Title: Rose Garden Redux
Author: StarTrails
Email: StarTrails@hotmail.com
If you take the time to read it, please, please take the time to let me 
know 
what you think!  :)
Disclaimer: Do I own JAG? Am I making any monetary profit from this
story? A big, sad no to both.
Summary: Harm and Mac's first meeting, long before the Rose Garden.
Notes: Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember seeing a fic where
Trish introduced Harm and Mac to each other. I didn't read the whole
thing b/c I got distracted and never got around to going back to it.
So I apologize if this bears any resemblance to that, but with the
exception of the introduction, there's no reason it should. I don't
remember the title or the author, sorry.


Rose Garden Redux

Home of Trish and Frank Burnett
La Jolla, CA
June 1981
08:30 Pacific Time

Harm was seated at the breakfast table, deeply engrossed in a thick
hardcover book detailing the history of Naval aviation. He looked
away from it occasionally, but only long enough to take a few bites
of his egg white omelet and whole wheat toast.

"You're the only seventeen year old boy I know who eats like a woman
on a diet." Harm's mother, Trish, breezed into the kitchen , set her
purse on the counter, and poured herself a glass of juice.

"I'm just trying to stay as fit as I can for Annapolis." Though
plebe summer wouldn't start for another two weeks, in Harm's mind, he
was already at the US Naval Academy, and had been, in fact, for as
long as he could remember. In his heart, he was already a
Midshipman; the flight to Maryland was just a formality.

Trish noticed her son wearing an old T-shirt and running
shorts. "Going for a run?" she asked, attempting to make pleasant
conversation before she left for the art gallery she owned in town.
Lately, things had been strained between her and her son, and she was
trying to put them back on an even footing.

"What does it look like?" Harm answered dryly.

Trish set her juice glass down with a loud thud. "Y'know, Harm, I
don't appreciate you taking that tone with me. I was only trying to
talk to my son." Several issued between them had come to a head
recently. Trish knew it was Harm's only dream in life to be a Naval
aviator, like his father and grandfather before him, and that the
journey to achieving that dream would start in just a handful of days
when he got to the Academy.

But he was obsessed with it. With each passing day, each slash on
the calendar, something else fell by the wayside. Harm was
neglecting his chores at home, he hadn't been out with his friends in
a while, and Trish hadn't heard him play his guitar in weeks. The
closer he got to Annapolis, the more he distanced himself from his
life in California.

Harm ran and did pushups every morning, and when he returned to the
house, he did little else but bury his face in that aviation book.
He had no tolerance for his mother's questions, and what he perceived
to be her intrusions on his time, and in that regard, Trish would be
happy to see him go. She wouldn't see him again until Christmas, and
she suspected that, by then, he'd be transformed into a proper son,
disciplined and respectful of the mother who'd done her best to give
him a secure, enjoyable life. First by herself, and now, with a man
who felt Harm was his son in every way but, to him, the irrelevant
exception of biology.

Harm sighed. "I'm sorry. Yeah, just a few miles. I'm still a
little sore from yesterday."

"Don't overdo it. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "I have to get used to it. This summer's gonna
be nuts. The more I push my body now, the easier it'll be then."

"Well, maybe when you're done, sit outside in the fresh air for a
while, or go for a swim. You've been cooping yourself up in here
with that book for days."

"So? You're gonna be cooped up in the gallery all day."

"That's different," Trish responded. She took a few sips of her
juice.

"How?"

"I don't know. It just is."

Harm spoke through a mouthful of toast. "Nice answer. But at least
I'll be running on the beach, in the sun this morning. You'll be
inside, in the stale, unnatural air-conditioning, staring at
paintings all day."

Trish took a deep breath to keep from lashing out at her son. It
seemed if someone chose to devote their life to art, or to anything
but the Navy, for that matter, they were targets worthy of Harm's
ridicule. She ignored his attitude. "Oh, that reminds me, make sure
you're home by 10:30 to unlock the door for the cleaning lady. We
have company tonight, remember?"

Harm groaned. He'd completely forgotten someone from the art gallery
was coming for dinner. Just what he needed - another weirdo art
freak like all the others. They all seemed to have phony British
accents, like that would make them sound more sophisticated or
something. And they talked about shadows and colors like they were
all that mattered in the world. And now he'd be stuck at the table
again, trying his best to keep his food down while he listened to
whoever it was drone and drivel on endlessly, trying to secure a
private showing or more funding from his mother.

"Do I have to stay?" he whined.

"Yes, you have to stay. Especially tonight. The girl's who's coming
is your age, and I think you'll really like her."

"You're not trying to fix me up with her, are you? 'Cuz you know I'm
outta here in two weeks."

Oh, but she knew, in his heart, he was already gone, and had been for
quite some time. "No, I'm not setting you up. Believe me, this
girl's been through things you couldn't even begin to imagine. She's
got a lot of problems to sort out for herself, and the last things
she needs is a boyfriend."

"Then why are you bringing her?"

"Because she's a sweet girl who was dealt an extraordinarily bad hand
in life, and she could use a break. She's been volunteering at the
gallery as part of an outreach program, and in spite of everything
she's been through, she shows up every day with a smile on her face,
and eager to work."

"Jeez, Mom, you make it sound like she's some kinda throwaway social
case."

Trish stopped and observed her son for a moment. The boy had no idea
how good he had it. Here he was, sitting in an exquisite home, not
three hundred yards from the beach, eating nutritious food, which, to
him, probably appeared in the cupboards like magic every week, and he
wore top-of-the-line running sneakers that probably cost more than
poor Sarah Mackenzie's entire wardrobe.

She took a cup of yogurt from the refrigerator and threw in a handful
of fresh raspberries and blueberries. She removed a spoon from the
silverware drawer and sat at the table across from her son.

"Harm," she began quietly, "not everyone has what you have. I know
you feel like a lot is missing from your life, but take a look around
you. A nice house, enough food, people who love you." Harm was about
to interrupt, but Trish put her hand up to stop him. "He does love
you, Harm, whether or not you feel the same about him. He's never
treated you like anything less than his own son." She paused a
moment to let that sink in. "But those are just the basics, the
basic things that every human being deserves to have in their
life. But for whatever reason, there are some people who don't have
those things. Now, the girl who's coming tonight, Sarah Mackenzie,
is one of those people. Her father is an abusive alcoholic, and her
mother abandoned her to live for years without adequate parental
guidance, without love and support, and all of it under the shadow of
emotional abuse. Because of all that, she's made some bad choices
and faced some very rough times. At age seventeen, she's seen and
done things no one at *any* age should have to see and do."

Harm watched his mother intently, and for the first time in recent
memory, Trish felt like she had his undivided attention. "Now,
here's the most important part. People like you or I are not fit to
judge her, and you really need to understand that. People have a
certain degree of personal choice, but after years of someone who's
supposed to love you unconditionally telling you what a miserable
failure you are, and treating you like last week's garbage, well, I
could hardly blame her for the route she took. But this girl is
strong as heck and just as smart, and she's slowly getting herself
together. And the reason I invited her for dinner is that she
deserves a break from things. Even if it's just for one evening.
She's living at a halfway house, and I thought it would be good for
her to spend a few hours somewhere a little nicer. Do you
agree?"

Harm met his mother's eyes and nodded slowly.

"All right. Then I ask only one thing of you for tonight - try to be
engaging. Try to pay her some attention. I know you've got one foot
out the door and in the Academy, but please, just for a few hours,
try and pretend like it's not the only thing in the world that
matters. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes," Harm answered softly.

"Good. Now I'll be bringing her straight from the gallery, so we'll
be here around 5:30. Make sure you're home." Trish got up and put
her dishes in the dishwasher. "And it wouldn't hurt to clean your
room."

"Oh, come on."

"I might be inclined to do one of those military white-glove
inspections."

Harm rolled his eyes.

"Hey, don't give me that look. *You're* the one who wants to be
prepared." She winked and smiled at him. She grabbed her purse and
leaned down to kiss her son on the cheek. He tried to squirm away,
but Trish held his face in her hands. "I have to get them in while I
can, right? You'll be gone soon." She planted a kiss on his
forehead. "I love you, sweetie, and I'll see you later."

Harm tried to resume reading while he finished his breakfast, but he
was unable to concentrate. The aviation book was nothing like the
superhero comic books he used to devour in one sitting. He could
follow the adventures of Batman or the X-Men with his mind half a
world away. Aircraft engineering and operations, on the other hand,
required total concentration - something he was unable to achieve at
the moment, while his thoughts clouded over with his mother's words.

She made it sound like he was some kind of robot, whose only program
was the Academy. Lately, maybe that was true, but it was hardly his
fault. Plebe summer would start soon and he'd never be the same.
Anyone, Harm reasoned, would be hard pressed not to have a one-track-
mind when they knew their whole life was about to change.

He knew Trish wasn't really upset about him becoming a Naval
officer. Although it sometimes seemed to Harm that Harmon Rabb,
Senior was nothing more than a faint flicker of light in his mother's
memory, he knew she didn't have it in her to discourage him from
pursuing the same path as his father.

No, that wasn't the reason things were strained between them lately.
The tension had nothing to do with the Navy and everything to do with
his little trip last summer. It was almost a year ago to the day
that Harm had snuck out of the house with nothing but a backpack and
a pocket-sized map of Southeast Asia. After two grueling weeks of
sneaking through Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, he returned home with
no success in finding his MIA father, and his eyes burning with
images of the violent death of the innocent girl who'd tried to help
him. Images, that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

When he came back, he was treated to weeks of silence and
indifference from his mother. His stepfather, Frank, had tried to
smooth things over, but there was only so much he could do. It was
only a few months ago that things seemed to get back to normal
between Harm and his mother, and now, with the memory of a year ago
coming back to both of them. combined with Harm's impending
departure, the strain was coming to a head.

Still, Harm resented that Trish treated him like some kind of
caveman. Sure, he was preoccupied, but he was perfectly capable of
being civil to their guest, even if she was as screwed up as Trish
made her sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TWO DAYS EARLIER
Trish's art gallery
La Jolla, CA
10:30 Pacific Time


When Sarah Mackenzie was finished with the morning's filing, she
sought out Trish Burnett, her supervisor and owner of the gallery.
She found her in her usual spot, about three feet in front of a large
painting of a Navy ship with a fighter plane taking off from its
deck. Sarah didn't know anything about the painting, or much about
art at all, for that matter. Working at the gallery was part of her
outreach program, a way to learn responsibility and get some job
skills.

But what she did know was that the painting was unlike any other on
display. Most were modern abstracts, or colorful still lifes. This
was the most realistic, and the darkest. The black, stormy waves,
the silvery jets, the gray, billowing clouds. Sarah had been working
there only a few weeks, but in that time, she had come to learn there
was something special about the painting. Something that spoke to
Mrs. Burnett in a very deep, very personal way.

"Mrs. Burnett?" Sarah called as she approached. "Mrs. Burnett?"
There was still no response. The older woman's gaze was fixed ahead
on the canvas, hypnotized by whatever it was she saw there. "Mrs.
Burnett!"

Trish's head snapped toward the dark-haired girl trying to pull her
from her trance. "Oh, Sarah, hi! How are you this morning?"

Sarah smiled. Mrs. Burnett always seemed happy to see her. It was
so unfamiliar to her, and yet, so wonderful. "I'm all right, Mrs.
Burnett. I'm done with the filing, so I just came to see if there's
anything else I can do."

"Well, first, you can stop calling me Mrs. Burnett. I hear that and
I turn around, looking for my mother-in-law."

Sarah laughed. "Yes ma'am."

"Good God, that's even worse! Please, I've told you a thousand
times, I'd love for you to call me Trish."

"Okay, Trish."

"Much better. Come, walk with me to my office. I'm sure there are a
ton of things to do, but at the moment, I can't seem to think of any
of them. I'd be lost without my to-do list. Some days I think I'd
lose my head if it wasn't attached."

Remarks like this, which showed Trish's good humor and easygoing
personality, reminded Sarah all over again why she liked the woman so
much. Though she had only known her supervisor for a short time, she
had liked her from the moment they met. When they first shook hands,
Trish had held onto Sarah's hand even after the introductions were
made. For as long as she could remember, Sarah hadn't liked people
touching her, especially strangers. But Trish's gesture was warm and
friendly, and her gentle manner had put her at ease immediately.

As part of the arrangement from the outreach program, Trish knew all
about Sarah's past, but her genuine, unassuming smile had helped
convey to the nervous, intimidated girl, that this was a place where
she was welcome. A place where, for maybe the first time, she would
be valued for herself in the present, instead of cast aside for her
mistakes in the past.

Sarah had taken a liking to Trish right away. The woman wore
elegant, expensive clothing, and always smelled of a mild, pleasant
perfume, and was made-up tastefully every day. Trish was in her
element among the gallery's wealthy benefactors and the sophisticated
art critics, yet she seemed equally at ease with the janitor and
maintenance men. Sarah knew she attended numerous society functions
where they probably served petite finger foods and dishes with fancy-
sounding French names, but she knew Trish Burnett was someone she
could get along with when, during her second week there, she had
stepped into her office and saw a fast-food hamburger and milkshake
on the desk while the woman was on the phone to a gallery in
London.

When they reached Trish's office, Trish invited Sarah to sit in one
of the leather chairs on the other side of her desk. "There is
something you can do, Sarah. Do you have any plans for Friday night?"

"Uh, no, but that's my night to vacuum the house and wax the kitchen
floor."

"Can you get out of it?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I can switch with someone and I'll do their
chores next week."

"Is that going to cause any problems for you with the girls there?"

"No," Sarah answered, "we do it all the time." The 'we' being 'me,'
she thought. *I* do all the weekend chores while the others manage
to make plans and be with friends. Even with the early curfew, at
least they got out. At least they had somewhere to go.

"Good! How would you like to come to my house for dinner? Nothing
fancy, just my son and I. My husband's away on business."

"Oh, Trish, I couldn't."

"Why not, dear?"

There were probably a million reasons that would make sense, but at
the moment, Sarah couldn't get her mouth to articulate a single
one. "I...I just...it's your home. I wouldn't feel right about it."

"Nonsense. I'd love to have you."

"I don't know...you're my boss."

Trish sighed, and amusement crossed her face. "That may be true,
dear, but I'd like to think we're also friends." She paused to study
Sarah's face. The troubled girl needed a friend; someone older and
wiser. And she had no doubt Sarah could use an enjoyable evening out
of the ordinary, regardless of how much she refused and denied
it. "We *are,* aren't' we - friends?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. Then as my friend, I'm asking you to come as a personal favor
to me. Harm - that's my son, he and I have been at each other's
throats the past few days, but I think we'll be able to get along if
we have a guest."

Sarah hesitated. The very last thing she needed in the world was to
be in the middle of a family fight. Hadn't she had enough of that in
her own family? Wasn't that a big part of why was at the halfway
house in the first place? "I don't know...I'd hate to get in the way
and make it worse."

"You wouldn't. Believe me, it'll be good for all three of us. My
son is your age, and I'm sure you and Harm will get along great.
Come on, what do you say?"

"Are you sure?"

"Sarah, of course I'm sure. I'm practically begging you, aren't I?"

Sarah smiled brightly. "In that case, I'd love to. Um, is there
anything I can bring?"

"Just yourself, dear, and an endless supply of patience to deal with
my son." Both women chuckled. "Now, are you allergic to anything,
or is there anything you don't like?"

"No allergies, and I'm sure whatever you make will be perfect."

"I wish you could tell that to Harm. He's starting the Naval Academy
in two weeks, and he's trying to stay in shape. I wouldn't wish some
of what he eats these days on my worst enemy. I have a huge vegetable
garden, so I like greens just as much as the next guy, but sometimes
there's just nothing like a big, juicy steak."

Sarah laughed. "I agree a hundred percent."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second. Look at you - you're
practically skin and bones. I'll bet you're on one of those fad
diets, too," she teased. "So which is it - cabbage soup?
Grapefruit?"

Sarah managed a smile to conceal the truth. "No, just lucky I
guess." If, she thought, that's what you'd call years of starving
yourself because your father liked to call you a fat whore.

"Well, I hope your luck stays with you your whole life. I used to
have the body of a ballerina, and I'm afraid she pirouetted out the
door when I turned forty."

"Don't say that - you look great!"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear." They shared a chuckle,
and Trish reached for her purse. She dug around for her wallet, and
when she found it, she pulled out a fifty dollar bill, folded it in
half, and pressed it into Sarah's hand. "Buy yourself something nice
for dinner."

Sarah was stunned. She hadn't seen the denomination of the bill, but
even a five would have been too much. By being her friend, by
inviting her at all, and simply by treating her with respect, Trish
had already given her more than money could buy.

The girl was speechless, and Trish misinterpreted it for shame. "Oh,
Sarah, I only meant...the dinner's nothing special, and we don't
usually dress up. I just thought you might like something new." The
halfway house had given her a few things that would be appropriate
for when she worked at the gallery, but they were all very plain and
modest. Bland colors, long skirts. Trish knew if she were Sarah,
she'd probably love to wear something a little younger and more
colorful. Something more suited to the vibrant girl seated
before her.

"Mrs. Burnett, I can't take your money." She tried to hand it back,
but Trish pushed the money back toward her with a stern look.

"For goodness sake, honey, why not?"

"Because it's not right. The arrangement....I'm here to work and to
learn. Not to take handouts."

"Sarah, this is not a handout." She thought for a moment, wanting
desperately for the girl to take the money. "Consider it an advance
on your salary."

"I'm a volunteer; I don't have a salary."

"Then all the more reason for you to take it. You do such an
excellent job here. You deserve something more than just a pat on
the back." Sarah was silent. Trish sighed. "Look, just take it.
Please, Sarah, I want you to have it." She reached into her wallet
again and pulled out another fifty, which she pushed into Sarah's
hand with the other. "Buy yourself a bathing suit, too. We live
right near the beach. Maybe you and Harm can go for a swim before
dinner."

"Trish..."

"Take it."

"I don't know how to thank you."

Trish closed her hands around Sarah's and squeezed gently. She met
the girl's eyes and smiled warmly. "You can thank me by buying
yourself something gorgeous. You deserve that much, Sarah."

Sarah nodded. There were tears in her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Days Later
17:00 Pacific Time

Trish had been in meetings all day and Sarah hadn't seen her until it
was time to leave for dinner. She knocked timidly on the door to
Trish's office, and Trish looked up from her paperwork.

"Sarah, hi, you're right on time. And you look beautiful, dear!"

The day before, Sarah had gone to the mall and spent hours looking
through the stores. It was a visit like none other. Never before
had she been able to try on so many wonderful outfits, with the
knowledge that, for once, she could actually buy one. She had
finally decided on a silky lavender camisole under a matching short-
sleeved blouse of the same color, paired with a white skirt and
white, strappy sandals with a small heel. She did her best to get
good mileage from the money. Every item she bought she'd be able to
wear again, and combine them with pieces she already had to make them
go even further. She had taken Trish's suggestion and treated
herself to a bathing suit as well, but not the one she truly wanted.
A stunning bikini had caught her eye, but she didn't think it would
be appropriate to use Trish's money for something like that. So she
settled for a one-piece, which was cut low and high in just the right
places to look a little sexy without being too immodest.

Trish finished what she was working on and she and Sarah drove to her
home. During the drive, Trish explained a bit more about Harm, and
about his recent attitude, but she left out the upcoming "anniversary"
of his ill-fated quest in Vietnam.

"I love Harm dearly," she said as she watched the road, "and I
understand that the Navy is his life, and it has been ever
since...since..." she stopped herself just in time. She hadn't told
Sarah about Harm Senior. There would be too many questions.
Questions she had stopped answering long ago. "Well, anyway, I
respect his choice, and his plans, but that does not excuse him
acting like he's already away from California, and it certainly
doesn't excuse him treating me the way he has recently."

They were stopped at a red light, and Trish glanced over and saw that
Sarah looked very nervous. She sat stiffly and wrung her
hands. "Boy, I make him sound like a real terror, huh? I didn't
mean to scare you. He really is a wonderful boy. It's just lately
that things have gotten tough. But I told him, in no uncertain
terms, that he is to act like a gentleman tonight. And if he does
anything less, you tell me right away, because if he's going to learn
to take orders, he might as well start with mine, right?"

Sarah smiled. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So how does Caesar salad with grilled shrimp and salmon sound?"

"Sounds delicious."

"Good. It's so warm out, I thought I'd make something light, and
that way, Harm won't complain either. Too bad about those juicy
steaks thought, right? But maybe next time."

"Whatever you say, Trish."

"No skimping on dessert, though. Do you like blackberries?"

"Love them."

"I have a cobbler recipe that is out of this world. And homemade
vanilla bean ice cream to go with it."

"Is this still La Jolla, or have I died and gone to heaven?" Sarah
joked.

"Wait until Harm opens his mouth; you'll think you're in hell."
Trish let out a loud laugh. "I must be scaring you again. I'm
sorry, I guess I'm just excited about having a girl to talk to. I'm
outnumbered in my house, and if they're not talking cars, they're
talking sports. Now, I'm no prima donna prissy little thing, but
enough is enough."

"I don't know, Trish, some of those athletes...they give women
*plenty* to talk about, I think."

Trish smiled. "True, but I don't think Frank and Harm want to hear
about how delicious Joe Montana's behind looks in those tight little
football pants!"

Sarah laughed. "No, probably not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a short while, they pulled up at Trish's house. Sarah got out
of the car and slung over her shoulder the canvas bag that held her
new bathing suit and towel. As she followed Trish up the walkway,
wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she marveled at the enormous house and
dazzling landscaping that framed it. She could see orange and
avocado trees along the side of the house, but they paled in
comparison to the rose bushes and assortments of other flowers in a
rainbow of colors.

But if Sarah was taken with the exterior, the incredible interior
took her breath away. The house was spacious and extremely elegant,
and the large glass doors in the next room let in generous amounts of
light. The polished wood floors were shiny and immaculate, and Sarah
saw Trish's taste reflected in some of the artwork and bric-a-brac
she could see from where she was standing.

"I'll get dinner started," Trish said.

"Would you like any help?"

"Absolutely not, dear. You're our guest. Make yourself at home.
Harm can give you the tour." Trish called up to the top of the
spiral staircase. "Harm, Sarah's here! Come say hello!" She turned
to Sarah and escorted her into the living room. "He'll be down
soon. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime."

"Thanks, Trish. This is a beautiful home. I've never seen anything
like it."

Trish smiled. "Oh, thank you dear. I'm sure you've noticed it's a
very eclectic mix. I love all styles, I'm afraid. I like modern,
simple pieces, but I'm a sucker for antiques, too. I've always lived
well, but most of this, I owe to Frank. Harm and I have never wanted
for anything."

"What does your husband do, if you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all. He's an auto industry executive. To be
honest, I'm not exactly sure what he does day-to-day. He's tried to
explain it to me a hundred times, but it goes in one ear and out the
other. But one thing's for sure - whatever it is, they pay him an
obscene amount of money to do it." She winked at Sarah. "And I'm
not about to complain. The only drawback is he travels a lot. He's
in Detroit this week."

"Well, at least you have Harm to keep you company."

"Yeah, when he's not lost in his own little Navy world. Where *is*
that boy, anyway?" She called up the stairs again. "Harmon Rabb,
Junior, did you not hear me?! Come down here!" Trusting that having
called him twice would be enough, Trish went into the kitchen and
started chopping lettuce for the salads. Even with the breeze coming
in through the open windows, Trish felt warm in the kitchen. She
poured herself a cold lemonade and brought one out to Sarah, too.
When she entered the living room, the girl was in the exact same
place she had left her fifteen minutes earlier. She handed Sarah the
glass. "That no good son of mine hasn't come down yet? That's it."

She stormed up the stairs and stood tall in the doorway to Harm's
room. He was sprawled out on his bed, reading the same book from
that morning.

"Get up," she said sternly. "What is your problem? Did you forget
the conversation we had this morning?"

"I just got caught up in this book again. What's the big deal?"

Trish walked over and grabbed the book from him. She slammed it shut
and dropped it heavily onto his desk. "The big deal is there's a
delightful, flesh and blood human being downstairs, and you would
rather sit up here with your face buried in that damn book! Now why
don't you go downstairs and give her a tour of the house? I have to
prepare dinner, so you'll have plenty of time to take her for a swim,
too. I think she'd really like that."

Harm rolled his eyes. "Why do you always have to bring these people
here?"

Trish's mouth was agape. "Sarah Mackenzie is not 'these people!'
She's a wonderful girl who just needs a little break. Now I know in
your mind you're already gone, but, technically, you still live here,
and *I* am the commanding officer of this house! And let me tell you
something else, Harm. If you can't even show your own mother some
respect, well, I wouldn't bet on the Academy. You treat your
superiors with even a fraction of the attitude you've subjected me to
lately, and they'll throw you out of there so fast you head will
spin! Now you march yourself downstairs and act like a gentleman!"

Harm stood up lazily and walked slowly past her, muttering a
grumbled "Yes ma'am," under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trish went back into the kitchen and Harm found Sarah in the living
room, sitting very still on the couch, her hands folded demurely in
her lap.

"You must be Sarah," he said, walking over to her.

"Yeah, hi, Sarah Mackenzie." She stood up to shake his hand.

At least she wasn't as hard on the eyes as some of their usual
guests, Harm decided. Her short white skirt revealed long, muscular
legs. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "I'm Harm. Why
don't I show you around the house," he suggested.

Harm wasn't a very engaging tour guide, walking with his hands in the
pockets of his jeans and escorting her from room to room with very
few words. But Sarah didn't mind. The decor spoke for itself.
Trish was right - the house was a varied mix of styles, but every
room was tastefully done, and they were all masterpieces unto
themselves. Some rooms were very light and spacious, with indoor
palms and other plants adding a touch of color and life. Others,
like the library and the den, were darker, with oak bookshelves,
cordovan chairs, and Persian rugs. It was hard to believe there were
people who really lived like this. Until now, Sarah had only seen
homes like this on TV and in the movies.

Their last stop was Harm's room. Upon entering, Sarah was bombarded
with images of Navy fighter planes. Posters on the walls, models on
the bookshelf. A framed photo on Harm's desk caught her eye. There
was a little boy in the cockpit, with an older man next to him,
looking very proud. Harm didn't seem the talkative type, so Sarah
didn't ask him who it was. She assumed it might be his father,
Frank, with his grandfather.

"Navy planes, huh"? she said, not expecting any response.

"Yeah. It's the only thing I ever wanted to do."

"Your mom says you're going to Annapolis?"

"In two weeks. Which, if you ask me, is two weeks too far away."

Sarah smiled. "You're really that anxious to be on the bottom rung?
To have people screaming orders right in your ears, treating you like
crap?"

Harm looked at her with grave seriousness darkening his eyes. "My
dream come true."

She didn't know what to say to that. She got the immediate sense
that the last thing Harm wanted to do was play tour guide to her, and
all she could do was stand there in the middle of the room, and hope
that something would magically come along and end the uncomfortable
silence.

"So," Harm said, "my mom says you want to go for a swim before
dinner?"

Correction, Sarah thought. *That* was probably the last thing he
wanted to do. "Um, no." For both their sakes, she wanted to avoid
the awkward situation that would surely turn out to be. "I mean, we
don't have to." She looked away from him.

"No, we can go, it's fine. I'm sorry. It's not you. I'm sure
you're a great person. It's just my mom and I, we've been fighting
lately. It has nothing to do with you, I'm just not in the best mood
right now."

"Oh." She focused on the carpeted floor. "Well, like I said, if
you'd rather not..."

"No, a swim would probably cheer me up, in fact. Let me get my suit
on. I'll meet you downstairs in a minute."

She nodded and turned to leave the room.

"Hey, Sarah?"

She looked back at him.

"Sorry." And he looked like he truly meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later, Harm told Trish where they were going, and not
long after that, they settled on a spot near the water on the
uncrowded beach.

Harm pulled a large towel from his backpack and spread it flat on the
white sand. "This is a good time of day to come. Most people are
still getting home from work, so it's not too crowded yet."

"Yeah." Sarah opened her towel and set it down about a foot from
Harm's. But instead of laying down in the sun, she walked down to
where the waves calmly lapped at the sand. She looked out at the
endless blue, the water a perfect reflection of the cloudless sky. A
few sailboats dotted the distant landscape. She relished the feel of
the cool water as it washed over her toes, the sand squishing beneath
her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, lost in the peace of
the moment, until Harm's sudden voice behind her snapped her out of
it.

"It's much better with your eyes open, y'know."

She turned around, and saw that he had already taken off his T-shirt,
clad only in bold red swim trunks. Trish hadn't been kidding when
she said he was staying in shape.

"Uh, yeah. I was just taking it all in. It's so amazing."

Harm smiled. "You act like you've never seen the ocean before."

"I haven't. Well, not really."

"Jeez. Where's you spend your childhood - locked in a closet or
something?"

Sarah stiffened at his attempt at humor, and Harm immediately
regretted his words, as his mother's warning came rushing back to
him. "I...I'm sorry. I meant to say, it's all I've ever known.
I've never lived more than ten miles from a beach."

"Not me," Sarah replied. "I've always been landlocked. Except for
now, that is. But even now that I'm living out here, the rules are
pretty strict, and I work at the gallery, so I haven't had a chance
to come out here."

Harm nodded silently.

"Look," Sarah continued, "I'm not sure how much your mother told you,
but you don't have to walk on eggshells with me. I just...made some
mistakes, and now I'm trying to un-make them."

Harm stood next to her, his feet also being cooled by the water as
the soft waves came in and went out. "You don't have to explain
yourself to me, Sarah. This isn't an inquisition; we're just...two
people hanging out at the beach."

She nodded. "I guess." Maybe the ocean air was getting to her, but
Sarah was beginning to think maybe her first impression of Harm had
been all wrong. The boy standing next to her now wasn't so bad after
all.

"Besides," Harm added, "we've all got problems, right? I don't want
you to get the wrong idea. I love my mother, I really do. It's just
lately, I can't seem to find anything nice to say to her."

"Well I sure can," Sarah said. "She's given me so much, and really,
when you think about it, she barely knows me."

"Well, she's always been a pretty good judge of character." Even
with Frank, painful as that was for Harm to admit to himself. He
wasn't Harm Senior, but he treated Trish like a cherished treasure,
and had never raised hand to his stepson. Frank Burnett was no
Naval aviator, but he was no monster, either.

"I could go on about your mom forever, but then we'd never get in the
water." Sarah went back to where their towels were and stripped off
her shirt and shorts. Harm was already in the water, but he turned to
admire the view of Sarah in a small bathing suit, red, just like
his. She bent and turned in different ways as she applied sunscreen
to her skin. She was very toned for a girl, Harm noticed. He could
see her muscles flex and relax as she rubbed the cream on her
shoulders and arms. She had especially shapely legs, which
were accentuated as she ran toward the water.

She dove right in and went under, bringing her head back up with her
dark hair wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders. She and Harm
both swam for a little while before heading back to their towels to
lie down and let the sun and warm air dry them.

Harm had seen that Sarah was a strong swimmer. In fact, everything
about her seemed strong. After his mother's speech that morning, he
expected her to be withdrawn, quiet, and weaker - physically and
emotionally. But she seemed to put all of herself into everything
she did - from swimming, to talking, to putting him at ease. She
didn't do anything halfway. Even when she stood by the water for the
first time, her whole body was engaged. All five senses and every
corner of her mind. She was hardly the troubled, fragile specimen
Trish had prepared him for.

Harm turned over onto his stomach to feel the warm sun on his back.
He rested his head on his folded arms and looked at Sarah. She was
on her back with her eyes closed. "Do you mind if I call you Mac?"

Sarah shifted onto her side to face him, and propped herself up on
her arm. "Huh?"

"That's your last name, right - Mackenzie?"

"Yeah, but why--"

"Sarah doesn't suit you. It's too girly."

Raising her eyebrows, Sarah looked down at herself - the curve of her
hips, her cleavage. "Umm..."

Harm chuckled. "That's not what I meant. You just seem...tougher.
More together. Sarah's my grandmother's name, and you don't exactly
remind me of her. When I look at you, the last things that come
to mind are needlepoint and lace doilies. So how 'bout it? Can I
call you Mac?"

Sarah smiled. This boy was full of surprises. "Sure." She looked
back out at the water. "I can't believe how beautiful it is.
Pictures and postcards don't do it justice."

"No, they don't. But I'll bet it looks even better from above,
looking down a couple thousand feet from the cockpit of a Tomcat."
Harm had an ethereal, far away look in his eyes.

"You've really got your heard set on that, don't you - being a Navy
pilot?"

Harm nodded. "It's the only thing I ever wanted to do."

"Why? It's so dangerous."

"The danger is what makes it special."

"Is that why you want to do it? The danger? 'Cuz it's a pretty
crazy way to get your picture in the paper and your name in the
history books."

"That's not what it's about. But you can't be a brave hero sitting
behind some desk all day."

"Your father seems to have made a nice enough life that way."

"You don't know a thing about my father," Harm snapped.

"I know that you live in a house that might as well be a palace, and
you have everything you could ever want. And more, you have two
parents who love you, which, even without everything else, is more
than I'll ever have."

Harm stared at her.

Sarah pointed in the direction of Harm's house. "Your mother is back
there cooking you a wonderful dinner. And your father may be away on
business right now, but at least he never-"

"Frank Burnett is not my father and he never will be! You have no
idea what you're getting into, so just drop it." Harm jumped up and
walked a few feet away. Sarah could see his tense shoulders rise and
fall with his quick breaths. She made no attempt to go over to him.
She had clearly crossed a boundary she hadn't known existed.

After a few minutes, Harm came back and put his T-shirt on.

Sarah spoke timidly. "I guess now it's my turn to say I'm sorry."

Harm shook the sand out of his towel and stuffed it into his bag, not
looking at her for a single second. "Let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harm was quiet during dinner. Trish and Sarah made pleasant small
talk about the gallery, and about the clothing stores in the area.
Trish asked about Sarah's plans for the future, and Sarah replied
that she'd never given it much thought. Right now, she was focused
on getting through the present.

Getting Harm to talk was like squeezing blood from a stone, but Trish
somehow managed. While they chatted, Sarah took in the scene around
her. They were seated around a glad table on an enormous deck
with an exquisite view of the bay. Orange trees and tall palms
offered some shade, and the enticing smell from the grilled seafood
lingered in the air.

Though the dinner was informal, as Trish had stressed it would be,
she had set a beautiful table, with a pale yellow tablecloth and
matching cloth napkins, a pretty china pattern, and sparkling water
which they drank from crystal champagne flutes. Only in her dreams
had Sarah Mackenzie ever imagined she's experience a moment like this.

Harm had it every day of his life. Ungrateful son of a bitch.

The meal was delicious, and dessert was even better. Sarah thought
for a moment that had it not been for Trish's invitation, she'd be at
the house, fighting with eight other girls over the last no-name,
generic sugar cookie, instead of savoring warm blackberry cobbler
with rich vanilla ice cream melting over the sides.

"Trish, this is incredible. So delicious."

Trish smiled. "Thank you, dear, I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. In fact, I've loved everything tonight. I can't thank
you enough for inviting me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarah. It's a pleasure having you here. Isn't
it, Harm?"

Harm snapped his head up from his dessert. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess."

"That's my son for ya," Trish joked. "Always the eloquent speaker."

Harm rolled his eyes. "May I be excused?"

Trish nodded, and he got up and headed toward the back door of the
house.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Trish called to him. Harm turned
around and kissed heron the cheek before leaving again. "Aren't you
forgetting something else?"

Harm stopped in his tracks and grumbled something unintelligible. He
went back to the table, picked up his dishes, and took them into the
house.

"I have a cleaning lady who comes in a few times a month, but I think
it's important that he learn to pick up after himself. Especially if
he's gonna survive at that Academy. He's gotta be able to clean up
his own messes. Nobody there to go whining to, nobody to cater to
him. Anyway, I'll miss him terribly when he goes, but with his
attitude of late, I won't be very sorry he's gone."

Sarah held on to her napkin and stared at her hands as she folded and
unfolded it in her lap. "Um...I'm afraid I might have something to
do with it, at least, just now."

"That's not possible. Believe me, it's *me* he's upset with."

"No, not completely. I don't know what I did, but I said something
about how lucky he is, how he has parents like you and Frank, but--"

"Tell me you didn't."

"I did. And he said something about his father and he got really
angry."

Trish shook her head. "It's not you, dear. You had no way of
knowing, and that's my fault. I should've told you. But Harm and I,
well, neither one of us likes to talk about it very much."

Sarah nodded. Despite her curiosity, she didn't ask any questions.
In her dismissal, Trish had made it clear that the subject was off
limits, and Sarah understood all too well that some families had
painful memories that were best left in the past.

Trish stood up and started gathering the dishes. Sarah got up to
help, but Trish wouldn't have it. "Sarah, please, sit. You're our
guest."

"But you've done so much."

"It's my pleasure. I told you before, it's so nice to have another
woman around. I always wanted a daughter, but Harm was eleven when I
met Frank, and he was such a terror that by the time I married Frank,
neither one of us had the patience to give him any siblings."

Trish had her arms full with plates and glasses and she turned to go
into the house. "Make yourself at home while I finish cleaning up.
Feel free to put the TV on inside."

"Actually, if it's all right with you, I think I'll sit on the beach
for a while. I've never seen a sunset on the water."

"You haven't? Well, then by all means, go, dear!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, the sun was beginning its colorful descent.
Sarah watched as the sky changed from light blue, to bands of orange,
pink, and purple, and finally, to the curtain of azure that would
turn to sapphire as the night approached.

She heard footsteps behind her for only a second before Harm appeared
beside her. He had a blanket folded under his arm. He spoke
softly. "Can we start over again?"

Sarah looked up at him quizzically.

He extended his hand. "My name is Harmon Rabb. But my friends call
me Harm."

She stood up to shake his hand. "Sarah Mackenzie."

"Mackenzie, huh? Can I call you Mac?" His hand still held hers.

Sarah smiled. "I'd like that."

Harm spread the blanket out on the sand and he and Sarah sat together.

"I was watching the sunset," Sarah told him.

"I know. I was watching you watch it."

"It was incredible. I've never seen anything like it. We had nice
sunsets now and then where I grew up, but you could never see the
horizon. The sun was always hidden behind houses or apartment
buildings before it disappeared for the night."

Harm extended his legs in front of him and leaned back on his
hands. "Yeah, I guess I'll miss it when I get to Annapolis. But
I'll probably have much bigger problems than missing sunsets."

"Will you have a rank when you get there, or are you not technically
in the Navy until you graduate?"

"Midshipman. Very bottom of the officer food chain."

"Midshipman...Rabb, right?"

"That's right."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh oh. I suspect I know what it's going to be. My last name,
right?"

"Yeah. But if you don't want to talk about it--"

"No, it's okay. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. Three hours
ago, I couldn't."

"But you can now?"

"Yeah. I don't know why. Depends on the moment, I guess. But I
don't even know where to start."

"All right," Sarah said. "I'll start, then. From what I've
gathered, Frank Burnett is your stepfather. And you don't seem to
like him very much."

"Yes and no. Frank is my stepfather, but I don't dislike him. He's
a nice enough guy, and he's great to me and my mom."

"But he's not your father."

"No."

"Then who was?"

"You mean *is*. Who *is* my father. Harmon Rabb. Harm Senior."

"Are they divorced? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"He's MIA."

"Vietnam?"

"Yeah. He was shot down Christmas Eve, '69."

"I'm so sorry," Sarah whispered.

"Don't be. Unless you were Viet Cong."

She couldn't help smiling. "Nope. So, your father was a pilot?"

"Yep. Flew off the Ticonderoga."

Sarah looked into the distance at the darkening horizon. "That
explains a lot," she said quietly.

"How do you mean?"

"There's a painting at the gallery. Your mother sometimes stares at
it for hours. and I never knew why."

"What's it a painting of?"

"An aircraft carrier at sea. A rough sea, with a jet taking off."
She saw Harm nod and bite his lower lip. "I never knew what she saw
in it. Until now."

"She never talks about him anymore," Harm whispered. He rolled a
corner of the blanket between his thumb and forefinger. "It's like
she's forgotten him."

"Oh, I doubt that. If the way she looks at that painting is any
indication, she thinks about him every day."

"She remarried!"

"So? That doesn't mean she stopped loving your father."

"No, it just means she believes he's dead." Harm's eyes were stony
as he gazed out at the water.

"And you don't?"

"Absolutely not." Harm considered how much he wanted to tell this
girl, whom he hardly knew. But she did seem like a good listener,
and from her own history, probably not quick to pass judgment on
anyone. "You wanna know why we've been so mad at each other, me and
my mom?"

Sarah turned to face him and she met his eyes. "Only if you want to
tell me."

"This is gonna sound crazy, but a year ago, I went to Vietnam to look
for him."

Sarah's eyes went wide with surprise, but she reserved her opinion
and encouraged Harm to continue. "Go on."

"I didn't tell her. I just packed a bag and snuck out of the house
in the middle of the night. I had a contact there who I met up
with, and we went from village to village with a Vietnamese phrase
book and a picture of my father. Eventually we came across a native
girl who was willing to travel with us and communicate for us. After
a few days, we were crossing the border into Laos, and she was killed
by the border guards. Shot in the chest, right in front of me." His
voice broke, but he went on, barely above a whisper. "After that,
I...I couldn't go on." He shook his head and drew his knees up to
his chest. "When I came home, things weren't the same between me and
my mother. And now, I'm not sure they ever will be."

Sarah touched a gentle hand to Harm's arm. "And you didn't find your
father..."

Harm shook his head. "He's still out there somewhere. I know it."

Sarah moved closer to him. "Y'know, I read somewhere they think
American POWs are being held in Russia."

"Russia?!"

"So says the New York Times. It's, uh, part of the program I'm in.
We have to keep up on current events and we talk about them every
morning. Supposed to teach us how to be 'citizens of the world' or
something stupid like that. But yeah, the CIA's looking into some
suspicious 'cargo' that arrived outside Siberia last year. So you
never know."

Captivated by her, Harm could only stare as she spoke. When she was
finished, he took her face in his hands and kissed her firmly on the
lips.

"What was that for?" Sarah asked.

"For not calling me crazy. For not telling me how stupid and
dangerous what I did was. God, Mac, you're the first person who
didn't act like I'm insane."

"Why would I? I mean, if the *CIA* thinks they're alive, I certainly
can't claim to know differently. And I'll tell you something else -
if I had a father who loved me and influenced me as much as yours
obviously did, even in just the short time you knew him, well, you
can bet your ass I'd be all over the globe looking for him, too."

This girl was incredible, Harm thought. How could a total stranger
understand him so well? "So you don't think I'm delusional?"

"No, I think you're a son who loves his father, believes he's alive,
and wants to find him. So I think, Harmon Rabb, Junior, that you are
passionate, loyal, and courageous. But definitely not delusional."

"Jesus, Mac." He pulled her into a tight embrace and held her there
for a minute, the only sound the waves rolling on and off the beach.

When Harm released her, Sarah asked, "Is he why you're joining the
Navy? Your father?"

"I don't know. I guess that's probably the biggest part of it. But
I've wanted it for so long I can't remember ever wanting anything
else."

"What if it doesn't work out?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"I don't know, it just seems like there are so many things - flight
school, you have to have perfect eyesight, that kinda thing."

"Well, I never thought about it not happening. Why - what do *you*
want to be?"

"Not sure. Maybe a lawyer."

"A lawyer?! Yuck. You'd want to sit in some stuffy office all day,
reading boring files? Or worse, you could get stuck defending
someone you know is guilty, some scumbag child abuser or...or...oh
man, I did it again, didn't I. Can't seem to keep my foot out of my
mouth."

"Don't worry about it. It's no big deal. But I think the law can be
very exciting. Seeking justice, higher truths."

"The only higher truth I believe in is the one I'll see whipping
through the clouds from the cockpit of an F-14."

"Sorry, flyboy, but I think that's physics and aerodynamics, not God
and truth."

"Ah, but to a Naval aviator, those things *are* God and truth," he
said, winking at her.

"Well, I'll be quite content to stay on the ground. Seriously, if
not for the lawyers and social workers, I might still be at home, my
father using me for an emotional punching bag. Might be nice to
prosecute people like him when I'm older."

"Is that why you're attracted to the law - your father?"

Sarah smiled. "Yeah. I guess we both have some unfinished business
in that department, huh?"

Harm nodded and put his arm around her, drawing her close to him.
His touch was like Trish's handshake had been that first day -
comforting and safe, and instead of flinching away, Sarah leaned her
head into his chest.

"But it's probably just a pipe dream," she continued. "I used to
make good grades, but law school, that's a whole different ballgame,
not to mention the cost. I could never afford it."

"Have you ever thought about joining the military?" Harm asked.

"Me? In the military? You're kidding, right?"

"I'm dead serious. They'll give you food, housing, and if you're
good enough, *they'll* pay for your law school."

She looked up at him "Really?"

"Really."

"I get airsick."

"No one said you have to be a pilot. You can do almost anything
you'd want to. Doesn't even have to be the Navy. You could join the
Army."

"Be all I can be?"

Harm smiled. "Something like that."

"I have an uncle in the Marines."

"There ya go!"

"My father, too, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna follow in *his*
footsteps." She was quick to add, "Not that taking after one's
father is always a bad thing."

Harm gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I know what you meant."

"Yeah. A hero pilot is one thing; a deadbeat who comes home from the
NCO Club, plastered, and tells his daughter she's a no good tramp is
something else."

"What it really that bad?" he asked softly. "I mean, if you want to
talk."

"Yeah, why not. You bared your soul tonight, why shouldn't I?" She
smiled at him. "He's an alcoholic. A few years ago, my mother
decided she'd suffered enough battering at his hands, and she up and
left me with him." Harm held her tighter, and stroked her back
gently while she continued. "He abused me too. Never physically,
but emotionally. Sometimes I think it would've been easier the other
way around. If he hit me, then at least I'd feel the pain. But his
words, his threats, they made me feel...nothing. I was dead inside.
I guess that's why it didn't bother me to be with every guy I knew,
to drink every chance I got. Someone calls you a worthless whore
enough times, eventually you start to believe it."

Night had descended while they were talking, and even with the
moonlight twinkling in Sarah's dark eyes, Harm could see a deep
sadness in them.

"You don't *still* believe that, do you?"

"Sometimes. But that's why I'm in the program I'm in - to learn how
to tell *myself* who I am."

Harm leaned in close. "Would you like to hear who *I* think you are?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Only if it's good."

"Oh, it is. Sarah Mackenzie, the girl I like to call Mac, is caring,
and sweet, and intelligent. She's strong, and brave, and a good
friend to people, even when they bite her head off for saying
something she couldn't possibly have known would be painful to hear."

Sarah smiled. "Well, I have to say, I like that a lot better
than 'no-good slut.'"

"Mac, don't. Don't say that anymore, even just to imitate your
father." Harm caressed his thumb softly along her cheek. "I hate
hearing you talk that way about yourself."

Sarah wasn't sure if it was the effect of Harm's touch, or the chilly
night air she wasn't dressed for, but she felt a sudden shiver.

"Hey, you're cold." Harm took off his sweatshirt and passed it to
her. He had a thin T-shirt on underneath.

"Thanks, but won't you be cold now?"

"Me? Nah, I'm used to it."

Sarah put the sweatshirt on and felt warmer right away, as much from
feeling a piece of Harm wrapped around her as from the heavy material
itself.

Harm moved behind her on the blanket. He bent his knees and pulled
Sarah to sit in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her from
behind, and she leaned her head back against his chest. They sat
together, watching as the sky became littered with stars. Time and
space seemed to dissolved as they held each other. Harm drew
abstract designs with his fingertip on the back of Sarah's neck, and
after a while, he brought his lips to the exposed skin he found
there. He kissed gently at first, and Sarah closed her eyes,
committing the moment to memory.

Soon, Harm kissed her more needfully, and Sarah turned around and ran
her hand along the muscles she could feel under his shirt. When
neither could stand the pressure building between them, their lips
met and they kissed hungrily. Harm ran his fingers through Sarah's
thick, shiny hair as their tongues mated. He pulled her down to the
blanket and placed himself on top of her. They continued kissing,
the flames they were feeling threatening to burn out of control.
Harm pulled his sweatshirt aside to kiss Sarah's collarbone,
while she reached under his shirt to knead and massage his back.

Harm's hands started moving lower, and Sarah suddenly pushed him
away. "No! Stop!" she cried.

"What is it?" Harm said, out of breath.

"We have to stop."

"Why?"

"Because. We just have to."

Harm took Sarah's hands in his and placed them over his heart. Look,
Mac...Sarah...I don't know what's happening here, but you can't tell
me you don't feel anything." He kissed her again, but she pulled
back.

"No, please, we can't."

"Sarah, there's something happening between us. You know there is.
I can see it in your eyes." He tried to pull her to him again.

"Stop, please!"

Harm's eyes were dark with desire. "Tell me you don't feel it and
I'll stop."

She wanted to say she didn't feel anything, but God help her, she
did. It took all the strength she had not to give in. "Harm, I'm
sorry. I feel it. I do. But I can't do this. This is exactly what
I'm trying to get away from. You know why we have to stop."

Harm nodded reluctantly. Far too many people had taken advantage of
Sarah Mackenzie. He didn't want her memory of him to be more of the
same.

"Besides," Sarah added, "I need to get back anyway. If I miss
curfew, I'll be on dish duty for a week."

Harm folded the blanket and they walked, hand in hand, back to his
house. He offered to drive Sarah back, and they were on their way
after she thanked Trish profusely for the wonderful evening. Every
few minutes, Harm looked over at Sarah. Even in the dim light from
the streetlights they passed, she was beautiful, and he knew he'd
never forget her face.

All too soon, they arrived at the residence and Harm stopped the
car. Sarah turned to him. "Keep in touch?"

"I'd like that. I'll get your number from my mother, and, I guess
you know where I live, right?"

Sarah smiled and leaned in to hug him. "Take care of yourself,
Harmon Rabb, Junior."

"You too - Mac." He winked at her.

Sarah got out of the car and heard Harm start the engine. Before he
drove away, she signaled for him to open his window.

"Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

"For treating me like a human being. For respecting me.
For...stopping."

Harm sighed. "It wasn't easy, but I would never force it."

"I know. But you wouldn't have been the first." She looked away at
the deserted the street, and then back at him. "Anyway, for what
it's worth, I think you'll make a great pilot."

He smiled. "I think you'll make a great lawyer."

Sarah bent down to kiss Harm's cheek. "Bye, Harm."

"Bye, Sarah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue:

16 Years Later
10:00 EST
White House Rose Garden

Marine Major Sarah Mackenzie waited patiently for Admiral AJ
Chegwidden, who would introduce her to her partner at her new duty
station, the JAG Corps headquarters in Falls Church. She watched in
all directions, until finally she saw him approach with a tall
Lieutenant Commander.

The gold wings and recently earned DFC on his chest told her this was
a man with great courage and skill. But as soon as she saw his face,
the familiar blue-green eyes and bright smile put her instantly at
ease. She hadn't seen or spoken to him since the day they met, since
that night on the beach. Harm had been buried under work at the
Academy, and she had joined the Marines the day she turned eighteen.

But when their eyes met, it was as if time had stood still all those
years. The Admiral presented the officers to each other.

"Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, meet Major--"

"Sarah Mackenzie," Harm interrupted, extending his hand.

She shook his hand and smiled brightly. "My friends call me Mac."

"You two know each other?" the Admiral asked.

"Yes Sir," they replied simultaneously.

They headed to the waiting limousine that would take them to Falls
Church.

"You're a lawyer," Mac said.

"And you're a Marine."

"Guess we have a lot of catching up to do."

"Virginia Beach is only a few hours away..."

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The end :)