Between the Lines is Moving to the AO3
Between the Lines, a JAG fanfiction archive, is being imported to AO3. If you used the archive or would like to know more, read the announcement at https://otw.news/077191
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Driving past a graveyard on a lonesome street
I can't stop thinking of how deranged he looks in this gif
Every Christmas Eve Harm visits the Vietnam War Memorial. He sets a small bouquet of flowers down against the glossy wall before he presses his fingertips to his father’s name and tells him he’s thinking of him.
This year it’s you that goes to the memorial, you that leaves the flowers, you that runs your fingers over the engraving before you tell Harmon Rabb Snr his son is thinking about him somewhere in the Indian Ocean.
“I appreciate you taking the time to do that for me.” Harm tells you over the phone later that evening, the line crackling like crazy and you have to strain your ears to hear the even timbre of his voice.
“You don’t have to thank me.” You say softly as you roll the sleeves of the sweater you’re wearing up to your elbows. It’s one of Harm’s, his white one, the scent of his aftershave still clings to the woollen collar as you pull it up just a little higher. “I know how important it is for you.”
This is the first time in over a decade he hasn’t attended the memorial and it weighs heavily on his shoulders. The last time he was in Russia visiting his brother Sergi. The two of them had toasted to their father instead with gold leaf vodka that Sergi had bought especially for the occasion.
“I’m sorry.” He says quietly. “About not being there for Christmas.”
It’ll be the first one the two of you have been apart for in your time together. You’ve developed your own traditions over the years. Usually after the memorial you curl up on the couch with Harm’s homemade hot chocolate and watch ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ his choice, followed by your choice ‘Elf’ and then the joint choice ‘Die Hard’.
Christmas morning is usually spent with Harm in the kitchen, it’s his favourite place in the house. He treats cooking as a form of creative expression and you always reap the benefits with delicious meals he makes. You’d had the kitchen renovated when you’d first moved in so that the worksurfaces fit his 6’4 frame. When Harm was docked in Naples he’d fallen in love with rustic Italian influences, that’s the way the kitchen has been designed. It’s a bright, airy space with wooden cabinets, a steam oven, a stove and indoor gas grill. The dishware came over with him from Perugia, the glassware from Murano. The kitchen table where you share meals is French country, a vintage piece he’d had shipped from a market in England.
When you’re missing him you sit at the kitchen table with your laptop because being in his space amongst these things makes you feel close to him.
“There’ll be other Christmases.” You remind him as you cradle the phone under your chin tucking the couch blanket around your legs. “Besides it’s not like I’m home alone, Alden’s hosting for the rest of us strays. We probably would have ended up there anyway.”
“Has it started snowing there yet?” He asks you and you smile glancing out of the window because Harm loves a white Christmas just as much as you do.
“Just started.” You tell him. “It looks like it’s going to stick.”
There’s silence for a moment and you can feel his longing over the eleven thousand miles that stretch between you.
“Will you think of me tonight?” He says finally, his voice a little rough.
“Harm.” You whisper. “I think about you every night.”
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