Chapter 22

"You seem rather tired this morning, Ma'am." I comment in the elevator and can hide my smirk because I stand in the far back with Mac, Chegwidden, Bud and Harriet in front.

Chegwidden turns to Mac and then to me. "Yes, Colonel, you do seem a bit pale this morning."

"Mmm. Good novel I couldn't put down. I lost track of time." She waits for me to step out, her death glare is an idle threat. I might have been the reason for her late night, or my phone call that lasted seven hours. I only called to say good night and didn't realize we had so many things to discuss, secrets to unravel.

I normally hate being on the phone, I try to get a girl off of it as fast as possible because their chatter has always been irritating. This was fun, a kind of fun I didn't realize I needed. We talked about music, art, vacation spots we've visited for work but would like more time to explore.

She explained her whole dinosaur bone cleaning thing, how it's a favor from a close friend that works at the Smithsonian. She told me more about her family and that Joe MacKenzie had once been loving and kind but his demeanor changed when a close friend shot himself due to PTSD.

I heard her cry and was nearly out the door racing to Mac when she told me she was fine. I had my own sob stories, of course, the memories of a Little Harm who couldn't understand the new man his mother had fallen in love with. I understood it now, lived it with Diane and Mac. You can love again and it can be that much more intense and profound.

We simply talked until the sun rose and we both realized we had work in a few hours with no chance to call out sick. We talked and it was wonderful. "Commander Rabb, with me please. Since Mr. Brumby is leaving us soon, I am considering you as second chair on the Bradly case."

Mic glances up as we pass and quickly drops his gaze again. The poor sod has been turned into a shell of a man and I suspect getting beaten up by a woman must have been hell on his ego. "Aye ma'am, I'll put my files on the Commander's desk first thing."

I remember not to gloat because our own footing isn't yet even, or so I thought. Mac's lips on mine the second I close the door catches me by surprise. It isn't quick when she kisses me. It lingers, is soul searching and I forget where we are for a time. When we break apart I'm happy to note that her blinds are closed. "I should kill you not kiss you but I couldn't help myself."

"I'm sorry for keeping you up."

"I'm not. I learned a lot about you."

I learned a lot about her as well, little bits like her enjoying a virgin piña colada while sitting by the pool. And that she had a white bunny named Fluffy when she was four. "I think we should go out again. Tonight? Dinner at…"

"I can't." She frowned. "I'm not sure what time I'll get back. Chegwidden's sending me to Norfolk, my client decided to break out of the brig to see his girlfriend and added two charges to his repertoire. I may have to Spend the night at a VOQ while I sort this mess."

"That's a travesty."

"For my client or you."

"Both but mostly me." I sigh and take her hand to kiss her palm. "Hurry home."

"I will." I turn to leave, have my hand on the door knob when Mac's voice stops me.

"You may want to wipe your lips. Pretty sure red isn't part of the uniform of the day for you." She's grinning and does nothing while I helplessly use my handkerchief to wipe her lipstick off. "Have a good day, Commander. Dismissed."

"Aye ma'am." I give her a hard look while snapping to attention.

When I step into my apartment I realize how lonely I am and wonder how I survived this long as a bachelor. The women that passed through my life were idle amusement, one night stands and relationships that wouldn't amount to much.

I shower quickly and forgo sustenance wanting a cold bottle of beer instead. My apartment is far too quiet tonight and although I often enjoy the solitude, I miss her.

It's not about lust or sex or the fact that Sarah MacKenzie is one hell of an attractive woman. I just miss her. I miss her. I tried calling but, it went to voicemail. I may have called again just to hear her recording telling me to leave a message. She'll be busy for a while, I know and this does nothing to improve my mood.

Which was why I found myself pulling things out of my closet. It needed cleaning and I needed to keep busy. It's amazing the kind of things we humans keep stored away like the softball glove that needed conditioning. I spend an hour rubbing solution onto the leather surface, slamming a ball against the palm, flexing the glove so that all of the grooves moved correctly. Not that I had a softball game anytime soon.

Next was my white dress shoes that I unnecessarily polished to a mirror shine despite not having to wear them until the Spring. I straightened the fruit salad on my blues, cleaned some gunk off my goldwings and then decided to pull random boxes out of the spaces which held them.

One box had old case files that I pulled to the side to take to work on Monday and am blessed that while Mac was pissed at me she didn't demand an audit on old files. The other box had old sweatshirts that I kept meaning to take to Goodwill and somehow wind up back in my closet.

I pull out old sporting goods. Skis that were broken and I hadn't used in two years. A racket and a tube of balls from when I was trying to impress a racquetball instructor only to have her ex practically lob my head off when he found me flirting with her at the gym. There was my old guitar that was splintered and unrepairable which went into my growing pile of junk. And that ugly hawaiian shirt that reminds me of Annie Pendry so I toss that into the pile as well.

On the top shelf was a shoe box filled with my father's tapes and the deck to play them. Part of me wants to throw them out but I can't, not today. With a heavy sigh I slide the box to the very back of the shelf. I love him and always will but listening to his recordings wouldn't bring him back. His voice perpetuated my grief over his loss and I tap the lid as I come down the step ladder and offer him a heartfelt goodbye.

I don't notice the black shoe box in the opposite corner until it falls from the shelf and smacks me right on the head. "Ouch." I rub the sore spot and any curses I was about to mumble die when I glance down at the contents spilled across the ground.

"Diane." How could a name that I once said so often now feel so foreign coming from my lips? Her Academy picture stares back at me. She was so young then, a Plebe with short brown hair, light makeup, an innocent smile and looks that had most boys hounding after her.

Why she ever looked my way I wasn't sure. Tall, lanky and with a chip on my shoulder I was hardly approachable. I still fell for her like a rock. My infatuation for her blossomed until she consumed my thoughts and almost had me flunking out my second year.

We were terrible for one another. No amount of 'planning for a future' or even a shiny engagement ring would have fixed us. She didn't have to die. She shouldn't have had to fear for her life and die. That's the unfair part of it all and he most tragic.

I squat down and grab the box, shoving all of the items back including the picture. For an hour it sat on my shelf while I worked on hauling the pile of unused junk out to the garbage while a bag of clothing was tossed into my car.

Feeling parched, I grab another beer, take a long pull and find my eyes drifting across the loft and into my closet. I tell myself that I won't grab the box. There's nothing good inside of it, just a pit of despair I shouldn't fall into.

I can't do this to Mac. I can't do this to myself but the need to search through the contents is too overwhelming and before I can stop myself I'm reaching for that damned box.

It wasn't long before my table coffee table was covered with pictures, mementos and the stacks of letters Diane and I sent to one another. The NCIS agent investigating her death had given me back each of the notes I mailed her while on deployment. All of them promised something more when she got back, a future we planned to talk about at her parent's cabin in Maine.

I read through a few, more than a few which I had never done even when they were returned to me. I revisited our past, I had to because I kept wondering what was missing between me and Diane.

Some letters were funny, others sexually descriptive but not one of them spoke about love other than my signatures at the end. I wasn't professing my feelings for her, not in the sense of a man who wanted forever with a woman.

Each letter sounded more desperate than the last, insisting that we give up our little game in order to make the relationship permanent. I then searched through her responses, went envelope by envelope until each was categorized across the coffee table.

Diane always replied with a term of endearment and then went through her day's events, the liberty with her roommate Sarah, her adventures in crypto that were not classified. There were few mentions, if any, about our relationship past the first month when the idea of really being together exclusively was exciting and new.

It was me, all me holding a torch for a woman that didn't want me that way, didn't love me that way. The idea of exclusivity was unappealing to her and as I looked through each letter I finally saw the lengths of my obsession. I was just a foolish man who did not want to be alone.

It culminated on the penultimate letter when I'd caught on that she'd evaded my lover's notes. I blatantly asked her if she was ready to commit and her reply was a description of Italy, the last port she visited before the ship made a push back to Norfolk. She would be murdered two weeks later and mixed with all of the letters NCIS found were two notes: one to the Skipper and another meant for Holbarth; failed attempts to stop the harassment.

She didn't love me. As much as I don't like speaking ill of the dead, I have to admit that Diane liked to toy with me and I made it simple because I was easy to manipulate. She exploited me during our time in Annapolis as I was always willing to help with this or that to ensure she liked me best.

That wasn't love when I had to claw through stupid challenges, survive the other boys who she fancied and offered whatever she wanted. I would have happily eaten through my trust fund to buy her affection and she wouldn't have given a damn. That wasn't love.

What I have with Mac, that's love.

She doesn't toy with my feelings, doesn't dangle herself like a carrot on a stick. She'd go to the ends of the Earth for me. She'd save me from myself. She loves me and the thought of being without her hurts. It hurts as if I were stabbed through the heart.

I don't notice my door open or the person that walked inside until they stand beside me. When I look up I see the green uniform pants and a khaki shirt with a Lt. Colonel's oak leaves. The saddest chocolate amber eyes stare down at me. No anger or pity but sadness and unshed tears. "I shouldn't have come."