Author's notes: Okay, this story may be a little hard to follow because it's told in flashbacks. Stick with it. It's also an ending so a character death, several in fact, are implied, as it is set twenty years into the AU future of the Callie Harris NCIS.
This is also the final story of this grouping. So, thank you, everyone, who has added me to author alerts and followed this little world. You have made it really fun to check my email each and every morning.
She stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror. She noticed the laugh lines, prominently etched around her mouth and the crows' feet that marked her eyes. Her red hair now came out of a box and, soon, that would end and she wondered when she had gotten this old. As she continued to appraise her appearance, she realized she was no longer alone. Capturing a second reflection in the mirror, her eyes locked with the older man's. He, too, had seemingly aged overnight: the wrinkles prominent in his forehead; the hair salt and pepper; and, the trim form showing the signs of years now spent behind a desk instead of in the field.
She hated that black suit. Paired with the slate shirt and black tie, he wore it like armor; acting as if it held powers that would ward off the pall and depression that were lingering just around the corner. His voice was blasé as he instructed, "The girls are all down in the basement."
She turned in her seat, looking directly at the man, "I don't think I can do this. It was hard enough with Ducky and even Fornell but…" Her voice trailed off.
The man smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his brilliant green eyes. "You know what he'd tell you."
She smiled ruefully in response and answered, "Yeah."
"Then, suck it up, Harris," the man responded, no sympathy in his tone, "and do your job." And he turned on his heel and left the room.
Sighing, she stood up, smoothed down the dark dress and followed her partner out of the bedroom to do her job.