Making and Remaking Mac part1

aking and Remaking Mac
Author: Catmom
Rating: PG-13

October 2003


The tall, auburn haired woman walked briskly from the jet-bridge into the
terminal at Minneapolis St. Paul airport, dragging her wheeled carry-on bag
behind her. The late October weather was much colder than the Indian summer
she had left behind in Washington. It made her glad she'd decided to put the
liner in the Burberry trench coat she carried over her arm. Likely she'd
need the extra warmth in the evening.

She was exhausted. If this trip hadn't been for a very special occasion, she
would have skipped it. The 25th anniversary of two people who had been
instrumental in making her what she was today wasn't something she could in
good conscience ignore. She marveled at any couple who could stay together
that long. Her only marriage had lasted all of six weeks, at least as far as
them living under the same roof went.

She'd requested Friday and Monday leave for the weekend event months before,
and had told the Admiral that it was extremely important to her.
Fortunately, he hadn't pried. While she didn't think he was homophobic,
telling him she was attending a twenty fifth 'wedding' anniversary for two
people named Edwin and Allen might not have gone over that well. At least
there was light at the end of the tunnel back at JAG. Well, maybe. Harm was
coming back on Monday, though with the need to process in and accomplish the
reams of personnel paperwork the military thrived on, it would probably be
Wednesday or Thursday before he was actually on board to accomplish
anything. Unfortunately, his replacement, Carolyn Imes, had ended up causing
more work than she accomplished in the two months since she had transferred
back from Naples.

It had come as a shock to all of them to find out someone they had worked
with for so long and saw as an extremely competent attorney had never passed
the bar. Mac saw a grain of logic in the woman's contention that it wasn't a
necessary for her to have both graduated from law school and passed the bar.
However, she knew very well that the change in regulation in 1991 had
rendered that argument moot. It wouldn't get them far in court, though
hopefully it would keep
Commander Imes from anything more than dismissal.

That wouldn't alleviate the overturning of every conviction in the past
twelve years where she had defended. It was a nightmare, one that was likely
going to fall directly into Harm's lap. It would be automatically assumed
that every defendant whose case she lost had inadequate counsel. Ironically,
any case she got a conviction on as prosecutor stood. Fortunately, most of
her cases in Europe had fallen in that category..

As she neared the end of the concourse, she saw Edwin waiting for her. As
usual, he was animated and happy to see her. After a big hug and a European
style kiss on each cheek, he held her away from him for a quick study. His
grip was tight on each shoulder. "My dear, what have you been doing! You
look dreadful!"

"Thanks, Edwin, I love you too!" she replied tartly. She knew she needed a
haircut, color, a manicure. Lately, time for anything more than clean and
presentable had been wanting.

"You know you're always stunning, Sarah! But you look exhausted." There was
concern evident in the older man's face. He loved this woman like the
daughter he never had.

"Work, work and more work. I haven't been out of the office before 2100 any
night that I've been in DC in months. And I've been away a lot more than
I've been home." She took a deep breathe. "The times when I've been away
have been even worse." In thinking about what she just said, one particular
South American hell came to mind. Definitely worse.

"What's the matter, is the government short of lawyers?" He gave a chuckle.
"Somehow, I can't imagine that!"

The left the relative warmth of the terminal, heading to the parking lot.
She wasn't surprised to see Edwin stop at a new Hummer. He was always on
board for the newest trends, and if 'macho big boy toys' were what was hot,
he'd have one. Fortunately, he had both the aplomb to carry off almost
anything, the chutzpah to carry off anything he really shouldn't, and the
money to satisfy any hankering he might have.

"No, not the government, but the military is." She climbed in the front seat
gratefully. It was good to get away, even if for less than 72 hours. It
literally was the first break she had since a short visit to Chloe during
the holiday season the year before. All work and no play was making Sarah a
very, very dull and tired girl.

"Does war raise your crime rate?" he asked with a trace of humor.

"No, not in the way you mean. But a lot of JAG's have had to deploy to deal
with the ROE's. Mostly, it's the more junior ones who are actually in the
field and with battle groups."

He nodded for her to go on. While he'd never been able to figure out what
someone with Sarah's potential was doing in the military, he found her
stories fascinating.

"That leaves us short-staffed at headquarters, and at the base level too.
We've all had to pitch in and do some things we're not used to doing. I
actually wrote some wills. powers of attorney and temporary child
guardianship papers for deploying reservists last week because legal
assistance was swamped and they had to be done that day. The unit was
shipping out in 24 hours."

She took a deep breathe, a small smile breaking through at the memory of no
less a personage that AJ Chegwidden interrupting court. They really were
that shorthanded, and the case had been a relatively simple DDO.
Unfortunately involving a Lieutenant Colonel and Colonel, in front the
entire command staff, which made if far more important than a PO disobeying
an Ensign.

"The trial judge granted a continuance and started helping out too, as well
as the other three attorneys involved." The smile got bigger as she
remembered the look on some of the junior enlisted Marines faces when they
realized Admiral Morris, the Navy's chief judge, and
Admiral Chegwidden, the JAG, were writing up instructions on who should get
their car and stereo if the worst happened. Actually, both seemed to enjoy
it, especially Morris. He said he hadn't done any hands on non judicial
legal work in over ten years.

"So, what about your love life?" He looked at her over his right shoulder as
he put the gargantuan car in gear and drove out of the parking lot,

"Geez, Edwin, a world's record!" She shook her head with a short laugh.
"I've been off the plane for exactly sixteen minutes. You must be getting
old!"

"Dodging the question, counselor?" He raised one eyebrow in a way that
reminded her of someone else. Somehow on a British gentleman of 'certain
years' as he referred to himself, it was no where near as sexy as when a
certain sailor did it.

"No need. I have no love life." She gave a deep sigh. "Right now, I have no
life outside of the office."

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah! You know exactly who I'm talking about, so fess up,
darling. I want to hear about the latest with tall, dark and gorgeous!"

To her old friend's utter surprise and shock, Sarah Caroline MacKenzie, for
the first time in the almost twenty years he had known her, burst into
tears.



University of Minnesota Twin Cities Campus
November, 1987
Professor Allen Duchamp's office

"Miss MacKenzie, thank you for coming in on such short notice." A tall,
distinguished looking man of about fifty motioned to the leather chair in
front of his desk. He'd recently been appointed a department head, and had
moved to roomier quarters in the building that held most of the social
science faculty offices.

In any photo spread, he would be earmarked "college professor" complete with
worn jeans, button down shirt and tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. On
some men, the look would be ridiculous, but it appeared to be made for him.

The slightly built young woman, dressed in what he considered the worst of
student fashion, seemed to fumble with her backpack, shuffle her feet and
try to sink into the floor all at the same time. She mumbled something that
might have been a greeting, or it could have been her laundry list. Speaking
up was not one of this student's strong suits. She was still standing a few
moments later.

"Have a seat. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Sarah sat, her long straight hair obscuring her face. She seldom looked up,
almost never looked anyone in the eye, and an intelligible sentence out of
her mouth was something he didn't recall ever hearing. The painfully shy
exterior, however, was deceiving. It hid a mind as sharp as a steel trap,
and an intellect that it would be a shame to waste.

"One of my graduate students has transferred to another university; she's
following her husband whose job has taken him east. There's an opening in my
Eastern European political study group next semester. You seem to have quite
a grasp of the situation in the region. I was wondering if you'd like to
take the empty spot."

While it was not all that unusual for professors to offer openings in
graduate seminars to promising undergraduate students, they normally were
seniors. This student had almost two more years to go to complete her
degree, but showed a promise that was hard to quantify. Or, she could, if
she could ever be convinced to open her mouth to utter more than
monosyllables.

"Me?" The sound came out as a squeak.

"Yes, Miss MacKenzie, you. Is that such a surprise?" He gave her a charming
smile, completely lost on her since she was focused on the front of his desk
instead of his face.

She lifted her chin, and for the first time he could ever recall, she looked
at him while she spoke. "Uh huh."

"For god's sake, Sarah! WHY?" He'd been her faculty adviser, simply through
the luck of the draw, since she declared herself a political science major
with minors in Russian studies and Slavic languages the year before. Her GPA
was 3.9, and she worked two or three jobs besides. Yet he'd never in his
life met someone with so little self confidence.

"Why what?" She was back to mumbling and looking down again. "Why wouldn't
I offer it to you?" He stood up and began to pace his office. "You have a
quick mind, you're likely smarter than most of the grad students in there."

She looked down at her feet and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'd,
I'd like to do it, if I can fit it in."

"Why couldn't you?" He knew none of the other classes in the department
would conflict, and she could certainly take her pick of electives she
needed to fill out her degree from other departments. This was an
opportunity few would refuse, especially if they had their eye on grad
school. A stellar performance in a seminar like this, where he called in
speakers and panelists he knew from his former days as a career FSO which
had culminated in an ambassadorship, albeit to a small country, would be a
feather in the cap of any grad school applicant.

"Most of the seminars meet at night or on Saturdays." Since many grad
students worked as teaching assistants for the basic freshman and sophomore
courses in their fields of study, and others worked at full time jobs, most
of the actual course work was late in the day or on
weekends to accommodate their schedules.

"This one meets on Thursday evenings from seven to ten." His tone conveyed
his confusion.

"That's one of my best nights." At least that's what he thought she said. It
was hard to tell from behind the curtain of hair. "You know, at the diner."

"Sarah, you mean to tell me you're going to pass up the chance to take an
seminar like this because of your work schedule at a DINER?"

"You wouldn't understand." At least that's what he thought she said. She
slowly got out of the chair, and reached for her backpack. The defeat in the
set of her shoulders was telling.

"SIT DOWN!"

She jumped at the loud tenor of his voice, dropping back down with a look of
sheer terror on her face.

The normally placid professor took a deep breathe. Years on the diplomatic
circuit had honed his emotions. He almost never lost his temper, but felt
the waste of intelligence in someone like her was next to criminal. "I
apologize, Sarah. I shouldn't have raised my voice.'

She continued to study her feet.

"Look, why don't you try and rearrange something? Maybe you can work Friday
instead?"

"I already do." She took a deep breathe. "It's well, that's where the, you
know, the people who do most of the university services eat. Thursday is
payday for most of them, the, well, the tips are better." This last came out
in a rush.

This was the single longest statement he'd ever heard the young woman in
front of him utter. "And you need the money."

"Yes." She was back to mumbling.

While the fact that her military father had always declared Minnesota as his
home of record allowed her to attend the university as a state resident, the
tuition and living expenses were still her complete responsibility. Thank
God it was much cheaper than if she had attended a private university or an
out of state one.

Uncle Matt had offered to help, but she felt she already owed him too much.
No way would she ever ask her father for a thing, and she preferred to
forget her short, abortive marriage to Chris, not that he would be able to
help her out from behind bars anyway. Indeed, she kept Chris a deep, dark
secret. He was one reason she had chosen to get far away from Arizona. If he
got out of prison, Minnesota would be the last place he'd think to look for
her.

"Sarah, let's do this. I'll keep the space open for you, and we'll see what
can be worked out somehow." Allen was calm now, and had his thinking cap on.

She nodded her head, leaving the office with the same slump in her shoulders
with which she had entered. He had a feeling that it was more in defeat than
anything else. However he wasn't one to surrender that easily. As she closed
the door to his office, he reached for his phone

Present day
On the way to Edwin and Allen's home

Pulling off the highway into a parking lot, Edwin stopped the car, turned
off the ignition and took the sobbing woman beside him into his arms.
"Sarah, sweetie!" He held her as her tears soaked his new cashmere jacket,
not even caring about the wear and tear on his lapels. Being a fashionista
from before anyone even knew what one was, this was very un-Edwin like
behavior.

In the next fifteen minutes, he somehow got a convoluted story about South
America, terrorists, diamonds and the sailor he knew damned well she'd been
in love with for years out of her. He had no idea what one had to do with
the other, but assumed he'd get the whole story eventually.

As best he could fit together, someone, she couldn't/wouldn't say who, which
was damning in and of itself, needed her language skills in South America.
The intelligence agencies had plenty of Russian speakers, since they
continued to recruit them long after it was clear they were looking at the
wrong enemy. It was pretty easy to deduce her skills in Farsi and Arabic
were what was wanted. The fact that she was a beautiful woman likely didn't
hurt the equation either. Men had been underestimating beautiful women at
their peril for centuries.

Somehow, in the midst of this, tall, dark and gorgeous had gotten fired, or
kicked out of the Navy, or something of the sort. Edwin doubted he left
voluntarily, since from what he knew of the man he'd likely had gold braid
on his diapers and bled navy blue. Sarah seemed to think it was all her
fault, and that TD&G hated her for it. Or maybe that he hated her for
something else that, along with many other parts of the story, wasn't
intelligible between her sobs.

While he wasn't all that clear on the details, what she told him, and more
so what she didn't tell him, had classified government spook-job written all
over it. Now, since he knew sailor-boy was a pilot and a lawyer, how he got
involved was a bit of a mystery.

When Allen had worked for the 'real' State Department, there had been enough
CIA types cavorting around in the early years of their relationship that
their antics just pretty much jumped up and bit you in the ass if you knew
what to look and listen for. The tough as nails Marine was obviously in
total meltdown, and just as obviously, it had been coming for a long, long
time.

While he would love to have the whole story immediately he knew he'd get it
eventually. If not from her, Allen still had his sources and a very high
security clearance. While all intelligence agencies worked on a 'need to
know' basis, once operations were over there was still an old boys network
that gossiped more than women in a hair salon.

He still worked with several think-tanks in Washington and New York as a
consultant, even more in the post 9/11 world than he had done previously.
With the Balkan situation having proved to be a boot camp for more than one
jihadi, his expertise in the area was still in demand many years after he
left State. Working for private think- tanks and as a government consultant
proved far more lucrative than working for the government outright. It also
gave a much greater
measure of freedom to express what one really thought. Since they were
paying through the nose for it, the powers that be also seemed to pay a
little more attention to ones opinion.

Finally, after what seemed to be an hour but was really only about twenty
minutes, she began to slow down. The deep, wrenching sobs were replaced by
hiccups and sniffles. She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than he
looked, and held her for another few minutes while she regained her
composure. Knowing this woman the way he did, he was actually flattered that
she had broken down in front of him. There were only a very few people in
the world that she was willing to expose her vulnerable side to.

"Dear God, what I wouldn't give to be able to take you to a bar and pour a
couple of tots of brandy down your gullet!"

As compassionate as he capable of being to those he loved, in this case,
Edwin was truly shocked. He and Allen knew the 'real' Sarah, the deeply
insecure little girl that lived inside the strong woman, but he had never
seen that child come out like this before. Even in her worst days, the Sarah
he knew had simply done what she had to do without any condemnation of the
bad breaks life had thrown at her. He took it as a sign of how bad things
really were for her. She'd been holding together with a gossamer thread, and
it appeared that the thread had finally snapped.

After wiping her face with the last of a packet of Kleenex from her purse,
she managed to get a little better control of herself.

"Not going happen, Edwin. I tried that once over a man, sort of, and it
doesn't work very well." Her two Minnesota mentors were members of the
select group that knew the story of her alcoholism and recovery. She'd even
shared, long after the fact, her fall from grace, as she described it, in
the wake of Dalton's murder and her stalker.

"I know, I know." He reached out and patted her thigh. "Well, we'll just
have to go home, have tea and you can tell me all about it. Hopefully
without the tears this time." He patted her hand, put the car in gear and
headed off in his original direction.

It wasn't long before they reached the impressive restored Victorian home in
Lake Calhoun. She remembered the first time she'd seen it, decked out in
it's Christmas best.


December 1987

Her beat up old car looked out of place in the circular brick paved driveway
of the large Queen Anne style home. The house was decked out with white
lights on the bushes and trees, with floodlights illuminating the wreaths on
the double doors and windows. Aside from beautiful brocade bows adorning
them, the wreaths were plain evergreen, no glitter or glitz. Although she
didn't know exactly how, the young woman knew the place exuded style and
taste in its simplicity.

Sarah mounted the steps and rang the bell, surprised to be admitted by a
young man in a shirt, bow tie and vest who offered to take her coat. This
did not appear to be the simple Christmas party for a few students and
faculty members she had expected. All at once, she felt even more self
conscious than she had when she left her small, shabby apartment. The
student area of --was light-years from this exclusive neighborhood.

After surrendering her winter parka, she looked around the huge foyer in
awe. The ceiling was at least twenty five feet high, with an elaborate
sweeping staircase rising to the second floor. Once again, she didn't know
how she knew but sensed that the home was decorated with style, taste, and a
very generous pocketbook. Nothing was ostentatious, but it was obvious
everything was the best that money could buy.

The antiques that abounded were real, the Persian carpets too. Those at
least she had some knowledge of. She didn't know what defined 'mansion' but
this home had to be pretty close. Obviously the professor had an income
other than his university salary, since she doubted that academia was this
lucrative.

Sarah began to wander through the rooms, each decorated with the same
elegant simplicity. A bar had been set up in the corner of the living room,
and she requested a diet cola. Somehow, just quickly looking around at how
the other people in the room were attired, she knew her flowered rayon dress
with a ruffled neck was all wrong. Although she had thought it was beautiful
when she tried it on in the discount store where she did most of her
shopping, in the refined setting of
this room, she knew it looked cheap and gaudy.

She saw Professor Duchamp across the room, standing with a man she thought
was a Congressman from the local area. A US Congressman, not a state
legislator. She'd seen his face on the local news. Come to think of it, a
woman across the room looked like the anchorwoman of
one of the major network's local stations.

Ever since the invitation had arrived, she'd wondered why on earth Professor
Duchamp would invite her to a party at his home. It was described on the
invitation as a holiday open house from six to nine pm, which she correctly
interpreted as meaning cocktail party. What she had no idea of was why she
was there.

She decided to wander around and look for a place to hide until she could
politely make her excuses and leave. Assuming that she didn't need to stay
more than thirty minutes to avoid abject rudeness, she didn't feel the need
to refill her drink before wandering off. After looking in a few more rooms,
she came to a deserted solarium toward the back of the house. It must be
lovely in the summer, but now seemed rather sad and forlorn. The room was
filled with wicker furniture with burgundy and blue paisley cushions and
large potted plants. The glass walls looked out onto a large yard and
garden, now covered with snow, and a stand of trees about fifty yards away.

Sarah sat on the wicker chair closest to the window, watching the snow fall
slowly to the ground. Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when the lights
were suddenly turned on. She began to rise.

"No, no, don't get up! You just looked so sad and lonely sitting there in
the dark.' The man thought for a moment. "The French have a lovely word for
that mood, 'trieste.' French can be so much more expressive than English.
Too bad I don't speak it."

She was glad her glass had been almost empty, since her jerky motions would
have likely spilled her drink if it hadn't been. "I, ah, I wasn't hiding,"
she choked out in a trembling voice.

"Of course you were, my dear. And that's fine, Sarah. I told Allen that
inviting you here was a mistake, but he insisted."

She looked at the man, puzzled. Although his words sounded harsh, they'd
been said with no hint of animosity, and he looked kind. Strange, but kind.
Well, at least his clothes were strange. He was wearing a velvet jacket, a
shirt that looked like it was silk, a scarf around his neck and plaid, well,
tartan trousers. It certainly wasn't an outfit the men she'd grown up around
would have been caught dead in, but on the slightly built stranger with the
British accent, it looked fine. Elegant, even. Although she wasn't too sure
about the shoes. They looked like they were velvet too, and had a crest or
something embroidered on the front.

"I should go. I was only going to stay a few minutes, but I didn't want to
be rude and go right away, but I ...."

"Slow down, my dear! You're wondering who I am, aren't you?"

She nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Never nod, it's ill bred. Speak up." He took a breath. "I'm Edwin. If life
were different, I'd be Allen's Mrs., but since it's not, well, you get the
idea." He waved his hand in an expressive way.

"You mean, Professor Duchamp is..."

"Gay? Queer as a three pound note." Edwin said this in a matter of fact
tone, as though anyone who thought ill of the situation was the one who had
a problem.

Perhaps because of her military background, she'd always assumed homosexual
men were, well, like Edwin. Professor Duchamp was tall, well built, with
steel grey hair, and look manly.

"Surprised?"

She started to nod, then thought better of it and replied, "Yes. No. I mean,
I wouldn't know, but...."

Edwin chuckled. "You can't always tell the book by its cover. It's important
to remember that, Miss MacKenzie."

"I'm sorry, I..." Sarah was flustered, but didn't feel this man was making
fun of her. She just didn't quiet know how to respond.

"Oh, you've got nothing to be sorry for. Sit, please. Allen invited you so
you and I could have a chat."

Her look was questioning.

"I hear you need a more flexible job."

"It would make life easier." She sounded as though she thought simplifying
her life might be a sin.

"I need a research assistant, and if you're half as smart as Allen says you
are, you'll fill the bill quiet nicely."


Minnesota, Present Day

Fifteen minutes later the Hummer deposited them in front of the same house,
still done in its cream, beige, taupe and cocoa color scheme, with just the
tiniest touches of lavender and mauve on some of the gingerbread trim. Edwin
claimed he yearned to give the house a bolder paint job, but felt the grey
Minnesota winters would be too stark a contrast. His rallying cry was, "If
only Allen would get a job teaching at Berkley!" They all knew it was an
empty plea, he fit in
perfectly with the art scene in the smaller city, and Northwest had a direct
flight that had him in London in less than nine hours when he needed to
oversee the business interests he still maintained there.

They immediately started up the staircase, Sarah letting Edwin be the
gentleman and carry her bag. He would have insisted anyway. He invariable,
even at their first almost disastrous meeting, had treated her like a lady.
He also demanded she act like one, and accept being treated as no less from
anyone else.

After placing her suitcase on the luggage rack in the room she always stayed
in, he turned to her. "Now, you have fifteen minutes to freshen up and get
into something more comfortable. Where did you get that suit by the way,
much too severe for you!"

Sarah glanced down at the navy pin-striped pants suit she was wearing. "I
bought it at Barney's the last time we were in New York. You loved it then!"

"Sarah, that was three years ago! Besides, I never expected you to wear it
with a navy cashmere sweater under it! MUCH too monotone for you, my dear!"

"Edwin dear, three years old or not, I've only had about four occasions to
wear this, it cost me over $1200, and YOU told me it was a classic!" Indeed,
the soft wool flannel and cashmere blend fabric could be worn in any weather
other than the steamy summers they got in DC. She just hadn't had much
occasion for civilian business clothes in the past few years.

"Well, it is! But the way you're wearing it is just DULL!" He paused. "I did
not teach you to be dull!" He couldn't believe she'd teamed a navy crew
sweater with the suit, with pearls and pearl
earrings as her only accessories. She looked like a lawyer. A conservative
and plain one at that.

"No, you didn't. I just haven't had much occasion to shop lately." Even the
purchase of shoes, her one big vice, had been on hold lately. She just
hadn't had much drive to go shopping, not to mention no time. Although, she
admitted to herself, in the past she had been busy but had made time for
herself doing things she enjoyed. She wondered when the last time was that
she had done so, and found she couldn't remember. Probably the weekend she
had spent with Chloe last
Christmas.

"Well, get comfy and come down to the kitchen. We'll have tea and catch up
before Allen gets home and starts to talk to you about the state of the
world."

Allen and Edwin were, on the surface at least, proof that opposites did
attract. Allen with his learned concerns about the state of the world, still
called upon by think-tanks and occasionally the government for his expertise
in Eastern European affairs. Edwin had all the flamboyance of someone who
existed in the world of art and fashion. How the two of them had come to
live together so amiably for so many years was a mystery to many, but Sarah
felt that it came down to their core values being the same.

They were at heart family men, loyal to a fault to those they considered
part of their circle. In all the time they had known her, the only time
either of them had ever expressed anger toward her was in the wake of Chris
Ragel's death. Not for her actions, but for her inactions in not coming to
them for help in the first place. Had things been different in their younger
years, she had no doubt they would have adopted a couple of children and
made great Dads. Since the times had denied them that right, they had taken
several older 'orphans of the storm' under their wings, herself among them.

Once she had changed into jeans and a white button down shirt, she joined
Edwin in the kitchen. He'd laid out a teapot along with some small
sandwiches and a plate of delicate cookies she recognized as from a small
bakery in the upscale part of town. If he had gone to this much trouble, she
knew he'd been gunning for her before she got off the plane. The man was
perceptive to a fault and had likely not bought her replies of 'nothing'
when he enquired what was wrong in their last few conversations.

"Bringing out the big guns, are you?" she remarked ironically.

"You really didn't think I believed you, did you?"

She let out a huge sigh. "I know better than to underestimate you, I guess.
What gave it away?"

"Well, aside from you sounding basically depressed all summer, you hardly
ever mentioned Commander Fabulous. So, that meant either you found someone
else, he did, or you two were on the outs. Since you would have dished about
a new love, I knew it was number two or three. You usually don't shut up
about him. Even when you were supposed to marry what's his name, you talked
about the other one all the time."

She looked at him in surprise. "Do I? I mean, talk about Harm all the time?"

"Well, maybe not all the time, but often enough for me to notice the lack.
So, without the tears this time, tell me what the bloody hell happened!"

An hour later, she had given him most of the explanation for the rift
between her and her former partner, at least the part she understood.

"Sweetie, what I don't understand is why you're dating this other guy?"

Mac thought for a moment. "It's not really dating. It's more, well, we have
dinner together sometimes."

"Most people call that dating." Obviously there were things about the
heterosexual world he obviously didn't understand.

"If that were dating, then Harm and I have been dating for years." She shook
her head in the negative, with a small smile on her face to indicate how
ridiculous an idea she considered that.

Edwin continued to give her "the look," and she shook her head to indicate
she didn't agree with his assessment.

"We never dated." She paused again. "With Clay it's not romantic, at least
not on my part. Not that it was romantic with Harm.," she hastened to add.

Edwin raised an eyebrow questioningly, but let her continue.

"I guess, well, he, Clay, said he needed me. It was kind of nice to feel
needed. And wanted."

She said this in a small, questioning voice, as if this was the first time
she'd thought it through. "And there's some other stuff I can't talk about."

If she'd given any actual thought to the matter, it was that anything, even
the sometimes dreary formal charity events Webb dragged her to, was
preferable to sitting alone in her apartment
waiting for Harm to return one of her phone calls. Then there was the
on-going search for Sadik, and at least by seeing Webb, she was kept in the
loop more than she would have been otherwise. The Agency had a "don't call
us, we'll call you" policy, no matter who you were and how much you might
have helped them in the past.

She hadn't realized until seeing Harm the other day how badly his complete
dismissal of her from his life had cut. She'd thought no matter what, even
if they had both married other people, they would still remain friends.
Indeed, she still wasn't really clear on why Harm had been so angry at her,
she just knew that he was. Frankly, she thought she'd given him what he
wanted, 'them' back on a basis where there would never be any expectations
of anything else other than close friendship.

"Ah, the needy, wounded hero routine. I wonder how many woman have gotten
suckered in by that one, and five years later woken up to wonder "How in
hell did I end up with this guy?"

"That's not going to happen. I, well, he's barely gotten back to work. We
don't see each other all that often, though Harm seems to think I jumped
into bed with Clay the moment we left the continental US."

"Did you?"

"Edwin! No, God, as usual, I live like a nun, but I have the reputation of a
whore, at least as far as Harm is concerned!" Her voice rose an octave, and
she was getting upset again. There was
obviously a lot going on that she hadn't dealt with in any meaningful way.

"Sarah, what on earth do you mean?" Knowing how carefully Mac screened the
men she got involved with these days, this statement truly shocked him.

Dammit! His kind tone was her undoing. She was in tears again, and it wasn't
what she wanted. She could face the fact that Harm saw her as fundamentally
flawed in her own head, but admitting it to someone else, someone she loved
and respected, that was something else.

"He makes these comments..." The whole story came poring out, going back to
the remark she had inadvertently overheard him making to Sturgis over two
years before. His comments about her making a move as soon as a man showed
interest, his remark about her sleeping her
way into law school, every hurtful thing he'd ever said found its way out of
her mouth, while she tried to choke back the tears that came unbidden.

"I don't know what it is! Other women, one in particular that I managed to
save his worthless ass over can actually act like sluts and that's
fine...Christ, I'm not going to judge her! But..."

"Sarah, calm down! You've had some bad breaks with the men in your life,
yes. And I know you're really very picky about who you see...."

"Yeah, the stupid jerk doesn't know how many I turn down or just ignore
signals from before I decided I'm finally so damned lonely that...." She
took the proffered handkerchief from her host.

"God, Edwin! I've slept with six men in my entire life, I'm thirty six years
old, and he thinks that makes me a ...." It was pretty obvious this subject
was upsetting her even more than she already
was. Having been privy to the story of Joe MacKenzie diatribes and tirades
against his daughter's morals, he had a pretty good idea why questioning,
even obliquely, her good name would have Sarah over-reacting.

"I don't think he thinks any such thing, Sarah." He said this quietly and
sincerely.

"Then why does he say what he does?" Those who only knew the gung ho Marine
attorney would have never recognized the whipped puppy voice as coming from
the same woman.

"I don't know. But I don't think it's because he thinks you're immoral. He
doesn't sound like the kind of person who makes those judgments."

Actually, Edwin had a pretty good idea of why TD&G said the things he did,
he was gay, not stupid. It had far more to do with a green eyed monster than
the conclusion Sarah had jumped to. However he also knew anything he said
right then to defend the guy would fall on deaf ears.

"Right! That's why he's never made so much as a pass at me, ever. Well,
almost." She sniffed loudly. "But that didn't count."

"What doesn't count?" Edwin was absently patting her hand. Thank God so many
people in the fashion world were drama queens, he'd had more practice at
this than he cared to remember. He could do this blindfolded and with
earplugs. He just never thought he'd see this particular person this close
to a meltdown. It had been well over a year since she joined him for a quick
theatre weekend in New York when he'd been there on business. It didn't seem
like that year had treated his darling girl very well.

"At my, well, Mic and my engagement party. He...we, " He encouraged her to
go on. "He kissed me."

"People kiss the bride to be at engagement parties all the time, " Edwin
stated matter of factly.

"Ah, this,....this wasn't that kind of kiss, Edwin." She reacted with a look
that could only be called starry-eyed to the memory. "This was a knock your
socks off kind of kiss."

"Wait a minute," He held up a hand. "Mr. Truth, Justice and the American Way
KISSED you, not like a well wisher, but like, well, a suitor, at your
engagement party?"

She nodded her head.

"Well, what the bloody hell happened? I know you finally gave Boomerang Boy
the boot, but why didn't you and ....." He could see she was about ready to
start blubbering again, so, being a smart man, stuck a particularly decadent
chocolate cookie in her mouth.

Allen had been undergoing rehab from a recent heart attack at the time of
her aborted wedding, so the two had been unable to make the trip to
Washington. She'd had her doubts about introducing them to Mic, though she
never would have thought twice about letting them meet Harm. That in and of
itself should have given her pause about the relationship with the
Australian officer.

It had taken her a year or more forgive herself for being the doormat she
had allowed herself to become in her relationship with Mic. She'd felt so
guilty for not loving him the way he wanted her to that she had allowed
every other facet of their life together to be written on his terms alone.
Looking back, she barely recognized that woman as herself.

"Oh, Edwin, we managed to screw it up! We always do!"

Just then the back door opened, and Allen entered the kitchen. He came over
to give Edwin a affectionate bus on the cheek, then came around the counter
to take Sarah into a bear hug.

"Well, Colonel, we thought you fell off the world there for a while!"

They usually managed to get together once or twice a year when he came to
Washington on business, but during the last eighteen months, he'd been there
only when she'd been out of town.

"Excuse me for a minute, you two. I'm going to make a couple phone calls,
then we can decide where we want to have dinner tonight."

As Edwin left the kitchen, the two began a discussion of the political
climate in the Middle East in the wake of the Iraq war. It had always been
thus, Edwin got the personal details, Allen the
professional. They made a good team in more ways than one.

Aboard NW Flight 1234
MSP-DCA

The weekend had been fun, though exhausting in it's own way. Mac reclined
her first class seat, glad that she had decided to use some of her frequent
flier miles for the luxury. It was seldom enough she got the chance to
indulge, even though she probably had enough miles to get a few round trip
tickets to the moon. Most of the time her bookings were so last minute that
she couldn't get an upgrade.

At least she looked better than she had when she left Washington on Friday.
She'd had Edwin book her an appointment with her old hairdresser
Vincenzo--born Vinnie Kaswalski in Newark, but hey, Miliao sold more and
pricier haircuts--since she knew she'd need to be out of the house on
Saturday while the caterers and such worked their magic. Instead, after
taking a look at her, he booked her in for a total overhaul.

She had to admit, the day of pampering at the day spa was a treat, one she
hadn't indulged in since she didn't remember when. When the heck had life
become such a chore that she couldn't even take time to get a decent
haircut? She admitted to the appalled Vinnie that she had actually taken to
hacking at the ends with manicure scissors to keep her hair 'in regs.' Time
just was not on her side any more, it was just one more day, one more
problem it seemed.

In some ways, even after her short break, Mac dreaded the return to
Washington. She knew that Harm was going back on active duty today, although
she was sure he wouldn't be anywhere near the office until Wednesday at the
earliest. She was pretty sure the Admiral was going to 'finesse' his time
away, so it wouldn't end up costing him career wise.

Harm hadn't exactly applied for reinstatement in the usual manner, a process
that could take months to go through channels. Still, the Navy had a
paperwork mill to grind through, and getting his records in order at the
Washington Navy Yard would be a two day task. She needed the buffer of
tomorrow in the office before she faced him on Wednesday.

He called her after he decided to accept the Admiral's offer, just a kind of
'head's up,' nothing more. Right now, she didn't know how they were going to
react to one another. She figured she'd try to keep it professional, and
take her lead from him. However, whenever she planned anything with Harm in
the picture, things had a way of going out of control quickly. She'd just
have to wait and see.

She and the anniversary couple had gone out to dinner on Friday night at a
local country club they belonged to. Allen was the golfer, though Edwin did
play a mean game of tennis. Though the club was one of the most traditional
and staid in the city, the ladies enjoyed Edwin's fashion savvy and gossip
enough so that even these neo- conservatives turned a blind eye to their
status as a non-traditional couple. Having one of the first 'name'
hairdressers of the '60's as a member got you lots of perks for your charity
fashion shows and dinner dances.

Saturday, Edwin had banished her to the tender mercies of Vinnie, and she
had to admit, by the time the party rolled around, she felt and looked a lot
better. Although she did antagonize her host when he realized she was
wearing her mess dress instead of an evening gown. It was simply a matter of
not enough time to shop. The last time she attended a black tie function had
been the Surface Warfare ball, and she'd borrowed that dress from a friend.
She knew anything in her closet would have been--in her host's
view--hopelessly out of date. Edwin hid his shock, but told her not to be
surprised if some of their friends thought she was a drag queen in military
mode.

It had been a fabulous party, the house was made for entertaining. She'd
even met the senior Senator from Minnesota, who served on the military
affairs committee. He recognized her--well, her face, not her name--from
some work she'd done with Bobbi Lathem when the two committees met jointly a
year or so before. They'd had a great conversation about his orchids,
apparently a passion along with his five grandchildren. Allen and Edwin had
an interesting and eclectic group of friends, culled from all walks of life.

Once she relaxed and gotten over her storm of tears, she'd enjoyed herself.
Hopefully, now that they would soon be back close to full staff at the
office, she might be able to indulge in a break more often in the future.
After her initial day there, she hadn't had time to really talk to either of
her hosts in depth, though just before she left, Edwin had told her to think
about what she wanted and needed to make her happy, and in his words,
"Bugger everyone else." A great sentiment, though likely easier said than
done.

At least with Harm coming back, there would be no need to break in a new
senior attorney. That had been one of the primary reasons Carolyn Imes had
gotten Harm's old job, she knew how they worked at headquarters. Unlike the
two junior attorneys who replaced Manetti and Singer, both still
semi-clueless about headquarters procedures two and four months after coming
aboard. She wan't sure if it was stubbornness or just stupidity, but she was
about to ask the Admiral to find someone else, which was her prerogative as
chief of staff. Neither seemed to be up to the workload.

As much as everyone had hated Loren, at least she got her job done on time
and without complaining about overwork. These two seemed to think they had
signed on for 8-5 Monday through Friday. Okay, that was the official duty
day, but none of the attorney's assigned to headquarters ever worked just
that on a daily basis. One of them had even reminded her that he had a wife,
child and a life outside of headquarters. She was sure he hadn't signed on
for a career in the Navy, indeed had only another eight months to go to pay
back for law school, but he could at least make an attempt to be a team
player until that date came around. Even in the civilian law world, a
recommendation from THE Jag was nothing to sneeze at, but Lieutenant
Gillespie didn't seem to care. Fine, let him not care writing wills in legal
services somewhere, not taking up a headquarters slot and not producing.

Mac knew that some of her bad mood was fear based. Even though she and Harm
had sort of buried the hatchet, she was still leery about seeing him on a
daily basis once again. In the six months they had been apart, aside from
the phone calls, which she had rationed to one a week, less the weeks she
had been out of the country completely, she had done her best to put him out
of her mind and her heart.

It had worked, or so she thought. She could look at a picture of the two of
them and not cry, she could hear a silly song he liked on the radio and not
get choked up. She thought she was getting it together. Until the night she
had to ask him for help with Imes? case reviews.

When she left the apartment in the wake of Catherine Gale's arrival, her
heart was in her throat. She barely managed to drive far enough away to be
out of view from his windows before she broke down. How long had they been
going on? Since the Angel Shark? Had all the closeness she thought the two
of them had been feeling before the Singer debacle blew up in her face been
only in her imagination?

She'd never doubted Harm's innocence, although she did for a minute consider
he might have been, or thought he might be, the father. She knew he didn't
like Loren, but on TDY's in strange places, odder things had happened. When
it came down to it, he was a guy, with the same drives as every other one,
well, except with her.

What upset her more than anything was his not telling her what he suspected,
especially when she figured out that he thought Sergei might have been the
baby's father. It had taken about twenty minutes of solid "Why would he?"
conjecture on her part to figure out that he was protecting his brother.

They'd been doing well, she thought at least, and still to this day had no
idea why he shut her out. She'd been turned away the one time she'd
attempted to visit him at the brig, and told that by orders of the CNO, he
was to have no visitors other than counsel. Since he didn't call, she
assumed he either was restricted from making phone calls, or didn't want to
talk to her. The former was probably illegal, as likely was the restriction
on visits. His attorney blew her off when she brought the subject up. Her
hands had been tied.

Coupled with his contempt for her when he got to Paraguay and his lack of
response to her phone calls over the past months, she assumed that maybe she
had far more of a stake in their relationship than he did. To her, he was a
necessary as air, even though she had come to the conclusion she would have
to learn to live without him. It seemed the same couldn't be said on his
part. She'd given him what she thought he wanted in Paraguay, and did her
best to get on with her life. It hadn't worked yet, but she was still
trying.


Next Day
JAG Headquarters

"Is that all?" Mac facetiously asked Harriet as she handed her a stack of
pink message slips half an inch thick. God knows what was on her voice mail
at this rate.

"No, Ma'am, this one came in this morning. Although they called on Friday
too." Harriet had that intrigued look on her face as she added a few more
message slips to the pile in Mac's hand.

"Just pile it on, I'll sort through them when I get in my office. Hopefully
some of them aren't urgent." Sometimes taking a few days off just wasn't
worth it. You ended up working overtime before you left to clear your desk,
then double time when you got back to make up for what happened while you
were gone.

"The one that just came in? It's from "District Magazine." Harriet sounded
excited enough to make Mac suspicious. Very suspicious.

She was familiar with the publication, had even read it a time or two. It
coupled articles about what was currently 'in' around Washington with
fashion spreads, upmarket real estate listings and
restaurant reviews. Occasionally they profiled someone interesting.

"Probably trying to sell me a subscription, Harriet." None of the cases she
was working were really high profile, certainly not the sort to elicit their
interest. Even the last really high profile case she'd done, Mustaffa
Attif's prosecution, hadn't had publicity, at least not personal publicity.
The names of the attorneys and the Tribunal judges were kept out of the
press. There hadn't been a military gag order or anything, just a
'gentleman's agreement' that the names wouldn't be published.

"No, I don't think so, Ma'am. It was their features editor who called."
Harriet, bless her little heart, was fishing. Mac's radar went up another
notch.

"Well, I'll put them on the list. I have no idea what they want to talk to
me about." She balanced her cover on top of the stack of files she was
carrying and headed toward her office to dump them before she went and fixed
some coffee.

The morning went by slowly, but there had been plenty to keep her occupied.
Many of the calls she managed to palm off on one of the paralegal
assistants, who should have taken care of them as they came in.
Unfortunately, most of them wouldn't say "I'm calling for your attorney"
unless the attorney specifically told them to. By 1415, she'd caught up
enough to take a break, and headed down to the cafeteria for a sandwich
before they closed.

Deciding to bring it back to her desk rather than eat in the now almost
deserted room, she caught the elevator just as the door was closing.

"Well, I see nothing's changed. Still eating dead cow."

God, he just about took her breathe away. She would have been ready for him
tomorrow, but not now, not like this. The roast beef and cheese sandwich,
fortunately wrapped in plastic, fell out of her hand.

"Harm! What are you doing here?" She bent down to retrieve her lunch, just
as he attempted to do the same. Fortunately, they managed to not bonk heads.

"I work here again, remember?" The trademark smile was in place.

"I, ah," She coughed, then sputtered a little. "I figured you'd have at
least two days full of paperwork at personnel."

"I managed to break loose early. Since I'd been working for the Agency, they
just faxed my clearances over, so I didn't have to update all that stuff."
His gaze was fixed on her face. He'd missed this place. Hell, as much as he
didn't want to admit it, he'd missed her.

"Yeah, well, that would save some time, I guess." God, she couldn't believe
how ridiculous she sounded.

"Have you been busy?" He motioned with his chin to the sandwich in her hand.
"Late lunch."

"Since the Imes debacle, more so than before, and that was bad enough. It'll
be good to have you back, especially since you know your way around
already." She paused. "I mean, not that it wouldn't be good for you to be
back anyway."

"I know what you mean, Mac." Back where he wanted to be, he was prepared to
be magnanimous about some things. He didn't know where the two of them
really stood, but he was determined to try and take it easy this time. Life,
especially life with Sarah MacKenzie, had a way of biting him in the ass
when he least expected it.

In the bullpen, he was greeted like a returning hero by Bud, who obviously
wanted to bask in his mentor's return. She gave them both a brief smile and
nod, and headed toward the sanctuary of her office.

Unwrapping the sandwich, she glanced at the stack of messages on her desk. A
new one had appeared from Harriet, that stupid magazine again. She might as
well find out what they wanted.

"This is Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. I have a message to call a Ms. Iverson."
She found herself listening to the ubiquitous Muzak while the assistant
fetched the editor.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Iverson. What can I do for you?" She wanted to get this
over with, she had other, more important things to get on with. Not to
mention, since things had been calm for the last week around here, that
meant something was bound to break sooner or later, probably sooner.

Mac listened to the woman's pitch for a few minutes, shocked.

"You've got to be kidding." This was about the last thing she expected. The
woman droned on a little more. "Okay, you're not kidding."

"This would have to be cleared with the Marine Corps PAO at the Pentagon,
and I don't think they'd be very....Oh." She took a deep breath. "General
Krusa-Dossin loves the idea?" She rested her head in her hand. "Well, if she
loves the idea, then I guess I don't have a lot of choice." In normal
circumstances, Lieutenant Colonels didn't say 'no' to Brigader Generals. It
wasn't considered a good career move.

"Next Friday? Let me check my court calendar." She surfed through her
computer file, and the date book she kept as a back up on her desk. "That
should be fine."

Admiral Chegwidden out ranked the Marine Public Affairs director by one
star, but she knew in her heart he wasn't going to save her. Although
ultimately in command of all Navy and Marine JAG officers, he tried to walk
a fine line with his Marine JAG's. When the corps requested one for
something or another, only a very compelling reason would cause him to deny
the request. She had a feeling 'I don't wanna' wasn't going to cut it. Well,
she'd done worse in her career.

"Yes, I know where it is." She bent down to get some aspirin out of her desk
drawer and swallowed them with the cold, now bitter coffee left in her cup.
"I'll be there." She replaced her phone receiver in the cradle, then walked
over to her doorway.

In as calm a voice as she could muster, she called out, "Harriet, could I
see you in my office for a moment?"

Harriet had been back on the job for only two days from her maternity leave.
Since she hadn't had much involvement in anything in the office in over two
months, she had a feeling that she knew why the Colonel wanted to see her.
She was undoubtedly busted. At least the Colonel didn't sound too upset, but
then again, she didn't sound overjoyed either.

"Harriet, the next time you're having a conversation with one of the other
Mom's at little AJ's daycare, please leave my name out of it!" Mac decided
getting right to the point was the way to go. A good offense was better than
a good defense, especially with the way Harriet could bob and weave.

"Well, Ma'am, you see, I was showing her a pictures of AJ as a baby, it was
right before Jimmy was born." Mac nodded for her to go on. "One of them was
the one of you holding him, you were in uniform, he had on his little sailor
suit?"

Mac nodded that she remembered the picture in question. It had been taken
when AJ was about a year old, shortly after she'd made been promoted.

"Well, she said she really wanted a military officer for the article and
photo spread, but since they were focusing on women in their thirties and
forties, most of the ones she ran into were married, or in her words, not
suitable, so when she saw your picture, and I told her you were single, she
got really excited and then I told her that she'd need to contact the
Pentagon about it and well it just kind of ......" Mac knew she wasn't going
to get contrition out of Harriet, even if she was babbling, out of breath
and sounded nervous.

"Never mind, Harriet. It's all for a good cause, Navy/Marine Relief will get
$2500 out of it, and it's just one day. But it's not the kind of thing I'm
really comfortable with."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, it just got of control. Maybe it was hormones or
something."

"Right, Harriet, hormones. Or something Okay." She waved Harriet out of her
office, and got back to the pile of work on her desk.

The next week passed by quickly. Things were busy at work, so what else was
new? As she had predicted, poor Harm got the brunt of the cases the Imes
matter generated to review.

She felt sorry for him, but on the other hand, a good portion of the cases
were his to begin with. He had always read poor Caroline pretty well, and
had an impressive won/loss record against when he prosecuted.

Later in the week, Harm asked her to take on the case of a homeless elderly
veteran. While swamped herself, she finally gave in. Those puppy dog eyes
always worked, as he well knew.

In gratitude for her help, the Admiral had given her all of Singer's cases
against Imes to review. He'd made it clear without saying so that no one was
supposed to help Harm out with his backlog, and apparently the matter of
Terrance Mattingly was to be considered in the same vein.

Of course, the fact that the Admiral had gotten the case resolved himself
had no bearing on the matter. Oh, well, what were a few more hours lost
sleep? After the last few months, she figured she was only five or six years
behind.

She had a dinner date with Webb, or what she thought was one. It turned out
to be a wine tasting and auction to benefit a children's charity his mother
supported. While being perfectly happy to support a good cause, she couldn't
help but wonder what he had been thinking when he invited her.

She spent most of the evening trying to get out 'just tasting' one rare
vintage or another. When she broached the matter with him, his only comment
was, "You said it didn't bother you when other people drank." And he thought
Harm was oblivious!

She decided against trying to explain the difference between not being
bothered if a friend ordered a drink, and being at an event that completely
revolved around alcohol. If he didn't get it, explaining it wasn't going to
make it any clearer.

Minnesota
Spring 1988

"Oh, and Sarah, can you help me pick out the wine for our dinner party on
Saturday?

Edwin was about to sail out of the small office off the solarium they used
for his writing and other work. While her primary job was a research
assistant for a book he was penning about fashion icons of the sixties, in
the four months since she had been working for him, her job had become that
of a general factotum and gal Friday.

The girl bent over the word processor in Edwin's home office was a somewhat
improved version of the one who had come before her.

Her hair was neater, although still long, thanks to a good haircut done by
the master himself. One day he'd dragged her into his well equipped
bathroom, saying he just couldn't stand looking at 'that rat's nest'
anymore.

After giving her mane a general shaping and blow dry, he supplied her with
enough high end hair products to last for a year. When she tried to demure,
he remarked, "Darling girl, I don't pay for them, I own the company!" Until
then, had no idea that her new employer was one of the icons of the British
fashion revolution of the 1960's. He said he forgave her since at the height
of his fame she was about two.

Her clothes were more presentable, though still not in the first stare of
fashion. If anyone had to guess her occupation, 'student' would be their
first pick. She still stuck mostly to jeans, they were
cheap and easy to care for.

Being around Edwin, with his attention to detail gave her a sense that her
wardrobe from a well known discount chain was less than acceptable. Instead
of looking for things that typified the latest trends, she was now trying to
find pieces that had multiple uses. Although too intimidated to buy
anything, she had ventured in to some higher end stores to look, especially
around sale time. She didn't have much of a budget for clothing, but was
determined to spend more wisely with the little she did have.

"Ah, what do you mean?" While she no longer feared him, and was less nervous
in his presence, there was an edge of tension in her voice that had been
gradually fading over their time together.

"We need to go down to the cellar, open a few bottles and decide what will
go best with the duck." He and Allen were holding a dinner party for Allen's
department on Saturday night to mark the retirement of one of the long time
professors. "It's time you learned a few things
about wine anyway, it's part of a good education."

In the few months she had been working as his assistant, Edwin had taken to
finding off beat things that she needed to learn. They had ranged from what
different types of silverware looked like--who knew there were ice cream
forks?--to the names of the Home Counties around London.

Working for him had been fascinating. She made more money for less physical
work than she had waitressing and working in the college book store stocking
shelves, and the job was interesting.

"I don't think so, Edwin." She shook her head in the negative to punctuate
her words.

"Why not? It's not any different than the escargot I got you to try at lunch
last week. Same principle." His voice took on a haughty, "I know what's best
for you" tone.

He had thought her reluctance to try the delicacy amusing, and applauded
when she finally agreed to eat one. Although she described the taste as
'chewy pencil eraser mixed with garlic' she actually decided the sauce was
worth putting up with the not so attractive little critters. Also, her
learning to use the utensils to eat them was an experience that had them
both in tears of laughter.
Fortunately, the lesson had been in the house's kitchen, not a restaurant.
Her first try with the shell holders had been less than elegant. No wonder
most places now served them in mushroom caps.

"No, it's not. Edwin, I, ah, ......I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for two
years and ten months, but...." While still apprehensive, she didn't know
why, but she had a feeling it was okay to tell him. He was the first
'civilian,' someone not in a recovery program, she had admitted it to, other
than Uncle Matt. Still she was nervous about his reaction.

He stared at her in shock for an instant. "Oh, good God, Sarah, if I'd
known, I never would have brought the subject up." He looked at her closely.
"Surely you didn't think I'd think any less of you?"

"It's not something I'm proud of." She looked down at her lap, something she
had been doing less and less of lately.

"On the contrary, my dear, you should be extremely proud of yourself. Most
people don't have that much insight into themselves at forty, and you
figured it out before you were twenty." He patted her on the shoulder.
"Darling, with all the drug use and partying in my world over the years, I
wouldn't have many friends left if I cut out the ones who had problems."

"You're the first person I've told. I mean, outside the program, and my
uncle. He helped me detox."

"Then I'm enormously flattered you took me into your confidence." He thought
for a moment. "Sarah, in all sincerity, this is something like being gay.
You're going to have to live with it, and people are going to have different
viewpoints. You might want to think what you're going to use as an excuse
when you get to the 'real' world, and people ask why you don't drink."

"I have, but I just haven't really come up with anything yet." Since she was
yet to turn 21, it wasn't something she had to deal with very often. She
didn't have any real friends at the university, her work hours and study had
taken up all her time.

"Well, since you're a woman, you can always use the old standby."

She looked at him questioningly.

"Too fattening," he called over his shoulder as he floated out of the
office.

She giggled.

She knew he told Allen. It would be many years before she took anyone else
into her confidence.


As the next week was drawing to a close, she knew that things had been going
too well. Mac looked up to find PO Coates standing in her office door.

"Yes, Jen?" She'd actually been getting through some files that should have
been closed out weeks before. There might even be a desk top under there
somewhere. Maybe. It had been so long since she'd seen it, she wasn't sure.

"Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you and Commander Rabb in his office
in ten minutes."

"Thank you, I'll be there." Something had obviously come up. If the Admiral
wanted to see both of them in the middle of the afternoon, something needed
tending to immediately. He was pretty good about making announcements and
assigning new cases in the morning during senior staff call unless it was a
'get it done yesterday' situation. Or something sticky. Or both.

Once she and Harm were in what she referred to as 'their assigned
seats'--they invariable sat in the same chairs each time they were in the
Admiral's office together--he began to brief them on the case of Marine
Major Tunney, his Apache helo, the county sheriff and a hostage. No wonder
he wanted it looked into soonest, this was the kind of case where rumors
flew and facts got distorted from the word go.

News of the major's intervention in a civilian law enforcement matter would
be 'sexy.' The fact that the hostage taker had been killed was a big part of
the story. It was already on the local news in Arizona, and would likely be
picked up by one of the networks nationally before too long. There were just
too many good angles. In the parlance of television news editors
everywhere, "If it bleeds, it leads."

"I expect the two of you to get out there tonight. I know it'll likely be
very late when you arrive, but that way you can get started first thing in
the morning. We want this investigated thoroughly as soon as possible." He
looked up from the notes he had on his desk. "Let's get all of it in the
mix, then we'll at least know what were working with. From what the base
commander says, there's a little bad blood between some of his Marines and
the sheriff."

They both indicated their understanding. It wasn't unusual for there to be
some friction between the military and the communities that surrounded a
base.

"Let's find out what really happened before we get our sixes handed to us in
the morning papers." His tone was one of dismissal.

"Yes, Sir." Harm replied. When no affirmative remarks came from Mac, he
looked over at her.

"Sir, if I may?" She spoke up for the first time since she reported.

"What is it, Colonel?"

"I, ah, that special assignment for the PAO was tomorrow, Sir. I'm sure I
could change it or....."

AJ shook his head in negatively. "Colonel, when you broached the subject
with me, I told you it had already been cleared and the Public Affairs
people wanted you there. It slipped my mind that
tomorrow was the day." He gave her a smile of encouragement, which she
correctly interpreted to mean, 'I'm not getting in the middle of this one.'
He paused then continued, "I'm sure Commander Rabb can begin the
investigation without you, then get you up to speed when arrive. I have no
intention of you disappointing the General."

"No, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir." She shrugged her shoulders in defeat, and began
to follow her erstwhile partner out of the office.

"Mac, just get out to Yuma as soon as you can when they're done with you."
The Admiral knew that this was about the last thing she wanted to do, the
publicity surrounding that idiotic "Trial TV" case had about paralyzed her.

After having her assigned to his office for so many years, he knew that his
Chief of Staff was not the tough and extremely calm, collected, reasonable
woman she liked to pretend. There was a very vulnerable lady underneath the
officer, although she took great pains to hide her most of the time. Her
breakdown and request for a temporary out of town assignment after her
breakup with Mic Brumby had been one of the few times he'd seen her emotions
out in front.

Well, other than any time she and Rabb were tangling, but he had a pretty
good idea that had a lot to do with suppressed passion, and in any event was
at most only half her fault. Damn, some days he wished he could just order
them to do what he was pretty sure they'd both been dying to do for about
eight years. They'd either get it out of their systems or get married and
start making little Rabbs. Jesus, how two of the smartest people he knew
could be so stupid was beyond
him.

"Yes, Sir." She sounded resigned to her fate, which was pretty humorous. It
wasn't like she was being ordered to take an enemy hill single-handedly.

She followed Harm out of the office.

"So, what's this all about, Marine? Are you going to be the new recruiting
poster or something?" He obviously thought this was funny, since he
chuckled. Marine recruiting posters tended to
feature steely jawed young men, not attractive women.

"Not exactly, I leave that to cocky Squid fly-boys." She softened the remark
with a little smile. "Just one of those "woman in the military" things,
nothing to get excited about."

Mac was hoping against hope that no one she knew would see the magazine. Its
circulation demographic was similar to Town and Country and Vogue, though on
a local, much smaller scale. She doubted anyone she knew other than Harriet
would ever see it, and she had
been sworn to secrecy as a price for her 'treachery.' Although she was
pretty sure Harriet still thought she had done her a favor. After all, she
wasn't getting any younger and hadn't had a romantic interest in almost
three years, unless Webb counted. By her accounts, he didn't.


Aboard AW Flight 6379
PHX-YUM

Although it would be late evening when she got there, Mac was hoping that
Harm had enough information on the case to give her a brief rundown. He was
supposed to be meeting her plane at the Yuma airport, since he'd picked up a
rental car upon his arrival. She was hoping he'd also made her a reservation
where ever it was he was staying.

The day of photographer's studio went fairly well, and the questions for the
accompanying blurbs were pretty straightforward. What were her hobbies? What
kind of car did she drive? What was her dream vacation? Her idea of a great
first date? She could only hope that the finished product was benign.

First they had taken a several rolls of her in her normal working uniform in
a room set up to look like a simple office. Due to security restrictions in
these days of multicolored alerts, there had
been too many hoops to jump through to use her real office, although most of
the women to be featured would be photographed in their regular workplace.

She was happy to find out many of them were also in less traditionally
'female' occupations. One was an FBI agent, another an aeronautical
engineer. There was a neurosurgeon, a Congresswoman and a Federal judge. She
figured she was very small potatoes in this company, and hoped her
participation passed without notice.

After photographing her in her Class A's, they took many more of her in
different changes of clothing, from casual weekend wear to an evening dress.
No one knew at this point what photos would appear, likely a small one of
her in uniform, along with a larger one in some other attire. It had been
easy, although the experience she'd had modeling during college had been
invaluable.


Summer 1988

"You want me to do WHAT?" She was positive she'd heard Edwin wrong. They
were walking down a fairly busy downtown street, with all the accompanying
noise.

"Model in a fashion show. All you have to do is walk down a runway at the
club. Twirl around a little. One of the girls had to drop out, she broke her
ankle." Like everything else Edwin suggested or requested, this was stated
in a matter of fact manner, indicating that as far as he was concerned the
listener would have to be crazy not to see it his way.

"Edwin, I'm not a..." The idea of standing around in front of people in some
silly outfit scared the hell out of her. It was almost as bad as speaking in
public, though she had gotten better at that,
especially in small groups where she knew almost everyone.

"Sarah, none of these girls are models. They're daughters, grand- daughters
and nieces of members of the country club, it's a charity fashion show."

"I don't really think I'm the type they want." The few times she had joined
Edwin for lunch at the club she noted that most of the ladies were blond and
blue eyed, indicative of the areas Scandinavian and Germanic heritage. She
didn't fit the bill.

"Nonsense! The girl you're replacing is almost exactly your size, and has
similar coloring." Actually, she was a very Gaelic looking red head, but the
clothes selected for her to wear would look fine with Sarah's darker
coloring and auburn hair.

Through his cajoling she had finally been persuaded to participate. It had
actually been fun, the clothes were gorgeous, and she ended up with another
part time job out of it.

The fashion director of one of the two downtown luxury stores that provided
the clothes for the show asked if she had ever modeled professionally. When
she said no, the woman gave her a card from a local agency and told her to
call and use her name if she was interested.

When she spoke to Edwin about it, he looked in to it and told her the agency
was legitimate, not one of the "modeling agencies" that fronted for escort
services and preyed on young women who didn't know any better. Modeling
became a lucrative sideline, very good money for a few hours work. It was,
however, harder than it looked. Anyone who thought standing around for hours
looking glamorous in high heels while being pushed and poked as if you
hadn't a brain in your head was a snap had another think coming.

In time, she graduated from doing store and charity fashion shows to some
local magazine, catalogue and newspaper work. Since the Twin Cities weren't
exactly a fashion capitol, there wasn't the frenetic competitiveness of New
York or Los Angeles.

Edwin and the agency both told her flat out that she was good at what she
did, but would likely never make it in the big time. Most girls who really
clicked were at least five ten, a height two inches; okay two and a quarter,
over hers.

Frankly, it wasn't something she would have ever considered doing full time,
but it gave her some extra money, and also, models got a break on the
clothes. Her wardrobe had improved enormously.

Finally, she felt the small plane start to descend. She had no problem with
flying on commercial jets--although flying with Harm at the controls was an
experience she had no intention of ever repeating- -but was not comfortable
in smaller commuter planes. She'd be happy to get on the ground, the flight
from Phoenix had been bumpy, and all the coffee she had drunk that day was
making her nauseous.

As she walked into the terminal carrying her hang up bag and briefcase, Harm
was easy to spot. As usual, he was the tallest person in the area. Must be
nice to hardly ever have to look up at anyone, she mussed.

"I thought you'd be in uniform." She wasn't sure if it was a question or an
accusation.

"No, why would I be?" There had been a general directive for years for
military personnel to avoid wearing uniforms on commercial flights whenever
possible, even more so since 9/11. She was wearing the same suit she'd worn
out to Minneapolis, but with a dark coral silk sweater and navy and coral
print scarf. Edwin had approved when she showed him the combination as far
better than what she had worn with it previously.

"You had that thing."

"I changed. I don't like being a target when I don't have to be."

"Why do you have on so much makeup? It's very...I don't know, girly."

She'd just had time to change her clothes before leaving the studio, and
hadn't bothered to wash off the make up they had applied for the
photographs. Since the last ones taken had been in evening wear, it was
perhaps more than she would have normally worn, but was by no means over
done or harsh.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "In case you haven't noticed, I AM a girl."

"Couldn't prove it by me," he called over his shoulder as he continued
walking towards the parking lot.

"You know, Harm, just when I think I may have been too hard on you, you say
something that makes me realize I wasn't after all."

The ride to the base was completed in silence.

They managed to finish the case without further personal conflict, but
neither was really feeling good about their relationship when they boarded
their flight back to DC.

The race through the rest of the fall continued, barreling on ahead to the
holidays. The period between Thanksgiving and New Years wasn't her favorite,
it never had been. When she was a child, the holidays and their ensuing
parties had been just another excuse for her father to drink too much, which
brought on more of the screaming matches and punches. Those necessitated
trips to the emergency room, where she was coached that "Mom fell down the
stairs/ran into a door/was in a car accident'. Now that she was an adult,
this family time of year simply underscored her own lack.

She received an invitation to Porter Webb's Christmas Eve bash, a lavish
black tie party she had been throwing for years. She might as well plan on
going; there wasn't anything else for her to do this year.

Bud and Harriet were flying to Florida with the boys for Jimmy's first
Thanksgiving. Harriet's father had a heart attack in September, shortly
before Jimmy's birth, and so far her parents hadn't been able to travel to
see the baby. Mr. Sims had needed coronary bypass surgery, and the ensuing
recovery had been complicated by a post op infection.

They would have a houseful with hopefully all the grandparents and Mike for
Christmas, so didn't plan on any entertaining other than family. Harriet had
been extremely busy with the USO show she had been roped into working on. It
was a lot to ask of a new mom barely back in the office, but she seemed to
be handling it like a trooper. Other than a quick stop to see her godchild
and his baby brother on Christmas afternoon or evening, Mac likely would be
spending the day
alone.

Chloe was loving her new home in Hawaii. After many years of sea duty, her
father had put in for a shore billet and was assigned to an office job in
Pearl Harbor. Chloe's emails and phone calls kept Mac up to date with her
new friends, new school and the excitement of living somewhere so different
from Vermont. Her grandparents would be going out to spend the holidays with
their son and grand-daughter. While they missed Chloe's presence in their
daily lives, and she missed them, they knew this would likely be the last
time Kyle and Chloe had a chance to live together, for him to be a full time
father. In a few years, she would be off to college.

As for Harm, she doubted he would want to see her. Things were okay, they
seemed to get over the bumps in the road, but he didn't seem to want
anything to do with her outside of the office. He seemed a little closed off
and secretive, she assumed there was a new woman in his life.

Traditionally, she went to see Uncle Matt the weekend before Christmas. He
felt visits on the day itself were too sad and stressful, and asked that she
not come. She'd likely do the same this year. When possible, she tried to
fly out every two months or so, it wasn't always feasible with her work
schedule. Usually, she flew out early Saturday and returned late Sunday.
Other than the Admiral and Harm--and Webb, of course--no one knew that
Matthew O'Hara, Marine hero and notorious abductor of the Declaration of
Independence, was her uncle.

When Edwin had called to say Allen had meetings in New York with some NGO's
he consulted for the week of Thanksgiving, and urged her to come up, she
didn't think twice. Eating a turkey lean cuisine or offering to be senior
duty officer at JAG, or taking a few days to visit with her favorite people?
It was a no brainer. Let the Lt. Commander who took Manetti's place take
duty that day. The office was officially 'open' on Friday, but no new
business was transacted, and court was not in session.

She flew into Laguardia, taking the next to last scheduled shuttle of the
day, and grabbed the Grey Line mini bus into the city. It was a convenient
way to get right to the hotel, although sometimes there was a bit of a wait
for one going in the right direction. Fortunately, she didn't have to that
night; it was pretty chilly standing in front of the terminal

Edwin had made reservations for a room that adjoined the suite he and Allen
were in for their longer stay. Since most of the organizations Allen was
working with were not US based, they would have regular business day's
Friday. She and Edwin would be free to 'play.'

The Admiral gave her the day not charged as leave. Most of the senior staff
wouldn't be in anyway. If a crisis came up, she could be back on the shuttle
in a matter of a couple of hours. She'd brought along her laptop since the
hotel had connections, and some of the ever present files that needed to be
closed out. At the rate things seemed to be going, she figured she'd finally
be caught up about six months after they buried her.

It was nice to get away again. Other than the Admiral, and Jen who had all
the emergency contact numbers, no one knew where she was going. She packed
some nice clothes, it was a relief to get out of uniform for a few days.
Maybe she could even get some shopping done.
Edwin was an inveterate bargain hunter, and she would bet anything that he
had some new places to take her that were "Just the best, my dear, THE
best!" As soon as she hung her coat in the closet, she knocked on the
adjoining door. It opened with Edwin's usual flourish.

"Sweetheart! I'm so glad you could come!" Despite the late hour, Edwin was
still dressed.

"I'm glad I could get away. Hopefully, nothing will make me to have to go
back before Sunday."

"That would be a shame. Allen got tickets for the Met on Saturday night. "Le
Nozze de Figaro!" The Met is the best, even if it's something you've seen
before." Mac remembered the first time she'd really seen an opera, a student
production at college. She'd read the libretto prior to attending, and found
that even a less than stellar performance was fascinating, and the music
beautiful, even if she didn't know what they were singing about. They
stories weren't that hard to follow, and even without knowing every word,
the emotions came through in the evocative score.

Mac shook her head. "I could use a dose of humor and a glimpse at love lives
more complicated than mine!" The Mozart opera was comic and silly, but
always fun.

"Still no joy with Commander Cutiepie?" Edwin assessed her mood easily.

"Oh, Edwin, I don't want to spoil the weekend. Let's just say I'm not
exactly sure we're even friends any more." She sighed as she plopped down on
a sofa in the suite's living area.

She told him about the magazine shoot, and Harm's comments. "Well, my dear,
if he didn't care, and didn't notice, he wouldn't have said anything." He
was matter of fact. Since the sailor was very obviously heterosexual, the
fact that he noticed how much makeup she was wearing was probably
significant. Since Sarah could be such a woman sometimes, she wasn't aware
of it.

"What I don't understand is why he has to be so cutting all the time. It's
like he expects me to look like a nun, or his interpretation of a 'good
little Marine." She sighed deeply. "Heck, even with the evening make up I
had on, I wasn't wearing half as much as that lip gloss queen video producer
he used to date. She probably kept Smashbox and Benefit in business
singlehandedly!"

"Maybe he didn't care who lusted after the video producer?" Edwin was pretty
sure the Commander's relationship with the blond and Sarah's with the Aussie
had 'substitute' written all over them, but what he couldn't figure out was
why.

"Oh, right! I'm supposed to live my life alone because I've screwed up too
badly to warrant attention from any man who's decent and ...."

Edwin could tell she was getting wound up. "Actually, Sarah, I don't think
that's the case at all. I think your Commander is flat out jealous whenever
a man pays any attention to you." He figured in for a penny, in for a pound.
She hadn't managed to figure this out for herself in a number of years, so
he might as well flat out tell her.

"Well, then why doesn't he DO something about it?" There was confusion on
her face and frustration in her voice.

"That's my question too, my dear. Maybe he needs a nudge?" As unlikely as it
might sound, perhaps this guy wasn't all that sure with women. Some good
looking men weren't, they'd had things handed to them on a silver platter
for so long that when it really mattered, they didn't know what to do.

"Oh, no, Edwin! I nudged once, ended up with my heart broken and and
engagement ring from the wrong guy.' That night in Sydney still lived in her
nightmares. She regretted hurting Mic, but knew in the end a marriage
between them never would have worked, she wanted him for all the wrong
reasons. He was a decent guy, and he had deserved better.

"Well, this time, maybe you need to be a little more subtle." He was pacing
the room, thinking and planning.

"Oh, and how do I do that?"

"You keep him on his toes. You play games. You do what women had been doing
to get men to chase them for centuries." Did no one but him ever teach this
woman anything that mattered?

"That's immature and dishonest," she stated as she crossed her arms over her
chest with the classic closed minded body language.

"Listen, Sweetie, do you want honesty, integrity and a cold, lonely bed, or
a warm, cuddly Commander as the father of your kiddies? Because what you've
been doing for seven plus years had obviously gotten you nowhere." Edwin
could out-stubborn a terrier if he had to.

Mac gave a big sigh. She knew what Edwin was suggesting was an option, but
it wasn't one she was going to take. Yes, she could probably seduce Harm
into her bed if that was what she wanted. When it came down to it, he had a
"Y" chromosome, and most men were hard wired a certain way.

From what she saw, he was no exception. Harm had certainly had his share of
women, probably many more than she was aware of. They were always throwing
themselves at him, although he tried to downplay it when he was with her,
out of respect for her feelings she supposed.

"No, Edwin. I've decided on a different approach." It had taken a lot of
sleepless nights spent tossing and turning in her bed. Her cold, lonely bed,
as Edwin had been so kind to point out, not that she'd needed reminding.
Maybe she should get a cat?

"What's that?" Knowing her as well as he did, he had a feeling that he
wasn't going to particularly like what she was thinking of.

"I've stopped dreaming." She said it matter of factly, but with a challenge
in her eyes.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Harm, no Harm, I don't care anymore. I mean, I do, but it's too
complicated, and all I really want is to be happy. So, I'm trying to find
out what will do that. If he's supposed to be part of the
picture, he will be. If not, well, that's okay too." She was a little out of
breath when she finished.

"I get the idea this is about more than just your love life."

"It is. It's time I took control of my life, instead of just letting it
happen to me. I'm putting together a five year plan, and at the end of it, I
think I may come close to content." She said this almost defiantly, as if
daring him to challenge her. Then more softly, "Which is a lot more than
most people have."

Edwin knew more than anyone else that where Sarah MacKenzie found herself
today was different than where she had imagined herself when he first knew
her. The young woman who hated her Marine father with the vitriol of the
damned would have likely spit in the eye of anyone who suggested she follow
in his footsteps.

He knew there was more to this than just a vague discontent, and vowed to
get to the bottom of it. But it was late, and he didn't think anything would
be accomplished by flogging it tonight.

"Look, Allen won't be back for another hour or so, but I'm exhausted and I'm
sure you are too. He'll likely want to prattle about this stupid dinner I
was smart enough to avoid when he gets back, so I?d better be good and sound
asleep before he gets here."

Mac agreed she wouldn't mind an early night. She planned to get up very
early and go out among the gathered crowds on the sidewalks waiting for the
parade to start the next day. She'd come back for the actual event, watching
from the hotel window with her two friends. Well, she and Edwin would watch,
Allen would probably watch CNN or read the Times. The Macy's Thanksgiving
parade was likely not his thing.

He walked over to the sofa to give her a hug good night. "Well, Sweetie,
just remember the five year plans didn't do much for Stalin or Mao. But
you're smarter and cuter than they are, so maybe there's hope."

"As long as there's life, Edwin, as long as there's life."

After a decent night's sleep, she enjoyed her early morning walk among the
throngs lining the parade route. The parents and kids made a noisy spectacle
as they waited for the day?s festivities to start. The air was brisk, and
smelled of coffee, fall, and bagels, she wasn't sure in what order.

Watching the parade was fun, the late afternoon dinner at Tavern on the
Green was elegant. Later, after a game of chess on the portable set he
always carried, she and Allen chatted while Edwin took a nap. He said he was
gearing up for the next day of power shopping.

They debated differing points of view about the wars in both Iraq and
Afghanistan, finding themselves in agreement on most points.

"It never fails to surprise me how being in the military for so many years
hasn't managed to curb your views much."

"Well, they don't tell me I can't have opinions just that I can't voice some
of them in a public forum and be identified as a military officer." she
brushed an errant lock of hair back from her cheek.

"But you'll still argue them."

"Like this, yes, with you." She sighed. Sometimes she wondered where her
ideals and dreams had gone. "But then, I'm a trial lawyer, I can argue the
opposite point equally well. I do what I'm ordered to do, provided the
orders are lawful."


"In some ways, that sounds like conciliation from the 'change the world
Sarah' I used to know."

"She hasn't changed as much as you think she has, Allen. She just plays her
cards closer to her chest."

"And how is she going to play her cards for the next twenty years? Do you
plan to be a Marine general, or are you going to bail soon while you still
can?"

"Four years from next June 12, I'm gone."

"What's that, twenty years and a day?" Having been a career civil servant
before embarking on academia, Allen was well aware of the attraction of
staying in the military for the pension that started after twenty years, no
matter what the member's age at retirement. While not as generous as some
would suppose, it would give some measure of security while beginning a new
career.

"Exactly. I figure I've done what I've done this long, I can take it a
little longer. You know why I ended up in the Marines in the first place."

He nodded his head in understanding.

"I never intended to stay beyond three and a half years once I got my
commission. Then the offer to go to law school came up, I owed them three
years more after that. I went to Bosnia right after and really felt like I
was doing something."

She shook her head, he couldn't tell if it was in regret, anger or sorrow.
Her work as one of the legal experts during the investigation of Serbian war
crimes had been shocking, but he knew she still felt it was one of the most
worthwhile things she'd ever done. Her years of tutelage under his thumb in
Minnesota had helped, as had her familiarity with the language, though when
she went, she had been by no means fluent.

"Now, I don't know if it's how I want to spend the rest of my life, at least
the parts I can contemplate. I'd like to know where I'm going to be from one
day to the next. Maybe buy a house I know I can live in for the next ten
years, get a dog again. Poor Jingo, at least he got to live out the rest of
his doggie days chasing horses with Chloe."

The fifteen year old pooch had gone to his doggie reward in his sleep a year
ago. She'd been away on the Seahawk replacing Singer, she hadn't even been
able to help her little sister bury her own dog. She wanted a life, dammit!

"What about a family?"

"What about one?"

He cocked an eyebrow, and she smiled. It was a completely 'Edwin' gesture
and looked out of place on Allen.


"I'll be forty-two by then, not likely to happen. At my age, I've got more
of a chance of being struck by lightening than I have of getting married and
having kids."

"You'd be a great mother."

"Maybe. Not that I ever had much of an example." She chuckled. "Except
Edwin. He can out mother hen any yenta."

Allen grinned in return. "Don't sell yourself short, Sarah. You're a
beautiful, charming, accomplished and intelligent woman."

He paused when she shook her head in denial.

"You are. Lots of men would be happy to have someone like you in their
lives."

"Older men, with grown kids by wife number one or two, maybe. I'm way too
bitchy to go the trophy wife route. I doubt I could gaze adoringly and
everything else that's required to go with the role."

As a feminist, she'd always harbored a special resentment towards older,
successful men whose wives got younger as they got greyer, like it was a
comment on their virility to attract a beautiful, younger woman. Most of the
time, what it took was money and power. You didn't see many guys driving
fifteen year old VW's who had bombshells half their age on their arms.

"I'm sure younger men find you charming as well."

"Maybe. But I'm almost 37, Allen. I haven't found Mr. Right as yet, and I
don't think I'm going to in time for the 2.3 rug-rats, SUV and soccer
league."

Allen had his doubts about her not having found Mr. Right, Mr. Right was
just seemingly oblivious. He might not be as much of a born romantic as his
partner, but he had eyes and ears.

"Which is what you really want." It was more a statement than a question.

"In the immortal words of Mick and Keith, we can't always get what we want."

After a hearty room service breakfast and sending Allen off to his round of
meetings at various UN missions with his NGO pals, Edwin and Mac took off
for a shopping spree.

They hit all the biggies, Bergdorf's, Barney's, the name boutiques on Fifth
Avenue, Trump Tower and Tiffany's. As always, the array of goods was both
fascinating and daunting. When Mac still hadn't bought anything except
Yankee's jerseys for her godson and his brother by the time they stopped at
a small cafe for lunch, Edwin became concerned.

"Okay, this is completely unlike you. Now, what gives?"

"I don't want to spend the money on things I don't need, Edwin. I wear a
uniform day in and day out. My social life is nil. I have exactly one party
to go to over the holidays, and I have a perfectly nice black and fuchsia
suit I bought a few years ago to wear." She remembered the only time she'd
worn it, Christmas Eve two years ago. Oh, well, the people she would see at
Mrs. Webb's weren't the same, and it didn't matter anyway.

"Since when does that matter when it comes to clothes? Besides, while you're
not exactly a titan of commerce, I know how well you did in the tech market
because I was the one who told you what to buy and sell, and more important,
when to get out."

"That's long term money, it's not for clothes, jewelry, or any other silly,
frivolous thing. I'm going to need that to buy a house."

"You're buying a house! Darling girl, why didn't you tell me! We can have
such fun doing it up!" He thought for a second, and before she could get a
word in continued, "I'm thinking country French, it uses strong colors! With
a Provencal bent, yellow, bright blue and red. Lots and lots of Pierre Deux
fabrics and old pine."

By putting up her hand, palm outward, she finally managed to stop him. "I'm
not buying a house now Edwin. I'll stay in my place for the time being,
unless the rent skyrockets. I want to start looking in a couple of years,
and since I only have my income, I'll need a large down payment to get
something decent."

"Oh, things could be different in a couple of years. I understand your
reticence about using savings, but certainly you have some income you don't
use for everyday expenses and investments?"

"I do, but I've decided to try to save more."

Edwin knew that she'd saved a decent part of her income since she started
doing more that merely surviving when in college. He had a feeling this
wasn't all there was to the story. Since he'd been her unofficial
stockbroker, he also had a pretty good idea that she had more than enough
for a down payment on a home even in DC, unless her taste was more
extravagant than he remembered.

"Why? Not that I don't applaud frugality, but what's driving you?"

She knew he'd get it out of her sooner or later, so she finally gave in.

"When I leave the Corps in a little over four years, I want to adopt a
child. If I have a tidy nest egg, coupled with my military retirement, I
might be able to be a stay at home mom for a few
years." She took a deep breath. "With my lifestyle, I don't think any
reputable agency would allow me to adopt now, especially if I want a very
young child. As it is, I know I'll have to go outside the US."

"Okay, I can understand that. Why do you feel that you want to adopt rather
than have a child of your own?"

As much as he wanted to tell her to slow down, he knew she needed this
mentally at the moment. Sarah had been brittle to the point of breaking a
month earlier, and if planning out her life in advance brought her some
measure of peace, he wasn't going to burst her bubble. However, in his
experience, plans like this often times fell apart at the first personal
crisis.

"I could have a child of my own, maybe. But I could also spend a lot of
money and not get anything in return."

She was matter of fact, like this was simply a practical matter with no
emotions attached, instead of something that he knew was must be tearing her
up. The one thing she had always expressed was a desire for a home and
family of her own, the old fashioned kind.

"I don't follow."

"In vitro fertilization. It's expensive, and it doesn't always work."

"Well, although it's not my bag, I hear most men and women go about it the
old fashioned way."

"I don't want to bring another single parent child into the world. Some
women do, and that's their right. I always felt that if I bore a child, I'd
want to be married."

"Alright, maybe a little old fashioned, but not a ridiculous premise." He
added, "You'd still be a single parent."

"Adoption is different, I can give a decent life to a child who might
otherwise grow up in horrific circumstances. Maybe it's selfish of me to
want a very young child, a baby, really, when there are so many older kids
who need homes. But, well, I really want to be there for the firsts, you
know?" Her face shown with longing. If ever a person was born to parent a
child, Sarah MacKenzie was. "I don't think it's selfish. You are allowed to
have some desires that get fulfilled you know."

She just looked across the table at him, her eyes unreadably sad. "It's not
what I really want, but I can probably have it. So, I'll settle, and that
won't be so bad."

"Sweetheart, just promise me one thing?" He reached across and covered her
hand with his.

"What?"

"Don't get so fixated on this that you stop giving life a chance."

"It's had lots of chances, Edwin. I think it's pretty much run out."

The rest of the weekend past in a blur of shopping, shows and restaurants.
Edwin finally convinced Mac to visit some of the more upmarket resale shops
where she invested in a vintage Versace leather jacket, adorned with
numerous zippers and chains, sort of a very, very chic and elegant
motorcycle look. He talked her into some well fitted slacks and a few silk
blouses, pointing out that the prices for the quality involved were a steal.

They both also fell in love with a crimson silk satin cocktail dress
reminiscent of the Dior "New Look" of the late 1940's, whose tightly fitted
waist and full skirt made the most of her figure. They both agreed that it
would be spectacular at the Met on Saturday night, rather than the rather
ordinary black wool crepe dress she had brought. Allen surprised her by
borrowing ruby and diamond chandelier earrings from a jeweler friend for
her. She said she felt just like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman."

By the time she got back to her apartment Sunday afternoon after a late
brunch and crowded shuttle, she almost felt human again. In addition to the
clothes, she managed to buy most of her Christmas gifts, even one for Harm.

Usually, his was the most fun to buy, but this year she just didn't know. At
the gift store in the Museum of Natural History, she found something that
was perfect, a paperweight made from a fossil found near Red Rock Mesa. It
was set in a base of silver, nicely worked in a Native American design but
not gaudy. Maybe it might go some distance to bridging the gap between them,
or maybe not. It was probably too sentimental, but maybe he would just chalk
it up to her
being a dinosaur freak.


The days and weeks drifted by, soon it was nearing Christmas. She and Harm
investigated a case of an accidental death on a destroyer, the USS
Gilchrist. As was their habit, they disagreed about the investigation, the
culpability of the defendant, just about every aspect of the case. Even now,
several weeks later, no matter his apology, Harm's angry words in court
still stuck in her memory. Superficially, she tried to pretend she was past
it, but it was one more chink in her very fragile armor.

Mac was surprised one night to find Harm at her apartment door, and even
more shocked when she learned what he came to ask her. By the time he
stormed out, she barely had focused on what he had to say regarding the
young girl he had apparently taken under his wing. To say the least, the
whole conversation had been unexpected, almost surreal. It did little but
underscore to her how far apart they still were from the pair that had been
almost joined at the hip in Afghanistan.

When she showed up at family court, she could tell by the look on Harm's
face that he half expected her to say something that would sabotage his
chances of getting Mattie. After she finished testifying, it was obvious
what she said were things he didn't expect to ever hear from her. At the
time, she could only wish it had done more good.

In her checked childhood, she'd known several kids who were products of the
foster care system. While there were some fabulous foster families, there
were also some that were less than ideal. Mattie sounded like a kid from a
relatively normal and stable back round at least until the death of her
mother. Mac couldn't help but feel that throwing her into the child welfare
bureaucracy was not going to be a plus.

Reading between the lines, she had a feeling that some adults in Mattie's
home town had been aware of her situation and had more or less kept an eye
on her when her father left town and she refused to live with relatives. It
sounded like the kind of place where people knew and cared about each
other's situations.

All things considered, if Mattie hadn't lost the small airport, it might
have been better to leave well enough alone. Harm's heart had been in the
right place, but with the return of Mr. Johnson, the case had been
complicated further than it already was.

Mac knew her colleague's drive to be given guardianship was completely
innocent; however, the courts were going to take a long, hard look at an
unrelated forty year old bachelor who wanted to take responsibility for a
fifteen year old female. She also knew Harm well enough to know that he
thought of Mattie as a little girl, not a young woman with all the problems
inherent in the turbulent teenage years. Mac was sure he didn't equate
Mattie to the headstrong kid a scant year older who had hared off to
Southeast Asia to look for his missing father.

After the court hearing, he introduced them. Mac's heart went out to the
two. If someone had tried to do as much for her when Deanna MacKenzie left
her alone with Joe at the same age, maybe she wouldn't have made some of the
mistakes she made early in life that haunted her to this day. This wasn't a
situation that seemed to have any good resolution, but she determined to try
to find out if there was any way to solve the dilemma.

She found her opening on Christmas Eve after the church service. In some
ways, she'd felt Chaplain Turner had been preaching directly to her. No
matter how the personal relationship between them had deteriorated, she knew
in her heart she still loved Harm, and wanted to try to make this work for
him. That his feelings for her weren't the same was her fault, not his.

Tom Johnson wasn't the ogre many might have imagined, just a confused, weary
man who didn't have his life in order. Mac opened up to him, told him what
her life with an out of control alcoholic father had been like at his
daughter's age. She sugarcoated nothing, her own drinking, her too young
marriage to Chris on her eighteenth birthday for all the wrong reasons,
Eddies' death, and finally Uncle Matt's salvation. She asked if he wanted to
risk Mattie growing up in the same circumstances, merely to salve to his
wounded pride. After a few minutes thought, he said no. Then she asked if he
couldn't see his way clear to giving Mattie a chance to have a relationship
with someone who had nothing but her best interests at heart, and was
capable of seeing that through at this time in her life.

By the time they were done, Mac had agreed to help Mr. Johnson get into an
alcohol rehab program she knew well, having done some pro bono work for the
non-profit group that ran it. She was also acquainted with the husband of
the judge, so she risked judicial wrath in a Christmas eve phone call to
their home.

The Judge agreed that if Mr. Johnson dropped his contest, she would agree to
Harm's petition for guardianship. Mac had pointed out the obvious economic
and bureaucratic advantages. The family courts and DCFS system were
overwhelmed to begin with. There was a responsible party who had been
thoroughly vetted who was willing to take legal and financial responsibility
for the girl. Her father no longer had objections. It was pretty much a
win/win/win situation.

Mac would have liked nothing better than to join Harm and his new charge for
their Christmas eve celebrations after she drove Mattie to the Wall, but
unfortunately, she had a prior obligation. Long before, she had agreed to be
Webb's escort at his mother's monster Christmas Eve bash. There was no way
for her to back out at the last minute. As it was, she was over two hours
late when she finally arrived.

In a fit of pique, instead of dressing in the suit or the dress she'd bought
in New York with Edwin, either of which would have been appropriate, she
opted for the simple black wool crepe she'd packed but hadn't worn. There
was nothing wrong with the dress; it was simple, expensive and elegant, one
of those classy but forgettable numbers that could be worn for years because
it was so unmemorable. It was suitable for anything from serious business to
funerals to black tie with the right accessories. It made her feel
invisible, which somehow suited her mood that night. She didn't want to be
there. For that matter, she didn't want to be home either. It was a night
she just wanted to be over.

Although the mansion was beautifully decorated and shined with Christmas
cheer, it felt sterile and empty to her. The hundred or more guests were the
power elite of the city, movers and shakers of commerce and industry,
diplomacy and judiciary, military and intelligentsia. Most politicians had
gone home to their districts for the holidays, so there were few of them
represented, other than those that represented neighboring Virginia and
Maryland.

Clay was a considerate escort, but she had no compunction in pleading early
morning duty when he invited her back to his townhouse for a nightcap. She
had no intention of allowing their relationship to progress to a more
intimate level than it had already. He was a nice man, not one she would
necessarily trust, but one who would make an admirable husband for someone
who wanted his type. She didn't, and never would.

Since she had no where to be, she had volunteered to take Christmas duty
officer at headquarters. Normally, the senior duty officer slot would be
filled by the most junior lieutenant commander on the roster. The idea of
sitting alone in her apartment had so depressed her, she decided to pencil
herself in when the duty roster was being made up.

The only other people in the building were the skeleton staff in the com
center, a couple of clerks, and the most junior lieutenant jg, just out of
justice school in Newport. During a lull during the day, she found out just
prior to leaving the school, he'd run into Jason Tiner. Jason was processing
in, straight from OCS. She'd received an invitation to his commissioning,
but hadn't been able to attend. The Admiral had personally pinned on his
ensign's stripes.

With the combat situations in Iraq and Afghanistan, there was enough work to
at least keep them busy for most of the day, although not overwhelmed.
Nothing earthshaking happened, just calls needing decisions and
verifications that couldn't be made on site. A mishap aboard the Teddy,
nearing New Zealand, ruined the Christmas of a young JAG lieutenant at
Pearl. He needed to be airborne quickly to meet the COD in Auckland the next
day to look into the situation. Even on Christmas, the military didn't rest.
She managed to get through some long neglected paperwork, a chore that never
ended.

By the time her DO shift was done at 1800 and the night duty officer
arrived, she was happy head out. After a short visit with the Robert's clan,
which she was surprised to see included Jennifer Coates, she headed home.
After warming up some soup she'd made a few days before, she phoned Chloe
and spoke at length. The young girl was thrilled with the novelty of
spending Christmas morning at the beach with her father and grandparents.
They were getting ready to attend a Christmas night luau at a beach-front
hotel. She sounded upbeat and happy.

Sarah looked around her apartment, wondering what possessed her to put up a
live tree and other decorations. Except for the visit by Harm the night he
asked her to vouch for him in court, no one else would see it. She supposed
it stemmed from so many of her childhood holidays being barren days like any
other that thrust the need on her to do something special, even if it was
destined to be enjoyed solo.

Webb had asked her out New Year's Eve, with the caveat if he were in town
attached, but she begged off. It had never been her favorite night, the
celebrations seemed too raucous and forced somehow. If she were home, she'd
find herself a good book, and see the year in cozily tucked in her bed. With
any luck, she'd find herself out of town on an investigation, and it would
be 2004 by the time she returned.

As luck would have it, she was called out of town on the 27th, and didn't
return until January 4th. There was a complaint of sexual harassment in one
of the pilot training units. This was something hat could have blown up in
the press, it being about the Navy's best and brightest. The fact that the
nation was at war only made the situation more volatile.

She had another female JAG officer with her, a specialist in the issue who
was attached to the IG's office. Lt. Commander Marylou Ellington also had an
MS in clinical psychology.

A female student felt she was being harassed by male classmates. What made
the case more difficult was that there was a great deal of ribbing and
riding inherent in the flight school culture to begin with. It was almost
impossible to tell if her sex was the issue, or it was her lack of a sense
of humor. They young Ensign had to be one of the most uptight and ridged
people Mac ever met. She made the late Lt. Singer look like someone who bent
in the breeze.

Certainly none of the pranks that had been played on Ensign Miller had
sexual overtones, and many similar ones had been played on her male
classmates. It was a tough call. She was the only woman in that particular
class, though not the only one attending. The twenty-two year old officer
obviously felt harassed, but the two senior and older women didn't think it
had anything to do with her sex. It seemed likely it was more a result of
her humorless personality.

In the end, they decided to err on the side of caution, and rule there was
not enough evidence to take the case farther. It didn't make any sense to
ruin someone's career over a charge that would be difficult if not
impossible to prosecute in any case. The class was due to finish soon, the
supposed harassment had not hindered the Ensign's progress, she was in the
middle of the pack. Her primary flight instructor was female, and said that
Miller was solidly average as an aviator. Good enough to get the job done,
but not the natural flyer that comes along every so often.

They advised the Commander responsible for the training group to tell the
students to cut down on the horseplay, and told the complaint-ant she might
want to learn to lighten up a little. In Mac's judgment, no matter what the
regs said, it was far easier to learn to bend a little if you were going to
move forward in any career, especially one that was still male dominated.

She would never condone sexual harassment, but this didn't seem to even
border on it. The pranks and practical jokes were just some of the same
silly stuff and gallows humor that got people through the tough times.
Flight school was a year of intense pressure, and the jokes were just a way
to lighten things up. That Alana Miller took them so poorly just made her an
irresistible target of opportunity.

With 20/20 hindsight, Mac knew she had coped a lot better in Afghanistan
when she had been willing to joke around and laugh at some of the
absurdities than she had in Bosnia years before. In her first non-office
assignment after law school, she'd been seriously affected by the plight of
the people. Admittedly, being a military legal adviser to the humanitarian
groups looking into war crimes had been a horrendous assignment. The horrors
had been real. At the time, she was certain if she wasn't 100% by the book,
she'd never be taken seriously. It hadn't helped her much, and in the end,
she had no one to talk things through with. All things considered, she
really hadn't been a lot more open when she came to Headquarters a couple
years later. It had taken her budding friendships with her co-workers,
especially with Harm, to break through her shell.

Mac was somewhat startled to have the Admiral call her into his office on a
personal matter her first morning back. Meredith's diamond had come lose
from her it's setting, and someone had informed her that it might be stolen
or otherwise suspect. Frankly, from the little she knew of diamonds from her
crash course before Paraguay, she thought the slightly ditsy professor's
friend was jumping to conclusions.

Not all that high a percentage of the world's diamonds were given
distinctive markings, although a significant proportion of the better stones
were. This one was flawless, as clear as a mountain stream. It had obviously
been expensive. While it was curious that it hadn't been marked, it could
have been a stone from an antique ring that was reset, or one that had been
re-cut for some reason. Not all unmarked diamonds, not even the fine ones,
were stolen, so called 'conflict
diamonds,' or somehow related to terrorism.

On a whim, she decided to ask Agent Van Dyne at CIA what he thought, while
not giving him any details as to where the stone had come from. For some
reason, she got very strange vibes from him. She didn't know why, but he
seemed overly curious as to the stones provenance, though she took pains to
keep it to herself.

When the Admiral began poking around and they found out that the diamonds
were actually man made stones, meant for a top secret Naval research
project, they stirred up a hornets next. Van Dyne disappeared, and Lt.
Marvalis was convicted of stealing the stones. At least he had the grace to
plead it out in the end.

She was happy for purely personal reasons. Sometimes trying cases against
Harm was just too draining. She vastly preferred when they were on the same
side, although in this one, he hadn't fought too hard. They both knew his
client was guilty; the only thing Harm could fight for was the lightest
sentence possible. Later that evening, while she was trying to decide which
new mystery novel to delve into, the phone rang.

"Hey." The familiar voice was soft and calm, so unlike his impassioned
courtroom demeanor.

"Hey, Harm. What's up?" He almost never called her for no reason any more.

"I owe you dinner, I was wondering where and when you want to collect."

To say she was surprised was an understatement. That he would revive their
age old "loser buys dinner at the place of the winner's choice" bet was a
shock. It took her a couple of seconds to get her bearings. Naturally, he
mistook her silence.

"Hey, it was just an idea. I mean, if you...."

"No, no, you just surprised me, that's all. I...I'd love to, and you better
get your wallet out, because I'm in the mood for blue crabs, and you know
how many of them I can eat!" At this time of year, the supply was limited
and expensive.

He chuckled, remembering her enthusiasm for the crustaceans. "I remember
well. You're lethal with that mallet."

"Bet your life I am. I want to make sure they're good and dead!"

They made plans to have dinner Friday evening at a restaurant they had been
to many times before in Laurel. Since it was closer to Headquarters than
either of their homes, they decided to change and leave right from work.
Mattie had an away volleyball game, and wouldn't be home before ten. Harm
would need his car to pick her up at the school when the athletic team bus
returned, so they agreed to drive separately.

It was a good thing that was the plan, since Mac's interviews at Quantico,
which she'd assumed would take a few morning hours, instead took almost all
day. She never did get to the office. At 1530 she called Harm from her cell
and told him she'd meet him at the restaurant. Unfortunately, a large manila
envelope had been couriered to her that day, and it lay amidst her mail and
messages on her desk. Would that she had known about it prior to their
dinner.

Just that morning, the Admiral had advised them to start brushing up on
their international law. It looked like the Secretary of the Navy, the State
Department and the Administration had lost their collective minds and were
going to allow a prosecution under the World Criminal Court. Secretary
Sheffield, for some unknown reason, was going to allow himself to be tried
for war crimes stemming from a bombardment of an Iraqi hospital.

Since the Iraqi army had used the hospital as a bunker, the prosecution on
the face of it, seemed ridiculous. However, since world opinion was against
the US, who with the exception of Britain and Poland had primarily gone it
alone in Iraq, they figured they'd have the deck stacked against them from
the start.

After their first bucket of crabs and pitcher of diet Coke, they started
arguing the merits of the case.

"Mac, are you sure your heart's in this one?" Harm looked at her with a
raised eyebrow.

"You want an honest answer?" She stared back at him, almost daring him to
say yes.

"Yes." Harm never backed down from a challenge.

"It's not. I don't think going in with world opinion against us was a good
idea."

He looked startled. Mac never ventured forth with political opinions. Being
aware of her academic background, he was sure she had them, but he never
remembered hearing her voice them before this.

"Harm, did you spend any time on the ground in the Balkans, or did you just
fly over them, drop your ordinance where they told you, and go back to the
carrier?"

"I landed once because of a bum engine at Tusla, but it only took a few
hours for the Zoomie mechanics to fix it. I didn't get out of the air base."
Although she almost never talked about it, Harm was aware that Mac had spent
a fair amount of time on the ground in the war torn region before they met.
He didn't imagine what she had done and seen was a pretty sight.

"One of the reasons, the main reason, that nation building has worked in
that area as well as it has is because the NATO nations, who were far more
affected than we were supported intervention and took part in it."

"So?" He looked at her with a measure of confusion. "It's not like we needed
anyone's help to get the job done."

"Harm, it's not always about who has the biggest military. Sometimes, you
need to wait and let the other guys save face."

"I guess you're more of an internationalist than I am." He shook his head.
"Hey, I'm just an aeronautical engineer who ended up a lawyer. I have
opinions, but they're not ones that affect what I can do or can't do." She
was sure there was a question in there somewhere.

"Hey, I can defend him, if it comes down to that. That's my job, or it will
be if they decide to go through with this. I could prosecute just as easily.
We take the side we're dealt and argue the heck out of it."

"But you don't think he's guilty of war crimes, do you?"

"No, I don't. But I don't know if this whole shebang couldn't have been
avoided with a little less of a big stick policy either." She took a drink
from her almost empty glass.

"Better be careful what you say. I'm an expert on that, remember?"

"There's nothing in the UCMJ that says I can't have opinions. I just have to
be careful where and when I state them. Since I'm out of uniform and
conducting a private conversation and merely stating a non-contemptuous
opinion, I don't think I have much to worry about."

"Yeah, well, I thought that when I told the cigar joke too." The server
brought their next order of crabs and a full pitcher of soft drink. They
proceeded to smack the little red crustaceans, laughing and getting messier
by the minute. Their conversation was effectively ended for the moment.

As they were wiping their hands with the wet cloths provided, a young woman
approached the table, a magazine in her hand. She looked at Mac, and pointed
to the cover, "It IS you! My God, you're gorgeous!"

Mac looked at her, dumbfounded.

The woman put the magazine on the table. There on the cover she was, dressed
in a vaguely military looking denim jacket with a Mandarin collar trimmed in
gold braid. She was laughing joyfully and giving a playful, British style
palm forward salute. The caption on the picture read "Marine Lt. Colonel
Sarah MacKenzie, One of Washington's 15 Most Eligible Women." It was the
Valentines Day issue, out earlier than she had expected.

Mac cringed. She had fervently hoped no one would see it. Never had she
expected to end up on the cover.

"God, Mac!" Harm sounded something close to disgusted as he glared at her.
"Isn't Webb enough, you have to go trolling for guys in magazines?"

She wished for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Unfortunately,
fate wasn't that accommodating.


Mac's face went white. The magazine holding woman was pushed out of the way
unceremoniously as she leaped to her feet, hand over her mouth. Her sprint
was in the direction of the ladies room. Fortunately, since she'd used it on
arriving at the restaurant, she knew where it was. She made it just in time
to loose $50.00 worth of blue crab down the toilet.

Harm wasted no time in following her, grabbing her purse as he left the
table. The young woman came along with him, startled by what had just
happened.

"Hey, I didn't mean to upset her! I just thought they were great pictures,
especially with her not being a professional model."

Harm stood staring at the closed door to the ladies room, before turning to
look at her. "Ah, I don't think you upset her. I think I did."

When would he remember to engage his brain before opening his mouth around
Mac? The whole thing came as a surprise. Mac had been extremely unhappy
about the Trial TV case she was forced into, and had a horror of publicity.
She almost never did interviews when a case brought media attention, she
either said 'no comment,' or pushed the interview off on co-counsel.

"Oh." The woman inclined her head toward the closed door. "Do you want me to
go in and see how she is?"

"That would be great." The waiter had seen their charge to the rear of the
place, and brought Harm the check he'd asked for just before Mac made her
dash. He took out his wallet, handed his credit card to the young man and
asked him to bring a glass of club soda, no ice when he returned. The waiter
and the club soda arrived back just as the magazine gal emerged from the
bathroom.

"She's okay, but she says you should go, she'll be fine to drive home." The
girl was obviously uncomfortable. She was shuffling her feet and looking
anywhere but at Harm.

"I'd like to see that for myself." Harm had a pretty good idea what was
making her uncomfortable.

"Ah, I don't think she's going to come out before you leave. She seems
pretty mad."

He was right. After seven years, reading Mac in this mood was a no brainer,
he'd had enough experience pissing her off. He heaved a sigh. Jesus, when
would he ever get it right? "Look, could you take this in to her, and just
ask her to call me when she gets home? Tell her I won't even pick up unless
she says it's okay, I just want to know she got there safely. Can you do
that?" He favored her with his most dazzling smile, the one that usually got
him what he asked for.
Only one woman had ever been completely immune to it. Unfortunately, she was
the one who mattered most.

Just as he intended, it worked. The young woman nodded, he handed her the
glass and Mac's handbag. It was getting very close to the time he had to
leave to pick up Mattie. There was no way he could be late and leave a 15
year old waiting at night in a parking lot, as much as he wanted to stay and
look after Mac and apologize. If she'd let him. Regretfully, he headed out
to his car to start for home.

Mac was grateful to see the young lady come back. She reached for the glass.
The woman placed Mac's purse down on the vanity.

"Ah, your friend, he said he, ah," she wasn't any more comfortable being the
go between with Mac. "Ah....well, he wants you to call him when you get
home. He, ah, knows you're mad, and he won't even pick up the phone unless
you say it's alright, he just wants to know you're home okay." She was speed
talking, trying to get the uncomfortable subject out and done with as
quickly as she could.

Mac nodded, and thanked the girl for her help.

Emboldened, the girl said, "If you don't mind me saying so, he's pretty
cute. How come you got involved with this magazine thing if you have a guy
like that?"

Mac looked away from her pale and wane reflection in the mirror, into the
young woman's eyes. "First, don't ever believe everything you read in the
press. Second, cute is as cute does. Third, don't join the military, taking
orders is a bitch."

The girl looked confused, then nodded, deciding Mac was being profound. She
left. Mac sighed.

Mac took the long way home, needing the drive to cool off. Why, why, why,
was Harm such a major pain in the ass? Things had been going well, probably
too well. That was their modus. As soon as things were going okay, something
arrived to screw them up. Of course, based on his 'pillow talk' comment
about Webb last fall, he probably thought she'd jumped in bed with
super-spook in Paraguay. Why the hell couldn't he ever give her the benefit
of the doubt?

She unconsciously banged one hand against the steering wheel as she drove.
At least since they had been in a public place, they couldn't really have a
knock down fight. Fortunately, he'd had to go and get Mattie, otherwise he
would have been haranguing her about stupid decisions and dumb moves she'd
made in the past.

Harm could never forget she wasn't pure as the driven snow, and never let
her forget her sordid past. Why else had he never had any trouble resisting
her? He seemed to manage to fall into bed with anything else in a skirt that
took his fancy momentarily. She guessed she should be flattered, as he once
told her. At least he valued her friendship enough not to just use her for
sex. It wasn't his fault that he didn't love her.

Finally arriving at her apartment building, she felt blessed to find a
parking spot near the door. After getting her uniform in its garment bag
from the trunk, she set the locks on the car and wearily climbed the stairs,
inside for the night, maybe the weekend. She was tired, she was depressed,
and she was disgusted. One more day, one less in the more than twelve
hundred she had left until she could have her life back on her own terms
again.

The light on the answering machine was blinking. Three messages. Webb, no
return number, not surprising. Who knows where he was, frankly, who cared?
Sounded like an international call. Chloe, reporting that she got asked out
on her first date. She sounded thrilled, scared and excited all at once. Mac
would email her before she went to bed and call tomorrow afternoon. Harm,
wanting to know if she was home yet. The time logged was three minutes ago.

She lifted the receiver and pushed one on the speed dial. Two rings, then a
breathless, "Hello?"

"Oh, Mattie. It's Mac, I ....."

No response, just a distant, "Harm, Colonel MacKenzie." Mac heard what
sounded like the handset being dropped on the tabletop, and Harm's voice in
the background.

More clearly now, "Mac....ah, I...."

"I'm home." She was ready to hang up, but his voice caught her just in time.

"I'm sorry."

Very unlike Harm. Admitting he was wrong or apologizing was not a Rabb
trait. "For what?" However, she wasn't sure she was going to give him an
easy out either. She was just so damned tired of all of it.

"For....being a jerk, I guess." He sounded sheepish. In her mind, she could
see him shuffling his feet and looking down.

"You guess?" It came out a little more harshly than intended.

"For being a really big jerk?" He held his breath waiting for her response.

"That might come close to covering it." She sounded grudging to her own
ears, but she wasn't in a charitable mood.

"It... I mean, I just ..... jeez, Mac, why?" Anyone familiar with Harm's
eloquence in court would be baffled by his complete lack of it in personal
conversations. Fortunately she'd had over seven years experience.

She thought for a moment, trying to think of something he could easily
understand. Finally, she hit on the perfect example. "Did you volunteer to
do the Video Princess' recruiting commercial?"

"Of course not! What's that got to do with......Oh." Somehow, he had no idea
how, she'd gotten ordered into it, and couldn't refuse.

"Yeah, oh. I got roped into it. Not my idea, I simply hoped it would pass
unnoticed." The tone of her voice left no doubt as to the truthfulness of
her words.

"Not much chance of that."

"No, not with my face on the cover."

"You didn't know about that part?" Harm had no idea how these things worked,
despite almost two years with Renee. The Video Princess-- since their
breakup, he'd often thought of her by Mac's scathing moniker, although he'd
never reveal to his partner how apt he considered it--thought any publicity
was good publicity. Most of the time when she'd talked about her work, he
tuned out.

He knew it didn't exactly make him a sensitive boyfriend, but the subject
seemed trivial and it bored him to tears. Too far out of his realm of
experience. He was pretty sure his flying and courtroom stories affected her
in the same way. Other than great sex and a few lighthearted outings, he
still couldn't understand why they'd stayed together as long as they had.
Well, yeah, if he was honest, he could. Mac and Bugme.

"Nope." Mac sat down on her bed. If they were going to talk, she might as
well get comfortable. "Most likely they decided one of the photos from the
15 layouts would be the cover shot, but they never know which one until they
see what fits."

"They can make pictures any size." Maybe he should have listened to Renee.
Nah. Mac was probably more succinct.

"There's more too it than just a picture size. It has to do with over all
composition. It's got to fit with the logo, the header, the color they want
to use, if any. Then there's the other text on the cover, and it still has
to be an asset to sell the book." She was actually surprised she remembered
the details. It wasn't something she'd thought of in years.

"How do you know all that?" She sounded like she new what she was talking
about, although for all he knew, she could have made it up on the spot.

"I did some modeling, local stuff in Minneapolis when I was in college."

"How come I never knew that?"

"I don't talk about it much, I guess." Truth be told, she never talked about
her past when she could avoid it. There was nothing in her time at UMinn
that she was ashamed of, actually she was proud of a lot of that time. She
graduated near the top of her class in less than four years, and done it
entirely on her own. Old habits were hard to break. In her quest to hide her
background before her eighteenth year, other things, good things, got hidden
too.

"Wow, over seven years, and I still learn new stuff." This was the last
thing he would have ever expected from Mac. She was deep down shy, although
it had taken him a while to understand that's where a lot of her prickles
came from. Well, that and a conversation he had with her Uncle Matt when
they were working on his court case.

"Yup, I'm a real woman of mystery, Flyboy."

As much as he would have liked to delve further into the conversation, he
thought he should try and lighten the mood. Besides, Mattie was glaring at
him from across the room. "Hey, so, am I out of the casa de bow wow?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe." She decided to cut him some slack and tease back.

"Come on. I'll make it worth your while."

"Yeah? How?"

"I'll take you to a really nice place I know in Amsterdam." Mattie glared
even harder, he hadn't had time to break the news of their trip yet. It
would likely be a fairly long one.

"Hey, I've heard of some of those places, buster!" She was certain Harm
wasn't referring to anything in Amsterdam's famed red light district, but
she decided she'd try to embarrass him just the same.

"You've got a dirty mind, Marine! I'll have you know, it's a place I've gone
to with dear old Mom." Somehow, he didn't think his sophisticated and
stylish mother would care for that label.

"Okay. You're out of the doghouse."

"Food always works with you."

"Ha!"

After a few more moments of conversation, they hung up, perhaps in a better
space than where they had started the evening.

For what ever reason, the Administration and the International Criminal
Court were each willing to let the purported war crimes case go to trial
expeditiously. As attorneys their advice would have been to stall for as
long as possible. Obviously this was a primarily political ploy by both
sides.

The war and reconstruction of Iraq were expensive; the US government didn't
want to foot the bill alone. It was their job to keep Secretary Sheffield
from bearing the brunt of the world's blame from behind bars.

To lesser extent, trying get at least the first world nations of Europe to
see things a little more the US's way would be nice, at least so they had
been informed by the Presidential advisor they met
with at the White House. If they did perhaps some additional funds from
there would start flowing, at least for humanitarian aid projects. Many of
the American taxpayers were not thrilled about footing the bill almost
alone, and it was an election year.

State was more worried about diplomatic fallout. It was hard to do the day
to day business they needed to accomplish with other nations when they were
all diplomatically ticked off at your government for basically, in the
vernacular, ?dissing? them.


Mac, Harm and Bud spent many evenings burning the midnight oil going through
trial prep. Fortunately, they'd gotten plenty of assistance from the legal
department at State. Unfortunately, it was all behind the scenes. They were
the ones hanging out to look like abject failures if the trial didn't end
with the right outcome. Not a lot of pressure. Right.

By the time they were ensconced with Secretary Sheffield and his aids in an
Air Force C-20 VIP transport, they had everything they could possibly
prepare done. Unfortunately, they had no access to the prosecutions
witnesses, or much of their discovery. They'd interviewed their own
witnesses, and thought the strike leader, a Navy Lieutenant Commander and
Marine Lieutenant whose troops had been pinned down would be good for their
side. Since they were pretty sure the prosecution would claim the entire
incursion was illegal to start with, thus all ensuing actions were as well,
they didn't know how it would all play out. The Secretary seemed to be
willing to take his chances, but they were far from sanguine about the case.
There were too many unknowns.

They would land a small Royal Dutch Air Force base just outside of
Amsterdam, and be met by Dutch police. The Secretary would be taken into
their custody, although he would not be jailed. Arrangements had been made
to house him in a suite at one of the government's VIP guest houses. They
would have access to him as needed.

The Embassy had made reservations for them to stay at the Hotel Des Indes, a
historic property close to the diplomatic and government areas. They would
be able to walk to court in the mornings; it was only a matter of a few
blocks. If the press attention got too bad, they had the option of riding,
since they would have the services of an Embassy car and driver. Much nicer
digs and perks than they were given for purely military cases. This one had
top level diplomacy
written all over it.

Mac had barely unpacked her suitcase and hung up her uniforms in the closet
when she heard Harm knock on the door that led to his room. They had
adjoining rooms with a small conference room between in case they needed to
conduct some meetings. Bud had a single room down the corridor. Technicians
from Embassy support had wired the conference room for computers and phones,
including secure links.

She went over and unlocked the door. The three rooms could be assigned
singly or in a block to a single party. Harm had already managed to change
out of his uniform and into sweats. She hadn't
gotten that far yet. It was 1452 local time, which was 0852 Washington.

They had flown all night, though the luxury of the Gulf Stream jet had kept
them from feeling too bad. They'd each managed a few hours sleep, although
as was his habit, Harm spent most of his time in the cockpit. He just didn't
trust anyone else's hands on the controls. Considering that Mac had never
had a problem in an airplane unless Harm had been flying it, she kind of
wondered at his logic.

The first few days of their stay would consist mostly of diplomatic
posturing with the court. Since they had arrived on a Saturday morning,
intentionally to cope with the jet lag and get settled in, they had a few
free days to work on further trial prep and meet with the legal people at
the Embassy. They dealt with the international court systems all the time,
and might have some useful pointers.

"Hey, Mac. There's a nice park down the street. Want to go run?" The weather
that day was bright and sunny, and markedly warmer than the unseasonable
temperatures they had left in frigid DC.

"It probably would be a good idea." She didn't remember the last time she'd
been for an outside run. She'd been making do with the treadmills at the
health club at Ft. Meyer. The cold and ice on the streets were just too much
to cope with. "I know if I just stay in the room, I'll succumb to the lure
of my bed, and then wake up in the middle of the night with my clock more
confused that when I started."

"I thought you always knew what time it was?" He threw her his cockiest
grin, the one that by turns always charmed and infuriated her.

"I do." She could be just as cocky when he needed taking down a peg. "I
meant my sleeping/awaking/eating clock. I do fine heading back to the US
from Europe, but coming over is tougher." She felt more tired and dragged
out than she had any right to from missing one night?s sleep, maybe it was
just getting older.

"I hear you. So, how about it?"

"Yeah, give me a few minutes to get changed and I'll be right with you." She
indicated her class A uniform, from which she'd only thus far removed her
jacket and shoes. "Do you think we should call Bud?"

Harm thought for a minute, then decided Bud might get more insulted if they
just went off and left him than if they invited him along. They obviously
knew running at a competitive level was not in Bud's inventory, not that it
had been even prior to his injury. He could choose to take a walk, run at
his own pace, or even sit on a bench and enjoy the air after being cooped up
in an airplane all night if he wanted.

"I'll call Bud, and be back in ten, okay?" Harm inclined his head toward his
own room.

"Sure."

Mac changed into running gear and sneakers. She really wanted a shower or
even better, a long hot bath, but she didn't think she'd be up for anything
but bed if she took one. After they ran, she'd have a nice long soak, using
some of the fancy bubbles she'd noticed in the bathroom. She wanted to try
to stay up until at least 2100 local to get on European time. They were
going to need to be in top mental condition once the trial stated, they were
dealing with completely
new territory here.

Just as she finished tying her left shoe, Harm reappeared. "Bud says he's up
for a nap, then he's going to do some research. He said to call him if we go
out to dinner; otherwise he's going to have an early night."

Mac chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Bud. He practically kissed me when I asked him if he wanted to be on the
defense team when he realized it meant a few weeks here. I figured he wasn't
going to want to be away from Harriet and the kids that long, but he was
real gung ho." She still had a smile Harm couldn't quiet figure out.

"I'm sure he was flattered that we wanted him. It's a high profile case,
it's going to look great on his resume if he ever gets out." Although he had
understood Bud's drive to get back to active duty, to feel normal, with the
restrictions that had been placed on him Harm wasn't sure Bud had made the
right move. Unless he got the limited duty restriction lifted, his career
was effectively ended. Bud had the makings of a good corporate lawyer, his
forte was paperwork and computer issues. He was competent in a courtroom,
but lacked the true killer instinct that made a great trial lawyer.

"Yeah, but that's not the reason.' She had a that Cheshire cat look that he
found both sexy and infuriating.

Harm looked puzzled so she continued, "Three weeks away from a screaming ,
colicky baby that still doesn't sleep through the night, and a jealous four
year old who is acting out and throwing tantrums. Harriet is livid, but she
thinks we really, really need him."

"Oops. Is it that bad?" Harm felt a little guilty that he hadn't been to
visit the Robert's much, he probably should have volunteered to take AJ on
an outing or something. On the other hand, he pretty much had his hands full
with Mattie right now.

"It's not great. I guess it's a self fulfilling prophecy, because the
crankier Jimmy is, the more they have to pay attention to him, so the madder
AJ gets."

She'd tried to be there when she could, taking their godson to the park and
kid movies. Lately she'd been away more than she'd been around. According to
Harriet, the visits with Grandma and Grandpa Sims hadn't helped matters.
They spoiled AJ rotten, so he was left with a sense of entitlement after
they were no longer around that his busy parents couldn't fulfill.

"Jeez, maybe I made the right move by starting out with one who's almost
ready to drive." Harm headed for the door that led to the corridor.

She responded softly and a little sadly as they closed the door and headed
toward the elevator, "Yeah, maybe you did."

When they came back to the hotel after their run, they found a message from
Bud saying he had gone to explore and would eat while he was out. Both
wanted an early night, so they agreed to just order some sandwiches and soup
from room service.

The waiter was surprisingly prompt, and set the food up on a small dining
table in Mac's room. They found a movie on TV, "Mansfield Park," probably
more to Mac's taste than Harm's but he didn't complain, since as he said at
least it was in English. There were cable stations from many European
countries available, plus the two major US all news networks.

When they were about half way done with dinner, the conversation, up until
that point about the trial, started to lag.

"So how did Mattie take the news that you were going to be away for two or
three weeks?" Mac decided that the girl was probably a safe subject.

"Not well." Harm heaved a sigh. "She's pretty ticked off right now. She has
a couple of volleyball games I said I'd try to get to that I'm going to
miss." He looked guilty.

"It's not like you had a lot of choice" Her tone was matter of fact. "I
mean, we had to take the case."

"Did we? I didn't even think of a reason not to take it. Mattie didn't even
cross my mind until I'd already said yes." He paused, "Thank God for Jen,
she's been a life saver, but Mattie's been calling me on it."

"She doesn't like Jen?" This surprised Mac, since the Petty Officer was
personable and very sweet when you got past her self imposed tough girl
facade.

"No, no, she's crazy about her." He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on
the table. "I think she thinks of Jen as a sister or something, not a
parent. Jen's only 24, there's not a lot of difference."

"Most would say Jen is plenty old enough to be a parent." Mac had wondered
if Jen's hero worship of Harm sometimes bordered on something else. She knew
that no matter how attractive the young woman was, Harm considered her under
his care, the same as Mattie. He'd never even consider any kind of an
improper relationship with her.

He had to concede that was true. A girl from his high school graduating
class had been a grandmother at their 20th reunion. "Well, yeah, maybe. But
not of a teenager."

"Girls have babies when they're 13, 14. Even younger. It happens."

He knew it did, it was just something that was alien to his world view. In
his world, you went from high school to college, maybe grad school, a job,
then started to think about marriage and a family once you were settled.
"Don't remind me. I don't even want to think about Mattie dating."

"Has she shown any interest?" Mac was curious, especially after her
conversation with Chloe, who was less than a year older.

He shook his head. "No, at least not yet. She's only got one friend at
school, a kid named Alfred, who I think is kind of a geek."

"Well, geeks need love too, you know." Mac smiled, imagining Harm in high
school. Even with his demons, he'd likely been very popular. "We couldn't
all be the most popular, or the most charming, or a top athlete."

He looked at her with a question on his face, suddenly curious. "What were
you like in high school?"

"You wouldn't have wanted to know me." Her face, which had been animated
during most of their conversation, took on a guarded look.

"Why?" He decided for once when things got a little uncomfortable, he wasn't
going to back down unless she did first.

"I hated almost everyone. I had a huge chip on my shoulder." She took a deep
breath. "I didn't 'do' high school, Harm. I survived it. I was already much
too old for it by the time I got there."

"You mean because of your drinking?" He decided to be brave enough to
venture into one of the taboo subjects.

If only it had been that simple "No, I actually didn't really start to drink
until I met Chris when I was 17. He and his friends were older and very in
to partying. Before that, maybe a beer or two if
someone had some. Just, well, I was just already pretty beaten down by life.
Cheerleaders and homecoming didn't seem very significant to me."

"What did?" Maybe they were finally getting somewhere, even if it was about
ancient history. Perhaps they could build a foundation to get somewhere in
this crazy dance.

"Getting decent enough grades to get the hell out of there. Working so I had
clothes and enough to eat when Joe forgot to buy groceries. You know, the
little things."

"Did you leave home because of Chris, or did you run because of your
father?" This wasn't a conversation he had intended to have, but maybe it
was a good one.

"Are you asking if I loved Chris more, or I hated my father more?"

"Either or both, I guess."

"Well, after Deanna left, home was kind of a schizophrenic place. Sometimes
Joe would keep the consumption down, and decide to be a parent." She
laughed, remembering his attempts at cooking, and checking her homework,
most of which he didn't understand since she was taking a lot of AP classes.
"Of course, he didn't have a clue what that meant. I'd pretty much been
bringing myself up for four or five years by then. Deanna had gotten so, I
don't know, I guess she
was clinically depressed. Anyway, she wasn't capable of doing much of
anything."

"So, she was kind of gone before she left?" He'd always suspected that
Deanna hadn't been much of a mother even while she physically lived in the
same house. There was only so much abuse a person could take. The
psychological abuse they taught about in SERE, the survival, evasion,
resistance and escape training every military aviator went through to
prepare them as much as possible for being shot down and captured, was
likened to what someone in a long term abusive relationship went through. It
crushed the will and the spirit.

"You could put it like that."

"What about Chris?" He'd always had questions about Mac's marriage, but
other than the dates and circumstances ceremony and Chris's prison term, he
didn't know all that much for sure.

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I really do."

"He listened to me. He was the first person in my life who really, really
listened to what I had to say." She had a far away look on her face. "He was
actually proud that I was intelligent, that I got good grades. He'd dropped
out. He, his brother and cousin had what I thought was a successful
auto-body shop. He wanted me to go to college, was willing to foot the
bills."

"So, he really wasn't such a bad guy?" Harm wasn't entirely sure if he was
being facetious or not. It sounded like maybe in his own way, Chris had been
good to Mac in the beginning of their relationship, anyway.

"Nah, when you take away the grand theft auto, and later on the blackmail,
my husband was a prince." Her try for flippancy fell short.

"I don't think you're quite as unaffected as you're trying to sound."

"Since when did they add a psych degree to aeronautical engineering?" She
sighed, and got up from the table to pace the room. "I'm sorry Chris is
dead, I'm sorry for the way it all turned out. Maybe if I'd just made a
clean break, things would have been easier for him to accept. I just ran
away and didn't look back." She took a deep breathe. "Graduating from high
school and watching your husband sentenced to five to ten in prison in one
week is a lot to swallow."

He just looked at her, sensing she was going to continue.

"Well, I'm not going to say Eddie's death didn't add to things. One minute I
was passed out in the passenger seat, the next thing I knew I was waking up
in ICU."

"You went through a lot in a short time."

"Yeah, I did," she stated matter of factly. "You know, Joe came looking for
me after I moved in with Chris." She shook her head at the memory. "Came to
tell me that if I got myself pregnant, not to come crawling back to his
house." This was really starting to get to her, and she had no idea why she
was telling Harm all of this. Oh, what the heck would it matter anyway? It
wasn't like Harm loved her, or had any rose colored glasses about her to
lose.

"What did you do?"

"Showed him my engagement ring and told him unlike my mother, I wasn't
stupid enough to get pregnant until I wanted children." Until that moment,
she hadn't thought about the tiny quarter carat diamond from K-Mart in
years. She had been so proud of that ring, it made her feel like such a
grown up. The first winter at college, she'd sold it to buy some winter
clothes, boots and an electric blanket for her under-heated apartment.
Arizona had left her ill-prepared for the
Minnesota winters. Although nowhere near as extravagant as the ring Mic had
given her, it had meant far more at the time.

"What do you mean?" It clicked as soon as he'd asked the question, but he
couldn't take it back.

"That was one of Joe's favorite rants after a bottle or so of scotch. How
Deanna and I had ruined his life, any chance he'd ever had because he was
saddled with a wife and kid." She paused. "I was born five months, actually
a little less, after they got married."

"He resented your Mom because she got pregnant with you?"

"I guess. That's what he told himself anyway." She thought for a minute. "I
wasn't a boy, that was a big deal too. Something happened, some
complication, I don't know what. They couldn't have any more kids." As she
thought back, she remembered some of Joe's tirades about never having a son.

"That was unfair of him. I mean, I don't think she got pregnant on her own."
He wanted to add that Mac's sex wasn't her fault either.

"No, I doubt she did. But a lot of men, even in this enlightened day and age
consider that to be the woman's responsibility." Joe's rants had probably
done her some good, she'd been careful to the point of paranoia about
birth-control since she became sexually active when she started sleeping
with Chris.

Harm sensed she needed to lighten the mood, this was getting pretty heavy.
"You know something Mac?"

"What?" He could tell she was near tears, and didn't want to add that burden
to her shoulders. Mac hated appearing weak, and that's how she'd feel,
although he considered her one of the strongest people he ever met.

"Your Dad, and Chris?"

"What about them?"

"They were both idiots. They both had someone who was very special, and they
did things that drove her away from them."

"It's the story of my life, Flyboy." She sat down on the bed, across the
room from where he still sat at the table. "What about you? All I know is
that you went to high school in La Jolla."

"Actually, I went to the same school from first grade on. La Jolla Country
Day."

"I figured you would have lived nearer Miramar before your Dad...."

"We did. I started school at a regular public school near the base, We lived
in a neighborhood with lots of other young officer's families, the typical
off base junior officer suburb."

"So how did you end up on the other side of the bay?"

"After, well, a few months, I guess, Mom couldn't take it anymore. I guess
all the planes, and the families....it just got to be too much. She rented
out the house, and we moved into a guest house on the property of some
friends of her parents."