Afterburn: A Naval Reunion

Part 1: Homecoming

The Virginia sun beat down on the tarmac at Norfolk Naval Base, its heat rising in shimmering waves that matched the exhaustion in Lt. Commander Jason Clarke’s bones. Six months aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford had left him leaner, harder, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his eyes sharper than the creases in his service dress blues. The hum of the C-2 Greyhound’s engines still buzzed in his ears as he stepped onto solid ground, the humid air wrapping around him like a heavy coat. Home. For now.

The debriefing room was a blur of crisp salutes, clipped orders, and the faint smell of stale coffee. Jason sat at the long table, half-listening to the CO’s rundown of post-deployment protocol. His mind was already drifting to a cold beer, a hot shower, maybe a night at the Officer’s Club to shake off the sea salt and solitude. Then the CO said her name.

“Lt. Commander Natalie Price will be lead JAG on the upcoming misconduct case. She’s already been briefed.”

Jason’s head snapped up. The room tilted. Natalie Price. His Natalie. The girl who’d burned through his heart like a flare in the night sky, back when they were seventeen and fearless, before he’d left for Annapolis and she’d vowed never to forgive him. His fingers tightened around the pen in his hand, the ink smudging under his grip. She was here. A JAG officer. On his base.

He barely registered the rest of the briefing, his pulse hammering as he scanned the room for her. She wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t. Natalie had always known how to make an entrance—and an exit. He forced himself to focus, to nod at the right times, but her name echoed in his head, stirring memories he’d spent years burying. Her laugh, sharp and bright. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, narrowing when she called him out. The way her lips had tasted the night before he left, salt and desperation and promises he couldn’t keep.

By 1900 hours, Jason was at the Officer’s Club, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses a welcome distraction. He leaned against the bar, nursing a whiskey, his flight jacket slung over the stool beside him. The crowd was a mix of uniforms and civvies, the air thick with laughter and the faint tang of cigarette smoke from the patio. He was mid-sip when he felt it—a prickle at the back of his neck, like the radar ping of an incoming missile.

“Clarke,” came a voice, smooth and sharp as a blade. “Still drinking like you’ve got something to prove?”

He turned, and there she was. Natalie Price, all five-foot-seven of her, standing in the dim light like she’d been conjured from his memories. Her JAG uniform hugged her curves, the lieutenant commander’s bars gleaming on her collar. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, but a single strand had escaped, curling against her cheek. Those hazel eyes locked onto his, unyielding, daring him to flinch. She was stunning—sharper, somehow, than the girl he’d known, her beauty honed by time and confidence.

“Natalie,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Clearly.” She stepped closer, her shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have.” He set his glass down, leaning back against the bar, his gaze never leaving hers. “JAG officer, huh? Always knew you’d outrank me in brains.”

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. “And you’re still flying jets, chasing glory. Some things never change.”

The jab landed, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned, the kind of slow, cocky grin that used to drive her crazy. “You saying I haven’t grown up, Price?”

“I’m saying you’re still too sure of yourself.” She tilted her head, studying him. “But I’m not seventeen anymore, Jason. I don’t fall for charm and a flight jacket.”

He laughed, low and rough. “Good thing I’ve got more than charm going for me now.”

Her eyes flashed, a mix of amusement and something hotter, something that made his pulse kick. She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume—jasmine and cedar, same as always. The club faded away, the noise dimming until it was just them, the air between them crackling like a live wire.

“You always did talk a big game,” she said, her voice dropping. “But you never could back it up when it mattered.”

The words stung, dragging up the past—the night he’d left, the way she’d looked at him, tears in her eyes, as he promised he’d write, promised he’d come back. He hadn’t. Not the way she’d needed. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she wasn’t done.

“You think you can just waltz back into Norfolk and pick up where we left off?” Her voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it, a heat that wasn’t just anger. “You don’t get to do that, Jason. Not after everything.”

“I’m not trying to pick up anything,” he said, his voice rougher now, the whiskey loosening his restraint. “But you’re standing here, Natalie. You’re the one who came to me.”

Her lips parted, a quick intake of breath, and for a second, he thought he’d pushed too far. Then she leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. “Some things never change,” she whispered, her voice a mix of challenge and promise.

Before he could respond, she turned and walked away, her hips swaying just enough to make it clear she knew he was watching. The crowd swallowed her, leaving him standing there, heart pounding, whiskey forgotten. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Natalie Price was back in his life, and she was trouble—same as always, only better. And he was already in deeper than he should be.

Part 2: Debrief and Desires

The fluorescent lights in the JAG office buzzed like a distant swarm of bees, doing little to ease the tension coiling in Lt. Commander Jason Clarke’s gut. He sat at a conference table littered with case files, his flight jacket draped over the chair, his jaw tight as he tried to focus on the misconduct charge against a young pilot. But focus was a losing battle when Lt. Commander Natalie Price sat across from him, her hazel eyes scanning a legal brief with the same intensity she’d turned on him last night at the Officer’s Club.

“Clarke, you with us?” Natalie’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and professional, but with an undercurrent that made his pulse tick up. She didn’t look up from her file, but the corner of her mouth twitched, like she knew exactly where his mind had wandered.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, leaning back, forcing his tone to stay even. “Just waiting for you to tell me how we’re saving this kid’s career.”

She glanced up then, her gaze locking onto his, and for a split second, he was seventeen again, standing under the bleachers at their high school, her hands fisted in his jacket as she kissed him like the world was ending. The memory hit hard: the night before he shipped off for Annapolis, the air thick with summer heat and the weight of goodbye. They’d argued—about his leaving, about her dreams of law school, about promises neither could keep. He’d held her anyway, her tears soaking his shirt, her lips fierce against his until dawn broke and he walked away.

“Focus, Lieutenant Commander,” Natalie said now, snapping him back to the present. “Lieutenant Hayes is facing a discharge for reckless conduct in a training exercise. You flew with his squadron. I need your take on his character.”

Jason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Hayes is cocky, but he’s got heart. He’s not reckless—just young. Made a bad call under pressure.”

“Bad calls get people killed,” she countered, her voice cool but her eyes searching his, like she was testing him. “You of all people should know that.”

The jab landed, stirring the guilt he carried from missions that hadn’t gone as planned. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And you know I don’t let my guys hang out to dry, Natalie. You want to crucify him, you’ll have to go through me.”

Her lips parted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she masked it. “I’m not the enemy here, Jason. I’m trying to build a defense. But I need facts, not your hero complex.”

The room felt smaller, the air charged with more than just the case. Their CO, Captain Reynolds, had assigned them to work together, citing Jason’s flight expertise and Natalie’s legal acumen. But being this close—her perfume, that damn jasmine and cedar, curling into his senses—was like flying into a storm with no instruments. Every glance, every word, was a spark threatening to ignite.

They spent the next hour dissecting the case, their voices overlapping, challenging, pushing. She was relentless, her mind as sharp as her tongue, and he matched her, refusing to back down. But beneath the professionalism, the past simmered. The way her fingers tapped the table reminded him of how they’d traced his jaw years ago. The way she tilted her head when she argued brought back nights spent debating everything from music to the stars.

“Alright,” she said finally, closing the file with a snap. “We’ll recommend a formal reprimand, not a discharge. But Hayes needs to prove he can handle the heat.”

“Agreed,” Jason said, his voice softer now, his eyes lingering on her. “You haven’t changed, you know. Still fighting for what’s right.”

Her gaze flickered, something raw flashing in her eyes before she looked away. “Don’t, Jason. We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He stood, rounding the table to grab a water bottle from the counter, closer to her now. “Talking? Working? Or remembering?”

She stood too, her chair scraping back, her posture rigid but her voice low. “You don’t get to stroll back into my life and act like nothing happened. We’re colleagues. That’s it.”

“Colleagues,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping to match hers. “Is that why you whispered in my ear last night, Natalie? Why you’re looking at me like you want to punch me or—”

“Careful,” she cut him off, her eyes blazing, but she didn’t step back. They were inches apart now, the case files forgotten, the hum of the lights the only sound. Her breath hitched, and he felt it—the pull, the heat, the same electric current that had always run between them.

She reached for her pen, her hand brushing his on the table. The contact was brief, a graze of skin, but it was like a spark in a powder keg. Neither of them moved. Her fingers lingered, warm against his, and he could see the pulse at the base of her throat, quick and unsteady. His own heart slammed against his ribs, every instinct screaming to close the distance, to hell with the consequences.

“Natalie,” he said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and unguarded for a moment, and he saw it—the longing, the anger, the everything they’d never said. Her lips parted, like she might speak, or maybe something else, but then her hand twitched, still touching his, and neither of them pulled away.

The moment stretched, taut and heavy, until the sharp ring of her phone shattered it. She jerked back, her cheeks flushed, and grabbed the phone from her pocket, turning away to answer it. Jason exhaled, his hand flexing where hers had been, the ghost of her touch burning hotter than any mission he’d flown.

“Yes, sir,” she said into the phone, her voice steady now, all business. But when she glanced back at him, her eyes told a different story—one that said this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

Part 3: Off Duty, On Fire

The Norfolk sky was bruised with clouds as Lt. Commander Jason Clarke pushed open the door of The Anchor, a dive bar just off base where officers went to shed their ranks for a night. He’d agreed to meet Natalie Price here “for old times’ sake,” a phrase that sounded innocent enough when she’d suggested it over a clipped text. But nothing about Natalie was ever innocent—not the way her hazel eyes had lingered on him in the JAG office yesterday, not the way her touch had burned when her hand brushed his. He adjusted his leather jacket, scanning the dim room, his pulse already ticking like a countdown.

She was at a corner booth, out of uniform, her dark hair loose and spilling over the shoulders of a fitted black top that made his throat go dry. She looked up as he approached, her lips curving into a half-smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation. “You’re late, Clarke,” she said, sliding a beer across the table. “Thought you’d bailed.”

“Me? Never.” He slid into the booth across from her, taking the beer, his fingers grazing hers for a split second. The contact sent a jolt through him, and her eyes flicked to his, a flicker of something hot and unguarded before she leaned back, sipping her own drink. “Just had to make sure I looked good enough to keep up with you.”

She snorted, but her gaze lingered, trailing over his jaw, his shoulders, like she was cataloging changes since high school. “You’re still full of it,” she said, but her voice was softer now, the edge dulled by the bar’s low hum of classic rock and clinking glasses.

The first beer went down easy, the conversation easier than he’d expected. They traded stories—her first case as a JAG officer, his first carrier landing, the kind of shop talk that felt safe. But safe didn’t last. Not with her. The second beer loosened something, and the past crept in, carried on the memory of a night they’d snuck beers from her dad’s fridge and watched the stars from the bed of his old pickup.

“You remember that meteor shower?” she asked, her fingers tracing the rim of her bottle. “You swore you’d name a star after me.”

“I did,” he said, leaning forward, his voice low. “Still haven’t found one bright enough.”

Her laugh was quick, bright, and it hit him like a missile. But her eyes darkened, and she looked away. “You always knew how to say the right thing. Didn’t mean you’d stick around to prove it.”

The words stung, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he took a risk. “You want to know something real, Natalie?” He waited until she met his gaze, her expression wary but open. “Last deployment, we had a mission go sideways. Lost a drone, nearly lost a wingman. I was in the cockpit, calling the shots, and all I could think was… I never told you I was sorry. For leaving like I did.”

Her breath caught, her fingers stilling on the bottle. For a moment, she was silent, then she leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think you’re the only one carrying regrets? I’ve spent years being the strong one, Jason. The one who doesn’t break, doesn’t bend. But you… you were the one thing I couldn’t outrun.”

The air between them crackled, heavy with truths they’d never dared voice. He wanted to reach for her, to close the distance, but before he could, she stood, tossing cash on the table. “Come on,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I need air.”

They stepped outside just as the sky split open, a thunderstorm rolling in with a vengeance. Rain lashed the street, and they ducked under a nearby awning, the narrow strip of canvas barely shielding them. She was close—too close—her hair damp, her shirt clinging to her skin, her breath warm against his cheek as they pressed together to stay dry. The world narrowed to the drum of rain, the heat of her body, the way her eyes searched his like she was drowning and he was the only lifeline.

“Natalie,” he said, his voice rough, his hand brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was warm under his touch, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her lips parting, her eyes half-lidded, and he felt the pull, the same gravity that had always drawn him to her.

“Jason,” she whispered, her hand resting on his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. The space between them vanished, their breaths mingling, her lips so close he could taste the rain on them. His heart slammed against his ribs, every nerve alight, and he tilted his head, ready to close the gap—

His phone buzzed, shrill and insistent, shattering the moment. Natalie froze, her hand dropping as she stepped back, the spell broken. He cursed under his breath, yanking the phone from his pocket. The screen flashed: BASE OPS. URGENT.

“Clarke,” he answered, his voice tight, his eyes still on her. She crossed her arms, looking away, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven.

“Lieutenant Commander, we need you at ops. Incident with a training flight,” the voice on the line barked.

“On my way,” he said, ending the call, but his gaze never left her. “Natalie—”

“Go,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes stormy. “Duty calls, right?”

He hesitated, the rain pounding around them, the almost-kiss still burning in the air. But the Navy didn’t wait, and neither could he. He nodded, stepping into the downpour, the cold shock of it doing nothing to douse the fire she’d lit in him. As he jogged toward base, he glanced back, catching her silhouette under the awning, watching him go.

Part 4: Night Watch

The Norfolk night was still, the air heavy with the tang of salt and the distant hum of the base. Lt. Commander Jason Clarke walked along the pier, the wooden planks creaking under his boots, the stars above sharp against the inky sky. Beside him, Lt. Commander Natalie Price matched his stride, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her dark hair catching the moonlight. After the almost-kiss in the thunderstorm, they’d agreed to this walk—late, off-duty, just the two of them. No bar, no case files, no excuses. Just the truth, waiting to spill.

The pier stretched out over the water, the lights of the USS Gerald R. Ford glinting in the distance. Jason’s heart thudded, not from the run to ops earlier—where he’d handled a minor training flight snafu—but from her. Natalie, close enough that her shoulder brushed his, her silence loud with everything they hadn’t said. The memory of her lips, inches from his in the rain, burned hotter than any mission debrief.

“You’re quiet,” she said finally, her voice soft but edged, like she was bracing for impact. “That’s not like you.”

He glanced at her, her hazel eyes catching the starlight, and felt the weight of a decade’s worth of regrets. “Just thinking,” he said, stopping at the pier’s edge, leaning against the railing. “About how I screwed this up before.”

She stopped too, facing him, her expression unreadable. “This. You mean us.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I owe you an explanation, Natalie. Why I didn’t come back.”

Her jaw tightened, but she nodded, crossing her arms. “I’m listening.”

He looked out at the water, the ripples catching the light, and forced himself to say it. “When I left for Annapolis, I thought I was doing the right thing. You were headed to college, had your whole life planned—law school, the works. I didn’t want to hold you back. I thought… if I let you go, you’d be free to be you. But I didn’t ask what you wanted. I just decided.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “You decided. God, Jason, you didn’t even call. You sent one letter—one—saying you were ‘setting me free.’ Like I was some bird you could just release.” She stepped closer, her voice low, trembling. “I loved you. I would’ve waited. But you didn’t give me a chance.”

The words hit like a punch, stealing his breath. He turned to her, his voice rough. “I loved you too, Natalie. That’s why I thought I had to let you go. I was a kid, scared I’d drag you down with me. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away. “You broke me, Jason. Do you get that? I spent years building walls, becoming the one who doesn’t break. And now you’re here, tearing them down.”

He reached for her hand, hesitant, but she didn’t pull away. Her skin was warm, her fingers curling into his, and the contact was like a spark in the dark. “I’m not that kid anymore,” he said. “I’m here now. And I’m not running.”

She stepped closer, so close he could feel the heat of her, see the pulse at her throat. “Then why does it feel like we’re still on borrowed time?”

The question hung between them, heavy and raw. He didn’t have an answer, only need—need to show her he meant it, need to bridge the years they’d lost. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, and her breath hitched, her eyes searching his. “Natalie,” he whispered, “tell me to stop.”

She didn’t. Instead, she surged forward, her lips crashing into his, fierce and desperate, like she’d been holding back as long as he had. The kiss was fire—heat and longing and a decade of unspoken words. Her hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer, and he deepened the kiss, tasting salt and sweetness, his arms wrapping around her to anchor them both. The world fell away—the pier, the base, the Navy—until it was just them, burning brighter than the stars.

She pressed herself against him, her fingers sliding into his hair, and he groaned against her mouth, the sound raw, unguarded. Every touch, every breath, was a promise, a reclamation. Her lips softened, the kiss turning tender, and he felt her tremble—not from cold, but from the weight of it all. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, her eyes half-lidded and stormy.

“Jason,” she whispered, her voice shaky but sure, “stay tonight.”

The words sent a jolt through him, desire and hope tangling in his chest. He opened his mouth to answer, to tell her he’d stay, not just tonight but for as long as she’d let him—but the radio on his belt crackled to life, sharp and unforgiving.

“Lieutenant Commander Clarke, report to ops immediately. Emergency flight orders.”

The voice was a cold splash of reality. Natalie stiffened, her hands dropping to her sides, her expression shuttering. He cursed under his breath, grabbing the radio, his eyes never leaving hers. “Clarke, copy. On my way.”

She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, the distance between them growing in an instant. “Go,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the hurt. “You always do.”

“Natalie—” he started, but she shook her head, turning toward the water, her silhouette sharp against the night.

He wanted to stay, to fix this, but the Navy didn’t wait. With one last look, he turned and jogged back toward base, the taste of her still on his lips, her words—stay tonight—echoing louder than the orders pulling him away.

Part 5: Afterburn

The night air at Norfolk Naval Base was thick with tension as Lt. Commander Jason Clarke climbed out of the cockpit, his flight suit damp with sweat, his body thrumming with adrenaline. The emergency mission—a distress call from a reconnaissance plane with engine trouble—had ended safely, the crew escorted back to base under his wing. But as his boots hit the tarmac, his mind wasn’t on the mission. It was on her. Natalie Price, her whispered “stay tonight” still burning in his ears, her shadowed eyes as he’d left her on the pier haunting him through every mile of sky.

He stripped off his helmet, scanning the hangar’s edge, half-expecting her to be gone, to have retreated behind the walls she’d built after he’d broken her heart all those years ago. But there she was, leaning against a crate, her arms crossed, her hazel eyes stormy under the harsh floodlights. She was out of uniform, her dark hair loose, her expression a mix of relief and fury that made his chest tighten.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice low, edged with something raw. She pushed off the crate, stepping toward him, her boots scuffing the concrete. “I thought—”

“You thought I’d disappear again,” he finished, closing the distance, his voice rough from the mission and the weight of her words. “I’m not that guy anymore, Natalie.”

Her lips parted, her eyes searching his, and he saw the fear there—the same fear he’d felt when he thought he’d lost her for good. “You left,” she said, her voice trembling now. “Just like before. No warning, no goodbye. I was standing on that pier, Jason, thinking I’d been a fool to let you in again.”

He reached for her, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. She didn’t pull away, but her hands gripped his wrists, like she was anchoring herself. “I didn’t want to go,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving you again. Not unless you tell me to.”

Her breath hitched, her eyes glistening, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she stepped closer, her body brushing his, the heat of her cutting through the chill of the night. “Prove it,” she whispered, her voice a challenge, a plea.

He didn’t hesitate. He kissed her, fierce and deep, pouring every unspoken promise into it. Her lips were soft, yielding, then hungry, meeting him with the same fire that had always burned between them. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers digging into his flight suit, pulling him closer. He groaned against her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair, the other pressing her against him, the world narrowing to the taste of her, the feel of her, the certainty that this was where he belonged.

They broke apart, breathless, her forehead resting against his, her eyes half-lidded but blazing. “Your quarters,” she said, her voice husky. “Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. They moved quickly, hands brushing as they crossed the base, the night swallowing their footsteps. His quarters were sparse—a bed, a desk, a duffel in the corner—but as the door clicked shut behind them, none of it mattered. She was on him before he could speak, her lips finding his, her hands tugging at his flight suit’s zipper. He helped her, shedding the layers, his own hands sliding under her shirt, finding the warm curve of her waist.

“Slow down,” he murmured against her lips, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She laughed, soft and shaky, but her hands didn’t stop, her touch igniting him. “I’ve waited ten years, Jason. I’m done waiting.”

The words broke something in him, and he kissed her again, slower this time, tender but no less intense. They moved to the bed, clothes falling away, their touches a mix of urgency and reverence. Her skin was warm under his hands, her gasps sharp in the quiet, and every moment felt like a promise—of forgiveness, of a future, of them. The heat between them built, steady and consuming, a fire that didn’t burn out but burned brighter, sealing them together.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder. The room was quiet, the only sound their breathing and the distant hum of the base. She tilted her head, her eyes meeting his, softer now, unguarded. “You meant it,” she said, not a question. “You’re staying.”

“For you? Always.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead, his voice low. “I don’t know what the Navy’s got planned, but I know I’m not losing you again. We’ll figure it out—together.”

She nodded, her fingers curling against his chest. “Together,” she echoed, and the word felt like a vow.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the past finally laid to rest. Outside, the base carried on—jets prepped, orders given—but in here, it was just them, their future unwritten but theirs to claim. The fire they’d sparked wasn’t just heat; it was home, and neither of them would let it go.

As dawn crept through the window, casting soft light across her face, Jason knew this was only the beginning. Whatever came next—deployments, cases, the chaos of their world—they’d face it side by side, their love forged in the afterburn of all they’d overcome.

Lt. Commander Jason Clarke Backstory

Jason Clarke grew up in a small Virginia coastal town, the son of a Navy veteran mechanic and a teacher. Jets roaring over Oceana Naval Air Station fueled his dream to fly, while his parents instilled discipline and ambition. A charismatic, restless teen, he fell hard for Natalie Price, her sharp wit and hazel eyes anchoring his wild heart. At eighteen, accepted to the Naval Academy, he left her with promises to stay close, but the Academy’s demands and his fear of holding her back led him to cut ties, a regret that haunts him.

Jason became a skilled naval aviator, flying F/A-18s on carriers like the USS Gerald R. Ford. A near-disastrous mission in his twenties, where he nearly lost a wingman, sharpened his leadership but left scars of guilt. Now 32, lean and weathered, he’s a respected Lt. Commander with a restless edge. Returning to Norfolk, Natalie’s presence rekindles a love he never forgot, challenging him to prove he’s no longer the boy who walked away.