Title: Bubbles

Author: Cece

Prompt: Theresa

Write a story where Harm or Mac is trying to teach their kids how to blow bubbles with their gum.

A/N: I changed blowing bubble gum to blowing bubbles with soapy water.

Rating: General


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I'm forever blowing bubbles,
Pretty bubbles in the air,
They fly so high,
Nearly reach the sky,
Then like my dreams
They fade and die.
~~Jaan Kenbrovin, 1913


[Up, up, up, higher and higher. Watery prisms, swirling and floating, joyfully meandering with the updrafts. The child's face lit up with joy, as he turned to his father. “Let me do it Daddy! I can do it! I can blow BIG bubbles!” Harm handed the small metal wand to his son. “Careful. Don't blow too hard. There! You've got it! WOW that's one's a real winner!”

“Look! It's like Daddy's plane! LOOK Mamma! It's Daddy's plane! It's Daddy's plane! It is! It is! It's Daddy's plane!

She sat at the other end of the bench. Her face pale and sad. Her eyes haunted. In her hand, she clung to a card, but the writing was obscured from vision. Her face, her haunted eyes. And the child's infectious laughter, fading, fading, fading, floating away with the bubbles into the cold, clear, air.......]

Harm felt the now familiar dampness of his pillow, as he struggled to awaken from his disturbed sleep. His body pressed deep into the mattress, logged down by the oppressive dream state. He'd had this dream before, three or four times in the past few weeks, and always it ended with a feeling of unbearable sadness.

He opened his eyes to the dim morning light, and tried to think what this recurring dream could mean, and why it disturbed him so much. He felt a sense of loss and loneliness, and unaccountably, a prevailing sense of guilt. “What the hell is going on?” he asked himself silently. “I'm dreaming about a son I don't have, and getting worked up about him.” Harm tried to think of logical reasons for his emotional response to the dreams, but he wasn't very good at figuring out something so unquantifiable.

Unused to wasting his time on useless introspection, Harm threw himself out of bed, and rushed to get ready for work. The dream was fading as usual, but the depression lingered. He nicked himself shaving, and almost forgot his cover and briefcase. For a man of action, a guy who liked to deal with the rational and tangible, this absent-minded floundering was distinctly uncomfortable.

“Okay, FJ,” he chided himself, “ leave the Jungian dream symbolism to Mac. She's got that esp thing going, even if she thinks she's a hard assed Marine.” Harm made a mental note to get Mac's opinion about the dreams, and then forcefully turned his mind to the day's work awaiting him at JAG HQ.

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But Harm's determination was short lived. Work offered no relief from the dark mood that was the legacy of his dreams. Feeling certain that his reactions were out of proportion to dreams of childish bubble-blowing, Harm tried desperately to make light of them. Still, he needed some time to think things through, to try to make sense of the messages the dreams could be telling him.

He'd never thought of dreams as having any meaning. If he remembered them at all, they rarely made sense: just the residual junk the brain needed to discard. He shut his office door, and sitting down, sunk his head into his hands. Was it the dreams he needed to figure out, or was it his life?

First of all, there was Mac. He was in love with her, and had been for years. Yet he'd held back on love and marriage. Hell, he'd barely even opened up to her, or anyone else for that matter. He needed his life to be black and white, needed to stay in control. Giving in to love was to lose control. He couldn't let the ground drop from under his feet, not unless he was in a tomcat, anyway.

He knew this attitude had hurt him, and more importantly, he knew it had hurt Mac. Of course she was puzzled by his inability to tell her he loved her, tell her he wanted her. He'd told her indirectly, by promising to always be there for her, and by promising to be the father of her child. But always he held back, letting her feel the same uncertainty he, himself, felt about his true emotions. Besides, when he had wanted to move forward, she wasn't ready!

Perhaps that's what the dream meant. The bursting bubbles of his dreams. “Oh crap, now I'm sounding like a third rate country song. Damn it, none of this makes any sense.”

He heard a sharp rap, and looking up, saw Mac motioning him to unlock the door. He hadn't realized he'd even locked it. He got up to open the door, and Mac came in with a look of alarm on her face.

“Are you okay Harm? You don't look well.” She put a cool hand on his forehead, and pronounced that although his skin was warm, at least he didn't have a fever. Reveling for a brief moment in her touch, Harm made a quick decision.

“Mac, I'm going home for the day. I need some time out. But look, are you free later, because I really want to talk to you? We need to talk.”

Mac looked taken aback and for a moment, she said nothing. Harm continued, “Can I bribe you with dinner if I promise not to cook meatless meatloaf?” Even in his present mood, Harm's smile was disarming, and he knew it. Mac smiled back at him, and promised to be there bringing an ear, and an appetite. Whatever the reason she had so urgently come into his office for, was forgotten, and she left, silently closing the door behind her.

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Harm felt almost lightheaded with his decision to open up to Mac. The dream had made his loneliness more acute, and he was not going to waste anymore precious time. He only hoped that Mac hadn't stopped loving him....at least he thought that she had loved him at one time.

If nothing else, the dream had made him realize just how stupid they'd both been to let love slip away. By 7:30, he was ready for her. The food was in the oven, the salad tossed, the Perier, in the cooler. He eschewed the candles and soft music, feeling that was too cheesy...or maybe just too obvious. He wanted things to go right for a change.

She was on time as usual, and in her jeans and simple pink top, she looked beautiful as always. He'd so often taken her beauty for granted, but not tonight. He want to grab her then and there, but he hadn't so entirely lost his mind. He put aside a brief image of being kick-boxed to the ground, and started to serve the food.

They quickly fell into their easy banter, like the best friends and partners they'd been for so long. And then with food dispensed with, they sat comfortably together on the sofa, wrapping their hands around the cool, smooth, sensuousness of their glasses.

And then Harm told Mac about the dreams he'd been having, and his concerns. All of them. He only left out the sad presence of the child's mother, not wishing to upset Mac with implied accusations.

Mac pondered the symbolism of the bubble blowing, as Harm knew she would.

“Harm, I'd say the easy part is the reason you were dreaming of blowing bubbles in the first place. Can't you remember when we were all at the Roberts's house a few weeks ago? Bud was telling Mikey he'd been teaching little AJ how to blow bubbles, and how little AJ was trying to teach the baby? That must be where your thoughts came from.”

Harm felt a bit foolish. He leaned back on the sofa, and spread his long legs out in front of him. “Oh God, that's it! That must be it. Don't tell me I've been making such a big deal out of this, all because of little AJ and his bubbles!”

Mac smiled, but then turned serious. “But that doesn't account for all the rest. Harm, these dreams are affecting you. I've never seen you so sad before, well not since you found out about your father.....” She hesitated, “I'm sorry Harm, I didn't mean to.....”

“No...don't worry Mac. You're right. It doesn't explain any of it. Not really. But there's one thing that I've got from these dreams.... I hope...I hope that I've learned something at least.”

He sat up and turned to look at her. His heart stopped when he saw her return his gaze. She made a small sound as she caught her breath. Harm traced his fingers lightly down her cheek and along her lips. In return, she reached up and, cupping his face, she pulled him towards her.

If Harm had been indecisive before, he was no longer. He didn't know how she was suddenly in his arms, or how his mouth enclosed hers. He didn't care how. All thoughts were swirling away, as the his blood pounded in his veins. He felt her skin against his, her lips on his, her heart beating against his. He let his hands roam along her shoulders, and down her back, pressing her body against his own.

He slid his hands under the thin, pink top, and pushing aside the straps of her bra, he let his hand caress her smooth, warm skin until she gasped audibly. But his lips covered her mouth again, taking her breath away.

Their lovemaking seemed to last for hours....or maybe it was just moments. All Harm knew was that he'd finally claimed that sublime, pulsating, joy that living and loving could bring.

Later, as Mac nestled her head on his shoulder, he asked her to marry him. Mac responded with happy tears which she generously spilled over his bare chest. “What took you so long sailor?”

“I don't know, but I'm not letting you go again. I'm not letting another Brumby or Webb get between us again”

“Or Renee?” she teased.

“Or Renee. Though how do you think I felt getting dumped for Cyrus the mortician.?'

“Maybe those bubble dreams were just simply symbolism after all, Harm. Maybe they were telling you to open up, and fall in love.”

“Well it doesn't explain the guilt and the other stuff. You know Mac, I've got the feeling the dreams are gone for good. Who knows what the meaning was? And you know what, I don't care anymore. They probably meant nothing, but I guess we'll never know.”

They lay on the sofa together, bare limbs entwined, and let all discussions of bubble dreams, float into the past where they belonged.

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Epilogue

Trish Rabb sat silently on the bench, wrapping her winter coat tightly around her body to keep warm. Her face was etched with sadness, and a few tears, long spilt, had now dried in the frosty air. She watched Harm, shivering a little, as he dipped the small, metal, wand into the soapy water.

The child had insisted on coming out to blow bubbles, pleading with his mother that he had to do it for Daddy.

After producing only some small, limp bubbles from water that refused to cooperate, Harm blew slowly until a large bubble formed and broke away from the metal wand. The bubble rose , up, up, up, into the cold bright sky........

“Look Mamma! It's Daddy's plane! It is Daddy's plane! It IS! It is! Daddy's coming home! I'm making Daddy's plane come home!”

Little Harm turned to his mother, his arms waving excitedly . And in his excitement, the wand in his hand made contact with the large bubble, bursting it on impact.

Harm's face was at first immobilised with shock. Then with strangled sobs wracking his small body, he ran back into the house. His mother stayed still on the bench, her body stiff and unbending. The card she held on her lap, slid unnoticed to the ground, the words so indelibly etched in her memory:

Merry Christmas Darling. Give Harmy a hug from me. I wish I could be there to kiss you under the mistletoe.

A million kisses and all my love,

Harm

Christmas, 1969