Disclaimer: I own nothing, otherwise JAG would still be on.
A?N: A little sappy, but sad.
He watched in slow motion as her smiling face as she waved goodbye to him changed to horror as the man with the gun grabbed her from behind. A shot cut through the night like a knife. There was a thud as she hit the hard ground. He ran over and knelt beside her, saw the blood pouring forth from the wound in her chest, tried to stem the flow as it pooled around her still form. He dimly saw her face in the dark night. It was so pale. He called her name, in vain. The bleeding slowed and he watched powerlessly, unable to help. She stared up at him in pain, whispered his name. There was nothing he could do as people came and silently pulled him away from her dormant form.
Sound rushed through his ears, yet everything was quiet. His heart wrenched in his chest as he realised she wasn't going to make it. He could feel her slipping away. He saw her there, lying spread- eagled on the ground, in a pool of dark blood. She looked at him, and was still.
"We've lost her," he heard a man say, and he slumped to the ground in anguish. Men took her away, bundling her into the back of a truck like she was nothing, just another casualty, another victim.
He went home, driving carelessly, hoping that one stupid mistake might let him join her, be with her forever as he always should have been. That night he drank himself into a stupor, not wanting to believe that one cruel twist of fate had ripped her from him forever, not wanting to believe that he would never see her again. He saw her face, her smile, her eyes, running through his mind, as if she were still here.
During the night he was awoken many times, hearing that one deathly shot ringing through the room, the thud as her body hit the ground. He remembered, in clear vividness, the look in her eyes as she had looked at him, spoken to him for the last time. He had watched as they took her away, seeing her for the last time. He cursed himself, thinking of all the things he should have said to her, but never did.
The headache as he awoke on the couch the next morning, only served to remind him how she would have hated to see him drunk like this. He was disgusted with himself. He ignored the messages blinking on his phone, the knocks that later came on his door. He just sat there, seeing her lovely face over and over again in his mind, as though if he thought about her enough she would appear there, real again, alive. He felt a strange emptiness without her.
Now she was gone, he would never have the chance to tell her how he had really felt, say the things he had been to stupid and stubborn to say. He picked up a picture of her that had sat on his desk for the past eight years. She had always been so happy, his soul mate, he thought, who could always cheer him up. Sure, they'd had their share of fights, but through it there friendship had survived, become best friendship, could have been something more if he hadn't been so stubborn. She had always been there for him, he had loved her. He had wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her, tell her he loved her, but he knew she didn't se him that way.
He only moved when his friends forced their way into his apartment, where the two of them had shared so many memories, shared their troubles, trials and triumphs. The cleaned him up, comforted him. He accepted their reassurance, greeted the outside world with fake smiles and thanks, but inside he remained hollow. He had been so stupid.
When he first met her, they had hit it off right away, become good friends. He had wanted to ask her out, but knew she didn't see him that way. As they worked together, they grew closer; a true friendship blossomed between them. He had loved her, but he knew she didn't see him that way. They had gone out with other people, both of them, but neither had made commitments. He had wanted to give it a go with her, but she knew he didn't see him that way.
At the funeral, he stood in the background, quietly observing the farewell to his best friend. The presence of friends comforted him somewhat, but he didn't allow them to get close. Everyone who had known her had loved her, many tears were shed, none of them his. He was dry inside. The coffin was set on the ground, for people to be near it after the ceremony. Planes flew overhead and guns were fired, in a salute to their beloved friend. He walked forward and placed a single white rose, her favourite, on the centre of the coffin. His friends and colleagues understood his silence; they had all been close to her too. Their eyes followed him in pity as he left.
After the ceremony, he returned, to give her his own silent farewell. He kneeled next to the stone epitaph placed in her honour. He closed his eyes and recalled the times they had spent together; some of the best times in his life. He remembered a section of the priest's sermon, as he read a page of her private diary.
'I love him so much. I want to be with him forever, if only I could tell him. But I know he doesn't see me that way.'
He placed a second white rose before the epitaph.
And then the tears came.
"I'll love you forever Mac."