A/N: I don't even remember how this idea came to mind. I was watching Edward Scissorhands, which reminded me of Johnny Depp, which reminded me of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which reminded me of the classic original film, which...somehow reminded me of Kate and NCIS?
It must've been late.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. Or "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."
Golden Ticket
They meet at Tony's at 8:30 in the evening, like they planned earlier that day. No particular reason for the location, except that the DiNozzo apartment has the biggest couch and a flat-screen T.V.
McGee brings the refreshments, because he's sure his partner's pantries are bare (and he's right). Abby provides the movie and a fat red candle that smells like cinnamon—like Kate used to, at Christmastime. At least, Abby thinks so.
It's been a long time. One year. To the day.
As McGee heats the popcorn, Abby pours drinks and Tony sets up the entertainment system. He doesn't remark on the movie handed him; although the choice had been awarded to Abby, they all know "Willy Wonka" was one of Kate's favorites.
When everything is ready, all three crowd onto the couch, Abby sandwiched between the two agents. Tony lights the candle on the sidetable, and the movie begins.
--
As Charlie Bucket and Grandpa Joe sing and dance their way around the humble shack they call home, Tony thinks about family, and about loss and gain. About how Kate left and someone else came—not to replace her, but to make the team whole again.
Maybe next year they'll invite Ziva.
--
McGee is interested in the mechanics. Can gum really expand a person into a blueberry? Can a little boy really shrink to the size of a grasshopper? Is it really possible to move on so beautifully from such a hard loss, to the point where Kate isn't everywhere he looks?
It must be. Because he smiles with only amusement as her favorite scene unfolds onscreen. He never did understand the Fizzy Lifting Drinks...
--
As the movie nears its conclusion, Abby glances to both sides and smiles when she sees her boys fast asleep. It's been a long week, and she herself would succumb to exhaustion, but she has to finish the movie.
She has to make sure Charlie still inherits the factory and goes flying off into movie history with the precious glass elevator, because if the happy ending she had in mind for her own story changed, who's to say the Buckets retain their good fortune? Movie characters might be infallible, but real people are not. They bleed and cry and die. Miracles don't happen and there are no golden tickets to happiness.
A sigh of relief escapes her as Willy reassures all still listening (just Abby) that a happily-ever-after is indeed in store, and she listens to the movie's theme with faded sentimentality as the final seconds taper off.
Things have changed, but maybe not for the worse.
A click of the remote reduces the screen to blackness.
She leans over and blows out the candle.