Flown I - Hers
sbrown@slbrown.com
JAG and the characters are the property of Donald Bellasario, Paramount and CBS. No copyright infringement intended.
Mac leaned back on the couch and looked at the picture in her hand. It was a Polaroid shot of her and Harm taken at arm's length just an hour before he left for Pensacola. They were grinning into the camera, looking happy as could be, as if they weren't about to be separated for six months.
Hard to believe that had been three months ago. Sometimes it seemed like yesterday. Other times it seemed like it had been a year since she'd seen him. They talked on the phone almost every night, like two teenagers with a crush, and she looked forward to every call with undiminished excitement, but it wasn't the same as having him there with her, holding him in her arms, sharing their new-found -- or at least newly-admitted -- love. Even before that last night, she had gotten used to spending most of the week and often a good part of the weekend with him. It felt so strange not to have him around.
She had thought about flying down to Pensacola to visit him, but she knew he was under a lot of pressure, trying to retrain, to keep up with guys ten years younger than he was. He talked a good game, but sometimes she could hear the strain in his voice, and sometimes he shared his frustrations with her. He needed this first tour to get his bearings again, and having her around would distract him. She had talked to him about it, and he had reluctantly agreed with her reasoning. So . . . three more months until she saw him again.
The CD she had put in flipped to a new track. She listened to the words as she stared at the picture.
No one said it would be easy
But no one said it'd be this hard
No one said it would be easy
No one thought we'd come this far
That pretty much summed up her feelings, she thought. She had been through a lot in her life, but waiting for Harm to come home was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She trusted him with her life, and the night before he left she'd trusted him with her heart, too. It wasn't that she doubted Harm, but their admission of love was so new that it seemed fragile to her. She was so lucky to have found him, to have his love, that sometimes she was afraid to believe in it. Until the next time she talked to him on the phone and all his love and his sincerity came pouring down the line to her.
Your can't seem to ever fold up a shirt
I bring it up and you think I'm a jerk
She'd give anything to have Harm around to litter her floor with dirty shirts. Not that he ever would. After all these years in the Navy, he was too well trained. She smiled at the thought. She'd have to find some other little trait to pick on when he got back. Like his unnatural dislike of Beltway Burgers. Wouldn't do to have the man thinking he was perfect. Even if he seemed that way sometimes.
But I think we're here to stay
Couldn't imagine it any other way*
The phone rang, and Mac dropped the picture to go answer it.
"Hello? Hey, Flyboy, I was just thinking about you! How was your day?"
THE END
*Sheryl Crow, "No One Said it Would Be Easy," Tuesday Night Music Club, 1993, A&M Records
This story copyright 1999 by Sarah Brown, all rights reserved.