2155 ZULU
HARM RABB'S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON D.C.

I'll never know how I got through the rest of the day at work after my meeting with the Admiral.  I'm not even sure if I accomplished anything while there.  I probably didn't.  The whole day seemed to pass in some kind of misty haze of emotion as one simple thought kept repeating itself over and over in my mind, like a stuck record.  He's coming home, he's coming home, he's coming home.  Did anyone notice that I was not entirely there?  Was it obvious when someone had asked me something that it would take me a moment to register what was being said to me before I could even begin to think of forming a response?  Could they see in my eyes every daydream I had today, imagining the moment he will walk through those elevator doors?

Intellectually, I know I am being ridiculous.  Until tomorrow morning, I am the only person besides Admiral Chegwidden who knows that Harm is returning.  No one else knows.  No one.  I just can't help it if my heart isn't listening.  In my heart, I am sure that the whole world can see what an emotional mess I am and what - or rather, who - is the cause of it.  In my soul, I know that everyone can hear the rapid pounding of my heart and can read the turmoil in my mind.

Since I can't get my mind off of Harm anyway, I decided that I would spend my evenings preparing his apartment for his return, which is why I am here now.  I figure that I will clean tonight and spend tomorrow evening shopping to stock the fridge and cabinets.  Not that the place really needs to be cleaned except for some light dusting.  After all, no one has lived here for five months, which is really my fault.  Harm left so quickly once the Annie Lewis case was wrapped up that he didn't have time to find a renter, so he left that particular job to me.  I just couldn't bear to do it, to lose one of the last tangible links to him that I had, so when he asked about it in one of his e-mails, I said that I hadn't been able to find a renter yet and left it at that.  He didn't need to know that I was in no mood to even try.

Harm had left the utilities connected, figuring that it would be easier for me if I had to get in here for some reason if the lights and water still worked.  He had already made arrangements for the bills to be paid out of his bank account, so that hasn't been a concern.  If someone had rented the place, he had reasoned, the cost of utilities could be included in the monthly rent.  He just never knew how often I needed to get in here, how his home had become my refuge during those long, lonely summer nights when the pain in my heart was too much to bear and I needed to be close to him, even if it was only figuratively.

I sit down on the couch and pull my knees up against my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs as I spend a few moments trying to sort through my tortured thoughts.  Even after all these months, I can still feel his presence here, hear the sound of his voice, even smell his after shave.  If I close my eyes and imagine hard enough, I can even see him standing in front of me, that familiar grin on his face that has always warmed my heart.  This apartment is filled with ghosts, but sometimes those are my greatest comfort.  Maybe now I am truly beginning to understand why he held onto the hope that his father was alive for so long.  If he could hold onto that, then maybe it made the pain that much easier to bear.

Okay, Marine, enough of the armchair psychology, I scold myself as I will myself to get up from the couch and do something, anything.  Finding a notepad and pen, I head for the kitchen and make an inventory of everything I think he will need.  As long as I have known him, I know what he likes to eat, even if I tease him about it, and I know what health food stores he does his shopping at.  Stocking the kitchen will not be that hard.  I even begin to mentally plan a coming home dinner for him, then kick myself for being too presumptuous.  I don't know what he is thinking.  For all I know, he could want to try to reconnect with Jordan.

Jordan.  There's a subject that I have tried not to think about during the last five months.  I know that she was not happy about his leaving, Harm had hinted at that but I didn't really know much beyond that aside from the fact that I had seen how stiff and distant she had been at AJ Robert's christening.  Then about a month after Harm left, I ran into her at Bethesda while I was there for my annual physical.  We had always been on friendly terms, even if we weren't really friends, so I had made small talk with her for a few minutes.  Then I had asked if she had heard from Harm.

Even before she had opened her mouth, the look in her eyes and the way her hand had tightened around the chart she was holding told me everything. There was a part of her that hated him for leaving, that couldn't understand how he could give her up to return to the air.  That I will never understand.  In my mind, if she had really loved him, then she would have understood why he had to go back to flying, would have known that if he had stayed, then he would have lost a piece of himself and he would not have been the same person that she loved.  How could she, as a psychiatrist, even think of forcing him to choose like that?

I lost any respect I might have had for her in that moment, even before she managed to spit out, "Harm and I said everything that needed to be said before he left."  That statement killed our conversation very quickly, as I forced myself not to get into an argument with her about it and to just walk away.  I hate that Harm left, but I could never, not in a million years, even think of hating Harm for leaving.  But Jordan did hated him for leaving and in turn, I began to hate her.  I just haven't been able to figure out if I hate her because she hurt my best friend or if it is because she is so obviously undeserving of his love and attention.  Probably both.  Probably also very petty of me, but I don't care.

I force myself not to think about it and decide that perhaps it is best if I ask him before planning a welcome home dinner.  Maybe he will have something better to do.  I hope not, but I don't want to risk a broken heart when I am so unsure if his feelings go beyond mere friendship.  I think that would hurt even worse than his leaving ever could.

Finished making my list, I tear the paper off the pad and fold it carefully, tucking it away in my purse until tomorrow.  I take a deep breath, trying to tear my mind away from the tormenting thought that his feelings for me might not run as deep as mine for him, trying to force my mind back to the task at hand.  Opening the cabinet under the sink, I find a can of furniture polish,
some window cleaner and some rags.

I decide to tackle the furniture first and attack it I do - with a vengeance.  It doesn't matter to me if it really needs to be cleaned or not.  I take polish and rag to every available surface, rubbing and scrubbing until everything shines.  Even as much as I want to do this for Harm, to give him a clean place to come home to, I realize that I am doing this as much for myself.  I need to keep busy.  I need to try and stop thinking so much.

After I finish with the living room and kitchen, I move into the bedroom, trying to keep my mind focused on what I am doing now and not on what I hope will happen in that room in the future.  I try not to imagine ....   Just don't think about it, I tell myself.  Suck it up, Marine.  Only when I think that last bit, it's not my voice in my head, but his.  Oh boy, have I got it bad.

Fantasies about Harm are nothing new.  Those go back almost as far as our friendship.  I had my first real, full-fledged fantasy about him that night in the Appalachian mountains.  At the time, I told myself that it was my mind's way of dealing with a stressful, life-threatening situation.  Either that or hallucinations from my fever.  But that one was far from the last. I remember something Chloe once said about how she wasn't sure how much I had told her about Harm was real and how much was just my fantasies.  Was I that obvious?  Did Harm ever realize or did he just dismiss what Chloe said as something a little sister would say to embarrass her big sister?

I dismiss all these thoughts from my mind as I sink to my knees beside the bed, resting my head on the cool sheets as I finally allow myself, after a long day of conflicted thoughts and fears, to forget everything but the hope and dream of finally being in his arms and revealing everything that I'm keeping locked up in my heart.

2155 ZULU
USS PATRICK HENRY
ADRIATIC SEA

I lay quietly in my bunk, trying desperately to find the comfort that sleep will bring, even as I tell myself that it will be a losing battle.  I try to pass off my inability to sleep as excitement about the journey I will be beginning tomorrow.  I will spend the morning outprocessing, taking care of the mounds of paperwork associated with my designator change and my PCS. Then I will depart the Patrick Henry for the last time, heading for Aviano Air Base, where I will spend the night before catching a Saturday morning flight to Andrews AFB and home.

But I know it's not just the excitement that is keeping me up tonight.  It's nerves.  I'm afraid of what I will find when I get home.  Or what I won't find.  Or maybe both.  I wish I knew what to expect, but I'm afraid to know.  And afraid to ask.

All day, I had played with the idea of e-mailing Sarah or taking a few minutes to give her a phone call.  So many times today, I have found myself near one of the ship's phones and I am so tempted to pick it up and dial.  I need to hear her voice so badly, as badly as I've ever needed anything in my life.  But does she want to hear from me?  That question torments me.  I wish I knew what she was thinking, but I am so afraid to ask, so afraid to find out that she doesn't feel the same.

Why am I afraid?  Another question I keep asking myself.  This is my best friend I'm talking about here.  We've already shared so much as friends.  She's been there for me at some of the lowest points of my life - the search for my father in Russia, my confrontation with Diane's killer, my court-martial and brig break.  So why can't I tell her that I want her, that I want us to be more?

There are no easy answers to these questions.  I wish there were.  I'm a lawyer; it's my job to bring the answers to light.  To find the truth.  What did Bobbi Latham once call me - her 'truth detector'?  Would that I could detect it here.

I tell myself that I need to stop thinking about this and I decide to think about what I am going to do once I am home.  At least I have a home to return to.  I had asked Sarah to find someone to rent my place after I left, but she never did.  Fortunate for me.  I think that I need a sense of familiarity in my life as I explore all these unfamiliar feelings. 

Mentally, I make a list of things I need to get.  One of the first orders of business will be to stock the fridge.  The last thing I want is to spend my first days home going out to eat or ordering takeout.  I want to cook for myself, something I haven't been able to do for five months.  Maybe I'll even make my famous meatless meatloaf, if only to see Sarah's reaction.

As thoughts of her return to my mind, I toss around in my mind the idea of inviting her to dinner on one of my first nights home.  Just the two of us, Harm and Sarah, reconnecting after being so far apart for so long.  It sounds like heaven to me.

But I know there are some things I need to take care of first.  Like Jordan. Things ended badly between us and I owe her at least a phone call, a chance to get together, to explain and to apologize.  I never meant to hurt her, but she never understood.  To be honest, despite the fact that she is a psychiatrist and it is her job, I don't think she ever really understood me at all.  Maybe that was what made me realize how wrong Jordan was for me.

When I told Jordan that I was thinking of leaving, she was furious, telling me she had fallen in love with a lawyer, not an aviator.  But Sarah, as upset as she was, she understood.  My leaving tore her apart - I saw that on my last day - but she understood.  I just wish I had seen the difference between the two women earlier.  Maybe then I would have already been able to open up to Sarah and I wouldn't be lying here, my stomach all tied up in knots, worried about the possibility of my dreams all turning to ashes.

I close my eyes again, trying once again to seek refuge in sleep.  But I can see her clearly in my mind.  I can hear her voice and feel her touch and, realizing that sleep will not come easy this night, I lose myself in my dreams and fantasies of everything that I want to be.

SATURDAY
1405 ZULU
SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
WASHINGTON D.C.

I stand near the window, looking out onto a sunny fall day, wishing that my feelings could be so bright and clear.  Any moment now, the military transport flight carrying Harm from Aviano Air Base will be landing at Andrews.  Harm had not contacted anyone to let us know his itinerary, but Bud did some checking and found out what flight he was on.  Harriet and Bud are planning on being at the terminal to meet him, along with the godson that Harm hasn't seen in five months except through pictures.  Both of them had tried to insist that I should be there also to welcome him home.

Why aren't I there?  I've questioned my decision not to go all last night and all this morning.  I wanted to go, wanted it so badly.  But as Thursday turned into Friday and Friday passed into Saturday with no word from Harm, I felt I had no choice but to stay away.  Harm has not contacted me - no phone call, no e-mail - to even let me know he is coming home.  Something is keeping him from reaching out to me and it scares me to think of what that might be.

As I stocked his kitchen last night, I kept going over and over in my mind the reasons why he had not contacted me.  Jordan.  My promotion.  The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry.  Was it all of them?  Or none of them?  More than anything else, I wish he would just talk to me. Why doesn't he want to talk to me?

1455 ZULU
AIR MOBILITY COMMAND TERMINAL
ANDREWS AFB, MARYLAND

As Bud and Harriet gather up my luggage, passing off little AJ to me, I can' t help but think about the one who isn't here.  Why didn't she come to welcome me home?

I've heard nothing from her.  No phone call, no e-mail, nothing to say that she was looking forward to my return.  I know that she knows.  Harriet told me that Admiral Chegwidden announced my return to the entire staff at a meeting yesterday morning.  I wanted to ask them what her reaction was to the news, but I was afraid to, afraid that I would not want to hear their answer.

As Thursday became Friday and Friday turned into Saturday, and there was still no word from her, I tried not to think about the fact that she has not contacted me.  I tell myself that I don't want to know what her reasons might be.

So lost in these tortured thoughts, it takes me a moment to register that Harriet is talking to me.  Forcing myself back to the present, I say, "I'm sorry, Harriet.  I wasn't paying attention."
 
"That's okay, sir," she replies brightly.  I wish I had her enthusiasm.  "I was just saying that it must be a little overwhelming being back home."

I smile grimly and nod.  It is overwhelming, but not for the reasons she perhaps is thinking.  It's overwhelming to think that everything that I have hoped and dreamed for might never be.  But I don't say that.  I can't say that.  Instead, I toss off some lame remark about how everything seems different.

As we leave the terminal, Bud and Harriet in the lead, me following behind carrying AJ, I try not to think about everything that is missing right now. Or who.  But then I hear Bud say something.  He probably was thinking I wouldn't hear.  But I do.  And it tears me up inside.

"I'm just sorry Colonel Mackenzie didn't want to join us," Bud said to his wife, softly enough that most people probably wouldn't have heard.  But my heart and mind are tuned into her name and what I hear sends all my hopes and dreams crashing back down to earth.

As we walk through the parking lot, I keep going over and over in my mind the reasons why she is not here.  Jordan.  Her promotion.  The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry.  Was it all of them?  Or none of them? More than anything else, I wish she was here.  Why doesn't she want to see me?

Part 2