Title: Death and Declarations
Author: misanoe
Rating: pg
Spoilers: A Tangled Webb
Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Donald P. Bellisario and others.
Summary: A really short stand alone story after "A Tangled Webb" to keep me writing while I suffer from writer's block. Never fear, I am still working (or at least trying to) on Rerouted.
***
He had been so sure he was going to die.
Death had him in its palm and help was too far away to stave off the lethal cold from seeping into his body.
With that said, how was he supposed to know he was going to wake up a week later in mind numbing pain at some fly infested makeshift hospital, alarmingly still very much alive.
After he had been drugged up for several days drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain began to recede into the back of his mind and he had empty time to lay there and scrutinize each agonizing detail of his "confession".
If this was life's way of playing a joke on him, he was not amused.
He was supposed to be dead.
Had he known he was going to survive, that there was even a chance of recovery, he was sure he would not have laid there pathetic as he invited her pity. Not for the first time in the past few days, he cringed as his words replayed in his head.
"I need you."
Just because he felt something didn't mean he had to share it with the world. He mentally sighed once more, shifting uncomfortably in his canvass cot to settle the nausea rising up in his stomach. Was it really necessary to tell her you used her toothbrush, he asked himself, wondering why his carefully constructed diffidence had deserted him at that moment. He could only think of one explanation.
He thought he was going to die.
He could still feel the texture of her toothbrush on his tongue. He had felt a little juvenile standing there in the wee hours of early dawn wearing only his boxers to contemplate her toothbrush.
It was almost sad, he was willing to admit, how tempted he had been to brush his own teeth with her toothbrush. Her toothbrush- belonging to her and not him. Of course that only served as a reminder that it had previously occupied her mouth, much farther than he would ever get with Sarah MacKenzie. And for that moment, he was strangely envious of a plastic stick with a bristle brush. He wasn't just sad. He was completely sure he had crossed over into the realm of pathetic, scoring up there between the peeping toms and panty raiding perverts.
He might as well have told her he had lately been exhibiting alarming stalker tendencies.
He had been able to remain wordless through each session with the car battery, yet somehow, one look in her liquid brown eyes and he started babbling about feelings, beds and let's not forget, toothbrushes. Now that he was onto the road of recovery he wondered if he could claim the constant haze of pain was more effective then a truth serum. The threat of passing through this life without her ever knowing how he felt was an option he apparently could not see through.
And of course, he reminded himself, he was supposed to die
The kiss had been nice. Unexpected, but nice.
He didn't know if she did it to shut him up or she thought she was giving a dying man some consolation, but it hadn't changed the feeling of her lips on his. And if it took that declaration of his affections and his brush with death to get her to kiss him, he knew deep down that he would say it all over again.
Even the toothbrush comment.
Closing his eyes a slight smile rested on his face as he thought of Sarah. Who knows why she did it but she had, and the memory, now that the chances of him living a scandalously long life were secure, was one he would never forget.
He could feel the warmth of her lips on his, the tantalizing scent of freshly washed hair overwhelming his senses.
"Clay?"
Webb's eyes flew open to the welcoming sight of Sarah MacKenzie hovering over him. Battered and bruised, her eyes were bright, a relieved smile lighting up her face as she gently traced his bottom lip with a single finger.
He had never seen her look so good.
Before he could form the word how, she cupped his face with both palms and silenced him with a kiss filled with elation- and something more. Promise.
A fleeting thought ran through his mind before the kiss deepened and all intelligent thoughts were tossed out of his head. Never had he been so thankful to not be dead.
Author: misanoe
Rating: pg
Spoilers: A Tangled Webb
Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Donald P. Bellisario and others.
Summary: A really short stand alone story after "A Tangled Webb" to keep me writing while I suffer from writer's block. Never fear, I am still working (or at least trying to) on Rerouted.
***
He had been so sure he was going to die.
Death had him in its palm and help was too far away to stave off the lethal cold from seeping into his body.
With that said, how was he supposed to know he was going to wake up a week later in mind numbing pain at some fly infested makeshift hospital, alarmingly still very much alive.
After he had been drugged up for several days drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain began to recede into the back of his mind and he had empty time to lay there and scrutinize each agonizing detail of his "confession".
If this was life's way of playing a joke on him, he was not amused.
He was supposed to be dead.
Had he known he was going to survive, that there was even a chance of recovery, he was sure he would not have laid there pathetic as he invited her pity. Not for the first time in the past few days, he cringed as his words replayed in his head.
"I need you."
Just because he felt something didn't mean he had to share it with the world. He mentally sighed once more, shifting uncomfortably in his canvass cot to settle the nausea rising up in his stomach. Was it really necessary to tell her you used her toothbrush, he asked himself, wondering why his carefully constructed diffidence had deserted him at that moment. He could only think of one explanation.
He thought he was going to die.
He could still feel the texture of her toothbrush on his tongue. He had felt a little juvenile standing there in the wee hours of early dawn wearing only his boxers to contemplate her toothbrush.
It was almost sad, he was willing to admit, how tempted he had been to brush his own teeth with her toothbrush. Her toothbrush- belonging to her and not him. Of course that only served as a reminder that it had previously occupied her mouth, much farther than he would ever get with Sarah MacKenzie. And for that moment, he was strangely envious of a plastic stick with a bristle brush. He wasn't just sad. He was completely sure he had crossed over into the realm of pathetic, scoring up there between the peeping toms and panty raiding perverts.
He might as well have told her he had lately been exhibiting alarming stalker tendencies.
He had been able to remain wordless through each session with the car battery, yet somehow, one look in her liquid brown eyes and he started babbling about feelings, beds and let's not forget, toothbrushes. Now that he was onto the road of recovery he wondered if he could claim the constant haze of pain was more effective then a truth serum. The threat of passing through this life without her ever knowing how he felt was an option he apparently could not see through.
And of course, he reminded himself, he was supposed to die
The kiss had been nice. Unexpected, but nice.
He didn't know if she did it to shut him up or she thought she was giving a dying man some consolation, but it hadn't changed the feeling of her lips on his. And if it took that declaration of his affections and his brush with death to get her to kiss him, he knew deep down that he would say it all over again.
Even the toothbrush comment.
Closing his eyes a slight smile rested on his face as he thought of Sarah. Who knows why she did it but she had, and the memory, now that the chances of him living a scandalously long life were secure, was one he would never forget.
He could feel the warmth of her lips on his, the tantalizing scent of freshly washed hair overwhelming his senses.
"Clay?"
Webb's eyes flew open to the welcoming sight of Sarah MacKenzie hovering over him. Battered and bruised, her eyes were bright, a relieved smile lighting up her face as she gently traced his bottom lip with a single finger.
He had never seen her look so good.
Before he could form the word how, she cupped his face with both palms and silenced him with a kiss filled with elation- and something more. Promise.
A fleeting thought ran through his mind before the kiss deepened and all intelligent thoughts were tossed out of his head. Never had he been so thankful to not be dead.