Title:  Soaring Free

Author:  Pixie

Email:  Pixie1@gmail.com

Rating:  IM15/R

Category:  JAG story

Disclaimer:  JAG and its characters belongs to CBS and Bellisarius Productions

Acknowledgements:  My deepest gratitude to Captain for sharing her spacious brain, to Aerogirl, for her technical knowledge and her red pen, and to Tracy for stepping in to help with the beta work on what turned out to be very short notice. 

Author's Note 1:  This is the sequel to "Flying High." If you've not yet read it yet, or if you need a refresher course, you can find it at my website or in the Legacies archive. Soaring Free is set within the basic parameters of season10. General Cresswell's the JAG, and Mattie's with her dad, but you won't find any mention of Vukovic, Mayfield, or Graves. There's also no mention of Mac's health issues. This story is muddy enough without throwing that into the mix.
 
Author's Note 2:  In Back in the Saddle, TPTB decided that Blacksburg would be 100 miles from Falls Church instead of 270. Since 100 miles made this story much easier to write, I stuck with canon instead of going with reality. I also moved Front Royal, so that for purposes of this fic, it's only about 30 miles from Washington D.C.. 


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


Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

~John Gillespie Magee, Jr.~


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

Chapter 1


He pulled her close, and she nestled into the spot below his collar bone that seemed to have been tailor made to fit the shape of her head. Her hands wandered across his back, memorizing the feel of his body, even though after ten years of marriage, she bore his imprint on her soul. They stood like that for a long while, oblivious to curious onlookers and the passage of time. Finally, he moved his hands to her shoulders and held her slightly away from him, looking down at her with loving eyes.

"I won't be long."

"I know." She tried to smile, but she knew he could see the worry in her eyes. He dipped his head to give her a gentle kiss before he turned and climbed into the small plane that sat beside them on the tarmac.

"Pasta tonight?" he asked, as he settled himself into the pilot's seat. "Carmen's?"

She did smile, then. Carmen's was one of her favorite restaurants. 

"Sounds good."

"Great. While I'm gone, you can think about which dress you want to wear. I vote for the blue." He pulled the shoulder harness into place, and then leered at her wickedly. "But if you do choose the blue, I can't guarantee we'll ever make it to the restaurant."

She laughed at him. "Then I'll make sure to wear the blue." The dress in question, a deep, shimmering, midnight blue, fit her perfectly, the silky fabric draping enticingly over breasts and hips before falling in soft waves to just below her knees. 

"You'd better stand back, sweetheart. I'm ready to fire up the engine." 

She stepped back with a small wave, not wanting him to go, but knowing that he needed this. He'd always been this way, apparently programmed from birth to feel most at home in the sky. She knew he did his best thinking in the air, knew also that this was why he so desperately needed to fly today, and she loved him enough to let him go, even though every minute spent apart was an agonizing torment. 

She watched as he started the engine and wheeled the small experimental craft onto the runway, gradually gaining speed and then lifting off with a degree of grace that belied its man made origins. 

She was turning to walk back to the car when a sound filtered back to her on the breeze. It was a small thing really, a catch, as though the tiny craft hiccupped as it climbed. She would always remember that sound, would hear it over and over in her dreams, replayed on an endless, agonizing loop. She spun back around, and the puzzled expression on her face turned to one of horror as she watched the delicate white wings tilt, the nose angling down and to the right. Unable to tear her eyes away from the unfolding nightmare, she stared, mouth open in a scream she never heard, as the tiny aircraft spiraled out of control. Flashes of white and blue blended and then separated again until, with a screech of metal and a sudden burst of flame, the doomed Long EZ plowed into the ground less than a mile from the end of the runway. 


0947 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Mac started to stand when she saw the general at her door, but he waved her down. 

"Keep your seat, Colonel." He came in and closed the door, effectively kicking Mac's trouble radar into high alert. He handed her a file, but she did no more than glance at it before looking back up at him. 

"There's a new case - a JAGMAN investigation." He raised a hand to stall her questions. "Normally, I make these assignments during staff call, but because of the delicate nature of this one, I felt I should speak to you privately."

"What is it, sir?" Mac knew the tension she felt colored her voice. 

"There was an accident yesterday in Blacksburg. A Captain Terrance Clark took his kit built aircraft out for an afternoon flight. Apparently, something went wrong, and the plane crashed just after takeoff. Captain Clark died on impact."

The general was never one to sugarcoat bad news, but his blunt delivery still caught Mac off guard, and she knew why he hadn't assigned the case during staff call. It involved a Navy pilot, a plane crash, and the airfield where Harm had met Mattie all those months ago. 

"Who's doing the investigation?" 

"Captain Clark was on special assignment to Homeland Security. There are going to be a lot of questions. I want you and Rabb on the case."

"Yes, sir."

"The team from the National Transportation Safety Board is already out there. I'd suggest you get on this immediately."

Mac stood, already collecting a notepad, the file, and several sharpened pencils. The general opened the door, and then turned back to her, his hand still on the doorknob.

"Keep me informed, Colonel. I don't want any ugly surprises."

"We will, sir."

Moments later, Mac was sitting in Harm's office. She flipped through the slim case file while she waited for him to get off the phone.

"What's up, Mac?" He hung up and sat back in his chair, a curious expression on his face. 

"We have a new case."

"We?" He looked puzzled. "The general hasn't assigned us a case together since we got engaged."

"It's a JAGMAN investigation." She paused, reluctant to continue. This case was going to push all kinds of hot buttons. "Harm… It was a Navy pilot. He crashed his private aircraft just outside Blacksburg."

Harm paled slightly.

"When?" 

"Yesterday afternoon. The general wants us to get out there right away to talk to the NTSB."

Harm stood and reached for his cover. "We'd better get going, then." He gestured to Mac to lead the way. 

During the long drive to the airfield, Mac went through the file, reviewing the details and filling Harm in on the case. The captain had been a career Naval officer. He'd graduated from Annapolis in the class of '79. When Mac read his duty stations Harm gave a low whistle. 

"Pretty much toured the world, didn't he?"

"Looks that way. Fit reps were all top notch, too. I don't see a single ding in his record."

"How long was he with Homeland Security?"

She glanced through the file, locating the information.

"Right from the beginning. March of 2003."

"Any indication what his responsibilities were?"

Mac flipped through the pages again.

"Not that I see here. We'll have to ask his CO that one."

"Eventually. What about family?"

"Married. One child." She inhaled sharply, and Harm looked over at her. 

"What?"

"It's a little girl. Audrey. She's four."

He glanced over at her, his eyes sad. "Poor kid."

"Yeah."

Mac closed the file and laid it in her lap. The tragedy of the situation had hit them both, and suddenly it seemed wrong to discuss the case like some sort of unfinished mystery novel. Harm reached over and took her hand, squeezing it in silent support before resting it on his thigh, their fingers still twined together. 

When they arrived at the airport Harm maneuvered them to the accident scene with a confidence born of familiarity. The area was littered with yellow caution tape and numbered markers. An assortment of vehicles, including several dark sedans, an evidence van, and a flat bed truck, surrounded the charred wreck like vultures eyeing a corpse. To the uninitiated, things might appear chaotic. In reality, the NTSB team was highly trained, performing their duties quietly and with little wasted movement. 

Harm stepped out of the car, automatically adjusting his uniform and cover – not out of vanity, but out of long experience with the destructive effects of automobiles on summer white uniforms. He watched as two people detached themselves from a group near the evidence van and started toward them – most likely the NTSB accident investigation team. He glanced over at Mac, intending to ask if she was going to bring the case file, but she had shaded her eyes and was staring hard at the approaching men. 

"Thor?" Her sudden exclamation took him by surprise, and he looked over in time to see her moving quickly toward the taller of the two men.

"Noodle!" 

Harm watched as Mac was swept into what looked like a bone crushing hug. He blinked, and looked again. Unbelievably, instead of berating the man for his familiarity, Mac was laughing up at him. Harm moved around the car and over to her side, openly curious. 

Mac turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "Harm, I'd like you to meet Gunnar Thorsen, an old friend of mine from college." She smiled at Gunnar. "This is my partner, Commander Harmon Rabb."

Harm noticed that she'd introduced him by his rank rather than by their relationship, and even though he knew it was completely appropriate and professional, part of him wished she'd made a different choice.

Gunnar's voice rumbled out of his chest like boulders down a mountain. "Pleased to meet you, Commander." He offered his hand in greeting. Harm hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, the pause an obvious masculine message to the other man. Only when his message had been received and acknowledged did he accept the proffered hand. The two men had initiated, discussed, and concluded an entire conversation, and Mac hadn't been aware of any of it.

Gunnar turned back to Mac. "I see you're still a Marine."

She nodded. "I'm with JAG now."

"That's short for Judge Advocate General, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"So you're a lawyer?"

"Right again."

Gunnar shook his head a little ruefully. "After all those debates I lost to you in college, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

The other man cleared his throat, and Gunnar started slightly. "Good Lord," he said, "I've completely forgotten my manners. This is Edward Maybourne, my partner and the lead on this investigation." The older man stepped forward, extending his hand in polite greeting while his partner made the introductions. 

"Meet Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and Commander Harmon Rabb from the Judge Advocate General's Office." 

Harm had to give the guy credit. Not only had Thorsen remembered his name, he'd gotten both his and Mac's ranks right. 

"I assume you two are here because of the accident?" asked Maybourne, his tone businesslike, his back stiff with disapproval - though about what, Harm could only guess.

"We're here to handle the JAGMAN investigation," said Mac. "Are you two the NTSB investigators?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid there isn't much to tell yet."

The NTSB agents lead the way over to the crash site. 

"Everything we've been told so far seems to indicate that this should've been a routine VFR flight," Maybourne said, as they approached the crumpled remains of the aircraft. 

"Mrs. Clark witnessed the accident. She stated that everything seemed normal during preflight." He pointed to a spot down the runway that had been marked by a bright orange cone, "The pilot started his takeoff roll from there." 

Maybourne watched a crew attach cables to the mangled aircraft preparatory to moving it to the flatbed truck. He shouted an instruction, and waited for a wave of acknowledgement from one of the crew members. 

"According to Mrs. Clark," he said, turning back to Harm and Mac, "shortly after the plane left the runway there was an odd sound. She compared it to a hiccup. She says she looked back in time to see the craft tilt to the right and nose over into an uncontrolled spin. The pilot died on impact." 

"Any indication of cause?" Harm asked. 

"Too early to say. We'll ship the wreckage back to the lab and let the techs go over it. If there's a mechanical issue, they'll find it."

Gunnar spoke up. "We also need to do an autopsy on the pilot, but the wife is against it. We can overrule her, but …"

"Maybe we can talk to her." Mac glanced toward the main building. "Have you interviewed the airport personnel yet?" 

"Yes. They said there'd been nothing unusual about yesterday's flight. Captain Clark had stated that he was only going up for about an hour under visual flight rules, so he didn't file a flight plan." Gunnar stooped to pick something up off the ground. He examined it closely before pulling out a plastic bag and placing the piece carefully inside. That done, he went on. "Apparently, Clark asked about business and chatted about the weather. As far as the controller could tell, everything was normal."

A technician approached Gunnar and his partner, and there was a brief murmured conversation. Maybourne turned to Harm and Mac. "If you'll excuse us, there's something we need to attend to."

"Certainly," Mac said. "Where can we reach you to get updates?"

Gunnar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Mac. 

"Call me," he said. "Maybe we can have dinner together sometime – catch up on old times."

Mac smiled at him. "I'd like that." 

Harm handed a card to Maybourne. "Here's our card. We'd appreciate it if you'd keep us posted."

Maybourne accepted the card, glanced at it, and put it in his pocket. "I'll do that, Commander."

The four of them shook hands again, before going their separate ways. Questions tripped over themselves in Harm's mind as he and Mac walked back to the car. Who was Gunnar? What was his history with Mac? How close had they been, and why had Harm never heard anything about him? And – how in the world had Mac ended up with Noodle for a nickname?

He waited until they were back in the car with the engine running before raising a curious eyebrow at her. 

"Noodle, huh?"

"It's what Gunnar called me in college. Macaroni? Noodle?" 

"I see." He considered that for a moment. "And you called him Thor."

"Harm," she said, exasperated. "It was college."

"Isn't Thor the name of a Norse God?" he asked, his tone deliberately casual. 

Mac glared at him, but Harm ignored her. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "That's right! I remember now. Thor was the God of Thunder." He grinned at her. "As I recall, he was supposed to be a pretty powerful guy." 

"Harm…" The warning tone in her voice didn't faze him. 

"Were you two close?" he asked.

"We were friends." Something about the way she said it made him look at her sharply. 

"Good friends?"

She stared out at the passing scenery, her expression pensive. Harm waited - patiently at first, and then with growing unease as the silence lengthened. "Mac?"

She finally turned back to him, a faraway look in her eyes. "He was the best friend I had at U. Minn."


1500 Local
Clark Home
Front Royal, Virginia


The car pulled up to the curb and Mac looked at the house. The old world colonial-style home was well cared for, the grass neatly trimmed, flowers blooming prettily along the walk.

"Harm." Mac touched his arm. "Look."

A little girl sat on the front steps. Her tiny knees, peaking out from beneath a pair of dark blue shorts, formed a resting place for a rather bedraggled looking stuffed rabbit. Child and rabbit were nose-to-nose, apparently deep in conversation. Neither looked up when the two adults approached. Harm and Mac exchanged a glance, and Mac seated herself on the steps while Harm moved to the door. She was careful not to crowd the girl, not wanting to frighten her. 

"Nice rabbit you've got there," she said softly. Behind her, she heard the faint chime of the doorbell. She didn't turn around.

"Have you had it for a long time?"

The little girl looked at her, her small head tilted slightly to one side, dark eyes wide and curious. "Who are you?"

"My name's Mac."

"Oh." The little girl looked back at her furry friend, running her hand down the length of one long ragged ear. "I'm Audrey," she said in a small voice.

Behind them, she heard the door open and the sounds of quiet conversation. 

"That's a pretty name," said Mac, her voice still soft. "What's your friend's name?"

The little girl pulled the rabbit in closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around it in an almost desperate hug.

"This is Hoppy." 

"Hello, Hoppy." Mac reached out and gently stroked one long ear. Bald patches tickled her palm. Neither one of them said anything for a few seconds. 

"My daddy went away," Audrey said finally.

"I know he did, honey."

"Mommy says he's never coming back." Tears welled up in Audrey's brown eyes, and one solitary drop spilled over to trail down her cheek.

"I know that makes you sad."

"Yes. And it makes Mommy cry."

Mac glanced over her shoulder. Harm and Mrs. Clark were watching. Mrs. Clark twisted and untwisted a tissue. Her face had the tight, pinched look of grief, but she didn't say anything, only offering a small nod to Mac that she should keep talking. Mac leaned a little closer to Audrey and placed her hand on one tiny shoulder.

"When I was little, I had a favorite story about a rabbit. May I tell you about it?"

Audrey nodded and tucked herself in close against Mac's side.
 
"In the story," said Mac, snuggling Audrey into a one-armed hug, "a little boy had a rabbit just like yours. He had his friend for a very long time, and he loved it very much." Audrey nodded in perfect understanding, and Mac smiled down at her. "One day, the little boy got very very sick, and after his doctor had tried everything else he could think of, he decided that the little boy's toys were part of what was keeping him from getting better."

Audrey looked up at Mac. "Really?"

"Yep. And the doctor said that if the boy was ever going to get well, his parents would have to burn all of the toys in order kill the germs that were living on them."

"Even the rabbit?" Audrey squeezed her beloved toy closer to her small body.

Mac nodded. "Even the rabbit."

"He must have been very sad."

"He was. He cried. But there was no help for it. The little boy's rabbit, his best friend in the whole world, would have to go away."

Mac sensed movement behind her, and suspected that Audrey's mother was about to stop her. Then she heard Harm's whispered "Wait," and Mrs. Clark grew still again. 

"What happened?" Audrey's voice was worried. 

"Well, what the little boy didn't know was that a very kind fairy had seen how much the rabbit was loved. She used her magic, and all the love stored inside that toy, and she made the rabbit real. The next spring, the little boy was playing in the yard, and he happened to look up. What do you think he saw?"

"His bunny?" Audrey looked hopeful.

"Well, he wasn't really sure, but that rabbit looking at him from the other end of the garden sure did look like his rabbit. It had the same long floppy ears, and the same patchy fur, and the same bright button eyes."

The little girl was quiet. She stared down at the stuffed toy, her eyes thoughtful.

"Do you think my daddy will come back to see me?"

Mac stroked the shining hair. "I don't know that you'll ever see him, but I'd bet he's nearby."

"How do you know?"

"I don't," Mac said honestly, "but I do know that if you were my little girl I'd never be able to leave you all alone." She gave Audrey a quick hug. 

"Sweetheart?" Mrs. Clark spoke from behind them, and Audrey turned around. 

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Why don't you go play in your room for a few minutes? Mommy needs to talk to these people."

"About Daddy?"

"Yes, honey. About Daddy."

"O.K., Mommy."

Audrey stood up, and looked at Mac. "Bye."

"Bye Audrey. I enjoyed talking to you." The little girl went into the house, and Mac stood up. Her glance skipped across Harm's look of tender pride and settled on the grief in Mrs. Clark's eyes. She was still fumbling for something to say when the petite woman spoke. 

"You're good with kids, Colonel." Her musical voice held a brittle edge that spoke of tightly controlled emotion. 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

"Would you like something to drink?" 

"A glass of water would be nice."

"Certainly. Come inside." 

The house was tidy, but not obsessively so. Mac spotted a few toys lying about, their colors bright in the darkened room. A stack of picture books adorned the oak coffee table, a rubber duck perched proudly on top. The framed photos scattered about the room told the story of a happy family. 

"If you'll excuse me, I'll just be a minute." Mrs. Clark gestured at the sofa. "Please. Make yourselves comfortable."

"Can I help with anything?" Mac asked.

"No thank you. I can manage." She left the room, and Mac looked at Harm. 

"I wish we didn't have to do this right now," she said in a low voice.

"I know." His eyes were warm as he looked at her. "You were incredible with Audrey."

She ducked her head, vaguely embarrassed. "Thanks."

The gentle pressure of a single long finger beneath her chin made her look up again. "You're going to be an amazing mother, Mac." His low voice sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.

There was a slight sound in the hallway, and Harm dropped his hand. When Mrs. Clark came back in they had seated themselves on the couch and were flipping through the case file. She set down the tray she carried and offered them each a glass of water, then gestured toward the assortment of snacks on the tray.

"Please. Help yourself." She shook her head. "I don't know what it is about tragedy that makes people inundate you with food. Audrey and I aren't big eaters."

Mac took a finger sandwich, even though she wasn't really hungry. 

"We're sorry, ma'am," said Harm. "We know this is a difficult time, but we need to talk to you about your husband's accident."

"I already told the other investigators everything I know."

"I'm sure you did, but if you could tell the story one more time, we would appreciate it. It might help us to figure out what happened."

"My husband died, Commander." Her voice was rough with pain. "That's what happened. His plane crashed, and he died. What more is there to know?"

"Wouldn't you like to know why he crashed, ma'am?" Mac asked gently. 

"Does it matter?"

"Yes ma'am, it does," said Harm. "Right now, the loss is too fresh. You can't think through the pain, but someday you're going to want to understand it all, and you won't be able to do that if we wait too long to try to sort things out."

Paige Clark looked at him sharply. "You know."

"Yes." 

The conviction in the single word seemed to comfort Paige. She sighed heavily.
 
"It was a beautiful day. The sky was so blue…" She paused and looked up. "I have this ring my husband gave me on our last anniversary. It has this gorgeous blue stone in it. It's called iolite. I remember thinking that the sky looked just like the stone in my ring." She pulled a tissue out of the box on the table and dabbed at her eyes. 

"I stood with him there on the tarmac, and we talked while he did his preflight checks. He was only going to go up for an hour or so. I was going to do some shopping, and then come back to pick him up. After he took off, I turned to walk back to the car."

She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. "There was this… strange sound, and I turned around to see what it was." She twisted the already mangled tissue and took a deep breath. "I… saw the plane tilt to one side, then tip up on its nose." Her voice broke, and the tears spilled over. "Every time I close my eyes it's there again. It all happened so fast, and yet… somehow it seemed like it took a lifetime."

She smiled a little, abashed. "I guess that sounds silly."

"No," Mac said quietly. "It doesn't."

Harm spoke up. "Can you tell us a little more about the plane?"

Paige blew her nose, took a deep breath, and looked at Harm. "What do you want to know?"

"Did your husband build it himself?"

"No. He bought it from somebody who builds them from kits."

"Can you tell us who that was?"

"Um…" She blew her nose and stood up. "Just a second. I'll get the paperwork." She left the room, and Mac looked at Harm. 

"You think maybe there was something wrong with the plane?" She asked him.

He shrugged slightly. "It's too early to say, Mac. Government oversight is different when it comes to general aviation. It's the difference between safety for hundreds on the commercial jetliners and safety for one or two or even a few in the private sector. They tend to focus more on the big things and less on the little ones. It won't hurt to check it out."

Paige came back with a thick sheaf of papers in her hand. "Here it is… Ashburn Aviation Services." 

Harm took out a small notebook and jotted a note. "Do you have their number?" 

Paige read the number off, and then looked up from the papers. "The owner's name is Jack Stone. He's a nice man. We used to drive up there every weekend to check the progress on Terry's plane."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Mac. She glanced at Harm and then back at Paige. "I'm afraid there's one more thing we need to talk to you about."

"What's that?" Paige asked warily as she straightened from setting the sheaf of papers down on the table.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy, but they need to perform an autopsy."

"Absolutely not." Paige turned abruptly and moved to the window. For a few moments, she stared outside. When she turned back, tears sparkled in her eyes. 

"It was an accident," she said, her voice rough with pain. "There was some type of engine problem and he crashed. What can an autopsy tell you that you don't already know?" 

"I'm sorry, but it's standard procedure in aviation accidents," Mac explained. "It's better if you agree to it, but the NTSB does have the authority to overrule you if you decline."

Paige's head jerked up at that, and she looked angrily at Mac. "He was my husband!" 

"Ma'am," Harm said, making both women start slightly. They'd temporarily forgotten his presence. "Think about this. If they don't do an autopsy, and they can't find any mechanical reason for the crash, they're going to assume that your husband wasn't medically fit to fly."

"Medically fit?" Paige's anger rose, and with it, her voice. Mac glanced in the direction Audrey had gone. Paige noticed the look and took a deep breath, struggling to regain control. "My husband was a highly regarded naval officer, Commander. He spent hours keeping himself in perfect physical shape."

"An autopsy would confirm that," said Mac. Paige's fierce gaze flickered back to her, her anger almost palpable in the suddenly quiet room. Harm and Mac waited silently until Paige's shoulders slumped and she turned away from them. 

"Do whatever you have to do," she said. "Just… let me know when I can bury my husband." She turned and moved to the door. "I'm sorry, but I'm tired. Was there anything else you needed?”

"No ma'am," said Mac. "Is there anybody we can call? Somebody who can stay with you for a few days?"

"My mother will be here in a few hours." Paige glanced down as Audrey tugged on the hem of her shirt. The adults hadn't seen the little girl come into the room, and Mac wondered how much she'd overheard. 

"Mommy?" 

Paige stooped to her daughter's level. 

"What is it, honey?"

"I'm hungry."

Mrs. Clark looked up at Harm and Mac. 

"I'd better fix her a snack."

"Of course," said Harm. "Thank you again for talking to us, Mrs. Clark. We'll be on our way."

He and Mac turned and walked down the steps, the door closing behind them with a soft click. They waited until they were in the car before speaking. 

"Wow," said Mac. "That was tough."

"It was. I kept remembering what Mom was like when she first got the news about Dad." 

The uncharacteristic confession took Mac by surprise, and she looked over at him. "Are you okay?"

He met her eyes briefly before starting the car and pulling it onto the quiet tree lined street. 

"I'm fine, Mac. It's taken me a long time, but I think I've finally been able to let him go."

"I'm glad." Her voice was soft, but fervent, and he glanced at her again, the hint of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Was I that bad?"

"Umm…You were challenging."

"But worth it?" 

"Definitely." 

Mac smiled and reached down to pick up the case file and a legal pad. They spent the rest of the drive back to Falls Church reviewing details of the investigation and planning a course of action. 

By the time they finally walked back into the bullpen, most of the staff had gone home for the day, but the general was still in his office, and they stopped to give him an update on the case. Afterward, Mac walked back to her office and sank into her chair with a sigh.

"You okay?" Harm had followed her in.

"Just tired."

"I'm heading out. Are you coming over for dinner?" He looked hopeful, and Mac hated having to turn down the invitation.

"Can't tonight. Harriet and I have dress fittings and then we're going to talk wedding over a late dinner."

"Oh." His face fell, and she laughed at him.

"Hey, this big wedding was your idea, remember?"

He leaned against the side of her desk and folded his arms, laughing down at her.

"Actually, that's not exactly the way I remember it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. As I recall, you said we'd probably get lynched if we tried to sneak off someplace and get married quietly."

Mac sighed. "I guess I did say that, didn't I."

"You did." He reached over to brush some imaginary lint off her shoulder. "And you were right."

She smiled up at him. "Well, for better or worse, it'll all be over with pretty soon."

"Not soon enough for my taste." His eyes took on a wicked gleam and Mac's pulse leaped. She decided to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"Have you talked to your mom? Do you know when she and Frank will be flying in?"

His eyes full of teasing understanding, he nodded. "They'll be here a week from Wednesday."

"Have you made their hotel reservations?" She asked.

"Done. Rental car, too."

"My, aren't you efficient." It was an observation rather than a question, and humor sparkled from her eyes.

"When I want to be..." The heat in his eyes curled her toes, and she pushed her chair back from the desk, edging away from him.

"Something wrong, Mac?" He grinned, and she shook her head at him.

"You know very well what's wrong." 

"Actually, I do." He smiled wickedly, glanced toward the deserted bullpen, and moved closer to her. He was just about to kiss her when the phone rang. Mac laughed at his muttered curse as she reached over to pick up the handset. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie…"

"Colonel? It's Harriet." 

"Oh. Hi, Harriet." Harm sighed melodramatically. Mac stuck her tongue out at him and grinned before turning her attention back to her caller.

"I just wanted to check in and make sure we were still on for tonight." Harriet was saying, "Bud said you'd been assigned to a new case and that you and Harm had gone out of town."

"Just to Blacksburg. We're back now."

"So we're still on for tonight?"

"Sure are. I'll meet you at the shop at 1830."

They exchanged a few more words and ended the call. Mac looked up at Harm. 

"I'd better get going. If I miss this appointment my dress will never be ready on time."

"You don't need a dress on my account." He looked hopeful, and she swatted him on the shoulder. 

"Time enough for that after the wedding, Harm. For now, you'd better let me go."

She gathered her purse and stood up as she finished speaking, preparing to move past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

"It took years to catch you, Mac, and now that I have you, I'm not letting you go without a fight." 

Something about the tone of his voice made Mac search his eyes, seeing there a depth of love and determination that momentarily took her breath away. She laid her hand against his chest. "Not to worry, Harm. I'm not going anywhere." 

He caught her hand, holding it captive with his own while he bent to bestow a fleeting kiss that instantly made her consider canceling her plans for the evening in favor of spending a few precious hours with him. He smiled at her as he dropped her hand.

"You'd better be on your way," he said. "You don't want Harriet to send out a search party." 

Mac rolled her eyes and grinned as she slipped past him to the door. "She'd do it, too. She'd have the entire population of DC searching for me." 

Harm's laughter followed her through the bullpen, and she was still smiling as the elevator doors closed behind her.


1117 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Harm caught up to Mac as she was leaving the courtroom, touching her lightly on the elbow to get her attention in the crowded hallway. She spun around angrily, and he took a quick step backwards.

"Whoa…everything okay?" He asked, startled. Mac nodded, but moved out of the flow of traffic before answering him.

"Just a tough case," she said with a sigh. "What's up?" 

"I was able to get a meeting with Admiral Reed over at Homeland Security at 1430 hours. Are you free to come along?"

Mac glanced at her watch, the move more a habit than a necessity. She sighed. "I can if I work through lunch. I need to write up some notes, and I have some phone calls to make."

"I'll drive. You can eat a sandwich on the way."

"Sounds like a plan. I need to run. I'll meet you at your car at 1345?"

"Sure."

"Excuse me. Colonel?" Mac turned, and an ensign handed her a slip of paper. "This call just came in for you, ma'am. It sounded important."

Mac glanced at the message, and then back at the ensign. "Thanks, Marsh." The young man turned smartly and faded back into the crowd. Mac turned back to Harm. "It's from Gunnar. I'd better go call him back. See you in a bit."

Harm watched her go, wondering if the NTSB team had already formed some conclusions about the crash. He shrugged slightly and headed back to his own office. Mac would fill him in when they went to the Pentagon.

Two hours later, they were on their way. 

"So?" Harm asked, breaking the silence. "Are you going to tell me?"

Mac looked over at him, faintly puzzled. "Tell you what?"

"Didn't you talk to the NTSB team?"

"Oh. You mean Gunnar. That was a personal call. He wanted to know if we could get together for dinner."

Harm squashed a twinge of unease. Gunnar and Mac were old friends. There was nothing to worry about. "No word on the investigation yet?"

"Not yet. It'll be a couple of days until they get the autopsy results. I think they're still talking to witnesses and airport personnel."

"I see." The next question slipped out before he could stop it. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going to get together."

"Oh." She looked over at him, the trace of an impish smile on her face. "Does the idea bother you?"

"Not at all," Harm said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "You haven't seen him in years. I think it's a good idea."

Mac studied him for a minute before answering. "He's just an old friend, Harm."

"I know that." He took his eyes off the road and looked over at her. "But you still haven't answered my question."

Mac sighed. "We're meeting for dinner tomorrow night. Would you like to join us?"

Harm shook his head. "I don't think so. I have some wedding plans of my own to work on."

"Oh?" Mac asked. "Do tell."

"Not on your life."

Mac sighed theatrically, but completely unconvincingly. "Well," she said. "If that's the way you want to be about it."

"Sure is." Harm swung neatly into a parking spot at the Pentagon, having cleared security at the gatehouse almost without her being aware of it. He reached over and took her hand. "Harriet got you last night, Gunnar gets you tomorrow night. How about coming over for dinner at my place tonight?"

Mac smiled. "I'd like that."

"My place? 1930 hours?" Something of his thoughts must've shown on his face, because she swallowed and took a deep breath. He saw her chest rise with the action, and fought the urge to run a finger around the inside of his collar, pulling it away from his suddenly constricted airway. 

She freed her hand from his and skipped it lightly up his arm, coming to rest at the highly starched edge of his uniform collar. He felt the light touch of her fingers on his neck and closed his eyes against the nearly overpowering desire that rippled through his body at the contact. "I'll be there," she said, her voice husky and her eyes full of promise. 

Harm dragged himself out of the trance she'd cast on him and captured her wayward hand, holding it securely in his own. 

"We'd better get inside," he said, relieved that he'd manage to make his voice sound almost normal.

Mac smiled at him as she collected her cover and opened her door. "You're right," she said. "It would never do to be late."

Harm shook his head and grinned as he followed her into the building, surreptitiously admiring the thoroughly female sway of her hips as she moved smartly through the entrance. 

Fifteen minutes and two security checks later, they stood at attention in Admiral Reed's office. The pose, performed countless times in the past, was as familiar to them as breathing, and they held it patiently while they waited for the senior officer to lift his eyes from his notes and recognize them. The room was silent except for the heartbeat of a wall clock as its pendulum swung inexorably to and fro. Several more minutes passed before Admiral Reed finally picked up a pen and scrawled his name at the bottom of the document he'd been reading. He set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, staring silently at the two officers before him. 

Harm and Mac returned the admiral's gaze impassively, nothing about their stance or expression allowing any hint of impatience to flicker through. 

"At ease." The admiral's authoritative command worked like a flipped light switch as Harm and Mac instantly reverted to the more relaxed position. "JAG, right?"

"Yes, sir," answered Mac.

"You're here about Captain Clark, I assume?"

"Yes, sir," Harm answered this time. 

"He was a good man," said the admiral. "One of the best I've served with."

"Understood, sir," said Harm.

Admiral Reed picked up the pen again and tapped it a couple of times on his desk blotter before dropping it with a sigh and sitting back in his seat.

"So, you have questions for me?"

Harm and Mac exchanged a quick glance.

"How long did Captain Clark serve under your command, sir?" Harm asked.

"Just over two years."

"And his assignment?"

Admiral Reed hesitated. "There isn't much I can tell you about that, I'm afraid. Much of Captain Clark's work was of a classified nature."

"We'll take whatever we can get, sir. We're just trying to figure out what happened."

"You think the accident had something to do with his work here?"

"It's too early to say, Admiral," Mac said. "At this point, we're just collecting information."

"I see." Admiral Reed nodded. "I can tell you that the captain's primary responsibility was to identify flight line vulnerabilities."

"Vulnerabilities, sir?" Harm asked, hoping for more specific information. The admiral turned to him. 

"Yes. As you're no doubt aware, ours is a trusting nation."

"In many ways, I'd agree with that, sir."

"After 9/11, it became clear that we'd become too trusting. Too complacent. Rudimentary research identified many places where the Navy could be vulnerable to an attack from within, and it was determined that we needed to identify the weak spots in the system, and then work to shore them up. This is the work that Captain Clark was involved with."

"I see," Harm said. "From Captain Clark's service record, we know he was also flight qualified on the Hornet. Were flight missions a regular part of his duties?"

The admiral looked at him for a moment, a vaguely sardonic gleam in his eye. "You're a naval aviator, are you not, Commander?"

"Yes, sir," Harm said.

"Do you find yourself flying many missions for JAG?"

"It's a… long story, sir." Harm saw Mac's lips twitch with suppressed humor at the understatement. 

The admiral observed him for a moment before speaking. "Yes. I'm sure it is," he said finally. "Anyway, to get back to the point, the captain's work kept him out of the office more than in it. He spent much of his time visiting Atlantic fleet aircraft carriers, performing assessments and doing training. In his spare time, he managed to maintain his flight readiness qualifications, but he didn't fly regular missions, no." 

"Was there anything about his work that might've made him a target, sir?" Mac asked.

"What do you mean by that?" The admiral directed a piercing gaze at her. 

"Is it possible that Captain Clark's work made him any enemies? Did he have access to sensitive information that might've made him a target for any reason?"

"Colonel, we all have enemies. Even JAG lawyers have enemies." He paused, and then added almost as an afterthought, "In fact, I expect JAG lawyers have more enemies than most."

"Maybe I should rephrase," Mac said. "Is there anybody who might benefit from Captain Clark's death?"

 Admiral Reed considered the question carefully before answering. "I wouldn't imagine so, but the captain's behavior has been a little unusual lately."

"Unusual how?" 

"Captain Clark was extremely professional. He was dedicated to his job and to everything that service to his country meant. His behavior was impeccable." 

He folded his hands on the gleaming surface of the desk, scrutinizing the two officers carefully, as though wondering what they would do with the information he was about to share. 

"Last week, Captain Clark returned from an assignment to the USS Harry Truman in the Persian Gulf. When he came back, his mood was unusually erratic. He seemed to vacillate between frenetic activity and silent distraction. He'd asked to meet with me, but I had meetings all week. I told him the earliest I could see him would be this morning."

"So you don't have any idea what might have been on his mind?" asked Harm.

"None at all, Commander."

"Was he close to any of his co-workers? Was there anybody else he might've talked to?"

"I doubt it. Captain Clark was a very private man."

Mac felt frustration sweep through her. Captain Clark's assignment to Homeland Security might easily have set him up as a target for all kinds of disenfranchised wannabe terrorists. In order to solve the case, she and Harm would need to isolate possible suspects among the people the captain had interacted with on assignment, but it didn't look like they were going to get much help from Admiral Reed. 

"Nevertheless," she said. "We'd like a chance to speak with the captain's co-workers."

"I suspected you might. They're all in their offices this afternoon. They've been informed that you were coming. I'm sure they'll make time to talk to you. Will there be anything else?"

"Not right now, sir."

"Keep me informed, if you would. Dismissed."

Harm and Mac rose, snapped briefly to attention, and left the office. A petty officer met them and directed them to a conference room where they spent the remainder of the afternoon conducting less than helpful interviews with Captain Clark's few co-workers. It was nearly 1700 hours when the last interview concluded, and Harm and Mac began collecting their notes. 

"Any thoughts?" Mac asked.

"Just one," said Harm.

"And that is?" 

"If Captain Clark's death had something to do with his work, it's going to be nearly impossible to prove it."

"I agree. Either these people really don't know anything, or they're not talking. I think the most useful piece of information we got all afternoon was that single reference to an unexplained absence from the office on Monday morning." She capped her pen, dropped the case file into her briefcase, and stood up, sliding her chair into place under the table. "Either way, I've had enough for today."

"Same here. Let's go." 

They talked briefly about the case on their way back to the office, discussing their plans for the next day and going over the fruitless interviews again. Once back at JAG, Mac spent a few minutes returning phone calls and answering email; then she shut down her computer, gathered her things, and prepared to leave for the night. 

"Heading out?" Harm asked from the doorway. 

"I've done about all I can do for today. We're going out to Ashburn Aviation in the morning, right?" 

He nodded "The meeting's scheduled for 1030." 

"You must be dreading it," she said, tongue in cheek.

"Dreading it?" Harm looked puzzled. "Why?"

Mac shrugged and grinned at him. "Forced to talk about airplanes with somebody who builds them for a living? I'm sure it's a special kind of torture."

Harm rolled his eyes at her. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am. I need to head back to my apartment to take care of a couple of things."

"You're still coming over, right?"

"I'll be there, but I might be a few minutes late. I want to drop off a couple things at the house on the way back across town."

"Mac. You should wait on that. We've already got the basics moved in, and the rest can wait until after we get back from Nassau."

"I know, but since I'll be passing nearby anyway, it makes sense to stop."

Harm shook his head at her. "I'd argue with you, but I know it wouldn't do any good."

"You're right," she grinned. "It wouldn't."

"Try not to be too late, okay? I have something special planned for dinner."

"Assuming the traffic cooperates, I shouldn't be late at all."

"Good. Then I'll see you in…" He glanced at his watch. "An hour and a half."

"See you then." Mac smiled and left, settling for a light touch on his arm as she moved past him. They both recognized the restrictions imposed by their uniforms, but soon they'd be alone together, and Mac found herself thinking about the upcoming evening as she waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. 

When the bell finally sounded, the elevator doors opened on a deserted corridor. Nearby, the stairwell door clicked softly closed. Mac had grown tired of waiting.


1925 Zulu
Harm's Apartment
North of Union Station


Mac had barely finished knocking before the door opened and Harm pulled her inside. He relieved her of packages and purse, dropping them summarily onto a nearby table before kicking the door closed and pulling her into his arms. He stared into her eyes for the span of a single heartbeat before lowering his head and taking her lips in a kiss that made her strain against him, every muscle and nerve in her body surging toward his warmth. She felt him respond to her, felt his thighs tense against hers as he instinctively pushed his hips forward, and she moaned softly in the back of her throat. She deepened the kiss; her tongue tangling suggestively with his while her hands kneaded the muscles at the base of his spine. 

She wanted him, needed him with every fiber of her being, and she tugged his shirt out of his waistband, murmuring in satisfaction when she felt the smooth muscled texture of his bare skin beneath her palms. 

"Mac," Harm's voice, hoarse with longing, almost failed to penetrate the haze of desire that enveloped them.

"Hmm?" Mac skimmed her hands up Harm's sides, lifting his shirt out of the way and giving her clear access to his broad chest. She explored this new territory, marking a trail across it from west to east, delighted at the rumble of sound that tickled her lips as she went. 

"Mac." This time Harm bracketed her face with his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. In retaliation, she smoothed her palms lightly up his rib cage, pleased when it rose convulsively to meet her. 

"God, Mac." He groaned her name, and she rewarded him with a heavy-lidded half smile.

"Talking is overrated," she said, arching her back as she felt him drop his arms to mold her hips with his hands, pulling her more snugly against him and making her ever more aware of his own desire.

"Maybe, but dinner's getting cold." His words were muffled as he nibbled at her neck, making it hard for her to form a coherent thought.

"Microwave?" she finally managed. "You have?"

"You know I do." He murmured the words in her ear as he traced the lobe with the tip of his tongue. A shiver rippled beneath the surface of her skin.

"Then," she traced the waistband of his jeans with the tip of one finger, "I fail to see a problem." She followed the finger with her lips, drawing a vaguely tortured moan from him in response. She looked up. "Make love to me, Harm." 

He captured her face in both of his hands, lifting her until they were once more face-to-face. Her hands settled on his hips as she raised her brown eyes to meet his blue ones. With the tip of one finger, Harm traced the shape of her face, ending by hooking her chin and drawing her towards him long enough for a single soft touch of his lips against hers. He dropped his arms and stepped back.

"I have a better idea," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Why don't we make love together?"

Mac smiled and stepped forward. His fingers closed warmly around hers as he led her up the two short steps that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

They came to a stop beside the bed, and Harm released one of her hands so that he could slide it around her neck beneath her hair, tilting her head up to receive his kiss. 

"Do you have any idea," he murmured between kisses, "just how much I love you?" 

Mac smiled against his lips. "Almost as much as I love you," she answered. 

She sank down onto the bed, pulling him with her so that they lay side by side. Harm propped himself on his elbow and smiled down at her. "You think?" He slid his hand under the edge of her sweater and eased it up until it rested just beneath the rise of her breast. The warmth of his touch against her bare skin made her suck in a breath, and she saw Harm's eyes darken as he watched her. 

Taking him by surprise, she pushed at his shoulder and rolled, and before he could catch his breath, he was flat on his back, looking up at her. She grinned down at him.

"No," she said. "I don't think. I know." She grasped the hem of her sweater and peeled it off in one smooth motion, arching her back and shaking her hair out so that it came to rest in a dark shimmering mass across her shoulders. She unsnapped her bra and tossed it aside. Then she leaned down, enjoying the tingle that coursed through her as she brushed against him. Harm's hands, which had come to rest at her hips, found their way up the smooth slope of her ribs and skimmed the outer edges of her breasts. He cupped her softness in his hand and raised it to his mouth, his tongue flickering like the flame of a candle against her. 

Mac gasped and arched into him as electricity raced through her body, its heat fueling a growing need to fill the emptiness at her center. Harm mumbled an incoherent answer, and the deep vibration of his voice against her skin sent another shockwave through her system. Growing impatient, she reached down to unbuckle his jeans, determined to eliminate the barriers that still remained between them. In short order, jeans and boxers hit the floor. Coins spilled out of the pockets and rolled unheeded across the carpet. 

Harm wasted no time in helping Mac out of her remaining clothes, and moments later sounds of mingled pleasure filled the room as skin slipped softly against skin. Mac reveled in the springy texture of the hair on his legs as they twined with hers, but she didn't think about it for long. There were other, more interesting delights to be explored, and she allowed her hands and mouth to roam freely. 

Harm twisted unexpectedly, and she suddenly found herself flat on her back staring up at him. He met her eyes for a moment, smiling slightly before leaning down to kiss her again, his mouth wandering freely over her face, her neck, and then lower, exploring the soft landscape that was a source of endless delight to him. Mac tangled her hands in his dark hair and pulled him close as she explored the muscles of his shoulders and back with impatiently questing fingers. Caught up in the feel of him, she didn't notice what his hands were doing, and she gasped in startled surprise when she felt him run his fingers through the curls that protected her femininity. 

He caught the sound with a kiss that mimicked the movements of his lean fingers, and she moaned. 

"Harm," she murmured. "Please."

"Please what, Mac?" He continued kissing her, continued the maddening magic of his touch, and Mac moved impatiently. He smiled against her skin, nipping gently. "Tell me what you want," he said.

"I want you, Harm. I need to feel you. Now." She nibbled at his bottom lip, and he raised up to look at her, his eyes heavy-lidded as he shifted his body slightly and she finally felt him brush against her. She moved her hips forcefully, and was rewarded as he matched the move, ending the aching emptiness with a single long stroke. 

He rested there for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of oneness. Then he kissed her, and began to move. He stopped when he saw her eyes flicker closed, waiting until she opened them again, smiling at the question in their dark depths. 

"Don't close your eyes," he murmured. "I want to watch you."

She nodded, her body dancing to the music of his. 

He began to move again, and she met him, matching him stroke for stroke, urging him on. She felt herself spiraling higher and higher as their movements quickened and their world narrowed until nothing existed beyond the moment. Dimly, she heard him groan her name, his voice somewhere between a plea and a promise, and the sound sent her over the edge. She clutched at him as she shattered into a million points of light, barely aware when he followed her seconds later. 

Afterwards, Harm collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close while they both waited for their breathing to return to normal. Several quiet minutes passed during which Mac entertained herself by lethargically drawing patterns on Harm's skin with the tip of her finger. She felt him kiss the top of her head and looked up with a smile. 

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of doing that with you," she said quietly.

"God, I hope not," he answered, hugging her tightly. Satisfaction wrapped them in peaceful silence again, and Mac allowed her mind to drift, not really thinking about anything specific, content just to exist in the moment. 

Harm finally broke the quiet, his voice low. "I'll be glad when the general sorts out the re-assignment issues," he said. "Working with you without being able to touch you is torture."

Mac propped herself up on an elbow and grinned down at him. She traced a feathery figure eight across his chest, amused when a chance encounter with one nipple caused him to tense beneath her hand. 

"You mean you've wanted to do this?" She stretched up to kiss his chin, the movement causing her breasts to flatten against his ribs. "Or this?" She nibbled the point where his neck met his shoulder, and he growled as he flipped her over on her back. 

"Careful, Marine," he said. "Don't start something you can't finish."

She raised an amused eyebrow at him. "Oh, I can finish. No worries there." She sat up and stretched. "But right now I'm hungry. Didn't you say something about dinner?"

Harm groaned halfheartedly. "Don't you want to rest for a while?"

Mac looked around at him, pausing in the act of buttoning his shirt. "Nope. I want food. Need energy for round two."

She winked at him and left the room. Moments later, he heard her rummaging around in the kitchen. Harm dug through the jumble of clothing on the floor until he located his boxers. Mac had the fridge open and was poking around in the crisper when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling the juncture of neck and shoulder. He smiled at her swift intake of breath. 

"Hi," she said, as though she hadn't just seen him seconds before.

"Hi yourself." He watched her push the crisper drawer shut and start poking among the things on the shelves. "Looking for something specific?"

"Anything that isn't rabbit food."

He reached around her, picking up a container from the bottom shelf and handing it to her. "Will chicken do?"

Mac lifted the lid and sniffed suspiciously at the contents, then smiled slowly. "How long have these been marinating?"

"Since last night."

"Perfect. You cook. I'll set the table." She'd started to reach into the cabinet for plates, when suddenly she froze. She lowered her arm slowly and turned around to stare at him, one eyebrow lifted in suspicion.

"Wait a minute…" She folded her arms across her chest and crossed one ankle behind the other as she looked at him. It was a pose he'd seen her strike before when interrogating a witness, but somehow it didn't carry as much power when her only clothing consisted of a man's rumpled shirt with most of its buttons undone.

"Something wrong, Mac?"

"When I first got here, you said something about dinner getting cold." She sniffed the air, nose twitching delicately as Harm fought the urge to glance toward the oven. "And it certainly smells like you've been cooking."

Harm looked faintly sheepish. "It isn't anything, Mac. Here." He reached behind her, making a grab for the chicken, but she snatched it neatly out of his reach. He rolled his eyes at her. "If you'll give that to me, we can be eating dinner in ten minutes." Her stomach growled, and he grinned triumphantly. "See?"

"Never mind that," she said, padding across to the oven. She hit the button to turn on the light and leaned down to peer inside. The movement made his shirt rise high on her thighs, and Harm felt his body respond as he tried to intercept her. 

"Mac…" But he was too late. She stood up and turned to look at him. 

"Soufflé?" she asked in disbelief. "You made a soufflé?" 

The sad-looking concoction he pulled out of the oven moments later was difficult to identify. 

"Lobster even," he said without regret, and dumped it unceremoniously into the trashcan. "Well worth the loss, though."

"Harm, I'm sorry," Mac said. "I didn't know."

In response, he pulled her into his arms and dropped one hand to knead the curve of her hip. He lowered his head and kissed her, nibbling gently at her lower lip until she opened to him with a low moan. Several mutually enjoyable minutes passed before he pulled back and looked down at her, pleased when it took another second or two for her eyes to flutter open. 

"I'm not," he said, when he judged that she could hear him again. 

"Hmm?" she asked, blinking fuzzily at him. "Not what?"

"Not sorry."

"Oh." She looked like she'd entirely forgotten what they'd been talking about, and Harm took advantage of her inattention to make another grab for the chicken. 

"Hey!" she yelped. "That's cheating!"

He grinned unrepentantly as he pulled a skillet out of the cabinet. "All's fair in love and war, Mac."

She groaned at the cliché, but set about pulling dinnerware out of the cabinet, too hungry to waste time complaining.

An hour later, the simple dinner finished and the kitchen cleaned, Harm snaked an arm around Mac's waist, and turned her to face him. "Now," he said, reaching for the top button of her shirt with his free hand, "What was that you were saying about round two?"

Mac smiled at him, sliding her hands up his muscled forearms as she rose to meet his kiss. The move brought her lower body into close contact with his, and Harm automatically placed his  hands on her hips. 

"Did you bring clothes for tomorrow?" 

The practical question stumped her for a second, as she shifted mental gears. Then she realized why he'd asked and smiled. "Spare uniform in your closet, everything else in the bag I brought up with me." She glanced over to where it still sat by the door, abandoned and forgotten since she'd first arrived. Harm's eyes followed her glance and he grinned. 

"Good," he said, just before scooping her up in his arms. He ignored her half-hearted squeal of protest. 

"Harm! You'll hurt yourself!" 

"Hush, woman. We aren't going far."

Seconds later he dropped her, still laughing, on the bed. He followed her down and captured her lips in a kiss that instantly changed her laughter to a low moan. Boxers and shirt soon drifted through the air, their trajectories and final landing places unobserved by the couple who had eyes only for each other.


1030 Local
Ashburn Aviation Services
Martinsburg, Maryland


They pulled up in front of the small airfield and Mac cut off the engine. She looked over at Harm. "Are you sure this is it?" she asked. 

Harm nodded and pointed to the faded sign hanging at a jaunty angle from a nearby building. "Ashburn Aviation – Where America Takes Flight." 

Mac snorted. "If I knew a plane I was riding in came from here, I'd take flight, all right."

Harm looked over at her with a grin. "Now, Mac. Let's not make any snap judgments."

She shook her head and climbed out of the car, glancing around while she waited for Harm to join her. Timeworn buildings badly in need of fresh paint were scattered about the property, their leaning walls vaguely reminiscent of drunken sailors on shore leave. Grass and weeds battled for territory along the cracked walkways and fence lines. Apparently, the weeds were winning. By contrast, the single runway appeared to be in perfect condition, unblemished and clearly marked, its edges defined by a closely spaced string of lights. 

They walked toward the main building together, their eyes on a small plane that was taxiing into position for takeoff. Harm pulled open the heavy front door, its glass smudged by years of dirt and grime, the faded AAS logo barely visible. Inside was a single small desk littered with soda cans, empty fast food containers, assorted pens and pencils, and an untidy pile of paperwork. Behind the desk, the cavernous building sheltered a variety of small aircraft in various states of completion - jigsaw puzzles with missing pieces. Near the front of the desk, half buried under an empty chip bag, was a rusty silver bell. Harm shrugged and gave the bell a tap. 

Bright metallic sound echoed hollowly against the walls and ceiling, fighting for life in the vast expanse of space. Somewhere, metal crashed against concrete, and a voice swore bitterly. The diatribe interrupted itself briefly, drowned out by another crash, and then started again, getting louder as it approached them. 

"Damned thing." The voice arrived somewhat ahead of its crotchety owner, who was making no effort to disguise his irritation as he moved through the building. "Been trying to get that blasted piece on for three days now, but it's more stubborn than my ex-wife's mother in law." 

Mac glanced over at Harm with a grin as he raised an amused eyebrow. Just then, a small figure came around the back side of a nearly completed plane, approaching them rapidly, but with an oddly lopsided gait. 

The man eyed his visitors and pulled a rag out of his hip pocket. He wiped his hands, either unaware or unconcerned that the rag merely rearranged the grease patterns slightly, its fibers already too dirty to absorb any more grime. 

"Can I help you folks?" He asked as he approached. He peered at their uniforms and let out a low whistle. "A Navy commander and a Marine lieutenant colonel. What did I do to deserve such attention?"

Harm smiled. "I'm Commander Harmon Rabb from the Judge Advocate General's office, and this is my partner, Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. We're looking for Jack Stone."

The little man cocked his head to one side and expertly directed a stream of tobacco juice into a discarded soda can. "That'd be me," he said. "You two looking to buy a plane?" His gray eyes, bright and curious, looked Harm over. "You're a little tall for most of the girls I build, but I'm pretty sure we can come up with something." 

He shifted his eyes to Mac, scanning her appreciatively from head to toe. Far from being offended, Mac suppressed a smile. "And I'm certain I can build just the plane for you, Ma'am. Cool, sleek, and sophisticated. Yep. Not a problem at all. If you'll just have a seat for a second –" Here he stopped talking long enough to point out a pair of chairs that didn't look like they could support the weight of a cat, much less a six foot human. "I'll just poke around here..." His voice disappeared, along with his head, into the bowels of a huge filing cabinet. 

Harm and Mac exchanged amused shrugs.

"Got it!" The triumphant shout was punctuated by the slamming of the file cabinet drawer, and Jack turned around, proudly displaying a rather bedraggled looking binder. "I think I've got just the thing." He busied himself shoving aside the flotsam and jetsam that decorated the desktop, mumbling absently to himself as he worked. 

"Actually," Harm said, hating to distract the man from his mission, but not wanting to waste his time, either. "We aren't here to buy a plane."

"Oh?" Jack looked up, and some of the sparkle left his eyes. He slumped into a nearby chair, fumbling a bit as it teetered wildly and then righted itself. "If you aren't here to buy, then what do you want? I don't know too many JAG lawyers who double as door to door salesmen." He picked up a soda can and tipped it into his mouth, and Mac found herself hoping fervently it wasn't the same one he'd just spit his tobacco juice into. Jack caught her watching him and winked at her, and Mac stifled the urge to roll her eyes.
	
"Actually," she said. "We're here about Captain Terence Clark."

Jack set down his soda can. "Who?"

"Terence Clark. He and his wife Paige bought a plane from you a couple of years ago."

Jack, forehead furrowed in thought, took another gulp of soda. All at once, his confusion cleared. "Oh!" he said, and put the can down again with a metallic thump. "You mean Terry! Fine man, he is. The wife, too. Lovely couple. Their little girl is adorable. I think I have a picture here someplace." He began fumbling around in one of the desk drawers. 

"Mr. Stone -" 

He interrupted her, head still bent over the open desk drawer. "It's Jack. Nobody calls me Mr. Stone."

"Okay, Jack." Mac looked over at Harm and then plunged ahead. "Has the NTSB contacted you?"

Jack's head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers with sudden intensity. "The NTSB?" He asked warily.

"Yes."

"No…" He stretched the word out, as though stalling for time. "Should they have?"

"Sir," Mac started, and then stopped when Jack glared at her. "Jack, I mean. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this…"

She trailed off, putting off the inevitable. She had Jack's undivided attention now, his sharp eyes focused on hers from deep within his lined face. She cleared her throat and went on in a rush. "Captain Clark died in a plane crash two days ago." She paused. Jack's face had taken on a look of stunned disbelief, and she wished she didn't have to tell him the rest. "Jack, I'm sorry, but he was flying the plane you built for him when he went down."

Jack stared at her in stunned silence as her words echoed through the cavernous building. Several long moments passed before he abruptly stood up, rested his hands on the battle scarred wooden surface, and leaned forward. The ancient piece of furniture wobbled slightly and then righted itself. One battered soda can gave up its tenuous hold on stability and toppled over the edge. It teetered for a brief moment on the edge of a brimming trashcan and then fell again, landing with a dull metallic clang on the concrete floor. Jack stared at it until it rolled to a stop against the ancient filing cabinet. Then he turned slowly back to Harm and Mac. 

"And you think it's my fault?" His voice, tense with defensive anger, was all the more lethal for its soft delivery. "You think I screwed up when I built that plane?"
 
"That isn't it at all," Mac said, concerned by the odd color overtaking the older man's face. "It's standard procedure to interview the manufacturer in aviation accidents, Mr. Stone. You must know that." 

He stared at her for a few more seconds before heaving a sigh and sitting down again. Mac tensed, prepared to spring into action should the ancient chair finally give way and dump him unceremoniously onto the floor. There was a brief flurry of activity during which man and chair battled for supremacy. Then the chair steadied itself, and everybody relaxed with a collective sigh of relief. Jack chuckled unexpectedly, and Harm and Mac exchanged a startled glance.

"You know," Jack said, "I should probably get myself a new chair, but I never get tired of seeing people react to this one. Some of them are downright disappointed when I don't wind up flat on my ass." 

Jack pulled out a bit of pencil and a tattered notepad. "Okay then. Suppose you tell me what it is you need."

They spent a few minutes talking about the Long EZ, and Jack brought out the manuals and plans for the kit-built plane. While he and Harm talked about technical details and specifications, Mac wandered around the building. 

As she walked, Mac realized that, though the outbuildings and walkways had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair, in here things were nearly surgically clean. The brightly lit room beyond the cluttered office space appeared to be highly organized, even to her untrained eye. The planes themselves were evenly spaced, with plenty of open work area in between. Tools and equipment were carefully stored in rolling bins or on pegboards hung on rollaway partitions. The floor, which she would've expected to find covered with a thick layer of dust and grease, had obviously been swept fairly recently. Although she didn't recognize most of the tools she saw, all of the equipment in use appeared to be clean and well maintained, if not brand new. Mechanics worked quietly around the planes, their movements efficient and professional.

Her cell phone rang as she was rounding the nose of a bright green plane that made her think of dragonflies. She looked at the caller ID on her phone, glancing over at the office area as she did so. Harm and Jack were still deep in conversation, and she smiled as she took the call. She doubted Harm was even aware of where she was right now, and she suspected it'd be a while before she'd be able to drag him away.

"Colonel MacKenzie," she said, directing her attention back to her call.

"Noodle!" 

Mac grinned and shook her head. "Gunnar!" She laughed. "How are you?"

"Swamped, as usual. You?"

"The same. We're at Ashburn Aviation talking with Jack Stone right now."

"He was the builder, right?"

"Yes. And friends with the captain and his family, from what I understand."

On the other end of the line, Gunnar sighed. "That's the one thing about this job that I hate, Mac. I don't think I'll ever get used to breaking the news to loved ones."

"Speaking of which, I'm surprised Mr. Stone hasn't heard from you yet."

"Haven't had a chance. We've only barely gotten the plane warehoused. The techs are still going over the pieces."

"Find anything?" she asked. 

"Not yet. You?"

"Nothing jumps out at us, but we're just getting started."

"Same here. We're expecting the preliminary autopsy results tomorrow, and we still need to meet with the people over there at Ashburn. You're there now, right?"

"Yes."

"Any leads?"

"Not really. The place is a little run down on the outside. The buildings need some repair work, and I think they need to hire somebody to mow the grass."

He laughed. "Since when have you cared about grass, Mac?"

"Hey! I like grass just fine."

"That isn't how I remember it." He was still chuckling, and Mac smiled. When they'd been in college, Mac used to complain about the intricate landscaping on the grounds. She'd been convinced her tuition dollars were being spent on flowers and shrubs instead of lab equipment and professors. 

"Besides," she said. "We aren't talking pansies and marigolds here. I'm thinking this guy should invest in a herd of goats." 

"That would certainly make take-offs and landings more interesting. Can you imagine being placed in a holding pattern while Little Bo Peep clears the runway?" 

Mac laughed and shook her head at the absurdity. "Little Bo Peep herded sheep, not goats." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harm glance over at her. He looked like he was finishing up. 

"Gunnar?" she said. "Listen, I need to go. Was there something you needed?"

"I just wanted to confirm our date for tonight. We're meeting at the restaurant, right?"

"Right. At 1930."

"I'm looking forward to it." Mac heard the smile in his voice. 

"Me too," she said. "I'll see you there." She disconnected the line and put the phone away, moving toward Harm as she did. The men stood to meet her, Harm with a folder full of papers in his hand. 

"All done?" she asked.

"All set." Harm turned and offered his hand to Jack Stone. "Thank you for your time, Jack."

"Not a problem. I'm just sorry to hear it happened. Such a terrible thing for that family to have to go through. Let me know if there's anything else you need." Jack shook their hands, and then turned to go back to his work. 

Harm turned to Mac, one eyebrow raised. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"What was what all about?" Mac was puzzled.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Oh," Her expression cleared. "That was Gunnar. He just wanted to confirm our plans for tonight."

"Did he have any news about their investigation?"

"Not yet. He said they had the parts warehoused and that the techs were going over them." She paused, thinking. "Oh, and he said they'll probably have the autopsy results tomorrow."

"Good." Harm held the door for Mac as they went out, then continued the conversation as it swished shut quietly behind them. "Maybe it's time to set up a meeting with them? Compare notes?"

"Good idea," said Mac. "I'll see what I can arrange tonight." 


1925 Local
Olde Hickory Grille
Falls Church, Virginia

A flood of sound rushed through the restaurant doors, escaping into the quiet evening like water washing over a dam. Inside, the warmly lit room was crowded with casually dressed people. The walls, paneled in rustic pine, were decorated with horse tack and cowboy gear, and country music blared from a hidden sound system. Above the bar, a baseball game was in full swing on a flat paneled television, hung high and angled for the best viewing by the most people. Patrons nursed tall mugs of beer and debated the merits of their favorite teams.

"Table for one, Ma'am?" The young woman, dressed in red plaid shirt and faded blue jeans, spoke to her from behind a simple wooden podium. She held a menu in one hand, and a polite smile on her face. 

"Actually, I'm meeting someone," Mac answered. "Tall blue-eyed blonde man with a voice that could charm the skin off a rattlesnake. Seen him?" 

Her last comment triggered a spark of recognition, followed by a twinkle of humor. "You wouldn't be Noodle, would you?"

Mac rolled her eyes. He'd pay for that one. She'd see to it. She nodded and smiled. 

"This way, Ma'am." Mac sighed as she followed the waitress. First Noodle, and now Ma'am. It was shaping up to be an interesting evening. 

Gunnar stood when he saw her approaching. Their table, a small one set back in a relatively quiet corner of the boisterous establishment, already held two tall glasses of ice water and a matched pair of paper menus. He hugged Mac and then pulled her chair out for her. Neither saw the hostess smile wistfully as she returned to her post. 

They were quiet while they looked over their menus, but after they'd placed their orders and watched the waiter depart, Gunnar leaned forward.

"How are you, Mac?" He asked. 

She smiled across the table at him. "I'm good." Her soft voice carried absolute conviction, and Gunnar returned her smile. 

"What about you?" she asked. "How are you?"

His smile faded slightly. "I'm okay."

"Just okay?" Concern edged Mac's voice. She thought about their shared history. He'd been her lifeline for four years, a pillar of strength that she'd leaned on often as she'd struggled to fight her way free of the sucking whirlpool that her life had been before. Somehow, in the years following college, they'd drifted apart. It hadn't been deliberate, just a gradual lengthening of time between conversations and letters until it had gotten to the point where she hadn't even been sure where he was anymore. Now she found herself wondering if he'd needed her, but not let her know.

"It's a long story." There was a tone of finality to his words, and Mac fell quiet, waiting until after their waiter had finished serving a basket of rolls before picking up the conversation. 

"How long have you been with the NTSB?" she asked, changing the topic.

"Five years now." 

"I thought you were in air traffic control?"

"I was for about four years." He shrugged. "The stress got to me after a while. I was always half convinced that I was going to miss a call, and a plane full of people would go down on my watch." He chose a roll from the basket and buttered it before going on. "When I heard the NTSB was looking for investigators, I applied. It seemed like the best of both worlds. I could be around planes, but without the constant grinding stress."

Mac smiled at him. "You always did like jigsaw puzzles," she said. "I imagine the challenge intrigues you."

"It's fascinating, Mac. You have no idea…" He trailed off guiltily. "Enough about me. Tell me about you."

It was Mac's turn to shrug. "There isn't much to tell, really. College, Marines, Law School, JAG. That pretty well sums it up."

"Married?"

Mac's eyes drifted to her ring, and her eyes lit with gentle happiness. "Not yet," she said. "You?"

"Not anymore." 

"Oh?" Mac wondered about any woman who would let a man like Gunnar get away from her. "What happened?"

Sadness welled in his eyes. "Myra and I met while I was working air traffic control," he said. "In some ways, she was like you. She had the same strength and will to succeed, the same self-reliance. She was funny, and smart, and the best poker player I'd ever had the misfortune to play against." He smiled at the memory. 

"We had a small plane, a Cessna - beautiful little thing, bright red and full of personality. Myra called her Spirit." He trailed off, and Mac reached across the table to place her hand on top of his in a silent offer of comfort and support. Gunnar stared into the space above her head. "Myra took Spirit up one day while I was at work." He swallowed hard, and Mac waited quietly for him to go on. "There was engine trouble." He brought his gaze down to meet hers, his tortured blue eyes meeting her sympathetic brown ones. "Spirit crashed in Superior National Forest. Myra didn't make it." 

"Gunnar, I'm so sorry." 

He turned his hand over beneath hers and squeezed. "It happened a long time ago, but I think I'll always miss her." 

There wasn't anything Mac could say to that, and she didn't try. Instead, she waited quietly while he took a sip of water. He swallowed, shook his head slightly as though to clear it, and smiled weakly at her. "In a strange way, Myra's how I got where I am today. After she died, I got a little obsessed. I had to know exactly what had happened. For months, when I wasn't working I was doing research. I hounded everybody involved in the investigation and spent hours poring over manuals and engineering blueprints. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep…" 

A server arrived with their salads, and Gunnar waited until after he'd left to continue. "It took a close call at work for me to realize that I needed a career change before something terrible happened, and within a week, I'd turned in my resignation and applied to the NTSB." He poured dressing over his salad. "Apparently, they thought my knowledge about single-engine aircraft might prove useful." He smiled at her and speared a tomato. "So here I am."

"Wow," Mac said. "I'm so sorry. Sorry it happened, and sorry I wasn't there to help you through it. You should've called. You know I would've come."

He smiled. "I know you would've, but you'd moved on with your life. You were making something of yourself. You'd fought so hard, and I knew you were finally starting to feel a sense of control about things. I didn't want to drag you back down with my problems."

"Gunnar." Her voice was reproachful. "It's what friends are for."

He shook his head at her. "I had my family to help me get through it. You had nobody to help you stay on your feet."

"Not true," she retorted. "I had Uncle Matt."

He laughed at the stubborn jut of her chin. "You're right. I forgot about that. He's a good man, too." He seized the opportunity to change the subject. "What's he up to these days?" 

Mac grinned. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

"Oh?" He quirked a curious eyebrow at her. "Do tell."

She told him about Uncle Matt's escapade with the Declaration of Independence. By the time their dinner arrived a few minutes later, Gunnar was chuckling.

"Did he really expect that to work?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but you have to admit, it was a gutsy move."

"Gutsy?" Gunnar shook his head, as he dipped a fork into his baked potato. "Or crazy."

Mac smiled. "Little bit of both, I guess. But I'm proud of him. He stood up for what he believed in, and now he's paying the price without a word of complaint."

"How much longer will he be in?" Gunnar asked.

"He has another five years."

Gunnar released a low whistle. "Fifteen years, huh?"

Mac nodded as she set to work on her steak. "I miss him."

"I'm sure you do. You and he were always close." 

"He saved me." Their server arrived to top off their water glasses, and Mac nodded her thanks before looking back at Gunnar, her eyes serious. "You both did."

Gunnar shrugged off the comment and changed the subject again. "Tell me about JAG. Is lawyering as boring as I've always suspected?"

Mac laughed. "Not exactly." She went on to tell him about some of the more unusual cases she'd worked on over the years, and the rest of their meal passed companionably as they took turns filling in the blank spaces created by distance and time. 

After dinner, Gunnar walked Mac out to her car. He took the keys from her and opened her door in a gentlemanly gesture born of an old fashioned childhood. He dropped the keys in Mac's outstretched palm and smiled at her. 

"I've missed talking with you, Mac. Now that we're both in the area, we should do this more often."

"I'd like that," she answered. She turned to get into the car, but stopped suddenly and turned back to him. "I almost forgot."

"What?"

"The Clark case. Can we meet tomorrow? Harm and I thought it'd be a good idea to compare notes."

He nodded. "Sounds good. We should be getting the preliminary autopsy results in the morning. Want to meet for lunch?"

Mac shook her head. "I'd rather not. I have a feeling this case might ruin my appetite. How about if we meet you at your office right after that? Say 1330?"

Gunnar considered that for a moment, and then nodded. "That should be fine. Do you have the address?"

"It's on your card."

"Of course. I'd forgotten." There was a hint of embarrassment in his crooked half smile.

Mac settled herself in the car. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"I'll be looking forward to it."

Mac closed the door and fastened her seatbelt. Then she turned on the radio and started the engine, offering a slight wave to Gunnar as she backed out of the parking spot. As she eased her car into traffic, she glanced into the rearview mirror, vaguely surprised to see that Gunnar still stood where she'd left him. His tall form, outlined by the golden glow of a streetlight, reminded her of an oak tree in the middle of a corn field - tall and strong, and yet somehow impossibly lonely. 


1000 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac stepped inside her office, took one look at her desk, and burst into laughter. She flipped over the tag attached to the gift basket, even though she didn't need to see it to know whom it was from. Only one person would send her a basket of pasta. The small square of white cardstock was unadorned except for the simple trailing vine that bordered its edge. "Mac:  Enjoyed dinner. Call me. Gunnar." 

She was poking through the assortment of goodies when a movement at the door caught her attention. Harm leaned against the doorjamb, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. 

"Secret admirer, Mac?" His smile was lopsided, his arms crossed against his chest. 

"It's from Gunnar," she said. "A thank you for dinner last night."

Harm stepped over and picked up a package of angel hair pasta, quickly scanning the label. He whistled under his breath.

"Nice."

"Oh?" Mac wasn't exactly a food connoisseur, and she wasn't ashamed to admit it. "Good stuff?"

"The best," Harm nodded, trading the package of angel hair for one of rotini and reading the label again. He grinned at her. "Let me know if you need any help eating it."

Mac snatched the package out of his hands and put everything back in the basket. "Don't get your hopes up."

"Darn." 

Harm looked almost comically crestfallen, and Mac grinned at him. "We're scheduled to meet with the NTSB team this afternoon. Want a ride?"

"I'll have to meet you there," he said. "I've got court this morning, and I might be a little late getting out."

"Is there anything in particular you need me to find out?"

He shrugged. "Anything you can. This case still has too many unanswered questions for my taste."

Mac nodded. "I agree."

She settled into her chair and opened the case file, scanning its contents quickly before looking up again. "Did you find anything interesting in the documentation from Ashburn?"

Harm shook his head. "Not yet. Oh. That reminds me. I got a call from Jack Stone last night. He said he'd found some additional paperwork. He's going to have copies made and sent over this afternoon."

"Good. And Gunnar said they should have autopsy results this morning. When are you going out to the carrier to interview the captain's crewmates?" 

"This weekend."

Mac shook her head ruefully. "I don't suppose we can convince the general to give that assignment to somebody else? We have about fifteen things to do this weekend… Caterer, florist," she waved a hand. "The list goes on forever."

Harm shook his head. "You know better, Mac."

She blew out a breath and closed the folder before leaning back in her chair. "I know I do." She twisted her engagement ring around her finger. "It's just-" A flash of light ricocheted off the edge of her diamond, and she glanced down at it. "Life would be so much easier if we were already married."

"We're almost there, Mac. Less than ten days left." His low voice conveyed his own frustration. 

She smiled a little ruefully at him. "Tell me again why we shouldn't just elope?"

"Maybe because we don't want to get lynched?"

She snapped her fingers. "That's right." She sat up and pulled another file from the stack on her desk. She flipped it open, picked up her pen, and glanced up at him.

"Well?" she said. "What are you still doing here? There's work to be done."

Harm snapped to attention and fired off a jaunty salute. "Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am." He executed a precise about face and strode from her office. As he turned outside the door, she caught a wink and a flash of his quirky grin. She was still smiling as she settled in to work.

Mac arrived at the NTSB offices a few minutes ahead of schedule. Harm had sent a note from the courtroom letting her know that he'd definitely be late. She collected her things and headed into the NTSB building, unconcerned. It wouldn't be the first time she'd handled a meeting like this on her own.

Gunnar met her in the reception area, waited while she dealt with security and received her visitor's badge, and then escorted her to a small conference room. Edward Maybourne sat inside, surrounded by folders and a half empty coffee mug. He stood when she entered. 

"Colonel MacKenzie. Nice to see you again." His tone was formal, but not unfriendly. She shook his hand, and settled into the chair Gunnar pulled out for her.

Maybourne waited until she was comfortable. "Will Commander Rabb be joining us?"

"He's tied up in court," Mac said. "He'll try to join us later." She pulled the file out of her briefcase and set it in front of her. "We've been working together on this. I'm sure we'll be fine without him."

Maybourne nodded at Gunnar, who shut the door and sat down across from Mac. Edward handed Mac a single sheet of paper. "The NTSB is closing its investigation," he said, without preamble.

Mac glanced down at the paper. It was the autopsy report. She scanned it quickly, and then looked up again. "It says here the cause of death was blunt force trauma," she said. "Wouldn't that be consistent with a crash?"

"Yes," the older man answered. "That isn't why we're closing the case.” He pointed at something about two thirds of the way down the page, and Mac read the paragraph carefully. When she'd finished, she looked up, eyes wide.

"That's it, then?"

"I'm afraid so." 

Mac started to speak, but Maybourne stopped her with a raised hand. "Look. The NTSB is spread pretty thin. We've been over the plane without finding anything wrong." He glanced across at Gunnar, who shook his head slightly. "We talked to the builder, and to Captain Clark's commanding officer, and we conducted extensive interviews at the airstrip, at his work place, and with his wife and family. This report only confirms what we'd already come to suspect." 

"Does his wife know?"

"Not yet. We'll be driving over to see her when we're done here."

Mac thought about Paige Clark and her beautiful little girl. This news would destroy them. She shook her head sadly. "You know what this will mean for his family, don't you?"

Maybourne nodded, his expression one of resignation. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that. The facts of the case speak for themselves."

Mac gathered her papers and shoved them back into her briefcase, inexplicably angry. 

"You can close the case if you need to," she said grimly, "but I'm not willing to accept your verdict."

She felt Gunnar's light touch on her arm and looked up at him. "Mac," he said, and then glanced across at his partner. "I mean, Colonel… There really isn't any other possibility here."

"We haven't even finished our investigation yet, and you people are calling it quits." She shook her head. "Well, at JAG, we don’t give up that easily." She snapped the clasps on her briefcase and stood up, nodding coldly to the two men. "Gentlemen." She moved to the door. "I can find my own way out."

She had opened her car door and was stowing her briefcase inside when a large hand settled on her shoulder. She spun around, ready to defend herself against an attacker, only to relax when she recognized Gunnar.

"You forgot to turn in your visitor's badge," he said calmly. 

She unclipped it and thrust it at him.

"Calm down, Mac."

"You and Maybourne are taking the easy way out. I can't respect that."

"You don't understand."

"No? Then explain it to me."

He sighed. "Do we have to have this conversation here?"

In answer, Mac leaned against the car and folded her arms across her chest. "Here seems as good a place as any."

Gunnar recognized the stubborn set to her jaw and sighed. "We spent hours on this case, Mac. We analyzed the wreckage, talked to everybody and his brother, ran the autopsy… Hell, we did everything but hold a séance."

"Did you talk to his shipmates from his last assignment? Did you recreate the crash? Did you pick apart the design manuals?"

Gunnar shook his head. "You know we didn't have time for all that."

"Then how can you say the investigation is complete?"

"We don’t go to that level of detail on every investigation, Mac." He was defensive now. "It just isn't cost effective."

"Cost effective?" Mac couldn't believe it. "Are you going to explain cost effective to Captain Clark's widow?"

Gunnar threw up his hands in exasperation. "Can we just agree to disagree here? There isn't anything I can do about it. I'm just a junior investigator."

She looked at him, disappointed. "The Gunnar I used to know would've fought for what he believed in. Where did he go?"

"He grew up."

"I guess I didn't realize that growing up had to mean giving in," she said bitterly.

Gunnar growled in exasperation. He ran his hands through his hair, took a few steps away and then turned to look at her. Mac watched him, still angry, but also disappointed. The man she'd known in college would've fought for what he believed in. He wouldn't have given up on an investigation because of budget concerns. 

As she watched him, the expression on his face suddenly softened and he stepped back to her, shaking his head ruefully. 

"You're doing it again," he said.

Mac was puzzled. "Doing what?"

"Arguing me to a standstill. You used to do it to me all the time in college." He shook his head. "I bet you're a fantastic lawyer."

She smiled a little at that. "I get by."

He sighed his concession. "So what is it you want me to do?"

Mac considered that for a moment. "Do you think you can convince your partner to hold off on making his final report for a few days?"

"How many days is a few?" Gunnar asked warily.

She flashed a hopeful smile at him. "Say… A week, maybe?"

Gunnar shook his head. "A week. You're asking for a miracle. You know that."

"Just a little one," she said. "Look. Harm's going out to the Harry Truman to talk to Captain Clark's shipmates this weekend, and we're still going over some of the documentation from Ashburn. We may not find anything, but I'm asking for the chance to try. Please."

"This means that much to you?"

"Yes."

"Why?" 

Mac thought about it for a minute. The truth was, she wasn't really sure herself. She just had a gut instinct. "Captain Clark's service record is spotless," she said finally. "He served his country with honor. I think we owe him a thorough investigation. Besides," she folded her arms and lifted an eyebrow, "what man would commit suicide right in front of his wife?"

Gunnar was silent for a few moments, considering his options. "If I do this, and we end up right back where we are now, it could put a serious dent in my career."

"And if we don't? If we find out there really was another cause?" 

"It could have the opposite effect."

"Isn't it worth taking the chance?"

He studied her so intently that she squirmed uncomfortably, wondering what he was thinking. 

"I don't know if the case is," he finally murmured, "but I do know that you are." And with that, he gathered her into his arms, and settled his lips on hers.

Mac was so stunned by his unexpected move that for the space of a single heartbeat, she did nothing. Then, reluctant to hurt his feelings, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed gently against him, turning her head slightly away from his at the same time. At first, he resisted the message she was sending, but finally he pulled back, his blue eyes locked upon her own. Time stopped for long seconds as they each floundered for the words that would ease the sudden awkwardness between them, and in the intensity of the moment, neither noticed the Lexus that stopped, hesitated, and then slowly backed away. 

Gunnar looked down at Mac's stunned expression. 

"Hey," he said, trying for humor. "Was I that bad?"

Mac shook her head. "Gunnar… I…"

He interrupted her. "I know. You're engaged."

"Then why?"

He hitched a shoulder and scuffed a toe, the man becoming the guilty little boy. "I couldn't let you go without at least trying." He looked at her, his eyes boring into her as though determined to find the truth no matter where she might try to hide it. "Do you love him?"

Mac reeled from his words, and her mind flashed back to another engagement, another time in her life. She met his eyes, her gaze confident and serene. "Not that you really have the right to ask, but yes. I do love him." 

Seconds passed while the truth of her admission penetrated his denial. When it did, he dropped his hands and stepped back. 

"I owe you an apology." His words were leaden. 

Mac stepped closer to him and smoothed his shirt collar while she sorted out her thoughts. "All those years ago at college…You were my rock. My strength. You were there for me when my uncle couldn't be. I'm grateful to you for that, Gunnar. More grateful than you'll ever know."

"I don't want your gratitude." His voice was bitter.

"No. I know you don't," she said. "Gunnar, when we were in college I was more than a little bit in love with you."

"But…?" 

"But that was then." She looked across to where a colorful display of perennials danced in the light breeze. "I've changed, Gunnar. We both have. Our lives have turned us into different people."

"I'm not so very different."

"But I am. I know that. Don't get me wrong. I still care very deeply for you, and I always will, but my life is with Harm now. "

Gunnar's eyes snapped to hers. "Harm? Commander Rabb's your fiancé?" 

She nodded.

"I thought there were rules against that sort of thing."

"There are. One of us is going to be transferred out before the wedding."

"When's that?" he asked.

"A week from Saturday."

"And you still don't know who's transferring or where?"

"Not yet."

Gunnar shook his head slowly at her. "You lead an interesting life, Mac."

A kaleidoscope of images flashed through Mac's mind, memories of years gone by, and she smiled a little. "You have no idea."

"Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive - unless, of course, you don't come to the wedding."

"Will I get a proper invitation?"

"Demanding sort, aren't you."

"Hell yes." He grinned, and Mac laughed.

"I'll get one in the mail to you this afternoon." She glanced at her watch. "It's getting late. I need to get back to the office."

"Of course." He held the door for her while she settled herself inside. "And Mac?"

"Yes?" She started the car and rolled down the window.

"Thanks." 

She smiled up at him as she pulled the door closed. "You bet." He stepped away from the car and watched as she backed out of the space. He didn't fail to miss the irony in the fact that once again he found himself staring after her as she left.


1425 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac knocked lightly on the doorjamb, smiling at Harm when he looked up from the file he'd been reading. 

"Hi," he said, his tone oddly flat.

"Hi."

"How'd the meeting go?" He leaned back in his chair. 

"May I sit?"

"Make yourself at home." He waved to the pair of chairs that faced his desk. 

She sat, crossing her legs and leaning forward slightly.

"They're calling it suicide," she said.

"Based on what?"

"Autopsy results. Apparently, a virus had attacked his heart, causing permanent damage. According to the report, he only had about six months to live."

"What about a transplant?"

Mac shrugged. "Apparently, the captain had a rare blood type."

"A transplant would've been a slim hope at best." Harm shook his head. "So they think it was suicide by plane?"

She nodded. "That's what they're assuming."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know, Harm. The evidence does seem to point to suicide."

"But?"

"You met his wife and daughter. You've seen his record. Does suicide make sense to you?"

Harm shook his head. "Not really, no."

He looked at her, and for the first time Mac noticed the distance in his gaze. "So the NTSB is closing the case?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"I thought you said they'd decided it was suicide."

"They did. I convinced them to give us another week before writing their final report."

"I see." Something about the way he said it made her look sharply at him, but his expression was bland, perhaps too much so.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He met her gaze, his expression shuttered. "We need to talk."

"What's on your mind?"

"Not here."

Concerned, she nodded. "Want to come over later?"

"Sure." 

Mac stood, suddenly uncomfortable in the closed confines of his office.

"I'll see you then."

Harm picked up his pen and glanced down at the papers in front of him. "See you later."

His tone was dismissive, and Mac left the room with a brick in her stomach.


2045 Local
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown 


Mac looked up from her reading when she heard the knock. She pulled the door open, her smile fading at the closed expression on Harm's face. She stepped back and waved him inside, closing the door before turning to face him.

"Can I get you a drink?" Her words and tone were formal, an instinctive response to the set of his shoulders and jaw.

"No. Thanks. I won't be staying. I'm leaving in the morning for the Truman and I still need to pack my sea bag."

"Tomorrow? I thought you weren't leaving until Friday."

He shrugged. "I managed to snag a spot on a COD."

"I see." She didn't really, but she knew she'd find out soon. "Shall we sit?"

Harm glanced over at the couch, but shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Want to tell me what this is about?"

Harm stared hard at her for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "I was there this afternoon, Mac."

Mac blinked at him, slow to catch his train of thought. "There…?"

"NTSB."

It hit Mac then. He hadn't said it, but he didn't have to. 

"You saw…"

"Yeah," Harm said. "I saw."

"Harm… It wasn't what it looked like."

He held up his hands, stopping her before she could go any further. "It's okay, Mac."

She looked at him, eyes wide. It couldn't be this easy – not when his eyes were so full of pain. 

He glanced at the picture on her end table. It was a new one of the two of them together, and she watched him stare at it for a second before tearing his eyes away to look at her. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I don't want to be Mic Brumby, Mac."

She stared blankly at him. "What do you mean?"

"You were engaged to him, you said you loved him, and yet you kissed me that night at your engagement party." He said the words without inflection. "I have a very clear memory of you being engaged to somebody else and kissing me." He shrugged. "As I recall, that marriage never happened." 

"You kissed me that night, as I recall."

Harm looked at her as though she'd just proven his point, and with a sinking feeling she realized she'd done exactly that. Today, Gunnar had been the one to kiss her, only this time she'd been engaged to Harm. The evidence was circumstantially damning, and she knew it. 

"This was different, Harm."

"I'm not so sure it was." 

She started to say something, but he raised a hand to stop her. "Look. I don't want to argue with you. I'm leaving in the morning. I won't be back until sometime Monday night, so you'll have the entire weekend to figure out what you want."

"I already know what I want, Harm." She fought to stem the rising tide of panic, struggling to keep her head above the water, but a tidal wave was looming on the horizon, and she wasn't sure she'd survive when it hit.

Harm moved to the door, opened it, and looked back at her, his eyes sad but determined. "Be sure, Mac."

She stood frozen in place, unable to fully believe what was happening. Words jockeyed for position in her head, but she couldn't seem to organize them into logical phrases. In the end, all she could do was stare at the door as it clicked shut behind him. 

0130 Local
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown


Mac sat on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest. She'd been sitting like this for hours, ever since she'd gotten home from all those wedding related errands she'd had to take care of. In a way, she wasn't sure why she'd bothered. Harm had all but called off the wedding before he'd left, and yet she couldn't bring herself to cancel any of it. So she'd confirmed their order with the florist, gone over menu selections with the caterer, and dropped off the final payment for the band. She'd even had her final fitting at the bridal shop, trying to look like a happy woman while inside she felt as though her world was ending.

And now here she sat, forgotten packages scattered around her like lost sheep in a meadow. A half finished mug of tea, long cold, rested on the low table in front of her. She saw none of it. Instead, she stared sightlessly at the carpet while her mind churned that last conversation over and over, analyzing it from every direction until eventually the details had all the clarity of split pea soup. 

At first, she'd been stunned by the conclusions Harm had drawn from what he'd seen. She loved him. Surely she'd proven that in the months following their ground-breaking trip to Seattle and Deception Pass. They'd been nearly inseparable ever since, spending so much time together that at times their decision to maintain separate apartments until after the wedding had seemed almost ludicrous. And then… this. It just didn't make any sense! 

It had taken her most of the first twelve hours after he'd left just to begin to understand his thought processes. Harm, she was sure, would've remembered that she'd professed to love Mic – just as she now insisted that she loved him. He'd also be remembering the way he'd felt on the Admiral's porch all those years ago when the emotion of the moment had pushed them into a kiss that had left them both reeling and uncertain about their relationships and their futures. 

It wouldn't be much of a stretch for him to assume that she and Gunnar were experiencing the same emotions that she and Harm had way back then. For some reason, he was either unwilling or unable to believe that this situation could be any different from that one. All he could see, in his typical male fashion, was that she and Gunnar had been kissing. Apparently he'd allowed his overactive imagination to do the rest. 

Okay. She sort of understood his thought processes now. She didn't like it, but she was pretty sure she understood it. The thing that she was still struggling with, the thing that had been causing her blood pressure to creep steadily upward as the day had progressed, was the fact that he hadn't fought for her. He'd simply turned around and left. She couldn't decide if he was playing the part of noble martyr or wronged lover, but neither option held much appeal. 

Abruptly, she grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and threw it across the room. It landed against the wall with a completely unsatisfying thud. She wrapped her arms around her knees again and glared at it, half expecting it to burst into flame with the force of her anger. 

Damn the man. All those years. All the problems and miscommunications and wrong turns. She'd actually dared hope that they were finally getting somewhere, that they'd finally resolved most of their differences and were ready to begin a new life – together. And then this had to happen. It'd been nothing, really - a misunderstanding on Gunnar's part. She'd handled it. It was settled, and it certainly wouldn't be happening again. She loved Harm. She'd made that pretty clear to Gunnar, and she would've sworn she'd made it clear to Harm. 

Evidently Harm hadn't gotten the message. The man obviously suffered from some sort of massive mental disconnect when it came to her. She seriously needed to look into having him rewired. In the meantime, he'd better come home with a flak jacket, because she had a thing or two to say to him, and if he wasn't careful hospitalization would be required. 


0930 Local
USS Harry Truman
Somewhere in the Arabian Sea


Harm stared out over the water, oblivious to the dolphins that frolicked in the wake of the huge ship. Behind him, the typical frenetic pace common to a ship at war went on without him. He had another interview scheduled in half an hour, but for now he was free to pursue the thoughts that had plagued him for the last two days. He wrapped his hands around the railing and leaned forward, supporting his weight on the rail as he stared down at the roiling seawater, its turbulence an exact mirror of his mental state. 

Logically, he was certain he'd done the right thing in coming out here. Honor demanded that he give Mac plenty of space and time to sort out her feelings. It was obvious that Gunnar meant a lot to her, but he'd thought it was only friendship - until he'd seen them in the parking lot that day. His stomach clenched as the scene replayed in his mind for what must've been the millionth time. 

It had been a beautiful afternoon, and he'd been planning to ask Mac if she wanted to take a walk along the river after work. He remembered that the radio had been on as he'd pulled into the parking lot. He couldn't remember the song, but he was pretty sure it had been something sappy and country – the type of music that always made Mattie roll her eyes. He'd been whistling along. The thought made his gut clench with irony. On the radio, somebody had been singing about forever love, while in front of him, he'd watched forever slip away on the afternoon breeze. 

He shook his head sharply in a vain effort to clear the cobwebs. Between jetlag and his own muddled thoughts, he'd gone virtually without sleep since he'd arrived, and the cumulative effect was starting to break down the caffeine induced dam he'd erected against his emotions. Years of training and experience, along with gallons of coffee, had made it possible for him to lock his personal issues away long enough to conduct his interviews, but during his free time, when his defenses were down, thoughts of Mac chased their tails through his muddled brain - thoughts of Mac, and of Gunnar Thorsen.

He'd only met Gunnar one time, but it had been obvious even in that brief contact that he and Mac had shared something special. What was it she'd said later? Oh yeah. He was the best friend she'd had at U. Minn. Gunnar had been there for Mac during what must've been one of the most difficult periods of her life. She'd probably still been fighting the effects of her own alcohol addiction, as well as dealing with the guilt that accompanied Eddie’s horrible death. Add to that the stress of keeping up with her studies, and Harm knew Gunnar must have been a lifeline for her during a time when she'd desperately needed one. 

He thought back to the scene in the parking lot again, shaking his head a little ruefully. Obviously, Gunnar had none of his own reticence about a relationship with Mac. He'd been so careful, for so long, that he'd almost missed his chance. Gunnar, on the other hand, had held Mac in a lover's embrace almost within hours of seeing her again. And most damning of all, both of them had been oblivious to their surroundings. Mac hadn't even known that Harm had been there until he'd told her himself. 

He stared down at the dolphins, now racing each other back and forth across the ship's slowly moving bow, and wondered why Mac hadn't told Gunnar that she was engaged. He thought back. Surely she'd been wearing her engagement ring when they'd gone out to Blacksburg that day. As far as he knew, she never took it off. Then again, he was male enough to realize that it wasn't unlikely that Gunnar wouldn't have even noticed such a detail that day. They'd all had a lot on their minds, and he and Mac had only just met again after at least ten years apart. Gunnar and Mac's emotions would've been running high, and he knew from his own experience that strong feelings tended to negate an eye for detail.

That left their 'let's get reacquainted' dinner together. Surely Mac had worn her ring then, and yet - if she'd been wearing it, wouldn't Gunnar have noticed it? Wouldn't they have had a conversation? Surely in all their catch-up talk about the last ten years, Harm's name would've come up at least once…

The endless analysis kept leading him inexorably back to the same agonizing facts. Mac was engaged. Gunnar must have known Mac was engaged. And yet, despite that fact, Harm had stumbled upon them kissing. Had it been their first kiss? Had there been more the night before at the restaurant – or after? Had Gunnar's sudden reappearance in Mac's life made her regret a missed opportunity? 

His hands tightened briefly around the gray steel before he shoved himself back with more energy than necessary - anger and frustration adding force to the motion. He spun on his heel, headed for a brisk walk back to his quarters, and almost tripped over the ensign who had approached him from behind. The young officer snapped to attention, eyes ahead, spine stiff. 

"Commander Rabb! Sir! Sorry to disturb you, Sir!" 

Harm squashed a twinge of nostalgia with a sigh. Had he ever been that young?

"What is it, Ensign?

"Sir, Lieutenant Cagle is ready to meet with you."

Harm glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Good. 

"Thank you, Ensign. I'm on my way."

He forced himself to turn his attention back to his work. He had a job to do, and he was damned if he was going to allow personal issues to get in the way. 


0800 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Harm fought down a yawn as he entered the conference room. He was getting too old for this. He'd left Thursday morning and spent most of the day in transit, losing eight hours of his life somewhere along the way. Friday, Saturday, and most of Sunday had been taken up with fruitless interviews that led exactly nowhere, and he'd spent all day yesterday in transit again, trying to get home. He doubted he'd slept for more than eight hours total over the four-day period, and he was definitely feeling the loss. He took a seat at the table and sipped at his coffee while he glanced over his notes and waited for the rest of the staff to trickle in for the daily staff call.

Mac came in behind him, seating herself quietly on the opposite side of the table. He'd been too tired last night to call her, and too confused to know what to say anyway. He nodded at her and received an icy dip of the chin in return. This was neither the time nor the place for a personal conversation, so he returned his attention to his notes, ignoring the curious looks from his coworkers and pretending to write busily while he waited for the meeting to begin. 

Seconds later, General Cresswell arrived, and professional duties forced personal concerns aside. 

"Commander? Any new developments on the Clark case?" Cresswell had turned to him after dispensing with the morning announcements. 

"I'm afraid not, sir. I spoke with everybody I could find who'd had any interaction at all with the Captain during his last assignment. Nobody reported any unusual behavior, and all of them had only the highest praise for his work."

"So where does that leave us?"

Harm glanced across at Mac, eyebrows raised. 

She turned to the general. "The NTSB still intends to file this as a suicide unless we identify definitive evidence to the contrary."

"And you don't agree that it was suicide – despite the evidence?"

Harm spoke up. "No, Sir. We don't. Everything we've learned about Captain Clark points to his being a man of strength and character. His service record was impeccable; he had a wonderful family… We just can't imagine that a man like that would kill himself."

The general leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And yet we know that he'd only just that day received what amounted to a death sentence from his own physician."

Harm looked across at Mac. This was the first he'd heard of that bit of news. She nodded slightly and he turned back to the general. 

"I still find it hard to believe, Sir."

The general considered him for a few more seconds, and then nodded. 

"I understand your feelings, Commander, and I've learned to trust your instincts. You and Colonel MacKenzie have forty-eight hours to sort this out. If you don't find anything by then, the NTSB finding stands."

Harm and Mac nodded. "Yes, Sir," they answered. 

General Cresswell nodded his head and shuffled the stack of folders that lay on the table in front of him. He flipped open the top one, scanned the single sheet of paper inside, and then closed it again. He looked around at his staff. They waited patiently, only the briefest flickers of curiosity belying their growing puzzlement at their CO's unexplained silence.

"When I first became JAG," he said finally, "I made it a point to read through the service records of my new staff." He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each officer. "Some records proved more… entertaining, than most." His gaze settled on Harm. 

There were smiles and nods around the table, and Harm shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Where was the general going with this?

"It seemed the Commander has a penchant for getting himself into trouble and a flare for rather… unorthodox courtroom procedures." He paused, waiting for the chuckles to die down before going on. "Complicating my life even further was the fact that Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had seen fit to get engaged right before the Change of Command – leaving me with the rather challenging task of deciding where to reassign an officer I didn't even know yet." 

Harm looked at Mac, wondering if his own curiosity would find an echo in her eyes, but she was watching the general, her expression neutral. 

"I put off making my choice for a long time. Both of you are excellent officers and a credit to this office. I didn't want to lose either one of you until it became absolutely necessary. However, it seems that fate has made my decision for me." 

He pulled a single sheet of paper out of the top folder and passed it across to Harm. "The untimely loss of Captain Clark and the sensitive nature of his work forced us to move quickly in locating a replacement for his position. It seems," the general quirked an eyebrow at Harm, "that you caught the eye of Admiral Reed when you met with him. He specifically requested you for the post."

Harm blinked. Homeland Security? He'd never pictured himself there, but if it kept him in Washington, he was okay with it. 

"When you return from your honeymoon, you're to report to Admiral Reed at Homeland Security. Oh. And one more thing." He waited until Harm looked up from the orders. "The post is an 06 billet. The selection committee reported out this morning. Congratulations, Captain Rabb."

There was an audible gasp around the table, and Harm felt his pulse skip into overdrive. He'd known he was eligible for rank advancement, but with his record, he'd never expected to achieve the rank of captain. 

"Thank you, Sir."

General Cresswell nodded. "You've earned it. Congratulations." 

The general seated himself and opened the next folder in the stack. "While we're on the subject of promotions…" He looked around the table, his eyes settling with some degree of curiosity on Mac's stony features. "Colonel MacKenzie. It appears that we're going to have an opening on the bench in about six months. I'm recommending you for the position."

Harm sensed Mac's marginal relaxation as pleasure replaced some of the anger in her spine. "I'd be honored, General."

General Cresswell nodded, satisfied, and moved on to other things. 

The rest of the meeting passed quickly. Harm had returned to his office and was sorting through files when the phone rang.

"Commander Rabb."

"Good morning, Commander. This is Paige Clark."

Harm leaned forward in his chair, automatically pulling a legal pad toward him and picking up a pencil. 

"Mrs. Clark. Good morning."

"They're saying my husband committed suicide," she said, wasting no time with social niceties.

"They?" Harm asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"The NTSB people."

"Did they say whether they'd filed their report yet?"

"No." There was a pause, and he heard her take a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calm. "Commander, my husband was upset after seeing his doctor that morning, but he wasn't suicidal."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to ask this. How can you be sure?"

"He was my husband." She said it as though it were all the explanation he should need, and Harm wished it was.

"Ma'am…"

"Paige."

"All right. Paige. Captain Clark wouldn't be the first husband to consider suicide as a means of protecting his family from the ravages of a terminal illness."

She was silent, and Harm began to wonder if his blunt approach had been the wrong choice. He was about to apologize when she spoke.

"You don't understand, Commander. Terry and I… We were more than just husband and wife. We were best friends - soul mates, if you'll pardon the rather overused expression. We didn't keep anything from each other – ever."

"But you'd never faced this particular situation before."

"Not entirely true." There was another pause. He heard Audrey's small voice in the background. "One moment, Commander."

There was a whispered conversation, and then Paige was back. "I'm sorry, Commander. Audrey needs a snack. I'll be with you as soon as I get her settled in the other room."

"No problem." He listened to the vague sounds that drifted over the line – a cabinet door clicked shut, paper rustled, water ran briefly. There was a burst of noise from what sounded like a television, more quiet conversation, and then silence. Harm assumed Paige had closed a door between herself and her daughter. 

Paige came back on the line. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here."

He heard the remembered pain in her voice when she continued. "A year and a half before Audrey was born my father committed suicide. Terry was with me when I found him." 

"Paige…"

"Forget it," she interrupted. "I'm not telling you this because I want your sympathy. I'm telling you so that you can understand. Commander, my father's death nearly ruined my family. Mom died of a stroke less than six months later. His death destroyed her will to live. My brother had argued with Dad about something stupid earlier in the day, and he still blames himself for what happened."

There was silence on the line again. Harm couldn't decide what to say to her that wouldn't sound trite, so he just waited for her to go on. 

She finally did. "Commander. I was the one who'd gone to the pharmacy to fill his prescription for him. I was the one who handed him the bottle of pills. I was also the one who found him with the empty bottle still clutched in his hand." 

"Paige… I'm sorry."

She continued as though she hadn't heard him. "Terry saved me, Commander. I struggled with guilt and depression for months after Dad died, but Terry stayed by my side through all of it. He listened when I needed him to listen. He held me when I needed to cry. Never once did he try to tell me that what I was feeling was wrong. He just… accepted it. He was my strength, my one connection to reality that never broke, never weakened. When Audrey was born, it was like… I don't know… I guess it was sort of like my father was reminding me that life, with all its beauty and pain, was still worth living. " 

"Paige… I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Commander. You just need to understand. My husband would never commit suicide. He'd have known what it would do to me."

"I hear what you're saying, and I'll do my best, but I can't promise it'll sway the final decision."

Paige took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had steadied. "Your best is all I ask, Commander. Just don't give up on my husband. Please." 

"We won't."

There's one more thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"I was going through some files last week and found some more information about Terry's plane. It's just one page with a list of modifications he and Jack made when they built it. Might it be helpful to you?"

"It might. Can you fax it over?"

"I'll do that now. And Commander?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt."

"You're welcome."

They said their goodbyes, and Harm hung up the phone. He was staring thoughtfully at the handset when Mac cleared her throat. 

"Meditating?" She asked from her spot in the doorway.

"Something like that." He attempted a smile, but gave up when he noted her lack of response. "That was Paige Clark."

"And?"

"And she swears her husband would never commit suicide," he said.

Mac was unimpressed. "She was his wife. Of course she'd say that."

Harm considered her thoughtfully. "Would you?"

She stared blankly at him. "Would I what?"

"If it were me, would you believe it?"

She shuddered. "I've thought a lot of things about you during this past weekend, but I didn't think about your death – nor do I wish to." She stared hard at him, her arms folded across her chest. "We need to talk."

"You know," he said, "I'm starting to hate that phrase."

"Join the club."

He sighed. "Tonight?"

She nodded. "My place."

"1900 hours?"

"Works for me."

He nodded, then stood and moved to the doorway. "Before you go back to your office, walk with me to the fax machine. Paige is sending something over that might prove useful."

The single sheet had just finished printing when they arrived, and Harm picked it up, scanning it quickly before handing it to Mac.

"You might want to fax a copy of this to Gunnar," he said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"It's a list of changes they made to Captain Clark's plane. Maybe there's a clue here someplace."

"Harm. You know they aren't interested in pursuing the case any further. They're "

He shrugged. "I know. But I'm thinking maybe you can convince them otherwise." 

He walked away before she could fire off the snappy response he'd seen flash in her eyes. 


1900 Hours
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown


She felt her back stiffen when the knock sounded. It was him, and it was time to deal with the elephant that had been shadowing them all day long. They were both too professional to allow their personal issues to effect their work, but they were on personal time now, and it was time to either tame the elephant or euthanize it. She opened the door and waved him in, neither offering a hug, nor surprised when he didn't attempt to touch her. 

He moved to the couch, but didn't sit. Instead, he turned to face her, waiting while she closed the door.

She looked at him, fighting the urge to fold her arms protectively across her chest. 

"Have you made a decision?" He asked quietly. 

"What the hell am I supposed to decide?" She was spoiling for a fight and though she kept her voice down, she knew the tone of her words communicated her anger clearly enough. 

"Do you still want to marry me?" He said the words slowly, as though making them clear to a child.

She shook her head in disappointment. "After all these years. After everything we've been through. We finally find our way to each other and at the first sign of trouble you turn martyr and we're right back where we started."

"Martyr?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. "It's that 'fall on your sword in the name of honor' routine you do so well. He kissed me, Harm. That's all it was. A kiss. We weren't making passionate love in the parking lot."

"From what I saw, you weren't far from it."

Mac remembered the way Gunnar had held her in his arms, and realized how it must have looked to Harm. She shook off a twinge of guilt.

"So that's it? You're just going to let me go?"

He nodded. "If it's truly what you want, yes."

"Damn you, Harm."

The words hovered in the air between them, and the room settled into frigid silence. Each waited for the other to make the next move. Both knew that a wrong step now could result in disaster.

"Did he know that you're engaged?" Harm asked finally.

"Yes."

"To me?"

"Not when he kissed me, no."

"But he does now."

"Yes."

"So you didn't tell him when you went out to dinner."

She shrugged a shoulder. "It didn't come up."

"It didn't come up," he echoed in disbelief. 

"That's right." 

"Let me get this straight. You and I have worked together for nine years. We're to be married in a few days. And yet somehow my name 'didn't come up'?"

"That's right."

"I see."

There was something of resignation in the way he looked at her and her explanation rushed out before she could bite it off.

"Harm. We had years worth of catching up to do."

"I'm sure you did." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You think I cheated on you?" Anger flooded her words. "You have so little faith in me… in us… that you see an innocent kiss and assume the worst. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your faith in me."

"Oh, I have faith. I have faith in your inability to say no to any man who pays you a compliment. You always were a sucker for charm."

He caught her hand in mid-slap, and for a long moment they glared at each other. Mac seriously considered putting some of her combat training to good use, then thought better of it and wrenched her arm away.

"You've got a lot of nerve," she said. "I may be a 'sucker for charm' as you so tactfully put it, but I've never seen you turn down a damsel in distress." She pivoted on her heel and moved away - completely oblivious to the pain in his eyes - aware only of her own. 

"You know what?" He asked bitterly. "I've finally figured out what it was that kept us apart for so long."

"Oh? Do tell." She wasn't really sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say, but she was damned if she was going to tell him that. 

"You weren't looking for a partner," he said. "You wanted somebody who would sit obediently at your feet, anxious to satisfy your every whim."

"And you only wanted somebody to rescue." She looked at him with bitter comprehension. "That's what Paraguay was all about, wasn't it? It wasn't that you were worried about me. It was white knight syndrome." She shook her head, speaking the next words so softly that he almost didn't hear them. "I should've known."

"You just go right ahead and make your assumptions, Mac. It's what you're best at."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You assumed I didn't want you in Australia. You assumed I didn't want you after Renee's father died. You're assuming now that the reason I came to Paraguay was to rescue you." He shrugged. "Like I said. It's what you do best." 

"And you're assuming that I'm in love with Gunnar," she said. 

"Are you?"

"Go to hell."

"Already there, Mac." His voice was bleak, and he turned away from her to walk over to the window. Silence enveloped the room in a suffocating blanket. Mac felt it pushing down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She shivered - suddenly and inexplicably cold. They were days away from a wedding, but light years away from each other. She shook her head. This wasn't going to happen. She wasn't going to let Gunnar and her past destroy the one thing that meant more to her than life itself. 

She moved across the room, ignoring his flinch when she placed her hand on his arm. "Look," she said quietly. "That kiss took me completely by surprise. I didn't initiate it, didn't participate in it…" She thought she heard him snort softly, and she snapped her eyes to his face. His expression was unreadable.

"But you didn't fight it, either." His voice was low. 

"I was too startled to fight it. Harm, I never guessed Gunnar would try something like that with me. We were always friends. Good friends, yes. But still just friends."

"You and Webb were friends, too."

She tensed.

"Clay has nothing to do with this."

"When you left for Paraguay, you and Webb were two friends working an assignment. By the time we got home, you were a couple."

"And your point?"

Harm considered her for a moment, and she wondered if he was weighing the outcome of his next words. He finally shrugged one shoulder and looked away. "It doesn't seem to take much for you to fall in love."

"Oh?" She was angry again. "And what about you? Annie? Renee? Jordan?"

"I never told any of them that I loved them."

"Low blow, Harm."

"Maybe."

Mac dropped her hand from his arm. "I guess that's all there is to say."

She walked away from him again, breathing deeply in an attempt to control her temper. The man was impossibly stubborn. How could she hope to make him see that what she felt for him went so far beyond what she'd ever felt for any other man, that comparing the experiences was like comparing sunshine to candlelight?

She heard his sudden soft curse and then the sound of his footsteps crossing the floor, his strides long and angry. He gripped her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Do you want me to beg?” he demanded hotly. “Is that what you’re after? Am I supposed to grovel?”

She planted her hands on his chest and shoved him away. “I want you to fight, damn it! For once in your life, stand and fight for what you want!”

Suddenly she was in his arms; his mouth crashing down on hers as he took what was his, what would only ever be his. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around him, pushing her body as close to his reassuring strength as she possibly could.

"You mean like this?" He murmured roughly between kisses. "Is this what you wanted?" He nibbled the ridge of her jaw, and anger exploded into burning desire. The aching need made her arch her back, her hips meeting the hard thrust of his. 

"Yes." Love, desire, agreement, impatience – all of these and more flew from her lips to his ears on the back of the single whispered syllable.

He pulled away from her slightly, enough to be able to look into her eyes, but not so much that she could have any thought of escape – not that she particularly wanted to escape at the moment. "You're mine, Mac. You'll always be mine."

"Always," she nodded.

"You'd better warn him to keep his distance, because I'm done with polite."

"I already did."

Harm quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded, smiled, and pulled his head down to hers. 


1023 Local
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia


Mac's phone rang, and she used her index finger to mark her place in the document she'd been reading while she reached to pick up the handset.

"Colonel MacKenzie."

"Mac? It's Gunnar."

Mac relaxed into her chair with a smile. "Thor. Hi."

"Have you and Commander Rabb had a chance to go over that paperwork you faxed us yesterday?"

"I haven't, but maybe Harm has. I'd have to ask him. Why? Did you find something?"

"Maybe. Something about one of the changes they made to the aircraft design bothers me. It has to do with the fuel tanks."

Mac shook her head. "You really need to talk to Harm about that. He knows more about small aircraft than I could ever hope to." She glanced at her open office door and the busy bullpen beyond. "Gunnar? Can I put you on hold for a second?"

"Of course."

Mac pressed the button on her phone and then moved around her desk. She closed the door and returned to her chair, picking up the handset and hitting the hold button as she sat down. 

"Still there?

"Absolutely."

"Remember the other day when I came to see you for that meeting?"

"When you talked me into giving you and Commander Rabb another week to look into Captain Clark's case?"

"That's right."

"Are you wondering if we're giving you that week? We are. Ed thinks I've lost my mind, but you've got your time."

"No. That isn't what I needed to talk to you about."

"Oh? What then?"

"Harm saw us."

There was a moment of silence while her words sank in. "Oh no…."

"Oh yes."

"I'm guessing he wasn't happy?"

"Not exactly," Mac said sardonically.

"He didn't call off the wedding, did he?"

"Not quite."

"Are you two okay? Do you want me to talk to him?"

Mac smiled a little at that. "Not you, too."

"Excuse me?" 

He sounded completely clueless, and Mac shook her head in amused resignation.

"Why is it that men always feel the need to rush to my defense?" she asked rhetorically. "I handled it on my own, thanks. We're okay. I just thought you should know."

"Should I wear full body armor the next time I see him?" 

"Might not be a bad idea." Mac grinned at the mental image, and she heard Gunnar chuckle on the other end of the line. 

"Note to self," he said. "Invest in chain mail."

Mac was laughing when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced up and waved Harm inside. "Gunnar? Listen. I have to go."

"No problem. Let me know what the commander says."

"Will do. Talk to you later."

"Bye, Mac."

She hung up the phone and looked up. "Hey," she said. "What's up?"

"I just finished going over this paperwork that Paige sent over yesterday. Have you had a chance to look at it?"

"You too?"

"Huh?"

She waved a hand at the phone. "That's what Gunnar was calling about. He said he'd found something odd and wanted to know if we'd gone over the documentation yet."

"That was Gunnar you were talking to?" He stepped inside and sat down across from her. "Did he tell you what the 'something odd' was?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't really let him. I told him he should talk to you. All I got was that it had something to do with the fuel tanks."

Harm nodded. "Sounds like the same thing I was wondering about. Did you two set up a meeting?"

"No. It didn't make sense until I'd had a chance to talk to you."

"I'll call him. I need to talk to him anyway."

Mac looked at him suspiciously. "You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"Me?" He did his best to look innocent, but Mac wasn't buying it.

"Harm…"

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll be nice, Mac."

She smiled. "That's all I ask."

"Just don't expect me to like it." He winked at her on his way out the door. 

She snorted something rude in reply, and heard him chuckle as he walked away. Mac bent her head to the papers on her desk. Frank and Trish were due in tonight, and she was determined not to carry a briefcase full of files home with her. 

********

Harm closed his door and sat down behind his desk. He didn't want his conversation with Gunnar to be overheard by any of the dozens of curious ears that floated around JAG ops on any given day. He slid the NTSB business card from beneath his desk blotter and reached for the phone.

"National Transportation Safety Board, Aeronautics Division. How may I direct your call?" The receptionist sounded young and friendly. Harm asked for Gunnar's office and listened to canned music while the line was transferred. He found it interesting that Gunnar didn't have a direct line. Budget woes, probably. 

"Gunnar Thorsen here."

"Mr. Thorsen." Harm chose the formal approach. Gunnar was Mac's friend, not his. "This is Commander Rabb at JAG."

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line before Gunnar cleared his throat. "Commander Rabb. I've been expecting your call."

"Colonel MacKenzie tells me you've found something troubling about Captain Clark's aircraft?"

"One moment please, while I pull out the file."

There was a rustle of papers, and then Gunnar came back on the line. "Did you know that Ashburn Aviation modified the original design of Captain Clark's Long EZ?"

"I was aware that there had been some changes, yes. Are you referring to the fuel selection switch by any chance?"

"That's right. According to this, the original design for this craft had the fuel selector switch on the front instrument panel." There was a pause and then, "Are you with me so far, Commander?"

Harm stifled the urge to make a rude reply and settled for a simple, "Yes."

"Okay. Now. According to this information from Ashburn, Captain Clark requested that the switch be moved."

"That's right," Harm was looking through the documentation himself as they spoke. "In a way, the idea's ingenious."

"How do you figure?"

"By putting the switch where they did, they didn't have to run fuel lines through the passenger side of the plane - less of a fire hazard that way."

"True, but in order to flip the switch, the Captain would've had to reach behind his left shoulder – an awkward move at best."

"Do you know what steps he took to verify his fuel levels before taking off? If he had access to a full tank, he wouldn't have had to switch it."

There was more rustling of paper, then, "I don't see any mention of fuel levels in my notes. We'd need to go back out and talk to the people at the airfield."

"How about this," Harm said. "Why don't we get in touch with Jack Stone and Paige Clark and have them meet us out at Ashburn tomorrow afternoon. Jack would know about the design alterations, and Paige was with the captain when he preflighted his plane. Maybe we can get a handle on this thing once and for all."

"Understood. My partner won't keep the case open beyond the end of the week anyway." There was a pause, and then an uneasy, "Mac tells me your wedding is this weekend."

"Saturday night." Harm clipped his words. The effort at polite conversation was beginning to wear on him.

"Commander… I owe you an apology."

Harm didn't answer and the silence grew, coiling between them with ugly intent. 

"You should know that what you saw that day was entirely my fault," Gunnar said finally. "I knew Mac was engaged." 

"If you knew that," Harm asked, "then why did you do it?"

"I've never known another woman like her, Commander. She's so beautiful - so strong and sure, yet with a hint of vulnerability that I never could resist," Gunnar said. "I've been in love with her for a very long time."

"An honorable man doesn't kiss a woman who's engaged to another man." Icy fingers of guilt tickled the back of his neck, but Harm stubbornly ignored them. 

"You're right. And I apologize. I just wanted you to know, for the record, that Mac didn't participate. Please don't be angry with her for something that wasn't her fault."

Harm hesitated, wondering just how much to say at this point. Finally, he sighed. "Look. Mac and I - it took a lot of years and a lot of mistakes before we were able to find our way to each other. She's everything to me, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy. If I thought that meant stepping aside for another man, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"No -"

"Let me finish," Harm interrupted. "Mac assures me that this isn't the case, that you took unexpected advantage of your friendship with her and that she set you straight."

"She did."

"She's told me that you were her best friend in college - that you helped her to get through a very dark time in her life. If you hadn't been there for her then, she probably wouldn't be the woman she is today, and for that, I'm grateful to you. As far as I'm concerned, this incident is closed."

Harm heard an audible sigh of relief from the other man. He glanced at his door, instinct telling him to make sure it was firmly closed before he continued. "But if you ever so much as twitch in her direction again I'll make sure you live just long enough to regret it."

Gunnar laughed uneasily. "Understood." 

"Now," Harm said, deliberately changing the subject. "Mac and I will see about setting up this meeting for tomorrow. Does 1430 work for you?"

"Sure. Just call and confirm after you've got everybody else on board."

"One of us will."

"Sounds good. We'll see you at Ashburn tomorrow afternoon. "

"See you then."

Harm disconnected the line and sat back in his chair with a sigh. He had firsthand experience with what Gunnar was going through, which made it a little easier to understand. He'd been there himself at Mac's engagement party all those years ago. Still, though he loved and trusted Mac, and though he was sure she returned his feelings, their relationship had a ways to go before it could withstand repeated doses of men like Gunnar Thorsen.


1935 Local
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.


Harm scanned baggage claim for his parents. The area teemed with arriving passengers and their friends and families. He glanced at his watch, and then at the video screen that listed the status of arriving flights. According to the monitors, their flight had landed twenty minutes ago. They should be down here by now. 

"There," Mac touched his arm and pointed to a baggage carousel at the other end of the room. I bet that's theirs." 

"It'll probably be the easiest place to find them, too. Come on."

Harm caught her hand, and they started in the direction Mac had indicated. They navigated the human/luggage obstacle course with an ease born of long practice, arriving at the baggage carousel a few seconds later. They slowed to a stop, and Harm looked around. 

"You know," Mac said teasingly, "If you'd ever actually introduced me to your parents I might even be able to help you with this."

"Hey. You've seen pictures. You're a professional. Deal with it." He grinned at her, and she shook her head at him in mock disgust, glancing around the room as she did. 

"Wait," she said, "Is that them over there?" Harm craned his neck to look, and then winked at her. "See that? And all you had were a few pictures." She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't resist when he tugged her along behind him. 

"Mom! Frank!" Harm called as they approached. "There you are. We've been wandering around this place like a pair of mice in a cathouse. Didn't think we'd ever find you."

"Harm!" Trish hurried toward them, arms outstretched. She enveloped Harm in a swift hug, and then released him and turned to Mac. "You must be Mac," she said with a warm smile and a quick hug. "Nine years Harm's worked with you, and I'm only just now getting to meet you. It's a disgrace."

"I agree, ma'am." Mac smiled at the older woman, liking her instantly.

"Please. Call me Trish." Trish turned back to her son, who had just finished shaking hands with Frank. "Gentlemen, my soon to be daughter in law and I are going to have a little get acquainted chat. Why don't you two grab the luggage and catch up to us outside?"

Harm and Frank exchanged amused glances, but moved obediently away to wait for the luggage while Trish pulled Mac toward the exit. They searched out a quiet corner away from the busy foot traffic, coming to a stop near a colorful display of Daffodils in a large clay pot. 

"Much better," Trish said with a happy sigh. "I hate traveling, and I hate crowds. Let the men fight with all that."

"Was it a bad flight?" Mac asked, concerned.

"No worse than usual. It's just that I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather be doing than being cooped up in a jet for hours on end."

"I think your son would disagree with that assessment."

Trish laughed. "I'm sure he would. He's just like his father was."

"From the little I know of Harm's father, they're alike in a lot of ways."

"Yes," Trish said, as a trace of sadness flashed in her eyes. "He is."

"I'm sorry," Mac said, instantly contrite. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Trish laid a hand on Mac's arm. "You didn't. Besides, who could be sad at a time like this?" The women exchanged a smile. "Are there any last minute wedding details to take care of?" Trish asked. "Anything I can help with?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I think we've got things pretty much under control. I did most of the final running around last weekend while Harm was TAD on an assignment." 

"You mean you're going to make me sit around Washington D.C. for three days, just twiddling my thumbs?" Trish sounded appalled, and Mac laughed. 

"I've only just met you, but I can already tell that you aren't likely to sit around anywhere for three minutes, much less three days.

"Well," Trish looked thoughtful. "I could do some shopping, and Washington has some lovely art galleries…."

"I wish I could join you," Mac said, "but we're rushing to finish up an investigation before the end of the week. I'm afraid you and Frank will be pretty much left to your own devices."

"Oh, don't worry, dear. We'll be fine."

They saw the men coming through the doors and hurried to meet them. 

An hour later, registration taken care of and suitcases unpacked, they descended to the hotel's club for a round of drinks before Harm and Mac headed home for the evening. 

The two couples settled themselves at a quiet table close to the dance floor, and Mac smiled over at Harm. They'd been here before for dinner and dancing, and had always loved the live band, a feature that fewer and fewer clubs offered in these days of electronic gadgetry. 

Sure enough, as soon as everybody had placed their drink orders, Harm stood up and bowed slightly in Mac's direction, his expression comically genteel. 

"Care to dance?" 

Mac looked a question at Frank and Trish who nodded at her. 

"Go," Frank said. "Enjoy yourselves. We old people will sit here and watch."

"Oh no we won't," said Trish, rising from her own seat. "We're going to dance, too. Come on." She pulled Frank out of his chair and over to the dance floor, ignoring his halfhearted protests. Harm and Mac grinned and followed. 

Out on the dance floor, Harm spun Mac into his arms with a flourish, and she laughed at him. "Feeling feisty tonight, Sailor?"

"With you?" he murmured, his breath teasing the hair above her ear. "Every night."

They settled easily into the rhythm, precisely tuned to each other and to the slow rolling beat of the melody that flowed over them. As they moved across the dance floor, Harm lost himself in the music and in the feel of the woman he held in his arms. In a few short days she would belong to him completely. At the thought, he tightened his hold on her, and she looked up at him curiously.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He smiled in answer. "Everything's better than okay." He bent and kissed her softly, their bodies still swaying gently to the music. When he pulled back, her eyes were luminous in the low light. 

"I love you, you know," she said softly. 

"I love you, too."

"No," she said in a low voice. "I don't think you quite understand." She cupped his cheek with her hand, her eyes serious. "I've thought I was in love before, but I'd never in my life seen what real love could be like – until you." She shrugged a shoulder slightly, smoothing her hand across his chest. "I just wanted you to know that I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you."

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, and nestled it against his shoulder, pulling her slim form close in the process. "Nor I, you," he murmured against the silk of her hair. They began to dance again, oblivious to the indulgent smiles Trish and Frank were casting their way. 

The four of them spent the next two hours discussing wedding plans. Harm and Mac had made the rather unconventional decision to hold their reception before the wedding so that they could spend time with all of their friends without making it a late night for everybody. They'd leave immediately after the ceremony for a night at the airport hotel before catching an early morning flight to Nassau. Frank had offered them the use of the cottage for two weeks, and they were both looking forward to the time away.

"It's been a long day," Trish said at last, stifling a yawn. "It's time for me to get my beauty rest." She smiled at Mac. "It's wonderful to finally get to meet you, Mac."

"Same here," Mac said. "I'm glad to finally be able to thank you for Harm."

"I can tell he's made a good choice." Trish said as she and Frank stood up. "I just wish it hadn't taken him so long." She winked at Harm, who rolled his eyes at her. 

"Will we see you two tomorrow?" Frank asked.

"Maybe after work," Harm answered. "We're trying to wrap up a couple of cases before the weekend."

"Mac mentioned something about that." Trish sighed good-naturedly. "I guess I'll just have to suffer through a day of wandering through the art galleries."

Frank groaned, and everybody laughed. 

Later, Harm and Mac walked out to the car arm in arm. Harm held Mac's door for her, and then walked around to the driver's side, buckling his seatbelt before starting the engine. 

"So?" he asked, as he shifted the car into gear. "What do you think of Mom and Frank?"

"They're wonderful," Mac answered. "I'm glad I finally got to meet them."

Harm grinned. "I'm fond of them. After all, they put up with me…"

Mac laughed. "I agree. They deserve a medal."

"Hey!" He swatted her leg, but Mac only grinned. He sighed theatrically. "I get no respect."

"If you're looking for respect, you've got the wrong girl," Mac teased.

"No," Harm said seriously. "I've finally got the right girl." He reached over and curled his fingers around hers where they rested on her thigh. 

Mac turned her hand over and squeezed his, and they rode the rest of the way to her apartment in contented silence. When they'd pulled into a parking spot, Harm turned off the engine and leaned over to kiss her. "You know," he said. "I can't wait until Sunday." 

"Why Sunday?" she asked, puzzled. "We're going to spend most of the day on an airplane."

"Sunday," he repeated. "Our first full day as an old married couple."

Mac laughed. "Speak for yourself, Flyboy. I've decided I'm never going to get old."

"Then let's just say I'm looking forward to never getting old…together," he said.

"I like the sound of that." Mac smiled softly at him.

"So do I."

She sighed. "I'd better get going. I still have some files to review tonight."

"Tonight? Mac, it's late."

"I know, but I want to make sure I finish these before Friday."

"All right, then. I'll just take my lonely self back to my lonely apartment."

Mac snorted. "I think you'll live."

"Maybe, but only because I know it's just for a couple more nights."

Mac kissed him quickly and climbed out of the car. She was halfway up the walkway to her building when Harm caught up to her. "Hey," he said "Not so fast."

She looked up at him just in time to meet his lips as they descended on her own. His kiss was so achingly tender that it brought tears to her eyes. He lifted his head, saw the tears, and wiped them gently away. 

"Goodnight, Mac." 

"Goodnight." 

He released her, but she felt his eyes follow her into the building and knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. 


1400 Local
Ashburn Aviation Services
Martinsburg, Maryland


Harm and Mac climbed out of the car and looked around. Nothing had changed since their last visit here except for the fact that now there was a sparkling white Long EZ sitting in the middle of the runway. Nobody appeared to be near the aircraft. Indeed, to all appearances, the place was deserted. Harm looked at Mac, shrugged, and started toward the main office. He could only assume that Jack was once again elbow deep in aircraft parts and pieces. He pulled open the door and waved Mac inside.

A familiar scene greeted them. The same rickety desk piled high with paper and empty soda cans, the same host of single engine aircraft in various stages of completion, and the same echoing silence. The rusty silver bell still perched precariously on the edge of the desk, and Harm tapped it sharply.

A feeling of déjà vu washed over him when the ringing of the bell resulted in the clang of steel on concrete and a muffled curse. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jack Stone limped around the corner. When he recognized his visitors, he glanced down at his watch. A puzzled expression came over his face as he shook his wrist, and then held the watch up to his ear. 

"I know," Harm said. "We're a little early."

"Thirty minutes too early by my watch," the older man said irascibly. "Aren't you a pair of eager beavers." 

Harm smiled. "We were hoping to get a chance to look over the plane before everybody else got here."

"Don't you trust me to get the changes right?" Jack was vaguely defensive.

"That's not it at all. I just wanted the opportunity to familiarize myself with the layout. I've never been in a Long EZ before."

"I see. You want to play." Jack looked over at Mac. "Typical pilot, huh?"

Mac grinned. "To the core," she answered. 

Jack waved in the general direction of the airstrip. "Knock yourself out. Just don't take off or I'll have to shoot you down myself."

Harm raised his hands in surrender. "I won't go anywhere. You have my word."

"Heh." Jack looked at Mac again. "You keep an eye on him for me."

"I'll do that, sir."

"Sir." Jack shook his head. "How quick the young forget. It's Jack. Just Jack. Not Sir. Not Mister Stone. Just… Jack. Got that?"

"Got it."

"Now go away. I've got work to do. Come and get me when the rest of the crew arrives."

Jack headed back to wherever he'd come from. He was mumbling something about upstart legal eagles when he rounded the back of a plane and disappeared from sight. 

"Come on, Mac. Let's have a look at her."

"Right behind you."

A few minutes later, they were staring into the miniscule cockpit of the modified Long EZ. Harm raised a skeptical eyebrow at Mac. "A human being's supposed to sit in there?" He asked doubtfully.

"So I'm told."

"I'd feel like a pretzel."

Mac grinned. "It can't be any worse than the cockpit of an F-14."

"Actually, a Tomcat's a yacht compared to this thing. I think this was designed for Barbie Dolls." 

He scrutinized the interior closely, but didn't get in. The gauges didn't appear to be unusual, and he recognized all of the vital ones without difficulty. Pulling back, he walked slowly around the outside of the plane. 

The Long EZ was all about form and grace; a delicate bird with lean lines and graceful features, and she perched on the pavement like a restless dove anxious for flight. Harm looked her over carefully, taking careful note of the fuel tanks and the selector switch. By some miracle, and probably an entire night spent in the hangar, Jack had managed a quick retrofit of the plane, moving the switch from its previous position on the forward panel to the same spot where it had been on Captain Clark's plane. 

Harm was checking the fuel tanks when they heard approaching footsteps. Gunnar and Edward approached, and Harm instinctively glanced toward Mac. She met his gaze calmly, but without making a move toward the approaching men. Harm could only assume she was waiting to see his reaction to Gunnar. 

He stepped forward, taking each man's hand in a firm grip and shaking it in welcome. 

"Glad you could make it," he said to them, somehow aware of Mac's relief even though she stood behind him. 

"Been here long?" Gunnar asked.

"About a half hour," Mac answered, coming up beside them. "Harm wanted to look over the plane."

"Will Mrs. Clark be joining us?" Edward asked.

"I'm here, gentlemen." Mrs. Clark approached, her expression pained as she took in the plane. "You didn't really explain why you needed me, though. What's going on?"

"We think we may have an idea about your husband's crash," said Harm.

"Oh?" She looked from face to face. "You aren't still thinking suicide, are you?"

"That sort of depends on you." Maybourne said.

"Excuse me?"

"Ma'am, we need to ask you a couple of questions about your husband's preflight routine."

"Okay…" She looked doubtful, but willing.

"Can you tell us exactly what steps your husband took to check his fuel levels that day?" Harm asked. 

She looked puzzled. "Same way he always does. He checked the gauges and he did a dip test."

"Did he add any fuel at all?"

"No…he said he'd only be up for an hour or so and that according to the gauges and the rod, he had plenty of fuel already."

Harm and Gunnar exchanged glances. 

"Why do you ask?" Paige cast puzzled looks at the two men. 

"Let me show you." Harm moved back over to the Long EZ. "See this?" He indicated the fuel port on one side of the plane. 

"Yes…" 

"Okay. Do you also see the way the plane rests in a slightly nose down position on the tarmac?"

"Of course. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"The angle of the plane and the position of the fill ports makes it virtually impossible to get an accurate reading of the amount of fuel in the tanks until she's airborne and level," Harm explained. "It took some digging, but there's a place in the documentation where the designer noted that fuel should always be added to the tanks prior to takeoff."

"But Terry said he'd been told not to fill them up."

"That's right," Jack said, who'd approached unnoticed. "I told him that. There's no reason to fly with more fuel than you need, especially for a short flight like this was supposed to be. It adds weight, and it's a fire hazard."

Harm nodded. "You're right, Jack. It's just that the unusual design of the Long EZ forces the pilot to modify standard procedures. Neither the gauges nor the rod test give an accurate measure of the true fuel status in the tanks."

"So you're saying that my husband died because he ran out of gas?" Paige asked, disbelieving. 

"Not entirely," said Gunnar. "Remember how you said the plane tilted to one side and then dropped into an uncontrolled spin?"

Paige looked at him. "If I live to be two hundred years old I'll never forget it."

There was a brief uncomfortable silence before Edward Maybourne took over the discussion.

"Ma'am, are you familiar with the fuel tank selector switch?"

She turned to look at him. "Of course I am. The Long EZ has two tanks. The selector switch allowed Terry to switch from one to the other."

"Exactly. Normally the switch is placed on the front instrument panel."

"I know that," Paige said. "Terry and I discussed it. He said it bothered him because if there was ever a fire in the cockpit the fuel lines could explode. He said something about moving it to a safer place, but I don't remember much about it beyond that."

Jack spoke up. "We talked about that modification for weeks before we tried it. We agreed that moving the switch lessened the danger of fire - especially on the passenger side of the plane."

"And it did," Gunnar agreed, "but it also created a bit of a problem for the pilot." Gunnar turned to Harm. "Care to demonstrate?"

"You're kidding, right? You want me to climb in there?"

Gunnar smiled slightly. "If you don't mind."

Harm sighed and folded himself into the tiny cockpit. By the time he was in, he was more than half convinced that his knees and chin had both taken up permanent residence in his rib cage. 

"Okay," he grunted finally. "I'm in."

Gunnar turned to Paige. "I know your husband wasn't as tall as Commander Rabb is, ma'am, but the principle's the same. Commander?" He turned back to Harm. "Care to take a shot at flipping that switch?"

Harm twisted in the pilot's seat. With his right hand, he reached across his chest and over his left shoulder to the fuel switch.

"There," Gunnar said, "Look at the commander's right foot."

Everybody looked while Gunnar explained the significance of what they were seeing. "In order to reach the switch, the commander's bracing himself with his right foot. Notice how close his foot is to the rudder." He paused while everybody craned their neck to see. 

"If we assume that the sound Mrs. Clark heard was indeed an engine stall due to fuel deprivation, Captain Clark must have attempted to switch tanks." He looked around the assembled group. "During the investigation, we learned that the plane tilted to one side before dropping into the terminal dive. This description of events is consistent with our belief that in attempting to reach the fuel tank selector switch, Captain Clark's foot accidentally hit the rudder pedal, causing him to lose control of the craft." 

Harm looked sympathetically at Paige. "If your husband had reached flight altitude before running out of gas, he would've had time to correct the mistake. As it was…"

"There wasn't time." Paige answered in a low voice. She stared out across the airstrip toward the hills beyond, her eyes sad.

Gunnar turned to his partner. "We can't file this as suicide, Ed. I think it was a combination of a faulty interface and pilot error."

Paige turned back, directing her gaze toward Gunnar. "I knew it," she said. "I knew he didn't kill himself, no matter what the state of his health. Thank you for not giving up."

Jack shook his head. "We were so sure that moving that selector switch was a smart idea."

"It wasn't a bad idea," Harm said. "It kept you from having to run fuel lines through the passenger side of the plane. Unfortunately, it's just too difficult to operate safely this way."

Jack nodded. "Mrs. Clark. I owe you my apologies. We should've tested the modification more carefully before making the change."

Paige turned to Jack. "I don't blame you, Jack. You and Terry had the best intentions. I know that."

Jack wasn't mollified. "Good intentions are no excuse for getting a man killed."

Paige shook her head. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Jack. Terry was your friend. You'd never deliberately put him in danger, nor would you ever build a plane you didn't think was safe. It was an honest mistake, and if other lives can be saved by this discovery –" she waved a hand in the direction of the plane. "Then I'm okay with it. Terry would have been, too. You know that."

"Yeah," Jack said reluctantly. "He would have. But that doesn't change the fact that a good man is gone because of it."

"No," said Paige. "It doesn't." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll miss him for the rest of my life Jack, but agonizing over the whys and wherefores and if only's won't bring him back."

Jack surveyed the assembled group. "If you'll excuse me," he said. "I have work to do."

He didn't wait for them to answer, but turned and trudged back inside the main building. Paige started to follow him, but Mac stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let him go, ma'am."

Paige nodded regretfully. "You're right. I know." She turned to the others, glancing at her watch as she did so. "I need to get back to my daughter. Thank you again for putting the extra effort into this case. It means everything to me to finally know what really happened to my husband." She nodded to the assembled group and turned away, her strides purposeful as she moved toward her car.

Harm unfolded himself from the plane and rubbed the back of his neck, working out a kink. He grinned ruefully. "Remind me never to get one of those things," he said to Mac.

"Somehow I doubt you'll need reminding," she said.

"We'll be leaving now," said Gunnar. "You should have our final report within the week."

"Not suicide?" asked Mac.

"Not suicide." Maybourne confirmed. "Pilot error."

Mac shook her head. "It seems a shame to call it pilot error when it's basically a flaw in the design of the aircraft."

"Nevertheless…"

"I understand. It's the way it works."

Gunnar and his partner left, and Harm and Mac followed, still talking about the report they had to write to close the case. When they arrived at the car, Mac settled into her seat with a sigh. 

"I'm glad that's over," she said. 

"Me too," Harm agreed as he buckled his seatbelt. "Poor Audrey, though."

"She'll be okay. It won't be easy, but I think she and her mother are going to make it."

"I think so too." Harm started the engine, and they left Ashburn Aviation behind for the last time.

It had taken a good part of the afternoon to resolve the case, longer than Harm had thought it would take. He glanced over at Mac, pleased to see that she had leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. He eased the car onto the highway, and wondered how far he'd be able to get before she figured out that something unusual was going on.


1715 Local
Blacksburg Municipal Airport
Blacksburg, Virginia


"Harm?" Mac looked around the small airport in bafflement. "What are we doing here?"

He answered her question with one of his own. "Do you trust me?" 

"You know I do, but we're expected back at JAG."

"Actually, we aren't."

"We aren't?"

"Nope." He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, ducking back in to give her a mysterious smile. "You coming?"

Mac unbuckled her seat belt. Whatever he was up to, she wasn't going to sit here and miss it.

Harm led her over to Sarah. "Wait here for a few minutes," he said, kissing her lightly. "I need to preflight."

Mac watched him perform the routine checks on the cheerful little biplane. She kept quiet while he worked, preferring to suffer the pangs of curiosity rather than distract his attention from the vital safety precautions. She grinned when she saw him take extra care with the fuel lines, remembering when an undiscovered weakness in the lines had nearly cost them both their lives. A few seconds later he finished the checks, and nodded at her. 

"Climb in," he said.

"Harm…" She tried again.

"Please, Mac."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope." He grinned, and she knew he wasn't going to budge. She sighed in defeat and did as he asked, putting on the goggles and jacket he handed her and buckling her safety belt. A few minutes later, they were airborne.

They didn't talk during the flight to…wherever they were going. Instead, Mac spent the time trying to guess what Harm was up to. When they finally landed more than an hour later, the sun was just starting to set, and she was no closer to figuring out where they were or why. She took off the goggles and shook out her hair, looking around at the apparently deserted mountain meadow. 

Harm climbed out of the plane and held out a hand to her. "Coming?"

She gave him her hand and allowed him to help her down. When they were both on solid ground again, she turned to him, jaw set, and hands on hips. 

"All right," she said. "I'm not taking one more step until you tell me what's going on."

 Harm sighed. "You're a stubborn woman, Mac."

She was about to respond, when the sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention. 

"Commander Rabb? Is that you?" The older man had seemed to materialize out of nowhere. 

"Yes, Sir. It's me." Harm's casual acceptance of the stranger's presence only served to pique her curiosity even further.

"You're a little later than I thought you'd be." The man didn't sound angry or annoyed, just concerned. "I hope there weren't any problems?" 

"No. I'm sorry we kept you waiting. Our meeting took longer than expected."

"Don't worry about it. It's been a beautiful afternoon. I didn't mind the wait."
 
"I appreciate your patience, Chaplain."

"Wait a minute," Mac said, deciding abruptly that it was time for the social chit chat to come to an end. "Chaplain?" 

"I'm guessing this is your lovely bride to be?" The chaplain's words were directed to Harm, but he was smiling at Mac. 

Harm's voice held tender pride as he made the introductions. "Chaplain Fredericks, I'd like you to meet Sarah MacKenzie, my fiancée."

"Harm?" Mac's voice had taken on a dangerous overtone. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here? Or am I going to have to get back in that plane and fly it home myself." 

Harm gave the chaplain a rueful look. "I'm afraid I've not talked to Mac about this yet, Chaplain. Can you give us a few minutes?"

"Absolutely. I'll be waiting in the chapel. Come and find me whenever you're ready."

"Will do. Thank you."

Chaplain Fredericks headed off down the meadow, and Harm turned to Mac. 

"First of all, don't kill me."

She folded her arms across her chest. "No promises."

Harm took a couple of steps away from her, and then turned back. Mac tried to wait patiently for his explanation, but she suspected her tapping foot and folded arms gave her away. 

"Do you remember," he asked, "that doomed double date we had a few years ago? You were with Brumby, and I was with Renee?"

Mac thought back. "I remember it, but I don't see how it's relevant to this middle of nowhere, top secret …whatever it is."

"It's a wedding, Mac."

Her jaw dropped. "Harm...we're getting married on Saturday, remember? Naval Academy Chapel? Dress whites? Arch of Swords?" She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his forehead to check for signs of fever. 

He caught her hand, twining his fingers with hers before bringing it back down to her side. He rested his other hand along her cheek, staring at her intently. "Mac, I know you don't really want a fancy military wedding. I've always known it. It isn't what I want, either." 

She started to say something, but he put a finger to her lips. "Wait. Please. Hear me out." He waited until she nodded before dropping his hand.

"The wedding on Saturday – It isn't about us. It's about our friends and family. They want to see us married with all the pomp and circumstance – the white lace, the satin, the flowers and music – and I'm okay with that. I'm willing to get dressed up and play my part in order to make all those people happy."

He turned her so that she looked out across the meadow toward the sunset, and then wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. She relaxed into him, and for a moment, they listened to the early evening bird song and the first faint stirrings of crickets. He spoke softly to her, his lips close to her ear, but his words, for all their quiet delivery, rang with certainty. "But I don't need – or want – any of that stuff. All I want is to promise myself to you for the rest of our lives." 

He moved back around to face her and took her hands in his. "Chaplain Fredericks is an old friend of Chaplain Turner's. He's part of the local army reserve. He agreed to meet us here on the off chance that you would agree to this impromptu elopement."

"But Harm, we're in the middle of nowhere!" This had to be one of the most harebrained ideas he'd ever had – and he'd had a few in his time. 

He nodded. "As close to it as I could manage, yes. There's an access road not too far from here, but the closest town is about 20 minutes away by car."

Mac tilted her head to one side, looking at him carefully. Could he really be serious?

"What?" He asked.

"I just… This is so …"

Harm grinned. "Sarah MacKenzie is speechless. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Harm!" She swatted him on the arm. "Be serious."

His response was instantaneous. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life, Mac. I want this for you – for us."

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "But Mac… If I've totally misjudged you, and this really isn't what you want, all you have to do is say so and we'll get right back in Sarah and go home."

She stared at him, struggling to assimilate what was happening. First, he'd remembered that long ago conversation, a thought that was stunning enough on its own. That what he'd learned that night had resulted in this carefully orchestrated kidnapping positively stunned her. 

The silence evidently lasted long enough to make Harm nervous. "Umm…Mac?" he said. "I meant what I said, you know."

She walked over to him, unable to hide her smile any longer. 

"I know you meant it, Harm. I'm sorry if I scared you. It's just… I'm stunned that you thought of this." She glanced down the meadow in the direction the Chaplain had gone, and then back at Harm, meeting his eyes even though her own had filled with unexpected tears. "It's what I've wanted since I was a little girl – just me, the man I love, and a perfect spring day." 

She reached down to pick a delicate purple flower, its fragile stem dwarfed in her gentle fingers. She held it to her nose, inhaling deeply of its subtle fragrance before looking back up at Harm. "I'd decided it wasn't possible; that because of all the people we know who care about us and want to wish us well, we didn't really have much of a choice. But this…" she waved a hand that took in the meadow, the plane, and both of them, "this is perfect. They still get their fancy wedding, and I still get my dream." 

He pulled her forward and into his arms, cradling her head in his palms as he bent to kiss her. She put everything she had into the kiss, desperately trying to tell him by action what knew she'd never be able communicate with words.

The kiss lasted a long time, until gradually they both became aware of the fading daylight. Harm ended with a butterfly kiss on her temple, but he didn't release her, and she didn't try to pull away. Right now, perfection was this moment, in this man's arms, and she had no wish to do anything to bring an end to it. 

She finally reached down to twine her fingers with his. "Now," she said with a slightly tremulous smile. "Lead me to your Chaplain." Harm grinned at her choice of words, an obvious play on the old 'take me to your leader' line. 

They walked the length of the meadow in silence born of both reverence and happiness. Along the way, they picked a variety of early blooming wildflowers for Mac to use as her wedding bouquet, and when they reached the edge of the forest, Harm led her into a small grove of trees – their improvised chapel. In the center of a circle of trees a large stump held a single tall white candle, its flame flickering brightly in the deepening twilight. 

A small noise at the back of the clearing caught Mac's attention, and she turned her head to find its source. She stared hard, trying to figure out what it was. All at once, she burst into delighted laughter. "You remembered the goats?" 

Harm grinned sheepishly. "I actually wondered if you would."

"I remember - I just can't believe you did."

"I rarely forget the important stuff, Mac. Besides, I thought they could be our witnesses."

"Actually," interrupted the Chaplain, appearing almost magically from the shadows, "you don't need witnesses in the state of Virginia."

"Even better," Harm grinned, "since I doubt many states will accept hoof prints as valid signatures on a wedding license."

Mac laughed, and the Chaplain looked at his watch. "If you folks don't mind, we should get on with this. My wife's going to wonder what's taking me so long. She already thinks I'm a little crazy for bringing goats to a wedding, and if I don't get home pretty soon, she's liable to think the three of us are wandering around lost somewhere."

Harm took Mac's hand and they moved to stand in front of the makeshift altar. 

"Commander? Did you bring the marriage license?"

Harm pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. The Chaplain scanned it quickly, nodded, and set it on the altar beside him. 

"Everybody ready?"

They nodded, and Mac felt Harm squeeze her hand three times. The action made her smile. Three squeezes meant 'I love you.'  It was a signal they'd worked out months ago and it often came in handy in the office. She squeezed back - four times.

"All right then. Let's get this show on the road."

The chaplain smiled at each of them, and began the simple service. 

"Harmon Rabb Junior, and Sarah MacKenzie, life is given to each of us as individuals, and yet we must learn to live together. Love is given to us by our family and by our friends. We learn to love by being loved. Learning to love and live together is one of the greatest challenges of life – and is the shared goal of a married life."

He turned to Harm. "Harmon Rabb, do you take Sarah MacKenzie as your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?"

"I do." 

"Sarah MacKenzie, do you take Harmon Rabb Junior as your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?"

"I do." 

Chaplain Fredricks pulled two simple gold bands out of his pocket. Mac's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Harm, but she didn't say anything. 

"Wedding rings," the chaplain said, "are an outward and visible sign of an inward spiritual grace, and the unbroken circle of love, signifying to all the union of this man, and this woman, in marriage."

Chaplain Fredericks handed Mac's ring to Harm, who lifted her hand in his own and slid the ring onto her finger. He looked deeply into her eyes as he repeated his vows, and Mac felt his sincerity to the depth of her soul. She blinked away tears, and saw Harm's tender smile. 

"I, Harmon Rabb," he said, taking his queue from the chaplain, "take you, Sarah MacKenzie, to be my wife - to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as we both shall live."

Mac took a deep breath to slow her racing heart, and then took the larger golden circlet from the chaplain's outstretched palm. She eased it over Harm's finger and repeated her own simple vows.

"I, Sarah MacKenzie, take you, Harmon Rabb Junior, to be my husband – to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as we both shall live." Her voice trembled slightly on the last few words. 

The chaplain spoke the final words as the sun's last rays bathed the little clearing in a golden haze. "Harmon Rabb Junior, and Sarah MacKenzie, as the two of you come into this marriage uniting you as husband and wife, and as you this day affirm your faith and love for one another, I would ask that you always remember to cherish each other as special and unique individuals, and that you respect the thoughts, ideas, and suggestions of one another. Be able to forgive, do not hold grudges, and live each day that you may share it together – as from this day forward you shall be each other's home, comfort, and refuge, your marriage strengthened by your love and respect for each other."

He smiled at the couple. "You may kiss the bride," he said to Harm. 

Harm didn't wait for a second invitation. He wrapped her in his arms and settled his lips on hers in a sweetly tantalizing kiss that spoke of promises, and love, and  possibility. They lost themselves in it, and when Harm finally eased away from her Chaplain Fredericks and his goats had disappeared. The only proof that he'd ever existed was the signed marriage license that fluttered gently on the simple altar. 

Harm smiled down at her, and Mac knew that at last, everything in her life was exactly as it should be. "Come on Mrs. Rabb," he said. "Let's go home."

They walked slowly back through the meadow, both a little reluctant to return to civilization just yet. Mac felt the warmth of her wedding band pressing against their joined hands and smiled to herself. She had no clue how he'd pulled it off, but she could think of no gift that he could have given her that would have made her as happy. 

They came to a stop beside the plane, and Mac turned into his arms, laying her head against his chest. He held her close, and for long moments, neither said a word. 

"How'd you do it?" she finally asked.

"State secret, Marine." She felt him smile against her hair as he said it, and his arms tightened around her.

"Don't we need the marriage license for Saturday?"

"Actually, we didn't even use that one. It's for Maryland, and we're in Virginia."

"Then how…?"

He chuckled. "Sometimes it helps to know people in high places."

She twisted in his arms, turning to look up at him, and he took the opportunity to steal another kiss. 

"Not Webb…" she said, when she could speak again. Her heart thudded dully with the thought. It had been months since she'd heard from Webb, and she didn't really want to think about his being involved in making this particular dream come true.

He shook his head. "No. Not Webb."

"Then who?"

"Does it matter?" He asked quietly. 

She looked at him, considering that. He was right, actually. There was no particular reason why she needed to know the details. She sighed happily and nestled her head against his chest again. "No," she said. "It doesn't matter at all."

Then another thought occurred to her, and she lifted her head again, only to catch Harm grinning at her in amusement. She couldn't help it. Her mind was trained in detail work. 

"What about Chaplain Turner on Saturday?" she asked. "Shouldn't we tell him we're already married?"

"He knows. In fact, he helped me set it up. Chaplain Fredericks is an old friend of his. Turner will still do the ceremony on Saturday, and nobody will ever know our true anniversary date except them and us."

"How'd you get the wedding bands?"

"I picked them up from the jeweler last week.”

"And the candle? Chaplain Fredericks again?"

"The candle and the goats were courtesy of Chaplain Fredericks. There are benefits to being a country chaplain." His eyes twinkled with laughter. "Anything else you want to know Counselor?"

"No, I think that pretty much does it for now, but there is one thing I want to tell you." 

"And what might that be?"

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome," he said, and kissed her again in the flower filled meadow just as the first rays of a full moon peeked through the trees.


9:17 Local
Ashburn Aviation Services
Martinsburg Maryland


The phone rang loudly, echoing through the cavernous hangar, and Jack glared at it. He was convinced that all telephones should have strict hours of service starting no earlier than 10:00 in the morning, and ending no later than 4:00 in the afternoon. He pulled his feet off the desk and set down his morning mug of coffee before reaching for the handset.

"Ashburn," he said gruffly.

"Jack? It's Paige Clark." 

Oh God. He definitely wasn't ready to talk to her. Yesterday's events still cluttered his mind, and he'd spent most of last night trying to drown his guilt in a six pack of beer. He definitely wasn't in the mood for social chit chat. His silence evidently lasted too long, because she spoke again. 

"Jack? Are you there?"

"I'm here." He didn't try to disguise his lack of enthusiasm.

"I need to ask you a favor."

"Oh?" Tension straightened his spine. "What kind of favor?"

"I, um…" she hesitated, and Jack waited. It wasn't his style to try to ease anybody's way. "After the autopsy, I had them cremate Terry's remains."

"Uh huh…" He wondered vaguely where she was going with this, but somehow he knew he wasn't going to be pleased.

"There's a memorial service for him tomorrow afternoon. I wanted to ask you to come."

He knew it. He knew he wasn't going to like this. He hated funerals – everybody oozing sympathy and wondering when the will would be read. He shuddered. 

"I don't think so, Paige."

She sighed, "Terry would have wanted you there."

"Can't do it, Paige." He didn't elaborate. 

There were a few moments of silence before Paige spoke again. "I understand. I won't pressure you. There's something else, though."

Something else? He braced himself. "What is it?"

"Do you still have that old pietenpol two seater?"

"Yes…" he said warily. Something told him he knew where she was going with this.

"Terry always said that when he died, he wanted his ashes spread over the mountains from an open cockpit." Her voice broke, "I guess he wanted one last ride." 

Jack hesitated. Part of him wanted to run as far and as fast in the opposite direction as his old legs could carry him. Another, stronger part, whispered that maybe, in some small way, doing this for Paige would relieve him of a tiny portion of the crushing guilt he bore over Terry's death. He sighed heavily.

"When?" he asked.

"Saturday night? Jack loved flying at night."

"Come at 7:30. I'll see what I can do."

"I'll be there. And Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He hung up the phone. For several long minutes he glared balefully at it as though it was personally to blame for his foul mood. Then, with a muffled curse, he stood up. Best thing for what ailed him was work. 


1525 Local
Officers' Club
U.S. Naval Academy
Annapolis, Maryland


"Mine's in my pocket. Where's yours?" His low voice whispered through the hair near her ear and sent a shiver down her spine. She touched her wedding band, currently nestled between her breasts on a long gold chain and hidden from view by her neckline.

"Right here," she smiled. "I couldn't bear to take it off – even for a couple of days."

His hand settled on her hip and she leaned against him with a sigh of happiness, enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

Their reception was in full swing, and they were surrounded by friends and family who'd come from all over the world to share in their happiness. Mac watched Trish, awed by her abilities as hostess and mother of the groom. The older woman flitted quietly hither and yon among the many guests, making sure all felt welcome. She and Frank had been a godsend for Mac, who'd found herself nearly overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and affection. Even now, Frank was entertaining Mike Roberts and a group of his friends over by the punch bowl. 

Beside her, Harm chuckled suddenly, and she looked at him curiously. "What's so funny?"

"Not funny really, it's just… Did you ever think this many people would come?"

Mac smiled. "No actually, I didn't. Thank God we went with a buffet instead of a sit down meal. We'd never have enough places for everyone to sit."

Harm had been watching the ebb and flow of people while they talked. "Speaking of unexpected attendees," he said suddenly. "There's somebody I want you to meet." 

Before she could answer him, he'd grabbed her hand and was pulling her toward a small knot of people a few feet away. The group parted at their arrival, and Mac found herself face to face with a petite blonde woman whose eyes sparkled with life.

"I never expected to see you here, Meg," Harm said, giving her a friendly hug. 

"Are you kidding, Harm? Do you honestly think I'd miss the chance to meet the woman who could calf rope you?" 

Harm laughed and turned to Mac. "Mac, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Meg Austin. She was my partner at JAG the year before you got there."

Meg shook Mac's hand and smiled, but she directed her words to Harm. "It's Lieutenant Commander now, Harm. I've moved up in the world." She turned back to Mac. "You've put up with him for nine years? It seems like you should be eligible for some type of medal or something."

"Hey!" Harm pretended to be indignant. "We were a great team!"

"Great at getting into trouble, you mean," Meg's eyes twinkled merrily.

Mac laughed. "He's still pretty good at that."

"Speak for yourself, Marine." Harm slipped his arm around her waist and smiled. "Seems to me you're just as good at it as I am."

"Harm," Meg sounded vaguely appalled. "You've corrupted a United States Marine?" 

"Excuse me," he said, "but I seem to remember quite a few scrapes that Mac's gotten into all by herself."

"Only because I had such an excellent teacher," Mac grinned. 

Meg laughed. "I believe it."

Harm rolled his eyes. "I should've known it'd be a bad idea to get the two of you together."

"On the contrary," said Mac. "I bet the two of us have all kinds of interesting stories we could share."

"Did he ever tell you about the time we thwarted a brig break?" Meg asked with a mischievous smile. 

"Oh?" Mac's eyebrows arched. "Do tell."

"You know what?" Harm said suddenly, "I just saw Sergei and Alex come in. I think I'll go say hello."

The women laughed. "Ducking fire, Commander?" Meg asked.

Harm winked at Mac. "Let's just say I'm taking cover." He dropped a kiss on Mac's temple and wandered off, leaving her grinning at his back.

"You two are good together," Meg said when Mac turned back to her.

"It's taken a long time, but I think we are, too."

"He's a good man," said Meg. "But then, I'm sure you know that."

"He's the best," Mac answered sincerely. "It hasn't always been easy, but I'd go to hell and back for him." 

"I'm happy for you both. You make a beautiful couple."

"Thank you." Mac's spotted Admiral Chegwidden moving through the crowd a few feet away. "I'm sorry, Meg. I see somebody I need to talk to. Will you excuse me?"

"Of course," Meg said. "And congratulations."

"Thank you." Mac smiled at the other woman one more time and then made her way through the crowd to where she'd seen AJ. 

"So," she said, coming up behind him. "What's this I hear about your new fortune telling career, Admiral?"

He turned to her with a wide smile. "There's the bride now." He pulled her into a hug, and Mac smiled happily against his chest. Next to Harm, this man was more important to her than anybody else - with the possible exception of her wayward uncle. He released her, and she straightened to see a look of apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry I missed the rehearsal last night." 

"Don't worry about it," she said, "I knew you couldn't help it." She turned to his companion. "It's so good to see you again, Francesca. Have you been keeping your father out of trouble?"

Francesca kissed Mac on both cheeks European style, and smiled. "Colonel, you are positively glowing," she said. "I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful bride." She cast a rueful look at her father. "This one, though." She shook her head. "You would not imagine how much trouble he was when his team won the pennant last fall."

Mac laughed. "Do tell."

"All right, ladies. That's just about enough of that," AJ broke in, causing both women to burst into delighted laughter. "Mac, if you expect me to be there to give you away tonight, you'd better remember your place."

"But Admiral," Mac said, all innocence. "I only want to hear about your life since you left the Navy."

He snorted. "I haven't been gone so long that I've forgotten how you think, Colonel. I still know when to cut off that devious mind at the pass."

Mac sighed melodramatically. "If you insist..."

"I do."

Francesca smiled at Mac. "Do you see what I have to put up with? All the time he is like this." 

AJ rocked back on his heels, arms folded across his chest. "So Mac," he said. "Tell me about life at JAG since I've been gone."

Mac dipped her head in amused acknowledgement of the pointed change of subject, but let him off the hook, and for the next several minutes they talked about JAG. Mac was impressed at the number of people Francesca remembered after only having met them a couple of times. Like father like daughter, she thought. Mind like a steel trap. 

She glanced across the room to where Harm was talking to Sergei and Alex Volkonov. She and Harm had been disappointed that Sergei hadn't been able to bring Galina, but she was pregnant with their first child, and hadn't wanted to take the risk. Mac understood exactly how the other woman felt. If she were ever lucky enough to be pregnant with Harm's child, she'd guard it with her own life.

"Colonel?" The unfamiliar voice brought her out of her reverie, and she turned to see a member of the staff waiting politely for her attention. 

"Yes?"

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but you have a telephone call."

"Here?" Mac was puzzled. Everybody she knew was already here. Who could be calling?

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Where?"

"Right through there, ma'am. You'll find the phone on a table in the small alcove just to the left of the entry way."

"Thank you."

Mac turned to A.J. and Francesca. "I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," the admiral answered for both of them. I want to have a word with Admiral Boone anyway.

Mac hurried across the room, oblivious to the fact that Harm watched her go, a pleased little half smile on his face. 

********


As Sergei and Alex wandered off to the buffet table, Harm noticed Mac out of the corner of his eye. She was leaving the room, presumably to take the phone call he'd arranged for her. In a way, he wished he could see her face when she realized who was on the other end of the line, but he resisted the temptation and glanced at his watch. He'd give them… five minutes to talk, and then he'd go check on her. That was about how long he could stand to be without her today anyway. 

“Hi, Harm.”

At the sound of a soft, feminine voice, Harm turned and grinned. “Kate.”

She hesitated a moment, then stepped closer and gave him a quick hug. “So, you two finally figured it out, huh?”

Harm shook his head and sighed. “How many times are we going to have to hear that tonight?”

Kate laughed. “Nine years is a long time. For two otherwise intelligent people, you both seemed oblivious to the chemistry between you. Everyone else on the planet only needed about five seconds to see that there was something there.”

Harm smiled ruefully. “Five seconds. That’s about how long it took the admiral to size things up and tell us not to get involved with each other when we first met.”

Kate’s eyes went wide. “He told you that?”

“Yes. And considering how many headaches we caused for him over the years, it was one order he probably never expected us to obey.”

Movement across the room caught his eye, and he watched as the waiter who'd escorted Mac from the room returned to his duties at the buffet table. With an effort, he resisted the urge to check his watch. Sometimes he really wished he had Mac's sense of time. 

Kate, perceptive as ever, caught the direction of his gaze and correctly guessed his thoughts. 

“You really love her," she said almost wistfully.

He turned back to her and simply smiled. “With all that I am.”

Kate studied him for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. “Good.” Impulsively, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I really am happy for you, Harm.” She looped her arm through his and grinned up at him. “Now, Sailor. Buy a girl a drink?”

Harm laughed. "It's an open bar, Kate."

"Even better," she grinned. "I can get you drunk and have my way with you."

Harm shook his head at her in amusement. There'd been a time when he'd thought maybe he and Kate would be a couple, but she'd been wiser than he. She'd recognized where Harm's heart lay long before he'd been willing to acknowledge it, and she'd been smart enough not to get involved in what would surely have been a doomed relationship. 

On their way over to get their drinks, they stopped a couple of times to chat with mutual acquaintances, and soon Harm snuck another peek at his watch.

"Got a date?" Kate teased.

Harm grinned. "Sort of. Will you excuse me? There's something I need to take care of."

Kate sighed theatrically. "That's right. Leave me here all by myself, abandoned, alone, helpless…"

Harm laughed outright. "You're a lot of things, Kate, but I'd never call you helpless, not by a long shot."

She grinned. "Get out of here. You're making me blush."

He hugged her one more time, whispered a quick "I'm glad you came," into her ear, and headed off to find Mac.

*****

Mac picked up the handset, curious to discover who could be calling her at her wedding reception. "This is Colonel MacKenzie." 

"Mac?" 

"Uncle Matt?" Mac dropped into a nearby chair, her knees suddenly weak with surprised delight.

"Got it in one, Sweetheart." His familiar voice brought tears to her eyes. She missed him so much. 

"How are you, Uncle Matt?"

"I'm doing fine, Mac." His voice was gruff, and she heard the emotion behind it.

"Getting enough to eat? Sleeping okay? How's your health?" The questions tripped over each other in her haste to get them out, and she stumbled to a vaguely embarrassed stop.

He chuckled. "Yes, yes, and fine. Slow down. You're going to tie that tongue of yours in knots." 

She laughed. "I can't help it, Uncle Matt. There's just so much I want to know."

"I understand," he said, "but I didn't call to talk about me."

"I didn't know they'd let you make calls at all," Mac said. 

"I think your fiancé pulled a few strings," he answered. "And I'm glad he did."

"I am too," she said softly, making a mental note to thank him properly later on.

"So tell me. Is he really the same man you brought to me at gunpoint nearly ten years ago?"

Mac laughed. "That would be him."

"Handsome son of a gun, if memory serves. Does he treat you right?" A note of protectiveness had come into his voice, and Mac couldn't help being amused. The man was in Leavenworth, for God's sake. If something did go wrong, what did he think he was going to be able to do about it? Still, the sentiment was sweet, and she answered accordingly, a smile in her voice. 

"He's my hero, Uncle Matt."

"Oh? And here I thought I was your hero."

Mac laughed. "You both are."

"Are you happy, sweetheart?" 

"Happier than I've ever been in my life." She twined the telephone cord around her finger, covering the bare spot on the third finger of her left hand. She felt the warmth of her ring against her chest and smiled. She'd need to remember to give it to Harm before the ceremony. 

On the other end of the line, she heard her uncle's pleased sigh. "I'm glad, Mac. Your happiness is all I've ever really wanted."

"Uncle Matt?"

"Hmm?"

"I never really got a chance to thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you did for me all those years ago. You saved my life."

"No I didn't. All I did was to give you the time and space you needed to save your own life."

"And the love."

He brushed the comment aside. "I'm just glad to know you made something of yourself, Mac. You overcame your history and made your life a success. It's all the thanks I've ever needed."

Mac heard a murmur of conversation in the background, and then her uncle's voice again. "I'm sorry, Mac. They're telling me my time's up."

She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and tightened her grip on the phone as though to maintain the connection by force of will alone. "I miss you, Uncle Matt."

He struggled to control his voice, but Mac heard the catch in it when he answered her. "I miss you too, honey. Be happy."

"I will be. And Uncle Matt?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too. Take care." He didn't say goodbye, but then, he'd never liked goodbyes.

"You too." 

There was a soft click, and he was gone. Mac sat there for a long time, the phone dangling forgotten in her hand. 

"Hey," Harm's low voice washed over her, and she dragged her tear filled eyes up to his. In one long stride he was by her side, and he pulled her up and into his arms. "I'm sorry, Mac. I never meant to make you unhappy."

"Oh Harm… You didn't."

He looked down at her with the hint of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Oh?"

She shook her head. "These aren't sad tears, they're happy ones."

He tilted his head at her. "How, exactly, do you tell the difference?"

In answer, Mac pulled his head down to hers. Several mutually enjoyable minutes passed before she dragged herself away. God. The man was an addiction. 

"Wow," Harm said when he'd caught his breath. "I think I see what you mean." He snagged his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the remaining tears from her cheeks. 

Mac traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "Harm?" she said. 

"What?"

"Thank you."

He hugged her tightly, his answer rumbling from somewhere delightfully close to her left ear. "You're welcome."

He stepped back and held out a hand to her. "Ready to rejoin our guests before they come looking for us?" He asked.

She placed her hand in his and smiled. "Lead on."

When they reentered the banquet hall, Mac spotted Chloe and Mattie giggling over something near the buffet table. She made a beeline in their direction, certain they were concocting trouble, leaving Harm behind to mingle with the other guests. He watched as Mac approached the two girls who, on seeing the incoming adult, blushed guiltily and pretended to be deeply involved in serious discussion. He wondered what might have caused that particular reaction, and then shoved the thought out of his mind. There were some things about adolescents that he suspected he was better off not knowing.

"I'm impressed," said a voice at his shoulder. "Somebody's finally managed to tame you."

“You made it!” Harm enveloped Beth O’Neill in a warm hug. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come. Spook business and all that.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world. When we were flying together, I knew there was someone back home who occupied your thoughts, even if you wouldn’t tell me who it was. Glad to see you worked things out.”

Harm looked across the room and unerringly found his wife. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up from her conversation with Bobbi Latham and smiled at him before returning her attention to the congresswoman. Chloe and Mattie had disappeared, and he wondered absently if he should be concerned. Deciding they couldn’t get into too much trouble at a wedding reception, he turned back to Beth.

“We’re still… working things out," he said. "But at least now we’re doing it together.”

His former flying partner nodded knowingly. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! I have a message for you.”

“Oh?”

She hesitated. “From Clayton Webb.”

He couldn’t help the dark look that crossed his face. “What? Did he die again?”

Beth winced. “No. He just… He wanted me to tell you congratulations. And he’s… sorry… things didn’t work out better. That’s all.” She held up her hands. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”

Harm shook his head and smiled ruefully. “No, it’s okay. Thanks.” With some effort, he pushed thoughts of Clayton Webb to the back of his mind and smiled at his friend. “So,” he continued, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Seeing anyone?”

His reward was a broad smile and a very un-agent-like giggle.

*******

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Can I get you a glass of champagne?"

Mac started slightly, dragging her gaze from her husband's conversation with Beth O'Neill. She started to decline the offer automatically, and then blinked in recognition. 

"Gunny!" 

He grinned and fired off a lopsided two fingered salute. "Hello, Ma'am."

"I can't believe you made it!"

"I wasn't about to miss your wedding on account of some two bit terrorist."

"How did you manage to get leave?"

"I'm a Marine, Ma'am. Where there's a will, there's always a way."

She looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't do anything unlawful, did you?"

He placed his hands on his heart, sighing theatrically. "Your distrust wounds me, Ma'am."

Mac laughed. 

"Permission to hug the bride?"

"It's an order, Gunny." She opened her arms to him and felt his wrap around her for a quick hug before he stepped back.

"So you two finally got it together, huh?" He grinned. "You know… for a Marine, you sure took your time about accomplishing this mission."

Mac rolled her eyes. "I've lost count of how many times people have said things like that to me tonight, Gunny."

He laughed. "I expect you'll hear it a lot more, too."

Mac nodded ruefully. "I'm sure you're right."

"Where is the commander, anyway?"

Mac didn't need to look in order to answer. "Two oclock. He's talking to some of the people he worked with in the CIA." She'd glimpsed Catherine Gale joining Harm and Beth O'Neill just before Gunny had surprised her.

He glanced in the direction she'd indicated and lifted an eyebrow at her with a low whistle. 

"What?"

"That's impressive. You didn't even have to look."

Mac shrugged a little self-consciously. "I always know where he is, Gunny."

He observed her critically for a few seconds. "I hope that someday I can be that lucky," he said finally.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that what you and Commander Rabb have is really special. Not many people are as lucky."

Mac smiled softly. "It hasn't been easy though, Gunny – not by a long shot."

"Nothing worth having ever is," he answered. 

Mac nodded. What she and Harm had was definitely worth every ounce of heartache and pain it had cost, and she'd do it all again in an instant if it was asked of her. 

“Hi, Colonel.” 

Mac turned, and a peal of happy laughter erupted. “Tiner!”

She enveloped the young man in a warm hug. “How have you been?”

Tiner blushed. “Um, just fine, Ma’am. I’m enjoying law school. I miss everyone at JAG, though.”

He and Gunny exchanged handshakes, sizing each other up without missing a beat. Mac grinned inwardly, wondering if the two men would ever stop being so competitive. 

She smiled. “We miss you, too. I’m sure the admiral does, as well. He's around here someplace. You should say hello.”

"I will," he said.

"Have you met General Cresswell yet? I'm sure he'd like to meet you. After all, your name comes up with surprising regularity at the office."

Tiner winced. “From what I've heard, I have a feeling General Cresswell would eat me alive. Admiral Chegwidden was a little more… forgiving.”

Mac choked on the mineral water she was in the process of swallowing. After a moment of frantic coughing, she was able to breathe again. “Tiner, we all left so many strips of hide in the admiral’s office it’s amazing any of us can still sit.”

The mischievous gleam in Tiner’s eye belied the earnestness of his reply. “That’s different, Ma’am. JAG was a family, and the admiral was, well, like our dad. Even when he was ripping us a new one, we still knew he cared.”

Mac smiled and patted his arm. “The general cares, Tiner. But you’re right, it’s different.” She looked across the room, seeking her husband’s gaze. They exchanged another smile, and then Mac focused on Tiner once again. “It’s all very different.”

Tiner glanced across to where Mac’s attention had been drawn and smiled. “Change can be good, Ma’am.”

She nodded. “Yes, it can be.”

They were quiet for a moment, and then Tiner, rather adorably, scuffed a toe on the floor like a child and blushed. “And Ma’am?”

Uh oh. Mac had a feeling she knew what was coming. “Yes?”

“It’s about time, Ma’am.”

Gunny laughed aloud, and Mac rolled her eyes. 

A long-suffering sigh was her only reply.

********

In a rare moment of solitude, Harm leaned against a pillar and watched Mac across the room, where she was now talking to Gunny and Tiner. The younger men were vying for her attention, and he grinned in amusement. Some things never changed.

“So, you finally pulled it off.”

Harm whirled around and nearly came to attention out of sheer habit. “Admiral!”

AJ grinned and shook his head. “Not Admiral anymore, son. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

They stood there in companionable silence, observing the woman who had finally latched a tailhook onto her flyboy. 

“She’s amazing, AJ.”

The thought was voiced with reverent wonder. Harm wasn’t even aware he’d said it until AJ chuckled. “Always knew that, Harm. Just didn’t know how long it would take for you to appreciate it.”

Harm absently stuck his hand into his pants pocket, where his wedding ring lay hidden. 
The gold was smooth and warm as his fingers curled around it. “We had some growing up to do, AJ. And we’re not done yet. But at least now we’re raising each other.”

AJ smiled at the analogy. “Glad you two made it out of diapers and past the terrible twos. I swear, sometimes the urge to send you both to time out was overwhelming.”

Harm laughed. “Or maybe just give us a good belt to the bottom. We were a handful, I know.”

A.J. snorted. "A handful?" he said. "More like a dump truck."

The two men shared a companionable smile, and watched Mac as she finished her conversation with Gunny and Tiner and began to make her way over to them.

"She's a beautiful woman," said AJ.

"Yes Sir, she is," Harm said. "And I'm a lucky man."

AJ looked at him seriously. "As long as you remember that, you'll be okay, son."

Mac reached them and slid her arm around Harm's waist, tilting her head up to receive his kiss. Afterwards, she smiled at AJ. "What are you two up to over here?"

"Just watching the world go by," Harm smiled. 

The ringing of dinnerware on champagne glasses effectively silenced what had been a dull roar of festive conversation. Bud climbed the short steps to the small stage and smoothed the front of his dress whites, silently and eternally grateful that no disaster had thus far marred the pristine uniform.

“If I could have everybody's attention,” he called out, and waited for everyone to turn and face the stage. "Commander Rabb? Colonel MacKenzie? Would you come up here?"

Harm and Mac exchanged a grin and made their way forward to stand beside Bud.

“As Commander – soon to be Captain – Rabb’s best man, it’s my job to say a few words in honor of the happy couple.”

At mention of the promotion, applause broke out, which dissolved into laughter when Jack Keeter bellowed, “Captain Rabb? Is the Navy that desperate?”

“They let you in, Jack!” Mac replied with a grin.

An ear-splitting whistle cut through the laughter, and everyone turned to see AJ Chegwidden smiling sheepishly. “Carry on, Commander Roberts.”

Bud lifted his glass. “Thank you, Admiral.”

A thoughtful look crossed Bud’s face, and he smiled. “I was going to have a speech prepared, but nothing I could come up with seemed to fit. There’s so much to say about the commander and the colonel…”

His voice trailed off as he caught a rather intimidating glare from Mac, and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry. Harm and Mac.”

Scattered chuckles met this, as those who knew Bud knew how hard it was to address two of his closest friends by name and not rank.

Bud waited until the room was quiet again, and then continued his toast. “Love is a journey marked by hills, valleys, turns, and the occasional blind curve. In Harm and Mac’s case, it was also marked by gunfire, plane crashes, terrorists, nuclear missiles, and an occasional ball of fire.”

Laughter again broke out, and Harm and Mac had the grace to blush.

“These last nine years, the one constant in the universe has been Harm and Mac. When they were together, things were never dull. When they were apart… Well, we knew to stay out of their way.”

He grinned. “And now, finally, they’re together for good. An old saying the commander… Er, Harm, told me a few days ago has been running through my head, and I offer it now, as it’s a simple, yet elegant way to express how I feel.”

He held his glass aloft again, and everyone joined suit. “Harm, Mac… Fair winds and following seas.”

Their friends and family all applauded. Then, before Harm and Mac could even begin to formulate a reply, a fork clinked loudly against a glass three times. 

As one, the crowd turned to face the couple, and in one terrifying instant, Harm and Mac knew what was coming. They braced themselves for the inevitable onslaught.

“IT’S ABOUT TIME!!!”

The crowd dissolved in laughter, and Harm and Mac exchanged an amused glance. Without missing a beat, Harm scooped Mac into his arms, kissing her thoroughly and extensively – much to the crowd's (and Mac's) delight. When they finally came up for air, they were the beneficiaries of a standing ovation. Grinning happily, they bowed for their audience just as a waiter wheeled in a large wedding cake. There were oohs and aahs from the assembled guests, and Harm smiled at Mac. 

"I think we'd better cut and serve that." Harm said, nodding at the towering confection. "Our guests are getting restless."

"Nooo… You think?" Mac grinned up at him and he chuckled. 

He took her hand and led her over to the cake table, winking at her as he handed her the knife. "You do know how to handle one of these, don't you?"

Mac laughed. "Would you like a demonstration?"

He raised his hands in self-defense. "No, that's okay. I trust you."

He dipped his head to kiss her, and they heard the photographer snap yet another picture. In later years, their children would see the photo of them wrapped in each other's arms and wonder to themselves if the cake had ever gotten served at all.

Finally, Harm raised his head, smiling down into her eyes. Behind them, the crowd had started to chant. "Cake Cake Cake Cake…" 

Mac held the knife, and Harm settled his hand on top of hers. He smiled, kissed her one more time, and together, they sliced into the cake. Applause erupted around them, and they laughed. Who would have known that such a simple act could inspire such excitement?

A few minutes later, Harm and Mac were again mingling with their guests. Conversations had resumed around the room, and the overall atmosphere was festive. The band was playing again, and people had started dancing. Nobody showed any interest in bringing the festivities to a close. 

Mac was talking to Trish when Harriet approached and touched her lightly on the elbow. "It's time, Ma'am." 

The words sent her pulse into high gear, and she located Harm where he was talking with Skates on the other side of the room, sending him a brief nod. She watched him excuse himself from the conversation and toward her before turning back to her friend. 

"I'll meet you there, Harriet. I need to speak to Harm first."

"I'll lay your dress out for you, then. See you in a few minutes."

Mac gave her friend a hug. "Thanks, Harriet."

"You bet." The other woman smiled at her and departed just as Harm arrived at her side. 

"Time to change?" he asked. 

She nodded. "Can we step outside for a second? I need to give you something."

A few minutes later they stood alone, and Mac inhaled a deep breath of the warm spring air. "What a beautiful day."

"It sure is," Harm agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wedding band. "Is this what you're looking for?"

"Sure is." She lifted the gold chain from around her own neck and handed it to him. "And here's mine. Take good care of it." She smiled at him, and received a tender kiss in reply. 

"You know I will, Mac, just as I intend to take good care of you."

"And I you." She reached to straighten his collar, and he caught her hand in his. 

"I love you, Mac."

"I love you, too."

"Are you ready for this?"

She nodded. "Beyond ready."

"Me, too." He kissed her knuckles, and gave her a gentle push on her way. "You'd better get going," he said. "You wouldn't want to be late for your own wedding."

"Seems to me," she said with a smile. "I was two days early."

He grinned. "Go, Mrs. Rabb. Let's get this show on the road."

Mac laughed and turned away. Harriet was waiting for her with her wedding gown, and in a little while, she'd be walking down the aisle. 


7:00 Local
Ashburn Aviation
Martinsburg, Maryland


Paige was right on time. Punctuality had never been her strong suit until she'd become a military wife. Now, she sometimes felt like she lived her entire life by the clock. She wondered if that would fade now that Terry was gone, but shook off the thought. 

Terry's memorial service had been held just a few hours ago at Arlington, and she'd left Audrey with her mother and driven back here immediately after. She was exhausted and depressed, but determined to do this last thing for her husband.

Tears came to her eyes as she thought of him. The pain of his loss was still fresh, and she doubted she'd be able to think of him without feeling his absence in her soul. The only thing that had held her together since his accident had been Audrey. Dear sweet little Audrey – so young that she'd probably only ever have shadows of memories of her father – a man who'd called her princess and thrown her shrieking into the air, only to catch her again and nuzzle her tummy, throwing her into fits of giggles. 

Paige shook her head sharply, scattering the painful thoughts to the corners of her mind. She had a job to do, and she was damned if she was going to let anything get in the way of getting it done. She pulled open the door of the main building with more force than necessary, striding inside at a brisk pace.

"Jack?" She called.

"Here."

He came toward her from the shadows, his face haggard from lack of sleep, his pace slow. She moved quickly over to him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just a bit of a headache."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Have you been drinking?"

"No!" His tone was defensive and did absolutely nothing to ease Paige's state of mind. 

"Jack. You can't fly if you've got a hangover."

"Damn it woman! I said I'm fine! Now, do you want to do this or not?"

Paige observed him carefully as he moved away from her and over to the desk. He seemed steady on his feet, even if he was a bit slow, and when he sat down in that blasted chair of his, he actually managed to keep it from dumping him on the floor. She knew from long observation that it took pretty good reflexes to maintain one's balance in the rickety thing, and when he accomplished it without mishap, she decided that maybe he was okay to fly after all.

She shook her head sadly and moved across to the desk, watching him as he sorted through an assortment of keys. "Terry would have thanked you for this," she said quietly.

Jack snorted at her without looking up. "He would have thanked me for getting him killed? I doubt it."

"That isn't what I mean." She took a deep breath, maintaining a tight grip on her patience. "He would have appreciated you taking me up today."

"I don't exactly have a lot of choice in the matter, do I?"

Suddenly Paige was angry. She was the one who'd lost her husband, who'd watched his doomed plane perform its horrible death spiral. She was the one left alone to raise a child who was too young to even understand the concept of death, much less deal with its emotional impact. And she was the one who, not even ten days ago, had watched her beloved husband climb into his plane for the last time, never to return. 

"You know what, Jack? Forget it." She turned her back on him, ignoring the thump and the grunt of pain that erupted from somewhere behind her, and strode toward the door.

"Paige! Wait!"

She glanced around in time to see him limping after her. "Don't go. I'll take you. I just had to find the damn keys."

She turned back and walked over to him, fighting the anger that threatened to erupt in an explosion of grief and pain. 

"Damn you, Jack Stone."

He halted at the venom in her voice, baffled unease crossing his features. 

She walked slowly toward him, fighting the urge to dump him on his ass right where he stood. She was sick of his self-pity.

"Terry was your friend, but he was my husband. He was everything to me – my life, my heart, the other half of my soul. If anyone should be drinking themselves into a hole over this it's me. So what if you made a mistake? We all make mistakes sometimes. We all screw up. Get over yourself, Jack. Dump the martyr complex and get on with your life. It's what Terry would've wanted."

She turned her back on him and left, walking through the door without looking back. She'd nearly reached her car when she heard him calling after her. She almost didn't look back, almost didn't stop, but at the last minute she thought about Terry and slowly turned back around. She didn't move toward him, merely waiting with her arms folded until he caught up to her.

"Paige," he said, when he was finally close enough for her to hear him without his having to shout. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies. I want you to take me up in that plane," she nodded toward the small craft sitting on the airstrip, "so that I can satisfy my husband's final request." She turned back to him, "But if you can't – or won't – do it, I'll find somebody else. You aren't the only shop in town, after all." 

Jack sighed heavily. "Look. I just…" he trailed off, as though he couldn't find the words to say what was on his mind. "I'll take you up. It's the least I can do."

"No."

Jack gave her an exasperated look. "I thought it was what you wanted."

"It is what I want, but not this way. My husband isn't your obligation or your duty. He was your friend. If you're going to do this, it has to be because you want to do it for him – not because you feel guilty."

"God, woman. Are you always this hard to please?"

She allowed a small smile to tilt the corners of her mouth. "Absolutely."

Jack turned and stared out across the airfield for a few seconds. Then he looked back at her and took a deep breath. "Let's do this thing."

"For Terry?"

He nodded. "For Terry."

She considered him for a moment, gauging the sincerity of his words. Then, with a slight dip of the chin, she turned and started toward the plane. 

********

Mac stared at her image in the mirror, stunned by her own appearance. The woman who looked back at her didn't look like the same woman she'd grown accustomed to seeing every day. This woman was beautiful, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, and with a smile on her face that wouldn't seem to turn itself off no matter how hard she tried. Their mountain wedding had been special, and wonderful, and magical, and she would always treasure that day as her true anniversary. But today… Today would see them married in front of all of their friends and family, and somehow that fact gave it a special significance that had her pulse racing and her palms damp.

"Ma'am?" Harriet asked. "Are you okay?"

Mac turned to her friend. The two of them were alone in the room. Harriet, Chloe, and Mattie were to be her attendants for the ceremony, but the younger girls had abandoned the women to scout for boys. They'd be back when Chaplain Turner sent them to tell Mac it was time to begin. 

"I'm better than okay, Harriet." Mac heard the catch in her voice grinned ruefully. "Is this what it was like for you?"

"Well," Harriet said thoughtfully. "Do you have butterflies in your stomach? Do you feel like your heart's about to jump right out of your chest and go galloping in circles around the room? Are your palms damp and your knees weak?"

Mac smiled. "Yes to all those things."

Harriet nodded matter-of-factly. "Yep. I'd say that's exactly how I felt."

"Then I guess there's hope for me yet."

Harriet nodded seriously. "You and Harm … I've never seen anything like what the two of you have. It's always been there, even when you both tried to deny it. There's this connection between you that's almost tangible."

Mac nodded. "I know. It's wonderful and a little bit scary at the same time. I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to him, Harriet."

"Nothing's going to happen to him except that you're going to walk down that aisle, give him a big smile, and promise yourself to him for the rest of your life." 

Harriet brushed away a tear of her own, and Mac hugged her. "You're a good friend, Harriet. Bless you."

"My pleasure, Ma'am."

Mac rolled her eyes. "You'd think that today, of all days, you'd be able to call me Mac."

Harriet just grinned at her. There was a knock at the door and it opened to admit Chloe and Mattie, bright eyed and giggling. 

"Mac! You should see. There's this boy…"

Mattie swatted the younger girl playfully. "Not now, Chloe. It's time for the ceremony!"

At Mattie's words, Mac paled. Finally, after nine years of confusion, misdirection, almost theres and not quite theres, it was going to happen. 

There was a knock at the door, and Chloe opened it. Organ music chased AJ inside and swirled around the room. His dark suit sported a single rose in the lapel, and he stood tall, strong, and confident just inside the door. 

"Are you ready, Mac?"

She smiled at him. "Yes."

Harriet and the younger girls led the way. Mac took one last look in the mirror, lowered her veil over her eyes, and followed her former CO out the door.


7:30 pm
Somewhere in Western Virginia


Paige blinked tears from her eyes. They'd been in the air for nearly thirty minutes, and the sun was rapidly dropping behind the horizon. She looked around, nodded, and tapped Jack on the shoulder. He nodded, but didn't turn around. Carefully, she unscrewed the lid of the ceramic urn she'd been holding on her lap. 

"I love you Terry," she said softly. "I will always love you."

With two hands, she lifted the urn over the edge of the cockpit and tipped it slowly onto its side. She watched as the ashes spilled out – slowly at first, and then faster as she tilted the jar further. Turning her head, she watched the trail of ashes as it streamed out behind them and then slowly drifted toward the ground. 

When the jar was finally empty, she set it back in her lap, screwed the lid back on, and tapped Jack's shoulder one more time. He banked the plane, turning back toward home, and Paige said her final goodbyes to the wind. Behind them, Terry's ashes drifted lazily on the wind currents - one final flight for a man who'd loved flight more than life itself.


1930 Hours
Naval Academy Chapel
Annapolis, Maryland


Mac waited quietly, her hand resting in the crook of AJ's arm, while the music swelled over them and her attendants started down the aisle. Mattie went first, followed by Chloe, and then Harriet. She looked over at AJ, and he smiled reassuringly at her. 

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly. She nodded, and they moved to the head of the aisle. Most of the lights in the small chapel had been dimmed, but at the end of every pew a single white candle flickered brightly in a tall stand, bathing the room in a golden glow. Mac's eyes skipped quickly down the rows of people until they locked on Harm. He wore his dress whites; gold wings sparkling, brass buttons and medals reflecting the candlelight in a million points fire. She was dimly aware of AJ laying his hand on top of hers where it rested in the crook of his arm, but she had eyes only for Harm. He stood quietly, waiting for her, and as the processional started, she nodded, smiled, and went to meet her destiny. 

********
Epilogue
********

Kenzie Rabb sighed theatrically as she turned the pages of her parents’ wedding album. They were so gorgeous together; her father in his dress whites (and gold wings, which seemed to be a combination that never failed to amuse both her parents), and her mother in her flowing white gown. The joy that radiated from the pictures was so intense as to be almost tangible, and Kenzie sighed happily as she flipped the pages, pausing finally at her personal favorite. She ran her fingers over the image, which had been snapped just before her parents stepped through the Arch of Swords. Her mother's smile was radiant, and her father's gaze as he looked down at her was so full of love that it made her own heart swell just looking at it. It was all so… Romantic.

She sighed again. It was time to get back to work. Her class had been given the assignment to make a family tree. Her parents, always trying to be helpful, had given her boxes and folders full of documents, pictures, and albums. She’d gotten distracted by their wedding album, but now she set it aside and picked up a folder stuffed with legal documents, some of them already yellowing with age. A folded piece of paper slipped out, and she picked it up…

…only to have it rudely snatched out of her hand.

“Hey!”

Her brother dropped his gangly, overly long body down next to her and poked at the various piles. “What’s all this stuff?”

Mackenzie reached over and grabbed the errant piece of paper back. “Don’t mess with anything. I have it all organized.”

Jeremy perused the piles and shook his head. “Mom’s desk is more organized than this," he said, rolling his eyes. "And her desk is a disaster.”

Mackenzie sighed. “Mom and I have a system. It works. Leave the piles alone, neat freak.”

He shrugged. “You still didn’t tell me what it's for.”

Mackenzie swatted her brother’s hand away as he reached to straighten a pile of albums that was in imminent danger of toppling over. “Stop it! If I tell you, will you stop touching everything?”

Jeremy smiled the cocky, flyboy smile he had inherited from his father. It never failed to disarm the female members of his family, and he used it to full advantage at every opportunity. “Sure.”

She gestured to the piles. “We were discussing genealogy in class, and Mrs. Santana gave us an assignment to do a family tree. Mom and Dad gave me a bunch of files and documents and pictures to go through. I’m sorting them.”

The folded piece of paper in her right hand crinkled slightly, reminding her of its presence. Her curiosity returned as she unfolded what looked to be an official document. She read the formal script, blinked, and read it again, her eyebrows rising in a familiar Rabb gesture. 

“What the…?” she muttered. “That can’t be right.”

Jeremy leaned over and peered at the paper, attempting to read it upside down. “What?”

It was a marriage certificate from the state of Virginia, dated two days before her parents’ wedding anniversary. Their distinctive signatures were at the bottom, still clearly legible, even after fifteen years.

Insanely curious, she dug back into the pile she’d set aside earlier and pulled out another document. It was also a marriage certificate, but this one was from the state of Maryland, with the correct date. Again, the signatures looked to be in order.

Why would there be two?

Jeremy Mackenzie looked at the documents, looked at each other, and then stared at the documents again. “Virginia. May fifth. Maryland, May seventh,” Jeremy muttered. "Same year."

“And both signed,” Kenzie pointed out. “It’s their handwriting.”

They had a wedding album with pictures dated May 7, 2005. The wedding videos – both tape and DVD – were dated May 7, 2005.

And they had a marriage license from the state of Virginia, signed by their parents, with a date of May 5, 2005.

The siblings exchanged a glance and wordlessly dived back into the piles.

Carefully, they lined things up in a timeline, looking for further anomalies.

At the beginning, the two marriage licenses, for May 5 and 7, 2005.

A birth certificate for one Jeremy Matthew Rabb dated July 7, 2006.

Another birth certificate, for Mackenzie Rose Rabb, dated February 9, 2008.

School report cards. Military awards. Sports awards. Parent-teacher conference reports and detention slips. Newspaper clippings. Everything lined up - except for the two marriage certificates.

“As far as I can see, we’re not in the Witness Protection Program, and this isn’t the work of Romulan agents,” Jeremy concluded.

Mackenzie snorted derisively. “Yeah, got that, Sherlock." She shook her head in confusion. "The only thing I can figure is they eloped.”

“But why would they elope, and then go through with the big wedding two days later? That doesn’t make any sense.” Jeremy finished the thought.

“These are our parents we’re talking about, Jeremy. They rarely do anything that makes much sense.”

He nodded. “That’s true.”

Knowing there was only one way to find out the truth, Kenzie and Jeremy headed for the kitchen, puzzle firmly in hand.

The sight they encountered upon entering the brightly lit room drew them up short. Kenzie groaned and rolled her eyes. “C’mon, you guys. We have to eat in here, you know.”

Their parents, who had been engaged in what looked like an impromptu make out session against the kitchen counter, slowly turned around to face them, their grins entirely unrepentant. 

"Hi kids," their mom said cheerfully, as she reached for an oven mitt.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Their dad swatted Jeremy away from the salad fixings as he spoke.

Mackenzie shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s not why we came in here. We have a question.”

Mac shrugged. “Sure. What's up?”

Mackenzie held out the papers. “Remember all that stuff you gave me to use for that genealogy assignment at school?" She paused, glancing over at her brother while she waited for her mother's nod. "Well, I found two marriage certificates. Yours, and, well… Also yours. One two days earlier than your anniversary - from Virginia. What’s the deal?”

The look that crossed their parents’ faces was a cross between guilt and amusement, almost as though they'd been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Considering the fact that Harm and Mac were usually the calm rocks at the center of their lives, this was an interesting, and mildly unsettling reaction. Mackenzie crossed her arms and waited. Jeremy took advantage of his parents’ distraction to scoop up a heap of sliced vegetables.

“Um…”

“Well…”

Two people who were never at a loss for words now stared blankly at each other. 

A sudden, awful thought occurred to Kenzie.

“Oh, my God. You two aren’t really married, are you?!?”

Harm’s eyes went wide. “No! I mean, yes! Of course we are!”

Mac nodded her head. “We’re married, just… Not on May 7th.”

Mackenzie and Jeremy stared at them as though they’d just announced they were aliens from outer space. 

“Then when were you married?” Jeremy demanded.

Harm sighed and glanced across the island at his wife. Kenzie resisted the urge to stamp her foot in annoyance as her parents held one of those silent conversations that always drove her so batty. She saw her mother nod slightly, and then her dad turned back to her. “We were married on May fifth, Kenzie. The Maryland marriage license was just for show.”

Kenzie thought back, remembering. Her parents had always done something special on their anniversary. Sometimes it was just a quiet dinner. On their tenth anniversary, they’d gone back to Nassau while Mackenzie and Jeremy had stayed with the Roberts’. But every year, a couple of days before the anniversary, they would do something small. Sometimes her father came home with flowers, or a present. Or her mother would cook dinner - something she rarely did. A few times, they’d gone out to a movie, or for a drive. Every year it had been something so small as to almost fly below their children's radar. Suddenly all those little things began to add up.

The adults watched as their children processed this new and unexpected information. Kenzie, with her keen mind and insatiable fascination for anything and everything mysterious, looked like she was about to explode with curiosity. “But… Why?”

Mac gently guided her daughter to a chair, while Harm turned the temperature down on the oven and sat down with them. They looked at each other and shared a quiet, tired sigh.

Harm reached for Mac's hand, lacing his fingers with hers in a gesture as natural to them as breathing. “Well…” he started, stalled, and cast a helpless glance in his wife's direction.

Mac smiled at him and squeezed his hand gently, not the least bit surprised that her husband had no clue how to go about telling this particular story. She wasn't entirely sure she could explain it all herself. Still, their children deserved to know that their parents hadn't done anything unlawful or illegal on that miraculous spring evening all those years ago. “This might take a while to explain,” she began.

And Mackenzie and Jeremy listened, enraptured, as their parents settled in and began their tale.


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


Additional Author's Notes:

1:  The story referred to in Chapter 3 is the children's classic "The Velveteen Rabbit." Written by Margery Williams in 1922, it is frequently used during grief counseling sessions with children.

2:  The plane crash that Harm and Mac investigated in Soaring Free was based on a real incident. On October 12, 1997, American folk singer John Denver died when a faulty interface on his newly purchased Long EZ led to his crash in Monterey Bay, California. There's a lot of information on the Internet (including the actual NTSB report from the crash), but the most straightforward explanation I found is here:  
http://www.asktog.com/columns/027InterfacesThatKill.html

3:  Somewhere in this story is a completely inadvertent connection to DJE's personal biography. If you think you know what it is, email me. 

4:  Did anybody spot the rubber duck? ;-)