MONDAY
1110 ZULU
HARM RABB'S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON D.C.

If my love life were an airplane, it would have suffered a ramp strike this weekend.  Not exactly the most comforting thought first thing in the morning as I am preparing for my first day back at JAG, but I'm not really in the mood to be excited about returning back there, not this morning.

You know what I did this weekend, aside from getting my body reacquainted to this time zone, that is?  Absolutely nothing, nothing except alternate between staring at the phone, wishing Sarah would call or that I could find the courage to call her, and picking up the phone to leave yet another message on Jordan's answering machine.  God, what a mess.

When I had gotten home on Saturday, I had found a note from Sarah on my kitchen counter.  No, not Sarah.  Mac.  She had signed the note 'Mac'.  The note itself had been brief and to the point.  She had cleaned the apartment and stocked food in the kitchen.  That's it.  No 'Welcome home', no 'I'll see you'.  Nothing.  I had crumpled the note in my hand, feeling angry and hurt and I don't know what else.  If Bud or Harriet had noticed my darkening mood, neither one of them said a word.

After I had claimed, rather lamely, that I had things to do and the Roberts had left, I began my vigil by the phone.  I had stared at it for a long time, wishing she would call, almost willing it to ring.  I had contemplated calling her, demanding to know what she meant by cleaning my place and stocking my kitchen, then leaving me with nothing but a brief note.  I had needed to ask her why she had cared enough to  prepare my apartment for my return, yet hadn't care enough to come to the terminal to welcome an old friend home, even as I had told myself that I didn't think I wanted to hear her answer.

Then, angry with Mac, I had placed the first of what ended up becoming many calls to Jordan, asking - no, almost begging - her to call me.  I had told myself that I still cared about her and that it was a good idea for us to try to get back together.  But even as I had thought it, a little voice inside my head had insisted that I was just trying to substitute Jordan for Sarah - no, Mac.  I had tried to think of her as Mac, tried and had failed.

Now, as I get into my uniform, I try to turn my mind to what I am going to be doing at work today.  A couple of hours this morning will be occupied by in-processing at the personnel office at the Washington Navy Yard before I finally head to JAG around ten hundred hours.  That's the moment I am dreading, when I walk back into JAG headquarters for the first time in five months.  What kind of reception am I going to get from everyone?  Can I face Mac, feeling what I am feeling, now almost sure that she doesn't feel the same?

1110 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I toss my briefcase on my desk and sit down with a heavy sigh.  Today is Harm's first day back and I don't know how I will feel when I finally see him.  This weekend, I had waited for the phone to ring, hoping he would call, at least to thank me for cleaning his place and buying him food.  But he never did.  I had thought about calling him, wanting to shake some sense into him, needing to know why he didn't care enough to contact me and let me know he was coming home.  As the weekend had worn on, I had just about convinced myself that it was obvious that his feelings for me were nowhere near the same as my feelings for him.

Then last night, as I had drifted off to sleep, I had found myself once again contemplating his return and what might have been.  Even as I had tried to force the thoughts from my mind as I lay in my cold, lonely bed, I had begun having the most erotic thoughts and fantasies.  The dreams of everything I had wanted to be with his return had haunted me, making sleep impossible.  After sleeping fitfully most of the night, I had finally gotten frustrated enough to get up and come into work early.  To what end, I don't know.  It's not like being at JAG, where we have shared so many memories, is going to make me stop thinking about him.  I wonder if anything can make me stop doing that?

"Good morning, ma'am.  I have that information you requested."  Gunny is standing outside my door, a file in his hand.  I motion for him to come in, grateful for the chance to concentrate on something else besides lost hope and shattered dreams.

"Thank you, Gunny," I say, taking a quick glance at what he has just handed me, impressed with his thoroughness.  Convincing him to forgo his early retirement and come to work at JAG was one of the best decisions I have made as Chief of Staff.  Looking up from the file, I see Gunny still standing in the doorway, looking at me expectantly.  "Was there something else, Gunny?"

"I just wanted to ask a question, ma'am," he says.  "I'm curious about the new lawyer coming in today."

Just great.  Gunny would bring up the one topic I am trying my hardest not to think about.  I can understand why, though.  Gunny likes to get a feel for people before he trusts them.  That's why he sandbagged me in court that one time the way he did, because he didn't know if he could trust me to do the right thing with the information he had.  Despite the fact that the episode got us off on the wrong foot, it is one of the qualities that I admire most about him.  I can definitely understand about not trusting too easily.

Taking a breath, I try to keep my voice neutral as I respond, "Commander Rabb is one of the finest attorneys I have ever met and probably has the most integrity of almost anyone I know.  You can trust him."  As I say it, my voice softens and memories start replaying in my mind.  If Gunny notices that I have suddenly developed this faraway look in my eyes, he is professional enough not to comment on it.  "Thank you, ma'am," he says, turning to head back to his desk in the bullpen.

Left alone again with my thoughts, I stare at the walls, thinking again of Harm's return, wondering what will happen when he walks through that door. Can I face him, feeling what I feeling, almost sure now that he doesn't feel the same?

1400 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

This is worse than I could have ever possibly imagined.  I can live with the new Gunny acting like a guard dog and stopping me on my way through the bullpen.  After all, he doesn't know me.  And Tiner certainly welcomed me back with enthusiasm.  But the bottom fell out of everything the second I stepped into the conference room.

Nobody acknowledged my entrance.  A few of them looked in my direction, but nobody said anything.  They were all laughing and joking about a case Bud and BugMe had been opposing counsel on.  As I sit down across from Mac, I feel so left out.  The people in this room have always been almost like a family to me and now it is like I am an outsider here.

After that bit of torture is over, I follow the Admiral back to his office. He's going on about the recent 'tail hook' episode.  I react modestly as he recounts the incident.  I was just doing my job, saving my fellow aviators from enemy fighters and helping them get their damaged aircraft safely back to the carrier.  End of story.  I may be overly confident at times - many would say arrogant - but I don't spend all my times replaying past accomplishments in my head.  Then I get the first bit of happy news I've had since I returned to JAG - I have been nominated to receive my second Distinguished Flying Cross.  But the announcement does bring back memories of the first DFC I received.  That was the day I met her in the Rose Garden.

Admiral Chegwidden and I sit down in his office and I wonder what mindless task he's going to assign me to first.  But he surprises me when he hands me an actual case for me to defend.  Not that I think he is petty, as he suggested.  When Mac left, she was almost persona non grata as a lawyer around her for a while.  I was not expecting anything to be different with me, Distinguished Flying Cross notwithstanding.

I take a quick glance at the file he hands me, a DDO case.  Not the most spectacular case in the world, but it's a start.  Then the Admiral drops his bombshell.  The defendant in my case is the son of the Secretary of Navy.  Talk about your hot potatoes.  This could be either the best or the worst thing to ever happen to my career.  I'm not sure which at this point.  I leave the Admiral's office, intently studying the case file.

I am in Mic's office, going over some information on his computer, thankful for something to take my mind off the staff meeting.  I can't think about it now, how lost and out of place Harm seemed.  He looked so sad and hurt and confused - and lost.  Most of all lost.  I just wanted to take him aside and reassure him that everything was going to be okay, that he had a place here at JAG, anything to comfort him and keep his mind away from the possibility to leaving again.  If I could survive my return, he can survive his.

Oh, no, I think as I look up to find Harm standing in the doorway, that lost and confused look on his face again.  He then turns and looks up to the nameplate over the door, seeing Mic's name where his used to be.  I feel so bad for him again.  At least I hadn't been gone long enough for someone to have taken my place.  I can't begin to imagine what he is feeling right now. I just wish I knew a way to make it better for him.

"Sorry," he says, "force of habit."  I can't help but look at him with sympathy in my eyes.  My anger over his lack of communication this weekend has completely dissipated as I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say to erase that look in his eyes, the one that says 'What am I doing here?  I don't belong.'

"No worries, mate," Mic says, completely oblivious to Harm's discomfort, not that I really expected anything different.  "You're next door to Mac now."

He nods to Mic as an automatic gesture of courtesy then looks my way.  We lock gazes for a moment as he finally greets me, but it is far from the greeting that I had wanted or expected.  "Colonel," he says neutrally, his voice betraying nothing.

"Commander," I return the greeting, just as neutrally.  "I was just coming to see you."

He doesn't acknowledge this as he glances around the office, his eyes taking in all the changes.  This has got to be so hard for him.  I can hear it in his voice as he says quietly, "They painted in here.  I could never get them to paint."

Mic laughs, a bit smugly in my opinion, as he replies, "All in the way you ask, I guess."  I want to shake him for his insensitivity.  Can he possibly be that completely blind to how much Harm is hurting?  Or am I the only one who sees it?  Even after all this time apart, am I so in tune to him that I can read his moods and gestures with only the smallest hints and clues?

I can see that Harm is thinking of Mic as an insensitive brute too in the look he gives him.  He then looks at me, but I can only look for a moment before I have to look away, wishing I could say something, wishing there was something to say.  I want more than anything to erase the pain in his eyes.

Mic stands and turns the topic to work.  I guess we all need the distraction at this point.  "Oh, I understand you're defending Leftenant Nelson," he says.  Maybe this is what Harm needs, to concentrate on work instead of all these changes around him.

He nods, the mask of neutrality slipping over his face again.  "That's right," he says.
 
Then Mic has to go and get a shot in at Harm and I wish I had something to throw at him.  "If you lose, Harm," he points out, "you'll always be known as the man who let the SecNav's son go to prison."

"Well, you'll be the guy who put him there, Brumby," he shoots back, making a clucking noise.  I want to cheer.  That sounds like the old Harm I know, the one who never took anything from anyone.  He winks at me then leaves for his own office.

I look at Mic and shake my head, having managed to control my impulse to hit him with something.  But right now I don't care about Brumby.  I have to talk to Harm.

I can't believe I managed to get through that little exchange.  Everything has become so turned around and twisted that I don't even recognize anything around here anymore.  Not even my best friend.  When I first saw her in there, leaning so close to Mic, it cut through me.  That should be me sitting in there, Mac standing over my shoulder as we go over our cases together.  She's my partner, damn it.   I guess I am learning why they say 'You can't go home again'.  First, flying didn't turn out as I had expected and now this.  I'm wondering if I really belong anywhere anymore.  I haven't felt like this since that time just after my crash, when I was recovering up at my grandmother's farm, restoring my airplane.

I walk into the office that Brumby said was mine to find Bud packing his things into a box.  I wish he had told me on Saturday that it was his office I was taking over.  Then I probably would have contacted the Admiral and tried to arrange something different.  Maybe I could have convinced him to let me have my old office back.  That would have served BugMe just right.

As Bud finishes gathering his things, I pick up the phone to call Jordan again.  As badly as things have gone here this morning, I think I need to find something familiar to hold onto.  As I hear her answering machine pick up yet again, I look up to see Mac and Bud nearly collide in the office doorway.  She suggests that I finish my call.  Indicating that I will be with her in a moment, I leave another message for Jordan, asking her to call me.  I can see Mac looking away, shifting nervously on her feet.  She looks just as uncomfortable as I feel.  I guess I really was expecting too much when I thought that she might welcome me home the way I really wanted her to.

Trying to keep my voice devoid of any emotion, I say, "Colonel."

"Out there it's Colonel," she tells me.  "In here it's Mac."  I sense she is trying to put my mind at ease, but what's the point?  What difference is what I call her going to make?  I look at her and try to smile and she smiles back, but it's just so .... awkward.  I can't remember it being like this since Arizona.  Hell, Arizona was much better than this.  At least then I didn't have my memories of how things used to be.

She breaks the leaden silence between us first, sighing as she says, "So how 's it feel being back?"

I shrug, "Like I left yesterday."  I pause, then add sadly, "And I've been gone a hundred years."  I don't know why I just told her that.  I guess I'm finding it hard to break my habit of confiding in my best friend.  Why can't this be any easier?

She grimaces slightly as she replies, "Yeah, I know the feeling."  As she sits down, she tries to lighten the moment by adding, "Except, you know, when I came back I was condemned to writing mindless motions for a month."

"And now you're the Admiral's Chief of Staff," I point out.  It took her nearly a year and a half to get from there to here.  Is that how long it's going to take me?  Is that how long it will be before I start to feel comfortable here, around her?

She seems a bit embarrassed as she qualifies, "Not officially."  I don't know why she would feel embarrassed.  I don't begrudge her the successes she 's had.  I'm not petty.

She takes a breath, almost as if she's bracing herself.  Then, with two sentences, she manages to lift my spirits then send me crashing back down to earth.  "Are you free for lunch?  Brumby and I are going to grab a bite," she tells me.

Is she kidding?  What could possibly be going through her mind that she would suggest I have lunch with her and BugMe.  Why doesn't she just hand me a knife and I'll slit my throat, thank you very much?  The last thing I in the world I need is to spend my lunch feeling sick as I watch her cozy up to that .... that smug Australian.  Thankfully, I have a legitimate excuse for bowing out.  "Bud and I have to go to Norfolk," I reply, unable to keep the relief from creeping into my voice.

She looks disappointed, but I don't understand why.  What was she thinking? She sounds upset as she suggests, "Well, maybe another time."

I look down at my desk, trying to think of a way to end this conversation quickly and with as little pain as possible.  I really don't want to have this discussion.  I look back at her and answer, "Sure."  Yeah, right. Maybe when hell freezes over.

She must have heard it in my voice.  Walking out, she echoes my answer under her breath, the disbelief in her voice.  She knows that I don't like Brumby. If she does, I don't care, I just don't want her flaunting it in my face.  Maybe if I tell myself that I don't care enough times, I will begin to believe it.

THE NEXT DAY
1805 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

After that fiasco in his office yesterday, it surprised the hell out of me that I managed to get Harm to agree to have a late lunch with me today. When I think back to that conversation, I can't believe myself.  If I had been him, I wouldn't have agreed either.  What in the world had possessed me to suggest a lunch with me and Brumby?  Unfortunately, I already know the answer to that one.  I was hoping to make him jealous, to force his hand. Then I flash back on the awkward scene in Mic's office shortly before that and I realize that jealousy is the furthest thing from his mind right now.  Right now, he is just hurting too much.

Desperate to make amends, wanting to do anything to lift his spirits, I am determined to make today's lunch a success.  As we walk out to the courtyard carrying our lunches, we discuss my promotion.  After his reaction on the Patrick Henry when he first found out, I am surprised that he would pick this as a topic of conversation, but when he comments on the way I handled a recent case, I occurs to me that he does sounds happy for me and maybe just a little bit proud, too.  I just wish he could have been here with me to share in my glory.  He even manages to look a little apologetic when I tease him about all the cases I got stuck with after he left.  Is he sorry that he left me?  Probably best not to think about that right now.  We seem to be off to a better start today.  Maybe we can just forget yesterday ever happened.

As we begin eating, I turn the discussion back to him and his return to flying.  "What about you?  Did you find what you were looking for out there in the wild blue yonder?"  I keep my tone light, but there is an intensity behind the question.  I need to know that he really wants to be here.

He nods, but he looks far from thrilled.  Somehow, I don't think it's the question that bothers him so much as the answer.  "Yeah," he replies softly. He pauses for a moment, that lost look that I have seen so much the past day and a half in his eyes.  He then adds, "Eight years too late.  Not much of a career left for me in aviation at this point."

"Yeah, but you knew that before you went back," I point out.  I don't mean it to sound like a shot at him.  I do understand why he had to go back.  I just wish he sounded more sure about coming back.

"Well, maybe I thought I could beat the odds."  Even as he says it, I can tell that he knows deep down it was a losing cause even as he embarked on it.

I take a breath and ask the one question that I most want to hear the answer to.  "So, what's next?"

He looks away for a moment as he sips his coffee, almost as if he doesn't want to answer the question.  Finally, he looks back at me and answers, "JAG."  As he leans closer to me, he begins to sound even more sure of himself and his answer, but I can tell that he's not completely there yet. "Guess I had to leave to, well, you know, figure out how much I like this place."

I'm not sure how to respond.  I want to say something, anything, to make him feel better about coming back.  I want him to know that I am there for him if he needs to talk, a shoulder to lean on, anything.  But I can't seem to find the right words.

I know that she's not completely happy with my answer.  Neither am I.  But how do I explain everything that I am feeling right now?  Right now, I need her to tell me that everything will be fine, that she will help me settle back into my life here.  But the words I want to hear don't come.  Even if she could find the answers for me, anything she might say is interrupted by BugMe's untimely arrival.

"Colonel," he greets her.  He then looks at me, almost as if he is just now realizing that I am here.  I resist the urge to hit him.  "Commander," he finally greets me.  I am annoyed that he is here, interrupting what had been a halfway decent conversation, even given the current unanswered questions between us.  Mac, I can't tell what she is thinking.

Forcing myself to be polite, I indicate the empty seat at out table as I suggest, "Brumby, have a seat."

Thankfully, he says he can't stay.  Maybe he's smart enough to realize how much I do not want him here interrupting my time with Mac.  But he's not going away either.  "I had an interesting chat with Commander Burke," he tells me.  I already know where this is going.  I also had a chat with Burke.  "You know he's willing to drop the charges."

I look up at him for a moment.  Does he really think I am just going to walk away and allow him his victory.  As I look away, I say firmly, "We're not interested."  I wonder if they realize that I'm not just talking about the case.

He laughs and I have to again resist the urge to wipe that smug look off his face.  "Well, why in the bloody hell not?"

Okay, maybe he's not as smart as I thought.  I spell it out for him.  "We don't like the conditions."

"Well, is that your client's position or yours?"  Now he's questioning whether I have my client's best interests at heart?  Buxton's court-martial notwithstanding, he obviously doesn't remember what kind of attorney I am, what kind of man.

"His position is my position," I answer firmly.  As far as I am concerned, that is the end of this discussion.  Now, if he will just get the hint and leave.

Finally, he nods.  "All right," he says.  "I'll see you in court."  He then winks at Mac as he departs.  "Colonel."

Mac looks at me and I can see the question in her eyes.  Just great.

"It's under control," I say.  I just wish it really were.

I can see she doesn't believe me any more than I believe myself as she mutters, "Yeah."  Wonderful.  Things had not been going too badly and after one unwelcome visit from BugMe, even she is questioning me.  I've just lost my appetite.

THE NEXT DAY
1400 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I am getting a headache.  Harm, Mic, Bud and I are all in the Admiral's office discussing the Nelson court-martial.  It didn't take long for said discussion to turn into a full-fledged shouting match between Harm and Mic.  I just don't understand Harm right now.  He can be passionate about his cases; it's one of the qualities I most admire about him.  But this isn't passion.  It's bullheadedness, plain and simple.  I can't remember Harm ever sounding like this, except maybe right before we ended up on the USS Watertown.  Then again, at the time, I was being just a stubborn and argumentative.

I just want this to end so I can crawl back to my office and take some aspirin.  "Admiral, I don't see a settlement here," I cut in.  "I see a battle of wills between two pigheaded sailors."

Well, that shut both of them up.  They give me identical looks of astonishment.  Who, them, pigheaded?  I resist the urge to snort and add quickly, "Referring, of course, to Lieutenant Nelson and Commander Burke."  I can see neither of them believes me.

"Well, there is one thing we agree on, Sir," Harm tells the Admiral.

I can almost hear the weariness in his voice as he asks, "And what is that, Commander?"  Given that this is SecNav's son, Admiral Chegwidden probably just wishes this case would go away.

"There will be a trial," Harm says firmly.

Damn pigheaded sailor.  Do we really need to go through all this?  As I think it, I realize that it is not the case that I am thinking about.

2215 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Ever have one of those days where you wish you could just turn back time and start the day over?  Today definitely qualifies for me.  Things went from bad to worse as the day progressed.  First, there was that debacle in the Admiral's office.  Then court, which was nowhere near what I would call a success.  Finally, I had to witness the spectacularly unsuccessful meeting between my client and his father.  I may not like the SecNav and I know he feels the same about me, but I did feel sorry for him in there.  He was trying his hardest to reach out to his son, but Lieutenant Nelson wasn't buying.  Then again, I have too many father-son issues of my own.  I am probably not the most objective person on the subject.

As I head back to my office, Gunny hands me some information I had requested.  That man has been a godsend during this trial, turning up all kinds of useful information.  Mac made a good decision when she convinced him to come on board.  He could give Bud a run for his money in the research department.

Great, this is all I need, I think as I walk into my office to find Mac waiting for me.  It's getting late and I just want to get out of here and forget this day ever happened.  Hell, after the fiasco yesterday at lunch with Mac and last night with Jordan, I'd like to forget the last two days happened.  I don't think this can be anything but unpleasant.  With the first words out of her mouth, I am proven right.

"The old Harm would have gone for Burke's jugular," she points out.  Et tu, Brute?

As I sit down, I respond, a bit exasperated, "Not you too."

She mimics how she thinks I should have questioned Burke.  I don't want to hear this.  "Come on, Harm," she insists.  "You know how to do it."

"Oh, the media'd love that," I reply sarcastically.  "'Ship's Captain rattled during emergency, blames junior officer.'"

She sounds exasperated as she shoots back, "You're supposed to be worrying about your client's image, not Commander Burke's."

"Look, if we're going to make the law our lives, we have two choices," I insist.  Yeah, I'm a fine one to be lecturing her on making the law our life.  "Respect it or manipulate it."

Forcefully, she retorts, "Your client still takes priority.  If you can't see that, I can recommend Bud take over the case."

Angrily, I respond, "Well, that won't be necessary, Colonel.  But just do we 're clear, I will not destroy one good man to save another.  Not while there are alternatives."

Just as angry, she gets up to leave, getting in one last shot before she does, "And when the alternatives run out, Commander?"

The worst part of all this, I realize as I sit alone in my office, is that I know she is right.  I have screwed this up royally.  I just don't know how to fix it.  And I'm not just talking about the case.

What is going on with him? I wonder as I sit alone in my own office.  I don't recognize the man I just left in Harm's office.  I know this has got to be hard for him coming back.  He hasn't exactly received the warmest reception on record.  Hell, when I came back, Harm welcomed me with open arms, going to bat for me with the Admiral.  Not that he was exactly in the Admiral's good graces at the time, but that's another story.

I can't believe that he's bungling a case that a rookie lawyer could argue in his or her sleep.  Somehow, I suspect it is more than just the case, but I don't want to ask.  At this point, I don't want to know.  I'm afraid that after the last few days, he is really regretting his decision to come back to JAG.

It's not his abilities as a lawyer I doubt.  Hell, he got Buxton off, didn't he?  The way he argued that case, the passion he put into it, even when he found it personally distasteful, that is the Harmon Rabb I know.  It's like the old Harm, the one I know and .... care about, is still gone and some stranger wearing his face is wandering the halls of JAG in his place. 

As the thought crosses my mind, I make a mental note to myself to check and make sure Clark Palmer is still in Leavenworth and I laugh weakly.  I wish it could be something as simple as that.  But I know that isn't it and I don't know what to do.  I don't know how to fix it.

Part 4