Title:Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming

Author: Doc

Prompt #2: True happiness must come from within.

Word Count: 4541

Category: Drama, Family

Rating: Appropriate for everyone.

A/N: This is the sequel to the Christmas Ficathon piece entitled ‘In the Bleak Midwinter.’ The original work was always meant to be a multi-story piece.

WARNING: Please read the entire story before making rash judgments or critiques.

Summary: The first story took place in Season 9 during the episode ‘A Merry Little Christmas’. For those who haven’t read the previous story, it begins with the scene in Mac’s apartment when Harm asks for assistance with gaining guardianship of Mattie. Harm tells Mac, “Forget about it! It’s too important for you to screw up,” then proceeds to storm out the apartment door. In my ensuing story, Mac chases after Harm and is involved in a serious car accident. The story leaves off with Mac waking up in the ICU to find she and Harm are engaged. As Harm shares their happy news with their friends, he sees a flurry of activity outside Mac’s room, as the overhead speakers announce a Code Blue.

And the tale continues…

Disclaimer: I don’t own JAG or any of the characters. The title comes from the Christmas carol by the same name. ‘Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming’ is a 15th Century German Carol translated into English by Theodore Baker.

***


18:00
Christmas Eve 2004
The Rabb Household

I sit staring at the beautifully decorated tree. Eyes roving and blurring in the tiny white twinkle lights, catching on an ornament here and there. I was never one for celebrating Christmas before this year. The holiday never held anything but heartrending memories for me. Childhood dreams burst and dissipated into thin air leaving storm clouds of doubt and misery. My gaze drifts back to the center evergreen bough, drawn unfailingly to the sunburst of color in rainbow hues dangling meekly amidst the tinsel and lights. I’m ensnared by its beauty and simplicity. Formed of glass, pure and clear, it calls my name. Offering strength, support, a harbor from the storm, protection, a promise of all things good, a listening ear. So many sentiments wrapped up and ascribed to one so small. Four inches of crystal, pure in clarity it reflects a prism of emotions in all colors of light. Radiating love and peace, golden winged, it beseeches me to lay down my burdens and cares…to set aside responsibilities and tasks, and silently reflect, if only for a moment on all that I have gained and lost. A tumultuous year finally comes to a close culminating in this season of celebration…of giving and receiving. I reach up to lightly touch the crystal vision in my midst and watch as it twirls and dances in the dim light of dusk, and candles, and Christmas dreams. This is my secret guardian and refuge of peace. The stalwart protector of all I love. Celestial and true. Steadfast. My angel…

My attention is drawn back to the frame clutched in my hand. Boxes and tissue paper lie tossed aside amongst the litter of broken ornaments and burnt out bulbs. One of my many assigned chores on this late holiday eve, the hauling of storage boxes and miscellaneous Christmas paraphernalia down to the basement, is now abandoned in lieu of cherished memories. I study the photographic image from long ago and far away, pondering how this treasure from a Christmas past found its way into the storage boxes of our holiday décor.

Transfixed on the image behind the glass, my mind drifts back to a moment some 30 minutes afore. Haphazardly collecting the bubble wrap and tissue, I hurried through my task determined to move on to more pleasant endeavors. As fistfuls of paper were stuffed into the red and green bin, my hand collided painfully with an object hewn and rough. Yelping in surprise, I withdrew my finger and immediately sucked away the blood beading to the surface. Carefully examining the wound, I discovered a splinter buried deep within and angrily sifted through the box trying to unearth the guilty culprit of my distress. It was then I discovered the old photo hidden amongst the paper confetti and plastic bubbles.

The beautiful face of one I love so dear peered back at me, the mock seriousness of her expression contradicting the laughter in her eyes. Rocking back on my heels, I struggled to recall the events leading up to the snapping of the picture. Memories fluttered through my mind one by one taking wing and luring me deeper into the past. Warmed by the love so evident in her eyes, I am stunned to have missed it, all those years before…undeniable, steadfast, powerful and so totally overwhelming as to ignore all instinct and reason.

I sigh in exhaustion, overcome by the weight of the intense emotional burden. It’s hard to believe a year has past since that fateful night. So much has changed, and yet all remains the same. They said it was a clot. A pulmonary embolism, they called it. The accident, resultant trauma and immobility combined to trigger a disastrous cascade of morbidities. Her labored breathing was the first subtle indication of trouble, as the clot dislodged from her injured leg, traversed the deep vessels of her abdomen and scattered like buckshot to her lungs. Still to this day, I agonize over my culpability in the chain of events…had I called the nurse sooner, insisted she remain calm, forced her to rest.... Futilely, I attempt to banish my self-doubts and recriminations about that night. Even the repetitive reassurances by medical staff, family and friends have done little to assuage my guilt.

Nonetheless…life goes on, and valuable lessons are wagered and learned. Casually uttered sentiments often seem trite and worn, but they do ring true. ‘Cherish the time while you have it, you never know what tomorrow may bring.’ ‘Tell the special people in your life that you love them, everyday.’ ‘Happiness is not predicated on worldly possessions, achievements or success, but comes from within.’ ‘While others may enhance our joy, they cannot create what does not exist…’

The jingling of keys draws me from my ruminations, and I shake away the cobweb of memories from long ago and distant lands. Breathless, I remain still and silent, listening for her movements. The familiarity of her routine provides a peaceful balm for my troubled soul. Closing my eyes in concentration, I can detect the subtle sweetness of her perfume just a moment before I hear her rumbling laughter from the doorway across the room. And my heartbeat calms, bewitched by the cadence of her voice.

“I swear some folks can turn a simple 30 minute chore into an afternoon ordeal.” She chuckles louder as the cherry blush rises in my cheeks, and ambles into the room, arms laden down with brightly wrapped presents.

“Ummm, what’cha got there?” I fake right, jab left trying to distract the ribbing, which I know is headed my way.

“For me to know and you to find out!” she giggles with lighthearted charm. I vow to God to endure any amount of merciless teasing directed my way, if she’ll promise to smile at me like that for the rest of my life. I make a stealthily move forward trying to pull her into my arms, but she agilely sidesteps my snare with the well-practiced grace of a tightrope walker.

“Now, now,” she playfully scolds, “…gifts are for tomorrow.” She artistically arranges the new packages among the old then fixes me with a glare, “No peeking, Mister! Santa’s elves are ev-er-ry-where,” she draws out the syllables with a gentle curlicue flourish of her hand in the air.

“I stopped believing in Santa long ago,” I wave off the threat of Jolly St. Nick flashing a smug, conceited grin.

“Alright then,” she towers menacingly over me with hands firmly on hips, “…if elves don’t work, then you’ll have to deal with me! You should know by now…I see all things…know all things…and control all things.” Her expression deadly serious, eyebrow raised, she dares me to challenge.

“Yes dear,” I humbly pretend defeat, all the while throwing out my most disarming smile.

Her face brightens like sunshine reflecting off a rainbow after a late summer storm, and all my earlier ruminations and misgivings skitter away, banished to the dark recesses of my soul by the light of her smile. This woman can evoke such emotion in me with just a simple look, gesture or word. I can’t begin to imagine the despair of my world if she were ever permanently banished from it.

Leaning over she places a quick peck on my lips, “Something smells good. What time’s dinner?”

“Turkey went in about four…should be ready at eight,” I peek into one of the gift bags labeled for me. She immediately clears her voice and whisks the gift away. “Sorry…” I shrug. The impish twinkle in my eye belies the sincerity of my remorse.

She begins to gather the errant tinsel and packing supplies, “We better get this cleared out…your folks will be here soon.”

I covertly tuck the picture frame off to the side. She catches my movement all the same.

“What’cha got there?” she cranes her neck in an attempt to see.

“It’s for me to know, and you to find out!” I not so subtly try a hand at her diversionary tactic, as I reach for one of the storage bins. She quirks a brow in that ‘Think Again Buster’ superior way of hers, and I relent having been bested by the master in her own game.

“It’s just a picture frame that I found in one of the boxes,” I quickly flick it back and forth before laying it face down. She kneels beside me, taking the frame and turning it upright. Her expression immediately subdues and becomes almost melancholy.

“I don’t know how it got in there amongst our Christmas things,” the words hurriedly roll off my tongue almost without forethought.

“Mmmm,” she sighs and studies the photo.

“From Afghanistan,” I stammer, “…I uh…it’s…I mean…” I don’t know how to interpret her mood.

“It’s a lovely picture,” she hands it back to me and stands. “Better hurry, your folks will be here within the hour.”

I reach for her hand and give it a tug, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she leans down for another brief kiss, “…now get a move on…chop-chop! Dinner preparations await!”

I retrieve the rest of the paper and storage materials, and quickly stuff them into the bins. Stacking the boxes to a precarious height, I lean down to heft them into my arms. The framed photo catches my gaze once more, and I reverently lift it from the floor running an adoring finger over the shiny surface. Smiling at that beautiful face, I nod my head with determination and trod over to one of the bookcases flanking the fireplace. Extending the back easel on the frame, I carefully set it amongst our books, pictures and trinkets, prominently displayed for all to see.

***

Christmas morning…

I awaken to the soft caress of fingers running through my hair. Blinking in the early light, I grumble about morning, shades cracked open, and sun in my eyes. I hear a soft indulgent chuckle as a mug of holiday coffee is wafted under my nose. Inhaling deeply, I grin at the sweet spicy scent of cinnamon and hazelnut.

“Toooo early,” I mumble and turn away on my side. Eyes drifting shut, I struggle to gain entrance to the wonderful hallucinations of my dreamland once more. Marshmallow world…no, that’s not it. Sugarplum fairies…almost, not quite. F-14 launching off a carrier…ah yes, that’s it. Funny, I don’t remember my RIO ever stroking a hand up and down my bare back before, or lips on…

“Come on, sleepyhead…time to get up,” the words swirl softly from her tongue on feathery wisps of air, raising goosebumps in their wake and tickling my ear.

“No wanna…up late lass nigh,” I slur like a petulant child, “…Christmas…s’pose a sleep in.”

“Your folks are gonna be here within the hour,” she pushes the blankets off my body, over my feet and onto the floor.

“Hey…no fair,” shivering in the cold morning air, I roll into a ball trying to preserve body heat.

Losing patience, she pokes a finger into my back, “Up and at ’em! We have guests coming, and a brunch to get ready and served. Not to mention, you still need to get cleaned up! I don’t think your mother will appreciate your current attire quite as much as me.”

Turning my head toward the door, I sniff at the air, “Already smells good in here…got it under control.” I roll back to my side, trying to suppress the grin at what I know is coming next.

She sighs heavily and reaches for my coffee mug. Reclining against the headboard, she abandons her usual tactics of persuasion and reaches into her holiday arsenal. “Alright, I guess someone doesn’t want their Christmas present!” is haughtily huffed through pursed lips.

“Thought we were opening gifts with my folks,” I roll back in her direction and rest my head on her thigh. Her fingers resume their earlier ministrations through my hair.

Her voice takes on a gentle concerned quality, “How was the visit to the Wall last night with your mom?” Her fingers continue light and soothing.

“Nice,” a sigh rumbles forth from somewhere deep inside, “…she hadn’t been there in years. I think she thought it would bother Frank,” I shrug against her knee, “…ya know, if she took time to remember and reminisce?”

“But it’s good to remember the special people from our past,” her arm curls around my shoulder in a protective caress.

“Yeah, it is,” I place a kiss on her knee before sitting up. Reclining beside her against the headboard, I take the mug she offers. Taking a long leisurely drink, I murmur, “Mmmm, this is good.”

“Special Christmas blend…thought it would go well with breakfast.”

I inhale the savory scent coming from the other room, “What are we having anyways?”

She takes back the mug and gracefully sips, “I made a breakfast casserole…french bread, broccoli, shallots, mushrooms, a little dried mustard…cheese.” Another sip, “…ham,” she mumbles out of the side of her mouth.

“Uhhh,” I sputter, “…I thought we agreed…”

“A little won’t hurt you,” she pats my knee, “…you can always pick around it. Besides, you have to learn…if ah….”

“Learn what?” I quirk my brow.

She rolls her eyes and smiles, handing off the communal mug of coffee. It’s one of those ‘I’ve gotta secret’ smiles. She leans over the side of the bed, and comes back up with a gift bag brightly decorated with polka dots in purple, pink, royal blue and fluorescent green. It sports a huge red bow affixed to the top with green and blue streamers curling down the sides. Yellow tissue paper billows up from inside the sack. The attached nametag in the shape of a whimsical snowman bears no name.

She offers me the gift, as her smile becomes a bit tentative and unsure. I rotate the package from side to side examining the monstrous piece of art.

“Open it,” she whispers breathless, chewing on her lower lip.

“But, how do you know it’s for me…there’s no name?” I flick the Frosty nametag. “Santa could’ve brought it for you.”

“It’s for both of us,” her words are so soft I barely hear them.

I lift the tissue paper away and toss it aside. Reaching inside, I retrieve a similar brightly wrapped gift box adorned with a bow. Playfully glaring at her, I declare, “You think this might be a little overkill?”

“Patience is a virtue,” she shrugs with a mischievous grin, “…Good things come in small packages…The harder the task, the…”

“Stop!” I exclaim and rip into the gift with gusto. Tossing the wrapping paper and bow into her lap, I tear the lid off the box, only to find tissue paper secured with a huge gold seal.

“Is there anything even in here,” I sigh, “…or is this just a practice in futility to get me outta bed?” I immediately flash a smile to tell her I’m teasing.

“Almost there,” she begins chewing her lip in a harried fashion, all the while staring at the box.

I tear off the seal and separate the tissue paper to find the gift inside. I stroke my finger over the tiny soft cotton t-shirt nestled within. Tears well in my eyes and I’m unable to find my voice. Lifting the garment from the box, I hold it out for closer examination then immediately begin to twitter in laughter. Written in flowing cursive across the front is the phrase, ‘My Other Car Seat is in the ‘vette’ with an oversized ring of car keys dangling off the side.

My emotions ping pong back and forth between wonder and awe, and my voice cracks, “Reeel…really? Is it actually…”

She reaches into the pocket of her robe and withdraws a plastic object. Placing it into my hand, she nods her head. Her joyous tears match my own. Staring at the white stick, I blink back tears long enough to make out the glowing blue ‘+’ sign displayed in the small recessed window. Shaking my head, I can hardly believe this overwhelming gift at a second chance. As if reading my thoughts, she withdraws a second object from her pocket and places the lab slip marked ‘POSITIVE’ in red block letters into my grasp.

“When?” I gasp in amazement.

“August,” tears flow down her cheeks, “…August 10th.”

I pull her into my lap, or maybe she finds her way there. Arms interlink and encircle, lips find lips, and ‘thank you’s’ and ‘I love you’s’ filling the air. When we pull back breathless, I gaze at her still flat tummy and push her pajama top aside. With the barest touch of my fingertips, I trace the faint scar running from her breastbone to her hip, then reverently rest my palm atop the soft patch of abdomen housing my child safe and warm. My thumb strokes back and forth in a gentle soothing pattern.

“I love you,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her.

“I love you, too.”

Arms resting on my shoulders, she nibbles a path over my cheek to my ear. “Ya know,” her fingernails lightly rake through my hair. I shiver from the blowing sensation of her words in my ear. “If I remember correctly,” she kisses my earlobe and her tongue flicks out to catch the skin of my neck beneath, “…you owe me,” another kiss to my skin, “…about ninety-eight more,” she sighs, driving me wild, “…I love you’s…”

The ‘today’ never makes it past her lips, before I dip her backwards on the bed, and follow her down. “I’d rather show you,” my mouth does a little reconnaissance of its own. “Actions speak louder,” I smile as she shivers under my touch, “…than words.”

The ringing phone interrupts our Christmas morning fun. I reach for the offending object, only to hear my mother’s voice emanate from the handset.

She wiggles off the bed, and bounds from the room, a twinkle dancing in her eyes. I listen to my mother prattle on about “Good morning” and “Merry Christmas” and “Be there soon,” as my very own version of a sugarplum fairy sprite waltzes from our room.

After promising to send along her love, I finally disengage myself from the phone conversation with a “See ya soon!” I grab my robe and amble from the bedroom feeling lighter than air. No aircraft has ever felt this good, or sent me to such heights of ecstasy circling ‘round the heavens. Entering the living room, I find my wife standing before the tree with a picture frame clutched in her hands. Stepping closer, I take note of the photo and her sudden dour mood. The memories from last night settle over me, weighing me down like an elephant perched on my chest. Searching the recesses of my mind, I can’t grasp the source of her distress over this memento from our past.

Carefully, as not to startle, I step behind her and place my hands over hers. Leaning in I whisper, “What is it, sweetheart? Why does that picture bother you so?” She shrugs a noncommittal response, her shoulder bumping against my hovering chin.

“If you don’t want it displayed, I can put it away,” my sandpapery cheek catches and pulls in her hair. “I’m sorry, it was misplaced for a while, but in all the flurry of activity and stress surrounding your…” I can’t bring myself to speak the word or talk of the events of that night. A lump rises in my throat clogging there like day-old, stale bread.

“Any-wa,” I clear my throat, swallowing twice, “…anyway, when I was packing up your apartment in March, I must’ve grabbed the picture by mistake…mixing it up with your Christmas things. I’m sorry if…”

“It’s not that,” her voice is wistful and soft. “I just wish…” she pauses to release a melancholy sigh.

“Wish what?” I encourage.

“I miss this,” she strokes a finger over the glass, caressing first my face then hers.

“I don’t understand?” my brow furls in question. “I’m here, you’re here…we have each other.”

“I knooow,” she turns in my arms, “…but sometimes I miss us. The way we used to be,” she scrambles on before I misinterpret, “…I miss all the investigations, the fighting and sparring…being thick as thieves…having each other’s back.”

“I thought you liked being a judge.”

“I do, but,” she fidgets in frustration, “…sometimes I miss the exhilaration of our adventures. It took me months to recover and rehab after the accident, and no matter how hard I try, my lungs will never be 100%. I can never go back to that time…to enjoy gallivanting around the wild wilderness with you.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve made a miraculous recovery in the last year. You’re back at full duty with only minimal pulmonary restrictions. Even the doctors swore you’d never make it this far. You’ve astounded everyone. Well, everyone but me,” I flash a sincere smile full of pride, “…I always knew you would do anything you set your mind to.”

“I know, and I love being a judge,” she stares at me with renewed intensity trying to telegraph her feelings, “…but sometimes the marine in me misses the TAD’s and assignments…the sweat and dirt…running roughshod over brass with you at my side. Butch and Sundance.”

“You wanna spend the night in a cold Afghan desert, bombs bursting overhead,” my hands flap in frenzy, “…after being thrown from a jeep in an explosion of butterfly mines? Rather then sleep in our warm comfortable bed?” Trying to lighten the mood, I go for the most ridiculous scenario I can recall, all the while striking an incredulous pose.

“If it’s with you,” she throws out her best marine bravado, “…any day…any time!” She chuckles at my dubious wide-eyed stare. Playfully patting my chest in a patronizing matronly fashion, she doubles over in laughter. “You had that exact same look on your face back in the mine field, when I mentioned learning about the whole weight substitution thing from a movie.”

“You seem to be enjoying my distress,” I mumble, feigning insult. Well, maybe it’s a little bit true.

She fights to control her staccato bursts of giggles, and I can’t help but thrill to her joyous mood. Thankful to discover a more steady footing, I tread lightly back to the original source of our emotional tête-à-tête.

“So, would you like me to put it away?” I point at the offending object.

“Umm, no,” she shakes her head and smiles, “…I think we should keep it out…as proof.” When I frown in uncertainty, she chuckles, “Our son is never gonna believe the tall stories of our adventures and exploits.” She holds the photo aloft, “We’re gonna need some irrefutable proof!”

I take the picture frame from her grasp, and set it back among the books and trinkets on proud display. Turning around, I challenge back, “Don’cha mean our daughter…she’ll never buy that yarn about her mother rescuing her dad from a herd of goats!”

She cocks her head sideways, considering my words, “I thought you’d want a son…you know, the whole legacy thing.”

“First of all,” I pull her into my arms, “…I’ll love whatever we’re blessed with, boy or girl. And yes...eventually, I’d like to have a son, too. But son ‘OR’ daughter, I don’t want either of them pressured to live up to any legacy of mine, I’ve done enough of that for all of us.”

“But this one here,” I lay my palm against her belly and caress the spot, “…I’m certain is a daughter. And she’ll be everything I ever hoped for or dreamed.”

“How do you know?” is softly uttered. The earlier aura of awe has returned to her eyes.

“Because, she’s my second chance at happiness with you. She’s everything I begged, beseeched and prayed for, while you were critical in the ICU. I swore I’d give anything, be anything, if only…”

I pull her close, enfolding her tightly in my embrace. My cheek brushes against her hair, as I whisper with equal parts amazement and joy, “She’s gonna be incredible just like you. A fighter…strong, dedicated…loving and giving…compassionate. And I promise to love and adore her for all the days of my life, just like her mother.”

Her arms tighten around me, hands stroking up and down my back. Our lips search and find one another, exploring, sealing our promise of forever. As we part, she buries her face in my neck, and I leisurely sway us to and fro to the gentle strumming of violins playing carols from the radio in the front hall.

For the first time in a very long time, I savor all that Christmas brings. The sentiment and meanings, the decorations, the giving of gifts, but more importantly the offering of self. Rejoicing in the overwhelming spirit and bliss that is embodied in this holiday season, I remember the tragic events of Christmas last year, and vow never to repeat them.

Staring at the towering symbol before me, I study the beautifully decorated tree…searching for that special symbol of peace that sustained me throughout the chaos of the last twelve months. Lights twinkle in the early morning sun, the star shines bright, but my eyes are fixed on a solitary ornament, pure and clear. Celestial and true.

It was Sarah’s idea to honor those loved ones from our past. The angel with golden wings holds center stage on our tree. Sparkling in vibrant colors of rainbow hues befitting his role as steadfast protector and stalwart guide. The faithful guardian of all I love and will forever hold dear.

“Thank you, Dad,” I whisper a prayer on high, “…for looking after her, for keeping her safe, and for bringing her back home to me.”


The End…


A/N: Of course not! There’s yet a third part to this trilogy. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!