Title: I'm Looking For Someone In Green
Rating: PG-13/T
Classification: Romance/Angst
Disclaimers: They're not even close to mine.
Spoilers: Hiatus and Requiem.
Summary: A story for my favorite couple loosely based on the Five Things format and inspired by rewatching the DVDs. The title alone is inspired by the Lorri Morgan song.
That night he awakens with a start, his forehead beaded with perspiration. He lies still for a moment, blinking, as an arm sleeved in pale pistachio curves over his side, wrapping around his stomach.
It's her, and he's grateful, because he's lying on his side, facing away. His entire body is shaking right now and he doesn't think he can move, and yet more than anything right now he needs to see her.
"Jethro?" Silent tears trickle down his cheek and for a moment he can't answer, so instead he lies there, thinking about the soft sound of her voice and how even at this hour when she's been woken from sleep she can still sound so alert to the slightest thing about him. He's seen it time and again, both with him and with their daughter, and every time it happens he's reminded again of just how much more he loves her.
"Jethro?" Her voice is a little louder this time and closer, as she snuggles up behind him. He reaches for her hand and grips it tightly, and she gives him a squeeze.
"The nightmare again." He doesn't even have to answer, because it isn't really a question. They both know it; he gets the same dream every time he's preparing to go away. Bombs, gunfire, and bullet-riddled bodies soaked in blood and dressed in Marine camouflage gear. But it's not one of his brother Marines. It's Shannon, her red hair spread limply across the sand.
It's all he can do to rid his mind of the image of her eyes, closed forever, but seeing them open now as she leans over him helps somewhat. Slowly his body relaxes, enough for Shannon to gently ease him onto his back and up close next to her, his head pillowed against the flannel of her nightgown. Her other arm comes across his chest and for several minutes they just lie there as she holds him.
"I'll be here when you get back." Shannon's voice breaks through the silence.
"I know," he whispers, his hand moving in light circle movements against her shoulder. It's what she's told him every time has the nightmare, every time he goes away. And every time she's kept her word. Slowly, he falls asleep.
He dreams that night of her. Horseback riding across the beach together, he on a black horse and she on a white. The damp air from the ocean is slightly cool and she's wearing a black cardigan that used to belong to her father over her shirt. She's laughing, having just been coaxed by her husband to let Kelly try her first gallop.
She doesn't take her eyes off their daughter the entire time, watching carefully as the brown filly bounds ahead, its tiny rider balancing expertly. Jethro watches too, but mostly he's watching Shannon.
"She's a natural, isn't she," he comments. His wife nods, and he can see the quiet pride in her eyes beneath the concern. His voice is soft as he added, "Like her mother."
A faint blush comes to her cheeks, but she's smiling, the way he knew she would be. It was Shannon who introduced him to horseback riding in the early days of their relationship, and then later took the lead in guiding Kelly to love horses as well.
Kelly's giggles continue to echo back to them and Shannon's eyes sparkle, the vivid blue brightened even further by the emerald collar beneath the cardigan. And for a moment he wonders who's really enjoying that gallop more — the child on the filly's back or the woman at his side watching her daughter.
It's a memory that will stay with him always, even months later when the beach is too cold to ride beside and he comes home to the scent of baking. He slowly makes his way into the kitchen and sees Shannon standing at the counter, her back to him. She's so absorbed in what she's doing that for the moment she's unaware he's even there, and so he just leans against the side of the door, watching her.
There's a Bing Crosby tape playing and she's quietly singing along, her voice a sweet harmony to the memorable chorus of Adeste Fidelis. And he realizes he is growing far too sentimental. While he has always loved his wife's voice, going back to singing alongside her in Church or hearing her soothing Baby Kelly back to sleep, that tape has been their Christmas tradition as far as he can remember. But now he thinks it's okay if they don't play it the next time this season comes around, as long as he can hear Shannon singing the carols instead.
The notion catches him off guard so much he inadvertently chuckles and she whirls around, startled. For a second all thoughts of Christmas tradition vanish from his mind as he takes her appearance in. Red strands of hair escaping from what's supposed to be a secure ponytail. White flower dusting across her jeans, hemlock sweater, and even a bit across her nose. And blue eyes wide with surprise. At that moment, he doesn't ever remember seeing her look more adorable.
He chuckles again in his sleep at the memory, momentarily waking Shannon, who is still snuggled up closely to him. She smiles, relieved that the nightmare seems to have finally faded away.
There is no laughter the next day as he drives away, only forced smiles and hints of tears as they embrace one last time. This time it's his turn to repeat words for her. I will take care. I will come back safe. I love you. Then he's gone, making himself press the gas pedal as he watches her in the rearview mirror. She's at the back of the driveway, one arm holding a sobbing Kelly and the other waving as bravely as she possibly can, as the light mint of her dress ripples in the wind. It's all he can do to keep from slamming on the brakes and running back to her right there.
Instead he takes a deep breath and tries to remember his last homecoming, from Panama. They'd gotten back early and so he'd gone straight to the house, looking forward to surprising her. Kelly had still been in kindergarten and he'd looked forward to driving with Shannon to pick her up together. However there was no sign of her in the house, not even when he called her name.
Hoping he hadn't arrived just when she'd slipped out to run errands he'd stepped out into the backyard and called her name again. And promptly burst out laughing as her head popped up from behind the hedges.
She'd come running up to him, both laughing and crying as he scooped her into a hug. "You're early!"
He'd laughed again. "I know!"
She'd started to pull back then. "I'm getting dirt all over you." Mud would have been the more appropriate description, streaked across her old shamrock print fishing blouse in a manner that could rival Kelly and Maddie's mudpie episodes. But he'd just pulled her back to him with another hug, telling her, "Aw, you look fine."
She'd looked better than fine. She'd looked beautiful.
0
When he does come home a few months later, the driveway is empty. He pulls the pickup in, then eases out of the vehicle and onto his set of crutches. Slowly he makes his way across the yard and up to the door.
His first stop is the living room and the photos on the mantelpiece. One picture in particular catches his eye and he picks it up. The white horse she'd loved so much, standing riderless in a paddock. He stares at it for a long moment before moving hesitantly towards the kitchen.
The room is silent and smelling of household cleaner. All the dishes and baking trays have been put away and a thin layer of dust has formed across the cassette deck in the corner. He remains motionless in the doorway, wordlessly taking it all in, before moving across to the patio door.
The hedges in the back of the yard have grown. They blow loosely in the wind, and he catches sight of a small spade lying untouched in the dirt. He's not sure how long he stands there, the name he wants to call out resting silently in his throat. Even if he could get it out he would never get an answer.
His last stop is upstairs, a painful climb with his leg the way it is but he has to make it anyway. Has to see their bed, empty and made up with a quilt.
He moves all the way into the room and closes the door, where he sees it. The pistachio flannel nightgown. He reaches for it and presses it against his face. Her scent is still on it, as though she's just hung it up for the day.
With the nightgown over one arm he makes his way over to the closet, where one by one he searches out the other garments. The emerald riding shirt. The hemlock sweater. The light mint dress. And the shamrock print blouse. One by one he takes them each from their hanger until he's holding all of them in his arms.
And he weeps.
THE END