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Flashpoint
Author: Pixie Rating: PG Classification: Jag Story. Romance/Angst Spoilers: Anything's possible… Disclaimers: JAG and its characters are the sole property of DPB Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.
****** Epilogue ******
0447 Zulu (1347 Local)
Harm wheeled Mac slowly toward the location where the Poplar tree had once stood. He took his time. It had been two weeks since he’d checked out of the hospital, and he and Mac had come a long way. It had been hard spending so much time away from her, but both knew it couldn’t be helped. He’d buried himself in work, hoping to make the clock hands turn faster. Mac, he knew, had devoted herself with equal enthusiasm to her physical therapy. She could take a few steps now, and both Doctor Lee and her physical therapist were confident that she would be able complete her recovery at Bethesda. Today, General Singleton had informed Harm that he and Mac were scheduled for a flight home tomorrow afternoon. But while Harm felt confident that Mac would recover fully from this incident in the physical sense, he was still concerned about her emotional state. She hadn’t mentioned the events of that day since that one time in the hospital, and he sensed that returning to this scene was going to be difficult for her. He knew that she felt responsible for what had happened, and nothing he could ever say would change that. Hoping to give her time to deal with whatever feelings might overtake her today, he took his time getting to the tree, following the large crowd of military and civilian personnel, all of whom were silent. The group formed a large uneven semicircle around the podium that had been erected next to the stump of the huge Poplar tree. A wreath of flowers had been laid at its base, small American and South Korean flags planted on either side. Behind them, larger versions of the same flags still flew at half staff. They would remain that way throughout the day. Tomorrow, they would be run back to full staff and business at the base would return to normal. Nobody present would ever forget what had happened, though, and many a baleful glare was directed toward the small hut on the other side of the river. The survivors of the incident took up positions in the front row of the crowd, Harm standing protectively behind Mac’s wheelchair. Two others were also in wheelchairs, and one man balanced himself on a pair of crutches. All eight were battered and bruised, their facial expressions simultaneously sad and angry. Wisely, the base chaplain kept the service brief, speaking only of the bravery of the fallen officers and the sadness of those left behind. He refrained from mentioning the North Koreans at all, a move Harm approved of. It was time to try to put the incident in the past. Failure to do so would only embitter the lives of those left behind. A scant half hour after the service had begun, it was over, and people started to drift away. Harm reached to release the brake on Mac’s wheelchair, but she stayed him with a look and he stepped back, giving her time to make peace with what had happened at this site less than a month ago. He watched as she turned her attention from the remains of the tree to the Bridge of no Return. Suddenly, she stiffened, and he turned to see what had captured her attention. At the far end of the bridge stood a single North Korean soldier. He wore a military dress uniform, but was unarmed, his hands in plain view at his sides. He stared across at them and the tree in silence. For several long moments, nobody moved, each side wondering what the other would do. Then, in a gesture that Harm never would have believed if he hadn’t seen it himself, the man raised his hand to a stiff and precise salute, his hand frozen in the position of respect, apparently waiting for some signal or response from Mac. Harm saw her eyes fill with tears as she released her brake and started to turn away. He moved to help her, but she stopped him and sat up, aiming a silent question at him with her eyes. He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t respond. Only Mac could decide what came next. In his heart, he prayed that her choice would be a healing one. Seconds became minutes while she sat there, unmoving, staring at the soldier who stared back at her from the far side of the river. The three of them were the only ones left at the memorial site, the others having wandered back to the JSA for a small reception. The very air was still, without the faintest hint of a breeze to stir the rushes that lined the narrow but rapidly flowing river. The birds, lulled by the afternoon heat, made their presence known only by rare calls to each other through the nearby brush. Mac made a decision. Holding her hand up to Harm to indicate that he should wait for her, she slowly rolled her chair toward the bridge, her every movement tracked by the single guard, who continued to hold his salute even as his head swiveled to mark her progress. In moments, she reached her destination - her wheels having just barely crossed onto the ancient structure. There she stopped again…waited for a few long moments. Then she brought her head up proudly, pulled her shoulders back, and returned the lone soldier’s salute, holding it for several long moments. Only after she snapped her hand down and began to back away did he respond, abruptly bringing his own hand out and down before spinning on his heel in a single precise motion and disappearing inside the small guard house. Mac turned her wheelchair around and wheeled her way slowly back to Harm, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at him with a watery smile, and, relieved, he noted a newfound peace in her eyes. "Let’s go home."
**** The End ****
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