Title: Ending
Rating: T to be safe
Spoilers: Borderland – the first line is taken from that dialogue
Author's Note: From Chirugal's 2010 Hiatus Week 1 prompt "Ending". I originally wrote and published this in August 2010 and just rediscovered it…and realized I had 1) not updated since then and 2) forgotten my disclaimer. So I reposted :) No change in the story.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except what I write. NCIS and all its characters, plots, and quotes are all Mr. Bellisario's…I just play with them every now and then.
"...tell me how much I've been like a daughter to you..."
"Can't do that, Abbs."
For once in my life, I'm speechless. Gibbs – my silver-haired fox, my knight in shining armor – has failed me. Have I really misread everything – all the kisses on the cheek, all the "My girl"s, even the fuzzy "I love you" straw on my Valentine's Caf-Pow!, everything?
I feel my eyes fill with tears, and I turn to walk away before he can see me cry. He doesn't always have to pick up the pieces for me.
I swear that man has gotten even quicker – must have learned some of those crazy ninja skills Ziva has. Before I could take a whole step, his hand is around my upper arm, holding me back, holding me up as I balance mid-step. With the gentlest of pressure, he turns me to face him.
"Can't do that, 'cause then this would be illegal."
His other hand reaches up to cup my face and everything stops – even my heart – until he kisses me. Then everything becomes even more real. The smell of sawdust, the taste of the Jack on his lips...He pulls back and stares at me.
"Gonna say anything, Abbs? Not like you to be this quiet."
I still can't say anything. Instead, I pull myself to him again, this time burying my head against his chest, relishing in the warmth and security I've always found there – will always find there, I correct myself.
I came thinking that this would be an ending – an ending of everything we had built over the past years. In a sense, I was right...but it was a necessary ending. Now we could start something new.
