Title: The Woman in White
Author: MindyHarmon
Rating: K+ supernatural and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Summary: Post-"Twilight". A surprise encounter in a coffee house. Kibbs overtones.
Spoilers: "Black Water", "Twilight" and tiny one for "Split Decision".
"If things get real for me down here,
Promise to take me to before you went away -
If only for a day…
And if I listen to, The Sound of White,
Sometimes I hear your smile, and breathe your light..."
She doesn't frequent this part of town. She has arrived earlier than she intended for an interview with a magazine, so she stops in at the coffee house for a cup of tea. She takes a seat in the sun by the window and tries to prepare what she is going to say about her work for the publication.
As she waits for her jasmine tea to cool, she takes out her compact and checks her newly styled red hair, and admires the effects of her latest round of botox injections. Pleased with what she sees, she snaps it closed and throws it back in her bag.
Casting her eye about the wooden décor of the little place, with its perfectly placed plants and pretty, pretty people, she is almost blinded by the reflected sun glinting off the glass door as it opens.
A man in a black suit enters; a figure she somehow recognizes. He has short, salt and pepper hair, a weary, worn visage and blue eyes that she could never forget. He catches her attention not just because of his familiarity. He is a handsome man, well-built and striking, but that is not what fascinates her either.
Selena has a special gift for discovering sadness. She has experienced enough of it in her forty-two years to be very intimately acquainted with it, with all its intricacies, effects and appearances.
And while her gifts in other areas of her profession may not be quite as stellar or genuine, with this emotion, she is perfectly adept and painfully talented.
She thinks she received a steady diet of it, along with all her other nutrients, through the cord in her mothers' womb. For as long as she knew her mother, she had always been inexplicably sad. There was nothing Selena had been able to do about that. Nothing anybody could do. In the end her mother had come to that conclusion too and decided to leave her sad life and her daughter behind.
Selena had inherited her sorrow. With no family to share the burden of her legacy, she had shouldered it alone and moved on, vowing to do whatever she could to create for herself a life full of pleasure, happiness and success.
Somewhere along the way she had dropped her mother's burden of sorrow and her own, but she never entirely forgot how it felt to ache, to grieve, to slowly die inside of over-powering regret. And she never lost the ability to see it in others, to sense its erasable hold over them and their lives.
The first and only other time she had seen this man, now crossing the floor in front of her, he had not carried with him the burden she now saw oppressing him. He'd carried anger, suspicion, aggression and a strong defensiveness with him. He'd had a dominant energy, an invading presence that he knew how to put to good use. Part if his job, she assumed, but also, she'd gathered then, a part of his personal pain. She remembers those blue inescapable eyes, pinning her, searching for the truth, searching for a lie, in her own eyes. And while confronting her, he'd unconsciously revealed to her more than he'd ever guess. Yes, he'd had sadness then – but nothing like this.
She watches him stand in line for coffee – his eyes wander, unseeing, unfocused, not interested in his surroundings. There are heavy bags under them, a look she remembers from her own face after her first marriage breakup. His brow is creased, troubled -- and has been for some time, as if he is trapped, trying to solve some unsolvable mystery. His large, brown, worn hands twitch at his sides, useless weapons against an enemy he cannot see or defeat. There is weariness in his stance, despite his obvious muscle, and the vigor she remembers seeing in him during their first encounter is all but vanished.
In the back of her mind, she sees a flash of a cavernous boat in a dark room, followed by a flash of a woman's gold crucifix necklace.
The images startle her – these insights happen rarely now, but they used to be a regular interruption in her life.
Then suddenly his name comes back to her; Gibbs. Gibbs was his name and he was an agent with NCIS who came to interrogate her when the young McAllister boy had finally been found. But that was mere months ago – the man in front of her looked years older. What can have altered him so cruelly in such a short time?
Her cell phone trills and she answers it absent-mindedly, still eyeing the man in the black by the counter. It's her new agent, making sure she's on schedule and pumped for her interview. She reminds Selena of the interviewers' name and the restaurant just down the street where they are due to meet in twenty minutes. She dutifully repeats the details and scribbles the initials on her hand, quickly discontinuing the conversation.
She begins to sip at her tea, trying to concentrate on her own day, what she needs to do. She tries to put out of her mind the man in black and his apparent pain. She gave up years ago trying to heal the world – it can't be done. And now she tries just to look after herself – she's the only thing she has control over after all.
But her eyes are strangely and irresistibly drawn back to him and her heart jumps into her throat with what she sees.
There is a woman – a pale woman, with long dark hair, in a white suit, standing right behind him. She wasn't there before and Selena knows she isn't really there now. His complete obliviousness to her presence proves that what she is seeing is an apparition.
She watches, spellbound, as the shadowy figure so slowly puts out a hand and rests it softly, reverently, tenderly, on the older man's back, right next to his spine. She moves in close so that if she were real, her body would be leaning into his back. She is turning her face, about to lay her cheek against him; Selena sees a glimpse of a pretty young face with teary eyes, before the man steps forward and away and the spirit disappears abruptly.
A few people pass through her line a vision, breaking the moment and she shakes herself out of her astonishment. Her breath and her heart have quickened, her hands are shaking and for some reason her eyes are full of tears. She blinks them away, and takes another sip of her tea to calm herself, puzzled and rather annoyed by her own reaction.
She tries to rein herself in and forget what she has seen. She tries once again to disregard this particular gift she possesses. She swiftly decides she needs to get away, get out of the place. But as she pulls her compact out again to touch up her lipstick, she feels a presence over her shoulder. The mirror of her compact reflects only white behind her and a chill runs up her spine as she feels a cold hand lay softly on her shoulder.
She holds her breath and hopes it will go away. This hasn't happened to her in years and she's forgotten how frightening it can be. The spirit is insistent though and suddenly something propels her up and out of her seat. She is barely aware of what she's doing but she hears her heels crack against the wooden floor under foot, and she hears her voice nearly shout out:
"Gibbs!"
Not Agent Gibbs or Mister Gibbs – but just 'Gibbs'; like she knows the man, which she doesn't at all. She finds herself standing in front of him, just as he's exiting the coffee house, coffee cup in one hand, the other pulling at the door.
The reflection on the glass door flashes again and for a brief moment they are both blinded by it. He squints at her, like he sees someone else for an instant, then his face clouds with disappointment, and impatience.
"Do we know each other?" he asks in a hard tenor.
"Selena Lockhart," she reminds him, and puts out a hand uncertainly.
She sees him recall her and he shakes her hand perfunctorily.
"Of course," he answers, completely uninterested: "how are you?"
"Fine," she shakes her head, distractedly and waits for the spirit to guide her. She hasn't done this work in so long though – so her insights come and go, her talent is inconsistent, her connection to the other side only fleeting. She has no idea what she is doing and while part of her resents being drawn into other people's trauma, another part of her sees something in this man that she relates to and wants to help.
"The woman," she says, sounding like the crazy lady she always tries to avoid being: "The woman in white…"
"Excuse me?" Gibbs questions, irritated. He glances around like she might be referring to someone in the coffee house: "What woman?"
He doesn't want to be talking to her right now – she knows he'll probably think her insane. He's not the type to believe in the spirit world; he'd made that quite clear the first time they'd met. She can no longer feel the spirit, or get any sense of what she wanted, so she simply shakes her head and plasters a tight smile on her face.
"No one," she sighs, her voice reclaiming its strength: "Never mind, I'm sorry--"
She is withdrawing, her hand slipping out of his, when, abruptly, he snatches it back, turning her hand palm up. He grips her a little too tightly and for a moment she's afraid of his intensity. But then he runs his thumb gently over the penned marks on her mound of Venus and she sees his face contort into an expression of incredible disbelief and pain, as he stares fixedly at the "K" and the "T" inked onto her skin.
He meets her gaze suddenly, his blue eyes brimming with mixed emotion: "What woman?" he demands hoarsely, taking a step closer and trapping her hand in his large, grasping paw.
She tries to speak with authority, with clarity, but she feels she has little to offer him in the way of information or comfort: "A young woman. She used to come here…." she nods to indicate the coffee house and narrows her eyes at the space where she'd seen the apparition: "Small. With dark hair. And a crucifix…"
He gulps audibly. "What can you tell me about her?" he presses, desperately and she feels his need encroach on her with his aura, his tone, his bright, hopeful, hopeless eyes. And now she remembers why she no longer does this work. Having it scripted and staged is so much easier on the heart.
Even so, she wishes to help. But all she feels is an incredible sensation of sorrow; from both the man in front of her and the spirit that still cares for him. She doesn't want to tell him, that wherever that young woman is, she still suffers, she still aches for him, she still experiences unrest and unhappiness and regret. Neither does she want to tell him the woman in white is still with him, following him, worrying about him. Because she doesn't know if that would be a blessing or a curse – she suspects to this man it would be curse, a punishment, a further injury.
And most people, in her experience, do not react well to knowing their loved ones are still with them, walking the planet in unpeace. It sends them a little nutty. She doesn't want to add to this man's burden. Platitudes will not work on him and she knows he won't accept the kind of fake answers she usually specializes in. She can't tell him a single thing that she actually believes in.
She shakes her head and looks down: "Nothing, I'm sorry…"
She takes her hand back and breaks their connection, feeling the coldness in her spine recede and their surroundings come back to her in harsh contrast. She squares her shoulders and watches Agent Gibbs try in vein to control his feelings.
"What was her name?" she asks quietly, not sure why she cares.
She knows the woman is dead, and she knows it was not a good death, if there ever is such a thing. She died too young, too suddenly, wrongly, cruelly, unjustly, leaving more than this man grieving in her wake. She doesn't know what she meant to him, but she knows her death has left him completely and utterly devastated. To her practiced eyes, that is as clear as the lines on his face.
It takes him a moment to get his voice to work: "Caitlin," he says with quiet reverence. He clears his throat but his voice still breaks when he adds with warmth: "Kate."
"Kate…" she repeats softly and reaches out to touch his arm: "I'm truly sorry, Agent Gibbs."
Without warning, the cool touch on her shoulder returns; it's very faint but unmistakably real -- and instead of feeling frightened this time, she tries to focus on it, tries to hear what the white woman wants to impart. She grips his arm more firmly, encouraging the connection between the two of them. She closes her eyes briefly and sees in her mind's eye a watery image of a woman with dark hair, dark eyes and bright big smile.
"Kate…" she says again and opens her eyes: "She's…concerned…you think about her too much. She says you should get some sleep and…try to be less of a gloomy gus."
Sometimes this happens. Sometimes if she just starts talking, some truth will come out. It's her voice but not her words, not her truth.
There are rarely any great revelations – usually, just like Caitlin's message, someone just wants to let another know that they care.
And that's it, she realizes; that's all she'd wanted to say for now, all Kate needed to express. It's deceptively simpleto her mind, yet infinitely touching.
Agent Gibbs is looking at her like he's as close to weeping as he probably gets. His face is creased with incredulity, his body breathes abnormally, locked in rapt attention, his eyes alight with a hopeful sort of gratitude and a deep, dark affection for someone who no longer exists.
She takes her hand away, and feels herself return to some semblance of her normal state of being. She draws in a deep breath and looks away to give him a moment to collect himself.
"Gloomy Gus?" he repeats, after a while, a definite touch of humor in his tone.
She shrugs, baffled and gives him a little smile. They stand in awkward silence for an extended moment, before he breaks it.
He clears his throat loudly and shifts on the spot: "I have to go."
She nods. Of course – he has a life to lead, she supposes, and probably needs to be alone in order to absorb something as peculiar as this meeting.
"Take care, Agent Gibbs," she says sincerely as he turns towards the door. She's backing away also, when he looks back:
"Thank you," he mumbles quietly and when she meets his eyes, there is a small smile on his sad face.
She nods again and watches him go, striding down the street, coffee in hand, posture erect, with a very slight hesitation in his step. Then he crosses the road and is gone.
She returns to her table where her tea is now cold but her handbag at least has not been stolen. She retouches her lipstick, with a shaky hand and checks her watch, tracing the initials that had captured the attention of Gibbs.
Her cell phone rings again and she scrambles to answer it, nearly spilling the remaining tea into her lap.
"Hello, Ms Lockhart," says a frazzled voice on the other end: "This is Kayla Todman of Wellbeing magazine."
"Oh, hello," she replies, politely: "Is anything wrong?"
"Look, I hate to do this to you at such short notice," says the other woman: "But I'm going to have to postpone our meeting."
"Oh, I see."
"I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience, but something rather pressing has come up."
Selena smiles to herself and looks down the street in the direction that Gibbs had disappeared. She pauses momentarily.
"Actually it's no problem at all," she replies, feeling somewhat relieved: "I had another meeting this morning," she adds, distantly: "It kind of wore me out."
"Well, at least I haven't wasted your time," Kayla sighs, calming a little.
"Not at all," Selena assures her: "I know I achieved what I was meant to today."
"Good," says the voice on the other end, not comprehending: "Well, I'll call soon to re-schedule."
"That's fine, I'll talk to you soon."
"Bye then."
"Goodbye," she says quietly and snaps off her phone. She considers getting herself another tea or some lunch, but decides she'd prefer some fresh air.
So she gathers her things and heads out into the bright sunshine, the breeze ruffling her hair lightly. She has nowhere she needs to be till late afternoon so she walks aimlessly for some time, lost in her own thoughts.
Selena doesn't believe in coincidences. Agent Gibbs had saved her life once and she is now grateful to be able, in some way, to return the favor. His blue eyes will haunt her for some time, she imagines. As will the eerie vision of his Kate reaching out to him from beyond oblivion – but that is something that she silently lives with and nearly always has.
She walks slowly, pensively, down the hectic DC street, feeling profoundly blessed and sad, bewildered and truly touched.