To be honest, Anthony DiNozzo had no idea why he was sat in the middle of a tattoo parlour.

I mean, it was pretty obvious that he was here to get a tattoo, but why? Why the sudden urge to get a permanent piece of painfully needle-applied artwork on his body? Why now? He should probably go home and rethink his decision to come here, but he didn't want to: if this was only a momentary desire, a thought that would soon be forgotten, he wanted to make the most of it before the moment ended- while he still had the guts to act on it.

He wondered whether this is how she'd felt when she came here to get her first (and only) tattoo: nervous and jittery at the thought of it, but also in complete control of what she did to her body. Perhaps she hadn't felt anything, just a swirl of nausea and a jumble of ideas- she'd been drunk, she'd said, when she got it. She'd regretted it later, but he hadn't when he's seen it. It had given her character, added a bit of edge but also a touch of elegance to her already seemingly flawless person. It was a part of her, and he'd loved her deeply, so, in turn, he'd loved it as well.

He wondered what she'd think if she could see him now: practically buzzing with excitement, but about to soil his pants with fear at the same time. Knowing her, she'd probably laugh, or elbow him in the gut or both simultaneously.

He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted, but he wanted it to be simple. Simple but sentimental, he thought, something precious enough to him that he'd never regret having it inked onto his skin in a permanent mark. Something with a meaning. Something with a significant presence, but not one as bold as another's Christian or family name. Something that wasn't just a basic word or drawing (but could pass for one if anyone questioned it) but a story, with a plot which had depth and layers of detail to it, a beginning and an end. Something beautiful, like she had been in her pitifully short lifetime.

And that's when it came to him.


Hours later, Tony stumbled into his apartment, heading straight for the bathroom, still not quite sure that what he'd just had done was an actual, real thing.

He stood in front of the mirror and removed his belt, pulling the waistbands of his pants and boxers down slightly so that his right hipbone was bared and a large white dressing pad was visible on his side.

Though he'd been directly advised against doing it so soon, he took a deep breath and slowly but surely peeled off the dressing, a small wince of pain escaping him as he did so.

There, in exactly the same place that hers had been in, a single word braved the mass of raw red flesh.

A name, but not a Christian or family one. A name with a significant presence, as she'd had, with an element of sentimentality because of what she could've been, and how she'd miss out on the more special elements of life. A name that he would never regret having swirled onto his very flesh, because he would never regret having her memory with him at all times. A name with a meaning because she'd chosen for it to have one, with a story because she'd written it herself. A name whose story contained a firey Secret Service agent determined to prove herself in a world where she was outnumbered by male colleagues, beginning in a tiny hospital room on a maternity ward in Indiana and ending on an isolated rooftop with a single piece of metal and a psychopath with a sniper. A name that was beautiful, just as she'd been.

That name was Rosefern.


A/N: If you didn't get it, Kate's Secret Service code name was Rosefern (as seen in Yankee White)! I actually really like this little fic, and I'm tempted to do a similar one with Tiva (that makes a change!), so be sure to leave a review if you would like to see that!

Another chapter of either Oh, Brother or I See Darkness will be up tomorrow, so stay tuned!

Louise :)