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Date Posted: 20:12:25 05/30/05 Mon
Author: TracyJean
Subject: Calendar Girl: May

Many of you probably remember me from several years ago before I left the JAG fandom (although I didn't use my middle name when I posted then). As a few of you know, I've put my fan fiction back on the web and I am working on finishing my works in progress. A couple of people have suggested I posted here, so while I'm working on finishing Drifting On A Lonely Sea Chapter III (which I will posted once it is completed, preceeded by the first two chapters as a refresher), I thought I'd dip my toe in the waters by posting a previous story I'd written in honor of Memorial Day 5 years ago.

This is dedicated to all the servicemembers - Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard - who have put on the uniform, served their country and ultimately died in the service of it. In particular my cousin - Clare C. Riley, 2nd Lt., Army Nurses Corps; Head Nurse, Orthopedic Ward, 45th General Hospital; who was killed two days after her 30th birthday on 1 July 1943 near Casablanca. God bless all those who gave their lives for their country and those they left behind to mourn and to remember.

By the way, the second part is adults only.

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[> Calendar Girl: May 1/2 -- TracyJean, 20:21:35 05/30/05 Mon

Title: Calendar Girl: May
Author: TracyJean
Spoilers: There are some specific spoilers in this part - mostly for the Pilot episode, Skeleton Crew and Death Watch. Also with a little bit of Pilot Error, Jinx, Full Engagement, Gypsy Eyes and Legacy thrown in. Also, there's a few references to Adrift, although the events of that episode definitely did not happen in this universe. You'll understand when you catch them.
Disclaimers: Not mine...yadda, yadda. You know the drill.
Notes: Since 'Skeleton Crew' never aired in the US, I made up my own dates for when the episode took place. The story about the six names being added to the Wall and the status of 28 of the names being changed from MIA to KIA is true, the ceremony taking place on 3 May 2001. That brought the total number of names on the Wall at that time to 58,226. This story was written and takes place on Memorial Day, 2001 (that's important to a part of the story) and Harm and Mac had been involved since the previous October just after they got back from Russia. In the universe this story takes place in, Sergei didn't stay in Russia.

~*~*~*~

As I open my eyes to the still dark room, I can hear the harsh splatter of rain against my bedroom window and my mind turns to Harm, just returned from his quals. If he were out flying in this weather …. I try to banish the thought, but it won't go away. It happened before, Harm crashing in weather just like this. He's never really talked about his crash in depth – a hint here, a stray comment there. After Arizona, I'd checked into it – I'd told myself that I was simply satisfying my curiosity. I mean, a pilot who turned around and became a lawyer? There just had to be a story behind it. I'd read all about the crash, how his RIO had ejected them out over the deck, how Harm had spent weeks in the hospital, how he'd faced a board of inquiry which had ultimately cleared him of all responsibility – all except that which he took upon himself. That part, of course, wasn't in any of the reports.

I'd known from scuttlebutt that Bud had been aboard the Seahawk when Harm had gotten his wings back, so I'd asked him to fill in the gaps in what I had discovered. I'd tried to make it sound as innocent as possible, as if I wasn't digging into the background of a potential friend, searching for information which I hadn't yet really earned the right to know. The truth was, Harmon Rabb fascinated me, had from that first awkward handshake outside the Rose Garden. I just wouldn't admit to anyone – not to myself and most definitely not to him – just how much he did.

When he finally opened up just a little about those dark days after his accident, when we were on the run in the Appalachian Mountains, I'd felt …. honored, for lack of a better word. That was the moment, when I'd been given just the tiniest glimpse into the tortured soul carefully hidden beneath the carefully polished veneer of military discipline, that I'd started to admit to myself that I was in the process of falling hard for Harmon Rabb, Jr. Just a few weeks later, in Columbia, it'd taken supreme effort not to finish what I'd started and close those last few inches separating us. I chuckle at the thought. If I'd known then what I know now, Harm wouldn't even have had a chance to realize what was happening before I'd had him out of that uniform and rolling around with me on the bed that had been behind us. But I don’t really want to think about the benefits of hindsight. When I do, it just reminds me how much time we managed to waste.

I sigh as I sit up in bed, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. Harm's back from his quals, managing to get them in and return from the Patrick Henry before the storm broke, but he's not really here. Not today. I've known, almost as long as I've known him, that there are those days – Christmas Eve, the anniversary of that day on the Taiga, the anniversary of his crash – when Harm seems to retreat just a little bit into his shell and fights against letting the rest of the world in. I saw it on Christmas Eve at the Wall. Sergei and I were there with him, but it was like Harm was off in his own little world. Even as we drove to his grandmother's farm that evening, he'd been distant. And I felt it last night, as Harm restlessly tossed and turned, unable to find refuge in sleep. I'd wrapped my arms around him and, although he didn't pull away, he wasn't exactly letting me in either. If I didn't know him so well, I might have been offended. Instead, I was simply saddened.

I'd figured out early on that Memorial Day would be one of those days for Harm. This day isn't about a single person or a single event which shaped the man that Harm is. This day is about all of them – Luke Pendry, lost in a crash due to the inadvertent miscalculations of a military contractor; Lieutenant Mace, lost in that horrifying ramp strike on the deck of a carrier; his father, lost over the jungles of Vietnam and ultimately lost to the mountains of Siberia; his grandfather, lost in the beginning days of the last war to sweep the world. Today is about all of the men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. It only makes sense that this day would hold special meaning for the man I love.

I climb from my bed and quietly head for the living room, finding Harm sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back, his head turned, watching the rain fall against the window. I can't see his face, but I can close my eyes and see his forlorn expression so clearly. I imagine it would look like the one he wore that day, as I translated Pitchka's words to him, the day I’d had to be the one who finally had to shatter all his hopes and dreams and to tell him that his father was truly gone. It had killed me just a little inside and I'd hesitated before I'd forced myself to say the words, not wanting to be the one to break his heart like that. For all the man – brave and courageous and sure – that he has become, there's still that six-year-old boy inside, aching for all that he has lost in his life.

I sit down behind him, resting my arms on his shoulders, one hand slowly stroking his hair. At first, I don't think he's going to acknowledge my presence, and I tell myself that I'm okay with that. It's enough that he knows that I'm here for him. Then I feel it …. his head tilting back just a little, leaning back into my comforting embrace. I rest my head against his and sigh.

After a moment, I hear his voice, soft and hesitant. “Sarah, I’m….”

I can forgive him just about anything when he calls me that. Well, there was that time …. but I hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been saying, instead listening for the words which I’d wanted to hear and when he didn’t say them …. That’s really the last thing I want to think about and I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

He doesn’t turn to look at me, his eyes focused on the rain streaming down the window pain. “What if I want to?” he says with a sigh.

“Talk about it?” I muse incredulously. Now, he does turn to look at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Is it really that far outside the realm of possibility?” he asks, then chuckles softly. “On second thought, maybe you’d better not answer that.” He looks down at his lap, his eyes shifting nervously. It doesn’t surprise me and fortunately, it doesn’t bother me the way it used to. Who would have thought that I, so insecure about the relationships in my life, wouldn’t be bothered by this? Have I managed to become that secure in our love for each other? I’m slightly dizzy at the realization and I can’t help but laugh, which brings another amazed glance from Harm. “You find this funny?”

“Not your shutting down on me,” I reply, trying to keep a lid on my amusement. “I’m used to that. That is what’s so funny. It just occurred to me that you’re being distant and I’m barely giving it a second thought. Somewhere along the line, it stopped bothering me that you don’t want to talk about certain things or at certain times and I’m just trying to figure out in my mind when that happened. When did I become so understanding and completely accepting?”

He grins, that sexy grin that women are just supposed to fall for, and I have to resist the urge to smack him. I’m trying to be serious, at least as serious as one can be at 0532 on a holiday morning. “Haven’t you always been?” he teases.

“Even in Sydney?” I retort, not meaning it as a joke as he obviously does. My tone is deadly serious.

The smile falls from his face and I instantly regret not keeping up the teasing tone of the discussion. I open my mouth to take the words back, but he starts speaking before I can smooth things over. “I thought we’d pretty much accepted that we weren’t really ourselves that night?” he asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say. “I just wonder at times how we got from that night to where we are right now, that’s all. Sometimes, I’m afraid that I’ll wake up and find that this has all been some kind of dream and that you’re not here and I’m still with Mic and, Heaven forbid, about to walk down the aisle with him or something like that.”

He actually appears to ponder my question for a moment, then asks, “You mind if I ask you something?” I shrug and he continues. “What made you come to my apartment that night – the first night we made love?”

“As I recall, we got together to work on a case,” I remind him, smiling slightly. Actually, there is more to it than just that, but it is fun keeping Harm off balance – just a little.

“Yeah, but you were the one who’d suggested getting together over dinner to work on it,” he counters.

“But you were the one who actually suggested it be at your place,” I return.

"But …. " He laughs and raises his hands in supplication. “Okay, point for you, Counselor,” he says. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one who started …. I mean, you …. ” He trails off with a slightly embarrassed look on his face. It’s funny. I have a hard time imagining Harmon Rabb embarrassed about this. Mr. Dress Whites and Gold Wings? But here he is, blushing slightly under my steady gaze.

“You mean, I’m the one who seduced you?” I finish the thought. He gives me a stunned look, as if he didn’t think I’d actually admit that and I shrug. “Well, I did, didn’t I? I admit it. I had suggested we get together that night because I wanted you and I meant to have you.”

“But why?” he asks. “After everything that had happened between us, after what happened in Sydney, why would you even want to take the chance? I’m not the easiest person to talk to, to be with. I know that and, God, so do you.”

“See, you’re getting better,” I proclaim with a laugh. “You can admit that much about yourself.” I sober, then continue on in a more serious tone. “Honestly? I’ve never really thought about it. I’d just been lying in bed one night, tossing and turning, and I just decided that I wanted you and I was going to have you and there wasn’t going to be anything you could do about it. I didn’t think about what a pain in the ass you can be sometimes or how much I’d thought you’d hurt me in Sydney. I just knew that I couldn’t go on any longer without you as part of my life. I wasn’t really thinking at the time beyond that.”

“Does it bother you?” he blurts out. He pauses, the look on his face telling me that he’s surprised even himself with the question, but then he continues, “When I don’t talk to you, does it bother you that I’m not letting you in?”

“Not like it used to,” I reply after pondering for a moment how to phrase my reply. “Maybe it’s because I’ve let myself understand why you get like that sometimes. Maybe I’ve learned to look past the fact that you’re not talking to me and to think about why you’re hurting so much that you feel the need to shut down. You’ve hardly had an easy life.”

“Neither have you,” he points out, picking up my left hand and simply holding it, his thumb rubbing over the silver claddagh ring on my third finger. Love, friendship, loyalty. They’re the cornerstones of our relationship. Sure, the other stuff, like communication, is important, but I’m not about to let myself throw it all away again because we still have a hard time with that part of our relationship sometimes.

“And maybe it’s because I’ve had my moments when I’ve wanted to shut down, too,” I continue. “During the Holtz case, when my father was dying …. You didn’t back away from me, even when I tried to push you away, but the minute you tried to push me away, instead of pushing back, I turned and tried to run as far away as possible. Maybe I should be asking why you want to be with me.”

“Because I love you,” he answers simply.

“And I love you,” I reply. “And that is what makes all this worth while.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. He drapes his free arm over my shoulders and pulls me against his side. I shift so that I’m sitting across his lap, my body curled against his, my head resting against his bare shoulder. Then he returns to our original topic of discussion. Or I guess in a way we never really left it. “Do you want me to talk about it?”

“Only if you want to,” I reply. Although I would love for him to open up to me, I’m not going to push him to do it. I’ve learned my lesson there. I learned it all too well.

He’s quiet for a long moment and I begin to think that he’s just going to let the subject drop. I’m about to suggest that we return to bed for a few more hours, before we have to get up and get into our uniforms to go to the Wall. But then he begins, in a distant faraway voice, “I can’t remember how old I was when I went to my first Memorial Day commemoration. I have these vague memories of sitting on my dad’s shoulders, watching the ceremonies at the local national cemetery, all these little flags in front of the graves fluttering in the breeze. Of course, I had no idea what it was all about, what it all meant. I do remember that my Dad was kind of sad and Mom would hold his hand, leaning over every so often to whisper something to him.”

“He was thinking about his father?” I ask.

Harm nods. “He was only two when my grandfather went down,” he explains. “Gram told me once that she didn’t think he really remembered anything about his father, but every so often, he would surprise her and say something …. almost like he was having flashes of memory. She said he once mentioned my grandfather picking him up off the ground after he’d fallen off the front porch trying to go down the steps and she’d been sure that she’d never told my father about that and that he was too young to remember the actual event.”

“So what was your grandfather like?” I ask tentatively, still not sure how deeply I should get into this discussion. Then I laugh, realizing what I just said. “I mean, I know you don’t have any first hand knowledge …. ”

“Gram talks about him a lot,” he says, shrugging. He’s quiet again and I can almost see the memories replaying in his mind of talks he and his grandmother have had. “He was a year older than her, the best friend of a classmate of hers. She’d known him her entire life, Bealsville being a small town, but she’d never really paid any attention to him until she was seventeen.”

“Did he look like you and your father and brother?” I ask, trying to imagine how Sarah Rabb could have not paid attention if he had the looks that ended up being passed down to his son and grandsons. God knows, I’d tried not to pay attention and look how that ended up.

“I guess, from the pictures I’ve seen,” he replies. “His hair was actually light, like Sergei’s. Gram said that Dad’s dark hair – and mine - came from her father. Anyway, he was hesitant to get involved with anyone because he was getting ready to leave for the academy, but whenever he would come home, Gram would be there and finally, over Christmas break his final year, he proposed. They were married just after graduation. The day they returned from their honeymoon, he left for flight school. My dad was born nine months after they married and when he was three months old, my grandfather received orders to report to San Diego. So he packed up his wife, his infant son and his widowed mother and traveled clear to the other side of the country.”

I’m surprised at that, although I’m not sure why. “I guess I’d always assumed from the way you’ve talked that your grandmother had always lived in Bealsville,” I say.

“While Granddad was alive, she moved around with him,” he replies. “She was nervous that first trip. Except for a couple of visits to Annapolis while he was there, she’d had yet to venture further than about fifty miles from Bealsville in her life. Neither had Granddad’s mother. But Gram understood that he had to go where the Navy sent him and that it was her duty as a wife to follow. After he went down, she went home, back to the family farm. She raised my father and …. learned how to live with the memories.”

“Do you think it ever bothered her, your father following in his father’s footsteps?” I wonder. “You know, going to the Academy, becoming a pilot?”

“I wondered about that, especially after my mother’s reaction the day I showed her my Academy acceptance letter,” he reveals, his voice tinged with regret. “I remember the look in Mom’s eyes most of all. I wondered a bit if she was hoping that my little adventure in Laos had put me back in school just far enough that I wouldn’t be able to catch up in time to be admitted to the Academy. In her eyes, I could see her reliving the moment when the base chaplain had shown up at our house. When I called up Gram to tell her the news, I’d mentioned Mom’s reaction without even thinking about it. The woman had lost her husband, then watched her only child go off to the Academy, become a pilot, go off to war and never return home, but all I could think about was that my mother wasn’t happy for me.”

“Something tells me that your grandmother understood,” I say. I’ve only met his grandmother once – this past Christmas when Harm insisted I accompany him and Sergei up to Pennsylvania – but the impression I got was of a woman who is proud of her family’s service to this country, even if it had cost her both her husband and only child.

“She did,” he tells me, glancing down at our joined hands. Could I be that …. relaxed about it? I don’t know. I’d been very apprehensive last week, when Harm was preparing to leave for his quals and I’d first started hearing weather reports that reminded me too much of what I’d heard about the circumstances of Harm’s crash and I did not breathe easy until he safely touched down at Andrews AFB yesterday. If I’d known him back then, I don’t know how I could have stood it. I don’t imagine it was easy for his mother, sitting at his bedside after his crash and wondering if she was about to lose her son, too. “Gram is very …. I guess patriotic, for lack of a better word. She’s never been anything less than proud of our tradition of military service. Even when Dad went to ‘Nam and there were so many people who were protesting the war.”

I remember that. I was four when Uncle Matt returned, Medal of Honor soon to be draped around his neck. We’d all gone to the airport to meet him – one of the few times that I can remember going anywhere special with both my parents – and I remember the stares as we walked through the airport, Uncle Matt in his Class As, carrying me in his arms. Even Dad was in his uniform – and completely sober for one of the few times I can remember. I even remember a few hostile glares from people as they spied two Marines going through the terminal. I’d asked my uncle, in my innocent way, why people were staring and his response was a simple one. “They just don’t understand, Sarah.”

He was right. They still don’t, to some degree. I wonder how many times people have asked me why I would want to ‘waste my time’ in the military. Even when I tried to leave, it was never because I wasn’t proud and honored to serve my country. I’d simply thought that there was more out there for me. Maybe it took me leaving before I really realized how much I really do love it and how much it is a part of me. I relate the story about my uncle, adding, “Once, I was talking about his Medal of Honor in school – I was in an off-base school at the time - and some of the other kids looked at me like ‘What is the big deal?’ I could have been talking about an award from the Rotary Club for all some of them cared.”

“For a lot of people, military service doesn’t carry the same distinction it once did,” he says sadly. Then he laughs and adds, “You know, if one of our kids, someday in the future, came to us and said they didn’t want to join the military, I think I’d have a heart attack and die of the shock.”

I laugh with him. I try to imagine a little boy, with his father’s looks and his killer smile, growing up and not wanting to join the military, not wanting to be a pilot. Knowing what I do about the Rabb family, I can’t imagine any child of Harm’s growing up without a love of the open sky and the wind in his – or her – hair. I know the best that I can hope to do is maybe steer them in the direction of the Marine Corps. They can still be pilots if they absolutely have to, just wearing Marine green instead of Navy blue. “I think I would too,” I agree. “I would hope that we would be able to teach our children what an honor it is to wear a uniform and serve their country.”

“Navy or Marines?” he teases and I remember the slightly horrified look on his face when he first found out that his brother wanted to be a Marine. Of course, he was even more horrified when he’d thought, for a brief moment, that Sergei was going to join the Army. I think the only thing that could have horrified him more is if Sergei announced he was going to join the Air Force.

“I have nothing against the Navy,” I say matter-of-factly. “I do work in a profession where most of the people I work with are Navy and most of my friends are Navy.” Not to mention the fact that I fell head over heels for a Navy man. I can’t help grinning at the thought. He may have gone undercover as a Marine a few times, but I can’t imagine Harmon Rabb, day in and day out, in anything except a Navy uniform. Of course, if he were a Marine, he wouldn’t have the dress whites and that alone makes up for the tiny little detail of his chosen branch of service.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “but you’d rather that any child of yours wear Marine green over Navy blue.”

“They can follow in your footsteps by being a pilot,” I tease, “and in mine by becoming Marines. They do not have to join the Navy to become jet jocks.”

We share a laugh at that. Honestly, for all my teasing, I wouldn’t mind any children of mine following their father into the Navy. I might have a little bit harder time with the pilot thing, knowing what can happen, but flying multimillion dollar aircraft is far from the only dangerous job in the military. Harm and I nearly lost our lives and two men did lose theirs aboard a submarine, for no other fact than one of their own was very disturbed. Diane lost her life because she was a threat to a fellow officer’s career. They aren’t all like Harm’s father and grandfather or like Lieutenant Mace and Luke Pendry ….

I wonder sometimes how much he thinks about them. I know he blamed himself for Mace’s death and didn’t wear his wings for five years because of it and that it was only after saving then-Captain Boone’s life and having Mace’s brother pin his wings back on that he began to let go of that guilt. I know that he did little but think of Luke during our first case together at Miramar. Looking back, it’s a bit surprising to me. He’d actually opened up to me a little bit and had told me about Luke on the flight to Miramar and I’d been the one to tell Bud when he’d accidentally stuck his foot in his mouth at the beginning of that case by mentioning the squadron’s string of accidents dating back to Luke’s. Maybe he’d just worked harder to come to terms with Luke’s death because of his feelings for Annie. I’m not sure I want to bring it up and not just because of his past relationship with Annie. I’m just not completely convinced that I’m not wading into dangerous waters here, getting him to talk about all the people he’s lost in his life.

“Hey, do you want to go ahead and get dressed?” he suggests. I calculate and realize that we’ve been curled upon the couch, talking for fifty seven minutes. “We can go ahead and head to the Wall before it gets too crowded, then head to Arlington.”

Arlington? That comes as a bit of a surprise. “What? Did you want to go to the wreath-laying ceremony?” I ask, referring to the Memorial Day tradition of the President laying a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns. I’ve only been once myself, the first year I was in Washington. It’s usually too crowded at the cemetery on Memorial Day, particularly at the Tomb.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he replies softly. Then I could kick myself as I realize, just a second before he adds, “There’s some people I need to visit.”

~*~*~*~

AN HOUR LATER
VIETNAM VETERANS’ MEMORIAL

We’re not the only ones who had the idea of getting to the Wall early despite the rain still falling, trying to beat the holiday crush of visitors. But it’s not as crowded as it will be later, so at least we’re not having to fight a crowd to stand in front of the black granite panel that bears the name of Harmon Rabb, Sr. Harm steps up to the panel, me standing just far enough behind him that the umbrella I’m holding still protects both of us, the fingers of his right hand tracing over the letters of his father’s name. The diamond superimposed over the cross in front of his name is a recent addition, one Harm had to fight for. The cross is the original symbol, signifying his father’s status as missing in action. A diamond in front of the name means killed in action. When a previously missing person is identified as deceased, a diamond is carved over the cross.

A few weeks after we’d returned from Russia the first time, just after Roscoe Martin’s death and just before that whole situation with Chris turned everything upside down for us, Harm had come to me and said that he’d petitioned to have his father’s status on the Wall changed. I’d been proud of him for taking the step, seeing it as a logical one in the healing process, like removing his MIA bracelet had been. Neither of us could have imagined the firestorm such a simple request would generate, but we should have. If it hadn’t been for the Admiral’s insistence on investigating our supposed ‘deaths’, we probably would have been left to our own devices and at the mercy of the former KGB, courtesy of the same government we’ve both given our adult lives to serving.

Growing increasingly frustrated when he hit brick wall after brick wall, Harm had mentioned his quest to the Admiral, who in turn had mentioned it to Clayton Webb. After some cajoling from the Admiral – and maybe even a threat or two – Clay agreed to get involved and to try to smooth things over for Harm. It took over a year and a half to convince the right people to stop interfering and let Harm’s request be granted. I’ve wondered at times if the request wasn’t finally granted because of concern over Harm’s going public with his story – especially once Sergei entered the picture. A child born of an American POW and a Russian woman wouldn’t look good for the government, especially one still loath to admit that there were POWs taken to the Soviet Union during the war. If Sergei’s paternity hadn’t finally been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, I imagine there would have been people trying to block his claiming US citizenship. I think ‘they’ finally decided that it was better for all involved if we were quietly given what we wanted. Then maybe they figured we would go away. Harm, Sergei and I all attended the ceremony back on the third of this month, when six new names were added to the Wall and Harm, Sr.’s was one of twenty-eight whose status was changed.

Harm’s voice is quiet as he begins to speak to his father and I look down at my shoes, trying to pretend that I’m not listening, that I’m giving him the privacy he needs right now. Maybe we should have brought two umbrellas or maybe I can just hand him the umbrella and step back, letting my cover and the Marine-issue raincoat I’m wearing protect me for a few minutes. But I stay where I am. I shift slightly and my free hand brushes against his, still down at his side. He smiles as he curls his fingers around mine, ignoring military protocol, keeping my hand clasped in his as he continues talking. He talks about everything and nothing – as if he were simply having a casual conversation – our current caseloads, his grandmother, Trish and Frank’s current activities, his brother and the two of us all getting equal time. I smile when he talks about his surprise at Easter, when he showed me a little bit of the holiday fun he remembered as a child, and then he suddenly relates an anecdote about the Easter before his father was shot down, the same story he'd told me last month.

I hear footsteps approaching us and I turn my head slightly, finding Sergei just behind us, bundled up in his own raincoat, the brim of his cover dripping with rainwater, an umbrella held above his head. I mouth 'Hello' and tug slightly on Harm's hand to alert him to his brother's presence. He turns and motions his brother forward, the two of us moving slightly to accommodate Sergei next to us. He looks over at us nervously.

"I never really know what to say when I come here," he admits, his accent a bit thicker in his nervousness. "I never knew him…."

"You're probably not the only one," I point out, reaching around Harm and patting Sergei on the shoulder. "I wonder how many of the men named on this wall had children whom they never got to see, had children who hadn't been born when they died. Although the circumstances may be a bit unique, you're hardly alone."

"Anyway, he knows you," Harm tries to assure him. "He watches over us. Sometimes, I've even felt his presence …. "

Sergei and I both look at him, surprised by the admission. Sergei also figured out pretty early on that there are some things that it's best not to ask Harm. Most of the questions he has, he asks his grandmother, unless it's something that only Harm would know. Harm notices our scrutiny and shrugs. "I've been working on myself," he says simply. He grins just a little. "I thought I was doing pretty good this morning."

"You were," I assure him while Sergei looks at us strangely. I think he's had a hard time figuring us out after the way I chased Harm into Chechnya in a taxi while still involved with another man. He'd had a good laugh when Alexei, not knowing who Sergei was or that we had already met, told him that I was the wife of an officer at the base. Okay, time to change the topic. "Anyway, Sergei, your brother is right. When we had to make an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains, when we punched out of the MiG in Siberia, your father was watching over us. He was probably watching over you in Chechnya."

He looks down at the ground. "When I was first conscripted into the Army," he relates in a distant tone, "Mama said that she prayed that my father would watch over me, keep me safe until I could come home again."

"And maybe he was looking out for me on that road to Chechnya," I say lightly, although that's far from how I feel about that situation. Maybe the thought of how close I came to losing Harm that day is what part of what drove me to break up with Mic after our return. "After all, what would you two have done if I hadn't shown up to let you know that Krylov was in on the plot to assassinate Putin?"

They look at each other, silently conceding with a shared look that I'm probably right about that. I guess Harm, Sr. was looking out for all three of us that day. I smile at the thought. I never knew him either, but Harm's father has been nearly as big a part of my life as he has been a part of Harm's for the last few years.

"He's proud of you," Harm says, his hand covering mine on Sergei's shoulder. "The way you handled yourself in Chechnya, the new life you're building for yourself here …. he's very proud."

Sergei lowers his eyes, but not before I see the hint of unshed tears. Harm's eyes are suspiciously moist as well and I lean closer, brushing my lips against his cheek. I think this has been good for him, being a big brother. Maybe it's helped him learn to be more open, knowing that he's not the only one who has lived for so many years without his father's presence in his life. Harm glances at me and I see the hint of a smile play at his lips.

"I think he'd like you," he whispers. "And I think he'd be proud that I found such a proud, courageous woman with whom to share my life. Thank you, Sarah, for being there for me and for putting up with everything from me. I know I've never made it easy …. "

"I love you," I whisper back. "That alone makes it all worth while."

~*~*~*~

Conluded in part 2....


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[> Calendar Girl: May 2/3 -- TracyJean, 20:27:02 05/30/05 Mon

Okay, Voy said I went over, so this will be posted in three parts instead of two .... that moves the smut to part 3.

~*~*~*~

AN HOUR LATER
ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

We had parted company with Sergei, who had plans with some friends from school, at the Wall and had taken the Metro across the river to Arlington. As we ride the escalator up to street level just outside the cemetery, I express my …. apprehension about all this.

"Are you sure that you want me to come along?" I ask, turning to look back at him, standing just behind me. "I mean, are you sure you don't want to do this alone?"

"Sarah, I would have thought after this morning you wouldn't ask me that," he replies, studying me intently. "Or does it bother you that Diane's is going to be one of the graves I visit?"

"Of course not," I reply quickly. Too quickly for Harm, perhaps, judging from the questioning look he gives me. "It has nothing to do with Diane, not specifically anyway. I just thought …. you're facing a lot of memories here today. Do you remember how hard it was for you to tell me about the investigation into Diane's murder? I thought maybe you'd want to be alone with your thoughts."

"Want to be alone …. probably," he replies. "Need to be alone …. not really. I think I'm learning that one more and more every day. I do …. want to share this with you. Diane and Mace have been a large part of my life and you should understand how their deaths have affected me …. at least Mace's. You were there when I found Diane's killer, after all. You know what that did to me."

"I know," I reply as we step off the escalator. The rain has stopped, so we remove our overcoats, draping them over our arms. "If you're sure, then I'd be honored to accompany you."

"Thank you," he says as we walk through the gates into the cemetery, signs all around reminding visitors to keep the noise down out of respect for those resting here for eternity and for any burials which might be taking place. The crowds are starting to form, many people carrying flowers or small American flags, despite flags already having been placed by the 3rd Infantry in front of every grave in Arlington just for today. Many people are even in uniform, like Harm and myself. In addition to his coat, Harm is carrying a small bouquet of flowers – which I assume is for Diane's grave – and a small die cast F-14 attached to a wooden dowel – obviously for Lieutenant Mace's. He glances at me then down at my shoes. "Are you going to be okay walking through the cemetery in those shoes? Mace's grave isn't far, but Diane's is in a far corner of the cemetery. It's quite a walk."

"I'm a Marine, Harm," I reply automatically, although I have to groan inwardly for not thinking of that myself. The cemetery is very hilly. So much for the comfortable shoes. "I'll be fine. Although, when we get home, you might want to think foot rub."

He grins at me and it amazes me how relaxed he manages to look right now. "I'll keep that in mind," he teases. We walk in silence for a moment, then Harm begins talking softly.

"When you pilot an F-14, you don't do it alone," he says, turning the toy Tomcat over in his hand. "A person doesn't become a good pilot without having someone just as good in the back seat to back him up. The best pilots are in so synch with their RIOs that they can almost anticipate each other's movements, read each other's thoughts. It takes time to develop that kind of relationship with someone. I've seen pilots who are closer to their RIOs than to members of their own families."

"Were you and Mace like that?" I ask gently.

He looks up at the sky, where the dark clouds are breaking just enough to let a hint of sunlight shine through. "Yeah," he replies. "We'd been together for a couple of years, had a rhythm going. I've been lucky as a pilot, having Mace and then Skates sit in my back seat, at least until the day Mace panicked and ejected us out over the deck. Once I was able to look back with a less critical eye, I wondered what made him do that. That's got to be one of the most elementary lessons a pilot learns – never eject too close to the ground or water. You don't have the height necessary to allow your chute to open so it can slow your decent. You would understand that. You've ejected before. Anyway, you're better off taking your chances in the plane so close to the deck. I can't remember anymore how many times I've heard how much of a miracle it was that I survived."

"Maybe he was afraid of getting caught in the fire,” I suggest. "From what I've heard about it, your crash was similar to Lieutenant Issacs' crash." I shudder at the thought, remembering the fireball that lit up the night sky that night, remembering Harm's grip on her chute being the only thing which kept Skates from a horrifying death herself caught up in the screws of the ship. That was the day when I'd realize just how lucky Harm was to have survived his own crash, how but for a twist of fate, we might never have met.

"I know," he says, taking my hand and leading me off the main road down a row of identical tombstones, the standard government-issue one given free to those buried here. "And Mace isn't around to ask anymore. He pulled the ejection handle. He was partly responsible for his own death, I realize that now, but all I could think was that if I'd realized that I was having a hard time seeing at night, then I would never have been up there that night and Mace would still be alive. That's what his brother thought."

"Bud told me that his brother was the one who later pinned your wings back on, after you saved the CAG," I point out. "Maybe you just needed him to forgive you before you could begin to forgive himself. And then when you were able to save Skates, you did what you weren't able to do for Mace and it helped you heal just a little bit more." Especially after way Congresswoman Delong had thrown his crash in his face earlier during that investigation. I was very surprised that Harm had managed to keep his mouth shut after she'd brought up Mace's death. Hell, I'd had a few dark thoughts about her myself, listening to her spout off about things she really knew nothing about and I'd felt so bad for Harm, having to just stand there and take it.

"I guess," he says as we come to a stop in front of a stone about two-thirds of the way down the row, in front of a stone identical to all the others in this row. On its face are inscribed the words 'Michael Daniel Mace. Lieutenant (j.g.). US Navy. 1964-1991. USS Seahawk.' Someone's been here recently, judging from the still-fresh flowers in a vase next to his tombstone. I stay back a respectful distance while Harm crouches before the grave, carefully setting the F-14 in the vase so it looks like it’s part of the floral arrangement. The cemetery is a stickler for what can be placed at graves. He’s murmuring something softly, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

I take advantage of the relative solitude to study my surroundings. There are people down nearly every row as far as I can see around us, some stopping before specific graves with flowers, others just walking among the graves, just here to pay respects to all our honored dead. On the main road, I see a woman bending down to speak to a young child, holding a finger to her lips to quiet him. At least some people are trying to teach their children respect, I think as I see a couple of older children, preteens maybe, running on the road. There’s an elderly couple the row in front of us. I wonder who they’re visiting. Perhaps a parent, a sibling or maybe even their own child, taken from them too soon. There are all kinds of stories here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Harm stand and I turn my attention back as he snaps off a salute, turning smartly on his heel and returning to me. He manages a slight smile as he takes my hand. I wonder how he is doing, but I’m not sure I want to risk asking, until he takes note of my concern and says, “I’m okay. I think it gets a little bit easier to do this every year.”

I nod slightly. It’s been ten years, nearly ten and a half, since the accident. It some ways, I’m sure it feels to Harm like it was just yesterday. In others, it probably feels like a century has passed. Time heals all wounds. I notice the elderly couple again and I wonder idly how much time they’ve had. Then I notice a middle-aged couple heading down the road, the man wearing a ‘USS Cole’ cap. Their wounds are probably still raw and fresh, less than a year removed from that tragedy. Seventeen sailors, most sitting down to lunch, all simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If there’s nothing else, all the people buried here have one thing in common. Their lives had meaning and honor. In most cases, so did their deaths. ‘I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.’ Nathan Hale reportedly uttered those words, paraphrased from a play, before being hanged as a spy during the Revolution. That’s many of these people resting here, having given all that they had for this country.

But there are those deaths which are senseless – like Diane’s. Harm guides me back to the road and we continue heading up the hill towards the farthest reaches of the cemetery. Diane shouldn’t have died, victim of a sick man’s fear of his career being scuttled. The irony, of course, is that if she were alive, I wouldn’t be here right now, wandering the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery with Harm. I tighten my fingers just a little around his, needing the comforting reassurance of his presence.

Harm looks at me and then down at our joined hands. “Maybe I should be asking you if you’re okay with this,” he said softly.

“No, I’m fine,” I assure him, shaking my head. I try to focus on the large crowd we’re passing to distract myself, all gathered around the eternal flame that marks President Kennedy’s gravesite. “I was just lost in thought. I …. accepted Diane’s place in your life and heart a long time ago. It’s just a little ironic, that’s all.”

Harm doesn’t press me to explain my last statement, for which I’m thankful because I’m not sure that I really want to explain it to him. We fall into a mostly comfortable silence as we continue on our way. I look off to my left, seeing crowds already milling around the amphitheater, waiting for the wreath laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknowns later this morning. A little further on past that, I can see what looks like preparations for a burial later, a green canopy erected to protect the site.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I nearly stumble as Harm turns onto another road. The only thing which kept me from smacking into the pavement, I’m sure, is his grip on my hand. “Sorry,” I say. “Wasn’t paying attention to where we are going.”

Harm looks at me carefully. I’m positive I know what he’s thinking. That’s confirmed with the next words out of his mouth. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I can go on alone if you want to …. I don’t know, wander the cemetery or something.”

“Harm, I’m fine,” I say, emphasizing the ‘fine’ part. “I said so a few minutes ago. I was just looking around the cemetery as we were walking, thinking about all the history, the stories of the people buried here. This place …. I guess I don’t see how people can come here and not be affected by it all and not just on Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day.”

“I remember the first time I came here,” he tells me. “Mom and Frank were taking me to Annapolis and we came a few days early because Mom said she wanted to tour Washington. Of course, we visited here. Mom started crying when we stopped at Kennedy’s grave site and she and Frank started sharing their memories of where they were and what they were doing when they’d heard the news. She continued crying the rest of the time we were here. Mostly, I think because we sought out the graves of a few people she knew who’d served with Dad, others who hadn’t made it back alive from Vietnam.”

“I came for the first time a few months after I moved to Washington,” I say. “I took a free weekend and spent it wandering the city, seeing all the monuments, things like that. I didn't want to live in Washington and not be able to say that I've seen everything here. I spent a few hours wandering around here before heading to the Marine Corps War Memorial. I could see why Kennedy made that remark about spending eternity here. Uncle Matt once said that he wants to be buried here eventually …. I'm just not sure that's possible anymore."

"We could look into that," Harm suggests, but I shake my head.

"We've got plenty of time for that," I reply. I don't want to think about the day when the only way I'll be able to visit Uncle Matt is in a cemetery. He's the member of my family whom I'll most miss when he's gone. In fact, I've only met one other person who means as much to me and that's the man walking next to me. I'm about to change the subject when Harm stops at the end of yet another row of graves.

He looks at me and I see a flash of such intense anguish before he manages to mask his expression. "It's down here," he says, nodding towards the row. "About halfway down the row." He stops and looks down at our clasped and then gives me a little half smile. "Thank you for being here with me."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now," I vow softly. We walk down the row towards Diane's grave, our pace slowed just enough that it's noticeable. Maybe it's that her death is more recent, just five years this month. And after knowing and dancing around their feelings for each other for fifteen years, they were finally going to decide on their future together and she was taken away, just like that.

Harm looks over at me as we come to a stop and I smile at him reassuringly as I stretch up and kiss his cheek. "I'll be right here," I whisper.

Nodding, he releases my hand – slowly, as if he doesn't want to let it go. Finally, he does let go and crouches at her grave, making a big production out of fussing with the flowers he brought for her, arranging them in the holder next to her grave. He moves slightly and I can make out the inscription on the marker. 'Diane Laurel Schonke. Lieutenant. US Navy. 12 January 1964 – 28 May 1996.'

28 May 1996. It takes a moment for the date to click in my mind and I cover my mouth to stifle my gasp. It hasn't just been five years. It's been five years today. Oh, God. This explains so much. It isn't just Memorial Day that's been bothering him. Harm, I'm so sorry that you haven't been able to tell me this. No wonder you were so restless last night.

While Harm's quietly conversing with Diane, I take a few deep breaths and try to bury my initial reaction. By the time Harm stands and snaps off a salute, I have myself under control – I think. There are tears in his eyes when he rejoins me and I brush my fingers against his cheeks, wiping away a few that have fallen. "Thank you," he says, taking my hands in his. "I don't know …. Sarah, what is it?"

"What makes …. " I begin, wondering how he knew. What did he see that made him ask me that? I start to speak again, to protest that nothing's wrong, but I stop myself. This is a two way street. If I expect Harm to talk to me …. I start again. "Harm, I saw the date on the tombstone."

He meets my gaze, nodding slightly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he says. "I didn't think, well, um, after all this time …. "

"That it would affect you this much?" I ask. I don't wait for him to reply. "Harm, I know you. I know how things get to you. I've seen before how much her death has affected you. I'd be more surprised if it didn't affect you."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, simply nodding his acknowledgement to my statements. He glances back at her grave then returns his gaze to me. "Are you ready to get out of here?" he asks.

"If you're ready," I reply.

He nods again. "I would like to go home," he says quietly. As we walk away from Diane's grave, hand in hand, he holds onto my hand so tight. It's not painful – at least not physically. It's just that the man I love is in pain and I'm not sure that even I can help him. Again, this is a wound that only time can heal.

~*~*~*~

Concluded (for real, this time) in part 3....


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[> Calendar Girl: May 3/3 -- TracyJean, 20:28:18 05/30/05 Mon

Finally, the *good* stuff....

~*~*~*~

I gratefully kick my pumps off my feet and into my closet while Harm sits on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his jacket. Today's already been a long day and it’s only 1112. I just don't know what to do for the rest of the day. I'd had a few things that I'd wanted to do with Harm, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe we just need some quiet time right now.

As I remove my uniform jacket and carefully place it on the hanger, I ask gently, "What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"

"Didn't you say something about wanting a foot rub?" he asks in reply and I swear I can hear him grinning. I turn around, handing him a hanger for his uniform and I find that I was right about the grin. I think what he has in mind involves a lot more than a foot rub. He's more relaxed – or he seems to be. Maybe he's just trying too hard.

"I did," I reply. "I just …. wasn't sure …. "

"Sarah," he says seriously. The grin has fallen from his face and he is looking at me so intently. "I'm not going to push you away. I've learned my lesson. I just want to spend time with you and be thankful for having you in my life."

"I'm sorry," I say, finishing hanging up the rest of my uniform. Dressed in just a bra and panties, I walk over to the dress and retrieve a pair of shorts and a tank top. "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't want to be around me. I just don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do." When I turn back towards the bed, pulling my top over my head, Harm's out of his uniform as well and pulling on a pair of shorts he'd gotten from the dresser before getting out of his uniform.

"Well, I'm telling you," he says, "I want to spend time with you and I do want to talk about it. I don't want you to think that Diane's memory is going to come between us."

"I don't think that," I assure him, picking up the hanger now holding his uniform and placing it back in the closet. I then sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. "Remember, I asked you once if it bothered you because I look like Diane? You said that you didn't and I believed you. I still do. I just didn't know that today was the anniversary of her death and she was an important part of your life for so long. I just …. "

"Shhh," he says, placing a finger over my lips. "I would like it if you would stop worrying about it. Now, I want you to just lay back and put your feet in my lap so I can give you that foot rub you were looking forward to."

I start to say something else, but a determined look from him has me closing my mouth. I shift on the bed, laying next to the edge, my head resting on my pillows, my bare feet in his lap. He takes my right foot in his hands, pressing his thumb against the underside. He's just started and it already feels so good. That man can do amazing things with his hands and not just when we're making love. Those hands have also wiped away my tears, taken care of me when I've been hurt and so many other things that the memories are all jumbled in my mind sometimes.

"Five years ago, when I got the call from Krennick to go down to Norfolk," he begins, "I'd never imagined that it had anything to do with Diane, even thought I had been told that the murdered officer had served aboard the Seahawk." I'm shocked. I'd expected him to drop the subject completely, yet here he is volunteering information. I consider telling him that he doesn't need to talk about this, that he doesn't have to tell me anything, but I don't follow through. If Harm has decided that he wants to talk to me about it, I'm not going to stop him. "I'd even left a note on my apartment door, telling her that I'd been called to Norfolk. She'd called the previous night and said she'd be standing midwatch. We were supposed to have had dinner the night the ship docked, but with her standing watch, we'd made plans for her to drive up to Washington in the morning."

"But then you got to the Seahawk and found out it was Diane," I say. That's where he's started the story the last time, when I'd practically forced him to tell me about her – with his and Lieutenant Austin's arrival at the dock where the Seahawk was berthed. He's never told me that other stuff before.

"It didn't seem real," he continues. "We were supposed to go away together. Even as I saw her lying in the body bag, her white uniform blouse soaked with blood, it took several moments for it to sink in."

"I know the feeling," I say softly. Dalton even died in my arms and it still didn't seem real, not right there and then. I kept thinking that I was going to wake up and find out it had all been just a very bad nightmare. I can't even remember when it finally sank in. Maybe when I drowned my sorrows in vodka and spouted those hateful things to Harm. I'm not sure anymore.

"I know," he tells me and I can tell that he’s remembering that time, too. He stops talking for a moment, concentrating on the massage, his fingers pressing against my toes. The ache from walking all morning in my pumps is starting to go away, replaced by a pleasant tingling which spreads upward from my foot to other parts of my body. Yes, he does know how to use his hands.

I'm beginning to think that's all he's going to say when he starts talking again. "With Lamb's suicide note-slash-confession," he says, his voice barely there, "the case ended, at least as far as the Navy was concerned. I didn't agree, but since Krennick had come down and taken over the investigation, I didn't have any say in the matter. When I'd tried to protest, she'd reminded me that I was on very thin ice regarding my assault of Lamb and that it was best if I just dropped the entire thing. She also encouraged the Admiral to send me on several back to back out of town investigations before she transferred out, just to keep me busy. So I took all the letters I'd written to Diane, which Agent Turkey had returned to me, and placed them in a box with all the correspondence I had saved from her."

"Can I …. " He gives me a sharp glance, apparently knowing that I'm about to ask him if I can ask something. "Okay. If you put all the letters away and threw yourself into work, even if it wasn't by your own choice, what made you start digging into the case again two years later? Surely you didn't just wake up one morning and decide 'It's time I reopened Diane's murder investigation'."

He shakes his head as he picks up my other foot. "You're right," he replies. "I didn't just decide. Honestly, after the first couple of months, except on days like her birthday or the anniversary of her death or …. the day I met you, I didn't think about her all that much. At least, she wasn’t a constant presence in my thoughts. After the first couple of months, her death didn't consume me. Maybe Krennick hadn't been all that wrong about forcing me to keep busy with work. Or maybe I really had wanted to forget the pain. Anyway, yes, there was something which …. sparked my renewed interest in the case, for lack of a better phrase. Or rather, something led me to go through her letters at that point, which is when I found the draft of the letter she'd given to Commander Holbarth."

He pauses a moment, then continues with a sigh, "Diane's parents were visiting Washington, some kind of anniversary trip or something. Since they were here, they thought they'd see if I was still in the area and look me up. They thanked me. They said that even if we hadn't been able to bring him to trial, at least we had found Diane's killer and …. "

"You felt guilty because you hadn't felt the case had really been solved," I finish when he trails off. He nods.

"That night, I pulled the box out of my closet and went through every single letter and card there," he explains. “I was about two-thirds of the way through the pile when I found the letter to Holbarth. As soon as I found it, I drove out to JAG and spent half the night making copies of the case file and the rest of the night rereading it. By itself, the letter wasn't necessarily incriminating, especially since I didn’t have proof that she'd actually given a copy to Holbarth. We had already known from Diane’s bunkmate that Diane had reported to Holbarth that she was being harassed. Also, Agent Turkey had to have seen the letter. It was mixed in with the ones he'd given to me and he'd admitted that he'd read every one of them, but he obviously didn't consider it worthy of investigation."

"But then you found out that Lieutenant Lamb was left-handed and couldn't have shot himself in the right temple," I realize. "So then that letter became your best clue to the identity of the person who'd murdered not only Diane, but also Lieutenant Lamb."

"Then I found out that the Seahawk was returning to port the following week and that Commander Holbarth was still the XO," he concludes. "The rest of the story you know."

Not really, I don't. Oh, I know all about the original JAG investigation into Diane's death and how Harm's subsequent investigating led him to head to Norfolk on a stormy night with the intention of killing Commander Holbarth. But that's not all there is to the story. I remember something Bud once said, when I'd asked him what she was like. He'd said that while we looked alike, our personalities were completely different. Harm had said pretty much the same thing when I'd first seen Diane's picture and had commented 'This could be me'. If we were that different, how did Harm fall in love with both of us?

I guess I got so lost in that thought that I lost track of everything else, because the next thing I realize, I hear Harm calling my name. Not Mac, but Sarah. And I'd closed my eyes. I open them to find that he's moved. Instead of sitting on the edge of the bed near my feet, he's stretched out beside me, propped up on an elbow, his eyes full of concern and maybe just a little hurt. "Sarah," he says softly, reaching across my body and picking up my left hand, "never doubt my love for you. Remember what this means?" He directs my gaze to the ring on my hand.

I nod. "Love, friendship and loyalty," I reply. I look up from the ring to meet his gaze. "It's not that I doubt your love. We've been through far too much, both together and apart, for that to happen. I don't know how to explain …. "

"You're wondering how I fell in love with both you and Diane," he says. It's not a question. We know each other too well after all this time. It makes us an unbeatable team in the courtroom. Like Harm and his partnerships with his RIOs. Only time will tell if the same will continue to hold true outside of it. I hope so, as I've never hoped for anything else in my entire life.

He doesn't wait for me to agree before continuing, "It's different. I'm not entirely sure I can explain it. Maybe it's the difference between young love and a more mature one. I don't know. But there is one thing that I can say for sure."

"What is that?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know if Diane and I would have made it long term," he replies, his gaze falling to my ring. "I don't even know, at the end of the week we were going to spend together, if we would have decided that we wanted to pursue a relationship. Maybe we would have gotten together and decided that the sparks just weren't there anymore or maybe they'd never really been there at all. Maybe it had just been a youthful infatuation which we'd discover that we'd outgrown. I'll never know because there was something else in store for me. I've never really been a big believer in fate, but I do believe that something led me to you or rather, led us to each other. And there was something that wouldn't let us let go of each other, no matter how hard we tried.

"I can say for certain that I love you, Sarah Mackenzie. Someday, when we decide the time is right, I will put another ring on your finger and promise 'until death us do part'. And you know how I am about my promises."

I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Harm may sometimes stumble over the words, but I don't need flowery words and phrases. I'm realizing more and more that I never did. Just hearing Harm say that he loves me is all I could ever want or need. Maybe because I waited so long to hear him utter those three simple words. "You've yet to make a promise that you haven't kept," I whisper.

"And I don't intend to where you're concerned," he whispers back as he lowers his mouth to mine. I sigh deep in my throat as I lose myself to his kiss and the warm, tingling feeling spreading through my body, stronger than before. I roll onto my side so that I'm pressed against him, our bodies fitting together perfectly from top to bottom. As if we were made for each other.

I feel the cool air from the air conditioning against my back as Harm tugs my shirt from the waistband of my shorts, but then the sensation is replaced by one of intense heat as he presses his hands flat against my back. Then his hands are moving, his fingers lazily trailing up and down my spine, causing shivers as I find myself struggling to remember that I need to breathe in precious oxygen. It's so easy to forget ….

Suddenly, Harm rolls us over so that I'm lying stretched out on top of him. I shift just a little so that my center is pressed against the hard bulge straining against his shorts, and I slowly rub against him. I lift my head so that I can look at him. I love looking at him like this. Okay, I always love looking at him, but this is different. His beautiful eyes darken to almost a smoky gray color, glittering like diamonds. I could get lost in those eyes.

Harm pulls his hands away from my back, but before I can protest, he pushes himself into a sitting position, taking me with him. Then he’s yanking my tank top over my head and tossing it behind him. I giggle a little when one of the shoulder straps hooks around one of the posts of the headboard. Then again, I guess that’s not the most unusual place an article of clothing has ended up with us. At least it’s not likely to be seen there by a visitor.

He’s barely noticing where he’s throwing my clothes, intent on peeling them off of me. His hands move over me so fast – any faster and he’d be ripping my clothes off. Not that I would mind that. But he manages to restrain himself just enough and soon I’m naked from the waist up, my body pressing against his from hips to lips as his mouth finds mine again while his hands move down my stomach, unfastening the button at the waist of my shorts and tugging the zipper down.

I start to move off his lap so that he can finish removing my clothes, but he stops me by wrapping his arms around me. "Trust me?" he asks in a husky whisper that has my heart stopping in my throat. What exactly does he have in mind? It doesn't really matter. This is Harm. I learned early on that I could trust him with my life and now I know that I can also trust him with my heart. I nod, licking my lips as my mind begins wandering, imaging what he's planning to do to me, with me.

I don't have to wait long. I never have to anymore when it comes to him. "Turn around," he instructs me. I comply, settling back onto his lap with my back to him, pressing back against him until we're both stifling harsh groans. He laughs, low and sexy against my ear then his tongue is swiping against my ear. I murmur my approval as his hands begin moving across my shoulders, slowly back and forth from my arms to my neck. It's so slow and unhurried. I don't know really what I was expecting, but this isn't quite it. It's almost …. I turn my head and my eyes meet his and I can tell. I know that he knows what I'm thinking.

One of his hands cups the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head back at just the perfect angle. His mouth brushes over mine, a feather light touch that leaves me wanting more. I always want more with him. I always have and I suspect I always will. Then he pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine again. "I do love you," he says, his voice confident and sure.

"I know," I assure him, reaching up and hooking my arm around his neck, pressing my fingers against the back of his neck, guiding his head towards mine. "I don't doubt that, not anymore."

"Not even after today?" he asks and my heart starts to ache even more for him, for the pain that today is causing. The full meaning of his earlier question suddenly hits me. When he asked if I trusted him, he wasn't just referring to allowing him to take control of our lovemaking, if that was ever a part of what he was thinking about.

"Harm," I say and he casts his gaze downward for a brief moment. When he lifts his eyes, I can see the torment, but I can also see the love and the tenderness shining through – like a beacon in the darkness that's haunting the fringes of his thoughts. Maybe I can learn to believe in fairy tales, that love can conquer all. Maybe we both can learn. "I do trust you with my heart. I want you to never doubt that." A silence, not as uncomfortable as it could have been, falls between us and for a long moment, we just look at each other, the only audible sounds our slightly unsteady breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioner.

"Harm," I begin again, my tongue darting out to moisten my lips. The motion catches his attention and his gaze falls to my mouth, watching my tongue circle around. I'm sure he's imagining …. I lift my eyebrows as I ask lightly, "Aren’t you going to make love to me?"

He grins – not his usual, devil-may-care flyboy grin, but a soft sensual one that has me sighing with contentment as our lips come together again in a soft, gentle kiss full of hope, full of promise. His hands begin moving over me again over my shoulders and my breasts start to tingle and ache, anticipating his touch there.

Instead, his hands move down my arms in a sensual massage as he pulls my arm from around his neck. I let it fall to my side, content to let him take the lead. Soon, his fingers are dancing across my stomach and that aching tightness grows stronger, spreading throughout my body.

His mouth moves across my cheek as his hands trace random patterns over my skin to soft murmurs and sighs from me. Then I feel his breath, hot against my ear, and I can't help the shiver that passes through me. “You know what I dream about sometimes?” he whispers. I shake my head numbly, curious where he is going with this.

“Remember the day AJ was born?” he asks and I manage a brief nod. God, how could I forget? I’d kind of half considered a vow of celibacy for the following five years, until Sydney and a certain conversation blew that intention to hell. For the first few weeks after Harm had left JAG, dreams of the eventual fulfillment of that promise are what kept me sane. Even if he ended up regaining his lost dream and never returned to JAG, I knew that someday, he would at least be returning to me. He had promised.

“That night, I had this very vivid dream,” he continues as his hands continue their lazy movements over my belly, only letting them travel up far enough that they skirt just below my breasts before they fall back down again to just above my dark curls. “I imagined what it would be like, the first time we’d make love. I thought I’d take you away someplace – maybe take a few days off from work, spend a week somewhere. Someplace where we could focus on the life we’d be trying to create. I also imagined sweeping you into my arms the day you’d come to me and tell me that we were going to have our baby. I could see you in later months, growing round and full with our child. You’ll make a very beautiful pregnant woman someday. And I know what you’ll look like, gripping my hand, fighting to bring our child into this world.”

God. If he were to ask me right this moment to chuck our five-year plan and have a baby with him right now, I’d grab my birth control pills from the bathroom at the first opportunity and flush them down the toilet. Who knew something so sweet could be so arousing? This isn’t the way he usually talks when we make love, but I definitely wouldn’t mind more of this. I know what he’s doing – at least I think I do. He’s telling me this isn’t just about the sex. This isn’t just some infatuation. This is forever. This is eternal. I never imagine that such sweet, heartfelt remarks could mean so much, or maybe I’d just gotten so use to not hearing them from other men before this that I’d managed to close my heart off.

I never thought, when I’d first fallen in love with Harm, that it would be possible to fall even more in love with him every day. Yet here I am, in his arms, being carried off to not only physical heights, but emotional ones as well. This is a gift which I sense he has granted to no other woman, not even the one who held his heart for so long before me.

“Sarah,” I hear a voice calling me. That’s Harm. I feel his lips, brushing against my ear and his hands moving up my body. The tips of his fingers lightly dance against the undersides of my breasts and it’s like an electric shock, coursing through my body. I manage to focus on the sound of his voice against my ear. “What are you thinking?”

“How much you love me,” I mumble. "What you …. um, God …. " I can't remember what I was going to say anymore as his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs moving back and forth over my nipples, working them into hardened peaks. As a reflex, I press back against him.

He groans harshly against my ear. "This isn't going to last long if you keep that up," he teases.

"This isn't going to last long if you keep *that* up," I counter. He starts to pull his hands away, but I grab his hands before he can move them. I shiver as he laughs, low and sexy.

"What if I do this?" he teases, one hand slipping down my stomach and under the waistband of my panties while his other hands continues moving over my breast. I tense, anticipating his touch, pressing against his hand. He laughs against as his fingers part my folds, unerringly finding my clit. Tremors spread throughout my body at the gentle pressure of his fingers against me.

"Harm, I need …. " I begin, ending on a sharp hiss of breath as he thrusts a couple of fingers inside me, sliding them in and out of me, the heel of his hand pressing against me. I struggle to breathe through slightly parted lips, my head falling back against his shoulder, as the tension builds and coils. I was already so close …. "I want …. more …. oh, please …."

My soft cries turn incoherent as I turn my face against his neck as I find such sweet release, the waves washing over me as he wraps an arm around me, holding me as I fall. The next thing I'm aware of is his pulse, strong yet slightly unsteady, where I'm snuggled against his throat. And his arms around me, holding me so tenderly. I shift slightly and manage to focus my gaze as he looks down at me.

"You know how beautiful you are when you come?" he whispers, one of his hands resting against my cheek, stroking me gently.

"So are …. Harm, what about …." He presses a finger to my lips to silence me.

"Shhh, it's okay," he assures me. "There's plenty of time."

I shake my head as I slip from his arms, pulling off the rest of my clothes. "Harm, come to me," I tell him, placing my arm around his shoulders, pulling him down with me as I lay back on the bed, my thighs parted in invitation. "Let me love you."

He just stares down at me for a moment, his eyes so bright and full of love. "What did I do to deserve you?" he wonders.

"You didn't have to do anything," I reply. When did I figure that out? Under other circumstances, I might have wondered the same thing. "That's just the way love works. I do love you."

"And I love you," he returns as he strips off the rest of his clothes and settles above me, his erection pressing against my sex. I rub myself against him and find that it isn't taking much to arouse me all over again. "Are you okay?"

I'm so touched by his concern. He's the one who needs to find release and he's more concerned about me. I nod as I grasp his lean hips and he slowly sinks into me. He props himself up on an elbow, a hand pushing my hair off my forehead as he slowly pulls out until he's just barely there before thrusting home again. He's moving so slow, in and out, and it's all I can do not to beg him to move harder and faster. But I understand why it's like this. It's heartbreaking and life affirming, all at the same time.

His movements still after a few moments, but before I can wonder what that's about, his hand is moving between us, finding my swollen nub again and circling around and that delicious tension begins building again.

"Please, move," I whisper harshly, lifting my head to swipe my tongue at the pulse point on his throat. I can feel it pulsing erratically, can feel it throughout me like a hum as he finds release, filling me completely. He fights against giving in to the numbing climax. trying to continue moving against me, inside me, until I'm following him over the edge, my body trembling as I cry softly against his throat.

He collapses against me and it's not uncomfortable at all, his weight pressing me against the mattress. I embrace him, running my hands up and down his back in a soothing motion. His body's still trembling against mine and I can feel his shaky breath against my cheek as he turns his head towards mine.

I'm not sure how long we lay here like this, drawing comfort from each other, not the first time that he's thrown off my internal clock. I'm not really aware of much outside of being wrapped up in him until I shiver against him as our heated skin cools in the air conditioned room. He reaches for the throw at the foot of the bed, pulling it over us as he rolls us onto our sides. I tuck my arm under my head as I study him, a soft smile on my face.

"Sarah, I …." he begins, but I shake my head to silence him.

"It's not necessary," I say softly, my hand finding his. I press my palm flat against his, linking our fingers together. "I know. You don't have to say anything at all."

My eyes drift close as I snuggle against him, safe and secure in his embrace. As I drift off to sleep, I hear a whispered 'I love you'. I know, Harm. I do know.

~*~*~*~

More author's notes - Yes, I plan on finishing this series as well (I don't have to worry about posting anything new until October, which is the first unfinished story in the series, which is actually about 2/3 finished already). Until then, if everyone would like, I'll post the subsequent parts (June-September) on the appropriate holiday.


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[> [> Can't wait to read more. -- Cathy F., 00:40:27 05/31/05 Tue


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[> HOO-RAY!!!!!! -- Ecstatic Reader, 20:33:14 05/30/05 Mon

"I've put my fan fiction back on the web and I am working on finishing my works in progress." ~and~ "...while I'm working on finishing Drifting On A Lonely Sea Chapter III..."

I'm THRILLED to read this news!!!! Hip Hip Hooray! One of the JAG world's best is back!!!!!


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[> [> Speaking of my website, I forgot to give the address. It's <a href>http://www.dresswhites.info/</a> -- TracyJean, 20:47:52 05/30/05 Mon


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[> [> [> YIIIIPPPPEEEEE!! -- Danari, 17:29:03 05/31/05 Tue

Sooooo glad you're back! You've been sorely missed! I can't wait to read more of DOALS!


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[> I, for one, am glad you are back. Can't wait for DOALS to continue. Thanks for the repost. Looking forward to more -- MJ, 20:38:34 05/30/05 Mon


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[> Tracy, other than ff.net, do you have another site where you are posting your stories? -- Another Tracy, 20:52:45 05/30/05 Mon


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[> [> So far, aside from FF.net (which I may have to take down because now they don't want song lyrics included in stories unless you wrote them), just here and at my website (http://www.dresswhites.info/) right now. -- TracyJean, 21:05:15 05/30/05 Mon


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[> [> Other Sites -- TZ, 23:55:30 05/30/05 Mon

Other than FF and UTC, there was only 1 other place that I know of or seen that had archived any of Tracy's work. When Tracy decided to close down Dress White and Roses, I recieved permission to archive DOALS.


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[> oh my goodness tracy, im so excited! I LOVE your work...this is fantastic, thank you so much! -- Suze, 21:08:46 05/30/05 Mon


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[> In my opinion, your stories were amongst the finest fan fiction that I have ever read. I am absolutely thrilled that you're writing again. Thank you, thank you, thank you. inside..... -- Harmfan, 21:20:24 05/30/05 Mon

I am kind of worried, since Harm's been in surgery for several years. ;<) Can't wait for resolution!


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[> [> I second that! You are an exceptional writer and I'm glad you decided to continue writing about our favorite show! Can't wait for more DOALS!!!!! -- Marlene, 14:29:28 05/31/05 Tue


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[> Welcome back! -- Manda, 21:20:37 05/30/05 Mon


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[> Glad to see your back. I love your stories so much. -- Kimster, 21:21:54 05/30/05 Mon


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[> It is so good to see you back. I will look forward reading DOALS with the new parts as well. -- GS, 21:22:48 05/30/05 Mon


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[> Tracy, so glad to see you back. Thanks for the story and so looking forward to the rest of DOALS. It's a great story!! -- BlueJay, 22:03:35 05/30/05 Mon


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[> I am so glad you are back. I love all of your work and you have a tremendous talent for capturing Harm and Mac. I look forward to more DOALS. -- Hope, 22:23:54 05/30/05 Mon


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[> I'm really glad to see you back. I look forward to seeing more of your stories, especially DOALS. -- jamie, 22:35:41 05/30/05 Mon


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[> Sooo glad to have you back. DOALS was the very first fanfic I read, and I was hooked - am so happy you'll be finishing it Thanks! -- Sandy, 22:51:29 05/30/05 Mon


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[> You have many fans and Im one of them. So happy to know of your comeback.I consider among the original elite writers for Harm and Mac. -- gita, 23:05:43 05/30/05 Mon


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[> Welcome back, you've been missed. Can't wait to read the continuation of DOALS and all of your other stories. -- Cathie, 02:46:16 05/31/05 Tue


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[> Welcome Back, Tracy. Can't wait for a new chapter of DOALS!! -- germankat, 03:42:03 05/31/05 Tue


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[> Welcome back. I loved all your work and anxiously await whats new. Thankyou. -- AB, 06:31:06 05/31/05 Tue


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[> I am so glad you are back Tracy! I love your stories! -- Angela, 08:14:43 05/31/05 Tue


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[> Wow, great that you're back!!!! I am ecstatic. Now we will finally have the conclusion of one of the best JAG fics out there DOALS.... Will you be also updating on your ff.net account fics? -- Vid Z., 11:07:23 05/31/05 Tue


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[> [> Actually, I may have to take my fics down at ff.net. There is a message on their home page that any story that has song lyrics in it have to be removed if the author of the story is not the person who wrote the lyrics. I guess they don't care if you attribute the lyrics or not. In other words, don't count on it. -- TracyJean, 11:17:15 05/31/05 Tue


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[> You've just made my day, Tracy. I was wondering the other day if you would ever come back with the end of DOALS. Can't wait to read it!! -- Cookie, 11:47:17 05/31/05 Tue


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[> DOALS -- tony collins, 15:39:02 05/31/05 Tue

TracyJean: Welcome back !!! i have often re-read DOALS and consider it one of the best JAG fanfics ever written. I am delighted to hear that you are going to finish it. i remember how upset you with DPB when you left the JAG fiction writing ranks but I hope you were happy with the way the final episode ended. Not only are they together, but there is plenty of room for more stories set in either San Diego or London. Again, welcome back and I look forward to the conclusion of DOALS. cheers, tony collins


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[> Fantistic news! I'm looking forward to read the rest of DOALS and hopefully more of your stories. -- Sunset, 18:37:02 05/31/05 Tue


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[> OH MY GOD!!! YOU ARE BACK!!! HALELUJA!!!! I SOOOO MISSED YOUR STORIES!!! sorry for shouting but I am a big Fan of yours... -- MK winking to Tracy, 18:38:56 05/31/05 Tue


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[> Welcome back, Tracy!!! I've been wondering how you are. So many people have dropped out of sight. And I am absolutely thrilled about DOALS getting finished. And I'm so happy your muse has returned. -- NanaSue, 19:56:41 05/31/05 Tue


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[> [> Yay Tracy is back.I love your shipper websites,stories and MB. Did you finish the Jan-Dec.calendar for Harm and Mac? Those stories were hot. -- Samantha, 01:46:21 06/01/05 Wed


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[> [> [> Never mind my questions were answered on your notes. With all my excitement I skipped that.Bless you Tracy and you made many so happy.We will keep enjoying Harm and Mac in fanficland. -- Samantha, 01:49:32 06/01/05 Wed


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[> Calendar Girl -- Ann Kane, 15:10:04 06/02/05 Thu

I am so glad that you are back!!!! Great story!!!!
Thank you!


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