JAG STORY: CAST AWAY

 

Adventure, Harm/Mac romance (but only a little so far)

 

Rated PG for implied violence.

 

The song is "Guys Do It All The Time," by Mindy McCready. It's on the Ten Thousand Angels CD and I reccommend it highly - it is so cute!

 

These characters aren't mine, and if I get sued the very first time I try to write something, I really will be traumatized for life. :)

 

CAST AWAY

 

The man walking slowly down the long, dark beach had no idea that he was about to die. But then, he also had no idea where he was, what he was supposed to be doing there - hell, if pressed, he probably couldn't even have recalled his own name. All he knew was the moment, the glowing white sand shifting beneath his feet, the sound of the dark ocean lapping endlessly at the rocks in the cove, the glimmer of a solitary star in the sky.

 

Abruptly, the back of the man's next stung. Idily, he reached up his hand to swat away the mosquito that was probably responsible, then frowned as his fingers encountered the stiff metal-plastic shape of a dart.

 

He pulled it out and rolled it between his fingers, puzzled. For a moment, memory tugged, a memory of another pricking sensation in his arm, of the woozy unconciousness that followed. But before he could place it, the dart's poison began to spread, numbing his limbs, slowing his thoughts.

 

The man fell to his knees in the sand, still staring absently at the tiny dart that had so expertly sent him to his doom. And then his eyes closed and he saw nothing.

 

A drop of rain fell on the man, then another and another, until he was lost in the downpour.

 

***

 

Thousands of miles away, water of a very different sort was pouring down on Major Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie. She stood in the small hotel shower, turning absently and singing her heart out.

 

"Bring me a cold one baby / And turn on the TV / We can talk about it later / There's a ballgame I want to see . . ."

 

The radio on the sink was turned up as loud as it could go, blaring out Mindy McCready's hit over the rushing of the water in Mac's ears. Mac was smiling happily - she loved this song. After all, if everyone considered her one of the guys, why shouldn't she act like one?

 

Enthusiastically, she launched into the chorus.

 

"Yeah, guys do it all the time / And they expect us to understand / When the shoe's on the other foot / You know that's when it hits the fan / Get over it honey life's a two-way street / Or you won't be a man of mine / Sure I had some beers with the girls last night . . . Guys do it . . . all the time!"

 

The song finished with a flourish. In the silence that followed, Mac heard a tentative tapping on the bathroom door.

 

"Damn it," she muttered, and turned off the water. She was never going to live this one down.

 

***

 

"You SING in the shower?" Lt. Cmdr. Harmon "Harm" Rabb inquired incredulously.

 

Mac, sitting on one of the twin beds in the shabby hotel room, hastily dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, concentrated on drying her hair.

 

"You sing COUNTRY in the shower?" Harm continued.

 

"Look." Mac gave up the pretense and dropped the towel, sighing in exasperation. "I was bored. You were out chasing some dead end lead . . ."

 

The distraction tactic worked. Harm quickly switched topics.

 

"How do you know it was a dead end?" He countered.

 

"This whole case is a dead end," Mac said reasonably. "We've been here almost a week, and we still know nothing more than we did when we started. High-placed Navy men are disappearing . . . then turning up dead. Poisoned. No leads, no motive."

 

"Until now." Harm sat down on the other bed. He looked so proud of himself, eyes bright with discovery, that Mac couldn't help being interested.

 

"Each of the victims received a phone call the night they died. The one's with wives told them it was a wrong number. But that seemed a little too conveinent . . ."

 

Harm scooped a manila envelope up off the small table that separated the beds and tossed it to Mac. She caught it and glanced inside. When she looked up, her eyes were glowing.

 

"You got the phone records. How . . ."

 

"While you were getting in touch with your inner Patsy Cline," Harm grinned. "I was pulling strings and pushing buttons at the phone company. It took a little work, but they gave them to me."

 

"All the calls in question came from the same number: 555-8126." Mac pushed a strand of damp hair behind her ear; it instantly slithered back out. "Did you trace it?"

 

"Yep." Harm rose; Mac did the same. "It's a travel company that specializes in trips for honeymooners."

 

"What . . ." Mac started. "None of these guys was even close to being a newlywed. Why. . ."

 

"That's what we're going to investigate," Harm said, cutting her off a little too brusquely. Looking down at his partner, he was struck by a sudden impulse to carefully brush that one strand of hair back out of her eyes . . .

 

"Harm?" Mac said, and gestured toward the door.

 

Harm blinked and moved quickly away. He was also in civilan dress - he grabbed a jacket off the chair by the door. A thought struck him, and he smirked over his shoulder at Mac.

 

"We can listen to country on the way," he said. "I'll do back up."

 

Mac laughed. "Is that a promise?"

 

"Of course."

 

The receptionist at Happy Honeymoons looked like she was ready to kill someone. Glancing around the tiny room, Mac could instantly tell why.

 

"It's very pink," Harm muttered under his breath. Mac nodded slowly.

 

"Very."

 

The walls of the room were a pale, opalescent shade of rose; the rug was a deep, vibrant hot pink. Pictures of happy couples with toothpaste smiles, grinning out at the camera from strategically beautiful vacation spots, were scattered here and there on the walls, as were framed, handwritten letters on pastel paper that talked earnestly about "the best weeks of our lives." Soothing piano music tinkled away in the background, and the air was heavily perfumed with the scent of roses.

 

Mac sneezed. The receptionist did not look up. She was slumped at a pink desk that appeared to be made out of plastic. Tall, probably in her early 20's, she was doodling on, and glaring at, a piece of pink stationary.

 

"No self respecting Navy officer would *ever* come near this place," Harm continued. He sounded vaguely awestruck by the pure insipidness of the room.

 

Mac raised her eyebrows. "No?" She deadpanned. "This is the kind of place where I picture you spending your weekends."

 

Harm grinned in spite of himself and then, gathering their courage, the pair headed for the desk.

 

"Hello, ma'am," Harm began. "How are you today?"

 

The girl raised her head slightly, then sighed and removed earphones from her ears.

 

"What?" She muttered.

 

"How are you?" Harm repeated.

 

"How do I look?" The girl snapped, tone indicating that she thought Harm was simply, the stupidest thing on two legs. "How would you be if you had to work here? It's two weeks till I quit, and my last day can't come soon enough."

 

"Well." Harm paused and looked at Mac, who picked up where he had left off.

 

"We have some questions," she said.

 

The girl nodded wearily. "Uh-huh. Wait." She reached into the drawer in front of her, pulled out a pamphlet marbeled with pink and purple swirls, and shoved it across the desk. It was followed by an equally ostentatious pair of sky blue forms with large hearts on them.

 

"That should tell you everything," she said, indicating the pamphlet. "If you still want to purchase a cruise, fill out the forms and get back to me."

 

With that, she replaced the headphones and closed her eyes.

 

Harm and Mac exchanged a glance, then Harm leaned forward and knocked on the desk.

 

"I don't think you understand," he began.

 

The girl looked up at him, rolled her eyes, then mouthed: "Look. At. The. Forms."

 

Mac shrugged and picked up the pamphlet. Her eyes widened in mock joy.

 

"Harm, look." She pointed to a picture on the cover. "We could go to Hawaii. Doesn't it look . . ."

 

And then she cut herself off, an idea suddenly taking root in her brain.

 

"Harm," she repeated, trying to add meaning to the words. "We could go to Hawaii."

 

Harm looked at her in confusion. Mac sighed, caught his arm, and dragged him out into the hall.

 

***

 

"That girl thinks we're newlyweds," Mac hissed as soon as the door closed. "We should play along - this is the best break we've had so far."

 

"What are you talking about?" Harm asked, jaw dropping. "Are you kidding?"

 

"Bear with me here. Everybody we've talked to so far has calmmed up the minute we mentioned who we were. I mean, how long did it take you to get some simple phone records?"

 

"How is going on a cruise to . . ." Harm glanced at the back of the pamphlet. "Tahiti going to help us get answers?"

 

"We can tell her that Captain Henrickson recommended us to this service," Mac said, brain working furiously. Henrickson, a tall, recalcitrant man, had been the last one to turn up dead. "We'll ask for whatever trip package he ordered and see what she says."

 

Harm was staring to look interested.

 

"What if she says she never heard of him?" He countered.

 

"Then we can give up the cover and question everybody in the place. But that'll take time - this will get us the answers much more quickly." Mac crossed her fingers and added a mental "I hope."

 

"But what about wedding rings? And a marriage license?" Harm was obviously considering the plan too. "They probably won't care about the license," he continued, thinking it over aloud. "But we should have rings."

 

"Here." Mac reached up and pulled off her earrings. She'd thrown them on in a hurry, and they were one of the pairs she hated - large gold hoops. "Put this on your finger."

 

"An earring?"

 

"It just has to last us while we're in there. Come on." Mac slid the ring onto her finger and clamped her fingers around it. Harm sighed, then pulled the much-too-small earring onto his finger.

 

"I guess we can give this a shot," he said dubiously. "But if anyone finds out . . ." He held out his hand to Mac; she took it.

 

"They won't. Just call me Sarah and smile a lot," Mac advised, trying to ignore the tingle that ran up her spine at the feeling of Harm's hand gently holding hers. "Whatever you do, *don't* call me Mac."

 

"All right, *Sarah,*" Harm said, pushing the door open and letting her go in first. "After you."

 

***

 

"Mac?" Harm sighed heavily and knocked on Mac's door once again. "Mac?"

 

No answer.

 

"Look, you don't get to get mad at me! This was YOUR plan!"

 

Still no answer. Harm knew exactly why he was being faced with stony silence, but he had no intention of apologizing. It was a joke, and just because his partner had suddenly lost all sense of humor . . .

 

"Okay, okay. You win, Mac! I am sorry that I put your occupation down as 'country singer,' all right? I just couldn't resist! Will you PLEASE open the door?"

 

There was another pause, then, just as Harm was about to give up and go back to his own room, Mac's door swung open.

 

His partner stood in the doorway, glaring up at him.

 

"Do you realize," she inquired icily. "That tomorrow we have to get on that boat and BE those people we described on the forms?"

 

"It's not like you're completely innocent," Harm protested, feeling a little indignant himself. "You put MY occupation down as 'gourmet chef.'"

 

"Only after you wrote that I was a singer!" Mac shrilled.

 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

 

"It means that the day you can cook is the day I can sing!"

 

"I cook just fine," Harm snapped, voice getting louder despite himself. "And you . . ."

 

"COULD YOU TWO SHUT UP?" Bellowed someone from the room next door. "For God's sake, do you know what time it is?!"

 

"Nine thirty-four and thirty seconds!" Mac shouted back. She looked at Harm, sighed, and turned to her room.

 

"I'm going to bed. We can figure this out in the morning."

 

"I think we should talk now," Harm started, but was cut off by the door shutting in his face.

 

Holding back the surge of anger took a lot of willpower, but he managed. Grinding his teeth, Harm stormed back to his room, fuming all the way.

 

***

 

It wasn't as though Mac's plan hadn't worked. Actually, it had gone like clockwork, right down to the way the receptionist's eyes had widened when they mentioned Henrickson. She had muttered something about checking w/her boss, left the room for a minute, and returned with a manila envelope.

 

"I need you to fill out the forms in here, and then I can give you your tickets," she had said, sounding strangely subdued.

 

So they had. And filling out the forms was where they had gotten in trouble. As a "romantic" twist, the company required that the husband fill out the wife's, and vice versa.

 

"I bet that breaks up more marriages," Harm muttered grumpily to himself. He was trying to decide whether or not to get ready for bed. He didn't feel sleepy, but it would probably be best to be rested for tomorrow.

Mulling it over, Harm absently rubbed the sore spot Mac's earring had left on his finger. As he did so, an idea struck him.

 

He left the hotel room quickly, heading for their rental car.

 

***

 

At breakfast the next morning, a small black box was sitting on Mac's plate.

 

She picked it up and looked at it curiously, then jumped as Harm abruptly sat down at the table.

 

"Are you going to open it?" He asked brusquely.

 

"I . . ." Mac looked up at him. "Is this from you?"

 

"Yeah, but . . ." Harm held up his hands warningly. "Don't get too excited. It's just on loan for the duration of the case."

 

Mac hastily stripped away the gold band around the box and gently pulled it open.

 

Sitting inside, shining against the black velvet background, was a beautiful ring. It was thin and silver, with tiny diamonds inset around the band in a shimmering circle. Mac's eyes widened, and she looked up at Harm, smile glowing across her face.

 

"It's so beautiful."

 

Harm shrugged uncomfortably. "Nicer than the earrings, any way."

 

"Did you get . . ." Mac broke off as she glimpsed the matching ring on Harm's finger. "Very nice, Commander."

 

"Thanks. Here." Harm reached out, took the box from Mac, and removed the ring. "Give me your hand."

 

"Harm . . ." Mac shook her head dubiously.

 

"Come on, Sarah." Harm flashed her his trademark grin, and Mac found herself smiling back helplessly. "Remember, for the next week or so, we're a happily married couple."

 

"A country singer and a gourmet chef." Mac watched, breath catching in her throat, as Harm gently slid the ring onto her finger. She tried not to imagine what it would be like if the gesture was actually real, if they were actually standing in church, and . . .

 

She pushed the thought away and smiled, squeezing her "husband's" fingers in hers.

 

"We're quite a pair," she said.

 

***

 

"We have an unexpected booking for our special cruise."

 

The tall, dark-haired man looked up curiously. The woman standing in front of him returned the look, expression utterly blank, then set a file folder down on his desk.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Harmon McKenzie." The man pursed his lips, scanning slowly through his memory banks. "I don't remember them."

 

"They're not on our list. But someone - they said it was Henrickson - reccommended them to our service."

 

"Ah." The man sat back, clasping his hands behind his head. "Dear old Henrickson. He was rather a disappointment, don't you think?"

 

The woman shrugged.

 

"Hopefully they'll last longer. At least, a little bit longer." The man flipped past the dossiers to the pair of photos. "They're a handsome couple, aren't they?"

 

The woman shrugged again, expression still blank.

 

"Perhaps we can make their fate a little more interesting." The man rose and began to pace back and forth around his desk. "I'm sure you have some ideas."

 

For the first time, the woman smiled.

 

It was not a pleasant sight.

 

"Excellent." The man clapped his hands together and returned to the desk. He closed the folder and handed it back to the woman with a small smile.

 

"Make sure they enjoy their trip."

 

***

 

The sea was a placid blue sheet, stretching out to eternity. It did lap against the crystalline-beach (so white that it hurt the eyes) but the movement was so tiny as to be indistinguishable unless one searched. The usual sound of waves was strangely absent, as was the sound of wind in the palm trees that formed a solid line between beach and tangled jungle. No animals ran among those trees, played in their leaves, swung from the vines that linked them. That was one of the oddities of the island. There were no animals - at least not visible ones.

 

The island had other oddities as well. But visitors only discovered them when it was too late.

 

The short, stocky man sitting on a stump of coral and finishing his cigarette was not usually so meditative. He lived for the pleasure of the moment - for the thrill of killing and the joys of women, drinking, and tobacco. His mind - when it was occupied at all - was usually churning with schemes on how to get the things he desired most quickly.

 

Tonight, however, he had the luxury of thought. Tonight, the pleasure would come to him, and he had only to wait.

 

Slowly, the man leaned down and extinguished his cigarette in the water, then placed it in his pocket. (Those who left butts on the beach were severely punished.) Then, rising, he looked out to sea, squinting against the glare of the sun.

 

They were coming. He could not see them yet, but soon they would arrive, and the game would begin.

 

***

 

"Harm, could you help me with this?"

 

"I'm already carrying two of your bags!" Harm panted back over his shoulder.

 

"But you took the light ones!" Mac would have said more, but the offending bag was suddenly swooped from her hands, and a jovial voice echoed in her ear.

 

"Let me help you w/that, ma'am."

 

Mac looked up to see a small, rotund man with red cheeks and a wide smile. He was dressed in an immaculate white uniform and had a small cap placed at an angle on his head, and was holding out his hand for her bag.

 

Mac handed it over, and reorganized her remaining suitcases.

 

"Thank you," she said a little breathlessly.

 

"You're welcome, ma'am. Nothing but the best for our special customers."

 

"This is a nice boat," Harm said, smiling at the man with as much charm as he could muster. It wasn't hard, because the boat was one of the most beautiful yaucts Harm had ever seen. Long, white, simple and gorgeous, it gleamed from bow to stern like a well-polished pearl.

 

Looking at it, however, all Harm could think of was the Admiral's reaction when he saw their expense report for the case.

 

"Thank you sir. I'm proud of her." The man smiled, then gestured to the stairs on their left. "Now follow me, if you please."

 

They did, Mac glancing curiously about as they went. They passed a corrider, and out of the corner of her eye, Mac glimpsed a tall woman vanishing down it.

 

"Who's that?" She inquired curiously. "A newlywed?"

 

The man laughed cheerfully. "Oh! No sir! You two are the first pair of newlyweds we've had in quite a while, and I'll admit I was surprised to see you! We don't usually get pairs."

 

"You don't? But I thought . . ." Mac cut off as Harm accidentally-on-purpose jabbed his suitcase back into her hip.

 

"Thought what, ma'am?" The man asked, pausing in front of a cabin and setting down her bag.

 

"Oh, nothing." Mac set down her suitcases as well and waved her hand airily. "Just an assumption."

 

He looked at her, and the laughter was suddenly gone from his eyes.

 

"Never assume anything, ma'am. Not on this boat."

 

He dropped a key into Harm's hand with a modicum of gentleness, and moved quickly off.

 

"What did I do?" Mac whispered, puzzled.

 

"You're just a people person, honey," Harm drawled.

 

Mac shot him a fierce glare.

 

"Don't call me honey," she hissed, snatching the keys and moving toward the door.

 

Harm smiled to himself, and bent to retrieve their bags.

 

***

 

"There's no one else on this boat," Harm declared flatly, slumping beside Mac at one of the small tables on the bow and snatching her iced drink. "I've been up one end and down the other."

 

"Then you missed someone. I know I saw a woman . . ." Mac broke off and punched Harm in the shoulder. "Look at that! She's right there."

 

Harm turned, looked, then did a double-take.

 

The woman coming up the stairs was drop-dead gorgeous. She had long, flowing black hair that reached to her waist, tiny, perfect featuers, and wide purple eyes that Mac had never seen the like of before.

 

Except once.

 

"Harm," she whispered. He turned - a little reluctantly - to look at her. Mac gritted her teeth, then said quietly, "do you recognize her?"

 

"I wish."

 

If looks could have killed, Harm's blossoming career would have come to a sudden halt.

 

"She was in the picture w/Henrickson. The one taken by the security camera; the last one taken of him alive."

 

"You're right." Harm shot another glance at the woman. "She looks better in person, doesn't she?"

 

"You're married," Mac snapped, indignant and offended in spite of herself. "At least until we figure out what's going on."

 

"So?"

 

"So . . ." Mac grabbed his chin and yanked his face back around to face her. "So stop staring at her and help me figure out what this means."

 

"It means we're on the right track. Why don't I go question her?"

 

Harm started to rise, but Mac beat him to it.

 

"You stay here, flyboy. I think I should handle this one."

 

"You take all the fun jobs," Harm pouted. Mac sighed, then turned.

 

She was halfway toward the woman when a shout from her "husband" made her turn.

 

"Hey, Patsy!"

 

Grinning in spite of herself, Mac spun on one heel to face Harm, eyebrows raised.

 

"Yes, Chef Boyardee?"

 

Harm's grin widened.

 

"You're still the prettiest gal I ever saw," he drawled, slipping into a perfect Southern accent.

 

Mac, smile almost enveloping her face, rolled her eyes and turned back to where the woman had been sitting.

 

She was gone.

 

"Damn," Mac muttered under her breath.

 

***

 

On the island, the stocky man turned away from the sea, moving toward the jungle. They were on their way.

 

The game was afoot, and he could hardly wait to play.

 

***

 

"Harm?" Mac knocked gently on the door of their room; no answer. Frowning, she knocked a little louder. "Harm? We have to go to dinner."

 

Still nothing. Mac sighed. For a pilot, Harm was the heaviest sleeper she knew. She still found it fairly hard to believe.

 

"HARM!" She smacked her fist hard against the door. "Wake up!"

 

There were rustlings and sounds of movement from inside the room, and then the lock clicked open. Mac turned the knob and stepped inside, relocking the door as she did so.

 

"Were you asleep . . ." She started, and then stopped, struck dumb by the tableau before her eyes.

 

Harm was lying, unconcious, beside the enormous double bed. The woman from the deck who had so strangely disappeared was standing over him, and to Mac's left . . .

 

Mac spun frantically, trying to avoid the portly captain's blow. His fist glanced off her shoulder, and Mac caught his arm and threw him over her hip. He landed hard on the ground; Mac pivoted, preparing for another assault. The blood was pounding through her veins, so fast and hard that she could feel it echoing in her head.

 

"Don't move," the woman instructed icily from behind her. Mac glanced over and saw from the corner of her eyes the gun the woman was pointing at Harm.

 

"Don't move," she repeated. "Or your husband dies."

 

Mac froze, mind frantically scanning her options. But it was too late. The captain had hauled himself back to his feet, and the expression on his face was coldly furious.

 

Mac winced in anticipation of the blow that sent first stars and then blackness spinning across her field of vision, blocking her world with night.

 

***

 

"So much for our dream trip."

 

Mac heard the words as if from very far away. She felt as though she were lying on a very hard bed, and wondered idily if she had fallen asleep. No, that wasn't right. Harm had been asleep. Hadn't he? They'd been on the boat . . .

 

Mac's eyes snapped open.

 

"Harm?" She tried to sit up, then fell back, the world spinning around her. "Oh. My head."

 

"Easy." She felt Harm's arm around her shoulders, gently lifting her to a sitting position. "They must have hit you pretty hard."

 

"Where are we?" Mac mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. All she saw was white, and blue . . . It was so bright.

 

"On a beach. They must have dropped us here and taken off."

 

"Why?" Mac leaned forward, the world slowly coming into focus around her. "Why did they . . ."

 

"That woman was in our cabin when I went to take a nap before dinner," Harm explained. "We started talking, and the next thing I knew . . . she hit me with something hard. Then . . ." he shrugged. "We were here."

 

"It doesn't make any sense!" Mac said. She could see clearly now - they were on a long, flat beach matched by an equally flat stretch of ocean that stretched as far as she could see into the distance. "We didn't have any evidence that they were involved, only suspicions. I . . ."

 

"I think they were just doing their jobs," Harm said slowly.

 

"You mean they're some kind of transport service? To get people to this island?" At Harm's nod, Mac's eyes widened. "That would make sense. The woman could be bait - she meets them, arranges for a trip together, recommends the service . . ."

 

"Yeah." Harm rose and held out a hand to Mac. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Mac wobbled for a moment, then regained her balance.

 

"Where do we go from here?" She asked slowly.

 

"We walk." Harm looked in both directions; no clear landmark stood out in either. "Which way do you want to go?"

 

"Left."

 

"Sounds good," Harm said. He had been thinking right, but they shouldn't argue, at least not for the moment. And he was worried about Mac, though he would never say so, and he hardly admitted it to himself. She'd been hit pretty hard, and the nasty bruise on her temple made his heart contract painfully. He wished there was something he could do, but. . .

 

"Harm?" She was looking at him curiously. "You okay?"

 

"Yeah." Harm shook his head, then, slipping his hand protectively through hers, gestured down the long expanse of beach. "Let's go."

 

They set off.

 

From the trees, the stocky man watched them, eyes glowing with pleasure. They weren't drugged - not staggering about in some stupor like the others. They were live prey, exciting, fresh.

 

And very, very entertaining.

 

***

 

"Let's recap," Mac said. They had been walking along the beach for - her internal clock informed her - precisely 23 minutes and 14 seconds. Of course, in the blazing sun, that small space of time felt more like 23 days. Mac had given up shielding her face from the sun with her hand, and she could feel her nose beginning to turn pink. She was hot, sweaty, and the sand was burning the soles of her feet. Anything, *anything* that got her mind off all the discomfort was welcome.

 

"Let's what?" Harm said, looking down at her for the first time in 10 minutes and 54 seconds. When they had first started walking, he had been holding her hand, a situation that had secretly delighted Mac. However, as the heat from the sun had increased, he had let go and fallen silent, and Mac was becoming more and more worried.

 

"Recap. Go over the facts of the case. I'll start." Mac mopped at her brow with the back of her hand, wishing for the millionth time that she was wearing clothes a little more suitable than a swimsuit and cover-up. "High placed Navy officers start turning up dead. They've all been poisoned . . ."

 

"With the same drug," Harm said, slowly getting into the train of thought. "Each of them disappeared before they were found; for two, three days . . . The times varied."

 

"They all had very different backgrounds. Some were married, some not . . ."

 

"But those that were," Harm said, lowering his voice even though no one could possibly have heard. It was a chivalrous gesture that Mac found extremely appealing. "They were all unhappy enough that they would have happily given into temptation. Especially from such an attractive source as that woman."

 

"So she seduces them and gets them to agree to a romantic getaway with the Happy Honeymoon company."

 

"They get on the boat, get knocked out, and taken here . . ."

 

"No wonder a married couple confused everybody." Mac bit her lip, thoughts turning this way and that. "Problems. We still don't know who's behind it, why they're doing it, or what happens once they reach the island."

 

"I guess we get to find out," Harm said.

 

The words were unintentionally menacing, and both Harm and Mac found themselves checking guiltily over their shoulders. The beach behind them was as white and unmarred as it had been when they passed across it; the sea was a similarly calm sheet of blue glass.

 

The jungle, on the other hand . . .

 

"Whose fault is this?" Harm asked abruptly.

 

Mac looked up at him. half-surprised, half-suspicious.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Whenever we get in one of these . . . messes," Harm said, turning and resuming the steady trek across the beach. "I try to figure out who's to blame. Usually, Webb is a pretty safe bet. Or, w/Russia," he paused, then resumed. "That was me."

 

"And this one is . . ." Mac said, tone warning.

 

"I think you," Harm continued, ignoring the danger signal. "Whose plan was this, anyway?"

 

"You went along with it!"

 

"I didn't think we'd end up on a desert island! Especially not one that everybody who visits it, dies."

 

"Do you think I did?" Mac inquired acidicly. "I thought we were going to end up drinking champagne with a lot of sappy newleyweds and poking around the dark corners of a yauct."

 

"Shows you the importance of planning ahead, doesn't it?" Harm said wryly.

 

"You know," said Mac, turning, hands on hips, to face him. "If you had all these objections, you could have said something earlier. When it would have *helped.*"

 

"Would you have listened?" Harm asked, crossing his arms and glaring down at Mac. She glared right back up at him . . .

 

And then her eyes widened, and she grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to the sand and landing hard on top of him. Harm gasped, caught completely by surprise.

 

"What . . ." He took a breath, slowly becoming aware of their position. Mac's face was so close to his, and she looked so beautiful, features highlighted and glowing in the sun. He could feel her breath, soft and gentle on his face, and in spite of himself, Harm started to lift a hand toward her cheek . . .

 

"You know," Mac said, rolling abruptly off him to kneel on the sand. "This could be a bad episode of Moonlighting or something."

 

Harm startled, sat up sharply.

 

"What did you do that for?" He inquired.

 

"I thought I saw something in the jungle." Mac shrugged. "The old Marine reflexes kicked in. You know the drill."

 

"Would that be ducking or taking cover?" Harm asked wryly, rubbing the back of his head. He abortedly realized that it had taken a hard knocking against the sand.

 

Mac saw the gesture, and her face filled with remorse.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to help.

 

Harm pulled away, face suddenly bleak.

 

"What?" Mac said, and followed his line of vision.

 

Imbedded in the sand in front of them was a slim arrow. A note was wrapped around it and secured with twine.

 

"Looks like you did see something, Mac." Harm reached forward, undid the twine and carefully unwrapped the folded paper from the arrow. "I may owe you my life."

 

"I'll remember that," Mac murmured, leaning over his shoulder to see what was written. Harm read the words aloud anyway; they sounded cold and dead on the silent island.

 

"Welcome to my world. I hope you enjoy your stay."

 

***

 

"We have to go in there," Harm said, fist tightening around the note. He started to rise, heading for the jungle, but Mac grabbed his foot and pulled him back down.

 

"You were the little kid who always had to jump from the highest object on the playground, right Harm?" She sighed.

 

Harm flashed her that devil-may-care grin. "Weren't you?" He replied.

 

*No,* Mac thought to herself. *I was always the little girl who watched the daredevil and prayed he wouldn't break his neck because I was hopelessly in love with him.*

 

*Things don't change much, do they?*

 

She blinked. Where had that come from? Harm was giving her a curious look, so Mac spoke slowly and calmly.

 

"If we go in the jungle, we're setting ourselves up for an ambush. We know something bad happens on this island, so I think it's best to stay out in the open where we can watch for it."

 

"You want to just sit here and wait for someone to shoot us the minute we let our guard down?" Harm shook his head forcefully. "I'd rather go out w/a little more guts."

 

"Harm," Mac said, voice rising a little even as she tried to be reasonable. "Guts and suicide are too very different concepts."

 

"I know that, but . . ."

 

***

 

Inside a cool, dark room, the black-garbed man who was listening avidly to their conversation sat back in his chair and stifled a yawn. This was getting tedious. He wanted action - adventure, excitement, terror. Anything but this endless back and forth bickering.

 

Reaching out, he punched a gray button on his desk.

 

"Evan?"

 

The voice of the stocky man filtered into the room; rough and raspy from disuse.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I don't think the slower methods are going to work on these two. Go to plan B."

 

"Got it."

 

The connection clicked shut, and the black-garbed man slid his hand smoothly across the desk to another button, this one blue and cold to the touch.

 

He pushed it.

 

***

 

On the beach, Harm broke off in mid-sentence and looked up at the sky in surprise.

 

"Is it raining?" He asked incredulously.

 

Mac looked up too, then jumped as a drop of water splattered across her forehead. "Yes. But . . ."

 

The sky above them was rapidly filling with dark, menacing storm clouds that loomed, black and bulging with torrents of rain, on the horizon.

 

"In ten minutes that happened?" She breathed. "I've heard of tropical storms before, but never . . ."

 

"Look at the ocean," Harm said, cutting her off.

 

Mac looked. The sea was no longer the pale, watery blue of a few minutes ago. It was a roiling, raging gray/black/green/blue swell that pulsed against the beach in ever-larger waves crested with white foam. The rain was coming down harder, feeding the growing gale, and even as Mac watched the waves seemed to grow taller and taller.

 

"This is insane," she breathed, starting to back up. Beside her, Harm matched her movements.

 

"Jungle still seem like such a bad option?" He asked, tone sardonic. Mac didn't justify it with a response. It was obvious that they had nowhere else to go.

 

Her eyes swept from the skies to the sea, checking both for dangers. She knew instinctively that Harm was scanning the jungle, making sure it was safe.

 

*Maybe we can get through this. If we watch each other's backs. Maybe.*

 

A movement far out at sea caught Mac's eyes. Her stomach lurched.

 

"Let's move, Harm!" She grabbed his hand and took off at a dead run toward the jungle, slipping and sliding across the wet, rough sand.

 

"What?" Harm yelled, fighting to be heard over the roar of the wind. "What is it?"

 

They reached the fringe of the jungle, and Mac stopped for a moment to shove the dripping hair back from her face and point.

 

Harm's eyes widened.

 

"Is that what I think it is?"

 

"Yeah." Mac's tone was bleak. "It's a tidal wave."

 

"I cannot *believe* this." Harm muttered, and glanced both ways, knowing deep inside that there was no time for consideration, no time for anything. The jungle, dark, menacing, on their right. The boiling sea with the huge, inescapable wave on their right. No good options, but in the jungle at least, they had a chance.

 

A very small chance.

 

Mac's eyes met his, and Harm knew that she had reached the same conclusion.

 

"Come on," said Harm, and pulled his partner deeper into the tangled mass of the jungle. Behind them, the wave moved implacably forward, coming ever closer to the beach.

 

***

 

In the forest, the stocky man smiled with glee, and in his darkened room millions of miles away, the black-garbed man threw back his head and laughed.

 

***

 

The jungle was completely overgrown, and despite their anxiety and feelings of mounting urgency, Harm and Mac were forced to move at a snail's pace, clambering over fallen trees, ducking under tangled masses of vines, crawling on their stomaches under huge bramble bushes that seemingly stretched into eternity. The rain hadn't slackened in its driving intensity; rather, it slipped through the thick canopy of the jungle and coated everything beneath with a slippery wetness that made passage even more impossible.

 

"That wave is going to hit any minute," Harm would hiss to Mac (or vice versa) if the other started to slow down, buckling under the strain of the fight. "We have to get out of range."

 

"Stop," Mac panted after the third repetition of the words. "We should stop and tie ourselves to something."

 

"With what?" Harm asked, voice tight and tense.

 

"Vines?" Mac said, and was just reaching upwards when the wave hit.

 

It slapped against the island with tremendous, pounding intensity, ripping the whole edge of the jungle away entirely and soaking Harm and Mac to the bone in the first second of its onslaught. The pair clung desperately to whatever was in range, but still found themselves being sucked backward and pulled under, helpless in the face of the wave's strength.

 

Mac thrust a hand out desperately through the water, grabbing for something - anything - that she could hold onto. Her hand connected with something rough - cloth? her puzzled brain managed to think - and then she felt a stabbing pain in her arm that made her cry out and inadvertently take in a mouthful of water. Choking, she lost her grip on the island entirely, and was pulled backward into the depths of the wave.

 

***

 

Harm had lost her.

 

He was clutching to a tree - white-knuckled, the hard bark pushed so hard against his face that he could feel it cutting into his skin. And it was working - he and the wave were at a standstill, and every so often he was able to climb a little bit higher up the tree, grab another breath of air.

 

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. He had lost her.

 

Harm searched the water around him desperately, eyes open, stinging, burning from the harsh salt of the sea. No Mac. Dammit.

 

The wave receded for a minute, and Harm shouted with all his might, "MAC?! WHERE ARE YOU?"

 

No answer.

 

Harm knew if he let go of the tree, he'd probably die. But if he didn't let go, he might never see Mac again.

 

She might die.

 

And it would be all his fault.

 

He could see her smiling at him. It was strange how clearly he could picture her face, and how clearly the knowledge came to him in that moment that whatever else he did, he couldn't let her go.

 

Harm loosened his hold on the tree, and dropped back into the water.

 

***

 

The black-garbed man was leaning forward now, eyes fixed eagerly on the screen, tracking every moment of the two small figures.

 

Amazing. The man - what was his name? Harm? - had just let go of the tree to go after the woman. A monumentally stupid act, especially considering that she was probably already dead. But very, very touching.

 

The man smiled sardonically. Drowning was too easy for this pair, he thought, and skimmed his hand back to the panel of buttons.

 

***

 

Harm thought that he must be in heaven.

 

Though his eyes were closed, he could still see a very bright light that almost seemed to burn through his eyelids. He felt warm and content - though whatever he was lying on was a little harder than he might have liked. The world was silent and calm except for the quiet singing of something that, his brain calmly informed him, was probably the heavenly chorus.

 

Contented, he leaned back and let the gentle music sweep over him.

 

"Mm-hmm, it's got me / so totally wrapped up, emotionally attracted, so desperately active, so recklessly I need you, so . . . something."

 

Harm frowned. Wouldn't angels know the words to their own songs?

 

"Sure as the sky is blue . . . baby, I love you . . ."

 

"Wait a minute." Harm opened one eye a fraction of an inch and saw his partner sitting, cross-legged, about a foot away from him. She jumped at the sound of his voice.

 

"Harm! You're awake!"

 

"You were singing again." Harm reached up a hand to gingerly brush his skull, which felt very, very sore. "I didn't know you had such an . . . impressive repetoire."

 

"I've got lots of secrets," Mac said with a grin. "And you've got a huge bruise on your forehead. I think you must have gotten slammed into a rock or something."

 

"Yeah." Harm let his head flop back down - gingerly = to the ground. "I remember that, actually. And then I remember thinking I was dead. What happened to the wave?"

 

"I don't know." Mac shrugged. "I couldn't breathe, blacked out. When I woke up we were both lying here."

 

"Where's here?" Harm asked, looking carefully around him.

 

The jungle rose up, green and impenetrable, on all sides. The canopy above was sparse, and broad beams of light filtered through to illuminate whole clearings and fill them to bursting with brightly colored plants. He and Mac were in one such clearing.

 

"I don't even want to know," Harm muttered, and glanced back at his partner.

 

Abruptly, his eyes narrowed and he sat up, ignoring the pounding complaint of his skull.

 

"What happened to your arm?"

 

"Somebody stabbed me," Mac said simply.

 

The sight of the blood-stained bandage tied tightly around his partner's small arm made Harm feel like killing something. Someone had hurt her. He hadn't been able to protect her. His hands tightened into fists on the floor of the jungle.

 

"How?" He asked, the slightly rough tone of his voice the only indication of the deep anger he was barely controlling.

 

Mac shrugged.

 

"When we were getting swept away . . . I grabbed something - cloth. And then I felt a pain, and when I woke up I was bleeding pretty badly. But it's okay now."

 

"No, it's not okay!" Harm slammed his fist into the ground with such force that the soft turf dented in. "It is not *okay* that you got hurt, Mac." What could he say to make her understand?

 

"I . . ."

 

"Well, we can't do anything about it now," Mac said, interupting him with brusque efficiency. "Now that you're awake, I think we should get moving."

 

"To where?" The blood was pulsing through Harm's veins with frenetic intensity. "We walked on the beach, and we got shot at. We ran, and we got hit by a tidal wave. I think we stay put, and let whatever is trying to get us do it face to face."

 

"Harm," Mac said tiredly. "If we stay here, we just make it easier for whoever's doing this. They're never going to confront us."

 

"How do you know?"

 

Mac held out another note.

 

"It was by me when I woke up," she said simply.

 

Harm unfolded the white piece of paper, and read: Run, and you'll live. At least for a little while.

 

"A little is better than nothing," Mac said quietly.

 

***

 

Mac was going to pass out.

 

At least, that's what her body was telling her. Her brain was determined to push grimly onward, to keep fighting.

 

*I'm not ending up like those Navy men. I'm not dying on some God-forsaken island.*

 

She glanced up at Harm, and knew, instinctively, that he was thinking the same thing.

 

*At least I have him. And I know we're in this together.*

 

Another log in front of her. Mac sighed, and began to carefully climb over it, trying not to jar her injured arm, which was becoming more sore with every second.

 

"Just sit for a minute, Mac," Harm said abruptly, voice rough and tired. "You look like you could use it."

 

Mac's eyes flashed, though not as brightly as they would have several hours ago.

 

"If you can keep going," she snapped. "So can I."

 

Harm sighed, eyes still scanning her face. Abruptly, his face crinkled into a smile.

 

"You've got some dirt on your face," he observed.

 

"That's because I've been dragging around in the mud for the last hour," Mac replied, not seeing a molecule of humor in the situation. "You look like you just took a mudbath."

 

"No, no, it's cute," Harm protested. "It's right on your nose."

 

Mac felt a smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth. Harm, eyes twinkling, reached out cup her chin in his hand and brush his thumb across the bridge of her nose.

 

"Very cute," he repeated softly.

 

Mac couldn't say anything. She couldn't move. It felt as though his thumb were burning her, setting the skin it passed over so lightly on fire. Harm was looking at her oddly, as though he were searching for something, and his eyes, like his hands, were making her blaze with a strange, crazy heat.

 

*Crazy. This is crazy. We can't do this.*

 

The jungle had become very silent. More silent than before, if that was possible. It was frozen, the world was frozen, time was frozen.

 

Harm's thumb moved toward Mac's lips.

 

*We CAN'T do this.*

 

Mac jerked away and slid off the log, brushing herself off with her good hand. Harm stepped back quickly, opened his mouth as though to speak, and then turned and headed away into the jungle without another word.

 

***

 

That was interesting.

 

The black-garbed man leaned back, steepling his fingers together and staring away into nothingness. This was a strange pair of newlyweds. He'd been sure that they would kiss at that moment, and while they were distracted, he could order Evan to attack.

 

But they hadn't. The woman had pulled away.

 

Angry? Because they were on the island? Then why the sense of anticipation? As if waiting for a moment that had yet to occur?

 

The man sat forward and thumbed the intercom switch to his right.

 

"I need an identification check," he said, tone echoing cooly throughout the large room, filled from wall to wall with computers. "Whoever discovers the true identity of the subjects I am sending to you now will be . . . greatly rewarded."

 

He thumbed the intercom closed. They knew better than to try to ask questions.

 

The subjects were back on the move. He watched them cut through the jungle, moving slowly. Somewhere deep within him, fascination stirred.

 

"You just managed to prolong your pathetic little lives once again," he whispered to the screen. " I want to know who you are."

 

***

 

"It's getting dark."

 

No reply.

 

"Maybe we should stop."

 

Still nothing.

 

Mac stifled a sigh and squinted into the blackness ahead of her, trying to pick out Harm's blurry outline from the similarly blurry mass of trees and undergrowth. Her arm throbbed with a steady, pulsating pain that matched the regular thump of her heart, and her head was aching abomnibably. On top of all her physical ailments Harm hadn't spoken to or even looked at her since that . . . moment they'd had.

 

*It's not fair of him to do this. To be mad at me. It's not like I didn't WANT to kiss him. But I know it's not really what HE wants.*

 

In front of her, Harm evaded a hanging vine with weary grace; Mac, eyes tiredly scanning the ground for trip-hazards, wasn't so lucky. The heavy liana slammed into her bad arm and she let out a gasp of pain.

 

Harm actually turned about a fraction of an inch to look at her.

 

"What?" He inquired brusquely.

 

*This is very mature, Harm.*

 

Aloud, Mac snapped "I'm fine" through gritted teeth, then, taking advantage of Harm's momentary attention, quickly added:

 

"I just think that stumbling around in the dark isn't getting us anywhere."

 

"You were the one who said we had to keep moving," Harm objected.

 

"Yes, but . . ." Mac sighed. Her head was hurting so badly that she could barely think. "But that was when it was light out. I think we should . . ."

 

Abruptly, Harm's fingers closed around her good wrist, and his finger pressed against her mouth, silencing her. Mac froze instinctively, and they both listened.

 

Someone was coming toward them. She could heard the very quiet rustling sounds - it was strange to hear sounds again - of passage through the forest.

 

"What do we do?" Harm breathed.

 

Mac looked up. The trees loomed, dark and foreboding, above their heads.

 

"Looks like we climb," she said with a weary sigh.

 

***

 

Harm didn't waste a minute. With that arm of hers, Mac wasn't in any shape to clamber up trees. On the other hand, she wasn't in any shape to defend herself either. Two more bad options, he thought grimly. Looks like things aren't going to improve any time soon.

 

He bent down and cupped his hands together. Mac, wincing, pressed her bad arm tightly against her body, then stepped into his boost, reaching up to catch the lowest branch. Harm kepts his hands carefully under her, helping her balance until she was safely in the tree. Then, ignoring the still-present pain in his own head, he swung up himself.

 

"We have to go higher," Mac breathed in his ear. Her breath was warm and soft on his cheek, and Harm found himself distracted once again. The way he'd been earlier, when he'd almost kissed her. He didn't know what was coming over him, but whatever it was, it wasn't helping them stay alive.

 

"Yeah," he said, a little more harshly then he'd intended. "Can you climb?"

 

He felt more than saw Mac nod.

 

"Let's go."

 

***

 

"They're gone," Evan whispered. He was staring in disbelief at the spot where his quarry should have stood - where they had stood mere moments ago. He *knew* they had to be here somewhere. He *knew* it.

 

Ever so carefully, he scanned from one side of the clearing to the other, looking for any sign that would indicate which way they'd gone. A bent blade of grass. That would be enough. A broken twig . . .

 

A swinging vine.

 

His face creased into a gap-toothed smile, and silently, so silently he might not have existed at all, Evan loped across the clearing and away in the direction that the vine was swinging.

 

He was back on track.

 

***

 

In the tree high above, Mac finally dared to let out her breath. Twisting her head the slightest bit, she caught Harm's gaze.

 

Think he's gone? - She mouthed.

 

Harm shook his head ever so slightly.

 

Wait. - He mouthed back.

 

Mac turned back, lolling her head tiredly against the tree. They'd climbed so far, so fast . . . she felt as though she would never be able to move again. And what would be wrong with that? This was a quiet, peaceful place. Here, above the canopy, was much cooler than the moist humidity of the forest floor. She could see the stars, the moon, the light glowing like a welcome beacon far in the distance . . .

 

Mac's head snapped forward, and her hand clamped onto Harm's arm. His head snapped toward her, and then his jaw dropped as he too saw the light.

 

"What is that?" Mac hissed.

 

"I don't know," Harm muttered back. "But wherever it is, that's where we're going."

 

***

 

"Harm," Mac said quietly. "What does 'murdered Navy officers' make YOU think of?"

 

They were moving through the jungle, stopping frequently while Harm clambered up trees and checked their position in regards to the light. They were getting gradually closer, but it was a slow, laborious process, and talking was Mac's only way of keeping herself from passing out from the pain of her arm.

 

She hadn't said anything to Harm. He was still acting distant, and their situation was enough of a mess without her heaping personal problems on top of it.

 

"What?" Harm said, jerking her back to reality. He was a few inches ahead, poking carefully through the undergrowth.

 

"Murdered. Navy. Officers," Mac sighed, ducking under a jutting branch. "I think, I dunno, conspiracy. Or, or revenge. Vendetta. Not desert islands, cast aways, jungles and tidal waves."

 

"I know what you mean," Harm murmured. "I keep expecting it to make sense, but . . ."

 

He stopped abruptly, and Mac bumped into him. The impact jarred her arm, and despite herself, she let out a small moan.

 

Harm turned and looked down at her curiously.

 

"Are you okay, Mac?"

 

"Yes," she said, not at all convincingly. She couldn't be convincing any more. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes, forming crazy patterns that looked like something Chloe would have made her watch on Sesame Street.

 

*Chloe didn't watch Sesame Street.*

 

*Yes she did.*

 

*No, she didn't. You're getting delustional.*

 

"Mac?" Harm reached out and laid a hand on her forehead. Instantly, his face darkened.

 

"Dammit, Mac, you're burning up! Why didn't you say something?"

 

"I . . ." All Mac could think of was the Sesame Street theme song. Amazing. She could remember almost all the words.

 

*Sunny days . . . sweeping the clouds away . . .*

 

"On my way . . . to where the air is sweet . . ." She mumbled. Harm, who was feeling her cheeks and practically radiating concern, looked down at her in disbelief.

 

"What?" He hissed. "Mac . . ."

 

"Can you tell me how to get / how to get to Sesame Street?" Mac finished, absurdly proud of herself. And then her knees gave out and she toppled forward into Harm's arms, unconcious.

 

***

 

"GodDAMMIT."

 

Harm was just about ready to . . . he didn't know what. He felt as though every angry feeling in the world was bubbling up inside of him, fighting to erupt outward and wreak havoc. All he could do to control himself was remain completely, utterly still, and keep his unconcious partner from falling to the ground.

 

*I just want to get to the damn light. Is that too much to ask?*

 

Evidently, for the moment, it was. Harm took a deep breath, let it out. Another deep breath, let it out. Then, carefully, he lowered Mac and laid her gently on the Earth. Gingerly, he stripped the bandage from the cut on her arm, expecting the worst.

 

Nothing. He frowned. The cut was still there, but it was shallow, and appeared to be healing as well as could be expected. No obvious infection. Which meant . . .

 

*The knife must have been poisoned.*

 

"No." Harm shook his head, refusing to believe it. There had to be some other explanation. Mac must have hit her head, or . . .

 

*If she IS poisoned, then we have to get to that light. They can help her. I can MAKE them help her.*

 

A lesser man might have crumbled under the prospect of navigating a huge, impenetrable jungle in the dead of night while carrying an unconcious woman. Harm merely sat back on his heels and began to ponder the most efficient way to do it.

 

As he thought, a beam of moonlight fell through the canopy of leaves, gently illuminating Mac's face. Harm's tense expression softened as he looked down at her. She was so beautiful, even when tired, smeared with dirt, and scratched up by numerous tiny branches with vicious thorns. Especially then.

 

*I would rather be here with you than with anyone,* he thought fiercely, and prayed to himself that Mac would awaken, and he could tell her that.

 

***

 

"Not having any luck, Evan?" The black-garbed man's voice was sardonic.

 

A crackle of static indicated that Even was listening, but not responding to his gibes. The man smiled.

 

"I thought not." His tone was suddenly ice, and his words were clipped and harsh. "You lost them, you stupid little ape. I hired you because you were the best, and all they had to do was climb a tree and you lost them. I would have thought looking up was part of your job description."

 

Sounds of disbelief from the other end of the microphone. The black-garbed man smiled, and pulled the dossier his secretary had delivered across the desk into his field of view.

 

"Luckily, you're not batting a complete zero. The woman - whose name, you might care to know, is Sarah MacKenzie - has been poisoned. You stabbed her in the tsunami. That was very well done, Evan, very well done indeed. It's the only reason you're still alive."

 

Now Evan spoke, and the black-garbed man knew that he was furious.

 

"Where are they?"

 

"I'll tell you in a minute. She's passed out, you know. It'll slow him down and you *might* be able to catch up." The emphasis was purposeful and insulting. "He is Harmon Rabb Jr. They're JAG lawyers, probably here on some undercover investigation. Pity they didn't know who they were trifling with."

 

He meant himself. He let Evan think that he was talking about him.

 

"I'll kill them."

 

"You'll play it the way I tell you," the man hissed, tone leaving no room for argument. "They saw the light, just like I wanted. They're coming here. Track them, play them out, stop them just before they can reach me."

 

He smirked at the screen. Rabb had reached out a hand, and seemingly spellbound by his partner's delicate features, was gently caressing her face.

 

"Oh, and let her die in his arms, will you Evan?" The man smiled happily. "I think that will add a lovely note of pathos to our little drama."

 

He closed the audio-connection and leaned toward the screen, watching avidly as Rabb's fingertips moved ever so slowly toward the woman's lips.

 

"Come on, Rabb," he murmured. "What does it take to wake Sleeping Beauty?"

 

***

 

Mac was dreaming.

 

At least, she hoped she was dreaming. She was standing in a large, dark room - so dark that she could hardly see her hand in front of her. It was cold too, and the walls and floor were wet and slimy when she brushed against them.

 

*Where am I? Harm?*

 

She reached out a hand, hoping to feel his comforting presence somewhere - anywhere - near her. Nothing. Nothing anywhere.

 

*I'm lost. I lost him. I lost me.*

 

"Harm?"

 

And then suddenly she heard his voice, somewhere far, far off in the distance.

 

"Mac? Shh, Mac. I'm here."

 

He was here. Mac tried to take a step forward, but her legs wouldn't move, and she collapsed onto the cold, wet stone of the floor. Instantly, water seeped through her thin nightgown to her bare skin, chilling her to the bone. Mac began to shake, teeth rattling and chattering together loudly in the silence.

 

"Mac?"

 

And then she felt warm arms around her, holding her tightly against a warmer body. Ever so slightly, Mac relaxed, allowing her muscles to loosen bit by bit. She felt very, very tired, and very, very content.

 

"Harm," she murmured, unaware of anything but the fact that this dream, unlike all the others that tormented her at night, seemed to be heading toward a happy ending. "Harm, I'm so glad you're here."

 

"Always, Mac." He still sounded far away, but she could feel his arms, feel his heart beating beneath her cheek.

 

*Close to my heart. He's always been close to my heart, without even trying.*

 

"Harm," Mac murmured, lost in the quiet and comfort of the dream. "I love you."

 

***

 

"WHAT?!"

 

Harm felt as though a bolt of lighting had just slammed into him, knocking him for a loop. Every neuron in his brain was firing at once, filling him with thoughts that ranged from "I *knew* it" to "Shut up, you idiot. She's drugged and delusional." None of them really meant anything. His world was spinning, he was falling . . .

 

Mac stirred slightly in his arms, and in his shock, Harm almost dropped her.

 

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

 

*What do you think of when you think of 'Murdered Navy officers?'*

 

She had asked him that, and though he hadn't answered, he knew that he sure as hell wouldn't have said admissions of love.

 

*It's not. She doesn't know what she's saying.*

 

*But if she does . . .*

 

Harm shook his head furiously. He couldn't do this. Not now. He had been stumbling through the jungle, half-carrying, half-dragging Mac for what felt like years. Had she been conscious, Mac could have told him exactly how long it was, but he didn't need minutes and seconds to know that time was running out, and he didn't seem to be any closer to the light. His entire body ached, his head was still pounding . . . he'd thought a rest would help, and now he had this to deal with too.

 

Ever so gently, Harm set Mac down on the ground.

 

Then he turned, and punched the nearest tree as hard as he could.

 

Two things resulted from the blow. One of them, Harm expected, and the other, he most certainly did not.

 

***

 

Evan was ready.

 

He was more than ready. He was excited, filled with rushing energy and strength. This was the moment, the moment he'd been waiting for ever since the man and woman woke up on the island. Only now, he was even more eager. They had humiliated him, almost cost him his life, his job . . . His pleasures. The only things he cared about, and they had almost been ripped away/

 

Now, the man and the woman would pay. He would watch her die, and then he would die himself.

 

The boss had told him to wait until they were almost at the fortress. But Evan was through with the hunting. He had his quarry in his sights, and he would not, *could* not, wait any longer.

 

*They're mine,* he thought. *And I say that it's time.*

 

His finger tightened on the trigger of the dart gun. From his carefully chosen spot in the tree, he could see perfectly the soft spot at the nape of the woman's neck. There, the dart would do the most damage.

 

He considered firing from the tree an appropriate revenge on the pair for escaping him. Few had accomplished that feat, and this would be a warning to anyone who dared to think it possible in the future.

 

A picture of the boss' face flashed across Evan's field of vision. His face tightened. How dare that man insult him, treat *him* as dispensible? Without Evan, the boss was nothing. Without someone to actually do the dirty work of killing, he was just a pathetic fool with a keyboard full of switches to flip, and a burning desire to play the avenging God against those he thought had wronged him.

 

*I am the only reason you have succeeded.*

 

Perhaps after he killed the woman, killed the man, he would kill the boss. He knew all the island's secrets, and he had his own plans for how they would be used.

 

He adjusted his footing in the tree, all silence and stealth. He aimed the gun, ready to fire . . .

 

***

 

And then Harm's fist hit the tree with the force of his entire body behind it. In his current enraged state, that was enough to send pain shooting anew through his already aching body, and to make him almost shout at the crushing agony in his hand.

 

On the plus side, it was also enough force to shake Evan from the tree and knock him hard to the ground. His dart gun slipped from his grasp, hit a few yards off and broke; Evan fared only slightly better. His skull thumped against one of the tree's sprawling roots, and he lolled backwards, unconcious.

 

Harm stared at him in disbelief. He guessed instantly who he was, but his tired brain didn't want to accept that he had been so close, that he could have killed them at any moment.

 

Killed Mac at any moment.

 

Mac who loved him.

 

*Nope. Still can't deal with that one.*

 

Accepting the fact, Harm shoved it away to the recesses of his mind and ignoring the pain in his hand, bent and began to gingerly tie Evan up.

 

***

 

In his room, the black-garbed man's face showed anger for the first time in many, many years.

 

For the first time since he'd come to the island, things were not going as he wanted.

 

Someone was going to pay.

 

***

 

Harm searched quickly and efficiently through the man's pockets. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but two pieces of information stood out in his mind. First, this man was the one who had wounded Mac, poisioned her. Second, if he had given her the drug, then he must have the cure.

 

Additionally, searching pockets and keeping his thoughts on practical matters kept him from thinking about less practical things.

 

*I love you.*

 

He could *hear* her saying it, as though he'd tape recorded the words and could hold them up to his ear at any moment to listen.

 

*I love you.*

 

*She probably meant, I love you as a brother. Or as a friend. A friend. Right.*

 

For some reason, the thought of once again being relegated to the position of Mac's *friend* made Harm want to give the unconcious man in front of him a few sharp kicks.

 

Fighting the urge, he reached into the inner pocket of the man's dark green jacket, and pulled out a tiny, crystalline vial. It's wide white label had been filled out by someone with crisp, clear penmanship, and Harm could easily make out the word "antidote."

 

Under that neat identification, someone had written in a smaller, tighter scrawl: "In case you cut yourself. Being the tremendous idiot you are, I see it as a distinct possibility."

 

Harm raised his eyebrows at that, then shrugged. It wasn't important. What was important was that now, he could save Mac.

 

He poured a tiny bit of the antidote over the wound on her arm, then emptied about half of what remained into her mouth. Gathering her carefully into his arms, he sat back to wait. Their pursuer - he hoped there was only one - was no longer a threat, and he couldn't go another minute without sleep.

 

At least a short nap . . .

 

Harm's eyes drifted closed, and in a minute or two, only his soft breathing disturbed the silence of the jungle.

 

***

 

Mac's eyes opened abruptly.

 

It had been . . . how long since she fell asleep? Mac blinked woozily. Something had happened to her internal clock. It felt as though she was *missing* time; the way she had been a couple of years ago when she'd had the flu . . . Had she gotten sick? What had happened?

 

Why was she sleeping in Harm's arms?

 

Mac sat bolt upright and punched Harm in the shoulder.

 

"Harm! Wake up!"

 

He opened one eye, regarded her for a moment, and then said in a very weary voice:

 

"Mac, I've been hauling your six through the jungle for hours, while battling stalkers and searching for an antidote to whatever poison they gave you."

 

*Poison?* Mac blinked.

 

"What poison?" She asked aloud. "I was poisoned?"

 

"You were unconscious . . . delerious . . ." Harm paused, and seemed to put special meaning on the next word. "Babbling. Tell you what. You take a turn standing guard, and I'll catch up on my sleep."

 

"Like a good little wife?" Mac snapped, irrationally furious. *What does he mean, babbling? What did I say?*

 

"Exactly," Harm said with a yawn, closed his eyes, and fell back asleep.

 

Mac, grumbling to herself, slid away from him and glanced around her. They were surrounded by tall trees with thick trunks . . . they'd climbed one, she remembered that vaguely. One tree looked more disturbed than the others, broken branches, scraped bark . . .

 

An unconcious man at its base.

 

Mac scrambled over to him and felt for his pulse. Strong; he wasn't dead. Just very unconcious.

 

Like Harm, she searched his pockets. However, unlike Harm, she had no agenda in mind, and was able to recognize the significance of the shiny black box in the man's pants pocket.

 

One corner had been dented in his fall, but otherwise, the remote visual correspondence device was in full working order.

 

Mac leaned over and gave Harm a poke.

 

"Hey snookums," she said sweetly. "I think you want to see this."

 

***

 

There was an incoming transmission. The black-garbed man sat back with a sigh, allowing himself to melt into the shadows behind his desk. He'd been expecting this. Ever since Evan fell and was captured.

 

*I will have to turn it to my advantage. How?*

 

As he mulled over that problem, the man extended one long, white finger and pressed the "recieve" button.

 

Their faces appeared on his screen. Dirtier, scratched up . . . they looked much less attractive then in the pictures the crew aboard ship had taken of them. None the less, he had to admit that they made a beautiful couple.

 

*Will you be beautiful even after I kill you?*

 

"Who are you?" Rabb asked. He had exactly the voice the man would have expected. Bold, brash . . .

 

*I could destroy you.*

 

But he just smiled, and answered the question with one of his own.

 

"Who do you think?"

 

***

 

Harm glanced at Mac out of the corner of his eye. Should they know this guy? Was he someone . . .

 

Mac was running the voice through her mental memory banks. Nothing about it struck a cord, and yet . . .

 

And yet, it felt as though she should know it.

 

Harm was still looking at her. Mac shrugged her shoulders the tiniest fraction of an inch, and they both glanced back down into the small TV viewer.

 

"Why don't you show yourself to us," Harm said slowly. "And then we'll guess."

 

"That would take all the fun out of it, Rabb," the voice said, emerging from the blackness, vaguely chiding.

 

"And it's all about the fun?" Mac said sarcastically.

 

"For some people." It sounded as though the owner of the voice were shrugging. "For Evan, it was. I must thank you for dealing with him - he was getting far too uppity."

 

"It was nothing," Harm said, and meant it.

 

"So what happens now?" Mac asked warily. "Do you let us go, or . . ."

 

"Let you go?" They could *feel* the incredulousness radiating from the speaker. "After all my effort? You came here to die, and be sure of it, you're going to."

 

Harm bit back a reply, and shot Mac a look.

 

She clicked off the transponder; the picture faded away, leaving the screen black.

 

"Now what?" She asked.

 

"We wait for it to get dark, and then we keep heading for that light."

 

Mac sighed impatiently. "I know. But what do we do in the meantime?"

 

Harm smiled, suddenly and unexpectedly. Mac's expression became wary. He was in far too good a mood.

 

"What?" She said, not sure what she was expecting, but sure that it wasn't going to be good.

 

Harm's words were the last ones she would have expected.

 

"I bet you're hungry."

 

***

 

The black-garbed man sat back slowly and steepled his fingers together, pressing the tips hard against one another. It was the only sign of tension he allowed himself, the only outward manifestation of his churning brain.

 

*That did *not* go the way I wished. Damn them both.*

 

He leaned forward, scanned the buttons, reviewed his options. Suddenly, nothing seemed harsh enough. None of the options before him - winds, hurricanes, floods - were suitably cruel.

 

*They deserve more.*

 

If only Evan had not been quite so stupid. But it was no good considering bygones or might have beens. It was time to think of the present, of what would happen when the erstwhile pair arrived at his door and demanded answers.

 

For a moment, flight seemed the best option. But it was only a brief moment.

 

There were too many other possibilities.

 

***

 

Night fell.

 

Harm and Mac watched, silently, as the sun blazed against the treetops, turning the jungle into a brilliant emerald and setting the sky aglow.

 

They had tied Evan tightly to a tree and moved away from the battle scene to a more open clearing that Harm had heard bubbling and splashing during his long trek. Both realized that the sudden presence of sound was perhaps a warning sign, but they were too hungry and thirsty to care.

 

Now, hours later, after drinking water (purified with tablets found in Evan's jacket pocket) and eating a fish from the stream, neither was sick or dead. Harm counted that as a good thing.

 

He was sitting on one side of the clearing, leaning his head back against a tree, watching the sky and trying to block Mac's presence from his mind. She wasn't *doing* anything in particular, just laying by the stream, fast asleep. But after her delirious admission, her mere presence was enough to jangle and confuse Harm's nerves.

 

*We have to talk. But I don't know what to say.*

 

He could tease her. He was good at that, and it was easy even now. Jokes, however, did not calm the underlying tensions or do anythign to make them go away. Only talking could do that, and for the life of him, Harm couldn't figure out the best way to broach the subject.

 

*So Mac. You're in love with me?*

 

As if in answer to the unspoken thought, Mac stirred sleepily on the other side of the clearing, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She looked so beautiful - and vulnerable - that the breath caught in Harm's throat, and it was all he could do not to go over to her and gently cradle her in his arms.

 

Mac looked at him, smiled a little sleepily, and pointed toward the tree behind his head.

 

"Do you want to climb or should I?"

 

Harm sighed. It was going to be a long night.

 

***

 

The thought turned out to be an accurate prognosis. Though the jungle had begun to thin slightly, it was still a dense mess, and having to stop every five minutes to orient themselves wore on both Mac and Harm's nerves. They didn't talk - ostensibly so they wouldn't attract enemies, really so they wouldn't argue.

 

Time passed in that curious, dream-like state that accompanies little sleep and long, busy days. Mac ceased to measure how close they were to the light; her mind only registered which way they should go.

 

As a result, Harm's muffled exclamation of glee came as a complete surprise to her.

 

"Mac!" He slid out of the tree to the ground in front of her, eyes alight for the first time in hours. "We're almost there."

 

It didn't seem real. Mac blinked sleepily at him, then said slowly.

 

"So, now what?"

 

"A very good question," said a clipped voice behind them.

 

***

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

"This," Mac said slowly, dropping her hands to her sides in a gesture of utter resignation. "Has been the worst vacation I have ever, ever taken."

 

"But we'll remember it forever, won't we darling?" Harm muttered back.

 

"Turn around," the voice behind them commanded brusquely. "And do it now."

 

Harm and Mac exchanged weary glances, then turned.

 

The figure in front of them was hidden in shadow, face obscured from sight. All Harm and Mac could see clearly was the gun he was pointing at them.

 

"You will go where I tell you," the voice said.

 

Harm opened his mouth, but was cut off by Mac.

 

"Like hell we will. Do you know what we've BEEN through in the last hour?"

 

"Your problems . . ." The man started to say, but again, Mac talked over him.

 

"Our problems have included being beaten, conned, assaulted, stalked . . ."

 

"Nearly washed away by a tidal wave," Harm threw in.

 

"Do you know what we expected?" Mac snapped.

 

There was a pause, and then the figure spoke again. This time, it sounded a bit less sure of itself.

 

"I don't care . . ."

 

"Care," Mac hissed. "We expected a romantic getaway."

 

"Did we?" Harm asked quizzically.

 

"Yes," Mac said, shifting the force of her glare to him. "We did."

 

Her words echoed in Harm's mind, still crystal-clear and perfect, undulled by the stress of the last hours.

 

*I love you . . .*

 

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I guess we did."

 

Mac's glare became slightly questioning.

 

"What?" She asked slowly.

 

The figure in front of them cleared its throat.

 

"If you do not move," it said, tone deepening back to a "threatening" timber. "I will kill you."

 

"You do that," Mac snapped over her shoulder. She no longer felt capable of rational thought. Death - who cared? She'd been expecting to die ever since they landed on this God-forsaken island. The only thing that mattered to her at the moment was puzzling out the bizarre statements Harm had been making over the last few hours.

 

*You were babbling . . .*

 

*I guess we did . . .*

 

She looked up at him sharply.

 

"What exactly did I say when I was delirious?"

 

Harm waved a hand vaguely. "Well, you called my name a couple of times . . ."

 

"Do you two understand the magnitude of the situation here?" The figure yelped from behind them. Harm paused, sparing him a glance.

 

"You know, if you really planned to kill us, you'd have done it about five minutes ago. So you can cut the threatening crap and butt out of our conversation."

 

"Are you both insane?" The figure cried incredulously. "Look at this! I have a gun!"

 

It held the weapon up for inspection.

 

"Yup. That's a gun," Mac said sarcastically. "Congratulations."

 

"Oh!" The figure's harsh tones evaporated abruptly, and it stepped out into the light, revealing a short, balding man whose pin-striped suit was loosely covered by a black cloak.

 

"How did you know I couldn't do it?" He inquired.

 

"Give me the gun and I'll tell you," Harm countered.

 

The pin-stripe man seemed to be considering the offer. Harm gave him a minute and turned back to Mac.

 

"And then you said . . ." He started, but was interrupted again by a shout from the opposite side of the clearing.

 

"Richardson! I knew you'd go soft!"

 

Harm, Mac, and the pin-stripe man turned slowly. A tall woman dressed in what seemed to be a power-suit from the early 80s was standing among the trees, holding a gun and looking only slightly more menacing than AJ Jr.

 

"Who are *you?*" Mac inquired wearily.

 

"I'm going to do the job he couldn't," the woman answered, tone slow and measured. "Prepare . . ." She leveled the gun at Mac. "To . . ." Her finger began to squeeze on the trigger; without a second thought, Harm dived in front of his partner.

 

Time seemed to slow. Harm and Mac fell to the ground, rolling backward as the woman shrieked "DIE," and squeezed hard on the trigger. The gun fired in an explosion of sound, and instantly, there was another scream.

 

Harm and Mac, who were both unharmed, hurried to their feet and glanced from one of their attackers to the other.

 

Both were unharmed, but the woman was crying convulsively.

 

"What's wrong?" Mac inquired slowly.

 

"It. Hurt. My. Hand," the woman sobbed out fitfully. "He didn't say . . ."

 

"Have you ever fired a gun before, ma'am?" Harm asked slowly.

 

"No! Do I look like I run around playing with firearms?" The woman yanked a hanky from her breast pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm a computer technician. So's he. But the boss said that he thought I was special. That I was tough enough to . . ."

 

"That's what he said to *me!*" Pin-stripe man shouted furiously. "You're making that up!"

 

"Oh, can it Richardson! Everybody knows you're a wimp!"

 

"How many times today have I said 'I can't believe this?'" Mac murmured to Harm.

 

"Too many," Harm muttered back.

 

"I'm about to say it again." Mac moved over to the woman, patted her consolingly on the shoulder, then asked, "how many people do you work with?"

 

"There's about 30 of us," the woman sniffled, turning red-rimmed eyes to gaze sorrowfully at Mac. "You don't think he sent us *all* out after you?"

 

Mac nodded slowly. Harm resisted the urge to smack himself hard on the head.

 

*Great. Now we're being stalked by the junior accountants of America.*

 

"Do you suppose," Mac was asking the woman. "That you could take us to your boss? It might make him happy."

 

The woman's face was suddenly hopeful.

 

"You're right! Can I pretend I captured you?"

 

Mac bit back a smart response and nodded cheerfully. A smile spread across the woman's face, and she gestured to pin-stripe man.

 

"You get him, Richardson! Maybe we can show off after all!"

 

Harm sighed as his hands were dragged behind his back and tied loosely together - at least he knew he could break the bonds in under a second if the need arose. The woman marched Mac over to stand beside him; he glanced down at her, fighting a smile.

 

"You and your ideas."

 

"It's the fastest way to get there," Mac whispered. "And maybe the safest! Some of these flunkies may actually be competent."

 

"Scary thought," Harm murmured.

 

With that, they marched into the thickness of the jungle.

 

***

 

The black-garbed man could not believe his eyes.

 

Richardson and *Stark*? They had managed to subdue two JAG officers?

 

Either Rabb and Mackenzie were nothing like their records, or something was afoot. He would plan for both contingencies upon their arrival.

 

***

 

They moved through the jungle in utter silence. Occassionally Harm could hear Richardson breathing harshly behind him, and every so often the woman would trip over her high heels and mutter a curse. But overall, the eery silence had returned, and it sent chills down Harm's spine.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

"So how'd you end up working here?" He asked casually.

 

"You expect us to tell you anything?" Richardson said, tone returning to its more "threatening" timber. "You are our prisoners."

 

"Get over it," Mac snapped over her shoulder. "We are *letting* you capture us - there's no way you could do it otherwise."

 

Richardson lapsed back into affronted silence. In the lull, the woman spoke.

 

"So are you really from JAG?"

 

Harm shot Mac a quick glance. She shook her head ever so slightly - keep pretending. At least with these two.

 

"I wish!" Harm said. With a shrug, "I'm afraid we're just your average couple ... though Ma. . . Sarah here is a pretty good singer."

 

"Oh?" The woman looked curiously at Mac. "What kind of music?"

 

"Country," Mac muttered, staring fixedly at the ground.

 

"Wow!" The woman looked suitably impressed. "I love country! Do you know Shania Twain?"

 

"No!" Mac said before Harm could open his mouth. "And my husband's just being modest. He's an amazing gourment cook ..."

 

"I think your singing is more impressive, hon," Harm cut in, tone saccharine sweet.

 

"Oh no!" Mac protested, smiling oh-so-sweetly back at him. "You're the real talent in this family, sweetheart."

 

"That's . . ." Harm started, then stopped in shock.

 

"We're here," Richardson said, quite uneccesarily.

 

In front of the group was a large, circular structure. The bottom half of it appeared to be black; the dome covering the top was a luminescent yellow.

 

"That's the light we saw," Mac whispered.

 

"How can this not have been spotted from the air?" Harm breathed. "It's . . ."

 

"Oh," said Richardson, for the first time sounding competent. "That's my specialty."

 

He pulled a keypad from his pocket and flicked a small switch to the right. Instantly, the air in front of them shimmered, then coalesced into what appeared to be a thick screen of trees.

 

The woman reached out and poked at it. The peaceful jungle scene shivered like water, and for a moment the dome was once again visible. Then it froze back in place.

 

"But . . ." Mac bit her lip. "But we could see the light."

 

"Of course you could." The woman shrugged and pushed Mac forward, through the screen. Mac shivered at the brief charge of electricity that seemed to pass through her, then blinked as the dome once again glowed in her path. "After Evan lost you, the boss wanted to make sure you kept moving in a preditable direction. He had us uncover the facility."

 

"What is it for?" Harm asked, sounding vaguely awestruck.

 

Richardson and the woman exchanged a glance.

 

"You'll find out soon," the woman said brusquely. "Now move. We have to get you inside."

 

***

 

The interior of the dome was cold and had the empty, sterile feeling of a new hospital. After the heat of the jungle, Mac found herself shivering, and she instinctively leaned closer to Harm.

 

He looked down at her with the same bizarre look he'd been giving her over the last day or so.

 

"What is *wrong* with you?" Mac hissed.

 

Harm didn't get a chance to reply.

 

"Harmon Rabb Jr. and Sarah Mackenzie!" The voice had the sort of cool self-possession always boasted by meglomaniacs. "Welcome to my humble abode. You should know that you are the only officers who have *ever* had the honor of being admitted inside."

 

He paused for a moment. Harm tried to twist his head to see who was talking, but Richardson, in a surprising display of strength, held his chin firmly in place.

 

"Don't," he hissed furiously.

 

"You," the voice continued. "Will also be the last. And considering that, I will permit you to look me in the eyes."

 

Richardson released Harm and as one, he and Mac turned to see . . .

 

***

 

A legend. Draped in shadows and darkness, but recognizable nonetheless.

 

Mac's breath caught in her throat; beside her, she heard Harm let out a muffled exclamation of shock and wonder.

 

The man staring at him was known to everybody at JAG - everybody in the military for that matter. Brilliant, dedicated, utterly patriotic and willing to sacrifice everything for his country, Richard Rinaldo Emerson had died the way he lived, fighting for the country he loved.

 

In a dangerous mission to enemy territory, the ship he'd been aboard had been bombarded with heavy fire. When it began to sink, the entire crew - with the exception of Emerson - abandoned ship, fleeing in lifeboats to the wide open sea. They'd been picked up by a neighboring boat, and reported when questioned that the ship had gone down with Emerson still aboard.

 

The incident had leant his memory a notoriority that can only be gained through a sudden, unexpected, and undeserved death. And as the incidents swarmed through Mac's mind, she abruptly remembered the one odd similarity in the files of all the murdered Naval officers.

 

It was something so small that she and Harm had dismissed it as an anomaly, but standing here, facing Emerson, Mac knew with a sudden, sick, sinking sensation that that might have been their biggest mistake.

 

"All the men," she breathed. "They all served above the Merrimore."

 

"Oh yes." Emerson smiled, evidently pleased with Mac's quick leap of logic. "They all served nobly, I suppose, until it got down to crunch time. Then they left me, left the ship, forgot their duties to country and to one another. They were cowards, and they deserved no better than the fate they left me to."

 

"And what was that?" Harm asked dubiously.

 

Emerson shook his head.

 

"Not so fast, Rabb." His lips twisted in a sardonic smirk. "I have been observing you and your pretty partner for quite some time now. The entire time you've been on the island, as a matter of fact. I know how you operate and I'm not about to enter into any of your games."

 

"I'm not . . ." Harm started, but Emerson cut him off.

 

"No more." He geetured to Richardson and the woman, who stepped forward obediently. He spoke coldly to them - distantly - as though they were beneath his notice.

 

"I appreciate your assistance. Please return to the main lab and summon all your coworkers back. We have much work to do, and as always, not enough time."

 

Richardson and the woman nodded, suddenly subdued and docile, and moved quickly off. Emerson turned back to Harm and Mac, smiling coldly.

 

"You might as well untie yourselves, officers. I am quite aware that those two incompetents would have been utterly unable to capture you."

 

Mac shot Harm a look; he shrugged nearly imperceptibly. With a sigh, she slipped her hands through the loose bonds and let them hang loosely by her sides. Harm did the same.

 

"Thank you," Emerson said politely.

 

"You were dead," Mac said flatly. "How . . ."

 

"All in good time, Major!" Emerson held up his hands, protesting, tone grandiose. "However, I will give you a hint."

 

Slowly, he stepped forward out of the shadows.

 

Mac gasped.

 

***

 

Emerson smiled sardonically at Mac's obvious shock.

 

"What's the matter, Major? Does seeing the handiwork of some of the more vicious island tribes upset you?" His face darkened, and his voice grew even colder, like ice pooling in Mac's veins. "Imagine how it feels to be me, for a moment. To see this every morning and know that it is all you are - all you will ever be. In light of that, you might even agree that I was kind to your foolish Navy officers."

 

"Kind?" Harm's protest was slightly strangled. "Kind? You murdered them . . ."

 

"They suffered for a moment. If that. I have suffered every moment of every day for more years than I care to remember. Tell me Major . . ." He hardly paused between the sentences; the switch in thought was instant. "And be truthful. Don't you think I was somewhat justified?"

 

Mac just looked at him. At the shriveled, useless legs that dragged limply on the ground . . . legs that had been carefully and systematically mutilated to ensure the most pain for the longest amount of time possible. And his face. The scars were almost artistic; they varied in length and size but not in number. Emerson's face was hardly visible between them, and when Mac thought of the video she'd seen of him so long ago, it was hard not to feel ill.

 

But at the same time . . .

 

"Murder is never justified." Her voice did not waver, and Emerson's eyes widened slightly.

 

"Impressive, Major." He shot Harm a hooded glare. "You must be quite proud of her, Mr. Rabb."

 

Harm, unsure how to respond, kept his mouth shut.

 

"What did you do to them?" Mac asked, keeping her eyes on Emerson. The more she looked at him, the easier it became to stomach the terrifying wrongs that had been committed on his body.

 

Emerson, aware of her scrutiny, smiled ever so slightly.

 

"You were correct in most of your assumptions. Lila - who you met ever so briefly on the boat - seduced them, then they were brought here, most thoroughly drugged. Evan was allowed to hunt them and imagine himself more powerful than he was, and then when I ordered it, they were killed."

 

"Killed?" Mac inquired quietly.

 

"Oh yes. Shot with a dart containing a quick acting poison. Most efficient, leaves no trace . . ." Emerson's equally-scarred hand traced instinctively to his devestated cheek. "Discovered by the monsters who did this to me."

 

Mac swallowed hard. Behind her, Harm looked down at the ground.

 

"There's a certain poetic justice to it, don't you think?"

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then Emerson clapped his hands together briskly, and grinned a truly terrifying grin.

 

"But such tawdry subjects grow tiresome rather quickly, don't they? I'd rather talk of other things - over dinner, if you like."

 

"What happens if we refuse?" Harm asked quietly.

 

"Oh, Rabb, I'd really rather you didn't." Emerson waved his hand vaguely over his left shoulder, and instantly, a huge, hulking monster of a man marterialized out of the shadows. He clutched a gun in each beefy paw; his eyes were invisible behind mirrored sunglasses.

 

"This is Biff," Emerson said ever-so-cordially. "Biff, I'd like you to meet Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie. They're our guests . . . for the moment."

 

Biff grunted noncommitally. Emerson looked up at him, annoyance suddenly crossing his face.

 

"How many times have I told you, Biff? Ar-ti-cu-late. And remove those sunglasses - I'm sure the rather feeble rays from the hallway lamp will not impair your vision *too* much."

 

"Sorry, sir," Biff muttered, only slightly louder. He reached up and grudgingly removed the glasses.

 

Harm and Mac exchanged a look. Emerson was moving forward - surprsingly fast on his twin crutches. He paused in front of them, and graced Mac with a cordial smile.

 

"Oh, and my dear Major, I do hope you'll be willing to provide us with some dinnertime entertainment? A song, perhaps?"

 

"She does a great rendition of 'Guys Do It All The Time,'" Harm interjected.

 

Mac shot him a killer glare.

 

"Dear dear, no." Emerson murmured suavely. "I was thinking something more along the lines of . . . oh, 'I Love You.'"

 

He smiled at Harm, then moved off. Biff stepped forward and prodded Harm and Mac in the backs.

 

"Move!" He ordered.

 

Mac glanced up at Harm, who suddenly seemed extremely uncomfortable.

 

"Harm," she hissed. "What's wrong? So he likes Martina McBride. Big deal."

 

"When I explain it to you," Harm sighed. "You are really going to kick yourself."

 

"MOVE!" Biff thundered, and gave them each another sharp prod.

 

Seeing no other option, Harm and Mac shut up and moved.

 

***

 

"So it's all about revenge?" Harm asked.

 

He and Emerson were sitting at a long banquet table that looked rather odd with only three places set. The silky white tablecloth had yellowed slightly with age, and the room - unlike the others in the sterile white building - smelled musty and old.

 

Emerson seemed to be in his element here, leaning quietly back in his chair, staring down the table into the darkness that held his ghosts. He didn't look up at Harm's words, merely answered in a distant voice.

 

"Perhaps. And perhaps I realized that when you have been through Hell and survived, there is really nothing stopping you from going back."

 

Harm could have quibbled with that logic, but fought down his inner lawyer and let silence reign for another long moment.

 

"How did you know what Mac said to me?" His tone was studiously casual. Emerson spared him a slight smile.

 

"That is another of my secrets - though perhaps you will know the answer to it soon. You and your partner have a most intriguing relationship, do you not?"

 

Harm shrugged vaguely.

 

"We work well together. She's saved my life - I've saved hers . . . She's my best friend."

 

"Is that what she meant, then?" Emerson steepled his fingers beneath his chin, still staring into the distance. "That she loves you as a friend?"

 

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Why does it matter?" Harm's tone on that final question was more exasperated than he would have liked. Emerson's lips quirked in a slight smile, and he spread his hands wide in a gesture of mock innocence.

 

"I have been in love too, Rabb. Most likely more deeply than you will ever be."

 

"How's that?" Harm inquired coldly.

 

Emerson's reply was just as cool.

 

"You don't have the soul for love. There's no poetry in you. It was obvious from your record - all you care about are your obsessions, your quests, and Major, I must say that that dress suits you most admirably."

 

Harm's glance abruptly shifted to the doorway. Mac was standing there, plucking uncomfortably at the long, black velvet cocktail dress Emerson had demanded she don. She looked so beautiful - like a foreign, remote goddess who would only grace them with her presence for a moment before vanishing forever into the mists of time and space.

 

Harm mentally smacked himself in the head. Where the hell had that come from? Was he trying to prove Emerson wrong, prove he had an inner poet to go along with his inner lawyer?

 

"Please," Emerson was saying, rising and gesturing to the chair on his left. "Join us. Dinner will be along momentarily."

 

"Why are you doing this?" Mac inquired, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin pugnaciously. It was such a *Mac* expression that Harm had to smother a grin with his hand.

 

"Why I am I doing what?" Emerson inquired, crooking one eyebrow questioningly.

 

"*Playing* with us. If we're going to die, what's the point of dressing me up and inviting us to dinner?"

 

"Sit down, please." Emerson waved again at the chair. "Please, Major. If you give me a chance, I will explain."

 

Mac stood still for a moment, then stalked over to the chair and flopped into it with a modicum of grace.

 

"Thank you." Emerson leaned back in his chair and looked from Harm - to Mac - then back down into the blackness.

 

"The Commander and I were just talking about love, Major."

 

Mac shot Harm a questioning glance.

 

"I'd like you to watch something." Emerson reached into his pocket, retrieved a small viewpad similar to the one Harm and Mac had recovered from Evan, and placed it in front of Mac. "Push the red button. Yes, that one."

 

Mac's small finger descended on the button. Harm winced as the image of him cradling an unconscious Mac in his arms appeared upon the tiny screen.

 

Mac winced as she heard her own voice whining, crying out for Harm. *This must have been when I was dreaming . . .*

 

And then her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and she shot Harm a look that by all rights should have killed him then and there.

 

"I did *not* say that. I didn't."

 

"Yes, you did," Harm snapped back. "That's what I've been trying to talk to you about for the last hour, but . . ."

 

"No!" Emerson swept the viewpad away from Mac and held up his hands for silence. "We will have no more of your ceaseless bickering. I have a challenge for you. If you win, I will let you go free with all the facts you need to solve your case. If you lose, then you will die. Surely you can see the benefits of accepting my offer."

 

"What is this offer?" Harm said. Mac, still fuming, was silent.

 

"I want you to prove your love . . . No, no wait!" Emerson held up his hand before either Harm or Mac could take exception to his words. "For my purposes, we are assuming that such love exists, even as you two continue to fervently deny it."

 

Harm glanced at Mac; she was still glaring at him.

 

*So much for love . . .*

 

Emerson, having observed the glance, continued speaking.

 

"This will be a very specialized test. Since you, Major, were the one to declare your emotions, you will be our heroine."

 

"Does that make Harm the damsel in distress?" Mac asked, looking interested for the first time.

 

"In a manner of speaking. I will place the Commander in a very dangerous situation - to be detailed later. It will be a situation that only the perseverance and strength of will provided by true love could possibly win free of."

 

"Why would you do this?" Harm asked suspiciously. "It's too easy."

 

"Love is never easy, Rabb. If you had any gentleness in your soul, you'd know that." Emerson paused; he'd seen a flash of something in the man's eyes . . . "Perhaps you do know after all."

 

"Why would you do this?" Harm repeated stubbornly.

 

Emerson smiled.

 

"Because, in spite of myself, I'm a romantic at heart." He turned to Mac and gestured toward the small stage behind them. "Now, Major, if you would be so kind as to entertain us before the games begin?"

 

"We haven't accepted yet," Mac countered.

 

"But you will." Emerson shifted his gaze back to Harm. "Won't you, Commander."

 

It wasn't a question. But Harm answered anyway.

 

"Yes."

 

***

 

At the conclusion of dinner, Emerson let Harm walk Mac back to the room he had selected for her. The meal had been a silent affair, punctuated only by the quiet beauty of Mac's voice when Emerson requested she rise and sing. Harm, who usually enjoyed hearing Mac yell at him, much less sing love songs, had somehow managed to tune it all out. The idea of Emerson's "test" was weighing heavily on him; he had no idea what it would entail, and various ideas were driving him crazy.

 

"The Princess Bride," Mac said abruptly. They were walking slowly up a wide, white staircase toward the second floor of the structure. The lights on either side of them had been lowered to a subtle glow that just barely illuminated their path, and the building, like the jungle was utterly silent. Mac's words cut through that silent as efficiently as a shout.

 

"What?" Harm asked, glancing down at her in surprise.

 

"The Princess Bride. You know, the movie? That's what his obsession with true love is reminding me of."

 

"I've never seen it," Harm said. Actually, the movie was one of his favorites - it was sitting on the shelf by his VCR at home. But now really wasn't the time to get into a discussion of true love. Especially not when Mac looked so gorgeous that it was all he could do not to take her in his arms . . .

 

"You've never seen it?!" She stopped on the step above him and put her hands on her hips. "That is the first thing we're doing when we get back. Before we report to the Admiral, check in with our superiors, we got to the video store and rent it."

 

"You've got a date," Harm said with an absent smile.

 

Mac's features rearranged themselves into a more somber gaze.

 

"Harm, what's wrong?"

 

"Would you like the list alphabetically or by order of importance?" Harm asked sarcastically. Before she could answer, he turned away and began walking quickly up the steps.

 

He heard Mac moving quickly after him, hampered a little by her high heels.

 

"You can't be mad about what I said. I was delusional. Harm?" She grabbed his sleeve; he whirled, throwing both of them off balance. Only with some desperate maneuvering did they manage to stay on their feet.

 

"Mac?" Harm looked slowly down at his partner. She had her arms wrapped awkwardly around her neck and was pressed against him to keep from falling. Fighting the urge to kiss her was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but somehow, Harm managed to say instead, in a voice that was much rougher than his usual one, "Mac, are you all right?"

 

Quickly, Mac pulled herself out of Harm's arms and straightened her dress. "Yes," she muttered without looking up at him. "I'm fine. Tell you what. Just go to your own room. It's not like we can talk anyway. Emerson's got the whole place bugged."

 

*That's not why I wanted to escort you to your room, Mac. I just wanted to be with you.*

 

Despite his thoughts, Harm nodded and moved quietly away down the steps. Mac stood where she was, watching him, until he had disappeared into the blackness of the hall. Then she sank down onto the step and rested her forehead on her knees.

 

*Oh yeah. Tomorrow's gonna be real fun.*

 

***

 

Mac awoke to the sound of chanting. The quiet hum of voices gradually permeated her dreams and forced her to open her eyes. Dazed, she looked around at an utterly different room than the one she had gone to sleep in.

 

She was in a hut - a grass hut, from the looks of it. It was very hot, and the air smelled like the sea. Through the thin walls, the rhythmic chant was growing steadily louder, pulsing into the tiny room.

 

Mac slid out from under a light blanket of woven grass, barely registering the fact that she was now wearing something that looked like something from the closet of Wilma Flintstone. Quietly and smoothly, she moved to the wall of the hut, and peeked out one of the gaps in the thin wall.

 

Her breath caught in her throat.

 

*This is impossible. It has to be.*

 

Emerson had outdone himself.

 

***

 

What was it Emerson had said? Something about going through Hell. Mac, crouched in front of the hole in the wall, eyes locked on the scene in front of her, suddenly knew *exactly* what he meant.

 

Outside of the hut, she could see a white beach, blazing with light and heat in the bright sun, Tall, dark-skinned men were spaced out across it in a wide semi-circle that opened toward the house; they were the source of the rhythmic chanting Mac had heard. Spaced evenly among them were musicians beating evenly on drums; the sound throbbed through the scene like a heartbeat.

 

In the middle of the circle was Harm.

 

Mac's heart contracted painfully as she looked at him more closely. He was tied to a short stake and seemed to be nearly unconcious. Oddly, he was dressed in a Navy uniform - an old-fashioned Navy uniform.

 

*That's just the kind Emerson would have worn . . .* Mac's brain murmured.

 

For a moment, the thought buzzed at the edges of her consciousness, and then the full impact of the realization hit her. Mac stifled another gasp, this time of recognition.

 

This wasn't just any test. This was *Emerson's* test, the torture he had lived through that had turned him into the bitter, twisted creature he was today. They were being forced to reenact it . . .

 

But what does this have to do with love?

 

***

 

Outside, Harm had reached the same conclusions as Mac. Even in his dazed state, he remembered Emerson's icy words at the table: "I have loved more deeply than you will ever know."

 

*He must have loved someone from this tribe. Fallen for her after he got stranded here, and the torture must have been punishment of some sort.*

 

Someone hurled a rock at him; it smashed hard into his ribs, and Harm gasped at the sudden burst of pain. He felt as though he'd already been through the ringer - more than once. His entire body was throbbing. Particularly, he could barely open his right eye, and his whole left leg was numb.

 

Remembering what had happened to Emerson's legs, Harm had to fight mightily to fend off utter terror.

 

*Mac's here somewhere. She has to be. I can't do anything tied up like this, so obviously it's up to her.*

 

That thought firmly in mind, he gritted his teeth and set his jaw. Even as more stones slammed into his body, he didn't cry out.

 

***

 

Inside the hut, Mac rose to her feet, then paused, torn by indecision. What should she do? What could she do? Go save Harm? But how would that demonstrate love?

 

The chant broke off abruptly into raucous laughter. Mac dived back down to the peephole and strained to see out.

 

The sight before her made up her mind in a millisecond. Someone - probably one of the younger men - had thrown a rock at Harm, and now the idea was catching on. They were pelting him with stones of all sizes, cackling as he tried feebly to twist away from the blows.

 

Mac's jaw tightened.

 

*NOBODY does that to my Harm.*

 

She stood and stalked toward the door of the hut. It was only a thin curtain; she easily swept it back and stepped outside.

 

A huge, beefy shape loomed up in front of her, impeding her progress.

 

"You may not leave," it growled.

 

*These people speak English?*

 

Mac let the problem slide for a moment.

 

"Let me pass," she demanded imperiously.

 

"This is not for a woman's eyes."

 

"It's not for a human's eyes," Mac shot back. "It's barbaric. You have no right to torture him!"

 

"He has touched you, Princess." The man bowed his head, but showed no sign of moving. "Forgive me, but he must die for his sins."

 

Mac punched him in the face.

 

It had been a long couple of days, and like Harm before her, she put all the force of her frustration and anger into the blow. The man staggered backward, spinning woozily, and Mac sprinted past him toward the circle of men.

 

***

 

Harm, cringing under the rain of stones, looked up through bleary, pain-filled eyes and saw her coming toward him. She looked like an avenging angel - garbed in white, radiating anger. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

 

"Mac," he whispered.

 

***

 

Mac moved calmly across the circle of men. As she did so, stones that had been ready to throw dropped from hands, and man after man stepped back, bowing his head.

 

Mac, her own head high, moved quietly to Harm and kneeled down beside him.

 

Silence filled the circle.

 

"Are you okay?" She whispered, reaching down and lifting up Harm's head. The sight of his wounds made her heart ache, but they seemed to all be superficial. Except for the eye . . . that looked nasty.

 

Various ways of killing Emerson popped into her head. None of them was particularly pretty.

 

Harm was smiling at her. Even through the pain, he still managed to look so charming that her heart melted.

 

"I am now," he whispered.

 

The circle was closing in on them.

 

***

 

***

 

The circle was closing in on them.

 

"My daughter," a deep, resonant voice ordered from somewhere in the mass of people. "Step away from that blasphemer that we may punish him."

 

*Good God,* Mac thought dazedly to herself. *What did Emerson do?*

 

*And what did *his* girl do that went so horribly wrong?*

 

No time to think about that. Mac pushed the thought away, squared her shoulders and moved squarely in front of Harm, facing off the approaching menace.

 

"I won't leave him. You cannot order me to."

 

"Oh, but I can." Now the owner of the voice separated himself from the crowd and stepped forward. The king was older than most of the others, and so deeply burned by the sun that his skin resembled leather. Creases crinkled the corners of his eyes - Mac guessed that in his day, he had done a good deal of hunting and squinting into the sun. He wore a long, brightly colored robe over a white tunic; on his head was a thin circlet of gold. "I am your father, child. I have been benevolent thus far, but if you persist in this foolishness . . ."

 

"You can't make me leave him." Mac met his eyes and kept her tone level. Hopefully, she and Harm wouldn't remember anything that happened during this crazy test. Otherwise she would never be able to live down what she was about to say.

 

"I will never leave him. I've tried . . ."

 

*It was too real. She had tried. Mac remembered saying goodbye to him, the pain of it. That time she was stupid enough to leave JAG for Dalton, the time he was stupid enough to leave to go flying. She remembered the way it had felt to have her heart ripped out and not be able to admit it.*

 

"I tried, but I can't do it. He's everything. He makes me laugh, even when I'm having a horrible day. When we disagree, I know that it doesn't mean we stop caring about each other. When he smiles . . ."

 

"Daughter." The king was looking confused. "You have not known him for . . ."

 

"I feel like I've known him forever." Mac put her heart into the next words; it wasn't hard. She meant them with every fiber of her being. "I love him. I love him more than I've ever loved anybody before, and if you kill him now, you kill me too. Even if you drag me off, you kill my heart. My spirit, my . . ."

 

Her words trailed off, and Mac looked around her in surprise. Something was happening, something utterly unexpected. The world was melting.

 

Melting? Mac blinked, turned this way and that, trying to understand what was happening. All around, the colors were bleeding together, fading into a dull gray that looked like the walls of . . .

 

That WAS the walls of a strange, tiny room.

 

Mac sat bolt upright.

 

"Congratulations," said Emerson. He was sitting in a chair by the heavy steel door of the room. His face was sagging, and he looked old and tired.

 

Mac shot a glance to the bed beside her. Harm was laying on it, fast asleep.

 

"What for?" Mac asked warily, sliding gingerly off the edge of the bed and breathing a sigh of relief when her feet touched solid ground. "What did I do?"

 

"You passed." Emerson waved a hand wearily in the air. "You proved your love. I suppose you are free to go."

 

"What did *she* do?" Mac asked quietly.

 

Emerson smiled wryly.

 

"How did you know?"

 

"It just makes sense." Mac moved toward Harm, absently smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep, like a little boy. Mac was glad to see that the wounds she'd been worrying over had merely been part of the . . . the what?

 

"And how did you make us part of that moment?" She asked.

 

Emerson waved to the chair beside him. "Sit down, Major. If you give me a moment, I'll explain."

 

He looked at Harm, mouth twisting a little bitterly.

 

"And don't worry. He won't remember any of your empassioned speech . . . more's the pity, actually."

 

***

 

Mac moved slowly over and sat down beside Emerson. The old man - he suddenly seemed so very old - leaned back and massaged his temples gently with his fingertips. Mac waited quietly, until he finally gathered himself enough to speak.

 

"She was the first thing I saw when I arrived on the island. The ship went down . . . I don't know how I survived. Perhaps I didn't. I've always believed that for that year, I was really in hell and just didn't know it."

 

Mac was silent, waiting for him to unravel the mystery of his past, waiting for him to make her understand the truth of what had happened so many years ago. Emerson obliged, voice slow, measured, and cold.

 

"I washed up on the beach. Just laid there, wanting to die, and then I opened my eyes and saw her. She was wearing white, like you were, and the sun was behind her. She glowed, Major. Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds."

 

He sighed wearily.

 

"To this day, whenever I close my eyes, I see her walking down the beach, shining and laughing.

 

She was with two friends. They saw me and ran away, but she stayed. She was always curious."

 

"What was her name?" Mac asked ever so quietly.

 

"Liva. It meant . . . happy spirit. Her father adored her so much. You can't understand how much. The only person who loved her more was me. I loved her, I wanted her, I *needed* her to exist. A glimpse of her in the whole of a long day would give me a reason to go on."

 

Mac knew what was coming next, but somehow she didn't want to hear it. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugged them, tried to fight the waves of sympathy for the poor, destroyed man in front of her. He was bent over now, head in his hands. Could he be the same cold creature who had threatened and taunted them only hours before?

 

"She said she loved me too. And perhaps she did. In her fasion. But Major . . ." He looked up, face drawn and bleak. "She loved everyone. That was her way. And when her father told her she had to marry another man, she . . ." Tears stood out in the corners of his eyes. "She wouldn't have minded. But I *made* her. I told her everything, everything I felt, everything I wanted . . . and she told her father no. I think she didn't want to hurt me.

 

He was furious. He came to my hut - a small one, on the side of the village, grabbed me, pulled me out into the square. The hunters tied me to a stake, just like your Commander. But first, they beat me. Especially the man Liva was supposed to marry.

 

I laid out there for days. Weeks, it felt like. Liva bribed one of the girls to bring me water, but she never came herself. And then there was that day they stoned me - it was right before her father decided I should die.

 

I remember everything about that day - the heat, the way the sun reflected off the sand. It was so bright I could hardly see. But even through the blood and the pain and the glare, I saw Liva come out of the hut. She was glowing again, the way she was that first day . . . She looked over at me, and I said . . ."

 

For the first time, Emerson's voice broke. The tears were rolling down his face now; he didn't even seem to notice.

 

"I said 'I love you.' And . . ." Harder sobs now. "And she walked away. I knew then that it had all been a lie. All of it.

 

I *wanted* her to do what you did. To fight for us, to defend me, to *love* me. But she walked away.

 

No matter how they tortured me after that, I didn't feel it. I was dead."

 

He looked up at Mac, and through the tears, his lips twisted in that haunted, cold smile. "I'm still dead, Major. And I will be dead after you and the Commander leave."

 

Mac didn't know what to say. She couldn't think, she couldn't feel . . .

 

A memory stirred somewhere in the back of her mind. The woman, the one on the boat. With the black hair and the almost unearthly beauty.

 

"The girl on the boat?"

 

"Liva's daughter." Emerson looked away into the distance. "I took her after my men killed her mother and father. I thought it appropriate."

 

Mac looked away, fighting the reflex to gag.

 

"You killed her parents, kidnapped her, and turned her into *bait* for the men you were trying to kill?"

 

"It was what they deserved, Major. All of them."

 

"Because you suffered, you're dooming generations of innocent people to live through sorrow and pain?" Mac rose. "I almost pitied you. But you're right. You're dead. Your *soul* is dead. And Harm and I need to leave now."

 

Emerson seemed unmoved by your words.

 

"Will you tell him how you feel, Major? Now that you've admitted it to yourself?"

 

"I don't think that's any of your business." Mac squared her shoulders. "You said, if we won, you'd give us what we needed to solve the case when we left. I want that, and I want a way off this island."

 

"You will never catch me. Even if I give you the evidence. You do know that, don't you, Major?"

 

"I wouldn't be so sure," Mac said, raising an eyebrow. "You underestimated Harm and I before."

 

"Did I?" Emerson's lip quirked ever so sightly, and then he moved out of the room, as silent as a ghost.

 

Mac watched him go, and for a long moment, she fought the urge to cry.

 

***

 

After a long moment had passed, Mac felt gathered enough to move over to Harm's bed and shake him gently. For a long, terrifying moment his eyes stayed closed, and Mac felt hysteria beginning to bubble up ever so slightly inside her.

 

*It's just stress. Shake it off, Marine.*

 

She shook Harm once more, then slapped him firmly on each cheek.

 

"Harm? Harm! Wake up! We have to get out of here!"

 

Harm opened his eyes ever so slightly, and smiled dreamily up at Mac.

 

"Hello, Sarah," he mumbled. "How are you?"

 

"I've been better." Great, Mac thought, fighting the urge to bang her head against the wall. He's been drugged. That must have been necessary to make us have those visions - Emerson never did explain how he did that.

 

But there wasn't time to think. Not now. In this moment, she could only concentrate on getting Harm up and ready for when Emerson returned.

 

"Can you sit up?" She asked. Harm thought about it for a moment, staring absently at the ceiling, then nodded.

 

"Yeah." Awkwardly, he propped himself up on his elbows, then shoved and pushed the rest of the way into a sitting position. Mac put a hand on his back to help him balance; he shot her a grateful look.

 

"Thanks Mac. Man." He put his head in his hands and let out a small moan. "What did Emerson do to us?"

 

"I'm not sure. But I think he's going to let us go."

 

Harm was regaining his equilibrium. He shot Mac a long, frustrated look.

 

"That's not enough. We know he murdered, or masterminded, the murder of all those Navy men. We have to bring him to justice."

 

"Right now, I'll settle for getting off the island. You missed it, Harm, but I just got to hear his life story. It's not pretty, and if we don't leave now . . ."

 

"We can't just run away from this, Mac," Harm said fiercely. Mac *knew,* logically at least, that he was talking about the situation with Emerson. But a little voice inside her was wishing desperately that he meant something else, that he meant . . .

 

The door of the room hissed open, and Emerson reentered, a thick file folder in his hand.

 

"Here is the information you requested, Major." He handed the file to Mac, who slid it under her arm. "You're looking better, Commander."

 

"Thanks," Harm said sourly.

 

"If you leave this room and move down the hall, you'll reach an elevator. Take that up to the roof; there's a plane waiting. We're not far from the coast of Florida. It shouldn't be too much trouble to return to JAG from the drop point."

 

"You're going to try to kill us," Harm said flatly. Emerson smiled a little wistfully, and shook his head.

 

"No, Commander. I'm afraid you're wrong. You see, witnessing your interactions with the Major over the past days has convinced me of a very important truth. I presume you'll empathize, Major?"

 

"A man cannot live without his soul," Mac murmured. She had no idea where the words came from, but knew deep inside that they felt right. Emerson was nodding.

 

"You may certainly lead your law and order flunkies back to my island. By all means, have them arrest the idiots who have served me over these long years. But you will not find me."

 

For the moment, Harm seemed satisfied with that. He slid gingerly off the bed, and assisted by Mac, they moved toward the door. Harm went out first, and Mac was about to follow when Emerson's quiet voice called her back.

 

"Yes?" She looked at him warily, unsure if this was some final trick.

 

"You needn't look afraid." He was standing in the middle of the room, looking very alone. "I am a man of my word. Even if I was not, I would be loath to extinguish the lives of the participants in such a beautiful love story."

 

"Then what do you want?" Mac asked slowly.

 

"To remind you." He quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You cannot live without your soul either, Major. No matter how hard you try to act otherwise."

 

"Thanks," said Mac, for lack of a better expression.

 

That eyebrow quirked up again, ever so slightly.

 

"You're welcome," said Emerson gravely. And then: "Shut the door when you leave, if you please."

 

Mac nodded. For a long moment, they looked into one another's eyes.

 

*I'm you.* Mac thought. *Or I could be. We could all be. And I would be, if it weren't for Harm.*

 

Harm. She turned her head, looked at him waiting patiently and a little woozily in the hall. A smile broke out across her face, and quietly, she stepped out of the doorway and shut the heavy metal door firmly behind her.

 

*Good-bye, Emerson. I hope you find some peace.*

 

***

 

Mac watched the island fade away into the distance; a blur of green blending into the blue of the sea and the sky. She felt bone tired, as though all the stress of the last few days had combined to bear down hard on her and siphon away every last ounce of her energy.

 

Harm, in the seat beside her, turned his head ever so slightly to look at his partner. She looked so small and alone, and very delicate. Absently, he wondered what had happened while he'd been drugged. Obviously, Mac had gained some sort of insight into Emerson's past - his motives. He couldn't say he envied her, but he did wish . . .

 

The file laying on the table in front of Mac caught his eye. Harm reached forward and picked it up; absently, he paged through the papers and pictures. The murdered Navy officers - on the back of each photo were notes in a cramped, delicate handwriting that detailed how they had met their deaths. Harm winced, and turned to the next sheet. A memo, titled "Virtual Simulator."

 

He read it in several moments, then looked up at Mac.

 

"Did he do this to us?" He asked quietly. Mac didn't turn away from the window.

 

"The simulator? Yeah. Yeah, he did."

 

"I don't remember . . ." Harm racked his brain, but no helpful memory appeared. "Which scenario did he put us in?"

 

"His," Mac answered wearily. "What happened to him on that island."

 

"And . . ." Harm prompted. Mac shook her head, still looking out at the waves so far beneath them.

 

"It'll be in my report, Harm." She turned for the first time and met his eyes. "I just *can't* talk about it now. I have to think. I have a lot of stuff to figure out."

 

"Yeah." Harm thought about broaching the subject of her "I love you," then looked at her drawn face and thought better of it. Instead, he reached out an arm and gently encircled her shoulders, pulling her carefully against his chest. Her arms went around him and as she listened to his quiet breathing, Mac felt some of the tension beginning to ebb out of her.

 

"This has really been unbelievable," she murmured.

 

"Yeah," Harm agreed quickly. "What did we think we were getting into?"

 

Mac's lips quirked into a smile. "Tea and crumpets with inspid newlyweds?"

 

"Swimming, tanning . . . a cruise. I think JAG should get reimbursed - this definitely wasn't the best two years of my life," Harm said, keeping his tone dead serious. Mac laughed in spite of herself, and Harm smiled down at her.

 

"We can't even blame Webb this time," she murmured in between giggles. "What do you think he'll think of this?"

 

"I think if we tell anyone, we'll never live it down. Can you imagine Bud and Harriet . . ."

 

"Mic?"

 

At the mention of Brumby's name, Harm started to laugh in spite of himself.

 

"I think he would have cut off his right arm to have been in my place for the last few hours."

 

"His right," Mac chortled. "And his left, and his legs, and . . ." She broke off, laughing too hard to go on. All the harsh memories of the last days were gradually melting away; the knot of tension in her stomach was loosening and allowing her to relax.

 

When she finally got ahold of herself, she smiled ruefully up at Harm.

 

"You are so good for me, Flyboy." Her heart was in her heart when she said the words, and Harm didn't miss it.

 

"It's mutual," he said softly.

 

Mac smiled, eyes glowing with happiness, then relaxed and leaned into Harm a little more. Ever so slowly, her eyes drifted shut, and by the time the plane landed, she and Harm were both sound asleep.

 

***

 

"This contains everything we need to wrap up the case," Mac said.

 

It was about twenty-four hours later, and she and Harm were back in the hotel room where the case had first kicked off. Mac ruefully remembered singing in the shower - having Harm break in . . .

 

"I got us a rental car," Harm said helpfully, gathering up the maze of papers on the other bed. They'd been busy dealing with families and local police chiefs, tying up the last loose ends before returning to JAG.

 

"Do you want to just get going?" Mac said, gesturing around the room. "I'm packed, and . . . Oh, wait."

 

She had caught sight of the ring on her finger - the beautiful, perfect ring that Harm had presented her with before they boarded the cruise ship. Sliding it off her finger was like a physical pain, but she did in anyway, Emerson's words echoing in her ears.

 

*You can't live without your soul either, Major.*

 

The crew that had returned to the island hadn't found a trace of Emerson anywhere. The assumption of the moment was that he had committed suicide - drowned himself, something like that.

 

Did Mac believe it? She wasn't sure. She didn't know what to believe.

 

Harm was looking at her with a curious expression on his face. Mac felt her heart contract as she quietly handed him the ring.

 

*I know how I feel now. He knows how I feel. The ball's in your court, Harm.*

 

Harm finally looked from her eyes to the ring. He seemed almost surprised to see it.

 

"I thought you lost it or something," he muttered, voice a little hoarse.

 

"Lose a diamond?" Mac could hear a similar rasp in her own voice. Was she about to cry? "Never."

 

"Yeah. You know what?" Harm rose quickly and moved toward the door. "I'll run and return this, and then I'll bring the car around. Can you get our stuff together?"

 

"Like a good little wife?"

 

Harm winked at her. "Of course, honey."

 

Mac grinned back. She couldn't help it. "Don't call me honey."

 

Harm was still smiling as he went out the door of the room.

 

***

 

In the rental car on their way back to JAG, the silence was almost palpable. Mac didn't know why they couldn't seem to find anything to talk about, but even her tried and true conversation starters were failing her. She couldn't even seem to get him to argue with her, for God's sake.

 

For lack fo anything better, she flipped on the radio and found a country station, almost without thinking about it. At the sound of guitar and fiddle, Harm looked at her with an almost pained expression on his face.

 

"You know, Mac, I don't know how to tell you this. Especially not after everything that's happened. But . . ."

 

"You hate country," Mac finished.

 

Harm's jaw dropped.

 

"How did you know?"

 

"It's appropriate." Mac flicked the dial. "How about this?"

 

Now I've . . . had the time of my life

No I never felt like this before

Yes I swear

It's so true

And I owe it all to you

 

Harm smiled in relief.

 

"Now this is music I can get behind."

 

"Then sing, flyboy." Mac began to hum along with the female part to the song, thinking as she did so that every time she'd had with Harm since they first met had been the time of her life. The pain, the tears . . . Even they were treasures.

 

Yes I've had the time of my life

And I owe it all to you

 

Harm quirked his eyebrow at her, then shrugged his shoulders and began to sing.

 

I've been waiting for so long

Now I"ve finally found someone to stand by me

 

We saw the writing on the wall

ANd we felt this magical fantasty

 

Now with passion in our eyes

There's no way we could disguise

Secretly

So we take each other's hand

Cause we seem to understand

The urgency

 

Without thinking, Mac reached out and covered Harm's hand with hers. He looked at her in surprise, and then his face broke out into a brilliant smile and he wrapped his hand tightly around hers, their fingers lacing smoothly together.

 

Just remember

You're the one thing

I can't get enough of

So I'll tell you something

This could be love

 

Because

 

I've had the time of my life

No I've never felt this way before

Yes I swear

It's so true

And I owe it all to you

 

In Harm's pocket, the diamond ring sat serenely in its black velvet box. He'd been halfway to the store when he realized that he couldn't give it back.

 

Mac loves me. I love her. And this proves that. Even if I can't quite say it yet, this proves it, now and forever. So I'll keep it. But just to myself.

 

At least for now.

 

And remember

You're the one thing

I can't get enough of

So I'll tell you something

This could be love

 

Because

 

I've had the time of my life

No I've never felt this way before

Yes I swear

It's so true

And I owe it all to you

 

Mac, looking at her hand joined with Harm's, listening to his voice, felt Emerson's words fading away into the distance.

 

*I have my soul.*

 

Yeah, I've had the time of my life

No I've never felt this way before

Yes I swear

It's so true

And I owe it all to you.

 

***

 

The End
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