Title: The Good Stuff Author: Kimberly Knipp Email: MCK8686@aol.com Rating: G Classification: A total piece of fluff Spoilers: None Summary: Disclaimer: JAG, its characters and premise is the exclusive property of Bellasarius Productions, Paramount Television and CBS Entertainment. No monetary gain is appreciated from this endeavor, nor is any copyright infringement intended. This story is created purely for recreational purposes. Author's Note: I am a huge Kenny Chesney fan and his new song is called the good stuff. This is the first time I've ever given in to the urge to write based on a song but every time I hear this one, it just screams of a story to me. Well, the song is basically a story but you know what I mean. So I'm just pounded out this little bit of nothing to pass the time and get my mind off of it so I can move onto another story. :o) I think another reason that I love the song is because it reminds me so much of my grandparents, who were married 63 years when Grandpa died. It's been 15 years since then and Grandma says she can still hear him talking to her. *************************************************************** "You're being unreasonable." "Unreasonable?!" Mac exclaimed, hands on her hips. "I'm being unreasonable because you don't think I can do my job?" "I never said that!" Harm retorted, his voice rising as his temper got the better of him. "You always twist what I say into something different." Mac snorted inelegantly. "I'm sorry, I don't know how I could have misinterpreted, 'you're not going to win if you keep going that way'." "You know, sarcasm isn't really a flattering color for you," he growled. "And before this really gets out of hand, I think I need to go out for a while." He crossed the living room and snatched his leather jacket off the rack. "If you leave in the middle of this, don't bother to come back," she stated harshly. Harm paused but didn't turn to look at her, his back ramrod straight. "Have it your way," he said and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. There wasn't much traffic since it was after 2200 on a Sunday. Harm cruised the streets, no destination in sight while the harsh words they'd exchanged flowed through his ears over and over. Up ahead he saw a lighted sign for a place called Tips. He swung into the deserted parking lot and climbed out of the Corvette. It was quiet and dim inside the bar. Country music played from a jukebox in the corner and the place was empty except for the man behind the bar. He reminded Harm of an older version of Archie Bunker as he roused himself from a chair and came over. Harm yanked off his coat and threw himself down on a barstool, intent on forgetting all about the fight he just had with Mac. "What can I get for you?" the man asked. "The good stuff. I'm drowning my sorrows," Harm stated. The man didn't move at first and his eyes took on a faraway glow. "I'm afraid you can't find that here, son. The good stuff doesn't come in a bottle." That got Harm's attention. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing by the way the man said the words that he wasn't talking about liquor at all. "Just what I said. You can't bottle the good stuff. Like the first time you get to kiss her. Or stumbling over the speech you rehearsed for hours when you ask her to marry you. When she walks down the aisle to you in the church or burns dinner because she was trying to impress her new husband. That's the good stuff, son. There's nothing else like it." "How did you know?" Harm asked finally, not knowing what else to say. "You've got the same look I see on a lot of men who come in here after they have a fight with their girls. I've seen that same look on my own face many a time," he winked. Harm reached for a pretzel as the old man walked over to the cooler and got out a carton of milk. He poured himself a glass and Harm grinned. "I'll take some of that, too." The man just nodded and poured a second glass. He brought them both over then pulled his stool over and got comfortable. "Name's Roy," he said, holding out a hand to the younger man. "Harm." "I got two ears if you're of a mind to talk," Roy offered. And that was all it took. Harm spilled the whole miserable story. Mac thought he was criticizing but he was only trying to help and she took it the wrong way. It was an old argument but this was by far the worst it'd gotten. "She told me not to come back," Harm muttered glumly. "I'm sure she didn't mean it. She was hurt and womenfolk get emotional." Harm didn’t respond right away. He looked around a little, taking in the warm atmosphere of the bar that just seemed to invite a man in to unload his troubles. He saw a small black and white picture of a brunette with the beehive hairdo that was so popular back in the fifties hanging by the cash register. "Is that your wife?" he asked Roy. Roy nodded slowly. "Yep, that's my Mary. That was her graduation picture the year before we got married." "Wow, you were young. She's very beautiful," Harm stated quietly. "How long have you been married now?" "We were married fifty years. She passed away two weeks after our anniversary from cancer," he answered softly, his blue eyes a little misty. "I'm so sorry," Harm returned. "That's a hell of a long time to be with someone every single day." "She was my whole world and when she died I climbed inside a bottle of whiskey and stayed there for two long years. I've been sober for three now because the one thing stronger than the whiskey's hold were my memories of her. Like the look on her face the first time she held our new baby or the way she played with the strand of pearls I gave her the day our youngest boy married his high school sweetheart. I would have been perfectly happy to have her with me another fifty years but it wasn't meant to be. Still, I'm grateful for every minute I had with her. Even holding her hand when it came time for her to go." "That's what I want with Sarah." The words slipped right out before Harm could stop them. "Except I hope I go before her." "That's what any smart man would hope for. As much as I'm enjoying your company, son, you should get on home to her. She'll probably cry and when she says she's sorry, you tell her you're sorry, too. You'll see how much in love she is in her eyes. Get drunk on that and you'll never be sorry." Harm rose and shrugged into his jacket. Then he shook the older man's hand tightly. "I'll be back to see you. And I'll bring her with me the next time," he promised. "You do that, my boy, and I'll be glad to see both of you." Harm was surprised that a couple of hours had passed as he drove back her apartment. Hope bubbled up inside and he promised himself he wouldn't let sway him from his intent if she was still angry. He unlocked the front door and slipped inside, not wanting to wake her if she'd gone to bed. He needn't have worried. She was curled up on the couch, swathed in his bathrobe. The minute she saw him she flew from the couch, launching herself into his arms. Harm barely got the door closed before he had her wrapped up, holding her close and inhaling the powdery scent of her soap and lotion. "I thought you wouldn't come back," she cried, her arms all but choking him. He smoothed one big hand over her hair. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he murmured. "I shouldn't have walked out in the first place but I'm glad I did because I learned a valuable lesson. Remind me to tell you about it later. Right now I just want to hold you," he sighed, tightening his grip. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Sorry I let my temper get the best of me." "I'm sorry, too. I love you." "I love you, too, Harm." The End Well me and my lady had our first big fight, So I drove around till I saw the neon lights, At a corner bar, and it just seemed right, so I pulled up, Not a soul around but the ol' barkeep, Down at the end lookin half asleep, But he walked up and said what'll it be? I said the good stuff, He didn't reach around for the whiskey, he didn't pour me a beer, His blue eyes kinda went misty, He said you can't find that here, 'cause it's the first long kiss on a second date Mamma's all worried when you get home late And droppin the ring in the spaghetti plate, 'cause your hands are shaking so much It's the way that she looks with rice in her hair Eatin burnt suppers the whole first year And askin' for seconds, to keep her from tearin' up, Yeah, man, that's the good stuff He grabbed a carton of milk and poured a glass I smiled and said I'll have some of that We sat there and talked as an hour passed like ol' friends Saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare Was a pretty girl with bouffant hair He said that's my Bonnie, taken bout a year after we wed He said I spent five years in the bottle when the cancer took her from me I've been sober for three years now, Cause the one thing stronger than the whiskey was the The sight of her holdin my baby girl The way she adored that string of pearls I gave her the day that our youngest boy Earl Married his high school love And it's a new T-shirt sayin I'm a Grandpa Being right there as our time got small And holding her hand, when the good Lord called her up Yeah man that's the good stuff He said when you get home she'll start to cry When she says I'm sorry, say so am I Look into those eyes so deep in love And drink it up Cause that's the good stuff That's the good stuff