That was Then

by ScoobieD

Summary: This is one of those "Harm and Mac met
before" stories. I tried to do it in such a way as to
explain why neither of them would remember the
encounter when they meet again years later. It remains
to be seen whether I’m successful in that regard.

Rating:  PG-13

Spoilers:  None

Disclaimer: Not mine. (How’s that for brevity?)

First a little background: I wanted Mac to be 16 in
this story. I am of the belief that there are four
years difference in her and Harm’s ages, which would
make Harm 20 (obviously). This would put him below the
current national drinking age of 21 (again,
obviously), which requires a note of explanation. In
1984, Congress passed the National Minimum Purchase
Age Act, to encourage each state to enact a minimum
legal purchase age of 21 by 1986. Though I attempted
to find out when California adopted a minimum drinking
age of 21, it was surprisingly difficult to locate.
For the sake of this story, let’s just say that at the
time of the events here (April, 1982), California’s
legal drinking age was 18.

The events here take place at a beach near La Jolla,
California.

Also, I have no idea if Annapolis gives their students
a spring break, but I needed Harm to be in California,
so he gets one!

Feedback is always welcome at dcamp@wheelerandarey.com

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

The sun glowed like fire as it slipped below the
horizon. Harm watched it set, sitting on a log, his
back to the small fire he’d made, a beer bottle
hanging between his knees, suspended by the neck by
his thumb and forefinger. He was enjoying the
solitude, taking a break from the hectic pace at which
he’d been operating since he’d arrived home.

"Hey, Buddy!" Keeter said in his normally boisterous
voice, dropping to the log beside him, shattering
Harm’s tranquility. "Have another beer!"

"Got one, thanks," Harm said, gesturing with his
half-full bottle.

"Did I thank you for bringing me home with you?"

"Only about a hundred times."

"Sure beats Duluth," Keeter noted. "Hey, I just met
some really great women! They’re heading this way!
Very interesting members of the female species."

Harm looked up at the trio of "women" Keeter was
talking about. "Jail bait," he said.

"What are you talking about? They told me they were
eighteen!"

Harm looked at him, wondering if he actually believed
that. He could tell by Keeter’s happy _expression that
it didn’t matter one way or the other.

"You’re asking for trouble," Harm warned.

"I haven’t asked for it yet," Keeter pointed out. "But
I’d be willing to beg if necessary." He jumped off the
log excitedly to greet their guests.

Harm studied their soon-to-be-guests as they
approached. The leader was a tall blonde, very well
put together in the bikini she was wearing. Harm
revised his earlier estimate of her age as she got
closer. She probably *was* eighteen, maybe nineteen,
and probably a college student.

To the blonde’s left and a step behind her was a
redhead, her hair so tightly curled it was frizzled.
She had lively green eyes and freckles strewn
carelessly on her nose and cheeks, and she had a loud,
braying laugh which carried across the beach. She,
too, was quite possibly eighteen.

The third stranger was shuffling along behind the
other two. Her dark head was bent as though she
studied the sand while she walked. Harm couldn’t tell
how old she might be because he couldn’t see her face,
and he wondered what she had to hide.

Harm stood as they got closer, ever the gentleman.

"Ladies!" Keeter bellowed. "Welcome to our humble
fire! I’m so glad you took me up on my invitation! May
I offer you some liquid refreshment?"

"No, thank you," the redhead said. "But you can tell
us if you’ve seen a group of football players. We’re
meeting them."

"Football?" Keeter repeated. "We play football. Don’t
we, buddy?"

Harm rolled his eyes at Keeter’s pathetic attempts to
keep them here.

"I’m sure our boyfriends would be *real* impressed,"
the blonde said, making it clear that she wasn’t.

"There’s a group of guys down the beach about a
hundred yards," Harm told them.

"Thanks," the blonde said with a dazzling smile
directed at Harm. She looked him up and down, thinking
twice about this "boyfriend" thing. With a shrug, she
began to walk down the beach, followed closely by her
redheaded friend. Keeter watched them go
appreciatively.

"I’ll take that drink," the brunette said. She flipped
her hair up out of her face, revealing brown eyes, a
rounded nose, and full lips.

Harm inhaled sharply – he was looking at a younger
version of Diane. He continued to stare at her while
Keeter fished around in the cooler for a beer.

Finally, Harm came to his senses. "I’d like to see
some ID first," he said. There was no way this kid was
old enough to drink.

Angry brown eyes flared at him from beneath dark
bangs. "What are you a cop?" she asked.

"No. Just a concerned citizen."

"I’m eighteen!" she insisted.

"Then let’s see some ID," Harm said firmly.

The girl angrily dug into the back pocket of her tight
cut-off jeans. She pulled out a card and handed it to
Harm.

Harm examined the photo on the driver’s license. If
he’d been asked to, he would have been willing to bet
that the girl in the photo was not standing in front
of him now. "This isn’t you," he said.

"Sure it is," she said. "I had shorter hair then." She
could tell he wasn’t buying it. "Look, I don’t need
this!" she huffed. "I’ll just go on down the beach.
I’m sure I can find a friendlier group than this to
hang out with!"

Both Harm and Keeter didn’t want her to do that, but
for different reasons.

"Now don’t do that," Keeter said soothingly. "I’m sure
we can work something out." He liked the looks of this
young woman. He, too, had noticed her resemblance to
their classmate. He’d never had a chance with Diane,
although he continued to try because she was one
fine-looking women and because, well, he was Keeter,
and coming on to women was what he did. This kid
wouldn’t do too badly, he thought. Give her a few
beers and . . . who knows what might happen. He was
willing to believe her claimed age because – well,
because he wanted to. Justification came easy to
Keeter.

Harm’s reasoning for wanting to keep her here was
different. She could be Diane’s kid sister, and even
though he knew she wasn’t, he felt some sort of weird
need to protect her. Letting her go down the beach to
that party of college football players and co-eds was
not a good idea. Of course, from the way Keeter was
looking at her, he’d probably need to protect her from
threats a lot closer than one hundred yards. And from
the look of her eyes and the unsteady way she’d walked
across the sand, he guessed she’d already been
drinking. Letting a slightly drunk teenager loose in a
group of very drunk college guys was a recipe for
disaster.

"Sit down," Harm relented, knowing there was only one
way to keep her here, for now at least. Against his
better judgment, he added, "You can have a beer. One."
He sensed that if he didn’t give in right now, she was
gone.

The girl dropped to the log with a grateful smile.
"Can I have my ID back, please?"

"I think I’ll just hold onto it for now," Harm said.
He looked at it again. "Samantha. I’ll give it back to
you later."

She obviously didn’t like that, but thought about it
and decided she could live with it. For now. "You can
call me Sam," she said. "That beer," she prompted.

Keeter plunged his hand into the ice again and came
out with a long-necked bottle.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. She popped the top off
with a practiced flick of her wrist and took a long
pull from the bottle.

Harm sat beside her on the log, and Keeter dropped to
the log on the other side, sitting close enough to
touch her.

"So, Samantha, you live around here?" Keeter asked
pleasantly.

"Nope. Just visiting," she said, taking another long
drink.

"Thirsty?" Keeter asked, amused.

"Parched," she confirmed.

"Well, don’t rush. There’s plenty more where that came
from," Keeter promised.

Sam obviously liked the sound of that, and she smiled
warmly at him. "Now *that’s* hospitality!"

"Of course," Keeter said, dropping an arm around her
shoulders. "If I’m nice to you, I expect you to be
nice to me in return."

Sam laughed, a musical sound that stirred something
deep within Harm. That sure wasn’t Diane’s laugh, and
it was unlike anything he’d ever heard.

"I can be very nice if properly motivated," Sam said,
flirting back.

"And what do you consider proper motivation?" Keeter
asked.

"Give me another beer, and I’ll tell you," Sam said
coyly. Her stomach growled loudly, and she laughed
again. "Sorry."

A kid, already partially intoxicated. Drinking more on
an empty stomach. Implying, at least, that she was
willing to trade sex for more alcohol. And a horny
wanna-be pilot with few scruples. Harm sighed. What
had he gotten himself into? "I have an idea," he
announced loudly. They turned to face him, having
almost forgotten he was there. "Why don’t you go get
our guest something to eat?" Harm asked Keeter.

"Why don’t you go, buddy?" Keeter suggested, his eyes
still on Sam.

There was no way Harm was leaving her alone with
Keeter. "Can I talk to you a minute?" he asked Keeter.
"Now."

Keeter took his eyes away from Sam long enough to look
at his friend and register that he was serious. He
flashed Sam his best, most winning smile. "Don’t go
away, darlin’. I’ll be right back."

He and Harm got up, and Harm walked them far enough
away so he could speak without being overheard.
"Keeter, what are you doing?! She’s just a kid, for
God’s sake!"

"She said she was eighteen!" Keeter protested. "You
saw her ID!"

Harm pulled the ID out of his pocket and gave it to
Keeter. "That’s not her, and you know it! I’d be
surprised if she’s sixteen."

Keeter handed the ID back. "She sure knows her way
around a beer bottle," he said.

"And that’s another thing. She’s obviously already
been drinking. I don’t think we should be encouraging
her."

"Then don’t look now," Keeter advised.

Harm did look, just in time to see Sam come up out of
the cooler with another beer. She saw them looking and
smiled and waved.

Keeter waved back, but Harm just scowled down the
beach at her.

"Come on, Harm," Keeter pleaded. "It’s beginning to
look like she’s the only fly that’s gonna come
anywhere near my trap tonight."

"Then maybe you need to go out looking instead of
waiting for a baby to fall into your lap. And change
your standards a little to someone old enough and
sober enough to know what she’s doing," Harm advised.

"Where’s the fun in that?" Keeter asked with a smile.

"Where the fun in seducing a child so desperate for
another drink that she’d give herself away to anyone?"
Harm countered.

"If I have to tell you that, I’d say you’ve been
spending too much time studying!" 

"Keeter, I’m serious about this."

"I’m beginning to see that. What is it? You want her
for yourself?" Keeter teased.

"No!" Harm said quickly and emphatically. "It’s just
that . . . she looks so much like Diane. And she seems
a little desperate. A kid like that could get herself
into a lot of trouble."

Keeter sighed at the loss of his almost perfect chance
to score. Harm was his best friend, and if he wanted
him to back off, he’d back off.

Harm recognized Keeter’s sigh of defeat and smiled
gratefully at his friend. "Thanks, pal. I owe you
one."

"Yes, you do," Keeter agreed. "I’d like her to be five
feet seven, blonde, blue-eyed, and I want her to have
casabas out to here," he said, holding his hands a
foot in front of his chest.

"Just so long as she’s eighteen," Harm agreed with a
smile. "Now would you mind getting her something to
eat?"

"All right, but then I’m taking off. You can babysit
if you want. I’m looking for some action." Keeter held
his hand out, palm out.

"What?" Harm asked.

"You’re the one with the rich parents. *You* buy her
supper!"

Harm reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty
dollar bill and gave it to Keeter. "Get her a couple
of hamburgers and some fries and something *else* to
drink."

"You want anything?"

"Nah. I’m all set. Just hurry back before I lose her."

Keeter trudged off through the sand while Harm
returned to the fire – and Sam.

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

Harm waited for Keeter with Sam, the silence between
them uncomfortable.

Sam leaned forward and rubbed her shins. "So. You live
around here?" she asked.

"Not far," Harm answered. "You?"

"No," she said. "Are you in college or something?"

"Annapolis."

Sam’s nose wrinkled in disgust. "You’re a squid.
Figures."

"You got something against the Navy?" Harm asked,
offended.

Sam backed down. "Sorry. My dad’s a Marine. He’s been
insulting sailors for as long as I can remember."

"A Marine, huh? Where’s he stationed?"

"He’s TAD at Miramar."

That explained why she was here in a general sense,
but it didn’t explain what she was doing alone on a
beach partially intoxicated. "Your dad know where you
are?"

Sam snorted in disgust, but didn’t answer his
question. "Here comes your friend with the food."

Glad for the distraction, Harm jumped up and waited
for Keeter to make his way across the sand to them. He
took the cardboard tray from Keeter. "What took you so
long?"

"Sorry. I met someone at the hot dog stand. She’s
waiting for me. I’ll see you some time, buddy. You
kids behave!" he called loudly to Sam. She smiled and
waved.

Harm brought the food back to Sam. "Here you go," he
said, handing her the box.

"Thanks," she said. She rummaged through the box and
found two cheeseburgers, a large fry, and a root beer.
She unwrapped a burger and took a huge bite. "You want
some?" she asked, her mouth full of food.

"No, thanks. You enjoy."

In an amazingly short space of time, the food had all
disappeared.

"When’s the last time you ate?" Harm asked.

Sam shrugged and wiped her mouth. "Thanks. That hit
the spot."

"Must’ve been a big spot," Harm joked.

"Funny," she noted. Suddenly, she stood up and
stripped her shirt off, revealing a dark blue bikini
top. A medal of some sort rested between her breasts
on a chain around her neck. She unsnapped and unzipped
her shorts and wriggled out of them. "New suit," she
said, running her hand over one of her breasts then
down her flat stomach to the triangle of fabric that
covered only the barest minimum. "What do you think?"

"Nice color," Harm noted uncomfortably. Underaged
teenagers shouldn’t have bodies like that, he thought.
A man might forget that certain fruit was not meant to
be plucked. "But I think you should put your clothes
back on."

"Why?" Sam asked with an exaggerated pout. "Don’t I
look good?" She knew she did. She’d seen that look in
his eyes. Even at sixteen, she’s seen it many times
and had become very good at using it to get what she
wanted. She was too young and reckless and dependent
to care about what she was giving up in the process.
"Besides, it’s pretty hard to go swimming with your
clothes on."

"You can’t go swimming," Harm told her. "You just
ate."

"You sound like my mother," Sam said. "Except I don’t
have one. You coming in?"

"I’m afraid of sharks," Harm joked feebly.

Sam laughed again, that musical sound that seemed to
trip up and down his spine. She turned and began to
walk toward the water, giving him a delicious view of
an incredible behind. Knowing that he was watching,
she walked slowly, deliberately.

Harm sighed and stood up. He pulled his shirt over his
head, kicked his shoes off, and followed her into the
water.

***********

They played and splashed and swam in the surf until it
was too dark to see. More than once, Sam had
deliberately rubbed up against him in the water,
sending him not-too-subtle signals that she was
available to him. It would have been very easy for him
to pretend this was Diane and let himself go. He
wouldn’t even have to close his eyes. It was only with
an effort that he kept reminding himself that this was
*not* Diane and that giving in to what was becoming a
growing desire would be a huge mistake. Sometimes Harm
hated the honorable man that he was.

When they returned to the beach, their fire had burnt
itself to a glowing ember, and Harm took some time
rebuilding it. When he turned around, he was glad to
see that Sam had dressed. Except for one thing. "Hey!
That’s my shirt!" he said.

"Come take it off me!" she challenged, knowing he
wouldn’t. When he made no move to come after her, she
laughed. "Looks better on me anyway, don’t you think?
Even if it is the Dodgers!"

Harm couldn’t disagree with that. Besides, it covered
more of her than her own shirt would have, which
wasn’t a bad thing.

Sam sat on the log. "Don’t suppose I could have
another beer."

Harm sat beside her. "Nope." She was just starting to
look and act sober. He had no intention of letting her
get started again.

Sam stuck her tongue out at him. "Hey, look at that
bug behind you."

Harm twisted to look at the ground behind him. As soon
as he did, Sam launched herself at him, hitting him
with what amounted to a low flying tackle. Though she
was slight and he was solidly built, she had momentum
and the element of surprise on her side, and she
toppled them both to the sand. She landed on top of
him, her body lithe and pliable stretched along his.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking up into her
smoldering chocolate brown eyes. He was desperately
hoping she wouldn’t notice that his body was giving
away the desire he felt for her.

"What do you think I’m doing?" she asked. She dipped
her head closer to him, and he caught her scent. She
smelled of the sea, the sand, and the sun. It was a
heady aroma. "I like you," she purred. "I think we
could be friends."

"Is this what you do with all your friends?" he asked,
trying not to breathe.

"Only the ones I really like."

"I can’t do this," he said with a resolution he didn’t
feel.

"Somebody disagrees with you," she said. She ran her
hand down his bare torso to the waistband of his
swimming trunks.

Oh, God! She’d noticed! He quickly grabbed her hand.
"Stop it!" he said hoarsely. He turned onto his side,
dumping her into the sand beside him.

Surprised, she looked up at him, tears forming in
liquid pools in her eyes. "I’m sorry. I thought you
wanted it. I thought you wanted me."

He hadn’t meant to hurt her and make her cry. He
touched her cheek. "Don’t cry. It’s not you. You are
incredible," he said with enough feeling so that she
knew he meant it. "And some day, any man would be
lucky to have you. But not now. Not like this. Not for
a damn beer."

The tears slipped from her eyes. "You think this is
about a beer?" Funny, it had started out that way. But
somewhere along the line, it had become about
something much more important.

"I don’t know what this is about," Harm said. "But I
do know one thing. You’re just a kid. And you’re
throwing yourself away for your next drink. You’ve got
a problem, Junior Mint."

The tears came in earnest now. Harm couldn’t help it.
He gathered her into his arms and held her, smoothing
her hair, until she’d cried herself out.

Spent, she looked up at him and sniffed. "Good thing
you’re not wearing a shirt. I’d have gotten it all
wet."

Harm looked deeply into her eyes. In the last few
minutes, she’d gone from a playful teenager to a
seductive woman to a scared child to a young person
with a lot of problems. He knew one thing about this
incredible person in his arms – she was special. He
hoped she made it. Seemingly pulled by an
irrepressible force, Harm felt himself moving toward
her until his lips touched hers. They both closed
their eyes and plunged feet-first into the kiss, their
bare flesh meeting in several places, their hands
slowly exploring.

When they parted, they’d reached an unspoken
understanding. This – thing – between them would end
there, lying dormant. Maybe some day they’d meet
again, at a time when the difference in their ages
wouldn’t matter and they could resurrect it and
explore it to their heart’s content. But for now, a
kiss would have to suffice.

"Stay with me tonight," Harm whispered, unwilling to
let her go yet.

She made no pretense about misunderstanding his
intentions. She nodded once. "Okay."

They repositioned themselves closer to the fire. In
its waning light, he stroked her hair. "Your name
isn’t really Samantha Beckett, is it?"

He felt her shake her head against his shoulder.
"Nope. You can just call me Junior Mint. I like that,"
she said sleepily. "By the way, I’m sixteen."

"That’s about what I figured." It suddenly occurred to
him that he’d never told her his name.

As though she’d read his mind, she said, "I don’t want
to know who you are either. I’ll just pretend this was
a dream. It *must* be a dream because guys like you
don’t really exist. Not in my world anyway."

Harm kissed the top of her head. "Go to sleep, Junior
Mint."

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

When Harm awoke in the morning, she was gone. He
hadn’t awoken when she’d left, and he had no idea how
long she’d been gone. The ground was hard and cold
without her, and he got up stiffly. He looked around
for his shirt, but she’d apparently taken it with her.
Now he had to explain to his mother not only why he’d
stayed out all night but how he’d lost his shirt. Oh
well, if there was one thing he’d learned at the
Academy, it was how to improvise on his feet.

Harm stretched and put his hands into his pockets.
There was something unfamiliar in one of them, and he
pulled his hands out. In his right hand was the St.
Christopher’s medal Sam (or whoever she was) had been
wearing around her neck. Harm closed his hand around
it and sent a silent prayer heavenward for her safety
and happiness.

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

*This is now . . .

In the back of Harmon Rabb, Jr.’s sock drawer are a
handful of momentos he hadn’t looked at since he’d
last moved – his first wings, his grandfather’s
wedding ring, the key to the car Frank had given him
for his sixteenth birthday, and a St. Christopher’s
medal on a silver chain.

At the bottom of a trunk of things Sarah Mackenzie
hadn’t bothered to unpack the last three times she’d
moved was a dark blue man’s large t-shirt with a faded
LA Dodgers emblem on the left breast.*