Title: "And Miles to Go"
Author: AeroGirl
Email: michaerogirl@hotmail.com
Website: aerogirl.topcities.com
Rating: PG-13 for language
Classification: Vignette, Romance, Angst
Spoilers: "Answered Prayers", "Capitol Crime"

Summary: Follow-up to the seventh-season episode "Capitol Crime".  Poor 
Sturgis - when it comes to the enigmatic relationship between Harm and 
Mac, 
logic inevitably fails.  Or does it?

Author's Notes: Oh, come on.  You didn't really think I'd be able to 
pass up 
a shipper opportunity like the softball Mac just lobbed over the plate, 
did 
you?  But the premise here is fairly realistic, in that there are, as 
always, serious obstacles between our two favorite lawyers.  The main 
one is 
this: TPTB still have places to take this show before they give us the 
'happily ever after' we're begging for.  I'm a true-blue shipper to the 
end, 
but even I fear the 'Moonlighting' curse of hooking up heroes too 
early.  
(No, I'm not old enough to have watched "Moonlighting".  But I know my 
pop-culture.)
So in order to illustrate my point and explain the title, I'll throw in 
a 
little Robert Frost:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep -
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening"

Every so often my title references get a little bizarre.  Sorry.  To 
prove 
that I'm not really a poetry snob, there's a line from "Clerks" in this 
story.  (There is definitely nothing highbrow about "Clerks".)  If 
you've 
seen the movie, you'll spot it immediately.  On with the main event now 
...


"And Miles to Go"


1412 EST
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

	"Please, in the name of all that's holy, can we wrap this up sometime 
today?"

	Sarah Mackenzie flashed an innocent smile at her colleague across the 
conference room table.  "What, nuclear arms agreements aren't exciting 
enough for you?"

	Sturgis Turner shot her a look that left no room for interpretation.  
"Mac, 
this stuff wouldn't be interesting if I was writing it on a tropical 
island 
with a damn pina colada in my hand.  As it is, three straight days of 
this 
is enough to make anybody cry 'uncle'.  If we weren't a mere step away 
from 
being finished, I'd seriously consider taking a header through that 
window 
over there."

	"Jeez, tell me how you really feel," she teased him good-naturedly.  
Sturgis had been pleasantly surprised at how well they'd been working 
together this week.  He hadn't been entirely sure about her at first, 
despite the way Harm was continually - and unintentionally - singing 
her 
praises.  But after the murder investigation, and the decidedly 
personal 
conversation in Mac's office a couple of days ago, he was beginning to 
see 
what made her so well-liked.  And so hard to figure out.

	"Don't worry.  We're done.  Just mark those last three amendments so I 
can 
add them to the draft report later on."

	"Hey, you don't have to do the report by yourself."

	"No sweat.  I don't have any major cases this week, and you have to 
sit in 
on that Congressional meeting on Friday."  She lifted one eyebrow with 
a 
devilish glint in her dark eyes.  "Besides, you'll owe me."

	He shook his head and gathered his files as she sauntered toward the 
door, 
whistling.  After a moment, he chuckled, recognizing 'Son of a Preacher 
Man'.  "Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that one..."

	Entering the bullpen, he caught sight of Harm, stepping off the 
elevator in 
his informal khakis and leather flight jacket.  Sturgis glanced back, 
but 
Mac was already in her office and hadn't noticed her partner's arrival.  
"Somebody forget to tell me it was dress-down day?" he inquired, 
earning a 
withering look.

	"Cut me some slack, buddy.  I just spent most of the last twenty hours 
on a 
Herc inbound from the Med.  I'm not even supposed to be here today."  
Harm 
tucked his cover under his arm and leaned on the nearest desk.  "Did I 
miss 
anything interesting?"

	"Not unless you enjoy the finer points of international arms 
treaties."

	"Definitely not.  How's Mac?"

	Somewhat surprised by the question, Sturgis's mind immediately went to 
that 
bizarre conversation, the one where Mac had blurted out her feelings 
for her 
longtime friend and then instantly sworn him to secrecy.  "Fine.  Why?" 
he 
answered, a little quickly.

	Harm gave him a funny look.  "Because when I called a couple days ago, 
it 
sounded like you two were driving each other up the wall.  The 
investigation's over, right?"

	"Sure.  She nailed it pretty well.  Yours?"

	"Done.  Just thought I'd come in and get a head start on my report.  
Besides, I'm not sure I want to know what my brother did to my 
apartment 
while I was gone."

	Sturgis grinned and turned to head back to his office.  Soon, however, 
the 
door to Mac's office opened, and he slowed up, curious despite himself.  
She'd been outright cheerful for the past couple of days, and some part 
of 
him wondered if she was simply glad to have gotten that weighty 
declaration 
off her chest.  *So she's in love with Harm.  Is that really so big a 
shock?* he asked himself.  It wasn't as if he hadn't been wondering 
about 
that very concept from the first time he'd seen them together.  He had 
a 
suspicion that she'd only recently been able to admit it to herself, 
but now 
that she'd told someone else - even a relatively new acquaintance like 
him - 
things were beginning to look a little clearer to her.

	Of course, now that the source of the original confusion was back in 
town, 
there was no telling what would happen.  Feeling slightly guilty for 
his 
curiosity, he lingered near the doorway to witness this reunion of 
sorts.

	Mac moved through the bullpen with an efficient stride, pulling up 
short 
when she noticed Harm's presence.  For a moment she didn't say 
anything, a 
flush of six different emotions rising in her.  Why did things feel 
different now?  Was what she felt more real simply because she'd 
confessed 
it to Sturgis?  *Oh, for God's sake, get a grip,* she told herself 
bluntly.  
"You're back," was all she could think of to say.

	Harm turned and fixed her with an easy smile.  "Hey.  I hear you're 
starting to give the Psychic Friends Network a run for its money."

	"Very funny.  Everything go all right on the Henry?"

	"Not bad, I guess.  Considering they're fighting a war and all."  He 
shrugged a little, but she recognized the wistfulness in his gaze.  He 
wanted to be out there flying.  Sometimes this man could be read like a 
book.  Other times ... a battalion of code-breakers wouldn't be enough 
to 
crack him.  He brought himself swiftly back to the present and smiled 
again. 
  "Anyway, Sturgis said you - "

	"Sturgis said what?" she asked defensively.

	Harm narrowed his eyes at her, mystified.  First Sturgis, now Mac.  
What 
exactly had he missed around here?  "Just that you did a great job with 
the 
case.  You guys are wound up tight today, you know that?  There isn't 
an 
operational readiness review coming up or anything, is there?"

	"Not that I know of."  She deftly sidestepped the real question, 
cursing 
herself for being so jumpy.  "Listen, I've got a report to do, but can 
we 
catch up sometime tomorrow?"

	"How's lunch?"

	"Sounds good.  See you later..."

	And she disappeared back into her office, leaving Harm mildly 
confused.  He 
glanced back at Sturgis, who was intently studying a file all of a 
sudden.  
Rolling his eyes, he opened the door to his own office and set to work 
organizing the towering stack of papers in his inbox.  Sometimes there 
was 
just no explaining this place.


*****************


The following day
JAG Headquarters

	"It took me forever to make the connection.  At first I thought the 
horses 
in the dream had something to do with the horse sculpture, but - "

	"What about the guy at the chess tables?  The Russian?" Harm 
interrupted, 
causing both Mac and Sturgis to look at him in surprise.  "What?  
There's a 
chess piece that looks like a horse."

	Mac smacked him on the shoulder, nearly causing him to drop his 
sandwich.  
"Where the hell were you when we needed you?  That little deduction 
would 
have saved us most of a day!"

	"Hey, what can I say?  I know how your mind works."  He flashed a grin 
at 
her, oblivious to the fact that Sturgis was watching the two of them 
carefully.  "So the Russian did it?  Does that mean there was a 
connection 
to the commander's work?"

	"Right again.  We got him to talk, and they recovered a stolen uranium 
shipment later that day."

	"Man, I miss all the fun."

	"Like you would have turned down a chance to visit the Henry?" Sturgis 
tossed in, but Harm only shrugged.

	"Usually when I end up on a carrier, I have at least a slim chance of 
getting to fly.  There's no way that was going to happen on this trip.  
The 
airstrikes notwithstanding, Captain Ingles keeps harassing me about 
losing 
one of his planes.  But AIRLANT still calls me every so often to sub in 
at 
Pax and such, so you never know."  He leaned back and reached for one 
of 
Mac's potato chips.

	"Hey!  Don't tell me you're losing your health-nut tendencies."

	"Well, when you're rooming with a twenty-one-year-old kid who hasn't 
seen 
junk food in a year, it's hard to stay on the straight and narrow."  
Eyes 
twinkling, he snatched another chip from under her protective hand.

	"Come on, squid, get your own!"

	Sturgis just shook his head.  They were quite the puzzle, these two.  
They 
were as close as any friends could be, but after all this time, there 
was 
still some uncertainty just below the surface.  "Mac, trust me, this 
guy 
hasn't always been a health nut.  I seem to remember him making a 
strong 
showing in the hot-dog eating contest during our second-year Army-Navy 
Week."

	"That's low, Sturgis," Harm warned, as Mac burst out laughing.

	"Oh, my God!" she howled, holding a hand to her heart in mock-horror.  
"Hot 
dogs?  My stick-boy?"

	"Hey, I was nineteen," he groused, attempting to maintain his 
annoyance 
even after hearing her refer to him as 'her stick-boy'.  "Besides, if 
it's 
Academy embarrassments you want, I've got better ones on him than he 
does on 
me."

	"Oh, no.  You're not thinking about telling her - "

	"Hell, yes, I am."  Harm folded his arms in satisfaction.  "You want 
to 
tell it yourself, try to minimize the humiliation?"

	"Don't see any better alternatives."  Sturgis sighed.  "Okay, here 
goes.  
It's the middle of winter in Maryland, so there's at least six inches 
of 
snow on the ground.  My brilliant bunkmate here gets this idea from his 
friend at the University of Wisconsin - "

	"Washington," Harm corrected.

	"Whatever.  He says cafeteria trays make great sleds, so we swipe a 
few and 
decide to try them out on this hill behind the library.  We wait until 
around midnight to keep from getting caught, and we meet up with..."  
At 
that point, he hesitated, glancing over at his friend.  "... these 
girls we 
know from the other dorm."

	"Hey, you don't have to edit," Harm said quietly.  "I'm not going to 
fall 
to pieces if you say her name."

	Sturgis dropped his gaze for a moment.  "Sorry, buddy.  I just didn't 
want 
to make things weird.  Okay, let me try again.  We meet up with Diane 
and 
her friend - Kelly, I think her name was.  And for a while, things are 
great.  The trays actually make pretty good sleds, so we're flying down 
the 
hill and having a grand old time.  But then I get cocky and try 
something 
dumb.  I aim down the other side of the hill, which is a lot steeper, 
and I 
end up sailing clear across the parking lot and wiping out in front of 
a 
parked car."  Harm was smirking already, but kept his mouth shut.  "It 
gets 
worse.  The car belongs to the chaplain, who just happens to wander by 
at 
that exact moment.  Of course, he knows my father, so I'm sure I'm 
about to 
be dead.  But the guy just looks down at me, sprawled out in front of 
his 
car with a broken cafeteria tray, and says, 'Midshipman Turner, if you 
wanted to ski, you should have tried the Air Force.' "

	Mac snorted in amusement.  "And for weeks afterward," Harm continued, 
"we 
were calling him 'zoomie'.  Di even got a hold of the Air Force song on 
tape, and we started waking him up in the morning with 'Off we go, into 
the 
wild blue yonder ...' "

	"Never a dull moment with the dynamic duo of Turner and Rabb," Mac 
deadpanned, gathering her trash and tossing it in the can.  "Ever 
thought 
about trying to sled on trays from _this_ cafeteria?"  The two 
commanders 
exchanged a look, pretending to ponder the concept, and she laughed all 
the 
way back to the bullpen.

	About an hour later, as she was typing up the last of the 
recommendations 
for the nuclear arms proposal, Sturgis knocked on her door.  "Come on 
in," 
she invited him.  "What's up?"

	"Not much.  I just wanted to see how the report was coming."

	"Almost done."  She waved him toward a chair and smiled 
conspiratorially.  
"Seriously, did Harm really used to eat hot dogs?"

	"On my honor as an officer," he replied solemnly.  After a moment's 
pause, 
he spoke again.  "You do realize that you referred to your partner and 
a 
commander in the U.S. Navy as 'your stick-boy', right?"

	Her smile faltered slightly, but remained in place.  "Sturgis, I 
started 
calling him 'stick-boy' years ago.  Almost before I really knew him, 
actually.  It's not what you think."

	"What I think?  Mac, you stood here and told me in no uncertain terms 
that 
you're in love with him.  It's a little late to be getting cryptic, 
isn't 
it?"

	"I'm not getting cryptic.  So what if I'm in love with him?  It's not 
like 
that changes anything.  We're still in the same chain of command, and I 
still don't know - "  Abruptly she broke off, but the rest of the 
sentence 
wasn't difficult to guess.

	"You still don't know how he feels?" Sturgis finished gently.  "From 
where 
I sit, your attitude and his are basically mirror images.  Maybe I'm 
not the 
best judge, but it seems to me like you two are pretty well connected 
on a 
lot of levels."

	"Not this one.  Believe me."  She racked her brain for a way to 
explain.  
Then again, if she could explain it so easily, they wouldn't be in this 
mess.  *When did I start thinking of this as a mess?*  "Obviously each 
of us 
knows the other one cares, and that's about as far as it usually goes.  
We've tried, sort of, but we can't even get through a comprehensible 
discussion on the topic.  We tap-dance around each other like a couple 
of 
eighth-graders.  It would be a laugh riot if it wasn't my life."

	He sighed, exasperated.  "I really don't get it, Mac.  If you honestly 
need 
to talk about this, why is it impossible to look him in the eye and go 
for 
it?"

	"It's not just me, all right?  It's him more than anything else.  He's 
always been great at listening to my problems, but when it's his turn, 
he 
can't open up.  It's like he wants me to lead him by the nose through 
this.  
And believe it or not, I understand that, at least a little."  She 
walked 
over to the file cabinet, twisting a pen in her hands.  "I mean -God, 
Sturgis, I know things have been rough for him, too.  I know he has his 
reasons, but let's face it.  Harmon Rabb is about as emotionally 
accessible 
as a brick wall."

	A sound from the doorway made them both turn, and the color drained 
from 
her face.

	Harm's expression was a calm as ever, but his ice-blue eyes made it 
clear 
that he'd heard that last remark.  "Apparently I need to work on my 
timing," 
he said nonchalantly.

	Mac stared at him, instantly gripped with guilt.  "Harm," she 
whispered, 
taking a step toward him.

	"No, you two finish your conversation.  I know the way out."

	And he was gone.  She looked to Sturgis, who only gazed back, unable 
to 
assist.  "Oh, Christ," she murmured.  "Now what have I done?"

	"Do these epic battles happen all the time, or am I just lucky that 
way?"

	"Luck has nothing to do with it.  You're the only one who keep harping 
on 
this," she snapped back, frustration getting the better of her.

	"Mac, if you want me to never bring it up again, I can handle that.  
But 
denial's probably not your best strategy," he pointed out.

	"I know.  I'm sorry.  And I do appreciate having a sounding board."  
She 
shook her head, raking her fingers through her hair.  "I'll figure out 
some 
way to fix this.  I swear.  I just don't have any bright ideas yet."

	"Would it help if I tested the waters for you?"  He held up a hand to 
forestall her objections.  "Don't worry.  I have no intention of 
breaking 
our agreement.  But sometimes guys will talk to other guys, you know?  
Not 
that I've been able to get much out of him on this subject in the past, 
but..."

	"I guess.  But don't push it," she warned.

	"I'll be the very model of discretion."

	A trace of a grateful smile crept into her eyes.  "You're a lifesaver, 
Sturgis," she said softly.

	"Just trying to keep things running smoothly around here."  He stood 
up, 
but paused by the door.  "So what does he call you?"

	"I'm sorry?"

	"You said you've been calling Harm 'stick-boy' for years."

	"Along with flyboy, sailor, squid, and a few other things not fit for 
polite conversation," she added with a raised eyebrow.

	"So what does he call you?"

	Mac smiled a little.  "Ninja-girl.  Don't ask."

	"Whatever you say."  With a brief nod, Sturgis moved out into the 
bullpen.  
Harm's door was closed, so he decided to go get some actual work done 
before 
checking up on his friend.  A few months ago, the soap opera storylines 
that 
seemed to characterize this office would have driven him crazy.  
Sometimes 
they still did, if he was honest with himself.  But reestablishing his 
friendship with Harm had meant a lot to him, and developing this new 
one 
with Mac was important as well.  There were worse things, he reasoned, 
than 
being a mediator.

	When he knocked on Harm's door a while later, the curt 'enter' he 
received 
gave him some indication of the other man's mood.  He stepped inside, 
leaving the door partially open.  "I guess I don't need to ask how your 
day 
is going," he began.

	Harm glanced up from his computer, and through a veil of annoyance, a 
flicker of hurt was just barely visible.  "Oh, I'm peachy, Sturgis.  
How 
about you?"

	"I'd suggest dropping the sarcasm before you talk to Mac again.  It 
doesn't 
really work for you."

	"Thanks for the pep talk."  The phone rang then, and Harm grabbed for 
it.  
"Commander Rabb."  He listened for a while, adding an occasional 'aye, 
sir', 
then hung up and checked his watch.  "Damn."  After scanning a couple 
of 
files, he cursed again.  "Harriet!  Are you busy right now?"

	The lieutenant ducked her head in.  "Not really, sir.  What do you 
need?"

	"I really hate to use you like this, but I'm in a major time crunch.  
Could 
you go out to my car and grab my flight gear out of the trunk?"

	"No problem, sir."  She caught the keys he tossed to her and was 
already on 
her way out to the parking lot.

	"What's going on?" Sturgis inquired.

	"VF-84 is shipping out tonight on the Coral Sea, and one of her 
Tomcats 
didn't check out.  AIRLANT needs a replacement ferried down to Norfolk 
from 
the reserve squadron up here.  Guess I'm going flying."  Harm said it 
with 
little enthusiasm.

	"Listen, buddy, about what Mac said - "

	"You're not going to try and tell me it was taken out of context, are 
you?"

	"No."

	"Good."  Harriet reappeared with his gear bag, and he took it with a 
nod of 
thanks.  "Look, I've got a whole bunch of things to get done before I 
have 
to leave, and I've only got - " he checked his watch again " - 
twenty-three 
minutes in which to do them.  I'll try and get back in time for our 
game 
tonight, all right?"

	"All right.  Enjoy your ride."

	Mac spent most of those twenty-three minutes testing out various ways 
to 
approach her apology.  It was hardly the first time either of them had 
said 
something hurtful, but somehow she was having trouble formulating a 
strategy 
that didn't back one or both of them into a corner.

	*Harm, you're impossible, but I need you,* she thought resignedly.  
*You're 
arrogant and unyielding and yes, closed off from the world at times, 
but I 
can't stand the thought of not having you in my life.*

	"Maybe I won't open with that one," she said aloud.

	Passing by the open door, Harriet paused.  "Did you say something, 
ma'am?"

	Mac sighed.  "Nothing important.  Do you know if Harm's in his 
office?"

	"He is, but he's kind of stressed right now."  Oblivious to the 
colonel's 
reaction, she continued.  "I think AIRLANT must have come calling 
again, 
because he's trying to wrap up all his work for this afternoon.  If you 
need 
a minute with him, I'd go now before he disappears for the day."

	*What I need will take far longer than a minute, but I'll take what I 
can 
get.*  "Thanks, Harriet."  Mac stood up and stepped out of her office, 
heading for Harm's.  Almost at the same moment, his door opened, and 
they 
came face to face.

	"Do you have a sec - "  She stopped, realizing that he was already in 
his 
flight suit and boots, his duffel slung over his shoulder.  "You're 
going 
flying," she finished awkwardly.

	"Nothing gets by you."  Harm offered a smile, but it was empty.  
"Ferrying 
a Tomcat down to Norfolk.  It was kind of short notice."

	"Harm, listen.  I'm sorry about earlier."

	"Don't worry about it."  Again that emptiness.  He wasn't even trying 
very 
hard to convince her that it hadn't bothered him.

	"Can I - I mean, sometime, can we ..."

	"Mac, I have to be wheels-up at 1450."

	"Later, then.  But I want to talk to you," she said firmly.

	"About what?" he asked without emotion, catching her off-guard.  She 
fumbled for a response for a few seconds, but her hesitation seemed to 
answer his question.

	"There's never a brick wall around when you need one," he stated 
quietly.

	And he was gone again, leaving her to wonder where exactly she'd first 
lost 
control of the situation.


****************


2013 EST
Georgetown Heights Elementary gymnasium

	"How is it that you're suddenly kicking my six?" Sturgis grumbled, 
slightly 
winded, as his friend dribbled the basketball toward the hoop.

	"A number of reasons," Harm replied easily, posting left and setting 
up for 
a shot.  The ball sailed in a perfect arc through the air and barely 
rattled 
the rim on its way in.

	"Such as?"

	"For starters, this is the first game in six months where my knee 
hasn't 
been aching from the get-go."  He retrieved the ball and tossed it 
over.  
"Also, there's nothing better for a person's concentration than an 
afternoon 
of flying.  Even a milk run like D.C. to Norfolk."  Defending now, he 
reached in and attempted to slap the ball away, frustrating Sturgis 
further. 
  "Last but not least, you're playing lousy defense, which makes me 
think 
that your head's not in the game.  So if you're just stalling until you 
can 
come up with a way to ask me about Mac, you might as well get it over 
with."

	"Why do you automatically assume that I want to get in the middle of 
that?"

	"Because every time she and I even look at each other funny, you call 
us on 
it."  This time, Harm succeeded in slapping the ball away.  He spun 
around 
and took the shot himself.  "But since we're on the subject, when did 
you 
become her Dear Abby, anyway?  Or did she just suddenly decide that you 
looked 'accessible'?"

	"Come on, Harm, don't take it so hard."

	"No?  How would you suggest I should take it?"

	Sturgis took the ball and started back up the court.  "How about the 
way 
she took it when _you_ stuck _your_ foot in your mouth a few weeks 
back?  
Based on my limited experience, I'd say that your little slip-up was 
worse, 
but she had the presence of mind to realize that you weren't thinking."

	"I'm rarely thinking.  What's her excuse?"  In response, he received 
an 
exasperated glare and a shoulder to the breastbone as his opponent went 
around him toward the basket.  "Offensive foul, by the way."

	"Your feet weren't planted.  Nothing with you two is ever simple, is 
it?"

	Harm sighed, letting him take the shot with little resistance.  "I'm 
not 
mad at her or anything.  I mean, she's essentially right.  I just - I 
thought we were doing so well."

	"Seems like 'doing well' is kind of a relative concept, anyway."  
Sturgis 
watched his shot bounce harmlessly off the rim and shook his head.  
"But 
think for a second.  You're so pissed off that she said something less 
than 
complimentary about you that you're not thinking about why she might 
have 
said it."

	"Didn't you hear me the first time?  I said I'm not pissed off.  And 
what 
the hell are you talking about, anyway?"

	He shrugged.  "You and Mac are close.  God knows what precisely that 
means, 
but obviously she doesn't think you're a bad friend.  What if she was 
just 
trying to say she wants to get closer, but you won't let her?"

	Harm stopped dribbling the ball for a moment and turned to face him.  
"Sturgis," he warned, "if you know something I don't..."

	"That, my friend, is a large category."

	Sensing that this was as far as he was going to get for the moment, 
Harm 
resumed the game, once again taking a shot directly over Sturgis's 
head.  
The other man fixed him with a look of irritation.  "Weren't you 
supposed to 
get shorter or something?  You've punched out twice!"

	"Three times, actually.  And you just don't notice the difference, 
because 
like all good bubbleheads, you slouch."

	Unseen, Mac entered the gym and leaned against the bleachers, watching 
their one-on-one.  It was a side of Harm she'd rarely seen, but it was 
a 
perfect example of the change in him since Sturgis had joined JAG.  For 
the 
first time in ages, he had a friend in the most classic, uncomplicated 
sense 
- someone with whom he could honestly identify.  Maybe this was the 
type of 
support he needed to finally get things straight in his life.

	Unaware of the visitor, Harm took the ball back, intent on getting his 
twenty-first point and finishing this game so that they could continue 
their 
earlier conversation more rationally.  As Sturgis moved in to block, 
however, they collided awkwardly, sending Harm sprawling onto the 
floor.

	"Owww!  Damn it..."  He clutched at his knee and glared up at his 
friend.  
"There are easier ways to win at twenty-one, you know," he groused.

	"Sorry, man.  You faked me out."  Sturgis helped him to his feet, 
looking 
contrite.  "That would be the knee that just stopped hurting, wouldn't 
it?"

	"Of course it would."  Harm turned toward the bench, but stopped, the 
surprise in his expression rapidly morphing into suspicion.  "Mac?"

	She hadn't even realized that she'd stepped forward.  Something about 
the 
way his handsome features had darkened in pain, though, had propelled 
her 
toward him.  "You okay, sailor?" she asked quietly.

	"Yeah, I just need to walk it off."  He wiped the sweat from his 
forehead, 
his gaze darting between her and Sturgis.  "Are you two joined at the 
brain 
now, or what?"

	"I said I wanted to talk to you," Mac replied evenly.  "Sturgis 
mentioned 
that you guys play here.  It's not a state secret."

	"Whatever."  Harm limped over to the bench and started to pull a pair 
of 
sweatpants on over his shorts.  As he did so, she noted the faint scar 
along 
the inside of his leg, a reminder of the crash that had come so close 
to 
changing everything.  She'd been gone for much of his recovery, 
admittedly, 
but it surprised her somewhat that it was still part of his life.

	"I didn't know you were still having problems with your knee," she 
said, 
her concern tempered with uncertainty.

	"I'm not, really.  I'm just feeling my age."  He retrieved his jacket 
and 
stood up gingerly.  "You gonna let me have this game, buddy, or do I 
have to 
take my foul shot to make it official?"

	Sturgis shook his head.  "I know when I'm beat.  See you tomorrow."

	Harm nodded toward him and looked back at Mac, shrugging slightly.  
"So 
talk to me," he invited, his face impassive.

	They left the gym and wandered out across the school's playground, 
taking 
the long route back to the parking lot.  The weather was unseasonably 
warm, 
but there was enough of a chill in the air to make both partners jam 
their 
hands in their pockets.  "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what 
I 
said today," she began without preamble.

	"You already did that.  And anyway, you don't have to apologize.  You 
called it like you saw it."

	"No, I didn't.  If you were really as..."

	"Emotionally inaccessible?" he supplied for her.

	She winced.  "That really does sound harsh, doesn't it?"

	"Yeah, it really does."

	"Like I was saying.  If you were really as bad as all that, we 
wouldn't be 
such good friends, would we?  I think what I meant was that there are 
certain subjects that you're unwilling or unable to touch, and that can 
be 
frustrating.  That's all.  I'm sorry if it looked like something more."

	"You want to know what it looked like?" he asked honestly.  "It looked 
to 
me like you were having an important conversation with a friend, which 
is 
perfectly reasonable.  The thing is, this time you weren't talking to 
me - 
you were talking _about_ me.  To tell you the truth, I'm still not sure 
which part hurts more."

	She averted her gaze as his words hit home.

	"Look, Mac, I know we - what we are to each other defies description, 
and I 
know we haven't had many chances to connect lately, but give me the 
truth 
here.  Am I failing you as a friend?"

	Surprised, she just stopped walking and stared at him.  After a 
moment, she 
found her voice.  "Is that what you think?" she asked in amazement.  
"That I 
went looking to cry on Sturgis's shoulder?  That I'm suddenly replacing 
you, 
because you did something to lose your 'most favored friend' status, or 
what?"

	"I don't know, Mac.  You tell me."

	She sighed and began tentatively.  "Harm, no matter what this looks 
like, I 
have never doubted our friendship like that.  I would trust you with 
any and 
every last ridiculous problem of mine - "

	"Except this one," he pointed out.  "Whatever it is."

	"There's a reason for that.  Harm, I can talk to you about everything 
except ... well, you.  And therein lies the whole problem."

	The simple statement seemed to floor him.  "What _about_ me?" he asked 
finally, a little wary of the turn this was taking.  "What have I done 
wrong?"

	She wanted to laugh at that innocent question.  *What have you done 
wrong?  
Nothing, and everything.  You're the only person in this world I want 
to be 
with, and you're the one person I don't know if I can handle being 
with.  
You're hopelessly flawed and inexplicably perfect at the same time.  I 
want 
to radically change half a dozen things about the way we are together, 
but 
I'm too terrified to alter a single thing for fear of destroying what 
we 
still have.*

	But apart from the massive contradictions contained in that sentiment, 
there were hundreds of different warning bells screaming at her not to 
suddenly profess her undying love.  It just wasn't her - it wasn't 
_them_.  
Still, if she didn't give him a straight answer, God only knew what 
he'd 
start to think ...  "You didn't do anything wrong," she told him, 
getting 
herself ready for the leap.  "Except for maybe giving up too easily."

	After an interminable pause, he spoke up.  "We're, ah, not talking 
about 
friendship anymore, are we?"

	She'd been prepared for him to duck the issue, to toss out a flippant 
comment, but he didn't.  The tense, hunted look that she'd expected 
never 
came.  Instead, the flicker of emotion in his gaze looked almost like 
... 
regret?  She shook her head.  "No, we're not.  I asked you once where 
we 
were, and you automatically said 'the end'."

	"And you said 'back at the beginning'."  Slowly, he resumed walking, 
and 
she joined him on the sidewalk.  "So what exactly is the beginning, 
Mac?  I 
thought it meant the beginning of us as friends.  The way it used to 
be, 
before ... before a lot of things."

	"Maybe that _was_ what I meant.  I'm not sure anymore.  But we don't 
have a 
rewind button here.  We can't just step back to where things were a 
year or 
two ago.  Too much has happened."

	"So what do you suggest?"

	She looked up at him, a faint ray of hope in her dark eyes.  "A 
different 
kind of beginning," she suggested.  "The start of something new, where 
we're 
not held back by prior expectations or miscommunications.  Where we can 
be 
free to make our own decisions without worrying about what either one 
of us 
has done in the past."

	He hesitated, uncertain.  "We're not that free, Mac," he said with 
grim 
resignation.  "No matter what we think or feel, there are outside 
influences 
on us.  The way things are now, we can't just drop everything and start 
a 
totally different kind of relationship."

	"I know.  But if we could ... would you want to?"

	She dropped her gaze as she said it, as if after all this time, she 
was 
still afraid of what the answer might be.  But he reached out and 
grasped 
her hand, ending all doubt.  "You know I would," he said softly.

	"Then that's the most important thing," she replied, determined not to 
let 
him see how much that four-word affirmation was affecting her.  
Regardless 
of how much they meant to each other, she still carried the scars from 
all 
the shattered loves long past, and opening her heart that completely 
just 
wasn't an option.  But if anyone could ever understand that about her, 
it 
was this man.  "It always was.  Someday, tomorrow or next week or next 
month 
- things will line up, and we'll get our chance."

	"What do you think it'll look like?" he asked, not releasing her hand.  
"Our chance?  What has to happen to make this work?  The Navy's not 
likely 
to relax its policy on fraternization anytime soon, and with everything 
so 
focused on the war effort, I very much doubt that the Personnel gods 
would 
transfer anyone, especially JAG's senior attorneys, without a serious 
fight."

	"I don't know.  It's not like I've stopped believing in 'service 
before 
self' or anything.  I just know that I can't spend another year or more 
on 
this mental tightrope we've got strung between our duty and our lives.  
I'm 
tired of trying to define us by some odd modification of the term 
'friends', 
because we both know that that doesn't cover it.  I just want to be 
able to 
take some small amount of comfort from the idea that work is all that 
stands 
between us now, and that when we can find an opportunity to change 
that, we 
will.  That's all."

	There was a strange, faraway look in his eyes as she finished, tinged 
with 
something very close to sadness.  "Harm?" she asked gently, beginning 
to 
worry that she'd dragged him over a line that he wasn't ready to cross.  
"Flyboy, are you still with me?"

	At the use of the nickname, he came back to reality and smiled a 
little.  
"I wish I really _was_ 'with you'," he replied wistfully, and the words 
warmed her soul.  "You're right - I do give up too easily.  I always 
have, 
haven't I?"

	"Not when it comes to your job, and not when it comes to your family," 
she 
contended, unsure what he was referring to.

	"I give up on myself, though.  I let people walk away from me, so that 
I 
don't have to make the decisions myself.  I'll fight for someone else's 
happiness, but not my own."

	"What are you talking about, Harm?"

	He met her gaze, a long-standing ache creeping through in his voice.  
"Mac, 
I'm screwed up.  You know I am.  Hell, _I_ know I am, and I don't do 
anything about it.  We could have been at this point two years ago if I 
wasn't so screwed up ... Why in God's name would you want to get 
anywhere 
near me?"

	Shocked, she reacted without thinking, wrapping her arms around his 
neck 
and holding onto him with all the power in her being.  After a moment 
of 
surprise, he returned the embrace, first with trepidation, then with 
relief. 
  "If I knew that, this wouldn't be so complicated," she answered, 
choking 
back a nervous laugh.  "Harm, you've hardly got the exclusive rights to 
being screwed up.  I think that might be why we need each other."

	They didn't move for a while, desperate to memorize this feeling, 
knowing 
that it could be some time before anything more was possible.  "This is 
bizarre," he said at last.  "I've managed to stop being afraid of a few 
things, but now I'm afraid of some others."

	"Like what?" she asked, her voice partially muffled by his jacket.

	"Like ... I want more than anything to kiss you right now, but I'm 
afraid 
that if I do, I won't be able to stop."

	She pulled back slightly to look up at him and realized that it wasn't 
a 
line: he was deadly serious.  When she stopped to think about it, she 
realized that she felt the same way.  "We have to keep things the way 
they 
are for now," she said, with less than inspiring conviction.  "Until we 
figure out how to work everything out without giving up one or both of 
our 
careers, we can't."

	"As long as you promise not to avoid me entirely," he begged.  "I 
don't 
think I could take that."

	"Hey, we're professionals.  You fly a forty-million-dollar aircraft, 
and 
I've taken fire in combat.  I think we can handle the high-stress 
environment of JAG Headquarters without cracking."  Her eyes twinkled, 
but 
she soon sobered.  "Things will be better now," she promised sincerely.  
"There won't be any more questions about what either one of us is 
thinking."

	"You always had an unfair advantage on that front, anyway.  You're 
beginning to make a living from knowing what other people are 
thinking."

	She smacked his arm in mock-annoyance, and he caught her in another 
embrace.  Immediately she relaxed against him, deciding that it was the 
most 
natural feeling in the world.  Someday soon, she felt sure, it would be 
their turn.

	Across the parking lot, Sturgis caught sight of his friends as he 
climbed 
into his car.  Determined not to invade their obviously private moment, 
he 
started the engine and left for home without so much as another glance 
in 
their direction.  Once in the safety of his living room, however, he 
opened 
up his organizer to the 'contacts' section and reached for his cell 
phone.

	"Hello, has the congresswoman left for the day yet?  Then please tell 
her 
Commander Turner is calling ... You're working awfully late, 
Congresswoman.  
Yes, my job is the same way most of the time.  Listen, I have a favor 
to 
ask, concerning a couple of my colleagues.  Oh, I think you know which 
ones 
I'm talking about.  If you could make some inquiries, see what options 
are 
available ... You're a class act, Bobbi.  Now go home for once, all 
right?"

	He hung up the phone with a small amount of satisfaction.  If all 
those two 
needed was an opportunity, it couldn't hurt to provide them with one.  
Now 
all he needed was someone to help him figure out _his_ life.


**** THE END ****