Disclaimer: JAG belongs
to David P.Bellisario—thank you, David, for this incredible show, and allowing
us fanfiction writers to borrow these characters—for we ask for no profit.
Crying
By Manda (Mizuno Ami)
The last book fell into a box, cardboard carton with
sides bulging from the contents which had been settled in so caringly, the
sound of hardcover novel striking the flaps and bouncing in with a frail,
abrupt thump as it settled among the other covers and CD cases which depicted
sandy beaches, or rough outback territories.
Her hand reached in to run over gilded letters and a white satin cover
before drawing the battered flaps and tightly fastening them down with brown
packing tape.
Mic
had contacted her last week. Called, not written, to request that she send the
last of his things. Books, movies,
CD's- all which consolidated into one large packing crate. And she was glad,
unable to find the energy or the emotion to further deal with anything
reminding her of his presense- anything other than simply getting rid of it. He
wasn't there, and Sarah Mackenzie had been reminded of that in more than
one instance within the past few weeks.
But
the image of that one book haunted her, the texture on her hands, the way the
tightly drawn fabric caught the roughness of her skin and letter traced so
easily beneath her fingertips. He would
get that book, see her face on the only picture she had chosen to enclose, hear
her voice in his mind and remember their time together. Remember, and
know what pain he'd left her in.
Mic
Brumby
Garden
Island Naval Base
Manly,
Australia
The
words in magic marker, bitter scent enveloping her nostrils as she scribbled-
not neatly, uncaring as the letters blurred beneath her hands, smudged upon the
tape, and she wondered how it was that she couldn't see what she was
writing anymore. And she realized, as
she brought her hand away to rub irritably at her face, that her fingertips
were moist.
"I'm
crying," She whispered, moving into the bathroom to stare at a haunted face,
mascara smudged by a mixture of her own hand and tears, rimming her eyes with
black halos and dribbling onto the collar of a baby-blue sweater.
He
was gone. And that moment was defining.
The
truck left a cloud of fine dust behind as it retreated over the hill, a man
watching from the window of his navy blue rental sedan until the air settled.
He opened the door and exited, walking around tire tracks and looking up at the
unerringly blue afternoon sky, across the water…waves pulsing onto the beach
which was his backyard. A hat hung
beneath his arm and he tossed it from hand to hand, unlocking the front door to
a towering bungalow and nudging the overwrapped UPS package with his foot.
"They
always leave it in the way," He muttered, heavy australian accent drifting away
in the breeze as his arms juggled the hat and a briefcase, abandoning them on
the hall table and allowing himself a moment to retreat into the kitchen for a
cold beer. It was dark with the shades closed and he opened them, turning his
attentions to the box which was now in the center of his front hallway,
tempting him with it's mystery. He sat before it and studied the unfamiliar
handwriting, script untidy and hastily scrawled—only a glance to the return
address, and Mic Brumby knew with a heavy heart and regretful sigh…where this
box had come from.
It
still had her scent on it, and he imagined Sarah Mackenzie's gentle hands
smoothing tape over the flaps, closing in it's contents with her movements
steady and sure—always as she had been.
He knew, and he felt nothing but remorse.
Mic
Brumby
Garden
Island Naval Base
Manly,
Australia
From:
Colonel
Sarah Mackenzie
Georgetown,
VA
The
rest he knew, and the rest he didn't bother to read as he began to open the
package—but it was the scattered blotches, the consentrated shapes which caught
his eye and made him pause in his actions.
He opened the box, hand reaching inside to withdraw an object and see
her smiling at him in a wedding dress which she would never wear.
And
a note, neat calligraphy, tucked into the satin covered, gold titled book and
dated for weeks prior- a day before the wedding.
"I
know you're not supposed to see me in this until the wedding, Mic, so I'm
taking this picture so that I can show you how happy I was the night before we
were married. I love you…Sarah."
Another
blotch. A spot on the satin, and his fingertips brushed it as he sat back in
thoughtful contemplation.
"You
were crying," He breathed, tone full of regret and dismay, features contorted
in surprise.
He
was gone…and unbeknownst to him, there was no one there to see her cry.
-Fin