Timeline:  JAG post-Goodbye 
                X-Files between Field Trip and Biogenesis

Author's note:  This is the third in my JAG/XF crossovers, and as
such will draw from Passengers and Bravo Zulu.  You might want
to read those two, if you haven't already, so that you'll be better
oriented.  However, this story is a stand-alone.

One further note:  This story is more than a typical rescue story; it
is also a character sketch on each of our four heroes.  The main plot
line is written in third person, while the characters' soliloquies of
sorts are written in first person.  To help orient you better, I've
offset the soliloquies with brackets [].

JAG Headquarters 
Falls Church, Virginia 
2017 Romeo

Major Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie shut down her computer with a
sigh.  As usual, her daily emails from Harm were filled with
unbridled excitement.  'Either that or he just keeps forgetting to
take his Caps Lock off,' she thought wryly, closing her brief case
and heading out the door. 

It had only been three weeks, but to Mac the time away from her
partner-'former partner,' she mentally corrected-felt like a lifetime. 
The emails were great, but there was always something missing. 
She couldn't put her finger on it, but...  Maybe it was the fact that
she couldn't see him. Couldn't read the hidden meanings found in
his gestures and expressions. She heaved a frustrated sigh, she
knew Harm was happy, yet Mac couldn't help wishing that he'd
never been offered the chance to fly again. Call it selfish, childish,
or any other -ish word one could think of, but there it was. 

She stole a glance at his old office, which was now occupied by the
Australian exchange officer, Mic Brumby.  An errant thought flitted
through her head, 'If it's an exchange program, why did no one from
our office go in his place?'  She shook her head slightly, dispelling
the flighty thought and continued through the glass doors and out
the building.

Tapping the remote car lock on her new Corvette, she smiled. 
Harm's face had been priceless when he'd seen her drive in.  The
poor man had just lost his 1968 model to a chop shop and in she
came effectively rubbing salt into the barely healed wound. 

"Well, he <asked> for it," she murmured.  Harm had accused her of
not fully appreciating what a car could do for one's sense of well-being.  Mac had to admit he had a point.  She certainly was getting
more than her share of double-takes around the base.  She was
lucky that she'd had a friend at the dealership or those payments
would have been a substantial amount more than she could handle. 

After locking her doors, she turned the key in the ignition and felt
the car roar to life.  She couldn't resist the urge and, glancing
around the parking lot to make sure she was alone, Mac pealed out,
her tires screeching into the evening air.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat and she caught her reflection in
the rear view mirror.  The sight startled her.  How long had it been
since she had last laughed?  The thought was troubling to say the
least.  She knew that Harm's decision, made just on the heels of
Chloe's departure, had added to the already overwhelming hurt, but
she had tried to suck it up like a good Marine and be supportive for
her friend.  'My <best> friend,' she thought. 

However, after he'd left, there was no need to remain strong and
supportive. Her feelings could be carefully hidden in the impersonal
nature of email. So she gave herself leave, in the dark of the night
and only when she felt most alone, to sob herself to sleep.  To
dream of not long ago, when she could be sure that when she woke
she would see Harm.  Now all she had were memories.  Memories
and that damn picture he'd sent her soon after his arrival in
Pensacola. 

Mac bit her lip as she remembered the day she'd opened an
envelope with Pensacola, Florida in the return address section.  She
had been forced to put up with Brumby's antics all day in court as
well as his continual requests for dates and, if those weren't bad
enough, the admiral had loaded her up with more work than she
could feasibly handle.  Emotional exhaustion coupled with hunger
and fatigue left her in no mood for any more reminders of Harm's
absence.  Fighting the tears of frustration, Mac had torn open the
envelope and tugged out the picture.  Attached was a bright yellow
post-it note and the words:  'Greetings from the Sunshine state.' 
She'd peeled off the note and stared down into Harm's smiling face. 
He stood, dressed in a green flight suit, underneath the T-1 A
Jayhawk he'd been assigned for training. 

Until that moment, she had secretly adored that flyboy smile; now
all she wanted to do was punch it off his face.  How dare he grin when he'd left her to deal with the Ramsey urder,Chloe's move to the opposite side of the country, <and> the unceasing attentions of an amorous Aussie!  On top of that, the mixed emotions that bubbled up with every thought of the flyboy, himself! 

Sure, they were friends, but were they more?  She and Harm were
connected on some unconscious level, had been so ever since their
first case.  When chasing the stolen Declaration of Independence,
he'd gripped her hand pulled her into a helicopter.  At the time, she
had felt some sort of change in the way she saw him, but had
chalked it up to the adrenaline rush.  Over the length of the their
partnership, though, the link had grown in strength so much so that
they often found they could read each other's minds. 

Added to that, he had kissed her at the ONR and this time it was
Sarah he'd kissed, not Diane.  But then, they had both silently
agreed that it wasn't the right time to pursue a relationship.  Soon
after that, he had met Jordan.  Mac was almost certain he and
Jordan had broken up once she had learned of his change of
designator, but what now? 

The day he'd left the office, he had carelessly parried away her
heartfelt question, but his eyes had said something else.  Something
that had passed so quickly that now she doubted she'd even seen it
at all. Damn the man! Damn him for leaving everything so up in the
air!  Mac had gripped the photo with every intention of ripping it in
two, but something stopped her. Blinking back the tears brought on
by an emotional overload, she'd simply dropped it on her coffee
table and hadn't looked at it since. 

Tonight, however, she had a feeling that it would come in handy. 
After three weeks, Mac had finally found the words she wanted to
say.  If he couldn't be there to hear her, well, then at least she could
look him in the eye when she told him.  It wasn't perfect, but it was
all she had. 

She stopped as the light in front of her flashed yellow and pursed
her lips. The driver in the next lane revved his engine, issuing a
challenge. Glancing out of the side window, she took in the 
clean-cut features and playful grin of the man shook her head, 
'Next time; I've got plans for tonight,' she thought. 

When the light changed, the other car sped off and she was left
once more with her thoughts.  She cruised down the side streets of
downtown D.C. paying little heed to the minor traffic. 

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of dread shot through her. 
"HARM!" she shrieked, slamming on the brakes.  The cars behind
her barely had enough time to avoid hitting her.  Mac closed her
eyes mentally searching for any thread the unconscious connection
she had to him.

Doubled over the steering wheel, she tried to drown out the
cacophony of horns that surrounded the car, and desperately felt for
Harm's presence.  A single tear trickled down her cheek as the
realization sank in. 

It was gone.

***

Dana Scully's apartment 
Georgetown 
2101 Romeo

Special Agent Dana Scully padded through her living room tugging
a brush through her titian hair as she made her way to the kitchen. 
The piercing screech of the teapot signaled her water was ready and
she set the brush aside in favor of the chamomile filled teabag that
waited in her favorite mug. 

After adding the hot water, Scully carried the tea to the couch and
sat. Leaning her head back, she savored the quiet serenity that filled
the room. She loved her job with the X-Files, but sometimes,
particularly after a hard case, she just wanted to get away.  To get
out of her own head for a while. A rueful chuckle barely escaped
her lips as she contemplated her last attempt at a break from work. 
Instead of a leisurely trip through the Maine countryside, she had
ended up investigating a series of murders whose only suspect was
a talking doll.  That case had prompted the discovery of her new
relaxation method.  Though less exhilarating than a trip away from
D.C. and Mulder, it was infinitely safer.  She would indulge in a
long, hot bubble bath, serenaded by Mozart, then top it off with a
cup of tea.  Most importantly, she would turn off her cellular and
unplug the phone. 

She drifted in and out of a dreamy state, allowing the warmth of the
tea to seep through her hands.  At length, the annoying pulse of the
telephone broke through her reverie.  'Damn,' she thought
resignedly, 'I knew I forgot something.'

Rising she glanced at the clock and frowned.  It was too early for
the slaying of Mulder's middle of the night dragons and she had
pointedly told him that this evening was her time to unwind.  He
had merely nodded and given her that boyish smile that inevitably
melted her heart into a pool of goo.

She grabbed the phone on the fourth ring and answered, "Scully."

"Agent Scully?" asked a somewhat familiar voice.

"Yes?" she answered, her brow furrowed, trying to place the caller.

"This is..um..this is Major Sarah MacKenzie..."

'Got it,' Scully thought.  'The lawyer.'  Aloud she replied, "Hi, Mac. 
Is something wrong?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.  "I'm sorry to call so
late, but...um..." a nervous chuckle whispered over the phone. 
"The strangest thing has just happened.  And I really need someone
to talk to-to talk some sense back into me."

"What's wrong?" Scully asked, resuming her seat on the couch.

"I know you'll believe me, because you've probably heard of this
type of thing before..." the major rambled.

"What's wrong?" 

"You have this...I don't know... 'bond' with Mulder.  And to a
certain extent, Harm and I have the same thing.  You know, where
you can almost tell what the other person is thinking..."

"MAC!" Scully stated forcefully, trying to get the other woman's
attention.

"Yeah?"

She sat the cup aside, then asked softly, "What happened?"

A watery sigh was her only answer.  The agent merely waited,
sensing that whatever it was, its impact on the major was
substantial.

After a moment, Mac continued, "About three weeks ago, Harm 
changed his designator back to aviation."  She could almost hear
Scully raise a questioning eyebrow.  "It's a long story, but suffice it
say that he's now in Pensacola in training.  As I was driving home
from headquarters tonight, all of a sudden I felt...like...like someone
had physically hit me.  But it wasn't me; something happened to
Harm.  I don't know how I know.  I just do."

"I know," Scully murmured, her own thoughts drifting to the
countless times when she too had felt the same blow, had known
without doubt that Mulder was in trouble.  "Have you tried calling
the base?"

Mac nodded, then realizing Scully couldn't see her, replied, "Yeah,
but the officer of the watch said that most of the pilots had been
given a day of liberty and that not all had reported back in yet." 
She paused and Scully could tell the major was holding something
back.

"There's something else, isn't there?" the agent murmured as she
tucked her feet underneath her. 

"Uh...yeah.  After that...that incident, I got the weirdest feeling that
someone was watching me.  And now..." she trailed off, her logical
brain unwilling to put voice to her turbulent emotions.

"Now?"

"Scully, I saw him," Mac bit out.  "I saw Harm...his throat was slit." 
She shuddered and glanced over to the corner of her apartment. 
The last place she had seen the image.  "But that's not all.  He talks
to me, Scully.  His mouth moves, but I can't hear what he's saying."

The agent sat frozen on the couch, the color draining out of her
already pale features.  'Dad,' she thought. 

Refusing to believe there was any similarity between the two
situations, Scully ruthlessly tamped down on the emotions Mac's
confession had conjured up.  She cleared her throat slightly and
asked, "Mac, is there anyone you can stay with tonight?  You don't
need to be by yourself until you hear from Harm."

Thinking of Harriet and Bud with their newborn, Mac shook her
head and murmured, "No, there's no one really."

"Then come to my place; I have a guest bedroom you can stay in," 
Scully offered, rising from the couch.

Mac shook her head forcefully and replied, "No, I gave my number
to the officer of the watch.  He said he'd have Harm call me when
he got in."

Scully nodded, that was good, at least she was thinking instead of
reacting. "Alright, then I'll come to your place.  Give me directions
and I'll be there in a few minutes."

After a moment's thought, Mac answered, "OK."

***

Major Sarah MacKenzie's apartment 
Washington, D.C. 
2249 Romeo

Scully sat on the couch in Mac's living room and cradled her cell
phone in her hands.  Harm had yet to call and Mac, after practically
dropping in her tracks from emotional exhaustion, slept restlessly in
her room.  Every few minutes, Scully could hear the woman
murmur something incoherent, and the agent was sure the words
were directed to Rabb. 

She stared at the phone and wondered how much longer she should
wait before beginning her preliminary checklist she kept filed away
in her mind for the times when Mulder disappeared.  She usually
started with the airports, then the local emergency rooms, saving
the morgues for last on the desperate hope that he would be found
before resorting to that call.  Sighing, she dialed Memory 2-Mulder's 
home number.  She didn't want to tie up Mac's phone, nor
did she want to disturb the woman's already restless slumber, so
Mulder would get the job of tracking down Rabb.

He picked up on the second ring, obviously awake and
disconcertingly chipper for that time of night.  Scully could easily
picture the glare of the TV as it played over his features.  She
quickly filled him in on the situation as well as Rabb's new
designator.

"Visions, huh?" he asked, cracking open a sunflower seed then
spitting the shell into his hand.  His sharp mind immediately latched
onto Scully's own encounter with a ghost of sorts.

"I know what you're thinking, Mulder..."

"Should I be blushing?" he asked innocently as he paced around his
living room.

"This is nothing like the time I saw my father," she continued
nonplussed. 

"Well, if she is indeed seeing what she's told you, there is more than
a distinct possibility that Harm's dead.  Some Native American
cultures experience this sort of thing all the time prior to or even
after a loved one's death."  He paused a moment and chewed on his
lower lip.

Scully heard a cry coming from the other room and quickly moved
to the bedroom door.  Mac tossed and turned restlessly, but the
doctor in Scully judged her to be relatively safe.  She continued her
conversation, her voice barely above a whisper, though her eyes
never left the woman.  "Will you check with the local hospitals and
the morgues for me?  I can't do it with her right here.  She's already
a little unstable and I think any bad news would send her over the
edge..."  'Can't say I blame her though,' Scully thought to herself. 
'I'd feel the same way if I were seeing Mulder in that state.'

"I'll see what I can find out," he murmured, then hung up.

Tapping her own End button, Scully placed a reassuring hand on
Mac's shoulder.  After a moment, the major's movements quieted
somewhat.  She walked over to an arm chair and settled herself in
for the long haul. Scully let her thoughts drift and inevitably they
turned toward her encounter with her father, and her daughter.

***

[I don't believe in ghosts.  Visions yes.  My faith has taught me to
believe in those, but ghostly apparitions that seem half in this world
and half in another, no.  I can almost hear Mulder's frustrated sigh
and the question poised on his lips:  There's a difference?

Yes.  A big difference.  Visions teach, ghosts haunt.

Ahab came to me mere seconds before I learned of his death.  He
mouthed soundless words in a vain attempt to reach out to me one
more time.  And then, years later, Emily, the daughter I never knew
who was taken before I could.  One of the countless innocent victims
of the evil men that Mulder and I have sworn to find before they can 
finish their plans.

It's ironic that of my two encounters, the one who I knew least, was
the only one I could hear.  She called me "Mommy," though she
had never known that to be the truth when she was alive. 

My father had wanted to tell me how proud he was of his Starbuck. 
Of that I am now certain.  My daughter begged me to let her go. 
That was harder to accept. 

No, I don't believe in ghosts.  They have no place in my scientific
and logical world.  And visions do? you might ask.

Yes.  It is my world after all.]

***

Flight 1013 
Enroute to Pensacola 
1124 Romeo

Harm hadn't called and there were no reports of any John Doe
admissions in any of the hospitals or morgues near Pensacola.
Scully hoping to ease Mac's turbulent fears had called the base
again only to find that he had never returned.  The major had
requested two days of personal leave with no further explanation,
fearing that instead of understanding the visions, the admiral would
discount them. After receiving his reluctant permission, she boarded
a plane with Mulder and Scully hoping to find some sign of Harmon
Rabb Jr.

Mac sat in the aisle seat across from Scully while Mulder gazed out
the window, only mildly interested in the puffy white clouds.  After
a long sleepless night spent mainly watching over Mac, Scully had
drifted off once the nearly empty plane had reached its cruising
altitude.

The major leafed through the pages of the airline-provided
magazine in a vain effort to quell the panic that raged through her. 
At length, she tossed it aside and, leaning her head back, closed her
eyes.  She rolled her head to the side, allowing her eyes to slide
over Mulder's profile.  After a moment of careful study, she asked,
"Why do you do this?"  When he didn't respond, she continued, "I
mean, I can understand Scully's need as a scientist to find the rational 
basis in the paranormal, but what I don't get is why you're so 
interested.  From all reports, you had a great career as a
profiler..." she trailed off, hoping he would pick up the
conversation. 

Mulder continued to gaze out the window.  Mac began to think he
was ignoring her altogether when he spoke, "When I was 12, my
sister, Samantha, was taken from our home."  He paused, his
unseeing gaze still focused on the sky. "She was abducted by aliens. 
I saw it happen."

Mac recognized the flat tone and simple words found only in those
truly broken by a situation.  She could easily see that time had done
nothing to soothe his scars.  Accepting his words at face value,
though the part about the aliens was a little troubling, she said
nothing.  Instead, she studied the fabric on the back of the seat in
front of her.  At length, she murmured, "You still hope to find her,
don't you?"

"Every minute of every day," was his quiet answer.

***

[I have never seen a ghost.  Oh, sure, in the dark of the night on the
wings of fevered dreams, I've seen people I know, people from my
past, people from the present.  But they only come at night and
never when I'm awake.

Scully's lucky; though she would strenuously argue against it.  She's
seen her father and her daughter, has been able to almost touch
them, to almost speak to them.  I envy her.  You see, while she has
been given her visions, I have been bequeathed a mockery. 

I have spoken with, even touched living versions of my sister, but
my tantalizingly hopeful encounters have been clones, hybrids. 
Experimental subjects of the Consortium, with just enough
humanity to make me almost believe, or at least think twice. 

I wish they were ghosts.  It would be easier, I think, to justify.]

***

Pensacola NAS 
Pensacola, Florida 
1628 Romeo

"No, ma'am," Petty Officer Williams, a youngish looking man with
blonde hair, stated.  "Commander Rabb never did report in.  And
from what I've heard, his six is in a lot of trouble when he does get
back." 

Mulder and Scully flanked Mac as they stood in front of the petty
officer's desk at the air station.  The major closed her eyes and
sighed.  "Do you know if he told anyone where he was going?"

Williams shrugged, "You can ask the other guys in his training
squadron. They should be..." he paused and checked his schedule,
"yeah, they should be on a break from the class. Just go up this hall
and take a left."

"Thanks," she murmured before glancing at the agents.  The trio
walked silently down the hall and found a group of trainees
gathered around a glass door that led to the outside of the building. 

Unwilling to announce their presence since there was no official
investigation as of yet, Mulder and Scully allowed Mac to pass
them off as bystanders while she questioned the officers.  The
agents watched as the hopeful light in the major's eyes dimmed,
replaced by a hardened resolve. At length, she returned and they
walked back to the front desk.

"The CO is an old friend of Harm's and knows that Harm wouldn't
go UA unless he had a good reason..."

"Or something happened to him," Scully finished, her eyes soft with
sympathy.

Mac nodded once and swallowed past the lump that had formed in
her throat. "Base MPs have been notified of his status and are about
to go out looking for him," she stated briskly, obviously trying to
rein in her emotions. They neared a wooden door marked 'Military
Police' and she continued, "Harm's training RIO said he'd mentioned
something about going to a local course to take in some golf."  Mac
forced a smile, but her attempt merely ended in a sort of grimace.

Scully nodded and placed a reassuring hand on the major's arm. 
"Let's find out if we can join the MPs." 

***

Shady Tree Golf Center 
Pensacola, Florida 
1716 Romeo

Upon agreement with the MPs, the agents and major questioned the
staff at the golf course while the officers began searching the route
he most likely would have taken.    Unfortunately, the only
information the trio could illicit was that Harm had played a pick-up
round of golf with a group of visiting businessmen who were
looking for a fourth.  And, after the game was over, Harm had left
separately.  The office manager gave Mulder a list of the men's
names, but none had returned to their offices and were presumed to
still be on various planes.

The two agents and Mac were just getting settled back into the
rental car when Mulder's cell phone rang.  Scully, who sat in the
front seat, turned and watched as he murmured into the phone,
studying his features for any forewarning of the conversation's tone. 
As the call wound down, he started the car and glanced at Mac in
the rearview mirror. 

Nodding, he hung up and, his brow furrowed, stated, "They found
his car."

"And?" Mac prompted eagerly as she leaned forward. 

Mulder pursed his lips, as if carefully choosing his words.  "It looks
like he lost control and the car flipped several times."

"Oh, God!" the major breathed, her face a mask of shock.  "Did
they...did they find a body?"

Scully's gaze locked onto her partner and, reading the answer in his
eyes, she nodded, urging him to continue.

"No, but they're still looking around the area."

Mac slumped in the back seat desperately trying to absorb the latest
news. Emotions flitted rapidly through her dark brown eyes; just as
one would settle, another would take its place dredging up worse
images in its wake. 

Scully wished she could ease the major's torment, but knew from
past experience the only solution was to find her partner.  Turning
from the woman, she murmured, "Let's go, Mulder."

***

[I've never thought about ghosts before really.  Fitting, huh, that it
seems I now see them with every turn of my head. Why, Harm? 
Even when we were trapped on that carrier with Sokol and you
swore that sailor was leading us out, I never saw him.  So why do I
see you now?  I refuse to believe Mulder and Scully's not-so-carefully 
hidden views.  I can see it on their faces, in their meaningful, telling 
glances. 

They think you're dead. 

Are you?  Could you have slipped away unnoticed and unmourned
like you tried to do on your last day at JAG?  No, I can't believe
that.  I won't.  You're still here, in some capacity.  I can feel it.  I
can feel you. 

Barely. 

Help me out, Harm.  What are you trying to tell me?  Please don't
let these ghosts be a omen.  I don't know how to wash off the blood
that's already on my hands.  And if yours were added...please,
Harm, help me out.]

***

Highway 98
Just East of Myrtle Grove, Florida 
1736 Romeo

"Over here!" a camo bedecked MP cried, his voice echoing through
the hazy rumor of dusk. 

Several heads popped up, eyes immediately latching onto the
officer's location.  Mulder and Scully weaved through the
underbrush that cut off the highway from the swampy forest.  Mac
joined them as they approached a rocky outcropping.  Harm's car
still lay on its side only a few yards away, gruesomely reminiscent
of a broken toy abandoned by a doleful child. 

Scully lay a restraining hand on Mac's arm as they approached the
group that now surrounded the outcropping.  The major's gaze
moved from the hand to the agent's eyes, reading the question she
found there.  A solemn resolve flooded her dark brown pools and
Mac nodded.  At length, Scully nodded in return and loosened her grip. 

Together, they walked toward the officers.

***

[I'm dead.  I must be.  These apparitions that crowd around me,
their whisper-like touches and softly murmured assurances, must be
speeding my way toward Heaven.  I've lost a lot of blood.  I've felt
it as it drained out of me seeping into the thirsty ground. 

My life has yet to flash before my eyes; they're too busy trying to
focus on the faces of these ghosts before me.  Mulder.  Scully. 
Mac.  And...Dad.  I thought I'd never see you again.

Wait, Dad!  Don't go!  What do you mean, 'It's not my time?'  No, I
want to stay with you.  We've got so much to talk about.  So many
years we've missed out on.  Dad!   Dad!]

***

"Dad...Dad..." Harm murmured incoherently.

Crouching down beside him, Mac lifted his head into her lap and
brushed away the leaves and grass that stuck to his sweat laden
head.  "Shhh!" she soothed. "It's alright.  We've got you, Harm. 
I've got you."

Scully quickly triaged him and, following the trail of blood, found
the gaping gash in his side.  "Medic!  Get a bag over here!" she
ordered forcefully.

A young officer was quick to reply and the agent deftly cut away
Harm's shirt to get better access to the wound.  She checked his
pupil response with a pen light and found them to be a little slow to
dilate.  Her brow furrowed momentarily and she asked, "What's the
plan for getting him out of here?  He needs to get to a hospital." 

"Ma'am, a chopper's flying out even as we speak.  It should be here
in a few minutes," the medic replied.   Mulder and the officers
continued to survey the scene searching for possible clues as to why
Harm lost control of the car.  Cataloging the tire marks on the road
as well as the damage to the trees and surrounding area.  The
outcropping that Harm now lay on overlooked a river; its banks
were completely engulfed by the rushing water. 

After a few more minutes of careful treatment, Scully looked up. 
Her gaze found Mac's and smiling slightly, she nodded.  "He lost a
lot of blood and may have a concussion.  But I think we got to him
just in time."

Mac closed her eyes with relief and sent a silent prayer of thanks to
Heaven.  She mentally sifted through her relief and probed her mind
for her link to Harm.  It had been so tenuous throughout the search
that she desperately hoped it hadn't broken.  In a split second, she
found it, safe, warm, and vitally alive.  Harm stirred slightly in her
lap as if her search had prompted something inside him.  "Mac?" he
asked, his voice like rough sandpaper.

"Yeah, flyboy, I'm here," she murmured, softly stroking his
forehead.

"How did you..." he trailed off, then swallowed and tried to moisten
his lips.   "Who told..."

She smiled softly, her gaze warm as she tenderly cupped his cheek. 
"You did." 
 

END