Title: "If I Should Fall Behind"
Author: AeroGirl
Email: michaerogirl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Classification, Vignette, Angst
Spoilers: "Rules of Engagement", "Lifeline", "Adrift"

Summary: As Mac contemplates her precarious position between Mic and 
Harm, a buried memory helps her to put her complex relationship with 
her partner in perspective.

Disclaimer: You all know who owns the JAG folks, and it ain't me, 
kids. If it matters, the song "If I Should Fall Behind" was written 
by Bruce Springsteen and performed by Faith Hill, and based on recent 
(seasons six and seven) events, I think it goes without saying who's 
fallen behind and who may or may not wait ...

Author's Notes: This little exercise in strangeness deals with two 
episodes almost exactly two seasons apart. It starts in the middle 
of "Adrift, Part II", but flashes back to a scene that could have 
been an epilogue for Harm and Mac's brief match-up in "ROE". If 
you're overseas or otherwise missed "Adrift", recall that Harm was 
having problems with his memory shortly after his rescue - looked 
ridiculous on screen, in my opinion, but it gives me a way to frame 
this story.


"If I Should Fall Behind"


*** "So let's make our steps clear so the other may see
I'll wait for you, and should I fall behind, wait for me..." ***


May 28, 2001

10:40.

Mac stared at the unblinking green numbers of the clock for 
what felt like an eternity. **What a choice of words,** she thought 
ruefully. Discussing eternity on a ferry half a world away might 
just have been the push that had set this whole crazy ride in 
motion. One man had backed away, and another had simultaneously 
rushed forward. Now, a year and a half later, she was sitting in her 
car at the airport, already missing Chloe and wondering if she was 
any closer to happiness.

Of course they'd had to postpone the wedding, she 
rationalized. What other choice had there been? Harm was missing, 
and then barely alive - how could she possibly have gone ahead with 
the biggest day of her life?

10:41. But that wasn't the whole story, the defiantly 
glowing clock accused her. A few minutes ago, after they'd waved 
goodbye to Chloe like the perfect couple, Mic had dropped a stunner 
on her. He'd given up on rescheduling the wedding. Mic, who'd 
practically begged her for this chance, was finally beginning to get 
frustrated with her hesitation. And this time it wasn't just petty 
jealousy rearing its ugly head. This time, the look in his dark eyes 
had made her question more than just herself.

10:42. Where did that leave them? In three days, she'd gone 
from blushing bride to barely engaged. Some part of her suspected 
that she could undo the damage by falling into Mic's arms and asking 
him to run off to Vegas with her - but she didn't want to do that. 
In all honesty, she wasn't sure how far she was willing to go to 
salvage this wedding ... which, at this point, was probably the only 
way to salvage the relationship.

So what did she need now? Was there anyone or anything out 
there that could help her make sense of it all? Only one answer came 
to mind, and she sighed. Either this would help her to see things 
more clearly, or it would blur it all beyond recognition.

As the clock flashed 10:43, she threw the Corvette into gear.

Mac was halfway to Bethesda before the current state of 
affairs fully registered in her mind. She was running to Harm, not 
for any coherent reason but because she couldn't think of anywhere 
else to go. He wasn't really the Harm she knew, though. When they'd 
all come to visit him yesterday after he'd been transferred from the 
carrier, there had been flickers of the man they recognized, but the 
gaps and twists in his memory had made any conversation awkward at 
best. He was getting better, the doctors promised, and she knew him 
too well to believe that anything could hold him down for long. 
Still, it was a grim reminder of what could have been.

Another thought occurred to her as she strode through the 
wide double doors of the hospital. What if Renee was with him? 
Although the other woman - again, great choice of words - would never 
say so, Mac was sure Renee at least partially blamed her for the 
crash. Certainly she understood that there was both a bond and a 
tension between the partners that Harm had never been able to 
acknowledge. After all, if Renee didn't suspect something, the 
bizarre moment at the rehearsal dinner never would have occurred.

Mac had taken an almost perverse pleasure in having her 
internal clock challenged like that ... it had been twenty-seven 
minutes, damn it. Not twenty-eight. **Never send a video princess 
to do the work of a Marine.**

Fortunately for them all, as she approached Harm's room on 
the fourth floor, Renee was not in evidence. Mac took a deep breath 
and stepped inside, quickly realizing that he was asleep. She hung 
back for a moment, debating whether or not to slide into the nearby 
chair. Harmon Rabb looked out of place in a hospital bed, she 
decided: there was something about it that threw off her sense of 
normalcy. In other circumstances, he could be quietly angry, 
contemplative, or even shamed into silence, but even then you always 
felt his towering presence. Here, knowing that he barely had the 
strength to stand ... it was disconcerting.

She sat down and unconsciously brushed her fingers along his 
cheek. The bruises there were only the beginning of the story - 
below the sleeves of his loose gray T-shirt, his arms bore another 
set of fading scars, and she'd overheard Renee tearfully telling 
Harriet about the soft moans of pain whenever he moved his leg. All 
because of a glitch and a storm ... all because he was a man of his 
word. **Damn it, Harm. Look at the mess we're in now, and it's all 
our own fault.**

"How did we end up here?" she murmured aloud. In response, 
he stirred slightly, and she instinctively pulled her hand back. 
After a few seconds, his eyes flickered open, and a slow, faint smile 
came to his weary features.

"Hi, Mac," he offered in a voice roughened by seawater. 
"What's goin' on?"

He was focused on her, more or less, but the glassy look to 
his pale blue eyes betrayed him: pain medication. That leg must have 
been worse than she'd realized. "Wow, sailor," she said lightly, 
teasing him. "You look about as high as a kite."

"Give me a break," he answered with a weak laugh. "If you 
were stuck here, you'd want drugs, too."

"Probably. How are you feeling?"

Harm shrugged a little, the humor beginning to fade. "Dumb, 
mostly ... I hate not remembering things..."

"Hey, it's all right. The docs say the swelling's going 
down, and you sound like you're breathing better. I'm sure you'll be 
back at work pissing us off in no time."

He didn't respond to that, and she wondered if he'd heard. 
Abruptly he smiled again, a little wistfully. "You're always waking 
me up, you know that?"

Mac frowned, not comprehending, but he seemed to be off in 
another place. "I never said I was sorry, did I?" he asked vaguely. 
"I didn't know it would change everything ... all I wanted was to 
fly..."

"What are you talking about, Harm?" she questioned gently, 
ignoring the fresh stab of hurt that resulted from that last 
statement. **All you ever wanted was to fly. I never should have 
let myself believe otherwise.** "Is this about the wedding?"

"What wedding?" he asked in all innocence, and she fought 
back a combination of frustration and sympathy. Coming here had 
obviously been a mistake - between the head injury and the 
medication, he simply didn't know what was going on. 

"Never mind."

"I never said I was sorry," he repeated more insistently. "I 
never made you understand ... you deserved better."

With a flash of insight, she realized what he meant. It 
wasn't the quals or the crash he was apologizing for: it was the six 
months he'd spent reclaiming a long-dormant dream out on the Patrick 
Henry. Somehow, his scrambled mind had transported him back to the 
very beginning of the rift between them, and she suddenly remembered 
just when it was that she'd last woken him up.

"Oh, Christ, Harm," she finally replied, attempting to 
smile. He didn't need any more guilt right now. "It's all right. 
You needed to go. I didn't get it then, but I think I do now. You 
don't have to apologize for following your heart."

She'd meant it as reassurance, but his features clouded 
over. "I don't think I know how to follow my heart," he suggested, 
and the all-too-familiar sadness in his voice nearly brought her to 
tears.

"Maybe I don't, either," she confessed.

He tried to lift his gaze to meet hers, but already he was 
drifting back into a drug-induced oblivion. "Thanks, Mac," he 
mumbled as his eyes slid closed again.

"Sleep well," she whispered, exhaling a breath that she 
hadn't realized she was holding. She was no closer to understanding 
where she and Mic stood; just the opposite, in fact. The memory Harm 
had uncovered was one that she'd almost managed to bury entirely. 
She suspected that he'd remember little, if anything, of this 
conversation later, but he'd left her with plenty to think about. 
**Thanks a lot, flyboy,** she thought with a trace of bitterness. 
**Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.**

Twice now he'd cut out her heart for the sake of an 
airplane. And twice he'd returned, but to a somewhat different world 
than the one he'd left. This time, though, he'd seen her anger-
cloaked pain for what it was - even if he'd only dared admit it 
through a veil of sarcasm - and he'd nearly destroyed himself for the 
sake of his promise to her. That was the present: the rest truly was 
history. So why was he now apologizing for something that had 
happened a year and a half ago?

Maybe the two situations were closer than she'd thought. As 
her best friend slept peacefully, unaware of her turmoil, she settled 
back in the chair, lost in the past.


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


October 3, 1999
USS Patrick Henry
In the Mediterranean Sea

Mac knocked on the thick steel hatch, feeling a little self-
conscious up in flight-crew country. The court-martial of Lieutenant 
Andrew Buxton was over, and her irritation at being beaten in court 
by a non-practicing lawyer was beginning to fade. Still, she wasn't 
entirely sure how to close out this odd reunion with Harm. Were they 
friends? Colleagues? Certainly not partners, not anymore. But she 
needed to see him one more time, to convince herself that they were 
both doing the right thing. **Wait, what do I have to prove? I 
didn't do anything. I'm not the one out here living out a premature 
mid-life crisis.**

Before she could continue the internal dialogue, Harm's 
bunkmate opened the door. "Ma'am," he said automatically. "Uh, 
you're here to see Commander Rabb, I assume?"

"You assume correctly." She stepped over the knee-knocker 
and into their quarters, surveying the orderly yet intimidating piles 
of paperwork on the desk. The shade curtains on the lower rack were 
closed, and the younger pilot seemed to be hesitating. "Is this 
inappropriate, Lieutenant? I'm short on time, but I can come back a 
little later - "

"No, ma'am, it's fine. We flew late last night, is all - 
recon over the Serbian border. Let me just wake him up." Regaining 
his inherent aviator's confidence, he picked up a nearby football and 
zinged it through his bunkmate's drawn curtains.

"Owww," came a disoriented but familiar voice. "What the 
hell, Tuna?"

"Come on, Pappy, duty calls."

"Thought we were on Bravo today."

"We are, but you've got a visitor of the female kind. Hope 
you're decent in there."

The voice was still groggy and growing increasingly annoyed. 
"Skates, if you put him up to this, I swear to God I'll make you hurl 
all the way back from the no-fly..."

Mac broke in, amused. "Well, you know me and Tomcats, Harm. 
I'd probably hurl no matter what you did."

There was a surprised, uncomfortable pause as he realized 
that she wasn't his RIO. "Um, hi, Mac," he said lamely, pushing back 
the dark curtains and pulling himself out of the rack.

For a minute, the two former partners just stood there, 
sizing each other up. Rarely had their differences been so clearly 
defined. Mac's uniform was immaculate, the very image of a squared-
away staff officer. Harm was fully awake now and standing in a black 
squadron T-shirt and boxers, looking like any one of three dozen 
fighter jocks on alert that day. Their brief courtroom skirmish 
aside, he hardly resembled the attorney she'd once thought she knew 
so well.

"Morning, Colonel," he said more formally, shooting a 
crosswise glance at his bunkmate, who was skulking near the closet. 
"Tuna, toss me my bag, would you?"

"Come again?" Tuna smirked not-so-innocently, enjoying the 
awkwardness.

"Lieutenant!" Harm snapped, exasperated. "Give me my damn 
bag already."

"Aye, sir." The younger pilot dutifully threw a flight suit 
over. Harm was into it in seconds, lacing up his boots and reaching 
for his VF-218 ship's cap.

"Shall we look for someplace a little more accommodating, 
ma'am?"

Mac inwardly winced as he said 'ma'am'. It sounded wrong 
coming from him, and it was yet another reminder of the distance 
between them. "Lead the way, Commander," she replied calmly, and 
after another glare at Tuna, he stepped out into the corridor.

They ended up on the fantail, leaning on the rail and 
watching the waves rush by. "You're leaving on the COD this 
morning?" Harm asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, I think I've had enough of smartass aviators for a 
while." She regretted the remark almost immediately, but he wasn't 
about to let her see his full reaction.

"So that's how it is?" he asked quietly. "When I'm a lawyer, 
I'm worth talking to, but out here, I'm just another knuckle-dragging 
pilot?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"How do I know that?" he demanded. "I've sent at least a 
dozen emails. I told you about quals, where I was being assigned, 
what the squadron was like - and I think I've gotten maybe three 
replies, none longer than a paragraph. Certainly none of them 
mentioned anything about a major promotion. Did I officially 
abdicate my place as your friend, or what?"

She wanted to scream at him that this wasn't just about 
friendship; that before he'd left, she would have jumped at the first 
signal from him that they could be more than friends. But all that 
had disintegrated in mere seconds, when he chose to walk out on their 
partnership, and she was forced to reevaluate what they really meant 
to each other. Because of that, she could only trust herself to go 
so far. Still...

"Wait a minute," she objected, allowing her indignation to 
creep through. "Am I not allowed to feel a little abandoned here? 
You know I'm not any good at email or any of that stuff. And we 
can't exactly have the same kind of friendship we had before while 
you're off in the wild blue yonder, can we?"

"So we give up entirely?"

"Of course not. I just - " She shook her head, feeling 
powerless. "Harm, for three years, you've always been just down the 
hall. Now, if I can't crack a witness, or if I have a lousy day, I 
turn around to find you and you're not there. That hurts so much, I 
can't even begin to write a damn letter about it. Is that somehow 
unfair?"

For a moment, she dropped her gaze, wondering if she'd 
already gone too far. But as he stared out across the water, she 
could see the conflict in his expressive eyes. "No, it's not," he 
answered in a low voice. "It does hurt. I knew it would - I guess I 
just didn't know how much. But when the only mail I get after a 
rough mission is a note from my mother ... I can't tell her what I'm 
doing out here. She already worries enough without me unloading 
horror stories about engine flameouts and one-wire traps. I guess 
... I just want someone to care about what I'm doing."

"So you want me to hear it all, so _I_ can worry more? Like 
I don't worry enough when the weekly theater reports come in? For 
Christ's sake, Harm, you walked willingly into a war zone!"

"I know, and I'm sorry it had to be like this - "

"It _didn't_ have to be like this! No one wanted it to be 
like this except you. You made the choice, and don't give me any 
crap about duty and service. You paid your dues a long time ago, and 
the rest of the carrier kids were doing just fine without you. The 
only reason you're out here is because of a self-indulgent obsession 
that you hold higher than everything else in life!"

"Oh, now the truth comes out," he retorted sharply, 
attempting to disguise the note of pain in his voice and not entirely 
succeeding. "You never did get it, did you? I don't know why I'm 
surprised. I guess we don't know each other as well as I thought. 
Good thing we got this out in the open. Next time I need support, 
I'll know to look elsewhere. Have a good flight, Colonel."

He touched off a clipped salute and turned on his heel before 
she could return it. Mac squeezed her eyes shut against the 
threatening tears and made a quick decision. If she didn't stop him 
now, they might very well be slamming the door forever on the most 
important friendship of her life.

"I didn't give you permission to be dismissed, Commander," 
she barked out in her best command voice. Almost to the hatch, he 
stiffened and slowly turned back, and she got directly into his 
face. "You're right, I don't get it. I don't understand what 
happens to you up there to make everything else seem secondary. I 
get into a plane and the first thing on my mind is how fast I can get 
back out. You get out and the first thing on your mind is how fast 
you can get back in. Sometimes I think we're never going to get past 
that, but don't you dare accuse me of not caring. I care a hell of a 
lot more than you realize."

There was a long pause, and then finally Harm surrendered. 
"I don't know how to make you understand, Mac," he said quietly. 
"I've spent just about every night since Pensacola trying to figure 
it out, and I haven't gotten anywhere."

"Maybe you can't," she whispered, looking away. "Maybe this 
is how it has to be."

They went back to gazing out at the waves for a while, each 
masking the torrent of emotions let loose by that dismal conclusion. 
After a few seconds, he spoke up again. "I, ah, haven't really made 
any decisions about my next post yet. I love it here, but barring a 
miracle, I'm likely to get rotated stateside after a couple more 
tours. I guess ... I'm still considering my options."

Faint hope flared up as she turned to look at him. "Meaning 
what? You might try to come back to JAG?"

"I don't know. If the admiral has his way, I'll probably 
never set foot in Falls Church again, but ... as much as I want to, I 
can't just focus on flying. I have to figure out what's best all 
around." He glanced over at her, cautiously teasing, as if testing 
her for a reaction. "You think you could handle having me around 
after all this?"

"As long as you give me fair warning," she responded lightly, 
but soon they were serious again. "I can't promise you that we can 
pick up where we left off, but - God, Harm, you know we'd love to 
have you back. All of us."

"Except Brumby, maybe." Before she could scold him for the 
comment, though, he stepped forward and brushed her hair back with a 
gentle hand. She started a little: this wasn't the kind of attention 
she was used to receiving from him. Was he -? Why now, of all times 
... "I miss you like crazy, Mac," he confessed, and there was no 
mistaking the sincerity in his eyes.

"Me, too," she said softly, and at least that much was clear 
to both of them. Anything else would have to wait for another, less 
complicated day. "Walk me to the flight deck?"

"Of course."

As the COD aircraft made its preparations for departure, she 
watched Harm say his goodbyes to Bud and Mic with the calm, easy 
charm he'd always shown. When her turn arrived, they instinctively 
came together in a warm embrace. "I promise to do better with 
email," she vowed. "As long as you promise to tell me as soon as you 
decide on your plans, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, with a faint smile that softened 
the formal address. "Safe trip, Marine."

At last, she boarded the plane, settling into a window seat 
and surprising her coworkers. On the flight out, she'd studiously 
avoided looking out the window: they assumed she simply didn't like 
flying. Now, though, she watched the tall, handsome aviator striding 
back across the deck and wondered just how long it would be before 
she saw him next. Would he be able to walk away from his dreams 
again, even by choice? Was there anything in Washington that held 
enough power over him to bring him home?

Remembering the feel of his fingers in her hair, she allowed 
herself the tiniest shred of hope that she might have some of that 
power. **If he turns around and looks back, there's still a 
chance,** she told herself. **Please, God, make him turn around.**

Her eyes followed him all the way to the tower, where he 
paused at the hatch and turned back toward the aircraft. Swallowing 
the cry of triumph that bubbled up in her throat, she offered a quick 
wave. He returned it, smiling - but just then, Tuna and Skates 
stepped out of the hatch and approached him, drawing him away with 
animated gestures and laughter. Mac watched the trio's quiet 
comradeship, her hopes dulled slightly but not extinguished. Harmon 
Rabb was nowhere close to being gone from her life.

Just as the sudden acceleration of the catapult slammed her 
back into her seat, she imagined she could see him glance back one 
final time before disappearing through the hatch.


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


The effects of the weekend's storm still lingered over the 
East Coast, as evidenced by the drizzling rain that now ran down the 
window in front of her. Mac felt the cool glass against her fingers 
and realized she'd nearly dozed off in the chair by her friend's 
bedside. **Ancient history,** she thought again, surprised that 
she'd nearly managed to forget about the encounter entirely. In the 
complex story of their relationship, it paled in comparison to that 
night on the admiral's porch - God, was that only a few weeks ago? 
Still, there had been something compelling about being with him out 
there on the carrier, looking as natural and confident as she'd ever 
seen him. It was a part of him, as much as anything else ever could 
be.

Why hadn't things worked out after that? A few weeks later, 
he'd written to tell her that he was in fact returning to JAG after 
the cruise ended. It should have made everything better - right? 
But the distance and the awkwardness - not to mention the difference 
in rank - were still lingering in the background, and rather than 
fading over time, they only built upon each other until ... that damn 
ferry. **Which brings me right back to where I started.**

Sometimes she wondered if Harmon Rabb truly wanted 
happiness. He certainly seemed to be an expert at ducking for cover 
whenever a hint of it came his way. Maybe he honestly couldn't 
believe in it: considering all he'd endured, perhaps he'd always be 
looking over his shoulder, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to 
drop and destroy everything all over again.

**You're hardly one to talk,** a little voice reminded her 
coldly. **You knew you wanted him, and you had a pretty good idea 
that he wanted you too. But regardless of the other distractions, 
you didn't exactly welcome him home with open arms.**

A series of tiny choices, times they went left when they 
should have gone right. By the time either of them realized how lost 
they were, precious little remained to point them back in the right 
direction. Nothing she could have said or done in Sydney could have 
magically changed all of it, but right now it was hard to tell if 
she'd made a single correct turn since.

**No.** She couldn't allow herself to believe that the past 
year and a half was nothing more than a mistake: that would be a 
surrender of her identity, somehow. Never in that time had she 
seriously considered putting her life on hold for the mere 
possibility of finally receiving the attentions of a confused and 
disillusioned flyboy. She had the opportunity for more - she 
deserved more, for Christ's sake. Mic had demonstrated that time and 
again. Mic wanted to be everything for her, despite her time-honored 
instincts toward independence. Maybe they weren't a match made in 
heaven, but she wasn't about to give up the chance they still had so 
easily. Even after a night of so many truths.

But as she turned back to the still-sleeping Harm, not yet 
healed from that hellish night, her resolve continued to waver.

** "What was I supposed to do?" **
** "Wait." **
** "For how long?" **
** "As long as it takes." **

Decision or no decision, part of her wondered if she'd 
somehow betrayed her dearest friend.

"What's the story, Colonel?"

Mac glanced up and offered a tired half-smile to her 
commanding officer, who'd appeared in the doorway. "Morning, sir - 
actually, make that 'good afternoon, sir'. Um, they've got him on 
some pretty strong stuff today. He's been in and out, I guess."

Admiral Chegwidden moved into the room, studying his injured 
officer for a moment. "How's his memory?"

"Hard to say, sir. He tried to apologize to me for something 
that happened a year and a half ago."

If the admiral had chosen to do the math and theorize as to 
what that apology might have meant, he kept it to himself. "Better 
late than never?" he suggested with a small shrug.

"That's what I decided, too."

After a moment, he turned his attention fully to her. "Not 
that it's any of my business, Mac," he began slowly, "but have you 
decided what you're going to do?"

She knew he was referring to the wedding, but so many 
questions were swirling around in her brain just then. With all the 
confidence of her Marine training, she met his gaze and stated 
honestly, "Sir, I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the 
other. And I'm going to hope that whatever fates were smiling on 
Harm a few nights ago are still smiling on all of us. That's about 
the best I can do for now."

She stood up, head held high, and strode toward the door with 
a nod of acknowledgement to her C.O. Admiral Chegwidden returned it, 
silently admiring her willpower. Sarah Mackenzie had made plenty of 
less-than-perfect choices in her life, he knew, but she was amazingly 
good at keeping her footing. He looked down at Harm's motionless 
form with an odd kind of sympathy, well aware that neither of his 
best lawyers had any idea how much he knew and understood. After 
all, it had been his porch.

"Son, you're awfully damned lucky to still be with us after 
what happened," he remarked quietly. "But when you shake this off, 
you're going to be stunned at how effectively you've turned 
everything upside down, and I'm not sure even you can put it all back 
again. So get your rest while you can."


**** THE END ****