Author: TR
Subject: HBX April Challenge FF: Arm's Length

I planned this response to the April 2007 challenge the moment I saw the challenge words. I just didn’t have the opportunity to write it down until now. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written.

THIS STORY IS SET AT A FUNERAL AND DEALS WITH A DEATH. IT’S NOT RELATED TO ANYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE REAL WORLD WHATSOEVER. THE DEATH IS NEITHER HARM’S, NOR MAC’S, NOR A CHILD’S. NOTHING IS GRAPHICLY EXPLAINED OR PORTRAYED. IT’S JUST A CONVERSATION BETWEEN HARM AND MAC.

This story is set while Harm is in the CIA. Mac finds out that he’s lost someone close to him, and is there with him and for him despite the distance between them.

Honest Feedback is always appreciated.

Arm's Length
By TR

Mac gathered their drinks and turned from the refreshment table. Slowly she made her way back to where he was sitting. In any other circumstance she would have paused to admire how incredibly good he looked in a dark suit. Today it only served to remind her of the terrible sadness in the air. Grief had stained his eyes a brilliant blue. They clashed against the black of his tie. Against the bright sun that poured through the windows, giving everything a starkly inappropriate cheerful glow.

He took the cup from her hand, popped three pills, and took a long swallow. Later he wouldn’t remember whether it was coffee, tea, or water.

She sat next to him in silence. Sipping something warm and tasteless. Was it cider? She couldn’t say.
She saw him rotate his shoulder, still in a sling. Wince.

“How’s it feeling?”

He shrugged and winced again. “I just took some pain meds, they should kick in by the time I have to lift the cask...” His voiced faded out on a whisper.

“Maybe you shouldn’t...”

He looked up sharply, eyes glistening, jaw quivering. “My mother carried me into this world. I’m going to carry her out!”

Mac softened her voice. “I wasn’t going to suggest otherwise. I was going to say, maybe you shouldn’t move it around so much. You’re adjusting your arm every few minutes. That can’t be helping.”

“I know, I just hate this thing.” He picked up the strap of the sling and slid it a millimeter from it’s original position. Pretending that made it better. He ran his free hand through his hair. “I keep thinking. Why didn’t I call more? Why didn’t I want to call more? I loved her, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. Why couldn’t I say it?”

Mac waited a beat. “We’ve gotten too good at saying goodbye. We both have. We’re so used to losing people that we keep them at arms length hoping that it will soften the blow when it finally happens.”

‘It didn’t work.”

“It never does.”

“I don’t think anything could soften this blow. Not when I could have done more...”

She reached out, stroked his good shoulder. “Harm there’s no sense in beating yourself up over it now. Your mother understood you, probably better than anyone else. I’m sure you’re forgiven.”

“I hope so.” He took a deep breath, centered himself, and turned to her. “Do you understand me Mac?”

She paused momentarily in surprise. “Love you, yes. Understand you? No.”

He gaped. “I can’t believe you just said that. Especially after...”

“Would you rather I sit at your funeral wondering why I could never say it? Arms length doesn’t do any good if it’s going to make us feel this way in the end. I’m paying my respects while you’re sitting here in front of me to hear them. Just as you did every time you hugged your mom, every time you did tell her you loved her, even if you were a child the last time she heard it. She knew you loved her. And now you know I love you.”

He was moved beyond words. Comforted beyond measure.

“I love you, too,” He whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat back down into this belly. “When I can think again. Put one foot in front of the other...we can deal with this. With “us”. If that’s okay.”

She gestured to their surroundings. “This isn’t about us today. It shouldn’t be about us. That much I understand. The rest can be sorted out when it’s time.”

His eyes warmed. “Okay.”

He stood, as the music changed. Moved into place next to the mahogany casket. She gave his arm a squeeze, his cheek a kiss, his heart a boost, then moved to take her place beside his, in the front row of the chapel.

End of scene. Good? Bad? Onychomycosis? Let me know.