A/N: And here is Chapter 9! It's a short one.
Gone
Chapter 9: Fall into Your Dreams
August 2004
1838 Local
Monarch Mercantile
Whitefish, MT
Sam yawned. It had been a busy day in the store, and she hadn't slept all that well the night before due to her dreams. They actually weren't bad dreams per se, but they were frequent as well as disturbing in that they featured a certain former naval commander that she had been trying to forget.
Most of her dreams regarding him were either of them fighting, hurling insult after insult at each other, or of them making love. Those were the hardest, really; the dreams would be so beautiful only to be spoiled by a far harsher reality when she awoke. Last night's dreams were just visions of him—in her apartment, in her office, in the shop. He wouldn't say anything; he'd just look up from what he was doing and smile. It was…bizarre to say the least.
In the last dream she remembered before she got up for the day, she saw him in her office, dressed in his summer whites. He was holding a picture of the two of them together, both smiling and looking down at a baby. Sam woke up thinking that she missed the picture she used to have of him with her and their godson at the baby's christening. She supposed she was dreaming about it because by now her lease on the storage unit she had—no, the storage unit that Sarah MacKenzie had—had run out and her items were likely going to be sold at auction.
That saddened her, but she knew in her heart it was best to let all of that go. For Sarah MacKenzie to be truly dead, there couldn't be any remnants of her left where she used to call home.
The first home she'd ever truly had…
Sam had blinked back tears as she'd gotten herself ready for work. She missed little AJ, missed him more than she wanted to contemplate, and she hoped the little boy was being a good big brother to his new sibling. She wondered if the baby was a boy or a girl, and she wondered who his or her godmother was. Maybe Jennifer Coates? Bud would be dead now if Jen hadn't been there with him.
Sam had known she needed to push these thoughts of Sarah MacKenzie's past down in the recesses of her mind where they belonged. She was Samantha O'Hara now, a woman without a past but hopefully one with a future-a future of peace and happiness.
As she locked up her little house and stepped out into the warm August morning, she realized that in the picture in her dream, he was in his dress blues and she was in one of the flowing dresses she'd taken to wearing here. The hair by his temples had been lightly sprinkled with grey, while hers flowed about her shoulders as it did now. Weird, she thought to herself, then started the car and headed to the shop.
Mac realized with a start that she'd spent the last six and a half minutes just daydreaming. She'd done what she'd needed to to close this place up for the night and it was time to get home. She took a step toward the back door, intent on doing just that when she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She whipped around and found herself face to face with a gun.
1923 Local
Monarch Mercantile
Whitefish, MT
Mary rushed into the store only to be stopped by a police officer. He was young, and Mary had never seen him before. "Ma'am, you can't come in here—"
"It's okay, she owns the place," Mary heard Sam call from across the room. The officer let her pass and Mary practically sprinted to Sam, pulling her into a hug.
"Thank God you're okay, Sam! When Laura called—" Mary hugged her even tighter.
Mary had just been washing the last dish from her supper when the phone had rung. It was Laura, who told her in a rush that there were police cars parked right outside the store. The woman had also seen two officers escorting a young man out in cuffs. Mary had been terrified that Sam had been hurt.
"What happened?" Mary asked when she finally released Sam.
"Oh, he thought he was going to make off with a little cash and a little bit of merchandise. I showed him otherwise." Sam waved a hand in front of her face in dismissal. No big deal.
"Yeah," chuckled an officer that Mary recognized from her church. "She managed to get his gun and now they're taking him to the hospital for some stitches."
Mary turned back to Sam, eyes wide. "How—how did you—"
Sam shrugged. "I took some self-defense courses a few years ago. They finally paid off."
Mary just continued to stare at Sam.
"I'll say…"
The next day…
1001 Local
Monarch Mercantile
Whitefish, MT
"That was the newspaper, Sam. They want to talk to you about the robbery."
Sam looked up from the fall-themed display she was putting together. "No interviews."
"But Sam—" Mary stopped at Sam's pointed glare. By now, Mary knew that once Sam had made up her mind, she wasn't going to change it. "Alright, Sam. I'll let them know." Mary smiled. "They're going to be disappointed, though. You're a hero."
Hero? She was no hero. She didn't do anything like throw her career away to rescue someone from the clutches of a terrorist…
"Oh, Mary. I am most certainly not a hero." Mary stepped to Sam's side and laid her hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
"You are to me, dear. One in a million…"
September 2004
1111 Local
Monarch Mercantile
Whitefish, MT
She'd had the dream again—the one where he was in his summer whites holding the somewhat odd picture from AJ's christening. Sam had wanted a closer look at the photograph this time, but the dream naval commander turned it around and held it to his chest. "Not yet, Mac," he said, and she had wanted to cry at the sound of his voice. She actually did wake up in tears this time, and she knew it was going to be one of those days when sadness would be her companion.
She missed him so much.
Ever since she'd had that first one the day she'd foiled the robbery attempt, the dream came with alarming regularity and it brought forth many unwanted feelings. She was now sleeping with his battered photograph next to her; it saved her from having to get up every night to pull it out of its box so she could look at it.
Maybe I should get counseling, she mused as she opened a box containing some antique china. She could speak about him in generic terms; she wouldn't have to talk about him in the context of Paraguay or their time at JAG. He could just be a lost friend she couldn't get over.
She'd think about it.
As she unwrapped each bowl and plate, she noticed that one of the larger serving bowls had a streak of black across it. She finished setting out the rest of the dishes, then picked up the stained bowl, hoping she'd be able to get the mark off of it. It really was a lovely set.
Success! Sam thought as she brought the now clean bowl back to the antique room. She had just stepped through the door when she heard the little bell on the front door ring, heralding the arrival of a customer. "I'll be right with you!" she called out cheerfully, her mood thankfully having improved since she'd arrived at this place she'd grown to love.
"Take your time," the customer answered back, and the earth fell out from beneath her feet.
Sam turned around slowly. Her hands were shaking, and she knew she should put the bowl she held down before she dropped it, but she couldn't stop herself from going back into the main room.
He was still tall. Still beautiful. Still had the same stormy eyes. He wore the same faded bomber jacket that over the years had molded itself into his shape so much that it would never feel right on someone else…
But that wasn't entirely accurate. It had felt right on her the night he'd pulled it off his own shoulders and put it around hers on that horrible night Dalton Lowne had died in front of her.
Sam wondered fleetingly if she were still dreaming, but she couldn't be; the sound of the blood rushing in her ears as her heart thudded hard in her chest was too loud. Too real. Oh my god…
For the longest time he just stared at her, his eyes traveling over her as if he, too, thought he was dreaming. When his eyes reached hers again, those beautiful lips curved into a sad smile.
"Hey, Mac."
The antique bowl crashed at her feet.
End Chapter 9