******************

2047 Zulu (2347 Local)
Somewhere in Iraq

Darkness. Silence. The smell of sweat, of fear, of waiting. Sand, gritty and tasteless, coats him, surrounds him, invades his senses, until it's so much a part of him that he stops noticing it and just lies there. He isn't entirely sure what he's waiting for. His orders, for whatever reason, had been vague, but even at his rank he has to follow them, and he does it without question. A quick glance assures him that his men are doing the same. Stay. Hide. Wait.

Then he hears it. The distinctive high pitched whine of incoming artillery slices through the preternatural silence and he turns his head just for an instant, unable to resist the natural human instinct to locate its source.

There's nothing to see, though. Or at least, not at first. At first there's only the sound, its pitch rising until he has to force himself not to cover his ears. Seconds seem like minutes, seem like hours, seem like days, as the whine approaches, gaining intensity.

Then the world explodes in sound, light, and flying debris.

The waiting is over.

He scrambles to his feet, rising out of the shallow pit of sand like an avenging spirit. His body, painted, clothed in black, and honed by years of training, blends with the dancing shadows. He checks his weapon, signals to his men, then dashes forward, rushing to meet the battle that is itself rushing to meet them.

In minutes, it's all over. Silence, broken only by the crackle and roar of scattered fires, creeps over them again as they look around. First he assures himself that his men are uninjured, then he walks through the scene, mentally cataloging the dead, and assigning his men to collect the fallen weapons and the fallen bodies.

It isn't until he reaches the end of the street that he hears it, and he instinctively turns his head, straining to identify the source of the faint sound. So it is that he sees somebody emerge from the glare and the heat and the light, and he automatically raises his weapon. The figure is running toward him, arms waving frantically, voice raised in panic.

He doesn't understand the words, but he's a man, and a human being, and when he makes out the figure of the terrified woman, then glances from her to the burning building, he knows instinctively what she's trying to tell him.

He breaks into a run, barely aware of her plucking at his sleeve as he passes. He brushes her off and keeps going. He's nearly there, the heat and the flames reaching out to him with long searing fingers, when somebody grabs him, forcing him to a stumbling stop.

"You can't go in there, Sir!"

"I've got to!" He gestures back at the still screaming woman. "There's a child in there!"

"You can't know that!" The master sergeant screams in his face, his expression frantic, desperate, fearful. "It could be a trick!"

They both hear it then, the terrified wail of a small child, barely audible above the roar of the flames. He looks at his friend, shakes his head once, then pulls away, only vaguely aware that Logan has followed.

The inferno surrounds him, chokes him with heat and smoke, but he fights it off and struggles forward, determined to locate the crying child.

There. She's huddled in a corner, a thin blanket pulled around her shoulders and over her head. She stares at him, screams again, and it occurs to him that he must be a terrifying sight indeed. He doesn't have time to soothe her. He grabs her, slings her slight, struggling body over his shoulder, turns, and makes his way back outside.

He deposits the child in her mother's arms and turns back. That's when it occurs to him that the master sergeant is still inside. He runs forward, desperate to find him, oblivious to the frantic shouts of his men, the continued screams of the woman and her child.

He dashes inside, peers through the smoke and the glare, but he never sees the falling beam. There's a flash of light, excruciating pain, and then… Nothing.

Mac looked up from the case file spread across her desk to see Harm standing in her doorway. She shook her head sharply once, scattering the dry facts and figures of the fraud case to the nether reaches of her mind. Then she smiled at him.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I am the lucky beneficiary of an honest to God hour of free time." He indicated the bright sun filtering through her window. "I thought I'd take a walking lunch. Care to join me?"

She looked down at the papers scattered across her desk, then out the window at the gorgeous afternoon, then back at Harm.

"I'd like that. Give me five minutes?"

"Sure. I'll meet you outside."

He left, and she gathered the scattered papers together, tucked them safely back into their folders, and stood, ignoring the twinge of pain in her back. A few minutes later, she found Harm leaning against a wall while he waited for her.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely."

They followed a route they'd taken many times before on days such as these, a route they'd timed perfectly through practice and experience and which would have them back at headquarters in well under an hour. While they walked, they caught up on the news of the day, their words flowing easily back and forth in the exchange of information and ideas.

They were discussing the fraud case when Mac stopped abruptly, her hand on Harm's arm.

"Harm."

"Hmm?" He looked in the direction she indicated, stiffened slightly, and then motioned to her to stay put. She rolled her eyes at the protective gesture and followed him to the bundle of rags tucked into the narrow space between two buildings.

They crouched down, and Harm eased back the top layer of grubby fabric. Mac caught her breath, then exchanged a look with Harm before standing up and pulling out her cell phone to call for an ambulance.

While she waited for the call to be answered, Mac watched Harm ease a hand under the man's collar to check for a pulse. In a sudden flurry of movement, an impossibly thin arm shot out from under the pile of rags, and bony fingers locked around Harm's wrist, yanking him away. One eye opened in the battered face.

"Get your hands off of me." The voice was guttural, intense.

Mac started to step forward, but a gesture from Harm stopped her.

"Easy. We're not going to hurt you." Harm's voice was calm, the words meant to soothe.

Unappeased, the eye glared at him.

"What do you want?"

"We just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Now go away." He shoved Harm's hand away, but the movement was weak, his strength draining away when the burst of adrenaline left his body as suddenly as it had arrived. Mac completed her call and crouched down next to the man.

"You need help," she said.

"I don't need anything from you."

Harm and Mac exchanged a look, then Harm spoke to the man again.

"An ambulance is on the way. Is there anybody we can call for you?"

The man closed his eye, slumping into the pile of rags in a gesture of absolute defeat.

"No. There's nobody."

He didn't say anything else, and after a few moments, Harm and Mac realized he'd dropped into unconsciousness. They stayed with him until the ambulance arrived, then watched while the paramedics pulled the rags away to reveal an emaciated body, the skin struggling to cover the knobs and planes of his bones.

Mac cringed when she saw the cuts and bruises, and was grateful to the paramedics for the care they took in bundling the man onto the backboard before loading him on the gurney. They were preparing to load him into the ambulance, when Harm stopped them and gestured to Mac, staring down at the man's bare right arm.

She looked, and caught her breath, her eyes meeting Harm's in silent communication. She turned to the paramedics.

"This man's a Marine," she said. "He needs to go to Bethesda."

The medic glanced at the tattoo and shrugged dismissively. "We can't take him to Bethesda because of that, Ma'am. We'll take him to Fairfax. They'll ID him. If it turns out that he really is military, he'll be transferred."

Angered, Mac stepped closer to the medic, invading the man's personal space. "You may know medicine, but you don't have a clue about Marines. He goes to Bethesda."

Harm stepped forward, laying a hand on Mac's shoulder.

"He's just doing his job, Mac."

Unappeased, Mac continued to glare at the paramedic, her mind tormented by images of the pitiful condition of the man in the ambulance.

"I'm following you to the hospital."

"Fine."

Unintimidated by either Mac's uniform or her angry scowl, the medic signalled to his partner, and the two of them climbed into the ambulance. The doors slammed, and it pulled away. They stared after it for a moment, then started walking briskly toward headquarters. Mac looked over at Harm.

"I have to go."

"I know you do, Mac." There was no surprise in his voice. He knew her too well for that.

"I don't have any court appearances this afternoon. Will you let Admiral Blankenship know where I am?"

"No."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow at him, puzzled.

"No." Harm stopped walking and turned to her. "If he really is a Marine, somebody needs to make sure he gets transferred to Bethesda."

"And somebody needs to find his family."

"Yeah."

She sighed. "The Admiral isn't going to like this."

He smiled over at her. "It won't be the first time we've annoyed a CO"

Mac shook her head wryly. "Probably won't be the last, either."

They shared a meaningful look. It hadn't taken anybody long to realize that their new CO was a "by the book" political type, and both of them knew that traipsing all over town after a homeless man who might or might not be a Marine wasn't going to go over well. Neither one of them cared about that right now, though. Something about the bedraggled man they'd discovered had touched their hearts, and they felt a need to help that couldn't, or wouldn't, be overridden by concerns about their CO's reaction.

*********

1930 Zulu (1430 Local)
Fairfax Hospital
Falls Church, Virginia

Harm and Mac walked into Fairfax Hospital together and moved to the reception desk.

"We're looking for a patient," Mac said, when she was finally able to get somebody's attention.

"Name?"

"I don't know."

The attendant looked puzzled by this, and Mac explained.

"We found him on the street. The ambulance brought him in."

"Ah… A John Doe. He's probably in the ER."

At Mac's puzzled look she gestured vaguely off to the left.

"Through those doors, then follow the signs."

"Thanks."

By the time they found their way to the Emergency Room, Mac was beginning to wonder if they should have left a trail of breadcrumbs by the time they finally found the triage desk.

"Can I help you?"

"We're looking for a patient," said Harm.

The nurse glanced at his computer, then back at Harm.

"Name?"

"Um…we don't actually know."

"Male or female?"

"Male," Mac answered.

"John Doe." He typed it quickly, then looked up again. "When did he come in?"

"Recently. Maybe an hour ago?" said Harm, after a glance at Mac.

"Let me see what I can find."

They waited while the nurse keyed in the information.

"Here it is," he said after a few moments. "John Doe." He scanned his screen, then looked up at them. "Looks like he's being examined now. His physician is Doctor Merick. Would you like me to page her?"

"Yes, please," answered Mac.

"Are you family?"

"No."

"Then the doctor might not be able to tell you much, but I'll have her come and see you after she finishes her exam.”

"Thank you."

********

The diminutive doctor who approached them twenty minutes later looked busy but kind, her gray hair neatly folded into a bun at the back of her head, obligatory stethoscope draped around her neck. She smiled warmly and extended her hand in greeting.

"I hear you're the guardian angels who rescued our friend from the clutches of evil," she said.

Harm and Mac laughed.

"I don't know about 'the clutches of evil,’" said Harm, "but yes, we're the ones who found him."

"It's a good thing you did. I'm not sure he would've made it through another night out there."

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Mac, concerned.

"He will be. Looks like he took quite a beating from somebody," the doctor probed gently, hoping to learn more information about her patient.

"We don't have any idea what happened. When we found him, he was huddled under a heap of rags in an alley. Any idea who he is?" asked Harm.

"Not yet. It's customary in a case like this for us to run the patient's fingerprints." She paused to take a chart from a nurse. She flipped it open, made a note, and handed it back before returning her attention to Harm and Mac. "That tattoo on his arm makes me think he has a military background, so we'll check their records first. It'll be a while before we know anything."

"He isn't awake?"

"Not at the moment. He's been unconscious since he came in. Why?"

"He seemed alert enough when we found him," said Harm.

"I'm not surprised. This is probably the first time he's slept in a real bed in months. I'm going to admit him for a few days. He's got some injuries that I want to keep an eye on."

"Can we see him?" asked Mac.

"Yes, but don't stay long. He needs rest and quiet. He's down the hall. Third door on the right."

"Thank you, Doctor."

She left to attend to her other patients, and Harm led the way to the room, guiding Mac inside with a light touch at the small of her back. They stood at the bedside for a few minutes, looking down at the stranger.

"I'd bet he has quite a story to tell," said Mac, watching the swollen features relaxed in sleep.

"We can only hope he'll tell it," Harm agreed.

Mac sighed, "For now, though, there's nothing we can do. We should probably get back to the office before Admiral Blankenship loses his patience."

Harm quirked a smile at her. "Something tells me it's too late. He wasn't too happy that we took personal time to do this."

"I know, but there's something about this man…" Mac shrugged. "I couldn't just send him off and not make sure he was going to be okay."

"I know."

With a final glance at the man in the bed, they turned and left the room.

***********

The speaker on Jennifer's desk came to life abruptly, startling her and drawing her eyes away from her computer screen.

"Petty Officer Coates."

She pressed the button to open the channel. "Yes, Sir?"

"Have Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie returned?"

"I haven't seen them, Sir."

There was a moment of silence, then aristocratic irritation.

"When they return, please ask them to come to my office."

"Yes, Sir."

She stood, automatically straightening her skirt, then went to look for the errant officers. They weren't in their offices or the break room, but they entered the bullpen just as she'd decided they hadn't yet arrived.

"Sir, Ma'am. The admiral wants to see you."

Harm and Mac exchanged a knowing glance before Mac replied.

"Thank you, Jennifer."

They waited by her desk while she spoke briefly to the admiral. At her signal, they nodded to her and went inside, closing the door behind them. Jen sat down with a long sigh. The new admiral couldn't have been more different from A.J. Chegwidden if he'd tried, and she was finding the adjustment challenging. With a slight shake of her head, she went back to the supply requisition that lay, half complete, on her desk.

**********

Harm and Mac came to attention in front of Admiral Blankenship's desk. He ignored them for several moments while he typed something into his computer. He continued to ignore them while he made a telephone call to the Secretary of the Navy. By the time he finally looked at them, they were both fully aware that they'd just been treated to a not so subtle reminder of their place in the food chain.

Evidently convinced he'd made his point, Admiral Blankenship focused his attention on the two officers.

"At ease."

He watched them relax into the familiar position, still alert, but somewhat less stiff. Both officers kept their eyes forward, shoulders back, and chins up.

"Has your… personal business been satisfactorily resolved?" he asked them.

"Yes, Sir." Harm and Mac answered together.

"Fine." He kept his tone dry, polite.

He stared at the two officers for several moments before speaking again, but if they were unnerved by his perusal, they didn't let it show.

"In the future, I expect you to handle personal business on your own time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir." The tandem response caused the admiral to snap his eyes from one officer to the other, suspicion clouding his craggy features.

He'd read their service records. He'd heard the rumors. He didn't trust either of them as far as he could throw them. They were renegades. Rabb more than Mackenzie, but both of them had loose cannon reputations that could pose a threat to his own career. He intended to keep a tight rein on them.

He brushed an imaginary piece of dust off his desk blotter, then recapped his favorite Mont Blanc pen.

"In your absence, I took the liberty of depositing additional case files on both of your desks. I expect preliminary assessments on them by 1730 today." Maybe if he kept them buried in paperwork, they wouldn't be able to get into too much trouble. That was his hope, anyway. Besides, from all accounts, Rabb and Mackenzie were excellent lawyers. There was no reason to waste all that talent on personal leave time.

"Yes, Sir." Two part harmony. Lovely.

Admiral Blankenship sighed inwardly. He hadn't really wanted this position, had only taken it as a stepping stone to bigger things. And now that he was here, now that he'd read the service records of the personnel he was supposed to keep in line, he found himself wishing heartily that there'd been a way to fulfill his ambitions without having to step on this particular stone.

"Dismissed."

He watched the officers execute a perfectly timed about face and exit his office, closing the door quietly behind them. Then he sat back in his chair, steepled his hands across his chest, and stared thoughtfully at nothing, considering the delicate tightrope walk he'd have to do for the two years during which he would hold this office. With another sigh, he reached into his desk drawer, withdrew a pack of antacids, and popped four of them into his mouth.

***********

It was several hours later when Harm looked up from the last case analysis, checked his watch, and rolled the tension out of his shoulders and neck. He needed a break, a distraction from the tedious work of reading preliminary case data and translating it into summaries that would communicate the most information in the fewest words possible. He sighed, closed the folder in front of him, and then clicked the print button on his taskbar. When he looked up, Mac stood in his doorway. She looked as tired as he felt, he decided, and offered her a welcoming smile.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," she smiled back. "I just heard from the hospital. I thought you'd like to know what they found out."

"Already? I thought it'd take a day or two."

Mac shrugged. "Apparently, they made the same assumptions we did. They checked military records first."

"And?"

"And we were right. He is, or was, military. Colonel Calvin Martin. He's a retired Marine."

"Did they give you his social security number?"

"Sure did. And they're transferring him to Bethesda in the morning."

"Good."

"So, I have a question for you."

"What's that?"

"Well, I'd like to pull Colonel Martin's service record. I'm a little curious as to how a Marine Colonel wound up lying in a heap of rags here in Falls Church."

"I'd kind of like to know that, too."

"But I suspect Admiral Blankenship would rather we let this go."

He shrugged. "So? If we find anything he needs to know, we'll pass it on. It shouldn't take too long to pull the records."

She laughed. "I take that to mean that you want to stay involved in this case, too?"

"Well, I at least want to know what his service record looks like. Besides, there's probably family to contact."

"I thought of that, too. I told the hospital we'd pull the colonel's records and notify his family ourselves."

He smiled ruefully at her.

"You never were one to avoid the tough stuff, were you."

"You know me better than that." She shrugged. "Besides, if it were me, I'd rather hear the news from a Marine than from a doctor at the hospital."

"You have a point there. Calls from hospitals rarely bring good news."

"So…you're in?"

"Absolutely."

**************

2423 Zulu (1923 Local)
Bethesda Country Club
Bethesda, MD

Admiral Blankenship eyed the golf ball on its tee. He adjusted his stance, pulled the club back, and hit the ball with a satisfying thud that sent it flying down the fairway. Beside him, the former Secretary of the Navy duplicated his actions. Both men waited to see where their balls would land before they teed up a second one.

"So," said Nelson conversationally. "How's life at JAG?"

Blankenship glanced curiously at him.

"Why do you ask?"

Nelson shrugged, the motion almost too casual. "No reason."

"Ah…" Blankenship hit the second ball, driving it well past the two hundred yard marker. He allowed himself a slight nod of satisfaction before he turned to look at his companion again.

"I am finding my new position to be quite satisfactory, thank you."

The other man laughed, then drove another ball down the field before commenting.

"Satisfactory, huh?" He selected another ball, tossed it lightly in the air, and then caught it again. "Rabb and Mackenzie still there?"

"Yes." Blankenship eyed his mentor suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Blankenship mulled that over while he sent another ball flying down the field. Then he turned back to his friend, tapping the head of his club lightly against his golf shoe while he waited for Nelson to look at him.

"You and I have been golf partners for more years than I care to think about," he said.

Nelson laughed at that. "This is true."

"And in all those years," he went on, "I have never known you to ask an idle question." He reached into the bucket of balls, selecting one at random, rubbing it absently in his palm while he spoke. "So tell me. Why do you ask about Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie? Is there something I should know?"

Nelson turned, regarding the younger man for several moments before speaking.

"Let's just say that their… relationship is a bit unusual."

"Relationship?" Blankenship raised an aristocratic eyebrow. "Should I be concerned about lovers' quarrels?"

Nelson snorted at that.

"No."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Look, rumor mill has it…" He paused, biting back a grin at Blankenship's failed attempt to look as though he couldn't care less about the rumor mill. "Rumor has it that those two are more than just working partners."

"How much more?"

"The rumor mill doesn't know that, apparently."

"I see…" The newly-appointed Judge Advocate General said nothing more. Instead, he very carefully positioned his ball on the tee, drew back his club, and hit it with a resounding whack, shading his eyes as he watched it fly down the fairway.

"Well," he said then, "I will certainly keep you informed of any…developments."

Nelson laughed. "I look forward to hearing all about it."

1553 Zulu (1053 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Harm knocked lightly on Mac's doorframe before walking in.

"Got it."

She didn't need to ask what he was referring to.

"And?"

He dropped the thick file on her desk, then made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her.

"See for yourself."

Mac quirked an eyebrow at him, then opened the file. For several long minutes, there were no sounds in the office except the occasional rustle of paper as Mac turned a page. Finally, she closed it and sat back in her chair.

"Wow."

Harm nodded.

"That was pretty much my take on it, too."

"Why do you suppose he disappeared like that?"

"I don't know, but I'd suggest we ask him that as soon as possible."

"Have you contacted his family yet?"

"No. I'm not sure that's a good idea until after we talk to him."

"I don't know. If I was his wife, I'd sure want to know that he's alive."

"Mac, according to that," he gestured service record, "he disappeared more than ten years ago. It's going to be a hell of a shock to his family when they find out he's still alive."

"Maybe, but I still think they deserve to know."

"Not without his knowledge and approval."

Mac sighed. "You're right. I know you're right. I just can't help thinking how cruel it'll be to his family if he goes back into hiding."

"No crueler than what he's already put them through."

Mac shook her head sadly. "True." A thought occurred to her then. "We should probably run this by the admiral."

"I'll do that. Why don't you head over to Bethesda. Might be less threatening if only one of us goes."

"Deal. You'll let the admiral know where I am?"

"Absolutely. I'll even go you one better."

She gave him a curious look.

"If you'll call me on your cell after you get authorization from the colonel, I'll take care of contacting his family."

"You'd do that? This was my idea, after all."

"Yes, but like most of your ideas, it was a good one. I'll call."

She smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks."

He favored her with a dip of the head and a warm smile. "You're welcome."

"See you when I get back, then."

"Looking forward to it." Something in his voice brought Mac's eyes around to his, and for a split second she allowed herself to sink into the warmth of his gaze. Then, with a quick smile, she turned, and was gone.

*********

At Jennifer's nod, Harm entered the admiral's office, closing the door behind him and coming to attention in front of the imposing wooden desk. He noticed that the office was beginning to take on the personality of its new owner. Framed diplomas and awards were springing up on the walls like dandelions in springtime. Baseball paraphernalia had been replaced by the scales of justice and a bronze figurine of the Statue of Liberty.

"At ease, Commander." The admiral's voice brought Harm's attention back to the matter at hand, and as he changed position, he mentally ordered his words, preparing himself for the question he knew was coming.

"What can I do for you, Commander Rabb?"

"Sir, Colonel Mackenzie and I took the liberty of requesting Colonel Martin's service record."

"Colonel Martin?"

"The homeless Marine we discovered yesterday afternoon."

"I see." The admiral regarded him for a moment before asking his next question.

"And you pulled his service record because…"

"Sir, we felt an obligation to locate his next of kin."

"How odd…"

"Sir?"

"It would appear that hospital policy changed dramatically while I was stationed overseas."

"Excuse me, Sir?"

Blankenship folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "In the old days, the hospital was responsible for contacting next of kin," he said, eyebrow arched.

"Yes, Sir. They still are."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Sir, Colonel Martin is a decorated Marine. Colonel Mackenzie and I…"

"Colonel Mackenzie and you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Where is the Colonel, anyway?"

"She went to Bethesda to see the colonel."

"I see. And she did that because…?" The admiral continued to look politely confused, and Harm resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably. The man had an annoying way of making him feel like an ensign all over again.

"She wanted to get his permission before contacting his family," Harm explained, careful to keep his voice even and respectful.

"I see."

Admiral Blankenship considered that for a few moments.

"I assume this…extracurricular activity isn't going to interfere with your regular duties?"

"We'll make sure it doesn't, Sir."

"And the reason this is so important to the two of you would be…?"

"Sir, he served our country for more than twenty years. Helping him out seems like the least we can do."

Harm could almost see the wheels turning in Admiral Blankenship's head as he considered the ramifications of allowing two of his senior officers to continue to be involved in the case of a homeless man. He waited, deliberately withholding one piece of information that would, more than likely, have swayed the admiral in their favor. He and Mac hadn't discussed it with Colonel Martin, and he didn't see the point of getting the admiral involved until he was sure Martin wasn't going to disappear again.

The admiral finally spoke, his gaze assessing. "Carry on, but keep me informed."

"Yes, Sir."

"Dismissed."

***********

Mac knocked on the door, then waited for the gruff order to enter before going in.

"Good morning, Colonel." She smiled brightly at him.

"I'm not a colonel anymore," he corrected, not meeting her eyes. "I'm just plain old Calvin Martin."

"Well then, good morning, Mr. Martin."

He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his head to stare out the window. Mac walked over to stand beside the bed.

"How are you feeling today?"

"What's it to you?" he snapped.

"Well, considering the shape you were in when we found you yesterday…" She allowed her voice to trail off.

"I'm fine." He turned a glare on her, and she almost stepped back from the piercing blue eyes. "You can go now. You've done your good deed for the week."

Mac ignored the uncharitable response. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat down.

"We pulled your service record," she said, once she was comfortable.

"Yeah. I guessed you wouldn't be able to control your curiosity."

"You had quite a career."

He stared at her, locking his gaze on hers for several long heartbeats before speaking.

"It is a tale told by an idiot. Full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing."

He turned his head away, staring at an abstract print hanging on the other side of the room.

Mac waited, considering her response, then she allowed Shakespeare's words to drift softly into the room.

"Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it break."

That brought his eyes back to her, but the defensive anger in them was almost palpable.

"My grief is my business."

"You're right," she said. "It is."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I want to help."

"You can't help me."

"Maybe I can. You haven't given me a chance." Mac stared evenly at the colonel, refusing to back down from his obvious anger.

"I don't even know you," he said.

"Then let me call somebody who does."

"No way."

"Colonel…"

"No."

The finality in his tone would have stopped a tank. It wouldn't stop a Marine, though. Mac didn't even blink.

"Your family needs to know you’re alive, Colonel."

"Why?"

"Because they love you."

He looked at her incredulously.

"How could you possibly know that?" he asked.

"I've seen your service record."

"So?"

"So it takes a good man to build a track record like yours. Two tours in Vietnam? Grenada? Panama? Desert Storm?"

"So I was a decent soldier. Doesn't make me a decent human being. In fact…" He paused. "Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"It doesn't matter." He turned away from her again.

Mac folded her arms, relaxed back into her chair, and crossed her legs, making herself comfortable. Time passed in a silent battle of wills, until he finally turned back to her.

"Don't you have someplace else to be?"

"Nope."

Mac's casual tone was deliberate, goading Calvin into a response.

"So how long are you going to sit there?"

"As long as it takes."

He sighed in frustration.

"I don't understand you."

"What's to understand? I'm a Marine." She lifted a shoulder in a subtle shrug. "Marines don't leave men behind."

He snorted at that.

"That shows what you know," he sneered.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow, but he merely sighed and turned away again. Finally, in a voice almost too low to hear, he conceded.

"Fine. Call my wife. But don't be surprised if she's not exactly thrilled to hear that I'm still alive and kicking." He turned back to her, his voice weary. "Now, will you go? I'm tired."

Mac stood. "My partner or I will be in touch."

Calvin gestured dismissively. "Whatever."

He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, turning his back. Mac watched him for a moment, then left the room, careful to close the door quietly on her way out.

***********

1605 Zulu (1105 Local)
Martin Residence
Toledo, Ohio

When the telephone rang, Rashimi sat back on her heels, pulling off her gardening gloves and shaking her head to get the hair out of her eyes.

"Hello?"

"Rashimi Martin?"

"Yes…" She didn't recognize the voice, and anticipating yet another telemarketer, she allowed her finger to hover over the disconnect button.

"Ma'am, this is Commander Harmon Rabb. I'm with the Judge Advocate General's office."

That puzzled her, but only the azaleas witnessed her confusion. She stood up, brushing dirt and leaves off her slacks.

"What can I do for you, Commander Rabb?"

"Ma'am, are you alone?"

"That's none of your business, Commander - if indeed you really are a commander." Irritated now, she moved toward the house, her mind occupied with thoughts of a cool glass of lemonade.

"I apologize, Ma'am. I didn't mean to offend. It's just that I have some…difficult news."

"I'm not a shrinking violet, Commander. Spit it out."

"Yes, Ma'am."

There was a brief hesitation, and Rashimi had her hand on the screen door when he spoke again.

"Ma'am…we've located your husband."

She almost dropped the phone, then overcompensated, and her knuckles turned white in response.

"What did you say?" Her voice sounded strained to her own ears, but under the circumstances she figured that was understandable.

"I said we've found your husband."

"Where…" She swallowed hard, and tried again. "Where is he?"

"He's at the naval hospital in Bethesda."

Fear sliced through her. "Is he okay?"

"He's going to be fine, Ma'am."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't think I'm the person to talk to about that, Mrs. Martin."

She sighed in resignation, fully aware that Cal probably wasn't going to want to talk to her, either. "No, of course you aren't."

"Can you come?"

"Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out."

A thought struck her then, and a fist tightened around her heart.

"Commander?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Does Cal know you're talking to me?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He does. We wouldn't have contacted you otherwise."

The fist loosened slightly, but she was still worried. She hadn't seen Cal in thirteen years, not since he'd disappeared. She couldn't help wondering how things would have changed between them. She shoved the worry out of her mind.

"Thank you, Commander. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Martin."

The call ended, and she automatically turned the telephone off, then went into the house, her mind churning with a hundred details and a thousand questions. She glanced at the mantle on her way through to the kitchen. There, looking back at her with bright eyes and sappy smiles, was her favorite picture of Cal and her. It had been taken on their honeymoon, more years ago than she cared to remember, and memories of the happy times brought tears to her eyes.

"What happened to you, Cal?" she asked the empty room. She touched his image with a gentle finger. "I miss you."

Then she turned and started up the stairs. The lemonade could wait. There was packing to be done and phone calls to make.

****************

Harm hung up and looked over at Mac. She'd appeared in his doorway as he was hanging up. Now, she targeted him with a quizzical look.

"Well?" she asked.

"That was Rashimi Martin."

"And?"

"And she's going to come."

"How did she sound?"

"Shocked, mostly."

Mac sat down and crossed her legs.

"How's our friend the colonel doing today?" Harm asked.

"Physically, he seems to be doing as well as can be expected."

"And mentally…?"

"Mentally…I don't know, Harm. He's depressed. And angry about something. But talking to him was rather like talking to a tank. He didn't do much talking back."

"How did he react when you asked to contact his family?"

"He fought me on it," she said.

"But you got him to agree…"

She smiled at him. "I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be."

The comment sent his mind in directions it definitely had not been given permission to go, and he scrambled to bring his wayward thoughts back under control before answering her.

"I've noticed that about you, Mac."

He left it at that. Let her wonder about double meanings. He smiled inwardly when he saw her eyebrow quirk suspiciously, but he pasted an innocent expression on his face and waited to see what she'd say next.

"What did Admiral Blankenship say?"

She'd decided to change the subject, apparently. Interesting.

"His opinion seems to be that as long as Colonel Martin's case doesn't interfere with our other work, it's okay for us to pursue it. I have the impression that'll change if anything comes out of this that could reflect poorly on him."

"Him specifically? Or JAG in general?"

He grinned. "Either."

"I see…" She stood up. "Speaking of regular work, I have a desk full of cases and a court appearance first thing in the morning. I'd better get going."

"Yeah. I'm a little behind too. Looks like I'll be here late tonight. Maybe it's a good thing Mattie's with her dad this week."

Mac met his eyes. "How's that going, by the way?"

"Mattie?"

She nodded. "Mattie, Tom…joint custody."

"Well, you know what they say. Every cloud has a silver lining." He shrugged. "I imagine as time goes on she'll spend more and more time with him, and less and less with me. I'll miss her, but I'm happy she and her dad are working things out before it's too late."

"You have a knack for that, you know it?"

That puzzled him. "A knack for what?"

"For putting families back together. You did it for me, you're doing it for Mattie…"

He shrugged self-consciously.

"I guess I spent so many years regretting the loss of my own father that I can't stand to see anybody voluntarily give up theirs."

She smiled at him. "I can understand that. Still, it's pretty amazing."

He ducked his head, vaguely embarrassed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She hesitated for a moment, until Harm looked up at her.

"Is there something else you wanted to talk about?" he asked.

"I was just wondering…Have you heard anything more about those pictures Webb sent you?"

"The last time I talked to Catherine, she said they were working on it, but they don't have any solid leads yet."

"Do you think that's true? Or do you think she's keeping something from us."

He shrugged. "No way to tell for sure, Mac. You know how they are over there."

She sighed. "You know, it sure would be nice to put the whole mess behind me once and for all."

She looked sad, and Harm wanted to gather her in for a hug. He couldn't, though. Not here. He settled for a supportive response.

"I know you do, Mac. If…you ever want to talk about any of it, I'm here."

"Thanks," she said. "I appreciate it."

She left then, and Harm returned his attention to the files that were threatening to bury his desk.

1834 Zulu (1334 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Harm and Mac sat in the familiar leather chairs in the admiral's office. Mac thought how strange it felt to be in here. Admiral Chegwidden's office had been taken over by a man who was still, in her heart if not her mind, an imposter. It was going to take some time to get used to the change. The admiral folded his arms and looked at them.

"So…when were you planning on telling me?"

"Telling you what, Sir?" asked Mac.

"About Colonel Martin."

"I'm sorry, Sir?"

The admiral stood and came around his desk, leaning against it and folding his arms while he stared down at the two officers.

"Don't mess with me, Colonel. You're way out of your league."

Mac exchanged a puzzled glance with Harm, then looked back at her new CO.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir."

Admiral Blankenship reached behind him and picked up a single sheet of paper from his desk blotter.

"I'm talking about this, Colonel."

He handed it to her, gave her a moment to realize what it was, and then passed it on to Harm. Harm looked at the document, then back up at the admiral.

"We weren't trying to hide anything from you, Sir," said Harm. "We didn't think the information was relevant yet."

"Yet?" Blankenship spared a glare for the wayward Commander. "And at what point do you believe it would have become relevant?"

"After we'd discussed it with Colonel Martin, Sir."

The admiral considered that for a moment, his face registering mild disbelief.

"Let me see if I've got this right. We're four days away from Independence Day – the perfect time to deal with this. Four days for me to make the arrangements. Four days for me to track down Martin's former CO and get him up here. Four days for me to arrange press coverage. And you didn't think this piece of information was relevant yet?"

He allowed his incredulity to show on his face for just a moment before he went on.

"Commander, it's becoming more and more obvious that the way I operate is significantly different from what you're used to."

Mac resisted looking at Harm, certain that her expression would give her thoughts away. Instead, she spoke up.

"It was never our intent to inconvenience you or this office, Sir."

The admiral looked over at her.

"It obviously wasn't your intent to make my life any easier either, Colonel."

There was no answer to that, and after a few tense moments, the admiral moved back to his seat.

"I'm arranging the ceremony, people. I expect you to make sure Colonel Martin is on board."

"Sir…" Mac trailed off.

"What is it, Colonel?"

"Sir, I'm not sure Colonel Martin will agree to this."

Admiral Blankenship leaned forward in his chair.

"I don't think you understand," he said. "This ceremony will go a long way toward improving public support for the military. Right now, especially in light of the mess at Abu Ghraib, we need every positive press release we can cobble together. I don't intend for the colonel's…reluctance, to get in the way of that. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Mac clamped down firmly on her frustration. This wasn't the time or the place to let her feelings show.

"Dismissed."

**********

Harm followed Mac into her office, careful to close the door behind him. He watched her glance about the room, searching for a way to vent her frustration. She finally grabbed a pencil at random and flung it across the room with a muffled curse.

"That son of a…"

"Mac."

"Stupid, self-satisfied, egotistical….."

"Mac…" He said her name more firmly, hoping to get her attention. She just glared at him.

"Narcissist!"

He sighed. Obviously, she needed to vent. He settled down in the chair across from her desk, and waited while she ran through every derogatory nickname in the dictionary, raising his eyebrows when she invented a few especially colorful monikers that he'd never heard before. She finally ran out of steam and collapsed into her chair, the vehemence of her motion sending it rolling and forcing her to grab for the edge of the desk in an undignified attempt to keep from getting dumped on the floor.

She glared at him, daring him to say a word. Wisely, he stayed silent.

"Now what?" she asked him, once she'd finally let off enough steam to allow her to think rationally.

"Now we go talk to Colonel Martin."

"Mr. Martin, you mean. Remember? He retired."

Harm shrugged. "After reading his service record…he'll always be Colonel Martin in my book – uniform or no uniform."

Mac looked at him. "He isn't going to like this."

"Mac, from what little I know of Calvin Martin, not only is he not going to like it, he's liable to run again."

She sighed. "How do we keep that from happening?"

"I don't know. We'll just have to wing it, I guess. Do you know if his wife's here yet?"

"I haven't heard. I was going to go by the hospital this afternoon, anyway. I figured I'd find out then."

"Well, this is as good a time as any." He stood up. "Shall we go beard the lion in its den?"

She grinned at that.

"I'd rather beard this lion than the one down the hall any time. At least I respect this one."

"You'd better be careful, Mac. If that attitude ever makes it out of this office, your career's sunk."

She sighed. "I know. And I will be careful. I'm not going to change my mind about him, though."

Harm laughed. "I wouldn't expect any less, Marine."

He opened the door, then followed her out, heading for the hospital and a challenge that rivaled any military operation in which he'd ever participated.

"Good afternoon!"

Calvin pulled his eyes away from the window, spared a quick glance at the annoyingly cheerful nurse, and then turned back to the view.

"You have a delivery."

He looked back at her, his eyes taking in the tasteful potted plant with little interest.

"I think you've made a mistake."

"Nope." She smiled at him as she set the plant down on the bedside table. She pulled an envelope out of its clip and handed it to him.

"Whoever sent it has a quirky sense of humor. Look here."

She waited until she had his attention, then carefully lifted a few of the glossy leaves. Tucked underneath was a tiny yellow duck. She grinned at him, obviously thinking he would be as amused as she was. He wasn't. He merely grunted at her and tugged open the envelope. A quick glance at the card told him it was from Rabb and Mackenzie. Vaguely annoyed, he tucked it back into its envelope and dropped the envelope on his untouched lunch tray.

"Would you like me to water it for you?"

"No. Just…" He almost told her to get rid of it, but he knew the two officers would be disappointed if he did that. He wasn't so stupid as to think he hadn't needed their help. He supposed the least he could do would be to accept the plant. "Just leave it."

The nurse noticed his untouched meal tray.

"You need to eat something, Mr. Martin. The doctor isn't likely to release you anytime soon if you don't."

He scowled at the tray of unappetizing food. "That stuff's worse than the rations we used to get on the front lines."

She shrugged at him. "That may be so, Sir, but the longer you avoid eating it, the longer you're going to be stuck here with me."

He had to admire her spirit. She knew exactly which buttons to push to get him motivated. Halfheartedly, he picked up his fork and poked at the congealing mess.

"There. That's better." She tugged a non-existent wrinkle out of his covers, and gave him a cheerful smile.

He felt like a two year old and, like a two year old would have, he scowled at her.

She replied with a laugh, then filled his water jug, checked his vital signs, and left the room.

He breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the tray away.

"You know…you really should try to eat something."

He froze at the familiar voice, all his senses on high alert; his heartbeat accelerating to a speed that would have alarmed the nurse. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. She was still beautiful. Thirteen years had passed, but though the time had added lines to her face and gray touches to her glossy black hair, she still had the ability to take his breath away. He forced his feelings down, locked them up, and threw away the key. He didn't deserve her. The sooner they both accepted that, the better off they'd both be.

"You came."

She walked over to him then, looking down at him with an expression in her dark eyes that he couldn't read.

"Of course I came. You're my husband."

He shrugged. “I'd have thought you'd have long since divorced me and married somebody else."

"There's never been anybody but you, Cal. You know that."

He sighed heavily and turned his head away. "You deserve better than me, Rashimi."

"Maybe." Her voice was noncommittal.

There was a knock on the door, and a Navy officer in summer whites poked his head in.

"I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?"

Calvin stifled his sigh of relief. "Come in, Commander."

Harm stepped inside, directing a curious look at Rashimi.

"Commander Rabb, this is my wife, Rashimi."

The two shook hands. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Commander," she said.

"For?"

"For giving me back my husband."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't take credit for that. It was my partner who convinced him to let us contact you."

"Well, then I hope I get to meet him so that I can thank him personally."

"It's a her, Ma'am. Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. She should be along in a few minutes."

Calvin interrupted, "Now that the introductions are out of the way, what can I do for you, Commander?"

"My partner and I need to talk to you about something, Colonel."

There was a light tap on the door, and Mac entered, her eyes sweeping over the assembled group before settling on Rashimi.

"You must be Mrs. Martin," she said, extending her hand.

"That'd be me. I understand you're the one I have to thank for talking my husband into seeing me."

Mac shrugged lightly. "I didn't really talk him into it."

Calvin snorted at that. "Browbeat me, is more like it."

Rashimi stared at her husband, and the uncomfortable moment stretched until Harm cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"There's something we need to ask you about."

Calvin sighed. "What is it now?"

"I'm afraid the cat's out of the bag, Colonel," said Harm, a note of apology in his voice.

At first, Calvin was puzzled, then it hit him. The medal. They'd found out about the medal. His stomach clenched at the thought.

"No."

"Colonel."

"I told you! I'm not a colonel anymore! And I don't want their damn medal!"

He heard Rashimi gasp, saw her face pale. He'd never told her about the medal. He cursed inwardly. He should never have stayed here, should never have allowed himself to relax his guard – not even for a moment. He glared at the two officers, but they merely stared calmly back at him. Obviously, raised voices and curses didn't intimidate them. He sighed, wishing again that nobody had noticed him lying in that alley – least of all a pair of Dudley Do-Right JAG officers.

"Cal? What is he talking about?"

It was Rashimi, her voice so soft he only barely caught the words. He sighed heavily, then decided that, after thirteen years, she might as well know.

"The Bronze Star." His voice, low and full of pain, thickened the air in the room.

Rashimi turned to Mac, recognizing the Marine insignia on her uniform.

"Colonel? What…exactly, is the Bronze Star?"

Mac looked over at Colonel Martin, sensing undercurrents in the air that she didn't pretend to understand. He nodded slightly, and she looked at Rashimi.

"The Bronze Star is awarded to any active military person who distinguishes himself by an act of heroism while fighting an enemy of the United States. "

Rashimi's hand flew to her mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Oh my God," she said, turning to her husband. "That's it, isn't it. That's why you left!"

He didn't answer her, but he didn't look away, either. Time stood still as husband and wife held a silent, and obviously painful, conversation. When Rashimi finally spoke again, her low voice was tense.

"You can't run away from it for the rest of your life, Cal. It isn't fair – not to you, not to me – and not to them."

Harm and Mac exchanged a glance. Harm was the first to speak.

"Excuse me…Is there some way we can help?"

Rashimi turned to him. "I don't know, Commander. I doubt anybody can make this right but Cal." She looked back at her husband. "And after all these years…" She dropped her head, her voice sad. "After all these years, I don't know if making it right is even an option anymore."

Calvin finally spoke up. "Rashi…"

"No, Cal." She started to back away from the bed. "I tried to talk to you about this when it first happened. You shut me out. You never even told me about the medal. I could've helped, but instead of letting me in, you ran away."

She brushed angrily at her eyes before going on. "You ran away from me, from our children…."

"Rashi, the kids were already grown and out of the house when it happened."

"It doesn't matter, Cal. They still needed you. Children never stop needing their parents." She gave him a long look, ignoring the hand he'd raised toward her. "I have to go. I can't do this right now." She turned and fled the room.

Mac followed Rashimi, leaving Harm alone with Calvin.

**************

Mac finally caught up to her in the hospital's Memorial Garden. The older but still beautiful woman sat, shoulders hunched, staring at nothing.

"Mrs. Martin?"

The woman turned tear filled eyes to Mac. She brushed ineffectually at her damp cheeks, then offered Mac an embarrassed smile.

"Under the circumstances, I think it makes more sense for you to call me Rashimi, don't you?"

"Only if you call me Mac," said Mac, sitting down beside her.

She was rewarded with another teary smile, then both women lapsed into silence.

Several minutes passed while Mac waited patiently for the storm of emotion to begin to wind down. Finally, Rashimi spoke, her voice rough from crying.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked, then went on before Mac could answer. "I mean…have you ever been so deeply in love that five minutes without him seemed like a lifetime?"

Mac considered that for a moment, then decided to be honest. "Just once."

"Then maybe you can imagine the agonizing pain you'd feel if you woke up one day and he was just gone. No note. No phone call. Nothing. Just…gone."

Mac remembered the months of silence when Harm had disappeared into the black hole that was the CIA.

"I think I have a little bit of an idea…"

"The pain, and the worry…they're agonizing. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep…I barely functioned for months. After all these years, I'm finally starting to put my life back together and he turns up out of nowhere. I just…I don't know what to think," she turned tear filled eyes to Mac. "I don't know what to feel."

"What can I do to help?" asked Mac.

"You mean beyond knocking some sense into that idiot husband of mine?" asked Rashimi, with a watery smile.

Mac smiled. "Somehow, I suspect Commander Rabb's taking care of that already."

"That might depend on whether or not the commander can get the rest of the story out of Cal without a can opener."

"I gather your husband's the quiet type?"

Rashimi laughed softly. "You have a talent for understatement, you know that?"

The question didn't require an answer, and Mac didn't offer one.

"What happened to him?" she asked, knowing she was being nosy, but hoping Rashimi would forgive her.

"Didn't you read his service record?"

"Enough to know he saved a little girl's life."

"There was…more to it then that."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Rashimi sighed. "Cal will probably be angry with me for telling you this, but if I don't talk to someone I think I might just explode. Besides," She looked at Mac appraisingly. "I don't know why, but for some reason I feel I can trust you."

"You can."

"Cal and I met in high school. There was a group of us who did everything together." She smiled a little wistfully. "High school seems like such a long time ago now."

She shifted, making herself more comfortable on the wooden bench.

"Cal was, still is, a gorgeous man. Tall, lean-limbed, blond, and with those piercing blue eyes that followed you everywhere. He was a basketball player, of course, and all the girls adored him."

She laughed a little ruefully. "I was painfully shy at that age. If he so much as looked at me, I turned a dozen shades of red. He told me once that it was one of the things that made him fall in love with me.

"Cal was an only child, but his best friend Logan came from a big, noisy family. Logan's parents welcomed all comers to their home. They were two of the kindest people I've ever known. I think Cal and I spent more of our teen years at their house than we did at our own."

Rashimi bent down to pick up a fallen leaf, twirling it idly in her fingers as she continued to talk.

"We graduated in '70, and Calvin and Logan went down to the Marine recruiting office the next day. Our group of friends was surprised about that. Vietnam wasn't exactly supported by the American public, you'll recall. We tried to talk the guys out of it, but they wouldn't hear of it. They said that they were American citizens and that, like it or not, they had a duty to support their president."

Mac noticed that Rashimi was systematically shredding the leaf as she talked, but she didn't say anything, not wanting to disturb the flow of words.

"Cal and I were so deeply in love by that time, and I was so frightened for his safety, that we decided to get married before he shipped out." She grinned. "Our families were furious. I still remember that. I didn't care, though. I knew that Cal was the only man I would ever love."

Her voice grew wistful. "He's still the only man I'll ever love."

She took a deep breath. "I was pregnant by the time Cal shipped out. Our son, Calvin Junior, was born while he was in 'Nam." She smiled at Mac. "I remember how sad I was that Cal couldn't be there for the birth, but C.J. was such a beautiful baby. I used to send pictures every week.

"Cal came home for six months at the end of '71. We had Christmas together, and then he shipped out for a second tour of duty. The war changed him – as it does anybody, I suppose. When he was home, he was quieter than ever, and he'd spend hours just playing with C.J. or watching him sleep. I remember being grateful that Logan was out there with him. I knew the two men could lean on each other, help each other make it through.

"After Vietnam, Logan came home. He'd had enough of the military, he said. He wanted out. Somehow, Calvin convinced him to stay in the Reserves, but I'm still not sure how that happened. Meanwhile, Calvin managed to finish his degree and get selected for Officer Candidate School."

She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder what our life would've been like if Calvin hadn't been offered OCS."

"We had two kids by then. Devika was born during Cal's second tour of duty in Vietnam. After Calvin finished officer training, we moved all over the world. I stayed stateside with the kids some of the time, but we were able to follow him to some interesting places - Europe, Asia, The Philippines…The constant moves were hard on us, but somehow the difficulties only brought us closer together."

She shifted slightly before continuing. "I guess we were lucky that way. A lot of the couples we've known over the years couldn't handle the stress. I've seen more friends through divorce than I care to think about."

Mac nodded. The military life had that effect on a lot service families. It wasn't a life to choose if you weren't comfortable with change.

"Through it all, our family and Logan's stayed close. I have a stack of post cards at home that Calvin saved from those years. Logan used to collect them from all over. He'd even have friends send him blank ones just so he could send something new."

She laughed a little at the memory.

"Logan lived the bachelor life for a long time. I remember teasing him about being set in his ways when he finally married Patrice in 1980. He'd stayed in the Reserves and was called to active duty a few times, but he was always glad to come home again. He didn't have the military in his blood the way Cal did.

"Logan's unit was activated again for Desert Storm in 1990. By that time, he and Patrice had three kids and a thriving auto repair business. Calvin and I are godparents to their children - Doug, Fiona, and Rory. They're good kids, all of them."

Rashimi looked ruefully at Mac. "I'm sorry. That got a bit long-winded, but I needed you to understand. You see, Cal's service record only tells about the life he saved. It doesn't talk about the life that was lost – the life he blames himself for."

Mac caught her breath. "Logan?"

Rashimi nodded. "I know my husband. When he heard that child cry, the rest of the world ceased to matter. I doubt he was really even aware that Logan followed him inside."

Sadness settled on her face again, "Then, when he realized what had happened…it was like his world came to an end. He couldn't see beyond his conviction that he'd deprived those kids of their father, deprived Patrice of a wonderful husband, and deprived us of a dear friend."

She shook her head. "When he came home from Desert Storm, he was a broken man. His physical injuries healed readily enough, but his soul never recovered. It was about six months after that that he disappeared."

By the time she finished speaking, Rashimi was emotionally drained. But her tears had stopped, and she seemed calmer.

Mac said, "I can't imagine any of this has been easy on you or your families."

"It hasn't. But I can get past that. I can understand his pain and his grief. I understand that he blames himself for Logan's death even if nobody else blames him. Logan made choices that day, just like Calvin did. He could have played it safe and waited outside, but that wasn't the kind of man he was. The only person who ever blamed Calvin for any of it is Calvin himself."

"Can you forgive him for running?" Mac asked the difficult question in a low voice, knowing that Rashimi had to figure out an answer before she went back into that hospital room.

Rashimi was quiet for a long time. Finally, her expression cleared, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said. "I can forgive him for running. The fact is, I love him so much, even after this, that I could probably forgive him for just about anything.

She sighed, then looked at Mac. "But he needs to forgive himself, too."

Mac nodded. "I think maybe you're the one who has the best shot at helping him do that," she said. "Are you ready to go back inside?"

Rashimi took a deep breath, then stood up. "Yes. It's time."

*************

Mac followed Rashimi into the hospital room, her eyes immediately seeking Harm's for a few seconds of silent communication. He looked as drained as she felt, and she hoped that he'd been able to help the colonel find his way again. By mutual silent agreement, they stepped outside the room to give the husband and wife a few minutes alone.

Mac leaned tiredly against the closest available wall.

"Wow," she said.

"Yeah. It's quite a mess."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

"Parts of it. Enough to know that he blames himself for his best friend's death."

"Do you think he's going to be able to find peace with this?"

Harm shrugged. "I don't know, Mac. I think we've done all we can do." He glanced at the closed door. "It's up to them, now."

Mac rolled her shoulders, trying in vain to work out a knot. Wooden park benches weren't exactly ergonomically correct.

"Here. Let me help."

Harm moved behind her, and she dropped her head, relaxing into the feel of his hands as they soothed the tight muscles across her shoulders.

"Better?" he said a few minutes later.

"Much." She smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Anytime." He gestured at the vending machine at the end of the hall. "Coffee?"

She laughed. "You must be desperate if you're willing to drink vending machine coffee."

"I am."

"I could use a shot of caffeine myself." They walked down to the vending machine together, taking their time, aware that Calvin and Rashimi would need time to work things out.

Harm was throwing their empty cups in a nearby trashcan when the door to the hospital room opened again and Rashimi waved them inside. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks tear stained, but there was a peacefulness to her expression that had been missing earlier.

"Please. Come back inside. Cal wants to talk to you."

They followed her over to the bed, and Mac noticed that she took her husband's hand and squeezed it in her own. The two of them shared a gentle smile, then Calvin looked at Mac and Harm.

"It seems I owe the two of you an apology." He looked up at his wife, who nodded at him encouragingly. "I guess you two deserve the credit for…what did you call it?" He glanced at Rashimi again, then remembered. "Oh yeah…saving me from myself."

"You're welcome," said Harm. "I'm glad we were able to help."

"Well, it isn't going to be easy. There's…still an awful lot to deal with, and I have a lot of apologizing to do," Calvin said. "But my wife assures me that she'll stick with me through whatever comes."

Rashimi smiled wryly. "I think that probably has something to do with the 'as long as we both shall live' part of the vows we took all those years ago."

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad you're not giving up on me."

For a moment, the two had eyes only for each other, and Harm and Mac tried their best to become invisible. Then Harm cleared his throat softly, and Calvin dragged his gaze away from his wife with an abashed grin.

"You can tell the admiral that I'll be there on the Fourth. Just let me know where and when to show up." He shifted a bit on the pillows, then remembered something. "Oh, and I'll need a uniform. My old one was the first thing to go when I retired after Desert Storm."

"Not to worry, Colonel. We'll take care of it."

Harm and Mac said their goodbyes, and then eased out of the room leaving husband and wife to begin to rebuild thirteen lost years.

0030 Zulu (1930 Local)
The National Mall
Washington D.C.

Harm and Mac arrived at the newly dedicated National World War II Memorial thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start. They'd come together, sharing a ride and parking well outside the area of downtown that was bound to be overflowing with both residents and tourists. The decision had meant they'd had a long walk in, but neither had minded. The heat of the day had passed, and though they were both in uniform, as required for the ceremony, they weren't uncomfortable.

Mac had been looking forward to today for many reasons. It was to be her first opportunity to view the completed memorial, and she was looking forward to that, but she was also looking forward to seeing Calvin get the long overdue medal he so richly deserved.

She stopped when the memorial came into sight.

"Harm," she said. "It's…spectacular."

He nodded in agreement and they stood for a while looking at it. Then they moved forward, Harm gently guiding her through the crowds with a light hand at the small of her back.

When they arrived at the memorial, they immediately spotted Calvin and Rashimi, he looking tall and dignified in his Marine uniform, and she cool and feminine in a flower print dress. They joined the other couple, and Mac noted that though Cal moved slowly, he seemed to be recovering from his injuries. Greetings exchanged, they spent a few minutes talking about the memorial. Mac was admiring one of the arches when she noticed that Cal suddenly tensed, and she turned to see what he was staring at. A group of people was approaching them, and Cal almost seemed to shrink back from them until Rashimi put a supportive hand on his arm.

"They wanted to be here," she said to him in a low voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her, pain edging his words.

"Because I knew if I did, you'd never come." Rashimi glanced at the approaching group who hadn't yet noticed them. "You need to make peace with them, Cal. Don't run anymore." Her voice took on a pleading note that brought his eyes to hers. "Please."

He sighed, his eyes full of unbearable sadness. Then he straightened his spine and moved forward. He knew the exact instant they recognized him. For a moment, they stopped, then a woman stepped forward, tears sparkling in her eyes. Disregarding his uniform and his stiff stance, she hugged him, taking care not to put too much pressure on his damaged ribs.

Seconds passed while he stood there, arms at his sides, staring down at the bowed head of the woman who had, without a word, forgiven him. Then, with a long shuddering sigh, he wrapped his arms around her, dropping his cheek to rest against her bowed head.

"I'm sorry, Pat." The words were barely audible to the onlookers. "So, so sorry."

She pulled back from him, just enough so that she could look up into his face. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Cal. Neither one of you could have done anything other than what you did that day. You weren't made that way."

Call shook his head. "Maybe if I hadn't…"

"If you hadn't what, Cal? If you hadn't gone in there after that little girl maybe Logan would be here today?"

"Maybe, yeah."

"Maybe he would be, and maybe he wouldn't. But Calvin, somewhere in Iraq there's a young woman who owes her life to you. A young woman who probably has a husband and children of her own today." She stared hard at him, wanting… no, needing, to make sure he understood what she was trying to say. "If you hadn't been there that day, that family would never have existed. Those children would never have been born."

"But…" Cal tried to speak, but she interrupted him.

"But nothing, Cal. What you did that day…They're calling it heroism. But it wasn't so much about being a hero as it was about being the person God made you to be. You couldn't have done anything else. I know that." She gestured behind her. "The kids know that. The only person who doesn't seem to know it is you."

"Logan…"

"Was a wonderful man, and I…we all… miss him. But nobody blames you for what happened. It was just…a horrible twist of fate." She looked at him imploringly. "Please, Calvin. Please don't disappear again." She gestured around at her family, and at Rashimi who stood a little behind Calvin. "We need you."

"Yeah, Dad. We need you, too." Calvin's head jerked up, his eyes searching for and then finding the source of the voice. His son and daughter had arrived unnoticed while he'd been talking to Patrice, and now they stood watching him. He looked at Pat and she nodded slightly, then stepped back, freeing Calvin to walk to where his children stood waiting for him, their expressions uncertain.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked them, looking from one to another.

C.J. and Devika looked at each other, then at their father. It was Devika who spoke. "Will you come home?"

"I will if you'll have me back."

"Nothing would make us happier, Dad," answered C.J. setting aside protocol and manly custom to pull his father into a hug. Calvin reached out and wrapped his free arm around his daughter, who came willingly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mac brushed at a tear, felt Harm's reassuring touch on her arm, and looked up at him. He was smiling at the reunited family, but she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere, and she found herself wondering if he was thinking about his own father. She reached over and gently squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes back to her and earning herself a warm smile.

He motioned to the podium where the Marine Commandant and several aids were moving into position.

"I think it's about time for us to find our seats," he said. Evidently, the others had realized it too, because they were all finding places in the folding chairs that had been set out for the occasion. Calvin and Rashimi sat in the front row, their family and friends surrounding them. Within moments after they were all seated, the Marine Commandant took his place before the podium.

"Normally," he said, "award ceremonies are simple affairs, lasting only a few minutes from beginning to end. Today, however, I beg your indulgence for a few extra minutes while I tell you a story."

The assembled group was silent, and around them, tourists and sightseers, drawn by the spectacle of military uniforms and gleaming medals, quieted to watch.

"Two hundred and twenty eight years ago, our founding fathers signed the Declaration of Independence, an event that still stands today as one of the world's defining moments. The men who signed that document were ordinary people. But they were ordinary people with a vision of what might be possible if people are willing to stand and fight for their beliefs. They knew that in signing their names to that document, they were branding themselves as traitors to the English. They knew, also, that England wasn't likely to give the American colonies up without a fight. And yet, they did it anyway. That's what courage and heroism is all about. It's not about doing the right thing when it's convenient, or when it's easy. It's about doing the right thing because to do otherwise is inconceivable."

The Commandant paused to glance at his notes and take a sip of water.

"Theodore Roosevelt once said that 'no man is worth his salt who is not ready at all times to risk his body, to risk his well-being, to risk his life, in a great cause.' " He looked up, his eyes sliding over the crowd before resting for just a moment on Colonel Martin, sitting straight and tall in the front row.

"I had the honor of serving with Colonel Martin in Vietnam many years ago. He was young then, barely out of school, but even back then his honor, integrity, and courage were inspiring. He believed in what he was doing, and he believed in the people he served with. By all accounts, he was, and is, a good man, and a credit to his country.

“My faith in the colonel was well placed, as I was to find out when I heard that, during the performance of his duties in Operation Desert Storm, he entered a burning building at great risk to his own life and successfully rescued a little girl, returning her uninjured to her mother's arms."

He stepped away from the podium then, moving to stand center stage, an aide by his side. A lieutenant colonel moved to take the place the commandant had vacated.

"Attention to orders!" Commandant Newman's voice boomed across the crowd, instantly bringing all the military personnel in the audience to attention. Civilians quickly rose to their feet as well, sensing the importance of what was to come.

"Person to be decorated front and center!"

Colonel Martin stood and approached the Commandant, head high, back straight and proud. Mac was briefly impressed that he gave no indication of pain from his cracked ribs, then focused attention on the words of the citation as they were read by the Lieutenant Colonel on the podium.

"The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the Bronze Star Medal to Colonel Calvin James Martin, United States Marine Corps, for meritorious achievement while on patrol at a classified location in Iraq, with the First Marine Expeditionary Force on February 26, 1991. Colonel Calvin James Martin distinguished himself by saving an Iraqi child from a burning building at great personal risk to himself. His selfless act resulted in multiple broken bones and second degree burns over twenty percent of his body. His decisive action while under enemy fire resulted in a strengthened bond between the people of Iraq and the United States of America. Colonel Martin's courage and heroism reflect great credit upon himself and uphold the highest traditions of the United States Marine Corps. Signed for the President, Lieutenant General James T. Conway, Commander First Marine Expeditionary Force, United States Marine Corps"

The Commandant pinned the medal to Calvin's uniform, then handed him the folder with the citation inside, accompanying the action with a firm handshake. Cal saluted smartly, holding the position until the Commandant returned the gesture. Then he snapped his hand back down to his side, the motion sharp and clean.

"Congratulations, Colonel," said the Commandant in a low voice.

"Thank you, Sir."

A small band played the Stars and Stripes Forever, and the ceremony was over. Harm and Mac made their way through the crowd, slowly working their way over to where Cal stood accepting congratulations, Rashimi by his side.

"Congratulations, Colonel," said Mac, smiling warmly and shaking his hand firmly. "You earned it."

"Thank you, Colonel," said Calvin, returning the handshake. "I'm still not so sure that I earned it, but I'm working on it."

"You have your family by your side, Colonel. They'll help you through it," said Harm, also shaking Calvin's hand.

"I have the two of you to thank for that," said Cal. "You gave me back my family."

"We couldn't have done it if you weren't ready," said Mac. "All we did was make a phone call. You did the hard part."

Calvin shook his head at them and smiled. "Do you two always do that?"

Harm and Mac exchanged an innocent grin.

"Do what?" they asked, turning back to Cal.

"Double team the defense?"

They laughed.

"Only when it works," said Mac. "If you think this has been interesting, you should see us when we're on opposite sides of a case."

Calvin held up his hands in self-defense. "No, thank you. I'll pass."

They shared another laugh, and then Harm and Mac excused themselves. Colonel Martin and his family were going to be just fine.. It felt good knowing that as they made their way through the dimming light in the direction of Harm's car.

"Wait." Harm stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Do you have plans for the evening?"

"You mean other than settling down with a good book and a cold beverage?"

He grinned. "Yes. I mean other than that."

"Not really, why?"

"I thought maybe we could hang out here for a while. Watch the fireworks before heading out."

Mac looked at him in mild disbelief. "Have you ever tried to get out of the city after the fireworks display?"

He shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry to get home, are you?"

She considered him for a moment.

"No…"

"Then let's stay." He indicated a nearby hot dog stand. "I'll even buy you dinner."

He gave her a pleading look, accompanied by that little half smile that never failed to draw out her own smile in response.

She finally shrugged and gave in. "You're the one driving."

"See that? So if I don't want to go, you're pretty much stuck!"

She just shook her head at him and fell into step beside him.

"And as long as you're offering dinner…"

"Uh oh…"

"I'm thinking pizza, some nachos…. Oh! And cotton candy." She grinned at him. "Definitely cotton candy."

"You're going to be so sick after all that."

"This is me we're talking about, Harm."

"Good point."

"Oh. And I'd love an ice cold diet soda to wash it all down."

Instead of commenting, he took her arm and led her across the mall to a pizza vendor. A few minutes later, pizza slices in hand, they wandered among the crowds. Music blared at them from portable boom boxes. Kids and balloons were everywhere. The crowd was in a good mood, wound up and ready for the coming fireworks display.

They wandered around the monuments, something neither of them had taken the time to do in years, and when Mac finished her pizza, Harm took her paper napkin, wadded it up with his, and tossed them into a nearby garbage can.

While Harm dealt with the remains of their meal, Mac wandered along the reflecting pool, her eyes drawn to the pinnacle of the Washington Monument. When somebody bumped into her, she turned, expecting it to be Harm.

"Hey, pretty lady. Wanna watch the show with me?"

Definitely not Harm. This man was big, hairy, and obviously drunk. Mac swallowed her disgust.

"Back off."

The man threw up his hands in mocking self-defense.

"Don't hurt me, lady." His wheedling tone was patently false, a definite threat beneath it.

Mac wasn't impressed. "I said back off, Mister."

"Is there a problem?" Harm had arrived at her side, his stance possessive and threatening.

Mac resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't know which was worse – the drunk trying to hit on her, or Harm treating her like a damsel in distress. Then the humor of the situation struck her, and she laughed outright.

"Come on, Harm. He isn't worth the trouble."

"Mac, if he was bothering you..."

"Harm." She waited until he looked at her. "Let it go."

He finally shrugged, glared threateningly at the drunk, and followed her down the walk.

Mac was still chuckling.

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You're funny."

"I am not." His voice rose defensively, but she ignored it.

"Did you see that guy?" she chuckled. "He was about as physically fit as a water buffalo. Not exactly a threat."

Harm started to look amused. "A water buffalo, huh?"

"Besides, there are enough police floating around here to choke the Panama Canal." She grinned at him. "Come on. Let's go find a place to watch the show. It's almost time."

A few minutes later, they'd staked out a claim to a couple of steps at the Lincoln Memorial. It wasn't the perfect solution to their uniform dilemma, but dirt would be a lot easier on the dry cleaners than grass stains – especially when it came to Harm's summer whites.

Gradually, boom boxes quieted and people began to settle down. There was something about this time of day on the Fourth that was almost reverent. Mac had attended fireworks displays in many different places over the years and always, during the last few minutes before the show, an unspoken message seemed to pass through the crowd, and as the anticipation grew, so did the quiet.

She and Harm were quiet too, and it occurred to Mac that she was comfortable with the silence. She didn't feel the need to fill the empty spaces. Instead, she found herself fighting the urge to relax into him. The result was that she suddenly heard Harm chuckle softly.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You."

"What?"

"I just found myself thinking about room dividers again."

She tried to glare at him, wound up grinning instead, and settled for a shrug.

"C'mere," he said, patting his shoulder and holding out his arm. "I won't bite. Promise."

"Harm," she reminded him, "we're in uniform."

"It's almost dark, Mac. Nobody's going to notice or care. They'll be too busy watching the show."

She considered his offer, and it didn't take long to realize that there couldn't possibly be a better vantage point from which to watch the display. She scooted closer to him, dropping her head to his shoulder, relaxing into the feel of his arm around her shoulders.

"Better?"

"Much," she said. She felt his smile against her hair, answered it with one of her own, and settled in to watch the show.

*************

Much later, Harm escorted her to her door. Ever the gentleman, he refused to just drop her off in front of her apartment - a fact that both amused and flattered her. She unlocked the door, then turned back to him.

"Thanks for the ride," she said.

"Anytime."

"I'll see you Monday?"

"Bright and early."

She turned to go inside, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

"Mac."

She turned back. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to tell you, before I forget, that you did a good thing."

"I did?"

"Colonel Martin might never have found his way home if it hadn't been for you."

"As I recall," she said. "You had something to do with that, too."

"Hey, can't you take a compliment?"

"I can if you can," she said, meeting his gaze.

Something in his eyes caught and held her, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth that shut out the rest of the world. She had the hazy idea that she should get inside and close the door, but it was already too late. Too late to stop herself from stepping closer to him, her breath catching on a sigh when he wrapped his arms around her. Too late to keep her eyes from drifting shut or her hands from settling on his shoulders. And definitely too late to keep her from tilting her head up to his.

He dipped to meet her, hesitated for a single heartbeat, and then gently settled his lips onto hers. The kiss was warm and achingly tender, bringing unbidden tears to her eyes as she sketched his biceps with her palms. She felt his arms tighten around her and had the vague notion that she should pull away, that their relationship wasn't ready for this yet. But almost before the thought could take shape in her mind, he drew back, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes going wide with shock and apology.

"Mac…I'm sorry. I had no right."

Mac scrambled to pull herself together enough to form a coherent reply. "I…"

"If you feel a sudden urge to slap me for that little indiscretion, I'll understand. I know I was way out of line…"

"Harm."

He stumbled to a stop, and she almost smiled at the wide eyed panic on his face. She was still in shock herself though, and she could barely form a logical thought of her own, much less respond to his obvious concern. She settled for the mundane, hoping to ease him on his way so she could escape into her apartment and puzzle over what had just happened.

She laid her hand gently on his chest, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. "Thanks for bringing me home."

"You're welcome." He relaxed slightly, and the corners of his mouth eased into a smile.

"Goodnight," she said, her hand already on the doorknob.

"Goodnight, Mac."

She watched him turn and disappear down the stairs. Then she went inside. The door closed quietly behind her, and the empty hallway slipped into darkness.

**** The End ****

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