Hello again! I'm back with another one parter... one of these days I'll get around to writing a full-length NCIS fic...
Anyway, this is based off an idea I had while listening to Carrie Underwood "Just a Dream"... hence the title. I have to warn you, you might want to get out your tissues now... it's pretty depressing. and the end gets a little dark and twisty, so you've been warned. Don't read if you don't think you can handle it. It's not that bad, but I just wanted to make sure you knew it's not happy.
Enjoy!
Just a Dream
Baby why'd you leave me
Why'd you have to go?
I was counting on forever, now I'll never know
I can't even breathe
She should have expected this. She knew what their lives were like and yet she still believed something like this would never happen. She had been so naïve.
One minute they were flirting across the bullpen, the next he was gone. She would never see his smile, hear his laugh, and tease him for his endless movie references ever again. This time he wasn't coming back.
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, for once thanking her father for making her join Mossad. If she hadn't been trained to withstand torture so well, she wouldn't have been able to hide her feelings today. She probably wouldn't have shown up in the first place.
Her alarm clock went off as usual at 0530. She rolled over in bed, as usual. She turned on the light on her bedside table. Everything about that morning seemed normal, but she knew it would be the second worst day of her life. She had been hoping it was all a dream, that it was just a stupid nightmare, like all the ones before. When she saw that she had slept in her clothes from yesterday, she knew it was real.
This wasn't how her life was supposed to go. This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't count on losing him before she even had him. It was so unfair.
She stiffly pushed herself out of bed, discarding her wrinkled clothes and finding something suitable in her closet. She hated this outfit, she thought as she pulled it off the hanger. She almost put it back and crawled under the covers again, but forged ahead.
Dressing slowly, she found her way to the bathroom. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she almost laughed. The stiff black suit didn't look like anything she would have worn. She felt ridiculous.
She studied her reflection bitterly, hating how well the clothes fit. She shouldn't look this nice for an occasion so terrible. She wanted to look like hell, she thought angrily. How could she feel this bad and still look perfectly normal. She didn't feel normal. She felt damaged, bruised, beaten. Her eyes closed tightly as she thought about how broken she truly was. He had been right not to pursue her because she wasn't worth it.
Before she could think about it, she slammed her fist into her reflection. She just wanted to be broken, why was that so hard?
The bitter winter air found its way through her layers of clothing, chilling her skin. It didn't matter anyway; she would always be cold. Now that he was gone she had no one to warm her up. She had no one to light up her life. She let the chill settle in her bones, feeling too tired to care.
She watched silently as the casket was placed over the grave. She couldn't fathom this being the only place on earth he would ever go. He would never be back at NCIS, never work another crime scene, never eat lunch with her, have movie nights, or even elevator rides. He was stuck here.
She wanted to lie and say she would be back, promise to visit, but she couldn't. She knew this was the last time she would ever set foot in this cemetery again. Coming back would be too hard. She was trained but not that well.
Without her noticing, the ceremony had already started. She should have been paying attention, she was sure people would be saying nice things about him. He had always loved compliments, but hers had been few and far between. She regretted not telling him how much she cared about him. She regretted the fact that he would never know. Most of all, she regretted not cherishing their time together. If only she had known.
She was thankful his picture was facing away from her. She didn't know if she could stand to look at his face right now. She didn't know if she would ever be able to. If she saw his smile, his hair, his mesmerizing eyes, she just might break.
She didn't want him to see her broken.
She raised her eyes from the casket when the band began to play. Their boss had no doubt pulled some strings to get him a full military funeral. They played a short tune which seemed to her to drag on forever. It was the saddest song she had ever heard.
Seven Marines stood by, preparing to fire their rifles. Even though she knew it was coming, she still flinched all three times. Every shot echoed in her chest, a painful reminder of the missing piece of her heart. It seemed as though the reverberations would break right through her ribs. She could feel the all too familiar pressure on her heart, like someone was crushing it with all their strength.
Her coworkers smoothly folded up the large flag covering his casket. With every tuck she could feel herself retreating more and more inside herself. As more of the flag disappeared within itself, so did she. He was the only one who made her come out of her shell. He was the only one who made her smile. He wasn't coming home.
She watched as one of the Marines placed three shell casings inside the folded up flag. Her boss took the flag from him and started walking towards her. For the first time that day, she felt the overwhelming need to move. She needed to get away from this before she cracked. She tried as hard as she could to command her legs to walk, but she was frozen on the spot.
When he finally stood in front of her she could tell how much pain he was in. It was written clearly across the older man's face. Losing an agent was a sore subject but losing a friend was even worse.
Her hands reached for the flag, bringing it to her chest quickly. She tried to smell it, to see if his scent was somehow on it, but it simply smelled like fabric. She hid her disappointment well. Before she could look back up at her superior, she felt a hand connect with the back of her head. She glared at him with disdain.
"This is a funeral David, you're supposed to cry," he said gruffly, with what sounded like gravel in his throat. It was obvious he had been crying.
She continued to glare at him, trying to find the same intensity she had before but failing with every passing second. Her hands clutched the flag closer to her, trying to absorb the last piece of him she had. It was almost as if she was trying to cover her heart with it, as if that would make the pain any better. She could feel the cool metal of the shell casings, creating a rough surface against her chest. She briefly entertained the thought that they would leave scars. At least then she might be closer to him. She wanted to have the same marks he did. She had wanted to share her life with him, why not be with him in death?
---
After fumbling with her keys for a moment, she finally let herself into her home. She noticed immediately that something was different. Someone had been there.
She gripped the flag still in her arms more tightly.
Stepping into the living room she saw that the previously unassembled weapon lying carelessly on the coffee table was no longer there. She checked between the sofa's cushions, not finding the knife she stored there. She continued through the apartment, checking every spot she used to hide her many assorted weapons. The large knife in the kitchen cabinet was no longer in its spot, along with the cutlery set next to the sink. The .22 she kept in the freezer was missing as well.
She wanted to be furious with them for taking her things but couldn't find the strength. She had been holding it all in throughout the day, never letting her walls down and it was finally catching up with her. A lone tear found its way down her cheek as she checked her desk, finding all the paperclips missing as well.
It was late and they shouldn't have been there. The night seemed to drag on as they filed report after report. It was a cruel twist of fate that all their case reports were due the next day and none had been done for months.
"Hey, it's midnight," he commented, looking up from his computer to stare at her from across the room. She checked the time on her monitor before looking over at him.
"Happy Christmas," she replied with a genuine smile, looking back down at her work.
"In this country we say Merry Christmas," he corrected lightly. She laughed quietly.
"Does it not mean the same thing?" she asked, setting her hands on top of the folders on her desk. He had interrupted her work, but she welcomed the intrusion.
"Didn't you get me anything?" he questioned with a playful pout. It was moments like this, when they were all alone that she wondered how he felt about her. It was childish to think he might mirror her feelings, but she couldn't help herself. He was always there for her.
She looked down at the bag under her desk, debating whether to give it to him or not. It wasn't really a Christmas present as much as her returning his stuff. She thought about how she had taken the red shirt he kept in his drawer when they had been reassigned. He hadn't seemed to notice, but he had to have known. She selfishly didn't want to give it back because it made her feel better to have something of his. Even if he didn't know about it.
"No," she lied, deciding to keep it. He would understand.
"Here," he called as he threw something towards her. She caught it easily, laughing aloud when she saw it was a bracelet made of paperclips.
"Is that not a little dangerous for you?" she teased, slipping it easily over her wrist. "Now I have them right at my fingertips."
"I trust you," he grinned, glancing sheepishly at his desk.
"Thank you," she replied.
"Well, I got you something else…" he said, pulling a small box out of his desk drawer. He stood up and walked over to her desk, leaning against the edge of it as he handed her the present.
"You did not have to do this," she protested, secretly delighted that he had gotten her something. He smiled shyly and she could have sworn she saw him blush.
"Just open it," he commanded quietly.
She unwrapped the small package, almost gasping when she found a necklace in the jewelry box. Hanging from the plain silver chain was a simple charm. It was a director's clapboard; something her partner surely would have picked out. His affinity for movies was no secret and she was pleased he was sharing it with her. She smiled up at him, thanking him for the gift.
"It is beautiful," she remarked truthfully. She knew it was something she was going to treasure forever.
"Here, let me put it on." He took the necklace from its box as she pulled her hair to the side. As his fingers gently grazed her neck she couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine. She had to take a deep breath to calm her nerves because something about him made her heart flutter in a way it never had before.
"Thank you," She held the charm delicately in her fingertips, loving the way it felt right at home around her neck.
The tears continued to flow as her search grew more frantic. Pretty soon her cheeks were wet and her vision was blurry as she continued around the small apartment. She wiped at her eyes with her damaged hand, accepting the sting of her own tears.
She checked the bathroom, trying to ignore the broken mirror. There were no more glass shards in the sink, a clear sign that someone had been cleaning up her messes. She felt angry that someone had broken into her apartment, but also embarrassed that they had seen what she had done. She wasn't proud of herself that day.
It seemed all the knives and guns had been taken from her apartment. Most likely her team was responsible and it was both endearing and irritating. It was as if they didn't trust her with her own possessions. She wasn't sure what they thought anymore.
He was gone and all she had left was a stupid flag that hadn't meant anything to him.
She had one last room to check before she would allow herself to give up. Walking into the bedroom she saw his shirt sticking out of one of her drawers. She would never admit to anyone that she had stolen it from his desk when he was reassigned. It had helped her get through those tough times when she missed him, but she wasn't sure it would do any good now. After all, a shirt couldn't replace the man beneath it.
After seeing that none of her weapons were present, she checked the last place she thought anyone would look. Many years ago she had hidden a small knife in the frame of a photo of her sister. She smiled bitterly when her hand came in contact with the cool metal. At last, she had found it. She felt as though she had gone on a journey through her house, trying desperately to find something she was missing. It just figured that the only one left would be so close to someone else she had lost.
She took the knife and the stolen shirt, sitting quietly in the closet with her back against the wall. She held the shirt to her tightly; glad she had abandoned the flag for something more personal. She could just barely smell him, like he was right across the bullpen. A smile came to her face as she let herself picture his face. He grinned at her and she started to cry. She let out the tears she had been holding all day. There was no one around to see, nowhere to go, and nothing stopping her from staying there forever.
She was hiding, she knew, but she wasn't ready to let go. Maybe she wouldn't have to, she thought as she played with the knife, examining it idly. Holding the handle with her beat up hand, she twisted it around, drawing a small drop of blood from her left hand.
The dark liquid dripped from her palm, staining the shirt in her lap. She almost screamed, not wanting to ruin the last memory she had. She didn't want her blood on his shirt. She couldn't stand to see it tainted. She threw the knife across the room, as far away as it could get.
She held on to the shirt with all her strength, hoping it would be enough but knowing it never would be. He was never coming home. She should have told him.
It's like I'm looking from a distance
Standing in the background
Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now
This can't be happening to me
This is just a dream
{end}
thanks for reading! please review!
-Sierra