A/N: This one is a little fluff, a little sad, a little happy. Hope you enjoy.
Swiftlets
Swiftlet 7: Beautiful Ghosts
Cats: Highlights from the Motion Picture Soundtrack
When I get there, I see his room is already decorated with paper jets, streamers, and balloons. I don't know why, but he loves balloons now. I bring him a bouquet once a week, and because I've shuffled in there so often now, the store always has it ready for me every Tuesday.
He's already sitting up in his chair by the window, idly playing with a string attached to one of the balloons. He smiles when I come near him, but as much as I wish it, his beautiful stormy eyes hold no signs of recognition. I blink back tears as I run my hand over his now white hair, then lean forward to kiss his forehead.
"How's the birthday boy today?" I ask him as I pull up a chair next to him. He doesn't answer, but instead points out the window at the tree outside.
"The leaves are almost gone."
"Yes, they are, sweetheart. Did you have a good night?" I don't know why I always ask him that. He will always say "fine" even if he spent the night wandering the halls. They try to lead him to bed on those nights, but he'll have none of it. At least he's still pleasant and gentle, and I swear, even the eighteen-year-old girl who works every Tuesday and Thursday nights isn't immune to his flyboy grin. He's still an accidental flirt, despite being a ninety, no, ninety-one now, year-old man suffering from dementia.
I hated to put him in the nursing home, but it just got too hard to watch him twenty-four seven. He'd started to wander, especially at night, and sometimes he'd even leave the house. I'm no spring chicken myself, and though I'm in good health at eighty-six, I couldn't keep chasing him down. My love has always moved fast, and it got too difficult to catch up with him. Our children and grandchildren finally convinced me I had to get him placed somewhere, and at least I was lucky enough to find him a spot here at Heritage House. He's been here since February, and he's done well for the most part. I visit him nearly every day and though it breaks my heart that he only rarely knows me, I can still see the brash naval aviator and lawyer I fell in love with him in there.
"Harm? How was your night?" I ask him again, and after his normal "fine, fine," he turns back to the window.
"The leaves are almost gone."
"Yes, they are."
"Harm, sweetheart, did you want to take a nap?" I ask after leading him back to his room. We had coffee and cake in the dining room in honor of his birthday. He's never had much of a sweet tooth, but he has always loved my pumpkin cake. I make it for him every birthday and I have since our first year at JAG together. Today, he ate two whole pieces, much to my delight, though it did hit me that this might be the last time I ever make it for him. I didn't want to cry in front of my husband today, however, so I pushed that thought aside as soon as it entered my mind.
"Harm?" I say again. "Did you want to take a nap?"
"No, Ma. I'm too old for naps," he answers as he sits in his chair by the window again. I snort. He often mistakes me for his mother, and I'm still vain enough to be just a bit offended that he thinks I look like her. Oh, I know it isn't his fault, and I loved my late mother-in-law, but damn. His mother?! I chuckle to myself as I sit down beside him again.
"The leaves are almost gone."
"Yes, they are, sweetheart." I love autumn, but I do get a little sad that the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows are all but gone by the time my beloved's birthday.
Harm starts playing with the string of his balloon again. Suddenly he turns and holds it out to me. "You're pretty," he says with that brilliant smile, and I smile too as I accept his gift.
"Thank you, kind sir."
"No, thank you, gorgeous."
"You're such a flirt, Harm."
"But you love it, Mac."
He remembers!
"I do. I always have."
"You said you didn't like my smile," he harrumphs.
"No, I just told you it wouldn't work on me."
"But it did." He grins.
"Oh, how it did, my love."
"Tell me the story. When we met." His eyes are pleading.
If he does remember me, he always asks for a story, and it seems like he is desperate to hold onto a memory, any memory of us.
"Hmmm, Harm. I told you that story last week. How about I tell you a birthday story."
"When you made me cake."
Sort of. The cake was for my birthday, but I did make it and that did start his birthday obsession with it. I agree with him, however. "That's right," I grin.
"Tell me."
"Okay…well, once upon a time," I wink at him, and he laughs.
"Once upon a time…"
Something's up with my pretty partner. She was quiet all last week, beyond her normal reserve, and while I know everyone has an off week, it has continued through today. In fact, she was even worse, spending most of her time behind her closed office door until she made an early escape. As I raise my hand to knock on her apartment door, I pray she won't be angry with me for showing up unannounced just to invade her privacy.
I asked her last week if she was okay, if anything was wrong, but she denied it, and if she hadn't answered in such an automatic, monotonous tone, I might have believed her. I called her on Sunday to invite her on a run, but she didn't answer, nor did she call me back. I know we have only known each other for eight months or so, but I'd like to think I've gotten fairly good at reading her. My intuition is telling me that she's sad about something, and I have found that I don't want her to be sad. Ever. Ignoring the implications of such feelings, I finally rap my fist on her door.
"Harm?" she asks as she answers my knock. "What are you doing here?" She's only opened the door enough to poke her head out, her expression wary, and I'm suddenly afraid she has someone here.
"I just…I wanted to…Mac, is this a bad time?" I ask lamely.
"No, not really…"
"Well, can I come in?" I bounce on the balls of my feet, my nerves causing me to squirm.
"Um…" She looks behind her.
Lord, she does have someone here.
"I'm sorry, Mac. You've got someone here. I'll just go. See you tomorrow, okay?" I turn to go but I've only taken a couple of steps before I hear her call out to me.
"Harm?" she calls, and I turn around. She's opened her door wider and stepped out in the hall.
"Yeah?"
"I-I don't have anyone here. You can come in. I just wasn't expecting anyone so I…I, um, never mind. Please, come in."
"Are you sure?" I don't want her to feel obligated to let me in if she truly wants to be alone.
"Yes, I'm sure. Come on in."
My lips curve up into a smile as she motions me inside, and a moment later, we stand across from each other, my smile turns awkward.
"Hey."
"Hey, yourself. So, what brings you by?" She crosses her arms over her chest, her face guarded, and I'm surer than ever that my Mac is in crisis.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay. You've been really quiet for a while, and I'm worried. Something's wrong, I know out," I blurt out in one breath, and I watch Mac's expression go from surprised, to irritated, to angry, and then I'm mortified that her eyes have filled with tears. "Mac…" I reach out my hand, but she steps back.
"I-I'm okay."
"No, you're not." I take a step forward so we're close again.
"Okay. Fine. No, I'm not, happy?!" She's become defensive, and as pleased as I am that she has admitted that all is not right, I know I'm still in for a fight.
"No, I'm not happy. Not if you aren't," I respond soothingly. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Mac shakes her head. "It's my problem, Harm. I'll get over it."
"Maac…"
Mac huffs a sigh and rolls her eyes. "It's stupid."
"Not if it is bothering you this much. Come on, tell—"
"It's my birthday."
Shit.
"What?" I can't believe I forgot her birthday. Then again, did she ever tell me when it was to start with?
"My birthday, and no, I've never told you or anyone else."
"But why not?"
"Because I didn't want to!" Mac shouts, then with a quieter apology she turns and walks to her couch, lowering herself down before picking up a throw pill and wrapping her arms around it. I follow, sitting down in the chair next to her.
"I see."
"Do you?"
I have to shake my head. "No, not really." I can't stop my arm from stretching out, nor my hand from covering hers. "Explain it to me?"
Mac pulls her hand from mine at wraps her arms more tightly around the pillow. I can feel her close herself off and decide I'll try one last time.
"Mac, come on."
"Harm…I…" Her shoulders slump in defeat and I know I've broken through. She'll tell me now. "The truth is, I don't like birthdays, not mine anyway."
"Why not?"
"It's a long story."
I give her look and she nods. "Well, you know my father drank."
It's my turn to nod.
"And that my mother left…"
"Uh-huh."
"But I didn't tell you when she left."
"No, I guess you didn't. So, when did she leave?"
"They day I turned fifteen."
"Oh. Oh no, Mac. I'm so sorry."
She waves a hand in front of her face. "It's okay. I've had a few years to get over it."
"But you still don't celebrate your birthday."
"No, I guess I haven't quite gotten over that one."
I reach for Mac's hand again while an idea forms in my mind.
"Hey," I say after a moment, my idea solidified. "What if we, you and I, had a little celebration now?"
Her forehead wrinkles in consternation. "Why?"
"Because, Mac, everyone deserves a happy birthday."
"It's okay. It's just another day, it'll pass just like always, and then I won't think about until next year."
"But," I start to say. I'm actually not so sure why I'm pressing this. I've for the most part had pleasant birthdays, but I don't really need to celebrate them. I find, though, that I need to celebrate this one. "But what if I want to celebrate you, ah, your birthday?"
"You want to celebrate my birthday…"
"Yes."
"But why?"
"Because you're my friend. My best friend, actually."
Her beautifully warm eyes take on the sheen of tears, and when one begins to trickle down her cheek, I brush it aside with my thumb. "Please, Mac?"
"All right," she says after several seconds. "All right, Harm. Let's do it." I grin brilliantly at her, and, though it takes a few moments, a slow smile spreads across her face too.
"So, where to start…we could decorate a little…"
"I don't have anything to do that with. Oh, maybe I have some streamers or something from a party we had for my CO at Quantico."
"Great, pull them out," I say, warming to my plan. "Anything else? No? Well, we'll need a cake. Tell you what, I'll go get one, while you—"
"I have a cake. I mean, I have the ingredients for one."
"You do? So, you did plan to celebrate a little."
"No," she shakes her head. "Okay, this is stupid. Every year, I buy the stuff for a pumpkin cake, but so far, I haven't been able to make myself actually bake it. I end up using the pumpkin to make that pie at Thanksgiving."
"I see. So, how 'bout we bake it now?"
Mac is now looking at me like I'm crazy, but then her face brightens with another grin. "Okay, let's do it."
"Wonderful!" I stand up from her chair and help her up from the couch. I lead her toward the kitchen, uncommonly giddy, but before we're even halfway there, she stops.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing…I just forgot to buy cream cheese. For the frosting."
"Oh. Well, I can go to the store and get it, and you can get started on the cake."
"You don't have to—all right. Sounds good, Harm."
She goes into the kitchen by herself, while I grab my keys and wallet. As I close her door behind me, I have to wonder what is going on here. This isn't like me really; I'm not into birthday and holiday parties all that much. However, right now it seems the most important thing in the world is to give Mac the birthday she deserves. She was too young at fifteen to lose her mother, and to lose her like that, to be abandoned like that…well, I at least have to try to turn her birthday into something good again.
When I return with more than just cream cheese, I hear the sound of her mixer running.
Good, I think to myself. She won't be coming out here for a bit.
I set down multiple collections of Mylar balloons and a bouquet of wildflowers and get to work. I hang a happy birthday banner on her fireplace, put up a few birthday-themed decals on the walls, and add a few streamers. The decals have dinosaurs on them, so maybe it looks like a party for a three-year-old boy, but I know my Mac loves her dinosaurs.
My Mac.
I realize then I refer to her that way in my mind a lot. The implications of that are many, but I'll let them go right now. Now it's time to celebrate the birthday of my best friend.
I gaze around the living room, please with my work. I see one streamer has gone down, however, and as I go to repair it, I hear a gasp behind me.
"Harm!"
"Hey, Mac!"
"You did all this? For me?"
"Yeah. Remember? You're my best friend. And, oh, I got you flow—oomph!"
She's thrown her arms around me, and as I hug her close, I think this is my best birthday ever, even if it's not mine.
"The end."
My tale now complete, I look over at my husband, expecting to see only the ghost of him in his eyes. To my happiness, I still see my Harm gazing at me, love written on his face.
"That cake was the best," he grins. "Tell me, why didn't we get together then?"
"We were too young. You had some wild oats to sew," I tease.
"Humph. More likely I was an idiot."
"We both were," I say, unable to stop myself from tearing up. He's rarely lucid for this long.
"Hey, sweetheart, don't cry." His hand reaches out towards me, the now ever-present tremor obvious. He manages to brush my tear aside, and I hope he can see the younger version of me shining through. In my mind's eye, he'll always be that tall, dark, handsome, loving yet sometimes infuriating, naval officer I married.
"I'm sorry, my love. I'm just happy. Celebrating that first birthday with you is a beautiful memory. You didn't know it, but you didn't just give me a birthday that day. You gave me a home. You dared to come and push me and made me take a chance on a friendship with you. No one had ever taken a chance on me like that before. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He's silent for a moment, but then his eyes start to twinkle. "We danced that night, remember?"
"Oh, yes, I do."
He starts to shakily stand up from his chair. "Dance with me, Sarah?"
"Of course."
I wrap my arms around him, and then we sway to a music only we can hear. I remember dancing with him on that first birthday, smiling up at him as he grinned back at me. I loved him even then, but it still took us a few years and a few hiccups before we finally got together. It was after a light kiss under the mistletoe, and my face warms at the thought of all the other, deeper kisses we shared that night.
Eventually, I can feel him grow heavier in my arms, and I know when I look into his eyes again, I'll only see the specter of him. He's still holding me, though, even when we stop moving, his arms are still around me.
"The leaves are almost gone," he says.
I blink back more tears. "Yes, they are, sweetheart. Do you want to sit down?"
He doesn't answer me, and to my surprise he starts swaying with me again. He's looking down at me, and as our eyes meet, I see my Harm is indeed gone. He still smiles at me, however, and I smile back, always enjoying the feel of his arms around me.
"You're pretty," he says.
"Thank you."
"What's your name?"
"Sarah."
"That's pretty. Dance with me, Sarah?"
"I would love to." We begin to move again.
As we dance, I have the terrible feeling my Harm isn't going to come back again after today. Eventually, he'll become more feeble, he'll stop eating, and then he'll pass on to be with his father and mother and grandmother, along with the little girl we lost when she was born too soon. I will join him in time, though my heart will have already gone with him.
We sway together as the memories of us flood my mind. I grieve them, but somewhere deep down in this man's worn mind, he must sense my sadness. He pulls me closer, and I realize then that though I can't reach him, Harm's ghost still exists somewhere in the man that holds me. It's still his arms and his body that encircle me. I'd hold this man forever, even while only specters of our memories flit around us.
Tonight, Harm's body will eventually grow tired, we'll stop dancing, and he'll want to sit in his chair again. I'll have to go then, but for now, I will enjoy this closeness. I'll enjoy these memories.
I'll dance with these beautiful ghosts.
End