Spray
By EmyPink
Disclaimer: All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters in the name of creative pursuits.
Rating: T
Parings: Jimmy/Breena
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ep-Tag
Warnings: SPOILERS for the season eight finale Pyramid. Read at your own risk.
Summary: He nearly makes it into the shower before he stops. Post-ep for 8x24 Pyramid.
-o-o-o-
He nearly makes it into the shower before he stops. One hand grips the edge of the shower curtain and the other clenches at his side. It's stupid, it's silly, but the water is falling and he can't breathe. The bathroom turns dark, his mind seizes and he nearly catches himself on the side of the toilet as he stumbles backwards. His knee jars the railing and the curtain nearly rips off its hinges when he forgets to let go. He closes his eyes and counts: one, two, three … but the water still drips and his eyes fly open.
Lunging across the room, he nearly tumbles headfirst under the spray but swings back on the curtain … and this time it falls from its hangings. It tumbles down, a stringless puppet, and lays half on the floor, half draped across his arm. Holding up the useless shower curtain in one hand, he reaches out, like he's been stung (or tortured), and turns off the water. It goes silent and he lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. He stuffs the curtain into the cubical and gathers his discarded clothes, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
-o-o-o-
Something's gotta give. He knows it. Breena knows it. Everyone at work knows it. He can't go on splashing water on his face and washing with a flannel anymore. Breena yells at him. She tries and she tries, but she doesn't understand.
He thinks someone at work might understand, but every time Doctor Mallard or Agent Gibbs or Tony or Ziva or even Agent Barrett tries to talk to him, he baulks and stammers out an excuse. And hides. He's probably learnt more about the NCIS building in these last few days than he's ever done in his years as medical assistant.
He pushes open the bathroom door: this is it, today is the day. But he can't even get through the door. Breaths are harsh gasps as he slides down the wall and huddles in the doorframe. He presses his head to his knees and tries not to cry. He wishes the apartment had a bath; a bath would make it right, but the tiny house has only a shower. Why did they go for the apartment without the bath? Money for the wedding, Breena had said cheerfully.
(And he wonders why she's still here …who'd want him now?)
-o-o-o-
The public swimming pool is on his route home, and he wonders why he'd never noticed it before. Breena's been yelling at him again. She wants him to see someone, but he can't tell her that he already is. (He closes his eyes and it's dark and it's wet and he is there.) He thinks she's ready to leave, he wouldn't blame her, even if she's adamant she's seeing things through. But the swimming pool? A compromise, right?
Breena's out, so he packs up his towel and his swimming trunks, and sneaks to the car like he's doing something wrong. The pool's open late tonight, but he's figured out that there is just enough time in the morning for a swim (shower) if he gets up early and dries on the way to the office.
The teenaged receptionist is cheerful and bright, and doesn't even blink when he mutters something about a membership. She points to the change rooms and the pools and hands over a locker key. It's mostly empty: a senior water aerobics class and a couple of people swimming laps. So very normal, and he wonders if he'll ever feel normal again.
The water hides his tears.
-o-o-o-
Breena's finally had enough. He comes home from work, swimming gear in hand, and she pulls him into the bathroom. Enough is enough, she says and starts stripping him of his shirt. He protests, but she presses a finger to his lips and her look says trust me. So he lets her peel away his shirt and tug off his pants, and then she is pulling him into the shower (the curtain's been fixed).
He's shaking violently and he really can't breathe, but Breena simply wraps one arm around his body and pulls him close. It's okay, she whispers and he trusts her so he closes his eyes as the first spray hits. He flinches and struggles, but Breena's stronger than people think and softly strokes his hair. He can't do this, because it feels like he's drowning all over again and it's dark, so dark. But then Breena is there, all smiles and light, and he thinks it might just be okay. One day.
He opens his eyes.
You could get another job, she breathes.
I don't want another job, he replies.
I know, she says and kisses him gently. I love you.
He smiles. I love you too.
Fin.