This story is in answer to the HBX fanfic challenge for April 2006. I hope you like it.

Special thanks to Hope for helping me brain storm. Hope, you're a doll!

All mistakes are my own. I realize that there are some small parts of this that are unrealistic in the legal world. Working with lawyers has taught me that much, but I didn't care because I wanted poetic license. Sorry to any lawyers out there.

I don't own JAG, but if I did I wouldn't have dropped everything but the kitchen sink on both the main characters throughout all the ten years. Come on, let them be genuinely happy for more than a few minutes at the end.

No Time Left

by TR

Rated Mild

Her voice was a whisper on the wind.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say whatever is in your heart."

"What if I don't know what that is?"

Silence.

One minute.

Two.

He had no answers.

The breeze picked up, bringing with it the smell of the Ocean, and morning.

"Give it time."

He stood up and walked away.

Time.

Give it time.

There was no time left.

And no way to get it back.

She looked out over the water, and watched the sun peek around the curve of the earth.

A fresh new day, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Her pen hovered over the paper. Nothing was written.

She just didn't know what to say.

One week Previous

Mac was standing at the stove when she heard his car pull into the driveway. Something was up. She knew it in her gut. She'd felt it all day long. A nameless, and faceless threat looming somewhere just out of reach. She'd stayed on guard since the moment she woke, ready to fight it. Whatever it may be. Her senses kicked in to high alert with the wave of tension that followed him through the door . Apprehension gathered in her chest like a fist. She didn't know why. Slowly she moved the sauce from the heat, and turned off the burner.

He moved about the house. Hanging his coat, putting away his brief case, kicking off his shoes, stalling. After a few minutes, when he still hadn't made it into the kitchen, she went looking for him. He was sitting in the living room, in his favorite chair staring out the window. Mac laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Immediately he took her hand in his, and brought it to his lips.

"What is it?" She asked quietly.

He heaved a sigh, "Maybe nothing."

"Maybe something?"

"Maybe something."

She walked around to face him, and he dropped his feet to the floor, making room for her sit on the Ottoman.

"Gil's dead."

"Gil, the man you were helping with his veteran's benefits?"

"Yeah." He leaned over and picked up a sheet of paper from the end table. "He was living in a subsidized apartment building, that burned to the ground last night."

"I'm sorry."

He met her eyes. "They gave me a list of residents who died in that building…"

Mac frowned and took the paper from him, scanning the list. "What am I looking for?" She scanned the list twice before she saw it. Third from the bottom, the name jumped out like a fist to the gut. "Deanne O'Hara."

"We obviously can't be sure that it's her, Mac. She's not the only woman in the world with that name."

"It's her," she whispered.

Harm nodded. He'd trusted his wife's intuition since long before she was his wife. "Last night?"

"Yes."

Harm put a hand on her shoulder, remembering how she'd burrowed into him, after screaming her way out of a nightmare that she couldn't remember. She was afraid. She couldn't breath. She couldn't escape. He'd woken her carefully, then taken her in his arms. She'd held on tight, hoping the calm and steady beating of his heart, would sooth the pounding of her own. It had, and she quickly fell back into a fitful sleep. It wasn't uncommon for her to have nightmares, but it was uncommon for her not to remember them when she woke. Now they knew why. She'd experienced the death of her own mother.

He stayed close, knowing she would reach for him if she needed to be held, or pull back if she needed some space. She did neither. Remaining still on the Ottoman in front of him. Her face showed nothing but slight confusion.

Slowly she laid the paper back down on the table. "Can you finish making dinner? I have a few phone calls I need to make."

He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze, "Sure."

Harm headed for the kitchen while Mac took out her cell phone, and walked out to the terrace.

She was still out there when he set a large bowl of pasta on the dining table. He watched her for a moment. Waiting for a sign. He saw none. She leaned against the railing, looking out over the water, as she talked. Like she'd done a hundred times before. Even with their heightened connection he couldn't read her. It occurred to him, that maybe he wasn't the only one who didn't know what she was feeling. She couldn't very well let him in on the turmoil plaguing her mind, if she couldn't even sort it out for herself. He went to the kitchen to get the tray of vegetables he'd prepared. When he returned she was no longer talking on the phone. He gave her a few minutes to collect herself, and then headed toward the glass door. Sensing him, she turned in his direction. He gave her a half smile, and gestured toward the table. She nodded and made her way inside. Silently she dished up a plate of food, and sat in the chair next to him.

They ate normally. Following their usual routine. Sans the laughter. Sans the conversation. Sans the contentment. The room was filled with the soft sounds of breathing, and the quiet clank of silver against china. The silence was deafening, and his concern mounted. He wasn't aware he was watching her, until she deliberately raised her eyes to meet his. He looked away, and then back again, trying to smile. She winked, but offered nothing more. It was enough.

Mac finished her meal, gathered her plate and excused herself from the table. A few minutes later Harm found her in their bedroom, half dressed and in the process of removing the rest of her clothing. He knew where she was headed, and opened the double doors to the tiled alcove that held the gift he'd given her for their first anniversary. A large Mediterranean Jacuzzi tub. Leaning over the side he turned on the water, adjusting it to the temperature she preferred. He straightened when he saw her standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but her wedding ring. Briefly he wondered why the familiarity of her beauty never lessened the punch. Then immediately hoped it never would.

"Thinking or relaxing?" He asked.

"Thinking."

Thinking. Check. No bubbles.

"Thank you," she said, as she stepped into the tub.

"Anytime,"he replied, and turned to leave.

"Stay," she said softly.

He pulled up a small chair to sit beside the tub, and was mildly surprised when she reached for his hand.

"Have they determined the cause of the fire?" She asked.

"Faulty wiring. The building was pretty old. I'd have told you if they suspected foul play."

"I know. I just want to know how many hoops we're going to have to jump through to get this over and done with."

"Is that your angle?"

"For the time being."

"Until you know how you feel?"

"Until I know how I feel. Which may never happen. Even when I was a kid, I never understood her. How she could stay with an abusive husband for so long. How she could have that look in her eyes, when she told me I looked like him. How she could walk out on my birthday of all days..." Mac's voice trailed off, as the remembered pain threated to swallow her whole.

"Didn't you talk to her about this when you saw her last?"

"All of it," she replied, then met his eyes. "Forgiveness doesn't always mean understanding."

"No, it doesn't."

She took a cleansing breath. "Uncle Matt will be up for parole in two months. How much tap dancing do you think it will take to get that date moved up?"

"Not a whole lot, with his track record of good behavior."

"Good. I talked to Admiral Botero, he's allowing me some leave, so I can deal with this. I have an appointment tomorrow to give a sample to match our DNA." She paused, chewing lightly on her lower lip. "Apparently the body is too badly burnt for me to identify her."

"You're not listed as her next of kin?"

She gave a small huff that was more disbelief than derision. "No, my father is. Apparently she never updated her records. They're having a difficult time finding her dental records. It was only after I called that they knew where to look to get some kind of medical documentation. I'm giving the DNA sample more to prove that she is the Deanne O'Hara on those documents, than to prove relationship. The only reason she's on that list, is because she was staying with someone who lived there. A few of the survivors remembered her name. Otherwise no one would have known she was…" She inhaled slowly.

"What can I do?"

"See if you can pull some strings for Uncle Matt," She answered.

"Okay," he said as he rose from his seat. "I'll get started on that. You need anything else?"

"No. Go ahead, I won't be too long."

She was long. Very long. She'd barely registered his exit, before her mind sank beneath the weight of the task before her. Painful memories she'd kept neatly buried, rose rapidly to the surface one right after another. There was no defense. She fought to hold her ground. Fought to keep the ground firmly beneath her feet. Fought to keep from running. Running. Even as a young child she'd been determined to be nothing like her mother. Deanne O'Hara had run away. Sarah MacKenzie would not. She never had. Becoming an expert at never letting anyone else in, wasn't the same as running away from them. At least, that's what she'd told herself, each and every time she sat alone in her apartment in DC.

And yet she struggled against the ache that wound itself around her. An ache she couldn't explain, or put a name to. She'd never really known the woman who'd once occupied the charred remains that lay in the morgue halfway across town. For a brief moment she considered leaving those remains to the authorities to deal with. Abandoning them, as she had been abandoned. In the end it was her belief that no misguided soul, no matter their misguided deeds, should have to die alone, that won out.

The water was downright cold when she finally summoned the strength to step out of the tub. Shrouded in a soft white robe, and goose flesh, she made her way into the living room. She found Harm sitting in an armchair by the fire. A legal pad in his lap, and a pencil hanging loosely from the fist that was propped against his sleeping face. She couldn't help but smile, as love well up. What she'd ever done in her life to deserve this man, she'd never know.

Slowly she took the pencil from him, and picked up the legal pad. She flipped through the pages, tracking the evolution of his strategy as he mapped out several different arguments to present to the parole board in the petition. Her eyes lit as she realized that every angle she'd thought of while she spoke on the phone with her Uncle was now written on the pad in her hands. It didn't happen often, but it always delighted her when she and Harm were of one mind.

She replaced the legal pad and moved close, placing herself in his lap. He wrapped his arms immediately around her, holding her in that way that had always felt so incredibly right.

"We should head to bed," he whispered in her ear.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't think of anything but escape. Her lungs burned, gasping through the smoke, through the fire, through the all-consuming panic. Her arms flailed, fought against the hands that held her. Too many hands. Too many regrets. Not enough time to get out. Not enough time to take it all back. To make it right again.

She felt the hands tighten on her shoulders. A familiar voice in her ear. Calling her back. Back to him. Always him. Always there. Saving her. Loving her. She couldn't get to him. Couldn't get away. She kicked out, sending the covers to floor, and twisted in his grip. Her hand shot out, nearly connecting with his jaw. He ducked away, but didn't let her go. Her fingers dug into his arms, as she clawed to the surface. Her breath came in erratic panting sobs, as she buried her face in his chest and cried out for her mother.

Mac poured another spoonful of pancake batter onto the griddle and watched as the bubbles surfaced and popped in the center. The steam rose, adding a flush to her cheeks, as she swept the bangs from her forehead with the back of her hand. After a minute she flipped the pancake. After a minute more, she turned off the heat and put it on the platter with the others. She was about to pour the coffee when she heard him approach. Harm stood in the doorway of the kitchen in nothing but a wedding ring, and a pair of white boxers. His hair stood up on one side where he'd slept. He was in the process of rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he caught sight of the kitchen counter.

"Expecting an army?"

She frowned, but confusion quickly turned into sheepishness as she surveyed the spread. Lining the countertops were platters of pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns, crepes, toast... "I guess I got a little carried away."

"Mac, it's 0600, How long have you been up?"

She shrugged.

"I thought it was my turn to cook breakfast," he said with a smile designed to lift her spirits. It didn't work.

"It was, but I figured turn about's fair play." She stared down into her coffee cup. "Afterall, you took over dinner last night while I...made my calls."

He went to her. Stroked his thumb over her cheek. "I'm sorry Mac," he said softly.

Her eyes fell shut, just for a moment. "Every time I think I've put the pieces of my life together, someone comes along and jumbles them all up. But I'll be alright. I always am." She took a calming breath. "I hope you're hungry."

He grinned, "I am."

Thirty minutes later he was stuffed to the gills, and made a mental note to hit the gym at work before his conference call with the parole board.

She watched from across the table as he washed the last bite of pancakes down with a long swallow of coffee. "I have to leave in about an hour to submit my DNA sample, I don't know how long that's going to take. I can't really start on any of the arrangements until we have conclusive results."

He was two seconds away from offering to go with her when he stopped himself. If she needed him to be there, she'd ask in her own time. That had probably been the most difficult thing to accept about her after they'd gotten married. Her fierce independence. Especially considering his protective nature. "I have to submit the petition for early parole, and tie up a few more loose ends at the office. Otherwise I'm free." Understanding eyes met troubled ones. "Let me know if you need an extra pair of hands."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Will do."

She stepped into the Medical Examiner's office, and her stomach rolled as she was assaulted by the stale stench of aneseptic wash. "Sarah Mackenzie to see Dr. Townsend," she said to the receptionist.

"One moment."

She sat down in the waiting area. Stood. Sat down again. The deep breathing techniques she'd been practicing for the past hour did nothing to calm her nerves. She stood again, when a tall, slender British man came through the door.

"Mac?"

She smiled, and gave him a brief hug. "Hey Nigel."

"Hey, I'm sorry we couldn't see each other under better circumstances."

"We never see each other under good circumstances."

"Yeah, but this time it's close to home." He paused, "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "So we need to do DNA?"

"Yes, I have the kit in my office."

She followed him through the swinging double doors, and around the corner. Her steps faltered when she saw the large windowed room, with several covered bodies lying side by side. "Is..uh, is she in there?"

He turned to face her. "Yes."

"Was there anything on her that I may be able to identify?"

"Only the clothes on her back and those were pretty badly damaged."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Mac we found her purse, or we believe it was hers, tossed in the corner of one of the closets. Most of it was intact. There was no picture ID, but we did find a key to local storage unit. We plan on looking into it later this morning."

"I'd like to go with you."

He frowned. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright. In the mean time, let's get this done," he said, gesturing to his office.

Mac sat in the guest chair in his office while he snapped on his gloves and opened the kit.

"Okay, open up," he said as if speaking to a child.

She chuckled and opened her mouth allowing him to swab her cheek. He stored the swab, and prepared it for testing.

"How long will it take to get the results back?"

"Not too long, a few days maybe."

"Good, I don't want to drag this out any longer than I have to."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I can understand that. Is there any other family that you have to contact?"

"Harm is trying to get my Uncle released from prison on early parole so that he can be there. Other than that, no I don't have any family. But it's okay, I've never had much family. And I have Harm. He's enough."

He saw the pride in her eyes when she mentioned her husband, and grinned. Snapping his fingers, he said, "Damn, and here I was planning on wooing you over to my side."

"Sorry Nige, not a chance."

She laughed when he bagged the DNA and said, "lucky bastard."

"Thanks Nigel, I didn't expect to laugh when I came in here today."

"Glad I could help. Now wait here, and I'll find out when we're heading over to that storage facility."

Two hours later

The cargo lift shook slightly from side to side as it moved up to the third floor of the storage facility. Mac scuffed the toe of her sneaker on the floor, making lines in the saw dust. The lift came to a halt, and the door creaked open.

"What's the unit number?" She asked as they stepped out of the lift, and into a huge room of floor to ceiling tiny chain linked rooms.

"Twenty six," Nigel answered, checking the tag on the keychain.

They searched the isles until they came to the one that displayed 26 in large orange letters above the gate. It held nothing but one medium sized box in the center of the unit.

Wordlessly Nigel stepped forward and unlocked the gate. As they got closer they saw that the box was ancient, literally being held together by contact paper yellowed by time and wear. Mac's heart turned over in her chest when she recognized the tiny bear and rainbow print on the paper. It was the same print that her mother had used to line her dresser drawers when she was a child.

Nigel looked at Mac, "do you want to...?"

"No, I..."she said tucking in her lips, and wishing for Harm's presence beside her. "...If you would..."

He nodded and lifted the lid off of the box. The first thing she saw had her breath stumbling in her throat. A yellow and white striped baby blanket with "Sarah" embroidered in pink at the corner lay proudly displayed at the very top.

"I guess we won't be needing the results of that DNA test after all?" He asked.

She swallowed the tears back down into her belly. "No," she whispered in reply. "That's my blanket."

"You're positive?"

"Yes."

"That's good enough for me," he said as he put the top back on the box, and carried it down to the car. "There will be some papers to sign, and then we'll release this to you as her next of kin."

"Thank you."

"No problem. I'll let you know when the body can be released for burial."

She nodded, and he turned to her. "I'm sorry Mac. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I think we've got it handled, but thank you."

They rode back to the medical examiner's office in complete silence. The papers were signed, and the box released in under twenty minutes. All of the simple things were over and done with. The difficult part was just beginning.

Nigel walked her out to the car.

"Next time we'll have to get together just for fun," she said, as she loaded the box into the passenger side of her Corvette. "Why don't you come over for dinner in a few weeks and you can dish us all the dirt on Bug and Lily."

He put his arm around her. "I don't know much since I've been subbing here in San Diego, but what I do know I will definitely share."

She gave him a squeeze, said goodbye, and headed for home.

Mac pulled onto the freeway and flipped open her cell phone.

Rabb

Just hearing his voice calmed the thrumming of her heart. "Hi baby."

You okay?

"How far are you from home?"

A few hours. I had to take a bit of a road trip.

"I need..."

...An extra pair of hands?

"Yeah."

I'm on my way.

"Thanks. I love you."

I love you too.

She snapped the phone shut and let his words wrap around her.

Mac stared at the box for nearly an hour before she built up the courage to lift the lid. Inside, she found that the blanket was not only displayed on top, but was wrapped around several other items in the box. Cautiously she ran a finger over the embroidery. It felt rougher. Looked dull and dusty. The years hadn't been kind. Beneath it she found an odd assortment of mementos from her childhood. Her favorite copy of Green Eggs and Ham, a card she'd made for her mother in Kindergarten that still held the glittery words 'Happy Mother's Day', her year book from Fifth grade. Every thing she discovered, everything she touched brought back a distinct and pleasant memory. She could feel the softness of her mother's skin as she sat on her lap at four years old reciting Green Eggs and Ham word for word. She remembered the happy smile she'd gotten in return for the Mother's day card. She remembered being picked up from school on her last day of Fifth grade and showing her mother the year book, that year, like every other year before it, they'd gone to the ice cream parlor and chattered like they hadn't a care in the world.

Her emotion rose with the recollection, but she set those things aside and dug deeper. She found a lock of light brown curls from her very first haircut. A photo her father had taken of her mother helping her get ready for a school dance. A locket that held her picture as an infant.

Every memory shot out like a poisoned arrow, cutting deeper, deadlier every time. She felt like a wildflower, being slowly plucked apart by a careless hand. She loved me. She loved me not.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, and willed back the tears. Picking up the locket she let the cold chain slide over her trembling hand, and held the tarnished metal to her cheek. Her eyes slid shut as memory took over.

Why do you always wear this necklace mommy?

Deanne picked her up and sat her in her lap. Because it has a picture of my favorite girl, she'd replied opening the locket to show the picture inside.

But that's a baby picture.

I know.

But, I'm not a baby anymore.

Deanne kissed her three year old forehead. You'll always be my baby.

Her mother's voice echoed over and over in her head. Slicing at her heart each and every time it spoke. The locket dropped from her grasp, as she gave in to the tears.

It took her several minutes to pull herself together, an effort that became entirely futile when she picked up the envelope at the bottom of the box. It held three things. A picture of her mother proudly showing her newborn daughter to the camera; a picture of the two of them at her fourteenth birthday party, and a note dated exactly a year later, the day she left that simply said, "I'm so sorry baby."

Mac lifted the photo from the envelope, and studied it through pain blurred eyes. A tear dropped before she could stop it, splattering against the forty year old paper, blending with the color, permanently, irreparably erasing the loving hand of the woman who held her brand new baby girl.

The pain was too much. She could do nothing but cry out.

Harm rushed into his bedroom in time to see her bury her face in the pillow and crumble into a mass of grief. His heart broke in two. Dropping his keys on the nightstand he moved onto the bed and gathered her in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I got here as soon as I could."

She clung to him. Latching on tight. Her shelter in the storm. He held her to him, smoothing his hand through her hair in short soothing strokes. They stayed that way for long minutes, while he murmurred words of solace in her ear. When her fingers loosened around the photo, he picked it up and looked at it. And his heart broke all over again.

"How could she?"

Her whisper was almost too low for him to hear.

"How could she leave me with him?"

"I don't know," he replied.

She turned to face him and the pain in her eyes tore at him. Her lips trembled. "I feel like I've got a big hole where my heart used to be. I wanted my mother, but she didn't want me." She turned in his arms. "Look at all of this stuff. She kept it all that time."

"Obviously she loved you."

"But not enough to take me with her. I wouldn't have cared if we moved around all the time. It couldn't have been any worse than what I had at home." A fresh batch of tears welled up and fell. "She took everything. My blanket, my books, my pictures. Everything but me. Why Harm?"

He shook his head, and had no answer.

She took the picture from him. "Look at her, holding me up like some prize. How could she do that, and then just walk away and never look back? I would never do that my child Harm! Never!" She moved her hands to his arms, held on. The pain almost breaking her in two. "What gives her the right to have me and then toss me away like a piece of garbage, and yet I can't even have one baby? Doesn't my heart count for something? I would never leave my baby. I'd never leave!" Her voice broke, and he pressed her against his chest, weeping for her pain, for his own, and for the unfairness of it all.

His voice shook. "I know. I know it baby. Mac, your heart is worth more than anyone I've ever known. It doesn't just count for something, it counts for everything."

He pulled her back, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I mean it," he whispered.

The rest of the world fell away, as sorrowful brown eyes locked on green. She lifted her mouth, and he kissed her tear wet lips. Softly, slowly. A salve to her wounded soul. A cry tore from her, and she dove in, drowning in him. Entwining herself. Surrounding her body with his warmth. She clung, begging for answers, for strength, for love. He complied, loving her away from reality. Away from the pain.

An hour later they lay clinging to each other, silent and spent. Neither knew the magic words that could fix the unfixable. Harm propped himself up on his fist when he heard her sigh.

"Will I ever understand Harm?"

He shook his head, "No. At least, I never did."

Her brow creased.

He shifted, looking away. "It's fitting that you were the one who was there when I found out about my father. When I said goodbye to him, I was also saying goodbye to the man I thought he was. It was more than a little disheartening to know that my father lived for so long in a place where he could have contacted me, and never once tried to. He moved on with his life, and never tried to get back home to me and my mom. I would never do that to my child. I would do whatever it took for however long it took, to get back home to my son. But he didn't. I can't tell you how much it hurt to realize that I'd spent the majority of my life searching for a man, who wasn't searching for me. If he couldn't get out, I understand, but he could have sent a letter. He could have had Sergei's mother send a letter. Something. He could have done at least something, but he didn't. And I'll never know why either."

"I didn't realize that. I'm sorry."

He nodded, and picked up her hand, lacing her fingers with his. "It's okay. Most of the time I don't think about it at all. It is what it is Mac, I can't change it."

"I can understand that. She left me 25 years ago next month. I thought I'd come to terms with all of this a long time ago."

"It's different now, you just found out she's gone. That changes things. Believe me I know. If you think she's out there somewhere, living life. Then there's always a chance that she can come back."

Her voice tripped. "No more chances. I'm never going to open my door and find her there. She's never going to tell me that she would have taken me with her if she had it to do all over again." She took a deep breath. "She's never going to tell me that she loved me. That's hard to take."

"Yes it is. All you can do is focus on the good in your life." He reached down and trailed a finger over her soft cheek. "I love you. And I'm NEVER going to leave you."

She gave him a watery smile. "And I'll never leave you."

He kissed her gently. "Good. Oh I forgot to tell you I called in a few favors and got the petition pushed through for early parole. He should be out by the end of the week."

She put her arms around him. "Thank you. They should release her for burial by tomorrow, then we can start on the arrangements."

He pulled back. "Do you know what you're going to say at the funeral?"

She stared into his eyes, and had absolutely no idea how to answer that.

Present time

She still didn't know what to say.

The sun was now out in full force, heating up the day.

He'd come out to her, straightening his tie, reminding her of the time.

As if she needed reminding.

As if she didn't know every second that ticked by drew her closer to the time when she had to say goodbye forever.

To her mother. To her dreams of second chances.

She had to honor her.

In some way.

Had to acknowledge her existance.

In some way.

Had to prove her worth.

In some way.

Her pen hovered, as a thought arose.

Slowly and deliberately she lowered it to the paper and wrote. "My mother gave me life."

She paused for a long healing moment, then set the notebook on the clear glass table, and walked back in to the house to dress for the service.

The end