picked up my messages. How's she doing?"

"She's doing well now, sir. The chemotherapy has been pretty hard on her, so they're keeping her here this week, but they moved her out of intensive care a couple of days ago."

"When the hell did this happen?"

"We found out the night of your retirement party."

A.J. closed his eyes briefly, then scowled. "I wish I'd known."

"Mac didn't want to make a big thing out of it, sir. There isn't much anybody can do except wait for the chemotherapy to be over."

"How much longer?"

"A couple more months, sir."

"Cut out the ‘sir,' it's A.J. now," Chegwidden said irritably. "What kind of forecast are they giving her?"

"The tumor hadn't spread, they caught it early."

"Well thank God for that, anyway," A.J. muttered. "Look, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?"

"Sounds good, A.J. There's a place downstairs."

They rode down in the elevator in awkward silence. Harm asked about Francesca and tried to make small talk about their summer travels, but A.J. seemed distracted. When they slid into a booth, he scowled and demanded, "So how are you holding up, Harm?"

"Me? I'm fine, sir. A.J."

"Getting along with Prescott?"

"Well enough."

"Don't be polite, the man's a boot licker. I hear he's reassigning half the staff."

Harm nodded. "A lot of people are gone already, and he's brought some new officers to headquarters."

"Competent?"

"More or less."

"Jesus, Rabb, this is like pulling teeth! You don't have to watch your step around me anymore, so relax. I hear you've been reassigned to Pearl. When do you leave?"

"Three weeks."

"What about Mac?" Chegwidden's eyes were fierce.

"Mac and I worked it out. She'll join me in Hawaii when the doctors turn her loose."

"Then I take it you've worked out your personal situation, as well?"

Harm regarded him steadily, debating how much he felt like discussing it. "If you're asking whether we're getting married, AJ, negotiations are in progress."

Chegwidden stared at him intently. "Always hoped you two would figure it out some day."

"Sir, I am target fixated."

Abruptly, the admiral gave a chuckle. "Glad to hear it. Otherwise, I'd have to deck you." Harm grinned, and after a minute AJ squinted, looking away, and said, "I thought you might have resigned again, to stay here with her."

"I thought about it. But this seemed like the right choice. Besides, she wouldn't let me."

A.J. nodded slowly, as if confirming something. "Harm, you have more ability than any officer I've ever served with, but I wasn't sure you were ready to accept the demands of higher command. Did you wonder why I didn't do something about your next assignment before I retired?"

Harm regarded him. "Yes sir, I did."

Chegwidden skewered him with a look. "It will be a stronger recommendation coming from your new commanding officer, rather than from me. But most of all, I wanted you to make your decision without worrying about my opinion. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, son, but I'm proud of you."

Harm met his gaze. "Thank you, Admiral."

A.J.'s lips quirked up into one of his little smiles. "Has Mac thought about her career, down the road?"

"We finally decided to figure that one out *after* the fact. We'll work it out somehow," Harm smiled.

"I'm sure you will. And I'm sure it won't be easy for her when you ship out."

Harm nodded politely. There was nothing to say to that.

* * *

The following Wednesday, 1745 Hours EDT

North of Union Station

Mac scribbled another note on her legal pad and leaned back with a sigh. How could simply making a list be tiring? God, I am so sick of being sick, she thought, and closed her eyes. Come on, Marine. Suck it up.

She had to go in for chemo again in the morning, and she didn't feel ready. The treatment on Monday had been the toughest yet, and she had scarcely been out of this damn recliner since Harm had brought her home. She often slept out here now, when she was too uncomfortable to share the bed, or when her restlessness kept him awake. In ten days he would be gone, and he would probably welcome the break from her, she thought with an unaccustomed surge of self-pity.

Furiously she wiped at her eyes, refusing to wallow in her mood. At least she would be staying here. Somehow she had to make arrangements to close up her apartment and put all of her stuff into storage. The mere thought of it exhausted her, and the thought of being alone again filled her with dread.

She sighed again. One thing for certain -- she must never let him see how desperately she would miss him. There was so little she could do for him, at least she could do that.

A short time later, the sound of his key in the lock awakened her. She sat up as he came through the door, looking impossibly strong and handsome in his summer whites, and she felt her heart lift. He was positively beaming.

"Hey sailor," she said. "Looks like you had a good day."

"I had a *great* day, Mac." He dumped his briefcase and cover on the desk and sat on the arm of her chair. "How's the prettiest egghead in town?"

She smiled at his now-familiar joke, and laid her hands lightly on either side of his face as he leaned down to kiss her. "Wow," she said breathlessly when he sat up at last. "I guess you *did* have a great day. What happened?"

"Patience, Marine. All in due time." Harm's eyes were sparkling. "Hey, what's all this?" he said as he accidentally knocked her notepad to the floor.

"Lists of stuff I need to do," she said. "There are about a million things to take care of."

"Like what?" He retrieved her scattered papers and set them aside on the coffee table.

"Like getting the things I need from my apartment and having the rest packed up and moved out. Jennifer offered to go over there for me. At least the landlord let me out of my lease."

"He's afraid of you, because he knows you can sue him," Harm teased. "Look, I told you I'd take care of all that stuff."

"You have enough to do before you leave."

"Yeah, well, what do you say we shelve all that for tonight? I have a surprise."

"Wow, sounds serious."

"Want anything?" he asked as he went to the refrigerator.

"Yeah," she whispered. She didn't mean for him to hear, but he frowned and came swiftly back. He smoothed imaginary bangs back from her forehead. "What is it, Mac?"

She said lightly, "I'm just tired of being stuck inside all the time. I'd like to feel the sun on my face. I want to smell the rain, and watch a sunset." Sudden, traitorous tears pressed behind her eyes.

"I know, sweetheart." His clear green eyes searched hers with compassion, and something more – an intensity she didn't understand.

"Harm? What is it?"

He let out a breath and said with a faint grin, "I'm staying."

She tensed up, and he said quickly, "I got a call from AIRLANT today. Admiral Landry offered me the post as his chief counsel." She stared at him, frozen, and he added, "He remembered me from that case with Airman Tyree a couple of years ago. It's an incredible job, and I'll be stationed at the Pentagon."

For a long moment she didn't react. Then she buried her face in her hands.

Harm went down on one knee and pulled her into his arms. She pressed her face against his chest and listened to the calm beat of his heart, breathing in his warm, clean scent as his big hands stroked her back. Finally she managed to get hold of herself. She sat up and gulped, "I'm okay, really. It's so wonderful, and all I can do is bawl. I'm sorry."

He held out his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes.

"It's okay to cry, Mac."

"Marines don't cry. I *never* cry."

"Okay," he soothed.

She dabbed at her eyes again and sniffed. "Get up, or you'll ruin your whites."

He chuckled and stood up. At the refrigerator, he poured mineral water into two crystal wineglasses and carried them back to her chair. "Cheers," he said, clinking his glass against hers, and she raised it in salute.

"Guess what else," he said.

"I don't know if I can take anything else."

"I think this had something to do with a call from the Admiral. Chegwidden, I mean."

She lifted her brows. "Really?"

"Admiral Landry mentioned he'd talked to him a couple of days ago. Usually this kind of appointment goes to someone with a captain's rating, you know. It involves a lot of international negotiations, and apparently A.J. told him about that master's degree I earned at Georgetown."

"Wow, that's what -- eleven years ago? Before I came, anyway."

Harm shrugged. "I got it the year after I passed the bar. Admiral Brovo wanted somebody on his staff who was up on international maritime law and jurisdictional issues, and I talked him into letting me get a master's while I was at it."

She cocked her head. "And I guess it impressed the admiral."

"Which one?" he said with a cocky grin, and they laughed together.

"Seriously," she tried again. "I'm glad Admiral Chegwidden went to bat for you, and I'm *really* glad he finally decided to stop punishing you."

"I think it had something to do with you," Harm said.

She could imagine how *that* conversation had gone. She said, "There must have been something else."

"He was pleased I decided to accept the overseas transfer. Said he didn't think I had it in me." Harm shook his head. "A.J.'s toughest tests were always the ones you didn't know about until they were over."

"I'm proud of you, Harm," she said. His eyes lit up, and she was startled to see how much it mattered to him. It was both frightening and humbling, and she realized she would do anything to keep this man from being hurt, ever again.

"I'm proud of *you,* Marine," he answered lightly. "Now before we celebrate, can I take a shower?"

* * *

Later that evening

Harm dried the last of the dishes and announced, "I have a surprise for you, Mac."

She was stretched out on the sofa. "Another one? I don't know if I can handle this much excitement in one day."

He said, "Trust me, you'll like this one, too."

"Can't we save it for tomorrow?" she grumbled sleepily.

"Nope, it's something special I arranged specially, but we have to do it tonight. I'm going to get ready." He slipped out the door, grinning to himself, and hurried down the hall.

When he let himself in a few minutes later, Mac was sitting up. She looked at him expectantly, sensing his excitement. "What do you have out there?" she asked, trying to peer behind him.

"Not a thing. Come on." He helped her stand up.

"We're going out?" She looked confused, and stubbornly pulled back a little.

"Not exactly." He clasped her arms and said, "Trust me?"

Something softened in her face. "Always."

Without another word he bent, slipped an arm behind her knees, and swung her up against his chest.

"Harm! What are you doing!" she giggled.

"I always wanted to sweep you off your feet," he smiled down at her.

"You did that on Day One," Mac said softly, and her head came to rest in the curve of his neck. Her body felt light and fragile as a bird's wing in his arms.

He carried her out the door, kicking it shut behind him. At the stairway leading to the roof, she looked up at him wonderingly, and a surge of tenderness tightened his throat as he started up the steep, narrow steps. He nudged open the door at the top with his foot, congratulating himself for remembering to leave it unlocked, and carried Mac across the dark expanse of flat roof where cinders crunched beneath his shoes. Near the corner parapet, he carefully set her on her feet before he lowered himself into the folding lounge chair he had placed there. He looked up and held out his hand.

Wordlessly she sat down, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him, bending his knees to hold her securely. "You asked for a sunset," he whispered against her cheek. "This was the best I could do on short notice." The night sky soared overhead, spangled with twinkling stars that outshone the lights of the city.

"Oh, Harm." He could hear the smile in her voice. Her hands came up to cover his, and her head leaned back against his shoulder.

A soft night wind caressed them, relieving the heat that lingered in the air, and he asked, "Warm enough?" She nodded. "Okay then. The show's about to start."

"Show? You lined up the Blue Angels?"

"Better. Watch now."

A moment later, a shooting star traced a fiery arc across the heavens. Mac caught her breath, "Look! There's another one!" She pointed, her hand thin and fragile against the night sky. Star after star shot across the night sky as they watched in silent delight.

After a long while, she said in a hushed voice, "How did you know?"

"I set it up just for you." She twisted around enough to smile at him, and he said, "It's the 11^th of August, Mac. A meteor shower happens every year around this time."

"Well, it was the best surprise I ever had, except for your new job." She leaned back against him with a little sigh.

"Tired, baby?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I don't want to go in yet. Can we stay here awhile?"

"Sure." He rested his cheek against her temple and simply held her, rocking a little. Her breathing slowed and evened out, and he thought she had fallen asleep until she murmured softly, "I love you so much."

He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and gently kissed her forehead. "I love you too, sweetheart." Thank you, he prayed silently. Whatever happens, thank you for this. Thank you for bringing her into my life.

End Part Sixteen

* * *

Part Seventeen -- Conclusion

Sunday, October 24, 1000 EST

Blacksburg, Virginia

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Harm swung his heavy leather flight bag out of the trunk. "It's only been two weeks, Mac." He knew he was worrying obsessively, but ever since she had completed chemotherapy, she had been pushing it.

"I'm sure. Anyway, you're the one doing all the work. I'll just be sitting there."

He eyed her dubiously, and she came close and put her hand on his arm. "I'll be fine, Harm. Please don't worry. When was the last time we had a day like this? I can't wait." Beneath her snug wool watch cap, her eyes sparkled .

"Okay," he smiled, knowing he could never refuse her. He slung the bag over his shoulder and put his other arm around her, and together they walked out onto the apron where Sarah waited, gleaming in the sun. It was a gorgeous Indian summer day, and it would be a great day for flying.

Mac stashed the lunch cooler in the cargo hatch and watched while he pumped gas into the wing tanks. He wiped his hands on his jeans before helping her climb into the front cockpit, and he stood on the wing to tug and fasten the harness firmly around her. She grinned at him and pulled on her goggles, and he gave her a quick kiss.

He jumped down and began his walk-around, concentrating on pre-flight. Finally he climbed in, plugged in his headset, and fired up the engine to roll out on the taxiway. At the top of One-Niner, he ran the engine up to full power, checked the magneto, and throttled down as he turned into the wind.

"Ready?" he shouted to Mac over the roar of the motor. She gave a thumbs up, and he eased off the brakes. They began to roll down the runway, faster, faster, and Harm watched the tach and speed needles climb as the edges of the tarmac blurred. He pulled back on the stick, and Sarah lifted off, reaching for the heavens like the creature of the air that she was.

The autumn sky was a pale watercolor blue washed with a few streaks of white, fading to a delicate haze at the horizon. Up and up they climbed, Sarah's solid old engine pulling like a warhorse, soaring into the vast blue arc.

And as always when he was airborne, a gentle peace filled his heart. His soul soared into the endless blue with a rush that felt like coming, and all the noise of the world slipped away. Whatever the future might hold, today he had this, and Mac was with him.

He eased them into a long, curving bank to the east, into the brilliant haze of the early sunlight, and set a course for the coast.

They had to negotiate the tricky limits of restricted airspace that spread out from the Washington area like the tiers of a celestial wedding cake, so he was preoccupied with the radio and the GPS, but he noticed Mac peering over the side as the Chesapeake Bay flashed beneath their wings. Once they passed over the tip of the peninsula, he banked north and followed the coast with the Atlantic gleaming like burnished pewter off the starboard wing.

"Mac!" he bellowed into the headset. "Look!" She swiveled to catch his emphatic gesture as he pointed over the port side, and she craned to see. He banked the biplane into a lazy circle, and she leaned out enough to see a pair of catamarans tacking into the wind, their sails a rainbow of brilliant colors against the sparkling blue water.

She flashed a huge grin over her shoulder and waved, and her obvious delight made him as proud as if he had put those sailboats there personally. The cool wind rushing past the open cockpit made conversation impossible, but it didn't matter. After pulling a series of lazy banking turns to keep the race in sight, Harm leveled out and headed north toward Ocean City.

It was nearly 1100 when they touched down at the small airport that served the tourist area. The day was warming up, and the heat was beginning to shimmer on the end of the runway. After topping up with fuel and a quick pit stop, they took off again and flew up Delaware Bay, skimming the blue water and waving at the ocean-going ships below. Far above, a fighter plane carved a thin white pencil streak across the sky.

Harm eased around onto a southerly heading and dropped down low on approach. The shoreline flashed beneath them, and he lined up with the tiny airstrip on Assateague Island, the brilliant green of the grass blurring beneath their wings as they came in and set down, bouncing lightly on the rough pavement.

Harm taxied onto the apron and shut down the engine, and in the sudden silence he saw Mac pull off her headset and struggle out of the front cockpit. Quickly he pulled off his earphones and jumped out in time to help her, his hands firm around her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and jumped down, and he didn't let go. "There better be a ladies room in that hut over there," she said with a breathless little laugh.

"Dunno, Mac. If there isn't, there are some nice bushes over there -- OW!"

She hurried toward the steel frame building where a wind sock and some flags were snapping in the ocean breeze, and he stood there grinning like an idiot, rubbing his arm. Damn, she *was* getting stronger.

There was a Park Service office in the building. He arranged for a tie-down and headed back outside to wait, pacing back and forth, whistling a little.

When he looked up, Mac was walking back across the tarmac with her hands buried deep in the pockets of his old flight jacket. Her faded jeans hung loose on her long legs, but to his careful eye, she didn't seem tired. She was wearing sunglasses, and she shaded her eyes for good measure as she squinted at him and rubbed her midsection. He laughed and grabbed the cooler out of the plane before walking over to grab her around the waist with a resounding kiss.

"Feed me, Seymour!" she intoned in an attempt to sound like that ridiculous movie she had insisted on watching the other night, and they both laughed in simple delight because she was actually hungry.

"I'll do better than that," he said, and gestured at the ocean sparkling on the eastern horizon. "There's a beach just a few minutes that way. Okay?"

"More than okay."

The steady wind brought a clean scent of the sea. It felt good to stretch his legs. He shortened his stride to an easy pace, and Mac took his hand and hiked along beside him. They didn't talk as they followed a path that wound among the dunes. Out of the wind, the sunlight had some real warmth to it. Harm pulled off his jacket, and Mac tied hers around her waist as they followed the trail lined with sea grape and wild roses and grasses that rustled in the wind. Five minutes later, they emerged onto the sand, and the shining expanse of the Atlantic stretched out before them.

* * *

He tossed his old Georgetown stadium blanket down in a sheltered hollow that caught the warmth of the sun. Mac grabbed a corner, and between them they shook it out and spread it flat. She sat down, untied her sneakers, pulled off her socks, and buried her feet in the deep, warm sand. The wind ruffled her hair, and she lifted her face and closed her eyes, basking in the thin autumn sunlight.

He sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, watching her with a tiny smile. At last she looked over and laughed. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was just remembering the last time we spent a day at the shore."

"It seems like a lifetime ago. In some ways, I think it was." She drew a circle in the sand. "Thank you -- for everything. For sticking with me."

"I could say the same, Mac. The important thing is, we're here now." He leaned over and kissed her lightly. "The real question is, what's for lunch?"

She opened the cooler, pulled out two plastic stemmed glasses, and filled them with ginger ale. She handed one to him with a flourish and raised hers. "Here's to the Navy's most distinguished O-5, soon to be O-6." She clicked her glass with Harm's.

"Remains to be seen," he said. "When you swim with sharks, there's always blood in the water. You gotta hope it isn't yours."

Mac's eyes were warm. "You love it. You'll see, in five years you'll be one of the star boys yourself."

"What about you, Mac? When you're cleared for duty, I mean?"

"That won't happen for a few months at least. I'm not going to worry about it. Right now, every day feels like a gift. When it's time, I think I'll know." With a quick smile, she opened the cooler again and began unwrapping sandwiches and fruit.

While she prepared the picnic, he pulled off his shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans. "Hey, those look terrific," he said as she handed him a sandwich.

"I got them at that place on the corner," she said. "You know, the new one?"

"When did you manage that?"

"I went down there while you were out running." She grinned. "Every day I walk an extra block. Soon I'll be running with you again."

"Just take it easy, okay?"

"I am. But now that I can eat again, I'll get fat if I don't exercise. I can't get over how *good* everything tastes!" She took a big bite out of her apple.

He watched curiously as she dug around in the cooler. She seemed to be hiding something behind the lid, and he peered closer. "What do you have in there?" he asked.

"Hold it," she ordered, raising her hand. "Okay. There." With a smile, she lifted out a huge brownie on a paper plate, with a yellow birthday candle stuck in the center. Carefully she shielded the tiny flame as it fluttered in the ocean breeze. "Happy birthday, a day early."

He laughed and blew out the candle, then leaned over for a kiss. "Thanks, Mac. You didn't have to do that."

She licked frosting from her fingers and picked up a plate with her own brownie. "It feels good to do something for *you* for a change," she said. She broke off a corner of her brownie and said softly, "I was unfair to you, Harm. Before all this, I thought I knew you, but I didn't. You're kind, and gentle, and caring. You listen. I'll never be able to do enough to repay all you've done for me."

He frowned and put down his plate, then reached out and took hers. "I'd say it's the other way around, Mac."

She met the urgency of his gaze without flinching. "Okay," she said, brushing at her eyes. "Now come on, I want to walk off this enormous meal." She jumped up and trotted down toward the water, and he jogged after her. When she turned around and held out her hand, he felt something loosen inside.

Hand in hand, they walked along the silver sand where the tiny waves lapped and creamed around their ankles. Shore birds screamed and wheeled overhead, and the wind was chilly in the thin autumn sunlight.

Mac tilted her head back, eyes closed, and flung her arms out wide, smiling as she turned from side to side.

"What are you doing?" he laughed.

"Kissing the wind," she said.

Joy welled up inside him. He reached out and gathered her against him, her body slim and pliant as a reed, and when he kissed her, she returned it with a sweetness that lanced through his heart. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth.

Her beautiful eyes searched his, and in their depths he saw tenderness, and joy to match his own. Kissing her again was like coming home after a long journey.

Something hairy and wet and smelly shoved its snout between them and snuffled. "What the" -- he jumped back and grabbed for the wild pony's mane as it butted Mac with its forehead. She giggled and said "down boy" as the little guy nibbled the sleeve of her sweater.

There was a nervous whinny nearby, and they looked up to see half a dozen of the tough little horses that ran wild on the island. Mac scratched the pony's neck and he stared at her adoringly before wheeling and trotting off to join the others. The horses tossed their heads and galloped away, flinging sand that stung their skin.

Mac looked up at him and shook her head slowly. Her eyes were dancing, and he felt himself grinning back.

Laughter bubbled up between them. Mac leaned against him and they stood there, holding each other and rocking a little. Her head fit just beneath his chin, and he rested his cheek against her hair.

A moment later she shivered. He pulled her against his side and they hiked back up the beach, arms around each other. At the little hollow, Mac lowered herself gracefully to the blanket, and he dropped down beside her, propped on his elbow. Out of the wind, the sun was warm on his back when he leaned down to her.

Their hands were gentle on each other as they kissed, as if for the very first time, and her touch was soft and sweet with the promise of passion to come. After a long while, he lifted his head and stared down into her flushed face. "Marry me," he whispered.

She froze. He saw the fear in her eyes and felt her draw away, even before she sat up, and a cold hand tightened around his throat.

"Why?" she said, her voice shaky. "Why can't we just keep things the way they are?"

He sat up too, and reached out for her. "What's wrong, Mac?"

She made a futile gesture. "Harm, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or next week. I'll always be worried the cancer will come back. I don't know that I'll even be alive a year from now, or five years from now. And it'll be a miracle if I can ever have children." Her eyes were turbulent.

"You've never run away from anything, Mac. Are you going to let fear run your life now? Are you going to let it run *our* lives?"

"We'll both still be lawyers in the JAG Corps. I don't want to compete with you anymore, Harm."

"I thought we'd gotten past all that. We’ll work it out."

"We're both stubborn only children. It's a recipe for disaster! We're happy now, can't we just be happy for awhile before" --

"Before what? Before it all goes to hell, just like every other relationship you've ever had?" he said angrily. "I'm not Chris, or Dalton, or Mic, or Clay. It's time to stop letting the past run your life, damnit." He took a deep breath. Time to go for broke. "I made my decision a long time ago, Mac. But you’re going to have to choose, too."

She didn't look away. For a long, frozen moment she didn't move, he didn't think she even breathed. "What if I can't?" she whispered.

"I told you a long time ago that I'll always love you," he said gently. "And I'll let you go, if that's what you want." He wrapped his hand around hers. "Come with me, Mac."

He held his breath. Something softened in her eyes, and she said, "Anywhere."

He gathered her to him, and she hugged him back fiercely. "No doubts?" he whispered into her hair, then pulled back and stared into her face. He knew, even before she shook her head slowly.

From some dim recess of consciousness, his higher brain eventually reminded him that this had to stop, now. Not that the idea of making love to Mac in the open air wasn't eminently desirable, but he knew she was getting tired, and it was a public beach. Somehow, he managed to ease back and look down at her, his breathing ragged.

She was rosy and flushed. "Harm?" she murmured, panting a little. Her eyes were not quite focused. "There's nobody here but us."

"What if your pony comes back?"

"Let him find his own sand dune," she grinned. The heat leaped up, pure as the sunlight warming his shoulders, and he kissed her again.

After a long while Harm rested his face against hers. "Cold?"

"No." Actually the ocean breeze was sharpening, but the heat of his big muscled body warmed her.

"We'd better head back, though. It'll be getting dark soon."

"Let's stay here all night. Watch the stars."

His chuckle was a pleasant rumble deep in his chest. He said, "It's going to get pretty chilly. One of these days, we'll have to spend a night outside when it isn't cold."

"If you keep looking at me like that, we'll end up spending the night out here after all."

"Someday soon." Harm's hands came up and smoothed her face, and she laid her palm against his cheek.

Reluctantly they let go of each other and scooped up their things. Hand in hand they hiked back to the plane, and she supposed her feet touched the ground somewhere along the way. But she wouldn't have wanted to swear to it.

He helped her into the biplane and kissed her gently. “You must be exhausted,” he murmured. She was tired, but slowly she shook her head. “Just happy,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “What about you?”

His smile was dazzling as a sunburst. “I think I could fly this thing home without an engine,” he said softly.

They took off into the afternoon sun, blazing in the west. The land was lost now in long shadows and the melting blue haze over the mountains of Virginia as they soared into the endless shimmer of the sunset. Harm put the plane through a series of lazy rolls and loops, laughing, and she laughed too and hung on, delirious with the rush of the wind. At last he straightened it out and aimed for home, and she leaned back and watched the first faint stars wink on above them. After awhile she reached up, trying to touch them, letting the air stream through her fingers. She let one arm trail behind, and a moment later she felt Harm's hand close around hers, warm and sure.

Finis