Notes:
A/N: Please assume the usual disclaimers.

A/N 2: Portions of the first few chapters were posted at the end of season eight as a short unhappy story based on rumors and spoilers. At the time, I stated that it was a tragic tale as I was feeling very down about the story line. I also mentioned if I ever found a viable way of fixing it, I would.

Though season nine didn’t make me any happier than I expected, and in fact less so, the way to continue this story has toyed with me for several months. I hope it interests you. Obviously in my story ATWII happens much differently than on the show.

A/N 3a: I’m leaving Kershaw in a deliberate shadow, to represent the way he functions. I don’t like Kershaw.

3b: I don’t know a lot about the drug trade outside of what you hear on the news.

3c: I don’t know much about medicine besides what I’ve observed through personal experience.

A/N 4: The only part of this story that was researched was the action the Marines took. TXJAG_b read the story and helped me with that, and also kept me straight on the Admiral. The rest I made up using a combination of imagination and logic.

Thank you to Chris who took time from her busy schedule to beta for me.

Adult supervision recommended for a bit of swearing and suggestion of intimate personal interactions.

After All
Part One


May 30, 2003
U.S. Embassy,Paraguay
Medical facility
Lt. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie’s room

“You resigned? What do you mean you resigned? You mean you walked away, gave it all up? JAG? Flying? Everything? That’s unacceptable, Harm. You can’t just do something like that.”

She is furious, actually yelling at me. Amazing.

I must admit, it wasn’t the response I expected. Nor, I guess, the one I was looking for, if I am honest. Even a simple thank you would have been sufficient. Never mind anything else.

“You know Mac,” I turn to her, astonishment dripping from my pores, and address her like the child she is impersonating. “I might have been inclined to discuss it with you, but, it occurred to me that if I rang your cell phone, it was unlikely the terrorist, who was preparing to torture the life out of you, might not have let you talk to me. I guess I was carried away with the notion you might need a little help,” I finish caustically.

I suppose I could have produced that look if I had slapped her, but I figure the words were sufficient to make the point. I’m sorry I said it that way, but I’m not taking it back; and I certainly don’t slap women.

“Well Jesus, Harm, of course we needed help. They almost killed Clay because he wouldn’t let them touch me,” she raises her voice, exasperated.

“We?” she said ‘we’. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Clay. He’s the one who got you into this to begin with,” I reply with similar emotion.

“Actually Harm, he got me out.” She looks guilty for just the flash of a moment. “I got him back into it, and if you and Gunny had talked at all during your trip, you would know that. We were back in it because we went to rescue him. Or rather I did. Clay came along, because he wouldn’t let me go alone,” she continues defiantly.

“Well, if Clay had his head out of his ass for five minutes, he would have provided both of you with backup, before taking on a nest of terrorists loaded for war.” I’m on full attack now, something I’ve never done with Mac. Perhaps we’ve always needed a full blown, all out, confrontation.

“He couldn’t,” she glances away, backing down completely.

“What?” I don’t believe what I’m hearing.

“He couldn’t. He didn’t have that authority. The station chief wouldn’t let him have anyone, and he wasn’t willing to let me go back alone,” she explains defensively.

“And that brings it right back to the beginning, doesn’t it?” I’m not sure how the conversation got to this point, but I’m very afraid I know where it’s heading.

“What are you talking about?” She has the temerity to look puzzled.

“If this mission were handled correctly, he would have had the authorization to call for backup. Instead, he put both of you, all three actually, at the mercy of that drunk, Hardy. Who is probably, at the very least, working both sides of the street.” I finish my assessment of the situation.

I’m on a roll now, and I’m not backing down this time. “He’s responsible for putting you in more danger than necessary, and for almost getting you brutally killed, all because of his half-baked, ladder climbing, manipulations.” My anger just hit the roof and broke through.

“All I know, Harm, is I was responsible for him being caught. There wouldn’t have been enough of me left for you to rescue, if he hadn’t taken everything for days. I would think you would be grateful for that, at least,” is her haughty reply. God save me from the ego of Marines.

“Grateful? I should be grateful? Tell you what, Sarah,” I lower my voice to an unnaturally quiet level. Deliberately, I use her given name, as my signal to her just how dead serious I am. “You go take care of Clay, and comfort each other with your mutual gratitude. I need to go find a job.” I throw the last at her with offhanded disgust.

Angry and resentful beyond belief, I don’t wait for a reply; I just walk out and slam the door.

I hear her jerk the door open behind me. There’s a plea in her voice. “Harm. Come back. We aren’t finished.”

I turn slowly and look at her. For a moment, I almost surrender. Almost. But I know it’s no use. No, I’m not doing this again.

“Yes, we are, Sarah.” I respond softly, before I turn and walk away.

“Harm please,” is the last I hear, before I turn the corner heading for the front office. Her ankle is broken; she can’t follow.


U.S. Embassy
Undersecretary’s office


I dial a now familiar number.

“Mr. Kershaw, please, this is Comm… I mean, Mr. Harmon Rabb.”

+++++

“Yes, I believe he is expecting the call.”

There is a pause. The government’s canned hold music is no better than anywhere else in the world.

“Yes, sir.”

+++++

“I’m fine. How are you?”

+++++

“Well, I guess I’m interested in your offer. You said to call, if I ever found myself out of uniform. It seems to have happened sooner than I expected.”

+++++

“No sir, I really don’t see any other options.”

+++++

“As soon as possible, sir. I’m aware of that. It’s a hard habit to break. I’ll work on it.”

+++++

“If I may, I would like to talk to the Admiral first. He can forward my personnel files, and I need to ask him a personal favor. After that, I’m free to go wherever you need me.

+++++

“No, he’s not going to say anything that can change my mind. My decision is based on other issues entirely.”

+++++

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”


+++++

“Sorry again, I’ll leave right away.”


+++++


“Understood.” I disconnect the line.


“Thank you.” I give my best smile to the Admin. Asst. I know she was told to cooperate, but it never hurts to be nice. I take that back, apparently, it does hurt some people, but that’s behind me now.

I’ve been given an address. A safe house. I’m to await instructions and my new identity, as well as clothing, a cell phone, and a weapon. As I leave the U.S. Embassy, I wonder if I’ll ever be inside another. I vaguely wonder how long I’ll survive in this new world. I even wonder if it matters.

End part one

After All
Part Five


“Gunny!” Commander Theresa Coulter called emphatically over her shoulder, unheeding of the reactions she would generate in her Marine guard or the young girl.

Rushing towards her tent his rifle held ready, the Marine was clearly expecting danger. Anita cowered behind the blonde woman in fear. She’d seen men with big guns before, they weren’t nice. She had no way of knowing the discipline that controlled these men in their jungle colored uniforms.

“At ease Gunny, I’m sorry for alarming you. I just received some important information,” she explained hastily, holding tight to the little girl’s hand. Anita needed comfort, and she was the only link to a man who might very likely be her dear friend.

“Yes Ma’am,” the battle hardened soldier faced her, assuming a slightly more relaxed position. He never let his guard lapse completely; they were after all deep in a foreign jungle. The area was swept regularly, but a battle zone was a battle zone to a man in uniform, and this area had recently seen a firefight. He had no reason to believe some of the combatants might not still be nearby.

“I need an escort,” she began without preamble. “We need to go to…Anita where is this man?” She turned to the child still cowering behind her.

“That way. My Papa’s house.” The little girl pointed towards the village about five miles down the road.

Terry turned back to the rock solid Marine, not quite registering the masked look of alarm on his features as the hair on the back of his neck tingled.

“Ma’am, is that wise?” he asked impassively, stunned that she would consider leaving the closely guarded compound. The fact that she was trusting this child, caused his jaw muscles to tighten visibly. He’d recently served in arenas where even the children couldn’t be trusted.

“I have to see if this is the man I’m looking for,” Theresa Coulter insisted firmly, oblivious to his concern.

“But Ma’am,” he tried again. He didn’t have enough men to guard this place properly and make a safe excursion into the jungle. The Lieutenant would pitch a fit.

“Gunny,” she straightened into officer mode. “I was sent here to find our missing. That included a Marine, too,” she pointed out archly. “Everyone expected that I would be sending home remains in body bags, and small fragments in sealed containers,” was added harshly for emphasis. “Now we have the possibility of finding one of our own alive and hopefully not too damaged. You cannot possibly accept making no attempt to recover him,” her determination was adamant.

“No Ma’am,” the Gunnery-Sergeant replied, chastened, she’d made her point. He didn’t believe for a minute they would find an American alive, but if she believed it, he would be there to back her up.

“Good. Find a way to make this happen.” Her eyes indicated the discussion was over.

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied. It was an order, and regardless of his opinion of the wisdom or the difficulty, it was his job to obey. As a Doctor she had no way of knowing the Gunnery-Sergeant was already working out the logistics before she spoke the words.

He quickly ran the possibilities through his mind. Her request was difficult. It would stretch his resources, but by no means was it impossible or unreasonable, and he would have to soothe the Lieutenant’s ruffled feathers in the process. It was his job. He was the Gunny. He spun on his heel and sprinted across the compound.

Within ten minutes, a military vehicle pulled up to her tent loaded with the Gunnery Sergeant and four other Marines. He’d had to wake several members of the second shift to cover while they were gone, but it was way of the job. No one was ever guaranteed a good nights sleep in this business. However, that said, he had no intention of staying out very long.

All the Lieutenant had said once his response was fit for mixed company, was ‘don’t let anything happen to her, Gunny’. He sincerely hoped this would not be a wild goose chase. The minute Commander Coulter was seated and pulled the little native girl onto her lap, he gave the signal to drive off.

Less than a mile and a half down the road the child pointed through some trees. “Here,” she said. Barely visible through the thick growth was the outline of a small building. A dirt track ran a quarter mile through the forest.

Abruptly the skilled leader instructed the driver to park their vehicle close to the path near a group of large rocks, and silently ordered the four men over the side and into the trees.

Knowing their job without detailed instruction, the fire-team faded into the country surrounding the small house, while Terry and Anita stayed near the vehicle guarded by the stone faced Gunnery-Sergeant. It took nearly fifteen minutes before they returned. Like ghosts, they appeared silently one by one from between the trees to give their commander an all clear signal.

“Sir,” the Lance Corporal reported, “There’s a small house in the clearing half a mile from here, two rooms and a sleeping loft. Tall dark haired man stacking wood out back. Could be American. Too tall to be native. Tanned, but probably Caucasian. Possibly injured. Smaller man inside. Possibly native.” His report gave the details in a verbal shorthand that left out all non-essential words.

“That your man, Commander?” the Gunnery-Sergeant turned to address Terri.

“Sounds like him, Gunny. I’d have to see him. How tall was he corporal?” she addressed the subordinate directly.

“Tall, Ma’am,” the young marine replied. “Well over six feet.”

“Sounds like him,” Terri turned to the Gunny. “The man I’m looking for is six four.”

“That could be him, Ma’am,” the Lance Corporal interjected. “He is really tall. Looked like light colored eyes too, some shade of blue.”

“Gunnery-Sergeant, I’m convinced it’s H…,” she started

“No names, Ma’am,” he cautioned her. She should have known better and apologized contritely.

“I understand, Gunny,” she corrected hurriedly, “But it sounds like the last man on my list.”

“Then here’s what we’ll do. My first job is to protect you and my men,” he explained. “We’ll approach from the front since the subject is in back. You, me, the child, and the private here,” he indicated another man, “Will walk to the back to make sure it’s your friend.”

She nodded. She’d agree to anything he suggested, she was this close to finding Harm and she could wait a few minutes to make sure everyone was safe. There was no point in coming this far just to lose their chance.

They climbed back aboard the vehicle with the Commander and the child in the center. The Marines stationed themselves to watch every direction. The Gunny was still suspicious. Experience told him things were seldom as they seemed. He was taking no chances. Cautiously they drove to the front of the small cabin. Three men stayed with the Humvee, while the Gunny and another Marine escorted Terri Coulter and Anita to the back of the house.

As they rounded the corner of the house Anita broke free of Terri and ran to the tall man whose back was turned. “Paolo, I brought friends,” she called wrapping her arms around his waist. “They can help you,” she explained, delighted to do something for the tall gentle man.

He stooped down to the child’s level, and Terri saw the evidence of his injury. He didn’t pick the child up in his arms, a desire telegraphed by his body language, and he moved stiffly not with the athletic grace well known of her friend. “Anita, where have you been? Your Papa’s been worried about you,” he scolded mildly.

“With her,” Anita replied pointing to the edge of the house. “She knows who you are,” the little girl predicted simply.

“Hey,” Terri gave his trademark greeting. That above anything had given her faith she would find this man. She almost cried in relief when she saw the tall form of Harmon Rabb Jr. straighten and turn to look at her. His hair had grown to below his shoulders, tied back with a fine strip of leather, but he was alive, and only a little worse for the wear of his experience. His limited movement might be the result of scar tissue from the fire. And with two bullets in him there was no way of assessing the value of any repairs that had been made. He apparently didn’t have complete use of his left arm, though she was more concerned about his memory. He should have regained it by now.

“Terri?” He looked stunned. “Terri, what are you doing here?” His memory of her flooded his mind, staggering him with a near physical force. He was almost more surprised that he recognized her than he was to find her in this remote part of the South American jungle. He wasn’t certain exactly where he was, but suddenly he knew who he was.

“I’m here to find you,” she replied. “Paolo?” she verified cocking her head

“It was a name I vaguely recalled,” he shrugged then remarked with a derisive scoff. “They wouldn’t have sent you here just to find me.” He wasn’t sure why he knew this, he remembered so little. He remembered his name. He remembered he’d been on an assignment, that he’d been hurt doing a job. He remembered every case he’d ever worked with this woman. He remembered there were other people too, but they wouldn’t focus.

“Not just you, but there was a request to find you if possible. It was just…” she hesitated, how could she say this.

“Just what, Terri?” he asked, his face darkening.

“No one expected I would send you home on a stretcher in a medevac, instead of a body bag,” she finished hesitantly.

He continued to stare at her for a moment as though considering that concept. “If it weren’t for Ray, you wouldn’t have had the chance.”

“Ray?” She asked.

“Anita’s Papa. Her grandfather,” he explained. “He found me near the ruins. Apparently I’d managed to pull myself away from the building then I collapsed. I…I don’t remember anything after the burning beam hit me. I woke up a week later, or so they tell me. I didn’t know who I was, or why I was here. I don’t even know why he helped me,” Harm finished quietly. “I could have been one of them.”

“Papa said you couldn’t be, your face is too kind,” Anita spoke up for the first time. She had apparently absorbed the entire conversation and realized she had found just the help her friend needed.

Harm smiled down at her, that heartbreaking smile he reserved for special people in his life, and especially for children. “Go find Papa, Anita,” he instructed. “He’s in the house,” then turning to the others he added. “He has a small laboratory. He’s studying native plant life, trying to find the medicines the old healers used in this area,” Harm informed Terri and the Gunnery Sergeant who stood behind her.

The Gunny relaxed visibly, it had taken a few minutes, but now he remembered this man. Two years ago aboard the Seahawk, the man had been a hero, but few people knew what he’d done. The Gunnery Sergeant had been there and he knew. He would risk his entire platoon to get this man to safety. He never questioned why he was here, only that he was a member of their military family who needed to go home.

“So, rescue arrives, my friend,” the small older man stepped through the door, tugged by Anita.

“I’m not so sure I want to be rescued,” Harm said obstinately.

“Perhaps not Paolo, but I think it is time. You have unfinished business,” the man stated obliquely, in accented but excellent English.

Ignoring his comment momentarily, Harm remembered his manners. “Ray Santos this is Commander Theresa Coulter, US Navy. She’s a pathologist. Terri this is Doctor Ramon Santos. He is Anita’s grandfather. He saved my life and literally saved my skin,” Harm remarked gratefully with a double meaning. Grudgingly, he accepted that Ray was right; there was a man out there somewhere who had betrayed him. He would betray more agents unless he was stopped. That was something Harmon Rabb aka Elliott Stevens remembered clearly.

“Very glad to meet you, sir,” Terri extended her hand which Dr. Santos took in the continental style.

“It is always pleasant to meet a lovely lady, but in this place it is quite a surprise,” he remarked gallantly.

“And that’s another thing,” Harm interjected petulantly on the social moment. “Whatever possessed you to come gallivanting around the jungle to find me? Your Gunnery-Sergeant here should have known better even if you didn’t,” he finished harshly.

He was becoming resentful of this sudden intrusion on his newfound peace. Now that his memory was returning, he knew there were things he didn’t want to remember. Things he didn’t want to relive. Dark personal things. And he was damned if anyone was going to drag him back to those memories.

The Gunny’s jaw tightened at the rebuke knowing in a sense it was true. However, his sense of honor, respect, and responsibility held for this man who had shown such bravery and suffered such trauma. He knew it could change a person.

“Behave yourself, Commander.” The blonde officer scolded the smoldering former sailor, trying desperately not to use his name. “He didn’t want to come, but I knew it was you, and I pulled rank on him.” She was certain Harm’s friends were okay, but there was still the possibility of other ears. Four men alone could not secure an area big enough for total safety. She was aware too, that they could not dally here long.

“Oh? And how would you be so sure of that?” he asked sarcastically. His discomfort was making him testy. He didn’t want to leave this haven he’d found, but he knew as sure as he breathed he would soon have no choice.

“Because, Anita said you had eyes like the water and the sky,” Terry replied hotly. “Now how many men have eyes like that, and are tall as a tree?” she asked, very close to stamping her foot.

Harm flushed with aggravation at having his eyes described so poetically in front of the two Marines he’d just chastised. He watched their jaws work in an effort to hide the smile that danced in their eyes. A smile that seemed to speculate whether these two people were more than mere colleagues.

“Dammit, Terri....,” he started.

“Don’t you ‘dammit’ me, mister. I came here to find you, and by God, I did. Now simmer down flyboy,” she used the term she’d heard Mac use once in exasperation. It worked. His face went white for a second as his mind raced around the endearment, trying desperately not to remember its origin.

The fight gone from him, he stood defeated, breathing hard in the face of this very stubborn southern woman. Why were all the best women in his life so hard headed, and how did he know that they were?

Controlling himself with an effort, he took Anita’s hand. “I have to talk to her for a few minutes,” he told no one in particular as he moved out of earshot. Sitting on a nearby log he carefully pulled the child to his lap, obviously favoring his shoulder, and began talking to her quietly.

“Your friend has been so kind to my granddaughter. It did not occur to me to teach her the American language, but she has learned from him. I now believe it will help her rather than hurt her,” the doctor admitted. “While they have their moment alone perhaps you would like to see my research. I used a local plant extract that has done wonders for the burns our ‘Paolo’ has suffered,” Doctor Ray Santos offered his colleague.

“Really? I’m fascinated,” she replied, then added worried. “He still seems to have trouble with his arm though.”

“Alas yes, I haven’t the facilities for orthopedic surgery here. I was able to remove the bullet from his arm, it was just a nasty flesh wound, but the one embedded in his shoulder...” he shrugged graphically. “I think there is still time for a proper repair at a well equipped facility. Perhaps Bethesda?” he looked at her slyly.

“Perhaps,” she nodded her head thoughtfully. “Where were you educated doctor?” she asked, acknowledging the fact she wasn’t dealing with a simple country healer.

“UCLA,” the native man smiled disarmingly, as he handed her through the doorway into his small cabin.

End of five

After All
Part Six



Bethesda Naval Hospital
Late March


‘Now that was damned aggravating.’ Rabb thought, as he savagely pushed the off button and tossed the phone back on a side table. But then, everything had been aggravating since Terri Coulter had walked around the corner of Dr. Santos’ house.

Some Admiral was in the lobby wanting to talk to him. Why the hell would he want to talk to an Admiral? He was debriefed by the CIA when he landed three weeks ago, and he clearly remembered tendering his resignation to the Navy. He didn’t remember the circumstances, but they were such he was no longer under the control of any Admirals. Of that much he was certain.

He swayed miserably between desperately wanting to remember certain things and blocking others so tenaciously it was messing with his brain. No question, it was causing one monumental headache.

It had taken six hours for the surgery on his shoulder the day after he arrived, but as Dr Santos had predicted, the improper healing was not so complete it couldn’t be repaired.

He couldn’t wait to get out of here. The doctor told him his physical therapy was going well. He should be released to outpatient status tomorrow. He still wasn’t certain where he would go, but he figured there must be some money in his bank account. After all they owed him nine..., no..., almost ten months back pay.

His first instinct had been to remain in that jungle with his friends and he wished he could return. He’d felt he was leaving them unprotected, until Dr Santos shared the concern that his presence was more of a danger to them than being alone. He fervently hoped the man was right.

He was a native of the country, but he’d lived in a different part of the world for many years, returning only to care for his granddaughter. After his daughter and her husband were killed in a mudslide a few years ago, he’d moved back to his homeland. Taking advantage of the opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream, he was researching the natural medicines of the South American jungle in an effort to preserve the forest and provide mankind with new cures.

He’d lived and worked there apparently unnoticed, but after Harm had healed enough to venture outside, he’d begun to attract attention from the nearby village. At that moment, Harm had been content to believe his absence gave them anonymity. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood the twisted truth of it. He’d never have forgiven himself if anything happened to his little friend.

He’d been comforted somewhat when immediately prior to leaving the compound where Terri had been working, Harm had received a brief message from his friends. The village had settled down after Harm had been ‘removed’ by the American soldiers. Somehow they had the idea that Santos and Anita were being held captive by him. Apparently Ray had read his neighbors distress as a danger to him and Anita for sheltering Harm when instead they were planning to kill Harm and rescue the doctor and his granddaughter. It was ludicrous, but if they were safe under this mis-belief then Harm couldn’t be happier.

Terri Coulter had spent a short while with Dr Santos, as he explained his work and the compound he’d used on Harm’s back and legs to minimize scarring from the burns. When they returned to the camp, she’d immediately gone into doctor mode, insisting upon examining the burns first hand.

“NO! Terri,” Harm protested adamantly. “There’s no way I’m undressing for you.” He was exceedingly annoyed that she expected him to disrobe. After all, she was a friend and an attractive woman.

“Harm, don’t be silly. I’m a doctor,” she had replied with firm patience. “I have to find out just how well those wounds have healed.”

“Why? What difference does it make? I’m fine,” he’d argued stubbornly.

“Good grief, Harm. You’re acting like a baby,” then she stopped thoughtfully. “Or are you embarrassed because you know me?” she speculated in her soft drawl.

“Well,” he’d admitted under duress of her glare. “You are a woman, and we have been friends.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” she asserted. “Harm, I’m not trying to peek at your tush. If I can’t properly assess the level to which your skin has healed, you’re going home strapped to a stretcher in the back of a C-130,” she threatened

“Oh no I’m not,” he stormed, almost leaving her tent.

“Harm,” she said in a voice that dripped a quiet threat. It stopped him cold. “I’m the only doctor in this camp and there’s a Marine out there who has a bad case of hero worship going for you. If I tell him it’s for your own good he’ll have you stripped and tied to that bed in a hot second,” she threatened, not knowing if it was true or not.

“You wouldn’t,” he blanched.

“Oh wouldn’t I,” she promised with every ounce of determination in her still substantial frame.

Harm stared at her swallowing hard. “You only want to look at the burns?” he verified weakly.

“Of course,” she backed off knowing she’d won. There’d never been any question that getting Harmon Rabb naked had been an ambition since she’d met him, but this was completely different. This was business, and it was about his health. If there was one consuming goal in Terri Coulter’s life at the moment, it was to return her friend to his former robust good health.

“What do you want me to do?” he surrendered, unwilling to suffer the particular indignity she’d threatened. He would allow her a brief look at his wounds.

She handed him a sheet. “Take everything off, lie on the bunk face down, and cover your self. All your injuries are on your back, aren’t they?”

He simply nodded maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Fine,” she gave a curt movement of her head. “I’ll be right outside, call me when you’re comfortable.”

He had to admit he’d relaxed after the first few moments. She was surprisingly professional. However, with the arbitrariness of a woman, she had judged the two third degree burns, one on his shoulder and one on his left butt cheek, to be still too tender to survive undamaged while sitting on the hard seat of a C130 transport for sixteen hours.

They had struck a bargain. Harm would go home on a stretcher, but not strapped in. He could sit up and move around cautiously during the flight, mindful of his damaged shoulder, but he would spend the maximum amount of time resting. The one thing he’d put his foot down about was the salve Dr. Santos had provided. She tried to substitute a ‘Navy approved’ medication, but he informed her in no uncertain terms he was no longer the property of the US Navy. He’d instructed her rather harshly to either use the treatment that had allowed him to heal without debilitating scarring, or he would not allow her to touch him again at all.

It had taken another six days to get the proper transportation and security in place to move him. That time coupled with the nearly twenty hours the trip took back to Washington gave him another full week of healing, added to the prior four months, before he was once again subject to Navy approved medicine.

There was little more his doctors could do for his burns at that point except to wonder over the fact that skin grafts would not be necessary despite the obvious depth of the burns. To be sure the wounds still would not tolerate harsh treatment for a while, the skin was still shallow and tender. But with a little care he would be left with only minor marks. The scar from his shoulder surgery would be far worse.

By the time the transport arrived Theresa Coulter had finished her investigation and identified every person she’d been sent to find. She had accompanied Harm back to the states and provided escort for the remains of the DEA agent she had just identified, while acting as Harm’s attending physician. At Andrews AFB she’d turned him over to the medical team from Bethesda, and continued to wherever she had to make her report.

The following day she was waiting in his room when he recovered from his surgery. She’d come to visit him every day since. He’d been the quintessential grumpy patient at times but she wouldn’t let him talk himself down. Frequently, she’d offered to help him remember things, but each time he’d told her it made his head hurt. Truth was, he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t remember why, he just knew he didn’t.

The day after his surgery the team from Kershaw showed up. They asked him questions until he could no longer think. Eventually they went away satisfied that they not only had the name of one double agent, but that his associates and the person who had recommended him, the station chief Robert Hardy, would also prove to be double agents. This was an assessment Harm had held himself, and he was happy enough to have them draw the same conclusion. They made a comment to the effect that a ‘sweeper’ would be assigned to the situation immediately.

The CIA/DEA investigation had not been able to determine how the barn had caught fire prematurely, until Harm described the pattern of the fire from inside. It became painfully obvious the people they were sent to capture had set the fire themselves unheeding of how many of their own would be caught in the blaze. Harm had been a planned casualty all the time.

A solid knock on his door was followed by the entrance of a two star Admiral.

“Commander, may I come in?” the stiff backed bald man asked as though it was an order.

Harm took one look at the man and automatically straightened almost to attention before correcting himself. Another sudden rush of memories assaulted him as recognition sparked in his mind.

“I’m no longer a Commander, but come in if you wish,” Harm’s answer bordered on surly.

“Actually you’re wrong about that, but we’ll get there in a minute,” AJ Chegwidden replied.

With another brief knock, Terri Coulter entered the room demonstrating a familiarity that raised the Admiral’s eyebrows. Since his surgery she’d become part of his life, and Harm found himself becoming dependant on her presence and a fast developing closeness. If Harm had his way they’d get closer still, once he was released from this place.

“Admiral, sir,” she straightened quickly in surprise, but he waved her off before she could come to full attention.

“It’s a social call for now Commander Coulter, but I’m glad you’re here,” he eyed the two with some suspicion. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for finding Commander Rabb. Your results were far more than I’d dared hope.”

Theresa Coulter glanced at Rabb curious about the Admiral’s reference, but Harm looked puzzled and definitely annoyed. “I…uh…I was more than happy to oblige, Sir,” she answered not sure where this was going. “Harm and I are old friends.”

“Yes. I remember, you’ve worked several cases together haven’t you?” he asked with elaborate casualness. It was a tactic that had always made Harm’s hair stand on end.

“Yes, Sir…uh…Sir, would you like me to leave,” she asked nervously, wondering if he was reading more here than was happening.

Harm’s hand immediately snaked out taking hold of hers, effectively holding her in place. “Stay,” he said in a firm tone.

The Admiral hid his reaction. That movement confirmed his suspicions, but he was disappointed. A certain Marine was going to be heartbroken when she learned of this. “That won’t be necessary Commander. I just stopped by informally for now, to check on Commander Rabb’s health.” With SEAL-like stealth, he was still testing the situation.

“Why do you insist on addressing me that way, Admiral?” Rabb asked in a tone bordering on insubordination. “I distinctly remember resigning, and I definitely remember you accepting. I work for Kershaw now,” Rabb insisted petulantly.

“Well, ‘Commander’,” he emphasized the title, “That isn’t what the paperwork says. You see there’s that little complication about out-processing, then there’s terminal leave. Do you have any idea how much leave you had on the books?” he raised an eyebrow for emphasis. “Then before your resignation even got into the system it was changed to a transfer. Of course, there are always the bureaucratic delays, after all we are at war, and BUPERS is bogged down with all manner of emergency requests and transfers. Yours kept getting shuffled to the bottom,” he smiled like a Cheshire cat before continuing.

“And before any of that was sorted out you were declared MIA, so that effectively stopped everything. On paper you were on loan TAD to the CIA for an unspecified period of time pending the transfer that never happened. Guess what Commander, you’re still in the Navy,” the Admiral delivered this bit of news with a relish that made Harm’s skin crawl.

End of six