Whisper of Life Part 2
Disclaimer: Forgot to add this on the first part, yikes. Anyway, JAG ain't mine and neither are any of the character in JAG. So, there you go.
Author's Note: Not to confuse people, I go by two different pen names: Queenie and, of course, Strlite. Okay so maybe it is a little confusing, but oh well. Any way, I'm just a junior in high school so I don't know how often I'll get these parts put out or how long each part will be or how long the story will be as a whole. But this is my first fic, so I'll just start from the beginning and worry about what comes next. So, no flames please. I'm new to the whole JAG fanficiton world, so if I'm stepping on anyone's toes by using a similar storyline, sorry. This came from my own head, so don't take it personally. Anyway, enough of me, onto the story.
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He knew it was pointless to go on calling her name into the receiver. She was gone. He knew she was gone by the absence or her labored breaths and the smash of the phone dropping out of her lifeless fingers on to the ground. But yet, he couldn't seem to make himself put down the phone. He stood transfixed by the hovering silence. Maybe he was in shock. She was fine. She had been fine. She had stopped by his office before she left, not three hours ago, teasing him about his workaholic tendencies and lack of social life.
"And yet Marine, you are going home to an old dog and a night of reviewing the Benson Court Martial." He had teased back, watching her stick out her tongue and saunter out of his office. Normally this sort of repartee by anyone else would grate on his nerves and put him on the defensive. But not with her. Never with her smile and her dancing eyes. She knew he would never take what she said seriously, and he knew that she would never mean it seriously. The two of them were connected like that.
So why was he still standing there? He jumped out of his stupor, grabbed his running shoes and shoved them on his feet, not even bothering to lace them because he had already wasted enough time. As he grabbed the keys, he at least had the sense to grab his cell. He had no idea what had happened to her, but he did know, without a doubt, that something was very, very wrong. He could feel time slipping away by the second and he grew more and more panicked that he might be too late already.
As he threw his Corvette into gear, he was already on the phone dialing the police. The drive over there was 20 minutes at the least, and he knew he needed to haul his six. He ran almost every red light in his path and whipped his car around every corner. Sixty seemed like a good speed. Why did these things always happen to them, he thought. Why did this have to happen to her? And couldn't he at least have been there to protect her? He knew he would have. Whatever had happened to her, he knew he would have taken the equivalent times one thousand if it meant she would be safe. If it meant he could see her beautiful face again. If it meant she could have a chance at the life she always wanted but that he would never give her. He thought they would always have time. Together, they seemed invincible. But one thing he now knew was that time was unpredictable. The only predictable thing about time at the moment was that it was slipping. And slipping fast. Slipping out of control just like his sanity. If she didn't make it he knew he never would. How could he?
As he whipped around the last corner to her apartments he was greeted with a sight that he had hoped he would never see. Nearly six or seven police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were stationed outside the dark building. Tenants of the apartments were huddled in masses; some crying, some in shock; all portraying the same emotions that were probably splayed all over his own face. He took a deep breath and jumped out of his car. He ran underneath the police "Caution" tape. Ha, he thought bitterly. The damage has already been done. There is no reason to caution. As he shoved his way through the huddled crowd to the entrance, he felt a hand grab his forearm. A man's voice vaguely permeated his haze.
"Sir, you can't go in there. Sir, that is off limits to the public."
"That's my partner in there. I called the police," he said, wrenching his arm away from the meager man's grasp. He never even broke stride. He was determined to get to that door. To get to her. Just as he was reaching the crowded doorway to the apartments, he stopped still. Frozen in his steps.
There she was. A vision of red on white. The blood was a stark and shocking contrast to the sterile hospital sheets. But the most deplorable contrast of all was the face of the stranger on the makeshift bed to the face that haunted his every memory. The face that he could never see enough each day, the face that gave him hope each day to persevere into the next. The face that he may never see again after today. When she was rushed past him on the gurney he could see the monstrous oxygen mask that was holding her beautiful face captive. He could see the blood trailing down her neck to behind her delicate ears. Her pale face made her seem gaunt and unfamiliar to him as she was whisked away. He didn't know what to do. For the second time in the past 30 minutes, he slipped into a state of shock. He needed to go with her, he knew he needed to. But his feet. His unresponsive feet remained indifferent to what his mind was telling them to do.
The same officer that had tried to stop him from going in the building was standing off to the side, watching the man witness his partner being carried out on the stretcher. Partner my ass, he thought as he watched the emotions flicker across the dazed man's face. Hurt, anger, desolation and despair were all making their presence known. But their was something else…something that he could not identify. Something that he saw very rarely. Something like… a love lost. Maybe. Maybe it's my imagination, he thought. Or maybe not.
Walking over to the lost looking man, he put his hand on his shoulder in sympathy.
"Let's get you on that ambulance."
Harm stared at the man surprised, having forgotten that he wasn't the only one here in this spiteful world. Well, ever since the moment he got Mac's call, it was spiteful. Before that it was… good. He managed a smile that ended up a complete failure and instead opted for a mumbled, "Thank you." The man took his arm and guided him towards the ambulance that was loading Mac.
"This man's going to ride with her to the hospital," the officer said.
Harm climbed in and immediately sat by Mac, grabbing her cold, lifeless fingers. He sat staring at the illusory image in front of him. As he gently stroked her fingers, he leaned his head down to hers, touching his forehead to hers, wanting, no needing to make contact with her. Flesh against flesh to remind him that she was still here. She was still alive, if only barely. As he disregarded the medical workers helping to keep Mac alive, he closed his eyes and allowed the first few tears of grief slip out on to her pallid cheeks.
"Why God?" he whispered
Disclaimer: Forgot to add this on the first part, yikes. Anyway, JAG ain't mine and neither are any of the character in JAG. So, there you go.
Author's Note: Not to confuse people, I go by two different pen names: Queenie and, of course, Strlite. Okay so maybe it is a little confusing, but oh well. Any way, I'm just a junior in high school so I don't know how often I'll get these parts put out or how long each part will be or how long the story will be as a whole. But this is my first fic, so I'll just start from the beginning and worry about what comes next. So, no flames please. I'm new to the whole JAG fanficiton world, so if I'm stepping on anyone's toes by using a similar storyline, sorry. This came from my own head, so don't take it personally. Anyway, enough of me, onto the story.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He knew it was pointless to go on calling her name into the receiver. She was gone. He knew she was gone by the absence or her labored breaths and the smash of the phone dropping out of her lifeless fingers on to the ground. But yet, he couldn't seem to make himself put down the phone. He stood transfixed by the hovering silence. Maybe he was in shock. She was fine. She had been fine. She had stopped by his office before she left, not three hours ago, teasing him about his workaholic tendencies and lack of social life.
"And yet Marine, you are going home to an old dog and a night of reviewing the Benson Court Martial." He had teased back, watching her stick out her tongue and saunter out of his office. Normally this sort of repartee by anyone else would grate on his nerves and put him on the defensive. But not with her. Never with her smile and her dancing eyes. She knew he would never take what she said seriously, and he knew that she would never mean it seriously. The two of them were connected like that.
So why was he still standing there? He jumped out of his stupor, grabbed his running shoes and shoved them on his feet, not even bothering to lace them because he had already wasted enough time. As he grabbed the keys, he at least had the sense to grab his cell. He had no idea what had happened to her, but he did know, without a doubt, that something was very, very wrong. He could feel time slipping away by the second and he grew more and more panicked that he might be too late already.
As he threw his Corvette into gear, he was already on the phone dialing the police. The drive over there was 20 minutes at the least, and he knew he needed to haul his six. He ran almost every red light in his path and whipped his car around every corner. Sixty seemed like a good speed. Why did these things always happen to them, he thought. Why did this have to happen to her? And couldn't he at least have been there to protect her? He knew he would have. Whatever had happened to her, he knew he would have taken the equivalent times one thousand if it meant she would be safe. If it meant he could see her beautiful face again. If it meant she could have a chance at the life she always wanted but that he would never give her. He thought they would always have time. Together, they seemed invincible. But one thing he now knew was that time was unpredictable. The only predictable thing about time at the moment was that it was slipping. And slipping fast. Slipping out of control just like his sanity. If she didn't make it he knew he never would. How could he?
As he whipped around the last corner to her apartments he was greeted with a sight that he had hoped he would never see. Nearly six or seven police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck were stationed outside the dark building. Tenants of the apartments were huddled in masses; some crying, some in shock; all portraying the same emotions that were probably splayed all over his own face. He took a deep breath and jumped out of his car. He ran underneath the police "Caution" tape. Ha, he thought bitterly. The damage has already been done. There is no reason to caution. As he shoved his way through the huddled crowd to the entrance, he felt a hand grab his forearm. A man's voice vaguely permeated his haze.
"Sir, you can't go in there. Sir, that is off limits to the public."
"That's my partner in there. I called the police," he said, wrenching his arm away from the meager man's grasp. He never even broke stride. He was determined to get to that door. To get to her. Just as he was reaching the crowded doorway to the apartments, he stopped still. Frozen in his steps.
There she was. A vision of red on white. The blood was a stark and shocking contrast to the sterile hospital sheets. But the most deplorable contrast of all was the face of the stranger on the makeshift bed to the face that haunted his every memory. The face that he could never see enough each day, the face that gave him hope each day to persevere into the next. The face that he may never see again after today. When she was rushed past him on the gurney he could see the monstrous oxygen mask that was holding her beautiful face captive. He could see the blood trailing down her neck to behind her delicate ears. Her pale face made her seem gaunt and unfamiliar to him as she was whisked away. He didn't know what to do. For the second time in the past 30 minutes, he slipped into a state of shock. He needed to go with her, he knew he needed to. But his feet. His unresponsive feet remained indifferent to what his mind was telling them to do.
The same officer that had tried to stop him from going in the building was standing off to the side, watching the man witness his partner being carried out on the stretcher. Partner my ass, he thought as he watched the emotions flicker across the dazed man's face. Hurt, anger, desolation and despair were all making their presence known. But their was something else…something that he could not identify. Something that he saw very rarely. Something like… a love lost. Maybe. Maybe it's my imagination, he thought. Or maybe not.
Walking over to the lost looking man, he put his hand on his shoulder in sympathy.
"Let's get you on that ambulance."
Harm stared at the man surprised, having forgotten that he wasn't the only one here in this spiteful world. Well, ever since the moment he got Mac's call, it was spiteful. Before that it was… good. He managed a smile that ended up a complete failure and instead opted for a mumbled, "Thank you." The man took his arm and guided him towards the ambulance that was loading Mac.
"This man's going to ride with her to the hospital," the officer said.
Harm climbed in and immediately sat by Mac, grabbing her cold, lifeless fingers. He sat staring at the illusory image in front of him. As he gently stroked her fingers, he leaned his head down to hers, touching his forehead to hers, wanting, no needing to make contact with her. Flesh against flesh to remind him that she was still here. She was still alive, if only barely. As he disregarded the medical workers helping to keep Mac alive, he closed his eyes and allowed the first few tears of grief slip out on to her pallid cheeks.
"Why God?" he whispered