Tony landed in the water hard and the shock of its coldness traveled up his body faster than his body could sink into the water. But he was still in desperate trouble. With his heavy leather jacket soaking with sea-water, he was going down. His body sank beneath the surface, sucked down by the wreckage of the plane. He was going down to Davy Jones' Locker.
His eyes came open. From his view beneath the water, he saw something above the surface. It was only in his mind, but that made it no less real...an orange glow, the warmth of the sunset, and her face above the surface.
Tony couldn't die here. Not now. He had to live. For her.
Tony's limbs came to life, and he fought his way up. He kicked his way up. He kicked and swam. He summoned all his strength to reach the top. Breaking the surface, Tony gasped loud enough to wake up an entire neighborhood. The whole sea around him was freezing, dark and empty, but he grabbed a life jacket and held on for dear life...and for Kate.
Tony's body drifted. He kicked off his shoes, shed the badass leather jacket. He continued to drift to the shore, his body shaking convulsively from the cold.
Eventually, he hit mud. He made it to the beach. When he got to the dry sand, his body no longer trembled. He had lost consciousness. He had no strength, no will to live. His face settled into the sand. His body was still. An hour later, Tony came to...
Tony shivered as he woke. Was it from the memory of the frozen water, from the emotion wanting to see Kate again-or both?
He became aware that some men were approaching him. Tony tried to stand but he was weakened by the freezing cold. Tony managed to raise his head to look at his rescuers. But he realized they weren't his rescuers. They were wearing ski masks and carried AK-47s.
"¡Creo que está muerto!" one guy said.
"¿Es él?"
Tony groaned. He couldn't believe his luck. Shot down and captured. Fuck my life.
"¡No, sigue vivo!" the man corrected.
"Habla espanol, americano?" another man asked.
"Se un poco de español," Tony asked. "Tu es cartel, si?"
"Si. That will do," the man said. He preceded to smash Tony's face with the butt of his Kalashnikov. Tony felt blood in his mouth before everything faded to black.
Kate did not say one word as she was flown home. For half the trip, the Boeing 767 was escorted by two US Air Force fighters. When the Boeing approached Cuba, the fighters peeled off and went back home to their carrier. Some passengers had been worried but the flight attendants, without revealing any details, told them that someone very important was on the plane and therefore required an escort. That was all they told them.
Did Kate have anything to say? Any tears of sorrow? Perhaps, but she didn't say a word. Not on the flight to America, not when the plane stopped to refuel in Miami, and not when the plane landed in Washington, DC. Not a word. Who could blame her?
A woman tried to talk to her during the flight. Kate didn't respond. The woman wasn't offended. She could see the shock in Kate's eyes. She let her be.
Kate held her rosary beads and Crucifix in her hands the entire flight, silently praying. She looked out the window as the plane landed. Inside the waiting area at the airport was a familiar face. For the first time, she spoke.
"Gibbs."
Kate came off the plane approached the old fox of a marine. They didn't hug or embrace. They simply looked at each other for what seemed like hours. After what was really ten seconds, Kate finally let out the emotions that was bubbling to the surface. She collapsed in his arms, letting the tears fall. Gibbs held her tight as she cried in his shoulder.
"He's gone, Gibbs," Kate sobbed. "He's gone."
Gibbs didn't say anything. Kate couldn't see it, but a lone manly tear ran down his face as well.
Sorry it's so short.