I collapsed onto my bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Turns out, Nicholas hadn't gotten very far with the bomb. Or at least, the bomb he wanted to make. He still had your standardized bomb that could level a building.
I had told him not to use it under any circumstances. He had agreed readily, still feeling guilty about the whole kidnapping thing. After that, we had talked. We talked about our brothers, our families (Apparently Thomas had been the last living relative he had left. Everyone else was dead), and what our plans for the future was.
His was to quit being an assassin for hire. But, because of the things he'd done in the past, he wouldn't escape jail time. So, he would just go around the world and try to help people. And he'd start with taking down the assassin agency, nicknamed Hell's Gates (Flare for dramatic apparently), and I promised to help him in any way that I could. Even if it started with him having a safe place to crash if need be.
He now had my number, and I, his. He had dropped me off at the apartment, (He took me around to the fire escape. All for the sake of being inconspicuous) with a warning. Don't trust anyone I don't know. And even then, be careful trusting. Now that he knew who I was, Hell's Gates would probably know too, and I might be in more danger. However, their flare wasn't for torturing you by killing those you cared about. Quite the opposite actually. They preferred to torture you directly, and physically.
So, I would just have to be careful.
Easier said than done.
I had my phone back, and had several missed calls from various people. The entire NCIS team, and even Eric and Trish.
I already had a cover plan. I fell asleep, turned my phone off because I was so tired, and didn't wake up until 10. I had thirty minutes until 10.
I had washed off all the makeup from yesterday, and my hair was a mess, so I did look like I had been asleep. Especially from the ruffles in all my clothes.
I know that I should be tired, being knocked out doesn't really qualify for rest.
I had just closed my eyes when knocking erupted from the door. I groaned and stood up, trudging to the door.
The knocking got louder, and calls were heard, "Kiley! Kiley, answer the door or I will kick it down!" It was Trish. Did something happen?
I forced myself to act like I had just woken up, and opened the door with a yawn. I leaned against it and looked blearily at all the people on the other side.
All of the NCIS team was there, and all of my friends were there. They froze when they saw me, shock obvious on their faces, before it faded to relief.
I yawned again, "What guys? It's like," I made a show of looking over my shoulder at the clock, "9:34. Waaaaay too early to be out an about." I glared at them grumpily, before stepping aside, "Well, since all of you are here in mass panic, threatening to break my door, you might as well come in and tell me why you woke me up. And why you are all staring at me like I should be dead."
I narrowed my eyes at them, "I swear, I have tried very hard not to piss anyone off lately."
I let them step past me, then shuffled to the kitchen. Ziva smirked at me, "Didn't you change clothes last night?"
I looked down and huffed, "Too tired. And I'm still tired. So, before we have discussions about life and death, I'm making coffee first."
Gibbs put his hand on my arm, "Why don't you change clothes. We can go to a coffee shop and talk."
I looked up at him, he had been worried too. I'm going to assume that since the college friends are here, they had been told about the would be murderer. Otherwise, they'd still be sleeping. Or at least, most of them would be.
"Fine. Give me a minute." I told him, then shuffled back to into the bedroom.
I changed quickly into black ripped jeans, threw the same boots on, throwing the pen knives in with the other knives, and put on a sleeveless, figure hugging, blue shirt. I looked down at my hands, realizing that the black fingerless gloves Nicholas had lent me were still on my hands. He had given them to me so I could hold one of the bombs hotter parts that would hurt my palm, but not my fingers if I was careful.
I kind of liked them though, so they stayed.
I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and put it into a braid, then washed my face and applied some eyeliner.
Once I was done, I walked back out of my room and into the living room. I grabbed the discarded leather jacket and threw it on.
I looked expectantly at my companions, and we walked out of the apartment.
I ignored the bleak mood my companions had, and smiled to everyone we passed on the street. Waved too. I was my normal, bouncy self. And I was a bit restless. When we had to stop at crosswalks, I jumped around. It was enough to make my companions smile, but otherwise, they didn't do much.
Eric finally had enough of my behavior, and his hand soon found its way to the back of my neck. He pulled me over to him and put his arm over my shoulders, muttering, "Stay. You're making people stare."
I huffed, but followed him. My hands were tapping on my legs, and I felt like running. Overall, I felt okay. Despite the gentle throb on the back of my head. But it wasn't bad at all, and kept getting better.
And, bonus! I made a new friend. One who had originally tried to kill me. Little things, right? Oh, and the people he used to work for might also know who I am, and may or may not try to kill me because of the people I know. Wonderful! I should feel scared. Traumatized. Depressed. Angry.
But I was in a good mood. And even though I knew the talk that was coming soon, I couldn't be bothered.
Even with Eric's arm keeping me close to him and preventing me from jumping around like a mad man, I was still being a child. That is to say, avoiding stepping on any and all cracks on the sidewalk, and would dramatically step over them while mentally chanting 'Don't step on a crack or you'll fall and break your back!'
My companions just gave me bemused looks, and Trish kept muttering, "Infant."
But I just kept skipping. I was in a good mood, I was 17, I was still alive, and Tony wouldn't be consumed by guilt. Hopefully.
If he did let it, I would punch him. I was getting to be a good aim, thanks to Jinhai.
So yeah, I was in a good mood. Sue me.
We finally reached the café, at which point I had been juggled from Eric, to Lucas, to Jason. The last one had been a mistake on everyone's part, because Jason was also very jittery this morning, and skipped with me. Soon, I had his frown turned into laughter, and I counted that as a win.
But, before we could switch again, we stopped at the café.
I waltzed inside, and picked a big table that would seat all of us. In the center of the room.
Ziva grimaced, but took a seat next to me. Tony took the one on the other side. Soon, all of us were seated, and we ordered. Mostly, they didn't order anything. But I ordered a chocolate latte and a muffin. I was like Spencer in that regard, I would never gain weight much, and I was always hungry. But normally, we wouldn't act on it. There was no point in doing so. Our metabolism was fast, and if we went a day or so without eating, we'd pass out. Something I learned the hard way after doing what Spencer had done numerous times, get caught up in something and forget to eat. It isn't pleasant to wake up afterwards a few hours later and find out that no one really cared to look for you.
At least Spencer had his team to make sure he ate. My father didn't really care that much.
But, I wouldn't wallow in self pity. That led to depression. And depression was not a road I was willing to take. And I'd be damned before I let those around me feel it too.
I waited for them to start talking, because Tony was clearly trying to find the words, and the others were watching him. My college friends seemed to take great satisfaction watching him mentally struggle, and, though I hadn't noticed before, they were even more distant to the NCIS team than they had been yesterday. Yesterday, it seemed that they could be friends. But today, that was shattered. It wasn't really something I liked seeing. Their approval of each other was important to me, and it physically hurt to see them like this.
But it hurt more to know why Tony was so….. not Tony. I wanted nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and convince him that it was alright, that he didn't have anything to be guilty of. From what I understood, he fired the shot, and the kid died on the way to the hospital. So he didn't have to be guilty.
But, no matter how much my instincts screamed at me to do something, I stayed where I was and sipped my coffee, acting completely oblivious to the strife currently taking place next to me.
Finally, after several terse minutes of my college friends glaring at my team, Tony spoke.
"Kiles. I…. uh….. screwed up. Big time." He started.
Wanting to at least make him smile, I smirked slyly at him, "You and I make quite the pair then. But what, pray tell, did you do to one up me?"
His lips twitched, but the sadness swept through his features like fire, and he continued as though I hadn't said anything, "There was a case. Last month. Involving a navy marine who had been charred because of a bomb blast. We looked for who did it, and our search led us to a kid, a kid and his brother. A bombing duo, who had made the bombs responsible for everything. We met them on a dock, asked them to stand down, but the kid triggered the bomb, I fired at the remote in his hand, but he moved as I hit the trigger. Instead of hitting the remote and his hand, I hit his chest. His brother yelled, threw the bomb into the sea, and tried to save his younger brother. The EMT's arrived, took the kid and the brother, but the kid died before he reached the hospital.
"A few weeks ago, I got a letter…. that said the older brother would be paying a member of our team a visit. We stuck together as much as we could, no one was alone. But, a week ago, I got contacted again. This time he clarified, he wasn't going after an adult member of the team. He was going after the fifth member. The youngest member. You. He said that we…. I….. had taken his baby brother away, he'd take away the person I viewed as a baby sister. So, we came out as soon as possible. We haven't gotten anything to suggest that he was here, but we weren't willing to let it go. We have agents, from FBI and NCIS, looking. We haven't contacted your brother yet. FBI told us not to until we had more info. Plus, I'm kinda scared of your bi polar brother, Kiles."
The last part was a joke, half-hearted at best, but I was glad that he was at least making the effort.
They all watched me with varying expressions. Anger. Grief. Guilt. Sadness. Fear.
Trish, finally done with patience, snapped, "If they hadn't been complete morons, this wouldn't have happened to begin with!"
My college friends agreed with her instantly, and it looked like they were preparing for a fight.
Voices began filtering through from both parties.
"We were trying to protect her!"
"After getting into this mess to begin with!"
"This is wrong! You shouldn't have pulled the trigger at all!"
"He didn't have a choice!"
I sighed. A headache was already starting to say hello. So close to the knock out, it wouldn't be very good for me.
I slammed my hand against the table and snarled, "ENOUGH!"
Instantly, there was quiet. Not only at my table, but the entire café was now watching me warily.
I stood up and pointed at my college friends, who were beginning to open their mouths, "Can it! I don't want one word about this. Do you understand?! In their job, sometimes it isn't avoidable. You do not know the strain. It's a mix between protecting innocents, and trying not to kill anyone. Even when the bad guy is attempting to kill innocents. Tony did not pull the trigger to kill. He never does. And I doubt he ever will! You are in no place to judge him for something you don't understand!"
They looked properly chastised, and I turned to the NCIS team. "And all of you, calm down! They are just as worried as you, and you are not the only ones allowed to care and worry about me! They're confused, they're scared, and they want someone to blame. No one in this room is to blame. Do you understand me?! Tony!" Said agent jumped and looked up at me, "Stop feeling guilty! It isn't your fault. You didn't pull the trigger to hurt the kid, you pulled it to protect innocent people who didn't deserve to die. Yes, the kid didn't deserve to either, but you didn't shoot to kill. You didn't kill him, Tony. So knock it off! Yes, I understand that the guilt is still there. It might always be. But don't you dare let it consume you."
Tony grimaced and muttered quietly, "You don't understand, Kiley. I put everyone in danger because of my actions. I killed someone."
That did it. I hadn't originally wanted them to know. But to hell with it!
"Oh really? Please tell me how I don't understand that weight, after I drove a knife through Peter's chest." Everyone had basically left the café anyway, and the employees were hiding in the back. There was no one but us here. "Please tell me, how I won't see his scared, confused, pain filled gaze as a knife was driven through his chest, that it won't stick with me for the rest of my life. I killed someone, Tony. With a knife." I bent quickly, pulled out a knife, and threw it in the air. It flipped once, twice, three times before landing in my palm. Hilt down.
"And yet, here I am. Spinning around knives like I was born with them in my hand. Here I am, smiling, joking, and not letting guilt consume me for what I did. If I hadn't, he might have kept killing. If I hadn't, I would have died. Because I did, I lived to stay with my friends, my family, and because I did, no one will ever get hurt by him again. I admit, I wake up in a cold sweat most nights, remembering his terrified face, and knowing I was the one that put it there. I admit, I panic sometimes if someone else puts a freakin fork too next to my hand. And I admit, that won't go away for a long time. But you know what? I'm having fun. I'm alive. I'm here with my friends, who are currently trying to kill each other, and I'm here, because of my actions that couldn't be helped. I hadn't meant to kill him. I hadn't meant to put the knife in his chest. Just like you hadn't meant to kill that kid. You aimed for his hand. Not his chest. I hadn't meant to cause Arthur crushing agony because he would never see his cousin alive again. Just like you hadn't meant for the brother to never see his sibling again."
I shoved the knife back into the holster, threw a 20 on the table, hauled Tony to his feet, and stormed out of the café, dragging the annoying older brother behind me.
