Title:  Flying High
Author:  Pixie
Email:  Pixie1@gmail.com

Rating: R (To be on the safe side)

Classification: Jag Story (Romance/Angst/Humor)

Word Count:  41,000

Disclaimer:  JAG and its characters are the sole property of DPB Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note 1: The characters from N.C.I.S. make cameo appearances here. You don't have to be a fan of the show to understand what's going on, but it will help if you've seen Ice Queen and/or Meltdown so that you understand their personalities.

Author's Note 2:  This story is quite different from Shades of Gray and Flashpoint. It's light on angst, long on romance. Don't worry, though, there really is a JAG plot buried in there someplace too. 

Acknowledgements: My deepest gratitude to Melissa, who never makes me feel like my obsession with JAG is the slightest bit unnatural, and who saw me patiently through the many bumps on the road to finishing this. My thanks also to Aerogirl, for her continued willingness to beta read and offer encouragement, and to Soleil, without whom the court scenes would've been gibberish.

Summary:  Harm and Mac are on opposite sides of a drug trafficking case. 



0500 Zulu (2100 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington


The casual observer would never peg the ungainly P3-C at its true value to the United States Navy. Gunmetal gray, virtually windowless, and bulky, it reminded Special Agent Jethro Gibbs of nothing so much as an oversized pelican. He watched it drop clumsily to the tarmac, then ducked back into his service car, slamming the door and shifting it into gear in one smooth motion. Beside him, Agent Tony Dinozzo popped a fresh clip into his 9mm, pointing it at the floor of the car while he removed the safety. In the back seat, an audible click indicated a similar action on Agent Kate Todd’s part. Expertly, Gibbs spun the car onto the runway behind the plane, speeding after it, leading the pack of half a dozen identical vehicles, all of them with lights flashing and sirens wailing.

Almost before the plane rolled to a complete stop, it was surrounded by NCIS investigators, guns drawn behind the cover of their open car doors. For several minutes, silence reigned, broken only by the gentle sound of the rain as it soaked into tarmac and human alike, causing more than one agent to tug down the brim of a hat or tighten a jacket collar. Gibbs ignored the steady trickle down the back of his neck and fixed his attention on the hatch, willing it to open. When it did, the audible thunk tightened the spines and raised the chins of two dozen agents. The airstair slowly unfolded, and a solitary figure appeared at the top of it, hands raised. 

Gibbs raised his voice, the better to be heard over the fading roar of the turbo props.

"NCIS! Turn around and descend the ladder slowly. When you reach the bottom, freeze, lace your hands behind your head, and await further instruction."

The petty officer did as he was told. Kate met him at the bottom, cuffed him, and led him to one side. The process was repeated eleven times, until the entire crew stood in an uneasy line on the tarmac. Gibbs waited then, letting the silence and the rain tighten the tension in ways simple words could not. He paced up and down the line while NCIS agents secured the plane for the evidence collection team. 

"All clear, Boss!" The call came from Dinozzo, who had donned a pair of latex gloves and was already halfway up the airstair. "The evidence team is ready to start. Drug dogs should be here any minute."

"They were supposed to be here an hour ago," Gibbs muttered to himself. "You waiting for an invite, Dinozzo? Get busy!" he snapped. Tony turned and disappeared inside the huge aircraft, half a dozen agents on his heels. Gibbs stopped pacing and turned to stare long and hard at the crewmen lined up before him.

"Lieutenant Mercer!"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" The pilot stepped forward, coming to attention as well as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back. Gibbs stared at him, starting at the man's feet, and working his gaze slowly up to his face. The lieutenant was perfectly turned out, his Navy flight suit spotless, gold wings glinting in the floodlights that had been set up around the perimeter. Raindrops trickled off the rim of his cover, the rivulets of water soaking into the broad shoulders beneath, but Mercer's face remained impassive. If he was worried, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Gibbs moved until he was standing toe to toe with the younger man, glaring balefully into eyes that, once defiant, were starting to take on a hint of fear. Gibbs had a special place in his heart for people who sold drugs to kids, and he recited the Article 31 rights with a certain perverse pleasure. 

"Lieutenant Mercer, you have the right to remain silent and make no statements. Any statement you do make could be used against you in a court martial. You have the right to consult . . ." He finished in record time and gestured to a nearby agent. "Henderson, you and your partner deliver the lieutenant to the brig. I'll meet you there later."

"Yes, Sir." The agent hustled Mercer off to the car and was gone. Gibbs surveyed the remaining crew. 

"I don't have enough evidence to take any of you in," he said, and watched eleven pairs of shoulders visibly relax. "But you can bet you'll be sorry if I find anything to tie you to Mercer. Return to your barracks and await further orders."

He gestured to another agent to remove the cuffs and pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. Without a backward glance, he climbed the airstair and disappeared into the maw of the huge gray bird.


1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Four pairs of eyes flew to the conference room door when it opened abruptly, admitting a highly agitated Harmon Rabb. Mac hid a smile. He was late again. Really late, this time. He was lucky the admiral was in a good mood.

"Commander, how nice of you to join us. Please. Have a seat." The admiral's voice was deceptively pleasant, and Harm slid into his chair, wishing that just once his alarm clock and the traffic patterns would cooperate with him. 

"My apologies for my late arrival, Sir. The elevator appears to be out of order. Had to take the stairs."

"It takes you seventeen minutes to make it up three flights of stairs, Commander?" A.J. shook his head in mock dismay. "We need to get you some PT time."

"Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir." 

"Which is it? Yes or no?"

"It's no, Sir. I'm in top physical shape." 

"Hmm . . ." The admiral's response was noncommittal, but he let it drop, returning to the files in front of him. 

"Now that Commander Rabb has joined us, I guess we can go over this new case." He flipped open the file and scanned the cover sheet.

"Lieutenant Steven Mercer. Arrested last night at Whidbey Island Naval Air Station. It seems Mercer took advantage of his gold wings to smuggle Ecstasy across the border from Canada. Apparently, there's some concern about Mercer's international connections, thus his transfer to Norfolk for trial here." He flipped a page, scanning quickly. "Looks like they're in a hurry on this one. NCIS delivered him to us personally at 0500 this morning." He glanced around the table, and his next words dropped like stones in a pool of still water. "The lead investigator on the case is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs." 

Harm's head snapped up as he felt three pairs of eyes fasten on him and slide away. The admiral glanced back at the file, made a decision, and looked back at his attorneys.

"Colonel, you'll prosecute. Commander, you'll defend." 

"Yes, Sir."

The admiral handed case files to the two attorneys and stood. 

"That's it, people. Let's get to work."

Chairs scraped and papers rustled as the group prepared to leave. 

"Commander."

"Sir?"

"Try to be on time tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir."

Harm caught Mac's small grin and traded it for a glare. Her smile widened, but she turned away before he could say anything, and he shook his head with a half smile of his own.

A maintenance worker stood just outside the room. 

"Commander Rabb?"

"Yes."

"You reported the problem with the elevator, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's fixed. I thought you might like to have this."

He handed Harm the single sheet of paper he held in his hand. Harm glanced at it, and then back up, confused.

"I don't understand. Why would I want the 'Out of Order' notice?"

"I thought you might like to see the back, Sir."

Harm flipped it over, and muttered an oath that caused Mac's eyebrows to shoot up.

"What is it, Harm?"

He held it up. On the back, in bold letters, was the single word, "Gotcha!" with a big smiley face.

Mac's laugh escaped, despite her heroic attempt to hold it back. Sturgis, Bud, and the admiral fought grins of their own.

"You're not exactly off to a flying start today, Sailor."

"This isn't funny, Mac."

"No, of course it isn't. I'll see you later, ok?"

Still laughing, she entered her office, closing the door behind her. Suspicious sounds floated through the crack under the door, and he glared at it balefully. 

Bud and the admiral had already left to return to their own offices, so Harm fixed his best interrogation stare on the one remaining suspect. Sturgis threw up his hands in surrender.

"I don't know anything about it, Harm."

With a snort, Harm turned and headed back to his office. He wasn't certain who the guilty party was, but whoever it was, they were in trouble. They were messing with the master.

 Grumpily, he dropped into the chair, absently picking up a pencil and tapping it against the scarred desktop. He had a pretty good idea who the culprit was, and a slow grin spread over his face as he plotted his revenge. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up. 

"It's open," he called.

Mac poked her head inside.

"Is it safe?"

"Shouldn't it be?"

"Thought I should make sure before I exposed myself to enemy fire," she grinned.

Harm put his hands to his chest in mock pain.

"Your lack of faith wounds me." 

His smile gave the lie to his remark, and she came in, relaxing into a chair on the other side of his desk. 

"Just thought I'd check. Listen, I'm heading off to Norfolk for a preliminary interview. Gibbs and his team are meeting me there. Want to tag along?"

"Sure. I'll even buy you lunch."

"Meat?"

He groaned.

"If I must."

"You must."

A few minutes later, they were settled in Mac's Corvette. The engine purred to life, and Harm arranged his legs in the small space.

"You know, we'd have been more comfortable in the Lexus."

"Probably, but this is more fun. Besides, it was my idea that we go together. That means I get to drive."

"Bossy."

Her only answer was a smug grin as she expertly maneuvered the car through the city streets and onto the highway. Harm spent a few minutes glancing through the slim case file, then he closed the folder and focused his gaze on the passing scenery. 

Her soft voice finally broke the silence as she glanced at him, concern in her eyes.

"Are you ok with this, Harm?"

"Am I ok with what?"

"Gibbs."

He didn't answer right away. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, bitter.

"It's not something I like to talk about, Mac."

"You're angry."

"Not angry, really. Disappointed."

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

He looked over at her, frustrated that the confined space wouldn't allow him to turn his body. 

"Why didn't you come to see me?"

Surprise flitted across her face as she glanced over and then back at the road.

"Didn't the admiral tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He ordered us to stay away."

"Hmm . . ." Harm's voice was noncommittal as he returned his glance to the passing scenery.

"You don't believe me?"

"No. I believe you."

"Then what?"

"Nothing." He was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with disappointment. "It's just that if it had been you in there, nothing would have kept me away."

She looked over at him. "You'd have gone against a direct order." It was a statement, not a question.

"If I had to, yes. It wouldn't have been the first time."

"It wasn't just the orders that kept me away."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at her. 

"Yeah."

"What was it then?"

"I didn't know how to help you, Harm. If I'd gone to you, I could've ended up being a witness for the prosecution." She glanced at him again, her expression serious. "I couldn't take that chance."

"You think I would have told you something that would hurt my case?"

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose I thought it was possible."

He pondered that for a minute. 

"Why didn't you come to see me after I got out?"

"I did."

"Yes, but as an afterthought. You were already committed to that fiasco in Paraguay."

"Fiasco is right. I'll never forgive Clay for dragging me into that mess." 

"Why did you go?"

"You know why, Harm. Orders."

He sighed. "Sometimes I hate the military.”

"Me, too."

Silence. Then Mac's quiet voice.

"Forgive me?"

He looked at her, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before she flicked them back to the road ahead. 

"Yeah."

He was rewarded with a relieved smile. 

"Thanks."

He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up her hand from where it rested on the gear shift, squeezed it gently, started to release it, and then changed his mind and held it, surprised and pleased when she didn't immediately pull away. He tried to act nonchalant, turning his head to look out the window as though he'd simply forgotten to let go, yet every fiber of his being zeroed in on that single point of contact, the warmth and softness of her small hand nestled securely in his. He concentrated on the moment, and on the bubble of quiet peace that surrounded them, and tried not to let optimism overcome realism in his heart as the car sped toward their destination. 

He'd missed this feeling of closeness between them, this sense of being two parts of a single entity. There'd been a time when it had been a constant in their relationship, his anchor in a storm. Then life had gone crazy, as it had an annoying tendency to do at times. Now he had Mattie, she had Webb and everything was different; and yet, in a strange way, everything was the same. He'd never said it to her, and the way things were looking right now, he probably never would, but a fact was a fact, no matter which way you twisted it. And the simple fact here was that Mac held a piece of his heart that he'd never be able to retrieve, no matter how bad things got between them. 

A light tug forced his attention back to the present, and he released her hand so that she could shift gears, pleased to see a soft smile curving the corners of her mouth. Neither of them said a word, as though acknowledging what had just happened might somehow jinx it, and a few minutes later, they pulled up outside the brig. Mac set the handbrake and looked over at him. 

"You ready?" 

"Let's do it. I'll meet with my client while you talk to Gibbs and his crew?"

"Deal."

They unfolded themselves from the low slung car, and Harm stretched the kinks from his back and legs before reaching in for his briefcase. Moments later, they were walking into the building in companionable silence. 

Gibbs stood at the guard desk, signing in and turning over his handgun. He turned when the door opened to admit Harm and Mac. There was a heartbeat of tense silence before Harm spoke.

"We meet again," he said, feelings and memories washing over him. 

"Looks that way," Gibbs replied, and clipped the visitor's badge to his lapel. He gestured to the two people standing to one side, visitor's badges already fixed to their jackets.

"I believe you remember Agent Dinozzo?" 

Harm exchanged nods with Tony, still grateful to the man for the extra bit of effort that had saved his neck all those months ago. 

"This is Special Agent Caitlin Todd." Gibbs indicated the slim, dark haired woman who was observing the reunion with interest. Harm wondered how much she knew about him, and realized it might be very little. Gibbs wasn't exactly the gossipy sort. He nodded in her direction, and received a slight dip of the chin in reply.

"Shall we get started?" Mac asked then. "I believe they have a conference room reserved for us, Agent Gibbs. Harm? We'll meet back up with you in a couple of hours."

"Sounds good," he said, scribbling his name in the entry log while the guard inspected his ID. He picked his cover up from where he had set it on the desk, clipped on the visitor's badge, and turned back to the group. 

"See you in a while," he said, and turned to follow the MP down a familiar hallway to the meeting rooms. Mercer hadn't been brought in yet, and while the guard went to collect him, Harm settled himself at the table, opening his briefcase to pull out a fresh legal pad and pencil, then snapping it shut and standing it on the floor beside his chair. He had just time enough to jot down the date and time at the top of the paper when the door opened to admit his new client. 

Harm glanced up, observing the man as he walked across the room and settled himself in the other chair. He'd been a lawyer long enough to know that his first impressions were usually accurate, and he didn't like what his instincts were telling him about the lieutenant. 

Mercer was tall, nearly as tall as Harm, but bulkier, with a massive chest and shoulders that spoke of hours spent lifting weights. In contrast, he was slim through the hips and thighs, giving the overall impression of a triangle that had been tipped on end. His brown hair, close cropped even beyond the demands of Navy regs, did nothing to sharpen the angular planes of his face, but it somehow emphasized the crooked nose that was likely the result of more than one ill-conceived bar fight. Mercer's mouth, wide and full lipped, was stretched tight in controlled anger, his hazel eyes sullen. 

"You going to get me out of here?" he asked, his tone bordering on disrespect.

"I think that depends on you, Lieutenant. Have a seat."

Harm had Mercer's service file in his briefcase, along with the case file that contained the basics of the crime. He didn't want to look at cold facts right now, though. He wanted to hear the story from his client's own lips, get a feel for him as a man and a human being. He'd long since found it to be the best way to begin to formulate a defense strategy.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"NCIS tricked me. That's what happened."

"Tell me about it."

"You're my attorney, so you have to keep what I say private, right?"

"That's right."

"I've been doing this for years. Flying those birds back and forth across the border makes it easy, you know? Who'd ever think a Navy pilot would be shipping drugs? My guys in Canada and Denmark are happy because they get their money. My pals in Washington are happy because they get their merchandise. I get enough money to buy my wife a nice home and maintain our membership at the country club. Everybody's happy."

Harm resisted the urge to throttle the man then and there. The arrogant fool didn't even think he'd done anything wrong.  

"Anyway, a couple of months ago I get this new client. Woman. Real good looking if you know what I mean," Mercer smirked, causing Harm's blood pressure to notch up a few more points.

"She wanted an ounce of Ecstasy. I told her sure, no problem. We made the deal, and we both walked away satisfied." 

Mercer shifted, stretching out his legs in front of him. 

"She called me again, 'bout a month later. Wanted a pound this time. I said fine. Gave her the routing numbers for my bank, said we'd hook up in a week. She seemed happy enough with that, so we went our merry ways, and I scheduled a trip to Copenhagen to pick up more supplies. I get back last night, and those NCIS goons are waiting for me. The way they acted, you'd have thought I was an ax murderer. I was surprised at first, until I saw my newest client carrying a badge and a Sig-Sauer."

He shook his head in disgust, though whether at himself for trusting a pretty client, or at her for the set up, Harm couldn't tell.

"I'm not a bad guy, Commander. All I do is answer the call of supply and demand. I don't sell the stuff on the streets, and I don't use it myself. I'm not stupid enough to do that, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm even here."

"You mean aside from the fact that you broke half the regs in the UCMJ?"

"Those regs are out of date. They need revising to keep up with the times. Like I said, I wasn't hurting anybody, so what's the problem?"

Harm leaned forward, speaking slowly and clearly. 

"Lieutenant Mercer, you're looking at hard time here. You took advantage of your uniform to smuggle a Schedule I controlled substance. The members aren't going to look kindly on that." 

Mercer had the decency to look a little ashamed.

"Look, I know I shouldn't have done this while I was on duty, but the uniform made things easier, you know? Who's going to suspect a Navy pilot? Besides, look at me. I'm not exactly profile material, you know." He almost preened, and Harm mentally added vanity to the growing list of things he disliked about this client. 

Harm sighed. The fact that Mercer was a Navy pilot, gold wings and all, turned his stomach. For him, those wings symbolized commitment to the highest standards, the utmost respect for the military and the United States of America. In contrast, the man sitting across from him right now seemed to see the wings merely as a means to an end, a way to step up on the economic ladder of life, and God help anybody who got in his way. He lifted his briefcase to the table and opened it, returning his notes and pencil before closing it again with a snap. He stood up, moved to the door and knocked, his signal to the guard that he was finished. 

"Wait. That's it?" Mercer was agitated. "When do I get out of here?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant – certainly not before the trial, not with these charges and the amount of evidence against you. For now, I need to compare our conversation today to my case notes and think about where to go from here. I'll be in touch."

The door opened, and Mercer stood to leave, then stopped, turning back to Harm with the first traces of concern on his face.

"You're going to get me out of this, aren't you, Commander?"

"I'll do my best, Lieutenant." He didn't like it. In fact, right now there was nothing he'd like better than to lock the man in the brig and throw away the key, but unlike Mercer, he respected the laws of career and country, so he'd do everything he could to make sure the lieutenant got a fair hearing. 

Mercer left, and Harm was alone in the empty room. He sighed. He truly hated cases like this, hated having to fight for a guilty man's freedom. With luck, Mac would be willing to consider a plea bargain, though he hadn't discussed the idea with Mercer yet. Before he did, he wanted to go over the case file and whatever information he could get from Mac in discovery. 

Until then, he wouldn't even know what his bargaining position was. He did know, however, that Gibbs was one of the best. He'd be willing to bet that the case he'd built against Lieutenant Mercer would be rock solid. His only hope would be to look for a weak spot, a chink in the massive amounts of paperwork that these types of cases always generated. Somewhere, somehow, he had to find an uncrossed "t," or an undotted "i." 

He scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the mere thought making him tired. Long hours of poring through masses of documents loomed ahead of him, and he was dreading it. Paperwork had never been his strong suit, and to get stuck with mounds of it for a client he knew was guilty did not make him happy. Standing, he pushed the chair in with a touch more force then was absolutely necessary, then he grabbed his briefcase and left the room, hoping that Mac was ready to go. 

Luckily, she was, but she looked tense, and Harm wondered what had happened in her meeting to put those lines around her mouth. He glanced around. Gibbs, Dinozzo, and the new agent, Todd, were nowhere in sight. 

"Everything all right, Mac?" 

"Everything's fine." Her voice, a shade too bright and a shade too edgy, brought his head up from where he'd been bent over the logbook, signing out. 

"What happened in there?"

"Nothing, Harm. I told you, I'm ok. Are you ready to head back?"

"Sure am, but if I remember right, I owe you lunch first."

Her eyes brightened, as he'd thought they might.

"Food?" 

"Sure. What are you hungry for?"

"How about Mexican?"

He groaned. 

"Spicy?"

She grinned. "Is there any other kind?"

Pleased that he'd managed to chase away the worry lines, he gave in.

"All right. We'd better get going, though."

"Right behind you, Flyboy."

Twenty minutes later they sat across from each other in Mac's favorite Mexican restaurant. They sipped from tall glasses of iced tea and munched on fresh tortilla chips while they waited for their food to arrive. 

"So who do you think pulled that elevator stunt this morning?" Mac asked.

Harm groaned. "Did you have to bring that up again? It'll take me months to live that down."

"Yeah. I know. Isn't it great?" Her smile was wide, and her eyes danced in merriment, causing Harm to catch his breath. It'd been a while since he's seen a smile that made it all the way to her eyes, and he'd almost forgotten how beautiful it made her.

"Never fear. I fully intend to get even with the perpetrator."

"Oh? And who do you think that might be?"

"You'll find out soon enough." 

"Surely you don't think I did it."

He didn't answer, merely watching her with a quirked eyebrow and a twinkle.

"I didn't!"

She was playfully indignant at the accusation.

"I believe you." But he didn't really, and she knew it. She huffed at him in exasperation, but he just grinned at her and reached for another chip, dipping it into the queso and waiting for the extra cheese to drip off before bringing it to his mouth. 

Mac watched him, unaccountably fascinated. A tiny drop of bright yellow dotted his chin, and she picked up her napkin, unable to resist the temptation. She targeted the spot with her eyes, dabbed it, glanced up, and froze. His eyes held an intense light that she'd only seen once before. It had sent her heart into overdrive then, and it had the same effect now, causing her to suddenly feel like she'd just run the hundred yard dash. He caught her wrist and held it gently, his thumb stroking tiny circles against her skin. The action momentarily shorted out her internal clock, and she lost track of the passage of time while she struggled to remember how to breathe. 

"All right, who had the enchilada plate?"

It was their server, and Harm released her to look up. She sank gratefully back in her chair and willed her heart to slow down, her diaphragm to force the air in and out of her lungs. 

"I did."

It was a good thing Harm answered, because she was pretty sure that the only sound she could make right now would be a moan.

"Cujo over there ordered the fajitas."

That brought her back to reality with a thud.

"Cujo!" 

She fired her wadded up napkin at him, and he ducked, coming back up with a wide grin. Their server chuckled and refilled their tea glasses before leaving to attend his other duties. She glared at Harm.

"Cujo?"

"As I recall, he was pretty fierce and he liked meat. It seemed to fit."

"You're terrible, you know that?" But she couldn't help smiling at him. 

"I try."

He waggled his brows and then turned his attention to his food, pointedly ignoring her snort of laughter. 



1900 Zulu (1400 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Harm and Mac stood at attention in front of the admiral's desk. He looked up at them, his annoyance at the interruption plain on his face.

"Well? What can I do for you?"

"Request permission to book a flight to Seattle, Sir. We need to interview witnesses on the Mercer case."

A.J. sighed. 

"I suppose you both need to go?"

Harm and Mac exchanged glances.

"Yes, Sir," Harm answered. "We need to interview the flight crew and Lieutenant Mercer's commanding officer. We could bring them here, but it'd be cheaper for Mac and I go to out there."

"All right, then. Permission granted. Get your flight information to Coates. Dismissed."

Harm was right behind Mac as they walked through the bullpen, so when she stopped suddenly, he plowed into her and nearly knocked her to her knees. He caught her shoulders to steady her, greatly enjoying the incidental close contact, even when she turned a halfhearted glare in his direction. 

"Tailgating's illegal, you know."

"Sorry." 

Somehow he didn't look very sorry, and she quirked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. He responded with his best innocent schoolboy impression, causing her to grin despite herself. 

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

"I try, Mac. I try."

She gestured toward a group of people clustered around the water cooler.

"I wonder what that's all about."

"Let's go find out."

Harm's height advantage had him chuckling before Mac could see what was going on. 

"What is it?"

He didn't answer, but caught her by the arm, gently maneuvering her closer to the cooler.

"That's what it is." 

Mac looked, and burst into laughter. Inside the bottle, floating merrily about, were a dozen tiny rubber ducks. She was staring at the brightly cheerful little objects, wondering who would have had the nerve to pull such a stunt, when Harm started humming a familiar song behind her. With a wide grin, she started to sing along.

". . . You make bath time lots of fun. Rubber ducky . . ."

Gradually, the people around her joined in, their voices fading in and out as their laughter allowed. Mac angled her head up to look at Harm when they launched into the second verse.

"Rubber ducky, joy of joys . . . When I squeeze you, you make noise . . ."

"What's going on out here?"

The voice of doom brought an immediate guilty silence as choir members scattered like so many startled sparrows. Mac turned around as A.J. came to a stop beside her, folding his arms across his chest as he rocked back on his heels and cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.

"Has the whole world gone mad?" he asked rhetorically.

"I don't think so, Sir. Looks like a bit of innocent fun to me."

"Whose innocent fun, Colonel?" He glared down his nose at her, as though holding her personally responsible.

"It wasn't me, Sir. I was with Harm in your office, and before that we were in Norfolk."

"Uh huh . . ." He looked as though he didn't quite believe her. 

"Coates!" he bellowed.

"Yes, Sir?" 

A.J. started slightly, obviously not expecting to find her standing right beside him. He twisted his head around, turning his scowl on her. 

"Lose the ducks."

"Um . . . What would you like me to do with them, Sir?" Her question earned her an over the shoulder glare from the retreating officer.

"I don't care what you do with them, Coates. Just get rid of them!"

"Right away, Sir."

The admiral's door closed behind him, and Jen turned to look at Mac, who threw her hands up in self-defense.

"I have no idea, Jen."

Jen sighed and stared at the water cooler, evidently trying to determine how to dispose of the offending objects without creating a minor flood. Mac left her there and returned to her office, only to find Harm comfortably ensconced in one of her chairs waiting for her.

"Any preference on flight times?" she asked him.

"Mattie left this morning with her volleyball team for an out of town tournament. She's supposed to be gone until Sunday afternoon. If we can get a flight out tonight, we'd have three or four days to do interviews."

Mac picked up the phone. "I'll see what I can do."

In short order, she had them both booked on a flight that would leave Dulles at 1930 and arrive in Seattle at about 2200 local time. She followed up with a rental car reservation, and they were all set. She'd even thought to make sure that Harm got an aisle seat on an exit row so that he'd have a little room to stretch out his legs. She hung up the phone and turned to Harm, who'd found mysterious reasons to wait in her office instead of returning to his own where he might actually accomplish something productive. 

"We're all set," she said, jotting the flight and rental car information on a piece of paper that she handed over to him. "Would you drop this off with Jen on your way back to your office?"

"She's not exactly on my way, but sure, I'll take care of it."

"Thanks. And Harm?"

He turned away from the door, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"Why don't we take my car? That way there'd only be one parking fee to pay at the airport."

"That's good thinking, but there's a problem with it."

"What's that?"

"There's no way I'm getting back into that matchbox you call a car."

"Harm?" she said sweetly, turning his expression instantly suspicious.

"Yeah?"

"Deal with it." 

He rolled his eyes.

"I tell you what."

"What?"

"Since you drove to Norfolk, I'll drive to the airport. Meet me at my place at 1730. We'll leave your car there and take mine." He was gone before she had a chance to object. 


2200 Zulu (1700 Local)
2812 M Street, Apartment 4
Washington, D.C.


Harm glanced at his watch when he heard the knock, then zipped his duffle bag closed and carried it with him to the living room, setting it on the floor while he opened the door.

"You're early," he said, stepping back and waving her inside.

"I know. Are you ready to go?" 

"Not quite. I need to grab my uniform bag and take out the trash. Make yourself at home. I'll be ready in a minute."

"I'll take care of the trash if you like."

"No. I've got it. Have a seat. I won't be long."

He disappeared to the back of the apartment and Mac wandered to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. She was getting some ice when a knock at the door interrupted her. 

"Harm?" she called. "Are you expecting anybody?"

"It's probably a missionary group. They've been making the rounds of the neighborhood. Just tell them we're on our way out."

"Will do." She'd been walking to the door while she talked to him, and now she pulled it open, startled to find Webb standing on the other side. Clay's normally immaculate presentation was skewed slightly off center, as though she were viewing him through a fun house mirror. His tie hung unknotted down one shoulder, and the top buttons of his dress shirt were hanging by threads on the same side. One sleeve was rolled up, the other down, but unbuttoned and torn at the shoulder. His slacks were badly wrinkled, and Mac wondered how many times he'd slept in them. 

"Hello, Sarah. Fancy meeting you here," he said, his breath faintly colored with alcohol. 

"Webb. What are you doing here?" She backed away from the door, and he followed her in, then turned on slightly unsteady legs to close it behind him. 

"They told me you were leaving town on an assignment with Rabb. I wanted to say goodbye, so I went by your place. When you weren't there, it wasn't hard to figure out where to look next." 

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that I knew you'd be with him." He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into a kiss that turned her stomach, releasing her only when her struggles threatened to topple both of them to the floor. "That's ok though, because I know it's me you love." 

"I think you'd better leave," said Harm, his voice dangerously low. Apparently, he'd come around the corner of his bedroom in time to see the end of the kiss. His body radiated tension, and Mac knew she'd have to act quickly if she wanted to avoid a fight, but Clay spoke up before she could do anything.

"Sarah . . ." The taffy candy syllables stretched to brittle threads and ended in a whine that made a nerve in her jaw twitch reflexively. "Where's my fond farewell?"

She backed away. 

"I'll call you a cab, Clay."

"No need. I have one waiting for me downstairs. Just kiss me goodbye, and I'll be on my way."

"No, Clay. I don't think so."

"Why not? Don't you love me anymore?"

The silence that descended then was heavy and thick, and it reminded Mac of Red Rock Mesa just before an explosive summer storm. She stared from Clay to Harm and back again, pondering her choices. She didn't want to do this now.  She didn't want to hurt Clay by telling the truth, and didn't want to hurt Harm by not telling it. She sighed. There was really only one option, one honest answer, but even as she made her decision, she prayed silently that her next words would not come back to haunt her in the days and weeks to come.

"No, Clay. I don't."

She could have sworn she heard a sudden whoosh of air from somewhere in Harm's vicinity, but when she glanced over at him, his expression was unchanged. He still stared daggers at Clay, whose face had turned bitter and angry.

"You used me." The words, sharp and fierce, chewed holes in her heart.

"I think we used each other, Clay." She said it softly, her voice immeasurably sad. 

"So I was just a convenient roll in the hay? Is that it?" 

Harm took a step forward at that, but Mac stopped him with a look.

"It was a mistake, Clay, on both our parts."

"And when you said you loved me? Was that a mistake too?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harm's shoulders slump, saw his expression change from one of anger to one of resignation, and ached at the thought that she had hurt him again, however indirectly.

"That's not what I said, Clay."

"Sarah. I was sitting right next to you when you said it." He spoke to her as one speaks to a very young child, with infinite patience and a wealth of good humored affection.

"No, Clay. If you'll think back, you'll remember that I said I killed Sadik because he hurt someone I loved." She glanced at Harm and then back to Clay, wishing this conversation had occurred under different circumstances. This wasn't the way she'd planned on handling this – with either man - but it was too late to turn back now, too late to keep from inflicting more pain on a man she cared about, but did not love, a man she suspected was teetering on the crumbling edge of an emotional precipice. 

With a silent, desperate prayer that her next words would not send him off the cliff, she spoke. 

"I wasn't talking about you." The words dropped one by one, like raindrops on rose petals, spoken so softly that both men had to strain to hear them. 

Silence prevailed while Clay stared at her, his face flushing first red and then white in anger and humiliation. His hands fisted, and he took a step toward her, prompting Harm to move quickly to her side. The feel of his hand on her shoulder, and his gentle squeeze of support made tears spring to her eyes – tears of gratitude, and sadness, and contrition. What a mess she'd made of things. How would she ever be able to make them right again? And how would she live with herself if Clay couldn't handle the truth?

She was startled from her thoughts by the slam of the door. She ran after him, flinging the door wide and cursing in frustration at the sight of the empty hallway, the click of the stairwell door the only indication of where he'd gone. She dashed through it and down the stairs, hoping to catch him, desperate to make him understand that she'd never meant to hurt him, never meant for things to spiral so wildly out of control. She pushed through to the outside only to see the taxi pull away from the curb with a screech of rubber. Sobbing now, she sagged against the wall, crying for herself, for Webb, for all the people whose lives had been turned inside out because of one sadistic madman. 

She felt gentle hands on her shoulders and turned, wrapping her arms around Harm in a futile attempt to stop the shaking that overcame her at the impossible, agonizing pain of it all. They stood that way for a long time, her tears melting into the front of his shirt while he stroked gentle circles on her back and murmured soothing words of comfort that neither one of them would remember later. She finally calmed, then stirred against him, and he released her, dropping one hand to her shoulder while he used the other to wipe a lingering trace of dampness from her cheek. 

"O.K.?" he asked gently.

"I will be."

"We need to talk about what just happened, Mac, but this isn't the time. We're about to miss our flight."

She realized what time it was with a gasp. The urgency of the situation was the catalyst she needed to distract her from recent events. 

"Go," she said. "Get your things. I'll get my duffle and meet you at the car."

Five minutes later, they were on their way, Mac staring sightlessly out the window while Harm concentrated on getting them to the airport as quickly as possible. They made it onto the plane in an undignified dash and collapsed into their seats, snapping their seatbelts into place as the big jet pulled away from the terminal. The next few moments were spent arranging their bodies in the cramped space and catching their breath, then Mac turned to stare into the night, her expression once again worried and sad. 

Harm watched her for a while, at a loss as to how to help. They still needed to talk, but the middle of a crowded jetliner, thousands of feet above the earth, was not the place for it. He saw her fold her arms around herself with a barely perceptible shiver and stood up, searching through the overhead bin until he located one of the thin blankets the airline provided for its passengers. Unfolding it, he tucked it around her shoulders, and earned a grateful glance in reply. 

It occurred to him then that there was one more thing he could do, another way he could let her know she wasn't alone. He'd be risking a glacial rejection, but he'd never been one to choose the safe path through life, so he flipped up the armrest and reached for her hand, enfolding it securely within his own. When she raised an inquiring eyebrow at him, he answered the silent question in her eyes with gentle warmth and a reassuring smile, half expecting her to pull away, half surprised when she merely went back to staring into the darkness, her slim fingers clinging to his own like delicate moss clings to a sturdy tree. 

They sat that way for several minutes, she staring fixedly at nothing, and he pretending to watch the in flight movie while his mind twisted and turned the day's events, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together in a way that would begin to make some sense. He lost track of the passage of time, so he was vaguely startled when he felt her head settle into the curve of his shoulder and her free hand tuck itself around his waist, the actions completely out of character for her, and yet somehow exactly and perfectly right. 

He held himself as still as possible, almost afraid to breathe for fear she would change her mind and pull away. When she didn't, his immediate surge of pleasure was tempered by concern. Mac prided herself on her strength and independence, and was not by nature a clingy person, having learned at an early age that the only person she could truly count on in life was herself. He knew this about her, knew enough of her history to understand how it defined her now, and with that knowledge came understanding. 

The day's events had short circuited her normally rigid self control, forcing her to turn to him for strength and support, and even as he reveled in the feeling of having her close, he wished there was something he could do to take away her pain. There wasn't much though. All he could do was to be there, to hold her for as long as she needed to be held, and then to let her go. It was with this thought in mind that he carefully wrapped both arms around her, pulled her close, and rested his cheek against the silk of her hair. 

Mac awoke slowly, her ears popping from a change in air pressure. She didn't move right away, choosing instead to savor the sensations that coursed through her body at the dawning realization that her pillow was a perfectly formed dip just below Harm's collarbone, her blanket the comforting strength of his arms. A deep inward breath brought his warm spice scent into her lungs, and she concentrated on it for a moment, memorized it, and filed it away to bring out on those long lonely nights when she was sure they would never be anything more than friends to each other. 

The plane shifted beneath her on its descent into Seattle, and she lifted her head, quietly pleased when his arms tightened for an instant before loosening and helping her to an upright position. She opened her mouth to thank him for the loan of his shoulder, but when she met his eyes the words disappeared, lost somewhere in the deep blue depths of his gaze. He leaned over and placed a butterfly kiss on her temple, then pulled back slowly to look at her with a gentle smile.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi yourself."

"How are you feeling?" 

She considered that for a moment.

"Better."

"I'm glad." His tone evoked images of firelight and candle glow, and she basked in its warmth. "We'll talk later, if you want."

She held his gaze while she thought about that. Then, deciding that the time for subterfuge had passed, she nodded. 

"I want." 

The big jet shuddered slightly as the landing gear locked into place and the flaps extended, slowing it for its final approach. The resultant rise in engine and wind noise made further conversation impossible, and they sat back in their seats for the landing, content to wait a little while longer for the conversation that just might change the direction of the rest of their lives.


2030 Zulu (1230 Local)
Whidbey Island Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington


Harm looked up from his notes at a knock on the door. The temporary office assigned to him was barely big enough for a desk and chair. There were no windows, and something above him rattled ominously every time the heating system groaned to life, which it did with an unnecessary frequency that had long since forced him to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves in a futile effort to stay comfortable. He'd been here since just after breakfast, interviewing crew members, and then transcribing their notes into a form that might actually be useful to him upon his return to Falls Church. Mac's entrance, with the tiny burst of fresh air that swirled through the door around her, was a welcome relief.

"I have some news," she said, and her tone of voice alerted him that he didn't really want to know what it was. 

"Oh?"

"I just got a call from NCIS. The blood tests on Mercer and his flight crew are in."

"And?" Foreboding twisted in his gut. 

"Mercer tested positive for MDMA."

Harm locked his best poker face firmly in place. He didn't want Mac to see the anger and disappointment that surged through him at the news that a fellow aviator had done something so incredibly stupid. 

"Really?" 

"Yes." She glanced at a scrap of paper in her hand. "And so did two of the men in the flight crew." She handed the paper over to him. "You'll get this on discovery anyway, so I thought I might as well pass it on now."

He glanced at the names, cursing inwardly as he realized he'd already interviewed both men and would have to call them back.

"Have charges been filed yet?"

"Not yet. I imagine that'll happen within the hour. The admiral doesn't want us to pursue the Article 112a charges on the other crew members. Those will be handled by the local JAG."

"Thank God for small favors," Harm said, and saw the corner of Mac's mouth twitch up.

"Feeling the stress?"

"Let's just say I can think of cases I've enjoyed more."

"I don't know. Seems pretty open and shut to me."

She was fishing, and Harm knew it. 

"Time will tell, Mac." 

"Well, if you decide you want to plead it out, you know where to find me. Just don't expect any great favors. The facts are on my side. "

The trouble was, Harm knew she was right. This case was going to be a tough one to win. He wasn't about to let her know that he had doubts, though. She was too good a lawyer for him to take that kind of chance.

"Mac, we haven't even finished interviewing witnesses yet. Don't you think it's a little early to be talking about a plea?"

"You wouldn't think that if you'd seen the evidence."

"Speaking of that, when do I get my copies?"

"I'll get them to you as soon as we get back. There are a couple of documents I still need from Agent Gibbs."

"Fair enough." 

"Ready for a lunch break?"

Harm glanced at his watch.

"I'm sorry, Mac. I'm meeting Breanna Mercer in twenty minutes. Rain check?"

"You have a lunch date with your client's wife?"

He shrugged. "Apparently, she has a busy social calendar. It was the only time she could get away."

Mac rolled her eyes.

"You'd choose high society over burgers and fries?"

"What can I say, Mac? Duty is a grim master." He shrugged and grinned. 

She smiled, her hand already on the doorknob.

"You don't know what you're missing."

"Oh yes I do." 

But she was gone already, so only the dust bunnies bore witness to the depth of feeling in his words. With a sigh, he pushed back his chair, collected his cover, and followed his partner out the door.


2115 Zulu (1315 Local)
Island Grill
Oak Harbor, Washington


Harm stood when a petite, dark haired woman approached the table. 

"Mrs. Mercer?"

"Breanna, please. Mrs. Mercer is my mother-in-law." She shuddered theatrically and then smiled as she accepted the chair Harm pulled out for her.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Breanna."

"Wish I could say the same, Commander. Are you going to be able to help my husband?"

"I'm going to try, Ma'am."

She looked at him appraisingly before she spoke again in a cultured melodic voice.

"I made some phone calls after we talked this morning, Commander. Grapevine has it you're the best there is."

Harm raised an eyebrow.

"Grapevine?"

"My dad and granddad both served. Dad's retired now, but he still knows a few people."

"Ah . . . Well, I'll do my best, Ma'am," he said with a smile. 

Their server arrived then, and conversation stopped while they placed their orders. When they were alone again, Breanna got right to the point. 

"Commander, nobody's told me what's going on. I only know that my husband's locked up in a Virginia brig and that it has something to do with a drug charge." She twisted and untwisted her napkin in a nervous gesture that belied her outward calm. 

"Mrs. Mercer . . . Breanna . . . your husband's in a lot of trouble." 

"That much I understand. What I don't understand is what they say he did wrong."

"NCIS didn't speak to you?"

"They came to the house with a search warrant, turned everything upside down, and left again. The agent in charge . . . Gibbs, I think his name was . . . wasn't a very talkative man."

Harm decided that Breanna Mercer would have made a good diplomat. Saying that Gibbs was 'not very talkative' was like saying that his relationship with Mac was 'complicated.'  He shook his head slightly, chasing the wayward thought out of his mind before he went on.

"I can't tell you the details of the case, Breanna, but I can give you a few of the basics." He took a sip of water and leaned forward slightly. "Six months ago, NCIS received an anonymous tip. The caller said your husband was trafficking in Ecstasy."

"I don't understand. My husband would never do something like that. He's a Navy pilot, for God's sake."

"Well, Ma'am, NCIS claims that your husband used his position as an aviator to escape detection by customs officials."

"Customs officials? They think he was crossing the border?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That's why they changed the jurisdiction. There are international ramifications."

Breanna looked stricken. 

"What . . ." She stopped to take a sip of water, then went on. "What's going to happen to him?"

"I can't answer that yet. I'm still assembling the facts of the case, and I haven't seen the prosecution's evidence yet."

"Worst case scenario?"

"The trafficking charge alone could get him a fifteen-year sentence, and there are other charges pending that could add to that."

"How can I help him?"

"To be honest, there's not a lot you can do. You're his wife, so the members will assume you're biased if I call you as a witness."

"There must be something I can do."

"Can you come out for the trial? Your presence in the courtroom might not help his case any, but I'm sure your husband would appreciate your support."

"Of course I'll be there. When will the trial start?"

"Opening remarks are scheduled for Thursday morning."

"Do you have any idea how long the trial will last?"

"It's hard to say. I'd guess anywhere from a couple of days to a week, depending on the number of witnesses involved."

He reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card.

"Call me anytime for an update. I'll do my best to keep you informed."

She tucked the card into her purse just as their food arrived, and the conversation turned social while they ate. Breanna had lived all over the world, courtesy of the military, and the two of them were able to find plenty to talk about during the remainder of their meal. Harm returned to his office an hour later with a full stomach and the firm belief that Lieutenant Mercer had won himself a better woman then he deserved.

He spent the remainder of the day interviewing members of the flight crew. By 1700 he had finished talking to half of the men, and had come up with little more than character references. Apparently, Lieutenant Mercer was demanding but fair, kept to himself, and performed his job well. Harm made notes next to the names of two crew members who might make useful character witnesses, and then closed the folder, sliding the file into his briefcase before locking it closed and standing to stretch. 


0105 Zulu (1705 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington


Mac hung up the phone and rolled her shoulders. The busy day had worn her out. She'd talked to crew members, met with Mercer's commanding officer, and lined up an engineer to act as an expert witness. Tomorrow she planned on getting a look at Mercer's plane and talking to the two crew members who had tested positive for Ecstasy. She hoped they would agree to a plea bargain in exchange for their testimony against Mercer. For today, though, she'd had enough. She was putting files in her briefcase when her door opened and Harm poked his head inside.

"Permission to come aboard?" he said with a grin.

She was hungry, exhausted, and tense, and still the man could make her smile. 

"Permission granted."

He closed the door and settled himself in the chair across from her, long legs jammed against the front of her desk in a way that must have been acutely uncomfortable. 

"You just about done for the night?"

"I think so. I thought I'd take these back to my room and go over them while I eat dinner. Why do you ask?"

"I wondered if you'd consider joining me on an adventure."

"Harm, your adventures are other people's nightmares." She smiled to take the sting out of the words. "But I'm feeling brave. What do you have in mind?"

He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat, then rushed forward, as though making up for lost time. 

"One of the flight technicians told me about this state park just down the road. Deception Pass. I thought it'd be nice to take a walk, work out some of the kinks. Care to join me?"

She glanced out the window at the darkening sky.

"Let me get this straight. You want to take a twilight hike in fifty degree weather?"

"You're a marine. You can handle it."

"Is food involved?"

He tilted his head to one side in that endearing way that nearly always won her over, and Mac sighed in mock exasperation, amused to see a spark light in his eye. She was melting and he knew it. 

"Would it make a difference?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"I saw an interesting place in town . . . The Laughing Seed Cafe. Would that work?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. 

"Only if we stop at Burger King afterwards."

He laughed.

"All right. I'll make you a deal. Come for a walk with me, and I'll let you pick the restaurant."

"Any restaurant I want?" Visions of thick steaks and fluffy baked potatoes floated through her head, pushing her salivary glands into overdrive.

Harm pondered that for a moment, then nodded.

"As long as they have a salad bar."

"You have a deal. Just let me finish packing this stuff up." 

Thus motivated, she finished quickly, and in a few moments they were back in the rental car and on their way to the park.


0212 Zulu (1812 Local)
Deception Pass State Park
Whidbey Island, Washington


Mac looked around her and took a deep breath, pulling the clean sharp smell of cedar deep into her lungs. The night was unseasonably warm for this time of the year, with the temperature hovering somewhere in the mid fifties, but it would be dark soon, and the temperature would drop quickly. The sun was already setting, and automatically she flipped on the flashlight she'd grabbed from her room before they set off, checking the battery strength. Satisfied, she turned it off again and tucked it into her jacket pocket, turning in time to catch Harm grinning at her again.

"What?" She felt unaccountably defensive.

"Satisfied?"

"I am now. You ready?"

"Lead on." He gestured toward a narrow well-worn footpath that led into the trees, and they set off at a brisk pace.

Five minutes later, Mac stepped off the path onto a rocky beach and caught her breath at the splendor before her. Fire and water. Earth and sky. Sunshine and darkness. These things were supposed to be opposites, like black and white, right and wrong. But somehow she had stumbled into a magical place where things that were supposed to be opposites no longer were -  a place where sharp edges blurred and blended in the hazy golden light of sunset reflected on water. Suddenly, she was glad she had allowed Harm to talk her into this. 

She knew when he came to a stop close behind her simply because she always knew where he was, and she fought the urge to lean into him, dragging her wayward thoughts away from a silent wish that he would wrap his arms around her and pull her back against him, adding their own blurred edges to the illusion. Instead, she stood silently, absolutely still, and watched until the final hint of pink faded from the sky, releasing her from the magic. He'd moved away from her by then, and was wandering down the beach, the beam of his flashlight arcing slowly from side to side as he walked. 

He stooped and picked something up. A rock, she guessed, and she wondered what he was thinking as he turned it over in his hand, tracing its edges with one long finger. As she moved toward him, he pulled his arm back and threw the rock far out into the water, following its path with the flashlight beam, then lingering to watch the ripples widen, spread, and finally disappear. 

"What are you doing?"

He glanced at her, his expression difficult to read in the deepening darkness.

"Exorcising demons," he said. 

She thought about that for a minute. 

"What demons?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he directed his flashlight back at the ground and started sweeping its beam back and forth again. Then he stooped, picked up another stone, and showed it to her. 

"This beach is full of rocks," he said. "I wasn't expecting rocks."

"I like them." She wasn't sure what rocks had to do with demons, but she was caught up in the mystery and the magic of the place; willing to let the conversation drift where it would on the soft breeze and the golden light.

"I like them too, but they remind me of us."

"A rock reminds you of us?" She was puzzled, and a little amused, and he glanced up at her with a tiny embarrassed grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I'll show you." He reached for her hand, quirking an eyebrow when she pulled back, and all at once it was her turn to be embarrassed. She'd pulled away, not out of fear, but out of an instinct for self-preservation, an awareness of just how deeply his touch affected her. She ducked her head self-consciously and placed her hand in his, grimly suppressing the tremble that shivered through her at the contact. 

Harm pressed the stone into her hand, its jagged edges sharp against her palm. Then he took her free hand in his, and together they traced the rough spots, their heads bent close in the deepening darkness. 

"Words, Mac." His voice was low. "Words and actions. The sharp ones hurt." 

He curled her fingers around it and bent down, this time choosing a rock that had been worn smooth by the tides. He put the second rock in her other hand, once again curling his fingers around hers. 

"Compare that one to this. This one is smooth and solid, still warm from the sun. It feels good, doesn't it?"

All she could do was nod. Her traitorous voice seemed to have deserted her at the appearance of this surprisingly metaphorical side to Harm. The deepening darkness made it nearly impossible to see his expression, but the feel of his hands on her own, gentle and strong, clearly communicated his sincerity. 

When she didn't answer, he went on, his hands still cupped protectively around hers. 

"When I hold this rock, I can't help but think of all of the things that are right between us. Things that I sometimes take for granted, but shouldn't."

Mac struggled to find her voice. His had dropped as he talked, taking on those warm tones that had her thinking of firelight and candles again. In contrast, she half expected hers to come out in a squeak, so she was pleasantly relieved when she sounded almost normal. 

"What things?"

"Your friendship, for one. There's nobody I'd rather have watching my six."

"Not even Sturgis?"

"I doubt even Sturgis would have followed me all the way to the taiga."

"I think you're wrong, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." 

In response, he took the jagged rock from her hand, looked at it for a moment, and then catapulted it into the sound, once again watching until the ripples faded away. 

"You said 'things'," she reminded him.

"Your strength," he said, already searching for another rock. 

"Anything else?" 

He swung the light toward her, lighting her face, but careful not to blind her with its beam.

"You're fishing," he said suspiciously.

"I am not!" she declared, but knew she'd been caught and decided to change tactics. She held out the jagged stone.

"What about these ones?" she asked. "What do they remind you of?"

"They remind me of times I screwed up. Times when I should have zigged instead of zagged."

"Like?"

"This particular rock," he said, touching its sharp edges with his free hand, "reminds me of that time in Norfolk when you showed up in Harriet's uniform and saved me from myself."

"I don't understand."

"I wasn't completely honest with you that night."

She caught her breath, her heartbeat suddenly unnaturally loud in her ears.

"What do you mean?" Her words were so soft; he had to bend close to hear them.

"You were right. I was kissing Diane that night." He took the rock from her then and hefted it in his own hand, testing its weight. He didn't look at her. "But I wasn't only kissing Diane."

"I'm sorry?" She was confused again, and he knew it. His eyes flicked toward her, their expression unreadable in the flashlight beam he still held between them. Then he turned back to the sea and brought his arm back in a pitch that would have made Nolan Ryan proud. He turned back to her. 

"Part of me was kissing her goodbye. Maybe even most of me. But there was also a part of me that was kissing you. I lied to you, Mac, by not telling you the whole truth that night."

Mac began to understand what he was trying to do, but she needed to test her theory. She leaned over and picked up a smooth rock, the edges pleasing to the touch.

"This rock, Harm? What does it make you think of?"

He took it from her and closed his hand around it, playing with it in his hand while he considered.

"This one makes me think of the day you spoke up for me in court even though we'd parted on such angry terms the night before. You are the reason I have Mattie now, and I can't begin to tell you what that means to me." He took it from her and set it carefully on the beach, then selected another rough one and held it up.

"Can I try?" she asked.

He handed her the rock, and it was her turn to trace the edges. Her turn to think about mistakes and consequences. 

"This is for making you feel like you had to choose between flying and my friendship. I'm sorry I used my fears to try to hold you back from your dreams."

With a quick twist of the wrist, she sent the stone into the night. Harm followed it with the flashlight beam, and together they watched until the ripples faded away.

For the next half hour, they took turns, their voices hushed, neither one rushing to fill the small silences with words. The night grew steadily darker as rock after rock sailed into Puget Sound, the splashes drifting back to their ears on the evening breeze. Once, Mac wondered at the fact that they had the beach to themselves, but she didn't question it, glad to have this chance to begin mending fences. She consciously chose rocks that seemed proportionate to her thoughts, and when Harm selected a particularly large one, one that required both hands and a fair amount of strength to heave into the ocean, she wondered what he would say about it.

"This one," he said, lifting it high in the air, "is for turning you away the night Brumby left." 

He heaved it into the water with a mighty splash, and Mac leaped back from it with a muted sound of surprise. A stone shifted beneath her, and she stumbled, but Harm's arm was around her waist in an instant, rescuing her from a painful fall.  She steadied herself against him and looked up, trying to read his expression. 

"You didn't have a choice, Harm. Renee needed you."

"You needed me, too." His hands had settled on her waist, just above her hipbones, and she decided she liked the feel of them there. 

"Renee was your girlfriend."

"You were  . . ." He stopped himself and shook his head, his hands dropping from her as he turned and began walking back down the beach, head bent. Mac watched him for a few minutes, and then caught up to him, stopping him with a gentle hand on his arm. 

"Why are we doing this?" she asked.

"Because . . ."

"Because why?"

"Because it's the only way I can think of to begin to make things right with you." 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm trying to simplify my life, Mac. I don't want it to be complicated anymore. I don't want us to be complicated." 

"Us?"

He stared at her for a minute, his gaze assessing her in the flashlight glow. She saw the moment he made a decision, and mentally prepared herself for whatever was coming.

"I'm going to ask you a question. And I need you to give me an honest answer. Will you do that for me?"

"I'll do my best."

"Before we left, when Webb came over . . ." He paused, as though not sure it would be a good idea to go on. "He thought you were in love with him." Another pause. An indrawn breath. "You said you weren't."

"I wasn't." The words came out on a whisper, her voice barely audible above the gentle sounds of the surf.

"You told him that when you said it, you were talking about somebody else."

"I was." She felt herself tense, but whether in fear or anticipation, she couldn't have said.

"Who was it?"

She started to back away, but he reached out, capturing her shoulder in a move meant to calm and reassure at the same time it kept her from moving away. They stood that way as the moon crested the rocky cliffs of Deception Pass, its pale glow flooding the beach in soft light. Mac stared out over the water. Dare she tell him the truth? Dare she open herself one more time to the pain that would come with his rejection? Twice she'd invited him into her heart. Twice, he'd turned her away. She didn't know if she'd be able to bear it if he rejected her again, and yet, would she be able live with herself if she didn't take the chance?

"Mac?" His voice, full of hope, fear, and determination, jarred her from her thoughts, and she dragged her eyes back to him, her heart slipping out of her mouth almost before she had a chance to realize it was gone. 

"You." 

Later, she would think of the single whispered word as a kind of metaphysical break, its sound marking the distinct end of one existence and the equally distinct beginning of another. At that precise moment, however, she wasn't thinking at all, because Harm had dragged her into his arms with a low groan that somehow made her toes curl at the same time it made her stretch like a cat, pushing up and against him in a move that caused his hold on her to tighten as his head dipped toward hers. 

The kiss they shared was sparks and sunshine, fireworks and moon glow. He held her close, his hands first smoothing and then roaming; his body firm and taut against hers. Partly convinced she would melt into a puddle at his feet, and partly convinced she would explode into flame, Mac wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life, one hand buried in the short hair at his nape, the other tightly gripping his shoulder. The kiss, wonderful, and magical, and life affirming, lasted until an owl hooted from the trees, calling to its mate in the deep darkness of night. Slowly, Harm pulled away from her, and Mac couldn’t help a small sound of protest at the loss. When he brought up one hand to gently trace the outline of her cheek, she leaned into him with a sigh and sensed the smile it brought to his lips. 

"Something funny?" she asked, her voice low and throaty despite her best efforts.

"No." She noticed with some satisfaction that his voice didn't sound much steadier than her own.

"Then what are you smiling about?"

"Us. This. Everything." He framed her face with his hands, then tilted it so that their heads were just inches apart, his breath fanning the hair at her temple. When he spoke, his voice was a prayer, a devotion, and a promise. 

"I love you, too."

The words she had never expected to hear from him arced through her body, coming to rest in her heart with an explosion of happiness that brought tears to her eyes, and she ducked her head, burrowing into his chest and hugging him fiercely. His arms wrapped around her in response, holding her against him as though trying to force both of their souls into one skin. 

They stood that way for a long time, neither wanting the moment to end, neither wanting reality to intrude on their moment of magic. But eventually the deepening darkness and dropping temperature forced Mac back to the present, and she leaned back in his arms, noting with pleasure his obvious reluctance to let her go.

"I just realized something."

"Hmmm?" God. That voice. A voice that sexy should be on the federal list of controlled substances. The things it did to her were positively indecent. 

"I'm starving." No matter how delightful his kiss had been it hadn't done a thing for her empty stomach, which chose that exact moment to rumble demandingly, causing both of them to laugh.

"Come on. Let's go eat. We'll pick this up later."

"Is that a promise?" Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

"Definitely." He hugged her to him quickly, then released her to bend down and pick up their flashlights. 

"Let's go eat."

Hand in hand, they moved away, the moonlit beach empty and silent behind them, their future, bright and new, ahead.


1730 Zulu (0930 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington


Mac stared up at the behemoth. The P-3C Orion was one of the Navy's less aesthetically pleasing birds, that was for sure. Bulky and lumbering, it reminded her of an ungainly prehistoric bird, seemingly outclassed by its sleekly graceful descendants. She knew though, that behind the seemingly awkward exterior lay a gold mine of sophisticated equipment that made it one of the Navy's most prized possessions. She walked around it, followed by a flight engineer who blessed her with an unending litany of the plane's attributes, most of which she'd never remember, much less need to know for the trial. She climbed the boarding ladder and entered the dim interior, vaguely amused when the close confines made her think of past submarine assignments. The engineer followed on her heels, his enthusiastic voice a youthful counterpoint to her thoughts.

"This girl's a hunter, Ma'am. She's the eyes and ears of the Navy. P-3's have served in Rwanda, Mogadishu, Somalia, and Desert Storm. This particular bird flies aerial reconnaissance over the Pacific Ocean from Hawaii through the Bering Strait and on up into the Arctic Ocean. She's a sub watcher. Hunts 'em down, keeps an eye on 'em, makes sure nobody's up to any mischief."

"Too bad she can't spot mischief inside her own hold," said Mac under her breath. "Master Chief, can you show me where NCIS located the alleged contraband?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Follow me."

As they walked through the plane, her tour guide continued to regale her with praise for the Orion, and Mac took mental notes of anything that might be useful for the trial. More than once she shook her head at the stupidity and arrogance of the man who jeopardized the safety of this highly sophisticated aircraft in order to mule drugs.

They reached the aft section of the plane, and the master chief bent down to pry open a loose panel, revealing a narrow opening the size of a paperback book. 

"This is it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"It's a pretty small space. Is this all NCIS found?"

"It's deeper then it looks, Ma'am, but as far as I know, yes, it's all they found."

"Hmm . . ." Her tone was noncommittal. She'd have to talk to Gibbs. Granted, the opening was big enough to hold several thousand dollars’ worth of the drug, but she'd had the impression Mercer had been ferrying more than that. 

"Thank you, Master Chief. That's all I need from you today. I may need you to come out for the trial, but I'll speak with your CO about the arrangements."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He excused himself and left her to finish her inspection. She spent a few minutes wandering through the empty plane, noting the complicated instruments and the sonar buoys ready to be deployed, then turned to go aft again, pausing at the sound of footsteps on the ladder. A moment later, a familiar dark head popped through the hatch, and she grinned. Something about planes always made him act like a little boy. Harm looked around and whistled, obviously impressed by the array of sophisticated instrumentation that met his eyes. Then his gaze settled on her, and the whistle died on his lips, replaced by a warm smile.

"Just the person I was looking for," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I had a question for you, but I seem to have forgotten what it was." He looked a little sheepish at that, and she laughed outright.

"Devil got your tongue, Harm?" 

"Something like that." He grinned at her and she decided a change of subject was in order.

"Have you finished your interviews?"

His expression turned serious as he remembered what it was he had to ask her.

"I need to see your witness list before I can answer that. Have you compiled it yet?"

"Not yet. I hope to get it finished this afternoon. Can you wait on it?"

"I guess, but the sooner I can get a peek at it the sooner I can finish up."

"I'll hurry. I know you need to get back before Mattie gets home."

"Thanks." His head disappeared, then reappeared, the devilish grin once more making an appearance.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" he asked.

"Not since last night." Mac couldn't help the smile in her voice. They'd parted reluctantly after dinner the night before, as though by some tacit agreement they'd decided not to rush the development of their newly acknowledged feelings, and she hadn't seen him this morning because she'd had an early appointment with the flight engineer.

"I do, you know." 

She fought the urge to reach out to him, settling for a smile instead. 

"I know."

He grinned and disappeared, and with a sigh, she turned back to her work. She walked back to the loose panel where Mercer had hidden the drugs and lay down on her stomach beside it, stretching her arm in and down to run her fingers along the inside corners and edges. She worked by touch alone, the dim interior light and awkward position making it impossible for her to see the place her fingers explored. The master chief had been right. The space he'd shown her had appeared small but now, as she stretched her hand to reach the bottom corners, she realized that it really was quite deep.

Something fluttered against her hand, and she twisted her arm, grasping it gently between two fingers so that she could pull it out. She sat back and looked at her find, puzzled as to why NCIS had missed it during the evidence collection process. The tiny scrap of paper looked like part of a fancy cocktail napkin, a portion of the logo still intact. It was red and gold, and the letters "GEN" were stenciled across it in raised white letters. The heavyweight paper reminded her vaguely of the napkins she'd had printed up for her aborted wedding to Mic. Unsure what it meant, or if it meant anything at all, she pocketed the scrap and stood up. She'd pass it on to Special Agent Gibbs and see if he and his crew could come up with any useful information from it.


2245 Zulu (1445 Local)
Whidbey Naval Air Station
Whidbey Island, Washington


Mac glared at the young petty officer who sat across from her at the conference table.

"Look. You can tell me what you know about Lieutenant Mercer and earn yourself a reduced sentence, or we can throw the book at you. Your choice."

"Ma'am, I swear. I don't know anything."

Mac rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the innocent act. 

"Where did you get the drugs?"

"From Lieutenant Mercer, Ma'am, but he didn't tell me what it was. Just said it'd help make the time pass during the long flight home from Copenhagen."

"And you didn't think to ask him what it was?"

"No, Ma'am. He was my commanding officer for the flight. It didn't occur to me to question him."

Mac sighed. Every once in a while she met a sailor who didn't seem to be able to think for himself. This looked like one of those times.

"Did you pay for the pill?"

"No, Ma'am. He just gave it to me. Said to let him know what I thought of it."

"Did you see him offer them to anybody else?"

"Just Ensign Fremont, Ma'am. And you already know about him."

"Yes, I do."

Fremont had been just as clueless as Petty Officer Long. It didn't look like either one would be much help to her case. 

"Well, Petty Officer, this is a first offense, and it doesn't sound like you really knew what you were getting into, so you might hope for a light sentence. I'm not handling your case directly, but I'll speak with the JAG assigned and let her know that you were cooperative."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

The young man, obviously frightened and worried for his future, couldn't do enough to thank Mac, and she sighed with relief when he was escorted out of the room. She felt for the young Petty Officer, aware that he'd fallen into this mess mostly through his own gullibility, and she was relieved that his involvement wasn't any deeper than it was. As far as she could tell right now, Mercer hadn't involved any of his crewmates in his drug trafficking scheme, choosing instead to go it alone, probably to avoid having to share the profits. 

Thinking about profits reminded Mac that she hadn't seen Mercer's bank records, and she made a mental note to request those from NCIS first thing Monday morning. It was a safe bet that they'd rounded up every conceivable scrap of financial information and would be able to tell her more about the lieutenant's banking habits than she'd ever learn by staring at copies his bank statements. 

She spent the next two hours making lists of the things she still needed to do before she'd be ready for trial, and transcribing her conversation with Petty Officer Long. When she finally finished, she was pleased with her efforts, and even better, aware that she'd finished the work she needed to do here in Washington. She was ready to go home. 

Since today was only Friday and their flight out wasn't scheduled until tomorrow afternoon, she found herself hoping that Harm was nearly finished with his investigation, too. She'd never visited this part of the country before, and a little down time before leaping into the trial would be a welcome relief. She returned her notes to her briefcase and stood, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs and rolling the tension out of her shoulders. 

An hour later she sat on her bed, files spread out around her, notebook in her lap, and a cold drink by her side. She wrote quickly, mentally organizing and reorganizing data as she went, working out the best order of presentation for her case. She knew she still had some gaps, but her case was coming together, and she felt fairly confident that with another few days of prep time she'd be ready. She looked up from her notes at the knock on her door, then set aside her pad and went to open it, not surprised to find her partner standing on the other side.

"Hey. May I come in?"

"Sure. Just give me a sec to clean up these files."

She closed the door part way, knowing that he'd understand her ethical obligations, and  put away her files, tucking them neatly back into her case. When she opened it again, the movement chased a faraway look from his eyes, and she wondered what he'd been thinking.

"How's your case coming along?" he asked, when she shut the door behind him.

"Great. I've pretty much finished all I can do out here. I'm looking forward to a day off before we head back."

"Me, too. Thanks for getting that witness list to me earlier. It was a big help."

"No problem."

"Listen, I had an idea. Are you interested?"

"Depends on what it is." She gave him a wary look. 

"I thought we could head in to the city tonight. Maybe grab some dinner somewhere? That way we don't have to get up quite so early in the morning."

"Harm, our flight isn't until 1430. We wouldn't have to get up early even if we stayed here."

He shrugged. "I've never visited Seattle. It'd be nice to see the sights." 

Mac rolled her eyes at him. It drove her crazy when he used that tone of voice on her. He knew she couldn't resist it; probably also knew it was twice as effective in light of last night's confessions. 

"Okay. Just give me a minute to pack up."

Her acquiescence drew a wide smile from Harm.

"I'll meet you at the car in five."

"'Kay."

He was gone before she could ask what he had in mind for dinner, but she shrugged and began folding her things into her duffle bag. She'd find out soon enough.

They were on their way in record time, and Mac relaxed back into her seat, cocooned in an exciting, yet oddly peaceful feeling now that she was alone with him again. The next eighteen hours belonged to them, and she planned to enjoy every minute of it.

She looked over at him, his features dearer to her and somehow more familiar than her own. An extraordinary magic or a higher power had stepped in on their behalf last night, and something she'd never thought possible had somehow come to pass. She wasn't sure where destiny would lead them from here, but she was pretty certain the ride would be an interesting one.

"What?"

He'd caught her staring, and she turned her gaze quickly to the window.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh . . .Why don't I believe you?"

"I was just thinking about how much has happened this week."

He reached for her hand, folding it into his larger one with a new confidence. Gone was the tentative touch of their trip to Norfolk. The way he held her now had a sense of possession to it, of ownership. She decided she liked the feeling, and squeezed his hand gently in reply. 

"Did you ever think we'd get to this point?" he asked.

"No, actually. I didn't. I was fairly convinced there'd been too many wrong turns along the way."

"Where do you think we made our first mistake?" 

"Are you sure you want to go down that road?" She wasn't certain this was a good idea. Their relationship still felt so new, like a newly hatched butterfly with untried wings. 

"Mac, I want to put the ghosts to rest. We made a start last night, but there are still some shadows to chase. Do you mind?"

She thought about that for a while, but ultimately decided that if she was going to have to jump off a cliff before they could fly, she'd rather do it now and get it over with. 

"Our first mistake?"

"Yeah."

"I think that one was mine."

"What was it?" He glanced at her curiously before turning his eyes back to the road. 

"I think it was when you went back to flying."

"Really?" 

"Yeah. I couldn't believe you would make a decision like that without including me."

"I'm sorry for that, Mac. I guess I was afraid you'd try to talk me out of it, and I didn't think I could bear to see the look of disappointment on your face when you realized how determined I was."

"You were determined, all right. Are you glad you did it?"

"Went back on flight status, you mean?"

"Yeah."

He considered that while he paid the toll for the ferry and drove into line behind the few other cars that were waiting for the next transport to the mainland.

"Yes. I am glad. I needed it to end on my terms. I needed to put Mace's ghost to rest."

"I can understand that."

Comfortable silence settled over them for a few minutes while Harm drove onto the ferry and they settled in for the short trip across the sound. By tacit consent, they didn't leave the car, choosing instead to remain in the bubble of privacy that seemed so comfortable just then. 

"I think the next mistake was mine," he finally said quietly.

"Which mistake was that?"

"Sydney."

Images washed over Mac. Memories of that long ago trip that had spiraled them both into new trajectories, though for vastly different reasons.

"I think we both made mistakes there, Harm." Her voice, soft and sad, drifted through the empty space between them, landing on his ears like raindrops.

"What happened, Mac?"

"I'm still not sure."

"That night on the ferry, when I said 'not yet.’  What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you meant you weren't ready to let go of Diane. I thought . . ." She turned away, but he reached across and caught her chin, turning her back to him.

"Mac. I need to know. I need to understand what happened."

"I was hurt, Harm. I felt rejected. It'd been more than three years since Diane died and you still couldn't let her go. I guess I decided I couldn't fight a ghost anymore."

"So that's why you went to Mic?"

"Part of it. I didn't want to spend my life alone. I was so sick of being alone, and when you turned me away . . . I don't know. I guess I gave up on us." 

"I'm sorry, Mac. I never meant to hurt you."

She turned her body, angling toward him to get a better look at his face.

"I've never asked you this before, but what did you mean?" 

"By not yet?"

"Yeah."

It was his turn to think about choices and consequences, and Mac gave him time, knowing it wasn't always easy to find the right words and then arrange them in a manner that would make some kind of coherent sense.

"I didn't mean it the way you took it, I can tell you that."

"So I gather."

His faint grin was sardonic, but he quickly turned serious again.

"Mac, even then I knew that there was the potential for something special between us, something few people are lucky enough to find. My 'not yet' didn't actually have anything at all to do with Diane. You'd banished her a long time before that trip."

"Then what was it?"

"I just . . . didn't want ambiance to be the reason we started something serious. I didn't want an ephemeral affair in the golden sun down under. I wanted more than that. I still do." 

"Wow." It wasn't much, but it was the best she could manage just then. Harm seemed to understand, though, because his hold on her hand tightened again, and he reached across to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. I think it was a perfect example of total communication meltdown."

"What a mess we both made. I ended up with Mic. You found Renee . . ."

"And neither person was right for us."

"No. They weren’t. They would have been great for each other, though."

Harm laughed.

"You noticed that, too?"

"Yeah. Kind of an odd thing to notice, isn't it? I mean there I was, engaged to Mic, and I couldn't stop thinking what a perfect match he'd be for Renee."

They shared a grin before Harm turned serious again.

"That brings us to the next mistake."

"Which was?"

"The night Brumby left."

"We talked about that last night, remember?"

"I know, I just thought we should include it as one of our bends in the road."

"Well, it was that." 

Harm started the car back up as the ferry bumped into the dock, and they waited their turn in companionable silence. Soon they were back on the highway, speeding toward Seattle in surprisingly light traffic, and Mac decided it was time to pick up the thread of their conversation.

"I think the next one was mine."

A gently raised eyebrow was his only response, so Mac took a deep breath and plunged in.

"The Guadalcanal."

"Mac, I think that was another time when we both screwed up."

"Maybe, but I think I did the most damage. I couldn't sit still long enough to hear what you had to say. I was just so . . . mixed up. I only knew that there was no way I was going to fight Renee for you."

"I wish you had stayed around to listen to my answer."

"Your answer?"

"You asked me if I'd be willing to give up Renee for you."

"I remember. You hemmed and hawed and I finally got fed up and left."

"Just in time to miss my reply."

"What did you say?"

He glanced over at her, catching her eye for an instant before directing his attention back to the road. His answer, delivered in a low voice, made her wish she could turn back the clock.

"I said I would. I would have given her up."

Mac caught her breath. A split second decision, made in a moment of absolute frustration and pain, had cost her years. She shook her head at her folly. Sometimes she hated that penchant she seemed to have acquired for always seeing the worst in him. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice simultaneously sad and sincere. "I didn't know." 

"I realize that. It's ok, Mac. It's behind us now."

"Is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Harm. How many times have we done this? How many times have we screwed things up? What makes us so sure we can get it right this time?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he checked his mirrors and then pulled off the highway, coming to a stop on the shoulder. He put the car in park and turned to her, his expression serious.

"This time is different, Mac."

"How? How is it different? It's still you. It's still me. We're both just as hard-headed now as we ever were."

Her voice rose slightly despite herself. The thought of losing him tore at her, causing a faint tinge of fear to edge her words. Harm, however, seemed totally unaffected. He merely reached for her hands and waited for her to run out of steam. 

"It's different because this time we know we love each other." 

That stopped her tirade mid-thought. He was right. Before, they'd each been living their lives as individuals. Now, they were two parts of a couple, and somehow that simple fact changed things immeasurably. She took a deep breath and offered him a smile.

"You've got a point there."

His lips twitched.

"You think?" he asked. 

"Don't go getting cocky. It's just one point."

"Hey. One point is still one point. I'll take it."

"Good. Now. Think you can get this thing moving again?"

"I suppose, but you'll have to pay the toll." His smile was wider now, almost wolfish.

"Toll?" 

He leaned towards her, his intentions clear, and Mac felt her heart skip a beat even as her mouth curved into a smile. She met him halfway, accepting the gentle caress and returning it with one of her own. Then he sat back, shifted the car into gear, and began to whistle "Anchors Aweigh" as he merged back into the traffic. Mac relaxed into her seat for the rest of the drive, content to let the remaining miles pass in shared silence. 


0310 Zulu (1910 Local)
The Edgewater Hotel
Seattle, Washington


When Harm pulled up in front of the hotel, Mac couldn't suppress a gasp of awe. The Edgewater was beautiful, located right on the waterfront, and obviously very high class.

"Harm? Are you sure about this?"

He smiled gently at her, his eyes warm.

"I'm sure."

The valet opened her door, and she stepped out onto the walk, waiting patiently while Harm handed over the keys, collected their duffle bags, and came to her side.

"You ready?"

"You knew I'd cave, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" He had that innocent kid look about him again, and Mac folded her arms and spread her feet shoulder width apart, refusing to take another step until she got some answers.

"You had to have made a reservation, or we wouldn’t be here."

"What can I say?" He shrugged his shoulders and offered a crooked grin. "I'm an optimist?"

"Harm, this place must cost a fortune!"

"I happen to think you're worth it." His voice, low and rough, sent a tremor up her spine. He grinned suddenly, and tapped her lightly on the nose. "Don't worry, though. Your virtue is safe. At least, it is as long as you want it to be." His predatory grin made her laugh.

He gestured toward the door, drawing her attention to the uniformed attendant who patiently held it open for them, and with a roll of her eyes and a shake of the head, she gave in. One thing she'd learned in her years of knowing Harm. Some battles just weren't worth fighting. 

They approached the registration desk side by side, Harm still carrying both duffle bags, despite a halfhearted attempt on Mac's part to get hers back. 

"May I help you, Sir?"

The clerk's voice distracted Mac from the bay view, and she turned her attention to the pretty girl on the other side of the counter who was all but swooning over Harm. Feeling suddenly proprietary, she linked her arm through his, and earned herself a raised eyebrow and a grin in response. 

"Harmon Rabb Junior. I have a reservation."

The clerk took her dewy eyes off of him long enough to type a few words into her computer. 

"Here it is. Two rooms, right?"

"One," said Mac, firmly. "We don't really need two rooms, do we, dear?" She batted her eyelashes at Harm, and had the perverse pleasure of watching him swallow painfully before he answered.

"Are you sure, Mac?"

She dropped the pretense, her voice soft and serious. 

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." She gave his words back to him, and knew that he recognized her comment for what it was, a commitment, a promise, a gift of her faith and trust. Her eyes locked on his, and everything else faded away, replaced for those few seconds by the absolute certainty that they were the only two people on the planet. 

"Sir?"

Harm started slightly at the clerk's voice, and Mac allowed herself a small satisfied smile as he turned back to the star struck girl. 

"Yes?"

"If you'll just sign here, please? And I'll need your credit card."

"Oh. Right." He reached into his pocket and handed over the small piece of plastic, then scribbled his name and accepted the pass card the clerk handed to him.

"You're in room 447. Take the elevator to the fourth floor. Turn right. Your room is the third one on the left."

"Bay view?"

"As you requested, Sir." The clerk's smile was bright, if a little whimsical, and Mac couldn't help the joy that whispered through her at the knowledge that Harm belonged to her. She felt the clerk's green eyes follow them all the way to the elevator, felt Harm's proprietary touch on her lower back as they moved, and knew a happiness that she gathered in close to her heart. 

Their room was beautiful, decorated in a subtle nautical theme that Mac knew Harm would appreciate. She moved across to the window and pulled the curtains open, stunned at the vista that opened up before her. The hotel was positioned so that from where she stood, it looked for all the world like they were floating on water, and for a few moments, she simply stood and watched the boats, big and small, as they wandered across the bay. The sun was setting in another spectacular display that reminded her of the prior night's visit to Deception Pass and she couldn't help thinking that this time of day would always make her think of Harm. 

He came to stand behind her then, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back against the firmness of his lean body while he dropped his head to nuzzle her neck. She looked down at his strong forearms where they rested just below her breasts, and caught her breath at the intimate contact that was both just right and somehow not enough. His low voice at her ear, accompanied by the tiniest nibble of her earlobe, convinced her that until this moment she'd never really been touched by a man. 

"Are you okay with this, Mac?"

"It was my idea, as I recall." She tilted her head, giving him better access, fully aware that the huskiness of her voice communicated more effectively then the words themselves ever could. 

"Yes, but you were just marking your territory. I won't hold you to it." He nuzzled a particularly sensitive spot just behind her ear, and she shivered, causing his arms to tighten around her in response.

She twisted around to look up at him, only mildly abashed.

"You saw that, huh?" 

"You weren't exactly subtle, Mac." His lips quirked with masculine humor, and she suspected she'd inadvertently given his pride a boost it didn't really need. 

"Neither was she."

"To be honest, I didn't notice." He dropped a feather light kiss at her temple, and one of his hands started to wander lazily up her back, tracing the contour of her spine.

She didn't believe him, and her expression must have given that away because he chuckled low in his throat.

"There's only one woman I notice, Mac. It's been that way for a long time." 

"Oh really?" Her voice had dropped, deepening to something just shy of sultry, and she reached up to trace the v-neck of his shirt, careful to avoid skin to skin contact, certain she would go up in flames if, no . . . when, she crossed the line, because she had every intention of crossing that line with him tonight, of finally giving in to the desire that had plagued her for years.

"Really." He anchored her to him with one arm and buried his other hand in the silky strands of her hair, then dropped his head to taste the spot where her shoulder met her neck. In response, she tugged at the back of his shirt, freeing it so that she could reach bare skin, then moaned in pleasure at the delightful feel of his muscled torso beneath her palm. A surge of feminine satisfaction curled through her when he shuddered and drew in a ragged breath. 

"Mac." His voice, low and husky, rumbled delightfully in her ear. 

"Hmmm?"

"If we don't stop this, I can't guarantee you'll get dinner."

"That'd be bad, wouldn't it." 

"Probably."

"Hmm . . ." she said again, though she wasn't feeling particularly concerned at the moment. 

Harm brought his hand around to cradle her cheek, then tilted her face so that he could see her eyes. 

"Mac . . ."

"Has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?" she asked, though her voice sounded uneven to her own ears. "Wouldn't you rather kiss me?"

"Is that an invitation?" The corners of his mouth twitched up.

"No. It's an order."

"Pulling rank, Colonel?" Humor and passion warred for dominance in his voice, and she dragged her eyes up from his lips, only to lose herself in the intensity of his gaze. There was something there that she'd never seen directed at her before, and it had the interesting and altogether delightful effect of turning her insides to jello. Then his head dipped toward her in an agonizingly slow movement that made her forget to breathe, and she froze in his arms, all of her attention focused on his face as it moved closer to her own. Unable to help herself, she stretched toward him, but he only smiled and feathered light kisses across her forehead and down her cheek. 

Two could play at that game. Mac smoothed her hand up his side and across his chest, delighting in the solid feel of him, awed and amazed that she was finally free to give in to an urge that had often plagued her imagination. She lingered there for a moment, tracing patterns with her fingernails until she coaxed a low groan from him. Then she slid her hand back down, snaked it under his shirt, and walked her fingers up his rib cage. 

"Mac . . ." The word rumbled through his chest beneath her hand, then exited his throat on a whisper of air that stirred the hair above her ear and sent a shiver down her spine. Reflexively, she wrapped her arms around him again, pulling herself closer as she dropped her head back. His arm came around her shoulders then, pillowing her head as his mouth crashed down on hers, all pretense of patience and subtlety abandoned in the sudden rush of fire that swept over them both, consuming them in a blaze that narrowed their world to one of sensation; of touch, and taste, and smell, and whispered words of love that only served to fan the flame to greater heights. 

Later, Mac would have been hard pressed to tell the details of that first time together. Eight years of wanting had coalesced into an experience so intense as to be almost unbearable, her existence so closely bonded to his that for the first time she knew what poets and song writers meant by the phrase 'perfect love'. To be fair, there were moments of awkwardness, moments when passion overcame finesse, and one or the other of them had to make a subtle course correction, but rather than distracting from the experience, those occasions only made it more perfect, more real. When at last the final release swept through them, it took with it all the pain and misunderstandings that plagued their past, leaving in its wake a peace and happiness that surpassed anything either had ever felt before.

As Mac slowly returned to reality, she found herself held close in Harm's arms, one leg curled between his, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She played idly with the damp, silky strands of hair on his chest while she waited for inspiration to strike. She knew she should say something, felt the silence between them stretch until it was almost palpable, but words failed her. What they had just shared had been beyond anything she had ever experienced, beyond any adjective she could pull out of her still muddled brain. 

Harm was the first to speak, though she noticed in a self-satisfied way that his mouth worked silently a few times before he was finally able to activate his voice box.

"That was . . . incredible." 

She propped herself on an elbow and traced the outline of his lips with her finger, surprised when his gentle nip sent a jolt through the body she'd thought couldn't possibly desire any more attention. 

"I kind of enjoyed it myself. Want to try again?"

Her grin was impish, but she swallowed it in a hurry when Harm flipped her on her back and loomed over her, his own expression one of pure lust.

"Ready when you are, Marine."

"You have got to be joking."

He grinned and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose before collapsing onto the bed beside her and pulling her securely back into his arms. 

"You'd better believe it," he said, after he'd arranged her to his satisfaction. "I think I need to start working out more. You set a deadly pace, woman."

"Speak for yourself, Flyboy." 

He chuckled, and the sound tickled her cheek where it lay against his chest, drawing an answering smile in reply. 

They were quiet for a while then, both savoring the utter relaxation that comes of being well and truly loved. 

"Damn!"

The abrupt expletive caused Mac to prop herself on her elbow again, a curious look on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"Mac, I'm sorry. I screwed up."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, he reached for his wallet, still tucked into the pocket of the jeans that had been discarded somewhat haphazardly beside the bed. When he pulled out a familiar foil packet with a sheepish expression on his face, Mac couldn't help herself, and burst into delighted laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"I didn't even think about protection. If you'll recall, we were a little . . . eager."

His grin turned smug. 

"We were, weren't we." Then the smile disappeared and his expression became serious again. "Mac, I'm truly sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Harm. I'm on the pill. Have been for years." Then a thought occurred to her and she raised an eyebrow at him, biting back a grin. "You don't have any strange diseases, do you?"

His answer came in the form of a thrown pillow, and the fight was on. Harm was bigger, but Mac was fast and sly, ducking under and around his defenses at every opportunity. Twice the bedside lamp almost hit the floor, both times rescued by quick thinking and a willingness to take a sucker shot. The third time, they weren't so lucky. The lamp crashed to the floor and shattered, bringing an instant end to the impromptu battle as they knelt, shoulder to shoulder, on the edge of the mattress to survey the damage. Mac turned her head to look at Harm, a mischievous expression on her face.

"Now see what you did?"

"Me! You were the one that knocked it off the table . . ."

"You started it." At her smug reply and teasing grin he wrapped an arm around her and tumbled both of them back to the bed, pinning her body beneath his own in a move that brought them nose to nose, both still breathing hard from their pillow fight. And all at once, Mac's heart began to race for reasons that had nothing at all to do with pillow fights and everything in the world to do with the man who held her in his arms. 

She gave in to temptation and pulled him in for a kiss, her lips moving softly against his while her hands buried themselves in his hair. Their loving was gentle this time; slow, and languid, and full of new discoveries and sighs of delight. When at last it was over, and she lay once more in his arms, Mac knew that nothing would ever induce her to let this man get away from her again. She had never in her entire life felt this treasured, this accepted, or this adored. She drifted into pleasant dreams, secure in the knowledge that she was truly and absolutely loved.

Several hours later, a cramp in Harm's arm roused him from a deep sleep. He smiled as he realized the reason for the cramp. Mac had turned in her sleep, spooning herself into him and wrapping his arm around her, snuggling it between her breasts the way a small child cuddles a favorite stuffed toy. They had neglected to close the curtains earlier, and now the light of a nearly full moon flooded into the room, suffusing her features with a pale glow that seemed almost fairy-like to him. 

He eased his arm from beneath her, stifling a groan at the inevitable tingling that signaled a return of circulation. He knew it would be a while before the needle prickles would allow him to rest again, so he contented himself with watching her sleep, convinced that the fall of her lashes against her cheek was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her skin, so unbelievably soft, called to him, her siren's song completely irresistible, even in slumber. Ever so gently, he reached to tuck a strand of hair behind one delicate ear, then rested his hand on her shoulder, amazed all over again at the paradox that was Mac. She was stronger than almost anybody he'd ever met, and also as delicate as fine lace. 

She stretched in his arms and rolled toward him, her eyes blinking open in a manner that reminded him of a cat waking up from an afternoon nap in the sunshine. 

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." He smiled at her, then traced his finger down the center of her face from forehead to chin, pleased when she caught his hand and brought it to her lips for a kiss.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I could call room service."

"That sounds heavenly." She stretched again, and Harm fought his body's instant response. "I think I'll take a bath while we wait." With a total lack of self-consciousness, she slipped from the bed, picked up her duffle bag, and padded to the bathroom, her every action seemingly calculated to drive him wild. The tactic, deliberate as it was, was also highly effective, and Harm stifled a groan as he flopped back to his pillow, only to sit bolt upright again at her sudden burst of delighted laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Come see!" she called, merriment adding sparkle to her voice. When he arrived at the bathroom door, she was bent over the tub, adjusting the water temperature and adding something to the running water that was sending fragrant steam wafting into the air. He caught his breath at the sight, and it hit him that working with her was about to get a lot more complicated. He'd have to master levels of control that he never could have conceived of before. She turned then, caught the longing expression on his face, lobbed it back to him with a wink, and held up her discovery. His budding passion disappeared, replaced by laughter. 

"Where'd that come from?"

"It was here, on the edge of the tub!"

"You're joking."

"Nope."

She squeezed the small yellow duck. It squeaked obligingly, and they laughed at it.

"Do you suppose the admiral's figured out who put them in the water cooler?" he asked, still chuckling. 

"No idea. Do you know who it was?"

"Nope. We were together all morning that day, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember." A shadow flickered across her face so quickly he almost thought he'd imagined it. Then she turned and stepped into the steaming bathwater, sliding into it with a contented sigh that was almost a purr. 

"Enjoy your bath. I'll go see what I can scrounge up for us to eat."

He turned and left, humming softly under his breath. From behind him, Mac's voice chimed in. 

"Rubber ducky, you're the one. You make bath time, lots of fun."

She continued to sing softly and he grinned while he hunted down the room service menu and placed their order. She segued to a lilting melody he didn't recognize and was still humming happily when room service arrived. 

They ate by the window, their only light the moon and a single snow white candle. They'd worked up healthy appetites, and their conversation consisted mainly of appreciative comments about the food and offers to share this bite or that of some particularly delightful dish. When they'd finished, Harm took a shower and they brushed their teeth standing side by side at the sink, exactly like an old married couple, and the idea made them smile at each other in the mirror. Then he took her hand and led her back to bed, tucking her in beside him and pulling the covers up to her chin before he settled into his own pillow, contented in ways he'd never imagined it was possible to be. 

The morning dawned gray and misty, as many Seattle mornings do, and Harm awoke slowly, pleasure winging through him when the first thing that greeted him was a pair of chocolate colored eyes and a warm feminine body snuggled close to his side. He had no idea how long she'd been watching him, but he knew she was a light sleeper and, that strangest of creatures, a morning person, so he suspected that she'd been awake for quite a while. He pulled her in for a soft kiss, unsurprised when even that light contact caused his heart to skip a beat and his body to spring to readiness. It occurred to him that if Mac ever became aware of her power over him she'd take shameless advantage of the fact, but somehow he didn't care. 

"Good morning." His voice, rough with sleep, made her smile.

"Morning." 

"What time is it?" 

"It's early yet. 0617."

"Good." He couldn't resist. He had to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingers again. He reached for her, running his hand down her arm, delighted at the slight shiver that rippled just beneath the surface of her skin.

She had to swallow before she could speak again. "Why?" 

"Because it means we still have some time before we have to catch our flight."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief when she answered. "You're right. We could visit a museum, take a walk . . . Hey! I know! We can visit the Experience Music Project! I've heard it's pretty impressive."

"We could . . . but I have a better idea." He was not to be deterred. His hand skimmed across the smoothness of her stomach, and he smiled when he heard her soft intake of breath and saw her chest rise convulsively. 

"You do?" Her voice was a mere whisper now as her hands began an expedition of their own. 

"Yeah." He inhaled sharply as her clever fingers discovered a particularly sensitive part of his anatomy. 

Her smile was smug, knowing. "Tell me."

"I'd rather show you."

She lay back on the pillows, stretched luxuriously, and smiled at him. 

"So show me . . ."

They ended up nearly missing their flight again, but this time when they collapsed into their seats, they shared a smile full of warmth and humor. 

Once they were airborne, Mac released her seatbelt and angled her body toward Harm's.

"You know, there's something we have to talk about."

"What's that?"

"Mattie? The Admiral? Our friends at JAG?"

"Oh."

"What do you want to do?"

He leered at her and she smacked his shoulder.

"You're insatiable, you know that?"

"Only with you, Mac."

She smiled and squeezed his hand, but she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily.

"We need to figure this out, Harm."

"I'm not sure I want to tell people about us just yet."

"That could make it harder for us to spend time together."

"I can be incredibly creative when motivated."

"So I've seen." It was her turn to leer, and Harm had a hard time not kissing the look right off her face.

"We'll have to tell the admiral, though," he said, not looking forward to it.

"You're right. I wouldn't want to give Mercer grounds for an appeal."

His look was challenging.

"You seem pretty sure you'll get a conviction," he said.

"I am." Her smile was equally challenging. 

"So what should we tell the admiral?"

"The truth, I guess."

"You want to tell the admiral we spent the last twelve hours making passionate love in a waterfront hotel?" 

She smacked him on the shoulder again, but he just grinned unrepentantly.

"Of course not. I just think we should tell him we're . . ." She trailed off, unsure what label to put on their new relationship.

"Now there's a good point. What are we exactly?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Dating?"

He mulled that over, nodded, and squeezed her hand.

"That'll do . . . for now."

"For now?"

"My plans are rather . . . longer range then dating might imply, but it'll work for the time being."

His eyes were serious as he twined his fingers with hers, but he didn't take the conversation any further. Instead he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, suddenly aware that he and Mac had done very little actual sleeping the night before. Within minutes, he was asleep. 


1330 Zulu (0830 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


A.J. leaned back in his chair, observing the two attorneys who stood stiffly at attention before him, and wondering why they looked like a pair of nervous school children who'd been caught running with scissors. He decided to wait them out; see which one of them ‘fessed up first. 

The silence stretched. Apparently, neither of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news.

"Well?" he finally asked. "What is it? Is there a problem with the Mercer case?"

"No, Sir," said Harm.

"Yes, Sir," said Mac at the same time. 

They exchanged guilty grins, and A.J. was immediately suspicious. It wasn't unusual for these two to disagree. It was unusual for them to smile about it. Usually when they disagreed, neither one of them was willing to give an inch to the other. Something was definitely up.

"Well? Which is it? Yes or no?" he barked, hoping to startle the truth out of them.

"Maybe, Sir?" It was Harm who finally decided to take the plunge.

"Maybe? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means there's a potential problem, Sir."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. What is it?"

Harm glanced at Mac again, but she merely shrugged helplessly. He rolled his eyes. It didn't look like she was going to be any help at all. 

"Sir, while we were in Washington there were some . . . developments."

A.J.'s eyebrows flew up and he leaned forward.

"What kind of developments?"

"It's personal, Sir."

"If it's personal, what the hell's it got to do with the Mercer case?"

Mac stepped forward then, earning a grateful look from Harm.

"It affects the case because it's between us, Admiral."

A.J.'s chin jerked up then, dawning understanding clearing the puzzlement from his face. He stared at the two of them, focusing first on Harm, who stood straight and tall, evidently ready to take whatever punishment was about to land on his head, and then at Mac, who appeared just the tiniest bit nervous, but whose back was also ramrod straight, her chin high. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and laced his hands across his chest, fighting back a triumphant grin, determined to be properly military about it all. He couldn't resist one under the breath comment though, a comment that both officers had to strain to hear.

"Well, it's about damn time," he said. Then louder, "You're wondering if you should recuse yourselves from the case?"

"The thought did occur to us. Yes, Sir."

"Can you keep this thing out of the office?"

"Absolutely, Sir." Their voices, in chorus, had him fighting another grin. 

"When's the trial?"

"It's scheduled to start on Thursday morning, Sir."

"And most of the ground work is already done?"

"Mine is, Sir," said Mac. "I just need to go over the forensic evidence."

"Same here, Sir. I'm only waiting on some discovery documents and then I should be good to go."

A.J. considered for a moment. These two were his best attorneys, and the trial, which didn't seem complicated, was just days away.

"You two are professionals. I'll trust you to keep your relationship from infringing on your duties, but if I hear so much as a hint of impropriety I'll have you both off the case and out of JAG faster then you can say surface warfare. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now get to work."

He turned back to the file that lay open on his desk.

"Sir?" Mac said, interrupting his train of thought. 

He brought his head up, feigning irritation.

"Yes?"

"We're . . .not ready to publicize this yet. Would you mind terribly . . .?"

"Consider it done, Colonel. Nobody will hear about it from me."

Her sigh of relief almost made him smile again, and he ducked his head abruptly, waving them out of the room. Only after he heard the door close, the latch clicking softly into place, did he allow himself the freedom of a wide grin. He'd all but decided those two would never get their act together. Now that they had, he suspected that life at JAG was about to get very interesting indeed.

Mac followed Harm to his office.

"I need to make a trip in to D.C.," she said. "There's something I need to drop off with Agent Gibbs."

"New evidence?"

"Maybe. Something I found on that P-3 at Whidbey. I'll let you know if anything comes of it." 

"I know you will. Dinner tonight?" 

"Depends on what I hear from Gibbs."

"O.K., then. I'll see you when you get back."

"See you."

She sighed. Now that she'd become acquainted with the feel of his lips on hers, working with him had become a new kind of agony, one that she wouldn't trade for the world, but which nevertheless might just force her into a straightjacket before all was said and done.

He grinned, evidently very aware of her frustration.

"You ok?"

"I will be."

"I intend to make sure of that, Ninja Girl." The nickname, one she hadn't heard in years, combined with the suggestive way he used it, brought a flush to her cheeks, and she backed hastily out of his office, afraid that if she didn't escape – and quickly - they'd both end up facing conduct unbecoming charges. The warm sound of his laughter followed her all the way to her car and she was still smiling as she buckled her seatbelt and pulled down the sun visor. 

It was  . . . snowing? Impossible, on a gorgeous spring day, but nonetheless, there it was. Tiny white flakes floated through the air, coming to rest in her lap, in her hair, and on the steering wheel and dashboard. When her initial surprise passed, the absurdity of her first assumption struck her, and she captured one of the tiny white slivers in her hand. It only took a second to recognize it as a discarded circle of paper from a hole punch. She shook her head like a dog coming out of water, and more of the little circles landed in her lap and on the floorboards of the car. Somebody had had some fun at her expense. She chuckled. First Harm and the elevator, then the little yellow ducks, and now this. She didn't know who had planned this particular stunt, but as she pulled out of her parking space and swung into traffic, she was already plotting her revenge. 

A little while later, she pulled into the NCIS lot, checked herself over one final time, alert to the presence of any renegade "snowflakes," and stepped out of the car. Within minutes, she was escorted into the presence of Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. Mac didn't like Gibbs, hadn't liked him since he'd gone so single-mindedly after Harm when Singer was killed. She'd decided that he was the type of person who would do anything, step on anybody, in order to solve a case, so she didn't trust him and was wary of having any dealings with him that weren't absolutely necessary. 

Gibbs was friendly enough when he greeted her, and Agent Dinozzo, her escort down to the forensics lab, positively oozed charm. She decided she didn't trust him, either. 

Abby was a different story. She was quirky and funny and irreverent in a way Mac found amusing. She was also brilliant. When Mac pulled out the scrap of paper in its sealed plastic bag, the younger woman went straight to work, mumbling to herself about this test and that, fiber composition, dyes, and a host of other terms Mac didn't pretend to understand.

She looked over at Agent Dinozzo, and her puzzled expression made him laugh. "Don't mind her. I know she seems a little strange, but she's the best there is at what she does."

Abby looked up with a bright grin. "Why thank you, Tony. I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Then, "Colonel, it'll take me a few hours to analyze this. Should I have Agent Gibbs give you a call when I'm through?"

"If you would, yes. And the sooner the better. Opening arguments are scheduled for first thing Thursday morning."

"No problem. I'll get right on it."

"Thanks."

Mac turned back to Agent Dinozzo, who held the door for her to go out ahead of him. Together, they rode the elevator back up to the bullpen where Gibbs was ready with a packet of documents.

"Here's your forensic documentation. Let us know which items you need for court and we'll make sure you have them on Thursday."

"I'd rather have them today."

"We'll bring them on Thursday." He wouldn't be budged, and Mac decided not to push. After all, if he had the evidence, it'd be his fault if anything went wrong.

"Have your team there at 1230." She didn't bother explaining that the morning would be taken up with impaneling the members and opening remarks. Gibbs hadn’t gotten to where he was today without knowing a thing or two about trials. "Is there someplace I can work for a few minutes? I'd like to go through this documentation before I drive all the way back to Falls Church."

"You can use Dinozzo's desk. Just shove the clutter aside."

Mac raised an eyebrow at Gibbs' high handed manner, but the younger agent had already sprung into action, clearing his desk and offering his chair with a flourish. She shrugged her shoulders and accepted the proffered seat, and minutes later she was checking the documents, oblivious to the controlled chaos around her. She quickly identified the search warrants, chemical analysis, and surveillance authorizations. She skimmed through the paperwork, noted that everything appeared to be in order, and slipped them back into their folder, then stood and pushed the chair in. Gibbs was nowhere in sight, but she wasn't particularly disappointed about that. Agent Dinozzo wasn't far off, though, and when he saw her stand he hurried over.

"Everything in order, Colonel?"

"It appears to be, Agent Dinozzo. Looks like your team did a good job."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"I'll be expecting a call from Agent Gibbs this afternoon, but other then that, I think I've got everything."

"Give us a call if you need anything else."

"Will do."

She left him then, her mind already fitting the final pieces of her case into place. This afternoon and tomorrow she'd finish reviewing the forensic evidence. Then she'd have Wednesday to perfect her opening remarks. She'd be glad when this was over. She wasn't looking forward to facing Harm from opposite sides of the courtroom this time. Oh, she knew she could handle it. They were both professionals, after all. Still, it would be strange, and she'd be glad to put it behind her. 

When she got back to her office, she had an email message waiting for her from Harm.

Hey, Mac. If I'm going to be ready for trial Thursday morning, I'll need the rest of your discovery documents this afternoon. If that's going to be a problem, let me know, and I'll request a short continuance. Also, the girls and I are wondering if you would join us for dinner tonight. 1730? My place? 

She smiled. Dinner with "the girls" wouldn't be her first choice of a way to spend an evening with Harm, but it was better then not seeing him at all. She decided to copy the documents now and deliver her acceptance personally. A few minutes later, she knocked on his door jamb, unable to hold back a smile at the sight of his dark head bent over a file, hair slightly mussed from running his fingers through it. He did not appear to be having a good time. He raised his head distractedly at her knock, then leaned back and smiled when he saw who it was.

"Did you have a good trip?" he asked.

"A productive one anyway. Here are the rest of the discovery documents."

"Did you get my e-mail?" He looked hopeful, and she considered teasing him, but decided that would be cruel. It looked like he was already having a bad day. 

"Yes. I'd be happy to join you for dinner tonight. What can I bring?"

"Just yourself."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"O.K., I'll see you then." She turned to go, but he called her back, a puzzled tone to his voice that made her raise an eyebrow curiously.

"Mac?"

"What?"

"Come over here for a second."

That earned him a suspicious look.

"I promise," he was quick to reassure her. "I'll behave. It's just that you have something in your hair . . ." 

He'd stood up and come over to her while he talked. Now, he plucked something from the back of her head and held it out to her.

"Have you been playing in the recycling bin again?" There was a twinkle in his eye, and although Mac was vaguely embarrassed at having traipsed all over NCIS with confetti in her hair, she couldn't manage to be angry. 

"Somebody booby trapped my car."

"Oh?" That eyebrow again. He could say more with that little strip of dark hair than most people could with an encyclopedia.

"Yeah. I pulled down my sun visor and hundreds of those things dumped out all over me."

Harm laughed at the mental image, and Mac couldn't stop a grin of her own.

"Who did that?" he asked.

"Well, I was pretty sure you did, but your innocent act is either authentic or very well played, so now I'm not sure. You can bet I'll have my revenge, though."

"Oh, I'm sure you will, Mac."

She tossed him a look as she left that made him laugh outright, and though she was tempted to stay and soak up the sound, she knew she couldn't. There was work to be done, and she'd never finish it by camping out in Harm's office, pleasant though the prospect might be.


2225 Zulu  (1725 Local)
2812 M Street, Apartment 4
Washington, D.C.


Harm was pulling a casserole out of the oven when a knock on the door signaled Mac's arrival.

"Mattie . . ."

"I'm on it, Harm." 

A few seconds later, Mac joined him in the kitchen. She put a half gallon of ice cream in the freezer before turning to him with a smile. 

"Hi."

"Hi." He tried hard to look nonchalant, but apparently failed miserably, because Mac shook a warning finger at him. 

"Remember?" she said, sotto voce. "It was your idea to keep things quiet for a while."

He groaned.

"Don't remind me," he said in a frustrated undertone.

Mac brushed against him as she reached for a water glass, and Harm had to struggle not to react. He turned away from her and opened the fridge, ostensibly to get out the makings for a salad, but in reality hoping the cool air would settle his frayed nerves. Mac's low laugh did nothing to help, and as she sauntered past him to join the girls in the living room, she dared to run a finger up his spine, obviously delighting in making his life difficult. He threw a halfhearted glare in her direction, but she was already gone, and he heard her making lively conversation in the other room. He thanked whatever gods had rescued him from the danger of her close presence, and devoted himself to chopping vegetables and tearing lettuce with a vengeance that would have made a warrior proud. 

In record time, they were sitting down to eat. As a precaution, he'd put Mac across from himself, with Mattie and Jennifer on either side in between. Mac was feeling mischievous tonight, rarely missing an opportunity to torment him; a fact that was fast raising both his body temperature and blood pressure to dangerous levels. Twice she'd managed to make contact on the pretense of taking this or that to the table, and now that they were seated, they seemed to need the same condiments at the same time. He sent her a suspicious glare, but her response was an innocent smile. 

Thankfully, Mattie and Jen were oblivious to all of it, too busy debating the movie they'd rented last weekend. Harm was aware enough to know that it had something to do with a big family, but he wasn't exactly focused on the details. 

"What do you think, Harm?" 

Mattie's question jarred him back to the present and Mac's triumphant grin. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, the little minx, and after Jen and Mattie left he intended to exact a very sweet revenge.

"What do I think about what?"

"Do you think you could handle twelve kids?" Mattie repeated her question in that patient tone of voice peculiar to teenagers with not so bright parents. 

"Good question, Mattie," said Mac. Then, cocking her head to one side with the evaluative expression she usually reserved for a potential juror, she targeted Harm.  "Could you do it?"

That flustered him. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, so he couldn't decide whether to take the question seriously or not. An idea occurred to him, an opportunity to turn the tables, and he leaped at it.

"I don't know. I guess that would depend on who the mother was."

He watched the shot hit home. Bull’s-eye! He had to hold back a chortle at the flustered way she started collecting dishes in a futile attempt to hide her sudden confusion. 

Unaware of the hidden undercurrents, Mattie and Jennifer went back to discussing the movie. Apparently, Mattie had read the book in her English class and was disgusted with how far the film departed from the text. Jennifer was trying to explain about creative license and movie rights, but Mattie wasn't buying any of it. They were still debating while Harm and Mac cleaned up the kitchen, though now they'd pulled out the newspaper to see what other movies they could pick apart.

Mac was elbow deep in sudsy water when Harm saw another opportunity for payback. He checked on Mattie and Jennifer first, pleased to see they had their backs to the kitchen while they hunted for the entertainment section. Mac had turned toward the dishwasher, a sudsy glass in her hands, when Harm snuck an arm around her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, and nibbled a spot on her neck that he knew was guaranteed to get a reaction.

He was right. She gasped and stiffened, the glass slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to shatter into hundreds of pieces on the kitchen floor. He straightened quickly, and by the time the girls scrambled to their feet to see what had happened he was already busy sweeping up the pieces while Mac turned back to the sink, faint traces of pink around her neck and ears the only indication that he had gotten to her.

"What happened?" asked Jennifer, concern edging her words.

"My hand slipped," Mac answered. "The glass was soapy. No worries, though. Nobody got hurt." 

Harm thought she did an admirable job of sounding normal under the circumstances, and he mentally congratulated her on her acting abilities. 

"Oh. O.K., then." 

The girls disappeared again, and Mac shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man, but Harm merely grinned and emptied the dustpan into the trash.

"That'll teach you to mess with the master," he whispered on his way past her to put the broom away.

"You haven't seen anything yet," she answered, just as softly.

"It's going to be a long week, isn't it."

"Yeah." The single word carried a wealth of longing and frustration with it, and by mutual agreement they finished their chores with a minimum of teasing.

Shortly after dinner, Mattie and Jennifer left. Mattie had some homework to finish, and Jennifer had laundry to do before bed. They took the ice cream with them, and somehow Harm knew he'd never see the carton again. When the door closed behind the two girls, Harm leaned against it, unable to believe that he and Mac were finally alone. He caught her eye and slowly, deliberately, clicked the deadbolt into place. 

"Harm . . ."

He was moving toward her, and the sensible side of her backed away while the passionate side pushed her forward. The end result was that she remained frozen in place, unable to move in either direction.

"Harm . . ." she tried again.

"Yes?" He was three steps away, and still moving. 

"I really should go." Her voice faltered as he reached to trace her ear with a gentle finger, tucking a strand of hair out of the way in the process.

"Do you have to?" He laced his fingers through her hair, then lifted them, allowing the silky strands to slide through and drift back into place.

"What if Mattie comes back?" Her voice was barely a whisper. 

His hand left her hair. Now one finger traced her jaw line, and she shivered in response.

"She won't." 

He continued his tactile tour, now trailing lightly down the column of her throat.

"How do you know?" It was getting harder to speak with each passing moment.

"I just know." 

Across her collarbone now, his touch, ever so gentle, ever so slow, was raising goose bumps in its wake.

"Did you tell her about us?" She couldn't seem to work up any indignation at the prospect, her thoughts having taken a turn in a different direction. 

"No . . ." 

He smoothed his hand down her arm, finally lacing his fingers with hers

"Then how can you be sure she won't come back?" She struggled to remember her point as he lifted his other hand, starting the process all over again.

"Habits and routines. I won't hear from either of them until breakfast time, when one or the other will show up at the door looking for milk." The practical words didn't match the sensuous pitch of his voice, which caused her to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. 

"I should probably be gone by then, shouldn't I."

"Probably."

His touch moved down her throat again, across her collarbone, and down her other arm, knitting his fingers with hers so that now he held both of her hands, his body mere inches from her own, her every nerve singing with his nearness. Her voice abandoned her completely then, chased away by the intensity of his gaze and the electricity that arced through the air between them. 

"Sarah." 

Maybe it was because he used it so rarely, or maybe it was because she loved him so much. Whatever the reason, her name, spoken so casually by so many others, sounded different when he said it, the syllables imbued with so much tenderness and warmth that they always brought a lump to her throat. 

"I love you."

He'd said it often over the past few days. They both had. Yet the simple phrase still had the power to move her to tears, and she felt them well up in her eyes again now. 

"I love you too," she said, her voice a mere whisper of sound.

He kissed her tears away, and his hands tightened around hers.

"A man tells you he loves you and you cry? What's that about?" But his voice was gently teasing, and when his lips descended over hers, they tasted of salt. 

His kiss worked its magic, and the room, the soft music playing on the stereo, the sound of the dishwasher, all of it faded away until she was left with the feel of his lips upon hers, the sound of their mingled breath, and the touch of his hands on her skin. She had been concerned that Mattie might come back, might have a question about her homework or something she wanted to talk about, but her hesitation evaporated in the face of their mutual need, and when he led her to his bedroom, she followed willingly. She could no more have stopped herself from loving him than she could have stopped herself from breathing. 


1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Staff call was nearly over. The admiral had assigned two new cases, one to Sturgis, and one to Bud. Now he leaned back in his seat and contemplated the assembled group in silence. 

"This past year has been . . . difficult. We've all had some tough things to deal with. I'm not exactly a touchy feely kind of officer . . ." 

He waited for the grins and nods to subside before he went on.

". . . but it occurs to me that our survival, reasonably intact, calls for some type of celebration. So, I'm inviting all of you to my place Saturday afternoon for an informal spring barbeque."

"Sir?" asked Bud.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I just want to make sure. Does informal in this case mean tie, or no tie?"

The admiral had to wait for laughter to die down before he could answer.

"Bud, in your honor, I think we'll make this a truly casual event – no tie."

"Thank you, Sir." Bud's relief was almost palpable, and Harm resisted another chuckle. 

"All right everybody. I'll see you at my place at 1500 Saturday afternoon. Now let's get to work. Dismissed."

A few minutes later, Harm was back in his office, ready to start the day's work. He had forty-eight hours to come up with a defense for Lieutenant Mercer, and he still wasn't quite sure what tactic to use. He'd spoken with Breanna the previous afternoon, giving her flight and hotel suggestions, but when she'd asked about the case, he'd been deliberately vague. She was already upset enough. It wouldn't help to alarm her further. 

Mercer's C.O. would be coming for the trial, as would a couple of Mercer's crewmates, more as character witnesses than anything else. His hope was that, based on the witness statements and the fact that this was a first offense, he could at least get the lieutenant a reduced sentence. He'd approached Mac about a plea bargain yesterday afternoon, but she'd turned it down – a sure sign that she knew her case was strong. He sighed and bent his head to the papers in front of him, resigning himself to several hours of reading and note taking. 

"Commander?" Jennifer Coates stood in his doorway.

"What can I do for you, Petty Officer?

"Are you . . . having any problems with your computer this morning?"

"I haven't even turned it on yet. Why?"

"Would you mind turning it on?"

Puzzled, he did as she asked, then looked at her inquiringly.

"Is something supposed to happen?"

"Try checking your e-mail."

He did as she asked, sliding the mouse across the pad so that he could click the appropriate icon.

Nothing happened.

The cursor didn't move.

He ran the mouse back and forth across the pad several times, but the little arrow sat stubbornly right in the middle of his screen.

"What in the . . .?"

"No luck?"

She stepped inside his office then and walked over to the desk. 

"Pick it up and check the bottom of it, Sir."

Harm flipped the gadget over and rolled his eyes. Somebody had taped over the mouse ball, locking it into position. 

"Who?"

"I don't know, Commander, but it seems to have happened to everybody."

"Everybody?" 

"Everybody but the admiral. All the mice on the floor appear to have been trapped. "

"Somebody's idea of a prank?"

"Looks that way, Sir."

"So now we have the elevator, rubber ducks, Mac's confetti . . ."

"Confetti, Sir?"

He grinned.

"You'll have to ask her about that one, Petty Officer." He peeled the tape from the back of his mouse, slid it experimentally across the mouse pad, and then went on. "And now we have mouse traps. Gotta wonder what's going on, huh Jen?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Well, thanks for the heads up. Looks like I'm good to go now."

"You're welcome, Sir." 

With that, she was gone, and he resolutely turned his attention back to the papers spread before him. 

He spent the entire day going through documents, making notes, and organizing his defense. He'd eaten lunch in his office, and aside from staff call this morning and a few short e-mails, he'd not heard from Mac. They were both too busy with last minute preparations to even take time out to flirt. In a way, he supposed that was a good thing. Her presence was a distraction he couldn't afford right now. 

He was reading over a final document when something caught his eye. He shuffled files around, looking for his notes from the trip to Whidbey. When he finally found them, he scanned the pages quickly, hoping his memory had been accurate. The note he'd made jumped out at him from the page, and he compared it to the documents Mac had given him, then picked up the phone to make a call, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited for the line to be picked up at the other end. 

Five minutes later, he had an answer to his question, and he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. What he'd found wouldn't win the case, but it might save Mercer a few years of hard time. He jotted a reminder to himself to write up the documents he needed and then glanced at his watch, surprised at the lateness of the hour. He had one more day to prepare his case, one more day to come up with a convincing opening argument. He knew he could do it, but the thought of doing it for a guilty defendant made the task particularly unpleasant.


1230 Zulu (0730 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac sat down at her desk and took a sip of the steaming cup of coffee she'd brought from the break room. There were certain advantages to being the first one in, and fresh coffee was one of them. She knew a few people had drifted in – Jen, the admiral, but most wouldn't be in until closer to 0800 and she always enjoyed this opportunity to get her thoughts in order before the day resumed its normal frantic pace.

Rapid fire gunshots shattered the calm. It sounded like automatic weapons fire, and Mac was on the floor, crawling toward the doorway even as she wondered how somebody had gotten such a weapon past security. Cautiously, she peered around the corner, careful not to expose herself to whatever maniac had taken over JAG Ops. Nothing. All appeared quiet. She scooted out of her office, careful to keep something solid between herself and the direction the sounds had come from. The burst of noise sounded again, and now that she was in the bullpen, she knew for a fact that it had come from the direction of the admiral's office. 

A light touch on her back startled her, and she turned, ready to defend herself, but it was only Harm, crouched down protectively between her and the open hallway. 

"What's going on?" he whispered.

"I don't know. I heard weapons fire."

"I heard it too. You go that way," he gestured around the other side of JAG ops. "Signal me when you're ready. We'll go in together."

"All right. Be safe, Harm."

"You, too." He squeezed her arm gently, then gave her a gentle push. 

She inched her way along the wall, careful to keep a solid object between her body and the admiral's office. She was in position, ready to signal Harm, when the gunfire sounded again. 

"Damn!" Jen's voice.

Then . . .

"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand it."

"I don't care if you understand it! Just fix it!"

"Working on it, Sir."

"Work faster."

Mac exchanged a puzzled look with Harm before carefully rounding the corner. What she saw made her bite back a laugh.

The admiral hovered over Jen's head, scowling at the computer monitor, while the petty officer's fingers danced over her keyboard, a panicked expression on her face.

"What's going on?" Harm asked. He'd rounded the corner right behind her, and now stood close enough to her that she could sense the heat of his body, smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. She struggled to maintain her equilibrium while Jen replied.

"Looks like somebody reprogrammed my startup sounds, Sir."

"Isn't your system secure?"

"Parts of it are, Sir, but I guess it never occurred to the techs that wave files could be dangerous." The expression on her face was pure Jennifer; humor that somebody had set her up; determination to get even, and desperation to fix the problem before the admiral took drastic action.

"There. That's got it, Sir."

They all waited while she rebooted the computer, and when the only sounds were the familiar Windows start up chimes, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Well . . . that was exciting," Now that the initial crisis had passed, the admiral seemed to see the humor in the situation.

"You could say that," Mac said, grinning as the adrenalin rush subsided, but still wishing that Harm wouldn't stand quite so close behind her.

He either heard her, or decided for himself that some distance between them would be a good thing, because he moved to lean against the door jamb, a mischievous grin on his face.

"We seem to have gremlins," he said.

"Gremlins?" The admiral looked puzzled.

"Cute little furry creatures that like to get into mischief," explained Mac.

They waited for him to explode into a rant about workplace behavior, but he just shook his head and went back into his office, closing the door behind him.

The three who were left exchanged bewildered looks.

Mac shrugged. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the admiral chose to take this latest prank in stride, the least she could do was to follow his lead. She left Jen and Harm and walked back to her office. They were down to twenty four hours before trial, and she had a lot to do.


1530 Zulu (1030 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Harm faced Lieutenant Mercer across the scarred wooden table.

"You lied to me," Harm said, not bothering with a polite greeting.

"What do you mean?"

"You and two of your crew tested positive for MDMA. You told me you never used it."

Mercer sighed. 

"Look. It's not a big deal. It just makes you feel good for a while. Makes it easier to get the job done, you know?"

"No. I don't know. And I really don't care to know. And the members aren't going to care either. All they're going to care about is that; one, you disgraced your uniform;  two, you took advantage of your military status to transport illegal drugs across an international border; and three, you sold those drugs, at a profit, to American dealers."

"I did not!" Mercer was out of his seat, pacing the floor like a caged lion.

"Oh?" Harm folded his arms across his chest and stared a challenge at his client. "Your financial records seem to indicate otherwise."

"That money didn't come from sales. It was strictly a transportation reimbursement."

"Do tell." 

Mercer shot him a glare. "Look. I'm telling you. With the exception of a few select clients, I  didn't sell the drugs." He sounded almost desperate, and Harm had to wonder if he was actually telling the truth this time.

"Then what did you do with them once you got them into the country?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"I just can't, ok? Now can we drop it?"

Harm leaned forward in his seat.

"Look, if you come forward with what you know, I might be able to get you a reduced sentence."

"It doesn't matter. If the members find me guilty, I'll do my time." Mercer sounded resigned now, his tones flat and without emotion.

"If?" Harm was incredulous. "The prosecution has surveillance records, chemical analyses, financial records, drug tests on you and those other two officers . . ." He ticked the items off on his fingers as he listed them. "They can back it all up with flight schedules and eyewitness reports. Now, do you want to rethink your position?"

"No." Mercer stopped in front of Harm and leaned his hands on the table. "Isn't there anything you can do for me?" He was plaintive now, his arrogance slipping away as he finally took in the mountain of facts lined up against him.

Harm sighed. Too little, too late. The man was doomed by his arrogance and stupidity, and not only was Harm not certain there was much he could do, he wasn't even certain he wanted to try. 

"Look, I'll do what I can. At the very least, we'll try to convince the members to give you a lighter sentence. You'll never fly again, though. You're looking at a dishonorable discharge and several years hard labor if you're lucky."

"And if I'm not?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. Worst case scenario, the sentences run consecutively. You'd have the dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and at least thirty years hard labor."

Mercer tried not to show his shock, but it was there in the slight widening of the eyes, the quick intake of breath. Harm might have almost felt sorry for the man, if he wasn't so angry every time he thought about what he'd done. Instead, he packed up his things and prepared to leave.

"Panel selection is at 0830 tomorrow. Opening remarks at 1000. Somebody will see that you get where you need to go."

"Yes, Sir." 

"Your wife is coming in tonight. Do you have a message you'd like me to deliver?"

"Just tell her . . ." He paused, then turned his head away. "Tell her I love her."

"Will do. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He picked up his case and signaled the guard that he was through. A few minutes later, he'd left the lieutenant behind in the small two celled brig that served as a sort of holding tank for prisoners awaiting trial. As he walked back to his office, he was already assembling his opening remarks in his head. He'd recognized something human in the choked words of affection for Breanna, something that reminded him that, criminal or not, Steven Mercer was still a human being, entitled to the best defense Harm could put together. 

A few minutes later, he knocked on Mac's door frame, ready with a warm smile when she looked up from her computer. 

"Do you have time to grab some lunch?"

"I wish. I'll probably just order a sandwich and eat at my desk. Sorry." 

"No problem. I should probably eat in, too." He started to back out, changed his mind, and stepped back inside. "Any chance I can convince you to reconsider the plea I offered yesterday?"

"Dishonorable with forfeiture and ten years? That plea?"

"That'd be the one."

She grinned at him. "You're joking, right?"

"Not a bit."

"I'll see you in court, Harm."

She collected a sheaf of papers from her printer, and reached for a paperclip. The clips were stored in a small plastic box with a magnetic lid, and she selected one at random and pulled it toward her, paying more attention to Harm then to what she was doing. 

Her first clue that something wasn't quite right was in the fact that the clip didn't seem to want to slide all the way down over the top edge of the papers. The second clue was in the wide grin that spread over Harm's face. 

"What . . .?"

She looked down, only to discover that the paperclip she had chosen was connected to another one, which was, in turn, connected to another, and another, and yet another. She pulled at the chain, lifting it out of its small plastic box, the links twisting and turning like a long metal snake. 

"Did you . . .?"

"Nope." Harm was quick to defend himself. "I've been meeting with my client, remember?"

"Then who . . .?

Just then, Harriet knocked lightly on the door jamb.

"Colonel?" 

She spied the chain of paperclips and grinned.

"Never mind."

Mac untangled a single clip, attached it to her papers, and looked up at Harriet.

"You too?"

"Me, too. In fact, near as I can tell, the gremlin hit everybody but the admiral again."

Mac began untangling the clips, but Harriet hurried over and took the mess from her, replacing it with a fresh box of fasteners.

"I'll take care of this for you, Ma'am."

Mac smiled gratefully.

"Thanks, Harriet."

"No problem."

With an over the shoulder smile, Harriet was away again, and Mac turned her attention to a still grinning Harm.

"What's so funny?"

"The look on your face."

She rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation, but he was chuckling as he left her office. 


0030 Zulu (1930 Local)
Dulles International Airport
Washington D.C.


Harm checked his watch for the third time. Breanna Mercer's flight was already an hour late, and it looked like he was going to miss dinner with Mattie. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone, hitting the speed dial as he looked up at the arrivals board for what felt like the twentieth time. 

"Mattie? It's Harm. Listen, Mrs. Mercer's flight hasn't arrived yet . . ."

"Wasn't it supposed to land an hour ago?" Mattie sounded annoyed.

"Yes. Looks like they got delayed. I'm expecting her any minute, but you and Jennifer should go ahead and eat."

"We can wait."

"No. After she gets here we still have to collect her bags, and then I need to see her to her hotel. You eat. I should be home in time to check your homework before you go to bed."

"I hate this."

"What?"

"I hate never knowing whether you're going to be here or not."

"Mattie . . ."

"I know. This isn't the time."

"No. It isn't."

"Will there ever be a time, Harm?" Her voice, just a tad on the whiny side, irritated him, and it was with a certain amount of relief that he saw Breanna Mercer enter the baggage claim area.

"She's here, Mattie. We'll talk later."

"Sure we will." 

There was a click, and she was gone. With a deep sigh, he pocketed the phone and went to meet his client's wife.

Breanna looked up from the luggage turnstile with a tired smile when he approached.

"I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Commander."

"I understand, Ma'am. Can I help you with your luggage?"

"It's just the one bag. That blue one over there." She indicated a dark blue soft sided suitcase and he lifted it easily off the conveyor belt, then led the way back to his car. In a few minutes, they were on the way to her hotel. While he drove, he told her what he could about the case, which, unfortunately, wasn't much. 

"The prosecuting attorney won't accept a plea?"

"I've tried twice. She's not interested. I have to admit. If I were in her place, I'd feel the same way. She's got a strong case."

"How many witnesses is she putting on the stand?"

"Five."

"And how many do you have?"

"Only three, unless I decide to put your husband on the stand."

"You don't know yet?"

"I haven't made up my mind." He didn't tell her that he considered her husband to be his own worst enemy. "I'll decide after I see how the prosecution's case plays out."

"I see."

"I'll be honest with you, Mrs. Mercer . . ."

She interrupted him with a small smile. "Breanna, remember?"

"Breanna. It doesn't look good for your husband."

"So you said last week."

"I know. I just want you to be prepared."

"What do you think his sentence will be?"

"Best guess?"

"Yes." Her voice was firm, but tense. 

"Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and  . . ." He hesitated.

"And?"

"He could get thirty years, Breanna." He said it softy, and saw her cringe. He instinctively wanted to protect her, to keep her from having to go through the trial, but he knew there was nothing he could do. 

A few minutes later, they arrived at the hotel, and Harm waited while Breanna handled the paperwork, then escorted her to her room, leaving her at her door with a reassuring smile and a soft "goodnight."


1300 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac approached the witness stand where Agent Gibbs sat waiting. Somehow the man looked relaxed and yet absolutely alert at the same time, making her think of a wary panther. 

"Please state your full name and position." 

"Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"You led the team that investigated Lieutenant Steven Mercer?"

"Yes, I did."

"Please tell the court how you proceeded."

"On January 15, we received a tip that the lieutenant was engaged in drug trafficking. Based on that information, we initiated two separate undercover operations during which Special Agent Caitlin Todd purchased Ecstasy from the suspect. We also monitored two of the lieutenant's flights, one to Vancouver, British Columbia, during the first week of February, and a second one to Copenhagen, Denmark at the end of February. Based on the results of our investigation, we obtained search and arrest warrants which we executed when Lieutenant Mercer returned from Copenhagen on the evening of March first."

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. No further questions." 

Mac submitted several documents into evidence and then sat down. 

Harm approached the witness stand, struck by the change of circumstance. Once, he had been the witness, Gibbs the interrogator. Now the tables were turned. 

"Just one question, Agent Gibbs. Who arranged the search warrants?"

Gibbs raised a curious eyebrow but answered the question.

"Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo."

"Thank you." Harm looked at the judge. "No further questions."

"Agent Gibbs, you may step down."

Mac called Caitlin Todd to the stand, and after dispensing with the preliminaries, began to flesh out the testimony she'd elicited from Gibbs.

"Your first meeting with Lieutenant Mercer was on . . ." She checked a note, even though Harm was fairly certain she had every detail of the case memorized. "January 22?"

"Yes, Ma'am. In Tukwila, Washington."

"Please tell the court what happened."

"I met the defendant at 23:30 hours at Stanford's Restaurant and bar. I wore a wire and a recording device. During our meeting, I purchased one ounce of Ecstasy from the defendant for one thousand, five hundred dollars."

"Is this the Ecstasy you purchased that night?" 

Mac held up an evidence bag with a small bottle inside. Kate took it from her, examined it briefly, and handed it back.

"That looks like it, yes."

Mac entered the vial into evidence and then played the recording of the drug buy. 

"Was there another occasion on which you interacted with the defendant?"

"Yes. On February twelfth."

"Tell the court what happened."

"It was another buy. This time we'd agreed on a pound, and I was to handle the further distribution."

"How much did Lieutenant Mercer charge you for the drugs?"

"Twenty one thousand, five hundred dollars."

"Cash?"

No. He gave me the routing number for his bank and insisted on a wire transfer."

"Is this a copy of the wire transfer, Agent Todd?" Mac showed her a document.

The agent nodded, then spoke. "Yes. It is."

"Tell me, Agent Todd. Why didn't you arrest the lieutenant after the first buy?"

"We suspected he was trafficking in large amounts of the drug. We wanted to test that suspicion. Also, until the second buy, we were unable to determine where Lieutenant Mercer was putting the money he made on his deals."

"And where did that turn out to be, Agent Todd?"

"An offshore account. In the Cayman Islands."

"Thank you, Agent Todd. No further questions."

The judge looked inquiringly at Harm, who stood up.

"I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor."

Mac saw Lieutenant Mercer lean over and whisper something to Harm, who shook his head, and whispered a short reply. The lieutenant sat back in his seat, a sullen expression on his face.

Mac called the forensics specialist next, and was somewhat relieved to note that Abby had attempted to dress professionally, even though Mac hadn't specifically brought it up. She had Abby state her name and position for the record, and began her questions.

"Miss Sciuto, what is Ecstasy?"

"Methylenedioxy-N-methamphetamine or MDMA is a synthetic chemical that's derived from an essential oil of the sassafras tree. Mostly comes in tablet form. Y'know, like you've seen on the news. They come with little logos - cartoon characters, happy faces, stuff like that printed on them. That's why kids like them so much."

Harm stood.

"Objection, Your Honor, speculation. The witness can't possibly know for sure why 'kids like them so much.'"

"Sustained. The witness will refrain from interjecting personal opinions into her testimony."

"Yes, Your Honor." Abby looked mildly embarrassed, but focused her attention back on Mac for the next question.

"How does it enter the system?"

"You mean how do they take it?"

"Yes."

“Pop and trip.” 

"Pop and trip?" Mac looked puzzled, and Abby hurried to explain. 

“It’s a pill. You swallow it. Pop it. Then you get high. Tripping.”

"I see. And how does it affect the user?"

“Free love, totally. You’re at one with humanity. Peace, love, and joy, man. You feel warm and happy and linked to the hive mind. Like the Borg, only with smiles.”

There were chuckles in the courtroom, and Mac waited for them to subside before she went on.

"Who uses it?"

“Teens at parties, raves, clubs. Sometimes shrinks with really whacked out patients.”

Harm was on his feet again. 

"Your Honor . . . Whacked out?"

The judge turned to Abby again.

"Miss Sciuto, please try to keep your responses a little less . . . casual."

"Yes, Sir."

Mac went on.

"Please explain for the members what a rave is."

"A rave is a loud, crowded party, usually geared towards teens and young adults, for music and dancing and meeting up. Kinda like an old fashioned barn dance on crack. Or Ecstasy, as the case may be."

"I object, Your Honor," Harm again, beginning to sound exasperated. "Raves, and the types of drugs that may or may not be used there, are beyond the scope of Miss Sciuto's expertise." 

Mac suppressed a grin. Abby was definitely keeping Harm busy. Judge Sebring sighed. 

"Miss Sciuto. I caution you again. Please maintain a proper level of decorum in my courtroom or I will have you removed."

"I'm trying, Your Honor." She fidgeted nervously in her chair and Mac decided to shorten her list of questions before her witness jumped out of her own skin.

"Is Ecstasy addictive?"

"Kinda."

"Would you clarify your response, please?" 

"It's not physically addictive, no. Not like crack or heroin. It's more that the user gets addicted to the feelings induced by the drug. It feels good, so they keep doing it because they want to, not because they have to."

"Just one more question. Did any members of Lieutenant Mercer's flight crew test positive for MDMA?"

"Yeah. They were flying the friendly skies that night."

"Objection!" Mac had to give him credit. He was fast.

"Objection sustained." The judge sighed with exaggerated patience. "The members will disregard Miss Sciuto's last remark."

Mac tried again.

"In addition to Lieutenant Mercer, which members of the flight crew tested positive for Ecstasy?"

"Petty Officer First Class Randy Long, and Ensign Michael Fremont."

"Thank you, Miss Sciuto." 

Mac returned to her seat and waited for Harm's cross examination. He took his time flipping through papers and checking his notes, ostensibly to make sure he didn't forget anything, but Mac knew that he was trying to give the nervous witness some time to settle down. 

"Miss Sciuto, does Ecstasy have any negative side effects?"

" If it’s impure, sure. Puking, tweaking, overheating, dizziness, that kind of thing."

"And by tweaking you mean . . ."

"Twitching."

Abby squirmed in her seat, and Mac had to resist a grin. She'd never had an expert witness like Abby before, and she was finding the experience highly entertaining. Harm was less amused, and when he asked his next question, his voice had a stern note to it that would have cowed a more observant person, but which Abby apparently missed altogether.

"Can an Ecstasy trip cause death?"

"It can, sure, but most of the cases of death from Ecstasy use come from impure hits. Ecstasy pills can be packed with caffeine, ephedrine, amphetamines, and a load of other garbage in addition to or instead of MDMA."

"Did you perform a chemical analysis on the ounce of Ecstasy that Special Agent Todd allegedly purchased from Lieutenant Mercer?"

"Of course."

"What were your findings?"

"Almost 100% pure."

"And the Ecstasy found on the Orion?"

"Also pure."

"Is it safe to say, then, that if a teenager was going to buy Ecstasy, he'd be better off purchasing that Ecstasy than something off the street?"

"Safer, anyway. And they'd get the trip of their lives."

"And the flight crew – Petty Officer Long and Ensign Fremont – did taking a single Ecstasy pill from Lieutenant Mercer endanger their lives?"

"Doubtful. I imagine it made the flight home a lot more pleasant, though."

"Thank you, Miss. Sciuto." Harm turned to the judge. "I have no further questions for this witness."

Judge Sebring turned toward a very relieved Abby, who was already stepping out of the witness box.

"You are dismissed." The note of relief in his voice had Mac holding back another grin.
 
Mac called the enthusiastic master chief next, fully intending to regale the members with a lengthy and detailed appraisal of the P-3C's attributes. Unfortunately, Harm knew exactly what she was up to and stood before she could get in the first question.

"Your Honor, in the interest of brevity the defense will stipulate to the configuration of the aircraft."

"So noted." Judge Sebring looked at Mac. "Do you have any other questions for this witness?"

"Just one, Your Honor." Mac turned back to her witness. "Master Chief, how much does a P-3C Orion cost?"

"Well, Ma'am, Lockheed doesn't make them anymore, so it'd be hard to say."

"Best guess."

"The last one came off the assembly line in 1990, and it cost thirty-six million then. I imagine it'd be several million more today."

Mac whistled, long and low. 

"So Mercer risked the safety of a twelve man crew and a forty million dollar aircraft for an Ecstasy high."

"Objection! Defense is testifying." Harm was on his feet, looking appropriately outraged, but before the judge could say anything, Mac spoke up.

"I apologize, Your Honor." She turned back to the master chief. "Thank you for your time."

"No further questions," she said, and returned to her seat, intercepting a slight nod of competitive acknowledgement from Harm on the way. 

And so another witness was released. By this time, it was late afternoon, and the judge looked at Mac. 

"Colonel. You have one more witness on your list. Do you think we can finish the prosecution this afternoon?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I only have a few questions for this witness."

"Let's do it, then."

"The prosecution calls Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo."

Mac saw Harm sit forward a little in his chair, and wondered what he was up to as she started her questioning. 

"Agent Dinozzo, you tracked Mercer's movements from the time NCIS received the tip until his arrest, is that correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"During that two month time period, how often did he leave the country?"

"Twice. On February second, he made an overnight trip to Vancouver as part of a training mission. The second flight, to Copenhagen, departed on February twenty-third and returned on the evening of March first."

"In addition to tracking his flights, did you also track his movements on land?"

"Yes. We obtained authorization to install a hidden GPS in his car. During the month of February, we observed three trips to the Seattle area and two more to Tukwila."

"Do you know what he did on those trips?"

"With the exception of the trips to Tukwila to meet with Agent Todd, I can't be sure."

"But you could guess?"

"Yes, Ma'am. If I had to guess, I'd say they were all drug deals."

"Objection," said Harm, not even bothering to get up. "Lack of evidence. You can't convict a man based on guesses and suppositions."

"Withdrawn," said Mac. "That's all I have for this witness."

Harm stood and selected two documents from a folder on the table in front of him. He approached the witness stand and handed one of them to Dinozzo.

"Do you recognize this?"

The agent scanned the document before answering. 

"It's the search warrant for the Orion aircraft that Lieutenant Mercer flew to Copenhagen."

"What is the tail number listed on the warrant?"

"160258."

"Thank you."

Harm took the search warrant from Tony and handed him a photograph. 

"This is a crime scene photo taken the night Lieutenant Mercer was arrested. Please tell the court the tail number of the pictured aircraft."

Clearly puzzled, Dinozzo glanced at the photograph he held in his hand . . .and paled.

"Agent Dinozzo?" Harm prompted.

"It's 160285." 

Harm turned to the judge.

"Your Honor, it's obvious that somebody made a mistake, but I wouldn't venture to guess who. The fact of the matter is that the aircraft identified in the search warrant is not the aircraft that was searched. I move that all evidence obtained from aircraft number 160285 be ruled inadmissible."

Harm handed the photograph and the search warrant to the judge, who looked both over carefully before calling a sidebar. 

"Colonel?" The judge spoke softly, one hand covering the microphone. 

"Your Honor, this was obviously just a typographical error. In both cases, the squadron is clearly identified as VP-46." Mac, angry at the mistake, fought to keep her voice low.

"Mac, typo or not, the search warrant is wrong. That invalidates both the warrant and the search." 

The judge sighed.

"Much as I hate to admit it, Colonel, the commander has a point. If I let this pass, it's grounds for a reversal. I'm afraid I have to disallow the search."

Mac glared at Harm before returning to her seat. 

"Commander? Do you have any further questions for this witness?"

"No, Your Honor."

The judge turned to Dinozzo, who looked for all the world as though he wished he could disappear. 

"Court is adjourned until 1000 hours tomorrow morning." 

Judge Sebring left the room, and Mac began shoving papers into her case, her mind churning with the choice words she was preparing to unleash on the NCIS team. 

"Agent Gibbs."

She spoke without looking up from what she was doing, somehow absolutely certain that the agent was about to walk out the door. Her voice, cold as liquid nitrogen, effectively stopped his forward motion, and he turned back to her. 

"Yes?"

"I'd like to see you and Agent Dinozzo in the conference room in five minutes."

"Yes, Ma'am." 

She glanced around suspiciously at the note of sarcasm that laced Gibbs' tone, but he'd already left, and she went back to gathering her things as Harm stopped beside her.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"You mean aside from the fact that I'm about to unleash the hounds of Hell?"

He grinned. "Yeah."

"I'm fine." Her return smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but he let it pass, wondering absently if Gibbs and company knew what was about to hit them. He suspected not.

"Good. When you're done annihilating NCIS, do you want to come to a volleyball game with me? Mattie's playing. I'll even spring for a pizza afterwards."

"Sure. That sounds like fun. I'll find you after I've finished this meeting.”

"See you then." He took advantage of the empty courtroom to squeeze her shoulder lightly before picking up his case and making his way back to his office.


1712 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac heard raised voices as she approached the conference room, but when she opened the door, she was greeted by stony faces and dead silence. She held her peace while she set her case on the table, her gaze settling first on one face, and then the other. Years of training and experience made her decide to remain standing, giving her a slight height advantage over the seated men. She allowed the silence to stretch, fully aware that Gibbs was a master at the game of cat and mouse, and determined to maintain the upper hand. When she finally did speak, her voice was low, each word knife edged and clearly enunciated.

"I would like an explanation."

Gibbs made a mistake then, one he never would have made had he known her better. He dared to condescend to her, to talk to her as though she were an overtired three year old. And to say that Mac was unimpressed would be like saying that it gets cold at the North Pole.

"Calm down, Colonel." 

"I'll calm down when I'm satisfied that you and yours . . ." She paused and turned her glare on Dinozzo for a heartbeat before looking back at Gibbs, "have acquired a proper degree of respect for this office."

"Excuse me? How does a typographical error equate to disrespect?"

"That slip of the fingers was symptomatic of bigger issues. You know it, and I know it." 

"How do you figure?" Gibbs, angry now, leaned forward in his chair. 

"You delight in twisting the regs to suit your needs, don't you." The question was a rhetorical one, and she didn't wait for him to answer. "You barreled through here like a hurricane last year, dead certain you knew everything there was to know about Lieutenant Singer's death."

"The two cases have nothing to do with each other."

"Oh really . . ." Mac's voice dripped sarcasm. "As I recall, your determination to pin the crime on Commander Rabb was nearly successful."

Gibbs was on his feet, his face inches from hers, but Mac didn't back down. It wasn't in her nature to back down from a fight, and the stakes were high on this one.

"As you will recall, my team proved his innocence."

"Not until after your sloppy investigative techniques landed him in the brig!" 

Dinozzo shifted nervously in his chair, but neither combatant spared him a glance. 

"Your attitude when we met at Norfolk last week was just shy of rude. You were condescending, and disdainful, and about as forthcoming as a brick. I don't consider that to be conducive to a good working relationship." She glared at him, undaunted by his growing anger. "You followed that up by behaving as though JAG officers aren't to be trusted with custody of trial evidence." 

She took a deep breath, consciously bringing her anger under control. When she spoke again, her words were slow, measured, and razor sharp. "I don't know what your problem is, Agent Gibbs, but you'd better knock that chip off your shoulder when you work with this office or you will live to regret it." 

A heavy silence took up residence in the room then, its presence almost a living breathing thing. Mac knew Gibbs was playing mind games, trying to unnerve her into speaking, but the tactic had no impact on her except to make her even angrier. She decided to call him on it, waiting in frigid silence until he finally spoke. 

"I resent your implication." 

"And I resent your high handed, holier than thou attitude." 

Gibbs sighed and sat down. 

"Look. I'll agree that we were a bit . . .overzealous in our pursuit of Commander Rabb last year. Hell, I'll even agree that Agent Dinozzo should have been more careful when he prepared the search warrant for Mercer's plane." He spared a glare for the younger man, who attempted to disappear into the joints of his chair.

Mac allowed herself to relax, but only slightly. "And I will agree that if it hadn't been for you and Agent Dinozzo, the commander would probably be in Leavenworth right now." She picked up her case and moved to leave the room, then turned at the door for a parting shot. "But in the future, I expect you to pay more attention to the details."

She didn't wait for his response, but turned on her heel and left the room, not sparing a glance for the two men who still stared at her from their seats at the table.


2015 Local
2812 M Street, Apartment 4
Washington, D.C.
Mac slowly lifted a piece of pizza out of the box, pulling ever so gently straight up. Harm and Mattie watched in tense silence. So far, Mattie held the record for pulling a slice the furthest away without breaking the string of melted Mozzarella. Could Mac do better? Only time would tell. Inch by careful inch, she lifted the slice higher while Harm kept up with the tape measure. She grinned suddenly, fully aware that this was probably the silliest contest she'd ever participated in. 

She neared Mattie's seven and a half inch record, and was just about to edge past it, when a sneak attack in her rib cage made her jerk her arm down to her side, abruptly snapping the string, and nearly causing the pizza slice to end up on the floor. Mattie broke into delighted giggles at Mac's halfhearted glare.

"You cheated!" Mac accused.

Mattie shrugged unapologetically. "War's hell, Mac."

"Mattie, watch your language." Harm's rebuke was half-hearted, its power significantly lessened by his wide grin.

"Is she always this sassy when she wins a game?" Mac asked him, fighting a grin of her own.

"Forget when she wins a game. She's always this sassy . . . period." 

"Hey!" Mattie's indignation lacked sincerity, but Harm was unrepentant.

"My turn," he said, "I'll bet I can double the record."

"You're pretty confident for somebody who barely made three inches on the first round," Mac remarked.

"That was just a practice run. This one's for real." 

He eyed the remaining slices of pizza, and Mac suspected that if he could have, he'd have weighed each piece to the microgram. As it was, she and Mattie were both getting impatient by the time he finally made his selection. He'd barely lifted it out of the box when the pale yellow strands separated, and he slumped back into his chair, the undisputed loser. 

"Needs a woman's touch to do it right, I guess," suggested Mattie, her tone falsely sympathetic. 

"Men are just too heavy-handed for their own good," agreed Mac.

"Remind me sometime to show you just how light-handed I can be, Mac." Harm's voice slid across the table and up her spine, raising goose bumps in its wake. 

"Anybody need more soda?" Mattie stood suddenly and grabbed her glass, her movements jerky. 

"No, thanks." Harm and Mac answered simultaneously, but Mattie was already gone. Obviously, the teenager hadn't liked their interchange and wanted to make sure they knew it.

While Mattie banged about the kitchen, making her irritation known to the entire building, Harm and Mac held one of those silent conversations that lovers are so good at. They'd talked about her on the way to the game and decided it was time to let her know about the change in their relationship. Now seemed like as good a time as any to get that over with. Mattie finally sat back down at the table and reached for a piece of the rapidly cooling pizza. 

"Mattie," Harm said, a nervous tone to his voice that Mac found somehow endearing. "We need to talk."

"About?" The girl wasn't going to make this easy on them, and Mac felt a twinge of annoyance. 

"About Mac and I."

Mattie looked from one to the other of them and took a bite of pizza. They waited patiently while she chewed and swallowed. They were lawyers. They could outwait the most obstinate of witnesses.

"What about you?" Stubborn inflexibility. The definition of teenager.
	
"Things have . . . changed between us."

"Changed how?" Denial. The second definition of teenager.

Mac wanted to speak up, but she knew it wasn't her place. Harm had to handle this one on his own. All she could offer was silent support.

"Changed as in we've decided we want more than friendship." Harm's voice was firm now, the trace of nervousness gone. 

Mattie stopped chewing and looked from one to the other of them. Harm took Mac's hand, and Mattie watched the movement, then dropped her slice of pizza and stood. 

"I guess it's time for me to go back to my dad, then, huh?" 

"Why would you say that?"

"Harm, you barely have time for me as it is. Now you'll be wanting to spend what little of it there is with her." She indicated Mac with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"I thought you liked Mac."

"I do. I just like her better as your friend." 

Mac felt it necessary to speak up, tired of being talked about in the third person.

"Hey, folks. Remember me? I'm right here. You can talk to me rather than about me." 

"Fine," said Mattie, turning to her angrily. "From what I've heard, you two worked together for years without anything ever happening between you. Why now? You had your chance and didn't do anything about it. Now it's supposed to be my turn." 

Harm spoke again, his voice angry.

"Mattie, your tone of voice is inappropriate and disrespectful. Mac and I are adults, and our relationship is our business. Now, I think you owe Mac an apology."

Mac could have told him if he'd asked that it was probably just about the worst thing you could say to an adolescent. She knew Mattie was at that point in her life when she would insist upon a certain amount of control in their dealings with other people – adults or otherwise. Pointing out her lack of power in an area of her life that was close to her heart was tantamount to committing heresy.

Mattie glared from one adult to the other, then stormed to the door.

"I can't believe this is happening. Just when I thought my life was settling down, you turn it on end again. It's not fair!" 

"Mattie . . ." 

The door slammed behind her before he could finish the thought, and he turned to Mac, a helpless expression on his face.

"What just happened?" he asked her.

"An angry teenager just happened."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Not a pretty sight."

"Or sound either. I think the windows are still rattling." He sighed. "I'll have to go talk to her later, but I'd better get this mess cleaned up first." He gestured to the remains of their dinner. "Give me a hand?"

"You bet."

The worked companionably for a while, putting the leftovers away and rinsing the few dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. 

"You know," Mac said, as she closed the door and latched it, "Out of three at bats, we've already struck out twice. Not good odds."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the admiral seems ok with the idea of an 'us,' but Mattie and Clay sure aren't too impressed."

"Speaking of Webb, have you heard from him?"

"Not since he stormed out of here that day." She hung up the towel to dry and turned to look at Harm, allowing the worry that had been building all week to show on her face. "I've tried to call him several times since we've been back. He doesn't answer the phone. His answering machine doesn't even pick up."

"Did you call his mother? She always seems to know where he is."

"Tried it. No answer."

"That's odd. She's got servants. You'd think somebody would be there." He pulled her into a hug. "I'm sure he's fine, Mac. The guy's made of rubber. He always bounces back."

Mac pushed out of his arms.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Come on, Mac. You know what I mean. We've known Webb for years. Nothing gets him down for long."

"You didn't see him in Paraguay, Harm. I did."

"Yes I did. I saw him kissing you."

Mac sighed in exasperation. "Can't you let that go?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"You're right. It was."

It was Harm's turn to get angry. 

"Mac, he had no business dragging you down there. I'm sure the CIA has plenty of highly trained agents who could have handled the job just fine, but Webb had to have you. Why do you suppose that is?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he thought I was the best person for the job?"

"I don't think so."

"Tell me then, Harm. Why do you think he did it?"

"You honestly don't know?" He leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that Mac, even angry, found distracting.

"No."

"Do you remember the party at the Sudanese Embassy all those years ago?"

"The one that started out as an intelligence mission and turned into a hostage situation? That party?"

"Yeah. As I recall, it was another one of Webb's brilliant ideas."

Mac sighed. "Enough with the sarcasm already. What about the party?"

"Didn't it strike you as odd that Webb knew your measurements?"

"He's CIA, Harm. It stuck me as odd for all of five seconds."

"I'm telling you, Mac, the man's had a thing for you for a long time."

"You're implying that he requested me for the Paraguay mission because he 'had a thing for me'?"

"Maybe not consciously, but yeah. I think it was at the back of his mind."

"That's sick, Harm."

"Maybe, but I think it's true."

"Even if that were the case, what does it have to do with the fact that I can't find him now?"

"He's licking his wounds, Mac. He'll come back when he's ready."

"You know what? I think it's time for me to go."

She picked up her purse and jacket. 

"Wait. Don't leave mad. We've both done that too many times."

"I'm not mad. I just need some time to think."

"I'll walk you out."

"Harm. I'm a Marine." Exasperation laced her voice. She hated it when men felt like they had to protect her. 

"I know. Humor me." 

She gave in, too tired and frustrated at this point to fight him on it.

"Let's go then."

A few minutes later, they stood by her car in the dark parking lot. He kissed her gently. 

"Goodnight, Mac. I'll see you in the morning. Call if you need anything."

"You know I will. Goodnight."

She squeezed his shoulder before climbing into the car and closing the door. When she glanced in her rearview mirror just before turning the corner, he was still standing where she'd left him, his body a lonely outline in the deserted lot.


1215 Zulu (0715 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac entered the bullpen and turned on the lights. She was halfway to her office when it struck her that something wasn't quite right. It took her a minute to realize what was wrong, then it clicked, and she shook her head with a grin. The gremlins had struck again. All of the desk chairs had disappeared from the bullpen. She wondered where they'd gone, and got her answer when she walked into her office and collided with one of them. Lined up in front of her, neat as a pin, were six desk chairs. Curious, she walked next door to Sturgis' office, not surprised to find six more chairs lined up like officers reporting for duty. Her discovery was the same everywhere. She finally returned to her own office and was busily pushing chairs back to their places in the bullpen when Harm arrived, unusually early for him. 

"Gremlins again?" he asked, eyebrows raised. 

"Looks that way." 

He grinned and pointed over her head. "Looks like they struck twice this time."

Mac looked up. Her office name plate had been changed. Sturgis' name hung above her door. She looked across to her desk. Bud's desk plate looked back at her. 

"Suddenly I'm feeling vaguely schizophrenic," she said.

"You think you've got problems?" Harm grinned. "I'm Admiral Chegwidden and Harriet Sims-Roberts!"

Mac laughed. She couldn't help it. "So the prankster struck the admiral this time too, huh?"

"Looks that way. I hope he's in a good mood."

"You hope who's in a good mood, Commander?" 

The admiral had come up behind them while they were talking and now he waited with pointed curiosity for an answer to his question. 

"Nobody, Sir. I'll, um, just get to work." Harm backed away hastily, and Mac held back a grin. She wondered how he intended to explain himself when he had to return the admiral's name plate.

"How's the Mercer case coming along, Colonel?"

"Fine, Admiral. We hope to finish it up this afternoon."

"That's good to know since I've got two new cases to assign to you on Monday."

Mac swallowed a groan, but she suspected she hadn't been entirely successful when she saw the corners of the admiral's mouth twitch. "Carry on, Colonel." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh. You might want to return those name plates to their proper places before staff call." 

He didn't wait to hear her reply, and she was reduced to mumbling indignantly to herself while she tracked down a step stool. 

She'd finally gotten her office back to rights after retrieving one nameplate from Bud and the other from Jennifer, and was sitting down to review her closing remarks, when her telephone rang.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie." 

"Colonel. Agent Gibbs." 

Mac sat straighter in her chair. She'd thought she'd heard the last from Gibbs yesterday afternoon. What could he possibly need from her now?

"What can I do for you?"

"I have some information on that scrap of paper you brought us."

"Oh?" Her voice was cool, but she didn't try to hide her interest.

"We traced it to a restaurant in Copenhagen. High class place called Gendarmen."

"And?"

"We had a team from our European office check it out. Turns out Mercer was a regular customer."

"Which gets us exactly nowhere. The lieutenant's allowed to eat wherever he likes when he's there."

"Correct, though I doubt he could afford this place on his salary. There's more, though."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Agent Gibbs."

He seemed to take perverse pleasure in doing just that. Maybe it was payback for yesterday, and maybe it was just his way of doing things, but she was starting to feel like she needed a tow truck to drag information out of this man.

"Mercer never ate alone."

"Who did he eat with?"

"Man named Jorgenson. He's a major player in the European drug trade, but they haven't been able to collect enough evidence to arrest him yet."

Mac sensed where this was heading, and she didn't like it. Gibbs, Interpol, and the higher ups on both sides of the Atlantic were going to be pushing her to make a deal. They'd want Mercer to testify against Jorgenson in exchange for a reduced sentence. She asked the next question already knowing what the answer would be. 

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Talk to Mercer. Offer a plea if he talks. He reveals his source and distribution chain, agrees to testify against Jorgenson, and in exchange he gets five years instead of thirty."

"I'll have to discuss this with Admiral Chegwidden."

"You know where to find me."

There was a click, and he was gone. Mac didn't like this. She hated the fact that Mercer was going to be a free man again in five years, maybe less, but consoled herself with the knowledge that the life he would live after Leavenworth would be a pale shadow of the one he'd lived before. With another sigh, she stood from her desk and went to see the admiral.


1615 Zulu (1115 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Harm waited for the lieutenant to be brought in from the holding cell, his mind busily turning over what he'd been told in the admiral's office. He didn't know if Mercer was going to go for this idea, but the man would have to be some kind of fool not to jump at it. The door opened then, and Mercer came in, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I thought we were supposed to be in court this morning." His voice was wary, and Harm let him stew while he wrote the date at the top of his legal pad. He didn't really need to take notes, but sometimes the pad of paper was a useful way to notch the tension up a bit. By the time he focused his attention on his client, the younger man was fidgeting.

"There's been a development."

"What sort of development?" 

"We've found your contact in Copenhagen."

Harm watched, curious to see how the lieutenant would react to the news. As he'd expected, Mercer paled and shifted nervously in his chair. 

"Oh?" He tried to play it cool, but Harm wasn't buying it.

"Yes. Does the name Aren Jorgenson ring any bells?"

The other man stiffened and Harm knew the shot had hit home.

"What about him?"

"Turns out the international powers that be want Jorgenson. I guess he's a pretty big player in the drug trade over there. Now, this can work in your favor, but you'll have to do some talking."

"About?"

"The Navy's willing to make a deal. Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and five years hard labor in exchange for your testimony against Jorgenson in Copenhagen."

"And if I don't deal?"

"You still get the dishonorable and the forfeiture, but you're looking at a minimum of thirty years." Harm gave Mercer a few seconds for that to sink in, and then went on. "There's one other thing."

"What's that?"

"You have to reveal source and distribution."

Mercer didn't answer. Instead, he stood and walked to the window, gazing outside for several long minutes. Harm waited patiently. If Mercer was going to take the deal, it had to be voluntary. When the lieutenant finally turned back to him, his expression was sad, but resolute.

"I'll do it."

"I think that's a wise decision, Lieutenant."

Mercer brushed the comment away impatiently. "What now?"

"Now we go to court. You'll have to stand and allocute to the charges. You need to be detailed and specific if you expect the judge to accept your plea. If he does, I imagine you'll spend some time back in the brig at Norfolk until it's time to go to Copenhagen."

"When does all this happen?"

Harm glanced at his watch. "It's 1200 now. The judge granted us a short continuance so that I could present the plea bargain. We're due back at 1300."

"I'd like to be alone."

Harm stood. "No problem. I'll see you in court." 

He bought a sandwich and took it back to his office, where he spent a busy half-hour finalizing the details of the plea agreement with Mac. He was on his way in to the courtroom when he saw Breanna Mercer step off the elevator and stopped to talk to her. 

"How're you holding up?" he asked her, concerned by the dark circles under her eyes and the lines of tension around her mouth.

"As well as can be expected, I guess." Her voice trembled slightly. "Thank you for calling me this morning. If you hadn't, I'd have been sitting here with nothing to do but worry for hours."

"I'm sorry for the delay. Something came up that we had to deal with." He'd made a conscious decision not to tell her about the plea bargain, still not quite trusting that her husband would hold up his end of the deal. He didn't want her to get her hopes up only to have them dashed.

"I understand. Are we back on schedule now?"

"Yes. If you want to come in and have a seat, I think we're just about ready to get started."

"Thank you, Commander." She touched his arm, then, and he looked at her in surprise. "I want to thank you for all of your hard work on my husband's behalf."

"I'm just doing my job, Breanna, but you're welcome."

They went in then, and he saw her to a seat behind the defendant's chair. A few minutes later, the guard brought Lieutenant Mercer into the courtroom, and the final phase of the trial began. 

Judge Sebring scanned the courtroom before he spoke.

"I understand that a plea agreement has been reached?"

Harm stood. 

"Yes, Your Honor." He handed the judge a copy of the agreement he and Mac had ironed out, then walked back to his seat. 

The judge glanced through the paperwork, then looked at Mercer. 

"The defendant will please rise."

Mercer stood.

"According to the terms of this agreement, you are willing to allocute to the charges against you in exchange for an abbreviated prison term, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Let's hear it, then."

"Three years ago I became involved in the import and distribution of Ecstasy. At first, I justified my actions by the fact that the drugs I imported were pure, untainted by dangerous additives as most street forms of Ecstasy are. Later, I got greedy. I talked to my supplier, told him I wanted to deal in larger quantities. He put me in touch with his supplier. That was about eighteen months ago."

"Who are your suppliers?" Judge Sebring had taken over the role of interrogator, and Harm and Mac sat back, attention focused on the proceedings, but no longer as intent on finding loopholes in the testimony. 

"At first, most of it came from Vancouver. Later on, I developed a source in Copenhagen."

"Names, Lieutenant."

"In Vancouver, it was a man named Marcus Richardson. He hooked me up with Aren Jorgenson in Copenhagen."

"How many times did you purchase Ecstasy from Mr. Richardson?"

"At least a dozen."

"And from Mr. Jorgenson?"

"More. Maybe fifteen or twenty times? I didn't keep count."

"And what did you do with the drugs once you got them into the United States?"

"I sold a few to private clients. My distributor handled most of it, though. I delivered most of my shipments to her, and she handled the final sales transactions."

"And who was this distributor?" Judge Sebring was getting impatient. Mercer hesitated, and Harm held his breath, half expecting the lieutenant to clam up. He didn't, but when he spoke, he unleashed a firestorm.

"My wife. Breanna."

In the instant of stunned silence that followed the lieutenant's softly spoken words, a chair clattered to the floor. Before anybody could stop her, Breanna was at her husband's side. The crack of her hand against the side of his face was as loud as a pistol shot.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "All you had to do was keep your stupid mouth shut!" 

The gavel crashed, Sebring thundered for order, and Harm shoved Mercer into a chair, then grabbed Breanna's wrists, easily subduing her. For the space of a single heartbeat, he stared into her eyes, stunned at the depth of hatred that burned in them. Then the guard took over, pinning her arms tightly behind her, and yanking her back and away in a movement that elicited a gasp of pain.

"We were going to be rich!" she sobbed angrily. "All you had to do was keep your stupid mouth shut and do your time!" She kicked out, narrowly missing her husband, who pushed away from her.

"I wasn't going to do thirty years, Breanna. Not for any amount of money – not even for you." Mercer turned away from her and waited in stoic silence while his wife was dragged from the room, struggling and hissing angrily at him the whole time. Harm shook his head. She'd fooled him, convinced him that she was a loving wife, and the whole thing had been no more then an expert job of acting on her part, a ruse to avoid suspicion. 

Once order was restored in the courtroom, Mercer stood and began to talk in a grim monotone, his words dropping like stones in the silence. 

"Breanna and I began attending raves when we were dating. At first, I didn't want to go. The music was too loud, and I didn't like the crowds. She can be . . .convincing, though, and more often then not, I gave in. Then one night, I saw her take some kind of pill. It wasn't long before her mood changed. She got . . .happy. And relaxed. I was going through a difficult time. My parents had been killed in an accident a few months earlier, and my younger brother had been arrested for his involvement in an auto theft ring. I held it together at work, but the stress was getting to me, so when I saw that the pills helped Breanna feel good, without any obvious side effects, I decided to give it a try."

He paused, reached for the glass on the table, and took a long drink of water before he went on.

"A few months later, we were at another party when somebody took a bad hit. The kid went down like a ton of bricks. We didn't want to be there when the medics arrived, so we left. We found out later that the kid died. I'd never seen that happen before, and it scared me. That's when I started learning more about the drug. I learned that Ecstasy, in its pure form, is rarely fatal, but that the versions sold on the streets are almost always tainted. Breanna and I talked about it, and the next thing I know she comes up with the idea that we should import a pure form of the drug ourselves. We'd make a fortune, she said, and nobody would suspect me because I was a Navy pilot."

He paused for another drink, then rubbed the back of his neck before he went on.

"It started small, an ounce here, then a few weeks later, another ounce. Gradually, people learned that the stuff we were bringing in was pure, and our client list began to grow. That's when I connected with Jorgenson."

He stopped and looked around at the grim faces that stared back at him. 

"I never meant for it to get this far. It started out of a desire to provide a safe form of the drug to kids who might die from the stuff that was peddled on the street, but somehow it spiraled out of control."

He finally stopped talking and stood silent, awaiting Judge Sebring's verdict. The judge stared at him, his gaze stony, until Mercer finally dropped his head. 

"Lieutenant, if I had my way, you'd spend the rest of your life pounding rocks. Luckily for you, though, somebody a lot higher up the food chain has other plans. Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and five years confinement."

The gavel banged, a guard led Mercer away, and the courtroom slowly emptied. It was over. Harm shuffled his files back into his case and stood. Mac still sat at the prosecution table, head bent over her notepad, busily writing final notes about the trial for the case file. He watched her for a moment, memorizing the play of late afternoon sunlight in her hair, the delicate curve of her shoulder, and the expression of concentration on her face. He moved to her side, and taking advantage of the fact that they were alone in the room, allowed himself a gentle touch on her shoulder. 

She started slightly and looked up, a tired smile on her face.

"Quite a day, huh?" he said.

"Yeah. I have to say, I never suspected Breanna Mercer was involved in any of it."

"I didn't either. I had her pegged as the devoted wife." He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to have to defend her in court, not with a room full of eyewitnesses who can testify against her."

"It won't be pretty."

"No, it won't." He looked around, making sure the room was still empty, the door safely closed. When he spoke again, the sincerity in his voice brought her eyes up to his. "Listen, Mac. I'm sorry about last night. I was rather . . .insensitive."

"No apology necessary," she said with a nearly imperceptible shrug of one shoulder. "You were right. I just  . . .wasn't ready to hear it yet."

"So we're ok?"

"Yes." She smiled up at him, and he had to resist the urge to kiss her. "Do you want to do something tonight?" she asked as she stood up and pushed in her chair.

He sighed his frustration. 

"I'd like to, but I can't tonight. I'm taking Mattie out for dinner and a movie."

"That's probably a good idea. She was pretty upset last night."

"Yes, she was. She has been for a while. I'm hoping to straighten some things out."

"So I'll see you at the admiral's party tomorrow?" They walked to the door together, and he pulled it open for her. 

"Absolutely." They exchanged another smile before parting to go to their own offices. 

Mac relaxed gratefully into her desk chair, tired as she always was at the end of a case, more so since it was also the end of a very long week. She thought about Webb, and picked up the phone to try calling him again. She knew he was an adult, but she'd feel a lot better when she could talk to him. When nobody answered, she disconnected with a sigh of frustration, and immediately dialed a second number.

"Hello?"

Finally. 

"This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. May I speak with Mrs. Webb, please?"

"One moment, please." The smooth voice of a highly paid servant floated through the earpiece, and Mac drummed her fingers on her desk while she waited impatiently.

"Colonel Mackenzie?"

"Mrs. Webb. I've been trying to reach you for days."

"What can I do for you?" The older woman's voice was cool, and Mac sensed that she'd heard from her son.

"I'm looking for Clay."

"He's out of the country."

"I suspected as much. Do you know where I can reach him?"

"I don't think he wants to be reached, Colonel."

"Ma'am, we parted badly the last time I saw him. I need to talk to him."

There was a pause, and then an icy reply.

"Unless my math skills have rusted completely, I count ten days since that encounter, and you're just now trying to locate him?"

"No, Ma'am. I've tried calling him several times. There's no answer at any of the numbers I have."

"You don't say . . ." Mrs. Webb didn't sound convinced.

"Look . . . would you just . . . deliver a message for me?"

"That depends on what it is. I got the distinct impression he didn't want to hear from you."

"Just . . . tell him I said I'm sorry." 

"I'll consider it, though I don't know when I'll talk to him again."

"Thank you, Mrs. Webb and . . . I really am sorry."

"I'm sure you are, Colonel. Will there be anything else?"

"No."

"Goodbye, then."

The line disconnected, and Mac replaced the handset, a feeling of relief slowly settling over her as she acknowledged that, for now at least, she'd done everything she could to set things right between her and Clay. Until, and unless, he decided to turn up again, there was nothing else that she could do. 

She spent the next hour tying up the few remaining loose ends in the Mercer case and contacting Agent Gibbs to let him know that the lieutenant's plea had been accepted by the court. Then she turned off her computer, gathered her things, and left the office, looking forward to a long bubble bath, a good book, and a quiet evening. 


1955 Zulu (1455 Local)
Admiral Chegwidden's Home
Maclean, Virginia


Mac raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she made contact. 

"Colonel, punctual as ever, I see. Come on in."

"Thank you, Admiral. I brought a salad. Where should I put it?"

"Take it around back. You'll see the table." He smiled at her, uncharacteristically relaxed, and Mac returned the smile before moving past him to the back of the house. She was glad he'd arranged this little get-together. It had been a hard year at JAG, and it would be nice to spend some time with her friends in a purely social setting. 

She stepped through the back door and was almost knocked off her feet by the small whirlwind that crashed into her legs. She steadied the salad, and grinned down at her pint-sized attacker. 

"Hi, A.J."

He grinned back at her.

"Hi, Aunt Mac!"

"A.J., let Aunt Mac put down that dish she's carrying before you knock it out of her hands," Harriet called from her seat in the shade of a large tree, baby Jimmy in her arms. 

"Sorry, Aunt Mac."

"That's ok, sweetie, just give me a second to set this down."

She placed the dish on the laden table, then turned and gathered her godson in for a hug. Greetings exchanged, she stayed in a crouch, and the two of them enjoyed a long conversation about his school, his friends and T-ball. 

Harm stepped through the back door and saw the two of them, heads close together, sunlight sparkling in their hair, and warmth flooded through him. He moved toward the pair, and when A.J. saw him, he broke from Mac and barreled into his arms, burrowing in for a hug. Mac stood and stretched the kinks from her back and knees, then smiled at the two of them. Harm smiled back, his eyes warm with laughter and love, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. Then A.J. squirmed in his arms, and Harm set him down, watching him run off across the yard. 

"I can't believe how much he's grown," he commented to Mac.

"I know. It's hard to believe it's been five years already."

He couldn't resist teasing her.

"Five years? Has it really been that long?"

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "You know it has, Harm."

"I'd forgotten." 

His grin gave the lie to his words, and she laughed at him. 

"You know," he said, his voice sinking into a near whisper. "I'd very much like to kiss you right now."

"You would, huh?" She was the one teasing this time, but as she said it, her eyes widened slightly and she moistened her lips, and he knew his suggestion had hit home. 

"Yes. I would." 

He moved closer to her, but she stepped back and shook her head warningly. "No can do, Flyboy. You're the one who wanted to keep things quiet for a while, remember? And by the way . . . where's Mattie?"

"She decided she'd rather spend the night with some friends then hang out with a bunch of grownups."

"Ahh . . . smart girl."

"I thought so."

"How'd it go last night?"

"It went well, I think. We worked some things out. She even conceded that she might be willing to share my attention with you on occasion. All in all, it was a good night."

"I'm glad to hear it." 

They moved across the lawn to where the rest of the JAG team was assembled under the trees, and the next hour was spent in idle conversation with their friends. Sturgis had brought Varese with him, and she proved to be funny and sweet and had everybody laughing on several occasions as she told war stories about concerts she had done around the world. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation.

"Commander? Care to help me with the grill?" A.J. asked. 

"Sure."

The two men moved off together, and Sturgis suggested a quick game of touch football while they waited to eat. Harriet and little A.J. were to be the referees. Within minutes, the teams were chosen and play began. By the time the food was ready to eat, they were all pleasantly grubby and had to troop inside to wash. 

Harm finished with the cooking, fixed himself a plate, and went to sit beside Mac on the grass. Bud and Harriet sat nearby, with Jimmy sleeping on a blanket between them and little A.J. loudly wondering if there was going to be ice cream, much to his father's embarrassment and Harm's amusement. 

"So . . . has anybody figured out who the gremlin is yet?" asked Bud, attempting to draw attention away from his son's antics.

"Are you sure there's only one?" Asked Harm.

"You think there's more then one?" 

"I consider it a distinct possibility."

Jen spoke up from her place on the other side of the Roberts clan.

"I don't know, but if I ever find out who reprogrammed my start up waves, I'm going to get even."

That prompted a round of laughter. 

"And I'd like to know how those rubber ducks got into the water cooler," said Harriet, who'd had to help mop up spilled water when Jen had removed the half full bottle from its position on the cooler.

Harm chimed in. "I don't suppose anybody's willing to confess to the out of order elevator?" 

Silence. Evidently, nobody was willing to take responsibility for that one, either.

The admiral spoke up, then, and the laughter subsided.

"Unless I miss my guess, just about everybody had a hand in the fun."

"Even you, Admiral?" Coates asked, ever one to speak before thinking.

"No comment."

That prompted another burst of laughter and some lively conversation, which he allowed to go on for a few minutes before speaking up again. 

"I will admit that the last two weeks have been . . . entertaining, but in the interests of maintaining the proper degree of professionalism in the office, I think the practical jokes should stop now."

A disappointed groan swept the group.

"And on that note," the admiral continued, "I think it's time to start cleaning up." Everybody stood and began gathering plates and glasses, and in no time, the chores were done and dessert served. Groups formed and reformed in a human kaleidoscope as people renewed friendships and caught up on gossip. Little A.J. played ball with his father and Sturgis, and Harm wandered over to Mac, interrupting her conversation with Harriet.

"Mac? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure. Excuse me, Harriet. I'll be right back."

"Take your time. I wanted to talk to Jennifer about something anyway."

Mac followed Harm around the side of the house. Whatever he had to say, he obviously wanted to say it in private. They seated themselves on the porch steps and watched a group of kids playing ball in the deepening twilight. The evening air was cool, but not unpleasant, and the voices of the children drifted to them on a soft breeze. Mac watched the changing colors in the sky and waited for Harm to speak.

"There's something I need to talk to you about." 

He sounded serious, worried almost, and she turned to look at him.

"What is it?" Mac grew worried too. "Is Mattie ok?" It was all she could think of that might have this effect on him.

"Mattie's fine."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I'm thinking of leaving JAG."

Her heart plummeted to the tip of her little toe at the words. He was leaving? But why?

"I don't understand. I thought we were ok."

"We are ok, Mac. We're more then ok. That's why I think I should consider leaving JAG."

She shook her head, still confused.

"You've lost me."

"Here. Maybe this will clear things up."

He held his hand out to her, fist closed. Slowly, he turned it palm up, and allowed his fingers to open. She gasped, stood, and moved to stand at the railing, her heart pounding, her eyes staring sightlessly into the deepening twilight. She felt his presence behind her, and shivered as his hand landed gently on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. With a gentle finger he tilted her chin up, and the corners of his mouth twitched, though his eyes were serious.

"Tears again, Mac?" 

She nodded once, but didn't try to speak. She didn't think she could past the lump in her throat.

"Listen. I know this is kind of sudden. We've only really been a couple for a week, but I've known what I want for a long time."

Mac tried to speak, but he shushed her, his fingers gentle against her lips.

"If it's too soon, or if you're not sure, I'll understand." He paused, then went on, "But a long time ago you told me that you wanted a good man, a great career, and lots of comfortable shoes."

"You still remember that?" She was a little surprised, though not much. The man had a mind like a steel trap.

"Yes, and you already have two thirds of what you wished for that night. I'm offering you the third." 

"You're offering to take me shoe shopping?" 

She couldn't resist the gentle tease, and he smiled at her.

"Not exactly - though if it's something you feel strongly about, I suppose we could look into it." Then he turned serious again. "Wait." He looked around, spied the bench, and led her over to it, then pushed her gently down.

"What . . .?" she asked, the single word trailing off into silence at the slight pressure of his fingers against her lips.

"I've waited years for this, so let me do it right, ok?"

She watched, her heart in her throat, her eyes filling with tears again, as he knelt on one knee. Then he took her hand in one of his, running his thumb back and forth across her knuckles while he watched her. She saw him take a deep breath, and knew that he was nervous, but when he spoke, the quiet tones of his voice reminded her of melted chocolate - rich, and sweet, and warm. 

"Sarah Mackenzie, will you marry me?" 

She took the ring from him, and held it in her hand for a moment, savoring the warmth that had passed from his body, through this tiny circlet of gold, and now into her. She thought about the symbolism of the circle as an unbroken, never-ending bond between two people who are willing to devote the rest of their lives to each other. Then she took a deep breath, and slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. 

He pulled her up and into his arms, and her hand went to his shoulder while she tilted her head to seal their bargain with a kiss that spoke of love and promises and eternity. Mac wanted it to go on forever, but eventually he pulled back slightly, and brought his hands to rest on her hips. 

"Do you think it's time to say something to the others?" he asked.

Mac smiled, fully aware that the happiness flowing through her right now, if harnessed, could probably fuel the nation's lighthouses for the next hundred years, but not caring a bit.

"Want to make a bet?" she countered his question with one of her own.

"What do you have in mind?" 

"I'll bet they don't believe us." 

He considered her challenge with the air of a serious poker player.

"What are the stakes?"

"Loser makes breakfast in the morning." 

She watched his eyes darken, saw the tip of his tongue dart out to moisten his lower lip, and almost dragged him away from the party then and there. 

"You have a bet," he said, one eyebrow quirked in amused challenge. "I like my eggs scrambled with peppers and onions."

She laughed at that, then slipped her hand into his, and together they walked around the corner of the house. It was nearly dark by then, and most of the JAG corps had left, causing Mac to wonder fleetingly how many people had seen the two of them on the porch. She doubted many had. They'd been in a corner that was shielded by shrubbery, and even if, by some chance, somebody had noticed, she found she really didn't care. 

The group that remained had pulled their chairs around a small campfire that crackled and popped in an open section of the yard. The Roberts children slept on a blanket nearby while the adults chatted quietly. They looked up when Harm and Mac approached.

"We were wondering where you two disappeared to," said Harriet, and her eyes zeroed in on their clasped hands, then raced upwards to take in the smiles on their faces. 

"We saved you a couple of seats on the off chance that you hadn't abandoned us entirely," said Sturgis with a grin, indicating two empty chairs next to him.

Harm guided Mac to the chair beside Harriet and took the one next to Sturgis himself. 

"Did we miss anything interesting?" he asked casually.

"Not really. Just about everybody's gone home," answered Bud. "We were starting to think you two had left, too."

"I'm sorry, Bud. We got involved in a conversation."

"Not a problem," said the admiral. "Would you like a beer?"

"No thanks. I have to drive tonight. Do you have a Diet Coke handy?"

"Sure do. Mac?"

"Sprite?"

A.J. reached into the cooler beside him and passed the two cans. Mac leaned across Harriet to take them, and the ring on her finger glinted in the firelight. Harriet gasped.

"Colonel?" The younger woman's voice rose to a squeak, and Mac suppressed a grin. Somehow she'd known Harriet would be the first to notice.

"Yes, Harriet?" Her voice was calm, but beside her, Harm choked on a laugh.

"Um . . . Is there something you want to tell us?" Harriet's voice came out in a rush, her excitement nearly getting the better of her. 

"Oh . . . you mean about this?" Mac indicated the ring on her hand, her movements casual.

By this time, everybody had noticed the ring, and dead silence descended as they awaited Mac's answer. She looked at Harm, and the two of them shared a smile. 

"Mac and I are engaged," he said, his voice nearly as nonchalant as Mac's had been. 

Harriet shrieked, causing the admiral to cover his ears reflexively. Jennifer came around her chair to get a closer look at the ring. Bud and Sturgis, however, were skeptical.

"I thought you put the kibosh on the practical jokes, Admiral."

The admiral grinned.

"I did, Lieutenant, but only at the office."

Bud turned toward Mac.

"It is a joke, isn't it?"

Mac grinned mysteriously. "What do you think, Bud?"

Sturgis shook his head and rolled his eyes at Harm. "Buddy. I've known you to pull some whoppers in your time, but this one really takes a prize."

Harm laughed. "Thank you, Sturgis. I'm glad you approve." 

Jennifer looked up from where she'd been looking at Mac's ring.

"Sure looks real to me, people."

"They must have borrowed it." Bud refused to be convinced. 

Harriet was quite willing to believe in magic.

"Have you set a date yet?" 

Her enthusiasm bubbled over, and Bud began to look angry, convinced his friends were taking advantage of his wife's naiveté.

"We haven't talked about it, Harriet, but I promise you we'll let you know."

"Wait. You mean this is for real?" This time it was Bud's voice that ended in a squeak, as his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew wide.

Harm took Mac's hand in his own, squeezing it gently before he answered.

"Yes, Bud. It's for real."

Later, Harm and Mac would wonder how the kids slept through the next few minutes of pandemonium. There were enough hugs, handshakes, and hearty congratulations to make everybody smile for the next month. That done, and relative quiet finally restored, Harm and Mac were pressed into a quick explanation of the sudden change in their status. Afterward, there were Coca-Cola toasts and more handshakes and hugs. Then, by silent agreement, the friends began saying their goodbyes. 

Harm and Mac were the last to go.

"Thank you, Admiral," said Mac.

"For what?"

"For keeping our secret for a while."

"It wasn't my secret to tell, but you're welcome." He shook Harm's hand and gave Mac a brief hug. "I guess we should talk about what to do with the two of you now, huh?"

"I imagine one of us will have to leave JAG, Sir," said Harm. "I've already told Mac I'd be willing to be the one to go."

"Don't make any decisions yet, Commander. Let's see what I can work out."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Goodnight, you two. I'll see you Monday."

"Goodnight, Admiral," they answered simultaneously, then grinned at each other. A.J. just shook his head, turned, and went into the house. 

Harm and Mac walked to Mac's car, parked just ahead of Harm's on the street. She turned before opening the door, and tried to see his expression in the darkness.

"So?" she asked.

"So . . . what?" 

"Who won?" 

"Ah, our little wager."

He pretended to think about it.

"I think we both won," he said, using what she had come to refer to as his bedroom voice to deadly advantage, "but if you want to come to my place, we can discuss it further."

"You have a deal." She stretched up to give him a brief but passionate kiss, then opened her car door and settled herself inside while he was still collecting his wits. 

"I'm ready," she said, looking up at him with a smile, "are you?"


***********

Epilogue

***********



1405 Zulu (0905 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Conversation around the conference room table was more relaxed then it had been in months. Saturday's party had gone a long way toward improving morale, and even though it was Monday morning, traditionally the grumpiest day of the week, several smiles had already been spotted. 

The door opened, and silence flooded into the room as officers began to rise to their feet, expecting the admiral to make his appearance. Instead, Jennifer stepped inside, and they relaxed again. 

"Sorry, everybody. Admiral Chegwidden had to take a phone call. He says you're to wait and he'll be in soon."

She disappeared, and the chatter picked up again where it had left off.

"Has anybody heard whether or not Harriet got all those paperclips untangled yet?" asked Sturgis.

"She took them home," Bud answered. "Little A.J.'s having a grand time untangling the mess."

"Speaking of practical jokes, one of those rubber ducks turned up on my desk this morning. Anybody want to claim it?" Harm looked around the room, not surprised when nobody confessed to the crime.

Mac grinned and reached into her briefcase. Without a word, she placed a tiny yellow duck in the middle of the polished wooden table. There it sat, a cheerful addition to the formal ambiance of the room, surrounded by uniformed military officers who stared at it in amused silence. Somewhere nearby, a high pitched squeak sounded, and Bud placed a second yellow duck beside the first. 

Sturgis and Harm opened their briefcases, and soon four rubber ducks formed an incongruous centerpiece, diminutive tails touching, bright little faces staring back at the adults around them. Harm shook his head and chuckled. "Technically, nobody defied the admiral's orders, but I'd love to know how the little fellows ended up on our desks." 

The door opened again, and the officers quickly rose to attention. This time it was the admiral, and he stopped just inside the door, staring at the tiny yellow toys that cheerily defied the concepts of military order and discipline. He shook his head and looked again. They were still there. He sighed. 

"I distinctly remember putting an end to this," he said, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

"You did, Sir. These were on our desks this morning," Mac volunteered the information, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought down a grin.

The admiral reached into his pocket, pulled out a yellow duck, and placed it with the others.

"I know."

With a distracted "At ease," he moved around the table, and took his place at the end, never taking his eyes off the ducks.

"Obviously, there's only one way to put this to rest," he said, after he was settled. "It's time to come clean, people. I want to know who did what to whom, and I want to know now." 

Silence. 

"We'll take it in order." He looked around at the assembled group. "I believe the first prank was the elevator?" 

The quiet was broken by a self-conscious cough.

"Um . . . that was me, Sir." Sturgis attempted to look contrite, but he wasn't very convincing. “Knowing Harm’s penchant for losing track of time in the morning, I thought it would be fun to throw up a roadblock for him." He grinned at Harm, who traded the grin for a mock glare before shaking his head with a smile of his own. "The look on your face, Harm . . .” 

"Wait until I get you out on the basketball court again," Harm said, but Sturgis just grinned more broadly.

The admiral broke in. "And the . . ." he gestured toward the center of the table. "Tub toys?"

Bud spoke up. "That was Harriet, Sir. She'd gotten them in a gift basket for the baby." He hesitated, and then in typical Bud fashion, rushed on. "They were brand new and clean." 

"Lieutenant Sims did that?" The admiral didn't bother to hide his surprise. "I wouldn't have pegged her as a prankster." 

Bud's expression was a mix of confusion and pride that was downright comical, and several people chuckled.

"Let's see . . . the next one was . . ."

Mac spoke up.

"That would be the confetti in my sun visor, Sir." 

"Oh yes. I heard about that. Heard you traipsed through NCIS with bits of it in your hair, too." The admiral looked around. "Anybody want to confess and risk the colonel's wrath?"

"I did that one, Sir." Harm looked a little ashamed of himself, but his eyes twinkled as he looked at his fiancée. "I was sure the elevator prank was Mac's idea. I was just getting even."

"I see. Well, Commander, for your sake, I hope the colonel doesn't hold grudges."

"Me too, Sir."

Harm noticed the thoughtful look in Mac's eyes and decided he'd better be careful over the next few days. She couldn't do anything at JAG, but with the amount of time they were spending together outside of work, he knew she'd find it easy to play a prank of her own. And Mac being Mac, she’d wait a while before doing anything, just to watch him squirm.

"Next were the mouse traps, as I recall," said the admiral, looking around again. 

"I'm afraid that was me, Sir," said Mac. "I wasn't sure who to blame for the confetti, so I decided to be an equal opportunity prankster."

"You trapped your own mouse?" asked Harm, amused at how devious she'd been. 

"If I hadn't, it would have been obvious who the prankster was, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know. As I recall, you didn't trap the admiral's mouse and nobody thought he was the prankster."

"Only because his office was locked when I did it. Otherwise, I'd have gotten his, too."

"Excuse me," A.J. broke into the conversation. "Let me make sure I've got this right." He turned to Mac. "You would have played a practical joke on me?"

Mac shifted uneasily in her seat, but didn't try to avoid the question. "Yes, Sir. I would."

The admiral just shook his head. "What is the world coming to?" It was a rhetorical, tongue-in-cheek kind of question that didn't require an answer. "O.K., after the great mouse incident, what was next?"

Harm answered. "I believe that was the paperclips, Admiral, and I have it on good authority that that one was courtesy of Petty Officer Coates."

"Good authority?'  asked Mac.

"Mattie."

"Ahh . . .I never could keep a secret from my roommates, either." 

The admiral shook his head in amused resignation. "Somehow I knew Petty Officer Coates had figure into this somewhere." He looked around the table. "Next?"

Mac laughed. "I believe that would be the enemy fire incident, Sir." 

"Enemy fire?" He looked puzzled for a heartbeat, then he smiled. "Ah, yes. The petty officer's computer. Anybody want to confess to that?"

Bud spoke up. "That was me, Sir." 

Unanimous surprise greeted his confession, and he grinned self-consciously. 

"I'm impressed, Lieutenant." 

The admiral's sincerity amused Harm, and he traded smiles with Mac. 

"I believe that brings us to name plates and chairs, does it not?" 

A strange light hid in the back of the admiral's eyes when he said that, and Harm tried to puzzle out its meaning while everybody waited for somebody to confess to the last set of pranks. 

The silence grew.

Harm looked around, meeting first Mac's eyes, then Bud's, and finally connecting with Sturgis, who shrugged, apparently as bewildered as the rest of them. 

The admiral cleared his throat.

Mac's eyes widened as she looked over at him.

"You, Sir?"

"Why is that so surprising?" He cast a curious look at her, and Mac stammered into silence. Harm decided to help her out. Maybe it would lighten his punishment for the confetti.

"We just don't usually think of you as the practical joke type," he said.

The admiral quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "Oh? And what type is that?" 

Now Harm was in trouble, and Mac's smile contained both gratitude for his assistance, and amusement that he was suddenly the one floundering.

"You're always the consummate officer and leader, Sir. We simply wouldn't have guessed it about you." Sturgis leaped to Harm's rescue, and it was his turn to come under the admiral's scrutiny.

"So. You don't think I have a devious side, is that it?"

Sturgis, Harm, and Mac all looked at Bud, waiting for him to say something brilliant, but Bud, in a pitiful attempt to look inconspicuous, buried his head in a file, stubbornly refusing to look at his fellow officers. The other three shook their heads and rolled their eyes before turning back to the admiral. 

"All right, folks. Let's put the ducks away and get to work."

Within moments, rubber ducks were safely stowed away; notepads and pens poised and ready; and four pairs of eyes focused intently on their commanding officer. A.J. cleared his throat, opened the first case file of the day, and began the meeting. 

Later that afternoon, when AJ came back from lunch, the ducks were back. They were lined up in a straight, perfect row on his desk, but they'd been ingeniously personalized. Each wore a uniform made of . . .wait. Were those coffee filters? A petty officer, two lieutenants, two commanders, and a lieutenant colonel were perched at attention. AJ couldn't decide whether to laugh or bellow for the "ducks" in question to haul ass into his office. 

After a moment, he noticed a Post-It stuck to his computer monitor. With a sigh, he pulled it off and slipped his glasses on, recognizing Mac's tidy handwriting.

Admiral, 

There's an old saying about having all your ducks in a row. Your 'ducks' are lining up as we speak. We promise, no more pranks. But we couldn't resist this one, since you so kindly forgot to lock your door today. 

Quack!

The absurdity finally wore him down, and AJ gave in to the laughter. One of these days, the madhouse he presided over would finally drive him insane. But, in their unique fashion, he knew they would make it one hell of a ride.



Rubber Ducky, you're the one,
You make bath time lots of fun,
Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you;

Woo woo be doo

Rubber Ducky, joy of joys,
When I squeeze you, you make noise!
Rubber Ducky, you're my very best friend, it's true!

Doo doo doo doo, doo doo

Every day when I 
Make my way to the tubby
I find a little fella who's 
Cute and yellow and chubby

Rub-a-dub-a-dubby!

Rubber Ducky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.

Every day when I 
Make my way to the tubby
I find a little fella who's 
Cute and yellow and chubby

Rubber Ducky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of -
Rubber ducky, I'd like a whole pond of -
Rubber ducky I'm awfully fond of you!

Doo doo, be doo