A Holiday Series: Story I
FOR WHICH WE ARE TRULY THANKFUL  
B-BALL AND BACK PAIN
by Sylvia Bartlett Mohr

E Mail address: sbartlettmohr@earthlink.net
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Story, lightly Harm/Mac, some humor, some angst
Spoilers:  May be spoilers to any and all episodes, but none 
intentional


Sturgis caught up to Commander Harmon Rabb as he left the courtroom.  
"Hey, Buddy, are we still friends 
after I beat you in court just now?"

"You didn't beat me, Sturgis. I was sandbagged by my own client.  I 
can't defend him if he doesn't give 
me all the facts."  Harm sounded tired.

"Sounds like maybe you are too worn out to keep our court date tonight, 
Counselor."

"In your dreams, pal.  I could beat you in one on one in my sleep."

"Keep telling yourself that, Rabb.  Are we still on for 8 then?" 

"That's when we have the court time, buddy.  See you then."  Harm went 
into his office and closed the 
door behind.  Mac was still out on the Seahawk and he was surprised how 
much he was missing her.  
He'd be glad when the ship docked and she was home.  He had spent lots 
of hours playing b-ball with 
Turner and playing guitar at home, but he missed his best pal now that 
their friendship was back on track.  
He had flown combat air patrol the last 3 weekends each day and he 
wasn't sleeping well during the week, 
so he was very tired, but all the activity didn't seem to help him get 
any decent rest.  

His back was hurting a lot.  That had all started when he had slipped 
on the steps leaving JAG HQ one 
night with Mac.  The fall had been more embarrassing than damaging he 
thought, but he had been getting 
frequent twinges in his back and sudden weakness in his right leg ever 
since he fell.  He figured he'd 
bruised something and had to work out the kinks.  No big deal and 
nothing to worry about.


Turner was surprised when he walked on to the basketball court to see 
Harm already throwing hoops and 
having worked up a pretty good sweat.  "You wearing yourself out for 
me, Pal?" He asked with a warm 
chuckle.

"Just loosening up and warming up to toast you good, Sturg, my man."  
Harm laughed as he sunk a shot 
from outside the key over his shoulder without looking back.

"Impressive."  The black officer commented without a grudge.  "I think 
the doctor is ready for me now."

The two had a good, clean, aggressive, but close, game going.  Harm 
evaded a block and went up to make 
a jump shot which scored nicely and won the game for him, but as he 
came down from the leap on his 
right leg, the leg gave out and he went down hard on the boards.  
Turner winced as he ran over.  Harm 
wasn't moving and seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath.  
Sturgis knelt by his friend, 
getting seriously concerned at how pale the man was.  "Hey, Harm - that 
was a hard hit."

Harm finally gulped some air in and coughed, his eyes watering.  He 
shut his eyes tightly.  "Damn."  He 
said softly.  "That really hurts."

"Do you think you broke anything?"

"My fall -- with my butt."  Harm retorted, still not sitting up.  "It's 
mostly my dignity that's hurt, my 
friend.  Give me a minute to regroup here."  He stayed still, slowly 
getting his breathing under control, but 
he was still extremely pale.  He started to try to get to his feet, but 
fell back.  "Okay.  Too soon to get up 
just yet."  

Now Turner was worried.  Harm usually bounced back pretty quickly from 
tumbles he took on the 
basketball court.  For him to not get back up this long, he was in some 
serious pain.  "Need a hand?"

"No, Sturgis.  I think I'll just stay here for a while.  You can hit 
the showers if you want."

"Are you sure?  I can stay with you."

"Go on, mother hen.  Your chickie is just fine."  Harm tried to smile, 
but his eyes were still shut and he 
was still laying on his back on the gym floor.  He finally opened his 
eyes when his friend neither moved 
nor said anything further.  "Commander," he said firmly,  "I will be 
fine.  I just think I need to lay still a 
few minutes and give the world a chance to slow down."   

The two men's eyes were locked on each other and Sturgis reluctantly 
stood up, but he was frowning. 
After a minute of the stare down, Turner relented.  "Okay, Harm.  If 
you are still on the floor when I get 
back here though, I am going to help you up."

"If I'm still on the floor when you get back from a shower, it will 
probably because I fell asleep while I lay 
here.  And you can wake me up and send me HOME."  Harm tried to laugh, 
but failed at the attempt 
miserably.  "Go before I humiliate myself any more, please."

"Scorewise, I am the humiliated one, Doctor Rabb.  Damn fine game!  See 
you in a few."

"Not if I see you first."  Harm responded, but it was a halfhearted 
attempt at levity that didn't achieve 
much to alleviate his friend's concern as he headed to the shower.

After the door closed behind his old Academy chum, Harm slowly and 
painfully sat up.  He had to drag 
himself to the bleachers to use them to aid in his reaching a standing 
position.  He walked over and picked 
up his jacket from the floor and went straight out to his car, limping 
heavily.  By the time Sturgis got out 
to the parking lot, Harm had driven away.  Turner frowned.  Harm 
usually showered at the gym before 
going home.  His concern for his friend only deepened.


The next morning Turner didn't see Harm in his office.  He headed for 
the Admiral's office and was 
stopped by Tiner.  "Sir, I wouldn't go in there just now.  The Admiral 
is liable to bite your head off.  
Commander Rabb called in, he won't be in today and the Admiral is not 
very happy about it."

"I'll risk it, Tiner, but thanks for the heads up."  Sturgis knocked 
and at the terse 'Enter' from the 
Admiral he went in.  After coming to attention before the Admiral's 
desk, he waited until Chegwidden 
looked up.  The admiral did not seem angry, but he was frowning.  

"Enjoy your game with Rabb last night, Commander Turner?"  Chegwidden 
asked in a mild tone.

"It was invigorating right until the Commander won the game with a 
great jump shot."  

"Was that before or after he fell and bruised himself too badly to make 
it to work today?"  The admiral 
asked, even toned.

"Right before actually."  Turner hesitated, but his desire to say more 
was clearly evident.

"Yes, Commander Turner.  You seem to have more to say about this?"

"Sir, it was just so odd.  There appeared to be no reason for that 
fall.  Harm didn't slip or twist his ankle - 
he just went down, hard.  Like his leg gave way on him.  I play 
basketball with the Commander often.  
He's a good athlete and I don't understand why he fell.  It really 
knocked the wind out of him.  He just lay 
there.  Admiral, I'm worried.  I don't like it.  He didn't come in and 
shower - he just left to go home.  I 
called him several times last night after I got home and he didn't 
answer."

"I spoke with him this morning on the phone when he called in.  He 
sounded very tired.  I read him the 
riot act for letting recreational sports interfere with his work, which 
wasn't really fair - the man has 
enough sick leave saved up to make a real dent in time between now and 
the end of the year and he 
doesn't take days off lightly.  Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on 
him."

"Sir, not to make you feel bad about how you responded to him calling 
in, but Harm wouldn't have called 
in unless he were really hurting still.  Is he going to see a doctor?"

AJ frowned.  "Do you think that's necessary?"

Sturgis sighed.  "Harm accused me of being a mother hen when I 
expressed my concern last night, sir, but 
he was really pale afterwards and I never saw his color come back.  I 
can't say if a doctor's visit is in 
order or not, but with the amount of time he is spending in the air, I 
am a little concerned."

"Stearman or Tomcat?" AJ asked tersely.

"Admiral, Harm has flown combat air patrol over points on the East 
coast every weekend the past 3 
weeks, sir.  Saturday and Sunday.  I am surprised you weren't aware of 
that."

Chegwidden broke in impatiently as he stood from his chair.  "I'm not 
the man's log book, Commander 
Turner."

"Of course not, sir.  Sorry, sir.   Anyway, he has admitted he isn't 
sleeping well during the week."

"Why is that?"  Their commanding officer rapped out.  

The other man shrugged.  "Harm doesn't seem to have any theories on 
that he is willing to share, sir.  He 
has bouts with insomnia fairly frequently, but this has been a longer 
haul than he's had for a while, at 
least that I am aware of.  He says he sleeps the best after he's flown, 
so I guess that means he gets sleep on 
the weekends."

Admiral Chegwidden turned his back on his subordinate and gazed out the 
window, but the concern 
behind the next question was evident.  "You don't think he would try to 
fly if he wasn't feeling better by 
the next time he's scheduled, do you, Commander Turner?  I know Rabb 
can be damn stubborn most of 
the time, but is he foolish enough..?"

"Sir, I don't think he would ever intentionally risk an aircraft and 
his RIO if he didn't feel up to the task." 
Sturgis broke in, with firm conviction in his voice.  "I'm more 
concerned that he may have really injured 
himself in a way that won't show up for a while than that it will 
affect his abilities in the air or in the 
courtroom.  A fall like that can really screw up a back and he has 
ejected a few more times than most 
pilots ever dream of.."

"Do me a favor, Commander?  Check on him on your way home tonight?"

"I was planning on that anyway, Admiral."

"If he doesn't make it in tomorrow, I would like you to report to me 
first thing in the morning with your 
evaluation of how you find him, Commander Turner.  I'll make that an 
order if I have to."

"Admiral Chegwidden, that will not be necessary.  I will be glad to 
tell you what I feel after seeing how he 
seems to be faring.  But you could just ask him if he does call in, 
sir."

"After my reaction this morning, I rather expect he will call in early 
enough to get the machine if he has 
to take another day."  AJ sighed, a sound heavy with regret.  
"Sometimes even admirals should think 
before they bark.  At any rate, thank you, Commander.  That will be 
all."  

Although AJ's back was still to him, Turner snapped to attention as he 
said.  "Aye.  Aye, sir."  He turned 
and left the office, nodding and giving a brief smile to Tiner on his 
way out so the Yeoman wouldn't think 
he'd been reamed out by their CO.  He went to his office, in deep 
thought.  Sitting down at his desk he 
saw a message waiting on his computer.  

"Turner, are you there?"  The e-mail was from Mac on the Seahawk taking 
Singer's place.

"I'm here, Colonel Mackenzie, how are you?"  He typed back.

The cursor blinked a moment and than the answer came through.  "Okay I 
guess.  We are hitting 
some rough seas just now.  I've been trying to reach Harm and he isn't 
answering his 
e-mail."

"Harm isn't at work today, Mac.  Can I help you?"

"I don't need anything.  Just wanted to hear from Harm.  Is everything 
all right with 
him?"

Damn, how should he answer that one?  "Any particular reason you are 
asking?"

"Don't play with me, Sturgis.  Is he on assignment?  Why isn't he at 
the office?"  The 
impatience came through loud and clear.

"I didn't just say he wasn't in the office, Colonel.  I said Harm 
wasn't at work.  He took a sick day.  Look, 
don't get overly worried or anything, but Harm took a fall when we were 
playing basketball last night.  Hit 
the deck pretty hard.  I don't think there was any serious damage, but 
he called in today saying he was too 
sore to come in.  Guess the admiral was pretty hard on him for missing 
work."

"Why would the Admiral give him a hard time about missing work?  Harm 
doesn't take 
sick leave lightly and he has loads of it coming.  Sturgis, did you 
push Harm when you 
were playing?  I know you two are pretty competitive when you play--"

Sturgis cut her off quickly.  "Of course I didn't push Harm! He just 
fell.  It happens to the best of us."

"I wasn't accusing you of anything, Commander.  It's just that--"

The cursor blinked a few seconds before continuing across the screen.

"It's just that, Harm fell on the steps outside HQ a while ago.  I feel 
kind of bad about 
it because he hit really hard, and, well, it looked so funny that I 
just laughed and 
laughed.  Until I realized he was really pale, and he wasn't getting 
up.  He tried to 
laugh it off when I started to worry, but he was limping the next day, 
even though we 
were jogging together.  He would run and seem fine, but when we slowed 
down and he 
was walking the limp would come out.  He said it was nothing..."

Turner leaned forward and urgently broke in.  "Mac, which leg?  Which 
leg was he limping on?"

The cursor blinked for so long he almost jumped back on to ask if she 
was still there.

"I am pretty sure it was his right leg -- he was limping right sided.  
And holding his 
back between his ribs and his hip, too.  Why do you ask?"

"It's probably not important, Mac.  But it was his right leg that went 
out on him last night.  There was no 
obvious reason for him to fall.  He didn't slip or twist his ankle.  He 
went up for a jump shot, made a 
beautiful basket, but when he landed on his right foot, he just kept on 
going all the way to the gym 
floor - like his leg gave out."

"How can you say that isn't important?  It's the same leg, Sturgis."

"But, Colonel, he hasn't been limping since he came home from the 
Seahawk.  Not once.  Nothing before 
he fell last night.  So I don't think it's related to his previous fall 
when he was with you."

"Sturgis, I'm not just being a worry wart here.  Harm tends to push 
himself and he 
neglects things he should see to sometimes.  Will you check on him 
tonight for me, 
please?"

"Admiral already asked me the same thing, Mac and I'll tell you what I 
told him.  I was planning on it 
anyway.  I'll let you know any new info as things progress.  If Harm 
makes it in tomorrow, I'll have him 
e-mail you right away - okay?  Otherwise, I will give you the scoop.  
Okay?"

"Thank you, Sturgis.  I really appreciate it.  I miss you guys, so 
much."

"I'm sure you do, Colonel - especially a certain fly boy we both know. 
If it helps, he is really missing you 
too.  He gets this look on his face and I know who he's thinking off.  
It ain't me and it ain't Petty Officer 
Coates.  It's you.  He does care for you, you know that, don't you?  
Anyway-- He's tough, Mac.  He'll be 
okay.  I had better get to work here."  

"Me too.  Mac out."


At the same time in the Rabb residence, Harm finally managed to get up 
off his coach and limped to his 
refrigerator to put the ice pack he had been laying on back in the 
freezer.  He grabbed a bottled water and 
went to his rack in his room, leaned over to switch on the heating pad 
that lay waiting there and eased 
himself down on the mattress with a radio playing softly in the 
background.  He lay there for quite a 
while, but the heat wasn't helping any more than the ice had.  He rose 
slowly from the bed and limped 
into his bathroom to rummage through his medicine cabinet.  Finding a 
mostly full bottle of muscle 
relaxers, he got two out and limped back to the bedside table to 
swallow them down with the bottled 
water.  He got himself back down on the heat and lay there hoping the 
heating pad and muscle relaxers 
would accomplish what Tylenol and Motrin had not, grant him some relief 
from the painful spasms in his 
lower back and rear end.  It was humiliating to have to call in to the 
Admiral, but he couldn't have 
imagined driving himself into work that morning.  He hadn't slept all 
night and the pain and exhaustion 
were really taking a toll.  After about forty-five minutes on the 
heating pad, the muscle relaxers finally 
worked their magic and he drifted off into sleep.  He was in the 
cockpit of a Tomcat.  The air about the 
bird was turbulent and dark.  Lighting flashed all around him and he 
heard Skates saying, "Harm, 
navigation just went totally out on us."

Damn this bird was getting hard to hold on a heading.  "Sorry, Skates.  
I guess we didn't out run that 
weather.  This is my fault.  We shouldn't have gone up today."

"You didn't hold a gun to my head, Hammer.  Just get us out of this 
mess, sir.  I don't swim all that well, 
so I would really not want to have to eject."

Harm tossed restlessly and woke when the pain lashed through his body 
so harshly he actually cried out 
loud as he was waking up.  "Oh, God.  What in the hell is going on 
here?"  He was sweating profusely 
and the pain was not letting up.  He tried to sit up and yelped again 
from the pain.  "Shit.  Great.  Now I 
can't even get out of the frigging bed.  What is the matter with you, 
Rabb?  Get yourself together.  A little 
fall should NOT be doing this to you."  Laying quietly a few moments, 
the pain eased up enough that he 
cautiously turned on his side and slowly raised up, swinging his legs 
off the bed and moving carefully 
until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.  Waiting a little longer, 
he stood, leaning heavily on the night 
side table.  He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower as 
warm as his hand outstretched 
under the spout could stand.  

It was a delicate balancing act to get out of his shorts and T-shirt.  
He stepped into his shower and turned 
the water stream up as strong as it would go.  He turned and leaned 
against the opposite wall, letting the 
hot water hit his back from the mid rib cage down.  "You need a massage 
head on this shower, Rabb.  You 
are definitely not getting any younger.  I cannot believe this 
nonsense."  He stayed under the water until 
his fingers began to wrinkle from the prolonged exposure to moisture.  
Than he turned, holding onto the 
handle to steady himself and lathered up quickly and rinsed off.  
Turning the water off and feeling a little 
better, he toweled off and wrapping a fresh towel around his lower 
torso, he left the room and headed into 
the kitchen area of his loft apartment.  He retrieved the remnants of 
the previous nights dinner.a veggie 
salad with cous-cous, a hunk of bread and some milk and opened his 
breadbox on the counter where he 
found the left over pain pills from his last time in the water.  He 
hesitated a moment, than extracted two of 
the pills and went to sit at his table.  He forced himself to eat the 
salad, though he wasn't really 
hungry - and the bread - so he would not be taking pain meds on an 
empty stomach.  He didn't like using 
the Vicodan ES, but it was better than getting no sleep at all.  

The way the admiral sounded when he called in, he had to get this thing 
under control and get in to work 
tomorrow or he would face a royal dressing down in true Chegwidden 
battle form. He didn't need that 
right now.  He felt stupid enough taking time off for something like 
this anyway.  If this didn't work 
within four hours, he had some left over pills that were even stronger 
than Vicodan.  He really did not 
want to have to go there.  Though he was always conservative in his 
pain med usage, he still worried 
about overusing them.  Bitter experience had taught him that ignoring 
pain could make it drastically 
worse and that was not going to help his situation any.  

If he called in again, Chegwidden might insist on a flight surgeon's 
okay before he could fly CAP again.  
No fly orders were a complication he did not want in his life right 
now.  They could be a bear to get lifted 
and he was grateful he could serve his country in the air while still 
pursuing his JAG career.  That had 
come about post 9/11 and while he regretted the necessity of it, at 
least he felt he was contributing to the 
war on terrorism by more than just legal pursuits.  It wouldn't have 
felt right not to be flying when his 
country was at war in this new kind of warfare.  This was perhaps the 
most vital war America had ever 
fought and part of it was being fought in the skies over his own home.  
He felt anew the outrage at the 
kind of men who could call it war when they used domestic air flights 
as flying bombs to damage and 
destroy landmarks and take innocent civilian lives.  

The horror of watching the attacks on the World Trade Center on TV came 
back all too vividly as did the 
race to the Pentagon when word reached JAG that it had been hit.  He 
had personally known 12 of the 
victims who lost their lives at the Pentagon and he had helped carried 
out some of the wounded and dead.  
His stepfather Frank lost 25 close friends and former co-workers at WTC 
and a distant relative of his 
mom's had been on the flight that went down in Pennsylvania.  At least 
those people had had a chance to 
fight back.  

The scenes replayed themselves in his mind - jumbled up with his own 
crash with Skates that had been in 
his nightmare earlier.  This wasn't helping, damn it.  He stood, slowly 
and carefully.  Grabbing his 
wireless house phone, he headed back to bed, hoping he could get some 
dreamless sleep this time.

It took too long staring at the ceiling, but he finally drifted off to 
sleep hearing in the background that 
wonderful classic 

'Embrace me, you sweet embrace-able you...'   And he dreamed of Mac - 
in that white gown from his 
fantastical mind tripping when he flipped in the admiral's chair.  She 
was smiling at him.  He held out his 
hand and they began to dance wrapped in each other's arms.  It felt 
like home, like it was where he always 
belonged.  As he drifted further into sleep, a smile played briefly 
across his lips.  

He woke several hours later.  With only the towel on, he was chilled 
and shivering.  That didn't help his 
back any.  The spasms made him groan.  He dragged himself up, put on 
some sweats, took more meds and 
crawled under the covers, positioning himself over the heating pad 
again.  The pain was too much.  
Damn, he couldn't sleep.  Sighing, he went into his living room and 
grabbed his guitar.  Playing wouldn't 
help the pain, but maybe concentrating on something else would.  

It didn't take him long to realize this had NOT been a good idea.  The 
spasms were just getting worse.  He 
put his guitar back on its stand with a sigh.  He had to grab the 
corner of his desk to steady himself.  The 
meds were making it hard for him to. . .  Lord, he was woozy.  He 
forced himself to make the trip back into 
his sleeping area, but it was only with difficulty.  He fell across the 
bed and finally slipped back into sleep.


Sturgis tried knocking at Harm's door again.  Still no answer.  
Following the instructions he had gotten 
from Bud when Harm hadn't answered his cell phone call on the way over, 
he located the cubby where 
Harm hid his spare key and let himself in.  "Hey, Harm.  Come on, man - 
where are you?  You okay?"
He walked into the bedroom and found Harm lying sprawled across the bed 
at an angle.  He found some 
spare blankets and covered his friend up, checking to make sure the 
Commander had a steady pulse.  
Sleep had not wiped away the pain lines from his friend's face.  
Clearly the man was still hurting, Turner 
had seen the open pills on the counter.  

Suddenly, Harm began to twist restlessly as if wrestling with 
something.  He rolled over to his back, with 
a low moan.  His head pivoted about as if he was trying to see 
something and a sheen of sweat quickly 
appeared on his forehead.  His hands seemed to grasp for airplane 
controls.  Fear and resolve played 
across his face, fighting for equal time.  Just when Sturgis was almost 
ready to intervene and wake the 
man, Harm's eyes snapped open with one utterance.  "No!!!"  He was 
breathing heavily.  An expression of 
consternation came over his face as he saw his friend staring back at 
him.  "Commander Turner?  What's 
up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing, my friend.  'No!' to what?  
That didn't look like a happy 
excursion into dream time."

"I thought you were beating me at b-ball." Harm quipped, but the 
laughter did not reach his eyes.

"Look, Harm.  From the way you look, I'd say you are still having 
problems with that back of yours.  
Hitting the pills too.  Don't you think you should get it checked out."

"I just pulled something, Sturgis.  It will die down in a day or two."  
He added in a low mutter,   "If the 
Admiral doesn't kill me and save it the trouble -- "

"He's concerned about you, Harm.  So am I.  You really don't look like 
you are improving much here.  
And what's with the nightmares?"

"Nothing specific.  Just having some memories replay."  Harm shrugged.  
"It happens."

"Okay, if I can't get you to go see a doctor, could I at least put some 
liniment or salve on your back for 
you?"

Harm only hesitated an instant before he agreed.  "I'd appreciate it.  
It's in the medicine cabinet --"

"I can find it.  Stay put."  Sturgis went and got the needed supplies 
while Harm rolled on to his stomach 
carefully.  When his friend returned, he pushed aside the garments and 
the aviator indicated where the 
pain was localized.  Turner applied some salve and began to gently, but 
firmly work it in.  He could feel 
knots and lumps where the muscles were bunched in protest to the abuse 
they'd endured.  He heard Harm 
hiss and felt him pull slightly away from the probing, kneading 
movement, but he kept up the effort, 
periodically asking if he should apply more or less pressure.  

After perhaps seven minutes, Harm said.  "Thanks, Sturgis.  I 
appreciate it.  Hopefully, between that and 
the meds, I'll be back to it tomorrow.  Don't think the Admiral would 
appreciate another day lost to 
'recreational activity' pain."

"Let me go get you something to eat."  

"Thanks, my friend, but NO.  I really couldn't eat a thing."

"Harm, with those meds and everything, you NEED to eat."

Rabb finally gave in to the degree he let his classmate make a cheese 
sandwich and bring it and a glass of 
milk in.  He also requested more of the meds.  

The chaplain's son wanted to stay, but Harm insisted he would be all 
right.  Reluctantly, Turner left about 
20 minutes later.


Admiral AJ Chegwidden strode into the bullpen early the next morning, 
but he hadn't beaten his Yeoman 
in.  "Morning, Tiner.  Any messages from Rabb?"

"No, sir.  In fact he was already here reviewing Freedom of Information 
Act requests and paperwork for 
his cases.  The guard at the gate said he arrived over an hour and a 
half ago."

AJ frowned.  "That's a bit early."

"Perhaps he felt he needed to make up for lost time, sir."  Tiner 
offered helpfully.

Chegwidden strode over to the Commander's office.  Harm stood from his 
chair, carefully but with due 
respect and proper attention to detail.  His face was somewhat haggard, 
clearly he was still in a fair degree 
of pain.  "Commander Rabb, are you sure you are up to this?  You have 
enough sick leave that.."

"Admiral,.. sir.  I appreciate your concern, but I am much better.  Not 
one hundred per cent, but I have 
definitely improved.  I'll be fine, sir."

The Judge Advocate General frowned.  "I shouldn't have given you as 
hard a time as I did yesterday, 
Commander.  You're a fine officer.  You wouldn't take the day off 
without good cause and I damn well 
know that."  In a gentler voice, he continued.  "Promise me that you 
will immediately let us know if you 
get too tired and need to get some rest.  You can leave at any point if 
you have to, Harm."

"Aye, aye, sir.  Thank you, sir."

"Carry on, Commander Rabb.  As you were."  Watching Harm take the seat 
again in a noticeably slow 
and cautious manner, the Admiral satisfied himself that the younger man 
was settled back in and left the 
room.

After the Admiral left, Harm allowed his proper posture to relax into 
something a bit more comfortable 
and opened his top drawer to pull out a bottle of Tylenol, one of 
ibuprofen and a bottled water.  He 
dumped three of the extra-strength Tylenol and two 400 mg ibuprofens 
into his hand and tossed them 
back with a gulp of water.  He almost choked when he heard Sturgis boom 
from the doorway of his office, 
"God, Harm, don't overdose on that crap."

Harm fixed his friend with a rebuking glare.  "I KNOW how many of these 
I can safely take.  My flight 
surgeon briefed me on that ages ago.  It was ibuprofen and Tylenol, 
Commander.  Thanks for your 
concern."

"Hey, easy, buddy.  I'm on your side here."  Turner said, placatingly.  
"Just tell me you had a decent 
breakfast in your stomach when you lobbed those hand grenades in.  Do 
you know you loose a tablespoon 
of blood for every Motrin you take???"  

"Yeah.  I know." Harm responded.  "And no, I didn't have breakfast, but 
I have a bagel I am going to 
start on in a minute."
 
"Backwards, my man.  Supposed to eat first."  His friend lectured to 
which Harm responded by sticking 
out his tongue.  "Real mature, there, Commander Rabb.  Grow up."

"Yes, mother." Harm mocked back.  "I really like your skirt!"  

Harriet looked at them both funny as she walked into the office.  "What 
about my skirt?"  

"Not your skirt, Harriet.  Sturgis's."  

Harriet looked at the black officer dubiously.  "Are your eyes okay, 
Commander?  Sturgis isn't wearing a 
skirt."  However, the quirk at the corner of her mouth made it clear 
she was joining in the joke.

"Everybody's a comic today."  Commander Sturgis remarked without rancor 
and left to go to his office.

Lt. Harriet Sims looked at Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., critically.  
"Sir, do you really think you should 
be here today?  You don't look too great."

"Harriet, I have a deposition in an hour and a hearing before Admiral 
Morris after that.  If I succeed at 
that hearing my client might be spared going to trial, so yes, I need 
to be here.  Thanks for your concern, 
Lieutenant, but I will be just fine.  Did you get the Adnegson brief I 
requested yet?"  

"I'm just going to check and see if it has arrived yet, sir."  Harriet 
responded.  

Sturgis came back into Harm's office as Harriet left it. "Harm.  I 
almost forgot.  You are supposed to e-
mail Mac this morning, ASAP.  She'll kill me if you don't." 

Rabb looked at him suspiciously.  "Did you rat me out, my friend?"

"Harm, you wound me.  I can't help it if her Spidey sense is keen when 
it comes to you!"

Sighing, Harm turned to his computer and pulled up his e-mail messaging 
system.  "I'll get you back, 
Sturgis.  'Spidey sense.'  My sense that's working overtime is my nose 
and I think I definitely smell a rat.  
A bubbleheaded rat."

Story No. 2 follows  but this story is complete  

THE END