Been There 
by Maureen S. O'Brien

Summary: Pre-JAG. After his crash, Harm gets a visitor.

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Admiral Chegwidden...okay, it really
belongs to Belisarius Productions, Paramount and CBS. Oh, and
to paraphrase the cool disclaimer at the end of "Anastasia", some
persons and situations in this fanfic are based upon actual 
historical persons and events, but they are treated in a fictional
manner. Not that I'm expecting the dude to sue me.

Author's Note: Look, I finally finished a fanfic! This fanfic may
include saying nice things about a personage not usually well
appreciated -- if you don't like it, too bad. Appearance remarks
are based on a very brief handshake and a fairly long speech I sat
through. Hope this gives us all flashbacks to the old days of 
'insert famous person' on JAG! I'm not real clear about the 
continuity, but what the hey. It sounds okay to me.

Have you guessed yet?

No, it is not Mr. North. (I don't like him.)
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BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

Someone knocked on the door. Harm groaned. There was no privacy in the
hospital, even in a private room. Someone was always coming or going: 
nurses, doctors, nurses' aides, the chaplain, his JAG lawyer...and he
always got this feeling that they knew what he'd done and despised him
for it. 

When he slept, he kept seeing the faces. The CAG, the rest of the
squadron, his dad, and his RIO. All accusing him. All telling him it
was his fault it happened. No matter what he did, he couldn't get
away from all the people.

He seriously contemplated pretending to be asleep. Not that that would 
stop most of them. He sighed. Oh, well. Nothing good on TV anyway.

"Come in."

A serious-looking guy wearing a dark suit opened the door. He was 
obviously packing under the suit. "Sir," he said in an undertone, "you
know I don't approve of this."

"If he can get me while he's in traction, he'd get me whether you were
here or not," a familiar voice said with a chuckle. Harm sat up in
bed.

The Secret Service guy sighed. "All right. You know the drill. We're
right outside if you need us."

The VIP came in, and Harm saluted. He returned the salute, Navy-style. 
"At ease, Mr. Rabb. I was here for a check-up, and I thought I'd stop 
by. How's the leg? Doesn't look comfortable."

"Uh, it's not as bad as it looks, sir, " Harm answered, trying hard 
not to show he was nervous. "They give me a lot of pain meds, and they 
won't let me just say no."

He chuckled, and Harm felt absurdly pleased. *He looks taller in 
person,* Harm thought. *And he really does have charisma. That never 
came across on TV.* 

"Glad to hear they're taking good care of you." He seemed to relax
more the longer he spent in the room. "Mind if I grab a chair?"

"Not at all, sir." Harm watched, bemused, as the President of the 
United States settled himself in a folding chair by the side of his
bed. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking...."

"Why am I here? Well, Lieutenant, your crash did cause some stir. 
Tomcat crashes usually do."

Harm looked down, and felt the President's eyes on him.

"SecNav's glad your crash wasn't due to mechanical failure. It makes
his procurement folks look better. I don't know what the board of 
review will decide, but I understand the investigation looks very 
good for you."

Harm looked away uncomfortably. That should have been good news.
But it wasn't.

"The Navy won't be helping you punish yourself," he added softly. 
"Try to get used to the idea."

"Sir...."

"And don't tell me that's not what you're doing. I've been there."

And suddenly his eyes had the same haunted look Harm had been 
seeing in the mirror lately, even though he was talking about an
incident that had occurred in World War II.

"I was nineteen. Being a naval aviator was my whole life. And 

"But you were shot down, sir. I managed...."