Author: km
Subject: Fanfic short story; May 2007 challenge

I know I'm 5 months behind but it seems to take an act of God to find a minute to actually sit to write a story. I hope you'll enjoy this even though the time for this challenge has long past.

**Moderator, please let me know if I'm stepping too far out of bounds by posting it this late.**

Like what I've written before, I think there were logically other possibilities to the situations of our favorite characters. This is one of those.

The May/07 challenge lines incorporated here:
(from Contemptuous Words)
Harm: I was afraid I'd chased you away.
Suzanne Moore: I'm really glad you came.
Harm: It wasn't an easy decision.
Suzanne Moore: I know. But it was right, I promise you.
***not necessarily in this order***



"Upon her Return..." -- km,

Incomplete thoughts had been floating around her mind for weeks, neither quite clear nor organized. Haunting her. Taunting her. But as she climbed the stairs in the old building, they coalesced into a solid wall of regrets. It had been troubling her, and she had been in a consistent state of unease since his transport left nearly ten weeks previous. The only clear thought during all that time was that she hadn’t said goodbye; and certainly not good luck.

She had wanted to get away, get her mind straight, get it all figured out before she saw him again, before she determined her next step. But he showed up unexpectedly, and her imbalance became even more pronounced. So she stepped back that morning, into the shadows and let him leave. More than anything else, that decision weighed on her mind. She still (even though she knew it was irrational) associated the last time she let him go like that with a chain of events that began with a storm, continued with aborted wedding plans then a long hospital stay and eventually leading to an extended trip out to the Guadalcanal. A trip that might have ended differently if she knew then what she knew now.

~~~~~flashback~~~~~

Gunny rounded the corner near the JAG quarters just in time to see Colonel McKenzie step into the corridor. She turned away from him so quickly that she didn’t see him, so he followed, falling into step behind her. As he passed the hatch, he heard Commander Rabb speak.

“Yes, I would.”

He continued following the colonel and after several steps she realized who was behind her. She took a breath and returned her mind to the case as hand. It would have ended there if not for Gunny’s innocent remark a few days later.

He had just brought in fresh coffee, brewed stronger than usual as she was concentrating on wrapping up the details and completing the paperwork.

“I thought things were going to be smoother in wrapping this up.” She was only vaguely paying attention to him.

“Yeah, right, Gunny...” She shook her head and responded to his comment with a slight snort.

“Well, after the commander agreed to your demands, I thought it would be the end of it.” That got her attention.

“What are you talking about, Gunny? The commander didn’t agree to anything.”

“Yes, he did, Ma’am. I heard him when I passed by here just before I caught up with you. He said, ‘Yes, I would.’”

To say his statement was like the proverbial light bulb was vastly inadequate; it was more like a grenade explosion. And she forgot to breathe for a few seconds.

“Ma’am? Is something wrong?” She gave her head a shake before answering him.

“It’s late. Let’s call it a night and get some sack time. Why don’t you close the hatch on your way out?”

He briefly came to attention before turning away. After he was out and the door was closed, she rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. ‘Oh, Harm...’

~~~~~end flashback~~~~~

There was some comfort in her belief that he was probably as unsettled as she was. But it was cold comfort at best. She wasn’t sure this was the best decision---showing up without warning. She didn’t see Renee’s car outside, only his SUV; could it be... might it be... a good omen... And the lights were on, visible from the street below. Well, if he wasn’t alone, that would say it all...

‘Knock, knock, knock’************

It had been a long day. Another long day. On duty, there was always plenty of work to keep him occupied. With one less senior officer, the work seemed to multiply on its own. He was glad that Turner had been assigned to HQ. It was good to have a friend around again. It had been too many years since he had a friend nearby who was both male and a contemporary. The fact that they shared a history made it all the better.

But the unsettled feeling he had been carrying since his return ten weeks previous was getting tedious. And it just wouldn’t go away. Not until it was settled one way or the other. He realized that the forced trip out there was probably the worst thing he could have done. She needed time; he needed time. They both needed to recover---regroup, his psychologist had said during one of his several required post-Atlantic-swim sessions.

He really hadn’t been surprised at the slow pace of his mental recovery, despite his professed statements to friends and co-workers. She wasn’t around to help him regain his bearings. And he’d gotten accustomed to them depending on each other. It was during these weeks that he realized just how much he really needed her. He still regretted not answering her question regarding Renee quickly enough; at least he understood a bit more why. The irony of the whole thing continued to amuse him---in a discouraging, disparaging way.

Sometimes the frustration at having to wait for her to figure it all out left him tense. He understood what it must have been like for her, the prospect of waiting for him to figure it all out after his last foray into a different world and subsequent return on somewhat rocky ground. She was living the same kind of thing now though it was probably even worse. He just had to wait it out.

So when the tension was too great, he’d run an additional five miles in the evening, take a long shower and work on the Corvette. It was similar to the restoration process of the Stearman after his first ejection and ramp strike. The differences in restoring an antique plane while convalescing in the hills of Pennsylvania and rebuilding a 1960’s sports car in the middle of the nation’s capital fit perfectly with the differences in his mental state and life circumstances between then and now.

He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and was looking for his phone before heading down the back stairs into the garage when he heard it.

************‘Knock, knock, knock’

Looking through the peephole, he opened the door with far more force than necessary. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re back.” She nodded in agreement with his observation. “When’d you get back?”

“Earlier today.” She made an effort to sound cheery and casual. “You have company?”

He shook his head and stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.

“I’m alone.” He sensed what she was asking and knew that if he had really learned from past mistakes, he’d have one shot at best with her.

“Oh? Renee’s not here? How is she?”

“She was fine the last time I saw her.” There was an unusual nuance in the way he spoke. She turned to look at him with a questioning glance.

It took him a moment to answer. But he was determined to make it better. He was sick of the ‘one-step-forward, ten-steps-back’ process they had developed over a period of years and a ton of pride. He faced her squarely.

“It’s over. She’s gone.” Mac raised her eyebrows. Maybe she could find some hope again...

“Really.” But she’d taken too many missteps---not this time. “And...”

He hesitated again and looked away. There was no way he could possibly spin it; he was going to look like a fool, no matter what. He might as well suck it up get on with it. Only honesty would work now.

“She came back a few weeks after the funeral. She ended it.”

“Really.” He could tell she was struggling to maintain a neutral façade. It was now or never.

He grabbed her forearm and her eyes widened. *Calm, Hammer* He immediately let go and stepped back, raising both hands in reassurance.

“Wait, Mac. Please. Listen.”

She tilted her head back, indicating he could go on. Suddenly it didn’t seem so hard to tell her.

“I’m not going to start lying to you now, but I plead facts in mitigation.” She smiled at his absurdity. The levity made it a bit easier.

“Do tell, Counselor.”

“She met up with an old boyfriend. Actually, he’s now the mortician. He still loves her after all these years. He proposed. She accepted.”

“Mm--hhumm. And how is this information to be considered facts in mitigation?”

“She said she knew it would never be that way with me.”

“Really?”

“Her words, Mac.” Well, not exactly, but close. *Don’t quit now...* “I guess I thought since I led her on all this time, I could give her the satisfaction of dumping me.” His demeanor changed and he continued.

“I did lead her on, Mac. She was always a substitute, a distraction.”

“She deserved better. She was good for you in many ways.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Mic deserved better, too.”

“I know.”

“They got caught in this thing between us.”

“They did.”

“Maybe we deserve each other...” He saw a shred of hope in that statement---even though she wasn’t done reprimanding either of them. “We both behaved badly... mistreated others...”

“Damn near conduct unbecoming?” He agreed with her. He wasn't particularly proud of himself concerning his actions of the previous year.

She eyed him critically, and began to move about the apartment. He saw a sarcastic smile form.

“The mortician, huh?”

“Go ahead and laugh. It is funny, even I have to admit.” She laughed openly then. After a minute of two, he spoke again.

“I'm really glad you came by tonight.”

“It wasn't an easy decision.”

“I know. But it was right.”

“And I'm really glad you came out to the ship. Thank you for chasing me out there.”

“I was afraid I'd chased you... away."

“You didn’t. But I needed time. I think we both still do.” He nodded. “But no more blondes?”

“I promise you.” He narrowed his eyes. “No more Australians?” She shook her head.

“None. No more congresswomen...” He extended his right hand.

“No more Marine colonels...” She took it with her left.

“No more former partners...” She extended her right hand.

“No more ex-husbands...” He took it with his left.

“No more dead girlfriends...” They stood, hands clasped; smiling in agreement.

After a minute or two, he gave a slight pull and turned toward the back stairs.

“C’mom. Since you’re here you can make yourself useful. You can help me.”

“With what?” She replied in that melodic, suspicious way, so indicative of her personality.

“I’m restoring a ‘67 Corvette.” He puffed up a bit, his cocky persona back in place.

“You got another ‘Vette?!?” She feigned disdain; the logical, ordered Marine returned.

“Well, it’s in the works...” He was partway down the stairs, pulling her along.

“I think years of jet fumes have affected your brains...” She continued the bantering, knowing that was how they’d get the friendship back into place. And then, they’d have their chance...

km; fall, 2007