NCIS Fic: Alive
Jun. 12th, 2005 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vicki595Disclaimer: Not mine... but if they don't want Kate any more, may I have her?! I promise to take good care of her; certainly better care than they did! ;)
Category: Angst, Tony/Kate
Spoilers: Twilight, SWAK, Bete Noir
It's all the same as it was before; showing her pass at the gate, parking and walking towards the red-brick building. Behind her, the sun is reflecting off the Anacostia, and she briefly turns to look out across the river.
She enters headquarters, and the security guard standing by the visitor's metal-detector smiles at her.
"Welcome back, Agent Todd," he says, and all she can do is smile in return and say "Thank you," before starting her ascent up the stairs.
"Is she the one...?" She hears the guard sitting by the x-ray machine begin to ask, and hurries up, not wanting to hear them say what had happened to her.
She calls for the elevator, and then wishes that she had taken the stairs instead when it arrives and there's already two other people in there She doesn't recognize either of them, but of course, they know who she is.
"Welcome back, Agent Todd," the man says, and she forces another smile and repeats her thanks. She jabs at the floor button viciously and watches the numbers go up.
Her hair is hanging down around her face, purposely hiding the mark on her temple. The scar that it was going to leave was going to invite questions in the future, and the truth was pretty much certain to kill any conversation. "Oh, yes, that's where I got shot in the head by a terrorist."
She is haunted by the knowledge that had the bullet been an inch more to the right, then she would not have survived. And although this is not the first time she has been shot at, this time is different, and she cannot help but wonder what fate allowed the shot to miss.
And they just don't understand, because God damnit, how could they? They came to visit her in the hospital, and at home, bringing gifts of flowers and candy. They rang her up, obscenely just to talk, but she knows they were checking up on her. She may not be fine, but she doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to think about it; doesn't want to be reminded about the difference an inch could have made.
"I slept through the alarm," she says by way of explanation when she is late her first day back. This is not her; she is never late.
They are all looking at her, and she can tell that they're seeing all the tell-tale signs that she's not slept at all. She waits for the first tactless comment of "God, Kate, you look awful" but one never comes.
Gibbs just nods, and says nothing, before turning back to his computer screen.
Being shot in the head clearly warrants special treatment, and she wants to scream. Wants it to go back to the way it was before.
Tony doesn't even attempt to bait her; he hasn't said anything since before she was shot, and when she catches him looking across at her, there's a distinctively non-Tony look in his eyes.
She turns her attention towards the computer – "You have 1128 new emails" – and wishes that she could just click her heels three times. There's no place like home.
As loathe as she is to admit it, this place had become a home to her over the previous two years, and although she has never said it, or really acknowledges it to herself, not wanting to sound maudlin, her co-workers... her friends had formed an odd sort of surrogate family. But now it is all different, and she doesn't know if it will ever get back to something resembling normal. She doubts it.
"Ducky wants to see us," Gibbs suddenly announces, his voice breaking through the silence in the bullpen and into her chain of thoughts. She has no idea about any of the cases the team is currently working on; work was a subject they had stayed clear of when they had visited her at home, and she is almost surprised that Gibbs allows her to join them. She doesn't need protecting from her job; she's not some fragile little girl. She's still the same NCIS investigator she was before she got shot on the outside, even if inside things are a little different.
As they exit the elevator, she wonders what had happened to the person currently lying in Ducky's domain, and entering the morgue, she sees Ducky and Jimmy standing by the table nearest the door.
The gun shot wound is clearly visible as they near the body of the young woman, and she cannot help stopping dead in the middle of the floor. Bile rises in her throat, and it is a consciousness effort to keep her hand from brushing against her temple.
She can see her own body, lying there naked on the cold metal table, her hair matted with blood. Ducky is talking, but everything around her fades away.
The walls seem to be closing in on her, and she is unable to remember how to breathe. A feeling of dizziness sweeps over her, and she stumbles backwards towards the door.
She runs for the stairs, tripping as she reaches the top, sprawling onto the floor. She sits up, leaning her back against the wall, and closes her eyes tightly, willing herself not to cry.
Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. She repeats it as a mantra to herself, as a reminder that she is alive and she can breathe. She is not lying on Ducky's table; she is responsible for finding out who put the people there.
A gentle hand on her shoulder makes her jump, and opening her eyes, she sees Tony crouching beside her.
"Hey, there," he says gently, his hand still resting on her shoulder.
"Hey," she repeats, equally as quiet, blinking frantically to try and get rid of any excess moisture in her eyes. If she was going to cry, it sure as hell wouldn't be in front of Tony.
He moves his hand off her shoulder, and towards her face, brushing her hair back. She stiffens, and not just because of the strangely intimate feeling of this gesture.
"Does it hurt?" His voice is still low and his knuckles are hovering just over the blemish.
"Not really," she confesses. "I just don't like being reminded about it."
"Do you want to talk?" he asks, moving his hand away.
"Not really," she repeats, not looking up at him.
"Well, do you want to get some coffee and not talk then?"
"What about the case?"
He shrugs. "Not really much to work on, it's pretty standard 'jilted-lover' scenario. Gibbs will interrogate later, Probie will do all the paperwork and you and I would just be surplus. Come on, we'll even go to Starbucks. My treat."
The small smile she gives him as he helps pull her up feels like her first genuine smile since before the shooting. "You're not doing this because Gibbs told you to fix me, are you?" she asks.
"No," he assures her. "He didn't have time to say anything before I asked if I could go. You scared me."
"Sorry," she whispers automatically and he stops, his eyes scanning her.
"Don't apologize," he says, before they continue on their way out of the building.
He takes her arm just before they cross under the south east freeway and does not let go until he opens the door of 401 8th Street SE for her.
"Your usual, right?" he asks, and she nods.
"De-caff though," she adds, heading towards a small unoccupied table in the corner. She smiles wryly. "The doctors have still banned me from caffeine."
"Good job you're not as addicted as Gibbs then really," he grins, moving to the counter to give the order to the barista. He adds sweetener to both the cups before he brings them across to the table.
"So..." he begins.
"So..." she echoes, looking down at her coffee.
"Well, as we're supposed to be getting coffee and not talking, I thought I'd let you chose what we're not talking about. I mean, the Buckeye's season finished a couple of weeks back. The Nationals are in California playing the Angels tonight... wait, you're a Sox fan. They've got the Reds at home."
She can't help the giggle that escapes, and he looks almost proud with himself for a moment before looking serious.
"I've missed you," he confesses. "I think the only thing that kept me going was knowing that you'd be back. I don't know how I would have done if..." his voice actually trembles slightly, and she can't help shivering, despite the day's warmth.
"I'm sorry, you said you didn't want to talk about it," he says, seeing her pale face lose what little color it had.
She shakes her head. "It's just..." her eyes dart around as if searching for inspiration from somewhere. "God, Tony, it was so close! An inch... a centimeter... if I hadn't been talking to you... if I'd been talking to Gibbs instead, then I wouldn't be here."
She feels the first tear fall and is helpless to stop it. To her surprise, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white cotton handkerchief, which he hands across the table to her.
"Thanks," she says with a watery smile as she carefully wipes her eyes. "I didn't mean to spill all that on you."
"You've been thinking about it a lot, haven't you." It's a statement rather than a question, and she nods. "You replay a thousand different scenarios on your head; what if? What if you'd been talking to Gibbs, what if you'd ignored your Secret Service training and not jumped in front of that first bullet?" He pauses. "What if you'd stabbed Ari last year in the morgue?"
"Get out of my head, Tony," she says quietly, tilting her head to one side and seeing him in a different light.
He smiles. "Can't. I've been running 'what if' scenarios since I opened the envelope of Y. pestis."
She returns the smile. "What if you'd been in late that day? What if McGee hadn't given you the envelope?"
"What if you had got infected too? Or instead?"
They are unable to look away from each other, and he reaches across the table to grasp her hand lightly. She doesn't pull away, instead reaching for the now lukewarm coffee with her other hand.
He keeps hold of her hand while they drink, chatting about all the mindless things that come into his head; how he'd still yet to see Return of the Sith, how his neighbors were driving him insane with either noisy parties, or noisy arguments followed by noisy make-up sex and how Gibbs discovered that cell phones and soup don't mix.
He offers his arm again when they leave, and she accepts it almost shyly.
Her head is starting to ache, and she's glad of the support he provides as they slowly walk back towards the Navy Yard.
"Does it hurt often?" he asks quietly.
"A lot less than it used to," she says, trying to make light of it. "It's just a dull ache, like a normal headache now."
They stop outside of NCIS Headquarters, and she looks at the river again. The light is brighter, and she shades her eyes with her free hand, making a note to find out her sunglasses.
She turns back to Tony to find him watching her. "Thank you," she says sincerely, her hand reaching out to touch his chest lightly.
The unidentified look she had seen earlier in his eyes was back, and she finds herself captivated. His hand rises to rest against her cheek, and almost unconsciously she leans into his touch. His fingers brush lightly against the bullet wound, almost reverently.
And all of a sudden, he is kissing her. His hands grasp the side of her face, feeling like they are burning her skin. His tongue makes its way into her mouth and she half wonders why they have never done this before.
In one way, this feels so wrong; she is kissing Tony. And at the same time, it feels right. She feels safe, she feels content, she feels...
She feels alive.
Category: Angst, Tony/Kate
Spoilers: Twilight, SWAK, Bete Noir
It's all the same as it was before; showing her pass at the gate, parking and walking towards the red-brick building. Behind her, the sun is reflecting off the Anacostia, and she briefly turns to look out across the river.
She enters headquarters, and the security guard standing by the visitor's metal-detector smiles at her.
"Welcome back, Agent Todd," he says, and all she can do is smile in return and say "Thank you," before starting her ascent up the stairs.
"Is she the one...?" She hears the guard sitting by the x-ray machine begin to ask, and hurries up, not wanting to hear them say what had happened to her.
She calls for the elevator, and then wishes that she had taken the stairs instead when it arrives and there's already two other people in there She doesn't recognize either of them, but of course, they know who she is.
"Welcome back, Agent Todd," the man says, and she forces another smile and repeats her thanks. She jabs at the floor button viciously and watches the numbers go up.
Her hair is hanging down around her face, purposely hiding the mark on her temple. The scar that it was going to leave was going to invite questions in the future, and the truth was pretty much certain to kill any conversation. "Oh, yes, that's where I got shot in the head by a terrorist."
She is haunted by the knowledge that had the bullet been an inch more to the right, then she would not have survived. And although this is not the first time she has been shot at, this time is different, and she cannot help but wonder what fate allowed the shot to miss.
And they just don't understand, because God damnit, how could they? They came to visit her in the hospital, and at home, bringing gifts of flowers and candy. They rang her up, obscenely just to talk, but she knows they were checking up on her. She may not be fine, but she doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn't want to think about it; doesn't want to be reminded about the difference an inch could have made.
"I slept through the alarm," she says by way of explanation when she is late her first day back. This is not her; she is never late.
They are all looking at her, and she can tell that they're seeing all the tell-tale signs that she's not slept at all. She waits for the first tactless comment of "God, Kate, you look awful" but one never comes.
Gibbs just nods, and says nothing, before turning back to his computer screen.
Being shot in the head clearly warrants special treatment, and she wants to scream. Wants it to go back to the way it was before.
Tony doesn't even attempt to bait her; he hasn't said anything since before she was shot, and when she catches him looking across at her, there's a distinctively non-Tony look in his eyes.
She turns her attention towards the computer – "You have 1128 new emails" – and wishes that she could just click her heels three times. There's no place like home.
As loathe as she is to admit it, this place had become a home to her over the previous two years, and although she has never said it, or really acknowledges it to herself, not wanting to sound maudlin, her co-workers... her friends had formed an odd sort of surrogate family. But now it is all different, and she doesn't know if it will ever get back to something resembling normal. She doubts it.
"Ducky wants to see us," Gibbs suddenly announces, his voice breaking through the silence in the bullpen and into her chain of thoughts. She has no idea about any of the cases the team is currently working on; work was a subject they had stayed clear of when they had visited her at home, and she is almost surprised that Gibbs allows her to join them. She doesn't need protecting from her job; she's not some fragile little girl. She's still the same NCIS investigator she was before she got shot on the outside, even if inside things are a little different.
As they exit the elevator, she wonders what had happened to the person currently lying in Ducky's domain, and entering the morgue, she sees Ducky and Jimmy standing by the table nearest the door.
The gun shot wound is clearly visible as they near the body of the young woman, and she cannot help stopping dead in the middle of the floor. Bile rises in her throat, and it is a consciousness effort to keep her hand from brushing against her temple.
She can see her own body, lying there naked on the cold metal table, her hair matted with blood. Ducky is talking, but everything around her fades away.
The walls seem to be closing in on her, and she is unable to remember how to breathe. A feeling of dizziness sweeps over her, and she stumbles backwards towards the door.
She runs for the stairs, tripping as she reaches the top, sprawling onto the floor. She sits up, leaning her back against the wall, and closes her eyes tightly, willing herself not to cry.
Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. She repeats it as a mantra to herself, as a reminder that she is alive and she can breathe. She is not lying on Ducky's table; she is responsible for finding out who put the people there.
A gentle hand on her shoulder makes her jump, and opening her eyes, she sees Tony crouching beside her.
"Hey, there," he says gently, his hand still resting on her shoulder.
"Hey," she repeats, equally as quiet, blinking frantically to try and get rid of any excess moisture in her eyes. If she was going to cry, it sure as hell wouldn't be in front of Tony.
He moves his hand off her shoulder, and towards her face, brushing her hair back. She stiffens, and not just because of the strangely intimate feeling of this gesture.
"Does it hurt?" His voice is still low and his knuckles are hovering just over the blemish.
"Not really," she confesses. "I just don't like being reminded about it."
"Do you want to talk?" he asks, moving his hand away.
"Not really," she repeats, not looking up at him.
"Well, do you want to get some coffee and not talk then?"
"What about the case?"
He shrugs. "Not really much to work on, it's pretty standard 'jilted-lover' scenario. Gibbs will interrogate later, Probie will do all the paperwork and you and I would just be surplus. Come on, we'll even go to Starbucks. My treat."
The small smile she gives him as he helps pull her up feels like her first genuine smile since before the shooting. "You're not doing this because Gibbs told you to fix me, are you?" she asks.
"No," he assures her. "He didn't have time to say anything before I asked if I could go. You scared me."
"Sorry," she whispers automatically and he stops, his eyes scanning her.
"Don't apologize," he says, before they continue on their way out of the building.
He takes her arm just before they cross under the south east freeway and does not let go until he opens the door of 401 8th Street SE for her.
"Your usual, right?" he asks, and she nods.
"De-caff though," she adds, heading towards a small unoccupied table in the corner. She smiles wryly. "The doctors have still banned me from caffeine."
"Good job you're not as addicted as Gibbs then really," he grins, moving to the counter to give the order to the barista. He adds sweetener to both the cups before he brings them across to the table.
"So..." he begins.
"So..." she echoes, looking down at her coffee.
"Well, as we're supposed to be getting coffee and not talking, I thought I'd let you chose what we're not talking about. I mean, the Buckeye's season finished a couple of weeks back. The Nationals are in California playing the Angels tonight... wait, you're a Sox fan. They've got the Reds at home."
She can't help the giggle that escapes, and he looks almost proud with himself for a moment before looking serious.
"I've missed you," he confesses. "I think the only thing that kept me going was knowing that you'd be back. I don't know how I would have done if..." his voice actually trembles slightly, and she can't help shivering, despite the day's warmth.
"I'm sorry, you said you didn't want to talk about it," he says, seeing her pale face lose what little color it had.
She shakes her head. "It's just..." her eyes dart around as if searching for inspiration from somewhere. "God, Tony, it was so close! An inch... a centimeter... if I hadn't been talking to you... if I'd been talking to Gibbs instead, then I wouldn't be here."
She feels the first tear fall and is helpless to stop it. To her surprise, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white cotton handkerchief, which he hands across the table to her.
"Thanks," she says with a watery smile as she carefully wipes her eyes. "I didn't mean to spill all that on you."
"You've been thinking about it a lot, haven't you." It's a statement rather than a question, and she nods. "You replay a thousand different scenarios on your head; what if? What if you'd been talking to Gibbs, what if you'd ignored your Secret Service training and not jumped in front of that first bullet?" He pauses. "What if you'd stabbed Ari last year in the morgue?"
"Get out of my head, Tony," she says quietly, tilting her head to one side and seeing him in a different light.
He smiles. "Can't. I've been running 'what if' scenarios since I opened the envelope of Y. pestis."
She returns the smile. "What if you'd been in late that day? What if McGee hadn't given you the envelope?"
"What if you had got infected too? Or instead?"
They are unable to look away from each other, and he reaches across the table to grasp her hand lightly. She doesn't pull away, instead reaching for the now lukewarm coffee with her other hand.
He keeps hold of her hand while they drink, chatting about all the mindless things that come into his head; how he'd still yet to see Return of the Sith, how his neighbors were driving him insane with either noisy parties, or noisy arguments followed by noisy make-up sex and how Gibbs discovered that cell phones and soup don't mix.
He offers his arm again when they leave, and she accepts it almost shyly.
Her head is starting to ache, and she's glad of the support he provides as they slowly walk back towards the Navy Yard.
"Does it hurt often?" he asks quietly.
"A lot less than it used to," she says, trying to make light of it. "It's just a dull ache, like a normal headache now."
They stop outside of NCIS Headquarters, and she looks at the river again. The light is brighter, and she shades her eyes with her free hand, making a note to find out her sunglasses.
She turns back to Tony to find him watching her. "Thank you," she says sincerely, her hand reaching out to touch his chest lightly.
The unidentified look she had seen earlier in his eyes was back, and she finds herself captivated. His hand rises to rest against her cheek, and almost unconsciously she leans into his touch. His fingers brush lightly against the bullet wound, almost reverently.
And all of a sudden, he is kissing her. His hands grasp the side of her face, feeling like they are burning her skin. His tongue makes its way into her mouth and she half wonders why they have never done this before.
In one way, this feels so wrong; she is kissing Tony. And at the same time, it feels right. She feels safe, she feels content, she feels...
She feels alive.
