I never actually saw the s2 finale. And I'm sorry if this seems a bit disjointed. I'm crazy exhausted (I have 4 jobs, most of which are late at night) but for some reason this just came to me.

Disclaimer: don't own it.

Anyway, the new season starts on Wednesday in Aus and I can't wait! (even though it won't be the same without Kate). sad

Things are a little more vague now. It's like when you look at old photos… the edges are slightly blurred and the emotions seem just a little more distant. But at the same time, everything is clearer.

I don't remember the rooftop. I hear them, talking. Well, I hear Abby and McGee. Sometimes Tony. Even though I don't hear Gibbs, what I hear from Ducky is enough for me to know. It was a bang. Loud. Caused confusion and the slightest hint of panic, even from us. Even from NCIS special agents. I remember my feelings too. Fear, pain in my shoulder and bruising in my chest as I thudded to the floor. I think I jumped. Pushed someone out of the way. Gibbs.

And then after a moment, I remember the warmth that enveloped me as I heard their frantic cries.

"Kate!"

I smiled and stood, rubbing against the vest I wore. It's funny, but the first thing I thought was Dang, now I have a bullet hole in my new shirt.

"You okay?"

"Ow. I just got shot at point blank range DiNozzo, what do you think?"

"You mean you won't be going to Pilates tomorrow?" Always has to be such a smartass. I could hate him if he wasn't so…Gibbs congratulated Tony for something. I hadn't been listening, but that caught my attention.

"Wow, Gibbs, I thought I'd die before I heard you…"

Then it was back. The pain, I mean. Only for a millisecond was it mine, but after that it was just as strong. In my heart now, not in my head. This pain was just as bad. But it belonged to them. Gibbs and Tony first. McGee, Ducky, Abby, even Palmer. Heck, I think even Fornell was in there somewhere.

Lord, it felt like it was being torn apart and crushed at the same time. At that point, everything was fuzzy. Like a TV set that isn't quite tuned. It was slowly clearing. And then I realized I was on the floor, a deep red puddle surrounding my head. But that couldn't be right, I was standing here, right behind Tony. Tony was staring at me too. The me on the floor. The… dead… me.

I've spoken to a few people here. They all say the same thing. They say it's shock, that the soul supposedly isn't meant to leave the body through violent means. We were designed so that our souls would decide to make the transition themselves. Unfortunately, when something interferes with that plan, our souls don't tend to cope to well. I didn't, I know that.

I have no memory of their chase for the man who murdered me. I remember my autopsy. How could I forget. I had thought it would be traumatic for me. Watching my organs be removed from my body one at a time, clinically, weighed and measured, tested for abnormalities and malfunction. Watching a man I knew, loved like a father, respected and – heaven forbid – occasionally jokingly flirted with, determine my very obvious cause of death. But it wasn't like that. I watched as Ducky examined my body professionally and yet personally. I watched, but I felt the only attachment I had to what lay on his table was Donald Mallard himself. He talked me through the autopsy, just like a surgeon does to their patient. All the time I remember him talking to victims, I thought he was just an eccentric old man. But he knows. Somehow. He knows that the soul is still there. And so soon after their death, they still need comfort and calm, just like at any point in their life.

Abby was different to the others. She grieved too, but in a singular way. She missed me, that was plain to see. As the only two females in a predominately male sphere, we had come to depend on each other. Now Abby had another girl to deal with. My replacement. It is funny to see that Abby still pulls faces every time this new girl turns her back. But that spirituality that had so perplexed me about a woman of science, it seems to help Abby in more ways than one. I know that Abby believes in souls and life after death, which is why she is relieved that my death wasn't too horrific. There was no rape, no torture. Nothing that my job may have entitled me to. No, my death had been quick, clean, and sweet. No messy business. The only outward hints of distress on my behalf were the extra two notches on Abby's music level.

Gibbs had puzzled me when I first began to work for him. Initially I couldn't even tell when he was serious or not. His pain was hard to deal with for a long while, because I understand him now. He won't even talk to Ducky about my death. The closest thing I've seen so far is that he is cutting Tony a little bit more slack. Not that Tony notices. Although Gibbs did puzzle me the other night. Three straight whiskies into sanding his boat, he whispered.

"I'm so sorry Kate."

Gibbs, who I thought I knew, threw me for a loop. Why was he apologizing for me doing my job? The job which was done by the rules, his rules. And then I realized that Gibbs – even with that second 'b'- can't handle his own helplessness. If someone is to leave his team, it has to be on his terms and his terms only. I could see why all the other agencies are scared of him. The amount of times I was asked how I could stand to work with him…

But I'm losing focus. I seem to do that now. Can't focus on one thing. Except the one person whose pain hurt the most.

Tony has charisma. That unidentifiable quality that made my heart skip a beat or two when he smiled. The quality that meant that no matter how many paperclips he threw at my head, or times he looked through my palm-pilot, or answered my cell phone to scare away my dates… the quality that meant I still liked him. A lot.

I remember admitting this to myself finally, one night late at my apartment. Abby had come around to show me her favourite movie (The Day of the Triffids), and as we made popcorn in my kitchen she questioned me about Tony.

"Tony was whining the other day that he hasn't been on a date in three months." Abby pretended to focus on the popcorn that was cooking behind my shoulder. Still, I knew she could see the look of shock on my face.

"Tony? As in Skirt-chaser Dinozzo? He hasn't been on a date since September?" Abby looked back at me, a mischievous grin on her face. I smiled. "I know you know why Abigail Sciuto. Out with it."

"Let's just say someone else caught his eye." A flip in my chest was accompanied by that irritating voice of self-doubt in my head. It's not you. I forced a smirk onto my face.

"Let me guess… is it Jenna from accounts? Tony always said he had a thing for smart girls." Abby simply shook her head and took a pull from the beer that rested in her hand. "Don't tell me it's Lara from Payroll. The woman whose breasts have 'grown' three sizes in the past year…"

"Nup. I could tell you Kate, but then I'd have to kill you. Tony swore me to secrecy."

"Well you're doing a great job at keeping it a secret, Abs." Turning back to where the popcorn cooker sat, I picked up our food and moved back towards my living room. "C'mon, let's get back to that weird plant movie you're making me watch."

"Ha Ha Kate, you know you love it."

That night as I lay in bed that night I had realized that even though it was probably not me who Tony had his eye on, the way I had felt proved to me without a doubt that I was in love with the one man I could never make mine. I'd never have his full attention. And as much as it hurt, I wasn't going to settle for second place. So I never entered the competition at all.

My death opened my eyes to a great many things. I saw my parents' arguments during my childhood weren't my fault. I saw the killer for the case my colleagues were working on. I finally saw what was in that damned room on the inside east wing of the White House (which, I must admit, wasn't all that exciting). And I saw Tony's heart. I felt the pain that surged through it when my own physical pain ended. I felt some of that fire and passion that Italian men are renowned for, die in his eyes. I felt the absoluteness of his exhaustion and despair as he trudged through those days before their capture of my murderer. I knew that he would always chase skirts, he would always 'appreciate' the finer sex. But I also knew that he could commit to one person. He wanted to be a father and a husband. He wanted to be a 'Nonno'.

It has been two months to the day since my death, and I know now that I was wrong about Tony DiNozzo. I know that he loved… that he loves… me.

please review guys, i want to know what you though!

-Cass xx