Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and Donald P. Bellisario.
He doesn't know when it started. Maybe it was when they first met. Or maybe it was later, once she was already his partner. But, while he doesn't know when those feelings started, he can't deny that they are there now. And that they aren't going away anytime soon.
When he wasn't with her, he wanted to be, and his heart ached. When he was with her, it wasn't enough. He wanted to be closer, to touch her, to kiss her.
He didn't see her flaws, like the way she was a compulsive organizer, or the way she was addicted to her Palm Pilot. He saw her as perfect.
The sound of her voice was like music to his ears, and if he heard the slightest trace of pain, his heart broke.
He feared that if he looked at her too long, he'd go blind, for he thought that anything so stunningly beautiful had to be bad for you.
If he got close enough, he could catch a trace of her scent, and it caused him to go weak at the knees. That scent, uniquely hers, was like roses, with a hint of cinnamon.
But now, he'll never touch her again. He'll never look at her again. He'll never hear that voice again.
The day after she died, he dialed her phone number, and listened to it ring, knowing she'd never pick up, but hoping that, just maybe... He was about to hang up when he heard "Hello, it's Kate", and his heart soared, and then he heard "I can't come to the phone right now, leave a message after the beep.", and his heart broke. He called it several times a day, until, a week later, he heard "This number is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again."
A week after she died, he accessed her NCIS dossier. He had the picture blown up, enhanced, and framed. He placed it on his mantle. But the photograph wasn't enough. The next morning, the light glinted on the glass, causing it to appear glowing, and she looked like an angel.
A month after she died, he went to a florist, and bought twelve dozen roses, placing boquets around his apartment. He bought cinnamon scented air fresheners, and hung them by each boquets. His apartment smelled like roses and cinnamon. But not like her.
He doesn't know when his feelings for her started. But he knows that they aren't going away anytime soon.
So, who do you think I had in mind when writing this? R&R!