The Dying of the Light

Disclaimer: I do not own or make any claim on NCIS; it is the property of its respective creators.

Author's notes: Title taken from the poem Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas.

I do not own or make any claim on Alice in Wonderland or I Love Lucy. Both of these are the property of their respective creators.

Paula's section of this story contains direct quotes from the episode Grace Period, written by John Kelley. I use lines from this episode purely for plot purposes, and make no claim on it.

I do not own the songs or quotes quoted within. They are the property of their respective creators. I use them purely for plot purposes.

POV: Italicized paragraphs are thoughts/memories (Look like this). In Paula's section, there are lines from the episode Grace Period, following the names of who said them.

Written for the Stalked by Death, My Impact On Your Life, Fair Fight, and Pyrrhic Victory challenges on NFA.

A big thank you to Shelbylou for all her help with this.

This is my 40th fan fiction story! Wow! :D

Warning: There is reflection on God, Death and the concept of Karma in this story. No disrespect is intended to any of these things/being/concepts. I use them purely for the plot, and this story is not intended as a reflection of my personal beliefs. I do not mean to offend anyone, and I'm sorry if I do. But if reflections on Death and Karma aren't your cup of tea, please don't read this. Thank you.

He must have really pissed someone off in a past life. Or maybe he pissed off the Big Guy upstairs, and is calling him a male sexist now? He can never remember these things, but he had to have done one of those two things, because otherwise he has no way of explaining why everyone he loves either dies or leaves. (And aren't those the same things in the end?)

Except to face the idea (truth) that his life is horrible and lonely without reason and that there isn't anyone watching who gives a damn about anyone on this big rock. That it's all pointless. All the blood he's bled, all the people he's lost; the ones that he's buried or who turned away from him, that all the sleepless nights of reliving having to tell a wife that her husband is never coming home, or solving the murder of an innocent child; the yearning for justice, the unfairness when someone walks on a crime they deserved to rot for. The agony of being too late, so close, not fast enough, not quick enough, not good enough, it all means nothing. That in the end the only peace or condemnation we get is one of public opinion.

That people choose to do these things to one another for no reason that can justify their actions. That the dead stay just that; dead. And that he's fooling himself if he thinks he's making a difference. People have been killing, maiming, wronging each other since long before he was born, and they will continue long after he's (finally) dead. How can he be arrogant enough to think putting one, ten, a hundred killers in jail matters? Not when there are thousands more already taking their place.

And he can't let himself think like that (it would be so easy) because if he does he'll lose what little strength he has left and he'll just give up (he's already more than halfway there) step in front of a murderer's bullet, if he wants to be brave, or drink until he doesn't wake up if he wants to be a coward. It would be so, so, easy, to let go and never come back to the responsibilities, the failures, the reminders waiting for him, to never have to deal with this cruel, mocking world again.

If he did piss someone off, and come on, he must have, why couldn't Karma have just stuck it to him? Why did they have to go after people he loves? Why was Death knocking for them? It seemed every time he survived something he shouldn't have, Death took someone close to him in retaliation because he'd slipped out of His grasp, yet again. He remembers how it all began…

Lillain DiNozzo

"And if I only could

Make a deal with God

And get Him to swap our places

Be running up that road

Be running up that hill

With no problems."- from the song Running Up that Hill, by Placebo

When he was five years old, he came down with a fever. It started out like any other, he drank lots of apple juice, watched I love Lucy reruns and his mother hovered nearby. Unlike most fevers, though, instead of going down with time, it went up, and continued climbing.

He doesn't remember things clearly by that point, but he can recall flashes, bits and pieces of time passing, things happening. His mother arguing with his father on the phone, long distance, telling him 'he needed to come home, that she needed his help, that his son needed his father.' His father telling his mother that he was 'fine, she was overreacting, that he couldn't miss this meeting, it was important.' He remembers being scared when his mother threw the phone at the wall, enraged by what would come to be his father's standard, if unspoken, response. 'I'm more important than you, your pain, your needs, your desires, come after mine, are less than mine.' He really wonders how she was ever surprised.

Right after that, he fell asleep. He doesn't remember most of that dream clearly, but what he does remember of it is yelling, doors and choices. Now, he thinks Freud would be drooling at the chance to have been able to dissect it. You know, if he was still alive.

His next memory is of being hot, 'so hot, mommy why can't you fix it?' and bright white lights, uncomfortable beds, the smell of strong disinfectant, and badly painted, eye sore walls. That was his first time in a hospital for being unwell. He hated it immediately. (He still does, only now it's worse, so much worse. Hospitals are full of memories he'd rather forget and triggers galore.)

His mother's red hair had shown under the glare of the harsh white lights, and to his fever addled mind, he thought he was looking at an angel, beautiful and otherworldly, waiting to take him faraway . Later, he'd blame it on the fever, say his mind had been messed up, but secretly think that he'd been right.

He remembers pain, feeling so hot, hotter than any summer day, feeling like fire was eating at him from the inside out, his heart beating too fast, hurts, his mother's red hair, 'angel, where are you taking me?' and then … nothing.

His heart stopped. It took the doctors three tries before they managed to resuscitate him, three shocks to his heart to restart it. He'd been legally, medically, and spiritually dead for 57 seconds. He doesn't remember any of that. There were no lights, no tunnels, no glowing white people. There wasn't even awareness, but if there was, it was of the dark black nothingness surrounding him, a never-ending rabbit hole, and where it led was anyone's guess.

All he knows when he 'wakes up' is that his mother is holding his hand, and her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, telling him she's been crying. She starts crying again when he calls out for her, she hugs him, gently, carefully, as if he were a baby, muttering to him that he's here, he's safe, how much she loves him, and that no one is going to take him from her. He lets her hold him in that frantic embrace (He knows now that she was afraid to let him go, afraid to have him leave her arms, afraid that he'd disappear, that his heart would give out, afraid that if she let him go she'd never get him back. He understands now) and not really pay much attention to what's she's saying. He was tired, sleepy, and he was used to his mum not making much sense. His mother held him until the doctors literally pried her hands off of him, to be able to check on him. He'll almost miss her whispered "Take someone else. Take them in his place. Please, don't take my baby. Please." He'll almost miss her saying the words that will follow him the rest of his life. Almost.

When he's home, with his mother hovering, and his father still doesn't show up, he'll push those words to the back of his mind. As Winter finally turns to Spring, and Summer to Fall, and so on, and he grows stronger, older, as he goes through his school years, his father is at home less and less, and more unpleasant when he is, his mother will grow weaker and sicker with each. She always says 'it will pass.'

Finally, she can't avoid the truth any longer. She lets the doctors gives 'it' a name. She has cancer, and a short time left to live. There's nothing they can do for her now, 'except lessen the pain.'

His mum, his mother, who dressed him as Louis the 5th every Halloween , who considered classic movies and tea life's greatest pleasures (after her son), his mum, who sat with him reading a story before bed every night, who hugged him, who told him was her precious baby boy, the woman who was his world, is dying.

He remembers bright white lights, and being so hot, his heart pounding so hard, darkness, falling down the rabbit hole, he doesn't want to be Alice, his mum's tears, and her whispered plea. And he knows then that God is taking his mum in his place.

He remembers running to her in the garden, where she was sitting on a bench, and begging her to 'take it back, so she wouldn't be sick, mummy, take it back' and her sad, knowing smile. She'd pulled him onto the bench to sit next to her, turned to face him, taking and holding his hands in her bony, thin ones, so thin you could see her veins, hands that used to create music, and sighed.

"Anthony, precious, I won't take it back. You're my world. I'd do anything for you. But my wishing that, God answering my prayer, isn't why I'm dying. My body is tired and sick, and no one can make it better. It's no one fault, but it is most definitely not yours."

And she'd held him then, gathered him in her arms, rocking him like a baby, singing softly, and let him cry his tears, his pain, and anger, his fear, and hurt, his regret and self-loathing onto the beautiful lacy collar on her shirt. (That would be the last time he felt safe enough to break down until he met an equally broken, and just as determined Marine with blue eyes and a set of rules he lived by.)

His mother was dead two months later to the day. He'd held her hand as she died. His father only showed up after she died. He didn't have the will to be the least bit surprised.

As his beloved mother is lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground, he thinks, his eyes completely dry, what good is God, if it's her in there instead of me? What good is God if his mother is dead and buried, when he loves and needs her so much?

As the priest says the words meant to comfort, but they only make him angry, he remembers bright white lights, and the feeling of being burned alive from the inside out, the sound of his heart beating too fast in his ears, darkness, nothingness, alone, all alone, a mother's plea for her son's life, a history lesson in school, 'A life for a life' and he'll know his mother was wrong. It was his fault.

Buried with his mother's coffin is his trust in his father, his faith in God, a young boy's carefree laughter, the feeling of safety that love brings, a beautiful, vibrant woman's unconditional love for her son, and the first person that died while he lived. (because he lived.) She wouldn't be the last.

Caitlin 'Kate' Todd

"There's no escape
from death's embrace,
though you lead it on
a merry chase." - from The Servants of Twilight by Dean Koontz

He became infected with a disease from the Middle Ages, (and has Death never heard of over kill?) He can still see those eerie blues lights, lights that reminded him too much of white ones from his past. He can compare the feeling of burning from the inside out to drowning from the water in his own lungs. All the air in his body was just gone, and the violent heaving his lungs were doing to try and expel that fluid hurt. He can taste the too rich flavor of his own infected blood and he remembers feeling that he was drowning in it just as much as the water. He can remember his horror at thinking Kate was infected, can see the brave face she wore for him, joking and teasing, the same as always, something to focus on, something normal, something good, and then she's gone, and it's the hardest thing he's ever done just to take more breath, (the fever at least took the choice out of his hands.) It's the most vicious fight he's ever been in, (He wasn't lucid for most of the fever,) he's completely lucid for this, and he's quickly beaten and ready to surrender, (ready to see his mother again,) just make it stop. But Gibbs is there, larger than life, and right then he fears Gibbs' wrath at disobeying a direct order (trusts him enough to let him make the decision for him) more than anything Karma or Death can dream up.

Later, when they're still smiling over the near miss, when a second bullet kills his friend; his partner, between one inhale and one exhale, when Kate's last words are haunting and ironic "I thought I'd die before" when her blood covers his face, and she's dead on the rooftop, staring up at him, still smiling, because she never saw it coming, when all he can taste is the memory of his own infected blood, and now the blood of his dead friend, he'll wish he'd disobeyed Gibbs' order and given up. He'd underestimated Death and Karma and overestimated the man standing next to him (this wasn't supposed to happen.)

When her killer is caught, but all he can focus on is the taste of his own blood, when all he can feel is her blood on his face, never leaving no matter how much he scrubs, he'll clutch the sink and weep, because he knows that she's dead because he slipped through Death's fingers once more. All because he had the audacity to follow someone else's orders over Death's. This is his fault just as much as it's the fault of an out of control, double agent, misogynistic insane sniper with daddy issues and an obsession about his partner, and this, this was his warning and his punishment.

He'll look into the mirror, and instead of seeing his reflection, he'll see white lights fading into a harsh blue; he'll feel like he's being both drowned alive and being burned alive at the same time, he'll see his mother as an angel and see her dead body, he'll see his partner get up, smiling, safe under his hands, and then she's dead, gone, with only the hole in her forehead telling what happened, blood, it's always in the blood, and he'll whisper, "I'm so sorry, Kate. It's all my fault."

And as he turns to go get ready for her funeral, he'll know she should have been going to his.

Paula Cassidy

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life."- from the song How to Save A Life by The Fray

Tony: "This better not be another recall drill. I had floor seats for the Wizards this afternoon."

Ziva: "It's Agent Cassidy's team out of the Pentagon, Tony. "

McGee: "They were attacked."

Tony: "Is she okay?"

Paula, oh, God, I've killed her. I kill everyone I love.

McGee: "She survived."

Ziva: "Her men weren't as lucky."

Tony: "Well, what the hell happened?"

She's alive, but for how long?

We were supposed to work this weekend. The schedule changed.

The reason they're dead is because of me. Because I'm a death magnet. Death follows me, but it comes to everyone else instead.

Paula: (crying) "It's my fault! It's my fault!"

Tony: "It's not your fault, Paula."

Paula: (crying) "You weren't here, Tony! I killed my team!"

How long until I put another black band on another friend's badge? Who's next? Paula? She's living on borrowed time. And she's looking for revenge; you can see the bloodlust in her eyes. Death will have her soon, and I'm not sure there's anything I can do to save her. You can't save someone who wants to die.

Tony: "I'm more worried about what she'd do. You know, Mossad assassin and all."

Paula: "You don't think I could take her? I took you, didn't I?"

Tony: "Ah, technically you did put me down, but I distinctly remember the floor was slippery that day."

Joke, act like nothing is wrong. Pretend Death isn't in every inch of this room. Pretend I can't sense or feel Him waiting.

Tony: "Paula, you don't have to do this."

Paula: "We both know that I do. When did you start being so caring?"

I've always cared. But caring for someone means they'll wind up in the ground. (Bright lights, white and eerie blue, shining down on me, blinding me, blood, there's always blood, it's all in the blood, infected blood, blood of a friend, the cooling blood of the newly dead.) It doesn't matter. (Then why does it hurt so much?) It all ends it pain and misery in the end, for the dead and the living.

Tony: "I have always been caring. I come from a very caring family. The Dinozzos, in fact, are celebrated for their caringness. "

We were celebrated for caring once, but it wasn't for a DiNozzo. It was for his mother. Any empathy and kindness they were known for was buried with her. (His father certainly followed that ideal. He's tried to, but he's his mother son, something he's proud of. Caring hurts, but he can't stop. Much as he wants to sometimes.)

We could have had something great. We had the start of it. I always cared about you, Paula, always. (I can't care, caring leads to white lights, darkness all around, bright red hair and pleas, coffins taking away your whole world, your lifeline, caring leads to the taste of his own too rich blood, and Kate's on his face, when she's just been smiling, caring leads to pain and death.)

Tony: "Her name is Jeanne."

Paula: "Do you love her?"

Tony: "Yeah, I do, Paula."

I love her. I can't. It'll only end badly. (Do you even know just which woman you're talking about right now?) I can never be who Jeanne thinks I am. I'm playing a game of make believe, so maybe Death will spare her. (Karma won't.) He knows the emotions are real, but it's just a game of make believe. (He has to remember that.)

Paula: "Why can't you tell her, Tony? It's just three simple little words: I love you."

I know who that 'I love you' was for. And I love you too, Paula. And in a different world, (a world where his mother never uttered those damned words,) in a better place, (a place where he's not always looking over his shoulder for Death, a place where he could trust, (himself, you, anyone), in the right time, (their timing has always been off, (and they never truly fought to make it better), I'd say those three little words back to you. But I just can't, not in this world. I can't say them here. I could never play a game of make believe with you. (And though our feelings are real, we never tried to make this more.) We pretended it was a game of make believe, (though we both knew it wasn't) so we have nothing of proof to show for it. I'm just not strong enough to try and change our rules now.)

Nothing's simple. Nothing has been simple since the white lights shined down on him, blinding him, adding to the pain that came from the feeling of fire licking at his veins, and those cursed words his desperate mother sent up to God. Nothing is simple when Death is your shadow; your companion in life. But He never takes you. (Just everyone else who has had the misfortune of stepping in your path.)

Paula: "And you didn't say it? You know, Tony, it's a cliché, but it is true. Life is too short not to tell someone you love them if you do. And you do."

Life's too short. Truer words have never been spoken and that's why I can't love you, (I'm not strong enough) because I can already read the signs. You're not going to be here much longer. But I do love you. And I'm sorry for that.

Gibbs: "We were supposed to work the hotline this weekend."

Tony: "Boss, you're serious about that?"

It should have been us. It should have been Ziva and McGee's bodies, it should have been him leaving dead, or having to watch his friends, his family die, or Gibbs investigating his Agents' murder. And I feel so damn guilty for the fact I'm so very thankful that it wasn't, that the scene that will haunt my nightmares wasn't us, wasn't them, not today.

And I feel ashamed that I'm so grateful that for now Ziva, Gibbs, and McGee are still breathing, because Paula's eyes are empty, except for guilt and bloodlust, (a lethal combination) burning with the need for vengeance, a bride of two months has to bury her husband when they should have had the rest of their lives together, should have both died peacefully in their sleep when old and gray, and another family has to bury their son. It's not his team, and he is so relieved, (but he knows all he has to do is give it time, and it will be.)

Paula: "I let you down. But I give you my word, I'm going to get this bastard."

Tony: "Who are you talking to?"

Paula: "No one. Me."

She's talking to ghosts. The need for revenge is consuming her, I see it in her eyes, in the lines of her face, it's eating away her will to live.

Tony: "Okay, Paula, a secret door then."

A secret doorway. A secret doorway. Death still hasn't learned subtlety. (And how sad is it that he knew enough about Death to know what to look for?) Someone's crossing through a 'doorway', and I know it won't be me. (No matter how much I beg and plead.)

Tony: "That did close kind of fast, didn't it?"

Paula: "Well, it wouldn't be much of a secret door if it stayed open long now, would it?"

A secret door that slams shut in-between one blink of an eye and another? (As if the hair on the back of my neck wasn't standing up already, now's it's standing at 'attention'. And if my instincts weren't already shouting, now they're screaming, with hollering and stomping included.)

Abby:"Never lie to a woman, Anthony DiNozzo."

Lying is all I do. Some of it to protect someone I care about, most of it, in fact, but some of it is to protect me, so you won't hate me.

Tony: "Uh, Boss? I've got a question for you. That thing you said yesterday. We were really supposed to have the weekend duty Cassidy's team took?"

I have to ask you. I have to confirm what I already know. If there's any chance I'm wrong, I need to hear it, and then things will be okay. Say it wasn't supposed to be us, Gibbs.

Gibbs: "Yep."

Tony: "How did we get out of that?"

Gibbs: "I asked."

Tony: "So that really could have been us."

It really was supposed to be us. There's no more way to hope I'm wrong. (It really is my fault.) We're alive because you wanted to time off to play with your girlfriend, and they're dead because of it, and we're alive. But it was so close. Death could have finally caught up to all of you, finally taken you away.

Gibbs: "It could have been us every single damn day of the week. Sometimes it has been."

I know it could be us every minute of every day, Gibbs. That's what I'm afraid of.

(Kate, bickering, giving as good as she got, a sharp smile, and a keen mind, warmth, trust, laughter, pretty, always so petty. She risked her life to stay, to try and take my mind off the pain of taking one more breath, to look at her and not the otherworldly blue lights, too similar to whites one, tried to help me forget and ignore the horror of my own blood choking me.

Fear, she's down, don't let her be dead, please, happiness, thanks,joy, when she got back up, smiling and laughing, real and alive when I touched her, and then her blood is on my face and in my mouth, I can taste it, she's dead, no warning, no reason, between one blink of an eye and the next, she almost looks like she's sleeping, if you ignore the hole in her beautiful face, (can't ignore it, can never forget it,) Oh, God, God, why her? Why not me?) Pull yourself together. You can't have a breakdown right now.

Gibbs: "You want to worry about something, worry about tomorrow. "

Tomorrow, where I have the sickly feeling there will be more bodies (of friends)? I can't stop worrying about it.

Gibbs: "Your team was set up, but they weren't the target. "

Ziva: "Yazeed was. They were trying to stop his Sunni-Shia peace conference."

Paula: "By turning him into a suicide bomber?"

Tony: "It almost worked, Paula."

Ziva: "But luckily for us, Yazeed lost his head… literally."

Paula: "Well, we don't know that it didn't work. At this point, who's going to show up to this thing?"

They weren't the targets, we're not the targets, but my instincts are screaming louder, not lower.

Gibbs: "Oh, you'd be surprised, Cassidy."

Ziva: "We're not the only ones who refuse to bow down to terrorism."

McGee: "They're going ahead with the conference anyway? "

Ziva: "Now that we've cleared Yazeed."

Abby: "But we only got one of them. What if somebody else tries to stop it?"

Ziva: "We kill them, Abby."

Tony: "We catch them. That's the preferred term."

Paula: "I like hers better."

No killing. There's been enough Death, we don't need anymore. Yet, I know the toll isn't over (because my debt will never be paid.)

Gibbs: "No. A little change in plans. We pick them up now for a field trip. They want to hold a ceremony for Yazeed and Cassidy's team."

Paula: "What kind of ceremony?"

Gibbs: "Memorial."

Tony: "Where?"

Gibbs: "Where they died."

A memorial where they died? It would have major lack of subtlety, be completely tragic, and so very ironic. It has all of Death's trademarks. This isn't a good idea. My instincts shriek at me like a fire alarm, loud, un-ignorable, and sending a warning to all who will listen. (Which, is, unfortunately, just me.)

Paula: "Well, I've never been much for praying. But after this I'm…"

Tony: "Hall and Nelson were good men."

I don't want to lose you, Paula. I hate the feeling of this room. Death is here, waiting, and I'm afraid. I know who he's going to take. Still, I pray I'm wrong. (I pray it's me.)

Paula: "They were the best. (sighs) I could have saved them. "

Tony: "Paula, that's not true."

You couldn't have saved them, Paula. No one could have. (Only I don't know if that's true, because it was supposed to be us, should have been us, would have been us if not for Gibbs wanting time off (a miracle in of itself) and I feel so guilty that I feel grateful, so angry that I feel happy and relieved, and there's a whole cocktail of other emotions clamoring to be heard.)

There's one thing I know, though. (Much as I wish I didn't.) You can't save someone once Death comes for them. Not without a trade, and even that rarely works. (No one should ever be traded.) Death is stubborn; it takes a lot to make Him change his mind. (I would trade my life for yours, Paula.) I wish I could tell you this. (I wish I didn't know you're next.)

Paula: "I could have turned down the weekend duty, Tony. There's just no way we should have had it two weeks in a row."

Tony: "It was supposed to be us."

Paula: "Us what?"

Tony: "It was our team that was supposed to take it."

It was meant to be my team, and it still is, probably. (He's not naive enough to think Death ever gives up. Everyone dies at some point. Death? He has all eternity.) For now there's been a trade, an unwilling, unknowing trade of another team, but a trade, nonetheless. It's not enough. Death demands a higher price when it takes a different (wrong) prize. And we haven't paid off this debt, this current round of borrowed time, haven't paid enough for it in innocent blood and ruined lives. (Not yet.)

Paula: (sighs) "Oh. I mean, it doesn't matter. Nothing does. I was supposed to be in here. I know it. But… here I am."

Your Death warrant is signed. I know it. (You know it.) There's nothing I can do to save you. I know the hell of living a half-life when you should be dead, I know how the anger, the self-loathing, of being spared feels. I know all of that, and I'm sorry you do too now, Paula. I know the look in your eyes. You're thinking 'Today's a good day to die.' I see the same thing every time I look in the mirror. Only you'll actually die today. (He never lets himself think about just giving up and… giving up. It would be so easy, and sometimes he wants to do it so much, but he won't spit on the memory of what his mother and Kate did for him. If they died for him, he needs to live for them. He tells himself this, and prays one day he'll believe it.) My instincts are rivaling a siren. And there's nothing I can do.

Ziva: "Ha! Very clever. This side is clear!"

The siren is screaming. You'll be in there soon, alone.

Paula: "I didn't think anything could make you jump, Officer David."

Ziva:"That was merely a reflex."

Paula: "In America, we call that jumping."

Ziva: "In Mossad, we call that the difference between life and death."

Yes, instinct and reflex can make a difference, Ziva. But what do you do when they don't?

It's going to be soon. There is no such thing as a coincidence, and slamming doors, and talk of Death fit Death's compete lack of subtlety.

Ziva: "Is something wrong?"

Tony: "That was supposed to be us."

Is something wrong? Yes, there is. I don't understand how they can't see it. It was supposed to be us! It should have been us. Do they not understand how close they came to dying? We're just waiting until next time, and then it will be one of us. No one lives forever. (Especially around me.)

Ziva: "But it wasn't."

Tony: "No, not this time."

Not this time. What about next time? Or the time after? Do you think there will always be a tomorrow? How about today? Are you really ready to die?

Tony: "Just how long is this supposed to take, Boss?"

How soon can we leave? Does someone have to die today? God, I feel sick. Every hair on my body is standing up, I can feel the goose bumps on my skin, and there's a pounding siren called my instincts shrieking in my mind.

Gibbs: "Longer than if you helped them set up, Dinozzo. When this thing starts, I want you out front, Ziva."

Paula: "What about me?"

Gibbs: "I didn't bring you here for security."

Paula: "Look, I know I screwed up at Kertek Computers."

Gibbs: "Then say a prayer for your team, Cassidy. We'll take the heavy lifting on this one."

Whatever is going to happen, it's happening now. (Please, wait, wait, stop!)

Gibbs: "Hands on top of your head!"

Tony: "Boss?"

Gibbs: "It's one of them, Dinozzo. The prints found on Umar's laptop match the painting gear."

Walid: "What laptop?"

Gibbs: "Where's Jamal Malik?"

Walid: "He was here a minute ago!"

It's happening. And I know for sure I can't stop it. It's him!

Tony: "Behind you!"

Oh, hell! Behind you, Paula! Paula, please, don't do it, let me, don't Paula. That son of! He's got a trigger. She's going to do it. (I really can't do anything to save her. Paula, I'm sorry. I love you.)

Tony: (Shouts) "Paula!"

The door between Life and Death slams shut fast. And there is nothing I can do to save her. Please, let it be quick and painless.

She's gone. Death is no longer haunting the room. Don't let her have felt anything, please.

My legs can't support me. (I'm lost.) All I know right then is my mother's red hair, how she looked like an angel under those white lights, when the fever felt like fire licking my veins, pain, so much pain, feeling like I was being burned alive, her tears when I woke up, those cursed words, her slowly fading away, becoming sicker and sicker, sitting next to her, my father never coming, seeing my mother slowly die, her dignity gone, a shadow of the woman I loved, seeing her die in front of my eyes, holding her hand and sobbing over her still warm body, my father finally showing up, (too late, always too late,) standing next to me as my mother is being buried, and feeling so utterly alone. My mother is dead all anew.

Kate, ribbing him like normal, the fear in her eyes she tried so hard not to let show, tried to be me, joking to cover up the tension, the hopelessness. (He'll love her forever for that alone.) Treated him the same as always, didn't show him pity, (he hates pity) stayed with him as he felt like he was drowning, in his own blood, in the water in his lungs, in his terror and fear. Kate, alive when he saw her fall, warm under his hands, smiling, everyone so happy, then blood, before he can blink her blood on his face, no idea it was coming, so many things he wishes he had told her, her dead body lying in front of him, her death swift and brutal, by human hands, not disease.

Now he can add empty, vengeful eyes, beautiful eyes that used to sparkle with life, blue and piercing eyes, explosions that killed two good agents, two good men, slamming doors that echoed horribly in his mind every time they closed, and now they closed on her for good. Dread, the agony of knowing what's coming and not being able to do anything to stop it from happening, (failing,) I love you's that leave unspoken all that could have been, bearing the fact you had to feel Death's presence and know He wasn't there for you, and the guilt and pain, (words too simple for what he's feeling,) of knowing it should have been us, (it should have been me). Now, all of that's added to the never ending loop of events that haunts his nightmares, and his days.

It hurts, it hurts so much, I have no words to explain how much, to know I'll never see her again. But I'm not surprised. (I wish I was.) It should have been us, but it wasn't. And Paula didn't know how to live anymore. Her soul died with her team, in that first blast of fire and heat that killed so much. All those thoughts will come later. Then, all I could think was there has to be a trade.

And I'm sorry it wasn't me. I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Paula.

There has to be a trade. (Because it should have been us, but it wasn't, not today.) There has to be a trade. Death is a ruthless trader.

Tony: "I love you, Jeanne."

I can play make believe just for tonight. I can say I love you and mean it, but be thinking of a smiling, brave, smart blonde, with lively, stunning blue eyes. I'll risk it. I'll let myself cry on the wrong woman's shoulder, (because she's the one still here,) because there has to be a trade. (And not just in death.) A life for a life. (A love for a love.) And it wasn't us. (Not this time.)

There has to be a trade.