Title:	A Time To Say Goodbye

Author:	Mel (e-mail me at m.a.jooty@dundee.ac.uk) 

Disclaimer: The characters of JAG are the property of 
David Bellasario, CBS and Paramount and no profit has 
been made by my utilising them in my story. Everyone 
else is mine. 

Rating:	R for violence, angst and bad language. 
Pairings:	Harm/Mac. Harm/Mac/AJ friendship (a brand 
new category I invented) 

Spoilers:	'Goodbyes' and a bunch of other episodes. 

Summery:	A few months ago Harm had to make a 
choice: the courtroom or an F-14. Over the 
Independence Day weekend, he returns to JAG for a 
visit where he is not exactly met with a warm welcome. 
Then things go drastically wrong and he finds himself 
faced with a new choice: life...or death. 

Archiving:	Okay, as long as my name stays on it and 
I'm informed about where it's being posted. 

Author's Notes: This is another attempt where I try 
to be nice. It's very hard for me but if you've read 
any of The X-Files fan fiction you'll know where I get 
my torturous streak from. If you're wondering why I 
write such things, it's because I've read a lot of JAG 
fan fiction and in most of them it is Mac who's been 
shot or in a car crash or kidnapped. I've decided to 
even the stakes. Why should Mac get to have all the 
fun after all? 

JAG fanfic Webpage:
	http://www.crosswinds.net/~jagweb/index.htm 


Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
0413 EST, July 4th 

This was not how Mac planned to spend her Independence 
Day weekend, never in a million years. Sure she had 
wanted Harm home in Washington but not like this...It 
wasn't fair; she had only had him for three short 
years and now there was a strong possibility she might 
lose him forever all because she wanted him home. 

God, what was taking them so long? Patience was not 
one of Mac's strong points, that much was evident, but 
she just wanted news. Harm had been in surgery for 
almost four hours now and still no word to his 
condition. The nurses walked past smiling reassuringly 
at her but Mac didn't need to be a telepath or even a 
half-decent psychologist to read the grimness in their 
eyes. Harm may have been strong and young, however the 
most healthiest person might not survive what he was 
facing now. She knew the odds of him coming out of 
surgery alive. 

Admiral Chedwiggen placed a comforting right hand- his 
left arm cradled in a blue sling- on her shoulder. 
"He's going to be fine, Colonel, the Commander is 
strong. Was it not you yourself who told me he helped 
saved a hijacked hospital just hours after being 
knocked down?" 

He wasn't certain of his words of reassurance though, 
Mac could tell. Chedwiggen had been there as Harm bled 
to death in her arms and he knew the severity of his 
condition. Harm might not even survive the surgery let 
alone the strenuous days after where he would struggle 
to recover his health. 

Mac sighed wearily. God, if only she had not been such 
a bitch to him. Maybe he belonged in Pensacola flying 
F-14's. At least there he wouldn't have been lying 
close to death on some cold surgical table. It wasn't 
meant to be this way, he was meant to return all 
apologetic, wanting her back in his life. 

Left with little else to do, Mac thought back to the 
tragic events which led them to this hospital and to 
the possibility of Harm losing his life at the hands 
of lunatics after he had made the most significant 
statement he had ever uttered to her... 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1923 EST, July 2nd 
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah 'Mac' Mackenzie sighed, 
inattentively leafing through yet another file to 
grace her desk. She felt as if life had just taken a 
dip into the abyss of pure and simple torture. Oh 
sure, she had been promoted from Major up to the rank 
of Lieutenant Colonel but other than that everything 
sucked. Her eyes drifted to the framed photograph she 
had adorning her desk. It depicted her and Harm on the 
day of Bud and Harriet's wedding. Harm had looked so 
good in his dress whites and they were all so 
happy...a team. Mac actually had the delusional dream 
that perhaps one day she and Harm would go through the 
wedding process, this time with them as the stars of 
the show. 

Heaving another deep sigh (she was doing that often 
lately), she flicked the photo into her drawer so she 
would not have to be reminded of long gone 
opportunities and hopes. Harm had a new life now and 
the only thing he would be 'marrying' was an F-14. 

Ever since Harm had left JAG for Pensacola, things 
around the office had changed. Sure, Bud and Harriet's 
sudden change in focus had understandably altered with 
Little AJ being of their main concern but that was not 
all. Admiral Chedwiggen was in a permanent sour mood 
and she knew it had nothing to do with male menopause. 
He looked to Harm as a surrogate son that would one 
day take over the 'family business'- namely the role 
as Judge Advocate General. Now that same son had 
abandoned the Admiral for greener pastures. As for the 
pain-in-the-ass Brumby, he never could take no for an 
answer and since Harm's departure he was in full 
pestering mode. 

She still couldn't come to grips Harm had left. Harm 
was Harm, he was like a rock, constant and rooted- he 
didn't jack in a great and advancing career in law to 
fly a stupid plane and probably end up being shot down 
in war! He was meant to stay in law, eventually settle 
down and start a family (God, why was everything 
heading back to that point?!). It could have been 
worse though; he could have married Jordan. Mac 
smirked fiendishly then chastised herself for thinking 
like a spoilt, selfish child. 

But she wasn't the one acting like a spoilt, selfish 
child, not compared to Commander F-14. Yes, it was 
Harm who was the childish one- he ditched everything 
important in his life for a silly childhood dream...He 
left her like everyone she loved eventually left her. 

Bud Roberts stuck his head around her office door. 
"It's late, I thought you would have gone home by now, 
Colonel." 

"Just catching up on some work, Bud." His concern was 
sweet but she just wanted to be left in peace with her 
depression. 

"Harriet and I are going out for a meal- Little AJ's 
first trip to a restaurant," he grinned proudly, every 
inch the new father he was. "We were wondering if you 
would like to join us." 

And watch how a perfect family was meant to be? No, 
she would pass on that. Witness a happy Mom-Dad-and-
Kiddie scene would only make her sink further in the 
dark gloom. 

"Thanks, Bud, but it's been a long day and I think 
I'll just home and crash. I thought Harriet was going 
away for a few days." 

"Yes, she's taking the baby to her mother's for the 
next two nights and be home for a Fourth of July 
barbecue. Her mom's desperate to see how much he's 
grown. I have to finish some paperwork for the 
Waterman case so I'm staying behind, this meal is like 
a little goodbye 'til they come back. Colonel, are you 
sure you don't want to come with us? AJ loves to spend 
time with his godmother." 

Probably to make up for the fact his godfather's 
presence was now practically non-existent. Mac smiled 
at Bud when she saw his uncertainty. "I'll be fine, 
Bud, honest. I need an early night." 

"Okay, Ma'am, if you're sure." He left, casting Mac 
one last look. 
Mac watched him as he greeted his wife by the desk, 
taking his baby son into his arms cradling him. The 
act of such a close-knit family was so warming, so 
beautiful... 

God, did it make her feel depressed. 

******************************************************
****** 
Mac's Residence 
Washington DC 
2232 EST, July 2nd 
Curled up on the sofa after a long soak in the bath, 
Mac perused through a book she had bought a few months 
ago but had never found the time to read. The novel 
was based in Russia, surrounding a family who are torn 
apart by the murder of their six-year-old daughter. It 
was not her usual fare but somehow reading a romance 
would only make her black mood blacker. 

Still, the details of the novel brought back memories 
of her own experiences in Russia, how she helped her 
best friend search for his long-gone father and 
comforted him in his hours of despair...the same best 
friend who months later abandoned her for a damn jet. 
Damn Harm and his obsessions. Deep within Mac, she 
almost wished they had never found the truth about his 
MIA father then he would not be off gallivanting 
around the world in a newfound obsession of flying. He 
would be at JAG with her. 

Guilt immediately pervaded her. How could she even 
wish such a thing upon Harm? She knew he would never 
have had such detrimental notions when she quit the 
Marines to go off with Dalton. Besides, no matter 
what, he was still her friend. Yeah, a friend who 
valued jets above her and her loneliness. 
Life was suck. 

Jumping in fright at the abrupt pounding of her front 
door, Mac tentatively reached for one of her guns that 
she kept secured under her coffee table for 'security' 
purposes (psychotic ex-husbands and fixated stalkers 
were such examples). The knocking continued. She 
advanced towards the door wondering who would call for 
her at this time of night. 

When she flung open the door and the person standing 
outside was revealed, she nearly resorted to using her 
gun, not for protection but out of rage. There stood 
Harm, grinning like he had only left her a few hours 
ago to buy a pizza. 

"Hi, Mac," he greeted. "How's things? Congratulations 
on the new rank. I guess that means you outrank me 
now, huh?" He sobered when he noticed Mac's glower. 
"What's wrong?" 

Mac swore she could have shot him right then and there 
for his ignorance. Instead, she smiled tightly, 
tucking her gun in her waistband of her pyjamas (well, 
one did not want to tempt fate). 

"Oh, so you've decided to grace us with your presence, 
*Lieutantent Commander*," she muttered, maliciously 
emphasizing his rank. 

Harm shifted his feet, not able to look her in the 
eyes. "Mac, I thought you of all people would 
understand..." He sighed. "Just because I changed my 
designator to flying doesn't mean we can't be 
friends." 

Friend but not partners. It was her turn to sigh. "Are 
you coming in or are you just going to stand there?" 
She opened the door further, enough to allow him to 
enter, then she shut it. Mac wandered back to the 
sofa, not bothering to check if Harm was following. 

"How are things here then?" Harm asked, solicitously. 
"How is everyone at JAG? Is AJ okay?" 

"AJ is fine, Harriet has taken him up to visit her 
parents. The Admiral is still pissed at you; I got 
promoted *and* a new office; Brumby's getting your old 
office the Admiral said. Mic's gone camping for the 
weekend but when he gets home he'll be moving into the 
office. No sense in letting it go to waste since its 
former occupant had a better offer." Mac knew it was 
petty of her to boast of her promotion and equally 
childish to tell Harm about Brumby getting his office. 
Not liking her conscience being weighed down by guilt, 
she changed the subject. " So, what are you doing back 
here? I thought you were on the carrier or in 
Pensacola." 

"I was due to transfer to another carrier but some 
problems occurred and the tour was delayed so I 
decided to come back home for a while. It *has* been 
three months since I've seen to my apartment." 

Home? Did he still see this as home? Perhaps, there 
was hope for him yet.

"How long will you be here?" 

"A few weeks..." Harm scowled. "Mac, am I sensing some 
hostility here? I thought we cleared all this stuff 
up." 

Mac glared angrily at him. "Well, Harm, what the hell 
did you expect? The red carpet?! You took off to 
follow some obsession of yours and left m...JAG for 
what?! I sure as hell hope you don't expect everything 
to be perfect with you going back and forth every 
single day." 

Harm swallowed. "I'm sorry for hurting you but I had 
to do this, Mac." 

"To fulfil another obsession?" His azure blue eyes 
slipped away from her brown. 

"It's not an obsession," he murmured. 

"Yeah, right. Why are you here? It's getting kind of 
late, Harm, I was just about to go to bed. Some of us 
have been in court all day." 

"You're right, I should go." Harm moved to the door. 
He looked so forlorn, Mac felt guilty. 

"Harm?" He turned. "How about coming to pick me up at 
the office tomorrow at around fourteen hundred hours? 
We could go out for a pizza or something, celebrate 
the holiday weekend." 

He smiled. "That would be nice." 

She waited until he had gone before collapsing into 
herself. She had been rude and cruel, Mac admitted 
that much. She just wanted to punish him, he treated 
their partnership- their friendship with such 
flippancy that she felt compelled to do likewise. But 
then she never could stay mad at him for long although 
tomorrow they would find out if the admiral felt 
similarly. 

******************************************************
****** 
Unknown Location 
0130 EST, July 3rd 
The blond man turned to his loyal accomplices. "We hit 
tomorrow at fourteen ten hours, it's the weekend and a 
national holiday so the area should be relatively 
quiet with few targets." 

The youngest of the four shifted uncomfortably. "We're 
just gonna grab the guns, huh, Jonny? We're not gonna 
kill anyone, are we?" 

"We'll kill if need be, Peter," he said firmly, his 
Southern tang evident in his voice. "We're just 
reclaiming what's ours, bro. If it wasn't for the 
greed of our government, we wouldn't be doing what we 
are." 

Another of the group stroked the array of weapons 
seductively. "Well, Jon, they're sure as hell in for a 
surprise when they find out what we've done." 
Jon, the leader, smirked. "I hope so." 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1416 EST, July 3rd 
Harm stood ambiguously outside the JAG office. It had 
only been three months since he had left and he wasn't 
looking forward to encounter his former CO, Admiral 
Chedwiggen. He wasn't scared of the man but his 
feelings were much akin to a young delinquent meeting 
a one-time principal. Chedwiggen wouldn't do anything 
physical threatening or anything, however his anger at 
Harm's switch in designation would be obvious in his 
curt statements and body language. 

Then there was Mac. She was meant to be his best 
friend yet she had been the one to 'force' him to come 
here today. She knew fine what Chedwiggen would be 
like but it was almost as if she was punishing him for 
leaving. Why, he couldn't understand. He had always 
been truthful and honest with her. It was Mac who 
abandoned not only him but JAG for some sleazy, big-
bucks civilian firm, it was Mac who had lied about her 
husband and it was Mac who had the affair with not 
just a colleague but her own CO. 

"Suck it up, sailor," he murmured to himself, slowly 
inching to the entrance of the office which had been 
his place of work for four years. 

He was glad the place would be quiet today for the 
Independence Day weekend. Luckily, most of his former 
colleagues would be at home with their families so he 
would not have to face them. Ha, whom was he kidding? 
There was only two who would be contemptuous- Mac and 
the Admiral- and those were the two he was guaranteed 
to meet. 

Creeping inside, ridiculing himself for acting like a 
child, he headed to Mac's office, a path he knew like 
the back of his hand. He glanced cast a glance to the 
room that had once been his; it lay empty, the blinds 
shut and his name which had once emblazoned the door 
was now scrubbed off. In a few days, Brumby's name 
would be printed where his once was. 

"Sir, what are you doing here?" 

Harm turned to the direction of the voice and found 
Bud Roberts standing by his own desk carrying a file. 
His question was not demanding or irate but merely 
curious. Bud smiled at him and moved forward to shake 
his superior's hand. 

"I thought you'd be on a carrier." 

"Some problems arose so I got a little time off which 
I decided to spend in DC." 

Bud grinned, if Harm didn't know any better his smile 
was almost self-satisfied. "Spend it with the Colonel, 
sir?" 

Harm scowled then smiled slightly. "Yes, Lieutenant, 
I'm going to be spending a little time with the 
Colonel while I'm here." 

Bud just nodded, still grinning broadly. "Well, I was 
just going out to get some coffee and a sandwich for 
lunch. Do you want anything, Commander?" 

"No thank you, Bud..." He glanced around. "How's 
Harriet and the baby?" 

"They're good, AJ is growing up so fast now. He and 
Harriet have gone up to visit Harriet's parents, 
they'll be back on Monday." 

"You must be missing them a lot." 

"Yes, sir." He turned towards the elevator and under 
his breath, Harm was sure he added, "Just as much as I 
bet you're missing the Colonel." 

Harm shook his head and continued his way to Mac's 
office when another voice interrupted him- this time 
there was no denying who the gruff, disdainful voice 
belonged to. 

"Commander, what are you doing here?" interrogated 
Admiral Chedwiggen. He stood glaring near the entrance 
to the sub-office that led to Tiner's desk and his 
office door. 

"I'm on leave, visiting in DC," replied Harm, smoothly 
not wanting to enrage Chedwiggen further but 
determined not to sound like an intimidated little 
kid. 

"Leave already?! Why, they *are* treating you well in 
Pensacola." 

"Yes, sir," Harm mumbled. 

"Are you here seeing the *Colonel*?" The older man 
deliberately emphasized Mac's new rank. 

"Yes, sir." 

What was the obsession about Mac's new rank? Harm was 
happy for her to be promoted, it didn't irritate him 
as much as she and Chedwiggen probably hoped it would. 
He was happy flying planes as a Lieutenant Commander; 
he just wished they could see that. 

"Well, try not to keep her off her work for too long, 
some of us have cases to complete." With that, he 
stalked back to his office. 

"Yes, *sir*," Harm whispered, sarcastically. 

He knew it sounded petty but he couldn't remember the 
Admiral giving Mac this much grief when she quit. And 
he sure as hell didn't get a promotion. What was the 
deal? He wondered if Chedwiggen would have given him a 
better reaction if he had quit the Navy altogether and 
gone into civilian law like Mac had. 

When he finally reached Mac's office, he was glad the 
rest of the bullpen was quiet with everyone at home 
celebrating. He wasn't in the mood for further 
rebukes. Mac's door was open and she was hunched over 
a few files, frowning. 

"How's it going?" he asked, gently. 

She smiled, looking up. "You're late, flyboy, by 
sixteen minutes." 

"I know, I'm sorry, traffic was awful." Personally, he 
was pleased she was in a better mood. "So, what are 
you working on?" 

Mac scowled. "Can't talk about it with outsiders," she 
replied, abruptly. She softened at his unconscious 
attempt to distance himself from her by stepping back. 
"I'm sorry, the workload is getting to me. It's 
another fraternization case." 

"How are you doing?" 

"Oh, I've got a lot of experience on this kind of 
case," she smirked. "Where do you want to eat?" 

"I don't mind." 

"Well, I'll be ready to go soon." She searched her 
desk for something then faced Harm. "Hey, Harm, can 
you do me a favour?" Harm cocked his head in askance. 
She threw him the keys to her Corvette. "Can you get 
the Rodreges file from my trunk? You'll see it, it's 
on top of all the junk." 

He caught the keys perfectly, his eyes narrowing. 
"This wouldn't be an attempt to rub your Corvette in 
my nose, would it, Colonel?" 

Mac clutched her heart. "You wound me, Commander. As 
if I would do a thing like that." When he left, she 
smirked. "You bet I would, Harm." 

******************************************************
****** 
Near The JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1418 EST, July 3rd 
Jon scowled. It had been so easy to gain entry into 
the base since Dan and himself were part of the Naval 
Reserves, so easy it almost made him worry to think 
these were the guys protecting the country. No wonder 
his father died like he had. Under the pretense of 
training, they had managed to get into the weapons 
depot by talking down the kid who was on guard. After 
taking the explosives and weapons they planned to use 
on several bank raids on Washington banks, things went 
downhill. 

There was more activity on the base and they needed a 
place to hide until dark where they could make their 
escape. Dan had suggested the JAG Headquarters- it 
would be quiet over the Federal holiday and it was run 
only by a bunch of lawyers. It would be a piece of 
cake. Hole up, tie up the lawyers, when night came 
they would run off and be long gone before the lawyers 
could open their mouths. 

He watched his men efficiently attach silencers to 
their guns as they prepared for the ambush, however he 
was troubled by Peter's shaky movements. His brother 
was only sixteen with a slight learning disability. He 
felt responsible for the boy, he didn't want to 
involve him in this but Peter could do with some 
toughening up. When the boy was older he would 
understand and thank him. 

"Ready, men?" Jon asked, turning his team. 

"Yes, sir!" smirked Sean. 

Not entirely trusting of this man, Jon had only 
grudgingly asked for his help on this mission. Sean 
was only interested in the guns for his own petty 
uses, once he received his share he was gone. He had 
no cause or principles other than drugs and drink. Jon 
had met the man at his work on a building site and 
quickly discovered Sean had a history and a love for 
violence. But he was an excellent shot and would not 
hesitate in an emergency. 

Dan, the teammate he recruited last of all, had joined 
the Navy Reserves straight out of prison in an effort 
to straighten out his life. Unlike Sean, he too had 
real qualms with the government so was happy to be 
part of the team to help Jon later on in his mission 
to bring it down. Jon took an instant liking to this 
quiet man when he found out Dan had been in prison for 
battering the man who had brutally raped his fourteen-
year-old cousin. Vengeance was a quality he admired. 
Dan's quick reflexes and keen observation skills would 
make him an excellent guard in the mission. 

"Let's go then. Y'all know the plan: cut power to the 
elevator, Dan takes guard of the stairs and us three 
go up to grab our prize. And remember, only shoot if 
you have to. We're only holing up here, no need to 
hurt anyone." 

Sean just saluted mockingly. "You know me." 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1421 EST, July 3rd 
Jingling Mac's car keys in his hands, Harm jabbed the 
button of the elevator and groaned when there was no 
light to indicate the lift car was on it's way up. It 
must have broken down yet again. Well, he had learned 
his lesson before; Bud had almost missed his son's 
birth thanks to this damn lift. He wasn't about to 
trust the elevator again- the stairs would have to do. 

Harm's mind, as always, was preoccupied as he made his 
way down the darkened stairs to the ground floor. 
Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted when three 
unidentified men, not in uniform, stalked up the 
staircase. Taken by complete surprise and before he 
could react to the revolvers each of the men carried, 
Harm heard a distinctive pinging noise...of a 
silencer. 

Pain cascaded through his lower right leg and he 
couldn't be sure but he thought he heard the crunch of 
a bone breaking as the bullet penetrated his limb. He 
stumbled down the remaining stairs, bashing his head 
as he fell. 

"What the hell d'you do that for?" demanded the blond 
of the three to his shooter. "God dammit, Sean, we 
don't need unnecessary injuries." 

"He looked like he was gonna try something." 

Regaining his composure, Harm glared at them. "Who are 
you? What the hell are you doing here?! You should get 
out of here now before anyone else gets hurt. You 
haven't done anything too bad, you can still walk out 
of this. It doesn't have to be like this." 

"Yes it does," replied the blond, who Harm presumed 
was the leader. 

"What do you hope to gain by hijacking JAG?" When no 
one answered, he persisted. "We're just lawyers not to 
mention the Navy doesn't negotiate with terrorists." 

"We don't want anything from the goddamn Navy! We got 
what we came for- real nice guns you got in this 
place, I must say. You really should lock them up 
better though. Very dangerous to leave things lying 
around." 

"Guns? Have you taken weapons? What for?" 

"None of your goddamn business. Now we'll be leaving 
shortly so you shut the hell up before I shoot you." 

The look of animosity on the blonde's face forced Harm 
to take him seriously. Harm clasped his bloodied leg. 
A crimson splodge was growing across the fabric of his 
blue jeans creating a sickening shade of brown against 
the blue. He could feel the hot stickiness of blood 
ooze down from the gash on his forehead, down his 
cheek. He gazed at his bloodstained hand in morbid 
fascination, he had never been shot before...and 
already he sure as hell was certain he didn't want to 
repeat this particular experience. 

"Hey, you guys okay up there?" called another voice, 
judging from the echo must have been a few floors 
down. 

"Yeah, Dan," said the leader. "Just you keep watch and 
keep that damn door locked." He glanced at Harm. "We 
don't need any more casualties." 

"Now what, Jon?" asked the teenager who had supported 
Harm. 

"We carry out our mission, Peter. It's just a leg 
wound, not even the femoral or anything. Help him up 
and we go for our boy." 

The boy gently took Harm by the shoulders and pulled 
him to his feet. Harm bit back a moan of pain, 
determined not to let his pain show. He sighed, his 
eyes contemplating the very stairs he had practically 
jogged down not a minute ago. His leg was killing him 
and the stairs seemed to go on forever. God, he could 
have just been asked to climb Mount Everest. 

The man who had shot him smirked. "Do you want me to 
help you? I'll be real 'gentle'." 

Harm scrutinized him then slowly started to stagger 
upwards, guided by Peter with both Jon and Sean 
watching him closely. As he tried to formulate a plan 
he couldn't help but think this never would've 
happened at Pensacola. Then again, JAG was anything 
but boring. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1427 EST, July 3rd 
Glaring at the piles of paper on her desk, Mac had 
reached a point where she needed the Rodreges file if 
she wanted to continue. Of course, it seemed Harm was 
taking his own sweet time getting it for her- by her 
count he'd been gone sixteen minutes. God, she'd be 
better off getting her own file. 

Stalking out of her office, Mac headed straight for 
the elevator. As she was about to press the button, 
the stairway door swung open and Harm stumbled out. 

"There you are. Where the hell are my..." She trailed 
off her tirade when she took note of Harm's pale face, 
blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and the 
huge bloodstain on his right trouser leg. "Oh my God, 
Harm..." 

Before Harm could explain or she could react, three 
figures marched out of the stairway. The blond of the 
three stuck a gun in her face while the other checked 
around to see if the coast was clear. 

"Do as we say and nobody will get hurt," ordered the 
blond. 

"Seems as if someone has gotten hurt already," she 
commented. She quickly moved to Harm's side. "Are you 
okay, Harm? How do you feel?" 

He grinned despite his face being twisted in pain. 
"Well, I sure know how you felt in the Appalachian 
Mountains...It's not too bad, Mac." 

Mac didn't agree. She couldn't see the wound properly 
since he was still wearing his jeans but there was so 
much luck. He was limping heavily and she was sure she 
heard a sickening creaking sound of bones grinding 
when he tried to put more weight on the injured leg. 
He must have been in terrible pain, that she could 
vouch from her time in the Appalachian Mountains two 
years ago. Mac felt like such a shit for shouting at 
him before and blaming him for not getting her stupid 
file. 

"He's lost a lot of blood and he could have a 
concussion," Mac stated to their captors. "He needs to 
go to a hospital." 

"He'll be fine," said the blond. "The sooner we do 
this, the sooner you can get your boy to a hospital. 
Now tell me if there's anyone else here?" Harm and Mac 
exchanged looks but neither answered. "Tell me or I'll 
just go in shooting in every room 'til I find them." 

There was another moment of silence until the blond 
cocked his gun. "I'll take you to where our superior 
officer is," Mac sighed. "He's the only one here other 
than us." 

"Good girl. We'll all go pay the old guy a visit." 

Mac supported Harm as they made their way to the 
Admiral's office. She tried to think of a way to alert 
attention to this predicament but they were the only 
ones in the building, everyone else was home for the 
holidays. She just prayed Bud, when he came back from 
lunch, would realized something was amiss. 

As they walked, Mac stole a glance to the terrorists. 
They obviously had done something serious but she 
wondered what exactly was the root of their mission. 
Why were they so keen to see him? It certainly 
couldn't be for any good reason. 
The leader- whom she learnt was named Jon- seemed to 
be the most determined driving force but fairly calm. 
The youngest of the group was little more than sixteen 
or seventeen years old and was called Peter. He was 
skittish like any other kid in such a situation and he 
wasn't happy to be here. Then there was the one named 
Sean...he seemed desperate to catch a kill. From the 
way Harm looked at him, she knew he was the one who 
shot her partner. 

Suddenly, as they approached Chedwiggen's office, the 
door swung open and the Admiral stepped out, no doubt 
alerted by the noise from before. 

"What the hell is going on?!" 

It took a split-second for the next events to 
happen...for Mac to think she had lost the light of 
her life. 

Chedwiggen, his SEAL instincts still as sharp as the 
day he first joined the accomplished team, immediately 
detected the weapons trained on the two officers. In 
one fluid movement, he reached to pull his own weapon 
which he wore for security purposes on days when he 
knew the office would be empty. But he hadn't reckoned 
on young Peter picking up on what he was up to. 

The boy brought his revolver up before his two 
companions even comprehended what was happening. As 
Chedwiggen fired a shot into Sean's shoulder and 
another, which went into the wall, Peter took a shot 
aimed directly at the Admiral. The older man didn't 
have the time to react. Harm sprung towards them as 
fast as his injured leg would allow. He pushed the 
Admiral out of the way sending both men crashing to 
the floor. Peter dropped his gun in shock while Sean 
cursed, clasping his bleeding shoulder. 

Recovering quickly, Chedwiggen slowly knelt up. It was 
then Mac realized Harm had not moved from his sprawled 
position on the carpeted floor. Tentatively, like she 
almost knew what to expect, she knelt by her hushed 
partner's side and placed a hand over his shoulder 
onto his chest to shake him. 

"Harm, are you...?" Her voice trailed away when her 
hand connected with something warm and wet. Holding an 
apprehensive breath, she pulled her hand away and held 
it up. It was covered in a crimson liquid. "Oh God..." 

"Dammit," cursed the Admiral. He swiftly moved to 
Harm's side and the two officers rolled him carefully 
onto his back to view the wound. 

Harm's pale blue shirt was staining red- blood 
spreading across his chest. Since they couldn't see 
the injury, Mac gripped both sides of his shirt and 
thrust it open, buttons pinging across the floor. The 
wound was located to the left of his breastbone, a 
neat little hole gushing. Though she had never 
considered a career in the medical arts, for some odd 
reason her tenth grade biology lessons appeared to her 
in such vividness she had never experienced before in 
that particular subject. 

In that area where the bullet hit, there was little 
doubt the left lung was hit. Since the wound was 
oozing and she could locate a pulse in his carotid 
vein, she didn't think the heart was compromised. 
Still, there were so many blood vessels and arteries 
there...He didn't have much time; he absolutely needed 
medical attention now. 

At the pain of being jostled around, Harm's eyes 
opened as he regained consciousness. "Mac...?" he 
murmured, almost bewildered. 

She cupped his cheek. "Just relax, Harm, you're going 
to be fine," she reassured. 

Harm struggled to rise but Chedwiggen had a firm grip 
of his shoulder. "Do as the Colonel says, 
Commander...You're doing great, just have to hang in 
there, son." The Admiral pulled off his white jacket 
and folded it to place over the wound in an attempt to 
stop the bleeding. 

Harm frowned at the sudden change in the Admiral's 
mood but remained still. The only thing that concerned 
him now was the intense pain washing through his 
chest. Breathing was difficult, painful and he felt as 
if his chest was about to explode. 

"W-what happened?" he asked, his voice a whisper. 

"You son of a bitch!" exclaimed Sean, his head twisted 
in disgust as he tried to get a look at his shoulder 
wound. It was a through-and-through shot and he was 
more enraged than in pain. "I'm gonna kill you, old 
man." Sean moved to grab the Admiral but Jon held him 
back. 

"Leave it, Sean!" He turned to his brother. "Y'okay, 
bro? Peter? You okay, Pete?" 

"Eh...y-yeah," stuttered the boy. Peter was in a state 
of shock at actually shooting someone, a person who 
hadn't done anything but try to save the life of a 
fellow officer. 

"It's okay, bro, you did great. Old Man here could've 
hurt us." 

"Yeah, Jon." 

"Good boy." Jon turned his attention to Chedwiggen and 
Mac who were still kneeling by their fallen friend. 
"Now you see we're serious. Let this be a lesson to 
you, we will kill you if you don't co-operate." 

"Now what d'we do, Jon?" glared Sean. "I mean, this is 
your big show." 

"We need to get Harm to a hospital," Mac pleaded. 
"He's losing too much blood. If we don't he'll..." 

"No time, lady. He'll just have to hang on 'til we're 
done." Jon glanced around. "Okay, let's get them to 
the Old Man's office. The guards outside will have 
probably heard our shots. Call Dan on the mobile and 
let him know to be on the look out. Peter, find a 
first aid kit for Sean and the Navy guy." 

First aid kit? Harm was bleeding to death here- a 
first aid kit wouldn't be worth shit in the battle to 
save him. Already, Chedwiggen's white jacket was 
saturated in blood. Harm's face was clammy and a 
bleached pale in colour; he was in shock. Mac just 
wondered how long he could last. She could barely 
stand ten hours in the Appalachian Mountains and she 
was only shot in the damn leg. She couldn't lose him 
now... 

Jon interrupted her thoughts when he nudged her back. 
"Okay, Admiral, lets get him to your room." 

"Leave us alone," growled Mac. 

"Look, I can help move him or Sean can. He is so eager 
to help." Mac glanced up at Sean, who was smirking 
back. She sighed and moved away. "Good, I'm glad we're 
starting to understand each other." 

Gently, Chedwiggen, Jon and Mac carried Harm to the 
plush office while Sean kept a gun trained on them, 
his trigger finger twitching slightly. Despite their 
best efforts, Harm groaned at the sharp pain of the 
movement. 

"It'll be okay, Harm," comforted Mac. 

Harm smiled faintly. "Don't think so..." 

Mac scowled at his unusual display of pessimism. 
"Don't talk like that, Harm. You're gonna be fine. 
Aren't we always? Don't go quitting on me, partner." 

"Partner?" His smile broadened though his face was 
etched with pain. "Try not to quit, Mac." 

In the office, Chedwiggen studied the weakening 
commander then turned to Mac. "Colonel, I think the 
Commander would be more comfortable if he leaned 
against you. The extra support will make breathing 
easier for him and that way you can compress the 
wound." 

"Yes, sir." 

Dutifully, Mac sat back against the wall and the two 
men holding Harm's boneless weight carefully lowered 
him so he was leaning against her, cradled in her 
arms. She quickly pressed the sodden jacket over his 
injury where the flow of blood had increased at the 
stress of moving him. She could see he was biting back 
the pain. 

"Well, this wasn't...the way I imagined...it to be," 
Harm said with a slight smirk. 

"You're delirious, flyboy," Mac replied, blinking back 
tears. He was trying so hard to make this easier for 
her despite his own pain and fear. 

Chedwiggen propped Harm's legs up with some thick 
books from his desk. He paternally patted his 
uninjured leg as he slouched down to the left of the 
two officers. Sean pulled out two pairs of handcuffs 
from his backpack then swiftly secured both the Mac 
and the Admiral to the radiator pipes behind them. He 
left one of Mac's hands free so she could support Harm 
but he secured both of the Admiral's. Chedwiggen's 
hand turned a shade of purple, straining under the 
extremely tight cuffs. 

"See if you can get outta that one," he sneered. 

"This is too tight," Chedwiggen glared. "You're going 
to cut off my damn circulation." 

"I'll be doing a hellva lot more if you don't quit 
your goddamn complaining." 
Jon sighed, bending down to adjust Chedwiggen's 
handcuff. "Is there a need to do cuff them? I mean, 
where the hell are they gonna go- jump out the 
window?!" 

"No, but that'll stop 'em from getting any ideas. You 
should be happy I let the woman off easy. We can't 
trust them, don't think 'cause you got all these 
'ties' with the military they won't try nothing. 
They're all the same." 
Sean moved to shut the office blinds just as Peter ran 
in with the first aid box. The boy hesitantly handed 
it to the Admiral then stared in shock at Harm. 

"Eh, Jonny, Dan wants to talk with you," the boy 
informed his brother, his wide blue eyes not shifting 
from Harm's bloody form. 

Jon bobbed his head. "Okay, lets go. I trust I can 
leave you three in here for a while so I can talk to 
my men. Mess with us again and I will shoot you down 
like a dog." 

With that, Jon marched out of the room and Peter 
shadowed him closely, sparing them a few anxious 
backward glances.  Sean shot them one last vicious 
glare before the door slammed shut and the lock could 
be heard clicking behind them. The three lawyers sat 
in silence for a few moments then Chedwiggen studied 
Harm's debilitated condition. 

"How do you feel, Commander?" he asked, trying to keep 
the younger man engaged so he wouldn't slip away. 

He had fought in 'Nam and had conducted numerous 
dangerous assignments in his years as a SEAL. During 
those times, Chedwiggen had seen many men fall, their 
life draining away before his very eyes. Men who were 
under his command and he a duty to protect. Rabb may 
not have officially been his officer but the younger 
man was nonetheless always one of his people and he 
was damned if he would allow another kid- another of 
*his* kids- to die. 

"Not...so good, sir," Harm replied. He shifted in 
Mac's arms and gasped at the flare of pain. 

"Try not to move around too much, Harm," Mac warned. 
"That just aggravates the bleeding and the pain." 

"Don't have to...tell me...twice." 
Mac turned to her superior. "Have you got any idea how 
to get out of her, sir?" 

"I'm working on it, Colonel. So you better stay with 
us, Commander." 

"Yes, sir." Harm tried to inhale a deep breath. "Sir, 
I think...they stole...weapons. They...were talking 
about...it." 

Chedwiggen frowned. "Do you know how many of them 
there are?" Harm was losing the ability to speak 
properly as he fought a painful battle for air. 
Chedwiggen hated to cause more pain for the younger 
man but he had to question him. 

"Four, sir. There is one...standing...guard on...the 
stairs...I think...they have...messed with the 
elevator...It's been dis...disconnected." There was 
silence for a moment. "So this is what it...was like 
in the... Appa...lachians, Mac?" 

She smiled down tolerantly at him. "Yeah, flyboy." 

"Pretty suck..." 

"Hey, it could be worse, you could be stuck with 
Brumby instead." 

Harm snorted. "Just shoot me...in the head." He broke 
into a spasm of coughing and Mac felt her stomach 
churn in unease when a trail of blood dripped from his 
mouth. A lung was most definitely compromised. 

As she wiped the blood away with a tissue from her 
pocket memories from her childhood pervaded her. When 
she was eight years old, she and her father were 
involved in a terrible car accident.  They escape with 
nothing more severe than cuts and bruises. The driver 
of the other car was not so lucky. An ambulance and a 
well-equipped hospital would have increased the 
wounded man's chances but they were trapped in the 
middle of no-where. The driver of the other car had 
several broken ribs and as the time wore on his 
punctured lung gradually allowed his chest cavity to 
fill with air and blood until he couldn't breathe at 
all. That was her first experience with death. 

The circumstances were different this time; they were 
trapped in an office filled with four wackos instead 
of the lonely road, and that of her closest friend 
replaced the role of the injured stranger. 

No matter what she and the Admiral did for Harm, it 
was only to postpone the inevitable. Harm's breathing 
was now shallow and wheezy. His skin was cool and 
clammy and his normally tanned complexion had blanched 
even paler if that was possible. Mac knew as well as 
the Admiral, Harm did not have much time. His fate 
rested in their hands...in their ability to get him 
out of here alive. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1445 EST, July 3rd 
"There's definitely more activity down there," 
observed Sean. 

Watching from Harm's old office, the three men could 
see security officers and guards dashing around. Jon 
was not particularly surprised, the people outside 
must have heard the gun when it went off. 
Unfortunately, his team was not really prepared for 
this new revelation. God, this was meant to be a 
simple job- in, get the guns then out. Now he had one 
guy shot, three hostages, and half the Navy probably 
ready to raid the place. Trust lawyers to make things 
worse. 

"What are we going to do, Jonny?" Peter asked. 

"I say we blast them three and get the hell outta 
here," Sean put forth. His shoulder was now in a 
makeshift sling but the wound did nothing for his dark 
mood and quick temper. "They're gonna give us nothing 
but trouble, I can tell." 

"We didn't come here to kill unnecessarily," Jon 
replied. 

"Fine time for you to notice that, Jonny-boy. That 
Navy guy, how long d'you think he's gonna last? He's 
dead already." 

"That doesn't mean we just shoot them. We got who we 
want. He's a high-ranking admiral; those Navy police 
won't come in here when we have him. It'll be fine, 
just relax." 

"Relax? This 'mission' of yours had been a fuck-up 
from the moment we got here. Look at us- we got cute 
little Peter here behaving like he should still be in 
kindergarten, no way of escape and absolutely crap 
weapons. We should cut our loses and get the hell 
away." 

Jon grabbed Sean by the collar and yanked him closer. 
"Don't you dare say anything about my brother, if it 
wasn't for him you'd be dead. Now we're gonna stay 
here 'til the job is done so I don't want to hear no 
more of your goddamn complaining. Understood?" 

Sean would have liked nothing better than so punch the 
hell out of Jon but both men knew it was Jon that had 
the superior strength not to mention loyalty of the 
other two. He had no choice but to comply...for now. 
"Understood," he murmured. 

******************************************************
****** 
Outside JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1613 EST, July 3rd 
Bud knew he had taken much longer for lunch than he 
normally took but he couldn't resist visiting the toy 
stores. Ever since Little AJ had entered his life Bud 
had taken an active interest in buying all the latest 
toys and games for his newborn son. The infant was 
only a few months old but he was growing so fast he 
wanted to be there to witness it all and ensure his 
child had the best of everything. Any new parent would 
understand. Only last week Harriet had spent close to 
a hundred dollars on clothes for their son so he 
wasn't alone in his obsession. 

He wasn't too worried about taking a one-and-a-half 
hour lunch. It wasn't like the office was busy and the 
Admiral wouldn't mind so long as he made sure his work 
was completed. Besides, Bud had no desire to be 
witness to the beginnings of World War Three with 
Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb being the main 
instigators, Admiral Chedwiggen a close second. 
Personally, Bud was upset the Commander was leaving, 
the man was his mentor and much like a brother figure 
to him, but he understood Rabb was leaving to do 
something he had to do. It wasn't fair to persecute 
him if he felt JAG was no longer what he needed in his 
career life. Obviously, the Colonel and the Admiral 
felt differently. They were certainly not hiding their 
emotions either. 

When Bud finally pulled up in the JAG parking lot, he 
was stunned to see it swarming with NCIS officers and 
people with the letters 'FBI' emblazoned on the 
identical blue jackets they wore. His first thought 
was what if the Colonel really had killed the 
Commander but he dismissed that as sheer ludicrous. 

Grabbing the nearest officer he recognized, he 
remembered to be named Lieutenant Luke Ashmore, he 
quizzed, "What's going on?" 

The two men had been at the academy together and while 
Bud had moved to specialize in law, Ashmore was more 
in line with the NCIS and such operations, not to 
mention he was always up to speed on whatever gossip 
or scrap of information that was circulating through 
the ranks. 

"Shots have been fired from JAG," Luke said, 
recollecting Bud from his academy days. 

Bud's jaw dropped. "Shots? I just left there a couple 
of hours ago and everything was fine." 

"You just left there?" Luke quickly led shocked 
officer to a tall, auburn-headed woman who seemed to 
be in the centre of the hubbub. The woman was giving 
orders to both Navy and FBI personnel alike and when 
she turned slightly, Bud could see he was wearing a 
dark FBI jacket. "Hey, Agent Harrison, this is 
Lieutenant Bud Roberts. He works at JAG, he was the 
last one out as far as I can figure." 

The FBI agent shifted her focus immediately to Bud. 
"You were in there last?" she demanded to know. "Who 
was with you? How many people do you think are still 
in there?" 

The JAG lieutenant scowled. "Who are you?" He didn't 
have a clue what the hell was going on and here there 
was some FBI agent harassing him for answers to God-
knows-what. 

The agent smiled apologetically. She held out her hand 
to Bud. "I'm sorry, I'm Special Agent Jennifer 
Harrison." 

Bud shook the pre-offered hand numbly. "Lieutenant Bud 
Roberts...Can I ask what is the FBI doing here, Agent 
Harrison?" 

"I'm in charge of the investigation into the possible 
hijacking of the JAG Headquarters." At his surprised 
look at her statement of leadership, she elaborated. 
"Oh, this is a joint operation between your NCIS and 
the Bureau but I have extensive experience in hostage 
negotiation and hijacking situations both in the 
civilian world and in the world of terrorism. I have a 
degree in clinical psychology and fifteen years with 
the Counter-Terrorism unit in the Bureau. The Navy and 
the FBI decided I would be the best person for this 
job." 

This sounded all very impressive to Bud but quite 
truthfully he couldn't give a damn. There was only one 
thing that concerned him. "What do you mean the 
'hijacking' of JAG?" 

"It seems a couple of very unstable young men have a 
grudge against your Judge Advocate General and this is 
their way of getting even. Shots have been fired- two 
at last count- and attempts to contact the office via 
telephone and fax have failed." 

"What?" This was JAG, this kind of mad shootings 
happened in the streets not in an office for the Navy. 
Bud was eternally grateful Harriet was away, he would 
have collapsed if she had been in there with those 
lunatics. "Do you know who the gunmen are? What they 
want?" 

"Not yet but we know they took some of your weaponry 
and explosives. We'll try to get a visual soon I 
hope... We do think these are amateurs, Lieutenant, 
but even amateurs can kill. What I need to know from 
you are how many possible hostages are there?" 

"Well, definitely Admiral Chedwiggen." Bud glanced 
around the parked lot and sighed heavily in despair 
when he saw both Commander Rabb and Colonel 
Mackenzie's cars were still parked in the position 
they were in before he left for lunch. "I also think 
that Commander Harmon Rabb and Colonel Sarah Mackenzie 
are with him. Their cars are still here." 

Harrison smiled and patted the younger man's arm in 
comfort. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, we'll get them out 
safely. Hell, they're trained well and we have half 
the US military out here ready. It'll be fine, I'm 
sure." 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1621 EST, July 3rd 
Sean rubbed his aching shoulder. It was the damned old 
prick's fault he'd been shot and if he had his way he 
would have filled the asshole with lead. But Jon was 
so determined to keep all the hostages alive. The 
younger Navy guy was bleeding like a bitch, Sean had 
no grievances with him but saw little need in keeping 
him alive. He was going to die soon anyway and his 
little girlfriend was too much of a pain to let live. 
Sean didn't like the glint he witnessed in her eyes 
whenever she turned to study them. 

It wasn't his idea to come out here. The only 
incentive was the money Jon was promising after the 
raids and now even the green wasn't enough. He didn't 
like being trapped like a caged animal, he wanted to 
get out of here. These were some kind of important 
military people they were holding, Sean wasn't stupid, 
he knew. Jon was a moron if he thought he would make a 
break for it by not killing the hostages. The Feds and 
the military would shot his ass off before he even 
opened his mouth. 

The others were backing Jon- Peter mainly because he 
was a little prick and Jon was his big brother and Dan 
because he was the loyal type. But Sean knew Jon was 
weak. He wasn't going to spend another five years in 
the joint for his crap. No, the moment things turned 
bad he was going to waste those three hostages then 
get the hell away to Mexico. 

******************************************************
****** 
Outside JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1701 EST, July 3rd 
Bud had never been so nervous in all his life save 
from the day Harriet gave birth. He wasn't used to 
being on the firing line, that was one of the reasons 
he enjoyed his work at JAG so much- it was stimulating 
without having to worrying about being killed by 
maniacs. But he knew he was lucky; it was the Admiral, 
the Colonel and his mentor that were trapped. The 
young lieutenant was aware that the Admiral was a 
former SEAL, and the Colonel and Commander thrived on 
excitement but this was probably not what any of them 
had in mind. 

Surprisingly, the FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge, 
Jennifer Harrison, was quite supportive compared to 
even the Navy officers working with the FBI to pacify 
the situation. Harrison was considerate to the fact 
that Bud had never really been in such circumstances 
before and explained everything to the younger man, 
ensuring he was well informed of everything going on. 
It was good to have an ally. 

"Hey, Bud," called Harrison, "we're going to call in." 

The blinds in the office had been shut by the hostage-
takers thwarting attempts by FBI agents to get a 
visual using tiny cameras. The FBI was trying to bring 
in infrared sensors but until then Harrison had opted 
to contact the perpetrators. 

"Ready?" Harrison asked the agents inside the 
communications van where the call would be monitored. 

"Yes, sir," replied a young agent. 

"Okay..." She picked up the phone and dialed the 
number for the JAG office. 

After four rings, someone picked up. "We were waiting 
for the call," said a male voice, belonging to someone 
in there twenties to early thirties. 

"This is Special Agent Jennifer Harrison from the FBI. 
To whom am I speaking to?" 

"Yeah right, we're not completely stupid, woman!" 

Harrison sighed. "Okay, how about I call you...Bob." 
She was met with a grunt so she assumed that 
permission was granted.  "Right, Bob, how are you 
doing? 
  
"Oh, I'm cool here, Fed, very cool." 
******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1702 EST, July 3rd 
Jon had watched all the cop shows on television, hell 
he was practically raised on 'Starsky And Hutch', so 
he knew how the cops handled hostage situations. He 
had been expecting a phonecall and was mildly 
surprised it took them so long. Still, as anticipated, 
the Feds called in, in standard 'We-Are-You-Friends-
Let-Us-Help-You' mode. 

'His' Fed was female apparently and though she tried 
to come across as almost sisterly, Jon could tell she 
took no crap from anyone. Cops always pretended to be 
the criminals' friend then once they had their trust- 
boom! Obviously the FBI had still yet to cotton on to 
the fact that the whole of America- or everyone that 
owned a TV- knew how these little psychological 
techniques worked. Then there was the standard 
questions they asked, like how was he keeping. What 
could he say to that- 'Great, I'm involved in a 
Colonel crime, my baby brother is practically in shock 
at shooting an innocent man and one of my team is 
psychotic'? 

This wasn't how the theft was meant to be. Jon had 
worked all the details out at home, it was going to be 
so simple. Hostages and being cornered in some 
building was never in the plans. He didn't want to be 
here anymore and he sure as hell didn't want Petey 
here either. His kid brother thought he was tough but 
a military jail was no place for a sixteen-year-old 
kid. 
  
But what could he do now? He had no options and no 
plans other. 

In a sarcastic tone, he replied to the Fed, "Oh, I'm 
cool here, Fed, very cool." 

"That's good," said the Fed, though he could tell she 
really didn't give a damn. 
"What about the hostages? How are they?" 

Jon paled at this. He was expecting her to ask but he 
didn't know how to reply. God, he hadn't meant for the 
Navy guy to get hurt. His father was in the Navy as 
was his grandfather before him, and he too had ties 
with the military organization, so he had always 
respected other officers. His father would have been 
so upset if he were alive to see what his sons were up 
to. 
  
"Eh..." 

The Fed picked up on his reluctance. "What's wrong, 
Bob? Having problems? You have to tell me if any of 
the hostages are hurt." Her voice was now demanding. 

Jon sighed. No, he didn't want for that man to die, if 
there was any way the Feds could help then he had to 
find it. "Yeah," he replied, feigning arrogance and 
nonchalance. "One of them's been shot." Jon could hear 
gasps in the background but the Fed woman was 
surprisingly calm. But then, she was FBI- though she 
no doubt felt for the injured person, she wasn't Navy. 

"Who?" 
  
"The younger Navy officer. Rabb, I think his name is 
Rabb or something. He was already shot in the leg and 
hit his head then my...associate shot in him the chest 
by accident. It *was* an accident, it wasn't his 
fault. He didn't mean to shoot anyone..." 

"That's all very well but we need to get Rabb to a 
hospital. Can you send him out? If he has a chest 
wound then he needs immediate medical attention, not 
to mention the other injuries will make his condition 
a great deal more serious." 
Jon wanted them to take the wounded officer away, he 
wanted to save the man's life, but he knew that by 
doing that it might encourage the Feds to get ideas. 
They might think he was soft. 

"No, I know how it works. You take him then you barge 
in. I don't think so, go try your sob story on some 
other patsy." 

"He'll die," spat out the Fed. 

"Then...then he'll die." With that he slammed the 
phone down, shutting his eyes as he came to grips with 
the fact he was probably costing the life of a 
innocent guy just in an attempt to save his own ass in 
a downhill situation...no-win situation. 

******************************************************
****** 
Outside JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1706 EST, July 3rd 
That son-of-a-bitch! Bud had never experienced such 
anger as he did at this moment. He couldn't believe 
that no-good layabout had shot Commander Rabb.  How 
dare they invade his office and shoot his friends 
down. He felt some relief that the Admiral and the 
Colonel were physically okay but he felt sickened to 
think of the pain Rabb was going through. He couldn't 
even imagine the torture he must be feeling. 

Although Bud was close to Admiral Chedwiggen and 
almost looked to him as a father figure, there was a 
special bond between him and Commander Rabb. The older 
man was like a brother to him that always looked out 
for him since the day he joined JAG. Rabb was young 
enough for Bud to identify with him. Rabb was also was 
too young to die. He hadn't even settled down yet. But 
he wouldn't die, he was practically immortal. People 
as young and brave as Commander Rabb didn't die...did 
they? 

Agent Harrison noticed the young lieutenant pale as 
they heard one of the hostages- Commander Rabb- had 
been shot. Rabb was well known in the Violent Crimes 
Unit of the Bureau after the Lewis case, bringing to 
justice a violent child murderer. He sounded like a 
good man. Bud Roberts was probably too innocent to 
know it was always the honourable and the good that 
fell first. 

Still, that didn't make it any easier and she was 
already dreaming of her hands squeezing the air out of 
the necks of these scum just for ruining Roberts' 
childlike innocence. 

"What are you going to do?" Bud asked. 

"Wait, we need to think before we act. We can't just 
go in there guns blazing, that would be suicide and 
would probably just get the hostages killed." 

"Those 'hostages' are my friends!" Bud said fiercely. 

It was a habit of speaking of hostages like they were 
just a bag of potatoes- distancing oneself from the 
innocents of the crime made it easier to work, 
emotions could not be allowed to cloud one's mind. It 
just sounded awful and brutal to the poor sods that 
were acquainted with the hostages. 

Harrison put a calming hand on the young man. "I know 
that, Lieutenant...Bud, but we have to concentrate on 
those friends just now. We will get them out, you'll 
see." 

"But what about the Commander?" 

His voice sounded so forlorn he reminded her of her 
little brother on the day their dog died. Bud Roberts 
was still a kid when it came to the experiences and 
things she had seen. But all kids had to grow up and 
it seemed today was a Colonel step for him in that 
growing up and seeing the big, bad world. 

"He's strong, he'll be fine," Harrison assured him, 
her tone sounding hollow to both of them. "I'll bet 
Commander Rabb has survived helluva worse than this, 
I'm sure-" 

She was cut off when a fellow agent, Simon Grant, 
rushed up to her. "Jen! We gotta make!" 
  
And about time too. 

She turned her full attention to Grant. "Well?" 

"From the security cameras from the weapons store, we 
were able to see we are dealing with four 
perpetrators. Then running those faces past the guy at 
the gate we got some names." He thrust four files into 
her hands. "Our main guy we think is one Jon Owen. 
Twenty-six years old, been in and outta jail for small 
things as a juvenile and, get this, he's in the Navy 
Reserves. That's how they got in. Him and another guy, 
Daniel Ross, were both Navy Reserves." 

"Great pick they got. What about the other two?" 

"Well, we got a young 'un- a sixteen-year-old Peter 
Owen, the younger brother of Jon Owen. He's a model 
kid basically, found nothing on him. He's kind of a 
sandwich short of a picnic, not quite as bright as a 
normal kid but he's nothing really for us to worry 
about. Our other guy, though, is a real piece of work. 
Sean Baxter. He's a real asshole; been in trouble 
since he was eight. Attempted murder, manslaughter, 
attempted rape, serious assault, B and E, drink 
driving...the list is endless." 

"Doesn't sound good..." 

"What does that mean?" Bud had been listening to the 
conversation and had picked up her negativity. 

She sighed. "That means we have a bunch of psychos up 
there, Bud. A bunch of psychos who can't be reasoned 
with. We may have no alternative but to storm the 
place." 

"But you said that was dangerous." 

"It is but it's better to risk it than have three 
definite dead officers on our hands." 

"Do you think you can get them out of there alive?" 

"Yes, we have the best team in the country here ready 
and waiting. I know we can do this. They'll be fine, 
you'll see." 

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, his eyes 
narrowing. 

"Yes, I do." Inwardly they both knew the truth. 'No, 
but it sounds good.' 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1923 EST, July 3rd 
Mac wasn't sure if they would get out of this with 
their lives. Not even five hours had passed and Harm 
was weakening at an alarming rate. Every breath he 
took was a struggle and though the bleeding from the 
bullet wounds had stopped, he was still coughing up 
blood and was in extreme pain. Oh, he tried to hide it 
like he would when he tried to protect her but she 
knew. Of course, their sons-of-bitches captors 
couldn't give a damn. The young one had brought a 
blanket and some water in for Harm- probably driven by 
guilt- but that was the extent of their 'hospitality'. 

Harm shifted in her arms. He had fallen into an 
uncomfortable sleep some hours ago and Mac was 
relieved he was finally waking up. She wasn't so 
selfish that she wanted him to be aware of his 
terrible pain but she was terrified he would slip away 
quietly without her knowing. If he were awake there 
was less chance of that happening. She wouldn't let 
him go. 

"Harm? Are you with me?" she asked gently. 

He moaned. "...Yeah, I'm here, Mac...What time...is 
it?" 

"Nineteen twenty-three hours," she replied. "How are 
you feeling?" 

"Even more crappy...than before...if that's possible." 

Mac smiled. "Do you want some water?" 

"Mm-hmm." He managed to swallow some water then turned 
away. "Have they...asked for...anything?" 

Chedwiggen faced them. "Not yet, Commander, but 
they've been awfully busy just now. I think the FBI 
and security units have got wind of what's going on. 
It's only a matter of time before they do something. 
>From my SEAL experiences, I think-" 

He was cut off when the door opened and the boy, 
Peter, hesitantly peered in. Slowly, he opened the 
door fully and made his way across the floor to where 
the three officers were located. Under his arm was a 
bag that he placed beside him as he knelt down in 
front of Harm, not quite meeting the lawyer's eyes. 

"Eh...I brought you guys some food and stuff," he said 
shyly, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought you 
might be hungry." From the bag, he extracted several 
bags of chips, a few candy bars and four bottles of 
water. Then from another pocket, he took out two 
towels. "That's for...that's for the blood, to help 
stop the bleeding." 
  
Mac glared at the boy. She wasn't in the mood for 
pleasantries considering she was cradling the body of 
her dying partner. "Peter? That is your name isn't 
it?" The kid nodded, deflating at her hardened tone. 
"Peter, my partner is very, very badly hurt. Candy 
bars and a towel are not going to save him. If he 
dies, it will be the fault of you and your wonderful 
friends." She didn't want to admit her worry and fear 
over Harm's condition in front of him but she had to 
show this boy that the whole situation was not a 
kiddy's game anymore. 

"I...I..." 

The Admiral shot Mac a glare. "What the Colonel means, 
son, is that we need to get the Commander to a 
hospital. He's very sick and we know you're trying to 
help but what we need is to get out of here." 
  
"He'll be fine, Jon said he would be," the boy said, 
haltingly. 

"Well, Jon is *wrong*!" snapped Mac. She didn't have 
the impatience for this kid's ignorance, not when Harm 
was dying in her arms. 
  
Peter stumbled back, startled. "He's my big brother, 
he knows best. If he said everything is gonna be fine 
then it is." It was the most the boy had said but 
there was still a note of uncertainty in his voice. 

"Sometimes brothers lie, Peter." 

"Not Jonny," was the mumbled reply. 

"Then I ask you, does Commander Rabb look okay to 
you?" 

Peter's lowered eyes drifted up to Harm's weakened 
form. "...No, I guess not...I'm sorry, I didn't mean 
to hurt you. I've never shot anyone before, I didn't 
mean it." 

Harm mustered up the strength to lay his conscience to 
rest. "It...not your...fault, Pete...It was 
an...acci...accident." 

Mac could tell that Harm had taken pity on this boy. 
He was lying here bleeding to death and still he 
managed to feel for the person who had hurt him. 

"You do know the FBI and the NCIS- our security unit- 
won't just allow this to go on, son," the Admiral said 
gently. He recognized this boy had not properly 
grasped the seriousness of the situation. "They will 
storm this building and they may kill you and your 
brother during the operation. Do you want to see your 
brother hurt?" 
  
"No...but Sean will get mad if I ask to let you go." 

The officers didn't need to ask who Sean was, they all 
knew the psycho member of the four. 
  
Peter sighed, glancing down at Harm. "What do you want 
me to do? I can't do anything." 

"First you can get the key to these cuffs." At Peter's 
attempt to protest, the Admiral said in a gruffer 
tone, "Peter, you have to do this or we can't do 
anything to help, we'll be sitting ducks. You're a 
tough kid, I know, I've met a lot of kids. You can do 
this." 

"...'kay, I'll try." 

When the boy dashed away, the door locking behind him, 
Mac turned to glare at her superior officer. "You were 
far too soft on him, sir." 

Chedwiggen smiled grimly. "He's not a cadet, Colonel, 
he's just a scared little kid out playing soldiers 
with big brother. We have to treat as such if we are 
to get him to assist." 
  
"Sir, that 'scared little kid' is one of our only 
hopes of getting of here alive." 
  
"Beggars can't be choosers, Colonel." He looked down 
on Rabb, who was squirming slightly trying to find a 
more comfortable position away from his pain- a moot 
point really. "And we will get out of here alive so 
you better not give up, Commander. You wouldn't want a 
court martial." 

Harm smiled crookedly but it was not enough to ease 
Chedwiggen's sense of unease. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
2023 EST, July 3rd 
The pain... 

The white-hot agony burning through his chest and deep 
into his lung was the most intense sensation Harm had 
ever been aware of. Coming a close second was the 
throbbing, blinding pain flashing through his brain. 
It made him sick to his stomach but just the thought 
of heaving his chest to throw-up was enough to induce 
another wave of pain. 

It scared him every time he had to fight for each 
breath; for all the effort he put in to encourage his 
damaged lung to consume oxygen all he could get was a 
wheezy gasp. It was as if a heavy tonne weight had 
taken residence on his chest, pressing with unyielding 
determination to halt any attempts from his body to 
breath. 

Now, as if he wasn't already feeling like hell, Harm 
felt the flush of fever scorching through his 
exhausted body. During the frequent fever spikes that 
plagued him, he had the strangest of dreams, some 
frightening and some just plain odd. He flashbacked to 
the day his father left him then going on to visualize 
his father's actual crash. Then he dreamt of his own 
crash, of seeing Annie Lewis' broken little body... 

He yearned for it to all stop. That it would all go 
away. 

"...hear me? Harm? Harm, come on now, you're scaring 
me. Wake up." 

Suddenly Mac's concerned voice broke his terrors. Her 
hand gently patted his clammy cheek, his eyes 
fluttering in response. He moaned as the fuzzy world 
of reality permeated across his torment-wracked body. 

"...Mac?" he rasped. 

Her hold around him tightened for a moment and he 
could read the obvious worry and anguish in her deep 
brown eyes despite his own agonizing pain. She was 
pleading for him to hang on. Mac was his partner and 
best friend, he would do almost anything for her, but 
for once he didn't think he could do as she wanted of 
him. He didn't think he could hang on for much longer. 
The smell of death was suffocating the air. 

"Hey, partner, are you with me?" At his weak nod, she 
smiled. "Good. Here, you should have some water. Drink 
as much as you can. You're dehydrated." 

What was the point? He was dying. 

However, obediently, he allowed Mac to fed him the 
bottled-water though after no more than a few 
mouthfuls and he felt gorged. 

"...Where's...'miral?" 

Chedwiggen's face appeared in his line-of-sight. "I'm 
here. How are you feeling, Harm? You're going to be 
fine, son." 

Harm? The admiral never called him by his first name, 
especially since his departure from JAG. It just 
emphasized how dismal the situation looked to the ex-
SEAL. 

"Wha's...happen'n?" He was actually asking about any 
developments with Peter's offer of assistance but 
didn't have the strength to utter more than a handful 
of words. He trusted Mac to know what he meant. 

Mac exchanged a glance with Chedwiggen. "Nothing yet, 
but we'll be out of here soon so you have to hang on. 
Okay?" 

"...dunno..." 

A tear escaped Mac's eye, rolling down her cheek only 
to drip onto his face. "Harm, you can't go giving up 
now, not after surviving all this." 

"They'll win if you go giving up now, son," encouraged 
Chedwiggen. "You don't want those pieces of shits to 
win, do you? Boy, I've never known you to be such a 
quitter when times get tough. Don't go proving me 
wrong now." 

"Promise me you'll hang on," Mac pleaded. 

Harm shifted slightly, sighing only to have an 
excruciating cramp pervaded across his chest, 
reminding him of why he was this position in the first 
place. He didn't want to promise Mac, not to that. The 
only thing he wanted to say was 'goodbye' but for her 
he supposed he could try harder for a little longer. 

"..try..." he murmured as his eyes slid shut. 

Just as he drifted back into the bliss of 
unconsciousness he was aware of Mac's stifled sobbing 
wracking her body in turn jostling him. Emotional 
pain, over-taking any physical pain he had, washed 
into him. He didn't want to hurt her; he just wasn't 
sure, for all his victories in the court and the air, 
if he win this battle. 

******************************************************
****** 
Outside JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
0038 EST, July 4th 
Life had almost always been organized and predictable 
for Bud Roberts. He got up in the morning, made 
breakfast for his wife and child, went to work, came 
home then spent time with his small family. There were 
the occasional disruptions in his order such as 
Harriet's unexpected labour and the joys of watching 
AJ develop a new skill each day but other than that he 
was the model for pattern and regularity. 

Gunmen were not supposed to barge into his place of 
work and shoot his mentor. He was not meant to be out-
and-about after midnight waiting to see if his 
colleagues would survive the night. 

Bud just wanted to take his baby boy into his arms and 
hold Harriet in the comforts of their home, knowing 
all was well in their world. He was eternally grateful 
that Harriet was not in the building when the hi-
jacking took place, he wasn't sure if he could deal 
with his wife being held by psychos while he waited 
helplessly outside. 

An infinitesimal amount of guilt welled up at his 
selfishness despite knowing it was understandable 
since his responsibilities as a husband and father 
superceded everything. But still he decided to focus 
on something else. Like his commanding officers and 
two of his good friends. He wasn't sure he would even 
see Commander Rabb alive again. 

Sighing, Bud slumped into the seat of the gray Ford 
Taurus that he had taken up residence in. He buried 
his head in his hands, blocking out the violence 
around him if for just a minute. 

"Bud, honey." 

A touch on his shoulder and he looked up to see his 
wife standing in front of him, worry clouding her 
eyes. Bud stood up and embraced her, forcing back his 
tears. 

"H-how did you get here? Where's AJ?" he asked 
suddenly, pulling back slightly. 

"AJ is still at Mom's place. This was all over the 
news and when they said three officers were being 
held...I was so afraid it was you. Anyway, I phoned 
and they told me it was the Admiral, the Colonel and 
Commander Rabb. What's he doing here? I thought he'd 
be in Pensacola or at sea." 

"He had some leave, he came home to see Colonel 
Mackenzie," Bud droned. "Harriet...he's been shot. It 
must be bad, they've been in there for ages." 

Harriet was stunned. Before she could reply, Jennifer 
Harrison approached the young couple. "How's it 
going?" she asked with a grim smile. Bud could tell 
something was bothering her. 

"As well as can be expected. Agent Harrison, this is 
my wife Harriet. Harriet, this is Agent Harrison- the 
FBI agent heading the operation." Harriet was 
surprised by this news but she quietly shook hands 
with the FBI agent. "What's going on? I know you have 
something planned but you're trying to think of a way 
to tell me." 

Harrison hid a smile. "You'll make a helluva lawyer 
with those observation skills, Roberts...You're right. 
The NCIS and I have come to a decision. Bud, we're 
going to storm the place. Your friend is injured badly 
and these fools won't talk to us to put an end to this 
charade. This is the only option." 

"Storm the place?!" Bud stood to full height. "You're 
kidding, aren't you? That will get them all killed." 

Blinking in astonishment, Harriet came to his side in 
an unconscious attempt to back her husband up. She had 
never seen him so forceful in the presence of someone 
who had senior rank, albeit honourary. Bud was the 
type of man who was kindly and at times nervous. Now 
he shared the determination she had seen in Harmon 
Rabb during one of his 'quests'. She had to admit this 
change was heartening. 

Bud's eyes darted around and he noticed that both Navy 
and FBI personnel were dressed in combat gear, a few 
wearing absailing equipment preparing to descend from 
the rooftop. As naive as he came across, Bud wasn't 
completely ignorant. He knew the statistics when it 
came to armed raids in a hostage situation. The 
majority of the time the hostage was dead just seconds 
after entry. Very few survived. 

"This is ludicrous, you don't know what those maniacs 
will do if they see you." 

"Well, hopefully they'll be dead or in custody by the 
time they see us." 

"You don't even know what's going on in there." 

"True," conceded Harrison, "but we can't just sit here 
the whole night and day waiting. Commander Rabb is 
bleeding to death, he needs medical attention now or 
we will be dealing with one definite fatality. Is that 
what you want?" 

The older woman was right, of course. Commander Rabb 
was strong but he wasn't superman and it wouldn't be 
fair of them to ask for him to suffer so much. But was 
it right to possibly sacrifice Admiral Chedwiggen and 
the Colonel for his mentor? 

Harriet placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Agent 
Harrison is right, Bud. This is the only way." 

Bud sighed and Harrison took that as a near-agreement, 
though in actual fact he really had no say in the 
matter. "Listen to your wife, Bud. We'll get them all 
out of there safely. And I am after all one of the 
best strategists in the Bureau. You have to trust us, 
the FBI have done dozens of this type of operation 
before." 

He nodded wearily. "Just...just try to be careful." At 
this, the FBI agent smiled and turned to see to her 
colleagues. "Agent, Harrison?" She faced him. "If the 
FBI is so great and trustworthy then what happened at 
Waco?" 

Instead of being angry, Harrison seemed amused at his 
question and almost pleased he found the courage to 
voice it. "Hey, what can I say, kiddo? I wasn't there 
that day. We'll be moving in about ten minutes or so." 
  
When her back was turned to the young JAG officers, 
Harrison sighed heavily at the order she had just 
signed to allow the raid to go-ahead. She just hoped 
she wasn't signing three death certificates. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
0055 EST, July 4th 
Peter had spent his entire life being known as 'the 
little one' or 'the kid', he had always been seen as 
the young, helpless one. He himself was aware he was 
never the brightest; at school he struggled with the 
studies most of his classmates flew through with 
confidence and he had been forced to stay at junior 
high an extra year since the high school was unwilling 
to take him. But despite all his difficulties, he 
never had any problems with bullying, neither in or 
out or school. Jon always ensured he was looked after. 

When their father died, Peter was just eight years 
old. It had been Jon- then himself little more than a 
child at fifteen- that had taken him under his wing, 
raising him where their grief-stricken mother could 
not. Jon was always there for him, making sure he was 
safe. 

And now it was his turn to return the favour. 

Peter wasn't completely stupid, he knew their chances 
of getting out of here alive. He had heard Jon tell 
Dan that since there was now a casualty, things were 
looking increasingly dim for them. They could all die 
because *he* had shot. It was up to him to make sure 
Jon was safe, it was his turn to play the mature 
brother. 
  
He would do anything for Jon so that was why, after 
deep pondering, he discreetly pick-pocketed from Sean 
and prepared to free the hostages. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
0056 EST, July 4th 
Admiral Chedwiggen glanced at the two young officers 
mournfully. He couldn't help but think how right they 
looked together and it saddened him to the core as he 
wondered if Rabb would make it out alive to see how 
good he and Mackenzie were when they weren't too busy 
arguing. 

Rabb's condition had deteriorated to the point where 
fever-induced hallucinations and disorientation marred 
his brief spells of consciousness. His breathing were 
little more than pitiful gasps for air interrupted by 
the occasional moan of pain. His skin was bleached and 
his lips and the nail beds of his fingers were a 
bluish tinge, indicating oxygen deprivation. Harm had 
already suffered one episode of respiratory arrest, 
luckily they were able to revive him and restart his 
breathing quickly...but what of the next time? 

Both he and Mac were aware Harm was slipping from 
them. He was dying. 

Chedwiggen was never one to allow depression to take a 
stronghold over him until now. For all intents and 
purposes, he too had given up to the conclusion they 
were not going to make it out of this alive. Harm 
would leave them but he and Mackenzie were sure to 
join soon after. He had tried hard to get his young 
officers of this, as a SEAL and their senior officer 
he felt an obligation to them, but he had resigned 
himself to the inevitable. 

The handcuffs securing him and Mackenzie to the 
radiator pipes would not give and despite Rabb being 
the only one free of the chains, he was not going 
anywhere. The three main gunmen were not stupid and 
kept their distance so any mode of psychical attack 
was impossible and the fourth gunman, young Peter, was 
a kid. And it seemed now that the kid was not going to 
come through for them, that they were on their own 
after all. 

Mac no longer cared about whether they escaped or not. 
Such thoughts were secondary; now all she cared about 
was Harm. She held his limp body to her tightly, 
rocking him at times clearly aware that they were 
losing him. She would talk to him, trying to rouse him 
to a greater level of consciousness with no avail. Now 
she resorted to whispering to him, words only meant to 
be heard by the two of them. 

Abruptly, as she moved under him, he groaned and 
squirmed slightly. She stroked his feverish cheek. 
"Harm, can you hear? Are you in there, partner?" 
Barely perceptibly, he nodded. "We were worried there 
for a moment, you fazed out on us." 

"...sor...ry..." 

"It's okay, Commander," replied the Admiral, managing 
a weak smile. "I'm sure we can forgive you." 

"...Time?" 

"It's zero fifty-six hours, 

"Happy...Inde...pen..dence Day...Mac." 

She smoothed his hair back. "Happy Independence Day to 
you, Harm. How are you feeling?" 

"...Crap...Wanna...die..." 

Mac's movement's stilled suddenly. She exchanged a 
glance with Chedwiggen, whose eyes were heavy and 
saddened. Harm? Die? He couldn't die. He was Harm, he 
was meant to be filled with self-confidence and 
determination. He didn't just abruptly decide he 
wanted to pack up and die. 

Her hold on him tightened and she glowered at him. 
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're not 
going to just quit on me now, Harm. I won't let you." 

"...hurts...M'c..." 

She choked back her tears. It was hard to watch anyone 
suffer but when that person was a friend, it was 
impossible. "I know, Harm, I know it hurts but you 
just have to hang on. It won't be long now, we will 
get out of here. I-" 

She was cut off when the door inched open and Peter 
slipped into the room. He was shifting from foot-to-
foot looking more like a nervous six-year-old on his 
first day of school than an armed teenager involved in 
a major Naval hostage crisis. His eyes, like always, 
first rested on Harm then quickly jumped to 
Chedwiggen's as if he could no longer look at a man 
who was in pain  caused by his hands. 

"Eh...Jon and Sean are in the kitchen eating," Peter 
said. He pulled out a set of keys from his jean 
pocket. "Here, that will open the handcuffs. I can't 
help no more than that." The boy proceeded to unlock 
the handcuffs, first Chedwiggen's then Mac's. 

Chedwiggen rubbed his severely bruised wrists while 
Mac's other arm immediately came around Harm to hold 
him more securely. The Admiral studied the blood-
soaked pair; for all the pain and violence surrounding 
them they looked like two close friends supporting one 
another. He had always seen the chemistry between the 
two, it was evident from the day they had first met. 
As their senior officer, he was not one to encourage 
inter-office relations but he had hoped Rabb and 
Mackenzie would out-grow their bickering and make 
something more of their partnership. Now Chedwiggen 
just worried if Rabb would be alive to do anything at 
all. 

"How will we get Harm out of here?" Mac quizzed. "He 
can't walk and moving might kill him." 

"...leave...me..." gasped out Harm. 

"That is not an option, Commander," Chedwiggen said 
firmly. "Perhaps, between the two of us, the Colonel 
and I can carry you." 

Peter sighed then said, "And I can help too. But you 
have to promise you won't let them hurt my brother. 
You have to promise he'll be okay." 

"We'll try our best, son." The Admiral and the 
teenager reached to lift limp Harm from Mac's cradle. 

"You little *shit*!" 

They turned to see Sean baring down on them, his gun 
pointed squarely at the Admiral's head, but his glare 
aimed at Peter. He moved forward towards the petrified 
boy. 

"I knew you were a little traitor all along," he spat 
out. "And I don't give a damn about Jonny-boy, I'm 
gonna see you get what's comin' to ya." The Admiral 
stepped in front of Peter protectively. "Old Man, move 
out the way or I kill ya too." 
  
At all the commotion, Jon barged into the room to find 
Sean aiming the gun at the Admiral, who was in turn 
using his body to protect his brother, while Mac held 
Harm helplessly on the floor ready to protect him at 
any cost. Jon scowled. It was one thing trying to kill 
the Navy officer, but no one tried to kill his family 
let alone his baby brother. 

Coolly, he brought his gun up to Sean. "Put that down 
or I'll shot you dead." 

"Your little shit of a brother was letting them go," 
Sean jeered, not taking his eyes off Peter. 

"I don't give a damn, you get your goddamn gun off my 
brother. Now!" 

"You don't have the guts to kill me, Owen." 

"Wanna bet your life on that?" 

It was in those few tense seconds that everything went 
straight to hell. 
>From the floor, Mac had front row seats. Her hands 
were occupied with cradling Harm so she could not 
cover her ears to the deafening thuds as the boarded 
up windows were kicked in. Helmeted figures in black 
dived inside, guns armed and ready for actions. Shouts 
of 'Freeze!" vibrated through the office and then 
there was the thunderous fire of weapons. 

Mac could only watch in stunned horror as the 
Admiral's body slammed to the floor by the force that 
could only come with being hit by a stray bullet. 
Peter, no longer hidden by Chedwiggen, brought his own 
gun up in panic and the bullets of FBI and NCIS 
weaponry hammered into him, his blood splattering Mac 
but it was indistinguishable from Harm's. Screaming, 
Jon fell to his brother's side, trying to shake the 
boy awake. Nothing, not even the greatest surgeon in 
the world, could heal the gaping hole in the 
youngster's skull. 

Sean swung his gun to the closest officer spurring the 
reflexes of the other officers keyed to guarding their 
own. Rounds of ammunition from around ten different 
law enforcement guns emptied into Sean's body, leaving 
his chest no more than a bloodied pulp. 

And it all took no more than around a minute for the 
rage to lull. 

Shouts of  'officers down' and calls for medical help 
were heard. The Admiral slowly and stiffly sat up, 
bleeding from his shoulder. But Mac was oblivious to 
all of this, her concentration focused on her drifting 
partner. 

"Harm..." she said softly, touching his cheek to get 
his waning attention. "Harm, look at me." 

Harm smiled gently at her, his eyes glazed and not 
entirely on her anymore but focused to the distance. 
"...M'c...over?" 

"Yes, it's all over now. We can get you to a hospital 
now." 

He shook his head weakly. "No...Light...so...close..." 

The Light...Mac's grandmother had been Cherokee and in 
those rare occasions Mac had spent with the woman 
during her childhood there was one thing she 
remembered most. It was when her grandmother was 
succumbing to the cancer that was ravaging her body. 
Mac's father had taken his tearful ten-year-old 
daughter to say a last goodbye to the woman who was 
her grandmother. But when her grandmother had seen her 
tears, she smiled and said she was not going to suffer 
any longer, she was going to The Light. 

And even as a ten-year-old child, Mac had understood 
The Light had meant death. 

"No, Harm, you have to stay here, don't go." 

"...t'red..." Suddenly there was a striking clarity in 
his azure eyes and he gathered his strength up, 
raising a weak hand to touch her chin. "...M'c...want 
you to...know...that I...always loved...you..." 

Mac was stunned. Before she could reply, his hand 
dropped like a dead weight and his eyes shut. In her 
hold, she felt his body grow slack. A wave of dread 
washed through her. Mimicking Jon's movements, she 
shook Harm non-too-gently seeking a response, any 
response of life from him. She received nothing. There 
was no pulse, no strong chest movements to signify 
breathing. 

"Come on, Harm. You can't do this to me." 

She laid him flat on the floor, and leaning over him 
she filled his lungs with her own breath, starting 
CPR. A young NCIS agent knelt opposite her and began 
chest compressions. Mac resisted the urge to slap him, 
continuing to provide him with the oxygen his own 
failing body could not longer produce. 

*You're not dead, you're not dead* she thought 
inwardly like a mantra. He couldn't be dead, not after 
admitting his love to her. Life couldn't be that 
cruel. 

Admiral Chedwiggen gently eased her back, allowing the 
EMT's to take over. The two officers could only watch 
in fear and hope as the medics hooked Harm up to a 
cardiac monitor, which instantly displayed the whining 
flat-line of death. They tried to shock Harm back to 
life using the defibrillator. The first attempt to re-
start his heart failed but on the second, they were 
rewarded with the slow beeps of tentative life. 
  
Mac gasped with relief though she knew he still had a 
long way to go before they would be certain he was 
okay. Harm was gently transferred to a stretcher, the 
wounds to his chest, head and leg covered with heavy 
gauze. The EMT's started an IV with plasma and blood 
to replenish his fluid supply. Mac nearly choked as a 
trach tube was inserted into Harm's throat, which was 
then attached to an automatic ventilation pump that 
assisted his severely laboured breathing. 

The elder of the EMT's, a man in his late forties, 
smiled kindly at her reaction. "Don't worry, Ma'am, 
it's there to help him. He doesn't have the strength 
to breathe for himself. He doesn't feel it." 

What was supposed to be a reassuring statement did not 
assure Mac at all. 

"Can...can I ride with you to the hospital?" 

The EMT was about to deny her request but at her 
pleading eyes he sighed. "Okay, there's a chopper 
ready to take him to Bethesda but we have to move 
now." 

Mac followed behind the stretcher being carried by the 
EMT's, two NCIS officers also giving a helping hand. 
Chedwiggen watched them leave his office before almost 
collapsing in on himself. Just twenty-four hours ago 
everything had been fine. Now he had been held 
hostage, a man he looked on as a good friend was 
critically injured, another of his officers was 
traumatized and his office looked like a 
slaughterhouse. 

He felt someone guide him to a chair and found himself 
staring in the solemn eyes of Bud and Harriet Roberts. 
Both young officers wore identical expressions of 
worry and concern but remained focused on him, 
oblivious to all the commotion and milling about of 
FBI agents and NCIS officers as they bagged the bodies 
and pried Jon from his brother's bloodied corpse. 

"Admiral, are you okay?" Bud asked. "You need to see a 
doctor." 

"I'm fine," murmured Chedwiggen. 

"With all due respect, sir,  no, you're not fine." 
Chedwiggen looked up in surprise at the strength in 
the normally bumbling Bud's voice. "You need medical 
help, you've been shot." 
  
"Come on, sir," Harriet said. 

The husband and wife pair led their superior officer 
from the devastated office building. Outside the trio 
saw Harm being loaded into the air ambulance ready for 
transport to Bethesda. Chedwiggen shook his head 
sadly. When were they ever going to be cut a break? 
  
******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
0629 EST, July 4th 
Upon arriving at the hospital, Chedwiggen had been 
treated immediately for his shoulder wound. He was now 
sporting heavy bandages around his shoulder, his left 
arm nestled in a sling. It was a through-and-through 
shot so no surgery was required. He had been 
fortunate...which was definitely not the case for 
Commander Rabb. His outcome was yet to be determined. 

Now, the four JAG officers- Mac, Chedwiggen, Bud and 
Harriet- sat in the Surgical Waiting Room of Bethesda 
Naval Hospital  awaiting any shred of news regarding 
Harm's condition. It had been a long and tiring 
interval and Mac had finally come to the exhaustion, 
falling asleep against Harriet an hour ago. 
The young lieutenant had helped clean up the blood 
from Mac's hands and face but Mac was determined not 
to waste time  going home to change when Harm needed 
her. When it came to determination and stubbornness, 
she and Harm both rated as bad as the other. 

Chedwiggen was pleased to see Mac was sleeping. It had 
been difficult for her to be there watching Harm's 
pain but not being able to help him; she had to be 
tired from the frustration and strain. Also, in sleep 
she was safe from all the vultures from the media who 
were lapping up on the whole hostage story and the 
Navy commander seriously injured during the whole 
incident. His, Harm and Mac's faces were plastered all 
over the national news and papers, their mobile phones 
going into overload at the all the reporters calling 
up (Hell only knew were they got their numbers). 

It was then the Admiral had to make the devastating 
call to Harm's mother and stepfather to inform them of 
their son's injuries. They were flying out straight 
away and he was not looking forward to see them. How 
could he face these people and tell them their son was 
dying because he tried to save his superior officer 
from being shot? 

Just as he himself was drifting into a doze, a voice 
queried, "Excuse me, are you the next of kin to Harmon 
Rabb?" 

Mac jolted out of her light sleep to see a graying man 
standing in front of her. All four of the anxious 
officers stood to their feet  apprehensive for some 
good news. He was wearing surgical greens and his 
wearied but alert face told of hours in surgery. His 
caring brown eyes met Mac's, who nodded to his 
question. 

"I am Doctor Joseph Croft, I am the surgeon who 
operated on the Commander." He wore the rank of 
captain but introduced himself as doctor. Mac found it 
distinctly comforting that he took his duties as a 
physician above his duties as a Navy officer. 

"How is he, Doctor?" Chedwiggen asked. 

"Why don't we sit down?" Mac exchanged a look with the 
Admiral. They never told you to sit unless it was bad 
but nevertheless they did as asked. "Well, the good 
news is that Commander Rabb has survived the surgery." 
He smiled at their sighs of relief before his 
statement grew grave once more. "But I won't lie to 
you, the surgery was not without complications. He did 
crash on us twice but we got him going fairly quickly. 
The damage to his left lung was extensive mainly due 
to the long time it took for him to get here. We have 
patched it up but now fluid is starting to build up in 
the lung which is putting strain on his heart." 

"What does that mean?" Mac quizzed. 

"It means there is the danger of congestive heart 
failure, however hopefully we will avoid that problem. 
Now we've transfused him and he's receiving fresh 
frozen plasma to make up for the massive blood loss he 
suffered. Hypovolemia is the last thing he needs. As 
for his leg, we've put in pins to hold the broken 
tibia in place and he'll need those for the next six 
to ten weeks which is really the least of his 
concerns. We ran a EEG and CAT scan to find out the 
extent of his head injury and luckily though he only 
has a concussion, there is no skull fracture." 

Mac gathered up to courage to ask the ultimate 
question. "What are his chances? Will he live, 
Doctor?" 

Croft sighed. "He does have a long battle ahead of 
him, he went for hours without medical help and his 
injuries are serious. For now, his condition is 
critical but stable; it's all up to him...but I will 
tell you one thing. From what he's been through and 
still has to go through, his callsign should be 
renamed 'Lazarus'." 
  
"Can we see him?" 
  
"He's in recovery at the moment, but we'll be moving 
him up to ICU within the next two or three hours. I'll 
allow you in when we've got him settled. They're quite 
strict in the ICU so only one person will be allowed 
in for fifteen minutes every hour." 

The doctor shook hands with the Admiral then went 
about his rounds. Mac slumped further into the chair, 
her head in her hands. Harm was alive, he was going to 
make...he *had* to. From what Croft had said, Harm was 
lucky. 

Yeah right, he was real 'lucky'. Doctor Croft was 
right about one thing- the nickname 'Lazarus' suited 
Harm to a tee. 

******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
0934 EST, July 4th 
Patricia Rabb-Burnett had arrived at the hospital 
where her son was being treated six hours after 
hearing of his involvement in the Navy Hostage Crisis, 
as the media had so 'imaginatively' dubbed it. In the 
pit of her stomach, whilst watching about the 
situation on the news in her home in California, she 
had somehow felt Harm was connected with it. Tricia 
knew her son was now stationed in Pensacola, Florida, 
but she just had a feeling. When Harm's former CO, 
Admiral Chedwiggen, had called to tell her Harm was in 
critical condition after being mortally wounded, her 
fears were confirmed. 
  
Frank had immediately booked up his private jet to fly 
them both to Washington DC. For all the conflict 
between the pair, Frank did love Harm like a father 
loved a son. Harm just didn't want to see the truth at 
times. 
  
Why did God have to punish her in this way? Tricia 
wasn't exactly a religious person but she did believe 
there was something out there. Still, it was times 
like this she began to doubt her even limited faith. 
She had lost her husband at such a young age and his 
father before him had died early too. Why Harm? He was 
so good and pure, he didn't deserve to die like this. 

"He's going to be okay," Frank reassured her as they 
waited impatiently in the lift to take them to the ICU 
wing of the military hospital. "You'll see. The boy is 
tough." 

Tricia already knew how tough her son was. He had 
coped remarkably with his father's death at aged five, 
at sixteen he had withstood an impromptu trip to 
Vietnam and then there was all those near misses, 
crashes and war-like conditions he had endured in his 
time with the Navy...Tricia just wondered how much 
tougher he was expected to be. How many lives did he 
have before his luck ran dry? 

She had overcome Harmon Senior's death for her five-
year-old son's sake; she didn't think she could deal 
with losing Harm. 

Finally, the husband and wife reached their 
destination, finding four military officers camped 
outside the unit. The young dark-haired woman Tricia 
knew instantly was Sarah Mackenzie. Harm had talked 
about her enough to recognize this woman on sight. 
  
Introductions ensued, and the Burnetts' quickly 
learned that the older, imposing man was in fact 
Admiral Chedwiggen and the young couple were Bud and 
Harriet Roberts. Tricia knew them from when Harm had 
mentioned he was the godfather to their newborn son. 

Five minutes later, Harm's attending physician- a 
Doctor Joseph Croft- briefed them on Harm's condition 
and informed them he was now settled in ICU, ready for 
visitors. Croft was a caring man who always wanted the 
best for his patient and when he gazed around the 
crowd he relented to bending the rules. 

"Okay," he sighed, "I'm going to allow two people to 
see the Commander every fifteen minutes past the hour 
but you must keep out of the nurses' way and try not 
to disturb anyone. Understood?" 

"Understood, Doctor," Mac smiled, despite the grim 
situation. 

"So, who wants to visit go first?" 
 
Frank glanced at Mac and shared a knowing look with 
his wife. "You and the Colonel should go in first, 
Trish. I'm sure Harm would appreciate that." 

"No, it's okay," Mac protested. "I don't mind waiting. 
You're his father, you must want to see him." 

"I insist, Colonel. You were with him during those 
terrible hours, you should go to him now." 

Mac smiled slightly. "Thank you." 

With that, Doctor Croft guided Mac and Tricia into the 
ICU. Neither woman really knew what to expect when 
they saw Harm. Tricia had been in hospitals before, 
both as a patient and as a visitor, but her visits 
never entailed more than a trip to the maternity ward 
or the ER. Here it was quiet, the nurses' eyes riveted 
to the monitors in the reception- there was no time 
for crosswords and idle chatter. The tranquility only 
served to make things all the more haunting. 

In the harsh lighting of the small ICU room, Tricia 
gasped when she set eyes on her normally so lively 
son. She felt Mac stiffen beside her, aware it was 
only her military training which stopped her from 
duplicating her reaction. 

Harm lay still in the bed, his skin a bleached white 
and his lips held the slightly grayish hue of 
lingering death. Tubes and wires encompassed him, 
reminding Tricia morbidly of a robot from an old 
science fiction film of the sixties. There was a large 
tube coiling from his mouth which was attached to what 
Tricia guessed was a ventilator judging from the 
calculated rise and fall of Harm's chest in time to 
the machine's pumping. Blood and fluid IV's snaked 
into his arms. His chest, just below the heart, was 
heavily bandaged and under the blankets Tricia could 
see his left leg was propped up from where Mac had 
said he was shot. His head was wrapped in gauze, with 
all the bandages, he looked like a half-completed 
Egyptian mummy. 

What was most horrifying was the fact his eyes were 
taped shut. It made everything seem so final. 

Tricia swallowed, trying to work her failing voice. 
"Why have you taped his eyes close?" she asked of the 
doctor, not taking her eyes from her son. 
  
"He's deeply unconscious so we taped them shut mainly 
to protect them. If they should open spontaneously 
even though he hasn't really regained consciousness 
and can't blink then he could damage his eyes." 

She felt an arm come around her and she turned to see 
Mac muster up a weak smile. "I'm sure he's going to be 
okay, he didn't survive that hell in the building to 
leave us now." 

******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1648 EST, July 4th 
He was going to leave them, Harm was going to die. Mac 
could almost feel her curse about to take hold- the 
curse that meant death any male who expressed some 
romantic interest in her. First there had been Billy 
who was killed at the tender age of seventeen in a car 
crash she was involved in, then there was Dalton who 
was followed by  Chris- her own husband. No man was 
safe from her...and now Harm was next. 
  
It was late afternoon and she had persuaded the 
Burnetts' to go for something to eat. Bud and Harriet 
had gone to relieve their babysitter and spend some 
time with their son although they had said they would 
be back later in the evening. The Admiral had been 
called to answer some questions from the NCIS as a 
formality to the lengthy investigations that were sure 
to follow. 

That left Mac alone with Harm. Just as she had wanted. 

She had been aching to spend some time with him- just 
the two of them together. She needed time to 
contemplate what he had said to her before he...died. 
He loved her; he actually loved her and had admitted 
to her aloud. And now she could lose him. 

Mac gazed down at Harm's still form. He looked so 
fragile, so delicate. She wasn't used to seeing him 
like this, even in Russia when he was at his most 
emotionally weakest he had the will to go on. But Mac 
didn't know if that was true anymore. He had lost so 
much blood and the pain must have been excruciating. 
How was he supposed to survive this? 

She took his right hand, careful of the IV and the 
pulse ox monitor attached to his index finger. "You 
better hold on, Harm," she whispered harshly. "Give up 
and I'll kill you myself." 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
2156 EST, July 4th 
The commotion had finally eased and the various FBI 
and NCIS agents swarming the building had retired for 
the night. Now only Admiral Chedwiggen was left in 
what was once a normal, safe office building but had 
been turned into a torture pit not twenty-four hours 
ago. 
  
He gazed around his office wondering if he could ever 
feel safe here again. Rabb's blood still stained the 
wall and carpet, a towel used to stench the bleeding 
lay strewn on the floor nearby. Another now dry pool 
of blood signified the spot where young Peter died at 
just sixteen years of age in an attempt to do what he 
thought was best. 

Chedwiggen struggled against the nausea that turn his 
stomach. It wasn't that he hadn't seen dead bodies 
before or had lost friends to violence; he was a 
former SEAL who had served in Vietnam, death was a 
close companion to him. But this was different, he was 
a lawyer now- he wasn't meant to be burying officers 
young enough to be his son or watching children die, 
he had left that life behind him when he quit the 
SEALs. 
  
Guilt over his disdain over Rabb switching designation 
and his subsequent disgraceful behaviour towards the 
younger man weighed heavily in his mind. He had felt 
so betrayed when Rabb had gone to Pensacola but that 
no way excused his attitude. If he had caught a 
subordinate acting in such a way to a junior office 
there would have been serious repercussions. 

Now Rabb lay in some hospital room, his prognosis 
uncertain. Dying because he had took a bullet meant 
for his superior officer. Chedwiggen had always known 
Harmon Rabb was honourable and courageous; he didn't 
need the proof of his inclinations. 

There was nothing he could not about young Rabb except 
pray for his recovery...but there was something he 
could do about Peter. He could keep his promise he had 
made to the boy, a promise that played a part in 
costing the youngster his life. 

******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1715 EST, July 5th 
"He's following in the family tradition," whispered 
Tricia Rabb, over her ninth cup of coffee. 

The nurses had finally shooed the faithful trio 
consisting of Mac, Tricia and Frank, down to the 
cafeteria after their determined all-night vigil at 
Harm's bedside. None of them were very hungry but they 
grudgingly went to eat for fear their visitations 
would be cut down by the courteous, but stern nursing 
staff of the ICU. 

"What's the family tradition?" Mac asked, unsure if 
she really wanted to know. 

Frank looked on in similar apprehension, aware his 
wife was on the verge of breaking down. 

"Dying young," stated Tricia simply. "All the men in 
the family die young. His father, his grandfather, my 
father...they all died so young and now I'm going to 
lose my son to that very same curse." 

"Trish, Harm's not dead," Frank said. "He's very sick 
right now but he'll get better." 

"No, this time is different, I can feel it." 

Mac didn't want to hear this. The previous day Tricia 
had been so full of optimism but since then her mood 
had deteriorated as Harm's condition had taken a turn 
for the worse. 

Frank exchanged a glance with Mac then turned his 
attention to his distraught wife. "You don't feel 
anything more than worry for your son. He'll be fine, 
you have to believe in that." 

Tricia remained oblivious, instead talking dreamily as 
if in her own world. "I never wanted him to join the 
Navy, you know. Even before Harmon...went away I just 
wanted for Harm to do something different. The Navy is 
such a risky life. When he was a little boy, he adored 
my brother Simon who is a doctor. I was happy, hoping 
Harm would choose to do the same one day. It looked 
like he would, he was just five years old but I had a 
feeling that was what he would do. My son was so good 
at caring for others, he helped his kindergarten 
teacher when she had a bad fall in the classroom. All 
the other kids were panicked but Harm stayed calm. He 
never lost his nerves." 

That was not surprising. Harm had always had a flare 
for keeping cool and calm in a crisis not to mention 
he genuinely cared for the people around him, both his 
friends and strangers. Mac could actually visualize 
him fitting into the ranks of the medical community 
with little effort, helping the sick and injured when 
few could. 
  
"Then Harmon disappeared. In that moment, Harm changed 
forever. He gave up his dreams of becoming a doctor 
and all he wanted to do was fly like his daddy. That 
was his focus- to be like Daddy." 

"That type of image can have a huge effect on a child 
so young," commented Mac. Not to mention Harm was so 
damned stubborn he couldn't care less if the planet 
was about to be blown up, when he wanted to do 
something then he would no matter what was in his way. 

"Well, now he's going to be like his daddy," Tricia 
muttered. "Dead just like Harmon." Despite her harsh 
words, a tear rolled down her cheek. 

Frank took her hands and held them tightly. In a stern 
tone, he said, "That boy is going to survive this, he 
will. But how can he gather the strength if his own 
mother is giving up on him? You can't give up hope, 
Trish, you have to keep your confidence in Harm firm. 
He isn't going to die, I promise you that." 
  
As soon as those words exited his mouth, the tannoy 
connected throughout the hospital sprang to life. 

"Doctor Croft to Room 330! Code blue! Code blue in 
Room 330!" 

Room 330 was Harm's room. 

******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1810 EST, July 5th 
"I'm sorry," sighed Doctor Croft to the petrified 
parents and partner of Harm. "As you know, your son 
arrested an hour ago." At their stricken looks, he 
quickly continued, "But we were about to re-start his 
heart." 

There was something in the man's tone Mac did not 
like. 

"Why do I get the feeling there's more?" she said 
suspiciously. 

Croft smiled grimly. "Because, Colonel, you would be 
correct...This is the fourth time he has crashed in 
twenty-four hours and it displays the poor condition 
he is in. The Commander has now slipped into a deep 
coma and the congestion in his lungs have put undue 
stress on his heart. He's on hefty antibiotics in the 
hopes to alleviate any more developing problems but 
this has the effect of putting further stress on his 
system." 

"What does that mean?" Frank asked. 

"It means Commander Rabb is now on complete life 
support. Before he was breathing on his own but the 
machine just helped him, now it is only those machines 
that is keeping him alive 

"But he'll be okay, won't he, Doctor?" quizzed Tricia. 
"My son will get better." 

"It's not that simple. The fluid in the Commander's 
lungs are stopping the oxygen from reaching his body 
and it's getting worse. We could be looking at 
neurological damage...As in the case of military 
personnel, he has a living will kept on file in his 
medical record. Both myself and two other doctors have 
evaluated him before consulting his files." Croft's 
voice softened. "According to your son's living will, 
it would seem he has fallen below the criteria stated 
as his wishes wherein if he arrests again he does not 
want any heroic measures taken to revive him nor does 
he want to be kept lingering on life support. Colonel- 
as you are his next of kin- and you, Mr and Mrs 
Burnett, as the parents, have to consider the option 
of turning off the machines." 

"You want me to kill my child?!" Tricia shouted in 
disgust. "I'm his mother, I will not play party to 
killing my own son. It's only been a day." She scowled 
at the doctor. "And if you dare touch those machines, 
I'll sue fast you won't even have time to call your 
lawyer." 

"I'm not asking you to kill him, I'm asking you to let 
him go- to let him rest. He's in pain and he has 
little hope of recovering. Of course, we wouldn't turn 
off the machines without your consent and you can ask 
for a second opinion from outside this hospital. 
Please talk this through thoroughly, you have to ask 
yourselves what he would want." Croft patted Tricia's 
arm leaving the stunned group with a horrifying 
decision to make. 

******************************************************
****** 
Federal Penitentiary 
Washington DC 
1334 EST, July 6th 
When he was informed by the governor that he had a 
visitor, the last person in the Universe Jon expected 
to see was Admiral AJ Chedwiggen- the man he had held 
hostage and threatened to kill on more than one 
occasion. But then Jon did not really give a damn if 
Santa Claus appeared, nothing mattered anymore. His 
baby brother was dead and he was alone in the world. 

Their mother had phoned from Alabama the previous day, 
grief-stricken at the loss of Peter and even more so 
at the circumstances of his death. She had blamed Jon 
for the death of her youngest son- quite rightly- then 
proclaimed she no longer had any sons left. His mother 
was ashamed of him and of what he had done. She could 
not see why he had done and now, looking back on those 
events, neither could Jon. All that mattered was that 
in his mother's mind, Jon had murdered Peter and he 
was no longer her son. 
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked sullenly. 

Chedwiggen studied him for a moment then said, "How 
are things going in here? Are they treating you 
alright?" 

"Yeah," sneered Jon, "real five star treatment...What 
do you want?" 

The Admiral sighed. "Your brother...Peter, he asked me 
to make sure you would be okay. Peter didn't want for 
you to be hurt, he was worried. That was why he did 
what he did. He was a brave boy, you should be proud 
of him." 

Jon choked on the mention of his brother. Petey was 
the baby of the family, ten years separated the 
brothers emphasizing the huge age gap. Despite that, 
Peter had always put Jon above all else. Jon should 
have known the kid would not have willingly gone with 
the whole situation, if only for his sake. 
He blinked back his tears and gazed up. "I...I am 
proud of him," Jon whispered. 

"I know you are." 

Chedwiggen watched the young man intently. For all his 
arrogance and street sense, he was still little more 
than a boy himself. It saddened the elder man to know 
his life was all but wrecked now. He had lost his 
brother and faced a hefty sentence in one of the 
toughest jails in the country. 

"I'm here to fulfill my promise to Peter, Jon. I'm 
here to make sure you get through this on the easiest 
path possible." When he remembered what these thugs 
had done to Commander Rabb, he couldn't help but add, 
"But don't think you're going to get off with a slap 
on the wrist. You'll have to pay just like anyone else 
in your position." 
  
"W-what happens now?" 
  
"You'll go to trial, no doubt you'll get between 
fifteen and twenty years. Your accomplice, Daniel 
Ross, is looking at around ten years since he was not 
the main instigator and he was only look-out duty. The 
fact that you sat and planned it all out, not to 
mention you abandoned your responsibilities in the 
Navy Reserves doesn't not help your case. But I'm 
going to ensure you get the best legal representative 
possible. Hopefully, we'll get fifteen years with the 
possibility of parole in ten. I can't promise you 
anything. Your stupidity may cost a good man his 
life." 
  
"How is he?" 

Chedwiggen could see tentative fear and concern in the 
young man's eyes. He wondered if it was fear for 
Rabb's precarious condition or for his own life- any 
judge would be a great deal harsher if Rabb died, 
especially a military judge. He decided to give Jon 
the benefit of the doubt. 

"It's bad, he went a long time with medical attention. 
We're not sure if he's going to make it." 

That was the sanitized version. In actuality, 
Chedwiggen had been stunned to discover Rabb's doctor 
was now talking about switching off the life support 
machine. He hadn't expected for this to be so sudden, 
he hadn't expected for Rabb to die. He had just 
assumed a few weeks in the hospital and everything 
would be fine. He had told Rabb he would be okay and 
that he would get him to safety. Chedwiggen was not 
officially the younger man's CO but he still felt some 
responsibility to him, he probably always would. 
Recent events had only served to reinforce that duty. 
And now to hear Rabb may die for taking a bullet that 
was meant for him...what was he meant to feel? 
  
The Admiral stood to leave. He wanted to back to the 
hospital. As he turned, Jon called him back. The young 
man sighed and gathered his courage. "I...I really 
hopes he gets better. I didn't mean for anybody to get 
hurt. It wasn't meant to be like this, for Peter and 
for you lot. I...I'm so sorry." He swiped tears from 
his eyes then hardened back into the role of felon. 

"Why did you do it, son? What the hell possessed you 
to do such a thing?" He had to know what were the 
reasons, what could make someone act in such a manner. 
In that Sean Baxter's case, the motive was pure and 
utter greed yet somehow Jon did not appear the type to 
endanger his brother's life needlessly. 

"I needed the weapons." 

"Weapons?! Why did you not just buy them like every 
other potential terrorist?" 

"I needed hardcore stuff, something so that people 
would take me seriously. We grew up with nothing, I 
had to watch my mother work herself practically to 
death to feed us. I wanted to show all those rich 
schmucks that their perfect lives could be wreaked by 
one guy and a bunch of guns...I did it to give Petey 
the things he missed out on, the things he deserved." 

"Was it worth it?" The Admiral gazed at him sadly and 
the young man cast an equally dejected stare back. 

"No...no...I killed my brother trying to give him a 
better life." 

Life could be so ironic at times. 

******************************************************
****** 
Harm's Residence 
Washington DC 
2125 EST, July 7th 
Tricia wandered around her son's desolate apartment, 
taking in everything. It was odd but she had never 
visited Harm at his home before. She liked to believe 
she had a close relationship with him, much like any 
mother with a grown-up son who had his own life, 
perhaps closer since they were all each other had of 
Harmon. Still, they had never had the time for her to 
come up and spend time with him in Washington. Either 
she was busy at the gallery or he was off on a case. 
It saddened her to think it took something like this 
to bring her to her son's home. 

It was a tidy apartment but Harm had always liked his 
belongings to be neat since childhood. He was such a 
perfectionist. Trish smiled when she saw the framed 
photographs on his desk. One was of a five-year-old 
Harm sitting in the seat of Harmon's cockpit. The 
picture of father and son was so poignant; it was the 
last they ever took together. Surprisingly, there was 
one of her wedding to Frank. Harm was eighteen years 
old at the time and was furious at what he saw as 
abandonment of his father. Tricia was proud he could 
consider Frank enough to have a photo of him. The 
photograph of her handsome son in his dress uniform 
standing rather close to Mac did not surprise her 
though. 
  
She moved further into the apartment, trying to forget 
her son was dying in hospital. She reached to pick up 
one of his jackets that lay on the sofa. Bringing it 
up to her face, she held it tightly. 

"Trish..." called Frank, startling her. 

"We should probably take some of his things to the 
hospital. He'll need them later." 

"Tricia?" 

"Harm likes everything tidy so I should probably come 
and give this place a hover sometime during the week 
so it will be ready for him when he comes home." 

"Tricia," Frank said, more forcefully. He took her by 
the shoulders making her meet his gaze. "We need to 
talk about what the doctors said." 

"I don't want to," she replied, sounding like a 
petulant child. "I won't let anyone touch him. They'll 
have to get through me if they want to hurt him." 

"They don't want to hurt him...Maybe the doctors are 
right, Harm isn't getting better. He might not get 
better. Is it not better for him to let go than suffer 
unnecessarily?" 

"How do we know he's dying? We haven't given him a 
chance. It's only been three days." 

"Three days of pain, not being able to breathe for 
himself. The fact that his heart given up four times 
shows us what he wants." He held her closer to him. 
"If you want, we'll move him to another facility in 
California where the status of his living will won't 
be brought up. I'll pay for a room in the house to be 
made into a miniature hospital and have a full 
complement of nurses and doctors to nurse him...but 
you have to consider if Harm would want that. You know 
him, he's your son. Would he want to in that state 
indefinitely. He's always been so independent..." 

Tricia sighed. "I know, he's been so independent since 
he was toddler. But I don't if I have the strength to 
let him die." 

"We'll bring in one of our doctors, for another 
opinion. We won't let him go without a fight." 
******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1748 EST, July 9th 
This wasn't the way things were meant to be, it wasn't 
supposed to end like this. A top neurologist, a Doctor 
Ian Hays, had traveled from Florida to examine Harm on 
request from Tricia Burnett. As Harm's next of kin, 
Mac had been present when Hays broke the news that 
Harm was no longer responding to stimuli and the 
chances of him regaining consciousness was very low. 
At that, Tricia had dashed off unable to accept her 
son's death sentence leaving Mac to return to her 
partner's side. 

But Mac couldn't believe it, she couldn't accept Harm 
was going to die. It wasn't fair, he was only trying 
to help his superior officer and now he was going to 
die. 

She took in limp hand in her. "I...I thought we talked 
about this, flyboy," she said tearfully. "You weren't 
meant to give up on us." 

There was no reply, just the beeping of the machines 
and the hissing of the ventilator broke the silence in 
the ICU room. Mac gazed at the pale, barely 
recognizable form that was her partner. Was Harm even 
here anymore? Was he aware of the people around him or 
had he left them ages ago with the shell of his body? 
This couldn't be Harm. He was too active, to 
independent to let himself just lie here with machines 
breathing for him. 

That left Mac with the question, was it selfish of her 
not to let him go? She didn't know if she could work 
up the courage to say goodbye. He was her best friend 
and the last thing he had said allowed the possibility 
for that friendship to grow into more. She wanted that 
chance to be realized so badly, but at what expense? 
No, she couldn't let Harm suffer. He didn't deserve 
that and she knew if she really did care for him then 
she would realize that. 

"I'm so sorry, Harm," she whispered. She leant over 
the bed rail and kissed his cheek. 
  
"You don't expect your child to die before you, 
anymore than you expect your friend to die so young." 
  
Mac turned to see Tricia Burnett moving into the room, 
her blue eyes fixed on her son. It was then both women 
knew what was going to happen. They were going to lose 
Harm. They both loved him and it was that love that 
forced them to see they had to give in to the 
inevitable. 

"I lost Harmon and now I'm losing Harm." Tricia 
stroked Harm's hair back. "I would do anything to keep 
him here with us." 

"I...I should have done more..." 

Tricia looked up and smiled sadly. "This was not your 
fault, honey. We all make our choices, Harm chose to 
take that shot. He wouldn't have had it any other 
way." 

"When are they...?" Mac couldn't finish the sentence. 

"Tomorrow, I wanted some time with him. For us to say 
goodbye." 
  
As the two women prepared themselves for spending one 
last night with Harm, coming to terms with their 
conflicting emotions, Mac just found her mind 
repeating the same mantra. 

*It can't happen like this...It can't happen like 
this...It can't happen like this...* 

******************************************************
***** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1011 EST, July 9th 
A somber night had turned to a depressing morning. The 
visitor restriction on Harm had been lifted 
emphasizing his condition. Bud, Harriet and the 
Admiral had come the night before. Harriet couldn't 
stop crying and Bud was numbed with shock, barely able 
to stand straight from grief. Harm had been their 
mentor, a friend who they had grown close to. It was 
the Admiral that appeared the more affected. Guilt-
stricken, he had repeatedly apologized to Tricia, so 
unlike the strong man Mac had come to know. 

Now just Mac, Frank and Tricia stood in the room. 
First, Frank came forward and touched the cheek of his 
step-son paternally. 

"We may not have always got on, Harm, and we may have 
had our many differences but I am proud to have you as 
my chosen son," he said. 

Tricia came to his side. She kissed Harm's cheek, 
taking his hand. "Oh, Harm, you weren't meant to leave 
me so soon. You didn't even have the chance to have 
your own family, to grow old with your wife and watch 
your children grow up." 
Echoing Mac's thoughts, she sighed, "It can't happen 
like this...I'll miss you so much." 

This was the hardest thing Tricia had ever had to do. 
She had given life to her son; she had helped Harm to 
walk, to talk, to read, to write...and now she was 
helping him to die. She had been there with him every 
major milestone of his life- his first day of school, 
his birthdays, his graduations and it tore her apart 
to know he was going to a place where she could not 
follow. He was going alone. 

In a whisper, the mother added to her son, "Say hello 
to your father. He'll keep you safe for me." 

Mac swallowed a lump. She hated this, it was so 
excruciating. At least with Dalton and Chris, death 
had been quick and swift. She wasn't used to this but 
then, was anyone? There was so much Mac had to say to 
Harm, so much she planned to eventually tell him. She 
hadn't counted on death to separate them. 

She was mildly aware of Tricia and Frank stepping back 
to allow her some privacy. Mac took Harm's hand, which 
was once to active and vital but now lay limp in hers. 
"Oh, Harm...We had so many chances, so many 
opportunities to tell each other our feelings. Why did 
we leave it so late?...You said you wouldn't go like 
this." She caught her breath, choking back her tears. 
She felt so angry at everyone. The doctors for not 
being able to do anything, the powers-that-be for 
allowing this to happen...and to Harm for giving up. 
"You gave me unconditional friendship and you stuck up 
for me when I thought no-one else would." Her voice 
dropped to whisper. "I won't ever forget you, Harm. 
I'll love you always. But you can let go, rest..." 

Croft entered hesitantly, taking in the solemn scene. 
At Tricia's reluctant nod, he began to disconnect Harm 
from the machines until only the ventilator, EEG and 
heart monitor remained. 
  
"Your son is a hero,"  the doctor said, breaking the 
silence. 

"Yes, I know," Tricia replied, not taking her eyes 
from Harm. "But I would have preferred him to be a 
coward and to be healthy and whole." 
  
What could he say to that? Croft was a father himself, 
he had to agree with this woman. Afterall, he was a 
parent before he was a Navy officer and a doctor. 
  
"Uh...okay, I'm going to start switching the 
ventilator off." Croft began to turn the dial on the 
life support machine and gradually the puffing of the 
vent decreased to a stop. Harm was no longer receiving 
oxygen. Croft then sighed before easing the trach tube 
from Harm's mouth. 

Mac gazed at him. He looked as if he were just 
sleeping. The heart monitor beeped wildly for a second 
before dropping into a faster-than-normal rhythm. 

"It may take some time," said Croft gently. "Sometimes 
about an hour. It just depends." 

Six hours later, with Frank, Tricia and Mac still 
hovering at Harm's side, Croft returned to find his 
patient still hanging on. Harm's breathing was shallow 
but constant, which was certainly more than could be 
expected. To say Croft was amazed was an 
understatement. He had expected Harm's vital signs to 
have crashed some hours ago yet there was no hint of 
that happening. 

"Well, Doctor," Tricia began, "what happens now? I'm 
not standing around waiting for my son to die. This is 
hard enough without that." 

"I know," conceded Croft. He sighed. "It's up to you, 
we can put him back on the vent or we can wait..." 

Mac and Trish exchanged a glance and they both knew 
immediately the answer. "Put him back on the 
ventilator," Mac said. "Let's give him a chance." 

It did not take more than a minute for Croft to 
reinsert the tube, this time setting the machine on a 
lower setting. He could see Harm did not required full 
ventilation. For all intents and purposes, it appeared 
'Lazarus' might live to see another day and if 
tenacity fuelled one's life-force, he wouldn't put it 
past Harm to be up-and-around in no time. 
  
******************************************************
****** 
Bethesda Naval Hospital 
Bethesda, Maryland 
1701 EST, August 8th 
Although it appeared Harm would indeed survive the 
horror of the siege, recovery was by no means a quick 
and easy process. He was still so far away from then, 
deep in the depths of his comatose mind, and he 
remained that way for some time. As the day turned to 
weeks, he did show improvement much to the delight of 
his friends and family. He progressed from the 
ventilator to a simple oxygen mask, and soon tubes and 
machines were removed as Harm started to regain 
control over his body. 
  
Coma was not a science and the doctors has no way of 
predicting when Harm would come back to them. It could 
have been day, weeks, months...years. But Mac remained 
loyally by his side, determined to see him through the 
whole ordeal. And finally her devotion was rewarded... 
  
When Harm's eyes fluttered open, it was just Mac and 
him in the room and the first thing he set eyes upon 
was his partner. At Harm's slight movements- the first 
independent movement in more than a month- Mac looked 
up to meet his blue eyes, gracing him with a wide 
smile. 

After the stress of the month, it was all she could do 
not to burst into tears. She had honestly thought she 
had lost Harm and to see him awake now, it was the 
proof she needed to understand he was going to pull 
through. But Harm didn't need tears at the moment, he 
needed reassurance. 

Licking his dry lips, Harm frowned at her. "M-Mac...w-
where are we?" His voice was muffled by the oxygen 
mask. 
  
"You're in the hospital," Mac answered, buzzing for 
the nurse. She pulled the mask down to feed him some 
ice chips. "Howler you feeling, partner?" 

When she tried to replace the mask, Harm moved away. 
He was now assessing his surroundings in total 
confusion. "My head's killing me but that's probably 
what I get for hitting it, huh?" 

Mac found it odd that he mention just his head. The 
man was shot in the chest and leg, surely those wounds 
more than over-looked his head injury. But she did not 
question him on it, Harm did get strange ideas 
sometimes. 
  
Harm's eyes was now darting around the hospital room. 
"Why aren't we on the ship? I told you not to call an 
ambulance, I just had a concussion. I was fine until 
you shone that torch into my eyes- that was the only 
reason they were dilated, you know." 

What ship? They hadn't been on a ship together for 
ages. Perhaps he was taking about the submarine but he 
was adamant he hurt his head yet on the sub it was his 
throat that was injured...not unless he meant the USS 
Hornet...It was the Hornet where he had fallen through 
the rusty decks and received a concussion for his 
efforts. Mac remembered that clearly, finding her 
partner sprawled on the floor barely conscious. 
Nevertheless that was two years ago. This couldn't be 
happening. Two years?! 
  
Suddenly nervous, Mac said in a watery voice, "What 
ship, Harm?" 

He stared at her as if she had grown horns. "The 
Hornet, of course. How could you forget? But why the 
hell does my chest and leg hurt when it was my head 
got bashed." 
  
"Mac? Mac, what's wrong? What did I say?" Harm stared 
at her, his blue eyes imploring. 

He was looking to her for answers. Answers she didn't 
have. Before either of them could speak, Croft entered 
the room pleased to see his miracle patient awake. 

"It's good to see you, Commander," he greeted. "My 
name is Doctor Croft. I'm just going to examine you 
and order some tests to ensure you haven't suffered 
any effects of the coma. You're a very lucky man." 

Mac just sighed inwardly. Lucky was not the word she 
would use if her hypothesis was correct and judging 
from Harm's confusion of the whole situation, she knew 
she *was* correct. 

******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
0930 EST, November 21st 
Harm stood in his office, taking in the bare walls and 
empty desk. It was great being back to work after 
spending more than a month in hospital recovering from 
wounds he did not even recall receiving, and a further 
two months convalescing in the sanctuary of his 
apartment coming to the grips with the many changes 
around him. 

Two years. It seemed so insignificant, just twenty-
four mere months...and yet it could have been a 
decade. 

In those two years, some guy called Mic Brumby was 
about to temporarily commandeer his office, Bud and 
Harriet were married with a child he was godfather to, 
Mac had risen in rank, his father was confirmed dead 
and apparently he had left JAG to return to flying. 
Not bad for twenty-four months. And despite both 
Admiral Chedwiggen and Mac telling him the story his 
so-called life, all these events felt like it had not 
happened to him but to some other Harm. It was like 
entering a dream land. 

The psychologist the Navy was forcing him to see had 
explained that it was very unlikely his missing 
memories would return but with time he would adjust to 
the changes. Adjust?! God, it was like he had been out 
in space for the last two years and now that he was 
back, everyone had changed apart from him. He felt 
like a little kid finding himself in a world where all 
his friends had grown up leaving him behind. The only 
bonus was the two seasons of 'The X-Files' he could 
catch up on. 
  
"How are things going, Commander?" 

Harm whirled around to find the Admiral standing there 
watching him. That was another thing he had to get 
used to; the Admiral treated him almost like a 
favourite nephew or surrogate son. He had the distinct 
feeling guilt had a part to play in Chedwiggen's mood; 
Mac had said he had taken a bullet to save his 
superior. That would made sense if the Admiral felt he 
owed Harm something but it was strange coming from a 
man who was usually so strict to his junior officers. 
Harm wasn't ungrateful for all the help but he just 
wished for things to go back to normal, for Chedwiggen 
to bawl him out or behave sarcastic towards him. This 
was too freaky. 

"Uh...yes, sir," Harm replied, recollecting his 
bearings. "Everything is fine." 
  
"Good, good. Do you need anything, Commander?" 

"No, sir, I'm okay." 

Chedwiggen gazed around the office, frowning slightly. 
"Commander, I know this must all be...strange for you. 
I just need to be sure, you *are* happy at JAG, aren't 
you?" 

It was now Harm's turn to frown. "Yes, why wouldn't I 
be, sir?" 

"You *did* leave JAG to return to an active flight 
status." 

"That's true, sir, but I also went to Russia to find 
my father, survived an armed siege and do a whole lot 
of things I don't remember." 
  
Chedwiggen smiled at him. "Touché, Commander. All I'm 
saying is that you can go back to Pensacola if you 
want, I won't stop you." 
  
Harm went to the window and gazed onto the courtyard 
below. The offer was tempting, a chance to escape all 
the turmoil and memories- or lack of memories- here at 
JAG. But how could he go back to Pensacola when there 
was still so much to remember here? 

"I belong here." 

The Admiral softly replied, "Yes, you do." He coughed, 
composing himself. "Well, I'll leave you to it, 
Commander. And if you need anything, you do know we're 
all willing to help." 

With that, he left leaving Harm to his turbulent 
thoughts. 

The whole of JAG were so solicitous to him. Everyone 
was willing to give him a hand, from Bud going over 
the past two years of cases to that Brumby guy helping 
him bring his things back into his office. But out of 
all of them, it was Mac who was the most supportive. 

Mac was being so patient with him, especially since 
she was used to a closer partnership when all he could 
give was uncertainty and confusion. She had gently 
explained how things were now and what had occurred in 
the time he had forgotten. She had come with him to 
Pensacola to pick up his belongings and meet with the 
commanding officers he had no memory of serving under. 
He knew there was something up with her, something 
that was bothering her deeply. Two years or not, he 
figured himself to be a fairly good judge of his 
partner's character. 
  
But until she told him what was wrong, all he could do 
was get on with his own life. 
  
******************************************************
****** 
JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Washington, DC 
1023 EST, November 21st 
Amnesia. The psychologists thought the concussion Harm 
received had been more severe than previously 
estimated and the head trauma as well as psychological 
distress had caused memories to be blocked out. Who 
could blame Harm for wanting to forget the past two 
years? They hadn't exactly been a picnic for him- the 
shooting, his father being dead after years of 
searching for him, being accused of murder, the Annie 
Lewis case, Palmer...all that was just for starters. 
And one could not forget Brumby and Jordan. It was all 
enough to make anyone go mad. 

Harm was finally off medical leave and allowed to come 
back to work on the condition he took it easy for the 
next few weeks. The psychologist had explained to the 
Admiral and the rest of the JAG staff that they would 
have to accommodate for Harm's memory loss and try to 
just let him find his own way. His memory could not be 
forced into a sudden recollection, Harm had to move at 
his own pace and if something came then so be it. But 
from the psychologist's report, it was doubtful he 
would ever remember those two years completely. 

She wondered if he would return to Pensacola if his 
missing memories returned. That was where he had 
wanted to be before. Though his still-healing injuries 
would not allow him to just jump into a jet and fly 
off, Harm was nothing if not determined and no-one 
could hold him back from flying if that was his 
choice. Still, if he remembered Pensacola then he 
would also remember what he had said to her, how he 
had always loved her. The saying, 'you can't have 
things both ways', flicked into Mac's mind. 

Mac watched Harm sitting in his office, tinkering 
about trying to get things back to the way he 
remembered two years ago. So much had happened since 
then, so much had been said, and he remained innocent 
to it all. In some ways, it was better he did not 
recall the hours they were trapped in the office, Harm 
in intense pain as he bled to death in from of their 
eyes. Was it not more psychologically sound he was 
free of memories of his own torture? Still, she could 
not forget what he said to her at the moment he 'died' 
in her arms. That he loved her. She had been waiting 
for him to say that for a long time. 

Sighing, she retreated back into her own office. 
"Don't worry, Harm. I'll remember for *both* of us 
until you're ready..." 
  


                             THE END!!!