War Bride – Chapter 1 – The Brightness in the Darkness
A/N: Have faith.
Disclaimer: I don't own Last Ship or receive any profits from my works, just for fun. :-)
Rachel lowered herself onto her lab stool with a heavy sigh, her eyes were weary, her bones were sore, and her mind was a tired muddles mess. She had been valiantly trying to persevere with her all-important work for quite some time now. But she was finally, and belatedly, getting to the point of admitting it was hopeless. No more work would be done this day, she was just too exhausted, had pushed herself well past her ability to be remotely effective in her work…again!
With the decision begrudgingly made, Rachel went about proceeding to shut down the computer in front of her. As the machine was slowly completing the task…it was well overdue to be updated…a photo of her with a man, also her screen saver, took up the entirety of the log-out screen. Only a tiny slow moving progress bar at the very bottom of the screen interrupted her view of the picture displayed prominently before her.
The photo had been taken in a very rare moment of weakness for her, a moment when she had let her true feelings slip through her usual façade of complete control. Generally, Rachel never allowed such weakness to show, never allowed people to have so much power over her as to communicate to them that she held them in such reverence…as was clearly on display in the photograph before her.
Though it wasn't actually the man she had communicated that weakness with, in that particular moment. As the picture showed, he had not even been looking at her, but instead at the camera, a relatively casual and quite satisfied look on his face. Rachel was fairly certain he had never even seen the picture…but others had. And she hated the pity that it caused people to look at her with.
The photo displayed too much, left her too bare…and still she kept it, in the semi-public inanimate space of her computer. She wasn't sure why… She unhelpfully theorized that she desperately wanted to remember, to keep his image as a part of her everyday life, every bit as much as she desperately wanted to forget…to forget the pain seeing his image everyday caused. Though she reminded herself that she did not need the image to feel the pain. That was always there regardless.
As the progress bar continued its slow progress across the screen, Rachel studied the picture before her. In truth she could simply get up and walk away now, but she rarely did. This moment had become a habit for her over many months now.
So instead of moving, she practiced her ritual of studying the image that had long since been committed to memory, as if in stone.
The picture had been taken on a beautiful sunny day. While she wouldn't have ever described either of the two people in the photo as carefree…it simply wasn't in either of their natures…the day had been a brief reprieve in time.
It had been a day when they had both managed to forget all their other concerns and very time consuming commitments, and simply be together, to just make that day about each other…and forget everything else.
She couldn't honestly profess that the day had been perfect, unfortunately… But it was still a very pleasant memory that she held dear…and it had gotten much better after the sun had set.
Rachel still remembered that night with longing…for so many nights since had passed in wretched solitude. It wasn't only the sexual intimacy she missed so, for god knew she had frequently gone extended periods in her life without that! But the emotional intimacy and companionship of sharing quiet moments…a bed…with someone she cared about, and who actually cared about her…that she missed greatly.
It seemed as though she had barely been rediscovered of such a feeling before it had once again been wrenched away from her, and quite frankly, that was because…it had been.
It was this new world that had done it, this broken world heedlessly tearing apart those who belonged together. Broken families… broken dreams… broken hearts…as far as the eye could see.
Rachel felt her gaze draw of its own volition to one characteristic of the long memorized photograph after another. It was like she was both indulging and torturing herself, all at the same time…she just couldn't help it.
She noted again how bright that day had been, a notable comparison to the dark overcast winter day that existed outside her laboratory window, here in St Louis.
Her eyes drew over the infinitely more contented version of herself, a woman who for sometime now, had existed only in pixels. She noted her soft, freshly washed and free flowing hair. Again, she embarrassingly noted the betraying gleam in her exultant eyes and the expanse of sun kissed skin that she had left on display that day, for him...
And then there was the man in question, the man who held her so enthralled. He was taller than her, by almost a head, her gaze in the photograph was lifted significantly upward, so close were they and so closely was she studying his profile in the picture.
Again, she noted how bright the day had been, how bright the photograph that shone off the screen in her otherwise dreary lab. This time it was the attire of the couple that she studied, for it did indeed highlight the luminosity of the day.
They were both wearing brilliant white.
Him, in his perfectly turned out white formal Navy uniform. The most formal option he had available, due to…circumstances…
She couldn't even bring herself to be sad she had ruined his black one, traumatic memories had stained it every bit as much as her blood had.
And her, in a simple, but unmistakably meaningful, perfectly white dress.
In the photograph his emblem's and insignia's had gleamed in the sunlight.
Her countenance had been open and clear for all, save the man himself, to see. His had been more reserved and what had been on display had been largely hidden beneath the visor of his cover. She still knew not what his true thoughts on that day had been.
It was unlikely she ever would.
Rachel stopped herself from studying the minutiae of the photograph and opened her gaze to take in its entirety.
It was a wedding photograph.
It was her wedding photograph.
Her and her husband's.
Her husband…
Rear Admiral Thomas Chandler.
Lost at sea.
Presumed deceased…
A single silent tear tracked its way down her cheek to land with a small splash on the too delicate hand that rested reverently on her burgeoning belly…
TBC
A/N: Yep. I just did that.