This section deals with the topic of SI so if you have a problem with reading stories like that, skip this part.
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Abby
Crowded streets are cleared away one by one
Hollow heroes separate as they run
You're so cold, keep your hand in mind
Wise men wonder while strong men die
Show me how it ends it's all right
Show me how defenseless you really are
Satisfied and empty inside
You're so cold but you feel alive
Lay your hands on me one last time
Abby held a pair of scissors in her hand.
She had been cutting out pictures. Of her, Kate, the team, random photographs she had in her apartment. She didn't have a method to her madness, she was simply pasting them on poster board in a haphazard fashion, pasting picture after picture on, not paying attention to how crooked or bent it was. It wasn't until her tears started to warp a newspaper article she had cut out that she stopped. She looked away. It was the article about Kate's death.
Abby held a pair of scissors in her hand.
No one had ever known her secret. Not at 11 years, when she had first done it. Not at 16 when she had almost taken things one slice too far. And not at 28 when she applied for the position at NCIS.
It wasn't until 33 that someone knew. And she had found someone who did not judge. Who did not criticize. Who merely nodded and said "yeah, life is painful. But you're stronger." And for two years she had not had one slip up.
"I can't do it without you, Kate," Abby sobbed. She had been able to call Kate whenever the urge came. Whenever. Kate told her if she needed someone to talk to at 3 a.m. and didn't call Kate, she would beat her. Abby had always laughed, but deep down she was more grateful than she had ever been in her life. No one had ever cared that much.
Abby opened the pair of scissors like she was about to cut another picture. Instead she ran her finger along the sharp edge. It was like a razor. She didn't even realize she was still crying until she felt tears on her outstretched arm. She placed the blade of the scissors along her arm, just soaking in the feeling of the sharp object against her skin. It had been so long. She was about to draw it towards her, when Kate's voice whispered in her head. It was something she had said long ago, when the urges were still so strong Abby didn't know how she could ever live without them. And for that she was ashamed. Kate had said,"Scars are stories, history written on the body. You're story is beautiful Abby. Don't be ashamed."
Abby set the pictures and scissors aside and clutched her head in her hands.