Spinning and Spinning

Spinning on a fifteen degree angle, the Earth rotates on its axis once over a period of twenty-four hours. Over the course of the year, it circles the sun. There are four seasons, even when you live in a place that doesn't really feel them, and each day, the moon's pull causes the tides to wax and wane.

Outside his door, there is a posted speed limit that no one ever obeys. All around him, except for on the Beltway, there is movement. As he stands on the corner of Massachusetts Avenue, the Earth is spinning beneath his feet and commuters are hustling towards the Metro stop at Union Station. Tourists are hailing cabs and families are reuniting for the long weekend. And yet, he is standing still.

His life is on hold and he hates that feeling. The Admiral promised him that his job was still his - and it is. He returned to JAG quietly, less dramatically and with more reservations than when he left. His co-workers greeted him quietly, but happily, and, after a few days and what felt like a few hundred petty cases later, he could call his life his own again.

If he was honest with himself, and as he stood on the corner of Massachusetts Avenue watching the tourists, he is inclined to be honest with himself, he is unsure of what he wants from the planet spinning beneath him. When he first considered leaving, the course of his life had been firmly plotted. It pointed south and to her. But even before he tendered his resignation, the line began to waiver. There were distractions, he decided, and then there were blondes.

He smirked. Blonds were a weakness. And Catherine Gale was definitely a blonde and definitely pretty. Originally, he went searching for her to find Mac. He would have done anything to find her. Even if Catherine had been ugly. It helped that she wasn't, but he wouldn't have cared. And that was where the line began to quiver. Because she wasn't ugly and as a much as he wanted to dismiss it, the kiss may not have been just a kiss.

This was where his problems began. Before he went in search of Catherine, he was convinced he was in love with Mac. But now, he was forced to consider the possibility that maybe he wasn't. Could he kiss another woman if he was? Would Mac have kissed another man if she were in love with him? He was beginning to think the answers were no.

Clearly, they were destined to be just friends. They were stuck in that wasteland of ambiguous emotions. He rubbed a fist over his breastbone, trying to ease the tension in his chest. It was the right decision, and eventually, the terrible pressure would subside. Maybe he would call Catherine and see if she wanted dinner with her favorite, and only, pseudo- husband. Maybe he would kiss her at the end of the date. It was time to start moving again. The maybes were endless.