Title: Eden's Survivors
Author: WHRoseGarden
Rating: VL/IV
Spoilers: Princess and the Petty Officer
Category: V - angst
Summary: Emotions as the ashes settle.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I'm not making money writing this.
Author's Note: This was written Friday night and is dedicated to Jen, for her loss was my inspiration. This is also my first complete JAG fic, so I'd appreciate feedback to WHRoseGarden@netexpressway.com
Oh, and it has not been Beta-ed.
Eden's Survivors
1924 Zulu
Arlington National Cemetary
Empty. That's how I feel. Or don't feel. Whatever. I'm too tired to care anymore. It's only been three days, but it already feels like a lifetime. And I know it's not going to get better anytime soon.
This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. It's not like a gas explosion or a terrorist attack or even war. This was inconceivable. And, God, it hurts.
Bud touches my shoulder as he leads a sobbing Harriet away. 'Go, leave. Run far away from this place of empty memories.' I know he wants to help, they both do, but I can't let them. They've had too much pain in
their years already.
I don't know what I should feel, IF I should feel. I'm angry at the world, for the injustice. Bud and Harriet are good people and too many bad things have happened. Baby Sarah died almost exactly two years ago - another sad anniversary - and only half a year ago, Mikey was
severely injured in a shipboard accident, losing his Naval career. But I'm also envious of them, because Bud has Harriet and Harriet has Bud and they both
have little AJ. I'm grieving for my friends' loss because I cannot grieve for my own.
Four days ago I was on top of the world. I was married to the woman of my dreams; we had a baby due in less than a month. I was up for promotion, and every indication said I was going to get it.
I guess I was too happy, too lucky. Like that damn Poe poem that's incessantly running through my mind: "But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven coveted her and me." I thought it would last forever.
When Sarah went into labor, we were both ecstatic. Our baby would be here soon and we would celebrate his or her arrival with our friends. We were slightly concerned about the baby - paranoid after Baby Sarah. I think we drove the doctor's nuts, making them check every little thing; explain each detail.
But everyone said it was all fine. My Sarah and our baby were perfectly healthy. They were still saying that when we rushed to the hospital, ten days before she was due. They were still saying that 13 hours into
labor. They were still saying that when they handed me my baby girl for the first time. And they were still saying it when Sarah groaned and lapsed unconscious, right in the delivery room.
Less than half and hour later, they told me my beautiful Sarah was dead. "We're sorry, Cmdr. Rabb, but you're wife suffered a fatal hemorrhage . . .
we're sorry, we're sorry, we're sorry . . ." It echoes in my head.
I went a little nuts I guess, because Bud and the Admiral had to restrain me. I still don't know the whole story, because I blanked out after the
doctor asked me if I wanted to say goodbye. I dimly recall screaming something about not saying goodbye because she wasn't gone. The next thing I remember, I was up against a wall, held by Bud and the Admiral. A couple of marines were standing by and the doctor was being tended by another doctor while blood ran down his face and stained his lab coat.
Everyone that could be was there: Bud and the Admiral,
obviously; Harriet holding little AJ and struggling not to cry; Tiner and Gunny standing shell-shocked; my mom, Frank and Grandma Sarah, hugging and weeping; Chloe
clinging to her own Grandma; and Webb with Sarah's Uncle Matt. This was a scenario none of us could have anticipated. But there they all were, the people who cared the most about Sarah in the world, weeping in the
maternity waiting room of Bethesda. With the notable exception of me.
I still have not cried a single tear, even three days later and standing by her grave. I'm the only one left now - Frank took Grandma Sarah back to their hotel and Mom is waiting by the car.
Finally, I kneel and gently drop a single rose on the casket. I support our daughter and wave her tiny hand. "Say, 'Bye, Mommy.'" Standing again, I come to attention and salute. Catherine looks up at me with her wide brown eyes and I know that someday, she'll be a tough, gung-ho marine just like her mother. The first tear rolls down my cheek as I turn and take our
daughter home.
