Name: A Journey that Changes Everything
Author name Melfina_gene_starwind
feedback at raven_blackdragon@hotmail.com
Rating:PG-13
Spoilers: Some things from the last three eps of
season 8.

Disclimer: :I do not own any of Jag. no money is made
off of this.

Summery: Harm goes to Paraguay to save Mac. He finally
discovers his true feelings for her, but will he have
enough time to tell her how he really feels for her.
 
For it is the very mark of Eros that when he is in us
we had rather share unhappiness with the Beloved than
be happy on any other terms. Even if the two lovers
are mature and experienced people who know that broken
hearts heal in the end and can clearly foresee that,
if they once steeled themselves to go through the
present agony of parting, they would almost certainly
be happier ten years hence than marriage is at all
likely to make them-even then, they would not part. To
Eros all these calculations are irrelevant. Even when
it becomes clear beyond all evasion that marriage with
the Beloved cannot possibly lead to happiness-when it
cannot even profess to offer any other life than that
of tending an incurable invalid, of hopeless poverty,
of exile, or of disgrace-Eros never hesitates to say,
"Better this than parting. Better to be miserable with
her than happy without her. Let our hearts break
provided they break together." If the voice within us
does not say this, then it is not the voice of Eros.
This is the grandeur and terror of love.-Lewis

Chapter 1

Foreboding

"Flight 209 to Paraguay is now boarding." The flight
attendant states congenially over the loud speaker.

I get up from the leather airport chair in which I had
been sitting. The day had been interminably long and
it didn't help that I had, had so many things on my
mind. Mainly Sarah Mackenzie had been on it. Since she
left me that night standing, staring at the door, with
only my thoughts and my paralytic tongue to keep me
company, worry had clamped its icy fingers around my
body and soul, wrenching them apart. It left me only
my thoughts of her, slipping through the cracks of its
dark clutches. I could not sleep, eat or even think
straight. 

Once again the flight attendant calls the flight,
which knocks me out of my shadowy daydreams. I grab my
ticket and hand it to the attractive attendant. After
she checks it, she brushes my hand flirtatiously as
she proffers my ticket. In my natural state I would
have done something. At least given her a smile, but
right now I'm in another world. A world overflowing
with thoughts of Mac. 

I take my seat and look out the window. As I gaze out,
I quickly become absorbed into the reverie that has
haunted me for the past few days. I hadn't meant for
this to happen, but it did. 

It hadn't taken me long after I had gotten to know Mac
to realize that she was different from the rest of the
women I had known. She came along and made my
carefully calculated plans fly swiftly out the window.
I kept pushing down those feelings I had felt welling
up inside of me, terrified that they might escape. She
was not just a woman. A pair of soft arms to help me
momentarily forget my loneliness and the ghosts of my
past. She was in some mysterious way, the woman. 

I grew more uncertain, and became more frightened
when, after fooling myself into believing we could be
just best friends, I found my love and my admiration
grew unbounded for her. The more time we spent
together, fighting side by side, fighting each other,
sharing our deepest hurts and pains of the past, the
more inextricably close we grew. 

I can only remember crying in front of one other woman
in my life-my mother. I have allowed myself to cry in
front of Mac three times. Mac knows me like no other
human being has ever known me. And I know her just as
intimately-and that had scared the hell out of me. I
tried to run for my life. I ran back to the sea, and
to the air. I ran to other women. I had tried many
times to settle for imitation. Renee, Annie, Jordan,
never letting them have all of me, and I thought that
could be enough. But, Mac had blown them all away,
till there was nothing left for me to cling to but
her, every time. In the end, it was always her I swam
back to.

She has been the lighthouse in the storm-tossed sea of
my life. No matter how many times the wind has blown
me about, and her too, we always come back together.
There is no escaping it. I had never believed I could
reach the point to which she has brought me. And so, I
have decided to accept the inevitable and stop running
from the truth. I'm going to tell her what I feel. I
just have to get to her somehow. I should've told her
before she left. My thoughts scramble back to the last
time I talked to Mac in my apartment. 

Flashback

I'm playing my guitar when there is a knock on the
door. I walk over and open it, revealing Mac.

"Hey!" I exclaim, as I open the door.

"Hi!" 

Seeing my guitar she asks, "Are you entertaining?" She
peeks into my apartment, as if expecting a woman. 

"Uh, no, uh, just entertaining myself," I assure her,
as we smile at each other and she walks over to the
kitchen counter. 

"I just came by to see how you are, after all you've
been through." She gazes up searchingly into my eyes.

"Well, so far no one's accused me of murder," I joke,
grinning at her. 

"Well, it's early yet," She teases as she slips her
jacket off, revealing a black dress. 

"That's true," I say. And then I spot it. For a
moment, I feel as if a sledgehammer has been rammed
into my stomach. How could she have become pregnant
without my knowledge? Have I been that out of it
lately? She should have told me. Who is the father?
Thoughts whirl around dizzyingly in my mind. As usual,
when confronted with even a glimmer of my feelings
toward her, my eloquence steps to the fore.

" Whoa!"

"What?" She utters with feigned innocence, as she
smiles and eyes me knowingly. 

"Is there something you want to tell me?" I question
incredulously.

I'm still aghast that I had not noticed this before. I
must be getting old--positively geriatric, to miss
something like this.

"Mmm. Plenty." She retorts, still grinning
irrepressibly. That mischievous dimple I love appears
on her cheek. She is very much enjoying herself. 

"How did you hide this?"

"Bigger clothes." 

At this point I'm trying steadfastly to regain my
composure. But, all I can do is think, 'How could she
do something like this? I thought we had something.'
Then I come to the realization that we are nothing
more than friends at the moment. There are no
promises, only unspoken, numinous feelings. So, I step
up to her and touch her swollen stomach. And then I
realize that it's not what I thought. She has
something under there, a pillow or something.

"There's a story here, somewhere," I assert, not
really knowing what else to say. All I know is, that
I'm a happy, and very relieved, man.

"Listen, I'm going away." She says, a sudden
seriousness clouding her features. 

"Where?" This, of course, makes me immediately feel
suspicious, and something else-- aggressively
protective. 

"Can't say," she replies mysteriously.

I'm not liking this one bit. 

"For how long?" I start to feel the panic well up
inside, again. I don't know what to do. I hate being
out of control. I hate not knowing. What if she needs
me?

"Don't know." She is still being enigmatic, but this
time a glimmer of recognition strikes.

"This has Webb written all over it," I declare, before
even realizing I'm uttering my suspicions aloud. Webb
is somehow always behind something like this.

"He needed a pregnant wife. I'm his cover story." 

She looks at me strangely. Perhaps lovingly. Or
perhaps my addled brain is playing tricks with me. I'm
not exactly in top form at the moment.

"Is it dangerous?" I query uncertainly. I don't know
why I'm worrying so much, but for some intangible
reason, I sense something's not right.

"Very. We travel to Paraguay tonight, but I needed to
know that you were okay. You've been through a lot
lately," she informs me. Her brow is lined with worry,
her large dark eyes, caring. She sees my face pale,
full of panic and shock.

"I'm coming back, you know," she asserts in a soft
tone, as she rises from the chair. 

"You don't know that," I contend desperately. 

She slips back into her beige coat, as I lay my guitar
down.

"I don't want you to go, Mac." 

I gaze at her intensely. My hands are starting to
sweat and I have an aching feeling in the pit my
stomach. 

Mac seems a little annoyed, and slightly amused. She
shakes her head at me. 

"Why is it that you are only like this when I have one
foot out the door?" Her arms are folded in front of
her, her eyebrows raised, questioningly. I simply
stare at her. "Your interest always fades when I might
be in a position to actually return it." I stand there
like an idiot. Why is it that I cannot tell her how I
really feel? That I am worried that I might not see
her again, and that I need her right now? 

Mac crosses the room to the door, and as she opens it
to leave me. I choke out her name.

"Mac!" 

Pathetic. That is all I can get out. I have so much I
want to tell her, but all I can say is her name. She
pauses and looks at me a bit sadly, turns her head and
withdraws, closing the door silently behind her. 

Flashback ends

The plane starts to roll down the runway and takes
off, dragging me back to reality. That last talk with
her has been carving indelibly and unceasingly through
my mind. I have been wide-awake every night, hearing
echoes about my interest fading when she is in a
position to return it. Peace has eluded me, not that
we were ever familiar for long, anyway. All I have
done is stare blindly at the wall, clutching my
pillow. 

I try to reposition myself in my seat. These little
seats are not very accommodating for a man of my
height. My legs are almost numb. After I regain some
semblance of comfort, my mind dips back into the black
hole of memory. I had tried to find out where she was.
However, I kept hitting dead ends. Finally, I couldn't
stand it anymore. I had to go ask the Admiral if he
could give me any clue to her whereabouts. Of course,
it was a bad idea because he refused to tell me
anything. All he did was assure me that if there was
anything wrong, he would let me know.

That night, I had a nightmare about her wearing the
same black dress she had on the last time I saw her.
She was walking hand in hand with Webb to a taxi where
a man waited with the door open. As they got in
another man walked up behind them. The man holding the
door backed up, while the man from behind pulled out a
gun. Mac looked at him and shouted to Webb. Both were
shot several times. I remember sitting straight up and
gasping for breath. That dream strengthened the
tortuous fears that had plagued me recently, that
something was going to go wrong. I needed to see her
so bad that I ached. 

I had to find a way to get a hold of her. So, I had
called the one person who could know were they were. I
still remember the talk I had with Webb's mother.

~*~Flashback~*~

I picked the phone up and dialed the number in front
of me. 

"Hello, Mrs. Webb, this is Commander Harmon Rabb. I
met you some years back." I stated. 

"I remember. You're one of Clayton's friends. You're
in the Navy." She replies. 

"Yes, ma'am, that's correct. Ma'am, I hope I'm not
disturbing you, but Clayton is currently traveling
with an associate of mine, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah
Mackenzie, and I need to get a hold of her."

"The Colonel left no forwarding address?"

"No. Ma'am, but they left for Paraguay."

"Commander, I'm in no position to reveal Clayton's
whereabouts at any time."

"I have information of a highly sensitive nature to
impart to the Colonel, ma'am."

"Well, give it to me, and if I speak to him, I'll pass
it along."

"Well, unfortunately, I'll need to deliver it to her
personally, ma'am," I inform her. Of course, I have to
give her the message personally. You can't tell
someone's mom to pass on a message like I love you.

"Are you concerned for her welfare? If she's traveling
with my son, you ought to be."

"All the more reason then, ma'am, to help me get a
hold of them." That was another reason I was so damn
worried about her. She was with Webb.

"Does he love this woman?" She asks me. At first, I'm
taken aback.

"I'm sorry?"

"Clayton is very protective of those he loves."

"Well, I don't believe so, ma'am." 

I'm slightly befuddled right now because I can't stop
thinking about what she just said. Could he be in love
with her? What if he was, and what if she was? That
gave me something new to worry about.

"That's unfortunate. I'm sorry Commander, there's
nothing I can do for you," Mrs. Webb remarks and hangs
up. I just sit there, not knowing what to think now. 

Flashback ends

Those thoughts were just some of the things that had
stalked me on the flight. By the time I looked out of
the window again, all I saw was bleak darkness, as if
staring at a reflection of my inner turmoil. That was
how I felt inside. It felt as if there was a part of
me that was missing. There was this vortex, this black
abyss, sucking out all of the light inside my soul. I
felt empty, and alone at the same time. I needed her
so badly. I didn't care about anything else. The
darkness in my soul was voraciously consuming my every
waking moment and when I was asleep I would try to
rise into that darkness to find her, but I couldn't
see my way around. I could not rise to my Sarah. 

That was a bit strange, saying my Sarah. If she had
been mine, then she would not have gone. Before I knew
it I was fast asleep dreaming of her.

End Of Chapter 1 
Think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me
trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those
days. Look back on all those times. Think of the
things we'll never do. There will never be a day when
I won't think of you.-A.L.W. & C. Hart

Chapter 2

Nightmare

Two hours into the flight, dreams of Sarah filled my
mind. Some were excellent dreams where we got married
and had kids. Those kinds of dreams one has about the
future and being with the one they love. And, then
those horrible dreams of losing her came back to me.
There was one that started great but turned dreadful.
That one hit me the worst.

**************Dream **************

After 7 years, we were finally here, standing next to
each other. I'm wearing my dress whites. Sarah's dress
makes her look ethereal. She is the most beautiful and
outstanding person that I have ever met. I love her so
much and finally we are getting married. Our ceremony
is in a rose garden, which is reminiscent of the first
place we saw each other. We have had so many things go
wrong, that it is hard to believe that we have made it
here.

I give her one of my special smiles reserved for her.
She smiles back and I can see all the love and desire
in her eyes. I want to drown in those eyes. 

She gives my hand a quick tug to get me to pay
attention to the preacher. I smile at her again and
mouth I love you to her. Then the preacher begins to
speak. It felt like an eternity, but, it was finally
time to say our vows to each other. Each of us repeat
after the preacher. I look into Sarah's eyes and
willingly say those words that will make us one
forever.

"I, Harmon Rabb Jr., take you Sarah Mackenzie , to be
my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I
will cherish our friendship and love you today,
tomorrow, and forever. I will trust you and honor you.
I will laugh with you and cry with you. I will love
you faithfully, through the best and the worst.
Through the difficult and the easy. Whatever may come
I will always be there. As I have given you my hand to
hold, so I give you my life to keep. So help me God,"
I state, sincerity reverberating out of every fiber of
my being. Then with the same love and with all her
heart my Sarah says them back to me. And she turns to
me and promises the same.

Then together we vow, "Entreat me not to leave you, or
to return from following after you. For where you go,
I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people
will be my people, and your God will be my God. Where
you die, I will die and there I will be buried. May
the Lord do so with me and more if anything but death
parts you from me."

After some more words were spoken the preacher said
you may kiss the bride. It is a passionate kiss filled
with love, want and need for each other. I almost
forget where we are at. Then we turn around and the
preacher declares, "I would like to present Commander
and Mrs. Harmon Rabb Jr." 

We start to walk down the aisle. I hold her hand and
smile at her. I keep thinking that this is the best
day of my life. I look down the rows of delighted, and
teary-eyed friends and see someone I have never seen
before. I can't even make out his face, but I can make
out that he has something silver in his left hand. I'm
so distracted though, I really don't pay much
attention to it. And the minute I turn my head, he has
disappeared. A nagging fear plucks at the back of my
mind, but I shove it back. Sarah looks at me and asks
if something is wrong, and I assure her that
everything's perfect.

Then, without any warning that same man whose face is
unknown to me, but somehow known to Sarah, is in front
of us with a gun. Before I can even react he shoots my
wife. I grab her as she falls into my arms. Hot sticky
blood stains her dress and my uniform. Everyone is
screaming and wailing, and I'm crying--and I don't
know what to do.

I look up to see who the man is and I finally realize
it's Webb. Shock reigns over my mind, that this could
be.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS, YOU ASSHOLE?!" I scream at the
top of my lungs.

Webb yells back at me, his face purple with rage and
hate.

"YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW. I LOVED HER. AND WHEN
SHE CHOSE YOU OVER ME, I DECIDED THAT I WOULD END HER
LIFE ON THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HER LIFE, AND YOURS. I
HATE YOU SO MUCH--SO MUCH, THAT I'M NOT GOING TO KILL
YOU. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE WITHOUT HER.
NOT ONLY THAT, BUT YOU GET TO LIVE YOUR LIFE NEVER
BEING ABLE TO PUNISH THE MAN WHO DID THIS TO YOU."
Then he takes the gun and shoots himself in the head.
More blood splatters over us, as Webb falls at Mac's
feet.

"Sarah? Sweetie? OH GOD NO!" I kiss her on the head,
and whisper over and over again to her that I love
her, and to stay awake. 

.....End of Dream.....

I wake up with tears stinging my eyes. She can't be
dead. She had to be alive. Without her my life would
be nothing. I left everything behind for her. I left
JAG and the Navy, for the one thing that is the most
important in my life. 

I look at my watch and see that there is still 8 hours
left before we get to South America. I still have no
clue what I will find there. All I know is that Gunny
is going to help me when I arrive.

End of chapter 2 
I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired
the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.-
Callimachus 

If we could know which of us, darling, would be the
first to go, who would be first to breast the swelling
tide and step alone upon the other side - if we could
know! -C. S. Lewis 

CHAPTER 3

A letter to Sarah

Dinner had just been served and 'X-Men II' was being
shown for the in-flight movie. Since my mind isn't
into watching a comic book turned to movie, I decide
to write a letter to Sarah. I doubt I will ever show
it to her. But, I thought when I saw her, maybe if I
wrote my thoughts down I might actually be able to
express them to her. And, maybe it will keep me from
slowly going mad from the wait, and the unknown.
Writing is supposed to be therapeutic. So, I take out
my notebook and a pen and start to write.

My Dear Sarah,

Where do I start? First off, once and for all I need
to tell you that I not only love you, but that I am in
love with you. I have been for awhile. I just haven't
been sure how to tell you, or if I should tell you.
You know how I like to complicate things. Just when I
had figured out that I needed to tell you how I felt,
my tongue once again failed me. And, you left me. I
wish you hadn't left like you did the last time we
talked. Ever since then I have been going crazy with
worry. I dealt with it in my usual way. I stayed
focused on finding you, and making it right. And
nothing could sway me from my task. I even called
Webb's mom to see if I could get a hold of you, but no
luck. 

Then it came to me to call Catherine Gale, the CIA
lawyer with whom we worked on the Angelshark
investigation. As I was trying to contact her, I had
to stop because the Admiral and Meredith arrived to
announce their engagement. Can you believe it?! The
old man's getting married. No date set yet, though.
I'm happy for them. He is a great man. He grabbed up
his girl as soon as he realized she was the one. No
wonder he's my superior-he knows to hold onto a good
thing while he has it. I, on the other hand--I let the
past control me when it comes to matters of the heart.


Do you have any idea how worried I am over you? This
is why I've tried so hard to keep us from falling for
each other. But, I failed. I wasn't strong enough. And
now, here I am, on that same sickeningly familiar
precipice, searching for the one person I have left in
my life that I love above all else. Could you love me
too? Have you given up on this tired, old sailor? I
hope not.

I'm praying that you're okay. I don't understand why I
feel such a foreboding about this mission. The day
after I met with Catherine, Deputy Director Kershaw
got news from Agent Hardy, the station chief there. It
was not good news. He called the Admiral to tell him
that things were not going the way they should. It
seems that they'd lost contact with you and Webb. He
couldn't tell the Admiral much, but what he did tell
him was that Gunny had been working undercover as well
over there. And that Gunny had been shot and is now
recovering in Paraguay. He also told the Admiral that
Gunny would be calling to bring him up to date on the
exact details. 

While all this was happening, I was in my office,
weary as hell, misery encompassing my entire body. I
had not slept again, and you came and spoke to me in a
dream. I heard those damning words, and I saw you slip
away. I cried out your name in the darkness. And then
I saw you lying somewhere, your delicate body hurt and
shivering, and barely conscious, my name whispered
interminably on your trembling lips. I reached out for
you, and a shadow fell--and all I heard over and over
again was your voice plaintively crying out my name. 

I came in early that day, since I didn't rest,
couldn't rest, until I found out whether or not you
were okay. Just then, Tiner came into my office saying
that the Admiral wanted to see me right away. I
double-timed it to his office. Once there, I listened
to what he told me and at the same time I felt like
dying. He said that Gunny would be calling in about an
hour. If they hurt you--God, I don't know what I'll
do. 

During that hour of waiting that crawled along on its
twisted limbs like a cripple, I must have suffered all
of the agonies of hell. Why did I let you leave that
night?! The Admiral, with his usual perceptiveness,
told me not to worry so much, that everything would be
okay. It brought me no solace. I will only feel better
once I have you safe in my arms, whispering I love
you. 

Gunny finally calls and the Admiral puts him on
speaker phone. 

"Hello, sir." 

Gunny sounded rough.

"How are you doing Gunny?" The Admiral questioned.

"As good as can be expected, sir. I'm alive-if that
counts for anything." 

"The Commander is here with me. We would like to know
where you are."

"Sir, right now I am in Ciudad del Este, I just got
released from the hospital yesterday."

"What the hell is going on over there, Gunny? Since
when have you been undercover with the CIA?" He
demanded sharply.

"I've been undercover here in Paraguay, under the
pretense of working for Raul Garcia, a local drug
lord, for about four weeks, sir. Webb helped me get
the job. He said he needed someone he could trust. I
guess that's why he picked the Colonel, as well. Webb
and Mac made a deal with Raul Garcia. They made a
swap, two circuit boards for the Stinger Missiles,
Sadik Fahd, a terrorist, needed. Webb and Mac got
diamonds from Garcia, and Garcia traded the circuit
boards to Sadik Fahd for 20 Million dollars worth of
uncut coke."

"How did you end up getting shot, Gunny?" I
questioned.

"Well, sir, Garcia had me go with a couple of Fahd's
bodyguards. When I got there, and they tested the
boards. I checked in with Webb. Just as I was advised
to get my six out of there, Fahd came out surrounded
by some of his men, and grabbed my phone. He
questioned me. I tried to play it off, but it didn't
work. They took me down to a shack to torture me. But
Webb and Mac knew that things had gone awry. And they
came after me. We tried to make it to their vehicle to
get out of there, but things didn't go quite as
planned. And I got shot. The Colonel and Webb actually
made it to the vehicle, but it was blown over onto its
side by a grenade thrown by one of Sadik's men."

At this point, I jumped from my chair.

"What happened to the Colonel, Gunny? Did she make
it?" 

The Admiral eyed me, but said nothing.

"We got taken into that shack and held there. They
tortured me, and Webb. Webb and Mac insisted that they
make a distraction and help me escape. They were both
banged up pretty bad, sir. Unless we get them some
help out there, I don't think they'll make it. Fahd
only wants one thing, to know who they work for, and
what they know thus far, and then they'll be useless
to him. I informed the station chief here. He said
he'd take care of it. That's all I know at the moment,
sir."

"Keep us informed. You get some rest, Gunny. That will
be all."

"Yes, sir."

Gunny hung up, and I turned to the Admiral.

I asked the Admiral to let me help you two. I told him
that I was sure I could find you. I knew that in that
state of mind I wasn't making a good impression on
him, though. And he told me that he needed me there,
that the CIA was in a better position to handle it.

I tried to get the Admiral to budge, but he was
immoveable. He still denied me leave. There was no way
in hell that I was going to leave you there and sit at
JAG with my hands folded, waiting for news. So, I took
off my wings and placed them on his desk and I told
him that I was resigning my commission. Then I turned
and left the Admiral standing there, stunned.

I went back to my office and grabbed a few things that
I needed. Bud came up to me and asked me if everything
was okay. I told him no, and that I was leaving for
awhile. I didn't tell him that I was leaving JAG. But,
he asked me how I managed to get leave when the
Colonel was gone, and we were already short-handed.
When I didn't answer him, I think he knew. Everyone
knows that I've been worried about you. It's not
exactly like I've tried to hide it.

"He didn't give you leave, did he? This is for good,
isn't it?" Bud asked, eyes widened with apprehension.

"I have to go find Mac. She needs me."

"But, sir--

My letter went unfinished because, before I knew it
the plane was only moments away from the airport. I
fold the paper I had written on, place it in my jacket
pocket, and gather my overnight bag, readying myself
to exit the plane as soon as possible. I still can't
believe that I left JAG and the Navy. They had been my
whole life. My cell phone rang countless times, but I
hadn't answered it. I feel kind of bad, not telling
Bud or Sturgis where I was going. But, it was too late
for thinking about all that. I was to meet Gunny at
the hotel later today. From there all I know is that I
will find her, and I will save her--no matter what the
cost.

End of chapter 3 
The way to love anything is to realize it might be
lost.-G.K. Chesterton

Whistle down the wind. Let your voices carry. Drown
out all the rain, light a patch of darkness
treacherous and scary. Howl at the stars. Whisper when
you're sleeping. I'll be there to hold you. I'll be
there to stop the chills and all the weeping. Make it
clear and strong, so the whole night long-Every signal
that you send until the very end, I will not abandon
you, my precious friend.-Jim Steiner

CHAPTER 4

Whistle Down The Wind 

Finally, I arrive in Paraguay. Now, I have to find the
hotel that Gunny is staying at. It doesn't help that I
don't speak the language, except for a few lines. I
had scribbled down the address of the hotel where we
were to meet on the first available sheet of paper. I
clutch my overnight bag, the only bag I had brought
with me, and dig through the side pocket to find that
sheet of paper. 

I hadn't really had enough time to grab more than a
few changes of clothes and toiletry items that I could
stuff into it. Every minute that I was doing something
else, Mac could be in danger of dying. Once I exit the
busy airport, I get into a taxi. Luckily, the cab
driver knows enough English to understand where I need
to go.

On the way to the hotel, I pay no attention to the
colorful people and their warm, earthy homes. I can
only focus on what Gunny and I have to do. Gunny would
know where Mac and Webb were. I figure that we can go
to Hardy, the CIA station chief here, and see if they
have a rescue operation planned. I doubt it, though.
The CIA has no brotherhood policy that leaves room for
'leave no man behind'. 

Before I know it the taxi comes to a halt in front of
a rather simple looking hotel. I give the driver
American money, which he is more than happy to take,
and then I step out of the taxi and walk into the
hotel. Once inside, I take out my cell phone and call
Gunny. 

"Hola." Gunny said.

"Hello, Gunny. It's Harm," I state.

"Hello, sir. Where are you right now?" he asks me.

"I'm downstairs," I reply.

"Be down in a few minutes, sir."

"No, let me come up to you. What room number are you
in, Gunny?"

"26a, sir."

"I'll be there shortly."

Then I hang up and hurry up the stairs, taking them
two at a time.

As I urge up the stairs, I ponder the treatment Gunny
had borne during his imprisonment. I know that Gunny
was shot during the rescue attempt, and that he was
tortured, but I don't know how badly he was hurt. I
feel that once I see him, it will help me see more
fully what the other two had endured as well. Ever
since I had heard about their capture and about the
pain suffered by Gunny and Webb, fear had ferociously
plunged his sharp, steel dagger deep into my heart,
and since then, his cold blade had been twisting
itself ever deeper into its depths. I couldn't help
but worry about what I would find when I finally got
to Mac. 

Eventually, I arrive at Gunny's door and knock. We
greet each other. I note his pallid skin and his face
roughened by a dark stubble. As I enter the room, I
place my bag on a chair. 

"Sir, do you need to use the phone to call the Admiral
and tell him you've arrived?" Gunny questions.

"It's not sir anymore, Gunny."

"Sir?" 

Old habits die hard, I guess.

"I quit JAG and the Navy."

Gunny is dumbfounded.

"Quit the Navy, sir?"

"Somebody had to go after Mac and Webb. I knew the CIA
wasn't going to do it."

Gunny gives a short nod of understanding.

"How were they the last time you saw them, Gunny?"

Gunny hesitates.

"I have to know."

"I don't know. They were pretty merciless in their
methods. If they can't extract the knowledge they want
from them, they'll kill them trying. That was a few
days ago, sir."

Gunny's admission had confirmed what, in my heart, I
had already known. It confirmed what had seemed
tenuous and almost impossible before-that Mac and Webb
might already be dead. My mind had been practically
decimated by the torturous thoughts that had riddled
it. This new knowledge assailed my mind, and laid it
to further waste.

"We need to go see the station chief. I'd like to see
if we could get some help from him."

"Let's get going."

During the cab ride to the station chief, we are both
silent. Lost in our own separate reveries.

Upon arriving, a quiet man in a somber suit takes us
up three flights of stairs. There are so many turns
and convoluted halls, that I doubt I'd be able to find
my way out without a map. Spooks.

We finally make it to Hardy's office. The man motions
for us to halt, and we do so, as he knocks on Hardy's
door. We hear a muffled, 

"Come in, Gyles, and bring Rabb and Galindez with
you." He leads us inside, and then turns, closing the
door behind him. Hardy is sitting in a chair, puffing
comfortably on a cigar, while poring over a few files.

"Hello, gentlemen, please have a seat," the man says.

We seat ourselves. Hardy stands and saunters across
the room. He reaches a rather ornately carved wooden
box and opens it. He offers the box to us and asks,
"Would you like one?" 

"No thanks." I was concerned with much more pressing
matters at the moment than having a smoke. 

He shrugs and smiles jovially.

"Your loss. How may I help you two gentleman out?" He
inquires.

"Chief, I wondered if you had come to a decision since
the last time we spoke. We could use some help getting
Webb and the Colonel back," Gunny informs Hardy.

"I told you before, we would handle it. You're not
doing anything. You don't know these men, they're
dangerous. Besides, I don't need you poking your noses
into it and messing things up. There are greater
things at risk here than the lives of your buddies."

"So, you're telling us you will not help us. Then I
guess we're done here. Thank you, Mr. Hardy," I state.
At this point I see no reason to hang around and waste
precious time. I get up and walk to the door. Gunny
follows suit. Hardy narrows his eyes.

"You're going to go after them, anyway, aren't you?"
he says, coming up to me, and looking me straight in
the eyes. "You have guts for a lawyer, but I meant
what I said, you're risking the lives of the many for
the lives of two people."

He opens the door and nods to Gyles, who is standing
by.

"Now, please follow Gyles and he will show you the way
out." 

Gyles leads us out by a different route than the way
we entered.

Two hours later

Gunny and I manage to find a truck and bring along a
couple of guns that he had stashed in his room. Since
we didn't have any help, we thought it would be better
if we went in under the cover of night. 

A few hours later

By the time dusk's purple hues shot across the mellow
amber and rose of the sky, we make it to the place
where Mac and Webb are being held. It is in a remote
area, surrounded by trees. We decide to hide the truck
in the thick band of trees surrounding Fahd's home,
and walk the final mile. A hush nestles over the
grounds. The only sounds are an occasional bird
singing, and the sound of laughter, carried by the
breeze, drifting to our vantage point. There are at
least 10 men outside with guns, and who knows how many
inside. Gunny goes ahead of me when we get to the edge
of the trees, while I cover for him. He slowly snakes
over to a place near the shack that contains Mac and
Webb. Once there, he signals to me from his hiding
place. Two guards are standing in front of the shack,
guarding Sadik's prey. Surreptitiously, I follow
Gunny's suit. This was the worst part-the agonizing
wait. I speak to Gunny, my voice lowered,

"Can you tell if they're still alive?"

Before he can reply, I have my answer. In the shack I
hear shuffling. Angry shouts spike the air, followed
by hellish screams. They sound like they are coming
from Webb. I stand up with fists clenched, and rage
shakes my entire frame. Gunny stops me. I succeed in
breaking his iron grasp banding my arms, and steam
toward the shack. But, Gunny jerks me back by
whispering desperately after me,

"You're killing her with every step you take, sir."

This stops me cold. I hesitate for a moment and then
reluctantly head back to our hiding place. More
screams split the air. I have no choice but to sit and
suffer the torments of the damned. 

Evening

Eventually the remaining heat of the sun chills into
the ebony shroud of night. The song of the birds is
replaced by the chirping of crickets. And the lights
flare from the house. It's time.

I rise from our hiding place, steeling my self to
enter the shack, however, Gunny grabs my arm to quell
me, and points to something with his eyes. Then I hear
it. The sound of footsteps crunching on the grass. A
man, surrounded by guards, pauses before the shack and
peers over to where Gunny and I crouch. His eyes then
wander around the perimeter of the shack. Satisfied,
he enters. The two guards he brought with him settle
themselves outside the hovel with their counterparts.
A few minutes later the man comes out, and demands
something of one of his men, in Farsi. The guard
enters the shack and comes out with a badly beaten up
Webb. He has blood all over him and his eyes are
swollen shut, his flesh is tainted pink and blue with
bruises. He's a shell of his former self. He staggers
falteringly along with them, mumbling something
incoherent. I try to catch what it is, but it fades as
they haul him away. Gunny and I eye each other and
silently agree to wait longer. We couldn't leave Webb
behind. 

Later

Some time later, we finally spot Webb taken back to
the shack. He is being dragged by the same two men he
left with. His legs scrape across the ground, his arms
are limp. Regardless of the painful scuff of his legs
over the ground, Webb didn't wince, or even move. This
led me to comprehend he was unconscious. But, it
wasn't until they opened the door of the shack and
light spilled upon his flaccid form that we saw the
garish reality. His body and features were so mauled,
he barely looked human. 

The man, who I have gathered by now is Fahd, comes out
and flashes something at the guard and they retreat
back into the house, only to come back out a few
minutes later. He and a great deal of his men get into
several vehicles and rumble off into the night. 

"You take the guy on the left and I'll take the one on
the right." I utter in hushed tones.

Gunny nods a silent assent and we stealthily inch
toward the men. The night harbors me, Gunny and my
anger, which is alive and kicking, and hurtling me
towards the shack. And, even though she is so close,
it feels like it is taking an eternity to span the
chasm between the shack that holds her and I. The men
spot us charging towards them and the one on the left
hits Gunny with the butt of his gun. The guard I'm
after aims his gun at me, but I land a well-placed
punch in the head. The man slips to the ground. 

Gunny is struggling with the guard who dazed him with
the butt of his gun, so I intervene. I grab the man's
rifle and we struggle with it. Gunny lurches, trying
to steady himself. He's been through a lot in the past
few days. I get a punch in and the man drops the gun.
Gunny grabs it and points it at the man. The man holds
his hands in the air suppliantly. There is complete
silence over the place.

Gunny stays behind, keeping an eye on things. He's
bleeding from the fresh wound inflicted upon him by
the guard, and his skin looks clammy and moist. He
says nothing, just stands there valiantly surveying
the grounds. Gunny was a solider and he'll keep going,
just like I will. I rush over to the shack. 

Jerking the door open, I squint at the lights, dim
though they are, suddenly shining in my eyes, to find
Mac and Webb on the floor. He was the closest. His
prone body lies crumpled in the dust. I check his
pulse. When I find his flesh is as cold as a stone, I
force myself not to withdraw my hand. His pulse is
thready and faint, but there. Mac is a little further
away, hunched over in a darkened corner. I dash over
to her. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. My
body trembles involuntarily. 

As I get closer I do not notice that she has moved her
leg in front of me. Tripping over her foot, I fall to
the ground. That shoots a gaping hole in my pride. I
had planned on coming in here and sweeping her up
heroically. Suddenly, she's on top of me with one of
her fists clinched. I get a better look at her from
this angle. The natural tawny color of her skin has
been replaced by the chalky pallor of death. The only
signs of color I can see anywhere on her, are the dark
stains of bruising and scratches covering her body.
She looks fragile, her thin body and the dark circles
underscoring her eyes do not help matters. I open my
mouth to speak, since I can tell she is so out of it,
she hasn't yet recognized me, when she lifts her
clinched hand and throws dirt in my eyes.

"If I'm going, I'm taking one of you with me!!"

I sputter and cough from the dirt she threw at me. As
I'm rubbing my eyes and cursing, she grabs the gun
from my other hand and I feel the cool metal pressed
against my forehead. 

"No!!"

She pulls the trigger.

End of Chapter 4 
 
I loved you--and my love, I think, was stronger than
to be quite extinct within me yet. But let it not
distress you any longer. I would not have you feel the
least regret. I loved you bare of hope and of
_expression. By turns with jealousy and shyness sore.
I loved you with such purity, such passion as may God
grant you to be loved once more.-Pushkin

Chapter 5

I loved you

As she pulls the trigger, I instinctively lift one of
the hands raking the dirt from my eyes, and hit the
gun to the side. The gun goes off, but the bullet
succeeds only in scraping across my cheek. I haven't
time to think before she lifts the gun again. She
struggles with me as I grab her wrists. Blood trickles
down my cheek, seeping onto the stained floor. My
heart is pumping madly.

"MAC, it's Harm!" 

She gives an abrupt start, and stills, sitting there
in my lap, surveying me.

"Harm?" Her voice breaks upon my name. She places a
cool, white hand on my face in trepidation. Upon
feeling the blood slipping from my cheek she violently
draws her hand back, and then just collapses on top of
me, clinging fervently. "Oh my god! I'm sorry--I'm so
sorry! I thought you were one of the guards." 

I place my arms around her, clenching her fiercely to
my chest.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I was praying someone would help us, but, I never
thought you'd be able to come."

"I'm your best friend, Mac. How could you doubt that I
would do whatever was in my power to save your
life--just as you would for me?"

As she opens her mouth to reply, Gunny signals from
outside that we need to hurry.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," I urge
reluctantly.

She moves from me, and I find myself missing the
warmth of her. I call to Gunny to come and help me
with Webb. He takes the captured guard inside and we
bind and gag him, so he is unable to alert the others.
Webb is still unconscious, so Gunny and I each grab an
arm and a leg and carry him out to the brink of the
trees. While we are busy doing this, the guard I
knocked out stirs, and sees us attempting to escape. 

Mac tries to make it out on her own, but falters. I
peer over my shoulder and ascertain that she is having
a hard time walking on her tender limbs, so I run back
and sweep her up. The guard rises and gives an alarm
as I gingerly carry her out nestled in my arms, amidst
the torrential hail of gunfire. I wrap my body
protectively over her weak form and absorb a bullet in
my side. Flinching at the searing pain, I continue
rushing to the trees. Mac grabs the gun from the waist
of my jeans and begins shooting over my back at the
guards. I'm sure we make quite a sight.

"We need to get to the Stinger missiles. They were
headed towards Green River." Mac shouts to me, over
the deafening noise. 

Later

Upon finally making it to the humvee Gunny and I had
left behind, Gunny and I begin changing the tire,
while Mac converses with Webb. I pretend that I am
immersed in my task when really, I am straining with
all that is in me to hear what they are discussing.

I hear her say to Webb, "Please hold on. . . . I
enjoyed being your wife. . . "

I can't believe what I'm hearing! Maybe she does have
feelings for him. I drop the tool I was using and
fumble about on the ground for it. Finally, I hand the
tool to Gunny, who returns it to a box. After a
moment, I retain some control over the conflicting
emotions crashing around in me, and I make my way over
to her and Webb. 

"Sarah, I need you," Webb informs her weakly.

And then as he tries to tell her more, she hushes him
with a gentle kiss. I turn my head in dread not
wanting to see, but I turn back, as a man will even
when he foresees the _expression that he most fears
being played out before him--stretching out eternally.
I feel guilt tingle in my veins. Guilt because I
watched and guilt because, for a moment, I secretly
relish animosity towards a good friend. Sensing my
presence, she ends the kiss and turns to me with an
unreadable countenance. 

This is not the time to worry over this. We need to
get to the missiles. I walk towards that side of the
car, and Mac looks at me. She says nothing. She just
eyes me with that same strange look and walks away.
Had I been a fool to hope that she still secreted,
somewhere within her, a spark of that sort of feeling
for me? 

I can barely stand to talk to Webb right now. He's the
reason for all of this. He is the one that wanted her
for this mission. He is the one who put her in so much
danger. We could have both lost her, for good. And
yet, he is also the one that forced me to acknowledge
how very depthless my love was for her. He also had
been a good friend for many years. He begs me to take
care of her. I nod and turn to walk away. 

End of chapter 5 
 
And when the wind in the tree-tops roared, the soldier
asked from the deep dark grave: "Did the banner
flutter then?"

"Not so, my hero," the wind replied.

"The fight is done, but the banner won, thy comrades
of old have borne it hence; have borne it in triumph
hence."

Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave: "I am
content." 

Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass, and the
soldier asks once more: "Are these not the voices of
them that love, that love--and remember me?"

"Not so, my hero," the lovers say, "We are those that
remember not; For the spring has come and the earth
has smiled, and the dead must be forgot."

Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave: "I am
content."-A Soldier's Faith--Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Chapter 6

A Soldier's Fate

Mac and I are driving down a dusty road, heading
towards Green River. Gunny and Webb had left to find a
hospital for the dying man. Mac had quietly scooped
out the bullet from my side, as I gritted my teeth.
She had cleaned my wound and tore a piece of cloth
from one of the shirts I had brought along, as a
make-shift bandage. Then we had begun our mission. On
our journey we cross lush green fields and cows and
horses taking cool sips of water from sparkling lakes.
She tries to point out to me the beauty around us as a
conversation piece, but I am lost in thought. 

Before the tender moment I had witnessed between Mac
and Webb, I had been numbed by my perpetual
movement--by my tireless need to find her. But, since
then wicked time seemed to have frozen, to help me
relive my pain, and therefore to amplify it almost
unbearably. 

I keep on wanting to say something to her, but every
time my mouth opens, no sound comes out. Repentance
had shamed me of my former sentiment, brief though it
was, for Webb. He could die from all the injuries that
he had, that was plain to see. Before we left he had
slipped back into unconsciousness. How could I have
been so selfish? I continue chastising myself, my
thoughts intermittently interrupted as I occasionally
glance over to Mac. I can see that Mac is agonizing
over him, too. I see it in her eyes and in her
features. Her thoughts faithfully render all her
emotions in her furrowed brow, and her misty eyes. She
looks up and catches me scrutinizing her.

"Harm, are you okay? You haven't spoken a word, or
even made a sound, since we left. It looks like you
want to say something but you can't find the words,"
she states, looking at me. Anguish seeps into her dark
eyes. I decide not to increase her tormented
feelings--any more than they can refrain from torment.
I turn my head so she can't read my _expression. 

"I'm just thinking of things," I say coyly, trying to
play it off. 

"About what?" she inquires, while placing a hand on my
shoulder. My whole body trembles lightly at her touch.
It's odd that something so simple would do that to me.
Perhaps it's because now, to me anyway, my love is
known, and unable to be retracted. Or, perhaps it is
also because we are endeavoring on another mission to
save the world, and for some reason, the ending
doesn't seem so cut and dried--no matter how it turns
out. 

"About the missiles and how we are going to destroy
them." Technically, I had been thinking of that too.
Her hand is still placed upon my shoulder, and I have
to finally look at her. My heart leaps out of my
chest, and then jerks back in and up into my throat. 

"Don't worry, we'll get the missiles." 

"Mmmm--" is the only thing I'm able to reply.

She pauses a moment and then continues. "Harm, I-I
just want to thank you for saving us. I thought all
hope was lost, and that Webb and I would die on
foreign soil. I--I prayed that some help would come. I
prayed that I would see you again. You don't know what
we went though in there. What Webb went through in
there-for me." 

I can see tears escaping her forlorn eyes, she tries
to wipe them away quickly. She doesn't believe it's
fit for a soldier to cry, especially on the
battlefield. I take a hand off of the steering wheel
and place it on her cheek, wiping the tears that were
making little streaks through the dirt on her lovely
face. She smiles weakly as I rest my hand there. Her
skin is soft.

"You're safe now. It's over." 

"I should've known you'd find some way to convince the
Admiral to let you rescue us. Always the swashbuckling
hero." I haven't told her yet everything I had to do
to come to her aid. And now is not the time.

"I wish that were true." Mac understands completely,
what I utter quietly.

"Thanks for coming." I take my hand away and give her
the brightest smile I can muster, just for her. 

"Look!" Mac points to a Mennonite farmer working
sturdily in his pasture. A freshly washed, blue
bi-plane gleams in the sun, near his barn. 

Later

Before I know it we have talked the old gentleman into
using his plane. I had to give him what little money I
had, the keys to the truck, and our ID's, but
eventually, we were off. For some reason, feeling the
wind in my hair and being so close to the sky I felt
as if I could touch the blueness, and it made me feel
free. I started to feel my optimism return about the
outcome of our mission.

"You okay up here?" I yell to Mac, over the hum of the
engine and the whirling blades.

"Better than the last time I was up," she assures me. 

"Come on Marine, tell the truth," I challenge
laughingly.

"Okay, not really. I feel like crap and on top of that
we're in the air. I just hope you can fly this thing.
Your previous record makes me wary," she teases.

"Have a little faith in me, will you?" I chortle.

"I do," she assures me we soar over the landscape. 

We continue pleasantly on our way, until Mac turns
partially in her seat.

"Down there! That's the truck!!" she informs me.

I grab the dynamite that I had taken from the farmer's
shed, requesting Mac to take the reins of the plane.
She accedes to my request dubiously. As we fly over,
the terrorists see us and begin rushing to their
weapons. They fire at us, and I have to do some fancy
maneuvering to keep them from hitting us. I hurl a
stick of dynamite at the truck, missing it, but
effectively taking out a few of the men shooting at
us. More people start firing at us and bullets riddle
the back of the plane. Not good. 

Mac goes in low again and this time, I don't miss. We
barely escape as another round of fire is shot at us.
I take control of the plane again, and try to speed
our little plane back to safety. 

Then all of my nightmares come glaring to life. The
engine sputters, and then it fails. We are now
gliding. I try to keep control, but it's hard. There's
nowhere to land. As far as the eye can see there is
only dense forest. 

"Harm!!"

It happens so fast. The belly of the plane scrapes
across the pointed tops of the trees. And then the
plane dives into them. First the wings come off. Piece
by piece the plane is ripped to shreds. I feel
nothing. It feels almost as if I'm not here. We
finally hit a huge trunk and come to a halt. I see Mac
thrown out of the plane and hit the ground with great
force. She lies there prostrate before the surrounding
trees. I can do nothing, as I am crunched into my
seat. And then black nothingness clasps a cold hand
around my body and mind.

Later

I wake up to find anguish wracking my body. I can see
blood splattered everywhere. My only thought is that
somehow I have to get out of the plane. I can't see
Sarah anywhere. I have to find her.

I move a little and bellow in pain. A sharp piece of
metal from the plane had embedded itself into my leg.
A quick examination told me it didn't pierce through
to the other side. I take a deep breath and grab the
piece in two places. Then I try to quickly pluck the
piece out of my flesh. It only ends up searing my leg
with a misery I can't recall ever suffering before. I
cry out in agony. After pausing for a moment, and
steeling myself against the impending pain, I attempt
to withdraw the metal piece again, but this time with
more force, and find a weak point. The piece breaks in
half. I writhe and scream. 

Eventually, I ease the remaining piece out and grab
what's left of the shirt from my bag, and bind my leg
tightly, to prevent myself losing anymore blood. I
glance around the ground, and still cannot locate Mac.

You'd think that Mac would have heard me. The fact
that my reverberating cries had received no response
worries me. I slowly depart from the plane that had
imprisoned me and fall to the ground. I lay there for
a while, panting. Blood soaks the shirt and my pant
leg. Shuddering from the chill in the air, I try to
get back up, but all my paltry attempts are
pathetically futile. I've lost too much blood to move
at the moment. So, I yell out for her.

"MAC! MAC! WHERE ARE YOU?!" 

The only reply I receive is deafening silence. GOD
HELP ME P-PLEASE! P-PLEASE---' was the last thing I
had drumming through my mind before I felt my body
turn impossibly cold, and I succumb to the dark
temptress--oblivion.

End of chapter 6 
Sick on a journey: 

Over parched fields 

Dreams wander on.-Basho 

When I think of pain-of anxiety that gnaws like fire
and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the
heartbreaking routine of monotonous misery, or again
of dull aches that blacken our whole landscape or
sudden nauseating pains that knock a man's heart out
at one blow, of pains that seem already intolerable
and then are suddenly increased, of infuriating
scorpion-stinging pains that startle into maniacal
movement a man who seemed half dead with his previous
tortures-it "quite o'ercrows my spirit." If I knew any
way of escape I would crawl through sewers to find it.
But what is the good of telling you about my feelings?
You know them already: they are the same as yours. I
am not arguing that pain is not painful. Pain hurts.
That is what the word means. -C.S. Lewis

Chapter 7

Pain

When, at last I escape oblivion's pen, I have no idea
how long I've been here. Gazing around, I try to get
my bearings. Dawn peeks over the trees, casting the
sky in brilliant peach and gold. A hazy fog hugs the
ground. The forest is rife with the song of birds, and
the air is clean and fresh and contains an early morn
chill. I take a deep breath of the bracing air, and
slowly ease my aching joints into a seated position. 

As I sit there, still gasping in pain, my thoughts
swiftly fly to Mac and I remember her body lying
deathly still the last time I laid eyes upon her. But
she had disappeared. I have to find her!

My hands seize upon the cold metal of the plane, and I
gingerly rise. Standing there for a moment, I lean my
head against its hardness and suck in large gulps of
air. Pain shoots through my veins, fraying the ends
into throbbing masses of torment. After several
minutes elapse, I try to walk forward. Agony wrenches
me fitfully to the ground. Ingesting dust into my
lungs, I cough spasmodically. 

After several failed attempts, despair begins to
overtake me, when suddenly I spot several fallen limbs
scattered about the ground. An idea strikes me and I
begin to stretch out my hand toward a rather long,
sturdy looking branch. Once my hand finally grasps
around its bark roughened surface, I use it to rise
unsteadily. Finally, I am able to slowly make my way,
crawling like an ape, dragging my necrotic limbs with
the stick, through the trees.

It doesn't take me long to find her, lying in a
motionless heap in the dirt. I can tell that she had
dragged herself to this place. Not sure whether
fatigue or death had brought her to lie here, sprawled
out on the earth, I reach out a querulous hand and
feel for a pulse. Then, kneeling down next to her in
astonishment, I lay my head onto her breast and find
her strong heart pumping and her body warm. She seems
to be in better shape than I am.



Lifting my abject head, I examine her body to find
dried blood in several places on her exposed skin. She
is also severely bruised. I gently move her arms and
legs, and press against her rib cage to assure myself
there are no broken bones. Relief pours over my body,
and suddenly I feel weak. I look to my leg and find
mud caked blood all over. I hadn't noticed the
bleeding had resumed. I decide to lie down next to her
and rest.

Later

I don't know how many hours I have been asleep. I had
dreamt of her. It was the same dream I had had of her
in the past. Us sitting in front of the fireplace,
drinking wine, looking at each other. I can hear Mac
calling my name. She wants me to wake up.
Nevertheless, I cannot force my eyes to open. The fire
seems so real. It's crackling and I feel its warmth
flushing my body. She places something soft under my
head.



Sweat pours out of my fevered skin, but I feel so very
cold. I hear a slosh of water and she smoothes a cool,
soothing cloth across my brow. Then I feel her rip the
leg of my jeans apart to get to the gaping gash in my
leg. Excruciating pain sears a rampaging path through
my body, and the last thing I see is a blinding white
flash behind my eyelids and then nothing. 

Sometime Later

When again I open my eyes it is still dark. I can't
hear anything but the fire and the rustle of something
next to me. The air smells of burning wood and fresh
earth. This time I feel enough strength to open my
cumbersome lids just a crack. I see the orange glow of
the fire. But, I don't see Mac. Then I hear the rustle
again, and a sniff. I strain my fuzzy, barely ajar
eyes to the place next to me. There, staring at
something on a sheet of paper, is Mac. I don't know
what it is, but it has moved her. I can make out her
tears soaking the blood stained page. She looks at me
a few times and back at the page. 

Burying her face into the letter and her hands, I can
hear her muffled sobs, and see her small shoulders
wracked by her sadness. There are no words to describe
the hurt that swells overpoweringly within me at
seeing her like this. But my eyes feel so torpid, and
they clamp shut like two heavy doors. I feel her move
closer to me. So close, I can feel her breath caress
my ear.

"Oh, Harm, I wish you had told me earlier. I can't
believe you left everything for me," she says, her
voice quavers, and I feel her wet cheek pressed to
mine. 

I wish I could think right now, but my head feels like
it's stuffed with wool. Nothing seems real, it all
seems so far away. Perhaps this is just another of my
fevered dreams.

End of chapter 7 The lights begin to twinkle from the
rocks;

The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep

Moans round with many voices. 

Come, my friends.

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; 

For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and
the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to
yield.-Tennyson 'Ulysses'

Chapter 8

Not To Yield

5 Days Later

The next thing I remember is waking to the smell of
freshly impending rain and the sound of the wind
brushing its fingers through the trees. I open my eyes
to see the soft darkness of the wooly clouds swirling
above me. The denim jacket that I had been wearing
lays across the upper portion of my body. 

Gingerly, I lift my head enough so I can catch a
glimpse of my leg. The pants leg has been cut off up
to the wound, which is wrapped in bandages and gauze.
Glancing around still further, I see that Mac is
nowhere to be found. The bandages and the ashen
remnants of an old fire next to me are the only proof
that she had been there.

I open my mouth to attempt to call out for Mac, but
before I can she materializes before me through the
trees. A couple of silvery fish are clutched in her
right hand. Upon noting that I'm awake, she kneels
down silently beside me and caresses a soft hand over
my face, checking for fever.

"I'm glad you're finally awake, Harm. I was starting
to worry about you," she murmurs gently.

I point to the fish in her hand.

"Fish?" I raise my eyebrows at her inquiringly. And,
for the first time in a very long time, I am treated
to one of her smiles.

"If I would have known that we were going to crash,
I'd have packed a lunch. Since I didn't, I was forced
to search for food. I found a small stream not far
from here. It took me three days to find it. I had to
use one of my shoelaces and a safety pin from the
plane's first-aid kit to catch these."

I return her smile, proudly. Dust covers her face and
hair. A few leaves are stuck in her dark tresses.

"Y-your.fa-ace." My voice is rough. My throat is
achingly raw, as if I'm swallowing shards of glass,
every time I speak.

"Is my face that bad?" She begins wiping
self-consciously at it. "I should go to the stream and
wash up a bit before I cook the fish."

And then we hear a deep, overpowering rumble above us.

"It's going to rain soon. I found a small cave near
the stream. Do you think you can make it there if I
help you?"

I nod firmly. She stands up and walks over to stoop to
the ground and grab the stick that I had initially
used as a cane to find her.

"Here, this will help."

She bends down, quickly scrutinizes my leg, and then
comes round to help me stand.

"Do you remember how you got that?" she inquires,
referring to the wound in my leg.

"Pl-lane.s-stuck..." I say, my words stumbling
decrepitly.

"You lost a lot of blood. There was a piece of the
metal left in the wound. I had to use a pair of
tweezers to dig it out. Good thing you were out cold,
since the Mennonite didn't happen to have any morphine
in his kit." 

As we slowly make our way to the cave, I try to lean
as much as I can on the stick, and strain every muscle
in my faltering body. I don't know how Mac has the
strength to support my enormous frame. I feel so
impotent. I have become a encumbering burden to her.

Later

When at last we make it to the cave, which is nothing
more than a depression in a small hill, I find that
she has cleaned the brush and rocks from its bottom,
leaving only velvety earth below our feet. A fire
dances inside. My backpack along with the first-aid
kit, and a canteen, all sit in one corner. She helps
me ease wearily to the ground. 

"You need to eat something," she asserts, as she
blankets my denim jacket over me, gazing at me with
those dark, mysterious eyes. I nod. My yawning stomach
feels cavernously empty. Even if I hadn't a
predilection for fish, which I had, I would've eaten
anyway. At this point, I'd eat roots.

"I'm going to go wash up. Do you need anything before
I go?"

"Th-thirsty." I inform her, and she comes over with
the canteen. My mouth feels as parched as a sandy,
sun-scorched desert. I start to drink greedily from
the canteen as she touches it to my cracked lips. 

After fully slaking my thirst, she assures me she'll
be right back. She withdraws through the mouth of the
cave, and her form becomes obscured by the night. As I
stare at the burning embers of the fire, meditations
weave through my mind of my feelings for her. Does she
feel the same way? Had she become tenaciously bonded
to Webb during their imprisonment? The familiar fear
of old flies swiftly back to me. What if, after all
this, it still somehow doesn't work? 

However, I know I have to tell her. We need to talk
about the Webb thing and "us". Once we make it back to
the states, I'll have to tell her how I left the Navy.
It was all going to have to be addressed, eventually.
This time it couldn't be escaped. That is--if we did
make it back. But, right now, I barely have the energy
to talk, let alone have such an important
conversation.

Mac returns to the cave. Drops of water cling to the
bottom of her smooth, dark hair. Her skin is no longer
painted with dirt. 

"I'll start cooking in a minute. First, we need to
look at your wound. I need to clean it out and
re-bandage it," she says, as she walks over to the
first-aid kit. She draws out a bottle of hydrogen
peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and bandages, along
with stark white gauze. As she unwraps the bandages, I
don't even want to look at the wound, but I still do. 

Part of the wound was jagged. I must have torn through
some of the flesh in my attempt to draw out the
embedded piece of metal. A large, ugly bruise outlines
the open skin. As she begins her ministrations upon my
leg, the pain rushes back. My forehead puckers, and I
visibly pale.

"S-Sarah." She flinches when I say that and looks me
straight in the eyes.

"Harm, are you okay," she says, as she starts to rise
from my leg. "I can get some aspirin." Her voice is
inflicted with worry.

"S-stay." The water had served as a balm for my ragged
throat, and now my words flow a bit easier.

"I won't leave you."

"You.ok-kay?" 

She nods and lowers her voice somberly.

"I'm just worried about everything. I don't know,
Harm. This trip is different from our other missions.
It seems so much more uncertain. I feel as if, just as
we get home into our sights, that it might be snatched
away from us. Time just seems--so short. I just want
to get us home. I mean look at you, I know you're in
pain. That leg must hurt a great deal. On top of that
we're in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows where
we are. And what about Gunny and Webb? I wonder if
they made it to a hospital in time?" 

After she finishes cleaning and binding my wound, I
extend my hand, and clasp it over hers. We gaze at
each other for a long, meaningful moment, and then she
gets up.

"I really need to cook the fish. You were delirious
for two days. Your fever just broke last night. And as
far as I know, you haven't eaten for at least that
long."

Walking over to the fire she begins preparing the fish
to be cooked. She uses a sharp piece of metal from the
plane to clean them. I guess her survival training was
kicking in. Mine was back home at the moment. 

Later

I can only muster a few bites of the delicious fish,
as I hadn't eaten for five days, and my stomach won't
allow me to have any more. When we've finish eating
the meal, we decide that we need sleep after such a
long, exhausting day. Mac lies next to me and wraps
her comforting arms around me. We pull the jacket that
I had over us and fall asleep to the sound of the
drizzling rain.

End of chapter 8 
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to
dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave
no token--

-Edgar Allen Poe

The Raven

Chapter 9

Darkness There, And Nothing More

Four days later 

As I open my eyes, I can feel the warmth of the sun
stream through the cave opening and dance on my skin.
I had expected to find Mac lying by my side, however I
find that she is standing at the mouth of the cave. 

"Going somewhere, Mac?" I query, as I stretch my sore
limbs. My wound feels much better than it did. And
because of this, Mac has treated me to walks in the
cool of the last two evenings to exercise my leg.

"I'm going to the stream to see if I can catch
something this time."



"I'm coming with you," I assert instinctively.

"You need to stay here."

I uncharacteristically stultify the protestations that
flurry around in my mind, and just nod.

"Harm, I was thinking, we need to find a way to get
home soon. Since I know that we are south of the city,
we can use the sun to help us find our way out. We can
leave early tomorrow morning. What do you think?" She
questions. 

"Sounds good," I agree. 

"Do you need anything, before I go?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay. Wish me luck, then."

"Good luck," I grin. She returns the smile and hurries
off into the tranquil beauty of the golden day.

Later

I don't know exactly how long I've been waiting, as I
don't have Mac's innate precognitive ability for time.
It seems like it's been years. I had heartily agreed
with Mac's decision to attempt to catch something for
lunch, because last night she had been unsuccessful.
We ended up going to sleep hungry. I didn't want to
slow her down getting to and returning from the
stream. But, right now, my stomach is gluttonously
gnawing a hole into itself. 

I walk out of the cave and look around to see if I can
find the stream that Mac is fishing from. I find her
footprints in the soft earth and I decide to follow
them. I want to help her if I can. I was tired of
being in that cave. Tired of feeling useless, and
tired of inaction. It's just not me to sit around like
this--besides, I'm no good at following instructions
strictly anyway.

Later

At last I make my faltering way to the stream. I can
hear the melodious trickle of the water before I
actually see it. The sweet smell of nature's fecundity
surrounds me. Dense tangles of trees clothed in bright
green, laden with fruit, line the bank. That cool
water sounds extremely tempting right now, after such
a laborious journey. As I step out of the shelter of
the trees, and onto the waters edge, I hear Mac
splashing about in the water. I open my mouth to call
out to her, but instead of the clever joke I had
thought up, an inadvertent gasp escapes my lips.
There, standing with her naked back facing me stands
Mac. The water comes up to the curve of her feminine
waist. Her velvety skin is moist with beads of
glistening water. I now know what David felt like as
he saw Bathsheba's beautiful form bathing atop that
building in the moonlight.

The surprised sound I ejaculate carries quite well
over the waters, and startles her. She quickly dips
down into the water to where her head is the only
thing left to be seen. As she turns around to scan the
bank, I duck behind a tree.

"Harm?"

I know better than to reply. This kind of situation
does not lead to clear thinking actions. What this
woman can do to me! Thank God, she doesn't realize the
full power she holds, or I'd have been finished a long
time ago. I try to sneak stealthily back to the cave.

"Harm, I know it's you. I thought I told you to stay
in the cave!"

I can hear her get out of the water. My pulse quickens
and I try to prod my stiff limb to scurry faster. All
I need now is to accidentally spot a fully nude Mac.
As much as this realization spurs me on, I still do
not have the full function of my cursed leg. I hear a
noise behind me and peer guiltily over my shoulder.
Mac stands there with her arms folded, and a mothering
look on her lovely face. Damn, busted!

Suddenly, I slip into the dark, squishy mud. Mac
cannot help herself she starts to laugh. 

"Hey, that wasn't funny. It really hurt, damn it!" I
chortle, laughingly.

After Mac finishes laughing at me she saunters over
and checks my leg. 

"Sorry, I laughed, Are you okay?" She asks with a
twinkle in her eye, and a smirk on her lips. 

"My pride is bruised, other than that, I'm fine.
Thanks for the concern," I dart back.

Later

After a firm scolding from Mac on our way back to the
cave, she settles me in. I have to admit my leg is
pounding achingly from my little adventure. She
threatens me before leaving to retrieve the fish she
had succeeded in catching earlier, before she had
decided on a bath. I sit propped up next to the wall
of the cave, absent-mindedly drawing patterns in the
dirt. I try hard not to think about the feelings the
vision stoked in me.

Finally, to try to help stave off those memories I
secretly relish, I decide to make myself useful and
gather branches for the fire tonight--whistling as I
do so. I don't know why, but I feel quite cheerful at
the moment. And then, suddenly, I hear Mac's
unmistakable voice,

"Har-r--!"

This is followed by the ominous sound of a shot. I
freeze for a moment, and then drop the bundle of
branches I carried and rush off toward the direction
from where the cry sprang.

Later

By the time dusk had fallen, and well into the
evening, I had searched endlessly, but she was nowhere
to be found. My cries rend the night, as I plod on in
my quest. During my struggle to find Mac, thoughts,
agonizing questions, had been clamoring around in my
head. Had Fahd's men found her? Is she dead? Why would
he send men after us when he couldn't be sure how many
people were after him? If I were him, I would've made
preparations to get my six out of there--gone to a new
country, changed my name. Besides, the Stingers were
destroyed and he had no idea who else new about his
base of operations. Even with the help of the damnable
leak in the CIA. My thoughts scrape over the hardness
of those spiky thoughts and diffuse to more tortuous
thoughts. 

Every fruitless mile I searched, fear smacked another
stinging lash across my heart. So, by the time I reach
the bank of the stream for the second time in my
search, it was covered with his blistering welts. And
then I saw it.

By the grubby tangles of roots from one of the trees.
It glistened darkly, like the stream flowing next to
it. A strangled cry gurgles up into my throat. I hurry
over to it and dip my finger into the dark liquid.
Blood. Oh, God!

Later

I drug my weary body back to the cave, vowing to
myself to not to leave this jungle until I find her,
at least her body. I sit down in the dust and begin to
gather everything from our shelter together that might
be useful to me, when suddenly I hear a clicking
sound. Peering up into the night, I see a man standing
there, staring at me with his dark, implacable eyes
gleaming under thick tufts of eyebrows. His swarthy
frame blocks the front of the cave. But, he is holding
something. Lowering my eyes, I see the honey-colored
moonlight gleam ominously off of the hard black skin
of the gun he wields. 

End of chapter 9 
Our two souls therefore, which are one, 

Though I must go, endure not yet 

A breach, but an expansion, 

Like gold to aery thinness beat. 

If they be two, they are two so 

As stiff twin compasses are two; 

Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show 

To move, but doth, if th' other do. 

And though it in the centre sit, 

Yet when the other far doth roam, 

It leans and hearkens after it, 

And grows erect, as that comes home. 

Such wilt thou be to me, who must 

Like th' other foot, obliquely run; 

Thy firmness makes my circle just, 

And makes me end where I begun.

-John Donne ‘A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning’

Chapter 10

Valediction 

I stare up at the dark, unshaven man, wondering if
this same man had anything to do with Mac’s
disappearance. He scrutinizes my leg and then slowly
lowers the gun. 

"You Harm?" The dark man speaks with a thick accent,
his voice roughened by age. 

"Do I know you?" 

We both eye each other warily for a moment. 

"The name is Jose. Your woman friend asked me to come
back and help you. What was her name…?" He gazes at me
expectantly. For a moment, I feel surprise and hope
plunge through me, but then a morbid uncertainty
quickly suppresses the two and I inquire, 

"Is Mac okay?"

He grins broadly, baring a row of surprisingly white
teeth. 

"Yeah, that was her name. Yes, she is alive. The thing
is my partner thought she was an animal and shot her
in the leg. He took her to a hospital in Ciudad del
Este."

"That’s how you found me."

"You close?"

"She’s…my partner, and my closest friend."

Jose watches the expressions flicker across my face
and then snorts.

"Friend, huh? She insisted quite persistently that one
of us go back and find you. So, here I am. Now, we
need to get you to the hospital before your leg gets
any worse."

As I start to rise gingerly from my seated position,
my muscles scream at me thunderously. I stifle the
cries of pain, but somehow, he knows and he comes over
and helps me to his awaiting truck. 

Later 

It’s a long drive to the city. Jose and I really don't
talk much. I’m lost in my own world and in my own
pain. I think he sees it in my face and decides not to
say much. My thoughts from dodge back and forth
between Webb and Gunny and Mac. I can’t help thinking
as we draw closer to the city, that I’m about to find
out the fate of a good friend.

Later

"Well, here we are," Jose informs me unnecessarily. I
get out of the truck and someone from the hospital
comes to help me. They place me in a wheelchair and
take me inside. In my bemused state, I’m really not
paying much attention to what’s happening around me. 

After I make it to an examination room, and I sit
there shifting uncomfortably for a time in one of
those flimsy gowns they give you, someone enters the
room. I look up expecting the doctor and find myself
looking at Gunny. 

"Gunny, you made it," I say trying to get up. I
quickly sit back down when I feel a chilly blast of
air on my exposed six. 

"Yeah, I’m alright. I see that Mac was right about
your leg," remarks Gunny. 

"Where is she, Gunny? How is she?" 

"She’s fine. Her gunshot wound was not that bad. She
is at VOQ at the moment. She’ll want to know you’ve
made it back." 

"And Webb?"

Before Gunny can reply, the doctor enters, and Gunny
leaves the room.

Later

After a routine examination, and a couple of tests,
the doctor tells me that a slight infection had set
in. He gives me antibiotics for it and some pain
killers. Then he informs me that I’m free to go, with
the proviso that I come back for a check-up in a few
days. And then, Gunny and I make our way to visit
Webb.

"How bad is it, Gunny?" Once again, asking the
question I’m afraid I know the answer to. 

"To tell you the truth, sir, the doctors don't think
that he’ll make it, but they have him stabilized, and
they told us that they’ve seen people come out of
worse situations. I don’t know what all they did to
him, but they messed him up bad, sir. Mac wanted to
stay by his side when she saw him earlier, but the
doctors said that she needed to get some rest. So, I
took her back to VOQ. She asked me to call her when
they found you. I did so, but she wants an update on
how you are," Gunny tells me.

I nod my head and our paths diverge at the Webb’s
room. As Gunny makes his way down the quiet hall, I
hesitate for a moment at the door, steeling myself
before entering. When I get inside, I just stand there
for a moment, taking it all in. 

I barely recognize the frail, bruised man in the bed.
He looks too small to be the man I had known for so
many years. The man that always had a way of making
you take notice that he was in the room. The man who
always had a witty reply. He could be annoying at
times, but I wouldn’t trade having such a friend. A
friend I deeply respected. He always came through. 

I walk over to him and seat myself in the chair next
to him. His head is turned toward the window. I’m not
sure if he’s awake, until he turns his head towards me
after a long moment. I don’t know what to say to him
at first. What does a man say to a dying friend?
There’s never an easy answer to that question. Sitting
this close to him doesn’t make it any easier. His hair
looks brittle and dull. His cheeks are sallow and
slightly sunken in. Tubes seem to be everywhere,
sticking out from his body. He turns to me, and I note
the haggard _expression on his face.

"You look like hell, Rabb," he jokes in a low whisper.


"I could say the same for you, Webb." 

"Yeah, but you should see the other guy." I see a
familiar sparkle twinkle faintly in his eyes.

"So, what are you planning to do when they release
you?" 

"Harm, we both know I don't have much time left." I
could hear the pain in his voice, quiet though it was.


"Don’t talk like that, Webb. You’re not a quitter." 

"I never said I was. But, I think it’s my time. A man
doesn’t stay lucky forever. Especially, one in my line
of work."

He pauses for a moment to rest his voice, and then
continues, "I want you to promise me something, Rabb.
If you can get it through that thick skull of yours.
It’s about Sarah."

"Webb…"

"I know you’re in love with her, Rabb. Hell, the whole
world knows. It’s not like you can hide it. Not this
time. Trust me, I know how you feel. She’s something
special."

He drifts off again for a moment and I look up at the
EKG machine and see that his heart rate is slowing,
his face marked by incipient fatigue. When he begins
to speak again, I detect a tone of remorse mixed with
determination. "But, I know that she doesn’t feel the
same way for me. She only kissed me back there because
she knew that I might not make it." 

His words are laborious and strained. I have no wish
to drain the last bits of life out of him by making
him argue with me.

"Webb, we can talk about this later. You…" Webb
extends his hand and grabs my arm with a surprising
ferocity, for a man in his condition. 

"See, that’s always been your problem, Rabb. It’s
always later with you. Someday you’re going to be
lying somewhere like me and realize that all of your
‘later’s’ are gone."

His eyes flutter, and it takes him some time to
refocus on my face. "Promise me that you’ll tell her
that you love her and you be good to her." 

I promise him that I will do as he asks, and he
relaxes. I sit next to him for a moment until finally
his wearied body droops and he closes his exhausted
eyes, falling into a deep sleep. Gunny walks in and
peers at Webb. I rise and we silently leave the room.
In the hallway Gunny informs me, 

"She wants to see you."

"Thanks, Gunny."

" I also called the Admiral and updated him on our
conditions."

Later at the VOQ

"Damn it, Harm, what took you so long?" she chastises,
as I wrap my arms around her. I just hold her small
form close to mine for a time, as she clings back to
me tightly, and say nothing. After a time, we break
apart and she looks into my eyes searchingly as I
finally answer her question. 

"Sorry, about that, Mac." 

"Harm, what’s wrong." 

I hesitate for a moment before replying.

"It’s Webb, Mac. I’m sorry to have tell you this, but
he--" She covers my mouth, already crying.

"He’s not going to make it, is he, Harm?" Her voice
cracks on my name.

"It doesn’t look good, right now, Mac."

I cup her delicate face and use the roughened ridges
of my thumb to wipe away a stray tear from her damp
pink skin. 

"Come on, let’s sit down." We walk over to her bed and
sit on the edge of it. She sits down next to me and
buries her head into my shoulder. 

"Don’t cry, Sarah." 

We sit there and I let her cry against me for awhile. 

End of chapter 10 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not honor more.

-Richard Lovelace

To Lucasta, On Going to the Wars

Chapter 11

Loved I Not Honor More

A few days later

The sun burns down hotly on my head as I speak with
Deputy Director Harrison Kershaw, at a local payphone
in Ciudad del Este. Gunny stands beside me, glancing
around at the locals that occasionally pass us by.

"It’s all arranged. You are to meet Ortega’s men in
front of La Casa De Amor. It’s a bar on the outskirts
of town. They’ll take you to the rendezvous point to
meet with Ortega. He’ll question you. If he decides he
can trust you, you’ve got the job."

"What job would that be, Sir?"

"Word on the street is that he’s looking for a
disgruntled US Navy employee willing to sell out.
That’s you, Petty Officer John Harris. You’ll find out
the details of what he has planned, if you make it
through the interview process. You’re to stand in
front of the bar and wait there. You are also to come
alone and unarmed or they will kill you, and anyone
with you. That was all we were told."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah, just so you have an idea of who you’re dealing
with here, we’ve already lost three good agents trying
to get Ortega."

"Thanks for the warning." I mutter wryly.

"I hang up and peer at Gunny determinedly.

"It’s all set."

Later

After Gunny and I had arrived at the hospital, Mac
informed us that Webb’s condition had improved, giving
her hope that he might make it through. Then, I had
informed her of the mission I had been assigned. 

Now, Gunny, Mac and I stand inside Webb’s room. A
stony silence hangs between us. Gunny shifts
uncomfortably. The only sound in the room comes from
the machines giving out dripping measures of a
narcotizing drug to the soporific Webb, pumping oxygen
and keeping track of his heartbeat. Finally, Gunny
clears his throat, prompting Mac, who is staring me
straight in the eyes reproachfully, to speak.

"Have you already forgotten the hell we went through
because of the last CIA mission?" 

"It’s my job, Mac. It’s one of the reasons I was
allowed to come down here."

"What time do you have to be there?" She questions
begrudgingly.

"Tonight at midnight."

"Why so late?" 

"I didn’t ask."

"How are you going to protect yourself without any
backup?" Mac demands.

"We’ll be his backup." Gunny interjects
dispassionately.

Mac’s gaze turns from me to Gunny.

"He’ll be wearing a mic with a transmitter, so we can
keep tabs on him," he apprises her.

"They’ll pat him down."

"It’ll be under his watch band. They’ll never see it."

She swivels back and looks up at me.

"Harm, I could help you." 

"Marines, always have to be in the middle of the
action."

"Damn right, Harm! Now, let me go with you. I can hide
in the back."

I shake my head firmly.

"Might compromise the mission."

"Harm, you…"

"Sorry, Mac. I have to do this alone. Besides, you’ll
be joining me, if anything goes wrong," I say, trying
to brush her fears off.

"I don’t think you should go in there alone," Mac
utters dissuasively. 

I have to give her one thing, she certainly is a
staunchly obstinate woman.

"I’ll be fine, mom," I state exasperatedly.

"Webb’s already told me that a friend of his died
going after Ortega. Webb and I were almost killed,
Gunny barely escaped alive--and only then because Webb
and I went after him, all for these damn CIA missions.
Besides, you have a knack for getting yourself into
scrapes, and you know it, Harm," Mac rejoinders.

"Well, you know, Mac, I wouldn’t be here if you had
stayed out of trouble in the first place."

"What exactly are you trying to say, Harm?" She
inquires indignantly, placing a hand on her hip.

"Could you two please stop. You’re going to disturb
Webb," requests Gunny.

"Sorry, Gunny," Mac and I grunt, our gazes still
locked heatedly.

Mac turns and heads out of the room, tossing over her
shoulder that she’s thirsty, leaving Gunny and I there
to discuss the details of the mission.

End of chapter 11 
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do go-

Rest of their bones and souls’ delivery!

Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate
men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.

-John Donne 

Chapter 12

Death, Be Not Proud

Later, that evening, Mac and I silently tread the
hospital sidewalks, until we reach the car I rented
for my trip. We haven’t said much to each other since
our quarrel. As I lean against the car, Mac just
stands there somberly with her arms crossed. I look up
and see that it’s a pretty clear night. Stars dot the
sky, and the moon is full, encircled by a ghostly
halo. I draw a breath of the night air, trying to
think of something to say to break the awkward
silence. Typically, Mac beats me to the punch.

"Harm, please be careful. I already have one friend in
there fighting for his life. I don’t want to lose
another one. Especially, my…best friend," she says,
sincerity reverberating from her entire being.

"I’ll be fine, Mac. Just watch, I’ll be back before
you know it." 

These are the last words we get a chance to speak to
each other before Gunny comes up to us. 

"It’s time, sir."

I nod, and then Mac and I quickly hug each other.

Jumping into the car, I start the engine. I give one
last wave to Mac and Gunny, trying to exude the
confidence I don’t feel in this mission, and then I
head off into the night.

Later

Pulling up to a dilapidated, and very sleazy, bar, I
glance at my watch. I’m ten minutes early, so I sit
there in the car and wait. There are few cars in the
cramped lot. Searching uneasily through the inky
obscurity all around me, I see no signs of life. While
waiting for Ortega’s men, I think back to the
information contained in the packet slid under my
hotel room door. Upon opening it, I found my I.D., my
history as P.O. Harris, and some background
information on Ortega. Ortega was a high class drug
dealer, who also dabbled in arms dealing and had a
penchant for killing Americans. The CIA had been
trying to rid themselves of the scourge of Ortega for
sometime now, but had failed.

Eight minutes later I mumble under my breath,

"Gunny?"

"I got you, sir," came the muffled response.

I then open the car door and step out onto the dirt,
making my way slowly to the front of the bar. Minutes
later, two large Hispanic men materialize before me
through the blackness.

"Harris?"

I nod. 

"Follow us."

They escort me about a mile, where a car is waiting by
the side of the road, its headlights shedding the only
light on the remote expanse of land. 

"Into the car."

"Where are you taking me?"

"The larger of the two men opens the passenger side
door and extracts a dark piece of cloth.

"You have to wear this."

"What, you don’t trust me?"

The gruff man snorts and then, with the piece of cloth
grasped between his thick fingers, he goes behind me
and places the blindfold tightly over my eyes. One of
the men get in beside me. As I feel the car start
moving, the men begin speaking together in Spanish. I
hear nothing from Gunny. I hope he’s getting all this.


Sometime later, I hear the welcome whisper of Gunny’s
voice in my ear.

"Parana River. They’re taking you to a place near the
Parana River. I’ll…" 

The car comes to a sudden halt, and I don’t get
anymore of what he’s trying to tell me, because I’m
grabbed by someone. I hear a dull smack and realize
that it came from my head hitting the frame of the
door as the man tugging on me tries to jerk me from
the car. He pushes me forward, after his first failed
attempt, and then tries again. This time, as he jars
my head against the frame once more, I feel a dreaded
familiar ache burn through my body and then nothing.

Later

When I come to, my head feels as if someone’s thumping
on it from the inside. I sense grass below me. Quiet
murmurs in a language foreign to me, mingled with the
sound of rushing water, greet my ears. Then, I
remember where I must be and what I must attempt. My
blindfold is gone, so I open my eyes, only to quickly
clamp them shut and wince. After a moment, I very
slowly reopen them and try to move myself into a
sitting position. As I do so, I hear,

"Esta despierto."

Though finally in a seated position, my eyes are still
downcast, and I’m clutching my pounding head, when I
see a pair of dark, glossy shoes before me. 

"Where am I?" I inquire, uneager to attempt to raise
my head.

"You’re at the meeting place, Mr. Harris." I hear an
educated voice, with a barely detectable trace of an
accent, inform me.

Mustering the strength to lift my head, I gather in
the sight of a man who appears to be in his forties.
His hair is graying, along with his well-manicured
moustache. He has on an expensive double-breasted
suit. 

"Ortega."

"Your interview is about to begin, Mr. Harris. I hope
you’re prepared."

Glancing around to get a better picture of what I’m up
against, I find that we’re in a clearing, surrounded
by trees. It’s still dark. Along the ridge of the
trees are the three men I traveled here with, all
bearing guns. Two of them are chatting. The other one
stands puffing thoughtfully on a cigarette.

Ortega begins to pace slowly in front of me, while
asking questions. From what I figure out from his
inquisition, and the subtle questions I manage to slip
in without appearing to be digging, I understand that
he wants some information about a new weapon we’re
developing, that has several countries drooling. It’s
being tested on the USS Eisenhower, the ship that I
was, as P.O. Harris, stationed on. If he could get
specifics on it, he’d have a couple of countries lined
up willing to purchase the information. It would be a
double bonus for him. He’d hurt America and make a
tidy profit. Ortega tries to trip me up several times,
but fails. 

Then, I hear the sound of a car pulling up and a door
opening nearby. I glance over to Ortega to gauge his
reaction. He wears an expectant look and addresses me,

"You’ve passed so far, Mr. Harris. But, you still have
one more test to pass before I can give you the job. I
call it my little insurance program."

I detect someone step up behind me and turn to see who
the newcomer is.

"Commander Rabb," Hardy states, with a small amount of
surprise in his tone.

"Station chief Hardy."

"Actually, you don’t work for the Navy anymore, do
you? You work for the CIA, now. Did Kershaw send you
here?" he questions, mockingly. Ortega gazes at me
wrathfully.

"CIA, huh? I don’t like to be lied to , Mr.--"

"Rabb," Hardy fills in. I feel disgusted rage surge
through me.

"How does it feel, Hardy, selling out your country for
a few measly bucks?"

"Spare me," he mutters, wearing a disingenuous smile.
He turns to Ortega. "This man is a waste of time,"
Hardy sonorously intones.

Ortega pulls out a gun and points it at my head. I
glare at Hardy and angrily seethe,

"I don’t know how you sleep at night. You’re not worth
the flesh wasted on you!"

Ortega is about to shoot, when Hardy stops him.

"Let me." He grabs the gun from Ortega.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of
Ortega’s men drop to the ground. The two men jerk
their heads around to the fallen man. Gunny pops out
from the trees and begins struggling with one of the
two guards who had been chatting earlier. Mac follows
Gunny into the clearing, shooting the other man, who
aims his gun at her, in the shoulder. He drops his gun
and grasps his wound. 

I’m not sure which man I want to hit more. I choose
Hardy, since he has the gun, punching him as hard as I
can in the stomach. When Hardy doubles over, Ortega
swings at me and a battle ensues. As I’m trying to
knock Ortega out, Hardy aims his gun again at our
struggling forms. Just then, Mac is there, with her
gun in hand. 

"Drop it," she utters, a determined coolness tingeing
her voice.

A brief look of surprise etches itself into Hardy’s
debauched features. 

"I thought you were dead."

"Go to hell, Hardy!" 

"After you," Hardy snarls.

That is all I can make out as Ortega lands a timely
blow into my jaw. Grunting in pain, I grab him by his
shirt and bang his head against the trunk of a tree.
Following that, I realize that Mac has fallen to the
ground about a foot away from me. Hardy has the gun
trained on her.

"Hardy!" I yell desperately, trying to call his
attention away from Mac. I crawl over to Mac, and
cover her body with mine. My body is rigidly tense,
waiting to feel the bullets tear through my skin. A
grinding horror gnaws at me like I’ve never known.
This is it. It’s finally the end. After all the times
we cheated death. Webb’s warning from two days ago
came jarringly home. Our luck had to run out sometime.

"Edward!" A familiar voice resounds clearly,
contemptuously, through the cold night air.

I peer at Hardy. His face register’s with a look I’ve
seen before only in combat: mortal dread. My gaze
follows his, and my eyes widen incredulously as I see
Webb approaching. He looks infinitely worse than he
did before. Deathly pale, dripping with sweat, his
hair plastered to his head. His step is unsteady, and
he pants raggedly.

"You killed M-mcIntosh, Freeman…and J-Ja-ameson, you
lying b-bastard!"

And, then, wearing the haggard look of a man who knows
he’s about to die, he raises his pistol and I hear the
fulminating bark of the two guns. Both men slip slowly
to the ground. I rise carefully, keeping an eye on
Hardy, who points the gun at Webb again and shoots him
one last time before his hand loosens on the gun, and
he moves no more.

I make my way to Gunny as Mac hurriedly kneels at
Webb’s side. Gunny has been shot, and he’s
unconscious, but he still has a pulse. I walk over to
stand next to Mac and Webb. 

"We need to get him to a hospital," I state quietly.

Webb sputters, and blood pools from his body, seeping
into the earth below. Mac is crying inconsolably. 

"How did he know?"

"H-he…he must have heard Gunny tell me where they were
taking you. I thought he was asleep."

She pauses a minute, and than a sobbing sound springs
from her lips, as she smoothes a hand over Webb’s
face. 

"He could’ve made it, Harm," Mac utters, her lips
trembling.

I kneel down and clasp her small hand in mine. Webb
looks at me, a vacant _expression in his eyes. 

"Don’t forget, Rabb," he declares weakly, before his
body goes limp.

End of chapter 12

AN: We have the utmost respect for the Webb character,
and thought it only fitting that he go out like the
hero he is. Thus, the Donne poem at the beginning of
this chapter was chosen in honor of Webb. 
 
A/N: I just want to thank all those who have kept
reading this story. Thanks to my Claire for helping
with this story. I just hope that Season 9 of Jag is
as good as this at least for me. So I will let you
read the chapter.

Mel

Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment
when at last you meet another human being who has some
inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of
that something which you were born desiring, and
which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all
the momentary silences between the louder passions,
night and day, year by year, from childhood to old
age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for?
You have never had it. All the things that have ever
deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of
it-tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite
fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught
your ear. But if it should really become manifest-if
there ever came an echo that did not die away but
swelled into the sound itself-you would know it.
Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, "Here
at last is the thing I was made for." It is the secret
signature of each soul, the incommunicable and
unappeasable want...-C.S. Lewis

Human love is the child of poverty.-Plato

Chapter 13

The Child of Poverty

A few days later

Gunny has mended nicely and insisted, in spite of his
injuries, on returning to his duties. He'll remain
here for another few months. As for Mac, she's
scheduled to go home via Navy transport today. My own
flight, courtesy of the CIA's dime, is scheduled for
later today, as well. I muster up what strength I can
after the activities of the past couple of weeks, and
make my way to Mac's room. Upon reaching the door, I
tap lightly.

"Mac, have you got a minute?" I ask. I barely make out
a tired voice from the other side reply,

"Yeah." 

As I open her door, and enter the room, I see her
sitting on her bed. She's placing something in her
tightly packed bag. 

"Almost done packing?" I question, as I walk over to
her. 

"Finishing up now." She zips up her bag and stands
looking at the floor. When I touch her arm, she
glances up at me. "I'm glad we're finally going home,"
she quietly states. She pauses for a moment, and then
opens her mouth to say something more, but this time,
I beat her to the punch,

"Mac, I need to talk to you about something."

"I'm sorry, Harm," utters Mac, her tone genuinely
apologetic, "I can't right now. My transport should be
here any time."

"This is important, Mac. It can't wait."

Mac turns away from me and walks over to her bag.

"Mac?" At this point, I'm praying that she's not going
to shut me down, like before she left. 

"I know," she whispers. She pulls out a sheet of paper
from a side compartment in her bag, and hands it to
me. "I think this belongs to you."

As I open it, I notice from the many creases in the
tattered paper, that it's been folded and unfolded
many times. The paper seems to be stained with dark
brown patches of what appear to be blood and dirt. My
eyes descend upon the first couple of smudged lines
when the realization comes crashing down on me that
this is the letter I had never finished--the one from
the plane. 

"It fell out of your pocket in the woods. I found it
lying next to you."

I was at a loss for words. 

Just then, I hear a knock at the door. After one last
look at me, she crosses the room to the door, and
opens it. An enlisted Marine stands there.

"Ma'am, your transport is here."

"Thank you, Lance Corporal."

Gunny comes to the doorway, as the lance corporal
leaves, and enters the room. Mac goes to the bed and
grabs her bag. Gunny walks up to stand before me, and
Mac, who is standing at my side. He extends his hand
to me.

"Nice working with you again, Sir." I grab his hand
firmly and shake it, slapping him on the back fondly.
He turns to Mac and shakes her hand. "Ma'am."

"You too, Gunny," she replies, with a smile.

As they turn to leave, Mac turns her back to Gunny,
facing me, and extends her hand. I grasp it, and we
shake hands as she says to me, "See you back in the
States, Harm." And then, she whispers, "You don't look
old or tired to me, Sailor," My eyes widen as I
realize she's repeating a rephrased line from my
letter. She quirks her brow and grins at me over her
shoulder as she makes her way out the door.

"Sir," Gunny respectfully nods as he exits, following
Mac. I walk out into the hallway, and stand there
watching her as she disappears around a corner to
catch her transport.

Some time later

I hadn't been looking forward to today. Yesterday
Webb's body arrived from Paraguay for it's internment
-- the arrival quite literally brought home the solemn
fact that he was gone for good. I get into my door,
throw my keys onto the counter and take off the jacket
to my black suit. Trudging over to the couch, I plop
down heavily and kick off my shoes. It's been a long
day. One of those that leaves you impossibly tired,
dejected, and questioning why life is what it is. 

I had received exactly one day of rest after returning
home. The days I had left on the books had dissipated
quickly during my journey to rescue Mac; ending by the
day I was to return home. It was final. After 18
years, I was no longer in the Navy. 

On my second day back, the CIA contacted me and
informed me that I needed to begin training ASAP. And,
so, dreading the hell I had let myself in for, I went.
I've been training for over a week now. 

During that time, I've tried my best to find out what
happened to Sadik. And finally, through a frustrating
round of questions to many, I got it out of my direct
superior. He was a man who appeared deceptively
unassuming, by the name of Miller; medium build and
coloring, no features that stood out from the ordinary
guy on the street. But, from what I understood, he was
on the fast track to promotion. 

Sadik had escaped the blast that took out his men, and
had relocated. His whereabouts had been discovered and
another agent, well-suited for Sadik's new location
and new circumstances, had been sent to handle him.
That was all he would divulge.

I stare into the room as my thoughts wander morosely.
It was almost completely dark now. I hadn't turned on
any lights when I entered, preferring the quiet
solitude of the evening. I begin thinking again about
how much I missed JAG. The day-to-day bustle of my
comrades in arms, the cases, the court-battles, and
most of all, the comfortable familiarity of old
friends. And then there's Mac. Things have just seemed
sort of, strange, life has become a perfunctory mass
of duties without her. I got to see her for the first
time today, at Webb's funeral. 

Earlier that day

I had picked Mac up at her house. Dressed in black,
she barely had any make up on. An oppressive sadness
hung heavily over us. 

"Are you ready to go?" I asked her. She nodded and
followed me out of her door, locking it behind us. 

When we arrived at the church the Admiral was there,
as well as Bud, Harriet and a few others from JAG that
had known Webb. I sat next to Sturgis, and Mac sat
between Harriet and I. I didn't know what to say to
her, so I placed a hand over hers and squeezed it
reassuringly. 

Webb's mom had asked me earlier if I would mind saying
a few words at the funeral, since I knew Webb better
than most of his associates. I couldn't deny her
request. 

"Clayton was...what can I say, he had a way of doing
things that was out there."

There were a few fond chuckles through tears at this.

"No matter how he may have couched his profession,
Clayton Webb, was a spy. Such an occupation typically
brings to mind persons of suspicious character and
reckless endangerment of others. This was only
partially true of Clayton Webb. Yes, he put those of
us who assisted him in danger countless times, but he
also worked to ensure that we returned from his
operations." I paused for a moment, groping for words.
"He also had a selfless streak of generosity, as
evidenced by his work in bringing my brother here,
safe from a POW camp, and providing information when
he really didn't have to. As his friend, I will miss
his presence. May God see fit to take him into his
embrace." 

Upon finishing, I went back to my seat and saw that
Mac's eyes were red and swollen from crying. As hard
as it was going to the funeral of a friend, it was
almost beyond endurance having Mac next to me,
watching her heart slowly crumble like a dry piece of
clay-unable to do anything to stop it from doing so...

After the funeral, many groups of people sat in
private little clusters, reminiscing in quiet voices.
Tears streaked many of the faces there. I saw Mac
approaching after giving her condolences to Webb's
mother. Her face was solemn and I could see the strain
of the day in her face. I opened my arms and she
accepted my embrace, burying her face in my shoulder
as she had done in the past. 

"You gonna be alright?" I asked as I held her to me. 

I heard a muffled sniff and she lifted her head only
slightly to assure me that she would be fine,
eventually. 

My phone rings, drawing me back to the present, and I
just sit there. I don't really feel like chatting with
anyone right now. My answering machine picks it up.

"Harm, it's Mac. I've been thinking about things
and..."

Anyone except her. I bolt up from the couch and hit
the coffee table with my shin.

"Damn it!" I mutter exasperatedly.

"I drove by your apartment a little while ago, but
your lights were off. I guess you haven't made it
home, yet...So, ..."

I grab the phone, fumbling with it. 

"Mac!"

Just as I usher her name out into the phone, I hear
the dial tone. Slamming the phone down, I curse myself
for not answering in time. I stand there for a moment
wondering whether I should attempt to call her back.
We really do need to talk about things, but not over
an impersonal phone line. On the other hand, I'm going
to be so busy this next week, I don't know when we'll
have time to do so. Maybe I can invite her to lunch. I
pick up the phone and dial. 

Later

As it turned out I had an overwhelming amount of
training to do that week, and I didn't get home until
midnight many times. When I did get home, I often
found that Mac had called. I made several attempts to
call her back, but we always missed each other. And
so, we had a rather limited, and frustrating
conversation over answering machines for a while. 

Finally, I got a day off and decided to ask her to
lunch. I went to JAG HQ and had a nice chat with Bud,
Harriet, Tiner, Sturgis, and several other good
friends, while waiting for Mac to get out of session.
Unfortunately, it took longer than I had expected, and
I had another pressing appointment that day.
Determined not to let this opportunity pass me by, I
went into her office and scribbled out a little note
asking her to have lunch the next day. Then, I left,
bidding a few fond farewells and promising faithfully
to try to make it to the next JAG get-together. I
hated to leave.

So, now I'm sitting in a corner booth of a local
restaurant, a favorite of ours, near JAG Headquarters
waiting for Mac. I still have no idea whether or not
she'll be able to make it. She called and left a
message on my machine last night, telling me she'd try
her best, but that things were a little swamped at
JAG. I guess all I can do is wait. I look at my watch
and then back up to see a familiar smile, and those
marine greens I had grown so used to seeing over the
years. I stand up and walk over to her.

"Nice seeing you, Mac," I state, with a wide grin, as
I guide her to the table with my hand at the small of
her back.

"Yes, it is, Harm."

It's nice hearing her voice say my name again. I
hadn't been aware of how much I had missed something
so simple. I concluded that I had become secretly
dependent on Mac without realizing it. How amazing
that someone like me, who's made a career out of
appearing invincible, could need another person so
much." 

As we take our seats and pick up our menus, we begin
chatting.

"For a minute there, I was afraid you weren't going to
be able to make it."

"How could I pass up lunch with my best friend?" She
questions cheerfully. The waiter comes and takes our
orders.

"Sorry, that things have been so hectic, lately. Would
you believe I have to leave for Spain tomorrow, for an
investigation?" 

"Well, that's life in the military for you," I state
lightly.

Mac glances at me for a moment and then questions
perceptively, "You miss it, don't you, Harm?"

I nod, uncertain how exactly to elaborate on those
feelings, not really wanting to here in this
restaurant.

"Harm, about the letter...I- I've been wanting to
thank you for what you sacrificed for us--for saving
us from that hell hole. Even now, I can barely wrap my
mind around the enormity of what you did. Saying thank
you seems--so inadequate. Did you even think about
what would happen when you got back, or about the fact
that you might not have found us?" 

"I was focused on finding you. It never crossed my
mind that I wouldn't."

"That's very typical of you, Harm. Loyalty's not
merely a sentiment for you, and once you set your
heart on something, you focus everything you have on
it. This time at the expense of your career, of never
flying a Tomcat again, of even your life. Those
terrorists were playing for keeps. And now, you're
working for the CIA. It hardly seems possible."

"It was the only way I was able to find out where you
were. I had no choice." 

"I owe you my life, Harm. That's a feeling of
gratitude different than anything else."

"Mac, you've risked your life for me several times."

"As you have for me. But, this--this is different.
You've risked your life for causes you've believed in
before, for people you've cared about. This was a
lose-lose situation: you could've died and if you
didn't you still had to come home and face--this."

My heart racing from the rivalry of emotions that were
being pulled dangerously close to the
surface--emotions that I was unsure how exactly to
reveal at this point, I mumble a response and change
the subject to lighter topics. 

The rest of our lunch together passes by too quickly,
in a swift hour of banter that can only pass between
two old, and very close friends.

Four months later

It hasn't been easy, but we're trying to stay in touch
with each other. Mac had been in Spain for about two
weeks working on her case. We were able to talk
exactly one time during that period. When she got back
we struggled to make more of an effort to see each
other, and actually succeeded several times. Over
these shared interludes, I found the last of my
barriers decaying, and the acceptance of my true
feelings for her increasing.

My next mission would be in about a month. I came to
the conclusion that it was time to fulfill my promise
to Webb. So, I call Mac and we agree to meet up two
nights from now.

Later

I look at myself in the mirror, trying to straighten
this damn tie, for the tenth time. My fingers tremble,
my palms are sweaty, my stomach is churning. I'm
filled with a nervous energy that I don't know how to
expend. It feels like my first date, except infinitely
more important. I finally give up and go to the living
room to pick up the roses that I had bought for her.
We have a lot to talk about tonight. Before I leave, I
give one final glance around the apartment to make
sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and then turn out
the lights.

Later

On my way down the hall to her door, I think back
about how she had agreed to go out tonight. I'd told
her to be ready by eight, and not to eat dinner. She
wanted to know where we were going, but I refused to
divulge that information, telling her I'd call her in
the morning if plans were to change, and to wear
something nice. 

Finally, making it to her door, I rap on it firmly.

"Who is it?" 

"It's Harm." 

"Be right there," she replies. As she opens her door
and stands before me, I see that she's wearing a long,
simple black dress. "You're early. I'm not quite done
yet." She turns around after opening the door and I
see it has a low back, revealing a glimpse of the
tawny skin beneath. Needless to say, I'm enjoying the
view.

She finishes putting on a small diamond ear ring. I
present the roses to her, and she looks at them in
surprise, for a moment. Grasping them carefully, she
puts the velvety red buds to her nose, and inhales
their fragrant scent.

"Thanks, Harm," she states gratefully. She smiles
prettily at me, sending a quick surge through my body.


Later

We don't say much on our way there. But, the silence
between us is a comfortable one. When we make it to
the deserted beach, I walk over to her side of the car
and help her out. Looking around she states,

"I'm way over-dressed for this, Harm."

"You're breathtaking," I whisper under my breath, as I
go to the back of my car to retrieve the blanket and
basket I had brought along for this evening. I lay out
the blanket I had carried, when we get to the spot I
had in mind. Mac had carried her heels, and walked
barefoot in the sand. 

"Wow, Harm. Picnic on the beach, flowers, compliments,
have you been reading a Danielle Steele novel?" 

"I just thought this would be the perfect spot to
talk," I say, as I start smoothing out the blanket.

"Yeah, no one around to disturb us," she smiles. 

Later

After we've finished eating, while catching up on the
latest news at JAG, we sit there quietly for a bit,
and look up at the sea of stars that seem so close you
can almost reach up and dip your hand into them. 

"Are you ready to talk about it?" I question. She
nods.

"I'm sorry that I made you worry about me, Harm," she
declares. 

"You're fine now-- that's all that matters," I assure
her. "I know we have things to work on, especially
me." I shake my head. "All the things that I held as
true..."

"Like what, Harm?"

"Like relationships with people you work with. I'm so
sorry that it took all of this to tell you how much
you mean to me," I utter despairingly.

"Harm, it's not all your fault. I shouldn't have left
the way I did the night before I went on the mission
with Webb. I've pushed you away, too." 

"I remember when you first came into my life. I knew
you were something special, but, I also firmly
believed that if we got into a relationship, it had a
strong chance to ruin our friendship. I've seen it
happen so many times, Mac. I didn't want that to
happen with us."

"Fear is never logical, Harm."

"Emotions rarely are."

We're both silent for a moment, soaking in all of
these new revelations.

"I've never met anyone like you before, Mac. And I've
met a lot of great people. I admire the way you
overcame the incredibly hard and hurtful things in
your past. You've learned to trust men, to try to give
love a chance. You're stronger than me in that
respect."

"I think you're pretty wonderful, too. You're brave,
loyal, kind, honest. You're...you're every girl's
dream man, Harm."

A soft breeze blows over us; I can smell traces of the
sea and her shampoo.

"I don't want to lose you, Mac. I tried not to get too
dependent on you being there. After losing so many
people I've cared about...Hell, I spent over half of
my life just searching for my father. After I found
out what happened to him, I felt so empty. The closest
I came to contentment was when I was near you. If I
ever lost you..." 

She places a hand on my cheek, gently dragging me out
of the pit of fear.

"I've already told you before, Harm, that's not going
to happen. We'll always have each other," she states,
but I still see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Seems like we've had this conversation before."

"My engagement party. I left feeling more confused
than I thought possible. You always seem to have that
effect on me."

"Care to change the ending this time?"

She pauses pensively and then I see her shiver. I'm
not sure if it's because the thin straps of her gown
afforded little protection from the salty air, or
because of some secret rush of remembrance. I wrap my
arms around her body to shelter her from the chill.

"It's difficult enough making a relationship work in
the military. But now, you're in the CIA, and I'm at
JAG. You'll be traveling to God knows where, on
dangerous assignments. I'll be traveling on
investigations for JAG. We'll miss more than we hit."

"Mac..."

"And yet, I know I'll never get over you, Harm.
Believe me, I've tried, it just won't work."

I move my hand to her face and look her in the eyes
solemnly.

"If there's one thing I know now, more than ever, Mac,
it's that we absolutely cannot waste what time we have
left." She remains silent. "Do you want to see if
it'll work? Whatever happens, happens, but we'll
always be friends, Mac. No matter what."

She hesitates and then leans in and brushes a soft
kiss across my lips. I'm surprised by her silent, but
very welcome response. Then, she sighs and lays her
head on my shoulder and we sit there watching the
ageless, foamy waves roll in and out. Lapping at the
beach, as they had for others old and young alike,
centuries before us, and would continue to for
centuries after we were gone and forgotten. 

The End

A/n: Yes it's the end of this part of the story. The
journey is over and Harm and Mac have to start a new
part of their lives after this. So look forward to
more about them in the near future.