Title: The Wind
Author: dark rolling sea
Spoiliers: Twillight
Disclaimer: NCIS and everything assoc with it is not mine.
The Wind
One shot. One shot changed his life. He couldn't stop thinking about it. It didn't kill her but it might as well have. She hasn't woken up. She lies in that hospital bed and the machines beep with her life. He tried not to think about her at work but the chair was so empty, her desk already cleared of her personal things. He would sit and stare for long periods of time and he knew the others noticed but said nothing.
He never smiled anymore, and he didn't think he had smiled since the day that bastard shot her in the head, with him standing right next to her. She was the last person he smiled at. He couldn't do anything to stop it. He had been helpless. He had failed her. He had failed himself.
He was staring at her desk when he noticed his face was wet. He was crying and didn't even realize it. He felt everyone looking at him but he didn't care at that moment. He was in pain. He could hear her call to him in his head. He could hear her voice calling to him on the wind outside.
He left promptly at six o'clock as he had every night since she had been shot. At first people were shocked. He never left on time, but now it was just part of his being. He was a robot going through the motions. He was lost.
Nothing else in his life matter anymore. She was the center of it and she didn't even know it. He knew she had wanted that before the shot. He knew she had loved him and he had loved her too but was afraid to act on it. He was afraid to risk everything he had worked for in his life. Now none of it mattered. She was gone but she was still here. It tore at him.
He drove to the hospital to hold her hand again. He did it every night, and he would until she either left him for good or woke up. He wondered if she knew he was there, he wondered if she felt him by her side. He got there and sat in his chair at her bedside and took her hand. He stared at her laying there on the bed, motionless, the machine keeping pace on her life.
A few hours passed and the doctor told him he should go home and get some rest that she would still be here in the morning. He looked up at him and asked for a cot. The doctor stared at him with sad eyes, eyes full of pity. He didn't care. He wasn't leaving.
He spent the weekend with her again. He sat with her, and spoke to hear in his head. Told her what he was thinking. He would always come back to the cross she wore. He r religion, her God. He wasn't one for believing and he never prayed before he met her. It wasn't for him.
After the shot he would stare at her cross and wonder why her God had chosen her and not him. Why he left the one who didn't believe. The days began to blur and he sat with her. At her side when he wasn't at work. Her voice calling to him again and again.
It was Sunday again. He walked down the road from the hospital to the little church he had found a few weeks ago. He sat in the last pew and listened to the sermons now. He didn't know why but it helped him forget, at least for a few hours, his pain. It was a connection to her he had now, even if she wasn't part of it with him. It gave him direction.
He knew he cried during the services, he knew that people stared. He didn't care anymore. They didn't know why the stranger showed up or where he came from but they knew he was in pain. No one knew how to comfort him, he was letting go, slowly, but he was letting go.
Her voice would call to him everywhere he went. He would hear her. After the sermon he would stay in the chapel after the choir would sing after the people had left. He would kneel and bow his head.
He would bow his head and pray. He didn't know how to at first he had just cried and bowed his head. Then slowly he had started to think about her. Now he said everything that he had to. He said everything he didn't have a chance to say to her now. He told her he loved her. He told her he was sorry. He told her he was dying, that his heart was shattered. She never answered until he would leave then her voice would call to him on the wind, like a love thats never going to end.
The End.
AN: This story was based on a song by Tonic Sol-Fa (written by Shaun Johnson) titled Oklahoma Wind. The idea came to me today and I just had to write it out. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review! Thanks for reading!