The day began like any other. Before any of them could arrive at the Navy yard, the rain had started. Normally the rain had little effect on their work. Today, was different. The storm brewing outside, was nothing compared to the tempest that was swirling within each of their lives. As the rain hit the roof, the... was hitting the fan. Each of them making unwanted discoveries. Accidents happen. Accidents in their lives, that would change them, change everything.
He makes his way towards, NCIS. Already late, he speeds up, something he rarely did, especially in the rain. Today was different. When he woke the feeling gnawing, at the pit of his stomach, told him something was wrong. His gut, was telling him, that today wasn't going to be a good day. He begins to hydroplane, at 70 miles an hour, with a lane of traffic, on each side of him. He hits the brakes, too late, though. He slams into the back of a large SUV.
She sits at her desk, staring at the computer screen. Something was wrong. More than one something. More like everything. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This is how she planned it, not that she had planned it. She didn't plan it, that was the problem. She hated when she lost control, when she didn't have a handle on the situation. She hated accidents. An accident, more like a monumental screw up, that she couldn't change. Something she couldn't take back, with someone who meant a lot to her. Someone she wasn't ready to be committed to, though he had always been the one that she wanted. It all seemed so... insignificant now. Nothing was the way she wanted, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.
He steps into the room. He hangs up his hat. His partner in crime joins him. He picks up his instruments, and begins organizing, for the day ahead. He takes a deep breath. His partner in crime bumps into the table, causing everything to crash to the ground. An accident, a little one, but it was a sign, of what was to come. It was an ominous foreshadowing, of how the rest of the day would turn out. For him, and the rest of his cohorts.
She closes the door to her car. She clicks the remote, locking the car. She picks her bag up off the ground, and swings it over her shoulder. She swings to hard. The bag knocks into the mirror of the car. The mirror shatters, and pieces fall to the ground. She places the bag on the hood of the car. She unlocks the car, and grabs a fast food bag, from the back seat. She carefully picks up the broken pieces. She allows them to fall into the bag. She reaches for the last piece, it slices through the end of her finger. She drops it into the bag, and curses as she applies pressure to her finger. Why hadn't she used tweezers? She had some in her bag. But she was in too much of a hurry to use them. A lot of good that had done her. Now she was bleeding all over the place. With no other option, she wraps her finger, in the tail of her shirt.
He finds her, at his desk, rummaging through his drawers. He drops his bag, next to the desk. He looks at her, with a grin on his face.
"Can I help you find something?"
"I thought that you had a first aid kit."
"What did you do?"
She shows him her finger.
"Do you have one, or not?"
He smiles at her, and walks over to her desk. He opens the bottom, right hand drawer. He pulls it open all the way. He reaches into the back, and pulls out the first aid kit. He motions her over. She takes a seat in her chair. He opens the kit. She tries to take it from him.
"You're bleeding everywhere, let me do it," he insists.
She holds her finger out, in submission. He carefully holds gauze around it. He removes the gauze, and wipes it with an alcohol pad. He notices the reflective material embedded inside. He pulls out a pair of tweezers, from the kit. He carefully pulls out the piece of mirror. She doesn't wince, but her jaw tightens as he removes it. He carefully places it on the gauze pad, and brushes it into the trash can. He wraps her finger with gauze, and tape. He puts a band-aid over top, to be on the safe side.
"Why is the first aid kit in my desk?" she questions.
"Because you're the one who is always getting hurt. You might want to put on a new shirt."
"I know."
He looks at her bag. He opens it for her, and hands a clean shirt to her.
"Thanks."
"There's no one else here," he reminds her.
"So?"
"It's not anything I haven't seen before."
She rolls her eyes, and slips off her shirt. She notices the look of disappointment on his face, when he realizes she's wearing a tank-top underneath. She throws the bloody shirt at him, and pulls the new one on.
"What is with that stupid look on your face?"
"It's just my face," he answers.
"Really? You look disappointed."
"Maybe I am."
"Why is it that you are always trying to take care of me? I don't need to be taken care of."
"Because I love you," the words slip from his tongue, before he can stop them.
She stares at him, in complete disbelief, at his accidental admission.
He pulls into his parking spot. He grabs his cup of coffee, and heads towards the building. On his way through security, the guard bumps into him. The coffee spills all over his shirt. This was not going to be pretty. It was an accident, hopefully it wasn't a sign, of how the day was going to turn out. His gut, tells him other wise, as he tries to wipe the coffee off his shirt, as he steps onto the elevator.
He feels the car behind him make impact. He tries to react, but it's too little, too late. He feels himself drifting into the next lane. The front end of his car moves towards the semi, in the next lane. The grill makes impact. He feels himself fly forward, and then back. The he hits his head on the steering wheel. The airbags deploy, sending him backwards, into the head rest. Everything goes black.