Passage
by Gail, gem225@hotmail.com
JAG
Rating: none - gen story
Porter Webb makes out her will.
Disclaimer: The characters herein portrayed do not belong to me, and I make no profit off this story.
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.
For musesfool's Multifandom mp3 Challenge, my assigned mp3/m4a: "Passage" by Vienna Teng
This is set sometime after the series or in Season 10, the last season, since Webb only makes one appearance and that in the season premiere.
This was read over by musesfool and beta'd by Tinnean. My thanks to them both, and to Scarlet for wanting it.
*****
"That does it, Porter." My lawyer swept all of the paperwork into a file folder and gave me a warm, yet still professional smile.
"Not quite, Martin. I'll need to enclose a message to Clayton."
"Fine, fine. Just get it to me whenever it's ready and I'll make sure he gets it when... " he coughed, "... at the proper time."
"Yes." He meant when I died, but he wasn't going to say so, of course. One did not speak about such things. "I'll have it for you later today."
"There isn't... something I should know, is there?"
"No. But life is never a guarantee."
I'd learned that when Neville had first been reported missing, then, a few months later, dead.
I stood and put on my coat, smiled and shook his hand, then exited his office, then the building. I got into my car, but didn't start it up.
So many years without Neville. So many things I'd never been able to tell him, so much of Clayton's life he'd never seen. Clayton said that he remembered his father, but I knew that much of that was because of my efforts. I hadn't let him forget, nor had I let myself forget.
I tried, anyway. But memories became foggy, distant, as though they'd happened to someone else. I knew that.
That would happen when I died. Clayton would mourn, and then, in time... Oh, he would never forget me, but his memories of me would become faded, like old photos in the family album.
I'd call him when I was home, set up a dinner soon - tonight if he was free.
He'd forget some things, but not all, and the more memories of me he had, the better chance I'd stay fresh in his memory. Maybe I had years to make my place in my son's memories larger, maybe not, but I'd do what I could and trust to his love for the rest. Maybe my place was larger than I now feared.
I started up the car and backed out of the parking space. Time to go home.
Clayton liked lamb. We'd have that.
The End
Posted 6/13/06
