A/N: Hey all, I'm in the UK for my vacation and jeez . . . it's cold. I mean it; the skies are grey all the time, it rains, and it's chilly. Damn depressing, if you ask me. Hey, maybe if you review, you could brighten up my day.
Oh god, did that just come off as cheesy to you as it did to me? Because on my side of the glowing computer screen, it was like the moon just landed on my office table. And while I'm still complaining, these damn English keyboards are DIFFERENT than the American. I'm a fast typer, I do not look at my keys. I'm typing up the new chapter to ATJP and look up to see a screen filled with gibberish. The 'Enter' space is replaced by '#'. Ugh. Keyboards should be universal. Yes, when I'm Emperess of the World, the first thing i will do is make the American keyboard universal.
Anyways, seeing as I'm done ranting - major thanks to Jenny for sending me TLWL. As stupid as it sounds, I did not have my own copy saved. This one's for you, Jenny!
Under the Weather
July 16, 2005 –
Oh. My. God. He emailed me. I'm serious – he actually wrote to me. I mean, sure – it was as impersonal as a block of ice, but he wrote to me. I honestly don't know what I'm getting so hyper for. We've been writing to each other for the last nine years. Yes, on and off – but who's to point that out?
But I can't tell you what it was like, Diary, to just open up my email and to find a message from HIM in my inbox. It was like . . . taking in air after spending hours trapped under the ocean. You're deprived of oxygen so long that you almost forget how good breathing felt until you come out of the plunge.
And that's what we're doing, Diary. We're plunging. I know it. We're friends. We WERE friends. Are we still considered friends if we no longer speak? But that's not true. He emailed me. He actually emailed me! But still . . . two months, one email. Are we really so far away from each other that we can't even speak any more?
I mean, it's not as if his email was very . . . detailed. He says nothing about his life, just like I've said nothing about mine. We're empty, we're impersonal, and dammit, it's annoying. I want us to be back to the way we used to be. The way we've always been. Light, trusting and yes, Diary, caring – but I don't want you thinking about where I'm going with this because you're wrong. Harm and I are JUST friends. We've never been . . . more than that. Not that I'm saying that I don't want to be more. I mean, for god's sake the man proposed to me – I'm pretty sure he had something more on HIS mind too than friendship. But the fact is . . . we're not ready.
I know that sounds stupid. Nine years of friendship and we're not ready for the next step. But we aren't, Diary,wereallyaren't. I don't want Harm to be just another Mic – someone who proposed to me but we never went through. I care about Harm too much for that. And besides . . . our careers would never let us. Somewhere up there, where God presides, we must have done something that really ticked him off in our past life to deserve this kind of luck.
What did the General mean by separating us? Is this our message saying to move the hell on? Harm said this was a test of fate. Well a fine test it is. Two people – the best of friends – have not spoken to each other in the last two months and the one message that comes through pretty much says – hi, it's rainy in London. Oh yeah, and by the way – you're coming to London.
Can you GET more impersonal? I mean, SERIOUSLY. That's like me saying, 'Hi, I know I'm coming to London. And don't worry, I packed my rain coat.' We are probably the worst communicators in the world. And – if it's this bad writing an e-mail to each other (which we should be able to do with one hand tied behind our back and not a knife pressed up against it) how are we even supposed to SPEAK to each other when we get to London? What am I supposed to say?
I mean, don't get me wrong, I can't WAIT to see him. Did I just write that in capitals? Oops. But seriously, I can't. Is it this deprivation of he and I communicating that is leaving me at a longing for London or is it . . . well, how it's always been. Just how Harm and I are.
But it feels different this time. Really, it does. I know I said that the last time, and the time before that, and hell, probably the time before that. But this time feels more different than any of the other times before! I've never been away from Harm for so long before . . . it's driving me insane. I mean, he went away to the Patrick Henry – but that was only for a few months, and we at least emailed each other. I mean, it actually FELT like Harm was emailing me. His last email could have been anyone talking. He talked about flying, and the sky, and about the awful food, and how much he missed DC, but you could tell at the same time, even though he complained about the showers and the food and his lack of sleep and the enormous amount of work he encountered, he was enjoying himself. That much I could read in between the lines.
See, Diary? THAT'S how we used to be. And THAT is what I want to be like now. Is it so bad that I just wish everything would turn back to normal again? That we could just go back in time? I wonder how many times that wish has been uttered or written in the whole length of time. Millions, probably billions of times. But this is different. Or, it should be deemed different.
How come everything involved with Harm is always so different?
If you could tell me that, Diary, I'd greatly appreciate it.
To: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Sarah Mackenzie (sarah(dot)mackenzie(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: the conference
Hey,
It's good to hear from you. It's kind of been a long time since we've written. Works been . . . the usual. Let's just leave the horror at that. Vukovic's been . . . himself. That'smore than enough to keep everyone on their toes.
I'm going to be catching a flight on the twenty-sixth so I'll reach London at approximately ten in the morning your time. Oh, and Vic's coming with me. Me and Vic on a plane for eight hours. Remind me again why the General stuck him with me?
Rainy, okay – but how cold is it in London?
Love,
Mac
P.S: I don't know if Harriet and the boys are coming with Bud but I'll ask her and then e-mail you when I know.
To: Harriet Sims (ih8tbarney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
From: Sarah Mackenzie (sarah(dot)mackenzie(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Subject: Harm
Hi,
Oh my god, Harm emailed me and I replied like such a total idiot! I raved on about what a pain in the ass Vukovic is – which I know Harm knows and I didn't exactly say pain in the ass, but Harm can fill in the blanks!
I sounded like a total bumbling idiot. I resorted to asking how cold it was in London. No, I did not ask how HIS work was going or how HE'S doing – I asked how cold it was. How COLD it was.
Just shoot me,
Mac
P.S.: Harm wants to know if you and the kids are coming with Bud to the conference.
P.P.S: Are AJ and Jimmy STILL hooked to Barney?
Harm's Journal –
July 16, 2005,
She emailed me back. I mean, I sounded like a TOTAL idiot when I wrote to her. Letting her know it was rainy? My god. No one talks about the weather. I mean, unless you're old, you're wrinkly, you're seventy and you're beginning to lose a little feeling in your right leg. THEN you ask about the weather. But you don't bore your . . . almost fiancée . . . with weather news. If she wants to know about the weather in London, she would turn on the TV like any normal person. God, why can't I just stop talking?
Or writing. Yes, controlling my writing would most certainly help. I'm always putting my foot in my mouth – most of the time I actually think Mac ENJOYS watching me screw up. No, nix that – I KNOW Mac enjoys watching me screw up.
You want to know the sad part? The truly depressing on the verge of pathetic part about it? If it makes Mac happy, I don't mind so much. I know, I know – I am a loser. But honestly, I like her laugh. I like the way her eyes light up when she smiles. Hell, I just like her smile. And when I've gotten myself into some sort of unspeakable trouble, she's always there laughing me on.
I can just imagine her sitting there, looking at the computer screen and thinking 'oh, my god, what a dork. Did he ACTUALLY propose to me?'. And every time that thought leaps into my head my stomach starts flipping. What about Mac makes me so nervous? Is it the fact that she's a Jarhead and a damn fine one?
No.
Is it the fact that every time I'm around her – no matter where in the world we are – I always seem to fumble my words or do something stupid?
No.
It's the fact that every time she smiles at me I get weak in the knees or every time her hand touches mine sparks run all the way up my body. It's the fact that I can get so lost in her eyes I don't even THINK about getting myself out and every time she's mad at me, every time I'm mad at her, I feel like I'm missing something. Like I'm Peter Pan and I've lost my shadow.
And you want to know the truly irritating part? It won't work out! It doesn't work out. Somewhere up there, some force of nature is having a huge laugh by twisting our lives the way they do. When Mac's ready for something more, I'm not, and when I'm ready she's not and over the past nine years we've jumped back and forth like this – like we're some freaking Ping-Pong ball and when we're both finally in the right place at the right time – we're sent across the seas to two different countries, two different CONTINENTS. Yes, thank you, Lord for hating me the way you do! I appreciate it, truly.
I am stuck in a country where I'm laughed at because I keep on saying pants whereas I SHOULD be saying 'trousers' and then everyone's confused because 'pants' in England actually means 'underwear'. How am I ever supposed to get THAT straight? And then they all start talking about the telly which gets me confused in the first place because a) I do not know what the hell a 'telly' is and b) now that I've found out a telly is actually a television, they start referring to it as 'watching the box'. God, is TV so complicated? TWO letters, people! Something we people in America like to call an abbreviation.
And MAC. Well, SHE gets to go off to a state ruled by a movie star with a funny accent that dalks like dis. At least she's still in the United States and can go into a shop and ask someone for a pair of pants without getting their ears laughed off!
WHY DOES THE WORLD HATE US? WHY DOES GOD HAVE TO TORMENT US? ARE THE PEOPLE UP THERE HAVING A FUN TIME WITH US, GOD? JUST WAIT TILL I COME UP AND JOIN YOU!
To: Sarah Mackenzie (sarah(dot)mackenzie(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Re: the conference
Hey,
Well, it sounds like your work days are . . . action-packed at the least, what with Vukovic running around the office and all. If I died and just laid all day in my grave, looking up at the shell of my coffin for all eternity – it probably would not be as boring as my job is at the moment. I sit at my desk sifting through paper, stamping some of them, signing my name on others. Eight hours a day, seven days a week. I'm almost missing Vukovic.
It's good that you're catching an early flight – you know, arriving in the morning and all. Some people are arriving just an hour before the conferences start. Some people Sturgis, mainly.
Oh, and it's not all that cold in London. I mean, I'd pack a sweater or two, but most of the time you can go out in short sleeves.
Love,
Harm
P.S: you call him Vic now?
To: Sturgis Turner (sturgis(dot)turner(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harmon Rabb (harmon(dot)rabb(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
Subject: She calls him Vic
SHE CALLS HIM VIC! I mean, Vukovic – you remember Vukovic, don't you? The pompous ass, swell-headed kid that attacked our office last year? Well Mac calls him Vic!
Vic! As if they're on first name terms or something! No, she's heading in San Diego. They shouldn't be on first name terms . . . I mean, we never called the Admiral anything but Admiral! Do you think he's calling her Mac? Or Sarah?
Vic! That's an abbreviation of his LAST name too! I mean, Lieutenant Vic . . . how is anyone supposed to take him professionally? Vic . . .
Harm
To: Sarah Mackenzie (sarah(dot)mackenzie(at)theJAGoffice(dot)com)
From: Harriet Sims (I8barney(at)hotmail(dot)com)
Re: Harm
Oh, now do you honestly believe that Harm thinks of you as an idiot for that email? He wouldn't think that, Mac, and you know it. Harm's too sensitive for all that.
And Harm knows better than anyone the various pains of Lieutenant Vukovic. He was partnered with him for that one court-martial. The Dream Team, remember? Not that you'd be likely to forget, of course.
But don't come down too hard on yourself for asking how cold it is. The temperature's a thoroughly appropriate subject. I mean, it's not as if you asked if it was raining – this is temperature.
And Mac, on a slightly more personal note – it's really been a long time since you've last emailed him, huh?
Oh, I've got to go – AJ just got into the Fruit Loops and he's stuck them all over the walls.
Love,
Harriet
P.S.: yes, me and the boys are coming with Bud. I wouldn't MISS the chance to see London.
P.P.S. YES! And if I ever meet the man beneath the purple suit, I'll shoot him.