TITLE: By Any Means Necessary
AUTHOR: J-Gi-210 (J_Gi_210@hotmail.com)(however, only email me if you 
like 
the fic and have nice things to say--I don't handle criticism well)
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: The usual, you know, any episode involving shipper moments.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own JAG, would like to, currently the privelage 
belongs to 
D. Bellisario, Bellisarius Productions and CBS.  Lucky them.
DESCRIPTION: Nothing brilliant comes to mind at this point in my 
fan-fic 
(now that really inspires you to keep reading, huh?).  But all you need 
to 
know is it involves Palmer, Webb, Mac, and, of course, Harm realizing 
what 
an ASS he's been for the past 6 frickin' years!!  
(coughcoughLIFELINEcoughcough)(and MEASURE OF MEN and ADRIFT 2 and 
ANSWERED 
PRAYERS and BOOMERANG and well, you get the picture)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, the title of my fanfic seems to lack all 
relevance to the plot of my fanfic.  But hey, it sounded good.  Also, I 
still suck at dialogue (at least in my humble and unbiased 
opinion--feel 
free to disagree) so use your imagination.  Hey--if you're a true fan 
you're 
used to it.  And please just ignore the tipos. :)


********************
7:07 PM

	It had been a long day, and Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. felt it taking 
its 
toll as he wearily headed for his car.  He hated getting chewed out by 
the 
Admiral, he hated clients who lied to him, and most of all, he hated 
losing 
court cases to Lt. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie.  All of which had 
contributed 
greatly to making this what was possibly the worst Thursday of his 
career.
	And, Harm grudgingly realized when he arrived at his apartment 
building, 
his day was about to get longer.  An unmistakable blue car was parked 
outside of his building--not really a car one would expect a CIA 
director to 
drive but undoubtedly the car of Clayton Webb.
	As the elevator rose slowly to his floor, Harm struggled to stay 
awake.  
Webb generally demanded undivided attention, and the faster he could 
say 
whatever it was he needed to say the faster Harm could go to bed.
	Sure enough, the opening of the elevator doors revealed a hallway, 
completely lifeless--except for a man, dressed in an impeccable three 
piece 
suit and trench-coat leaning against Harm's door, clutching a briefcase 
and 
checking his watch.  He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and when 
he saw 
Harm a dry smile crossed his face.
	"Rabb," he greeted the Commander.  ‘I was beginning to think you'd 
never 
come home."
	"Sorry to keep you waiting, Webb," Harm replied sarcastically as he 
unlocked the apartment door.  "I won't let it happen again.  What the 
hell 
are you doing here anyway?"
	"I'll tell you inside."
	Rolling his eyes, Harm stepped into his home and tossed his keys on an 
end 
table--Webb was such a typical spook.  "Why didn't you just stop by 
JAG?"
	"No time," Webb replied, seating himself at the bar.  He left his coat 
on, 
which Harm hoped was a sign he wasn't planning on staying long.
	"What are you doing here?" Harm repeated as he took off his coat and 
draped 
it over a chair.  He leaned against the bar across from Webb and eyed 
him 
suspiciously.  "Are you going to tell me or jut sit there all night?"
	"Well," said Webb casually, looking Harm in the eye.  "I just dropped 
by to 
ask if you'd heard from your dad lately."
	 "Excuse me?"
	"I'm serious, Harm.  Any sightings?  Visions?  Suspicious phone 
calls?"
	"Why?" Harm demanded.
	"Just answer the damn question," Webb snapped, sounding annoyed.
	"No, I haven't.  Why?"
	"We have reason to believe that Clark Palmer is back in Washington," 
Webb 
finally answered.  "And since you are, as you say, his hobby, I 
wondered if 
maybe you knew something."
	"Webb, that's ridiculous," Harm said, starting to pace back and forth 
in 
his small kitchen.  "Palmer's in Leavenworth."
	Webb shook his head.  "Nope.  He escaped somehow."
	"How?" Harm asked, his eyes wide.
	"That's under investigation."
	"People don't just escape from Leavenworth, Webb."
	"Apparently Clark Palmer did."
	Harm stopped pacing and the two fell silent; for a moment the only 
sound 
was the light rain that had started falling outside.
	"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," Webb said abruptly, glancing at his 
watch.  "But I have better things to do."  He grabbed his briefcase and 
headed for the door, Harm following.  Before he stepped into the hall 
he 
turned and faced the Commander.  "Look, Harm.  If Palmer is in town, 
there's 
a good chance he'll come after you.  So if you see or hear anything 
suspicious, give me call."
	Harm rolled his eyes.  "Right, Webb.  I'll do that."  He started to 
close 
the door but Webb stopped him.
	"Dammit, Harm--I'm serious," he insisted, eliciting another eye roll 
from 
Rabb.  "If Palmer contacts you in any way, don't play the hero and take 
him 
on yourself.  The man is dangerous and brilliant and if you go after 
him 
you'll put yourself exactly where he wants you.  You'll get yourself 
killed, 
Rabb.  Think about it."
	Harm watched Webb walk dodown the hall before closing and locking his 
apartment door.  Palmer?  Back in D.C.?  He thought about it as he 
undressed.  It was impossible--absolutely impossible.  Someone 
somewhere 
must have made some kind of mistake.  Webb had to be wrong.  The whole 
idea 
was just idiotic.  But, Harm concluded to himself as he lay down, the 
visit 
hadn't been a total waste--for a minute, Webb had actually looked 
concerned.

****************************
9:24 A.M.
JAG Headquarters

	"Morning, sir," Lt. Bud Roberts greeted Harm.
	"Morning, Bud," Harm replied as he stepped off the elevator.
	Harm felt relieved as he made his way across the bull pen towards his 
office.  The familiar hustle and bustle of JAG was 
comforting--especially 
after last night.  Despite his exhaustion, Harm had scarcely slept; the 
few 
hours he had managed to fall asleep had been restless, marked by 
nightmares 
about Clark Palmer.  Damn Webb for mentioning him.
	Harm closed his office door behind him, muffling the noise of his 
always 
busy co-workers.  He sat down in his comfortable old chair, listened to 
the 
rain and wondered if he had time for a quick nap before he actually had 
to 
do some work.  But before he could doze off, a forceful knock on the 
door 
snapped him out of his reverie.  Without waiting for a resonse Lt. 
Colonel 
Sarah Mackenzie stepped in.
	"Morning, Harm," she greeted him brightly.  Mac, as usual, looked wide 
awake.
	"Morning," he mumbled groggily.
	"You OK?" she asked as she took a seat across from him.  Her eyebrows 
narrowed in concern.  "You don't look so good."
	"It's nothing," he reassured his partner.  He rubbed his temples--they 
were 
beginning to throb.  "Webb dropped by last night, and I didn't get much 
sleep."
	Mac nodded, not quite suppressing the bemused smile that crossed her 
face.  
"Really?  And what were you and Webb doing that prevented you from 
sleeping?"  She leaned forward slightly, her eyes twinkling.
	"Shut up, Mac," he said, but he couldn't help but smile back at her. 
"Actually, Webb told me that Palmer may be back in town."
	At the mention of Palmer Mac's face became serious.  "What?"
	Harm shrugged and rose to his feet.  He seemed to think better if he 
was 
moving.  "According to Webb, the CIA has reason to believe it's true."
	"It's impossible," Mac declared.  "Palmer's in Leavenworth."
	"He escaped."
	Mac rolled her eyes.  "Harm, people don't just escape from 
Leavenworth."
	Harm almost laughed.  "That's exactly what I told Webb."
	"What else did he say?"
	"Just to be on the lookout.  Report anything I see or hear to him."
	Mac nodded her eyes solemn.  "You should, Harm.  Go to Webb if Palmer 
contacts you."  Harm opened his mouth, but before he could respond with 
one 
of his usual semi witty remarks, Mac rose to her feet and rested her 
hand on 
his arm.  She looked up at him and he was surprised to find her eyes 
full of 
genuine concern.
	"Harm, I mean it," she said seriously, her hand tightening on his arm.  
"If 
he does come to you, don't go afte him yourself.  I don't want to see 
you 
get hurt . . . . or worse."
	"Mac, I acn handle--" Before Harm culd finish that thought Mac 
presseda 
finger to hes lips , silening him.  Immediately Harm was a ware only 
ofthe 
contact--her smooth skin against his lips, her fingers curled aoround 
his 
forearm . . .
	Just as immediately, Mac realized that she'd put a chink in their 
armor of 
"just friends".  All too soon, she stepped away from him; she crossed 
her 
arms and quickly averted her eyes.
	"Just promise me, Harm," she said after a moment of charged silence, 
still 
not looking at him.  "Promise me you'll go to Webb if something 
happens.  
She finally dared to meet his eyes.
	Harm sighed but didn't look away.  She had such beautiful eyes.  "All 
right," he conceded.  "I promise.  I'll go to Webb first."
	Relief flooded Mac's eyes and she smiled.  "Thank you, Harm."
	A moment of silent appreciation passed between the two; it was broken 
by a 
clap of thunder that made Mac jump.
	"Well," she said, clearing her throat nervously.  "I better go.  I 
have to 
be in court in half an hour."
	"Hey, Mac," Harm said as she headed for the door.  Her hand already on 
the 
knob, she turned to face him.
	"Yes?"
	"I didn't realize you needed me so much," he teased, only half joking.
	Mac rolled her eyes, her Marine composure back in place.  "Don't 
flatter 
yourself, Rabb.  I just hate breaking in new partners."
	Harm smiled after her as she left.  His lips were still tingling from 
her 
touch--Mac had that affect on him--and he could taste a faint trace of 
the 
hand lotion she used when he licked them.  Maybe he should ask Mac to 
dinner 
tonight . .  He thought about it as he sat down and reached idly for a 
pen.  
He didn't have much to do--no court dates until Wednesday and no major 
cases 
to worry about.  On Wednesday he was defending a Petty Officer charged 
with 
dereliction of duty for not washing dishes.  Normally such a case would 
have 
gone to a rookie like Singer, but with her in Hawaii screwing  the 
under-secretary of something or other, Harm, Mac, and Bud were falling 
victim to her case load.
	A knock on his door made Harm jump--he'd been daydreaming.  Before 
acknowledging his visitor, he glanced down at the notebook on his desk.  
Without realizing it, he'd started doodling; the entire page was 
covered 
with high-school-esque scribbles of "Harm + Mac=Love" and "Sarah 
Rabb"and 
"Harm Mackenzie".  "Mature, Rabb," he mumbled to himself, tearing the 
page 
from the notebook.  "Enter," he called toward the door as he crumpled 
the 
paper and tossed it in the direction of the garbage can.  Not 
surprisingly, 
he missed and the little paper ball hit the floor.
	"Commander Rabb," Petty Officer Tiner said, stepping into the office.  
He 
had a small brown box in his hand.
	"Morning, Tiner," the Commander greeted the yeoman.  "What's in the 
box?"
	"I don't know, sir.  It came for you.  It's from your mother."
	"Thank you, Tiner.  Just set it on my desk."
	"Yes, sir."
	After Tiner had left, Harm rose to his feet and picked up his 
mis-aimed 
paper ball and dropped it in the trash can.  He had to laugh--if Mac 
only 
knew.  If only he was brave enough to tell her.
	Pushing the thought from his mind Harm turned his attention to the box 
on 
his desk . It was most definitely from his mother, which struck Harm as 
odd. 
  He'd talked to his mom a few nights ago and she hadn't mentioned that 
she 
was sending him anything.  Not giving it a second thought, (the woman 
was a 
little forgetful) he opened the package.  The first thing he found was 
a 
letter from his mother, neatly typed:

			Dear Harm,
			Hi sweetie!  Frank and I have been doing our spring cleaning (a 
little 
early or
		little late depending on how you look at it).  I undertook most of 
the 
attic and I came 		across these.  I've already read them millions of 
times.  
I thought you might enjoy 		them but please, Harm, be very careful.  
They're 
old and more valuable than you'll ever 		know.  Take care of them.  
Give us 
a call soon, honey.  Frank sends his love.
									All My Love,
									Mom


	Harm lay the letter down on his desk and reached into the box.  He 
pulled 
out a small stack of letters, old, and bound together by some rubber 
bands.  
At once, Harm recognized the handwriting on the envelopes; he could 
smell a 
hint of his father's cologne on them.  Letters from Harm Senior to his 
wife. 
  Each envelope was dated--12 in all.  The date on the last envelope 
made 
Harm's hear pound--December 24, 1969.  The day of the crash.  Before 
Harm 
could open the first letter, his phone rang.
	"Rabb," he answered it briskly.
	"Morning, Harm," an annoyingly familiar voice replied.
	"What is it now, Webb?"
	"Nice to talk to you."  When Harm was silent, Webb continued.  
"Actually, I 
was just calling to--"
	"Check up on me?" Harm interrupted snidely.
	"You could say that."
	"I'm touched."
	"I thought you would be."
	"Webb, I'm fine.  And I'm very busy," Harm lied, rustling some papers 
to 
make his story a bit more authentic.  "So if you don't mind, I have 
things 
to do."
	"Sure, Rabb.  I'll be in touch."
	"Great.  Now I have something to look forward to."  Rolling his eyes, 
Harm 
returned the phone to its receiver.  He put his father's letters in one 
of 
his drawers--he could read them at home.  He opened the McKean file and 
laughed dryly--sometimes JAG wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
****************************
5:47 PM
JAG Headquarters

	Harm rubbed his eyes drowsily as he stepped out of his office.  He was 
more 
than ready to go home, but first he had to take care of something.  He 
found 
Mac's office door open; she was behind her desk, intensely focused on 
something she was reading.
	"Mac?" he asked softly, knocking on the door frame.
	She jumped and looked up, her eyes wide.  "My God, Harm, you scared 
me."
	"Sorry.  Long day in court?"
	She rolled her eyes.  "Don't even get me started.  I've got no case 
whatsoever--Bud has this one in the bag, easy."  She sat the report 
aside 
and ran a hand through her short hair.  "Anyway, what's up?"
	"I just wanted to know if you're free for dinner tonight.  My place, 
say 8? 
  I'll cook."
	"Sure," Mac answered with a smile.  "It's a date.  But--"
	"No meatless meatloaf," he interrupted.
	She laughed.  "I'll see you tonight."
	"See you tonight."
	Harm strode back to his office feeling more awake than he had all day.  
He 
grabbed his coat and hat and briefcase; as he headed for the elevator 
he 
called cheerful goodbyes to Gunny, Bud and the rest of the JAG crew.  
Despite the rain, despite Webb ,despite the McKean case, he smiled the 
whole 
way home.
**********************
8:13 PM
Harm's Apartment

	"You're late," Harm greeted Mac when she rang his doorbell that 
evening.
	"Please," she responded as he took her damp coat.  "It's only 8:13."  
She 
wandered over to the window.  "Can you believe this rain?"
	"I like it," Harm said.  "And dinner's ready--it has been for five 
minutes."
	Taking a bite of her pasta, Mac asked, "When was the last time we had 
dinner like this?"
	"Since right before the tribunal."
	"I remember."
	"Oh, I got a package from my mom today.  She sent some old letters my 
dad 
wrote her while he was in Vietnam."
	She nodded.  "Really?  Have you read any of them yet?"
	He shook his head.  "No. I left them in my desk at work. But they're 
all 
dated--and the last one is December 24, 1969."
	"The day of the crash," Mac said immediately.  It was Harm's turn to 
nod.
	"Don't you think that's a little strange?" she asked.
	"That my dad wrote his wife a letter on the day his plane crashed?"
	"No, Harm," she said indignantly.  "That you got the letters the day 
after 
Webb tells you that Palmer may be back in town?"
	"Mac, what does Palmer have to do with my dad?"  Even as he spoke, 
Harm 
recalled Webb's chilling greeting of the night before: "Heard from your 
father lately?"
	"What doesn't Palmer have to do with your dad?  You remember what he 
did to 
you--the visions, the phone calls . . ."
	"Of course I remember," Harm said.  He was quickly losing his 
appetite.  
"But Palmer wouldn't send me letters.  It's too easy, too amateur for 
his 
taste."
	"Harm, I really think you should call Webb.  Just in case, just as a 
precaution."
	"Dammit, Mac, I am not calling the C.I.A."
	"You promised me."
	"Nothing has happened to warrant it.  So I get some letters in the 
mail, 
big deal.  It doesn't mean Palmer's stalking me."
	Her eyes flashing, Mac jumped to her feet.  "Fine, Harm.  Just fine.  
You 
stay here and wait for Palmer to come so you can play big bad Navy 
hero.  
I'm leaving."
	"Mac, don't go," Harm called half-heartedly after her.  But the only 
response to his words was the slamming of his apartment door.  He knew 
he 
couldn't have gotten her to stay anyway--Mac was as stubborn as he was.
	And as much as he hated to admit it, Mac's theory made sense.  Palmer 
enjoyed playing mind games--especially with Harm.  And anyone who knew 
Harm 
knew about his father, his lifelong obsession.  Maybe Palmer was in 
town . . 
. Harm dismissed the thought.  After all, he and Mac had agreed on one 
thing.  People--not even people like Clark Palmer--didn't just escape 
from 
Leavenworth.
*************************
Midnight
Mac's Apartment

	Riding the elevator to her floor, Mac marvelled at how swiftly her 
relationship with Harm could change--one minute she loved him, the next 
she 
wanted to rip his arm off and beat him with it.  Not that it would do 
any 
good--Harm was just as stubborn as she was.  She had thought about it 
for 
hours, driving aimlessly around the city--her precarious relationship 
with 
her partner.  He had endangered her life as much as he'd saved it; he'd 
gottne her into as many dangerous situations as he'd gotten her out of.  
He'd given her a shoulder to cry on just as often as he'd been the 
cause of 
her tears.  She loved him more than any man she'd ever know; he 
confused her 
more than any man she'd ever known.  Sometimes when he looked at her 
she was 
sure he felt the same way and other times . . . And now this.  Back to 
the 
age old curse--his father.  Mac had thought the obsession ended with 
Russia 
and Chechnya and, finally, Sergei.  No such luck--just one reminder 
that 
there had once been another Harmon Rabb brought it all back.
	And those reminders had, in the past, come from Clark Palmer.  The 
last 
thing Mac needed was Harm to do something stupid, but he had a tendency 
to 
do just that.
	She stepped into her apartment and flipped on the light; she kicked 
off her 
shoes and draped her jacket over the back of a chair.  It was nice to 
be 
home.  Sitting down on the couch, she reached for the phone--she hated 
fighting with Harm.  Time to make amends.  But before her hand made 
contact 
with the receive, the room plunged into total darkness--a black so 
completethat Mac couldn't make out her hands in front of her.
	"Dammit," she cursed as she began groping her way to the kitchen for a 
flashlight.  She despised power outages--they were so inconvenient.  As 
she 
made her way across the living room, Mac could have sworn she heard 
something--a footstep, perhaps?--from behind her.  A chill ran down her 
spine--here she was, a grown woman, a Marine--and the dark still made 
her 
imagination kick into overdrive.
	"If your fellow Marines could see you now," she told herself out loud, 
giggling nervously, "they'd laugh your ass out of the service."
	"Damn right they would," came a low male voice from the darkness 
behind 
her.
	Mac opened her mouth, but before she could scream, a strong arm 
wrapped 
around her neck.  Almost simultaneously she felt a cloth being pressed 
to 
her face; a foul odor assaulted her nostrils and a similar taste filled 
her 
mouth.  As her eyes began to sting and the world started spinning, Mac 
was 
dimly aware of her phone ringing--she heard her own voice on the 
answering 
machine and then Harm's, leaving her a message . . . and then her eyes 
fell 
shut as she lost conciousness.
*********************
Midnight
Harm's Apartment

	"No!"  Harm cried out in his sleep.  "No.  Please, stop . . ."
	He sat up sharply in bed, his bare chest heaving and glistening with a 
thin 
sheen of sweat; his comforter was on the floor and his sheet was 
tangled in 
his legs.  The dream was already beginning to fade but Harm knew he 
wouldn't 
soon forget it.  He'd seen Palmer.  And his father.  And then Palmer 
coming 
after his father and . . . He ran a hand through his damp hair--there 
was 
only one person he could really talk to about this . . .His hand shook 
as he 
reached for the phone; his fingers trembled as he dialed a number that 
was 
more familiar to him than his own.
	"Please be awake," he whispered.  But with each unanswered ring his 
heart 
fell.  After six rings, there was a small click and then her voice: 
"Hi, 
it's Sarah.  Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I 
can."
	"Mac," he said softly after the beep.  "It's me.  Sorry to call so 
late.  
I'm sure you're sleeping.  I'm sorry about tonight.  Look, I just 
really 
need to talk to you, OK?  Give me a call.  Good-night."
	He returned the phone to its reciever.  The shaking had subsided but a 
clap 
of thunder made him jump.  He went to the bathroom and splashed cold 
water 
on his face but he still couldn't relax--he knew falling back to sleep 
was 
going to be impossible.  Shivering, Harm picked up his comforter and 
lay 
back down.  Wrapping his arms around his pillow, he shut his eyes and 
tried 
to think comforting thoughts.  God, he wished Mac was here.
*************************
2:31 AM
Alexandria, Virginia

	Mac's head was throbbing--the extreme pain was the first thing she was 
aware of when she came to.  She felt like she'd been hit by a truck--or 
worse, gotten extremely drunk.  She kept her eyes closed--she had a 
feeling 
opening them would hurt--and tried to remember . . . she remembered 
leaving 
Harm's apartment . . . driving around in the rain . . . going home . . 
. 
Suddenly it came back to her.  The lights going out, someone grabbing 
her 
and covering her face, the terrible smell.  Whatever had bee n on that 
rag 
must have really knocked her out.  She wasn't even sure what time it 
was.
	As her mind and her body slowly began to regain consciousness, Mac 
realized 
that something was cutting into her wrists.  Very slowly she opened her 
eyes.  She had no idea where she was, but it appeared to be some kind 
of 
warehouse.  She was sitting on the concrete floor--there was no 
furniture in 
the room.  In fact, aside from her, the room was completely empty.  
Mac's 
hands were tied behind her back; judging from the burning sensation in 
her 
wrists, they had been that way for awhile.  Her ankles, too, were tied 
together.
	"Hello?" she called out cautiously.  Her throat hurt too, and speaking 
made 
her head pound.  "Is anyone here?"
	Her voice echoed off the bare, industrial walls and ceiling.  She 
shivered--she wasn't wearing a jacket.  She could feel her eyelids 
growing 
heavy--the anasthetic must not have worn off completely.  She shut her 
eyes 
and leaned against the wall.  Something told her she should be 
terrified, or 
worried, or something to that effect, but she was too exhausted.  Sleep 
was, 
at the moment, her first priority.  But before she could succumb to her 
exhaustion, a voice broke through the haze of anasthetics and 
weariness.
	"So, Sarah.  You are alive.  I was beginning to think I may have 
killed 
you."
	Mac's eyes snapped open and immediately she regretted it.  Her 
assailant 
was shining a flashlight at her--she blinked and looked away but the 
movement made her dizzy.  The flashilight suddenly dropped; when Mac 
turned 
to the man holding it she found herself face to face with Clark Palmer.
	"Palmer," she said.
	"Nice to see you, Sarah.  Or should I call you Mac?"  She remained 
speechless; he continued.  "I like Sarah, personally."
	Gradually the Marine side of her was coming to life.  Doing her best 
to 
ignore the pain, she looked around the room.  Only two exits--the door 
and 
the window.  She looked back at Palmer, who was staring at her with his 
usual smirky grin.
	"What the hell do you want with me, Palmer?"  She tried to sound 
intimidating but failed.
	"Now that's a pretty stupid question, Sarah."  Mac watched as Palmer 
began 
pacing slowly in front of her.  "You don't think the courageous 
Commander 
Rabb would let me get away with kidnapping his partner, do you?"  He 
laughed 
softly to himself as though contemplating the genius of his plan.
	"The C.I.A. knows you're here.  They'll find you first."
	"Please, Sarah.  You know Rabb.  HE'll come for you himself.  And if 
by 
C.I.A. you mean Clayton Webb--HA!  That man couldn't find a donkey if 
it bit 
him on the ass."   Palmer laughed again, a deranged cackle--he 
obviously 
thought his pun was genius.  Mac rolled her eyes--she'd heard Harm say 
wittier things than that.
	"But in the meantime . . ."  He knelt in front of Mac and pulled 
something 
from his coat pocket, a kit of some kind.  Seh shuddered as he came 
closer 
and ran on hand lightly up her thigh.  He pulled a small pocket knife 
from 
his kit and cut open one of her pant legs, just enough to reveal a 
small 
patch of skin.  As Mac watched, fear rising in her throat, Palmer 
readied a 
syringe.
	"Don't worry, Sarah," he murmured as he prepared to stick the thing in 
her 
leg.  "This won't hurt.  It'll just make you nice and sleepy."
	Before Mac could protest he had emptied the syringe in her leg; mere 
moments later the drug began to take effect and she was out cold again.
************************
8:01 AM
JAG Headquarters
Monday Morning

	Harm walked across the bull pen feeling refreshed.  After Friday 
night, 
he'd had no more nighmares about Palmer.  HE'd even managed to get some 
work 
done on the ‘Vette.  Of course, the weekend had had its downside--he'd 
called Mac several times on Saturday and on Sunday.  Every time he'd 
gotten 
the same thing--six rings and the answering machine.  And every time, 
he'd 
left her another message.  He figured she was just giving him the cold 
shoulder--punishing him for their fight.  He and Mac fought over the 
stupidest thing, and she still insisted on winning.
	He loved her more than any woman he'd ever known; she confused him 
more 
than any woman he'd ever known.  And on more than one occasion, he'd 
gotten 
the impression that the feeling was mutual.
	After saying hello to his fellow JAG staffers and dropping his 
briefcase in 
his office, he headed for his partner's office.  She couldn't avoid him 
forever, especially not at work.
	"Morning, Mac," he called as he opened her door.  (Knocking was a 
formality 
that had ceased long ago.)  But Harm was surprised to find Mac's office 
empty.  Her briefcase wasn't on the desk, her jacket wasn't neatly hung 
on 
the back of the door--in fact, her office looked as though it hadn't 
been 
touched since Friday.
	Perplexed, the Commander wandered over to Tiner's desk.
	"Morning, sir," the young Petty Officer said enthusiastically.  "Is 
there 
something I can do for you?"
	"Yeah.  Is the Colonel in with the Admiral?"
	"No, sir," said Tiner, looking a bit confused himself.  "Should she 
be?"
	"Not that I know of.  But she wasn't in her office, so I was just 
wondering."
	Tiner shrugged.  "Sorry, Commander.  I haven't seen her."
	"Thanks anyway, Tiner."  Still perplexed, Harm stepped back into the 
bullpen and came face to face--or rather chest to face--with Lt. 
Roberts.
	"Commander Rabb, just who I was looking for."  Bud, as usual, looked 
extremely busy.
	"What do you need, Bud?  Walk with me."
	"Well, sir," said Bud, trying to keep up with Harm's quick pace 
despite the 
stack of papers he was carrying.  "I wanted to ask if you've seen 
Colones 
Mackenzie.  She and I are going against each other in cour today and I 
wanted to discuss . . ."  Bud's voice trailed off when he caught the 
look on 
his friend's face.  "Something wrong, sir?"
	"I'm fine," Harm answered.  "But I was looking for the Colonel, too.  
She's 
not in her office or the Admiral's office and Tiner hasn't seen her."
	"She's probably just running late, sir.  I'll bet she's on her way as 
we 
speak."
	"Yeah.  Yeah, you're right, Bud.  Good luck in court."
	But as he stepped into his office, closing the door behind him, he 
couldn't 
shake the nagging feeling that something was very, very wrong.
********************
8:09 AM
Alexandria, Virginia

	Mac shut her eyes and tried to fight the bile rising in her 
throat--but it 
was a losing battle.  Her eyes watered as she puked for what had to be 
the 
tenth time in the couple of days she'd been here.  After she had 
purged, she 
wiped her mouth and reached for the water bottle Palmer had given her.  
Her 
hand was shaking so vigorously that it was a challenge to raise the 
bottle 
to her lips.  The water was warm against her parched throat and she 
almost 
spit it out.
	Palmer had untied her hands on Saturday morning so she could eat.  He 
hadn't yet re-tied them but the man obviously knew something about 
drugs--whatever he kept injecting her with kept her strong enough to 
feed 
herself but far too weak to do anything else.  The part of her leg he 
used 
to administer the drug was blue and bruised; her legs had gone numb.  
She 
could feel her body getting weaker and weaker--it was increasingly hard 
to 
stay warm.  Piles of her vomit were everywhere; she couldn't keep what 
little she ate in her stomach.  Her watch had stopped and the drugs 
prevented her internal clock from working so she had no idea what time 
it 
was.
	But she assumed it was Monday morning.  Monday.  Which meant Harm 
would be 
going to work.  Hopefullly he'd realize . . .
	But before Mac could finish that thought, her eyes closed as 
exhaustion 
over took her.
*********************
8:17 AM
JAG Headquarters

	The phone rang for the third time and Harm sighed in frustration.  
Four . . 
. five . . . six . . .CLICK.  "Hi, it's Sarah.  Leave me a message and 
I'll 
get back to you as soon as I can."  BEEP.
	"Mac, it's me again.  Look, it's after 8:00 and I'm a little worried 
about 
you.  If you're there, pick up."  He paused, giving her a chance to 
answer 
the phone, but no such luck.  "Mac, call me as soon as you get this, 
OK?"
	Harm hung up--he was more than a little frustrated.  He could feel 
F-14s 
flying (and occasionally crashing) in his stomach.  In all the years 
he'd 
know Mac she'd been late to work all of three times.  This wasn't like 
her 
at all.
	Harm sat down at his desk and tried to focus on the McKean case, but 
he 
couldn't concentrate--or relax.  He found himself checking his watch 
every 
three minutes and 45 seconds.  Finally, at 9:00, he couldn't take it.  
He 
called her again, but the result was the same as the last time.
	He could feel himself starting to sweat as he rushed to Mac's office.  
It 
was still empty.
	"Bud," he barked as he burst into the Lt.'s office.  "Have you seen 
the 
Colonel yet?"
	"No, sir," Bud replied.  He glanced at his watch.  "But she's supposed 
to 
be in court in an hour."
	Harm didn't respond; instead he made a dash for Tiner's desk.
	Once he was standing in the Admirals' office, Harm managed to relax a 
little--a very little.
	"Have a seat, Commander," said Chegwidden cordially.  "What can I do 
for 
you?  You look worried."
	"I am, sir," said Rabb as he sat down.  "I was wondering if you've 
heard 
from Colonel Mackenzie today."  A clap of thunder punctuated his words 
and 
made Harm jump.
	"Isn't she here?" the Admiral questioned.
	"No one's seen her today, sir.  She and I had dinner on Friday, but I 
couldn't reach her on Saturday or Sunday.  I haven't seen her since she 
left 
my apartment."
	"What's the number?" asked Admiral Chegwidden, reaching for his phone.  
Harm rattled off the numbers; six rings later, the Admiral, too, was 
greeted 
by the recording.  "Colonel Mackenzie, this is Admiral Chegwidden.  I 
would 
like very much to know where you are and why you're not--" He was cut 
off by 
a soft click; Harm prayed it was Mac.
	"I'm sorry," a mechanically soothing voice said.  "But the mailbox is 
full. 
  Please call back later."
	The Admiral hung up his phone and glared at the Commander.
	"I guess I left quite a few messages, sir," said Harm sheepishly.
	"Apparently," Chegwidden growled.   "You doing anything important 
today, 
Rabb?"
	"Just the McKean case, sir.  It goes to trial Wednesday."
	"Ah, yes, the McKean case."  The Admiral couldn't hide the entertained 
smile on his face.  "Well, seeing as that's all you've got on your 
plate"--Harm grimaced at the horrible pun-- "why don't you head over to 
Mac's apartment?  Make sure everything's OK.  She'd better have a damn 
good 
excuse."
	"Aye, sir."
	"And Harm?"
	"Yes, sir?"  Harm turned to face his C.O., his hand already on the 
door 
knob.
	"Relax a little.  I don't need you getting into a car wreck on the way 
there."
*********************
8:41 AM
Mac's Apartment

	Harm's foot was tapping uncontrollably (a combination of nerves and 
impatience) as the elevator slowlyl rose to Mac's floor.  He hated the 
elevators in her building--they were old and, subsequently, slow.  
Finally, 
the doors opened to the familiar hallway; Harm walked swiftly to Mac's 
door. 
  He pounded on it five times and waited.  Two minutes later, the door 
was 
still shut.  Growing frustrated, he hammered on the door again, louder 
this 
time.  He shouted her name but still, no reply.  He tried the door and 
discovered that it was locked.  Harm reached for his cell phone.
	"Chegwidden," barked a familiar voice after two rings.
	"Admiral, it's me.  I'm outside Mac's apartment; I've knocked and 
yelled, 
but she isn't answering."
	The Admiral sighed.  "For God's sake, Rabb, you know how to pick 
locks.  
Call me back."
	Without hesitation, Harm pulled out his pocket knife and knelt before 
the 
door.  It took only seconds for the lock to spring open; to Harm's 
relief 
the chain hadn't been latched.
	"Mac, are you home?" he called as he stepped into the living room.  
"Mac?"
	The apartment remained silent.  Harm noticed her jacket draped over a 
chair--he recognized it.  She'd been wearing it when she left his 
apartment 
Friday night.  "Mac,:" he called again.  His only reply was dead quiet.  
The 
red light on her answering machine was blinking, signifying new 
messages.  
Curious, he hit the PLAY MESSAGE button.
	"First message," said an electronic voice.  "Saturday, 12:07 AM."  
After a 
brief pause, Harm's own voice emanated from the machine.  "Mac, it's 
me.  
Sorry to call you so late.  I'm sure you're sleeping . . ."   Fear 
rising in 
his throat, Harm skipped to the next message--to his dismay it was the 
one 
he'd left Saturday morning. In fact, he discovered, every message he'd 
left 
over the weekend was still there--she hadn't gotten a single one.
	Abandoning the answering machine Harm ran for the bedroom.  He found 
it 
empty, the bed neatly made.  The bathroom, too, contained no signs of 
life.  
Her uniform hung on the back of the door.
	Again, Harm called the Admiral.
	"Chegwidden."
	"Admiral, me again.  I'm in her apartment.  She's not here."
	"What do you mean she's not there?" demanded the Admiral.
	"She's not, sir," Harm murmured.  "The jacket she was wearing Friday 
night 
is here, her bed looks like it hasn't been slept in in awhile, and her 
uniform is here.  And all the messages I left her are still on the 
answering 
machine.  They hadn't been played."
	"Where the hell is she?  Try her cell, Rabb."
	Harm dialed her cell phone number and jumped when he heard it ring 
behind 
him.  It didn't take long to find the phone in her jacket pocket.
	Shaking, Harm sat down on Mac's sofa.  Where the hell was she?  It 
wasn't 
like Mac to shirk her duties at JAG.  Briefly, he thought of calling 
the 
D.C. police.  But, as Harm recalled from past experiences, they were 
slow 
and disinterested.  If he called them, Mac would be just anothr case, 
an 
everyday activity.  There was one person, though . . .
	Swallowing every ounce of his pride, Harm dialed Clayton Webb's 
number.
*************************
8:40 AM
Alexandria, Virginia

	Mac was trying to roll onto her side but her legs wouldn't allow 
it--they 
were dead weight.  She kept trying but to no avail--she was stuck on 
her 
back.  Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes.  She hated this--her 
brain 
was still in Marine mode, telling her to get up and beat the living 
shit out 
of Palmer.  It was her body that wouldn't allow it.  She was so weak, 
so 
numb, any kind of movement was next to impossible.  Her hands were 
tingling, 
her head throbbing.  She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness 
for the 
past few hours.  Whatever Palmer was giving her was getting stronger.
	"Morning, Sarah."  His voice made her head hurt worse.  "You ready for 
some 
more?"
	Through the dim haze of drug induced semi-consciousness, she saw him 
kneeling before her, holding a needle.  She tried to protest but her 
throat 
was too parched.  Her lips were dry and she felt them crack and bleed 
when 
she opened her mouth.  She didn't feel the injection but she saw Palmer 
sink 
the needle into her skin.  In moments, everything was blurry.
***************************
9:27 AM
Mac's Apartment

	"I've called Clayton Webb, sir.  He's on his way over," Harm said into 
his 
cell phone.
	"Why Webb?  Why not the police?"  Before Rabb could respond, the 
Admiral 
recalled his own experience with the D.C. police.  "Never mind.  I 
understand."
	"I'll call you later."
	As Harm hung up a knock sounded at the door and he dashed to answer 
it.  He 
half expected to see Mac standing in the hallway but he was greed 
instead by 
the sight of Deputy Director Webb.
	"Rabb," Webb greeted in his usual brisk manner.  He walked into the 
living 
room without waiting for an invitation.  "When was the last time you 
saw 
Mac?"
	"Friday night," Harm answered.  He'd told Webb all this on the 
phone--normally he would have grown impatient, but when Mac was 
concerned he 
was willing to cooperate.
	"Where were you then?"
	"My apartment.  She came over for dinner but we got into an argument.  
She 
left early."
	"I see," said Webb.  "What makes you think she's missing?"
	"You mean bisides he fact that she isn't here?" Harm snapped.  
Cooperation 
he could handle, but that was a stupid question.
	"Rabb, if you want me to help, I need to know everything."
	"Sorry," said Harm, his voice far from apologetic.  "I called her a 
few 
times on Saturday and again on Sunday.  I called her twice this 
morning, but 
she never returned any of my calls.  I figured she was just blowing off 
steam.  But then she didn't show up for work this morning.  I came over 
to 
check on her."
	"How'd you get into the apartment?"
	Harm smirked.  "You think picking locks is a talent reserved for 
spies?  
When I got here I found the bed made and the jacket she was wearing 
Friday 
night.  None of the messages I'd left had been recieved."
	Webb arched one eyebrow.  "That's strange.  What did you guys fight 
about?" 
  He hit PLAY on the answering machine.
	"My father," said Harm with a sigh.
	Webb turned to face Harm.  "What about your father?"
	"It was stupid, really.  I got a package from my mom on Friday 
afternoon.  
She cleaned out her attic and found some old letters my dad wrote her 
when 
he was in Vietnam.  She thought I might like to read them so she sent 
them 
to me."
	"Why the hell didn't you call me?" Webb demanded.
	Harm stared at him.  "Why would I have called you?"
	Webb looked exasperated, and if he had been a little bigger, Harm 
would 
have been scared.  "You are such a dumbass, Rabb.  You weren't a little 
suspicicous?  My God, I talked to you Thursday night!"
	"Are you suggesting Palmer sent me those letters?"
	"Very good, Rabb.  I'll bet you can count to three, too!"
	Angrily, Harm turned away from Rabb and whipped out his cell phone.  A 
soft 
femaile voice answered after three rings.
	"Mom, it's Harm."
	"Hi, honey!" exclaimed his mother.  "My goodness, I wasn't expecting 
to 
hear from you so soon."
	"I can't talk long," Harm explained.  "I'm very busy.  I just wanted 
to 
thank you for the letters you sent me."
	For a moment she didn't respond.  "What letters, Harm?"
	Harm felt his stomach sinking.  "Dad's letters.  From Vietnam."
	"I don't know what you're talking about, son.  Are you feeling OK?"
	"I'm fine," Harm mumbled.  "I'll call you in a few days.  I love you, 
mom."
	He slowly turned to face Webb, who looked unhappily smug.  In spite of 
himself, he hadn't wanted to be right.
**************************
10:03 AM
JAG Headquarters

	Harm's hand shook as he pulled the letters from his desk drawer and 
handed 
them to Webb.  He had never felt so worried in his life.  The feeling 
that 
Webb and Mac were right was getting stronger.
	He watched as Webb opened the first envelope, dated June 14, 1969.  
Webb's 
face paled as he scanned the letter; he dropped it on the desk as he 
turned 
away and pulled out his cell phone.
	"Nielson, Webb here . . ." he spoke with a sense of urgency but Harm 
tuned 
him out and reached fearfully for the letter Webb had dropped.  His 
heart 
plummeted as he began to read:
				So, Commander Rabb.  I bet you didn't expect to hear from me for
			awhile.  To make a long story short, I didn't like Leavenworth all 
that 
			much, so
			in simplest terms, I escaped.  I know what you're thinking--people 
don't 
			just
			escape from Leavenworth.  I'd tell you how I did it, but it's a 
little 
				complicated-I doubt your pilot brain could comprehend it.  And I 
thought 
			to myself, once I was "free", ‘Who is the person I've missed most 
since I 
	 		got thrown in 	prison?  Why, my good friend Harmon Rabb, of 
course!'  I 
			began to wonder what ever happened to you.  I told myself to let it 
go, 
but 			I just couldn't.  I met a woman named Alexandria who dumped me 
			because of it.  So after I got to D.C., I wondered how I could make 
my 
			presence known to you, Harm.  Impersonating your father was out.  So 
I 
			got to thinking.  When I made you think dear ol' dad was alive, it 
was 
like 			I was giving you something you wanted, something you cared 
about, 
			something you desperately needed.  And I thought ‘Hey!  Just to add 
a 
			little variety, why not take away something of the same importance?  
So I 
			did.  Hope to see you soon, Harm."


	There was no signature.  It wsn't necessary; Harm knew who had written 
the 
letter.  He sat down behind his desk, stunned.  Palmer had Mac.
	"Rabb," Webb's voice cut into his stupor.  "Let me have that letter.  
I'm 
going to take it to headquarters."
	"What about the other letters?" Harm asked softly
	"All blank sheets of paper.  I'm going to let the Admiral know what's 
going 
on."
	The two walked in silence to Chegwidden's office.  At first the 
Admiral 
refused to believe their story, but he grew solemn when he realized it 
was 
true.
	"Sit down, Commander," he said after Webb had gone.  "Are you OK?"
	"Not really, sir," Harm said softly.  "I'm worried sick."
	A.J. nodded.  "That's completely understandable.  But with the C.I.A. 
on 
the case, we'll find her."
	Harm nodded but his mind was on other things.
	"Look, Harm, why don't you go home?  You won't be able to focus on 
work 
today."
	"Admiral, with all due respect, I'd like to stay here," Harm said.  "I 
know 
I probably won't get much work done, but I really don't want to be 
alone."
***********************
1:17 PM
JAG Headquarters

	"Commander," Bud asked tentatively, poking his head into Harm's 
office.  
"I'm making coffee.  Would you like a cup?"
	"No, But, but thank you," said Harm.  HE'd been sitting in his office 
for 
hours, not working, just staring out the window at the rain and waiting 
for 
the phone to ring.  Webb had said he'd call . . .
	The Admiral had called a staff meeting earlier and informed the JAG 
crew of 
the situation.  Ever since, they'd been walking on eggshells around 
Harm.  
It was touching, in an annoying sort of way.  They were all worried, of 
course, but ont one of them could comprehend how Harm felt.  He hadn't 
touched the McKean file or any of his other cases--in fact, Bud, 
Sturgis, 
and even the Admiral had offered to take them.
	"Commander Rabb."  This time it was Tiner at his door.  "The Admiral 
wants 
to see you ASAP."
	"Thanks, Tiner," Harm said.  He jumped to his feet and hurried to the 
Admiral's office.
	"Have a seat, Rabb."  The Admiral sighed and looked at his star 
attorney.  
"I wanted you to know that I just got off the phone with Clayton Webb.  
All 
they can tell us so far is that she was abducted from her home sometime 
between midnight and one A.M.  Chances are, Palmer was waiting for her 
when 
she arrived at her apartment."
	Harm could do nothing but nod in silence.
	"Commander, I know you're blaming yourself for this," said the Admiral 
after a moment.  "Clayton told me about the argument you and Mac had.  
Look, 
Harm, you shouldn't blame yourself.  If Palmer hadn't gotten Mac when 
he did 
he would have done it later.  You know Palmer."
	"I know, sir," murmured Harm.  "But what if they find her and she's--"
	"Commander, don't," the Admiral interrupted sternly.  "Don't torture 
yourself with the what-ifs.  You'll drive yourself crazy.  I'll let you 
know 
when I hear from Webb again.  Dismissed."
	"Thank you, Admiral."
***********************
5:03 PM
Alexandria, Virginia

	Mac's hands were numb.  She was dying of thirst, her throat so dry she 
could barely breathe, but her hands were having trouble gripping the 
water 
bottle.  After several tries she succeeded; before she got the bottle 
to her 
mouth, though, her hands failed her.  The bottle fell, spilling what 
was 
left of her water all over her lap.  Her eyes filled with tears--she'd 
never 
been this miserable in her life.
	Her vision had gone blurry awhile ago and the room appeared to be 
spinning. 
  She was still in and out of consciousness.  She wondered if anyone 
back in 
D.C. had realized what was going on.  She wondered where she was and if 
she'd get out of here alive.  She wondered . . . the questions made her 
head 
pound.  She shut her eyes, wishing she could fall back to sleep.  Sleep 
was 
the only escape from this nightmare.
	"Sarah," said Palmer, walking into the room.  She didn't bother to 
open her 
eyes but she heard the unmistakeable sound of a gum being loaded.  
"Rabb 
should be onto me by now.  Probably won't be long before he bursts in 
to 
save his damsel in distress.  And when he does . . .BANG!!"
	Mac shuddered at his laugh. It sounded so wicked, so deranged.  Then 
again, 
Palmer was wicked and deranged.  And now he was armed.  And he was 
probably 
right about Harm.
***********************
8:14 PM
CIA Headquarters

	Webb leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.  It had been a 
hellishly 
long day, and normally he'd be going home about now.  But although he'd 
never admit it to anyone (especially not Rabb, who would kick his ass) 
he 
had a little crush on Mac and he wanted to find her.  Although it 
probably 
wouldn't make her fall for him, it would at least get Rabb off his 
back.  
That guy was so annoying--he'd called nine times in the past three 
hours.
	The phone on his desk rang, startling him.  Probably Rabb again.
	"Deputy Director Webb."
	"Director Webb?" said a familiar female voice.  "This is Agent 
McGinnis.  
I've been reading this letter over and over again and I think I've 
finally 
found something."
	"I'm on my way."  Within minutes, Webb was knocking on Agent McGinnis' 
door.
	"Come in," she called.  The young blond woman was staring at her 
computer 
screen.  Curious, Webb moved to her desk and looked over her 
shoulder--some 
sort of map was holding her attention.
	"What've you got?" Webb asked.  He was more than a little impatient.
	"Well," she began.  "In his letter, Clark Palmer mentions a woman 
named 
Alexandria.  That made me think of the city Alexandria, Virginia.  The 
map 
I'm looking at is the downtown area."
	Webb nodded.  "So you think he's in Alexandria?"
	"Yes," said Agent McGinnis.  "But there's more.  I imagine if this guy 
tells you what city he's in, he probably wants someone to find him, 
someone 
like Commander Rabb.  So I figured he'd probably hint at his exact 
location. 
  So I looked at the date of the letter--6-14-1969--thinking it may be 
an 
address."  She paused and hit a few keys, magnifying the street map on 
the 
screen.  "I started running checks of different combinations of those 
numbers, looking for a place I'd take someone I kidnapped."
	"Did you find anything?" Webb asked incredulously.
	"Not at first.  The numbers used were 6,1,4,1,9,6, and 9.  I found 
something I think is significant at 1969 14th Street."  She pointed to 
the 
address on the map.  "It's an old warehouse that's been abandoned for 
years. 
  It was built by a boating supply company in 1971 to be used for 
storage.  
The company went out of business in 1983 but the warehouse was never 
demolished.  In 1984, some Alexandria teens petitioned to make it into 
some 
sort of teen dance club, but the city wouldn't allow it."
	"So how do you explain the six?"
	"That was the one I couldn't figure out."  Her fingers moved swiftly 
over 
the keyboard and a picture of a young man and woman replaced the map.  
"So I 
did a little research on the company who built the warehouse--Morrow 
Boating 
Supply.  These two were the owners.  They were husband and wife as well 
as 
business partners.  His name is Thomas.  Her name is June."  She tilted 
her 
head to look at her boss.
	"My God," said Webb in awe.  "It's brilliant."
	"No kidding.  If this guy Palmer ever decides to give up his life of 
crime 
he'd make a hell of an agent."  She sighed.  "So what do we do now?"
	"Well," said Webb.  "You stay here and finish up whatever this letter 
prevented you from getting done.  I'm going to Alexandria."
	"All right," said Agent McGinnis.  "If Commander Rabb calls, I'll tell 
him--"
	"Nothing," Webb interrupted.  "You'll tell him absolutely nothing."
***********************
9:07 PM
JAG Headquarters

	Harm slammed down his phone in disgust.  He'd just spoken to some 
woman 
named Agent McGinnis.  She'd told him the same thing she had the past 
three 
times he called.  Sorry, Commander Rabb.  We've still got nothing to go 
on.  
With this letter being the only evidence we have it may take awhile to 
find 
your partner.
	What the hell kind of people did the C.I.A. hire anyway?  They'd hired 
Webb, for God's sakes.  Nope, Harm wasn't bitter at all.
	"Commander," said Admiral Chegwidden.  He was standing in Harm's 
doorway, 
jacket on and umbrella in hand.  "Go home.  You need to sleep.  There's 
nothing you can do and spending the night in your office won't change 
that.  
Go home, Rabb.  Webb'll call you if he finds anything out."
	Harm nodded and rose silently to his feet.  He hated to admit it but 
the 
Admiral was right.  A night in his chair would give him nothing but a 
sore 
back, as stiff neck and a wrinkled uniform.  And he was tired--sleep 
didn't 
sound like such a bad idea.  Of course, he figured, sleep would 
probably be 
impossible unless it was drug induced.
	He drove home in silence.  At his apartment, he took off his jacket, 
shirt 
and shoes and sprawled on his couch.  By some miracle, he fell asleep.
************************
12:01 AM
Alexandria, Virginia

	The building was huge, Webb realized as he drove past 1969 14th 
Street.  
Four floors, and it was probably a safe bet that Palmer and Mac weren't 
on 
the first one.  Of course, it was a pretty safe bet that they weren't 
in the 
building at all.  But a lead was a lead, and it was all Webb had.
	He parked his car two blocks away and walked to the warehouse.  The 
streets 
were completely empty and a light rain was falling.
	HE found the entrance to the warehouse open and the first floor empty.  
The 
second floor, and then the third, he discovered similarly deserted.  
His gun 
raised, he crept slowly up the stairs to the fourth story, praying that 
he'd 
find Mac.  She had to be here . . .
	But the fourth floor, to Webb's disappointment, was as empty as the 
previous three.  So it had been a wild goose chase, which was probably 
what 
Palmer had intended.  Distract the C.I.A. and while they wasted time . 
. . 
Lowering his gun, Webb turned to leave, but a sound behind him made him 
turn.
	"Who's there?" he shouted into the darkness.
	"Who do you think?" an all too familiar voice asked.  Before Webb 
could 
respond, the overhead flourescent lights came to life and the room was 
illuminated.  There, not ten feet in front of Webb, stood Clark Palmer, 
his 
arm around the waist of a very sick looking Sarah Mackenzie and a gun 
in his 
other hand.
	"Palmer," Webb growled.  "Let her go."
	Palmer laughed.  "Nope, don't think so, Secret Agent Man.  I was 
expecting 
Commander Rabb."
	"Let her go," Webb repeated, louder this time.
	"No," said Palmer.  He spoke conversationally, as though he were 
telling 
Webb about last night's Mets game.  "I kind of like her."
	As Webb watched Palmer lifted one hand from Mac's waist and carressed 
one 
of her breasts.  She let out a cry of pain.  Webb's stomach turned, he 
aimed 
and pulled the trigger.
	The bullet flew, but it wasn't Palmer's body that fell to the ground 
or his 
blood that stained the concrete.  Rather, the next thing Webb saw was 
Palmer 
running and Mac on the ground, blood gushing from a wound on the side 
of her 
head.
	Already dialing numbers on his cell phone, Webb ran to her.  As he 
barked 
orders into his phone he knelt beside her and checked her pulse.  She 
was 
alive, but barely.
	As he sat on the concrete, hand pressed to the bullet wound to stop 
her 
bleeding, an entirely new feeling mixed with his fear and worry.
	Guilt.
************************

12:32 AM
Harm's Apartment

	The phone was ringing.  It woke Harm up and he cursed when he saw what 
time 
it was.  He cursed some more when he stubbed his toe on his way to the 
kitchen.
	"Hello?" he answered groggily.
	"Rabb!"  Even at 12:30 AM the Admiral's voice was a familiar one.
	"Yes, sir?" asked Harm, his stomach twistin into knots.  A late night 
phone 
call from Admiral Chegwidden--or any Admiral, for that matter-- was 
never a 
good thing.
	"You need to get to Bethesda right away.  Room 317.  It's Mac.  I'll 
explain when you get here."
*****************************
1:31 AM
Bethesda Naval Hospital

	"Admiral," called Rabb as he ran down the hallway to room 317.  
Chegwidden 
was waiting outside the door.  "What happened, sir?"
	"The C.I.A. found Mac," said Admiral Chegwidden softly.  "In 
Alexandria.  
With Palmer."
	"So what's wrong with her?" Harm asked, willing his heart to slow 
down.
	"She was shot, Commander, in the head."
	Harm felt his knees go weak.  "What?"
	"They removed the slug and she is alive.  But it's precarious.  There 
are 
doctors in with her now, and they'll give us a report."
	At that moment the door to Mac's room opened and a middle aged man 
stepped 
out.  He introduced himself as Lt. Thofson and led the Admiral and Harm 
down 
the hall to a small, almost empty waiting room.  The only other person 
there 
was seated on a couch, looking uncharacteristically solemn.
	"Webb?  What are you doing here?" asked Rabb.
	"Long story."
	"Folks," said the Lt.  "Right now it doesn't look good.  Granted, 
Colonel 
Mackenzie is extremely lucky to be alive.  But she lost a lot of blood 
and 
she's very weak.  For several nights she's been recieving injections of 
some 
sort of sedative that we can't identify.  She's severely dehydrated .  
About 
10 minutes ago, she slipped into a coma.  We'll keep monitoring her, 
but it 
will be a miracle if she lives through the night.  However, it is 
unlikely 
that she'll ever wake up."  The doctor's eyes were genuinely 
sympathetic.  
"You can see her tonight but I suggest you don't stay long.  And a word 
of 
warning.  You aren't going to like what you see."
	"We can handle it, Lt.," said the Admiral sharply.
	Lt. Thofson held up his hands.  "I didn't mean to imply that you 
couldn't, 
sir.  Good-night."
	After the Lt. had gone Harm turned to Webb and repeated his earlier 
inquiry.  "What are you doing here?"
	"I found Mac," Webb replied softly.  "We figured out where she was."
	Harm's eyes flashed.  "Why the hell didn't you call me?"
	Webb sighed.  "Because, Rabb, you would have gone bursting in to play 
the 
knight in shining armor and Palmer would have killed you."
	"Dammit!"  Harm rose to his feet and began pacing.  "Where is Palmer 
now?"
	"He . . . he got away."
	Harm froze and looked at Webb in disbelief.  "You let him get away?  
The 
man shot my partner in the head and you let him get away?"
	"Palmer didn't shoot her," Webb mumbled.
	"Then who the hell did?" Harm demanded.
	Webb was silent; he looked at the floor instead of at Rabb.  Harm felt 
his 
stomach drop.  "You?  You shot Mac?"
	"It--it was an accident.  I was aiming for Palmer, and he pushed Mac 
in 
front of him and he took the bullet."
	Harm shook as he sat down and buried his face in his hands.  The room 
was 
starting to spin and he could feel what little he'd eaten threatening 
to 
come up.
	"Harm, I am so sorry," Webb said.  "If I had known--"
	"Sorry doesn't help, Webb," Harm interrupted with thinly veiled 
disgust.  
"Apologies won't heal Mac."
	"Harm--"
	"Just go, Webb.  Leave.  You don't deserve to be here.  You don't 
deserve 
to be alive."
***********************
2:00 AM
Webb's Apartment

	Webb hated feeling guilty.  It was something he normally tried to 
avoid at 
all cost, and usually, he succeeded.  But not right now.  He'd shot 
Sarah 
Mackenzie in the head and the guilt was overwhelming.  And Harm's 
reaction 
had made it worse--Webb had expected him to yell, scream, throw 
punches.  
But the unexpected grief in his eyes, the genuine pain and anguish, 
were far 
worse.  It had almost hurt to see Rabb, the fearless fighter pilot, 
like 
that.  Almost.
	What do people do when they feel guilty?  Webb asked himself as he 
walked 
into his apartment.  Eat lots of cookies?  No, that was sorrow.  
Consume a 
large quantity of hard liquor?  No, that was self pity.  Write in a 
journal? 
  No, Webb didn't keep a journal.  Take a hot bubble bath?  No, that 
was--actually, that wasn't such a bad idea.
**************************
2:00 AM
Bethesda Naval Hospital

	Harm stood nervously outside of room 317, waiting for Lt. Thofson to 
emerge 
so he could go in.  He'd faced Mac in and out of court a million times 
without blinking an eye, and here he was, terrified to see her in a 
hospital 
bed.
	"You can go in, sir," Lt. Thofson said as he exited the room.
	"How is she, Lt.?"
	"No change, Commander."
	"Thank you."  Harm watched the doctor leave and then took a few deep 
breaths.  He still wasn't prepared for what he saw when he entered room 
317.
	It was Mac, but not the Mac he knew.  Tubes ran from her nose to an 
oxygen 
tank and the better part of her head was engulfed by a bandage.  She 
was 
hooked up to several IV's, a heart monitor and various other machines 
to 
chart her condition.
	"Mac," he whispered, stepping closer.  He reached down and gingerly 
took 
one of her hands in his; it felt warm but lifeless.    He brushed a 
strand 
of hair from her forehead--her skin was so soft.  He allowed his hand 
to 
trace the curve of her cheek and the line of her lips, wishing 
desperately 
that she could feel it.
	"Commander," came Lt. Thofson's voice from the doorway.  "I think you 
should go now."
	Harm nodded, lifted Mac's hand to his lips, and pressed a gentle kiss 
to 
her palm.
************************
9:45 AM (Tuesday)
Bethesda Naval Hospital

	Harm woke to find himself still at the hospital, stretched out on a 
waiting 
room couch.  The room was empty but he could hear hospital sounds in 
the 
corridor and rain pounding against the window--the weather seemed 
fitting.
	"Morning, Commander," Admiral Chegwidden greeted him as he walked into 
the 
room .  HE looked impeccable in his uniform and suddenly Harm felt 
inferior 
in his jeans and rumpled T-shirt.
	"Sir," he responded hoarsely.  "I can be at JAG--"
	"Don't worry, Commander," the Admiral interrupted.  "I've got Bud and 
Sturgis splitting up your cases.  I'm giving you a few days of leave."
	"Thank you, sir, but that really isn't necessary."
	"Yes, Harm, it is," said the Admiral with a laugh.  "You're a damn 
good 
lawyer but right now you would be absolutely useless."
	"So you didn't come to subpoena me?"
	"No.  I wanted to check on Mac's condition--and on yours.  Did you go 
home 
at all last night?"
	"Harm smiled weakly.  "No."
	"You should.  Just for awhile.  Shower, change your clothes, eat 
something."
	"Maybe."
	The Admiral nodded.  "I told the rest of the staff what's going on.  
Lt. 
Roberts will probably be by later."
	"Commander, Admiral," Lt. Thofson greeted his superior officers as he 
walked into the waiting room.  "Good morning.  I imagine you want an 
update."
	"That would be lovely, Lt.," the Admiral sid gruffly.
	"There has been a slight improvement in Colonel Mackenzie's condition, 
but 
it's not significant enough to make us too optimistic.  She survived 
the 
night, though, and we didn't expect her too.  Hopefully she'll continue 
to 
improve but there is no guarantee.  Really, all we can do now is watch, 
wait, and hope."
	"Thank you, Lt.," said the Admiral.
	"Yes, sir."
	The Admiral turned to Harm.  "Harm, I have to get back to JAG, I seem 
to be 
somewhat of a necessity there.  I want you to call me right away if 
there 
are any developments, good or bad."
	"Yes, sir."
	Once the Admiral had left, Harm wandered to Mac's room.  He pulled a 
chair 
beside the bed and took her hand.  The heart monitor behind him he 
beeped 
incessantly; Harm found it reassuring.  Her small, soft hand looked 
tiny in 
his.  He held her hand to his face and rested his forehead against the 
smooth palm.
	"Please, Mac," he whispered.  "Don't leave me.  I need you."
*********************
1:05 PM (Tuesday)
Bethesda Naval Hospital

	"Commander, can I come in?"
	Harm looked up from the cross word he was doing to see Bud in the 
doorway.
	"Please come in, Bud.  I'd be glad for the company."
	"I brought some donuts, sir," Bud said, holding up a paper bag.  "The 
Admiral said you haven't been eaten much today."
	Harm shook his head and offered Bud the chair next to his.  "I'm not 
really 
that hungry, but I had something from the vending machine awhile ago."
	"How's she doing, sir?" asked Bud as he sat down and reached for a 
donut.
	"Better, but not good," Harm answered.
	Bud nodded.  "And how are you doing, sir?"
	Harm snorted.  "Shitty, Bud.  My best friend is dying and the guy who 
shot 
her is someone I once thought of as a friend."
	"That reminds me," said Bud.  "Director Webb resigned from the C.I.A. 
this 
morning."
	"What?" asked Harm in disbelief.
	"It's true, sir.  He's leaving Washington, too."
	Harm shook his head slowly.  "I'll be damned."
	"Commander," siad Bud, facing Rabb seriously.  "Can I ask you a kind 
of 
personal question?"
	"I guess so," answered Harm.  "What about?"
	"The Colonel.  I mean, she's a terrific woman and everyone at JAG 
adores 
her.  The whole staff is worried sick, but sir, you seem to be taking 
it 
harder than the rest of us combined."
	"What's your question, Lt.?" Harm interrupted, a bit uneasy about 
where Bud 
may be going with this.
	"Sir, what makes Colonel Mackenzie so special to you?"
	For a moment Harm was silent, considering his words.  "What isn't, 
Bud?  
She's amazing.  She followed me to Russia when I wanted to find my 
father, 
and postponed her wedding because I was lost at sea.  She's saved my 
life in 
more ways than one.  She's . . . amazing, Bud.  That's the only way to 
say 
it."
	"Do you love her, sir?"
	The question caught Harm off guard.  He cleared his throat and 
considered 
lying, but he was a bad liar and Bud would see right through it.  
"Yes," he 
said, looking his friend in the eye.  "I love her.  I have for a long 
time."
	"Why don't you tell her, sir?"
	"Besides the conflict with our careers . . . I just can't."
	"It's not that hard, sir."
	Harm looked at Bud, his eyes serious.  "What would I say?"
	Bud smiled.  He rarely gave Harm love advice.  "You just tell her, 
sir.  
You look her in the eye and you say I love you."
	Harm sighed.  "And what will she say?"
	"She'll say I love you too."
	"You think so?" asked Harm.
	"I know so, sir," said Bud seriously.  "I think you should tell her."
	"So do I," came the Admiral's voice from the doorway.
	"Sir, I--" Harm said, jumping to his feet.  "How long have you been 
standing there, sir?"
	The Admiral smiled warmly.  "Long enough, Commander.  And I agree with 
Lt. 
Roberts.  Tell her.  You owe it to yourself.  You owe it to her."
**********************
7:29 PM (Friday)
Bethesda Naval Hospital

	Harm yawned.  He was sitting next to Mac's bed, holding her hand; he 
had 
practically become a permanent fixture of the room.  In the past few 
days, 
Mac's condition had improved a little and Lt. Thofson was growing 
hopeful.
	Harm had more or less moved into Bethesda.  Since he'd arrived on 
Tuesday, 
he'd gone home all of three times.  Bud and the Admiral and their 
advice had 
made him more determined to be there when she woke up.
	He was tired, and he leaned his head against the palm of Mac's hand.  
It 
made him feel better, somehow, to have her hand against his head.  It 
was, 
in its own way, comforting.
	He was beginning to doze off when he heard a voice.  "Harm?"
	His heart pounded at the sound; he felt her fingers tighten around his 
hand 
and he jumped to his feet.  Mac's eyes were open.
	"Harm, what are you doing here?  What am I doing here?"
	"It's a long story," he whispered.  "But you were kidnapped and shot.  
The 
letters, Palmer, Webb . . ."
	"I remember," she murmured.
	"You've been in a coma," he told her, touching her ace.  "For almost a 
week."
	She nodded as best she could and thought for a moment.  "Harm, there's 
something I need to tell you."
	"What?" he asked, his heart thudding in his chest as he leaned down to 
her. 
  She tilted her head slightly until her lips were mere centimeters 
from his 
ear.
	"Harm, I . . ."
	"Yes?" he breathed.
	"I told you so."
***********************
10:30 PM
Harm's Apartment

	"Careful," Harm said as he helped Mac into his apartment.  Three hours 
ago 
she had come out of the coma; according to Lt. Thofson it was nothing 
short 
of a miracle. Harm thought it was a miracle that they'd ever managed to 
leave Bethesda--first there had been dozens of "just in case" tests on 
Mac, 
then several other JAG staffers had converged on the hospital.  
Naturally, 
Bud and the Admiral had been there, shooting Harm significant looks to 
reiterate their opinions on he and Mac--Harm was surprised she hadn't 
noticed.
	"Thanks again for letting me stay here," said Mac.  After the tests 
and the 
impromptu JAG reunion Harm had suggested Mac stay the night at his 
place.  
He didn't want her to be alone.
	"Not a problem," he replied.  "I'm happy to have you."
	"And I'm guessing you'll be happy to loan me some pajamas?"
	Harm smiled.  "Sure."  He gave her a pair of his boxers and a NAVY 
T-shirt, 
eliciting an eyeroll from the Marine.
	"You look good in NAVY," he teased her when she emerged from the 
bathroom.
	"Damn squids," she replied with a grin.
	"It's nice to see you smiling," Harm said softly.  He was sitting on 
his 
bed and he patted the spot next to him, inviting Mac to sit down.
	"I hear you were quite the vigilante this past week," she said, 
joining him 
on the bed.  "The Admiral says you barely left the hospital."
	"It's true.  I wanted to be there if you woke up."
	"Thank you," she said.  "I don't think many people would have done 
that."
	For a moment the room fell silent; the only sound was the rain.
	"It was raining the night I was kidnapped," Mac recalled.
	Harm nodded.  "It hasn't stopped since."  HE cleared his throat 
nervously.  
"Mac,
I . . . there's something I need to tell you."
	"OK," she said, looking perplexed.  Harm wasn't really the serious 
discussion type.
	He took a deep breath and reached for her hand.  "Mac," he began, 
looking 
her in the eye.  "There are so many things I've wanted to say to you 
for so 
long and I've never been able to.  But this past week I almost lost 
you, and 
while you were in the hospital I just kept praying that I'd get a 
chance to 
tell you everything I needed to."
	She opened her mouth to speak but he pressed a finger against her 
lips.
	"All my life," he continued.  "I haven't been afraid of much.  I can 
land a 
plane on a boat in the middle of the ocean at night, I can hold my own 
with 
anyone in the courtroom.  But there's always been one thing, Mac, that 
terrifies me.  Losing people I love.  And I became afraid to love you 
for 
fear that if I did I would lose you.  But when the doctors said you 
were 
going to die, the fear of losing you without loving you was worse."
	"Harm," she whispered, tears sparkling in her eyes.  She reached up 
and 
touched his cheek; he covered her hand with his own.
	"I love you, Mac, more than anything. I have for the longest time but 
I've 
been too scared to say it.  It took almost losing you to make me 
realize 
that it's pointless to be afraid.  I love you and I want to be with 
you.  I 
don't care how many regs we have to break-whatever the sacrifice, it's 
worth 
it."
	A tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away.   "Don't cry, 
Sarah."
	"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "But I've wanted you to say that for so 
long.  
I love you too, Harm."
	Her words echoed in his mind and an unimaginable happiness filled his 
body--so this is how it felt to be truly in love.  Cradling her face in 
his 
hands, he pulled her to him for a kiss.  The moment his lips met hers 
the 
rest of the world--the Navy, the Marines, the regs--slipped from his 
mind.  
All that mattered was this moment, this feeling, this love; it was all 
that 
ever would matter.  He knew that he would nver have to be afraid again.
	Harm smiled at her as they separated.  She was so beautiful, her lips 
still 
shimmering from their kiss, her eyes still glittering with tears.
	He lay down and pulled her with him; she rested her head on his 
shoulder, 
one delicate hand splayed across his chest.  HE marvelled at how good 
she 
felt in his arms.
	"I love you, Sarah," he whispered.
	"I love you, too.  And you know what, Harm?"
	"What?"
	"It's about damn time."

***********************THE END**************************************