Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people.
AN: Another post-episode story; had to write this one. Reviews/likes make my day!
Okay
Her lips move in a soundless prayer. It's been 20 minutes, half an hour maybe, since she came down to autopsy, looking for Ducky. Perfectly aware she was not going to find him, as she saw him leave the NCIS headquarters, but she needed the excuse. She needed to look down at the man she shot, a boy really, yet he was old enough to enlist and become an officer. And it's almost as if he is sleeping – a worn out phrase, offering no consolation whatsoever – but she prefers it to the alternative.
It was suicide by cop, Kate.
Get over it!
She killed an innocent man. It was different when he was a suspect, a suspect who tried to shoot Gibbs, but he never stood a chance. Two shots were all she needed to take him down, and he deserved it. So how did she end up here, back against cold storage compartments? Finally, she breaks the contact, blinking away dryness, could be tears, too. She just can't look at the motionless face any longer, disturbing in its serenity.
Closing her eyes brings back memories, though, dispersed frames of what happened by the pool. There he is threatening to take his life. Promising he would never hurt a woman. Body collapsing on impact. Kate wouldn't admit it, but she understands why Ducky talks to the dead. It's a special kind of reconstruction – breaking the silence to involve them in a conversation that would still lead to no answers. But she does it anyway.
"I'm sorry - "
"Caitlin?" the sound of Ducky's voice echoes from the adjoining room. There's a certain kind of sadness in the question, disappointment even, but it has nothing to do with Kate.
He might still believe in love, but love doesn't believe in him. Why else would he fall for a criminal? It is Tony's curse, after all, and having it experienced first-hand is right out depressing. The worst of it all is, he still has two tickets to La Boheme, heavy in his trench coat pocket, unless -
"Caitlin, did you know that Puccini's classic La Boheme inspired a modern day rock musical about a group of bohemians in New York City? Of course, the sound of it is different – yet, interestingly enough, Musetta's Waltz – "
Kate still has her eyes closed, and by the looks of it, she is not aware of his presence.
"Kate?" A whisper. Volume doesn't guarantee the person on the other end would hear you, so taking on a different approach might help.
She stirs as if awoken from a dream; her eyes open first, followed by a question that doesn't reach her lips, but is intelligible in her eyes. She is so out of it and it's apparent. Ducky can guess the cause, but as for a solution, he falls short. While he places a hand on her shoulder, an act of comfort, all she can think of are Gibbs' words. He is older, Kate. Doesn't mean he's dead. A response to her naïve question after she saw the pathologist with that younger doctor.
"Thanks, Ducky," she whispers back. "La Boheme?" her voice trails off into a crack, but she masks it with a smile, because she has to get over it.
"Oh, Kate, dear, don't you worry about it. Go home, okay?" he says, and the question is not even a question, as he pulls her in for a goodbye hug. It's an imperative and she can't argue with that, taking the elevator up to gather her stuff.
Startled, she notices that it's already dark outside. The field of desks is dimmed by shadows, except for one. Of course, Gibbs is there. Holding that stack of papers at an arm's length in order to be able to read what's on the first sheet. You need to buy glasses, Gibbs, she would say, like always, but not this time. Now, -
Now she just takes her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder, already in motion when she offers a brusque Goodnight.
Something is not right. He looks up to return the sentiment, but she is already gone and before he knows it, Gibbs is following her to the elevator. She doesn't acknowledge his presence, not until they are both in the elevator and she raises an eyebrow in question.
She is not really there and were they working a case, he would have called her out on that. But it's concern that drives his question, "Are you alright, Kate?"
She doesn't need to respond, because he already knows the answer, yet she insists, "I'm fine, Gibbs."
" – just tired," she adds, feeding him a tiny bit of truth along with the lie, after meeting his I-am-not-buying-this-crap look. Even then, he slips a smile, a knowing smirk one might say, as if he is aware of something she is apparently blind to.
Then comes the ringing.
After pulling the emergency lever, Gibbs leans against the elevator wall, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. For a moment, it looks like she is going to scream, sharp breaths divulging her panic, but then she follows suit, back against cold steel, the chills down her spine soothing her, until her voice is reduced to a whisper,
"I'm sorry."
He is about to say it. Kate knows it. Rule number 6. Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness.
Instead, he moves closer, as he was never the one to respect personal space. Inches away from her, he takes a moment just to meet her frantic gaze.
"You did what you had to do, agent Todd," his voice interrupts the silence, assertive, yet collected.
It's wrong on so many levels. After a year of working with this man, Kate still has trouble understanding him. The proximity might suggest intimacy – might betray his concern for her, the fact that he cares – and yet, he calls her agent Todd, which draws a very clear line. This is going to either drive the wedge further, or destroy its foundation completely.
"I know, Gibbs – I know. But what am I supposed to do now?" Kate chokes on the last words. To hell with keeping it together. Her gaze drops down, to the floor, to their feet, to his feet, that are moving even closer now. It's almost impossible, the way he leaves an inch between them, because she can sense his presence, sense his breath on her skin. Hear the murmur in her ear,
"You did the right thing, Kate. It wasn't a mistake – "
She has no idea what he's doing. It's as if she's back down in autopsy, surrounded by ghosts: phantom lips caressing her ear, ghostly fingers playing over the side of her neck. None of it is actual touch, but it's the closest thing to skin on skin contact.
"—it'll be okay," he reassures her, finally taking a step back.
With the tension gone, there is nothing to hold her together. Okay? Kate wants to scream otherwise, it won't be okay, it can't – how do you make it okay? But she doesn't say a word, her eyes seeking his only to find them already locked on her. There is no escape; she is trapped in that elevator, trapped in his arms –
In his arms she catches her breath at last. The infinite lines he trails down her back complement the sound of his heartbeat. The front of his shirt is damp with her tears and it's just beginning to dawn on her: she broke down in front of her boss, in front of Gibbs. It's wrong, but it's almost okay.
"Thank you," she breathes, feeling a little lighter.
"It will be okay, Kate."