After the Storm
by Calliatra
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: She had seen the Chimera explode and drawn the inevitable conclusion. Tag to "Chimera." Written for the L.O.V.E. Challenge and the No Names Challenge.
A/N: My first real foray into romance! This fic was heavily inspired by Alinore's "Chimera," a fantastic story that I highly recommend to anyone who speaks French. Also, this takes place after Hollis Mann's last appearance and I choose to believe she was already gone.
She was waiting in his basement when he came down the stairs, sitting on the chair by his workbench, almost hidden behind the boat. She said nothing, and he considered paying not attention to her, sanding one of the still rough wooden boards until she decided to speak. The look of icy fury on her face, however, made him abandon the idea. Instead he stepped up to her, faced her and let her know she had his full attention.
"Hey." He kept his tone carefully neutral.
The glare he received in return could have chilled molten lava or frozen a wildfire in its tracks.
He knew that look, and what it meant. He knew her, knew she had a temper as fiery as her hair, and knew the reason behind this kind of anger. He also knew that reason wasn't what was called for right now.
"You have something to say?" His words were provocative, challenging her right to be here and her right to be furious with him. She operated on the principle that an attack was the best defense, and he was putting her on the defensive.
"Do I-?" She hissed, outraged. "You're the one who should be explaining! What the hell were you thinking?"
"That I was doing my job." Calm, collected. Infuriating.
"You were out of contact for hours!" She leapt to her feet. "And then you just show up on a stolen Russian navy boat whose crew has been killed! Do you have any idea of the diplomatic nightmare you caused?"
There was no need to point out how absurd her argument was; she was perfectly aware of that. Professionally, there was nothing she could reproach. His team had done their job, had solved the case and had managed, against all odds, to stay alive. There was nothing professional about her rage, but forcing her to confront that would do no good. They had been here before, most notably after that op in Positano, and he knew just how to weather the storm.
"None of that would have happened if you had done your job. If you'd gotten the information we needed we would have known what we were getting into." He knew it was an unfair accusation, that she had done everything she could, faced as she was with an uncooperative dirtbag of a commander. Doing her job would have been accepting the 'need to know' conditions and making them all work blind. Instead she had broken completely with diplomacy and threatened to go rogue, done everything she could to get them the necessary information.
The whole point of the accusation was to gall, to fuel her anger. To finally transform icy fury into irrepressible, boiling rage.
"You were the one withholding information! You should have contacted MTAC the minute you took the Russian ship!" She was getting louder, not quite yelling but no longer hissing.
"I couldn't exactly risk that," he said with a sarcastic note, and the pause where her title should have been spoke volumes. "The Navy seemed pretty eager to get rid of us, we didn't exactly want to let them know we got away. You were watching the satellite feed. You saw what happened."
"I saw your plan work and scare off the pirates! I saw their boat leave! I saw the Chimera explode with all of you on board!"
"We weren't." He purposefully made to turn away.
Her hand shot out, grabbing his arm, pulling him back to her. "I thought you were dead!" she shouted, shaking.
Here it was. He could see the dam breaking, the façade reaching its cracking point. He grasped her shoulders to keep her from backing away, forcing her to face him. Steadying her as she trembled even more. The anger slipped off her features like a mask, revealing the pain underneath.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered, and half collapsed, half threw herself at him.
"I'm not," he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her as she shook with emotion. In response, she tightened her grip on him.
She wasn't crying, wouldn't let herself show that much weakness even now, but she still clung to him, seeking comfort. He held her close and let her feel his deep and even breathing, let her absorb his warmth. Let physical experience convey the fact that he was alive and well, not blown to pieces and floating in the ocean.
After a while he shifted so his back was leaning against the boat, stabilizing them both, and after an even longer while she pulled away from him slightly. Not enough to lose contact, but enough to look into his eyes. Hers conveyed the thanks that she knew she didn't have to verbalize. He gave her a slight smile.
"You left early today," he said. She had been gone by the time he and the team had gotten back. He had realized what she would have seen on the satellite feed, and his steps had carried him up to her office immediately, only to be informed that she had left soon after hearing about their unexpected survival.
"I had something to take care of," she said, and he was pleased to see a hint of a fiery sparkle return to her eyes.
"Do I want to know what you did to-"
"Let's just say he won't have the opportunity to blow up any more ships in the future."
He chuckled softly, aware that she could feel the low rumble in his chest. "That's my-" He cut himself off. She wasn't his, not anymore. Hadn't been for a long time.
"Yeah, it is," she said, carefully looking him in the eye. "It's been a while." He was treated to a tentative, but nevertheless radiant smile.
He gazed at her, taking in the meaning of her words. "Never too late," he growled, grinning. Then her arms were around his neck, his lips on hers, and all that mattered were their combined heartbeats and shared breath.