FAMILY by Maureen S. O'Brien SPOILERS: up to "Blind Side", "King of the Fleas", and "People v Rabb", 3rd season. SUMMARY: My little alternate universe version of how Harm brings his dad home. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I began this many moons ago, so don't be surprised that this story does not follow the same scenario as "To Russia with Love". "Death Watch" didn't happen either, or had a less dramatic conclusion. (Not that I have anything against "Death Watch", mind you. Just that it kinda conflicted with my story.) I have revamped Harm's mom to go along with "To Russia with Love". DISCLAIMER: JAG characters and situations belong to Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, Paramount, CBS, and all those nice people. Thanks for letting me play here. Taverna Kretekou is a real restaurant with darn good food, but I have assigned them fictitious staff. --------------------------------------------------------- Inside the helicopter, the rotor noise made it difficult to talk. So they shouted. "If I don't make it, Mac...." "I'll tell your mother." Her eyes bored into his. "But you will make it. That's why I'm here." "And I'm here to make sure you make it?" "No, you're here to make sure your dad makes it." "Mac, don't go semper fi-ing me on this." She smiled a little, but changed the subject. "Three minutes to the LZ, Harm." He pretended amazement. "How do you do that?" "The Consortium implanted a quartz crystal in the bridge of my nose." He laughed. She laughed too. For a moment, they both looked ten years younger to the Force Recon Marines in the helicopter. "If we do both make it...remind me of something, will you, Mac?" "What's that, Harm?" "Something else I need to ask you." She gave him a searching look. He'd said that a little too nonchalantly...never mind. Time to go. --------------------------------------------------------- It was an old plan. A good plan. But it had never been used with success. The first time, the POWs had been moved by the VC. The second, a helicopter crashed in the Iranian desert and the mission was scrubbed. This time, speed and secrecy had been substituted for some absolute of preparedness, and there was no sand to get in the works. Just a fleet of helicopters hugging the nap of the land, flying into what was once the Soviet Union, to rescue some aging men who had once been young Wild Weasel pilots. What they were now, not even they could say. One of them was looking up at the stars. He had a comfortable house -- comfortable, if you ignored the fact it was in a village that was really a prison. He had a woman -- assigned by the government back in the bad old days. He'd refused to touch her, since he was married, but Larisa had persuaded him to pretend she'd persuaded him otherwise. He loved her like a sister, but he dreamed of Trish still. That was what he couldn't forget. Somewhere out there, he had a wife and a son. Little Harm wouldn't be so little now. He wondered if his son had a son of his own to take fishing and teach about fortitude... if Little Harm could remember him at all. If either of them were still alive. He shook his head. Outside this place, he'd heard from Larisa, times had changed. But the new democratic government was afraid to admit what the old USSR had done. They needed the money from America. So the prisoners were kept in prison and the secret was kept a secret; all that changed was that they weren't questioned anymore. He looked up at the stars and prayed for the ones he loved: Trish, Little Harm, his mom and dad, his best friend Tom Boone, and of course Larisa. For the ones he'd lost, especially the ones who'd died in camp, and Daryl, who'd managed to hang himself before the guards could stop him. He prayed for the land he loved and had fought for. Then, last of all, he prayed for himself. Don't let me forget who I am, Lord. Despite everything they've made me do, despite all the time that's passed, don't let me forget who I am. If they remake me, they've won. He was looking up at the stars. So it was that Harmon "The Hammer" Rabb, Sr. had a fine view of helicopters silhouetted against their small light, streaking over his house like a bat out of hell, and heading for the little square in the middle of this pseudo-village. He strained to make them out, cursing his poor night vision. Judging by their lines alone, he'd never seen any helicopter like them before. He repeated his thought to himself. No, he'd never seen this type before. And he'd seen lots of helicopters flying in here. So maybe it wasn't Russian. Larisa heard the excitement in his step. "Hammer?" "My folks...they've finally come!" Her eyes burned, but a fierce grin pulled at her lips. "After all these years...you will go home." She got up from the couch, put down her book, and slipped on shoes and a jacket before he could protest. She knew he would protest. "This is too dangerous for you. Stay indoors, Larisa. When they question you, pretend you didn't know I went, or that you were afraid to stop me." "Don't be foolish, Hammer. You and I both know that you can't see well at night. I am not going to let you go out there alone." She pressed him. "You know I have reason." He knew that tone. It meant that he wasn't going to be able to change her mind without assistance from the staff at Lubyanka. Who weren't exactly friends of his. He sighed. "All right. As long as you promise to sneak back to the house as soon as I get to the square. And pretend to be asleep. And...." She smiled at him. "I promise. But first we must get to the square." His vision was just good enough to see her as a black mass ahead of him, slipping through the dark. But she seemed unsatisfied at his progress. She waited for him and took his hand. He didn't argue, though it galled him a little to be led around like a blind man. Now they could pick up the pace. They were almost to the square. Incredibly, the town still slept. Larisa brought them both to a halt. "I must go no closer than this, Hammer." It seemed impossible that she would never see him again; but it was better so. He looked at her squarely. "I owe you, 'Risa. More than anyone else will ever know. You kept me sane...." She could feel the clock ticking with every beat of her heart. "There is no time for this. Yes, we are friends. No, I will never forget. Your Patricia is waiting for you. So go! Hurry!" He hesitated a moment. "Do svidanya, 'Risa. And thanks." Then he was gone. A second later, so was she. She couldn't lock the door in this house. She didn't dare barricade the door. So she wrapped herself up in a blanket and lay next to the bed on the cold floor. Hammer was gone. She bit her lip. Ya lyublyu ty, Harmon Ivan'ich Rabb, and I never could tell you. It would have done no good, because you loved your Patricia so. Make him happy, Gospazha Rabb. Please. For me. After the controlled crash of one helicopter, the Force Recon Marines inside it had jumped out and taken the startled guards. Once the LZ was clear -- a matter of a minute or so -- the other helicopters landed. Harm and Mac jumped out with their Force Recon team. Intel was unusually good on this one; they knew which houses the MIAs were living in. All they had to do was collect them and go home. Harm grinned as he peered through his goggles. Nightblindness? What nightblindness? Technology is my friend. A dark figure approached their perimeter. Harm tapped Mac. "Halt and identify yourself!" she called in Russian. "Harmon Rabb. Lieutenant. US Navy. Serial number...." Harm stiffened and ripped off his nightvision goggles. Before the first three numbers were out, he was racing towards the man. Mac raced after him. Somebody had to watch the idiot's back.... Harm called out. "Sir! We've come to take you home!" His hair was receding, his mustache grey, and his eyesight at night was poor at best. When Harm raced up to him, the Hammer stared at him. "So I figured. You know, it's the damndest thing," he remarked calmly to the first free American he'd seen in more than thirty years, "but you look just like my father." The young man stared at him, then grinned. "I thought that was my line. Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr." he said with a salute. "It's been a long time, Dad." The Hammer's mouth dropped open as he returned the salute more from ancient habit than his own free will. "Son? God, I never thought I'd see you again...." He stared at his son, frozen. Harm was from a different generation. He grabbed his dad and hugged him close. "I never forgot you. Never stopped looking for you, Dad. And now...." After a minute and 30 seconds, Mac coughed gently. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Rabb. I hate to break up your Kodak moment, Harm, but we're on a schedule." "No problem, Mac." He started walking the Hammer back toward the LZ. "Sorry, Dad, but there're other people's dads out here, too...." "I know. And we'll have more time to talk back home." Then the Hammer gestured toward Mac in her BDUs, covering them with her rifle. "The women fight now? In the Marines?" "You bet. That's my partner, Major Sarah Mackenzie. We're both lawyers for the JAG Corps." "Don't let her sue me...I thought you were gonna be a pilot when you grew up." "Been there, done that, got the wings to prove it," Harm grinned. "Also 2 Libyan MiGs over the Gulf of Sidra." Mac made an impatient gesture. Harm waved goodbye and followed her. "Hurry back so I can hear the story!" the Hammer called. My little five-year-old's all grown up, he thought sadly. My son the lawyer...I always knew he was smart. Damn, Trish must be so proud of him.... He sure seems to think highly of his old Dad. I just hope I can live up to his expectations. ---------------------------------------------- "Well, the rest of the raid went off without a hitch, sir," Mac was reporting to Admiral Chegwidden over the radio. "We're heading for home. Harm and his dad are making up for lost time, and we made it back over the border before the Russians even knew we were there. Then we all transferred from the helos to a nice big plane that's flying us to Germany tonight. After that, we'll be back home soon." "Glad to hear it," the admiral smiled. "I'll call Bud and Harriet and tell them. Tell Harm that he and his dad have an open invitation to dinner at my place. You, too, Major." "Thank you, sir. We'll see you back at work soon." The Hammer nodded at Mac up front as she finished her talk. "She's a pretty one. Why does she act like an imitation man?" His son's voice was very calm. "She doesn't. She acts like herself. Mac may seem a little stiff," he allowed, "but she's been under a little stress. She was the one who cultivated the source and got all the information about how you and the others were being held. And after all that, The Powers That Be wanted to keep her out of the mission. We had to fight that pretty hard, even though she's more qualified for this stuff than I am." "You think pretty highly of her." "She's my best friend, Dad. We've teamed up and fought against each other in court and on JAG investigations. We've saved each other's lives. I've seen her in a firefight armed with nothing more than her finger." He saw Mac returning to her seat and raised his voice. "But first she joined the wrong service, and then she almost went civilian." Mac smiled sweetly. "I don't know, Mr. Rabb. Your son's supposed to be some hot pilot, but the first time I went up with him the fuel line broke, and the second time he had to pull seven G's to avoid a telephone pole." "Extenuating circumstances." "And the finger was his idea." "It worked, didn't it?" She gestured to concede the point. She'd been watching Harm's dad's face, and she had succeeded in eliciting the smile she'd wanted. Meanwhile, Harm's face was a picture. She took pity on Harm and let the laughter in her eyes show. "Seriously, sir, you can be proud of your son. He's one of the best officers I've ever served with. He's also an excellent lawyer; in fact he's never lost a case." "That's not counting settlements out of court, of course." Mac looked askance at him. A modesty attack? Was Harm sick? "And although I'm not qualified to judge, I know that Harm has been called one of the best pilots in the Navy. Aside from all that, he's a man of his word and a true friend." "And if I were a Marine, I'd be perfect." "Somebody has to be a squid," she said reasonably. "Otherwise they wouldn't call Marines 'The Few'." Harm's dad didn't laugh, though Harm did. Maybe that ad hadn't been invented when he was captured? "Anyway, sir," she said, all civilian courtesy to her elders, "our boss, the Judge Advocate General, has extended us all an invitation to dinner whenever we can come. He's not the only person who'll want to meet you and the others." "Well, that's fine with me. But the first person I want to see is my wife. How is your mother, son?" The plane was well-lit, so he had no trouble seeing Harm's careful lack of expression and Mac's discomfort. He swallowed hard. "Is she...did she...." "No," Harm was quick to reassure him. "She's alive, she's fine." "Then why...." "You may want to wait a little on that. There's not much privacy." "What's wrong? Tell me." Mac stood up casually and started to leave. Harm moved as if to stop her, then reconsidered. She was family as far as he was concerned, but not to his dad. And Dad was going to take this one hard. "Dad, there's no easy way to say this." His son's voice was gentle and low. "When you'd been missing seven years, and the Vietnamese still didn't list you as their prisoner...well, you were declared dead. And eventually...Mom remarried." Hammer tried to think it through. Trish had still been a young woman. Harm needed a father. You can't blame her, his thoughts told him. It didn't help. Other thoughts rushed in on their heels. You waited; why couldn't she? All those years with 'Risa and you never even kissed her, while all the time another man was sleeping in your bed with your wife! So much for promises. So much for Harm looking up to his dad. Somebody else raised that boy, not you. And he's probably been married to Trish twice as long as you ever had a chance to be. But his heart didn't incline to either side. It sat in the middle, trying to hold its hands over its ears and pretend it was nothing at all, hoping it would all go away in the morning like a dream. Even if that meant he woke up to one more Russian sunrise, and breakfast in the little cell-house with 'Risa. "Dad? Are you all right?" Ashamed, he wiped the tears from his eyes as quickly as he could, hoping his son hadn't seen. "I've been better. I...I just never considered...." He had. In nightmares, and on his most depressed days. "I guess I should have thought....So who did she marry? My old wingman?" "Captain Boone?" Harm's eyes widened. What, there'd been something behind that remark about being the guy Trish should have married? Sure would explain why he hates my stepfather.... "No." "I don't know why else he wouldn't be at this little party." "He's CAG on the Seahawk. They're conducting a little exercise on the other coast, helping keep the Russians distracted. He'll be coming to see you in Italy, but you can send him a message pretty soon, if you'd like." "Yes, I would. So who did she marry?" "A civilian. He's a vice president at Chrysler now." "Oh. Is she...are they happy?" Harm sighed. "I don't think Mom's ever stopped loving you, Dad. But she loves him, too. He's a good guy, if that helps. He and I were never really close; he tried but I wouldn't let him in." He grimaced. "When I was a teenager, I could be a jerk. Mom wanted me to move on. I never would; too stubborn I guess. So she and I...we love each other, but there's some strain. And she worries about me. She hoped that when I went JAG after the accident it would keep me out of trouble, but that didn't work the way she'd hoped." He laughed. "So there we are. Grandma Sarah -- your mom -- she's still living at the farm. She refuses to admit she's too old to live by herself." The Hammer found himself smiling. "Which generation of terrier are we on?" "Jake the Eighth. He's spoiled. Mac and I stopped by the farm on our way back from a case last summer, and found him lying in a shady spot on the driveway. The arrogant SOB didn't even want to get up to let us park!" "You know that farm doesn't really belong to us Rabbs." They laughed. But the Hammer began to feel like a father again. You took that pretty partner of yours to see your grandmother? The way I see it, that only means one thing. And your mom must have approved, or you wouldn't be mentioning it. Has Trish met her? What does she think? And why are you going about this with such roundaboutation? Must have a really good reason...fraternization, maybe? Dim memories of the regs started creeping back. Yeah, that might do it. He looked up to find Mac sitting down next to his son. She looked into Harm's eyes, questioning him without saying a word. Harm shrugged unhappily. The Hammer could see that they needed to talk. He ahem-ed. "Which way is the head on this thing?" Harm gave him directions, which he followed. Then he turned to watch them. Mac had relaxed; maybe all that rigidness was just her version of shy. She was totally focused on whatever his son was saying, and her face was full of sympathy. Harm's face was less comfortable to watch. Emotions chased each other across it -- a lot like they must've on mine, he realized. Little Harm was pouring his heart out to her, and she didn't look surprised that it was happening. No, they didn't act like they were dating. But they didn't act like they were just buddies and partners, either. He turned back toward the head. I hope they know what they're doing. Because I sure don't. "It all feels so strange," Harm told Mac. "I've pictured finding him so often, but I never really thought about what it would be like to have him back." "You don't have to worry about it right now, Harm. After you've caught up with each other and finished all the paperwork, then you can worry." "I can't help it. I'm worried." "You should worry about yourself. Lieutenant Commander, you've just saved your dad from durance vile just like you've been dreaming since you were five! What are you doing for an encore?" "I'm going to King's Dominion! Well, after Wiesbaden, DC, and La Jolla." He shrugged and addressed her real question. "Don't worry, Mac. I have plenty of goals in life to keep me busy." "Such as?" He smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out soon enough." She gave him a look. "All right, we'll change the subject. I was supposed to remind you to ask me a question." He grinned. "That's not changing the subject." "What?" Harm looked up. "My dad's coming back. I'll have to ask you later." -------------------------------------------------- "Larisa Alexe'vna Bogdanova." She looked up, trying to appear only innocently nervous. "Our questioning is done. You may go home." "To the camp?" "Nyet, Gospazha Bogdanova." The GRU (or whatever they were calling Army Intelligence these days) officer looked at her kindly. "To your family. Without the prisoners, there is no more camp." "All my things are there." "We will send them to you." After searching for anything incriminating. But that went without saying. "Thank you, Comrade Colonel Parlovskii." He smiled again. "Try to remember. We do not call people Comrade anymore." He sent her off with another smile. He pitied her for being left here while the world went on. But she would take his pity over suspicion. She rode the train back to Moskva. It took days, but she needed the time to think. What would she do with her life? She had had dreams once. She tried to remember them. Being a ballerina at the Bolshoi, as graceful as the swans the dancers imitated, satin slippers gleaming in the footlights. Or a singer at the Opera, singing to the Moon about her secret love. But the body had never cooperated, and the voice had not been chosen for training. She had given up those impractical dreams and chosen easier ones. Join the Party, do her duty, and be rewarded with good jobs and advancement. But some of the other men of her father's rank in the Army had not loved her father the General. He could get her seats at the opera and the ballet, but he could not protect her from this. And so she had found herself assigned to the degrading task of being some prisoner's woman, to keep him happy and talking. Her grandmother had taught her of God. It was not a safe teaching to follow. But she was terrified. She was a virgin. She prayed to be spared. Nothing happened, and she'd cursed her grandmother's God as she rode the train and then a truck to the camp, surrounded by women who had been caught at prostitution. Which officially didn't exist. But either some hidden friend of her father or her grandmother's God had come through, because she was assigned to Lieutenant Harmon Rabb. She sighed and remembered how he'd looked at her, once the guards were gone and they were alone in the little house. She had flushed hot and red under his angry stare. "Do you speak English?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Not well. But I studied it...." "I'm married," he said flatly. "You tell your people I'm not interested." "No." She looked down at her shoes. "I have to stay. Please." He gave her that angry stare again. "I'm married." She flushed again. "I did not mean...." She lost the words and started over. "I will use the ottoman." He stared at her for a minute, then laughed. "You're not exactly Mata Hari, are you?" She wasn't sure what that meant, but she knew what he was talking about. "This is not my idea," she said slowly. "I do what I am told." He looked skeptical at this, but only said, "You take the bed. I'll take the couch." It took the Hammer a long time to trust her. But once he did, she had never betrayed him. And they had been good years, as years spent with a friend could be. And now he was gone, she thought, and I am thirty years older than I was. My father is dead. But perhaps my family will be able to find me something; even in this new Russia, they have connections. My nephew Aleksei most of all. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The next of kin were the first to know. From them, the story sprouted through the telephone wires as relative called relative. Somebody posted on Usenet. Nobody believed the first posting or the second. But when a woman too happy to be prudent crossposted details to every Usenet group, nobody even flamed her. Nobody. The United States government was not happy with Russia's. So they pulled out all the stops, held a press conference, showed little diagrams of the mission and actual footage of prisoners being rescued from their houses. The story broke like a thunderboomer in August. Debriefing would take a week or so, they were told. The ex-prisoners spent most of that time in a military hospital in Italy, getting spoiled by the doctors and nurses who had seen the marks of old bone breaks in their X-rays and noted the marks of old pain in their faces. The rest of the time, they were gently but thoroughly questioned about everything that had happened since they were first captured. Harm worried. It didn't seem likely, after all the good publicity, that any of the rescued POWs would be accused of collaboration. But stranger things had happened, and this was his dad. But Mac was there. Mac was always there with a smile and her good sense, keeping him from pushing too hard. He turned to her. They'd been waiting in the hallway to hear the news for an hour now, and all the magazines were either old or in German. Mac had fallen asleep on one of the hard plastic chairs, claiming she had nothing better to do. But her sleeping face looked worried and sad. "Mac...." He shook his head. I don't deserve her, he told God under his breath. But I guess I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He sat down next to her and thought about what came next. Fortitude. Fortitude can get you through anything. His dad and Mac defined that word to him. But it was his dad who was going to be suffering, and his mom, and his stepdad. So he was going to need all the fortitude he had to get through the next few days and still be there for all of them. I wish you could come with us, Mac. God, I wish. But that would be asking a little too much. You've gone beyond the call of duty for me as it is. But maybe, he thought, I could bring a little bit of Mac with me. He looked down at her, asleep in the chair, and methodically began to memorize the way she looked: the way her eyelashes curved against her skin, the line of her jaw, the cramped position her neck would soon regret. Her right arm curved protectively against herself as she lay on her left side; he would remember that. He didn't have a photographic memory like Mac, but he would remember this. She didn't want to wake up. She'd had a hard time sleeping lately for thinking of Harm. It hurt to see him so insecure. But she could feel someone staring at her, and that always woke her up. Still dazed, she opened her eyes and found Harm watching her. She blinked. Harm had that strange peaceful expression on his face again, the one that made his eyes look like deep pools. Not the worst sight to wake up to. She was smiling, she realized dimly, but more importantly, Harm was smiling at her, that way that always made something stir in the pit of her stomach. He was so close.... She stared up at him and tried to think coherently. "Hi." "Hi yourself," Harm said, still smiling that way. "Did I miss anything?" "No." He looked a little apologetic. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep." His voice was gentle enough that she tried. But the nap had taken the edge off her drowsiness. The light shone too brightly behind her eyelids; the chair's hard edges made it hard to get comfortable. And Harm was still watching her. She sighed and sat up stiffly. "It's no use, Harm. I'm awake. What's happening?" "Nothing. We're still waiting to see this guy. I think he's forgotten about us." She sighed. "Great." She looked at the magazines and wondered if it was worth it to try to read the ones in Italian. Then she remembered. "Back on the plane, you said it wasn't a good time to ask me that question. How about now?" Oops. Harm looked around him at the dingy corridor. Not exactly his preferred venue. But she was right; it was time. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. "Lieutenant Commander Rabb, Major MacKenzie?" Mac watched Harm nearly jump out of his skin. "He can see you now," the secretary said. "Sorry about the wait." Harm caught Mac's eye and mouthed, "Later." Mac shrugged and got up. Harm must want to ask her some kind of touchy question -- about her parents, probably, given his current preoccupation. That could certainly wait. He kept thanking her for letting him tell her his troubles, for helping him deal with his dad. The truth was, she was glad to do it. Harm's dad, for all his years in prison and all his troubles, was still a nicer guy than her father had ever been. When she watched the two Rabbs together, she saw something she had never had -- a loving, trusting relationship between parent and child. Sometimes she felt as if she were a kid pressing her nose against a window, looking at all the wonderful things she could never buy. "If I ever have kids..." she thought again. Kids. What was it with her and kids lately? Kids had never been in her plan, any more than getting married had. Maybe it was living in DC. There were always kids around: on school trips, on vacation with their parents, the neighbor kids playing at the park close to her apartment building when she was getting home at night. She had always gotten along well with kids, but she was a little hesitant around them. She was always afraid she might hurt one. But they seemed to like her. Harm, now, he was great with kids. Give him a chance, and he'd act like one of the kids himself. She looked at him now, talking so earnestly. Most people lost that kind of intensity somewhere along the road to adulthood. Not Harm. And that was why they were here. Then the interview was over, and Harm was being told that his father had requested to see him. Harm thanked the man and they were out of there. Harm strode eagerly down the corridor, pausing only when he got to the door. "Coming, Mac?" "I'd rather not, actually." Harm looked disappointed. "Are you sure? My dad really likes visiting with you." No, she thought, he likes visiting with you. I shouldn't intrude on that. "I'm still bushed. I should go take a nap before stuff starts happening." "Then you better go rest. I hope you're not coming down with something." Her eyes softened. "I'll be fine. See you at supper." She walked away, not looking back. Not seeing Harm sigh as he looked after her. It was hard going to see his dad. They got along all right, and they loved each other. But beyond the shared memories and genes, there was a void as deep as years. When Mac was there, they didn't have to focus on that void. So who would do that back home in La Jolla, for them and for his mom? Who would help them then? ---------------------------------------------------------- "It is nothing, Aunt Larisa," said Aleksei nonchalantly. "These things happen in our business. Tea?" Her handsome, babyfaced, well-connected nephew was now less one arm. Somehow, she had a feeling he might not be as well-connected as he once was. "Da. With one sugar, pozhal'sta." She pretended not to notice the strange and primitive prosthesis he wore. He knew that she did, but the mutual pretense was somehow supposed to make things all right. "I know, I know. You've been taking your tea that way since I was a little boy with a very big crush on you." His lips smiled, but his eyes did not. "You must let me help you." "I cannot take your money." "Who said anything about money? I have friends who have friends who need people to work for them. Not KGB. Not black market. Legitimate. Let me do this for you." He used his good looks shamelessly, and his eyes looked like pools about to overflow. Hard to resist, even when one had spent years with the handsome Hammer. Larisa shook her head ruefully. "I shouldn't let you persuade me." "But you will." Her nephew grinned, and this time it did reach his eyes. She smiled back. "Da." "Har'sho. Then I'll give you the address now. Just show up for work tomorrow and you're in." She made a face at him. "Confident, weren't you?" "Always, aunt!" He put down his empty cup and stood up. "I wish I could stay longer, but I may have stayed too long as it is. My job, you know." "I know." She shrugged, trying not to feel disappointed. "Thank you for everything, Aleksei." He grinned, and once more his eyes lit up. "Don't thank me until you get your first paycheck." And then he was gone. --------------------------------------------------------------------- There were certain advantages to being the Seahawk's CAG, Tom Boone reflected. If your best friend happened to need rescuing and you couldn't get on the mission, you could at least send your kids out to give the Russians a helluva big distraction. And afterward, you could fly over to Italy and see him without much trouble. And he wanted to see him. When the news had come that the Hammer was safe, it had been like a weight had come off his shoulders. All those years of guilt since his fuel had gone bingo and he'd had to fly for home, no longer able to protect him...and then it vanished in an instant, courtesy of Harm Junior and his Marine partner. "We've verified the information you got from your source, Mackenzie. Put that together with Rabb's little presents from Colonel Parlovsky, and we actually have enough good intelligence to plan a rescue." Webb took a breath. "I'm psychic. I know what you're going to ask next. The answer is no." Mac gave Webb a pitying look. "I was going to ask you, 'Do you really think there's any way you can keep Harm or I out of this?' You're right about the answer, though." Webb contemplated. Sedation? Yeah, right. Kidnapping? It'd been done. Prison? Nope, a certain ex-SEAL admiral would come bail or break them out, and then they'd all get to Russia just in time to screw things up somehow. There'd also be the little hacker-wannabe and his girlfriend to deal with, plus whatever little friends they managed to drag in. Tempting as it was, getting them quietly out of the way just wouldn't work. He sighed. "Fine. Call up your adrenalin addict partner. Since I obviously can't get rid of either of you, I might as well pick your brains." "There's one big problem, Clay. Helicopters don't have enough range to fly that far from the border, so we'll have to refuel somehow. And even if we can fly nap of the land and stay under the radar, people will see us coming. Finally, if we get there in one piece, they'll be waiting for us when we go back!" "That's why you're going to start inside Russia." Webb smiled. "You're going in as arms dealers. The Force Recon team are your muscle. And you have helicopters instead of trucks...." "Gospodin Yeltsin," Harm said quietly, "it wasn't that long ago when we saved your life, almost at the cost of my partner Meg's. I didn't ask you for anything then, and I wish I didn't have to ask you now. But I know my father is being held in this camp. I want him back, and you don't really want to have these criminals holding American citizens against their will. Please, give us permission to go in there and get our people out." --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Go back to Washington] [Risa and Parlovsky again] --------------------------------------------------------- "We didn't want to interview *her*!" the newsman insisted. "We asked for Rabb's son, and your public relations people approved...." "Lieutenant Commander Rabb has a busy schedule, Mr. Kozinski. In fact, so does Major Mackenzie," Admiral Chegwidden added genially. "So, if you don't want an interview with anyone from the rescue team, you just say the word." She had tried not to smile. Really. But Kozinski didn't seem to appreciate her effort. Or her, for that matter. But then, she didn't really appreciate bright lights in her face at this hour of the morning. But it was kind of exciting to go on television, and to see the peaceful gardens filled with activity and spectators. She smiled to see the usually-dignified Imes and Metony waving at the cameras. Bud made a face to try to make her break up. Harriet mouthed "You'll be great!" And the Admiral was there, keeping an eye on things, while PO Tiner kept an eye on the Admiral. Harm was the only one not in view -- logical, since he was hiding from the press. But when she looked back at the headquarters building, she saw a familiar form filling a second-story window, and she smiled at him. "We're on in five," the cameraman warned. He gestured: three fingers, two, one. "Good morning, Mark, Nancy," Kozinski said to the morning show hosts. He'd never met them except at a few network parties in New York, but for these purposes they were on a first name basis. "Welcome to Falls Church, Virginia and the beautiful headquarters of the Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps. Today we're here talking to Major Sarah Mackenzie, a US Marine who's a lawyer for JAG and was involved in this week's daring rescue of American pilots held prisoner in Russia since the Vietnam War." He didn't thank her for speaking to them. Mistake, thought Nancy in the faraway studio. I'll do it at the end. "So you, a lawyer, were sent on this mission solely for your language skills, which are no doubt shared by other personnel more qualified for combat, which potentially could have occurred. For example, ten of the members of the Force Recon team also spoke Russian." "I was fully qualified for the mission; otherwise I would not have been sent," Mac said calmly, reminding herself that this was not the time to demonstrate her kickboxing skills. "Furthermore, Lieutenant Commander Rabb and I helped gather the intel on which the mission was based and were involved in its planning. That familiarity with the situation made it logical to send us along." Not to mention those black ops we've both done but can't mention. He asked a few more questions on women in combat and on the prisoners they'd rescued. Then Kozinski decided to get really nasty. "Now, if this mission had gone sour, you might well have been captured yourself, major." "Yes." "Were you prepared to face the potential consequences? Interrogation, imprisonment, torture? And since you are a woman, rape?" No kickboxing. Breathe. "Mr. Kozinski," she said coldly, "male POWs are also in danger of being raped. But to answer your question, yes. I was and am prepared to risk everything when I am serving my country. And considering the current civilian rape statistics, I believe I am safer out in the field." He looked skeptical. "Come now. Can you honestly say that you aren't afraid of what some brutal camp guard could do to you, day after day?" "Most women are raped by someone they know: a relative, a boyfriend.... My father started raping me when I was 9, Mr. Kozinski. But back then, I didn't carry a rifle. Or know how to kickbox." The cameraman raised three fingers, two, one. "And we're clear." Admiral Chegwidden steamed into the set first. He had motioned Bud and Harriet to his side before the cameras stopped, and now they walked briskly beside him, stepping over equipment and wires with cold efficiency and speed. He had damned good officers, he thought with pride. And nobody hurt his people without having to answer to him. Mac was his first stop. She stood at attention, waiting for him. Waiting for the axe to fall. "At ease, major," he said quietly. "Why don't you go back inside the building with Sims and Roberts? Mr. Kozinski and I are going to have a little talk about appropriate interview questions." He smiled at Kozinski. Kozinski gulped. He looked back at Mac. She almost smiled. And then she was gone. He looked back at Kozinski and smiled again. She walked back toward the building, her mind racing. All around her were JAG officers, murmuring quietly and making shocked noises. But all their looks toward her were sympathetic. It didn't help. She had always kept it a secret. Even Uncle Matt didn't know. How could a teenager bear to tell him that there had been worse than the neglect and the beatings? Only Harm knew. Just her and Harm. And now the whole world knew, and she felt naked. It was worse than that. What was this little revelation going to do to her career? Officers weren't supposed to make outbursts to the press. She hadn't acted professionally. She'd acted like an idiot. But the door was getting closer. The other JAG officers slowed their walk back into the building to let Mac and her escort get in ahead of them. And when Bud opened the back door, Harm was waiting. "I saw, Mac," he said softly. "Come on in." --------------------------------------------------------------------- It was not a good time to be Kozinski. Harmon Rabb, Sr. was calling the network. Admiral Chegwidden was calling the Navy's public relations people, telling them they were fools if they ever gave Kozinski any interview ever again. Lieutenant Roberts and Ensign Sims were calling reporters, canceling all interviews with Mac until further notice, and telling them just who was to blame. And Harmon Rabb, Jr. had Kozinski on the phone, telling him (in totally non-actionable terms, mind you) that he would be three days cremated before Kozinski would get to interview him or any member of his family. --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Mac insists she's okay. Harm insists on taking her to lunch.] --------------------------------------------------------------------- Harm glanced down at Mac, still almost totally expressionless. Damn Kozinski, stirring up bad memories.... "I'm getting Mac out of here, Bud. Tell the admiral we're...." "...Taking an early lunch, yessir. Try Taverna Kretekou, on King Street in Alexandria. Good baklava, there's a grape arbor to sit in on nice days, and Harriet swears their chicken with figs would cure a broken heart." Hearing their banter, Mac relaxed imperceptibly. Harm decided to draw out the conversation. "Thanks for the recommendation, Bud, though I'm more interested in their eggplant and my dessert of choice is rice pudding." Mac's tight muscles unwound just a little bit more. "Yuck. Rice pudding is supposed to be served hot, not cold." And Mac was starting to look more human every moment. Which meant if they didn't get going, Mac might break down right here in front of Bud. Mac wouldn't want that. "Chilled, not cold," Harm clarified for Bud. "Hey, all this talk about food is making me hungry. We're outta here." He started walking toward the side door, and Mac followed. "Have a good lunch, sirs." Harm took the most scenic route he could find from Falls Church to Alexandria, hoping the combination of nice weather and playing hooky would cheer Mac up. It didn't work. Neither did his running commentary on Greek food. Mac only roused herself from her black mood when the car went into 'Park', and then only enough to follow him into the restaurant. But when Harm opened the door, she could smell bread baking and meat cooking and all sorts of delicious spices. She breathed it all in, and her expression lightened. "I don't know about the figs, but I can sure smell chicken. And lamb, and...oh, it's just like my grandmother's kitchen." "Your grandmother? The Persian one?" "That's the one. She died when I was still pretty young, but I remember all the wonderful food she used to make for us." She sighed. Harm stepped closer and lowered his voice. "This isn't going to bring back any bad memories for you, is it?" Her mouth turned wry. "My father never got drunk or beat us while my grandmother was still alive. He wouldn't've dared." "Formidable?" "Let me put it this way: my maternal grandmother singlehandedly took her entire family from the mountains in Persia to the mountains of Switzerland." "Switzerland?" Harm looked disbelieving, and Mac shrugged. "This was in the late 1920's. She wanted her family to have a better life than starving up in the mountains, so she persuaded them to get the sheep and head for greener pastures." Harm started to chuckle. Mac gave him a look. "It seemed like a good idea at the time.... Anyway, it was a good thing they went, because otherwise she would never have met my grandfather. He wanted to move to America, and she heard about it and started negotiating for his farm." Harm laughed. "I assume she got her family a really good deal." "Yeah, but so did my grandfather." She smiled. "And you thought I was kidding when I said my mother was Swiss." Harm opened his mouth to say something else, but just then an old man came bustling out from the kitchen, accompanied by a blast of warm air and more appetizing smells. Mac felt her stomach rumbling. "Sorry for the wait. Usually we do not get customers this early," he said, picking up two menus. "But it's a good time to come. The baklava just came out of the oven and you can sit where you like." "How about the grape arbor?" said Harm. The old man smiled and gestured around the empty rooms of the restaurant. "That table is open. And on a nice morning like this, it is better to be outside. Let us take a moment to set the table." He went back into the kitchen. They could just hear him yelling cheerily for someone to go set the table. Harm and Mac's eyes met, and they smiled at the contrast. And soon he was back. He led them down a few steps, through a couple of whitewashed rooms with odd bits and pieces of pottery, wall hangings, and traditional Greek clothing, up a few more steps, and out a door. The grape arbor occupied a small walled yard between the brick back of Taverna Kretekou and another old building. Rather than squeeze in a few more parking spaces, the proprietor had planted grapevines and trained them to produce shade for a small outdoor dining area, and put in a picture window so that patrons inside could see the arbor, too. The place was cool, quiet, and relatively private, since there were no customers sitting inside by the window -- or anywhere else. And a basket full of very fresh bread was sitting in the middle of the table. Harm saw Mac inhale and smile. He privately bet himself that she would have a piece of bread slathered with butter even before she started looking at the menu. He won. "Mmmmm," Mac mumbled into the bread. "This is wonderful. I can't even think when I last had bread still warm from the oven. Mmmm." Harm's eyes widened. Mac sounded like one of those 900-number commercials. Over bread. No wonder Dalton Lowne used to take her out to eat so often. "I knew you were a steak fan, but didn't realize you were so... interested in food, Mac." She put her hand up to ask him to wait, finished chewing, and then said, "How often do we eat someplace like this on a case?" "Never." "That's why." She had this old rifle that she taught me to shoot -- I swear it looked like something out of Kipling, but it was in beautiful condition. She said she wanted to make sure that I could hunt food for the family or scare off bandits if I needed to. I was five, Harm! That rifle was almost as big as me!" --------------------------------------------------------------------- Harm shuffled moodily through the grass as he came back from his morning run. He didn't really want to go back inside, because he didn't want to see his parents fighting again once they got up. Or worse than that, his father silent and his mother icily polite. He should have stayed in DC and avoided all this grief. "Hey, sailor." He looked up. Mac was sitting on the doorstep, her always-packed travel bag sitting next to her. Her voice had sounded tired, and she looked even more so. But she was there. His face lit up in a huge smile, and Mac felt as if she'd just seen the sun come up. "You're a sight for sore eyes...what are you doing out here?" "I didn't hear anyone up, so I figured I'd just wait awhile before I rang the doorbell." "No, I meant what are you doing out _here_, in La Jolla?" He sat down next to her. "And why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up." "I was going Space A, Harm. The first flight I could get was at some ungodly hour of the morning, and I wasn't going to wake you up when someone with more priority could still cut me out. But when you called me yesterday, it sounded like you needed some backup." He sighed. "You are so right." He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I'm glad you came after me, Sarah." "Any time." Her eyes glowed, and Harm leaned over to kiss her. Then the front door opened behind them. Harm and Mac jumped guiltily and turned around. "I thought I heard Harm out here." Mac looked up at a tall middle-aged woman. Her hair was jet black except for two white streaks at her temples, and her eyes were very pale in the morning light. She knelt down to pick up the paper, and Mac noticed that her fingers were very long, like a pianist's. "Major Mackenzie. You've flown in from Washington, I see." Belatedly, Mac stood up. "Yes, ma'am." "And you're not here to drag him off on another case." "No, ma'am." "Then as you've probably guessed, I'm Harm's mother, Patricia. I've heard very little about you from Harm," she said with a look at Harm, "but what I have heard is very good. Why don't you come in and have breakfast, so you can be interrogated in comfort." Mac was reassured to see a glint of humor in the pale eyes. "Thank you, I will." She turned to pick up her bag, but Harm already had it in his possession. There was nothing for her to do but walk into the lion's den. Harm looked at his mother. "Mom, if this is any trouble, I can get Mac a hotel room." "We have an extra guest room," she reassured him. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't know she was coming until...." "That's not what I mean. Why didn't you tell me you two are in love?" Harm felt his mouth drop open. "You should be in NCIS." She shook her head slowly. "Harm, you two were lit up like Christmas trees. And I have always had excellent vision." She gave him a quick hug. "Now, I'll get some food into your Mac and then you get her to take a nap. It looks like she's staying awake on nothing but sheer stubbornness." She sighed. "Which means she should fit right into this family." ---------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------- Harm bent over. "Are you sure you'll be all right, Dad?" The Hammer waved him away. "I told you, he just winged me. I'll catch a ride to the hospital with 'Risa." "Well...if you're sure...." "I'm staying with my girl. You go look after yours." The two men's eyes met. Harm nodded. Then he was gone. --------------------------------------------------------------------- "We're partners. I'm listed on her next-of-kin form," Harm explained patiently. "Now, let's quit wasting time and get Mac to the hospital." "Let the Commander in, mister!" Mac demanded in her best command voice. "Yes, ma'am," said the harassed EMT. He moved aside. "You'll thank me for this," Harm assured the man as he scrambled in. "You don't want to see Mac in a bad mood." Mac chuckled weakly. Harm's mouth twisted. He schooled his expression to a smile as he found a place at her side that wouldn't be in the paramedics' way. They were trying to get her to stop bleeding. He didn't think he'd ever seen so much blood. Or maybe it was just that it was Mac's. "It feels almost as bad as it looks," she said slowly. "Bad sign, Harm." "These guys know what they're doing," he told her quietly. "Just stay with me, Mac." "I'm not going anywhere." He couldn't read her face. "Give me a distraction. Talk to me." "About what?" "Anything." She tried to smile. "That question you never got around to asking." "Okay. Since you asked." He took a deep breath. "Mac, will you marry me?" The EMTs looked up. He ignored them. His heartbeat stayed calm, as it usually did in stressful conditions. He didn't care about the siren noise, or the vibrations running through the ambulance, or even the smell of blood. The important thing here was a pair of pain-filled dark eyes that had suddenly begun to dance. "That's what you wanted to ask?" "What can I say, Mac? That quartz crystal in the nose comment kinda turned me on." "Shouldn't we try kissing first?" He grinned at her. One more gamble won. "Ask the EMTs." One EMT shrugged as he worked. "We're working down here and you're up there." Harm looked back at Mac. Maybe it was the bloodloss that was making her lightheaded, maybe not. She didn't care. "So kiss me." He leaned over her until their lips touched. And then he kissed her. She could still feel the pain. She just didn't mind it much. All her attention was fixed on Harm's lips. They were so gentle on hers, as gentle as he tried to be when she was vulnerable. What kind of idiot proposes to a woman who might be dying? The same kind that teaches an hurt woman how to trust. The same kind. She kissed her idiot with as much tenderness as he deserved, and lost herself in his response. Then he drew away. "What do you think?" he asked softly. Her eyes danced again. "Acceptable." "So what's your answer, Mac?" "Yes." His eyes shone. His heart sang. He leaned forward and kissed her once more. Then she went limp in his arms. Harm pulled her closer and whirled toward the EMTs. They looked back at him placidly. "I didn't think he heard you," one said. "I said we'd stabilized the blood loss," another explained. "So we gave her something for the pain. I don't know how she stayed conscious as long as she did." "That's Mac," he said ruefully, pridefully. My Mac, he thought. She said yes! --------------------------------------------------------------------- Somebody's face floated into view. "Good afternoon, Ms. MacKenzie. I'm Dr. Moon. How do you feel?" "Like I have an IV in one arm, concrete around one leg, and...absolutely no pain. Guess that explains the IV." The face smiled. It was a woman's face, she noted. "Yes, it does. Let us know if you have any pain; it slows down the healing process considerably. And from what I hear, you have things to get to." "Huh?" Another face swam into view. "My name's Leonard. I was one of your EMT's. Your partner asked me to come be his witness," he explained. "It wasn't a hallucination. He really did propose." He smiled at someone who'd just walked in. "Make sure you invite me to the wedding." Harm's face flashed back into her mind. Nobody else would have seen his sudden stillness as he waited for her reply. But she had, and it had made her heart turn over. And then it was Harm standing beside her. She took his hand. "You thought I'd forget," she said. "I have an eidetic memory, you know." "I know." He sat down in a chair she hadn't noticed. "But I didn't want to take any chances. I was almost too late as it was." She stroked his hand with hers, learning the shape of it as if it were hers: muscle and tendon, nail and bone. "I didn't ask you. I should have." She sighed. "A long time ago. But I was afraid." "That's understandable. You haven't had good luck with the men you trust." "But I trust you most of all. I..." She sounded irritated at herself. "Why is it so hard to say?" Her voice softened. "I love you, damn it." "I know." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. She took a deep breath, and he smiled into her eyes. "I love you too." --------------------------------------------------------------------- They lived happily ever after, of course; but you want details, and I don't blame you. They argued. They bantered. They had tall, darkhaired, darkeyed children who were just as argumentative as their parents. One was a Marine aviator and an astronaut. One was a doctor. One rose to head the JAG Corps, succeeding Admiral Meg, his old partner. Harm retired unbeaten. He and Mac taught law at Georgetown and wrote a book, and Mac wrote their autobiography. They lived to see their great-grandchildren, including one born on the Moon. And when each was laid to rest in Arlington, each was mourned by many friends. That's not the end, of course. But that's all the story I can tell.