Feedback is always welcome, constructive criticism more so.
Spider: spider@webspin.org , April 2002.
All parts of this story can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm
__________________________

"Come in, Colonel," Admiral Chegwidden said without turning. He was standing at his
office window, contemplating the falling snow. Contemplating the decisions he'd made in
his life, the paths not taken.

The military demanded much of its people. One could argue that it was too much, but
that wasn't a case he could defend. Many fine officers boasted successful marriages. And
not necessarily to partners who subdued their careers to accommodate such a marriage.
Hell, he had the definitive case example in his own office: Bud and Harriet Roberts. He
turned and smiled, then walked back to his desk. "Sit down, Colonel."

Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat with the ramrod bearing that Chegwidden had come to expect
from the Marine Corps officer. Yet, unlike many women in the service, especially the
Marine Corps, her bearing took nothing from her femininity. He'd allowed that to distract
him once. Fortunately, common sense had prevailed before irreparable damage had been done
- to either of them. Chegwidden had never considered himself a chauvinist, he had too much
respect for women, but he could not intellectualize away his male hormones. Not just the
ones that found the colonel a desirable woman, but the ones that wanted to protect her,
especially from herself.

The admiral pursed his lips and said, "Mac, the reason your temporary assignment to
this office became permanent was because of your outstanding record as both a military
officer and as a JAG investigator. In the course of your duties, you've been obliged to
undertake some thankless tasks, including the investigation and subsequent prosecution of
friends and mentors. I've watched you mature into someone who is eminently capable of
divorcing personal feelings from a case, without losing your compassion or humanity. Of
course if you hadn't, you would have long since shot Rabb."

Sarah Mackenzie stifled a grin. It had not been easy, those first months after arriving
at JAG headquarters. She had nothing to prove to herself - or so she thought until meeting
Harmon Rabb. More than anything else, he had taught her to *enjoy* the thrust and parry of
a courtroom battle, to not take it personally, but to respect, indeed, look forward to the
next challenge from a consummate sparring partner. It took her a long time to understand
that Chegwidden's description of her as cold-blooded was not a slur on her personality,
but a compliment on her work ethic.

"I'm not going to insult your professionalism," Chegwidden continued, "by not giving
you this assignment. However, I have already informed SecNav that Commanders Rabb and
Turner are better suited."

Mac frowned and looked at the admiral in confusion. "Sir, I believe that despite the
occasional differences of opinion, my working relationship with Commander Rabb -"

"Is not in question, Colonel. You and Rabb work superbly together, even when you don't
see eye to eye - a fact I can readily sympathize with. However, though you were
specifically requested, my recommendation is based on professional considerations.
Commanders Rabb and Turner are better versed in maritime law."

Mac's face reflected confusion. "Sir, may I ask what the assignment is, and why SecNav
requested me?"

Chegwidden looked up and replied, "It's not so much what, but where. And it wasn't
SecNav, but the Indonesian Government."

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

"Good morning, Bud," Commander Harmon Rabb said as he strode into the bullpen. He smile
was brief, having been clipped by his earlier visit to Quantico. Not only did the initial
forensics report scuttle his case; he'd had to battle a blizzard on the drive back.

Lieutenant Bud Roberts replied, "Good morning, Sir! How's it going out there, Sir?" he
added with a concerned frown.

Rabb shook his head and shrugged off his overcoat. "It's getting down to zero zero,
Bud. The Admiral in?"

"Yes Sir," Roberts nodded. "And he said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back.
Colonel Mackenzie is with him now."

"Here, let me take that for you Sir," Lieutenant Harriet Simms said, grabbing his heavy
overcoat. "I'll make sure it's dried before you go out again."

Harm tossed Harriet a full-bodied smile. When he'd made the decision to leave JAG and
return to flying, he had missed all of his co-workers, but Harriet held a special place in
his memory. Like Bud, she genuinely cared for the welfare of everyone around her. Living
with testosterone junkies for six months, he'd missed that. Sure, he depended on a vastly
bigger support structure to keep him airborne, but Harriet managed to mother them all
without it seeming that way.

As to the other woman he had missed, well, he wasn't in the mood to go there. He had to
work with her and right about now, that's as much as he could take. He tapped on
Chegwidden's door.

"Enter," the Admiral replied.

The object of Harm's ambivalence was, as Bud said, already seated. And her stiffened
back warned him this would be an uncomfortable assignment. Well, maybe that was good. It
would give them something to get their minds of this...thing between them.

"Commander, how did it go?" Chegwidden asked, looking up.

Harm's lips thinned and he shook his head as he sat in the chair beside Mac. "No go,
Sir. Autopsy shows that Seaman Fielding was dead at least twelve hours before the fire."

The Admiral lifted his eyebrows. "What was the cause of death?"

"Still working on it, Sir, but the best we can get Petty Officer Harken on is arson and
willful destruction of naval property."

"Subject to the autopsy results."

"Yes, Sir. He has an alibi for the estimated time of death, but I'm hoping the final
results will give us something more to work with."

Chegwidden nodded and said, "I want you to hand over your files on this case to
Commander Turner. The rest of your caseload can be distributed between him and Lieutenant
Singer. You can brief them this afternoon."

"Sir?" Harm's eyebrows lowered and he sat forward in anticipation. He had studiously
avoided looking at Mac - something not lost on the admiral &endash; until now. The bland look on
her face remained fixed.

Chegwidden held up a thick, spiral bound file and said, "Irrespective of our
government's desire to separate the issue of terrorism and religion, the fact is, some
Moslem countries support, overtly, or covertly, the actions of terrorist organizations.
Indonesia is one such nation. And, as the Colonel here will testify after her experiences
on Aceh, a volatile disposition. Indonesia's President Megawati Sukarnoputri has more or
less publicly decried our actions in Afghanistan. They're not too happy with the
Australians, either."

"East Timor," Rabb replied.

"Yes, Commander. The Indonesians didn't like losing East Timor and they liked it even
less when Australia sent troops in to protect the East Timorese. They're not going to let
the same thing happen with Aceh. Indonesia may play at being a democracy, but freedom of
speech, particularly of the press, is not tolerated."

Chegwidden clasped his hands and leaned forward. "The Australian media has a long
history of upsetting Indonesia with scathing editorials and exposÈs. The Indonesian kicked
another journalist out a few days ago. Australian politicians haven't faired much better
when it comes to diplomacy."

"Sounds familiar," Harm said. He caught Mac's sudden look and added quickly, "Ours are
no better."

Chegwidden nodded agreeably. "Thing is, the U.S. government needs allies in this war.
At the very least, we need to avoid aggravating countries that suspect our war on
terrorism will turn into a religious crusade. Indonesia has the largest Moslem population
of any country in the world. They may not be strategically vital at the current time, but
tactically, well, let's just say that we'd like to do everything we can to accommodate
them."

Harm nodded. "So what do the Indonesians want &endash; besides the $530 million in economic
aid we've pledged to them?"

"Aid can come in the form of services, Commander. In August
last year, a boat carrying over 400 Afghan refugees fleeing the Taliban regime were
en-route from Indonesia to Australia when they sent out a distress call. The vessel
carrying them was Indonesian, and their last port of embarkation was Indonesia.
"This certainly wasn't the first time a group of refugees fleeing an oppressive regime
had undertaken such a journey."

"Vietnam," Harm replied.

"Correct. South Vietnamese fled the country in the thousands, often aboard floating
death traps with little food and water, no safety equipment and a ninety percent chance of
sinking or being butchered by pirates before reaching freedom: Australia. These boat
people as they were known, were generally accepted in Australia as refugees."

"But not this time," Rabb observed.

"Australia, like the U.S., accepts thousands of political refugees seeking asylum.
However, these latest refugees have paid tens of thousands of dollars to commercial
people-smugglers in order to bypass the normal checks, even purchase new identities. There
is justification in some of their claims that the UN processing for legal immigration are
slow, forcing them to take such action, however it is equally true that hidden amongst
them are criminals and terrorists. The Australians have picked up dozens of Taliban
members who gained entry into their country in this fashion. Two of them had the detailed
plans of the Lucas Heights nuclear power plant near Sydney. So the Australians have every
reason to turn back illegal refugees and demand their immigration request go through due
process, even if refusing or detaining them is a humanitarian nightmare.

"When an Australian reconnaissance aircraft picked up the distress signal of one such
boat, they alerted the Indonesian authorities, and a nearby Norwegian container ship, the
*Tampa* responded. The *Tampa* expected 80 passengers, but when they reached the
overcrowded fishing boat, which was already sinking, they found over 400. The *Tampa* was
bound for Indonesia, but once rescued, the refugees threatened to take matters into their
own hands unless she turned about and took them to Australia. When notified of this, the
Australian authorities refused the *Tampa* the right to enter Australian waters, but
ordered her to continue with its refugees to its nearest destination, which was also its
next port of call - Indonesia. The Indonesian government denied they had originated there
and insisted they be taken to Australia."

Harm had followed the case with interest and assumed Chegwidden's brief was more for
Mac than himself.

"With the refugees warning the captain that unless he took them to Australia, there
would be a quote, 'very negative reaction', the captain compromised and took them to the
nearest *landfall* - Christmas Island. Although Christmas Island is Australian territory,
it is geographically closer to Indonesia than mainland Australia.

"As you know, Commander," Chegwidden added, looking at Rabb. "International Maritime
law is clear when it comes to rescues at sea. But it became a legal quagmire because by
entering Australian waters, the captain of the *Tampa* broke Australian law. He was
ordered to leave, but refused to comply. His ship could not legally carry that many
passengers and if he departed, he would be breaking international maritime laws. The
Australian government dug its heels in and refused to allow the refugees to disembark, so
a legal minefield became saturated by ethical and humanitarian issues."

"Because maritime law doesn't cover refugees."

"Correct, Commander, it's a legal no-man's land. The situation onboard a container ship
designed to carry a crew of thirty deteriorated rapidly. The refugees went on a hunger
strike and threatened to jump ship and attempt the two-mile swim to shore &endash; something not
recommended in the shark-infested waters. If the *Tampa* attempted to leave, the refugees
threatened to overpower the crew &endash; which is not piracy because the threat was made inside
the sovereign waters of a nation. To take control of the situation, the Australian SAS
troops boarded the *Tampa*, and that, of course, opened another can of legal worms.
Although they handled the situation with as much tact as possible under the circumstances,
the international outcry was enormous. The UN was screaming, and the *Tampa's* owners were
losing tens of thousands of dollars every day the ship sat idly at anchor. Bear in mind
that before making any contact with the Indonesians, the Australian Prime Minister
publicly blamed Indonesia for sponsoring people smuggling and insisted they take them
back."

"And we're accused of being arrogant," Harm muttered, shaking his head.

Mac shot him a narrow-eyed look, but Chegwidden replied, "Given the recent political
upheavals in Indonesia &endash; the new president had only been in power a short time &endash; and given
the recent unpleasant history between Australia and Indonesia, it was not the Prime
Minister's most tactful moment."

"It won him an election," Harm replied.

"It did indeed. He was set to lose, badly, until then. While Australians were
sympathetic to the plight of the refugees - after all, the entire country is made up of
immigrants and refugees dating back only two hundred years - most people felt these boat
people were trying to circumvent due process by buying their way in. What cinched it, of
course, were events just a few days later."

"9-11"

"Exactly. The Australians did not want three hundred Afghans who had already threatened
to 'take matters into their own hands', running around the streets of Sydney with the
plans of their nuclear reactor in hand. Finally, a navy troop ship took the refugees to
Nauru and set up camps for them there. They will now be processed on a case by case basis
and either allowed to immigrate to Australia, or be returned home.

"Although the situation in Afghanistan has since altered so that these people can no
longer reasonably claim persecution, this has not stopped tens of thousands of other
Afghans, Iraqi's and Pakistanis fleeing their homes, because the ecological and economic
catastrophe that define these countries are arguably more hellish than any political
regime. Australia knows that in order to stem this hemorrhage of refugees, it's going to
have to have to kiss and make up with the Indonesian Government. It also has to deal with
an international tribunal investigating the *Tampa* incident, in addition to the ongoing
court cases."

Chegwidden shook his head. "By offering the Indonesian government legal assistance in
drafting up an agreement with the Australians, and advising them during the *Tampa*
investigation, we demonstrate both to them and the rest of the world that we're prepared
to defend a Moslem nation against one of our closest allies. The Australians want this
just as much as we do; they're big enough to shoulder the blame if it means establishing a
workable protocol for dealing with refugees. And they have an even greater interest in
keeping Indonesia happy &endash; they're potentially hostile neighbors that could over-run
Australia in less than 48 hours if they put their minds to it."

Harm frowned. "They're not seriously a threat, are they, Sir?"

Chegwidden rocked his head equivocally. "That's a classified war-game scenario,
Commander, one that's been considered in light of 9-11 and the escalating crisis in the
Middle East. Although the Australians will appear publicly adversarial, in fact, you'll be
getting their full, behind the scenes co-operation.

"Commander," Chegwidden said to Rabb. "SecNav asked for you on the basis of your prior
insightful analysis of the disputed Kemor and Matsu islands between China and Taiwan.
Hopefully this time you'll plan your solo sailing trips a little more astutely."

Harm smiled. "Yes sir." Despite that painful experience, it had given him insight into
himself and the demons that had haunted him from childhood. "May I ask, sir, what Colonel
Mackenzie's role will be? No offence to the Colonel, but Maritime law is not her area of
expertise."

"The Colonel was specifically requested by the Indonesian Government." Chegwidden
smiled knowingly and added, "It seems Mac has a fan club amongst the Indonesian military."

Harm shot a querulous look at his partner. What else had happened on Aceh?

"Commander, your initial role will be to propose workable solutions to prevent a
repeat of this problem, while the Colonel will be taking point for the Indonesians. Once
you have completed draft recommendations, as you say, Mac is not as versed in maritime
law, therefore I trust you will be able to advise her in a manner that can accommodate
Indonesia's expectations."

Still staring at Mac, whose eyes were focussed forward, Harm replied, "Of course, when
are we leaving for Indonesia, Sir?" He noticed her lip was doing that funny thing.

"Not Indonesia, Commander. The negotiations will take place in Sydney."

Harm's eyes shot back to the Admiral's. "Sydney?"

"That's right, Commander. The Indonesians were happy for Australia to host the
negotiations and hearings. Australia has appointed their own experts in maritime law to
act in their interests. And as their principle officer is also familiar with the
operations of JAG, they are hoping for relatively smooth sailing around the negotiation's
table."

Harm's eyes rounded. "Brumby?" He swiveled to face Mac, but her eyes were still
fastened ahead. She hadn't said a word, or moved a muscle - except for that lip &endash; since
he'd sat down.

Chegwidden sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He glanced at Mac and said to
Harm, "I assumed you knew that Commander Brumby returned to the Navy when he went back to
Australia."

"Sir," Harm's lips compressed in frustration and he kept glancing back at Mac. "Under
the circumstances, do you think it's wise -"

"What circumstances would those be, Commander?" Mac asked, her eyes never leaving the
admiral's.

Harm's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Chegwidden lifted his chin and replied, "I have
every confidence that my officers will not allow personal issues to cloud their judgement.
I'm sending Lieutenants Simms and Roberts out there at the end of the week. If Lieutenant
Roberts were to return with a wired jaw, I will not be able to pull your butt out of a
sling, because SecNav and the State Department will own it. At best, you will be
negotiating food scrap rights with the Polar Bears. Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

Harm's eyes met the admiral's and he swallowed and nodded. "Abundantly, Sir."

Chegwidden swung in his chair to look out the ice-covered window. "Not that I'd mind an
excuse to come out there myself." He stood and handed Mac the thick files on his desk.
"Here's the background material. Dismissed."

Chegwidden hated to put Mac in this position, and tossing Rabb in the ring with Brumby
could get ugly. But Rabb had been warned; he would have to show restraint. This, thought
Chegwidden, would be a hell of a lot more interesting than the first round. He just hoped
the resulting fallout was something they could all live with.

Mac went to her office and began to close the door, but Harm grabbed it and walked in.
She ignored him and sat down at her desk, then started to separate the files the admiral
had given them. "Do you want to start with these?" she asked, handing him a bundle and
looking up.

"Mac! Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"I may not be the expert on maritime law but -"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Why would I get hurt, Commander?" She might be six inches shorter, but she could go
toe to toe with him any day, even sitting down. "I'm a Marine colonel - or have you
forgotten?"

"Oh, I doubt that's something I'll ever forget," he replied, wondering how he could
have fallen into that trap. Sometimes, dealing with Mac was worse than dealing with a
hemorrhoidal judge. "I just meant that since Brumby's..." he stopped himself and grimaced.
He was digging himself a deeper hole. "C'mon Mac, you might be a Marine but you're still
human. I know how I'd feel if I were in your position."

"Would that stop you from doing your job?"

"Of course not, but - "

"Well then why are you questioning my professionalism?"

"Mac!" he replied, exasperated.

"Then this conversation is finished, Commander," she replied and turned to open her
desk drawer.

"Yes, Ma'am!" he replied. Turning on his heel, he left her office, wondering how they
had gotten to this point.

"Oh, and Commander," Chegwidden said, walking from his office. "Regarding your travel
arrangements. As you are aware, the Australians recently purchased four F14s to replace
their aging F1-11s. Unfortunately, one of their pilots has come down with a bad dose of
the 'flu. His RIO isn't much better, so I've agreed to volunteer your services. Colonel
Mackenzie can go back seat." Chegwidden tossed him a satisfied grin as he continued
walking.

Harm didn't try to hide his smile, but then he closed his eyes. Mac.

"Is anything wrong, Sir?" Harriet Simms asked, her face a mask of worry.

He turned and replied, "Nothing you can do to help, Harriet, not this time."

"If I may be so bold, what's the matter sir?"

Harm explained.

"Oh, Sir, do you think that's a good idea?" Harriet said, biting her lip and glancing
at Mac through her glass window.

"You try telling the Colonel that and you're a braver sailor than I, lieutenant." Then
his voice dropped and he added, "And she hates flying in Tomcats. With me."

Harriet nodded in understanding and said, "Leave it to me, Sir."

Harm watched her depart and commented, "Don't lose her, Bud, she's one in a million."

Proudly smiling as he turned and looked at his wife, Lieutenant Roberts replied, "Yes
Sir."

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

The storm had passed by the time Harmon Rabb finished briefing Turner and Singer on his current cases. Harm was accustomed to leaving town at a moment's notice, on assignments that could take him away from the JAG office for weeks, even months at a time. Mostly, he looked forward to them, especially when they gave him the opportunity to fly. He glanced outside, then checked the time, 1830. Earlier than he had hoped. Everyone had gone home for the evening except Gunny, who was still chasing files for him, and Mac. In his rush to escape her office, he'd left the *Tampa* files behind. He packed his attachÈ, pulled down the manuals and discs he'd asked Gunny to get, grabbed his now dry overcoat and left for her office. "Hey, Mac, better get home and pack..." he was about to say bikini, but changed it to, "summer skivvies." Even the slightest innuendo would land him in it. But as he swung her door wider, he was surprised to see Gunny at her computer. "Hey Gunny, where's Mac?" Gunnery Sergeant Galindez turned and stood as he said, "She went home a couple of hours ago, Sir. I'm just forwarding her files from her hard drive, now. Is there anything more I can get you, Sir?" Harm frowned and glanced at her desk. "I thought she'd leave me some of the Indonesian files." "Sorry, Sir. The colonel said she was taking it all home with her. She did mention that you'd probably be boning up on maritime law, and since those were also the files you asked me to get -" "That's fine, Gunny, I'll catch up with her later." He tossed the gunnery sergeant a smile and putting his cap on his head, left. It was still snowing outside, but tomorrow he'd be away from all the crap below, sitting in the front seat of a lover he would never freely abandon, even at the cost of a dozen relationships. Jordan had told him that trying to recapture his youth was a mistake. How odd that she, of all people, could not see it was something he had to do before he could go forward with his life. Though Mac hadn't much liked it, and the fallout had not been pretty, he knew Mac had understood him, understood that flying was ingrained in his soul, and that returning to active duty was something he had to do. And getting over Mic leaving her, was something that she had to do. He parked his car outside her apartment. All right councilor, council thyself. She was his partner and friend; they could get past this. Sarah Mackenzie frowned. Couldn't he give her one last night to prepare herself? "Harm, what is it?" she said, standing defensively at the door of her apartment. Harm took his cap off. A few flakes of snow slid from the plastic cover to the floor. "Sorry," he muttered and looked down. "Better make this fast or you'll have wet patches." His lips thinned when he realized what he'd said. Great start, Rabb. Caught between exasperation, amusement and annoyance, Mac grabbed his arm and said, "Well you better come in and dry out by the fire." But he refused to budge. "That's okay, I just swung by to collect those files; I can't see even you getting through all of them tonight." Mac had already gone inside, presuming he would follow. "I'm making tea, you want some?" Turning, she saw the confusion in his eyes and for a fleeting moment, wanted to grab him and shake him. He really did not get it! Was it something fighter jocks were born with? Mic had understood her moods, and her fears, and he had always been there for her. And she'd pushed him away because...the heart does what the heart does. "Have you had dinner yet?" she added, walking into her kitchen. Harm took a tentative step inside. "And close the door, will you? It's taken me all afternoon to get the apartment warm." He had been in this apartment more times than he could count, so why did he feel so uncomfortable tonight? He rolled his hat in his hand, waiting for her to come back. But when she walked in with the tea, he almost relented. Tossing her his best smile he said, "It's okay Mac, I just want to get the files and go home." "Relax, sailor, stop acting like you're walking on eggshells. I'm not fragile." "It's not you I'm worried about, Marine," he replied, glancing at her warily. "You questioned my professionalism," she said softly. "I think I had a right to get mad." "I care enough about you to not want to see you hurt again." The look on his face, one of entreaty. She recalled his words at her engagement party. And his kiss, the way he enveloped her, his desire for her burned indelibly into her memory. How easy for him to act on it when he knew her fiancÈ was inside, when he knew he couldn't follow through, to commit. How quickly she had gone to him when Mic had abandoned her - only to find RenÈe there. It was always something. How long was she supposed to wait? For as long as it took him? What about her? What was he willing to give up for her, to be with her? She shook her head at the memory. She had acted the same way towards Mic, unwilling to give up anything except on her terms, and Mic had the sense to leave her. Except with Mic, she'd at least tried. Harm couldn't do more than tease. "Here, drink your tea," she said, handing him the steaming mug. "And give me that coat before it starts dripping in here, too." He shrugged out of his coat and took the mug, then walked to the fire while Mac went back inside. She called from the kitchen, "What about some food?" "No thanks, I - " but he stopped when she walked in with an enticing quiche. "Spinach and fetta," she said, her eyes glinting. His eyes met hers and he laughed. "You got me. Hey, Mac," he said following her into the kitchen, "About the flight tomorrow. We won't be pulling too many G's, and it's straight and level all the way." "I wouldn't want to cramp you're style, flyboy," she replied, tossing him a coy grin as she put the quiche in the oven. "You've never cramped me, Mac," he said softly, his eyes holding hers. "Mac, how did we get to this?" She shook her head and laughed without humor. "Last time you asked me that, I suggested we should talk about it and you told me that it wasn't a marriage and you weren't going there with me." "If I remember rightly, the *last* time, you walked away from me," he replied, putting the mug down. "Well then, I guess that makes us even." The stiffness in her voice told him the subject was closed. He reached for his coat and said, "I better be going, really. I'll see you tomorrow." Then walked out. She went to stop him, then shook her head. She really was sick and tired of this stupid, adolescent dance. "Wait a minute, Harm," she called, following him. He looked back hopefully, but she reached down to her coffee table and picked up half the files. "You forget what you came for?" "No," he replied, taking them and putting his cold, wet cap back on. "But I didn't get it, either." He shot her one last look, turned and left without another word.   **************************    "Williamtown Air Force base?" Mac asked as she walked up behind Harm. "I thought we'd be landing on a carrier." Harm turned, pleased to see she was already suited up. "Morning, Colonel. No, this bird is for the Air Force." She screwed up her face in confusion. "A Tomcat?" "The Aussies have good taste," he replied with a cocky grin. His double meaning was not lost on her so she pulled her helmet on to hide her grin. Too late - he'd caught it. He hoped her good humor meant she wouldn't bite his head off over what he was about to give her. He waited until the CPO was out of earshot, then handed her a white paper bag, bent close to her ear and said, "Harriet suggested you try this." He climbed up to the cockpit and got in. Mac opened it to see a large packet of mints and another of crystallized ginger. She looked up and sent him a thank you smile. He flashed a broad grin in return and for a moment, she forgot her annoyance at him. He was just like a big kid, even if his toys ranked amongst the most expensive in the world. As he taxied along the runway, Harm said, "Just think, Mac, in a few hours you'll be soaking out the chill on Manly Beach." "And where will you be?" "Having a beer at the Manly Pub and enjoying the view." "Of the beach, or the accessories?" But she stopped when she heard him talking to the control tower. Then she was pushed back into the seat as the acceleration drove them along the runway. The aircraft rotated abruptly, turned west at 1,000ft, then climbed to 9,000ft. When it leveled off, Mac breathed a sigh of relief. No catapult, and Harm was driving like a commercial pilot. "How are you supposed to eat with an oxygen mask over your face?" she asked. "I'll hang under 10,000 for a while. Harriet said to eat the ginger first, then suck on the mints later. Apparently she used it to stop morning sickness, but it works equally well for any nausea." There were elements about flying in fighters that Mac actually enjoyed, it's just that her experiences with Harm weren't among them. Flying in *Sarah*, well, that was another story. There had been other flights that didn't involve homicidal poachers and buckshot to the leg. Flights she'd never wanted to end. But then along cam Mic and those weekends in the sky vanished. Why did everything have to be so damned complicated? "How you going back there?" he called. She swallowed the ginger and replied, "Fine." "Okay, we're gonna climb to 30,000 now." Mac popped a mint into her mouth, then attached her mask; then they banked southwest, not as sharply as she expected. Harm was rolling, not rocking. A few minutes later he called, "How many of those files you get through last night?" "I spent most of the time checking Australian law." "Okay, lets run through it. A 60ft fishing scow leaves Indonesia with 450 passengers on board, and the Indonesian authorities know nothing about it." "It's a big country, Harm. Lot of places a fishing boat can stop and collect illegal passengers. Besides, Indonesian maritime regulations are not as strict as ours or Australia's." "Okay, so what then, it sails around in circles for 10 days, looking to bump into Australia. Pretty hard to miss it, don't you think?" "With that many people on board, she was slow anyway, then they started having engine problems. The Indonesian government admits that people smuggling rackets, mostly run by Pakistani expatriates, are a major problem. They arrested one of the key players last October. He purchased derelicts knowing that when the Australians caught them, they'd impound, then scuttle or burn the boats. He's currently on trial, and the evidence is pretty damning, especially when another of these derelicts sank a few weeks after the *Tampa* incident, killing almost 200. However, the Indonesian Government is denying responsibility for the illegal actions of a foreign individual." "I'm not disputing that, but didn't they refuse entry to the *Tampa* on the grounds that the passengers rescued did not originate there?" "Only after Australia blamed them and demanded they take them back." "So a bunch of politicians shuffled four hundred and fifty men, women and children around like unwanted refuse while one man, the captain of the *Tampa* followed his conscious, and the law - both implied and written - of the sea." "That's why we're going, Harm, to initiate the process that will, in the future, see that such people are legally protected, no matter what their status."   **********************   The Chief of Operations at Williamtown Royal Australian Air Force base, Air Commodore Shepard, returned Lieutenant Commander Brumby's salute. "So, Commander, you're here to meet our incoming guests." "Yes, Sir," Brumby replied as they moved away from the helicopter. "May I ask their ETA, Sir?" But as he spoke, he noticed that half the base personnel seemed to be outside, looking east. He turned to see three fighters inbound. "We asked the commander to do a fly over so we could see this new machine," Shepard explained. "The first three were delivered to Canberra and we'll be getting them next week. That's why the Air Vice Marshall isn't here today, he's in the capital." "Red carpets and politicians," Brumby replied. "That's right, Commander, so this is the first one many of my people have seen. We sent them an escort three hundred miles out. I believe you've worked with the commander," Shepard added. "Rather unusual, isn't it, for a navy pilot to be a JAG officer?" "You know what the Yanks are like, sir. The JAG himself is an ex-SEAL." Shepard smiled as he watched the Tomcat skim past the control tower, rattling windows and sending a shock wave of dust into the air. "Is there such a thing as an ex-SEAL? Cuts it to the bone, doesn't he?" he added nodding to the F-14 as it rolled less then two hundred foot off the deck. "Yeah," Brumby replied, glowering as he watched the F14 turn about for another run. "Right to the limits, then some." "Which is what I'd expect from a top gun pilot." Brumby watched Shepard as a second, ear-splitting scream followed the low flying Tomcat across the tarmac. Avaitors, he thought, they were all the bloody same, especially when showing off to their girls. Brumby clenched his jaw and wondered if Sarah really found that sort of macho bullshit a turn on. What in hell was Chegwidden thinking, sending them out here together? Brumby followed the Air Vice-Marshall across the tarmac to meet the arriving Tomcat. He should have prepared himself for the inevitable, but inside, he was seething. Mac descended first. More than a few wolf whistles escaped the surrounding air crew when she took off her helmet. Despite the hours in the cockpit, she looked good enough to eat, thought Brumby. Shepard sent a warning glance to his men, and Mac's look of disapproval intensified when she saw Brumby waiting behind Shepard. She saluted, then shook hands with Commodore Shepard, then more stiffly with Brumby. "Commander Brumby," she said flatly. "Thank you for coming to meet us." Behind her, Rabb descended. In Brumby's mind, as Shepard welcomed Rabb to the base, the signals between him and Sarah were clear. When the introductions were over, he dropped back behind. Most everyone congregated around the aircraft, although a handful walked with the new arrivals to the Air Vice Marshall's office. He could see Sarah and Rabb's arms constantly brushing, then Rabb put a hand on her shoulder, dropped it lower and wrapping it around her waist, pulled her close to him. Brumby shook his head and looked away in disgust. Talk about unprofessional conduct! "Take deep breaths," Harm whispered to her. "I'm sorry about those last maneuvers, but - " "It's okay, Harm, I know." But her head kept spinning down, while her stomach was still looking for the rest of her body. She was too worried about what would happen when they collided to care who was holding her up. "Are you all right, Colonel?" Shepard asked, recognizing the symptoms. "She's a Marine, Sir," Harm replied. "She managed to suck it up all the way from DC, including a couple of gas stops along the way. "Then I should be the one apologizing, Colonel. I asked the Commander to do that low level rollover." "We rolled over?" Mac asked, still trying to focus. "I though that was just my stomach." The men laughed while in the background, out of earshot, Brumby scowled. What the bloody hell was the vice commodore thinking?   Although Commander Rabb had acted purely as a ferry pilot, Air Vice Commodore Shepard knew his pilots wanted to spend a few hours with an experienced Tomcat flyer. Like most Australians, they found the American penchant for decorating its military every time they tied their shoelaces straight, a little over the top. But the commander wore two distinguished flying crosses, placing him in an entirely different class. Here was a pilot, thought Shepard, who had used his aircraft for the express purpose it was designed, as the ultimate single combat, fighting machine. When this *Tampa* business was over, perhaps they could borrow him back for a few lectures on tactics. By the time Mac had showered and changed, she was feeling like her old self, and that included a ravenous hunger. Mac had expected maybe an adjutant and a pilot or two at lunch, but the Aussies were less formal and she found herself crowded by aircrew. Mic Brumby pulled rank and taking her by the arm, seated her a few places from Harm and Shepard, while he stationed himself opposite. Mac allowed the joking aircrews to distract her, but she was conscious of Mic's constant scowl of disapproval. And it annoyed the hell out of her. None of the others present would pick it up, except perhaps Harm, whose own smile faltered as he caught her eye or glanced at Brumby. And that annoyed the hell out of her, too. She didn't need his solicitous glances any more than she needed Brumby's hurt little boy looks. The Marine colonel in her was itching to get them both alone and kick their sixes clear across the tarmac. She finally had that opportunity after lunch. Shepard and his aide, Collins, were walking them to the helicopter that was to take them to Sydney, when a second aide ran up and said, "Excuse me sirs, urgent calls from Canberra and Sydney." Shepard nodded and after exchanging salutes with his guests, shook their hands and left with Collins. When the Australians were out of earshot, Brumby said over the noise of the helicopter, "Interesting little show you two put on. I'm surprised you didn't disqualify yourself from this assignment, Commander," he added to Harm. "And why would I do that, Brumby?" Harm replied as they continued walking. Brumby's nose flared as he stopped and turned to face them. "It's pretty bloody obvious that you two are shacking up together." Harm realized the show Brumby was referring to had nothing to do with his flying. But it was Mac who replied stiffly, "You are way out of line, Lieutenant Commander." The withering gaze she sent Brumby would have frozen an enlisted man in his tracks. But the intimacy they once shared clouded Brumby's perception. Not so Harm, who just hoped he could avoid the collateral damage. "Don't bullshit me, Sarah, you just couldn't wait to rub it in." "Brumby," Harm's eyes narrowed and he took a step closer, "She was airsick." But Mac snapped, "Butt out, flyboy," and stepped up to Brumby until they were almost nose to nose. "One more remark like that, Lieutenant Commander," she said in a dangerously low voice, "and I'll have your ass in a sling so fast, you'll think it's you up there pulling seven G's. Do I make myself clear?" Brumby's curled lip flattened and his look of contempt faded to uncertainty. He said nothing as Sarah turned and walked to the helicopter. The aircrew inside watched with interest, but with the sound of the machine in their ears, couldn't tell what it was about. Harm's eyebrow lifted and he shook his head in disgust as he met Brumby's uncertain look. But he said nothing and followed Mac into the waiting machine. Brumby trailed behind, a flat expression on his face. The seventy mile flight south to Sydney offered spectacular views of the northern beaches and waterways. The warm air and golden sands, and rolling, white capped waves drew a smile from Mac. She had loved it here last time. It didn't matter that she had spent those long summer days on the beach with Mic, and that right now, she held him in nothing but contempt. He was a different man then, but the beaches were the same. Harm looked down at the white sails in the harbor. He intended renting a sailboat as soon as he could, to explore the winding waterways of what was arguably the most beautiful harbor in the world. Brumby occasionally glanced at them. They sat apart from one another, and while both obviously enjoyed the view, they never called to one another to point out landmarks. And he was sure they weren't putting on a show for him. If anything, there seemed to be a definite chill between them. The doubt he'd felt when Mac snapped at him began to solidify, like lead in his stomach. The helo landed at H.M.A.S. Penguin, inside the Garden Island dockyards, only a stone's throw from the center of Sydney. Accommodation had been arranged for the conference delegates at the Sebel Townhouse, a short walk from the naval base. Harm knew from his last visit that his early morning runs could take him along the coves to Opera House in no time. Then he could run back through the famed Botanical Gardens. He breathed in the clean salt smell, still etched with a trace of the recent bushfires that had ravaged the city. He'd seen evidence of their horrendous damage as they'd flown south, but had heard the worst of it was to the west and south of the city. But mostly, like Mac, he just enjoyed being warm again. The base commander, Captain Wilson, met them as the machine landed.Brumby introduced them, then excused himself to take a phonecall from the attorney general. "We've organized a couple of offices for you here on the base," Wilson explained. "But we're still moving furniture in and setting up Internet connections. In the meantime, you might prefer to check into your hotel rooms. Ensign Unsworth will be at your disposal as your driver, Commander Rabb. Colonel, I understand the Indonesian ambassador will be organizing a car for you tomorrow. In the meantime, you know about the cocktail party and dinner at the hotel this evening?" Both Mac and Harm replied, "Yes sir." "Good. I know you could probably do with some sleep after your flight, but if there's anything you want, anytime, just let me know." As Ensign Unsworth drove them to the hotel. The banter that normally defined their working relationship was absent and in its place, a stiff formality. On the upside, if Brumby had taken his insinuations of impropriety to anyone else, they would fall flat. But the strained conversation bothered Harm. He had come to depend on the dynamics of their relationship to keep him sharp. This flat formality was no way to run a successful investigation. He glanced out the window. Well, this wasn't exactly an investigation, but he still depended on her sharp mind to bounce ideas back and forth. Right now, he felt isolated, constrained. The only thing that gave him any satisfaction was the way Mac had dealt with Brumby: like a Marine colonel, not a jilted lover. Mac was starting to find her old self again. He hoped that in that process, he might also find the friendship they once had. As they entered the elevator, Harm shook his discomfort off. He was just here to advise on maritime law, not prosecute, nor defend a client, except insofar as his client was both the rule and the intent of the law to protect the rights of people. It wasn't Mac's job to help him on that. He followed the porter past Mac's room to his own suite. Large by D.C. standards, the suite included a separate living room and bedroom. Harm noticed another door and the porter explained that it connected to Mac's rooms. The entire wall could be folded back, allowing the two rooms to open into a small, private conference room. The hotel primarily catered to the convention and conference market, with visiting military personnel and businessmen making up the remainder. Adjoining suites, cable Internet connections in each room and 24-hour full secretarial services completed the facilities. Harm nodded and thanked the porter, tipping him as he left. The man smiled. Yanks always tipped too much.   **************************************   "So good of you to come, Colonel. I've been looking forward to this," Captain Jerot said, bending low and kissing the back of Mac's hand. She smiled, somewhat embarrassed and replied, "Captain. I'm flattered that your government - you - requested me to act on your behalf. Although I'm still not sure how you fit into this." "Ah," he replied smiling up at her and taking her arm as they walked inside the cocktail lounge. "You saw me only as the local police chief when my role in Aceh was much broader. My brother is the equivalent to your Chief of Naval Operations and I was sent to Aceh in order to maintain the peace as diplomatically as possible. Despite condemnation by the Australians - and you Americans - for our actions in East Timor, you must understand that our people are easily incited to violence. An American marine rapes a woman, and releasing him into your custody resulted in the destruction and evacuation of your embassy. You would have been wiser to take my advice, yes?" He reached for two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Mac smiled and declining the champagne, took the orange juice. Jerot continued, "Despite the tragic events in New York and the perception by some that all Moslems are anti-American, in fact on Aceh, a similar outcome would have resulted if it had been a Frenchman, or an Indonesian from another province who had raped that girl. You Americans are a much larger target, you see. I was obliged to act with more restraint than I would have liked, but I trust you now see that our government has not always acted the villains the Australian media paint us." Mac smiled and looked down. It was a peculiarly naive comment to make to a JAG investigator accustomed to dealing with multiple legal perspectives, but she replied politely. "Yes Captain, I see your point. And you will be pleased to know that Corporal Lassiter was convicted of a number of offences, including rape." "As a result of your rigorous prosecution," Jerot added. "Which is why I suggested you act on our behalf. You have an uncommon loyalty, Colonel. Not just to your corps, but to a broader ethic. You will assiduously defend something, even if you do not agree with it, because that is your job." "Are you suggesting I might not believe in Indonesia's interests?" Mac asked lightly, but Jerot could hear the edge in her voice. "Australia is your ally, but I meant it as a compliment to *you*, Colonel," he lightly chided her. Jerot noticed the two naval commanders watching him from a distance. Interesting. One was a member of the Australian legal team and the other, Colonel Mackenzie's compatriot. When the Australian began making his way towards them, the American did likewise. Excellent timing, he thought and reached into his pocket. "Then I thank you, Captain," Mac replied. As she brought the juice to her lips and sipped, she noticed Mic edging towards her. Time to adopt her role as council for the opposing team. But then she almost gagged when Jerot pulled out a tiny jewel box. "You knew Corporal Lassiter was guilty," he continued. "Yet you were prepared to exchange this," he said, opening the box and displaying her engagement ring, "to secure his safety." Both Mic and Harm reached her just in time to hear Jerot's words. Mic's eyes widened in shock and his jaw clenched. Harm's eyebrows just lifted and he stared at her. Ah ha, thought Jerot, watching the reaction of each man. This would make the negotiations so much more interesting. "Of course I return your...ah...bond to you now that Corporal Lassiter has been brought to justice." A dozen emotions vied for Mac's attention. But the primary one was that she had grossly misjudged the Indonesian captain, who pocketed the box and held out the ring. She accepted it and licking her lips replied, "Ah, Commander Harmon Rabb, this is Captain Jerot, and," turning to see Mic's dyspeptic look, added, "Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby." Jerot bowed slightly, an almost comic gesture as he barely reached either mans' chests. Jerot didn't mind, he knew who was holding the upper hand. "Yes, Commander Brumby and I know each other. How are you this evening?" Brumby's nose twitched, but he managed to utter, "Fine, thank you Captain." Mac swallowed hard and smiled nervously at Jerot, wondering where the hell she was supposed to put the ring. She was wearing a summer cocktail dress and had left her purse upstairs. Harm smiled widely and looking over Jerot's head, said, "I'm sorry, Captain, would you excuse us a moment? The American ambassador is signaling us." He took Mac by the elbow and steered her away. Brumby's eyes followed while Jerot said, "A remarkable woman. You have met before, then?" "Yeah, we've met," he replied, his eyes following her. "A pity she is taken." Mic's eyes swiveled to Jerot's as he said, "Their relationship is purely professional." "Of course," Jerot smiled knowingly as Brumby's eyes returned to Mac.   "You want me to look after that?" Harm asked her softly. She sucked at her lips, but she really had no choice and slipped it in his pocket in a deft maneuver that no one, except Brumby, noticed. "You don't have to hover, Harm. I can take care of myself." "I'm not *hovering*," he replied lightly. "But since the Marines don't provide informal cocktail attire for their female officers, I thought the Navy could provide temporary storage facilities." The rest of the evening was an uneventful round of meeting the Indonesian, Australian and Norwegian consulates and legal teams. The superficial smiles and handshakes, Harm knew, would be short-lived come morning. By the time dinner was over, it was late. Both Mac and Harm excused themselves as soon as possible and retired for the evening. Neither remembered the ring in Harm's dress-coat pocket.   ********************   Mac had been assigned an office that, while not as modern as her one at home, offered unparalleled views of Sydney Harbor. The sails of the opera house only partially obscured the famous coat hanger - the bridge on which they'd written *Eternity*. The place where things had derailed so badly. No, she corrected herself, the place she had allowed herself to be derailed. The place she'd read Harm's obtuse way of saying he was scared and needed more time as an outright rejection. The place she had decided that taking control of her own destiny meant accepting the attentions of another man whom she hoped she could love. She had just sat down to sort statements and testimonials from Norwegian *Tampa* crewmen, Afghan and Pakistan refugees, Indonesian officials and Australian defense force personnel when someone knocked on her door. She looked up to see that other man, a wary looking Mic Brumby. "Colonel Mackenzie, may I come in?" Mac sat back and breathed deeply. She knew this moment would come, but that didn't stop the adrenaline from pounding through her veins. Adrenaline, the fight or flight hormone. She normally thrived on it, but today, she wasn't so sure. She was tempted to snap at him that it was customary to stand at attention when entering the office of a superior, and simple courtesy when that superior was from an allied defense force, but she rolled her lips together and asked, "What can I do for you, Lieutenant Commander?" "I wanted to see you before the circus begins." "About?" she replied, keeping her face and voice as neutral as possible. Brumby looked nervous, chagrined. "To apologize for the remarks I made yesterday." Her face softened. Mic didn't have the same grace and charm as Harm. But he had loved her. More, he had adored her and never shirked from an apology - something Harm seemed genetically incapable of. But then again, so did she. She stood and asked, "Would you like some coffee?" "Love some." He lifted his briefcase onto the desk and followed her to the side table where a pot slowly bubbled. "Anyway, I was out of line. I just assumed -" "That's the problem, isn't it Mic? You assumed things, then acted on them." His mouth thinned and he replied, "You gave me no reason to believe otherwise." She turned and handing him the coffee, asked, "Tell me something, Mic. If Harm had been a woman, would you assume I was lesbian?" Mic went to reply, but stopped, a flash of confusion passing his face. "It's a little different, Sarah." "Is it?" she replied, returning to her chair. She refused to remain standing; she didn't wish to appear argumentative, just inarguably correct. "How would you feel if I'd acted like that towards another woman?" he replied. "If it was a woman you'd known and worked with for years before I'd even met you, I might have felt a little intimidated at first. But I would have seen it as no different to the close, intimate - not sexually intimate," she clarified, "relationship a pilot has with his or her RIO, or any investigative team has with their partner. Harm and I have been through a lot of scrapes together, learned to trust one another in order to stay alive. That forms a unique bond, whether it's between the same, or opposite sexes." "Do you love him?" "Of course! And I love Bud and Harriet and the Admiral and Gunny and Tiner. They're my friends and my family. I wanted you to be part of that family, too, but you wanted me all to yourself." "I gave up my career and my country for you." "You had no trouble getting both back. Mic," she said, leaning forward. "I never asked you to give anything up for me, you gave it freely, and I was flattered, and I loved you for it. But a relationship isn't about whom gave up more for whom. Harm was, is, my partner and my best friend *apart* from you. You didn't have the right to ask me to give up my freinds. Nobody does. You couldn't accept me as I was; you wanted to change me. I couldn't, I won't, so you left me." Mic looked confused, but still belligerent. "You're missing the point, Sarah. There's something between you two, whether you admit it or not. I wasn't about to try and compete with that." But there was uncertainty in his voice. He had not been entirely able to abandon her. The first thing he did when he returned to the navy was to check up on her whereabouts. It had shocked him to discover she'd been stationed aboard the *Guadalcanal* almost from the time he'd left. Then she'd gotten herself caught up in Aceh, while Rabb had remained in D.C. He'd also heard from RenÈe that she'd become engaged - and not to Rabb. "Love and marriage isn't about possession and forcing each other to give things up, Mic! But then, look how selfish I was!" she laughed humorlessly. "Someone I cared for deeply was lost at sea, possibly dead and oh, well, too bad, let's get married and go on our honeymoon and forget all about it. I might be cold-blooded in the courtroom, Mic, but I was hurting and I thought you understood that. I was wrong." Mic was looking even more uncertain. "You weren't wrong, Sarah, but you would have used any excuse to postpone our marriage. And the moment I left, you went to him." "Because he was my friend!" she cried in exasperation. "Who else was I supposed to go to? You never even told me where you were, so I couldn't go to you!" "And what did your *friend* advise you to do?" Mac felt trapped. She wouldn't lie to Mic, but she could dissemble. Come to me, he'd said, in words full of promise and love. And she had gone. And once more, she was left alone in the cold and dark and rain. "Renee's father had just died, Harm was taking care of her. Mic, you're the one who's missing the point. I was hurt, terribly hurt and since I didn't have you to turn to, I turned to my friends. I wanted it to be you, but you weren't there - you left me. With the help of my *friends*, I'm getting past it. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do." Mic slowly stood, a shocked look on his face. "One more thing, Sarah. Last one, last time, I promise." She looked up and he wanted to crush her in his arms at the sadness on her face. God, had he been such a fool? "What is it, Mic?" she asked tiredly. "Did you two ever...I mean, after I left, did you ever...?" She held his eyes and replied, "Never." Then she looked down and went back to work. With a tortured face, Mic picked up his briefcase and left.   Harmon Rabb examined the wall map showing the northern waters off Australia. He turned as somebody knocked on his door. "Come in." "Commander," Brumby said as he stood to attention. "Lieutenant Commander," Rabb replied, pointedly establishing his seniority. "What can I do for you?" Brumby breathed deeply and tucked his chin in. "Accept my apologies?" "It's not me you should be apologizing to, but Colonel Mackenzie." "Already done so, sir," Mic replied. Harm stared at the other man and saw that for once, there wasn't the faintest trace of belligerence in his bearing. No self-satisfied smile, not even a hint of smugness. But Harm wasn't about to let him off that easily. "You were so far out of line, it bordered on defamatory. Colonel Mackenzie and I are here to do a job and I had hoped in the time you spent at JAG, you would have come to respect our professionalism, even if you couldn't respect our working relationship." His eyes glowered at Brumby. Brumby knew this had little to do with his remark about shacking up together, and everything to do with the pain he had caused Mac. When he'd been given this assignment, he knew it wouldn't be easy, but he'd never shirked from a challenge. What he hadn't banked on was feeling liked an asshole. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" "Permission den..." but Harm stopped himself. He couldn't be adversarial in this. Bad enough that Mac was riding his six, he was here as an advisor, not prosecutor. He sighed and walked around to the back of his new desk. "Sit down, Commander." It took him a few moments to adjust his chair to accommodate his height. "I only just arrived a few minutes ago," he explained. "Yes, Sir," Mic replied, sitting at attention. "All right, what's on your mind." "Sir, we're going to be working closely together these next few weeks. As you're Mac's closest friend, you probably think I'm a real bastard for leaving her like that. But at the time, I believed she gave me no choice. I'd just like to put it past us and work together as professionals." Harm looked at Mic suspiciously. Why was Brumby being so deferential? Harm knew he no longer qualified as Mac's closest friend. Even an acquaintanceship was less acrimonious. Partners, compatriots, but not...friends. The pain of that loss suddenly lanced him and his expression changed to a more sympathetic one. What was worse, he thought? To have loved and been shut out, or to have loved and never had her, *then* been shut out? "I doubt I qualify as Mac's closest friend, Brumby. Our relationship is strictly professional, but I take your point, like any Marine, Mac can be a little...hardheaded." Brumby was surprised at the revelation about their friendship, but he smiled and said, "Aren't all women?" Harm almost smiled back. "You got that right." "Okay, well, I reckon that's all I wanted to say, except that I should never have implied any impropriety between you to. I realize now what a mistake I made." Harm said nothing as he watched the Australian. Mac had obviously set him straight. "Interesting situation you have here," he said evetntually, motioning to the map showing the northwestern coast of Australia. Brumby breathed a little easier. But then, he'd expected professionalism from Rabb. "It's a bloody mess, that's what it is. Maritime law just doesn't cover this. And with the number of refugees pouring out of Asia and the Middle East, it's going to get a bloody side worse." "Will the Australian government press charges against the refugees that threatened the captain?" "The problem is, Captain Arne Rinnan claims they *implied* drastic measures unless they were taken to Australia. They claim they begged him, but never threatened. Rinnan is not calling it attempted piracy, and neither are the refugees." He stood and added, "can I take it then, Sir, that you'll be going over all the depositions?" Harm also stood. "As soon as I get squared away here. I'm surprised they gave me such a large office." "Gotta keep everyone happy," Brumby replied as he opened the door. "That's what this one is about, isn't it Brumby?" "Think we're going to be able to do that, Sir?" "Depends how accommodating you Aussies can be. Mic grinned and put his cap on. "Fair enough," he replied, and left. Harm wasn't sure how long Brumby's attitude would last; the guy still bugged him, but at least it seemed he'd made some sort of peace with Mac, and that couldn't be a bad thing, for all of them.   ****************************   Commander Harmon Rabb, dressed in open necked naval whites, considered the eighteen people seated around the conference table. Twelve suites, six uniforms. Eighteen lawyers, legal officers and politicians locked in a room together to work out how to prevent a repeat of the events of August 2001. No doubt scapegoats would be named and tossed into career obscurity, but right now, what concerned Rabb was that procedure be followed and the facts be laid out in a clear and cohesive chain of events. "Everyone's fear, of course is that as a result of the *Tampa* incident, ships' masters will be deterred from going to the assistance of ships in distress," he said. "If he had followed our orders, those subsequent events would not have taken place," Brumby replied. "The *Tampa's* captain was in international waters, he was master of his own ship and bound to international maritime law," Harm countered, "not Australian." "He was ordered not to enter Australian waters and by doing so, violated our laws." "What I find interesting, Commander," Mac said to Brumby. "Is that the Australian Rescue Co-ordination Centre informed the Norwegian government that if Captain Rinnan ignored their warning, SAS troops would board his ship. Why involve the Norwegian government? The Captain of the *Tampa* not the Norwegian government, was, as Commander Rabb pointed out, master of his ship." Brumby was about to reply, but Harm said, "Slow down, councillors, this is not a court proceeding, or even a hearing, it's just a preliminary discussion." He shot Mic and Mac warning looks. "The maritime tradition that vessels go to the nearest port in an emergency is enshrined in the International Maritime Organisation's (IMO) Safety of Life at Sea convention (Solas). The United Nations conventions concur with maritime traditions. While I respect Norway's Foreign Minister Thorbjoern Jagland's conviction," he added, nodding to the Norwegian ambassadorial aide, "that the 1951 international convention regarding rescue *traditions* particularly applies to refugees, tradition is not law. The simple fact is; there are gaps in the international regime of refugee protection. Although on the one hand the ship's master has a duty to rescue anyone in distress - including a refugee - there is no international rule governing how they should be treated thereafter. That is what we are here to address. "All right, we've established that the fishing boat began taking water and the pumps weren't operating. A surveillance aircraft picked up their distress call and notified the Indonesians and all vessels in the vicinity. The Norwegian cargo ship *Tampa* received this call at 1103 local time, Sunday 26th August, 2001. They were only four hours from the distressed vessel, so they made for it. But when they arrived, they discovered not 80 people plus as advised to them in the rescue call, but 438 people, 22 of them women, one of whom was heavily pregnant, and 43 children." The U.N. representative, Anke Reinhardt said incredulously, "On an eighteen metre long vessel?" "That's correct, Sir." Harm replied. "The vessel was in such poor condition that it literally fell apart when, after it was evacuated, the *Tampa* tried to take it aboard using their cargo cranes, normally a straightforward procedure in the relatively calm sea conditions. When everything was stowed away, Captain Rinnan set sail for his next port of call via the Sunda Strait in Indonesia." Brumby interjected. "Which is in compliance with international maritime law. He was obliged to transport them to the nearest *port of call*, not the nearest *land fall*." He looked at Mac, who said nothing as she took notes. Harm, looking at his own notes said, "That's correct. However, a delegation of five men from the recovered refugees came to the bridge. They acted, in Captain Rinnan's words, 'aggressively, and told us they would not go back to Indonesia. They made us worried for everybody's safety; they told us they had nothing to lose.' Captain Rinnan's statement then goes on to say, 'We contacted RCC Australia and explained the situation. They told us it was up to the captain of the ship to decide what to do next, so I decided to go to the Australian controlled Christmas Island, in the Indian Ocean, off the Indonesian Island of Java. "'We were then told the Australian authorities would not allow the *Tampa* to enter Australian territorial waters. I am disappointed with this. We behaved as good seamen and rescued people in an emergency. Now we are lumbered with this problem.' "Captain Rinnan's statement goes on, describing as Colonel Mackenzie said, how the Australian authorities informed him that after first telling him as master of his own ship, the decision was his, they then informing him he would not be allowed into Australian waters with the illegal refugees on board. They advised the Captain to continue on to his next destination, Indonesia." Brumby looked up and said, "The Australian authorities expected the *Tampa* would comply with maritime conventions and continue to its next port of call. By attempting to turn back and enter Australian waters, it would, in effect, have been continuing with the intent of the refugees, which was to enter Australia illegally." "But by then you knew they were coming. Captain Rinnan was not attempting to smuggle them, he was doing it openly," a Norwegian lawyer, Hans Shevre, interjected. He held up his hand to stay Brumby's anticipated objection by adding, "I, too have done my homework Commander Brumby. I am aware that under the UN's Convention on the Law of the Sea, (Unclos) Australia has either sovereignty or sovereign rights over some 11 million square kilometres of ocean, and a further 5.1 million of continental shelf. Now, Australia's territorial waters extend for 12 nautical miles or 22 kilometres out to sea. Within this distance, authorities may impose comprehensive controls - but government regulations stipulate that officials 'must respect the innocent passage of foreign vessels'." "The *Tampa* was not attempting innocent passage. It intended to transport a group of illegal aliens to Australia. In other words, it was not intending passage, but final destination." "Well what would you have them do?" And Italian adviser asked. "Refuse to rescue these people after the Australians directed them there in the first place? Toss them overboard?" Mic's lips thinned in frustration. "Of course not. However, in June, the IMO addressed the growing problem of illegal migrants being transported, *knowingly or otherwise*, on board cargo ships. A committee of the organisation approved amendments aimed at fighting what it described as 'unsafe practices associated with the trafficking or transport of illegal migrants by sea'. The amendments also warn that 'carrying a large number of migrants on board a cargo ship... operating international voyages', violates the Solas convention." Brumby looked down to check his notes and added, "Thus, transporting them to Australia violated Solas. Under such circumstances, the IMO ruled that given these concerns, 'It is *not contrary* to request a flag state to authorise a warship of another state to visit a vessel.' "By warship it implied military forces - including our SAS. The committee, many of whose members are here in this room, or arriving over the following days, also invited member governments to sign and ratify the United Nations' Protocol Against the Smuggling of Migrants by Land, Sea and Air at the earliest opportunity." "Hang on a minute, Commander, we're getting ahead of ourselves here," Harm said. "What actually occurred was that the *Tampa*, under duress or implied threat, entered Australian Territorial waters around Christmas Island, then dropped anchor two miles offshore. The Australian authorities ordered the *Tampa* to leave and continue on to Indonesia, which was both the *Tampa's* next port of call, and the claimed origin of the refugees. But Captain Rinnan had a dual problem. His vessel was not equipped to handle 438 passengers, regardless of how they had gotten there; he was duty bound to offload them. He was already suffering overcrowding and sanitation problems, and many of the refugees were coming down with dysentery. If he had attempted to leave, he would have been violating a couple of dozen laws regarding the safety of his ship and passengers. Secondly, he said, and I quote, 'If we move, they say they will 'go crazy', and threaten with jumping ship. There have been no threats of violence, but the tone has been aggressive, so for the safety of everybody I stay put.' But the Australian authorities refused to let the refugees to disembark on the basis that they were attempting to enter Australia illegally." "Why not let them disembark and be processed or returned to their port of origin?" the Norwegian asked. "Because once they set foot on Australian soil, they were then protected under the international convention for dealing with refugees. Thing is," explained Brumby, "We're up to our eyeballs in illegal refugees. It's all very well for you blokes to say you accept many more refugees than we do," he looked pointedly at the French aide and German lawyer. "The fact is, this may be a bloody big country, but it's 99% desert with a total population less than Mexico City. We just don't have the facilities and infrastructure to deal with a flood tide of illegal immigrants. And we believe that we, like most of you, have the sovereign right to decide who can come and live here and who can't. It's not like we've closed our doors to all refugees. Compared to our total population, we accept proportionately more refugees than many other countries. But it's an established *population and infrastructure* that supports refugees, not the sheer physical landmass of a country. We had to draw the line somewhere, and we drew it here, as a clear message to people smugglers, and their cargo, that they were not welcome to enter Australia through illegal methods." "Meanwhile," said Harm, "the Australians insisted the *Tampa* return the refugees to their point of origin, Indonesia. But Indonesia declined them entry on the basis that they did not originate there." "Which they didn't," Colonel Jerot spoke for the first time. "They originated in Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan. That they came via Indonesia is not in dispute, however the Australian government phrased the demand in such a way that it implied we colluded with people smuggling." "That is simply not true," the assistant secretary to the Australian Minister for Immigration replied. "We just insisted they be returned to their last port of embarkation, which was Indonesia. After all, the *Tampa* was on its way there." "Would you like me to read you the transcripts and the exact statement made by your Prime Minister, Sir?" Mac held the assistant secretary's eyes until he looked away in embarrassment. "That won't be necessary," he replied. "We all know the Indonesian government and police turn a blind eye at best, or accept bribes to facilitate these smuggling operations." Mic closed his eyes. Harm could almost hear Brumby's mental groan, and empathised with him. He knew plenty of morons like that in Washington. The Indonesian delegation bridled and Captain Jerot said, "And we all know that Prime Minister Howard deliberately released to the media false photos of refugees throwing children overboard, and deliberately fostered a fear of all Moslems following the attack on the World Trade Centre. He used this incident to incite fear into the Australian public, and thereby won an election he was doomed to lose." Mac sat back in her chair and caught Harm's eye in a knowing look. They exchanged glances with Brumby as the meeting devolved into heated arguments from all sides. Despite their personal differences and professional roles, for a rare moment, all three were united in their understanding that the smooth round table discussions the press would report, had to run the course of acrimonious mud-slinging before anything productive could be achieved. *********************   The Tampa 7 of Four days later, they had hardly progressed. What made matters worse from Harm's point of view, was that every meeting he had with Mac, the eggshells got thinner. He was hoping to avoid a direct confrontation with her because Bud and Harriet had arrived the night before. By taking on the Indonesian's case, it was natural she would spar with Brumby, but Harm, as an adviser, had to remain apolitical. Brumby at least, appreciated that and used his expertise as it was intended, a resource. "C'mon Mac, we're not in a court of law. We're not even litigating." "Aren't we? You know the outcome of these meetings will be used by the Norwegian government to press their case for financial compensation, and a public apology." "I dunno what you're worried about, luv, it's more likely our nuts in the fire on this one," Brumby said, sitting forward. They were the only three there, but they brought the entire burden of the almost one 163 representatives now running around town making statements to the sensation hungry media. "So you admit liability?" Mic looked at Harm, who was staring at Mac in disbelief. "What's gotten into you Mac?" "Have you read the reports of what conditions are like for these refugees in Nauru and New Guinea, not to mention the current facilities in the Woomera Detention Center in South Australia. I've been to the one in Sydney; it's hardly more than a holding pen. And some of the people have been there for years." "What's that got to do with this case?" Harm asked. "It indicates the length the Australian government will go to -" "Reduce the flow of refugees so that we don't have to have places like Woomera!" Mic replied, exasperated. "Nobody wants them locked up like that! But the conditions they're now living in are ten times better than where they came from!" "And that makes it all right," she snapped. "No. It encourages them to leave home, come here, get free medical treatment, hot showers, three decent meals every day, clean water to drink, clothing, a roof, often air conditioned, over their head, free schooling and the right to complain about not having satellite t.v. in every room, all at taxpayers expense!" "The conditions at Woomera are somewhat different to that." "And so are your lock-ups on the Mexican border. And as for Indonesia, have you seen what their refugee camps are like?" "They don't have any." "Exactly. At least we treat them as humanely as possible, including processing them as fast as possible. We allow them to come in uncontrolled and we may as well chuck our hands up in the air and walk out now, because an unprovisioned mob of refugees flooding into this country would destroy our economy, not to mention our democracy, in five minutes. But more importantly, do you know how many Taliban members we've got here? Last September, two detainees boasted to guards about 'something big' happening. The next day, at 2300 our time, we all knew what it was when that second airliner hit the twin towers. Your way, we'd be letting these same people out on the street!" "Look, can we get back to the *Tampa* a minute?" Harm asked. "If you two want to sit here and slog it out, be my guest, but I'm presenting my initial report to the steering committee at 1700 this afternoon." He stood to leave but Mac said, "Commander, Australia is a signatory to the 1951 UN Convention on Refugees and the 1967 Protocol. As such, this country was duty bound to accept as refugees any who arrive here fearing persecution in their home country, regardless of whether they arrive without a passport or other documents. Regardless of how they got there, the people on the *Tampa* should have been allowed to disembark and be processed as political refugees. Keeping them on board the ship was untenable, both to the refugees and the owners of the ship. Once the SAS boarded that vessel and took control, your government was liable for compensation claims by the *Tampa's* owners. They overstepped the mark." "That's your *opinion*, Colonel, that's not Australian law. We did not prevent the *Tampa* from leaving; the Indonesian government refused it entry." "They couldn't leave. The refugees were threatening 'drastic measures' unless you took them ashore. They had already gone on a hunger strike." "So a bunch of people, who had already hinted at violence and coerced a ship to deviate from its set course, decided that unless they got their way, they'd hold their collective breaths until they turned blue. Listen, they threatened violence against the crew and the SAS went in to make sure the situation didn't turn ugly. And these are the same people you want us to let waltz in without due process!" he replied incredulously. "If we'd let them in, we'd have sent a message to the rest of the world that we're a soft touch for anybody threatening violence, to get their own way. Your government refuses to deal with people like that, and so does ours. That's not the sort of people we want living here!" Both of them looked to Harm, seeking support. He raised his eyebrows and crossing his arms, said, "The established international practice is that persons rescued at sea should be disembarked at the *next port of call* which in this case, should have been Indonesia. We've established why that didn't happen, but the fact is, when they arrived a Christmas Island, regardless of how they got here, they should have been admitted, at least on a temporary basis, pending resettlement. Australia is one such flag state that guarantees resettlement for persons rescued at sea, but their parliament is looking to rescind that &emdash; retroactively. "Two areas of law are relevant: the domestic and the international. On the international level, legality depends upon Australia's treaty obligations and commitment to international law. On a domestic level, the legality of detention and subsequent expulsion of the *Tampa* refugees to Nauru hinges on constitutional and policy questions." Harm looked at Mic, and asked, "You want to elaborate on that?" Mic nodded and said, "On a domestic level, the Executive, which in this country is the Prime Minister and Cabinet, has prerogative powers that emanate from ancient doctrines of the British Crown. The Constitution retains this, enabling the executive to protect the realm from invasions. Parliament need not authorize such acts - the Executive has an inherent power to do so." Mac sat forward and said, "Yes, but this was not an *invasion*. Detaining and expelling the *Tampa* refugees involved the Executive exercising powers in defiance of an existing statute - the Migration Act. The Executive should not have intervened when an existing regime, created by Parliament, was already in place to define and determine *refugee* cases. "Mr. Justice French of the Full Court," Mac continued, looking at her notes. "In the case of Ruddock v Vadarlis, (author's note: the Australian Immigration Minister v. the council representing the *Tampa* refugees) while correct in asserting Australia's sovereign right to 'prevent people not part of the Australian community, from so entering,' ignored the question of who could exert that power. The inherent powers of the Crown are not unlimited. The power of the Crown has been reduced, as Chief Justice Black noted in dissent from Justices French and Beaumont. Parliament chose to regulate the field of migration and bound the Executive. "The act of classifying the *Tampa* refugees as illegal and duly transferring them to Nauru independently of the Migration Act, was Parliament's role. It gave no supporting legislation allowing the Executive to commit these acts. The supporting legislation only came *after the fact*. Strong policy arguments exist against retrospective statutes: what was illegal then should not be made legal now." "That's your opinion, councilor, but not the opinion of the majority of Parliament," Mic retorted. "Even assuming that the domestic actions of the Executive were legal, it may not have been in line with international law principles," Harm replied. "The closure of the territorial sea around Christmas Island to the *Tampa* was a discriminatory act 'in form or fact' against a specific foreign ship under section 25(3) of the Law of the Sea. Australia would have to show that it was essential to its security to stop this one ship, and the lack of innocence in its passage. If not shown, the use of special servicemen to board the ship could be considered excessive." "September eleven undermined that argument, Commander," Mic replied. "But that was after the fact," Mac said. "On the contrary; it demonstrated the *fact* that the Australian government's suspicion that some refugees are an unacceptable security risk to this country, is justified. The SAS boarded that ship because it was essential in principle to our security. We have every right to take necessary precautionary measures to prevent some mad bastard from blowing the Lucas Heights nuclear reactor, or hitting is with some bioweapon. Don't forget where that bunch of overfunded fuck-ups, the Aum Sect, that hit that Japanese subway with Sarin gas in 1995, developed and tested their weapons - here in Australia. We're bending over backward trying to stem the flow of these bastards and we're not going to apologize for that." "Mic, I understand what you're saying, but from a purely legal point of view, the *Tampa* has several defenses to Australian claims that it illegally entered its waters. Under the current Law of the Sea, it was a ship in distress. It had a carrying capacity of fifty personnel and undertook to carry almost 450. Sanitary conditions on board were horrendous, and some passengers showed signs of grave illness. From a purely legal standpoint, Australia would have to show that the *Tampa* was not in distress when it violated orders not to enter its territorial sea. The Prime Minister, John Howard, Reith and Phillip Ruddock impliedly did this through claims that any serious illness on board had been 'feigned'. Evidence of bad sanitation, pregnancies and overcrowding suggest otherwise. Subsidiary arguments of coercion and duress might also be made under the same Convention. Captain Rinnan had mentioned that some refugees had threatened to jump off the vessel if not taken to Australia. Under duress, he entered Australia's territorial sea. So in effect, the refugees coerced, by 'form or fact' the *Tampa* to enter Australian waters." "Are you saying that the refugees should be held entirely accountable for this?" Mac asked, frowning. "They threatened the captain with violence unless they were taken to their desired destination. Following the conventions of maritime law following a rescue, the Captain should have proceeded to his next port of call, Indonesia, who acted identically to Australia in refusing them entry. In fact, under duress, he was forced to go to Australia. Although the law is muddier, it's no different to boarding a plane and demanding the pilot take you where you tell him, by implying threats if you don't. Any way you look at it, it's a form of piracy. And Mac, you should know that from the Alexander Mackenzie case you lectured on last year. If Phillip Spencer could be hung for considering an act of piracy, then actually threatening action and demanding a ship deviate from a given course, is in fact piracy, no matter what Rinnan or the refugees claim." Mac sat thoughtful for a minute while Mic deliberately let slip, "I assume you checked the excision of parcels of territory such as Christmas Island?" She looked up; then her eyes darted to Harm's. He was watching her through lowered brows. How could she have made a mistake like that? Because he, not her, was the expert on international maritime law. Harm glanced at his watch and stood. "I have to go," he said. Over the last few days, he had slowly come to admire Brumby's tactic; he'd used the same tactics himself when defending someone he knew was guilty. It wasn't Mac's fault that she hadn't picked it up. Even with Bud and Harriet's assistance, it might have been days before she realized. This way, Mic was saving her time - and face - over what was public if not common knowledge. His respect for Brumby multiplied. The Australian might be an abrasive and cocky son of a bitch, but as Bud had acquired a habit of saying, his ethics were true blue.    ****************************   At 2200, Harmon Rabb emerged from the closed meeting and walked out through parking lot. He'd given his driver, Ensign Unsworth the weekend off, and intended to walk back to the hotel. A car pulled up beside him and he turned to see Brumby's white Landrover. "You're finished early," Mic said. "It was just a preliminary discussion, all I had to do was answer their questions." "Most of which were probably covered in the appendixes, right?" Harm smiled but did not reply. Brumby knew their deliberations were secret. "Feel like a beer?" Mic added. "I promise I won't try to get you drunk and reveal all." Harm laughed. A week ago, the last thing he would have considered was having a drink with Bugme. But all the times they had worked together, or opposite one another, his perception of Brumby had been filtered through the knowledge that the Australian had Mac. Harm could recall the night RenÈe and Mac had set up a double date to listen to some band that never showed. Watching them, the way they were together, the social fabric tempering his masculine ego had been stretched pretty thin that night. But Mac had been happy with him, which is more than he, Harmon Rabb Jnr., had made her. "I'd take you up on that offer, Mic, but I'm going sailing early tomorrow." "Hop in anyway and I'll give you a ride to the hotel. There's a mob of reporters at the gate. If you take off you cap, maybe they won't recognize you." Harm considered for half a second, then walked around to the passenger side and got on. "Thanks. The last thing I need is a bunch of them dogging me to the hotel." "Bloody parasites," muttered Mic as they approached the gates. "Can't say I blame Indonesia sometimes." As they passed through, one of the reporters recognized Mic, and ran to his car to follow. But Brumby evaded them by turning along a one-way street, then doubling back. "So, where are you sailing?" "Out of Manly, just for the weekend." "All alone or...ah hell, I'm sorry, mate, it's none of my business." "No, that's okay. I'm going alone." Mic glanced at him and grinned. "Well, when you get back, come up to the bar and I'll shout you a beer." Harm shot him a questioning look. "I'm taking my sister to the beach," Mic added. "Then we've got tickets for the Manly Yacht club prawn barbecue - I'm a member. We'll be at the bar from about six. In fact, you might as well stay for dinner. We've got three tickets but my brother-in-law cancelled." Harm looked up at the clear night sky and remembered the lunch of shrimp - prawns the Aussies called them - overlooking the beach. He turned to face Mic and surprised himself by saying, "You know, I might just take you up on that." Mic's face split into a grin. "Done deal."   Early the following morning, Harm went for a long run. On the way back through the Botanical Gardens, he saw Mac jogging ahead of him. "C'mon Marine, get the lead out!" he ordered in a loud, gruff voice, startling a couple of nearby joggers. He laughed when he saw Mac's back stiffen and her pace momentarily increase. She turned and shot him a wry grin. "What's the matter, Squid, can't keep up?" she yelled over her shoulder. His eyes widened at the challenge and he broke into a full run. Realizing the chase was on; Mac cut along a different path, trying for a short-cut back to the hotel. However her detour ended in a chained off section of the gardens, so she doubled back around the corner - but too late, she ran headlong into Harm. He grabbed at her arm, pulling her with him until they both ended in a tangled mess in the shrubs. "Hey, sailor," she cried, laughing, "is this the only way you can pick up girls, running them down and tossing them into the bushes?" "You jumped *my* bones," he said, as she straddled him. But then his grin froze as he met her eyes. He could feel the weight of her across his hips and legs, the pressure of her hands on his chest. She smelled of Mac, warm, womanish, soaked in a healthy sweat from running in the early morning heat. God she was beautiful. His body suddenly reminded him that it had been a while since he'd been with a woman. If Mac didn't get off him soon, she'd know it too - something he didn't think would go down too well. He abruptly sat, reaching around with his hands to lift her off him as he went. But not before she became aware of his shape beneath her. She stood to brush the leaves and twigs off herself. It wasn't the first time she'd wrestled with a guy; she was Marine, trained in hand to hand combat fighting. She had never found the extra baggage between a man's legs offensive, even when he was using those same legs to headlock her. But that had been with relative strangers in the normal course of training, not with someone she was in love with. "So, what've you got planned for the weekend?" Harm asked as they began dogtrotting back. "I'm reviewing Australian law on its protectorates and offshore islands." "Brumby gave you that one," he replied in a low voice. Mac said nothing, but he could see the acknowledgement on her face. "I thought you'd be working over the weekend," she said. "Hey, I'm advisor, we work forty hour weeks. Maybe you should take a break, too. I'm going sailing," he added in a teasing voice." He saw the momentary look of longing on her face, and pounced. "It'd help clear your head." She compressed her lips in regret as they left the gardens and began running along the road to the hotel. "I can't, I've got too much to get through. Besides," she laughed, "I'd probably get seasick." "A Marine getting seasick? Then how 'bout a barbecue at the Manly yacht club tomorrow night?" "Isn't that a private club?" "Mic invited me." "And you're going?" she asked incredulously, turning to stare at him. "Why not?" he replied casually. "Give me a chance to meet the locals." "I didn't think you could stand Mic." "I can stand him, what I couldn't stand was seeing him...ah, forget it." "You couldn't stand seeing him with me. You were jealous." "I was not jealous, I just didn't want to see you get hurt." "Oh, so we're back to that again," she said in an aggravated voice. He sighed and said, "Mac, you're being overly sensitive." "And your being a jerk," she replied as they rounded the last corner to the hotel. "Because I'm having a beer with the guy who dumped you?" He grimaced the moment the words left his mouth. "Hell Mac, I didn't - " "No, because he left me *because* of you," she snapped, then ran up the stairs into the hotel, leaving him to stare at her departing back. With that sort of convoluted thinking, he thought, she'd make a good lawyer. Harm went upstairs to shower. He thought about having it out with Mac once and for all, but as usual, their timing was all screwed up. Maybe once this was over he could get her away for a few days, but right now, he just wanted to go sailing. Alone. An hour later he caught a water taxi to Circular Quay, then a hydrofoil to Manly. The wind was already picking up and the summer skies were deep blue. He smiled; he was looking forward to this.   *********************   Harm spent most of Saturday on the helm. With an oversized rudder, the 27ft sloop turned on a dime and pointed high into wind. She took off on the merest hint of a breeze; something he soon realized was necessary to negotiate the dead spots around the convoluted bays of the huge, high-cliffed harbor. When the wind picked up in the afternoon, he headed out into the main bay. He tightened the sails to near perfect airfoil shape, feeling the power of the wind drive the boat forward. He pointed her high, pushing her close to the edge. It might not have been as exhilarating as riding a Tomcat, but there was purity in the silent power of wind and canvas and hiss of saltwater on the fiberglass hull. He sensed every movement of the boat through his arm, every change of wind on his face. He thought of little except the moment by moment needs of the sloop. And he enjoyed the scenery - especially the remote coves with their topless and nude bathers. Towards dusk, the wind died away and he finally cranked the engine and motored to a remote cove he's spied earlier. As he dropped the anchor and cut the engine, he was surprised to see a couple of kangaroos staring at him from the beach. They blended perfectly with the surrounding bush. He'd only noticed them because one began scratching its stomach. Harm went below and pulled a beer from the small fridge, took it on deck and watched the light fade from the sky. He had needed this, more than he realized. Not just the sailing, but the solitude. By Monday, he expected a dozen legal counter-arguments to his suppositions, but that was the nature of the exercise. Those, he could handle. Mac however, was another story. He went below to fix himself some dinner; glad she hadn't taken him up on his offer to come sailing. Not that he wouldn't have welcomed her company, but...dammit! What was happening to their partnership? She had fallen back into her hard; Marine Corps shell after Mic left her. Yet, he couldn't lay the entire blame on Mic. Mac had needed him that night, and he had wanted her to come to him, to be there for her. Then RenÈe arrived. Torn between loyalties, he had opted for what was correct rather than what was right. And Mac had run away, not so much from him, but herself, pulling that hard Marine shell around her as she went. He had hoped she would work it out, but this case was affecting her in ways that surprised him. Or maybe not. He sighed, grabbed a pillow and went on deck. He pulled a couple of deck cushions together and lay down. The Southern Cross was low in the sky. He looked around to see Orion, then Leo. Mac had said she missed Australia. Not Mic, but Australia. What was the best course to chart, he thought? Every time he even touched on the personal, she slammed the doors closed and retreated. Except the look in her eyes that morning. Is that how Mic had taken her? Seen that look on the deck of a ferry in Sydney Harbor - and unlike him, pounced? And yet for all the times he'd seen them together, he'd never seen Mic on the receiving end of *that* look. And the way she had responded to his kiss *that* night... He shook it off, and slept. But the dreams returned, and this time, he couldn't put them down to a knock on his head. The next day, the wind blew listlessly most of the morning. Although the little sloop accelerated at every puff, it soon died back into a crawl across the water. Harm didn't mind, it gave him the chance to think rather than concentrate on sailing. He considered himself inordinately fortunate that he had achieved the goals he had set for himself in life, even if the outcomes had not been the preferred ones. Unlike many whose fathers and sons, brothers and husbands had never come home from Vietnam, he had closure - in more ways than one. He had not only gained a brother, but an insight into the life of his father as a man and an aviator. As a man himself now, he realized he had idealized him. Realized that as much as he had loved his mother, he had also taken comfort in the arms of another women. Possibly more than once. Certainly he'd given his life to protect one of them. And that had made him more human in Harm's eyes. More vulnerable, more...real. It had also allowed him to accept his own shortcomings a little more readily. Sure, given the choices, he would never have become a lawyer, and never left the skies until the inevitable advancement of age. But fate had dealt him that hand, and he had played it - and surprised himself. JAG had provided him with challenges: tactical, intellectual and physical. He had needed to return to flying to prove something to himself. And it had surprised the hell out of him to find he missed JAG. But the CAG on the *Patrick Henry* was right. He had nothing left to prove, to anyone, especially himself. If he'd stayed, by now he'd be flying a desk anyway, so better to leave on his own terms. And they had been good terms. He could return to the work he loved while retaining his wings. Hell, he couldn't ask for more, yet he had taken it for granted when his self-imposed burdens had been lifted from his soul. Only when Skates asked him after their bail-out, if life felt any different to him, did he begin to understand what that meant. "You've been given a chance to take another look at things, to grab hold of what's really important to you," she said. "You don't think I haven't already done that?" he replied. "I hadn't." Harm leaned forward and adjusted the jib. It was past noon and unless the wind picked up soon, he'd have to motor home. What was really important to him, he thought? At first, it was finding his father, superimposed on the burning need to fly. Yet he would have given up flying, even the navy, to find his father. Perhaps that's why he had adjusted to the JAG Corps so readily. In his heart, he always knew there would be sacrifices. It wasn't that he was particularly noble, just pragmatic. Everything came with a price. With his father's ghost at peace, he was gifted the chance to reclaim his old life: a city on the high seas, a unique camaraderie where the smell of jet fuel and screech of rubber, of speed and power and adrenaline burned like healing fire in his soul. But the mere fact that he could return to flying was enough to put *all* his past ghosts to rest. And this time, he had left with a sense not of bitter failure, but accomplished satisfaction. New priorities. New goals, for life never dealt just one hand. And age, naturally, brought another kind of maturity. As a young buck, he had it all. Dress whites, gold wings and a ready smile; he'd never lacked for company in bed. But what was really important to him *now*? He had expected to marry some day, to be the father that he had remembered and longed for, with a wife like Annie. He'd been given that chance and blown it, mostly because he couldn't give Annie what she needed without losing himself. As insulting as the imagery was, a Penelope to his Odysseus, just as his mother had been to his father. He wondered if that was selfishness or self-indulgence? Chauvinism or pragmatism? Maybe all of that. He might strive to be a politically correct modern naval officer, he might even convince himself that he was, most days, but like all of his gender, he still had to contend with four million years of male evolution. He figured that one day his Penelope would magically appear, but in the end, every woman had left him, because he had never given them anything more than his smile and his charm and the expectation that they would be there when he came home. There were times when he thought it would have been different with Diane, but self-delusion was never one of his strong suites. In her death, he had idealized a possibility, and cried for what might have been, not for what was. Jordan, at least, he had closure. RenÈe? Well, she looked good, made him laugh, and she had enjoyed the fact that her boyfriend was a naval aviator. Too late he realized she had not stayed with him because of what he was, but because she had cared for him, loved him, and wanted what most people wanted, to be loved in return, unconditionally. It didn't matter if he flew planes or buried dead people; she had wanted something he was unable to give. He stood and went below for a beer. Was there something lacking in him, was he so emotionally crippled that he couldn't give that to a woman? He'd convinced himself that his past relationships had failed because of the emotional burdens that he had once carried. Now, divested of them, he had no more excuses, not more reasons to retreat emotionally. Which brought him, at last, to Mac. Boy, she was a surprise from the start, all right. Meg had been his sidekick, a kid sister to mentor. He respected Meg as a woman, a professional and a military officer, but Mac...hoo boy, she was never one to take the back seat, right from the get go. He took the beer out and deck and felt the wind on his cheek. Just a puff, but he adjusted the sails and the boat responded. It was so easy with a sailboat. You just had to pay attention, just the gentlest touch of breeze...you played her just right, gave her what she wanted and she'd do everything for you in return. What did Mac want? He'd had to shake himself during their first assignment, to remove the image of Diane. It didn't take long, especially after she'd made that comment about his smile. Here was a woman he was never going to be able to just charm. Something he both admired - and found a little scary. Over the years his respect magnified, until one day he realized he had fallen in love with her, perhaps because she was nothing like the Penelope he had unconsciously envisaged. That blindsided him. Worse, he had fallen in love with her as a friend. It had little to do with her stunning looks &emdash; although he ruefully admitted it would help if she were a little uglier. There were times when he found himself both terrified and mesmerized by her. But it contravened his duty as a naval officer: though shalt not fall in love with thy partner. Even if he could find a way around that, there was too much at stake, too much to lose, so he held her aloof - and lost her to another man. Not once, but twice! With his past demons buried, it was time to grab what was really important to him. But he'd waited too long, and now, it seemed, too late. Mac saw him as he really was, and was under no illusions about his inability to commit. By the time he answered he question on the *Guadalcanal* about what he was willing to give up, she had walked out the door. Then RenÈe showed him her engagement ring. His ego had been both pricked - and relieved. He hadn't wanted to just dump her, even though he *was* willing to give her up for Mac. Mac had tired of waiting for him. But the look of hunger on her face in the garden as she'd straddled him... He released the cleat and dropped the mainsail. Her expression was full of might have beens, not could have beens. The question was, could they get past it and recapture their friendship, or was it better to let that go, too? Maybe a complete severing of bonds was necessary, to start again without the clutter of past lives. He sailed the boat up to the dock, gently bringing her into the wind as the bright orange bumpers kissed the timber planks. He tossed a rope to a waiting yacht club attendant, a fresh-faced high school kid, tanned and blonde-headed; then he released the final cleat and the jib dropped. The kid looked on admiringly. Most of the time, they motored up, or were trying to show off to their mates and ended up slamming the bow into the wharf, or sailing right by it. "Not much wind today, eh?" he said, jumping onto the deck. Harm smiled. "I had a good run yesterday, and she points well. Here, do you want a hand with that?" he asked as the kid began folding the mainsail onto the boom. "That's okay, you probably hanging out for a beer! Besides, it's my job. The boss said to come get your deposit before you leave." Harm gave him a friendly slap on the back, slung his duffel-bag over his shoulder and headed for the office. He watched as they tore up the credit card deposit voucher, then said, "Something smells good!" "They've fired up the barbecue early. The race was cancelled; not enough wind. Why don't you stay for dinner? There's showers at the back where you can get cleaned up if you want." "Thanks, I might just do that." Twenty minutes later, he walked into the bar and saw Mic Brumby. "G'day mate!" Brumby said, a smile splitting his face. "Got a bit of a suntan, eh?" Then turning to an attractive woman by his side; introduced his sister. "Elizabeth, this is Commander Harmon Rabb." "Commander, call me Liz. I've heard a lot about you," she said, rolling her eyes at her brother. "Oh?" Harm replied, his eyebrows meeting in concern. "Oh, don't worry, Commander. Remember, I grew up with this horror!" Harm laughed a little uncertainly until Brumby handed him a beer and said, "He's the only bugger that's never bettered me in a fight." Harm's eyebrows lifted. He hadn't quite acclimatized to the Australian penchant for using expletives as terms of friendship. But it was Brumby's revelation that surprised him the most. "Which speaks even better of him," Elizabeth said, laughing. "Not over a woman I hope..." but then she faltered at the look of regret in Mic's eyes. "Nah," Brumby said, catching Harm's eye. "'Course not. Harm's got more bloody sense. C'mon," he added, standing, "I can smell the prawns and I'm hungry." They moved outside and Mic introduced Harm to a dozen people as they drank beer and ate endless quantities of prawns. They talked about sailing and sailboats and the new regulations for blue water sailing after a tragic Sydney to Hobart yacht race. Harm's legal opinion was sought about that race, then he found himself invited aboard the commodore's boat for the following weekend's local race. "I'm on the faster boat," Brumby said, winking at Harm. "Like hell," Rick Dougan replied, "I've changed the keel." Brumby laughed, "You mean before it fell off?" Dougan rolled his eyes and explained to Harm, "Bruce Farr designed yachts like racing dinghies." "Yeah, if they don't break, they're too bloody heavy," Mic said. "You're a bloody lawyer, mate, what do you know about it?" The good natured banter continued and Harm allowed himself to be talked into crewing for Dougan. "You're not gonna know what hit you, mate. These guys take their sailing seriously." Harm laughed. "Oh, I know. I was there watching the last race when the NYYC lost the America's Cup to you Aussies!" "So what are we gonna put you on?" Dougan's wife, Amy asked, eyeing Harm up and down. "You're muscular enough for the winches." "Nah, put him on the helm," Mic said, grinning. At the look on Dougan's face, he added. "I'm bloody serious, the Commander here flies Tomcats, he knows not to send anything into a stall." Harm laughed self-consciously, but Amy Dougan looked at him with renewed interest. Pilots generally made the best sailors because they understood the principles better than most; their lives depended on them. "Well, well, well!" she replied. "Why didn't you say so sooner, Mic? Once that gets around, we won't be able to keep the girls away." Mic grinned and caught Harm's eye over his beer. Harm wasn't sure why, but he had the feeling Brumby was up to something.   ***************************   "Sir," said Bud, "Given these exclusions, I don't understand why the Australian government didn't let the refugees come ashore at Christmas Island." "Because the excision of the territorial zone, in this case, Christmas Island, as a valid entry point for refugees constituted discrimination against a specific ship, the *Tampa*," replied Mac. "It also evinced reluctance on Australia's part to discharge its obligations under maritime law, and human rights law by denying the *Tampa* refugees access to its court processes. However, the legal status of Australia's actions will have to wait till Norway takes Australia to task at the Tribunal on the Law of the Sea." "So, if coming ashore at Christmas Island did not confer the refugees with any rights, why didn't they let them, it would have been the humanitarian thing to do." "I suspect," Harm said, watching Brumby, "they know this exception may be held as a deliberate contradiction by an international tribunal. Australia will either be forced to abandon it, or lose their status as a signatory to the agreement." Mac also glanced at Brumby, whose face remained expressionless. He had given her a heads up on the unusual laws that held Australia's offshore islands as separate entities, with separate laws, to the mainland. It was up to her how she played it. The Indonesians had a vested interest in seeing Australia prosecuted, because it gave them the upper hand in future negotiations, but the first intemperate accusations had, as expected, settled into relatively civilized legal negotiations. Mac replied, "the *Tampa* refugees could not seek a 'protection visa' as non-legal citizens, as they were, under the Migration Act, not within Australian territory. Yet for all other purposes, Australia uses a 12 nautical mile limit in questions of sovereignty. As the Vienna Convention on Treaties makes it clear that any signed treaty covers the whole territory of the signatory, the Migration Act violates international law." "And the internal law of a signatory, noted in section 27 of the Vienna Convention," Harm added, "cannot be used as a justification for its breach of treaty obligations. Under general human rights conventions, the detention and subsequent redirection of the *Tampa* refugees to territories other than Australia may have breached the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Article 14(1) recognizes the right of a refugee to seek asylum from persecution." "Their entitlement to seek asylum was simply delayed by processing in another country," Brumby said, shrugging. "In this case, Nauru. Some of these refugees might well be allowed to immigrate to Australia after their claims have been determined." "Nonetheless, the principle of rejecting refugees at the border is a precedent looked down upon by the Executive Committee of the United Nations High Commission on Refugees," Bud said, frowning. "Article 31(1) of the Refugee Convention says that the 'illegal' status of the *Tampa* refugees did not entitle Australia to impose penalties on them. The penalty here being assessment on territory other than Australia. Once the Australian authorities sought to 'rescue' the *Tampa* refugees, it became obligatory to allow them to seek asylum, a duty found under the Commonwealth's Navigation Act." "We dispute that we sought to rescue them. We order all such refugee ships to return to their country of origin, in this case, despite its claims to the contrary, Indonesia," Brumby said. "But we're not the cold hearted bastards the international press would have you believe. If it had been one of our naval ships instead of the *Tampa*, we would have rescued them, then returned them to Indonesia." "And we would have refused you entry," Mac conceded. "Until we could show that was their point of origin. Hell, this isn't the first boat load of refugees we've rescued in Australian waters and taken to Christmas Island. But if we find them in international waters, as was the case this time, we send them packing." The point of the discussions, Bud knew, was to cut through the rhetoric. Despite their antagonistic roles, he, too, was aware that this wasn't a discussion for a pre-trial agreement, but a precursor to any number of international tribunals. Like Harm, he was fascinated by the complex legalities involved. He was also glad to see Mic wasn't his usual bulldog self. Maybe Harm was right; Brumby knew the Australians had breached both the fact and the intent of international law, with protective domestic laws harking back a century or more, and he was operating on the principle of damage control. But lack of belligerence was not Mic's normal damage control strategy. He was being reasonable because of political necessity. The Australians wanted to back down without conceding their sovereign right to decide who could and who could not enter their country. No one wanted to encourage these refugees into making the incredibly dangerous voyage, the loss of hundreds on one such ship after the *Tampa* incident being a graphic illustration of the consequences. The survivors had been rescued by an Australian naval vessel and taken to Australia where they were treated for injuries and shock. Most of he dead had been children who couldn't swim... Despite Mac's relaxing into her role, she still avoided direct one on one meetings with Harm or Mic. If she were honest with herself, it was because she was using her professionalism as a shield against her emotions. She had a job to do, and she was intent on focussing every erg of energy on that. But after the meeting, she relented when Harriet suggested they walk down to the opera house for a coffee. "You look like you could do with a break, Colonel," Harriet said with a shy smile. "C'mon, you've been at it non-stop since we got here, and it's Thursday." Mac looked up and smiled in return. "Maybe you're right, I'm starting to see double. Okay, let's play hooky for the rest of the afternoon, I can finish these later." As Harriet walked out with her she said, "I can collate them tomorrow if you like, Ma'am. We've got that dinner tonight." Mac scrunched her face up in annoyance as they walked outside. "Did you have to remind me?" "Sorry Ma'am." Harriet looked contrite. "No, that's okay Harriet. It's just..." "Captain Jerot," Harriet replied, nodding. "He's not trying to...you know...!" she added in alarm. Mac sighed. "Not directly, no. I mean he's not making any passes at me or anything, it's just he's a little too curious about, well, my relationship with Commander Brumby." "Oh. Does he know?" "That we were engaged, yeah, he knows now." She explained about the ring and Aceh, then added, "Thing is, I thought he liked the idea that Mic and I are sitting on opposite sides of the fence, but now I'm not so sure. After all, Mic left me." They had passed the area known as Lady Macquarie's Chair and were close to the white sails of the Opera House that, on closer inspection, were tarnished by the red/brown dust from the bushfires. As was true of so many things, something seen from a distance was both more flawed, and yet more beautiful when viewed close up. Harriet said, "I shouldn't be asking this, Ma'am, but how have you been...I mean, having to deal with the Commander and all." Her words had gushed out before she could stop them. "I...I'm sorry, it's none of my business." But Mac smiled and touched her arm reassuringly. "That's okay, we're playing hooky, remember? We might still have our uniforms on, but you're also my friend, so permission to speak freely." Harriet smiled, glad that Mac was willing to at least talk about it. "I feel so guilty when he's around. I mean, he gave up a Washington career rather than defend my gynecologist. Maybe if he'd still been working, he wouldn't have felt, well, you know." "Threatened?" Mac said. "Why don't we stop here," she added, motioning to the outdoor cafÈ. They ordered coffees and Mac continued, "I don't see why he did, Harriet. I agreed to take a temporary posting in Australia if he couldn't get the work he wanted within six months of the wedding. But he insisted that wasn't necessary." "You know what men are like. They say everything's all right, but inside, sometimes is not - you only need look at Commander Rabb to know that. And Commander Brumby always saw himself as being so lucky to have you, he wanted to show you that he was up to your standard." Mac chuckled. "He knew me, Harriet. He didn't have to live up to any standard I set, because I'd *had* to set them for myself." But her smile faded. Mic did not know her as well as Harm. Harm had seen her past life, her ugliness as a drunk. She'd tried to hide it by lying to him, but it had all been laid out in full Technicolor glory. She had failed him, and Chegwidden. But they had never made her feel like she had failed. They still treated her as she had wanted them to, like a Marine. Mic, on the other hand, had treated her like a woman. Was that so bad? And yet, Harm treated her like a woman &endash; and a Marine, it's just that when she needed him to treat her as a woman, he saw only the Marine. Harriet looked at her and said, "Well, I didn't exactly mean that he felt threatened by *you*." Mac pursed her lips, but couldn't meet Harriet's eyes as she replied, "Harm." Then she chuckled and said, "Poor Bud, he got right in the middle of that one last time we were here." Harriet tired not to laugh, but she said, "He did lose twenty pounds!" But Mac turned more serious and added, "That fight wasn't about me, it was just two Alpha males butting heads. I know that because once Mic moved out to the States be with me, he was never bothered about Harm." "Until you got engaged. Oh, I know it's not easy Ma'am. I never thought of myself as the jealous type, but Bud, well, I mean we have to work together and we sort of went through this stage where I just wanted him to be himself. I mean if a beautiful woman walked by, I didn't want him to pretend she was ugly or anything, just on account of me." "So how did you deal with it?" "One day, I made him tell me exactly how he felt when, well, there was this Marine with a tattoo." As they drank their coffee, Harriet explained. "And you don't get worried anymore?" Mac asked, still chuckling as she pictured the expression on Bud's face. Harriet smiled. "I try not to, but if I am, I know it's me, not Bud. He'd never do anything to hurt me, but well, he's still just a guy." Mac sat back thoughtfully. So were Harm and Mic. Despite what she'd told Mic, she knew he had discerned the truth. And in the end, instead of going head to head with Harm, he had backed out, maybe a little gracelessly, but wasn't it better that way? God, she had lost a good man in Mic. Harm, on the other hand, never walked away from relationships, he just let them disintegrate, and in a parody to his opinion of himself as an officer and a gentleman, waited until woman left him. At first, she'd seen RenÈe as a mere fluffball, a decoration for his pilot's ego. But RenÈe had seen through Harm, and stayed regardless. Like Mic, one day RenÈe would just wear Harm down by refusing to leave him, and maybe, finally, force Harm to commit to her. Or she'd do the sensible thing and leave. And meanwhile, Mac thought, here I am in the sidelines, letting my feelings for him ruin my life. How many women had foolishly hung their heart on the wrong man? "He's always asking after you," Harriet said, pulling Mac from here reverie. "Harm?" Mac looked up, frowning. "No, Mic! Harm...the Commander, I mean, never says anything." Mac smiled, you got that right. "I think Commander Brumby realizes what a mistake he made," Harriet added, "and wished he knew how to undo it." Mac looked askance at her. "Don't tell me he's trying to get you to play cupid." Harriet looked shocked. Mac could see it was genuine and not from being caught out. "No, Ma'am. It's just that, seeing as you're both in Australia and all, maybe you could, well, maybe just be friends?" Harriet's face screwed up in a way Mac was all too familiar with. She smiled and stood. "C'mon, we better get ready for dinner."    ********************************   The following day, Friday, Bud invited Mac to go to the beach with him and Harriet on Sunday. The prior evening's dinner party had drained her, especially Jerot's relentlessness, so she decided the Indonesians owned her a day off, and agreed. "Thank you, Ma'am," Bud sighed in relief. Mac laughed. "Why, what is it, Bud?" "Harriet wants me to take her to that beach." Mac shook her head in confusion. "What beach?" "Eh, the one that you and Commander Brumby went to," Bud explained. "What's the problem?" Bud explained his faux pas on the telephone to Harriet when he was last in Australia. Mac's lips twitched in amusement. "Bud, most of Australia's beaches are like that, the country runs on a beach culture. Some beaches, one just the a few embayments down from here," she motioned, "are nudist." Bud paled and swallowed. "Do you think you could...eh...refrain from mentioning that to Harriet, Ma'am?" Mac grinned at his discomfort and said, "Don't worry Bud. And tell Harriet that not every woman goes topless." Bud gulped. "Thank you, Ma'am." Harm left the meeting late that evening feeling mildly elated. Although he did not expect his recommendations to be acted upon in their entirety, it would give the legal teams something to use as a springboard to amend current maritime laws, especially where international and domestic law did not comfortably segue. He went to bed early, got up and went for a run to clear his head for the next round. As of Monday, he would change roles from impartial adviser, to helping Mac. Facing an international committee with a bunch of butt-watching politicians was a piece of cake compared to that. He spent that afternoon and evening reviewing Indonesian domestic laws where they pertained to maritime laws. Most were leftover from the days when the Dutch ruled the islands, and were as convoluted and often as antiquated as the old British rule that Australian laws were founded on. Fortunately, the Dutch, like the British were a major seafaring nation; many of the principles were similar. The next day, Sunday, he left at dawn to help prepare for the yacht race. It was good to put aside the intricacies of law and concentrate on the needs of the boat, the camaraderie of sailors and the sheer thrill of racing. It was even better when *Seafarrer* went on to win by a healthy five minutes on handicap. Their handicap had been re-calibrated because of the new keel, but *Seafarrer* had been on a losing streak and this win jumped them into the top ten on points. And Harm was plied with huge quantities of champagne and beer. Commodore Dougan had observed the concentrated way the navy pilot took the helm. Harm ran her so close to the wind, he was a razor's-edge from luffing the sails. Dougan went to warn him a couple of times, but he saw how Harm hardly glanced at the sail's telltales, instead, he controlled the helm like he controlled an F14, by letting his senses stretch until they became part of the machine, until he *was* the machine. Dougan would normally not allow a helmsman more than forty minutes at a time, but he was an ex-Air Force man. He could see the pilot had the reflexes and endurance of an athlete, and he had allowed Harm to run the entire race, telling his crew to watch and learn. "Mate, you can crew for me anytime!" Dougan said, handing him a glass of bourbon when they finally reached the bar. "What about your regular helmsman?" Harm asked, glad to be rid of the champagne. "Amy?" Dougan replied with a laugh. "She's good, a natural, but she wants to win more than she wants to drive! C'mon Harm, next week is the last race in this competition, we need you!" Harm laughed. He had forgotten how much he loved yacht racing. "Well...maybe. I'll have to get back to you on that." "Fair enough," Dougan replied. "But I don't see our politicians working on the weekend, so you may as well keep taking Sunday's off! I tell you what; I need to ferry her up to Brisbane for the Brisbane to Gladstone yacht race. You help us get in the top three next week and by the time I've got *Seafarrer* ready to go, you should be finished with this *Tampa* business. Take a few weeks off, go for sail up the coast, she's rigged for two people to handle from the cockpit." Brumby laughed. "Don't bite Harm, he's just trying to save himself the cost of a ferry crew." But Harm's eyes lit in delight. "I might just take you up on that Commodore. Softened by the beer, champagne and bourbon, Harm allowed himself to be enticed on the dance floor by a string of women, until Mic Brumby's sister took pity on him and interceded. "I thought I might see if you needed saving," she said as Mic cut in on his dance partner, a girl Harm was sure couldn't have been over 21. "Don't worry, mate, the legal age in this country is 18," Mic said, winking and moving off with the sun-tanned blonde. An hour later, with the party having moved out of the clubhouse and onto the grounds, Harm found himself alone with Brumby. "I got a letter from RenÈe a few weeks back. She told me she was getting married - to a mortician! Women, I'm buggered if I can figure them out." "You and me both, pal," Harm replied, thinking of Mac. "Y'know, she's in love with you, don't you?" Mic said, peering at him myopically. "RenÈe?" Harm looked up, frowning in alcoholic confusion. "No, ya drongo, Mac!" Harm's face pinched. "Drongo?" Mic waved it off and added, "That's why I had to let her go." "She's not in love with me, Mic. She doesn't even like me; we fight like cat and dog. She needed you, to make a family of her own. Behind that tough Marine exterior is a very vulnerable woman." "She called you blokes her family." Harm looked out across the bay and pursing his lips, replied, "That's why it would never work, we're too close." "Well then what about you, how do you feel about her?" "Hey," Harm replied with a short laugh, "This isn't about me." "'Course it is. You were the one she went to when I left." "Because there is a lot of history between us. Not like that," he added quickly, catching Mic's eye. "She went with me to Russia, to find my father. Mac's an incredibly loyal person; and no surprise for a Marine, loyalty takes precedence over her own needs. That's why she couldn't go through with your wedding when I was missing. You should know what that's like, Mic, you're a navy man." Despite the haze of alcohol, he watched Mic carefully over the rim of his glass. Brumby's expression changed and he took another swig of beer. "Yeah, but I figured that out too late. Now she hates my guts." "I don't think she hates you, but I do know she's been very hurt, and I think it's going to take a long time for that pain to go away, and she's dealing with that the only way she knows how." Mic had had more than a few beers, but he shook his head and smiled sadly. "What's the Latin word for beer?" Harm's eyebrow rose and he peered at Mic in confusion. Mic chuckled. "You know, the Australian version of 'in vino, veritas'?" "I don't know," Harm replied, somewhat alarmed. The last thing he wanted was for Brumby to try and start bonding with him. Mic looked at him and laughed. "You know the problem with you bloody Yanks, you've all read 'How to win friends and influence enemies'. You're all so bloody careful about being reasonable and polite to one another that you're almost as repressed as the bloody Poms." "I don't think I ever repressed my feelings about you, Brumby," he replied carefully. Mic slapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, maybe, but you sure as hell repressed them to Mac." Harm tried to look nonchalant, but he'd had too much to drink to pull it off. He sure as hell hadn't been repressing his feelings too well the night of Mic's engagement party. "You know, your problem is that you see things in black and white, Mic, when there's a lot more too it." "This isn't about me, Harm. You can dodge and weave all you want, and so can Mac, but neither one of you is ever going to have a decent relationship with anyone else until you can get each other out of yours systems. Mac almost had me going there for a few days, thinking I'd made the most stupid decision in my life, leaving her. But I'm not a bloody masochist. Sure, I wanted her, and I'm still in love with her - but I need her to love me back, and she just can't do that, because whether either of you admits it or not, you're in love with each other. Do everyone a favor will you, do something about it before anyone else who gets pulled into this mutually exclusive orbit of yours, crashes and burns." Before Harm could reply, two of the long-legged girls they'd been dancing with invited themselves to sit down. "Hey, guys, we're all going down to the Marina for dinner, you coming?" one asked. Harm looked at his watch; surprised to see it was only 1800. The race had finished at 1500 and they'd been drinking steadily ever since. Then he caught site of Bud entering the bar. He sat up and motioned to him. The young lieutenant's eyes lit and he walked across to join them. "Evening, sirs," Bud said, delighted to see the two men getting along. The girls giggled and moved closer to Brumby and Mic. Brumby grinned, enjoying their guileless, straightforward attentions and said, "Sir down, Bud! Where's Harriet?" Bud looked over his shoulder and replied, "She and Colonel Mackenzie are, um, shopping." Mic laughed and added, "Well, come and have a beer! They could be gone for hours." But the girl perched on his lap said, "Oh, c'mon Mic, what about the Marina. If you don't come now, there won't be any tables left!" Mic's sister joined them and said, "C'mon Mic, time to go!" Brumby let himself be pulled upright by the two woman, but Harm smiled slowly and shook his head. "I'll keep Bud company." "Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, just tell the cabbie it's the restaurant out on the point." Brumby and his entourage left through the main entrance, unaware Mac had entered through the beer garden moments earlier. From where she stood, she couldn't see Bud, just Harm and Mic, with two blonde teenage girls wrapped around them. The she saw Mic get up, leaving Harm with one doe-eyed girl, who leaned into him and whispered something in his ear. He rocked his head back and laughed. For some perverse reason, this annoyed the hell out of Mac. What about RenÈe? Mac walked up to his table and said flatly, "You're drunk." "Hey, Mac!" Harm sat up and smiled happily, then frowned and replied, "I wouldn't say that exactly." "I would." "Well," he drawled slowly, "I realize you're a little sensitive about the issue, but there's a difference between chilled and drunk. I'm not about to embarrass myself - or my uniform." "You already are," she snapped, glaring at the girl. Mac's Marine stare didn't faze the girl; she was an old hand at dealing with wives. She whispered loudly into Harm's ear, "Is that your missus?" Harm almost choked on his drink. He shook his head and barking a short laugh said, "Not in this lifetime!" just as Bud returned with Harriet. Mac felt like she'd been slapped, but Harm looked up and added, "Hey, you two, what's happening?" Harriet looked worriedly at Bud, who was watching Mac stare at Harm through hurt eyes. "Y'know Bud?" Harriet said nervously, "I'm not really very hungry, why don't we just get something to eat from room service?" Aware of the plummeting barometer, Bud looked at Mac and was about to say something, but Mac keeping her eyes on Harm, dismissed them. "I'll see you tomorrow." "Okay, then, well, goodnight Sir, Ma'am. Oh," he added as an afterthought to the girl draped over Harm, "nice to meet you." Sensing the coming storm was not one even she was prepared to weather, the girl stood and said, "You coming with us, Harm?' He slowly looked at her and shook his head no. "I'll take a rain-check." Then he turned back to Mac and said softly, "Sit down Mac. Let me buy you a club soda." "I don't drink with drunks," she replied. Harm's eyebrows shot up and he replied, "Nothing like a righteous convert." What was it Mic had said about doing something before it burned anyone else up? What about them, it was burning them up, too. Ah, hell, he couldn't deal with this, not right now. He stood from the barstool, and carefully leaned down and picked up his duffel bag. He wasn't staggering, but he wasn't exactly military issue, either. Mac pursed her lips and followed. At the bottom step of the beer garden he looking out over the bay, then began walking towards the ferry. Then he frowned. Why was Mac there? Oh yeah, shopping with Harriet. That made as much sense as anything else did this fine evening. "You wanted something?" he asked when he head her soft footfalls catch up with him. "Why are you acting like such a jerk?" He laughed and looking at her askance, replied. "Hey, last time I looked, it wasn't a crime to have a few drinks after winning a yacht race." "You're an officer on a sensitive - " He swung on her, and this time he did stagger. "C'mon Mac, you can't judge me on the basis of your problems." He closed his eyes and muttered, "Hell, I didn't mean that." But he did, just as he'd meant his comment the week before about Mic. She'd drawn a line for herself but seemed to forget that others were allowed to cross it. But his comment had zeroed in on its intended target. Her face pinched and she grabbed his arm to steady him. "Come on," she said softly, "I've got a car, I'll drive you back to the hotel." "Is that an order, Colonel?" He demanded, frowning at her. Dammit Harm! "If I have to make it one." She had received her promotion before him. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied, standing to attention, eyes forward. Mac swallowed when she saw the look on his face. He wasn't teasing her, he was deadly serious. She turned and walked to the car park, almost surprised when he followed. On the drive back, he sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the look on his face hard, uncompromising. Maybe she had gone too far, but seeing him with Mic at the bar... Mic was her adversary, in more ways than one. The way they were relaxing together, laughing, the girls - kids - they were drinking with, she felt isolated, alone. Rejected. "Harm," she began, then glanced at him. But his jaw was set and his attention on the traffic ahead. "Maybe it's not such a good idea to be socializing with Mic. His face screwed up in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?" "Under any other circumstances, I'd never suggest it, but we're both in the spotlight on this one. I'm representing a Moslem country that may not understand - " "Me having a few drinks? Or was it the girls that bothered you? Neither washes, councilor. I'm single, over 21 - or 18 in this country - and here as an adviser on international maritime law. You're the one representing them, and being a woman -" "And that really bothers you," she snapped back, her eyes narrowing. "What?" Harm's face screwed up even more. Where the hell was this coming from? "I'm just saying that if they're progressive enough to trust a woman to represent them, then they're not going to be upset by me having a few beers. It'd be different if this was Saudi Arabia, but it isn't. Don't get all feminist on me, Mac." "They may not understand you getting buddy buddy with their opposition's lead council." "Oh, come off it Mac! You're not some first year law student, you know that most of the negotiating we do is outside of office hours! I'm an adviser! This has nothing to do with appearances. If this didn't involve Mic, you wouldn't be so riled up." "You're implying I'm letting personal issues interfere with my professionalism?" she demanded incredulously. In court, it was different, he thought. She had learned that whether they played against one another, or on the same team, it was like a tennis match, the faster, the harder, the better. Except they battled with strategies, wit and cunning. Always fair, if not always by the book. Now, he constantly trod a verbal minefield. Maybe it was the booze and too many late nights, but he was mighty tired of this. Instead of working together, supporting each other, they were at loggerheads, and it only seemed to be getting worse. He had thought that a relationship with her risked destroying their friendship. But the tension between them was doing more damage. Mic was right; it was burning everyone up. The only way out was to retreat. Mac stared at him in anticipation of his comeback - and almost ran a red light. Then she drove tensely through three suburbs, waiting for some smart-ass remark. But it didn't come. She glanced at him once, to see his head leaning back against the headrest, his eyes closed. She wasn't sure who she was angrier with, him - or herself. He was right. She had let the mess she'd created between her and Mic affect her judgement. Not during working hours, but it was still interfering with their working relationship. The first time Harm and Mic were in Sydney, they had beaten each other senseless. Now they were getting along, it felt like a betrayal. What did that make her? Suck it up, marine, she said to herself as they entered the hotel's car park. You're here to do a job, a job you chose to return to after trying life in the corporate world. The job had brought challenges and gave her strength, and it had brought deep and abiding friendships and a surrogate family. And here, sitting beside her, was her best friend. But right now, they acted like they loathed one another. "Harm, I'm sorry. You're right, I should never have..." But she stopped when she realized he was asleep.   ***************************     When they arrived at the hotel basement car park, Mac walked around to the passenger side of the rental, opened the door and shook him awake. He saw her wrinkle her nose. The smell of beer probably brought back less than pleasant memories. Or maybe it was Tina, or was it Tanya's, perfume. Mac tried to help him out of the car, but he said, "I'm a big boy now Mac, I can find my way home." She snapped, "Suit yourself." And left. He sat there for a few minutes, then went to his room, set his alarm for 0430, and collapsed onto the bed. When the alarm went off, he took his hangover on a fast run. It helped, and gave him time to re-evaluate his decision. Then he made the call. "I've read your recommendations, Commander, and I have to say, I think they're excellent. It's a rare opportunity for international maritime law to be revisited." "Thank you, Sir," Harm replied to Chegwidden. "Admiral, I've done as much as I can on this. Admiral Gordon and the special advisor to the U.N. suggested that it would sit better coming from a higher ranking officer." "Bucking for another promotion, Commander?" Chegwidden replied. "No, Sir. But if I might suggest, having the JAG himself present these recommendations at the formal hearing next week would lend them more weight." Chegwidden's eyes narrowed. Rabb had never been one to hog the glory. Despite being a naval aviator, his ego was surprisingly well grounded. In any case, his name was firmly attached to the recommendations. But something in Rabb's voice bothered him. "Are you suggesting I come out there, Commander?" "I assumed Admiral Gordon, SecNav and the State Department had already made that recommendation, Sir." "They have, and I'm arriving Tuesday. I was going to call you in an hour to inform you." "Who'll be acting as JAG while you're away, Sir?" "I would have appointed you or Colonel Mackenzie, but since you're both there -" "I could be in Washington by midday Monday, Sir." There was a flight at 0800 and he'd be gaining a day on the way back. Chegwidden's internal alarms clanged. He stood from his desk and said, "Commander, we're going to need your ongoing expertise in this, these reports are just the beginning." "Commander Turner is well versed in maritime law, Sir. I'm sure he'd jump at the opportunity." "Almost as much as he'll jump at the chance of acting JAG." Harm rubbed his hand across his eyes. There was no way he was going to swing this unless he came clean. And he couldn't do that, not to Mac. "Is there some other pressing reason for you to return to Washington, Commander? I would have thought those beaches were more enticing than ploughing through snowdrifts to get to work. "I thought I might be more useful there, Sir." Or less trouble where you are, thought Chegwidden. What was really going on? "What does Colonel Mackenzie think?" "She and Commander Turner get along well, Sir." Evasiveness...okay. "How's she going with Commander Brumby?" "They're both professionals, Sir." Now Chegwidden was getting worried. "How are you and the commander getting along?" "Beat him in a sailing race yesterday, Sir." Well, that didn't sound too bad, at least they were taking their aggressions out in a socially acceptable venue other than the boxing ring. "Is there anything more you would like to tell me?" "No, Sir." "Carry on then, Commander." Chegwidden replaced the telephone and called, "Tiner?" Tiner was used to being called in on a Sunday afternoon. He stood from his desk and came inside. "Sir?" "At ease, Tiner," Chegwidden said. "Get me a flight - any flight - to Sydney ASAP. And find Commander Turner and have him call me immediately." "Yes, Sir. May I ask, Sir, is everything all right?" "With Rabb, Mackenzie and Brumby together, what do you think, son?" Tiner processed that for a moment then scrambled to find the admiral a flight.   Mac wondered if she was still asleep. "Sir?" she replied. "I said, I'm considering replacing Commander Rabb with Commander Turner and I'm asking for you thoughts on that," Chegwidden said. "May I ask why, Sir?" "Because I'd like your evaluation of the situation." Mac screwed her face up. Chegwidden was only obtuse when it suited him. She wasn't awake enough to work out an effective strategy, so she lobbed the ball back, "Which situation, Sir?" Chegwidden nodded to Tiner as the lieutenant mouthed, '1800.' Good, that gave him time to brief Turner and pack. "Whether you feel Commander Rabb's ongoing presence is required." "What makes you think otherwise, Sir?" A.J. pursed his lips. Mac was a cautious lawyer, even when woken from dead sleep. "Commander Rabb." Silence followed. "Colonel?" Chegwidden prompted. "Sir, Commander Rabb's input has been invaluable, but we're still in the opening stages of discussion. I'm not sure why he would think Commander Turner would be more appropriate, although I certainly have no objections in principle." "I agree, which is why I'm asking you. If this is about Brumby -" "No, Sir!" Mac said quickly. "On the contrary, they're getting along...just fine." Ah, *now* he understood. "Very well, Colonel, I'll take that under consideration. Carry on."   Mac hung up the telephone and rocked her head back, hitting the bed head. As luck would have it, Harm's bed was just a few inches away, separated from her by a thin wall. She was tempted to put her foot through it and kick his six clear across the harbor. But then he'd probably just keep going until he was back in D.C. Harmon Rabb, running from a fight? Never, but he'd always run from her. Only her. She'd been such a jackass last night; he had every right to question her attitude. And she had no right to accuse him of being drunk. Unlike the drunks she had known, Harm was more likely to make love, not war when he'd had a few. She recalled the marine lieutenant with a mouth as almost as fast as Rabb's. If anything, alcohol just made him more boyish. And unlike her, he wasn't a mean drunk. God, what a mess she was making of things! She got up, showered quickly and dressed. She was going to settle this, once and for all.   *******************************   Harm stood under the shower for a long time, washing away the sweat and residual traces of a hangover. He'd had enough sense to drink half a dozen gasses of water before going to bed, and the run had cleared away the worst of it. Nevertheless, the champagne, beer and bourbon had impacted. Boy had they impacted, especially on Mac. It was clear to him that whatever friendship they once had was close to irrecoverable. It was what he dreaded most, but he couldn't see a way around it. Dammit! He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, snatched a towel off the rail and made a cursory attempt at drying himself. Then he tossed his running clothes into the laundry bag and the towel over the rail and went into his bedroom to change. He frowned as he rummaged through the drawers. Where the hell was all of his underwear? Then he caught sight of the clean laundry package by the connecting door. The valet service always returned his uniforms and civvies to his wardrobe, but left his underwear in a neat package, and he'd taken everything else with him on the weekend. He walked out into the main room, picked up the laundry package - and promptly had it knocked out of his hand as the connecting door opened wide. Mac had never tried the door before, but she could hear breakfast trolleys from room service outside and didn't want an audience for this confrontation. However, the last thing she expected was to find the door unlocked - and stumbling against a shirtless Harmon Rabb wearing an expression that rapidly turned from anger to surprise to amusement. She fell hard against him, and he put his arms around her to steady her. It wasn't until she had straightened up that she realized he wasn't just shirtless, but buck naked. She willed her eyes not to look down, but her peripheral vision was almost as good as her uncanny timekeeping abilities. "I...I'm sorry, I thought it was locked," she stammered. Mac was not surprised when he did not turn aside or try to snatch up whatever it was - oh, his laundry - to cover himself. Instead he just looked at her with that knowing look of his and slowly drawled, "Well that would explain it." Mac gestured back into her suite and stammered, "I'll...ah, wait till you get changed." With an edge of sardonic humor in his voice, he bent to collect his laundry as he watched her go. "Yes, Ma'am." Mac was furious with herself. Being stationed aboard battleships and submarines, walking in on naked males was an inevitability that had never embarrassed her. But this was different. This was Harm, and she should have knocked, and she knew what he looked like in a pair of shorts, but she had not considered how beautiful he would look naked, especially straight out of a shower. Not that Mic was ugly, but he was a boxer, whereas Harm had a beautifully proportioned runner's body. And why in hell had she drawn and instant comparison, and damn that smug smile of his! Instead of arguing from a position of strength, she was now at a tactical disadvantage, because there was no way she was going to shake that image from her mind. Ever. Or the look in his eyes. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and leaned back against the door. She had accused Kate Pike of having a big mouth, yet she had blabbed to Sturgis that she was in love with Harm! She hadn't meant to say it, had refused to even think it, but somehow, there it was, exposed for the world to see. She pulled her lips into her mouth, crossed her arms and walked across to the window. She had, like many before and since, depended on the Marines to kick her sorry ass into line, to take control of her weaknesses and focus them, forging her into the military officer that she had become. She had ignored his charm at first; most of the time she had wanted to kill him. But then she began to respect him as a worthy adversary and loyal partner, principled to a fault. He wasn't just the Navy pinup boy because of his smile; he had been born to it. He embodied the character that the Navy demanded, an officer and a gentleman who fought bravely and honestly. But he was also prepared to throw it all away for a deeper loyalty to his family, or to a higher ethic - the bringing of Diane's murderer to a justice that the law would not allow. That he also played the political game well in no way undermined his inherently principled nature. Commander Harmon Rabb Jnr. was a man of honor and that, not a pretty smile, was what she had fallen in love with. But he was also a fighter pilot, for whom the term, 'losing control' did not exist. Was his affair with Kate a loss of control, or calculated risk? Kate had admitted it was a brief, weekend fling with someone she knew she was only temporarily stationed with. And Harm was older now. Age had not taken away his edge; instead, it had added temperance and even greater control, something he had demonstrated so well when he returned to flying. What do you want, she had asked him. A lot of things, he had replied - and implied a great deal more. She spun as she heard him open the connecting door. "What is it that you wanted, Colonel?" Harm asked in a carefully formalized voice. He had dressed in his full uniform. And he had carefully modulated his voice so that not a hint of humor, not one degree of an implied Rabb smirk could be construed. Any other time and he would have teased the hell out of her, with looks if not words, but right now, their relationship hung on a razor's edge. He knew she would feel disadvantaged, and she would use that to retreat behind that damned Marine façade of hers. What I want, she thought, is for you to not be an honorable man, but a man who could lose control, at least with me. She held his eyes and replied, "I don't want to lose you, Harm." He almost relented at his words returned. He said nothing as he walked into her suite, just put his hands on his hips and looking around the room, avoiding her gaze, replied, "The Admiral called." Then he turned to watch her response. "He said you requested Commander Turner replace you." "I've made my recommendations to the committee," Harm replied, cocking his head to one side and talking a step towards her. "My only other purpose here is to advise you, and since you seem to be getting along better with Sturgis than me, I thought that was the best course of action. For everyone." Mac licked her lips and looked down. She was as incapable as Harm of apologizing. "I'd like you to stay, Harm." "Why?" he asked, taking another step towards her. She looked up into his eyes and replied. "As much as I respect and like Commander Turner, I would prefer *your* advice on this one." "Is that your professional, or personal recommendation?" he asked, coming closer to her. She watched his eyes. "Both." "Well," he replied, in a doubtful voice. "I'm not so sure you're in the best position to make that decision. You keep telling me you're not fragile, but I keep cracking eggshells. When you're an adversary, that's one thing, but out of court -" "I know, I know," she interrupted, turning away in frustration. "What do you want me to say, that you were right? That I let my personal...problems get in the way of my work?" "No, I don't, because you haven't. And that's what I'm trying to prevent." He screwed his face up when he realized what he'd said. But before she could snap a rebuttal, he added, "Mac, I'm not trying to protect you because you're a woman, or incapable of protecting yourself - I know you could kick my six any day - but as a friend, as someone I've depended on to watch *my* back. You've pulled my six out of the fire more times that I had any right to expect. As a friend, I'd like to think I've done the same. Not," he added quickly, "as though you've needed it much. But lately Mac, I can't speak freely around you, about anything, without it becoming personal. When we've worked together in the past, even on opposite sides of the courtroom, it's been a productive partnership. When we're antagonists on a *personal* level, then naturally that productivity will be hampered. That's not going to affect me on this case, but it might affect you, because you're taking point. As your friend, as someone who cares for you, deeply," he added, watching for her reaction, "I figure it's better to call time out." "Harm, I..." she turned to the window. "I was so far out of line last night, you have every reason to file a formal complaint against me - I wouldn't fight it." "Is that an apology, Marine?" he asked, more tenderness than teasing in his voice. She looked down and smiled as she felt him come up behind her. "Better file that one away, Squid, you're not likely to get another in this lifetime." He chuckled softly and put a hand on her shoulder. But he frowned as he felt the stiffness in her muscles. He brought his other hand up and gently squeezed. "Lousy chair in your office, huh?" She smiled at his diplomacy. "Something like that." But then she moaned softly as his fingers worked the tension from her shoulders. "Harm can we...start again?" He continued to massage her, enjoying the feel of her, even through her uniform, smelling her subtle perfume mixed with her unique scent. "How do you mean?" "There's so much going on right now, for both of us. I don't want you to leave; I need you, not just your expertise, but as a friend. But if we could step back from letting emotions cloud the issue, maybe things would seem a little clearer." He wanted to say that he was perfectly clear about his emotions. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her that he was in love with her - but he'd already done that once, and after all, what did love have to do with anything? But he couldn't crowd her. They weren't exactly having the talk he wanted, but at least they were talking. He was about to reply when there was knock on the door. Mac turned and looked at him in regret. His face held a moment of longing, the sort of tense, wound up longing she had seen the night he had kissed her. But then he smiled and gestured to the door. Duty - for both of them - came first. She strode to the door and opened it. "Harriet, come on in!" "Good morning Colonel, Commander," she added when she saw Harm. "I'm sorry to disturb you." She looked warily at both of them, wondering about the fallout from last night. Mac smiled easily and said to Harm, "We've been using my suite for preliminary briefings in the mornings. I would have thought an office at the Base was more secure, but Captain Jerot seems to think otherwise." Harm frowned. He'd heard voices coming from Mac's room most mornings, especially when his balcony door was open. "What, does he think it's bugged?" "I don't think so, but most of the Indonesian delegates are happier when they're not in the opposition's camp so to speak. So, Lieutenant, what's new?" Harriet replied, "Have you see the reports this morning, Ma'am? About the refugees in the Woomera Detention Center?" She handed her a newspaper. It showed pictures of what looked like a riot inside the refugee camp. Harm's frown deepened as he walked up to read the paper over Mac's shoulder. "They've gone on a hunger strike," Mac said, "Some of them have sewn their lips together, even the childrens'. And some of the teenage boys are threatening suicide!" She looked up to see Harriet's distressed face. "This just highlights the Australian's case," Harm commented. "How can you say that, Sir! These are just children!" Harriet cried. But it was Mac who replied, "What the Commander means, Lieutenant, is that the reason they turn back refugees is that they're already having a difficult time processing illegal immigrants - which this," she said, tapping the paper, "demonstrates." "Worse," Harm added, "It could appear to the Australian public that these people, who are predominantly Afghan and Iraqi Moslems, are prepared to go to any lengths; maiming, even torturing their own children, threatening suicide, unless their demands are met. After September 11, that sort of message is not the right one to be sending."   *****************   When Mac arrived in her office at HMAS Penguin late that morning, she opened her door and saw a single rose on her desk. For a fleeting moment, she thought it might have been from Harm, then she sighed. Jerot was finally making a move. But when she stepped inside, turned on the light and opened the blind, she knew instantly it was from Mic. He had once taken her to The Rocks on Argyle Street, where she had admired the gold inlaid perfection of Argyle glass, particularly the long-stemmed translucent glass rose. Mic had offered to buy it for her, but she'd declined, fearful that her bags were already over-filled with gifts. But here it was, trimmed with 24carat gold inlay along the glass leaves and stem. Beside the rose was a note. Her stomach fluttered. She glanced up to see if anyone was coming, sat and opened it. "Dear Sarah, No apology in existence can begin to express my sorrow for what I did to you. All I can hope is that one day you might learn not to hate me. Mic." "It is very beautiful," Captain Jerot said. Mac looked up, startled, then she stood from her chair. "I'm sorry Captain, I didn't hear you come in." "The door was open, and you seemed so...sad. How unusual, I thought to myself, for such a gift of beauty to bring such sadness." Mac let the folded note slip from her fingers to the desk. She gestured for Jerot to sit, saying, "What can I do for you, Captain." "A gift from the giver of the ring - or the one who now cares for it?" Mac frowned, not understanding, but before she could reply, she saw Harriet at the door and looked up gratefully. Harriet took the cue and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you Colonel, but..." she searched for a plausible excuse. Captain Jerot stood and smiling at Mac, replied, "That is quite all right lieutenant. I was just passing, I won't keep you any longer." Harriet waited until he was downstairs, then turning to Mac, said, "I don't care who he is Ma'am, that guy gives me the creeps. Bud reckons he's probably secret police or something." Mac smiled without humor. "Or something. He knows more about maritime, Indonesian and Australian law than I do." "What do you think he's really up to...oh!" Harriet cried. "It's beautiful! Did he give it to you?" "I don't know, yes it is, and no." Harriet looked at Mac and grinned slyly. "Commander Brumby. Oh, it is sooo beautiful," she added, longingly. "I sometimes wish Bud and I would have a really big fight so he'd give me something like this. I think I'd forgive him almost anything." "You mean it?" Came Bud's hopeful voice from the door. Harriet swung to face him and said, "No, but don't let that discourage you from buying me one!" Mac rolled her eyes and watched them with an amused, tolerant smile. "All right, that's enough, time for work." Bud said, "Yes Ma'am. I just came to tell you the meeting with the Attorney General has been brought forward to 1230." Mac glanced at her watch and grabbed her unopened briefcase. "We better go now, then." When they left, Harriet stood a few minutes longer, admiring the glass rose. "Lieutenant, has Colonel Mackenzie left for the Attorney General's yet?" Harm asked, stepping into the office. "Just now, Sir, with Bud. They're probably still on the Base. Do you want me to call security?" "I was going to offer them a ride. Parking is next to impossible in Macquarie St." "And the colonel only has a rental. I'll call them to wait at the entrance." She picked up the telephone and asked for security. Harm was about to leave when his eye caught the rose. Harriet saw his expression, but in her excitement, mistook it for something else. "From Commander Brumby!" she mouthed, then, "Security? It's Lieutenant..." But Harm wasn't listening. What kind of game was Brumby playing? He looked at the rose and wondered how something with no thorns could cause him so much pain.   *********************   "I never know quite know how to act at these sort of things," Bud said to Harm. Harm smiled. For someone with such an exceptional memory, Bud had a habit of getting protocol wrong. Bud had never quite grown accustomed to the idea of shorts and knee length socks as part of a uniform, but conceded it certainly beat the heat. Tonight, he had left his room dressed in his navy uniform, then saw Harm emerge in his summer whites - and hurriedly returned to his room to change. Harriet, dressed in a knee-length summer cocktail dress shot him a frustrated look. She had told him what to wear but he had been so sure. Harm smiled and said, "Don't worry, Harriet, I get confused sometimes." "When, sir?" Harm chuckled. It was easier for him; he'd grown up in Bermuda and knew how the British worked. "I've never been to so many diplomatic parties," Harriet said as they drove across the Bridge, then north, along the highway to the Premier's private home. "It can get a little wearing," Harm replied. "Just remember that these are where most of the real negotiations take place." "Just like D.C.," Bud observed. Harm nodded agreeably. "So watch your backs." Harriet looked at him sideways and said, "Yes, sir." "What it is tonight again?" Bud asked his wife. "Casual supper with the State Premier." The informal outdoor barbecue turned out to be a hundred and forty guests, the dress code and entertainment reflecting a Labour, not Liberal State government. "Think West Coast Democrat, not Republican," Harm whispered to Bud. Harm noticed Brumby arrive and although Mic sent him a friendly nod, he spent most of the evening with the Australian naval contingent. After dinner, Harm decided to rescue Mac from the attentions of Captain Jerot, by asking her to dance. "What took you so long?" she said through the fake smile she tossed at Jerot. "Last time," he said, leaning down and whispering into her ear, "you told me not to hover." He guided her onto the area set up for dancing and took her into his arms - and instantly recalled the last time they'd danced, how good she felt like this. There was no awkwardness, no stiffness in her movements, but an easy flow as she let him lead her. "I didn't mean for you to go into full retreat, either." He breathed deeply and looked at her in frustration. She looked up and asked, "What?" "Bud was right." "About what?" "Military protocol and dress regulations." She looked at him questioningly. "Since when have you had a problem with that?" "I don't, at least not with the military. Woman, however, keep changing the rule book and codes of conduct." Mac stifled a laugh, then looked up and caught his eyes. "You look beautiful, tonight, Colonel," he said in a low voice. She smiled, accepting his compliment, enjoying the feel of him holding her. "Thank you." He was about to say something more when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a nervous Brumby. "With your permission?" Brumby asked. Harm glanced at Mac. He wanted to tell Brumby to go to hell, but she slipped from his arms. Besides, there was that thing called protocol and etiquette. He smiled broadly and said, "Commander," and left to get a much needed drink. If he had turned to look, he would have seen Mac's face etched in regret. Mic said, "I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to say hello without it being followed by an 'Objection, your honor'." Despite herself, Mac smiled up at him. Harm chose that moment to look back, confirming what he feared. "We're not going to court, Mic." "Maybe not you, but one day soon, I will be." "And you're loving every minute of it, aren't you?" He looked down again and replied. "I won't deny it Sarah, I missed it back here, missed the Navy. You told me that you left once, for a short while. Remember how good it felt to get back?" She nodded. "I know. I'm glad for you Mic, really. Maybe this was the best thing, after all." The music stopped and she allowed Mic to walk her off. Then her took her arm and said, "I know I shouldn't be asking this, and you've every right to tell me to leave you alone, but...would you consider going some place to talk?" Mac stopped walking and turned to him. "About what, Mic? I thought we'd done talking." He looked devastated, but dropped her elbow. Moving away a little he replied, "You're right, of course. I'm sorry I suggested it, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable." He moved to leave, but Mac stayed him with a hand to his arm. "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mic. I'm okay with this, really." She pursed her lips and looked around. Except for the inevitable diehards around the bar, the party was breaking up. She wondered where Jerot was. "Besides," she replied, "I can't leave, I came with Captain Jerot." Brumby could see the pained look on her face. "He was called away immediately after dinner. Didn't his aides tell you?" Mac sighed in frustration. "Not that I mind." She looked up at Mic and added, "Well, maybe I could get a ride with you back to the hotel?" He grinned and taking her by the arm, walked up to the house. Inside the library, Harm, Harriet and Bud were saying goodnight to the Premier, who was discussing the worsening Woomera situation with a handful of tame political reporters. "It's an ugly situation," the Premier said. "Granted, most of these refugees just want to raise their families in peace. But a lot, too many, have brought their cultural baggage along. They cling to religious laws, with no concept that our state laws are democratic laws, whilst simultaneously holding our compassion over our heads like a modern day Damocles. Once they step foot in this country, we automatically confer them with human rights that should prevent barbaric bloody practices like female circumcision and -" "Female circumcision!" Harriet cried, interrupting him. "We say we've stamped it out, but it's getting worse, not better. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. These people come here to escape oppressive regimes and fanatical religious laws, but find our society too open, too free, and immediately impose less fanatical but equally undemocratic laws on their own people, especially their women. Assimilation is never easy, and none of us want them to abandon their culture, but they want to play in our sandbox, they do so by our rules, or go find somewhere else to live. They cannot pick and chose which laws suit them and impose their conditions on us. We'll bend over backwards to help them, but they have to give a little, too." Harm was only half listening. The Australians were taking a beating from a dozen international humanitarian organizations, and U.N. representatives. They were naturally feeling a little hypersensitive. But his attention was elsewhere. He watched Mic and Mac say goodnight to the Premier's wife, then walk down the driveway to Mic's car. "I'm sorry?" he turned to Bud. "Are you ready to go, Sir?" "Yeah, sure." Mac sat quietly in the car as Mic drove. It was up to him to talk, after all, that's what he wanted, but he said nothing until they were half way across the Bridge. "You looked stunning tonight, Sarah, Did you buy that dress with Harriet at Manly yesterday?" Mac smiled and looked down. Mic was such a contrast. His voice and mannerisms belied a surprising sensitivity. "I should have thanked you sooner for the rose, Mic. It's lovely, but I should also return it to you." "Please, don't. You deserve a lot more than that, Sarah." "Like a chance to understand why you walked out on me without even discussing it?" Mic shook his head as he turned off the Bridge and headed East. "I should have fought for you a lot harder." "You never had to fight for me, Mic. You already had me." "Maybe I should have been contented with that - more than contented, but I wanted you to love me as much as I loved you." Mac laughed in disbelief. "You had all I could give, Mic. I told you that last week." Mic turned off the main road, then did a U-turn and stopped out the front of the Sebel. The doorman opened Mac's door. "Thanks for the ride, Mic," Mac said as she began to step out, but Mic reached for her hand and said, "Let me buy you a coffee?" She hesitated, but then nodded. Maybe it was better to talk it through so they could have more closure than a look of pain and loss at an airport terminal. "One coffee." There was plenty of parking on the street, just a few meters away. Mic parked the car just past the entrance, then came back and took her by the elbow as they went inside. Neither noticed Ensign Unsworth drive into the entrance. Harriet and Bud were busy talking, but Harm saw Mac and Brumby walk inside. And he noticed Mic's car parked a short distance away. He numbly got out of the car and turning to Unsworth said, "That'll be all, Ensign, thanks." "Goodnight, Sirs, Ma'am. 0830 tomorrow?" For a brief moment, Harm wondered what the Indonesians would think if they knew their lead council was spending the night with Australia's lead council. So much for appearances, Mac. But he shook it off. It was none of his business. "That'll be fine, Ensign, goodnight." Harriet and Bud waited for him at the elevator. He said nothing as he walked in. As he turned to face the front, Harriet frowned and motioned something to Bud, who shrugged. Harriet pursed her lips. Something had happened at the Premier's to upset the Commander. He'd been quiet the entire drive back. But it wasn't just that. On some level, Harriet felt his pain. Whether it was the set of his shoulders or that little lost boy look he sometimes got, she had no idea what had caused it. The elevator stopped at their floor and Harriet went to say something to Harm, but smiled hesitatingly and wished him goodnight. Maybe he just needed a good night's sleep. Harm walked into his suite, pulling off his jacket as he went. He could smell a lingering trace of perfume on it. He swallowed and hung it in the closet. And that's when he heard their voices. Nothing specific, just a muffled feminine voice, and Brumby's deeper one. He stood frozen; then he went to the closet and yanked his jacket back out again. He might be a lot of things, but a masochist wasn't one of them. There was no way he was going to spend the night in that room while inches away, Mac and Brumby... He closed his eyes, willing the images gone. Muffled sounds. He was only human if he stayed, his imagination would fill in the blanks; God, this was infinitely worse than the times she'd been with Brumby before. He refused to entertain that form of self-destructive voyeurism, and left.    ******************     The Tampa 16 of Mac handed her ex-fiancÈ the cup, then walked through her bedroom and out onto the balcony. "Great view," Mic said, joining her. Mac smiled. "I missed Australia." "Would you ever consider coming back? To work, I mean," he added quickly. "Bud is due to be shipped out soon. I think he'd like it here." "What about Harriet, how would she cope knowing about our beaches?" Mac laughed and sipped her coffee. Mic said, "And you didn't answer my first question." Mac smiled and turning to him, replied, "I think you answered it for me." "What do you mean?" She leaned back against the balcony rail, met his eyes and added, "You were right. On one level, I wanted someone who loved me, someone who adored me just as you did. I wanted a successful relationship, just as we all do. But maybe I... Maybe you were also right when you said that you wore me down - with love and kindness," she added quickly. "But when you left I think I realized that being loved isn't enough, no matter how wonderful you were to me, for me. "I thought that I'd used the Marine Corps as a cripple might use a crutch, and that with it, I could get married and have children and it would all be okay. When you left, I...What got me through it was work. And it made me realize that I wasn't just using the Marine Corps as a crutch. I love this job. I couldn't give it up again, for anyone. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a wife and a mother. Maybe all I am and all I'm ever going to be is a Marine and a lawyer. But I'm beginning to accept that about myself, Mic, that I don't need a man to define me or my life." She turned to face him and added, "I'm not afraid to say this is the life I want, and I enjoy it, and I don't need to feel that I'm waiting for something better to come along." "You mean, like Harm." "I don't consider Harm better than you, Mic. And no, I'm not waiting for Harm. In many ways, Harm has more emotional baggage than I do." He shrugged. "When RenÈe left him, I figured that cleared the way - " "What do you mean, when RenÈe left him?" She interrupted. "You...didn't know?" "I..." she rolled her lips inside her mouth. But she couldn't lie to Mic outright. "I...no. But then, I guess it's about time for him to find a new model." "Are you like his about all of his girlfriends?" "I'm not like *anything* about his girlfriends. RenÈe...just didn't understand Harm. Not that she didn't try," she added hastily. "But it's like I said, Harm has a lot of emotional baggage and he doesn't want to burden anyone, especially his girlfriends, with that. He just wants to enjoy having them around. They want more and when they can't have it, they either leave, or like RenÈe, try too hard instead of letting him do it in his own time." There was something wrong with that statement, something that struck a chord, but she couldn't quite grasp it. "He opens up to you. All those long night under the Antarctic ice." "We were on different submarines, Mic." She replied exasperated. "Not the first time." "No, the first time we were ready to strangle each other, but our murderer almost got in first. I was...dead...and Harm literally breathed life into me." Brumby frowned. She hadn't told him about *that*. "And the only reason he opens up to me is that we've known each other so long, and we've been in situations where, well, it was inevitable. That's what friendship is about, Mic." "So you don't think that lovers - wives and husbands - should have that kind of friendship?" "Of course I do! But you can't instantly create a history for yourselves, that's something that comes in time and if you love each other and want to be together, of course that's going to happen. But you can't pretend, *I* won't pretend, that the shared history I have with Harm just vanishes. Besides, this isn't about Harm or RenÈe..." but she trailed off, then turned and asked, "How did you know? Did Harm tell you?" "RenÈe wrote me. She's marrying a mortician, with a degree in embalming would you believe?" He couldn't hide the humor in his voice. "You're kidding, right?" Mac looked at him in disbelief. "Nope. Their house backs right onto the funeral parlor." "RenÈe...I would never have...imagined." Then she started to chuckle. He downed the last of his coffee. "Me neither. But then again, I don't think you blokes ever saw past her looks. RenÈe was good people. All she ever wanted was what any of us wants, to be loved by the person she loved." Mac walked back inside. "So what is it that you want, Mic? For me to say I forgive you, that I still love you?" "Can you?" "My uncle once told that every experience is a good one, even the bad ones, because if you use them instead of letting them use you, you're a better person for it. When you left me, I realized a lot of things about myself. What I wanted, what I didn't want." Mac knew she was repeating herself, but the question kept going around in her mind. Had RenÈe left before or after she asked Harm if he was willing to give her up? Why didn't he tell me? Because RenÈe was his excuse not to commit to me? Or because he didn't want me to think he was only turning to me because RenÈe had left him? But he did turn to you, did he? And you walked away. She shook her head. "Can I forgive you? I...don't know Mic. Probably yes, when my ego feels less shattered. Maybe it is better this way. Or just...different, a new road, or the realization that the roads we both chose in our careers were the right ones, after all, and that loving someone isn't enough." He smiled uncertainly and said, "Fair enough. Thanks for being straight with me." Then he put down his cup and went to the door. Mac followed and squeezed his arm gently as he opened it. Mic turned, a look of longing and sadness on his face. "You're a good man, Mic Brumby," Mac said, smiling regretfully. "I wish I could have been the sort of person you thought I was." "You still are," he said, walking out. He turned and added, "I never stopped loving you, Sarah Mackenzie. I don't think I ever will." Then he left. Harm sat back in the corner of the bar and closed his eyes; the bourbon in front of him hardly touched. He was not a solo drinker, but the last thing he needed was company. The hotel bar was all but empty; the music was low and the lights dim. It was a good place to think. Although right now, that was a dangerous occupation, because the inevitable images surfaced. Brumby and Mic. How many times did he have to beat himself up over this? He thought back to that night on Chegwidden's' porch. They'd finally, openly shown their feelings for one another. Well, he'd grabbed her and kissed her with a kind of desperation he'd never felt before. And the look on her face, afterwards... He snorted and downed his drink. What did love have to do with it? It was like his goddamned flying. By the time he got back into the saddle, it was too late to make a career of it. That hadn't been so bad, because he could still fly. But losing Mac... It was like having a knife twisted in his guts, over an over, and he just couldn't seem to do anything about it because his damned timing sucked. He closed his eyes again until he felt someone nearby. "You want another?" The barman asked, gesturing to Harm's empty glass as he tidied up nearby tables. "If you make it a coffee," Harm replied. "How 'bout making that two?" A.J. Chegwidden asked. Harm shot out of his chair, nearly knocking it backwards. The barman's eyebrows lifted in surprise until Harm said, "Admiral, Sir! I'm sorry, I didn't see you." Then Harm's eyebrows furrowed and he added, "When did you get in, Sir?" "As you were, Commander." To the bartender, Chegwidden said, "And bring me a bourbon, too. I could use one after that flight." When the barman left, Chegwidden sat in the opposite chair and said, "Tiner got me on an earlier Air Force transport flight. So tell me, Commander, what are you doing down here at," he checked his watch, "almost midnight?" "Having a coffee, Sir." Chedwiggen eyed the younger man. Rabb looked like he'd just lost his best friend. "How's the Colonel?" He saw a brief flash of intense pain in Rabb's eyes. "Fine, Sir." Uh, huh. "Off the record, I wasn't happy sending Mac out here. I can't say I ever took much of a liking to Brumby. I've known a lot of Australian naval officers and he's just not in the same..." "Class?" Harm finished. He sat back as the Admiral's drink arrived. "He's a damned fine lawyer, but the way he left Mac..." Chegwidden shook his head. "I still can't figure that one." "Maybe he knew he was outclassed, Sir." Chegwidden drank, watching Rabb over the rim of his glass. He put the glass back down and said, "Better to realize that before the wedding." "That's what I said to Mac, Sir," Harm replied. "Although I don't think she would agree with you." "What are you saying, Commander, that they've...reconnected?" "I couldn't say, Sir." But the look on his face sure did. Chegwidden almost groaned; he knew his officers had adjoining rooms - and it explained why Rabb was down here. Not that he could blame Mac, but did she have to rub her partner's nose in it? Couldn't they have gone to Brumby's place instead? Or was it Brumby doing the rubbing? A.J. Chegwidden had always tried to maintain a distant relationship with the men and woman who served under him. It was a necessary to maintain discipline and respect in the chain of command. But of all the men who had ever served with him, he had admired Harmon Rabb the most. And Sarah Mackenzie, well, Brumby was right: they were all just a little bit in love with her. He glanced at Rabb. Some of us more deeply than others. The military placed men and women together in life or death situations, where bonds were forged more powerful than any marriage. But it also prevented those same men and women from carrying that bonding to its ultimate conclusion. There were exceptions, of course. Bud and Harriet were prime examples, and while there had been times when *all* of their personal lives infringed onto their work, the fact that Bud and Harriet were married had a more stabilizing influence in the office than he would have expected. A.J. wasn't blind. Sometimes the tension between his two best officers was so palpable; you could cut it with a knife. And the tension wasn't always because they were adversarial. Like right now. He figured he'd know the moment these two crossed that shaky barrier. In fact, he thought it an inevitability and had developed a strategy to deal with it. It was, after all, at his discretion and being from different branches of the military, it allowed him enormous latitude. But both Rabb and Mackenzie had maintained that strict rule of military conduct. He snorted. "Sir?" Harm said. "I was just thinking that one of the few times you haven't broken some damned regulation or other is the only time I've worked out how to accommodate it." Harm frowned. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't follow." A.J. sat back and held Harm's eyes. "I'd hate to see Colonel Mackenzie make the same mistake again." "Neither would I, Sir, but her personal life has nothing to do with me." "Nor me, but I'd hate for any of the people under me to think they'd have to give up a fine career to be with someone they loved." "I don't believe it was the Colonel's intention to leave JAG once she married." "Intent, no, but the possibility was raised." Harm frowned at the Admiral. It was totally out of character for him to be discussing personnel issues...unless... A.J. stirred his coffee and added, "I've use my discretionary privileges as an admiral to keep Bud and Harriet together. Now that's created a precedent, one that's proved eminently workable, I see fewer problems if the issue were to come up again, especially when it involved different...branches of the military." "Perhaps the Colonel would appreciate you mentioning that, Sir." Harm said, not quite believing what he was hearing. Chegwidden smiled, then ignoring his coffee, stood and said, "Well, I better be getting some sleep, Commander." Harm stood and left with him, still not sure he believed the conversation that had just taken place. Although it certainly applied to Mac and Mic, it could equally apply to... No, it was too late for that. He glanced out through the double glass doors as he pressed the elevator button. Brumby's car was gone. How long had he been in the bar, two hours, almost three? Enough time for...but Mac had the sense not to let Brumby spend the night. They exited the same floor. It turned out that the admiral had the suite next to Harm's. "Goodnight, Admiral," he said as he opened his door, glad that no early morning noises from Mac's room would send his imagination into over-drive. "Now that I'm here, I'll relieve you of your responsibilities as an advisor. That leaves you free to assist the Colonel in tackling the Australians head on. My suggestion to you, is to consider your tactics well. Good night, Commander."   ***************************     Despite his resolution the night before, Harm woke up with a feeling of uncertainty. He had not right to interfere with Mac's happiness. If she wanted Brumby...dammit! Brumby had his chance once. If Mac was stupid enough to put herself through that again... He heard her thumping around in the next room and, picking up his runners, walked out of the bedroom and around to the connecting door. A brief sally entered his thoughts and he grinned. Opening the door onto a naked Mac was a very appealing fantasy. He knocked and called, "You decent in there?" "Yeah! C'mon in!" she called as she sat on the couch and pulled on her runners. Harm opened the door carefully and looked around. "Hey there," he said, smiling. "Feel like a partner?" "Only if you don't mind a third party." Harm's face froze. "Sure." Mac's eyes were teasing. "The Admiral called me a few minutes ago. We've been training together for the JAGathon and he asked me to show him around this morning." The relief in Harm's eyes was clear. "Why, who did you think I meant?" "Bud maybe?" Mac rolled her eyes and laughed. "Harriet, *maybe*." Harm walked in, sat beside her and pulled on his own shoes. "He arrived late last night. Just keeping us on our toes." "Did he call you this morning?" Mac asked as they left. "I saw him when he came in." She frowned and turned to him as they went downstairs. Harm gestured to the bar door. "What time did he arrive?" "Around midnight." She looked at him questioningly as they walked across the road to the park. "I was having a coffee," Harm added. "In the bar? At midnight?" Her eyes were skeptical. But then she put it together. "What time did you get back from dinner?" "Just after you. Good morning, Admiral," he added as Chegwidden arrived. Mac turned to him, the frustration on her face evident. Did he really think that she and Mic...? But her anger turned hollow in her stomach. She'd given him no reason to think otherwise. On occasion, when their balcony doors were open, she could make out muffled voices in Harm's suite. She smiled and said, "Good morning Admiral, how was the flight, Sir?" "It was a military transport, Colonel," Chegwidden replied flatly. Harm had heard her and Brumby talking and... he had gone down to the bar. Why? Because he couldn't stand the thought of them being together, or because, officer and a gentleman that he was... She glanced at his face and saw the controlled indifference she had seen the morning after her engagement party, when he had told her was glad she was happy...even if it was with Brumby. Damn him! Harm was a runner, not a jogger. He would hold back just to keep her company. She wanted to rail at him, but equally, she knew him too well to be angry at anyone but herself. They talked about the case as they ran down to the bay. Harm spent most of it briefing the Admiral while Mac listened to his considered analysis. How was she going to tell him that Brumby...that what? What did she want, anyway? Certainly not Mic; she realized now what a mistake that had been. But in her heart, she liked and respected Mic - for all that he had done, and not done, even if it had been painful at the time. Sometimes it really was just best to walk away. RenÈe had left Harm but he hadn't told her. Why? There were too many questions here, too many assumptions, by all of them. She needed to back off and start afresh. They all did, just as she had said to Harm the morning before. "I'm sorry, Sir?" she replied to Chegwidden's question. "Are we boring you, Colonel?" he asked somewhat amusedly. "No Sir, I'm just not in top form this morning." He chuckled. "Too many diplomatic parties, Major?" She smiled. "Too much Captain Jerot. He keeps asking me to these things. I'm hoping now that the Commander is on my team, he'll - " "Oh, no you don't," Harm replied, chuckling. "He's not my type." Her eyebrows lifted and she laughed. "He's not mine, either. I was just hoping I can attend them with you or the Admiral instead." Harm looked her he and replied teasingly, "It'll cost you." She rolled her eyes, but smiled. She also noticed a self-satisfied smile on Chegwidden's face.   ************************   Admiral A.J. Chegwidden looked around at the seated members of the steering committee. He was no fool, he had played political poker most of his adult life. The first rule he'd learned was never to bluff but always let the other side think you would. That way, win or lose, he always won. Commander Harmon Rabb Jnr. followed in those footsteps, something Chegwidden had always admired. Turner played by the book, and he might just be the JAG one day, but Chegwidden doubted he would last long. The politics and moral compromises would destroy him. Rabb, however, had an uncanny knack cobbled to a touch of brilliance and not a small amount of luck. Such qualities were more important than being merely an excellent naval officer. And he liked bourbon. The compromises Rabb had worked out were a case in point. Unfortunately, the politicians would no doubt nibble them to death, rendering them into mediocrity. But the men and woman who examined them now knew that JAG wasn't just a bunch of mealy-mouthed lawyers in sailor suits. He eyed the politician whose unfortunate quote had been used as a headliner for one of the Australian papers that morning. "As we all know, ladies and gentlemen," Chegwidden added. "The situation is complicated by escalating crisis in the Middle East." "That has nothing to do with it Admiral," the Norwegian lawyer replied. "This is about refugees in Australian waters being denied entry. What's happening in Palestine today has no bearing on our deliberations here regarding the rescue of refugees at sea." Palestine, huh, well that told him where the Norwegians sat. "With all due respect," Commander Mic Brumby said, "we may be on the other side of the planet, but we're not living in a vacuum, Sir. If this is just about the *Tampa* then why is the UN involved? It's because what is decided by this tribunal will have a direct bearing on the future status of refugees." "Especially those who are Moslem," replied Captain Jerot. "One law for Moslems, another for Christians, yes?" Brumby sat back and said, "Maybe it's time we stopped tap-dancing around this issue. Maybe if we confront it head on, we might actually make some progress." He glanced around the room. Chegwidden and Rabb shot him warning looks, but he sat forward and said, "You keep saying this isn't about 9-11, because it happened before 9-11. But the truth is we all knew 9-11 was coming. Not the specifics," he added quickly, "but the reality. It was never a question of if, but when and how. "I'm sure most of you in this room know, one way or another, the number of foiled attempts by terrorists against Western, particularly U.S. targets. I'm not at liberty to discuss them, but anyone here who thinks 9-11 was the first ever large scale attempt is sadly mistaken, or naïve to the point where they should not be here." A couple of people went to object, but Chegwidden held up his hand and Brumby continued, "Nobody wants a war against Islam, we, and I mean those of us who live under Western democratic principles, just want to stop barbaric regimes that spoon feed terrorism. And most Moslems," he said staring pointedly at Captain Jerot, "arguably suffer more from the hands of these same barbaric regimes and the terrorism they foster, than any western nation. That's not an unsubstantiated allegation, but a cold, hard fact, because this is exactly what's driving these poor bloody refugees out of there own countries! Without that, we wouldn't have refugees to content with! "But it hasn't stopped even moderate Moslems from siding against the West. Why? Because it hasn't stopped their perception of the West as a barbaric and evil form of life that undermines the very tenets of Islam. Each side," he added, "believes the other is evil. And each side says, if you're not with us, you're against us. So, whom do the moderates choose? A society they see as morally bankrupt that teaches women it's all right to bed any man she chooses without the sanctity of marriage, to forgo religion in favor of Hollywood and the Superbowl? Or the more fanatical aspects of their own culture, one that directs their discontent with their own meager lives into a rage against those of us who flaunt our materialistic wealth? "You're right. We're not here to discuss Israel's incursion into Palestine, or suicide bombers. We're here to decide how to respond to refugees found in sinking boats in international waters, when no country, not even their own, wants them. We're here because the majority of these countries are Moslem and thus, the people fleeing from them are Moslem. We didn't make it that way, they did. We want to be humanitarian, but we will not have our inherent compassion turned against us. We will not accept, carte blanc, anyone into this country without background checks, because none of you here, not one of you, have the right to demand that we make ourselves vulnerable to the sort of attack that occurred on 9-11. We have measures in place to stop that, and so far, thanks to the grace of God, we've prevented such actions. But believe me, they've been tried. Now," he added, glancing down at Harm's proposals, "We agree that some of these proposals offer workable solutions, but the details are overly simplistic." Mic's words had left most of the room in shock. A half a dozen went to deny his allegations, but they stopped themselves. Australians were too brash, too forthright to be diplomats. Children, let loose in an adult world without the temperance or tact necessary to deal with such delicate matters. Too damned honest for their own good. Chegwidden, Mac and Harm looked at Brumby. He was rough and abrasive, and he'd just hammered the truth home to everyone sitting there. Mac began to smile. Mic knew his cultural weaknesses and played on them. This was the man she had come to admire and love. Maybe she was never in love with him, but her admiration just hiked up a notch or two. Bravo, Mic. As the meeting broke up in the afternoon, Harm said to Mic, "Artfully contrived, Commander." He smiled humorlessly. "Who said it was contrived? I'm sick to death of Australians being held up as the bad guys." "I am reminded," Captain Jerot said as he approached the men, Mac walking beside him, "of the way the British once described American diplomacy." "Oh, and what would that be, Captain?" Brumby asked. Behind Jerot, he could see Mac exchanging worried looks with Harm. "America," Jerot said, "is like a big friendly dog in a very small room. Whenever it wags its tail, it knocks over the furniture. You, Commander, have been spending too much time with the Americans, whilst they are learning to be less....friendly." He smiled up at Mac and added, "Of course, there are exceptions, ones who understand finesse, for which I am most grateful. Good day," he said and smiling bowed to Mac and left.   ***************   Harm woke, disturbed by something he couldn't explain. He lay still for a moment, trying to discern if anyone was in the room with him. But no, it was coming from outside - the balcony. He heard a sob and muffled cry that sounded like, "Liliana!" He'd spent a lot of nights with Mac over the years, and although she'd occasionally mumble in her sleep, he'd never known her to suffer nightmares. But that's what this sounded like. He opened the door to her suite, but hesitated as he went to her bedroom. Although he had not consciously thought about it the last few days, there was a possibility that Brumby could be there. But at her bedroom door, it was light enough to see her rumbled bedclothes and Mac, clad in lightweight pajama shorts and a singlet top, huddled against a pillow. She was fighting...something. Then she cried out again, "Harm! Help me!" "Mac! I'm here," he said, going to her. He took her hand, but she lashed out at him and sat upright in one swift motion. "No!" she cried. "Don't...I'll kill you!" "Mac, wake up. It's me, Harm!" If he tried to restrain her, dream or not, her instincts would take over and one or both of them would get hurt. But she had opened her eyes and staring blindly at him for a moment, grasped him. He pulled her into his arms and stroking her, whispered, "You were having a nightmare, it's okay now." He kept whispering, "It's okay, I'm here," until her shudders subsided. Her hair was damp and her skin, cold and clammy. Was she ill, too? He tried to recall what they'd had for dinner. Oysters. Maybe she was having a bad reaction. "Bad one, huh?" he said momentarily. "I...I was in Aceh. I had to get Liliana; I couldn't just leave her there, Harm! I...ran back for her, but there was mortar fire and one hit the chopper, taking it out. Oh God Harm, if I *had* gone back for her, that might have happened; they were getting our range, fast." "And that's why you made the right decision, no matter how painful it was, Mac." "No...yes...no you don't understand!" He words ran together. "I...was returning fire. I hit at least one man, in the chest and he fell back. But as the mortars exploded, I could see the look on his face. It was like....like that poacher who tried..." "I know," he said holding her and rocking her, "I know Mac. You had no choice. But this time, it wasn't just self defense, you were doing your job, just like you'd been trained, and you did it well." But he saw her tears and her haunted eyes. "There's more, isn't there?" He asked gently. "What is it?" But she shook her head. "He...they reached me this time. And it was the same smell and...feel of that poacher when he was lying on top of me, when he tried to...I didn't call for you because I knew I could handle him alone. But this time...this time others held me down...the others running to the helo...but I knew you knew exactly where I was and I..." He eased around until he was sitting against the bed-head, her body curled against his, her head resting on his chest, his arms supporting her. His stokes became a gentle massage along her back. Dreams twisted reality into nightmares. But when the reality was already a nightmare... "Has anyone...have you ever been..?" She nodded slowly. "But I wouldn't call it rape, he was just in a stupid, drunken..." Harm gulped and his eyes opened wide. "Your...father!?" he whispered in horror. But she quickly shook her head. "No! No, nothing like that. It was...some guys...I was so far out of it I almost couldn't have cared less." She didn't want him to see how ugly she was, but he had seen most of the ugliness that defined her life. Why not this, too? "But I didn't want that to happen, so they held me down. On one level, it was rape, just not the sort you could prosecute. You see, on another level, I can't say I felt I deserved it, but it contributed to my perception of myself and I was sooo drunk, it just didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing did. I told you once when I'd reached rock bottom, well, what I didn't tell you is what happened just before the accident. Eddie...he got me out, away, and then...then he was dead." As he held her, he wondered how she dealt with it now, when she was with a man. He must have whispered it, or perhaps she had guessed, because she sniffed and touching his right hand said, "I've seen you use this hand to kill a man, Harm. But I've also watched it calm a frightened child, caress a woman. I have nothing to fear from a hand, your hand, because I know you're incapable of using it to hurt me...any woman that way." She looked up into his eyes and added. "I'm not that person any more, Harm. That's why that poacher bothered me so much. I was close enough to remember how ugly it could be, but distant enough for it never to affect me in a normal relationship...And then Aceh..." she looked back down as she shuddered. "I...thought that as a Marine I could get through it more easily. And I can, but..." "It's a normal reaction, Mac. You know as well as I, that a lot of POWs are raped. Then there's the hazing we've investigated, and on board ships. I sometimes think that as horrific as an experience as it must be, on one level, women are psychologically better at reconciling rape than men. Jordan once told me that very few male rape victims remain in the forces. Many woman, however, somehow get past it and get on with lives. That kind of personal fortitude..." he shook his head in admiration. "Woman are a lot stronger than men in so many ways." He remembered how ill he'd felt when Palmer had been spying on him, the things Palmer had told him while he was tied up in the kitchen. How Palmer had watched him in bed, watched him in the bathroom, showering, washing himself. And the way Palmer had touched him, the insinuations he had made about his lack of love life. Mind games, verbal rape. If that's what it took for Palmer to get his jollies, he said, well fine, I didn't affect him one bit. But it had. And Palmer knew it, and played on it. One good thing had come out of it; it gave him an emotional glimpse of what women had to put up with on a regular basis. But that wasn't what Mac needed to hear. "I haven't been in a combat situation yet where I didn't have sleepless nights second guessing every move I made, Mac. They ingrain it into us in the Academy, to review every battle from different perspectives. It's what we're trained &emdash; what you're trained to do. And now you know you made the right decisions to kill, both times. "Killing is never easy Mac. No matter what the circumstances, it stinks. But some are harder than others. Ever have nightmares after shooting that drug dealer?" She shook her head no. "Well, there you go. He was a scumbag, but more importantly, you were protecting me. Same in Aceh, you were protecting those you were trained to protect, and you did your job. But when it's only yourself you're protecting, you always think, what if I'd done something different? Like that poacher. Or the little girl on Aceh. You felt guilty because you couldn't protect her, too. But the consequences would have been far worse." Mac nodded, recalling Chegwidden's words. "Thank you, Dr. Rabb. Jordan tell you that?" "Some. As I said, I've had few bad nights myself. And I've called out for you once or twice, because you're my partner, because I trust you to look after my six." And I called out to you when I was freezing to death after that last bailout. Funny, he hadn't thought of RenÈe at all, just Mac. She squeezed his hand gratefully; glad she didn't have to explain, or that he would take it the wrong way. As Mic had. "Did Jordan understand that?" But she knew the answer; Jordan had told her. "And not RenÈe either, huh?" she asked tiredly. Harm's chest was so warm, and it smelled right. And it felt right. And his arms comforted her. She closed her eyes and let his soothing ministrations lull her. "No," he said softly. "Not RenÈe, either." He glanced down at her. Her soft, rhythmic breathing told him she had fallen sleep. This wasn't the first time he lay holding her as they slept. Whether the injury was physical or psychological made no difference. It had nothing to do with whatever was between them, and everything to do with their being partners who had learned to trust one other, to back each other up when facing a common adversary, be it in the courtroom, or a less civilized battle ground. But that didn't stop him enjoying the feel of her, the smell and touch of her. It had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with affection, and love. After a time, he slept. Just before dawn, Harm woke, a little stiff from sitting upright in bed. Mac was still curled beside him with her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around his waist. He smiled and looked down at her. She looked so small, almost waif-like - an illusion fostered by his male hormones. She was a well-trained Marine who could hold her own against a man twice her weight. Her nightmare wasn't a weakness, but a strength, a way of working through events that would seem like a distant memory when she woke. Her calling his name reassured him that no matter how rocky their relationship, she instinctually trusted him above all others. He reached behind for the pillow and slid it under her head as he moved away, then stood from the bed. He pulled the sheet over her, then returned to his own suite. The first rays of red-yellow sunlight shone through the open balcony door. The air was cooler and crisper than the past few mornings. Maybe he would run east today. Mac felt her head being moved; then the sheet pulled over her. She slowly opened her eyes to see him leaving. For a brief moment, she forget why he was there, but then memories of the dream returned. Any residual trace of fear vanished as she remembered his gentle reassurance. She rolled over and smelled him in her pillow. So like Harm to be there without making a fuss. Mic had doted on her, but sometimes too much, unable to accept the fact that she was not utterly dependent on him. And that, of course, was why he had left, because she could not turn to him when she needed comfort. Strange, she had never re-lived that drunken night, never really let it affect her, perhaps because the ensuing car accident had weighed far more heavily on her soul. But she he had re-lived that poacher's nightmare before, and called out Harm's name before. It had happened soon after she had put Mic's engagement ring on her left hand. That's when Mic's antipathy towards Harm change to one of troubled uncertainty. As a woman and a Marine, she was not unaccustomed to fielding everything from subtle innuendoes to outright sexism. But something about Mic's self-assuredness had appealed to her, until she found herself taken by his guileless attentions. In the last few days, she had seen Mic's self-assurance return, but other traits she had once found endearing were now tiring. She might be able to forgive him, but he knew as well as her that they could never be a couple again. She shook it off and changed into gym clothes. She had arranged to meet the Admiral in the hotel gym. The ex-Seal could give her a darned good workout. "Morning, Colonel," Chegwidden said as he added weights to the bench press. "Sir." Chegwidden turned and did a double take. "You okay, Mac?" She smiled. "I didn't sleep too well." Chegwidden frowned. "Nightmares?" Mac lifted her lower lip in a regretful smile. "You warned me the feeling never goes away." He breathed deeply, then motioned for her to go first. "Keep away from oysters. They always give me nightmares." Mac smiled. "Thank you Sir, I will." As they worked through their circuit, they discussed the current case, then the Admiral said, "Bud and Harriet seem to like it here. I like it, too. Australia wouldn't be a bad assignment for a JAG officer." "Why," she asked, laughing. "Are you thinking of sending Bud here?" "Well," he replied casually, "I'd hate to lose them, but Bud needs the experience outside of Washington. When you and Brumby were engaged, I was thinking of offering it to you, once you came back from your honeymoon." Mac wiped the sweat from her face. "I had the impression you thought I wouldn't stay in JAG forever." He smiled. "I wanted you to give it some thought." "With Australia as a carrot?" She said, pretending to glare at him. "I won't deny it," he replied. "I don't like losing good people, Colonel. Especially when those people have seen what it's like outside and decided JAG is the better choice." "But not a fallback position," she replied, grinning as she recalled Harm's words. "Definitely not," he replied, pretending severity. "I know I've stalled my career at JAG, at least with the current SecNav but y'know what? I don't mind as much as I should. It means I can get away with a hell of a lot more than someone who's constantly watching their political butt. Take Bud and Harriet working in the same office. If Harriet had studied law and passed her bar exams, I'd have a married couple not just working in the same office, but on investigations together, or opposing each other in the courtroom, not just as research assistants." "Which wouldn't be allowed, Sir." "Happens in private law firms every day." "That's different, Sir." "Is it?" Chegwidden asked. "Military justice allows far more flexibility than civilian law. You'd be surprised how much an admiral can get away with, Colonel, just so long as the people under him or her demonstrate an ability to work regardless of personal attachments. And I don't know many good officers, especially JAG officers, who don't put work above their personal feelings." He stood from the machine and added, "Which bring me to Brumby. I have to say, Colonel, that I admire the civility you've been showing him these last few days. Very professional of you, you're to be commended." Mac looked at him oddly, but his eyes were closed as he concentrated on the weights. She had learned to read Chegwidden's cypticisms, but unless she was mistaken, then entire conversation wasn't about her and Mic, it was about... "Sir, Colonel," Harm said as he walked into the gym, sweat beading across his forehead. His sleeveless shirt was saturated from the run. Chegwidden stood and grabbed his towel. "Commander. You going to work out after the run?" Harm smiled and shook his head as he put his hands on his hips. "Just a cool down, Sir." But he caught Mac's odd look. Her lip was doing funny things again.   *************************   Four days, thought Chegwidden. Four days to discuss relatively straightforward proposals, multiplied by the number of people who thought their opinions counted. Was there some sort of inversely proportional law that dictated the number of people involved in a discussion, the desired outcome, and the time taken multiplied exponentially? He'd have to get Bud to do some research on it. Then again, maybe not, it could well mean he would be there for weeks. "How's the admiral holding up?" Brumby asked as he stood outside Mac's office door. She looked up and smiled. "I think he's decided that being JAG is the pinnacle of his political aspirations Brumby laughed. "Wise man." He took a step inside, hoping she would invite him to sit down. "What about your ambitions, what do you aspire to?" Mac smiled, "A weekend in the sun, to clear the cobwebs from my brain!" He took another step, then placed a hand on the chair opposite her desk. "Good idea. Why don't you come across to Manly with us on Sunday?" "Us?" "Yeah. Last race of this competition. I'll be on a boat called the *Farrside*." Mac rolled her eyes. "Figures." "And Harm's gonna be on *Seafarrer*. The boats are named after the designer, Bruce Farr." "So you two will be racing one another." Her eyes lit with interest and she sat forward. "You bet. He beat us last Sunday, won the damned race, but he's still behind us on points overall." Mac blinked. That explained why Harm had been celebrating. And she had interfered. Well, not this time. "I...I'm going to be tied up here, Mic." "C'mon, Mac" Harm said as he walked into her office. "You haven't taken a day of since you got here. With me helping your case now - " "I took last Sunday off," she replied, wondering why they were ganging up on her. "Let's face it, Mac, there's not a whole lot more we can do except encourage Jerot every time Brumby here opens his mouth and sticks his foot in." "Thank you very much!" Mic replied, but he was still grinning. "C'mon Sarah, how 'bout it? There's room on my boat." Mac looked at Harm. "I...don't know. Maybe I should remain on the sidelines, stay impartial." Mic looked at her, a flash of regret crossing his face. "Yeah, maybe you're right, that's the best way to be." "And what's this you're being impartial about?" A.J. Chegwidden said as he passed her office and looked in. "Yacht racing - sailboats," Brumby said, turning. "You should come too, Admiral. The Yacht Club Commodore would love to have a genuine admiral do the honors of presenting the cup - to my crew," he quipped, winking at Sarah. "You're crew, Brumby? I thought you were just a winch man!" Harm replied, his eyebrows raised and his arms crossed. "Most critical position on the boat," he replied, grinning smugly. "Anyone can drive the thing." "All right, gentlemen, can we please take the testosterone out of my office? If I'm going to come on Sunday, I need to get some work done," Mac said sternly. Chegwidden grinned and left. This would be worth watching. Harriet was jumping up and down cheering while Bud was trying to restrain her. Chegwidden had binoculars to his face and Mac just stood watching, a smile on hers. She almost regretted not taking up Mic's offer to crew. It looked like fun, but she was no sailor and watching the well-oiled team work in the small cockpit, was glad she wasn't getting in the way. The two lead boats, *Seafarrer* and *Farrside* were only seconds apart, but *Farrside* had the right of way on this leg of the tacking duel. All she had to do was keep going and even if *Seafarrer* crossed the line first, she'd place overall third on handicap. Then Chegwidden cried, "Oh no!" Mac's smile vanished and she asked, "What is it, Sir?" He frowned and looking carefully, replied, "I think they're using running back stays, and by the looks of it, one of them's broken." "On which boat, Sir?" Bud asked anxiously. "Brumby's." "What does that mean, Sir?" Harriet asked. She couldn't see anything different from this angle. Both boats appeared to be moving equally fast across the harbor. "It means if the skipper has any sense, he'll withdraw from the race. If he changes tack with a broken backstay, he could snap his mast." *Seafarrer* tacked again. Seconds passed, then a minute, but *Farrside* remained on the same tack. "He's trying to repair it, staying on the same tack until he can get a turnbuckle...I can't see how, though, not without putting someone up the mast, and he's running out of room, fast." Around them, the tension was thick. Everyone could see something was preventing *Farrside* from continuing with the tacking duel, but not everyone had binoculars, or could see what the problem was. Finally, *Farrside* turned into the wind, but instead of turning onto a new tack, the mainsail and jib fell to the deck. The race was far from over; there were over thirty boats in the fleet, but for *Farrside*, it was finished. Twenty minutes later, *Seafarrer* crossed the finish line. She had won line honors, but it would be some time before they knew who had won the competition. Still, that didn't stop her crew from drenching each other in copious quantities of champagne as they sailed the yacht to the dock. Mac watched Amy Dougan passionately embrace the helmsman and kiss him wildly. It took her a moment to realize the helmsman wasn't her husband, but Harm. Dougan's wife was laughing as she ran from Harm to the other members of the crew, kissing them all with equal fervor. Clearly, this was the accepted Australian custom when winning yacht races. Mac stood back with Harriet as Chegwidden and Bud joined in the chorus of backslapping congratulations. "Reminds me of being on the deck of a carrier, Ma'am, when a pilot comes back after a successful mission." Mac smiled. Boys and toys. No matter where it was in the world, the deck of a carrier, a baseball game or a yacht race, they were all the same. Then Harm's smile turned her way and his eyes caught hers. He looked kind of bashful, rolling his eyes at the attention he was getting. She laughed, glad to see him happy, glad that she wasn't mad at him anymore. But then his look turned to something more, something they had shared between them so often, but somehow seemed to have been lost these past years. She felt her stomach flutter. How odd, she thought, recognizing it as a case of good old-fashioned butterflies. But then her eyes were caught by a second boat motoring in. The crew of the first boat hailed and shouted at them, the loss, a good-natured one. When the crews finally made it up to the bar, Mac found herself taken by the elbow. "C'mon!" said Amy Dougan, "Come and give him a big hug! He won it for us, no doubt about that!" "She's all yours, mate!" Dougan was saying when Mac reached them. He turned to Mac and winking at Harm said, "And I bet I know who you can get to crew for you!" Harm laughed, embarrassed, as he looked at Mac. Dougan put his arm around Mac and, handing her a glass of champagne, said, "A toast! To my new helmsman. I'm not trading in the old one, mind you, she's still prettier," he added as he put his other arm around his wife. As everyone laughed and drank, Harm turned and quietly said something to the barman. Mac pretended to sip the champagne, then she felt Harm's hand around hers. He quietly exchanged her glass for a non-alcoholic sparkling grape cider. She smiled her gratitude and asked, "Crew for what?" "I promised him he could have *Seafarrer* for a couple of weeks if we won!" Dougan replied. Mac's eyebrows lifted. "Wow," she said, smiling and glancing at Harm. "I thought maybe we could all take a few days off at the end of this. Go for a sail up the coast," he replied, turning to Bud and Harriet, then glancing at Chegwidden. "What do you say, Sir, you up for a couple of days off?" A.J. was smiling. "I think that could be arranged, Commander. Just a day or two, mind you." Harm smiled. "Yes, Sir." "Oh, c'mon Admiral!" Dougan said, "I need him to ferry it up to Brisbane for me. At least give him a week off." Chegwidden looked at Harm. "We'll see. Maybe if he agrees to stop in at Williamtown for a seminar on the consequences of ditching Tomcats."   The afternoon celebrations continued well into the evening, until it was time to announce the overall winner. When *Seafarrer* came in first, by just two points, cheers filled the club. Harm looked across the room for Mac, but his smile faded as he saw she was standing with Brumby. She looked up and caught his eyes. And his look of...what? They had agreed to start again, to put aside their emotions and... She felt Brumby take her arm and turned to him. "I asked if you wanted to go for a walk down the beach," he repeated. She smiled and looked back at Mic. "I'd like to stay here, Mic." He saw her gaze in the direction of Harm. And he saw her look returned. "Sarah," he said. "Your fooling yourself, you know," he replied with a sad look on his face. It really was over between them. "What do you mean?" "I mean him," he said, motioning towards Harm. "You reckon there's nothing going on, but blind Freddy can see it. Why don't you just admit it, to yourself, if not to me?" She looked up, surprised at the sincerity on his face. "I love you enough to want to see you happy," he added. "And right now, I think you're both doing yourselves a disservice." She licked her lips and looked away. "Mic, I told you before I don't need a man to define myself." He sighed in frustration. "All right, well, I'm going to get some tucker. You want something?" She smiled. "Sure, you ever met a Marine yet that didn't eat when offered food?"   ***********************************   "A productive four weeks, don't you agree, Commander?" Captain Jerot said to Harm as the coffee was served. "Very," Harm replied. He looked up to see Chegwidden and the Australian Minister for Immigration, moving onto the aft deck. The chartered catamaran motored quietly through the night waters of the harbor. With the formal banquet to end the talks finished, the delegates took their coffees and deserts and moved outside. "I'm sorry to see you go, Commander," Jerot said. "But I'm looking forward to meeting you again when I am in Washington," he added, turning to Mac. "It'll be our pleasure, Captain," Harm responded, hoping that Jerot might take the hint. But then again, he'd ignored every hint to date, while catching every nuance that suited him. "So, what are you plans now, to return to the United States?" Jerot directed his last question to Mac, but again, Harm replied, "Not exactly. The Admiral, Lieutenants Simms and the Colonel and I are sailing up the northern coast for a few days." Jerot smiled. "How...appropriate. Well, I trust you will have an excellent cruise." He looked up and caught the eyes of the Minister for Defense, the quickly excused himself. Harm used the opportunity to take Mac by the elbow and maneuver her upstairs, past the wheelhouse and out onto the dark, narrow deck behind. Out of sight of Jerot, finally. "Oh God, I'm counting the hours," she said, smiling gratefully to him. "How did you know this was up here?" she asked. "I know a lot of things," he replied, grinning at her as he leaned on the rail and looked out. With no lights on that area of the deck, anyone looking up would not see them, despite his mess whites. "It's not that I dislike him so much as - " "He gets on everyone's nerves, Mac. He reminds me of a sleazy version of Webb." "A sleazy Clayton," she said, laughing. "That's a bit unfair, isn't it? Clay's not sleazy." He chuckled. "No, he's just a spook. They're all kinda sleazy in their own way." "Mm, I don't know," she replied, leaning back against the rail beside him. "I've always found Clay to be a gentleman." Harm looked at her. "Oh yeah? What makes you think that?" "We went out a few times, when you were deployed." He turned to face her. "You *dated* him?" he asked in astonishment. She pulled her lips into her mouth, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. "No more than you dated Bobby Latham. He just needed someone to accompany him to a few diplomatic functions." "Oh, yeah," he replied, disbelieving. "You're turning green, Harmon." "I am not jealous," he replied categorically. "But you fly Tomcats, and Clayton only drives a - " "Okay, okay," he conceded. "Oh, so you *are* jealous." He looked at her slowly and replied, "I've told you before, I only want to see you happy." "And that would mean..." He lifted his eyebrows and turned so that his back was against the rail. They were passing the Opera House. "I don't know Mac. I'm not sure what would make you happy. All I do know is that I can't be something I'm not in order to make anyone happy." "You mean, giving up flying." "More than that. RenÈe never asked me to give up flying. Or the job I'm doing. And the way things are in the world at the moment, I could be deployed anytime - and I wouldn't refuse." "I know, I wouldn't want you to. C'mon Harm, I'm a Marine, I'd give a lot to be able to do more than just...litigate. And RenÈe didn't love you just because you look good in dress whites." "Uh," he said, smiling, "so you think I..." But his grin faded and he looked up sharply. Mac had used the past tense. "How did you know?" "That RenÈe and you split? She wrote Mic." Harm swallowed and looked away. "She deserved more than I could give her." "Why didn't you tell me?" "I dunno. Maybe because it *wasn't* for the reasons we discussed. Mac," he said, turning to face her. "I was willing to give up RenÈe to have you, but that doesn't matter now. What does matter is that there's a lot of things I'm probably not willing to give up. Mic gave up his career and his country to be with you, how was I going to compete with that?" She shook her head, realizing how unfair she had been. "I was wrong to say that to you." She chuckled and added, "It's almost exactly what I said to Mic a few nights ago, that no one should demand anyone give anything up to be with them. I once thought Mic knew me better than anyone - but that's only because he was so considerate to me. He doesn't know about my father, not really, not the way you do. He knows I'm an alcoholic, but he has no idea what that really means. He's never seen me at my ugliest, when I'm drunk. I...think I was frightened to let him see that, because he'd know I was...flawed. And I didn't want that. Maybe what he wanted was what I couldn't give up, the illusion of what I was." "Do you think he would have loved you any less?" Harm asked her softly. "No. Not now. But I do think he idealized me too much, and that wasn't a good thing." "But you liked it." "Yeah, I liked it. I needed it, Harm. I needed to feel good about myself because someone else did." "A lot of people feel good about you Mac. People who love you, who care about you, and who admire and respect you not for what life threw at you when you were a child, but for what you made of yourself. That's a hell of an achievement, Mac, one that deserves more medals than the Marines will ever give you. Anyone can come from a loving family and end up a lawyer, but people like you and Bud, hell you've got every right to be proud of yourself, you don't need Mic or me or anyone to tell you that." She breathed deeply as the boat approached the Harbour Bridge. She looked up. "I know that now, Harm. It's taken me a long time to get to that point in my life, but I think I understand, now." She smiled and looked down. "It's kind of liberating, not needing that illusion anymore." He smiled at her and replied, "They wrote Eternity on that bridge." "Is that what you were waiting for?" she asked softly, "Not you - but me?" He went to reply, but the boat tilted up, then rocked forward as it sailed into the passing wave of a hydrofoil. Mac had not balanced herself; a catamaran normally never moved about much, and she tipped forward and fell against Harm. "Sorry," she said, looking up at him in embarrassment. But the intensity of his gaze stilled her. His legs had been spread wide, to balance himself against the motion. She could feel his incipient arousal. No mistake this time. Her memory chose that moment to remind her, in intimate detail, of what he looked like without benefit of mess whites - or anything else. He swallowed and said, "Maybe you'd be more comfortable below." "No," she replied, "This is fine." And she leaned into him a little more. Her words had the desired affect. His nostrils flared and she saw his breathing quicken - and felt his body respond. But then her hand touched his jacket pocket, and the shape within. Frowning, she pulled back to touch it. He looked down; suddenly remembering she had put Mic's ring in there. Why hadn't the valet found it? Maybe he had, and returned it. As she pulled back, he reached in and took it out. Mac watched it reflect the lights from the Bridge. "I...should give it back to Mic." Harm handed her the ring just as a voice came from the stairway. "Well, a ring returned, I see. Or is it perhaps another?" They both turned to see Captain Jerot, followed by Admiral Chegwidden. Mac almost stuttered a denial, but Harm replied, "Just keeping it safe, Captain. Are you enjoying the cruise?" "Very much. The Admiral here was telling me about your last trip to Australia. It seems Afghans are not the only people who would jump ship to stay here, at least for a beautiful woman." Mac had recovered her composure and replied, "He's now serving a very long sentence for desertion during a time of war." Chegwidden was watching his two officers carefully. "You know, Captain, I think we can see more from the fore-deck." The catamaran turned south into Darling Harbour, where they would disembark. Harm said nothing, but he gestured for Mac to precede him down the stairway. They would be docking in a few minutes, anyway.   ************************* This section bordering on R rated.... After a final round of handshakes and congratulations, the limousine took them back to the hotel. "Okay, people, 0800 tomorrow I want a final debriefing with everyone, your apartment, Commander Rabb - you have the largest table. Then," he added with a smile, "I believe Mr. Rabb would like us to adjourn to Manly Yacht Club." Harriet grabbed Bud's arm in excitement. Four days, the Admiral had given them, then Harm would leave them at a coastal town while he continued north with the yacht. She had already arranged to go shopping for food and supplies with Harm after the morning debriefing. "What time will we be leaving, Sir?" She asked Harm. "1430 for a sail up past Palm Beach, then we drop anchor for the night, Harriet, and how about we drop the Sir from 1200 tomorrow?" Harriet grinned and looked at Bud. He returned her smile, but knew there was no way he would be calling the Admiral, A.J. Mac smiled at Bud and Harriet's enthusiasm. She was glad they could take this time off; I had been a surprisingly strenuous month. When they arrived at the hotel, she wished everyone goodnight, then walked into her room, took off her shoes, and removed her earrings. As exhausted as she was, it was emotional rather than physical fatigue. Sleep was out of the question. Tonight had been the last time she would see Mic. Tomorrow, she would be on a yacht and the next day, sailing north, away from Sydney. She had known, even before Mic left her, that she wasn't in love with him. But she had needed him, needed his love of her in the same way she had needed the Marines to support her, give her life meaning. She had sublimated her feelings for Harm, because he had pushed her away, and she was one Marine that refused to let being in love with someone get in the way of the life she thought she had wanted. And God help her, she'd almost married a man she didn't love just because he gave her that. First time was a mistake. Second time was just plain stupid. She shook her head and walked outside to the balcony. That was past, now. Ancient history. But what had happened between her and Harm behind the wheelhouse tonight... "Penny?" She swiveled. "Oh, God, Harm!" she laughed a little nervously. "You startled me!" Harm was leaning on the rail of his own balcony, just a few feet away. "Sorry. Just came out to get some air." "I came out because I knew I wouldn't sleep." He laughed uncertainly and looked down, then at her. "Well, that was pretty honest for a penny. What does a nickel get me?" He was inordinately pleased - and surprised - by her honesty. "A thank you?" "For what?" "Rescuing me from Jerot - and nightmares." He turned to face her. "Any more?" She shook her head. "The Admiral told me to stay away from oysters." He grinned cheekily. "Well, I guess that depends on who you're eating them with." She laughed. "An aphrodisiac that gives people nightmares? No thank you! Beside, I don't need aphrodisiacs." His eyes lit but before he could make some quip, she turned and said, "Yellow light, Squid. I'm going to make some coffee, you want some?" "Sure, your place or mine?" "Maybe we better make it yours, I think I might have run out." Harm went back inside and started the coffee. He was surprised when Mac came through the connecting door straight away. He thought she would change out of her formal black evening gown. But he was also glad. He looked up and smiled. "Well," he said, "That's the last of Jerot." "Didn't the Admiral tell you?" His smile faded. "Tell me what?" She grinned at his discomfort. "The Indonesian Government has requested Captain Jerot spend time with JAG on an exchange program." "Exchange for what?" he asked, his alarm growing. "I thought he was just coming to visit." "For not joining the chorus of objections at our keeping suspected Taliban members in Cuba." Harm poured the coffee and rocked his head equivocally. "Well, he's not a lawyer, maybe we can farm him off onto Gunny and Tiner. When's he going?" "After they're finished in Australia. Could be months away." "Pity it's not next week," he said, chuckling. "You going to spend the entire two weeks taking *Seafarrer* to Brisbane?" "Why not?" He turned and handed her the coffee. "You still coming tomorrow?" She sipped her coffee. "Wouldn't miss it. It was good of you to invite Bud and Harriet. I'm just surprised the Admiral also agreed." Harm smiled. "I think he's looking forward to getting out of the office. It's an easy sail with the prevailing wind and current. Weather looks good, too." He turned and faced her, "I could do with an extra hand, why don't you come with me all the way to Brisbane?" She met his eyes, but replied, "I don't think so. The Admiral's already muttering about the work load that's building in our absence." "Hey, no harm in asking," he replied, his voice teasing. "Or does the idea of ten days with me on a yacht bother you?" "Better than two weeks under the Arctic ice." "Not as many bunkmates, either. So," he pushed, "how about it?" "How about what?" "Asking the Admiral for an additional ten days? I know you must have at least that many on the books." "And you want me to spend them on a yacht, with you?" "As long as you bring that yellow bikini," he said in what she could only describe as a seductive voice. She rolled her eyes. "Yellow's just turned red, sailor," she said, then finished her coffee and put the mug down. But when she turned back to face him, she saw the same look on his face the night of her engagement party. Desire and sadness mixed with...fear. Her smile faltered and she asked, "Why...are you looking at me like that?" His voice dropped, all hint of humor gone. "You looked...you look very beautiful tonight Mac." He could have sworn he'd seen her in that dress before. Black, strapless, split along the side - but his recollection had it open to the upper thigh, whereas now, it was more conservative - just above the knee. Unbelievably sexy, a subdued hint of the promises beneath. No wonder Jerot and Brumby had spent most of the evening vying for her attention. He'd hardly been able to take his eyes off her himself, but he'd kept his distance because if he got too close... "Harm?" she asked, uncertainty in her voice as she came closer. "What is it you're so afraid of?" He swallowed, trying to contain the desire that threatened to overwhelm him. "I told you before, I don't want to lose you. And we came pretty close to that on this trip. I thought maybe a few days sailing..." Suddenly, the room felt hot, confined. He motioned outside, then turned and walked through his bedroom to the balcony. The air was cooler and tinged with the clean, salt smell of the harbor. She followed. The balconies were small, and made smaller by the wrought iron chairs and table crouched in one corner. "I thought we'd agreed to forget about that?" He turned and faced her. "The night of your engagement party, I said... some things that maybe I shouldn't have." She took a step closer to him. "The way you looked at me that night, you're doing it again. What is it you're so afraid of?" she asked him again. He swallowed and stared at her. "I've got an impressive track record in relationships, Mac. They always leave because I can't be what they want, what you want." "And what is that you think I want?" He thought back to her words, that if he had not rebuffed her that first night on Sydney Harbor, they might still be celebrating her engagement. "Marriage, kids." "And you don't want that?" "It's one of the things I've always wanted, but everything else, including me, keeps getting in the way." "Harm, women don't leave you, you leave them behind and they won't or can't follow. You think you're doing the right thing by letting it drag out, then you tell yourself that they left you, but sometimes it's better to make a clean break, to just walk away." "Like Mic left you?" He saw the pain on her face as she replied, "Yeah...no...I meant when you went back to flying." She began to step away, but he reached for her hand. "I'm sorry Mac, I -" But she looked up at him and said, "No, you were right to go back to flying, it's something you had to do. And you were right to walk away when I was drunk. And Mic was right to leave me because he could see what I couldn't." She smiled bitterly. "You mean, about...us." "About me becoming so good at making my life fit what I needed it to be, I wasn't prepared to wait for what I wanted. I wasn't going to be someone who pined away for something they couldn't have, while opportunities pass me by." She looked up and held his eyes. "You told me that night, you *showed* me how you felt about me, but you pushed me away - again. I can see it in you now, but you're still clinging to that lifeline and I don't know how, I don't have the words to make you let it go. Sometimes, it takes a leap of faith, and I can't do that for you." She abruptly turned and left. "Mac, wait...I!" he called, striding after her. He caught up with her just near the connecting door, placing a hand on her shoulder, hoping she wouldn't pull away. She turned to face him, a hurt, disappointed look on her face, her eyes glistening. "I can't do this anymore, Harm." "I know," he whispered as her hand reached to take his hand from her shoulder. He felt her fingers over his, searing through him, touching the core of his being like no woman had ever done. He closed his eyes and let the sensation course through him. "I'm afraid, Mac," he whispered. "I'm afraid if I jump, I'll mess it up, and lose you." "We're not going into this blind, Harm. We've had six years of learning how to be together, of knowing each other at our best &emdash; and worst. It's not like there are many more secrets left - except one. I'll watch your six," she said as she reached up to stroke his face. "If you'll watch mine." She leaned up to kiss his cheek, trying to wash away the fear in his face. He leaned into her touch, then moaned softly as he felt her lips on his cheek. He opened his eyes and pulled her to him, enveloping her with his arms. God he wanted her so much, he ached, an ache which she must now feel. "Mac," he whispered, then kissed her hair. She moved her head and felt the warmth of his breath on her face; then his lips brush her cheek. So close, so right. This was so different to being with Mic. She had been carried along by Mic's wave, not fighting it, but letting it take her where she thought she wanted to be. But with Harm, she was already there. She felt his power and his strength and forgot for a moment that she was a Marine, feeling only what it was like to be a woman in the arms of a man who wrapped himself around her with love and tenderness more than mere desire. "I'm afraid *because* I'm in love with you. I'd sooner forego anything more between us than lose you," he whispered. But the sensation of her in his arms, the taste of her cheek was too much. His mouth moved of its own volition, exploring the curve of her soft neck, her ear, the shape of her jaw, while his hands explored her back, the feel of her waist and flare of her hips. Then his lips moved to hers, but this time, his kiss was less desperate, more sensual. More like the night on the wharf when she looked like Diane, thought Mac. But who had he been kissing, really? It no longer mattered, for right now, he was kissing *her*, a gentle, feather-light motion at counterpoint to the tenseness of his body, the way he enveloped her. And for the first time, she began to understand what making love with him would be like. She had always imagined it would be impassioned; a desperate loss of control, but this sensuality was unexpected. And a little daunting. "Show me, Harm, show me how you love me, not as a friend but..." she said into his mouth, then lightly touched his lips with the tip of her tongue. He groaned at the contact, the sensual, almost erotic way she used the tip of her tongue to tease him. He returned her invitation, not with full force, but with a teasing foreplay, arousing her even further, fuelling her desire for more, until she would have begged for his tongue to enter her as she wanted him to enter her - except that his lips moved away and down onto her neck. His tongue teased sensitive part of her neck. His hands... one had found the split in her dress and used it to gain entry to the upper reaches of her thigh. The other had found the hook and zip of her dress. This seduction was going ahead before she had hardly begun to participate. Yet, she also sensed in him a careful hesitation. She could pull away at any time. Did he really think she might stop him?   **************************   Rated: NC17..skip to next section if it bothers you - story line is not lost. He found the clip of her dress and hesitated. Not because he did not want this, but because she might still want to stop him. But he felt her hand drop to his thigh, then move up, teasing, edging closer, then suddenly she was there - but oh so fleeting! The barest of touches, a passing fancy as she reached for his belt buckle. He wanted to pull her closer, but he had no desire to trap that hand &emdash; or the other than moved to join the first, unfastening his belt and buttons, then slowly unzipping him. Then she reached in at the same moment she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he groaned aloud as sensations assaulted him from both ends. Soft, firm warmth, the taste of Mac in his mouth, the feel of her tongue sliding over his tongue, enticing, as her warm hand gently cupped him, teasing, promising. He wanted to take hold of her hand, wrap it firmly around him and squeeze, but instead she withdrew, pulling her hands away, then reaching up, under his blouse and undershirt. "Mac," he whispered, almost a groan, "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" He could feel her smile beneath his kiss. "Some," she chuckled. He pulled away and looked into her eyes, large and rounded with desire. "Do you have any idea how much I'm in love with you?" he asked, his words thick with desire - and a trace of fear. They were words he'd never used before, at least not like this. "Yeah," she replied, "I think I do." She knew how much it had taken him to admit it, and holding his eyes, she smiled and added, "I've had the same problem for a while, now." "A while, huh?" A trace of his old cockiness returning. "How long would this 'while' be?" She grinned, then continued to reach up under his shirt. "Fishing, Commander?" "Just curious," he replied, reaching behind and unfastening the clip and zipper. But as the dress slipped lower, his nostrils flared and he looked down at her bare breasts. Without waiting for a reply, he brought his hands around to cup them, then leaned down and ran his tongue around one dark, auburn colored nipple as he used the pad of this thumb to stroke the other. "Oh, God!" she moaned as sensations coursed from her breast down to her groin, then raced out along her fingertips. He felt her nipple harden instantly, enticing his mouth to explore further, gently stroking and squeezing one breast with his free hand while he used his mouth to explore the other. But then he felt her hands pushing at him, trying to get his shirt off. Flesh to flesh contact seemed imperative. He realized she had already unbuttoned him, so he pulled his shirt back, then broke contact with the soft, woman taste of her breasts as he pulled his undershirt off in a quick motion. He watched her dress fall to the floor, leaving her naked but for a pair of black panties. He reached for her again, but she slid from his grip - down - kneeling before him, lowering his trousers, but not his shorts. He looked down and moaned, anticipation heightened by a dozen fantasy fed feral images. But the reality was beyond imagination. He almost staggered as she leaned forward and lowered his shorts. Instead of taking him into her mouth, she took him gently in her hands. Too gentle! God, he just wanted her too... But then she did something totally unexpected. She licked her lips, flicked her tongue against him once, then used him to stroke herself across her cheek, rubbing him over her face and throat as she watched him watching her. He would have cried out, but his throat had constricted. Could this really be happening? This was nothing like any woman had ever done to him before. She had barely touched him and he was ready to explode. God help him when she finally took him into her mouth. But she didn't. She just played with him, letting him feel the edge of her lips, the tip of her tongue, the brush of her eyelashes, her hair, even her ear, along his length. Letting him feel the barest hint of her fingernails along his scrotum, her hands stroking his thighs, then around, to cup his cheeks, then lower again, along the sensitive flesh at the back of his knees. All while she did things with him that had nothing to do with the act of fellatio. Too much! He reached down under her arms, and pulled her upright. "Mac...you keep that up and that'll be an end to the night before its even begun. She smiled, then chuckled as she stood. "Joystick a little sensitive, flyboy?" He lifted an eyebrow at her insouciance. "Just takes a little time to adjust to new maneuvers." Without warning, he reached down and inside her panties, eliciting a gasp from her as he unerringly stroked the pad of his thumb against her. "Hey, what have we here, a little wet aren't we, Colonel?" But Mac had closed her eyes and clung to his forearms as he stroked her, back and forth, in perfect, rhythmic control. The feel of her, the heat emanating from her, so wet, so ready. His breathing quickened. It was time they took this either onto the floor, or into the bedroom. But first, he needed to taste her, to know the essence of Mac. He slipped his fingers out of her, pulled his own shorts off, then before she could react, slipped her panties down, crouched before her and lifted her feet, one a time, to remove them. Before she could lower her second foot, he leaned in and deftly stroked her with his tongue. Sweet, so sweet, a unique combination of smell and taste that was all Mac. He could happily bury himself there for the duration, but in deference to her moans, and the way she clutched his hair for support, decided he could get better access if she were lying on her back. He stood, then lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. "Please," she moaned, looking into his eyes. "Please what, Marine? I haven't found that tattoo yet." "Look for it later. Right now, I want you inside of me." "Oh yeah?" he replied, chuckling as he lowered her to the bed. "What sort of deal are you willing to make?" "C'mon Harm, cut it out, I'm dying here!" She reached around with her legs, locking his body into a tight hold, then flipping him onto his back. He looked up in shock, genuinely surprised at her maneuver. But then she straddled him, and he felt her warm wetness rubbing against him as she slid her knees and inner thighs over his hips and waist. She looked down, licking her lips, then back at his face. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils quivering, trying to maintain control. She kept watching him as she sat up, then taking a hold of him, lowered herself onto him slowly, completely, all the way, then equally slowly, all the way back out again, watching him watching her. He gasped and groaned all at once. This was not going quite how he had intended. She had the upper hand - literally as she reached around and stroked the base of his scrotum - and she was not letting go. And there was no way in hell he was going to stop her...except that she suddenly moved back, back down to his knees, and leaning over, took him completely in her mouth. "Oh, God!" he groaned as her lips slid firmly over him, her teeth just discernable enough to remind him it was her mouth, past her soft-hard tongue curling around him, licking, suckling him. Of all the things he had imagined Mac might be in bed - and he had imaged quite a few - this degree of sensuality almost shocked him. And he had a feeling that there was a lot more where this came from. She continued to move her mouth over him, swirling her tongue around him, alternatively sucking and letting go, then lifting back and blowing cool air onto him. He couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't blink, couldn't do anything except pray he could hold it together. She must have sensed he was too close because just as he was about to beg her to stop, she lifted her head. She stared at him and opening her mouth, slowly licked her lips. He almost came on the spot. "Mac," he cried hoarsely. "What sort of deal did you have in mind, councilor?" she asked in an unbelievably seductive voice. His eyes widened and he looked at her helplessly. She chuckled deeply and added, "I thought not. You'll have to find the tattoo another time." "Promise?" he croaked as she lifted herself up and over him. "Yeah, I promise." And she lowered herself onto him as he sat upright and pulled her down so that her breasts rested on his chest. He thrust his tongue into her mouth as she thrust her body onto him, fast, hard. He knew now that she would lose it before he did, for her body was taught, and she clutched spasmodically at his hands. He felt her tighten around him as first one, then further rhythmic contractions shook her. She cried out, calling on a higher deity even as she called his name. As wetness enveloped him and contractions squeezed him, he grasped her hips, taking her entire weight on his hands as he first lifted her, then pulled her back onto him, fast, hard, thrusting her onto himself until he exploded inside of her, coming so hard, his balls ached. But even then it was not over, for he could see her watching him, and that his own climax was fuelling her second, even more explosive release than her first one. He took her breast into his mouth, biting carefully on her nipple, driving her orgasm harder until she cried out so loud he was thankful that her bed, not Chegwidden's was on the other side of the wall. Finally, she collapsed onto him, a light film of sweat mixing with his in the warm, summer's night. He gently pushed her hair back, and turning her face to his, he rolled slightly so that he was half across her. Then he leaned down and kissed her with such a sensuous beauty that she could feel herself becoming aroused again. However this was not so much a kiss of passion, but of a deep and profound love. Mic had been a thoughtful lover, but it somehow seemed calculated. He had adored her so much; he wanted to pleasure her. But Harm...Harm was a natural lover. He adored women, all women and giving pleasure, inspiring passion came as easily to him as his smile, or his ability to fly. But this kiss bespoke of something far more profound. This kiss told her that his sexual needs might have been gratified, but his love and passion for her had only been inflamed. And nothing, certain not mere sex, was ever going to put it out. Finally, he broke away, then kissed her again, more gently this time, a soft, warm afterglow of passions only momentarily dimmed. Then he moved back to look into her eyes, and a slow grin spread across his face. She looked up and chuckled, "What?" He drawled slowly, "Well, if that's what I get for a nickel, what does a quarter buy me?" She laughed, then her eyes widened and she giggled. The laugh had clenched her muscles; the inevitable effect was to push his now gratified penis from within her. She could feel the spent fluids run between her legs, the slight bruising on her mons. Post coital facts of life she had often found vaguely repugnant, or at least somewhat annoying, were now a welcome affirmation of the passion they had just shared. Besides, past experience taught her that he slept on this side of the bed. "Well that's one way to get rid of me," he said, pretending hurt. She reached around to run her hands through his hair, something she had wanted to do so often. Her laugh turned more serious as she replied, "I'm not giving you up so easily, Squid...even if that's what you feel like right now!" she added, a teasing smile touching her lips. "Oh ho!" He replied, grinning. "Did I ever tell you why a female Marine is like the energizer bunny -?" But her kiss cut him off. "I think it's a little late for a red light, Colonel," he replied when she broke away again. "Don't you?" "Yeah, well, maybe. But we better keep it right where it is...was...while we're working." "Oh, most definitely," he agreed seriously. "The Admiral's going to have a difficult enough time dealing with this as it is." Her face turned more serious, but she looked at him carefully. "Did he....say...?" Harm nodded and rolled back onto the bed, taking her in is arms as he went. "Not directly." "I just mean did he imply...?" "I would say it was a little more than implied, Mac." Then he turned and looked at her curiously. "Mac, did the Admiral ever...I mean, I'm not suggesting any kind of impropriety, but he...cares deeply for you." She laughed. "I'm hardly much older than is daughter." Then she felt his finger trace a path across her lip. She knew exactly what he was getting at, but he asked anyway, "You're holding something back, Mac. What is it?" She smiled, a fond expression on her face. "Nothing really. But we both know that another time and place, well... it was in the most respectful way you could imagine, Harm, at a time when I was feeling very vulnerable and more than a little lost. It helped, to know that he cared so much about me. Not just as my commanding officer, but a friend, for me as a person, from a man I deeply respect." Harm looked at her seriously, glad she had told him the truth - and that she hadn't been offended or disturbed by whatever it was Chegwidden had done. And glad, too, that the Admiral had been man enough to show his humanity. "Will it ever come up again?" She smiled. "No, it's not like we're holding out some sort of repressed desire. If anything, he was just being protective, offering me support in a way that, well, was the only way he knew how at the time. That's why I think, I know that he wanted this between us. Because he wanted to see me happy. Harm, as a woman, as a female officer, I expect the men beneath me to show the respect they would have for any officer above them, or fellow officer. But as a woman, I understand that not every remark or action towards me as a woman is meant to be sexist." "Except on submarines," he reminded her with a grin. "That was different. That was fun at my expense - because I was a woman. They would never have done that to you." He smiled. "Maybe they were already, remember, I was there, too. You gotta learn to take it less personally, Mac, it was just a garbage compactor." She went to argue, but then she slapped him gently on his chest. "Stop pushing my buttons, Rabb!" "Oh, but they're such tempting buttons," he replied, then gently ran the pad of his thumb across an exposed nipple. It began to harden and his eyebrows lifted, 'Ah, Colonel, just as I thought!" She went to swat his hand away, but decided two could play at that game. "Not much you're going to be able to do about it, at least for a few hours," she replied, grinning as she reached down and gently rolled his now flaccid penis between her fingers. "You wanna bet?" he replied, his eyes lighting. He rolled her onto her back and immediately began to kiss and lick her nipple, taking small bites, as he reached down and gently rubbed the heel of his hand across her mons. "Oh, God, Harm!" she called softly. Then her moans increased as his fingers slid carefully down and inside of her. First one, then a second and third, thrusting gently, firmly, expertly in and out, while his thumb worked unerringly, stroking upwards. Somehow, he was achieving all this while the heel of his hand pressed down on just the right spot. Then she felt his tongue slide down between her breasts, stopping momentarily at her navel, thrusting into it as his fingers continued to thrust inside of her. He could feel the ache in his balls grow as they valiently tried to keep up with what his mind desired. Although she was right, there was no way he was going to get anything moving down there for a few hours, it hadn't dampened his desire to know her in other ways. He used his other hand to spread her legs wide, pushing her knees up until he had unfettered access to her. He sat up and over her, then took both his hands and gently massaged the inside of her legs, her thighs, spreading her lips, exploring her in the heavy glow of the moonlight. He smiled up at her and began to bend down, but she stopped him. "Harm! I..." she wanted to say, get cleaned up first, but the look on his face stopped her. His body might not be aroused, but everything else about him was. He ignored her and leaning down, ran his tongue around the inside of her legs, then her lips, then inside of her, kissing her, thrusting his tongue into her as his hands continued to slide against her. The sweet taste of Mac mixed with the slightly bitter, salty taste of himself only served to drive him on. This was *his* seed, inside of Mac, evidence of his claim to her and all that she was. As civilized as Harmon Rabb was, he was still a man and in this act, allowed his control to vanish and pure possessive male lust to drive him. She had no idea what parts of his body were doing what to her. All she knew was that her core was inflamed, her mind, her thoughts scattered, gone as sheer pleasure consumed her. And yet, despite her cries, he refused to grant her a final release until she begged him. Then he thrust his fingers into her, hard, as he lifted his face and suckled her inflamed bud until it grew and burned with the heat of her shattering orgasm. He pulled back gently but quickly, knowing she would quickly be over-sensitized to his touch. Then he move back up the bed and gently taking her in his arms, sat against the pillows and whispered, "Now, tell me again how you want me to stop pushing your buttons."   *************** Mildy R rated, but includes critical discussions. She felt drugged, satiated beyond anything she had ever known before. It was not mere sexual contentment, but a contentment of the soul. At last, she had come to the home she had always wanted, but had never quite found. Sex with someone you liked could be good, even great, but with someone you loved....She suddenly realised that she had never been truly in love before, and her emotions cascaded until a sob burst from her. Harm held her close and whispered, "It's okay, I know exactly how you're feeling." She smiled and sat up. They really needed to get some sleep. But they also needed to talk. "It's been a long time, but...I'm sorry." He chuckled. "For what?" "When you came back from flying I...I don't know Harm. It took me long time to get over losing you, although I could never admit that to myself at the time, or later. I mean, if I ever thought of us as a couple, I banished it because - " "Because duty first. I know, I felt the same way. You were out of bounds, period." "So we did the right thing. We had relationships with other people, got on with our lives, but then when you left, Harm, it hurt so much more because I suppose I had it in the back of my mind that one day...and yet, I knew you had to go. I hated the fact that unlike Russia, I couldn't go with you. I hated being just....abandoned....as if those years together were just a temporary staging area for you, meaningless. But most of all I hated the fact that I had absolutely no right to feel that way." "Mac, I never saw it as temporary, I - " She turned in his arms and met his eyes. "No, listen to me Harm, I have to say this. You see, I *know* that's not the way you saw it. I know why you left, and why you came back, but I had to deal with it in the context of how I felt about you. And since I couldn't admit that to myself, I sure as hell couldn't admit it to you. But it did hurt - my fault not yours - and I had no intention of letting myself get hurt like that again, so I shut you out, I had to, to protect myself. God," she said, sitting back and rolling her eyes. "You just waltzed in like the prodigal son, expecting everything would just pick up the way you left it, as if everyone was supposed to put their lives on hold while you were off doing what you wanted to." He looked at her sadly. "Odysseus and Penelope." She turned on him. "Exactly!" "I know," he replied. "But in all fairness, Mac, that's what happens in the navy, people get re-assigned all the time." "And that's why I could only take it out on you, because I *knew* that and..." He pulled her into his arms again. "I told you last night Mac, there's a chance that if things escalate, I may have to go away again." This was something they had to face, right here, right now. "It's different Harm. You're not leaving JAG behind as an...unwanted interlude in your life. You're not leaving me to deal with emotions I had no right to feel. Six months, a year. I can wait this time because I know you're coming back." "And if I don't?" he asked softly. She felt the tears ready, but she swallowed them. "I'm a Marine, Harm. I know the risks better than most. I can...accept that because that's what we are." She relaxed into him and added. "I can accept that something might happen to one - or both of us, because we now know what we are to each other. No more hiding, no more things unsaid between us." "Ah," he replied wistfully. "We'll always have Sydney." She sat up and punched him playfully. "That's it, sailor! I'm outta here!" She jumped up, laughing, as he reached to tackle her, but too late. She ran into the bathroom and closed the door. He grinned and went back to the bed to straighten the sheets. A few moments later he heard the shower running and decided to peek. He still had a tattoo to find. Mac felt the door open before she saw it. She turned at looked at him coyly. "Wanna scrub my back?" She let her eyes drop, enjoying the sight of him naked. Most men she knew were built well, they were military after all. But for such a tall man, Harmon Rabb was not in the last bit gangly; he was, in fact, beautifully proportioned. He grinned as her eyes explored him. And his grin widened as she turned to face him, soap sliding down her naked thigh. "Move over, Marine." He stepped in behind her, and ran his hands along her hips and thighs. "That's not my back," she said. "I'm getting there," he replied as he took the soap from her hand and ran it across her belly, then once, swiftly, between her legs. She gasped. Too soon to become aroused, but the feel of his wet body against hers, the soft, silky slide of the soap over her flesh was nevertheless a sensual delight. Then he brought the soap up to her breasts, cupping each one in turn, then finally, to her back. "There," he whispered into her ear, "All done. And I like the tattoo." She turned to speak, but his head was under the shower as he quickly soaped his own body. She stepped out to dry herself, watching him wash as she did. She couldn't keep the grin from her face. The next time they showered together would be interesting. "Here, let me dry you," she said when he stepped out. She ran the towel over him; then crouched to dry his legs, leaning in once to take him into her mouth. "Just getting off all the water," she explained as he gasped. Not just at the sudden, unexpected warmth and softness, but the fact that she did it. She stood and he pulled her to him. "Another hour," he grumbled, "that's all I need." She glanced down. "Looks to me like you're ready now." But he stepped back and tossing her a quick laugh said, "I'm saving myself." And walked out of the bathroom and back to the bed. "C'mon," he said as she followed. "We better get *some* sleep." *************************** Back to PG-13 A.J. Chegwidden finished his run early. He'd called Mac, but when her phone didn't answer, decided she had either left without him, or had gone down to the gym. They hadn't made arrangements to work out together this morning, so he gave it no more thought. Before stepping out that morning, he'd organized to have a full breakfast served inside Rabb's rooms, figuring on opening the partition between his and Rabb's to give them more space. There really wasn't much to go over, now. All the reports, conclusions and recommendations were in. At least as much as they could do on this trip. They could discuss a few side issued during the sail north. A.J. smiled as he stepped out of the shower. He was looking forward to these few days off. Quality leave time with his subordinates was not something he normally indulged in, but these were good people and sailing together was appropriate. He breathed a sigh of relief as he dressed. Thank God Mac had not taken up with Brumby again. He still wasn't sure how she and Rabb were getting along, but if what he saw on deck the previous night was anything to go by... He was half expecting Mac to ask him for additional leave. Not that he had any desire to play matchmaker, but they had to get it out of their systems some time. Better a few days on a sailing cruise they could pass off as momentary dalliance - or the beginning of something more, than carry this...thing back to Washington with them. He checked the time, 0755, then knocked on the connecting door to Rabb's suite. No answer. Maybe he was still in the shower. Well, he better hurry before the lieutenants and breakfast arrived. He opened the door and glanced in, then down. And he frowned at the mess on the floor. Not like Rabb to be so sloppy. Chegwidden stepped inside, bent down and picked up what he first thought was Rabb's black mess trousers, but it was too soft and...oh. He began to smile; then his smile broadened as he noticed the trail of clothes led to the bedroom. Well it's about time, he thought. He felt a moment's envy, but it evaporated. This wasn't going to be easy, for either of them, but they near enough as lived together these last few years. They knew better than most what they were getting into. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Room service, most likely. Or Bud and Harriet. He glanced at the open bedroom door. It was not in the direct line of sight of the main door. He strode to room door, opened it and put his hand in his pocket for some lose change. "Come in," he said to the service waiter. "Just leave it here, we'll help ourselves." He smiled, tipped him, closed the door - and turned to see a panicked looking Harmon Rabb, towel clutched around his waist. Harm gulped. "Sir." A.J. smiled. "Good morning Mr. Rabb. Better get the lead out, it's," he glanced at his watch, "0757." He put his hands behind his back and added, "I suggest we open up our suites, give us more room." Harm knew the Admiral wasn't blind to the evidence strewn about the floor. Blouse there, trousers here, where Mac had...he gulped. Socks over here and oh, shit, Mac's panties and his boxers entwined on the floor. Nothing Fruedian about that. Where in hell was Mac's dress? He noticed Chedwiggen was holding something black. He paled. "I believe this is Colonel Mackenzie's," Chegwidden said, holding out her dress. "You might like to see it's returned to her before anyone else arrives. I'll open up the wall from my quarters. I estimate that will take about four minutes, Commander. Is that acceptable?" "Yes, Sir," Harm replied, standing ramrod straight. "And for God's sake, son, don't salute me, I don't trust that towel." A knock sounded on the door. Chegwidden turned. "I'll get Lieutenant Roberts to give me a hand from my side." He strode to the door as Harm retreated to his bedroom. Mac stood just out of sight, her eyes closed in horror. She had woken just as Chegwidden had come into Harm's apartment, and knew instantly what time it was. They had woken about five, and made love again, with every intention of getting up and going for a run. But somehow... Then Harm was out of bed and outside with barely more than a chagrinned smile tossed in her direction. He was a little paler when he came back, but she ignored him and the moment the outer door was closed, she ran through the connecting door to her room - and locked it. Why the hell she did that, she couldn't say, but it offered some vague protection to the little shreds of her dignity that remained. She dived into the shower. Harm stood in shock for two seconds, holding Mac's dress in one hand, and the towel in the other. He dropped both onto the bed, spent another fifteen seconds collecting the remainder of their discarded clothing, tossed them into the bed and covered them with the bedding, then ran for the shower, counting backwards as he went. Shave. What the hell, he could say he was going to let it grow during the two weeks sail north. Get dry, underwear - thank God it was all packed neatly in his bag, ready to leave today. Deodorant, shirt, socks, shoes and he could hear Chegwidden cursing as the room wall divider was pulled back. It had not been used in some time, apparently. Trousers, belt, comb. Mouth wash &emdash; he'd clean after breakfast. Close bedroom door. "Good morning, Bud." Bud looked up and smiled at Harm. "Good morning, Sir. Have you seen outside? It's a great day!" Harm smiled back, trying to look as casual as possible, but not entirely pulling it off. "Yes it is." He didn't want to see Chegwidden's expression, but he had to gage his superior's reaction. He started to breathe when he saw the faint traces of a repressed smile on the admiral's face. Well I'll be, he actually approves. Harriet began laying out breakfast, then looked up as Mac came in through the connecting door to her suite. "Morning, Ma'am. Bud was just saying, what a wonderful day to be going sailing." Mac smiled, refusing to meet Harm's panicked look. "Let's get work out of the way first, okay?" Then she noticed what Harm's eyes were motioning to. He'd dropped her panties in the rush to clean up. She went across to help Harriet, hoping to distract her long enough for Harm to... "Oh, I'm sorry!" Bud said, knocking some precariously balanced files onto the floor. He turned to pick them up, but Harm said, "That's all right, Bud, you just help the Admiral with that door." He bent and collected the files, rolling Mac's panties in his hand as he went. He stuffed the panties into his trouser pocket as he re-arranged the files, adding, "Most of this stuff can go back today." "Why don't you leave me to pack away all the paperwork while you and Harriet get the supplies?" Bud said. "Okay everyone, let's get down to business," Chegwidden called. As they sat down and started on the coffee the Admiral turned to Harm and said, "I must say, Commander, that was deftly done. You too, Colonel." "Thank you, Sir," they both replied, exchanging careful glances. Harm noticed the edges of her hair were wet, and her makeup was just a hint of lipstick. Bud noticed it too, and the fact that the normally smooth faced commander needed a shave, but although the information lodged in his mind, he didn't process it. A.J. sat back and sipped his coffee. "In fact, I'd like to compliment all of you on achieving what may not necessarily be seen as a desired outcome by the Australians, but one that's pacified all parties - and given the Indonesians fewer excuses to vilify American policy. You even kept out of police reports, Mr. Rabb. And it's nice to see you not eating out of a straw, Mr. Roberts." Bud looked at Harriet guiltily as he buttered a croissant. "Oh, go on Bud, enjoy it." They got down to business until Chegwidden was satisfied that everything was covered. Harm managed to get away long enough to clean his teeth and shave. Then Mac took a few moments off, presumably to finish whatever had escaped her in their rush. They finished some three hours later; then the Admiral dismissed them and turning to Mac, said, "Colonel, a minute?" "Sir." She caught Harm's eye and he considered staying. Whatever Chegwidden was going to say, it better be to both of them. "That'll be all, Commander," Chegwidden added as he watched their interchange. Then he realized their suites were open, so he motioned Mac to precede him into her rooms. Harriet turned to Harm and said, "Should we go now, Sir?" Harm's eyes followed the Admiral. "Commander Rabb?" Harriet asked. Harm turned. "Yeah." He caught Bud's eyes and added, "Most everything's packed, just some laundry to collect and I can do that later." "Yes, Sir," Bud replied, wondering why the commander seemed so edgy. Inside Mac's rooms, she turned and faced Chegwidden. "Sir?" Chegwidden pursed his lips and said, "Mac, you worked hard on this one, in circumstances that can only be described as personally taxing. Why don't you take a few extra days off, go all the way to Brisbane with the commander, you've still got a lot of accumulated leave on the books." She frowned. "Sir? I understood that you needed us back in Washington ASAP, especially because Commander Rabb is taking additional leave time." He smiled and put his hands behind his back. "Well, Commander Turner is a resourceful officer, I'm sure we can work out something for another week or so." He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back. "Mac, I meant what I said about accommodating my officers." He caught her eyes, his meaning clear, and he smiled his approval. Mac smiled hesitatingly in return. It wasn't an admiral smile, but an A.J. one. "Thank you, Sir, I'll give it some thought. About the leave, I mean." Moments later, someone knocked on her front door. "Come in!" she called as she finished packing the last of her things. Harriet walked in and smiling said, "All ready, Ma'am?" Mac grinned at Harriet's obvious excitement. "I hope you've worked out the supply list, lieutenant, because that's one area outside my expertise." Harm followed Harriet into the room and said, "Bud said he'd tidy up here and meet us at the yacht club later." "Okay then!" she replied, picking up her hand bag and an overnight carryall, leaving the other bags behind. She glanced at them and said, "I'm glad we're not flying a Tomcat back." Harm chuckled. "Didn't the Admiral tell you?" She tossed an alarmed look at him, but the cocky grin on his face gave it away. She smiled and shook her head. Harriet began to relax. It was so good to see they were getting back to the way things used to be.   *******************   "Sir, I've organized the concierge to place most of our bags in storage until Thursday, and a courier to take the files and reference books back to Washington tomorrow. He'll be here in a few minutes. I'll just make sure everything's packed in the Commander's room," Bud said. "Very good, Lieutenant," Chegwidden said as he cupped the mouthpiece of his telephone. SecNav was on another call. Bud turned and went into Rabb's room. The commander had packed most of the files and books into locked file boxes, and his suitcases were marked to go back to D.C. with them. He made sure the one earmarked for Brisbane was kept separate, then thought he'd better make one last check of the bathroom. Nothing there, but as he went back into the bedroom, he noticed the corner of a towel under the bedcovers. Bud Roberts was not particularly anal, but he was a father, and accustomed to picking up towels and clothes dropped in strange places. He pulled the covers back, intending to hang the towel in the bathroom - then he noticed clothes tangled with it. The commander had obviously started tidying up, then been distracted. Good thing he checked, he thought, as he picked up the black mess trousers. A sock fell out, then boxer shorts. He frowned and reached down to separate the clothes, when Chegwidden came rushing into the bedroom. "Belay that, Mr..." but the Admiral's lips thinned as a confused looking Bud turned to face him. He was holding a black dress in his hand. AJ put his hands on his hips. He figured Rabb had not had time to do more than hide the evidence. What the hell, too late now. Bud frowned and said, "This looks like Colonel Mackenzie's dress. Why would....oh... Oh! he said, lifting his eyebrows and looking up at Chegwidden. He started to grin, but then wiped it off his face as Chegwidden crossed his arms and glared at him. It all made sense now. The colonel's wet hair and lack of makeup, the commander's nervousness. He remembered being teased by Mac when he had stayed over at Harriet's house that first time. They'd arrived late because they'd woke early and... But lieutenants did not even think about such things between colonels and commanders, much less tease them. "At ease Lieutenant. Do them a favor, Mr. Roberts, just pack everything where it's supposed to be." But the admiral couldn't stop his lips from curling as he turned and left the room. "Yes, Sir," replied Bud, smiling. "'Bout time," he muttered to himself. "You got that right, Mr. Roberts," the Admiral called back over his shoulder.   ***************************   A.J. Chegwidden sat happily at the helm as they sailed past Palm Beach and the tombolo, Barrenjoey Head, then turned into the bay. They had left sooner than they'd hoped, and the sail out past North Head then the northern beaches had gone faster than expected. It was near sunset now, but they would reach their overnight anchorage before last light. Life was good, he thought, looking contentedly out to the broad expanse of bays. A man could take weeks just exploring the waterways in this area alone. He resolved to come back someday, maybe bring someone with him. Mac hadn't said anything yet about taking additional leave, and he wasn't going to push her, but he hoped she could shelve that indomitable sense of duty she carried around, just this once. He smiled as he watched Bud and Harriet on the foredeck. The racing yacht was not a pleasure cruiser, and the interior was relatively spartan. A narrow, double bunk in the forecastle that Harm immediately allocated to the lieutenants, a relatively wide single berth beside the engine in the stern that Harm insisted he take, because it offered a modicum of privacy, and a single bunk high on the port side, just forward of the chart table. The starboard side area opposite was taken up by cupboard space above the dining table. The table itself could be lowered to make another bunk, but Harm opted to use the seating opposite, just below the single portside bunk, as a bunk for himself. It meant he could get up and down during the night without disturbing anyone. It also meant that, except for the fact that her bunk was stepped up from his, he was sleeping beside Mac. Amy Dougan had plied them with bedding and utensils, while Harm, Harriet and Mac had made good their time at the local supermarket and delicatessens. Enticing smells wafted from the galley as the commander put together one of his culinary masterpieces. Damn this felt good, thought A.J. He looked up and laughed as a couple of white, sulfur crested cockatoos screeched their way across the sky. As he rounded the point, Bud helping him set the sails on a new tack, he heard kookaburras in the distance. It was a good country, he thought. It wasn't his home, but he could see why Mac had missed the place. Despite the politics they'd been embroiled in, and the shifting sands of diplomacy resulting from the *Tampa* incident, there was a certain innocence in Australia that had been lost to Americans. All the more so after 9-11. Below, Harm checked the oven while Mac tidied the galley. It was a familiar routine, one she had done a hundred times at his place - except that the galley was only a few feet square and Harm was wearing nothing but board shorts while she was dressed in a bikini. She only had to glance up to see Chegwidden's legs and his hand on the helm. A glance forward through the overhead hatch and she could see Harriet and Bud talking. No privacy here, but constantly brushing against Harm had been incredibly arousing. Worse, despite the constant body contact, he had deliberately refrained from any surreptitious touches. She was slowly being teased to death. They couldn't even talk about it - but the satisfied smirk on his face told her that he knew exactly what effect he was having on her. Three days of this, then she would return to Washington and sit on her hands for another ten days. Was he trying to drive her nuts? Harm ignored the distant noise of a siren. The suburb of Palm Beach was only just across the headland. He tossed her a quick grin then went to the head and closed the door. But moments later, the siren whooped again, this time almost on top of them, and someone using a bull horn was ordering them to stand to. Of all the damned times.... Up on deck, Chegwidden brought the sloop into the wind and dropped the jib. He let the main luff, tossing a confused look over his shoulder at the approaching police boat. Surely not....but they had a radio, and cell phones. If anyone had wanted them... The police boat tossed a couple of fenders over the side, the gently eased alongside them. "Can I help you, officers?" A.J. called. The water cops looked at each other. They had already radioed in and received details about the yacht. It had not been reported stolen, but the drug runners they were looking for were Yanks, and this could just be the break they were looking for. Wouldn't be the first time cops had busted someone big league after pulling them over for a traffic infringement. "Senior constable, Sir," he replied. "Are you the master of this vessel?" "No, why, what's the problem, Senior Constable?" Bud caught the rope tossed to them by another constable. Clearly, they intended to board. "Do you mind if we come aboard?" the constable called. "No, of course not. Rabb! Front and center, Commander!" "What's the problem, Sir?" Mac asked as she came up from below. "I'm not sure. Where's Rabb?" he asked as he tied the stern line to a cleat. "Mr. Roberts, can you stow the boom?" "Yes, Sir." Bud moved to comply as two police constables stepped over the rail. He noticed that the others remained at a distance, watching them carefully. "He's in the head, Admiral," Mac replied, frowning as the water policeman stepped down into the cockpit. Senior Constable Williams pushed his cap back and glanced at his partner. What was with the sir and admiral bit? He almost smirked...except the man before him didn't act like someone getting his jollies from play-acting. "All right, Colonel. Now, what can we do for you gentlemen?" AJ asked. The second constable had taken out his notepad, but Chegwidden noticed his eyes scouring the boat, his weapon unclipped and ready. "Your name, Sir?" "Chegwidden. A.J. Chegwidden. And this is Sarah Mackenzie, and Bud and Harriet Roberts. Commander Rabb is..." "Right here, Admiral," Rabb replied as he came out, frowning. "Commander?" Constable Williams asked, frowning. "Are you the master of this vessel?" "Yes I am, constable," he replied, frowning as he looked at Chegwidden. "What's going on?" "Commander of what?" "United States Navy. This is Admiral Chegwidden, the Judge Advocate General and Lieutenants Roberts and Simms, and Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, United States Marines." The constable frowned at Mac. Beautiful, bikini clad women were as common as sailboats on his beat, and he'd long since inured himself to them. But this one sure wasn't anything like the Marines that Hollywood depicted. Besides, he was yet to see some I.D. But Harm had pre-empted him and handed him his wallet. Williams glanced up from the photo; then it fell into place. "You here for the *Tampa* thing?" "Yeah, but don't hold it against us," Harm replied, smiling. The policemen chuckled. "Sorry to interrupt your sailing, Sir, but are you aware that buoyage systems are the opposite in British and Australian waters to U.S. waters?" Harm's eyes lit. He'd sailed in Bermuda and Hong Kong, and despite his teasing Brumby, hadn't given it any more thought than driving on the left or right. He just had to remember what country he was in when he woke up in the mornings. The admiral, evidently, had not. "That's right, Sir!" Bud's eyes lit in understanding. "Incoming, instead of the red buoy being -" "Thank you Lieutenant, that'll be all," Chegwidden said, his lips thinning. Mac brought her hand up to hide her smile. "Oh, but it's not just that, Sir, there's also - " "Lieutenant? You're dismissed," Chegwidden said flatly, glaring at Bud. Harm and Williams exchanged amused glances until A.J. turned to Harm and glowering, said, "Thank you for reminding me, Commander." Harm's smile vanished. "I apologize, Admiral. Constable Williams," he said quickly, "we're just ferrying the yacht up to Brisbane for the owner, Mr. Dougan. He's the commodore of - " "The Manly Yacht Club. Yes, Commander, we checked." He handed Harm's ID back to him and added, "I'm sorry we pulled you over, it's just that there's a bit of a problem with some drug runners in the area, and you just happened to fit the description." Harriet's eyebrows lifted and she spoke for the first time. "Drugs, really?" "Lot of waterways around here, lot of bush, easy to disappear, especially around dusk," Williams replied as he returned to his boat. "If you're planning on spending a few days in the area, there are half a dozen good restaurants you can pull right up at, just remember which side of the buoys we drive on." The constable smiled and tipped his cap as the others took the lines in, then the police boat continued on its way. Bud smiled and said, "Well at least we didn't get a ticket or something." Harriet took Bud by the arm and said, "It's getting kind of cool out here, maybe we should go below and change." Harm went to apologize again, but A.J. just chuckled and said, "My fault, Commander, and for God's sake can we drop all the titles? Since you're the captain of this vessel and I'm your guest, you better start calling me A.J. in case I embarrass myself again."   An hour later they pulled up for the evening, in the southern corner of a secluded cove. In the distance, they could see the lights of houses, and heard a party coming from the local surf club. By mutual consent, they retired early, intending to start before dawn for a full day's run up the coast. But during the night, Harm got up to check the mooring lines. Sleeping with Mac just inches away, but being unable to touch her, was not going to be easy, especially when they couldn't even talk about it. But he grinned as he sat back in the sloop's cockpit and looked up. A communications satellite arced across the sky. It was incredibly titillating, having her there, teasing her by not overtly touching her. A couple of days should break her down. This was one time he knew he could maintain complete control over the situation. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. He was still a little nervous about this whole relationship thing with Mac. But one thing, take that uniform off and she was just as much fun - and a thousand times more sensual - that RenÈe had been in bed. He had feared that emotions would make it painfully intense, as it had with Annie. But no, sex was one thing they wouldn't have a problem with. Mac clearly understood that good sex was like eating. It could be everything from a deeply emotional need, a quick snack, or an erotic romp in the hay. "Can't sleep?" Chedwiggen whispered softly as he came out on deck and handed Harm a beer. "Thanks. Just checking the mooring, thought I might sleep out on deck." "Little cooler, huh," he replied, cracking the lid of the beer. Harm chuckled and took the lid off his own beer. "Little longer." A.J. snorted a soft laugh. "I've often wondered how you scraped by on your flight medical." "I'm just on the limit if I slouch a little - but I'll never make it as an astronaut." "God help us when we need lawyers in space. Bad enough when it comes to international waters. Brumby was wrong when he said this whole thing was just about Moslem regimes. It's about economies and the way things are going, they're gonna have thousands on their doorsteps soon." "That's why they won't adopt most of my proposals." "Probably not, but you do what you have to. We all do." He looked out at the night sky. "I don't think it will be long before we lose Gunny." Harm looked up. "Can you blame him?" "Not if I were his age," he laughed without humor. "Not even at my age. But the battles we fought here are equally important in their own way. More so, because the navy has a lot of good pilots, but not too many people with your multiple expertise." "Are you asking me if I'm considering going back?" "You're more valuable at JAG than you are being shot at, Harm. Home defense will come knocking, so you'll keep up your flight time, don't worry about that. I just hope you'll never have to shoot one of our own planes out of the sky." Harm nodded in the darkness. "Knocking an enemy out of the sky is one thing, even using a tomahawk on a target that you know might take out a few civilians, but an airliner..." he took a swig of his beer. "That's why they're keeping the more experienced pilots, the older ones, back here." He turned to face Harm. "War allows more liberties in other areas, too. There will not be a problem with you and Mac staying under my command at JAG, no matter how this thing plays out between you." Harm wasn't sure how to react. Being caught with his pants down, or in his case, off, that morning...hell, he'd never been particularly embarrassed before, but this was somewhat different. "I...appreciate that, Sir." "I've also suggested to Mac she stay on board with you until Brisbane." Harm looked at the Admiral through narrowed eyes. Why was he being so nice to them? "I'm doing this for myself as well as JAG, Harm. I have enough on my plate dealing with my peers and superiors, without having my staff at each other's throats because they've got an itch they can't or won't scratch. Except for my ex-wife and myself, I've never seen two such stubborn people before. I just hope you don't make the same mistake as I did back then. If she ever walks out on you, swallow your pride and follow, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life." He stood and added, "Well, I'm going to get some sleep." "Goodnight, Admiral." Below, Mac lay with her eyes closed, but she was awake. She had heard them talking and smiled in the darkness as she felt Harm come down and lay on the seat just below her bunk. Then she felt his hand reach up for her, and lightly caress her arm. She reached down and took his hand. "Hello, sailor," she whispered. He sat up and leaned across, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her thoroughly. There was no place they could take this, but that was okay by him. Mac knew exactly what he was doing, and was tempted to leave him hanging until the last minute. But recent events had taught them that life was too short for that. "Okay," she whispered. "You win. I'll come to Brisbane with you." She felt his smile as he kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Mac." He laid back down on his bunk bed, but kept hold of her hand as they fell into a deep, contented slept.   End.