Name/Title: Coming Back Into the Light (sequel to "A
Passage Through Darkness").
Author name: Oleshka (oleshka24@yahoo.com)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Some for Tribunal, Enemy Below, In country,
and a few others

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the main characters --
just borrowing them for the storyline.

Summary: Rescued from his captors, Harm is back in the
States, recovering from his ordeal.  But his emotional
scars are deeper than he'd realized.  Can he overcome
his pain and break free from the darkness of his
memories?  Will he be able to handle a new trial that
fate sends his way?

Author's note:  I wanted to give a huge thanks to each
and every one of you who wrote all those wonderful
e-mails to me regarding the first story.  Your
comments really meant a lot.  Thanks.  And thanks also
for being patient with me, as it took me longer than
I'd anticipated to finish this sequel.  It may not be
quite what some of you may have expected, but I do
hope you are still able to enjoy it.  Comments, as
always, are welcome.



Coming Back Into the Light: Part I

Prologue...
Harm's apartment.

Darkness.  Ominous, crushing darkness of the cave... his prison.
Cold, suffocating darkness.  It immobilizes him, binding his hands ... 
it throws him helpless at the mercy of the blood-thirsty monsters 
that hide deep within its heart.  He can feel them creeping in on him 
from all sides ... can feel their foul breath as it brushes against his 
exposed skin.  He can see the threatening gleam of their blades as they 
catch the tiny ray of light that filters through the cracks in the 
rocky 
ceiling.  They tremble with excitement, anticipating the feast of 
gruesome 
torture that is about to begin.  He tries to scream, as the pain 
explodes 
in his body, drowning out all other sensations.  But the darkness 
stifles 
his screams, and the sounds of agony and despair fade away, swallowed 
up by 
its cold, indifferent silence.  Then one of the monsters steps before 
him, 
and he can see the feverish glint in his eyes ... the maniacal 
expression.  
The beast's arm is raised toward him, the dark barrel of a gun pointed 
at 
his head.  The final image, the final scene...  
The echo of the gunshot tears through him like a red-hot knife, and he 
screams again, a piercing scream of her name, a desperate call filled 
with 
agony of fear and pain.

Bolting upright in his bed, his fingers clutching the crumpled sheets, 
he 
sat wide awake, breathing heavily, as he waited for his heart to slow 
down 
its wild beating.  Darkness was still there in his room, and it weighed 
heavily on his being, as he took in the familiar surroundings.  It was 
the 
same dream he had every night ever since he got released from the 
hospital 
four days ago.  Same nightmare.
He ran his hand over his face, feeling the already familiar beads of 
cold 
sweat under his palm.  "I'm losing my mind," he murmured, glancing at 
the
alarm clock on his night-stand.  3:30 a.m.  Today was his first day 
back
at work.  And if he didn't want to end up in a padded cell in Bethesda, 
he
needed to convince everyone at JAG that he was perfectly fit for duty.
Sleeping a maximum of 3 or 4 hours for the past four days was probably 
not
going to help his case much.  

He groaned, slowly rolling out of bed.  Going back to sleep was out of 
the
question.  He would go take a shower ... read something ... do some 
push-ups to get the blood flowing, have his breakfast ... and go to 
work.
He flipped the switch in the bathroom, and the fluorescent light split 
the
overwhelming darkness, making him squint, shielding his eyes.  The 
mirror 
came into his view, and he frowned in frustration upon seeing his worn 
out,
haggard appearance.  "Think we're gonna be able to fool 'em, Rabb?" he
nodded at his reflection, pasting a wide grin on his face.  But the 
grin
looked as fake as it felt, and he sighed in exasperation and turned 
away
from the mirror, stepping onto the cold tiles of the shower room.


Chapter I
0730 same day.
JAG Heardquarters.

The doors of the elevator swooshed open, and its occupant frowned 
disapprovingly, 
lingering at the threshold.  Part of him hoped that his ride would 
somehow take 
longer, that this moment would never come.  
Secretly he dreaded it; dreaded having to face his coworkers, to 
withstand 
their concerned yet curious stares, the endless questions...  He 
couldn't 
handle that now ... he just couldn't.  He feared that any question 
directed 
at him would find him in a state of panic, scrambling for an answer; 
that 
any careless glance would see right through his façade.  He hoped to 
delay 
that somehow - much like a condemned man hopes against hope for even
a brief stay of his execution.  But he had arrived; his time was up, 
and, sighing 
in resignation, Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. slowly and hesitantly 
stepped onto the 
main floor of the JAG office.

He felt a cool wave of relief wash over him when he realized that the 
bullpen was nearly empty.  The unending nightmare that drove him out of 
bed at the break of dawn had also driven him to the office earlier than
his usual time; earlier, in fact, than nearly anyone's usual arrival.
Thus it inadvertently gave him a few more moments of reprieve that he 
so
badly desired.  Harm smiled grimly, appreciating the bitter irony of 
the
situation.  Then, giving a brief nervous tug on his uniform jacket to 
straighten some invisible crease in the impeccably pressed fabric, he
walked briskly across the bullpen, heading toward the alluringly
familiar confines of his office.  He would be safe in there ... at 
least
for a while.  He would shut the door, close the blinds, and maybe ...
Abruptly, he cut his own train of thought, realizing just how 
ridiculous
it sounded.  He was running, trying to escape both the reality and the
nightmare that was haunting him.  But, in all honesty, he knew very 
well that there was nowhere to run.

As if to prove his point, a familiar voice called out his name; a voice
that jarred his conscience, breaking through his fragile defenses and
stirring up the poorly buried feelings of guilt.  The same guilt that
sent him on his dreadful journey into the abyss 3 months ago.
A friendly hand lay on his shoulder, and he started involuntarily, 
bracing himself for the encounter.

"Hello, Bud," he said softly, turning to face the Lieutenant.  
"It's good to have you back, Sir."  The younger man's face beamed with 
genuine happiness for his friend's return.  But his smile faded, when
he noticed the haunted expression that flickered in the other man's 
eyes at the sight of his cane.  The expression disappeared almost 
instantaneously, replaced by an impenetrable mask of calmness.
"Are you all right, Sir?" 
"I'm fine, Bud," he answered with the ease he did not feel.  "How've
you been holding up?"
"Better," the Lieutenant smiled ruefully.  "It's gonna take a little
while to get completely used to this thing," he added, lightly
tapping the cane against his prosthetic leg.
Harm cringed visibly at the muffled plastic sound, grateful only that
his friend was not looking at him at that moment.  The memories came
flooding back: the report of Bud's injury; the long, agonizing hours
of waiting to learn of his condition; the pallor of Mac's face;
Harriet's tears and her angry hurtful words.  "Was she still angry at
him, blaming him for what happened?" he wondered.  "Probably," an
implacable voice responded in his head.  "Why shouldn't she be?  And
so should Bud..."

He drew a shaky breath, snapping out of his reverie just in time to
catch the last bit of what Bud was saying to him.
"... I am sorry that we didn't come visit you more often in the 
hospital.  The physical therapy sessions ... I - ... And Harriet 
was..."
"It's ... okay, Bud, really," he murmured hoarsely, shaking his head
in silent disbelief.  Why was Bud trying to apologize to him?  It  
was only natural that Bud wouldn't want to see him after what happened.  
And neither would Harriet.  There was nothing for him to feel sorry
about.  "I was pretty out of it for most of the time anyway," he
added aloud.  "I don't really remember much of what went on around me."
That was partially true.  His memories of the hospital days were
sketchy at best.  He did remember one thing, though; one person, whose
comforting presence enveloped his whole being, soothing the memories
of the horrors of his months in captivity - Mac.  He remembered her
sitting by his side, her fingers gently caressing the side of his
face; her kind brown eyes watching him, glowing with the kind of
tenderness that made him feel warm and secure and pushed aside the
chilling darkness.  He would fall asleep comforted by the knowledge
of her presence.  He was safe.  And now...  Mac was away on an 
assignment in California.  A mishap investigation.  For the past 
few days he's been facing the nighttime alone.  And with his safety
net gone, the darkness claimed him back with a vengeance.

He shook his head again, realizing with a start that Bud has been
calling him.
"Commander, are you sure everything is all right?" he asked, concern
coloring his voice.
Harm nodded, forcing a light smile on his lips.  "Yeah, Bud ... I 
just got a lot on my mind."  He gestured in the direction of his 
office.  "I guess I'd better get going," he said nonchalantly, "I
have a lot of work to catch up on."

The conversation was over.  Bud watched him enter the office and close 
the door behind him.  Something was not right with his friend.
Something just wasn't right.

"How is he?" 
His wife's voice startled him, interrupting his musings, and Bud turned 
around slowly, meeting her concerned stare.
"I don't know, Harriet," he shrugged, his mind drifting back to the 
haunted expression in his friend's eyes.  "I just don't know..."  
He trailed off, uncertain.  
Several minutes passed in silence, as they stood motionless by each 
other's side, their eyes fixed upon the closed office door.
"Maybe you should talk to him," Bud offered finally, shifting
uncomfortably on his artificial leg.
"No!" she protested a little too adamantly, as she quickly cast her 
glance downward, avoiding the questioning look in her husband's eyes.  
"I just ... I don't think I could face him after what I've said to him 
that day when you were in the hospital...," she mumbled, the memories 
of the awful words she hurled at her distraught friend that day making 
her hot with guilt.  "He probably doesn't even want to see me," she 
added dejectedly.  "Why would he?"
Harriet felt her husband's hand on her shoulder and looked up 
hesitantly, expecting to find pity or reproach in his eyes.
She was surprised to see neither.

"I think you're wrong, sweetie," Bud countered softly.  "If I know the 
Commander at all, he's much more likely to shoulder all the blame 
himself."  He recalled his friend's expression at the sight of his 
cane; 
his obvious discomfort throughout their conversation, especially around 
the topic of hospital visits (or lack thereof) on his and Harriet's 
part, 
a realization dawning on him.  "I think he might believe that we didn't 
visit him in the hospital because we didn't want to see him.  Because 
we 
blamed him somehow for what happened to me..."
"But that's not-," she gasped, horrified by his conclusion.
"I know," Bud assured her, lightly squeezing her shoulder.
"I know that, but he may not," he added, leaving the phrase hang in the 
air.
"Maybe I should go talk to him."  Harriet looked at her husband 
expectantly, and the latter nodded in affirmation, watching as she 
collected herself.
"I'll be right here if you need me."  He smiled reassuringly, and she 
nodded in turn, giving him a tight smile before heading over to Harmon 
Rabb's office.

***

The door squeaked slightly, causing Harm to look up from a pile of 
paperwork that cluttered his desk, and he paled slightly at the sight 
of 
his visitor.
"May I come in, Sir?" Harriet inquired warily, noting his hesitation.
He nodded wordlessly, watching her, as she walked across the room, 
stopping a couple of feet away from him.  The uncomfortable silence 
stretched, and Harriet began to wonder whether it was even a good idea 
for her to come in here.  
"He must hate me," she thought, nervously tugging at the sleeve of her 
jacket.  "Maybe it's best if I leave right now."
She opened her mouth to ask his permission to leave, when Harm finally 
spoke.
"Sit down, please, Harriet."
She did as she was told, her eyes fixed on him in anticipation.
"What can I help you with?" Harm was surprised at how calm he sounded.
"I-," she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, unsure how to begin.  Her 
friend's (if she could still count him as one) expression was 
unreadable.  
The infamous Rabb brick wall. Harriet sighed inwardly.  This was 
hopeless.  
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she offered finally,
wincing at how lame that sounded.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to evaluate the 
sincerity 
of her response, to read between the lines.
She was uncomfortable, he could tell.  Harm was willing to bet that the 
only reason she came in to see him now was because Bud asked her to.  
She 
still couldn't stand the sight of him.  And who could blame her?  After 
a 
one-day trip in country Bud became a cripple for the rest of his life.  
And after 3 months of captivity and torture he, "the invincible Harmon 
Rabb, Jr.," was back on his feet without any visible scars.  He 
couldn't 
help admiring the irony, and he wondered briefly what Harriet would 
have 
thought had she seen the scars left on his body by Ahmed and his 
henchmen.  Or what if she could look inside his dreams, the horrors 
that 
haunted his sleep every single night.  Would she have felt better 
knowing 
all that?

He sighed almost imperceptibly, pushing back the unpleasant thoughts.
"I'm fine, Harriet.  How are you?"
"Fine," she nodded, and they both fell silent, unsure of what to do or 
say next.

A knock on the door broke the heavy silence, and Harm stood up, perhaps 
a little too quickly, grateful for the unexpected relief.  
"Come in," he offered, avoiding looking at Harriet.
Jason Tiner stuck his head in the office.  "I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir 
... Ma'am, but the Admiral wants to see you in his office right away, 
Commander."
Harm nodded curtly.  "I'll be right there, Tiner.  Thank you."
Turning back to Harriet to excuse himself from the room, he was 
surprised 
by the look in her eyes.  Disappointment?  He wavered, uncertain of 
what 
he saw, but Harriet already recovered and rose from her chair, giving 
him 
a soft smile.
"That's okay, Sir," she asserted, unexpectedly coming to his rescue.  
"We can talk later."  With that she walked out.

Chapter II
Same time.
JAG Headquarters.

He pushed the heavy wooden door, hesitating as unbidden the memory of 
his 
last visit to the Admiral's office and of the events that followed 
washed 
over him, filling him with something akin to dread.  His apprehension 
grew 
when he saw that one of the chairs across from the Admiral's desk was 
occupied, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to get a closer look at the 
visitor.  It wasn't Webb, and almost reflexively the Commander breathed 
a 
quick sigh of relief.

"Commander, I'd like you to meet John Nettleback from the Attorney 
General's office."  The Admiral pointed to his guest, and the latter 
stood 
up, facing the young aviator.
Middle aged, balding, and slightly chubby with a nice round belly that 
protruded out of his expensive double-breasted suit, he reminded Harm 
of a somewhat 
overdressed version of the Wizard of Oz.  
"Commander Rabb," he exclaimed in a surprisingly low baritone, as he 
grabbed a hold of Harm's hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously.  
"I have heard of your exploits.  I must say, it is an honor to meet 
you, Commander."

Slightly bemused by such an enthusiastic greeting, Harm looked 
questioningly from one man to the other.  
"Attorney General's office?"
Nettleback's smile dimmed a bit.  "I am here in connection with your 
recent ordeal, Commander," he stated hesitantly.
Harm nodded.  "I gathered as much," he said, perhaps a bit more harshly 
than he'd intended.  "However, I still don't see the connection between 
my 'ORDEAL', as you put it, and the office of the Attorney General."
The rosy-cheeked face lost all of its feigned cheerfulness, and the 
"Wizard" grew completely serious.  
"Our office is involved because of the impending trial of one Ali 
Akhbar, 
who was taken prisoner during your rescue mission."

Harm felt himself tense at these words.  
"Prisoner?"  This time his gaze was directed squarely at his commanding 
officer.
Chegwidden sighed, throwing a reproachful look at the careless 
attorney.  
"Have a seat, Commander," he offered instead of a response, and the 
latter complied, fighting to keep control of his shaky legs.  
Nettleback followed suit.

"The goal of the mission, as it was originally drawn up ... was 
strictly recovery," A.J. 
said in a solemn, almost emotionless voice after a moment of tense 
silence.  
"But the SEAL team that was sent in after you was able to take one man 
prisoner.  
He was brought to the States for trial."

Harm kept his gaze fixed on some random spot on the wall behind the 
Admiral, 
the words of his C.O. ringing in his ears.
Prisoner...  One of the men who held him captive for three months...  
One 
of his torturers...  And he was here in the States all this time ... 
All 
the time that he, Harm, was in the hospital.  Why wasn't he told?

As if in response to his silent question, John Nettleback chimed in, 
his 
voice apologetic.  "I am terribly sorry, Commander.  I had no idea that 
you were not aware of the situation with the prisoner.  I-"
"What's my role in this?" Harm interrupted hoarsely, forcing his mind 
to 
focus on the attorney's words.

Nettleback hesitated this time and looked to the Admiral before 
volunteering any more information.  Chegwidden nodded in grim silence, 
urging him to continue.  
For the second time in a period of only a few months A.J. Chegwidden 
was following a 
directive that went against every instinct he had as a friend or as a 
parent.  
And he hated himself for it.  But, for the moment, all he could do was 
sit back and 
let the attorney handle the situation the best he could.  He would 
intervene, he 
assured himself, if things get out of hand.  The old man tried not to 
think about 
the fact that the last time his intervention came almost too late.

Nettleback coughed slightly, clearing his throat.  "The cave system 
where 
Akhbar was captured contained quite a bit of ammunition, detailed maps 
of several 
vital US locations, and quite a bit of other sensitive material - 
all of which seemed to suggest that another attack on US soil was being 
planned."
He pursed his lips, as if anticipating the disappointment that his next 
words were going to bring.  "Akhbar, however, claims that he is not a 
member of a terrorist group; that he just happened to be poking around 
in 
the cave with his friends when the SEALS showed up and started 
shooting.  
He claims he fired back in self-defense."  Nettleback paused once 
again, 
pulling out a manila folder marked "Top Secret" and placing it in front 
of him.  
"I realize the preposterousness of his claim, Commander," he 
acknowledged.  "However, 
the thing is ... you are our only witness - the only one who can 
testify that Akhbar 
was part of the group that captured you.  Without your testimony, no 
matter how solid 
the case against him, Akhbar can walk."
Placing his fingertips on top of the folder, he pushed it toward Rabb, 
watching him intently.  "This is the recent photo of the man in 
question," 
he stated; a mixture of intense curiosity and regret flickering in his 
pale gray eyes.  "Take a look.  See if you recognize him."

Harm watched in a dreamlike state, while the plump visitor opened the 
folder and pushed it toward him.  He glanced down at the photo of a 
dark-skinned man with a grim and disturbingly menacing expression in 
his 
large black eyes, and he looked away almost instantaneously.  His 
breath 
caught in his throat.
And when Chegwidden, alarmed by his sudden pallor, questioned whether 
he 
was all right, it took all of his strength to manage a nod.
"Do you recognize this man, Commander?"
Another nod.
"Will you testify for us then?" Nettleback joined in.  
The attorney's voice seemed to Harm distant and muffled, as if coming 
through layers of thick fog.  He considered the question ... at least 
the rational side of his mind did.  His testimony was vital, Nettleback 
said.  Vital.  Without it, Akhbar could walk.  A free man.  Harm 
visibly shuddered at 
the idea, earning another worried frown from his C.O.

The silence stretched, and Nettleback fidgeted anxiously in his chair, 
growing impatient with the wait.  The chair squeaked pitifully in 
protest, snapping 
Harm out of his musings.  
Squeezing his jaws so tight that his teeth hurt, he turned to the 
chubby 
visitor and nodded slowly, indicating his agreement.  
The expression of worry faded from the rosy-cheeked face, replaced by a 
beaming smile of relief.
"It's settled then."  Nettleback stood up swiftly, shoving the folder 
under his arm.  "I will be contacting you soon regarding the trial 
date."  
He bowed curtly to the two officers.  
"Admiral ... Commander ...  It was very nice to meet you both. Good 
day."

As the door closed behind the chubby representative from the Attorney 
General's office, Harm, who, until now, has kept an almost absolute 
silence, turned to his commanding officer and asked flatly in a quiet 
voice: "Why wasn't I told, Sir?"

A small sigh escaped the older man's lips.  Pulling himself up slowly 
on his hands, he stood up and walked around his desk, coming face to 
face with his subordinate.
"I was afraid," he said simply, earning a small frown of incredulity 
from the other man.  "The doctor informed us that healing you 
physically 
would be nothing in comparison with healing you mentally," he 
continued.  
"You were..." 
A.J. trailed off, as the memory of one hospital visit came to his mind: 
the young aviator, deathly pale and thin, thrashing about on the bed, 
lost in the throes of a fever-induced nightmare.  "I didn't think you 
could handle it," he admitted softly, looking directly at the younger 
man.

The deep blue eyes darkened in response, and Harm looked away in a 
failed attempt 
to mask the pain that flashed in them.
"You didn't TRUST me enough to handle it," he said dully, while 
somewhere 
in the back of his mind a small voice wondered: "Would you trust 
yourself?"
Nodding slightly in response to his own thoughts, he admitted in a 
voice 
that was barely above a whisper, "And you were probably right not 
to..."
He fell silent; eyes fixed on the polished tips of his black shoes.  

A.J. was stumped.  The sheer magnitude of the defeat that echoed in the 
younger man's voice struck him more than the quiet reproach that came 
before it.  A.J. heard it before from some of the former P.O.W.s in the 
VA hospitals that he visited years ago.  That same defeat of men broken 
in captivity.  
What have they done to you, my boy?

Following a sudden and uncharacteristic impulse to show care, the old 
sailor placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it 
lightly, when he felt the latter start at his touch.  He waited 
patiently 
until Harm raised his head to look at him.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this now?" he asked softly.
A look of raw unadulterated pain flashed briefly in the clouded blue 
eyes, 
and for a moment Harm faltered, his mind reeling at the prospect of 
coming 
face to face with his former torturer.  He took a deep steadying 
breath, 
forcing his apprehension deeper under the surface, and said in a quiet 
yet 
firm voice: "I have to, Sir.  ... I have to."

Chapter III
Several minutes later.
JAG Headquarters.

"Going somewhere, Sailor?" A familiar clear voice interrupted his 
almost
headlong rush out of the Admiral's office, and Harm stopped abruptly,
only now becoming aware of his surroundings and of the petite figure in
marine uniform that stood in his path.  Sarah.
For the first time today he felt the tension surrounding him lift a 
little at the sight of a bright, genuine smile on her lovely face.  A
smile devoid of apprehension or hidden guilt.  A smile directed solely
at him.  
She stood perfectly still, her head cocked slightly to the side; hands
on her hips.
"A few more steps, Sailor, and you would have knocked me flat on my
back," she noted with mocked indignation.  "Care to tell me what's got
you wound up so tight you can't even see where you're going?"
He managed a small smile, afraid to let her see just how much of a 
relief he felt upon seeing her at that moment.  For a brief instant he
wondered how it were possible that a simple sight of somebody's smile
can lighten some of the day's worst troubles, making them seem 
almost...
insignificant.  "No, not just somebody's," he mentally corrected 
himself.  "Hers."

"Wanna join me for lunch?" he offered aloud.
Her brow arched slightly in response.  "As long as you're buying, 
Flyboy."
Good old Mac.  He faked a frown of annoyance.  "Agreed."

***

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting outside a small French café in 
a beautiful sunlit courtyard, reveling in the soft caress of a gentle
afternoon breeze.  The day seemed so carefree and perfect that Harm 
felt 
a tinge of anger at the smiling faces of the people around him; the 
lighthearted chatter of their simple conversations about everyday 
things;
even at the sun itself that shone with the tenderness and warmth, so 
unlike the merciless smoldering heat of its desert counterpart.  None 
of
that calm, carefree atmosphere fit with the inner turmoil that 
threatened
to tear him apart every second.

"Look, if you're not going to open your mouth to talk to me, at least 
you
could open it long enough to finish your drink before it goes stale."

He looked up at these words to find his partner staring at him, her 
dark
chocolate eyes betraying the concern she tried to conceal behind the 
light
teasing in her voice.
"I'm sorry, Mac," he began, absently reaching for his glass.
"Don't be sorry, Harm," she interrupted, shaking her head.  "Talk to 
me."

He sighed in resignation and was about to say something when a movement
off to the side caught his eye.  
"I think our lunch is here," he mumbled instead, wincing at the look of
disappointment that flashed in her eyes.

"Really nothing to tell, Mac," he continued, once their plates were set
on the white cloth-covered table before them and their waiter had 
walked
out of the earshot.  "Bud is as awkward around me as a schoolboy on a 
first date.  Harriet still can't bear to look me in the eye."
He paused, collecting his thoughts; a small wrinkle creasing his brow.
What he was going to talk about next had bothered him more than he 
cared 
to admit, and saying it out loud would make it so much more salient, 
more
real.  Putting on as impassive an expression as he could manage, Harm 
went on.  
"And finally the Attorney General wants me to testify against Ali 
Akhbar 
in court."  His lips twisted into a bitter crooked smile, and he added,
looking her straight in the eyes, "Just another day at the office."

"Akhbar?  The man that was captured in Afghanistan?" she gasped, 
searching his eyes for any indication of how he felt.
The muscles in his jaw tightened.  "You knew," he stated blankly.  "You
knew, and you also chose not to tell me."
"Knew what?"  The concern in her voice was growing.
"That a man who spent the last three months using my body as a freaking
voodoo doll is here in the States," he snapped and was about to add 
something else, but stopped abruptly when he felt her hand touch his.
The unexpectedness of the gesture made him jump at the contact, as if
instead of the soothing warmth of her hand he had just touched a pile 
of
red-hot coals.  But he didn't pull away.  Instead, glancing down at the 
small lightly tanned hand that covered his, Harm suddenly felt ashamed 
for his earlier outburst, berating himself for having raised his voice
at her.

"And what would you have done if you knew about this while you were in 
the hospital?" Sarah asked quietly after a moment of silence.  "Would 
it
have made your recovery easier?  Given you something to look forward to
once you got out?"

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes.  She was right - it wouldn't have
made any difference.  In all fairness, it could have made things worse
for him.  But, at least, he would have had more time to come to terms
with the idea of testifying against that man.  "And," another voice 
chimed in inside his head, "Sarah would have been there with you when 
you
got the news and maybe, just maybe, you could have gotten through 
this."
Truth be told, he had absolutely no reason to lash out at Mac.  The 
only person he should be angry at is himself.  At his own weakness and 
at
his damned pride that prevented him from admitting to that weakness.
It was that pride which forced him to decline Mac's offer to postpone 
leaving for her investigation and to stay with him after his release 
from
the hospital.  He told her then that he'd be fine on his own.  
FINE!
That same night he woke up screaming at the top of his lungs, drenched
in cold sweat.  The nightmare that had stopped plaguing his dream 
during
his final days at the hospital came back with the vengeance and was so
vivid that he couldn't force himself to go back to sleep.  He lay awake
for hours, staring at the white ceiling above his bed and seeing 
instead
the dark moist ceiling of the cave.  And the nightmare didn't stop the
next night or the night after that, no matter how much he tried to 
convince himself the following morning that he'd been through the worst
of it.  It became so that he actually began to dread the coming of the
night; to fear closing his eyes just to find himself lost again in the 
world of pure darkness.  And after what he's learned today, Harm was 
really not looking forward to going home.  
He felt her fingers squeeze his hand gently, breaking his train of 
thought.
"Harm?"
He lifted his head, resting his eyes upon the soft curves of her face, 
mesmerized by the warmth that radiated from the two large pools of 
chocolate brown that gazed at him; by the way the gentle breeze played
softly with her hair.  GOD, how he needed her!  
He took a deep breath, tuning out the nagging voice in his head that 
kept insisting that he ask her ... no, BEG her to stay with him, and
forced what he hoped to be a smile of reassurance on his lips.
"You're right, Mac," he admitted, "it wouldn't have mattered."  His 
voice came down to almost a whisper when he added, "I just need to
make sure I get that bastard in court."
She watched him silently for a few minutes, her gaze hard and 
insistent,
as if she were trying to see behind the façade of indifference that he
had put up.  
"You will," she asserted finally, and Harm bit back a sigh of relief - 
she bought it.  "Just don't shut me out, Squid.  Okay?"
"Sure," he nodded; the same fake smile pasted on his face.  Tonight 
was going to be tough.

End of Part I


Coming Back Into the Light: Part II

Chapter IV
Several weeks later.

The trial date came somewhat faster than Harm had anticipated.  Over 
the 
last couple of weeks the Commander had truly tasted what it was like to
be living on autopilot.  He started to set his alarm clock for 3 a.m. - 
thus interrupting his sleep before the nightmare could really set in, 
and sat awake each night, going over the testimony he was going to give
in court when the time would come.  At least this kind of step-by-step
recounting of his misadventures he could control, even if it still left
his heart pounding wildly in his chest.  He found that large quantities 
of coffee and lots of exercise could compensate somewhat for his lack 
of
sleep, and he forced his body to gradually adapt to this regime.  
He went through each day purposely avoiding any and all encounters that
could potentially require any sorts of heart-to-heart talks.  
Robot-like 
he worked almost non-stop on the ever-increasing pile of administrative
cases that the Admiral sent his way in order to "ease his transition 
back
into the routine of casework," as his C.O. put it.  He rarely, if ever, 
left his office, keeping his door closed and thus effectively shutting 
out all of his colleagues who were hesitant to barge in uninvited.
Mac was the only one who tried, but all she would get from him were 
polite but evasive answers accompanied by his trademark ear-to-ear
smiles, which he used quite successfully to keep people at a distance.
After a while she gave up ... and that's when it happened.  The phone
call.
Harm never thought that a simple "Hello, Commander" could send a cold
shiver through his entire body.

"Commander, this is John Nettleback. ... Commander?  Are you there?"

Harm didn't realize he was silent.  Waking up from his stupor, 
squeezing the receiver so hard that his knuckles turned white, he
cleared his throat, trying to calm his racing heart.  Get a grip, Rabb!
"Yes ... I - I'm here, Mr. Nettleback.  I recognized you."  He could 
almost imagine the other man smile on the opposite end.
"I finalized the trial date, Commander.  One week from today."  
Nettleback paused, expecting a reaction, and coughed uncomfortably, as
silence greeted him from the other end of the line.  "I would like to
meet with you some time this week to go over your testimony."
Harm felt his hand tighten around the receiver, threatening to crush
the plastic.
"Why don't you come by tomorrow?" he offered, surprised at how cool he 
sounded.  
"Terrific!  I'll see you tomorrow then, Commander."
"Yeah...  Goodbye, Mr. Nettleback."  Harm was certain that, by the time
he up the phone, the plump attorney was beaming from ear to ear.

"So the trial is on, I take it?" came a familiar voice, startling Harm
out of his thoughts.  He looked up to find his C.O. leaning against the 
door frame of his office with his arms crossed on his chest.
"Admiral," he stammered, "I ... didn't see you come in."
A.J. narrowed his eyes, nodding slightly.  "So it appears."  Pushing
Himself forward and closing the door behind him, the former SEAL strode
over to his senior attorney's desk, plopping into a chair across from 
him.
"Commander," he began quietly, "I know you must be aware that these
proceedings are not going to be easy.  The attorneys on both sides are 
going to make you relive everything you've been through in Afghanistan.
EVERYTHING."

A sharp intake of breath told A.J. that the other man was all too aware
of that.  
"Harm-," he tried again.
"N-no, Sir," the quiet interjection stopped A.J. in mid-sentence.  
"I am, like you said, aware of that," the younger man continued slowly.
"And I am also ... aware that the defense is going to do everything in
their power to shake me ... make my testimony worthless."  
The blue eyes hardened, gleaming like a pair of icy-cold slivers of 
glass.
"My job is to not let that bastard go free," he added tensely, earning
a frown of concern from his C.O.  "And that's what I intend to do."

A.J. observed him in silence for a while, debating on whether or not to 
say anything more.  The look on his young friend's face was one of 
stubbornness and pure determination, but, somehow, A.J. knew better.
Part of him wanted to reach out and shake the living daylights out of 
the
pigheaded aviator; to force him to open up, to let everything out and 
let
others help him.  But Chegwidden also knew the power of the infamous
Rabb stubbornness and, with a heavy sigh, the Navy Judge Advocate 
General
stood up, having decided to surrender his position for the time being,
but making himself a note to have a long talk with the one person he 
hoped would be able to make a breech in Rabb's makeshift fortress - 
Lt. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie.

***

"Sir, I've tried talking to him.  He shuts me out."  The marine Colonel
sounded almost desperate, and A.J. Chegwidden leaned forward in his 
chair, giving her a sympathetic smile.
It must have been tough on her - first dealing with the possibility of
never seeing Rabb again; then watching him struggle for his life on the
hospital bed; and now this.  It's hard enough being shut out by your 
best friend, let alone by the person you're in love with.  Yes, A.J. 
was
well aware that the feelings his two senior officers held for each 
other have long passed the point of simple friendship.  If he had
entertained any doubts on the subject, they evaporated that day in 
Afghanistan, when he saw the way she held him in her arms and heard the
way he whispered her name - a relieved, grateful whisper of a man whose
most fervent and desperate prayer had just been granted.

"I am familiar with the Commander's pigheadedness, Colonel," he 
acknowledged. "And he is not doing himself any favors by being this
way."  A.J. stopped, noting the slight widening of her eyes.  
"Smooth, A.J.," he thought, "Real smooth.  She's worried enough about 
him without you adding to her troubles."
"He's going to open up, though," he amended, "...eventually.  And I 
think
you are the best person to handle it when he does."
She opened her mouth to object, but A.J. simply raised his hand, 
silencing her.  "And, before you say anything, a professional ... a 
therapist would have about as much luck getting him to open up as an
enemy soldier during an interrogation.  You know that as well as I do,
Mac," he said; his voice soft but insisting.  "It's not going to be
easy for you OR for him, but has to happen.  If he doesn't let it all 
out, it WILL break him.  I have seen it happen before."

A.J. paused again, letting the words sink in.  He had already lost too
many friends who, having seen what they've seen, having lived through 
literal hell on earth, have become prisoners in the hell created by
their own minds.  He didn't want to see Rabb join their ranks.  And the
realization that his young friend may just be heading down that same
road was breaking his heart.  A.J. wasn't afraid to admit it, at least
to himself - he was truly worried.  Glancing up at the auburn-haired 
woman who sat before him, he saw in her worry-clouded eyes a reflection
of his own thoughts.

"Stick with him, Colonel," he insisted gently.
"Never had any real intention of letting go, Sir," she responded
without breaking the eye contact.  Her features hardened with a sudden
resolve that reminded the old SEAL of a phrase Rabb once used to 
describe her - "hard-core, ass-kicking Marine," was it?  If the 
situation
wasn't so grim, he might have even chuckled at the idea of what would 
happen to the Commander if he tries this Marine's patience.

Her voice interrupted his brief musings.  
"With your permission, Sir, I'd like to get on with this."
A.J. nodded, dismissing her.  As her petite figure disappeared behind
the closed door, the Admiral ran a tired hand over his balding head
and whispered into the thickening twilight of his office, 
"Good luck, Sarah."

Chapter V
1900 hours.
Same day.

The cloud cover that has cloaked the sky above the city since 
mid-morning began to thicken toward late afternoon having adorned
itself with menacingly dark ragged patterns.  The first droplets of
rain splattered on her windshield, as Lt. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie was
pulling out of the JAG parking lot.  By the time she reached her
partner's place, the long-expected thunderstorm broke out in full 
force.
It was as if the sky had opened up, spilling out all of the water it 
had
Conserved over the past few exceptionally warm and dry days.  Strong 
spurts of rain lashed down mercifully on the roof of her car; the water
cascading down the windshield so forcefully that her wipers were hardly
able to keep up.  
Mac parked the car and hesitated, eyeing with a bit of apprehension the
fairly wide space between her car and the entrance to the apartment; a 
space that seem so much wider now that her car was but a tiny island
in the midst of a raging storm.  "Great," she mumbled to herself, 
mustering her courage to get out.  "Just great."
She opened the car door, instantly greeted by a rush of cold air and
water in her face.  Sighing at the hopelessness of her situation, she
got out, slamming the door behind her, and sprinted toward the safety 
of
the building.  By the time she reached the entrance, however, she was
soaking through.
Shaking her head in a futile attempt to shake off the excess water, she
headed upstairs to his apartment, the drenched uniform cap clenched 
tightly in her hand.

The echo of her knock reverberated inside the empty hallway, and Mac 
frowned, listening to the sounds behind the door.  Silence.  She 
knocked again, harder this time, until her hand began to hurt.
"Harmon Rabb, Jr., you open this door right now or, I swear, you'll be
sorry!"  She punched the door one more time for emphasis.  "Damn it,
Harm!  I'm soaking wet out here!"
She heard some kind of a commotion and what sounded like the clinking 
of
a glass, and, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door
cracked open.
He stood in the doorway, an indistinct profile of a man immersed in the
shadowy twilight.  The room was dark and quiet behind him - almost 
eerily so.
"Now's not really a good time, Mac," he ventured hoarsely; his words
somewhat slurred.  He moved to close the door, expecting her to leave.

"Boy, you must really not know me at all if you expect me to just walk
away," she thought in astonishment.

"Fat chance, Flyboy!"  Unceremoniously, she pushed past him into the
apartment, flipping the light switch as she did so.  Then, turning 
around with a defiant look, she watched as he slowly shut the door and
leaned back against it, squinting angrily at the light.
"Turn it off," he asked quietly, raising his hand to shield his eyes.
"Why?" she retorted sharply, throwing her wet cap onto the couch and
crossing her arms on her chest as if to emphasize that she was not 
going
anywhere.  When she walked in, she was close enough to him to smell the
strong stench of alcohol on his breath, and it didn't escape her 
attention 
that there were at least three empty beer bottles on the kitchen 
counter.
A fourth one, still halfway full, was clutched in his right hand.

"You told Harriet you went home to catch up on a few things.  Is THAT
what you were going to catch up on?!"  Her hand shot out angrily,
pointing at the empty bottles.
Instead of a response, he reached forward, turning off the light.
In the newly restored semi-darkness, she could see him walk by her
toward the counter.  Coming to rest against it, he took another sip 
from the bottle before placing it on the counter next to him.  The room 
plunged into deep silence, broken only by the incessant rapping of the 
rain on his windowpane.  
Mac shivered, unsure if it was due to her cold, wet clothes or to the 
chilly atmosphere in the room.  She knew that, if she were to leave 
right then, he wouldn't so much as blink.  He'd probably go on drinking
himself into oblivion.  Well, she just couldn't ... WOULDN'T allow it.
Shrugging off the icy feeling, she stepped forward, determined to get
through to him.

"Harm, you testify tomorrow.  Don't you think that you should-"
"What?  Get ready?"  He laughed, a short scathing laugh that sent
another shiver down Mac's spine.  "I'm getting ready as we speak, 
Colonel."  He grabbed the bottle again and held it up to ensure she 
understood his meaning.  "Can't you see?"
She shook her head in disbelief.  Harm, Harm, what are you doing to 
yourself?  Clasping her hands in front of her to try to get control of
her raging emotions, she crossed the short distance between them, 
standing so close that she could clearly see every little feature of 
his face even in the murky twilight.
"You are pathetic, you know that?" she began, trying to keep the 
shaking
out of her voice.  Ignoring his raised eyebrows, she pushed on, "You 
think that getting yourself dead drunk is going to make the pain go 
away?  Well, it won't!  It WON'T!"  
He hung his head, and Mac thrust her hands forward, pushing against his
chest as if to shake him out of his semi-stupor.  "Look at yourself!
The great Harmon Rabb, Jr. - a self-pitying, sad excuse for a human 
being;
a pathetic drunk who's so afraid to face reality that he hides from it
at the bottom of a liquor bottle."

Harm listened to her tirade with his eyes squeezed shut; his back 
pressed
against the counter.  But something stirred in him at her last words, 
and he shot forward so suddenly that she drew back on a reflex.
"Reality?!" He bit back.  "Do you have ANY idea what my reality is, 
Mac?
The place I return to EVERY time I close my eyes?"  His voice grew
louder, making her cringe at every word.  
"And you wanna know something?  I AM afraid.  I'm afraid of closing my
eyes at night and finding myself back in that cave.  I'm afraid of the
night, Mac!  How's that, huh?  ...  And I am scared to DEATH that when
I go into that courtroom I'll-"
His voice broke suddenly; his breath caught in his throat.  He felt as
if the very air around him was choking him.  He couldn't breathe.
Frightened, Mac reached for him, but he stumbled back, raising his 
hands
to his head in a faint attempt to block out everything in the room.
The bottle that was still clutched firmly in his right hand came into 
his view.  He stared at it, as if only now becoming aware of its 
existence.  And then following a sudden impulse, he threw it violently 
to the side, sending it flying across the room.  He watched in a
trance-like state as it hit the windowpane, shattering the glass into 
a thousand little pieces.  The wind and the rain burst through the 
jagged opening, flooding the room with cold damp air, and he walked
slowly toward the broken window, taking deep ragged breaths.  Placing
his hands on the windowsill, feeling the cool raindrops splash on his 
face, he looked out into the thick darkness, lost in thought.  
All of his anger seemed to have dissolved in that single violent act.

Mac hesitated momentarily, shaken both by his confession and by his 
outburst.  Then she slowly walked up behind him and gently placed her 
hands around his waist, leaning slightly against him.
He felt her approach, tensing a bit despite himself in anticipation of
her touch.  
"I'm suffocating, Mac," he whispered, looking straight ahead.  "It gets
worse ... every day.  I can't ... face him tomorrow..."
Sarah bit her lip, feeling the tears come to her eyes, threatening to 
break out.  Harm, Harm, why didn't you talk to me earlier?
Gently she forced him to turn around to face her.  Encircling her hands
around his neck, she pulled him closer, her dark tear-filled eyes 
meeting
his pain-ridden blues.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you these past few weeks.  I shouldn't 
have listened to you when you said you'd be okay on your own.  I 
should've known better... I should've insisted... I-" She sniffled, 
catching her breath.  "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere.  You
hear me?  You'll get through this.  WE'll get through this."
Instead of a reply, he reached for her, pulling her into a tight 
embrace.
He held on to her with the desperation of a drowning man hanging on to
a lifeline, while she stroked his back with soft soothing motions.

For the first time in many weeks Harm felt safe again, and he relished
the feeling of being in her arms, grateful for her existence.  
He felt her shiver slightly, and he pulled back reluctantly, only now 
becoming aware of her wet clothes.  
"You're cold," he noted, feeling guilty for not paying attention to 
that
sooner.
"It's okay ...  I'm okay," she whispered, smiling at his concerned
expression.
"No, you're not," he objected firmly, tenderly pulling a strand of damp
hair away from her face.  "And I'm a drunk self-absorbed pig, too 
engrossed in my own problems to notice-"
He broke off suddenly and ran into the bedroom, only to emerge seconds
later with an old t-shirt and shorts.  
"Get out of that uniform before you catch cold," he said, tossing her
the clothes.
She caught them but didn't move, standing where she was with a slightly 
confused look on her face.
"What is it?  What's wrong?"
"Nothing."  She shook her head.  "It's just ... It's getting late, and
I should-"
"No," he interrupted, walking swiftly up to her and taking her hands in
his.  "Don't go ... please...  Stay."
He waited with bated breath for her answer, and he felt his heart soar 
when he saw her smile in response.

A few hours later, as he was falling asleep next to her, the last thing 
his conscious mind registered was her soothing voice whispering in his
ear: "I'm here, Harm ... always.  I won't let you fall."
That night his nightmare had not returned.

Chapter VI
The city courthouse.
Harm's testimony.  Final day of the trial.

"Please state your name for the record."
"Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., United States Navy."
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth, so help you God?"
"I do."
"Be seated."

Harm sat down in the witness chair, glancing around the courtroom.  
Mac was there, giving him an encouraging smile, and he smiled back at
her, grateful for her presence.  Just seeing her here made it a little
easier to breathe.  
Last night she gave him something he didn't think was possible for him
anymore - a blissful, though fleeting, sense of security and the 
knowledge that he CAN get through today.  It also gave him hope that,
perhaps, someday he'd eventually be able to face the darkness on his 
own and settle the score with it once and for all.

He looked over at Nettleback.  The plump attorney was nervously
fumbling with his notes, trying to hide his anxiety by looking utterly
absorbed in his current task.  The man had good reasons to be nervous.
The Attorney General wanted results - Akhbar's head on a platter, and
the whole case pretty much depended on Harm's testimony.  Earlier
testimonies from agent Clayton Webb, the Seahawk's captain, and the 
captain of the SEAL team that led the assault on the cave helped 
a little.  But Sid Bowers, attorney for the defense, managed to put
significant cracks in those testimonies in addition to pointing out 
that none of those men had enough information to connect Akhbar to the
terrorist cell.
Nettleback's task was to make sure that nothing gets out of control, 
and that this final testimony drives the last nail in Akhbar's coffin.

The defense, too, was well aware of the significance of today's 
witness. 
Harm glanced at Bowers, whose aquiline features reflected the same 
tension that could be read in the nervous movements of his prosecuting
colleague.
The defendant was the only one who seemed unfazed by the seriousness of
the situation.  His face was an impenetrable mask of indifference.  But
when their eyes met, Harm saw in them the same pure black hatred that 
first greeted him amidst the cold cave walls in Afghanistan.  
He withstood the hateful stare without flinching, offering a small 
smile
instead.  And he derived momentary satisfaction from the brief look of
confusion that flashed in the other man's eyes.
Yes, this was definitely not going to be an easy day, but at least Harm
was going to make damn sure that it would be worse for Akhbar.

"Commander Rabb," Nettleback rose from his chair and cautiously 
approached the witness stand.  "I understand that you have been through
quite an ordeal over these past few months.  I appreciate you 
agreeing to appear before us today."
Harm nodded absently, pulling his attention away from the Afghani.
Nettleback gave him a nervous smile and continued.  "As was established 
from Mr. Webb's earlier testimony, you were sent aboard the USS Seahawk
to uncover a potential mole; someone who was supposedly selling 
classified information to the Taliban.
"Lieutenant Turrick," Harm supplied with a nod.
"Right."  Nettleback clasped his hands together on his round belly, 
rolling back and forth on the heels of his well-polished shoes. 
"So once you were certain of the identity of the mole, what possessed
you to accept what you must have known to be a suicide mission?"
"I didn't accept it," Harm objected.  "I volunteered.  And there was 
no other choice."
"Explain what you mean by that, Commander."
"As Captain Johnson explained earlier, the evidence we had against
Lieutenant Turrick was circumstantial - a simple matter of timing that
placed him in the wrong place at the wrong time."  He shrugged as if
asserting the obvious.  "We needed a more solid piece of evidence."
"Like a confession over a plane's intercom system; a connection to the
ship deliberately left open?"
"Precisely."
"So what happened?"  Nettleback took one step closer to Harm and leaned
on the banister before him.
Harm suppressed the urge to pull away from the portly form that hung
over him.  
"We flew over hostile territory.  I suspected that the Lieutenant would 
try to warn the Afghanis once he knew he'd be flying the mission.  That
way they'd know not to shoot down the plane with him in it.  So the 
Captain and I decided to change the mission's heading without letting 
the Lieutenant know about it."
"That way if you were spotted, you'd be taken for regular American 
pilots on a reconnaissance mission," Nettleback nodded in 
understanding.
"Correct."
"So what happened next?"

Harm shifted slightly in his chair, stealing a quick glance in Mac's 
direction.  Her lips were a tight line of worry, but her eyes when they
met his were filled with warmth directed solely at him.  He gave her a
ghost of a smile and returned his gaze to Nettleback, who was already
beginning to get alarmed by the prolonged silence.

"We were spotted about 20 miles south-east of Kabul.  We began taking
on heavy ground fire.  I went in for a closer look to give a more 
detailed information to Seahawk.  And that's when Lt. Turrick fired on
me."
"Why did he do that?"
Harm shrugged again.  "To convince the men below that he was one of 
them,
I suppose."
"And after that you shot him down."
"Correct."
Nettleback nodded, turning to face the jury.  Still leaning on the 
banister, but this time with his back toward his witness, he continued,
"What happened next, Commander?"
"My plane went down soon after that, and I had to punch out.  I hit the
ground pretty hard ...  I must have blacked out for quite some time."
He shook his head, straining to remember.  "I- I woke up, and there 
were men around me ... armed men."
"Was the defendant among those men?"  Nettleback stretched out his hand
in Akhbar's direction.
Harm nodded slowly, his gaze following Nettleback's gesture.  "He was 
there, yes."

The Afghani pursed his lips contemptuously and leaned back on his 
chair,
pretending to have no interest in what was being said.  Harm had to 
suppress the urge to go up to him and wipe that arrogant expression off
his face.
"They made me go with them," he continued in a forced monotone.  "My 
head 
was spinning - I couldn't stay on my feet...  I remember them dragging 
me
behind them on a rope ... like some bag of dirt."  He tore his gaze 
away
from Akhbar and added a little quieter, "That's how I ended up in that 
cave."

Nettleback, whose eyes were once again firmly fixed on his star 
witness,
coughed nervously in anticipation of the most difficult part of the 
questioning.  When he discussed this next part of the testimony earlier
with the Commander, the latter was more than a little reluctant to go
into details about what he had lived through during those three months.
And Nettleback couldn't really blame him.  From what little he did
learn, that experience was terrifying, and nobody should be forced to
relive something like that.  But, no matter how sympathetic John
Nettleback felt toward the young Commander, today he needed all the 
details he could get.  The fate of the trial depended on it.  And from
the agonizing look in the younger man's eyes, Nettleback knew that
Commander Rabb was aware of that too.  Offering Rabb a crooked smile of
apology, he pushed on.
"You were held in captivity for a period of about three months.  Is 
that
correct?"
Harm nodded curtly, his hands gripping the handles of his chair.
"What did those men want with you?"
"They wanted to know our plans.  What happened to Turrick.  What 
operations were being planned."
"And how did they go about getting this information out of you?"

Nettleback's voice was soft and quiet, but to Harm each word felt like 
a sharp dagger that was being plunged into his body.  The memories went
rushing back, flooding his conscience, and he inhaled sharply, his
fingers digging deeper into the indifferent fabric covering his chair.
He looked out into the audience, catching her eyes and, holding on to
them like to a lifeline, he began to recount the gruesome details of 
his
ordeal.  
She held his gaze, her own eyes filled with tears, reflecting the pain 
in his.  It was the first time Sarah was hearing the whole story - the
first time anyone in that courtroom, apart, perhaps, from the 
defendant,
was.  Her body was shaking from the horror of the images that his story
conjured up in her mind.  The flashback of his bloodied, battered body
lying in her arms on the cold dark floor of that dreadful cave singed
her memory, and she choked with emotion, her heart throbbing with
anguish.  Part of her wanted to run to him at that very moment, pull
him into her arms and hold him until she could make at least some of
his pain melt away.  The other part of her just wanted to run like
hell as far away from here as she could, so that she didn't have to
hear any more of this.  But frozen on the spot by the excruciating 
reality of his testimony, she was glued to her chair, unable so much as
to move a muscle, feeling hot tears burn their way down her cheeks.
All she could do was stare back into his eyes, trying to put as much
comfort and support into that stare as she could, hoping that it would
be enough.

When Harm was finished, shocked silence reigned in the courtroom.
Stunned faces were all around him.  There was Clayton Webb, who sat in
the very back of the room, away from prying eyes, pale as the virgin 
snow.  There was A.J. Chegwidden, who had his eyes squeezed shut, his
face a gray mask of pain.  There were Bud and Harriet, who had slipped
in unnoticed at the beginning of his testimony and now sat huddled
together, their eyes wide with horror.  Even the defense attorney
seemed somewhat shaken by the details of the story.
Harm saw none of that.  The only one who existed for him at that moment
was his Sarah, and her eyes drowned out everything else around him.
Among the sea of endless suffering and overwhelming darkness of his
memories she was the one who held him afloat.

After what seemed like an interminable pause, Nettleback reached into 
his pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from 
his forehead.  "Could you tell us, Commander, if the man who executed
Ahmed Saadi's, the cell's leader's, orders to torture you is the same
man who is sitting in this courtroom today?" he asked quietly.
Reluctantly, Harm broke his gaze away from Mac and turned to look at 
his former nemesis.  "Yes," he replied in a voice hoarse from tension,
"Yes, he is."
"Thank you.  No further questions."

Bowers rose from his seat upon seeing Nettleback return to his chair, 
but the judge's voice stopped him.
"Perhaps the Commander would like a brief recess before continuing with
the cross examination?"
Harm looked up at the judge, somewhat baffled by the look of sympathy 
he
read in the older man's eyes.  "Th-thank you, Your Honor," he 
stammered,
shaking his head, "but I think I can handle it."
A knowing smile touched the corners of the judge's lips.  "That may be
true, Commander, but after your testimony, I'm afraid I myself am in 
need of a break."  He raised the gavel, ending any possibility of 
further
discussion.  "The court will take a short recess.  We'll reconvene in
15 minutes for Mr. Bowers's cross."

End of Part II

Coming Back Into the Light: Part III
(Conclusion)

Chapter VII
Several minutes later.
Hallway outside the courtroom.

"Commander, I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for putting you
through this today."

They were standing in the hallway, surrounded by an excited buzz
of voices - people discussing the implication of what had transpired in
the courtroom earlier.

Harm shrugged vaguely, staring at the gray marble floor underneath his 
feet.  "You were just doing your job, Mr. Nettleback.  Nothing to 
apologize for."
The chubby attorney breathed a small sigh of relief, but his expression
soon changed back to one of concern.
"You do realize that your cross examination may turn out to be worse.
Bowers may try to do everything he can to shake you, to break the 
impact of your testimony."
Harm nodded, closing his eyes for a brief second, as if in anticipation
of the agony to come.  He felt the air shift before him and looked up
to find himself staring back at the concerned faces of Admiral 
Chegwidden and Mac.
"How are you holding up, Flyboy?"
"Still here," he replied, giving her the tiniest of smiles, and added
in a quieter voice, "Thanks to you."
She smiled in return, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"You know, Webb is here.  And so are Bud and Harriet.  I just saw them
in the hallway."  She glanced back over her shoulder and added in a 
conspiratory tone of voice, "Webb probably doesn't want to risk
coming near you.  Afraid you're going to slug him."
"Well, neither do Bud and Harriet," Harm noted, likewise glancing out
into the noisy crowd that filled the hallway.  "Although I doubt it's 
for the same reasons as Clay."
The bitterness in his voice stopped her short, and Mac frowned, 
exchanging worried looks with the Admiral.  
"Harm, you're wrong about this," she began.  "Harriet wants to talk to 
you.  She's just-"
"It's time to go back inside," he interjected, cutting her off, and
headed for the courtroom.

Sarah watched in dismay as he disappeared from view.  "Why does he have 
to be so incredibly stubborn?" she whispered to no one in particular.
"Because it's Rabb," A.J. offered with a sigh.  "Harriet will get her
chance to talk to him.  I promise you."  The Admiral nudged her gently
in the direction of the door.  "Let's go inside.  He'll need you 
there."

***

Inside the courtroom.
Harm's cross examination.

"Commander Rabb.  First, let me emphasize how deeply sorry I am for 
your recent experience.  Please accept my deepest sympathy."
Harm nodded, narrowing his eyes at the defense attorney.  
"Brilliant tactic," he thought bitterly.  "First make sure you show 
the jurors that you're a sensitive, compassionate individual, and 
then throw me in the dirt."
Bowers moved forward slowly, reminding Harm of a lynx about to jump its
prey.
"Commander, according to your testimony, you were not positive that 
Lieutenant Turrick was, indeed, the traitor you were after.  Is that
correct?"
"No.  As I explained earlier, the evidence I have obtained was 
circumstantial, but it was pretty damning nevertheless."
Bowers smacked his lips like someone about to enjoy a tasty meal.
"You mean the evidence you've collected while working undercover for 
the CIA - a task hardly fitting your job description?"
"It may not have been fitting my job description," Harm responded 
coolly,
"but I was chosen for that task for a reason."
"Right.  Of course.  As Mr. Webb explained earlier - there was simply
nobody else."

"Objection!" Nettleback jumped to his feet with the agility one could
hardly suspect him capable of.  
"Sustained."  Judge Braxton furrowed his eyebrows at the defense 
attorney.  "Try to contain your enthusiasm, Mr. Bowers."
The latter bowed his head apologetically.  "Yes, Your Honor.  I'm 
sorry."
He turned back to Harm, a predatory smile playing on his thin lips.
"My apologies to you, too, Commander.  Let's move on, shall we?"
He glanced briefly at his notes.  "So you went ahead with that mission,
putting yourself and the man you were not POSITIVE was the mole in
danger-"
"I WAS positive," Harm interjected sharply.  "I just didn't have the 
solid evidence to prove it."
"Right."  Bowers flipped through his notes once again and took one step
closer to the witness stand.
"You were wounded, were you not, before you ejected over Afghanistan?"
Harm frowned in concentration, trying to figure out where Bowers was 
going with this.  "Yes, I was injured when Lieutenant Turrick fired on
me," he replied cautiously.
Bowers nodded, an unkind look flashed in his eyes.
"Wounded.  Shocked from the fall.  Living through days of endless,
unimaginable torture.  Swimming in and out of consciousness."  With 
each word the defense attorney took one step closer to the witness 
stand,
until he came face to face with Harm.  "Isn't it possible, Commander, 
that you may not have been in the right state of mind to memorize the 
faces of those men?  I mean, if I were in your place, I hardly think-"

Harm leaned forward so abruptly that Bowers couldn't help drawing back
a bit.  The blue eyes darkened with anger, burning holes in the 
blundering attorney.
"Those faces are etched into my memory," he uttered coldly, enunciating
each word.  "I see them every time I close my eyes ... every time I go
to sleep."  He took a deep breath to steady himself.  "And ... with ALL
due respect, Mr. Bowers, if you were in my place, I hardly think you'd
last a week."
Bowers swallowed the insult, slowly backing away from the witness 
stand.
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which the two men stared each 
other down, while everyone else waited with bated breaths for the next
move.  Finally, Bowers broke the connection and looked away, shaking 
his
head in defeat.  
"I've no further questions for this witness, Your Honor."

From the corner of his eye Harm noticed the look of relief on Mac's 
face.
It was over.  The worst part of it, at least.
"You may step down, Commander."

Chapter VIII
1 day later. 
The courthouse.

Harm stood alone outside the large double doors, lost in thoughts.  
The verdict was in.  In a few minutes one painful chapter of his life 
will come to a close.  Mac and the others were already inside.  He told
them to go ahead without him.  He wanted to be alone for a few minutes.
His friends tried their best to show their support to him, and he was
grateful to them for it.  Harriet spoke to him a little while ago.  
Harm smiled at the memory.

**Flashback**
Harriet walked up to him, holding her son by the hand.  
"Sir, I-," she faltered, giving him an awkward smile.  "Little A.J. and
I just wanted to wish you the best of luck, Sir.  Bud's not going to be
able to make it here today, so I ... we..."  Harriet paused, unable to
find the right words, and then suddenly she reached up on her toes and
gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Thank you for being our friend,
Sir," she whispered before pulling away.  With that she walked off, and
he remained standing just as she left him, glued to the spot.
**End of flashback**

Harm shook his head in bewilderment, thinking over that event.  "Harmon
Rabb, Jr., you are a complete dope when it comes to reading people."

"Talking to yourself again?" A familiar voice broke into the solitude
of his thoughts, startling him.  "You know that's one of the first
symptoms of a mental disorder?"
"What the hell are you doing out here, Webb?" he sighed, looking over
at the agent.  "I told everyone I wanted to be alone for a few 
minutes."
Clayton Webb shrugged indefinitely, shoving his hands in the pockets of
his perfectly pressed pants.
"Three reasons, actually.  One, they're about to announce the verdict,
and you should really be in there for that part."
Harm opened his mouth to say something, but Webb silenced him with a 
shake of his head.  "Two, I never got a chance to tell you face-to-face
how incredibly sorry I am for getting you into all this mess.  I was-"
This time Harm didn't hesitate to interrupt.  
"You did say that to me, Clay," he objected quietly.  "That and much 
more.  Back in the hospital ward."  He shrugged in turn, mimicking 
Webb's
earlier gesture.  "I don't believe I was fully conscious at the time...
but I remember hearing you ... bits and pieces."  Harm trailed off,
offering him a small smile, which Clay returned.  
But the smile soon faded from the agent's face, replaced by a frown of
concern; one that made the other man's heart skip a beat.
"There's also reason number three."
"I'm listening."
Webb sighed before continuing.  "Two suspected Al Qaeda operatives were 
arrested a couple of days ago when they tried to enter the country."
"And-?" Harm tensed, trying to steel himself for what was to come.
"I just got off the phone with one of my men from the Agency.  ...They
escaped custody this morning," Clay finished, shrugging helplessly.
"They WHAT?!"
Webb stepped forward, placing a hesitant hand on his friend's shoulder.
"This may or may not be connected to the trial.  All I'm saying is ...
be careful.  Keep on the lookout.  I'll try to arrange for someone to
keep an eye on you as well."
Harm nodded absently.  This wasn't over.  Whom was he kidding?
"Let's go inside," he offered.  "We can deal with this later."

***

A couple of minutes later.
Inside the courtroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your verdict?"
"We have, Your Honor."
"The defendant and counsel will rise."  Judge Braxton turned his 
attention back to the jury's foreman.  "Please publish your verdict."

Harm felt Mac's hand cover his, squeezing it lightly in a show of 
support.  He responded in kind, his own attention riveted to the face 
of the defendant.

"Ali Akhbar, on the charge and specification of plotting an attack 
against a US target this court finds you ... guilty.  On the charge 
and specification of assisting in the actions that resulted in the
deaths of four American naval officers this court finds you ... guilty.
On the charge and specification of assisting in the inhumane and 
unlawful treatment and an attempted murder of an American prisoner
this court finds you ... guilty."
The judge nodded curtly.  "Do you have a sentence ready?"
"Yes, Your Honor.  We recommend the maximum sentence allowed under
given circumstances - the death penalty."
Judge Braxton looked over at the defense table and raised his gavel.
"Mr. Akhbar, I concur with the jury's decision.  You will be presently
transported to the maximum security prison, where you shall await your
execution."  The gavel landed with a loud thump.  "The court is 
dismissed."

The courtroom exploded in a myriad of voices all around Harm.  
Somebody was patting him on the back; somebody else was screaming
something in his ear.  The naval officer seemed oblivious to it all.
His eyes were glued to Akhbar's face, watching him intently for any 
sign
of fear or dismay.  There was none of that, however.  The Afghani 
looked
like a man who not only expected this turn of events, but was well
prepared for it.  The smug, self-assured expression on Ali's face 
worried
Harm.  He thought back to his very first tribunal aboard the Seahawk -
what seemed like ages ago.  That time a similar expression on the 
defendant's face preceded a gruesome suicide in the darkness of his 
cell.
What was Akhbar up to?

As if in response to his silent question, the Afghani turned his head, 
his eyes searching for something or someone at the back of the room.
Intrigued, Harm followed the man's stare just in time to see two
dark-haired men exit the courtroom.  Webb's earlier warning flashed in
his mind, and Harm turned sharply to the agent, grabbing a hold of his
jacket.  
"Clay, I think I saw them."
"Who?"
"Those men you talked about."
Webb's face tightened with concern, earning worried glances of those
around him.  "Are you certain?"
"I'm not, but I think we should check this out, just in case."
"Check out what?" Mac asked worriedly.
He shook his head.  "It's nothing to worry about.  Just want to make
sure that Akhbar isn't up to something."  Harm tried his best to sound
as nonchalant as possible, while he watched the prisoner being led out
of the courtroom by two armed guards.
"You know what they're supposed to look like?"
Clay nodded somewhat hesitantly.  "I've seen the photos..."
"Let's go then."

They headed for the exit, mixing in with a small crowd of people 
already
piling through the door.
A series of gunshots shook the air, stopping them cold in their tracks.
Their gazes met, a single expression of worry burning in their eyes.
"It's them."
Not waiting any longer, Harm dashed outside, followed closely by his 
friends.  The sight that opened to them confirmed Harm's worst 
suspicions.  
One of the guards was dead, shot in the head right in the doorway.
The other was wounded, pinned down behind a marble pillar.  Everyone 
else who was unfortunate enough to be in the hallway at that moment lay
face down on the floor, hands on their heads, afraid to move, afraid to
look up.  And amidst all that mayhem stood Akhbar and the two men Harm
spotted earlier.  One of them, who was training his gun on the people
around him, was bleeding profusely from his right shoulder, and Harm
silently congratulated the guard on the successful hit.  The other
was busy removing chains from Akhbar's wrists and ankles.  

Crouching down behind a column that stood near the door, Harm waited 
until he was certain that the gunmen's attention was away from him and
reached for the dead guard's weapon.
"What are you doing?" Webb hissed behind his ear.  
"Trying to level the playing field," he bit back, taking a careful aim.

Several more shots echoed in the deathly silent lobby, and the two
Gunmen dropped to the ground, dead.  Akhbar fell too, shielding 
himself behind the prostrate bodies and letting forth a stream of 
curses directed at Harm, as he cradled his bloodied wrist. 
"I think I managed to piss him off," the young aviator stated calmly,
checking his weapon.
As in response to that a bullet whizzed in his direction, chipping a 
tiny sliver of marble from the column inches away from his face.
Damn!
"I'd say that's an accurate assessment of the situation, Rabb," Clay's 
comment came through muffled, as the agent was lying flat on the 
ground, 
his face buried under his hands.  

"Sir," Harriet's shaky voice broke the momentary silence that followed.
"Have you seen little A.J.?  H-he ran out before me t-to use the 
restroom..."
Cold fear gripped the Commander's heart.  Turning to the distraught
woman who crouched in a frightened ball behind him, he reached for her 
hand, trying his best to reassure her.
"I'm sure he's fine, Harriet," he stated with the assurance he did not
feel.  "The police are probably on their way.  This will all be over 
before you know it."
"But that man-"
"He won't do anything.  He's trapped."  
Harm was about to add something else but stopped abruptly when he heard
Akhbar's voice calling out his name.
"Rabb! ... American!"
Harm felt his muscles tighten.  The voice grated on his already raw
Nerves like a piece of sharp metal on the glass.
"What do you want?"
"To leave here!  You and guard put weapons down now and I leave!
Everybody happy!"
"I got a better idea," Harm countered, getting a tighter grip on his
gun.  "You drop YOUR weapon and put your hands in the air, and I 
promise I won't shoot you like your buddies there."
A short pause followed, during which some commotion was heard, and
then Akhbar's voice rang out again, this time with a venomous hiss to
it.  
"No good, American.  How about I start shooting those people here? 
I can start with this boy-"

An agonizing shriek pierced the air, and, before Harm could react, 
Harriet jumped to her feet, dashing forward to get to her son.  
Thankfully, Mac was quicker, as she grabbed on to the other woman's 
dress and jerked her forcefully back down on the ground.
"Are you crazy?" she hissed, holding her down, as Harriet tried her 
best to get out of her iron grip.  "He could have shot you!"
"It's my SON he's holding, Ma'am," Harriet cried out, the sheer panic 
in 
the young woman's voice making Sarah wince in sympathy.  "I have to get
to him.  That man-"
"-Won't do anything," Harm finished the sentence for her, his own voice
tight with barely suppressed anger.
Coming slowly out from behind his makeshift cover, his gun trained on 
the Afghani's head, he said coldly, accentuating each word,
"You let the boy go, and I'll come with you as a hostage.  You'd love
a chance to get your hands on me anyway, so here you'll have it."
Mac, Clay, and the Admiral spoke simultaneously behind him, voicing 
their objections, but he ignored them, his eyes never leaving the 
other man's face.  
"You let him go, and we leave here - just the two of us.  No one else
will have to get hurt."
Akhbar stood with his back pressed against the opposite wall, holding
little A.J. in front of him, his gun pointed at the frightened boy's
head.  The cold dark eyes narrowed in concentration, as he thought over
Rabb's offer.  
"If I refuse?"
Harm gritted his teeth in frustration.  "Then I blow you away right
here, right now."
"And risk hurting the boy?"
The Commander shook his head.  "I won't miss," he stated calmly.  
"But I would much rather not have your brains splatter all over my 
little friend.  So what do you say?"
The Afghani nodded slowly.  "Very well.  You and guard put down guns
and -"
"No," Harm snapped in a voice that allowed no room for objection.
"You let the boy go first.  THEN it'll be our turn."
"How do I know you won't shoot me as soon as I let him go?"
"You have my word."
The Afghani gave a short contemptuous laugh.  "Your word?"
"It's the best you're gonna get," Harm bit back, his impatience
growing with every second.

Another tense moment of silence followed, and, finally, Akhbar nodded 
again in agreement, pushing the terrified boy toward Harm.  The latter
motioned for him to keep coming, watching the Afghani.  
"Come on, A.J.  Don't be afraid, kiddo.  Keep walking."  
Behind him he felt Harriet begin to rise again, and he held out his 
Hand, halting her move.  "Stay down," he whispered, without looking at
her.  "He's okay.  He's coming."
Once the shaken boy was safely enclosed in the arms of his mother, 
Harm placed his weapon on the ground before him, motioning for the 
guard to do the same, and walked toward the Afghani.
"Harm!" Mac called out behind him, in a last desperate attempt to 
stop him.  He turned around, meeting her worried gaze.  
"It'll be all right," he said calmly.  "Just wait for my call."
With that he headed out of the building, followed closely by his
gun-wielding captor.

Chapter IX
Twenty minutes later.
A heavily wooded two-lane stretch of road on the way to a private
airfield.

They were speeding along the nearly deserted highway in a '99 Ford
Mustang that Akhbar "borrowed" from some unfortunate young man who 
happened to stop at the traffic light near the courthouse.
The Afghani kept an almost constant watch on his hostage, turning
away for no more than mere seconds to check on the road behind them
to make sure they were not being followed.
Harm stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice the barrel of a
gun that was pointed menacingly at his head.  Despite his cool
composure, however, inside he was anything but calm.
A little while ago he had managed to slip his left hand inside his
side pocket, where he had his cell phone, and, having felt for what
he hoped was the right button, speed-dialed Mac's number without
alerting the Afghani.  The connection to Mac's cell phone was open,
and he could only hope that she had understood him back there in the
courtroom and that she'd manage to have this line traced.
However, right now his main concern was the man sitting next to him.  
Harm knew that the airfield they were heading for was only minutes 
away,
and he had no intention of letting Akhbar get there.  But on an empty
stretch of highway with no police back-up, there was not much he could
do without risking having his brains blown out.  And, regardless of how
reckless some people may think him to be, the Commander was not 
prepared
to sacrifice his own life without ensuring first that there was a very
VERY good chance that, if he were to die, he'd take Akhbar with him.
All he needed was an opportunity to act, something to distract Akhbar's 
attention.  But, so far, that opportunity had not presented itself.

He glanced over at the Afghani, who was watching him like a hawk, and 
sighed inwardly, praying for some kind of divine intervention.
Akhbar sneered, noticing his unease.  "Ironic, is it not, American?
You become my prisoner once again, after all this."
Harm turned his attention back to road, pretending not to care, while
the Afghani added spitefully, "This time I make sure to finish you.  It
will be my pleasure."  The dark eyes flared with black fire of hatred.
The Commander merely shrugged, seemingly unruffled by this threat.  
"Whatever floats your boat, Ali...  I'd tremble with fear, but I'm 
afraid to lose control of the car."
The cold metal of the gun barrel pressed sharply against the naval 
officer's temple.  "Don't provoke me, American!"
"Or what?  You'll shoot me right here instead of a little later?  Be
forced to drive the rest of the way on your own?  Fly the plane all 
by yourself?  Now that would just be AWFUL, wouldn't it?"
Instead of a reply, Akhbar jabbed the gun hard in his ribs, making
him gasp in pain.  
A string of curses followed, to which Harm paid no attention.  His ribs 
smarted from the blow, but inside somehow he felt almost as good as if 
he were the one doing to punching.  He got to Ali; made him lose his
cool.  And that was as good a gratification as any.

Suddenly, a large 18-wheeler appeared from around the bend ahead of 
them,
and Harm saw his chance to act.  As the truck came closer toward them, 
he
turned the wheel sharply into the direction of the oncoming traffic,
making the car swerve violently at that.  
The truck honked deafeningly, and Akhbar wide-eyed grabbed hold of the
dashboard, his face turning pale at the sight of the monstrous semi 
that
was moving implacably toward them.
"What are you doing?" he rasped, tearing his terror-filled eyes 
momentarily from the oncoming truck to look at his hostage.
"Moving up the date of your meeting with the Maker," the latter replied
through clenched teeth, flooring the gas pedal.

The driver of the truck slammed hard on the brakes, and the large 
vehicle twisted around, pulled by his own weight, and blocking off the
whole road, skidded sideways toward the little red Mustang.
His gun forgotten, Akhbar tried to grab a hold of the wheel, but Harm
jabbed his elbow in the man's face, pushing him back in the seat.
The Afghani howled in pain, covering his bloody nose.  "You will die
for this, American!"
"You first."  With that Harm let go of the wheel, pushing his door wide
open, and jumped out of the car, rolling off to the side of the road.  
Seconds later, the Mustang rammed into the side of the trailer,
exploding on impact.
The debris scattered on the grass around him, and Harm put his hands up
in front of his face, trying to shield himself.  
The whole left side of his body smarted from the fall, and he was 
almost
positive that his left arm was broken.  But it didn't matter.  Through
the veil of pain and the overwhelming heat that emanated from the wreck
scorching the very air around him, one thought kept spinning in his 
head - "It's over.  It's over.  It's finally over."

He stood up slowly, gritting his teeth.  Taking deep ragged breaths to 
dull the pain that shot up his leg at that movement, he stared in
odd fascination at the burning heap of twisted metal.  
The driver of the truck was running toward him, screaming something to
him.  It took Harm a few seconds to process what he was saying.
"Are you all right, mister?"
He nodded wordlessly.  Yes. Yes, he finally was.  Something happened
today.  Seeing his friends in danger snapped him into action, breaking
whatever psychological barrier that still remained from his days in
captivity.  He acted without a second thought, without hesitation.
And only now, as he stood on the side of this semi-deserted highway, he
realized with a start that he was finally free.  The darkness had
released him.

"The police are coming."  The truck driver pointed somewhere behind
Harm, and the latter turned around, cradling his throbbing arm.  The
man was right.  Harm saw several police cars moving rapidly in their
direction.
They traced the call, he realized.  Way to go, Mac!
"Oh, man, looks like you took quite a beating from that fall," the
trucker noted, shaking his head.  "You should have that arm looked at."
Harm nodded again absently, watching the cars pull up.  
"I'll be all right," he whispered, as he saw Mac jump out of the back 
seat 
of the first car.  
The bright smile of relief lit up her face when she saw him standing
there, and she ran toward him, anxious to pull him into her arms.  

***

Minutes later, they stood on the same spot, leaning into each other, 
and 
Harm held her tight against his chest with his good arm, having 
forgotten 
for a time about his aching body.  The rest of the world was shut out
for them.
Harm looked up at the sky, squinting contentedly at the bright rays of
sunlight, relishing the sun's warm caress on his skin.  Then looking
back down at the brown-eyed woman in his arms, he smiled - a bright
carefree smile.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
Sarah nodded, her eyes brimming with happy tears.  And as he leaned in
to kiss her, making her almost dizzy with happiness, in the seconds
before his lips touched hers, Sarah Mackenzie whispered blissfully,
"It is, Sailor.  It most certainly is."

The end.