“I’ve never seen Bud look like that before, Mac – not anywhere close. He’s been pissed off at me before, but this felt like … I don’t know, like he didn’t even want me to exist. It just about killed me to let him walk away.”

Mac hung the dishtowel on its hook and moved to join Harm in the living room. They’d settled into a comfortable routine: he cooked dinner, she did the dishes. Usually, they discussed their cases over dinner, just to get work out of the way for the evening. Not tonight. Tonight, he’d said hardly a word; until she’d pressed him for details about Bud’s visit, at which point the floodgates had opened.

“I don’t think either of us can hope to comprehend what’s going through his head right now,” she pointed out, taking a seat on the couch beside him. “You may have just touched a nerve. It probably has nothing to do with you personally.”

“No, it had everything to do with me personally. He said something that really got to me – he said ‘this isn’t the way it works for you.’ And he’s right, kind of. I mean, I’ve never had to pay that kind of price for trying to help someone.”

“You’ve risked it plenty of times, though,” she reminded him. “A strong sense of duty is one of the things that the two of you have in common – it shouldn’t be a point of divisiveness.”

“But think about it from his perspective. He’s done everything anyone’s ever asked of him, and he’s never rocked the boat. For the past few months, he’s given up his family life, which is something I’ve never had to do. He’s been a model officer, while I’ve gone off and tied the rules into knots since the very moment I boarded the Seahawk that day seven years ago.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m starting to wonder what he really thinks of me now. And I’m wondering if I really deserved whatever admiration he ever had for me in the first place.”

Mac watched the storm clouds moving across his handsome features, considering how best to respond. She sometimes forgot that Harm and Bud had worked together months before she’d met either of them. What must it have been like for that young ensign, she wondered, to see a man like Harmon Rabb step onto the deck and directly into the role of Hollywood hero? How many of Harm’s flaws had Bud allowed himself to see before now?

“Okay,” she said finally. “So that’s why you felt the need to essentially to tell the admiral that the SECDEF must be a moron to be giving you a Navy Cross?”

Her no-nonsense reply diffused some of his self-pity, and he cast a sideways glance in her direction. “When you put it that way, I sound like an over-dramatic whiner.”

She smiled apologetically, sliding over on the couch to wrap her arms around him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to trivialize your point of view. But I don’t believe for a second that you’ve done anything to lose Bud’s respect, and furthermore, I don’t think you really believe it either. He’s hurting, Harm. That’s the driving force here. I know it sucks, not being able to help – it’s frustrating the hell out of me, too. But while he’s still working through all this, we can only get as close as he’s willing to let us.”

“I know. I swear, I understand that. I remember what it felt like when I was in rehab after my ramp strike – I pushed everyone away, and I lashed out at anyone who dared to get within reach. I know it has to be ten times worse for him, but honestly, in some ways it seems even harder to be on the other side of it like this.”

She watched his long fingers play across her leg, the wheels turning in her mind as well. “Have you considered telling him about that? About what happened after your crash?”

Immediately he hesitated. “Mac, it’s not the same thing. The way I was back then – even you wouldn’t have recognized me. He’ll take one look at me today, and he won’t be able to relate. It’s been so long …”

“Has it been long enough for you to forget?” she asked gently. “Has it been so long that you don’t ever feel that pain anymore?”

He turned toward her, and even if she hadn’t known the answer already, she would have been able to read it in his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s possible,” he replied quietly.

“Then you have at least a small measure of help to offer. You understand.”

After holding her gaze for a long moment, he gathered her close and pressed his cheek to her collarbone. “You’re the sole reason I’m hanging on to my sanity, you know that?” he murmured.

“I had a hunch.” She placed a row of tender kisses from his temple down along the line of his jaw, and he reached up to stroke her silken hair. Soon, the kisses grew from gentle to insistent, and even as he returned them with ardor, a small voice in the back of his mind questioned whether this was really the way they wanted it to be. They’d been together nearly every day since their return, but by some unspoken agreement, neither had pushed for a more physical relationship. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to take that step: far from it. The idea of taking Sarah Mackenzie to bed and worshipping every sensuous curve of her body was definitely appealing. But he was still terrified of making a catastrophic mistake by asking too soon. With all the strain that had surrounded their lives recently, he’d come to the conclusion that they were simply being … cautious.

When she pulled herself gracefully into his lap, desire clashed with doubt, and it took everything he had to pull back and make certain there would be no miscommunications. “You’re not offering me a sympathy fuck, are you?” he asked lightly.

She smacked him in the head and climbed to her feet, mildly exasperated by the crude, clumsy question. “Don’t be an ass. You’re not very good at it.”

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure what you – ”

Understanding his concern, she grabbed his hands and pulled him up, looking directly into his eyes. “I’ll clarify. I’m not offering any kind of fuck, sympathetic or otherwise. I’m giving you a not-so-subtle message that I want you to make love to me. Do you have an objection to that?”

As he struggled to get his bearings, she took the opportunity to meld her body to his, pulling him down to meet her waiting lips. Feeling him respond instantly, her resolve was strengthened, and she gasped in surprise and pleasure as his hand slid across the thin fabric of her blouse. “Should I take that as a no?” she whispered against his ear.

His response was impeded by her hair and his suddenly ragged breathing. “You talked me into it.”

… A few hours later, he lay awake, a thousand thoughts flitting in and out of his mind. She was curled up against his side, sleeping peacefully, and it occurred to him that this might be the exact feeling he’d been unknowingly seeking all his life. There was also a trace of confusion; it didn’t seem right that after a night of truly passionate sex with the woman of his dreams, he still couldn’t entirely shake the remnants of their earlier conversation.

Maybe she’d been right about that, as well. Maybe he could find a way to show Bud that he understood. As the beginnings of an idea took shape, he carefully slid out from under her and moved silently across the apartment to the bookshelf. It took him a few minutes of searching before he came upon the book he wanted, partially hidden behind another row, and the dark cover had faded somewhat since he’d last seen it. After a long moment of indecision, he placed the book in his briefcase and slipped back into bed.

She stirred ever so slightly at his return, and he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “Hey, Mac,” he said softly, hoping to coax her back toward wakefulness for just a moment. “You awake?”

“Mmm,” she answered drowsily, snuggling back into the crook of his arm. “What is it?”

“Do you have a uniform here for tomorrow?”

“Umm … hanging in your closet.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about the lack of closet space. Is there enough room in there?”

“For the moment.” She rubbed at her eyes. “If I said no, you wouldn’t go on a cleaning binge at 0035, would you?”

“Hell, no. You wore me out, Marine.”

“Wimp.” She smiled, closing her eyes again.

“Mac?”

“What, Harm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

At that, her eyes sprang back open, but he’d already closed his. Ignoring the tear that slipped down her cheek, she said a silent prayer of thanks and tightened her hold. “Yeah, flyboy, I do,” she whispered.


Same time
Rosslyn, Virginia

Harriet trudged down the stairs, pulling her robe tighter and walking toward the sound of the television in the living room. “Sweetie, please come to bed. We have to be up early if I’m going to get you to Bethesda before 0800.”

“I’ll just sleep down here.” Bud waved a hand toward the couch. “I’m too tired to fight the stairs right now.”

Harriet sighed. He slept down here more often that not these days. Sometimes, when she woke up alone, it was hard to remember if he was home or still out on sea duty. Although she’d never dare confess it to anyone, there were times when that illusion seemed more comforting.

“Anything happen at JAG today?” she asked quietly, taking a seat across from him and trying not to look at the unnatural plastic foot that lay abandoned under the table. He glanced up, but only shrugged listlessly.

“Nothing special. I survived it.”

“What did you talk about with the commander?”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Nothing, Bud. He said absolutely nothing for pretty much the rest of the day. If I had to describe his demeanor, I’d say he looked like someone ran over his cat. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

He looked at her, faintly surprised by her directness. “What makes you think I would?”

“Because you’ve barely spoken two words to him in the last five weeks, in spite of his best efforts. Granted, you’re not speaking all that much to anyone else, either, but one thing at a time. What am I not getting here? Did Harm do something to make you suddenly resent him?”

“It’s not a big deal, Harriet. I’m just figuring out that I don’t relate to him as well as I thought, all right?”

“And you relate better to Mac? Or the admiral? You’ve at least been civil to them. But Harm’s the one who’s been trying the hardest to be there for you, and yet he’s the one you keep pushing away. Is there a rationale behind that?”

He could tell from the impatience flashing in her eyes that this wasn’t just about the commander. He’d distanced himself from her as well, but that wasn’t a subject he was prepared to confront just then. “Well, I’m sure he’ll find a way to get over it long enough to pick up his Navy Cross from the President next week.”

Harriet stared at him incredulously, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Don’t tell me you begrudge him that.”

“Oh, of course not,” he retorted, the sarcasm cold and invigorating against his throat. “I mean, he did save the day yet again, didn’t he?”

“I don’t believe you!” she exclaimed, springing to her feet. “Bud, for God’s sake – he doesn’t even want it! You should have seen him in the office today. He was begging the admiral to get him out of the ceremony, as if that were possible at this point. He feels terrible about all of this. Everyone does, and you’re not helping any.”

“So it’s my fault?” he demanded. “I’m supposed to ease everyone’s collective conscience? I didn’t ask for their pity. If the commander’s so broken up about what happened, why does he suddenly seem to be joined at the hip with Colonel Mackenzie?”

“Bud, stop it right now,” she commanded, angry with him and with herself for being unable to get her point across. If pounding it into his thick skull was the only way, then damn it, she wasn’t going to hold back. “These are your best friends, and if you can’t find it within yourself to be just a little bit happy for them, then you really do deserve pity. Do you really think they’re blissfully happy right now? They’re not! I know – I always thought that if Harm and Mac ever finally got together, JAG would magically turn into one gigantic ‘happily ever after.’ Call me pathetic, but I basically expected balloons to fall from the ceiling and the MPs to start singing the Hallelujah freaking Chorus. But that isn’t what happened. Nobody’s excited for them – even themselves – because they’re all too busy being worried about you. Don’t you see that?”

He was silent as her tirade hit home. After a long silence, he replied at last. “What do you suggest I do? Put on a happy face and pretend I can’t wait to come back to JAG? I don’t fake that kind of thing very well. I can’t find a whole hell of a lot to be happy about right now, so I’m not inclined to work too hard at making everyone else feel better.”

She drew a long breath, then made a careful decision. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, she spoke again, in a more even tone. “Sweetie, at some point you’re going to have to start looking on the positive side of things. I know how dumb it sounds, but the only way you’re going to feel better about yourself is if you stop thinking about what you’ve lost and start thinking about what you still have. Like your friends, and A.J… and me. You still have a life, Bud. There are a lot of people who don’t have nearly so much to be grateful for.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the harsh light in his eyes flickered and faded into shame. “You deserve better than this,” he said quietly. “All of you do. I don’t want to take more than I can give. It isn’t right. I promised myself when I was a kid, when we were living off food stamps in base housing, that I’d never ask for anyone’s charity ever again. Isn’t this the same thing?”

“You think you’re a burden to me? To JAG? Is that why you’re doing this?” She shook her head, and forced him to meet her gaze. “You’re a long way from being a charity case. Eventually you’re going to be walking just as well as you did before, and things aren’t going to look nearly so bleak. Push all you want. Your friends aren’t going anywhere. And neither am I.”

Her earnest declaration touched him deeply; it was as if he had no choice but to share her faith. He leaned forward to kiss her softly, remembering how it had felt to do that very thing for the first time on the fantail of the Seahawk, more than five years ago.

Five years ago, however, she hadn’t responded by sliding up against him and urging his lips apart with her tongue. Bewildered by the unexpected transition, he didn’t react for a minute, while she nimbly wound her way up into the oversized chair next to him. Other memories were evoked by the precise motions of her delicate hands, and for a fleeting moment he allowed himself to be swept away by her exquisite ministrations.

Then, as if waking from a dream, he was jolted back to reality. “Harriet, w-we can’t …”

She stared back at him with an expression that was somehow both innocent and heated. “Why can’t we?” she asked matter-of-factly.

He swallowed hard, flushing with embarrassment. “Well, for one thing, the logistics are bound to be awfully complex …”

“So we’ll adapt. I’m flexible.” Only the slight twinkle in her eye betrayed her awareness of the double meaning.

“Honey, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but – ” He averted his gaze, the thought literally painful. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t just a little repulsed by the idea of sleeping with a man with one leg.”

Her heart cracked a little further at his words, but she refused to let it show. “Bud, look at me,” she said quietly, waiting until he did so to continue. “You’re my husband, and nothing in the modern world could stop me from being attracted to you. Nothing has changed about the way I see you, or the way I feel about you. And nothing ever will. You hear me?”

There were tears in her eyes as she slipped out of her robe, and as he watched, his eyes were bright as well. “Besides,” she went on, reaching for his belt, “we talked about having another baby someday. Don’t you think we could use some practice?”

He lifted a trembling hand to her face. “God, I love you,” he breathed.

She kissed his fingertips. “Then show me.”

That night, both of them slept downstairs on the couch.


1106 EDT
Ambulatory Rehabilitation Center
Bethesda, Maryland

“Nice work, Lieutenant. Want to call it a day?”

Bud gritted his teeth and all but collapsed onto a bench next to the sidewalk. “Definitely. Do you mind if I stay out here for a while?”

“No problem. I’ll let your wife know where to find you if she comes looking. See you tomorrow.”

As the physical therapist wandered back into the building, Bud took a moment to catch his breath. Walking outside had seemed like a good idea before – the scenery was a vast improvement over the drab walls of the rehab suite. But the heat of the late-June day was starting to settle in, making any kind of exertion rather unappealing. Especially since he didn’t dare wear shorts in public.

He drank in the fresh air for a few minutes, until a familiar voice behind him caught his attention.

“Mind if I join you?”

Turning, he unconsciously straightened up. “Commander. What brings you out here?”

“I had to take a deposition from one of the ER doctors this morning. Harriet mentioned that you’d be around.” Harm stepped around the bench and took a seat on the opposite end. “How are things going?”

“Things get a little better every week,” he replied, forcing himself to relax. Might as well get it over with. “Sir, about what I said the other day – ”

“It’s not important.”

“I think it is. I handled the whole thing badly.”

“So did I, Bud. Let’s just leave it at that, all right?” Harm’s gaze flicked over to the gathering of ducks near the edge of the pond. “Harriet said you were thinking about leaving the Navy.” Bud’s head jerked toward him, startled, but he held up a hand. “It’s all right. Mac and I are the only ones she told. She’s afraid you might really do it.”

“It’s not like I’ve made any decisions yet. I’m eligible for a medical discharge. If I went into civilian law, we wouldn’t have to worry about money so much.”

“If you resurrect Brumby and Brumby, so help me, I will kick your ass,” Harm warned, and they enjoyed a quick laugh. “Seriously, though, Bud. Money has never been your first priority before. You’ll make lieutenant commander soon enough, and you’ve got some benefits coming. What’s the real reason?”

“Besides not wanting to suffer through PFT every year on a leg and a half? How many reasons do I need?” He flinched under the other man’s unwavering gaze. “I’m just not sure I can perform the duties expected of me anymore, sir. That’s all there is to it.”

Harm was beginning to suspect that this disillusionment extended beyond just the injury he’d suffered. “Because you’re unable to do so, or because you’re unwilling?”

There was a long pause before Bud answered. “I’ve been watching the news a lot lately,” he said distantly, fixing his gaze on a rock in the path. “The Pentagon says they’re going to be pulling some of our troops out of Afghanistan, because they don’t expect to fight any more major battles with Al-Qaeda or the Taliban. I guess I’m starting to wonder if we achieved any of our objectives over there, or if we’re just giving up and going home.”

Harm was at a momentary loss: he’d always tried to avoid thinking too hard about it. “Are you afraid that everything we did over there was a waste?”

“Well, what good did it do? I mean, what good have any of us done? Bin Laden’s still out there, isn’t he? Even if he isn’t, it’s not like there aren’t others just like him. Is the world really any safer from terror today than it was on September 10th? For Christ’s sake – nobody can even tell me if that little kid is alive or dead!”

The bitterness in his voice hung in the air until Harm finally responded. “Do you think that makes what you did any less important? I don’t. I hate what happened to you, but I swear I admire you every day for doing it.”

Bud shook his head, disbelieving. “How can you say that, of all people? You did what you did to save an aircraft carrier full of people. I did what I did to save a kid I don’t even know. One little kid.”

“Bud, it’s a lot easier to do the right thing when five thousand lives are on the line,” Harm said quietly. “When the stakes aren’t as clear, it’s infinitely harder. But that’s when it’s real heroism.”

The younger man sighed. “Sir, I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t know if I can believe it just yet.”

“That’s all right. You will someday.” Harm opened his briefcase and withdrew a small, weathered book. “Anyway, I brought you something. Once upon a time, it helped me a lot. Maybe it’ll help you.”

Bud accepted it, examining the plain cover warily. “Sir, no offense, but I’m not really in the right frame of mind to appreciate one of those inspirational ‘overcoming all obstacles’ stories.”

“This isn’t one of those. It’s actually pretty damned depressing at times. It’s a true story, about a Navy lieutenant who’s injured in an accident and has to give up the career he loves.”

“Does he get it back?”

“Kind of, but not in this story. It ends with him trying to move on.”

A glimmer of suspicion dawned in the back of Bud’s mind. “And how did he do that?”

“He went to law school, Bud.” Harm stood up from the bench and began to walk back toward the building. “Like I said. Maybe it’ll mean something. Or maybe not.”

Bud opened the hardbound book and immediately recognized his friend’s distinctive scrawl filling the pages. He looked to the corner of the page and read the date: March 20, 1991. Surprised and a little awed, he called after him. “Comm – Harm? Are you sure…?”

Harm paused and turned back with a shrug. “I can’t tell you if the world is any safer today than it was on September 10th. All I know is that it is safer when people like us stand guard than when we don’t. That’s the best reason I can give you for why I’m still here. You have to decide for yourself whether that’s enough for you.”

When he was gone, Bud stared long and hard at the journal in his hand. Finally, he decided to put it away until he got home. Whatever those pages contained, he was certain that they would demand his full attention.


March 20, 1991

Before I get very far into this, I just want to state for the record that I’m doing this under protest. I don’t know what the hell they think I’m going to get out of writing everything down like a damn third-grade girl, but Dr. Meyer says write, and I’m not really in a position to argue, even with a shrink … so here goes.

Why do I need a shrink? What an excellent fucking question. Apparently the gods of the Navy are under the impression that I’m traumatized in some way. I don’t know where they’d get that idea. Let’s see – two weeks ago I was with my squadron in the Arabian Sea. One week ago, I woke up in a hospital in Germany. Today, I’m stuck in this room, with nothing to do but stare at the walls and think about how badly I’ve fucked up my life. But traumatized? Whatever would make you think that?

Shit, I’m in hyper-sarcasm mode today. Okay, start over. My name is Harmon Rabb. I’m twenty-seven, and I’m a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy. Up until a few days ago, I would have phrased that sentence differently. I would have said that I’m an aviator in the U.S. Navy. That’s the way it’s always been – what I did was always more important than who I was. I was a pilot. I flew. Notice the past tense there, though. Now, I don’t know what I’m going to do, and consequently, I’m not sure I know who I am, either. All I really know for sure is that I can’t fly.

Twelve days ago, I was coming in for a night trap in rough weather. Night traps always suck, but we’ve all done a hundred of them before, and this one shouldn’t have been any different. Something obviously was different, though. I don’t have a real clear picture of what happened – concussion, they tell me – but I came in low, and our bird hit the ramp. I think I remember my RIO yelling, but for all I know it could have been me yelling. Next thing I knew, my mother was sitting by my bed crying, and I couldn’t move my legs. It was most of a day before anyone got up the courage to tell me about Mace, my RIO. They said he’d punched us out too early – his parachute had pulled him into the wreckage while it was still burning. Ever since then, I’ve been seeing flames every time I close my eyes, even though I can’t really remember the crash. I guess it’s the least I can do, since I’m the reason he’s dead.


Bud read the page over again, shocked by the tone of the words. The man who’d written this wasn’t the man he knew – it wasn’t even the man he’d met seven years ago, still too consumed by his shame to wear his hard-earned wings. The evolution was difficult to imagine. He turned the page, almost afraid of what he’d find.


I can’t even count the number of people who’ve tried to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. Right. This isn’t rocket science here. I was the pilot, I was the one trying to land the damn plane, and I was the one who screwed the pooch. Hence, my fault. Q.E. fucking D. This thing with my eyes – all it means is that my time as a naval aviator is over. It doesn’t erase my responsibility for what happened. Nothing can do that. I’m always going to be the guy who got his RIO killed. The best I can hope for is to somehow figure out something else to do with my life, so I won’t be hearing Andy Mace’s voice in my head until the end of time.

What the hell am I supposed to do, though? I can’t even think about it. Christ, right now I can’t even walk. They keep promising me that I’ll be able to get back to normal eventually. I believe them some of the time – mostly when I’m lying down. When they drag me out of bed and force me to stand up, on the other hand, my back hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and that usually convinces me that they’re full of shit.

I honestly have no idea where I’m headed next week, next month, or next year, and it scares the hell out of me. So here I am, hating life and writing in a stupid fucking journal about it. Hope you’re satisfied, Dr. Meyer, because I don’t feel the slightest bit better about myself.


As Bud continued to read, he began to get a picture of his friend that was a far cry from the one he’d previously had. The raw pain, anger, and guilt that rang in the words were almost blinding, but he recognized in them a familiar thread. God knew he’d buried enough frustration and bitterness over the past few weeks – if that patronizing rehab counselor of his had forced him to write his own feelings down, he probably would have reacted in a similar manner.

The entries continued throughout the spring and summer of 1991, as the young Lieutenant Rabb struggled through another back surgery and subsequent recovery. He wrote of his new doubts about choosing a Navy life, of following his father’s path without question and suddenly feeling betrayed by that legacy. Bud was overwhelmed – the words could have been his own. Like him, Harm had detested his own weakness and resented the help he needed. Through it all, there was an underlying current of determination, the strength of will that was so characteristic of the man he’d become. Bud kept turning the pages and drinking it all in, immensely grateful to feel just a little less alone.


… Had to go before the board of inquiry yesterday, down at Pensacola. It was the first time I’d put on a uniform since it happened, and I think I looked fairly pathetic in it. The questions weren’t so bad at first. The officers on the panel weren’t trying to accuse me of anything. They just asked me how it happened, and even though I couldn’t remember it clearly for a couple of weeks afterwards, I sure as hell remember it now. Somehow I don’t think I’ll have any problems recalling any part of that day for a long, long time. But that’s off the subject. What really started to get to me was the way they looked at me – so damn sympathetic. They felt sorry for me. Maybe that’s what I deserve. It’s not like they have any reason to respect me or anything. I’m not sure anyone does anymore.

It’s probably a mistake to even put this on paper, but sometimes I really wish –


Bud dropped the book onto the table, unable to believe what he’d just read. He fumbled through the pages to confirm that his eyes hadn’t played a trick on him. Harm couldn’t possibly have written that and meant it – right? Re-reading the entry, he knew there had been no mistake, and the idea floored him.

He glanced up at the clock, considering his options. Harriet wouldn’t be home until later – she was picking up A.J. at his playgroup. Quickly, he made a decision and reached for the phone. There was something he just had to know, and it wouldn’t wait another day.


Same time
North of Union Station

Mac was the first one to hear the tentative knock, and crossed the apartment to look the through the peephole. Faintly surprised by the visitor, she yanked the door open. “Bud, come in. Is everything okay? You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“I took a cab. I, uh…” He trailed off, suddenly rethinking his actions. “I’m sorry, ma’am – I should have called…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harm appeared from somewhere behind his partner, immediately noticing the journal in his hand. “We were just cleaning up from dinner.”

“But you’ve got company – ”

“I’m not ‘company,’ Bud. I’m practically a permanent fixture these days.” Mac smiled and tucked the dishtowel into her belt. “Get in here already.”

Relenting, he limped into the apartment, eyeing the low-seated couch with distrust. Reading his thoughts, Mac pulled out the desk chair for him, and took a seat on the couch herself. Harm finished up the last of the dishes and came over to join them. “What’s up?”

Bud hesitated. ‘Si – Harm, there’s something I want to ask you, but it’s pretty personal.” Mac rose to leave the room, not wanting to intrude, but he shook his head. “Not to me – personal to you, I mean.” He held up the journal with a tentative expression.

Mac looked to Harm for guidance, and he laid a hand on her arm. “I don’t want to have any secrets from you,” he told her quietly. “Stay.” To Bud, he said simply, “Go ahead.”

Bud summoned his courage and explained. “I got about as far as May, just after the inquiry, and there’s something in here that I just couldn’t believe you’d ever think, much less write. I guess I wondered if maybe you’d done it just to see what it looked like, or …”

“Are you asking me if I really wanted to die?”

Mac gave a little gasp, utterly taken aback. She didn’t know quite what she’d expected to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. Harm merely waited for Bud’s silent nod of assent before answering. “For a while in there, yeah, I think I did. But you have to keep in mind that there’s a big difference between having thoughts about not wanting to live and actually considering suicide. If I’d really wanted to kill myself, I could’ve done it. It’s not like I didn’t own a sidearm. But I never got to that point. It was more the idea of taking Andy’s place, I think. I wanted to be the one dead instead of him. At the time, I was having a hard time getting past that guilt, and I honestly couldn’t convince myself that there was anything worthwhile out there for me.”

He offered a wry smile. “You might have noticed that I have something of a one-track mind when it comes to flying. It’s the thing I hold onto when I’m not sure about anything else. Sometimes I find that it creates more problems than it solves, but it’s hard to go against instinct.” He risked a brief glance in Mac’s direction as he said it, and although the significance of it escaped Bud’s notice, that admission spoke volumes to her. “Losing that sense of direction just destroyed me. Aviators are a strange bunch – we all have this idea that we’re destined to be what we are, and when it didn’t work out for me, I thought that my life was basically ruined. I’m not proud of it – it was a pessimistic, immature attitude, because I had a lot more going for me than I was willing to admit. I’m so embarrassed by some of what’s in that book that I almost decided not to give it to you. I didn’t have a permanent disability, and I knew it.”

“But you were alone,” Bud protested. “You didn’t have the kind of family and friends to lean on that I do. You had to give up the one thing you’d wanted to do all your life and practically start over. I don’t have to do that – I can still practice law just as well with one leg as I could with two.” Slowly, he realized that he’d never verbalized that thought before.

Harm lifted an eyebrow with a trace of a smile. “Then you’ve probably got more going for you than you’re willing to admit, too. Actually, I know you do. But read the rest of it, if only to let me feel like I redeemed myself. You’ll see that I didn’t stay hopeless forever.”

“Nice going, flyboy – you’re giving away the ending,” Mac tried to scold teasingly, still trying to come to terms with all she’d heard.

“Some help you are, Marine,” he fired back good-naturedly. “Bud, why don’t I drive you home? Harriet’s bound to send out a search party sooner or later.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Bud climbed to his feet, shaking his head. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but I’m really amazed at how far you’ve come since then. Now that I can really see what it was like for you then, and since I know how hard it is to get through this kind of thing … I don’t know, I guess I’m just impressed. I mean, look at where you are now – you’ve got everything you ever wanted …”

To his surprise, Harm shook his head with a small smile. “Bud, if that were completely true, my life would look a lot more like yours.” He glanced over at Mac again, and this time the younger man saw and understood. “But I’m getting there.”

Bud returned the smile as they made their way to the door. “Listen, do you have a free evening next week? I still owe you a game of chess.”

… When Harm returned to the apartment half an hour later, he found Mac still sitting on the couch in the exact same place she’d been when he left. A strange expression creased her graceful features, and he frowned. “Mac? Everything all right?”

“Hmm? Oh. You’re back.” She blinked and looked up at him, bringing herself back to the present. “That was a good thing you did,” she said honestly. “Letting him see everything you felt, good and bad … I think it went a long way toward making him feel better about all this.”

“I hope so. I hope I didn’t totally overstep my bounds, since obviously I can only relate to what he’s going through up to a point. But it sounds like he understands. I think he’ll be okay.” He slid onto the couch next to her. “The question now is: what can I do to make you feel better?”

“Me?” She feigned confusion, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Something’s bothering you. Is it the fact that Bud now knows substantially more than you do about that particular part of my life? Because if you want to read it, too – ”

“It’s not that, although I would like to read it sometime. It’s more about trying to imagine you in that state of mind. I’ve never seen you be that … vulnerable, I guess. You have to admit, you’re pretty good at appearing indestructible. It’s hard to envision what you must have been like at that time, but I certainly have some personal experience with feeling hopeless …” She shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Maybe I’m just realizing that we have even more in common than I thought.”

He nodded understanding, reaching over to trace her cheek with a gentle finger. “You don’t think I’m vulnerable now?” he asked. “Sitting here with the woman I love more than life, the only person who sees through every defense I’ve got?”

Marveling at the way those words seemed to fall so easily from his lips, she smiled a little. “What you said to Bud before you left, about wanting your life to be more like his – was that for his benefit or mine?”

“Maybe both. But why does it matter? It was the truth.”

“A family and a house in the suburbs?”

“You don’t think you’re up to the challenge?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, and he briefly regretted being so forward. They hadn’t discussed anything relating to the future – maybe she’d just laugh it off, and they’d be able to dodge the looming questions implied in that comment …

But she didn’t laugh it off. Instead, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I love you, sailor,” she said simply, and settled into his welcoming embrace.


2216 EDT
Rosslyn, Virginia

“Bud, are you coming up?”

“Five minutes, sweetie. I just need to finish this last page.”

Bud had explained the meaning of the journal to Harriet as soon as he’d arrived home. He’d had no choice: she’d noticed the difference in his bearing immediately, and upon hearing the full story, she’d looked happy enough to kiss the commander senseless. He couldn’t blame her – he felt stronger than he had in quite some time, and the feeling was contagious. But he needed to read the rest of the journal, to witness his friend’s transition from utter hopelessness to true resolve.


… I still can’t look back on these past few months and find much to be proud of. Sure, I’m healed – I passed my PFT on the first try yesterday, which surprised the hell out of the sergeant keeping score. Take that, punk. And I’ve got something to do with myself, although I still don’t know whether it’s going to work out or not. Who talked me into this lawyer thing, anyway? It’s been a long time since I last cracked a book, and I’ve never been all that thrilled about the idea of public speaking. Not to mention the fact that the fleet JAGs were always prime targets for harassment by the aircrews. But what the hell – it beats retraining as a navigator, or a comm officer, or a damn cook. Maybe I’ll actually be halfway decent at it. Stranger things have happened, right?

I know I could have gotten out and gone civilian, but the truth is, I already know that it wouldn’t have worked. I realized that when I got back to Norfolk last week to clean out my apartment. Being back on the naval station just felt right, and I can’t explain it any better than that. It’s just who I am, I guess. I’m an officer. That much didn’t change when everything else went to hell. Maybe now, who I am will start to be as important as what I do.

I don’t think I’m ever going to be one of those people who believes that everything happens for a reason. I can’t find a single good reason that Mace had to die, and at the moment, I can’t find a reason why I should be here in Washington instead of thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic. But if I spend all my time thinking about that, I know I’m screwed before I even start. I guess I’m willing to entertain the possibility that things are going to turn out all right.

Better get going – Keet’s in town, and he promised me a memorable night out before he ships out on the Roosevelt. Classes at Georgetown start Monday morning. Wish me luck.


Bud put the book away with equal parts satisfaction and wonder. If someone had told Lieutenant Rabb eleven years ago that he’d soon be one of the most accomplished attorneys in the Navy, that he’d be able to reclaim his flight status and receive medals from two different presidents, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. For Bud Roberts, the inference was clear: a future beyond his imagination awaited him, as long as he could maintain his faith. A future at JAG, with his friends and family … Stranger things have happened, his mind echoed.

He made his way up the stairs, putting just a bit less weight on the railing this time, and ducked into A.J.’s room long enough to place a kiss on his sleeping son’s forehead. Then he slipped into bed beside his wife and reached over to turn off the light.


The following week
0948 EDT
White House Rose Garden

“Stop fidgeting, squid!”

“It’s not my fault the damn thread broke!”

“No, but it is your fault that you didn’t notice the loose button in the first place. So hold still, would you?”

With impeccable accuracy, Mac slid the safety pin into place, securing the second button of her partner’s dress whites in its rightful position. “There. No one will be able to tell.”

“I sure as hell hope not. That’s all I need, the President of the United States thinking I can’t keep my uniform from falling apart.” As she backed away, Harm caught her hand and kissed it, some of the apprehension in his eyes fading. “Did somebody show my parents to their seats?”

“Sixteen minutes ago, Harm. Relax.” She studied him for a minute. “You must really be freaked. You never refer to your mother and Frank as your parents.”

“I am not ‘freaked’. I’m just tense. Besides, maybe I want to do right by Frank after all this time. Did that ever occur to you?” She merely cocked an eyebrow at him inquisitively. “I’ve been thinking more and more about the things I take for granted,” he explained quietly. “So I’m trying to appreciate what I have. Make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” she answered with a smile, taking a second to peek out around the building at the gathering crowd.

“Have you seen…” He trailed off, not wanting to sound too hopeful.

Her smile wavered, and she shook her head. “Not yet. We’ve got seats for them, but they weren’t sure if they were going to make it.”

“I know. I wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to come to this circus. I don’t even want to be here.”

“Not even a little?”

“Okay, maybe a little.” He cast a glance around the garden, his expression wistful. “History really does repeat itself, doesn’t it? It’s been almost six years since we were here last.”

Comprehending immediately, she followed his gaze to a spot near the curb, only a few yards away. “We met right there, didn’t we? God, was it really six years ago?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He shook his head with a wry grin. “You thought I was an arrogant jerk.”

“You were,” she returned smoothly, eyes twinkling for just a moment. “You looked at me and saw someone else.”

“Not for long,” he assured her. “And the admiral took one look at us and said – ”

“ ‘Don’t get too close. You have to work together.’ ”

Both officers turned to see Bud Roberts standing by the gate in his dress whites, leaning only on a cane. Harriet stood behind him in her own dress uniform, holding little A.J.’s hand and smiling at them. “I guess that means we’re all back where we started.”

“Not by a long shot.” Harm quickly crossed the path to shake his hand firmly. “Glad you could make it, Lieutenant.”

“Congratulations, sir. I was impressed the last time we did this, and I’m impressed again.”

“And just think – this time, I even voted for the guy who’s giving me the medal.” He sized up his friend carefully. “So does this mean you’re thinking about holding onto that uniform, Bud?”

Bud shrugged with a smile. “Can’t see any reason to get rid of it just yet, sir.”

Each of them managed to mask their reactions, but inwardly, his wife and closest friends breathed identical sighs of relief. Maybe things were finally looking up.

“Good answer.” They were interrupted by announcement for the guests to take their seats, and said a quick goodbye before going their separate ways. Mac reached up to place a delicate kiss on her flyboy’s cheek, and after straightening his cover, she hurried out to join the rest of her friends.

As Harm took his place with the rest of the honorees, Bud took a deep breath and went to take his place among the crew of JAG Headquarters. He was welcomed with warm smiles and greetings, and for the first time in ages, they gave him comfort. This really was his place – he belonged here with them. Right then, that seemed like the most important thing in the world.


The End

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