Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone reading and who left a review. I hope you're enjoying it.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Moments later…at least, I think it might be moments. I can never tell how much time passes between blinks—that's what I've decided to call the time I'm gone. I expect to find myself deep in the belly of the USS Telluride when I fade back into existence. I expect to witness whatever horrible end awaits my teammates. I hold my breath on reflex.

Where I end up is worse.

The space is as dark as Palisades' office. Thankfully, my eyes don't need time to adjust. I only need to let my brain register my surroundings. Metal cabinets line the far wall. Several gurneys stand in the center of the room with white sheets covering human-shaped lumps. Beside the nearest gurney stand two figures clad in full surgical gear. They are bent at the waist over what was once a man. A voice with a British accent rambles a story that is too low to hear.

I would recognize Ducky anywhere, but the other man—considerably taller and younger—is someone I never met. He actively listens to Ducky's story as they work. He reaches into the cadaver's chest to remove something squishy. Then, he places it into a stainless-steel scale with a splat.

I stare at the ceiling.

Keeping my eyes elsewhere, I approach Ducky and the man who must be his new assistant. I have no idea what happened to Gerald, but I hope Ari didn't kill him too. As I move closer, I pray they aren't cutting up Tim and Tony. I only hope I'm not still here to help my friends when they die too. Praying is a knee jerk reaction, a reflex now, comforting and natural. I used to pray a lot when I was still alive. Now that I'm dead, I don't know how much it helped. For some reason, it still feels right.

Thankfully, the cadaver is a young man with amber colored skin and waves of black hair. I heave a sigh of relief. The loud sound escaping my lips shocks me. It is deep and throat like a six-pack-a-day smoker, but it is real and audible.

The younger man looks up, glasses glinting in the surgical lights. He squints over his mask at me.

"Dr. Mallard, we have a visitor," he says blandly.

"Oh, Mr. Palmer," Ducky starts. "Now is not – "

"Doctor, please, call me Jimmy. I know I'm new, but there's no need to be formal."

Ducky's expression turns stormy. "And there is no need to be so forward, Mr. Palmer. Interruptions are bad for even the oldest working relationship and ours is still quite new."

Obviously chastened, Jimmy ducks his head. He gestures at me. "But Dr. Mallard, we have a visitor."

Ducky glances up from his clipboard. His eyes crinkle above his mask.

"Why we do, indeed. Hello Caitlin! I'm afraid I have no update on the weapon that caused the wound on poor Ensign Johansson. I expect to hear from Abby shortly regarding…" His voice trails into nothing.

His brows suddenly knit together as he squints through the surgical light. He stares at me as though he somehow could have forgotten he carved up my body not that long ago.

He breathes. "Oh, my dear, Caitlin. What has become of you?"

And that's when the dam breaks. The words pour straight out of me. "Ducky, I don't know what's going. I'm still here and I don't have time to deal with it. It's Tony and McGee. Something's happened. Something bad."

To my ears, my voice sounds normal. Based on the way Ducky tilts his head, he can't hear me. He holds a gloved hand—I shudder at the blood-slick fingertips—to his ear as though it might help.

"It's Tony and McGee!" I yell. "Tony and McGee!"

At that, Ducky's eyes widen. He nods at me. I clasp my hands together because whoever I've been praying to has been listening. Ducky will call Gibbs and the cavalry will save my friends. Thank G-d.

"Yes, my dear, I got the tea." His eyes moisten above the mask. "Thank you."

I stare at him and Jimmy for a long beat. I am stuck between my old world and whatever comes next. I am here and there and nowhere all at the same time. The Smurf Cat. Even if I knew how to go directly to my friends, I can't save them. I can't impact the world around me. I can't even pass a simple message onto a living person. A simple message to tell where my friends are before they are murdered.

Then, I bury my face in my hands. And I scream. Of course, that's what echoes through autopsy like a banshee's shriek. Ducky takes a full step back.

Jimmy speaks up, "Excuse me, Dr. Mallard. If I could be so bold, I don't think she is talking about tea."

When I peer through my hands, Jimmy gestures in my general direction. Could he understand me?

Ducky looks pointedly at Jimmy. "Then what did she say, Mr. Palmer?"

"I think she said, 'tough about gee,'" Jimmy offers matter-of-factly.

"That is gibberish, Mr. Palmer. I doubt she would say such a thing."

"But why would she want to talk about tea?"

Ducky rears his head back. "Who would not want to discuss tea? It is simply one of the most influential drinks the world over. In fact, its history is a multifactorial tale of – "

The anger bubbles up inside me again. I throw myself at the nearest object: an autopsy gurney. It rolls a few inches to slam into another one with a loud clang. Ducky and Jimmy freeze, mid-conversation. Their attention is fixated on me. I stare back, unsure what to do now.

Ducky wavers. "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Palmer. I don't believe she is here to discuss tea."

"It's Tony and McGee!" I yell.

Jimmy concedes. "I don't think she said, 'tough about gee' either."

I throw out my hands in exasperation. "You need to tell Gibbs!"

"Gibbs isn't here, Caitlin," Ducky says softly. "And I'm not sure where he has gotten off to. He hasn't been quite the same since well…" He lets his voice trail off as he gestures whatever I have become.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, Ducky heard that part. Not the part about how Tim and Tony are going to be dumped into the Atlantic by a group of drug-running Navy flunkies and their dirty NCIS agent ringleader.

"Perhaps you should visit Anthony and Timothy." His tone is gentle and coddling like a mother to a tired child during a temper tantrum. "They would love to speak with you. They haven't had the easiest time since you left." He clears his throat before he adds: "None of us have."

I try to tell him what is happening. I try to tell him where Tim and Tony are. The words run through me like water, but Ducky and Jimmy just watch with a rapt fascination. I know they don't understand a word I say, but I am trying. Even if I can't save my friends, I will still try everything and anything.

Before long, I fade out.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Slowly. Slowly, I return from the nothingness. I couldn't have been gone for long. If I had been, I think Tim and Tony might be here with me now. I don't know how it would work. If they would just appear like I did or something else entirely. As much as I would some company, I am grateful to be alone. That means my friends might still be alive.

Somewhere nearby, there is a heavy banging, a consistent clang of metal on metal. If I were still alive, that racket would leave me with a headache for days. The only source of light a single bulb in a little, metal cage is affixed to the wall. It glows, sickly and yellow. The room pitches dangerously from side to side. Just below the clanging, I catch the roar of the wind outside and the lashing rain.

I stand in the dark. I can feel a powerful pull from the side of the room where the lightbulb is. Tendrils of panic and raw fear ebb through the space. I follow the feeling as much as I follow the light.

"It can't happen again," a voice whispers in the darkness. "Please don't let it."

Just at the edge of the light, Tony DiNozzo stands with his shoulders hunched. His handsome face is slick with sweat and what might be oil, his hair matted against his head. His suit coat and jacket are long gone as is his tie. His shoulder holster swings empty against his side. He clutches a wrench that's longer than his forearm. When he lifts it over his shoulder in a baseball batter's swing, I notice that it's wrapped in a plastic evidence bag. He slams it into a heavy metal door with a clang.

"I can't – " clang " – lose another – " clang " – partner. I can't – " clang " – lose another – " clang " – friend. Please…"

Tim is on the floor. He lays on his side, curled into himself and still unconscious. His chest rises and falls steadily. The skin around his left eye is already turning an impressive shade of purple, the bruising extending down his cheek. When he wakes up, he will have one hell of a headache.

Sliding to Tony's side, I hope my presence will help. There isn't much I seem to be able to do other than watch and wait and hope. I should pray, but I'm beginning to question whether it helps anymore. Crossing my arms, I try to chase away the dread growing in my chest.

Suddenly, there is an ominous thud as the wrench slips from Tony's hands. Exhausted, he puts his back against the wall and slides to the ground. Sighing wearily, he draws his knees to his chest. His head tilts back, eyes roving around the ceiling before landing on me.

Then he says: "Oh, hi Kate," as though we're in the bullpen.

I tilt my head, shocked. "You can see me?"

His smile is baleful. "You're here all the time."

I don't know what to say to that.

"What is it this time? Are you here to tell me how McGee's going to die because I screwed up? Or are you here to remind me how your death is my fault?" He pushes a breath through pursed lips. "Because in case you haven't noticed, I know. All of this. Everything is my fault."

My mouth pulls into a tiny o. While I didn't know what to expect, anger and animosity wasn't on the list. From the sound of it, Tony is being haunted by more than just me.

He defiantly juts out his chin. "What now, Kate?"

Instead of dealing with that, I crouch beside Tim to take stock of his injuries. My eyes search for some sign of life more than just his steady breathing. When I put my hand on his shoulder, it disappears. I feel his heartbeat, strong and constant. He won't wake anytime soon.

"How is he?" I ask, even though I already know.

Tony's expression softens slightly as he watches the junior agent. "Got his brain scrambled when Palisades punched him. He's fine for now. Though neither of us will be when those guys come back."

"Yeah, I saw that." I meet his eyes. "I'm trying to help, but I don't know how."

"If that's what you've been doing this whole time, just stop. I can't deal with it right now. I need to get us out of here. Don't start telling me how I screwed up again. Please." His voice breaks at the word.

"Tony, I don't know what you've been seeing, but that sure as hell isn't me." I press my hands to my heart. "This is me. The real me."

He sighs. "Then tell me something I don't know."

"Did you know McGee leaves me tea?" When Tony nods, I half-smile. "Don't tell him, but I hate Darjeeling. Though, I wouldn't say no to a bear claw."

"I knew it." Tony claps triumphantly. "I told him that you– "

I continue: "And you know how you had that picture of me." Tony is quiet for a split second before his face pulls into a lascivious grin. "Yeah, that one. Well, I got my hands on some of yours, Sex Machine."

Tony's expression turns panicked, his cheeks blazing red. I forgot how much I loved to see him sweat.

"Which one was it? Did you talk to Alessandra?" I shrug with one shoulder. "Mariah?" His lips pull back into a grimace. "Grace. It had to be Grace. I knew she was crazy, but I still did it anyway. What the hell was I thinking?" I put on my best innocent face while he squirms. "Please tell me they're not on your work computer. McGee was supposed to do…" He clearly has no idea what Tim was supposed to do "…something to your hard drive. If he finds them, I'll have to transfer agencies."

I laugh at his predicament. He stops his agonizing and looks at me. He really looks at me. He is laughing too and for a moment, it is just another day in the bullpen while we harass each other.

"Oh my G-d, it is you." Then, his expression turns stricken, and he whispers: "Oh shit, it is you."

All the joviality and excitement at our reunion are sucked out of the room as quickly as it appeared. He presses his back deeper into the wall as though he could somehow slither away. He presses his lips together and hugs his knees to his chest. Then, he releases a resigned sigh.

"So, this is it," he says sadly.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

His eyes skirt towards Tim. "You can take me, but please don't take him too. I can't lose another partner on my watch."

Tony stares back at me like I'm the grim reaper herself. My heart shatters into a million pieces.

I steeple my hands against my lips. "I'm not here for you. At least, I don't think I am."

Tony blinks slowly. "Then why are you here?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "I don't even know what's going. You can finally see me, but you've never been able to any of the other times I've been around."

"Other times you've been around? I don't understand."

Confusion slowly takes hold of Tony's features. I start to touch him, but I stop when he jerks backward. He seems to think better of it because he reaches for my hand. His fingers pass through mine as though I am made of nothing but fog. He stares at his hand, mesmerized.

"Where exactly are you?" he whispers.

Puffing out my cheeks, I blow out a breath. "That's a good question. I showed up at NCIS shortly after I got shot." I look up at the ceiling. I feel like there should be a flush on my cheeks, but it doesn't come. "I leave for a while, then I come back. I don't know where I go in the meantime. I'm just stuck."

Tony looks like he might be sick.

"Palisades seems to think you're a Woman in Blue," he says quietly.

I tilt my head at him. "I've never heard of her."

"It's an old ghost story told by sailors. A woman in a blue dress will appear to someone before they die." He swallows hard. "The way I heard the story, a woman's brothers were working on a merchant ship. The captain forced them to go to sea when there was a storm on the horizon. The ship sank with her brothers on it and not long after, the woman died of a broken heart."

"But I didn't die of a broken heart," I say.

He shrugs. "Does it matter? I mean, you're still a ghost."

"Look Tony, we can worry about me later. First, we need to get you and McGee need to get out of here." I press her lips into a tight line. "If we don't, those guys are going to throw you overboard."

"Don't you think I know that?" Tony barks.

I nod, cautious and careful. "Does Gibbs know you're here?"

It's Tony's turn to look away. His hand mechanically reaches for the wrench in the evidence bag. For the first time, I notice the congealed black-purple substance smeared against the plastic. Fresh blood clotted into the wrench's innerworkings. That probably belonged to Johansson.

Tony shakes his head. "I found the murder scene and the weapon. We got a confession too." He cracks a sad grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "McGee and I solved the Johansson case."

"You didn't tell Gibbs…" I try—and fail—to keep the accusation from my voice.

"I should have, but…" Tony's voice trails off.

"But what?"

When Tony's eyes meet mine, the chill climbs down my spine.

"He hasn't been the same since you…" He lets me fill in the blank. "I don't even think he's slept." He laughs humorlessly. "I mean, I know he's slept. It's been like three weeks and he has to sleep. If he didn't, he'd be dead too." He has the grace to look embarrassed. "He spends every waking moment hunting Ari Haswari. McGee and I did too for a little while, but we started getting case assignments again. So, McGee and I have been working those while Gibbs hunts down Ari."

I sit beside him. "And you tried to solve this one on your own?"

"You don't know what he's been like." Tony sounds so much like a little kid my heart aches.

"Worse than usual?"

"So much." Tony's breath catches in his throat. "He's nice…"

I laugh at the thought of Gibbs being kind. "You say that like's a bad thing."

"You have no idea how bad it is, Kate. He keeps asking McGee and me how we are and listening to the answer. He brought us coffee yesterday. He told us to go home early last week after we finished our reports on the last case. We left just after lunch on Thursday." He rolls his tongue against his teeth. "I had an afternoon off for the first time in six months."

"That sounds really good. I feel cheated that I didn't get to experience it."

Tony shakes his head. "It isn't good. It's downright weird."

I half-smile. "Agree to disagree?"

Tony stares at the middle distance. "I keep waiting for hell to come raining down. That moment when things go from bad to worse."

I survey the cramped quarters. "I'd say you might be there."

Tony leans his head back. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Kate. It should've been me."

Horrified, I swivel my upper body so I can see Tony. I cup my hand against his cheek. He shudders at what must be the cold of my fingers, but he doesn't flinch away. If anything, he seems to lean into my touch. The silence wraps around us like a blanket. His imploring eyes meet mine and for the first time, his expression is guileless. The mask he usually hides under is gone. He sits before me as the person I always knew was obscured by the designer suits, expensive hair gel, and the wisecracks. I wonder what might've happened if he had just shown me who he really was while I was still alive. If we had the chance, I wonder if he could've meant something more to me than he did.

I touch my lips against his forehead. He heaves a broken sigh as though he shares the same thought.

"Things happened the way they were meant too." I don't know if it's true, but it feels right to say it. "It was always meant to be me. Ari was going to kill me no matter what. It's not your fault, Tony. I don't blame you and I never will."

"Kate, I'm sorry."

"I'm not," I say. "I need you and McGee to live. For me. Otherwise, everything was for nothing."

At my words, Tony's expression turns even more grim. He watches Tim for what feels like a long time and I can't bring myself to speak again. The blanket of silence turns suffocating and overpowering. What I wouldn't give to be here with them, alive and breathing and trying to survive the afternoon. I know I need to find Gibbs and tell him what is happening to Tim and Tony, but I can't leave just yet. These few moments with Tony, after weeks of solitude and loneliness, are more precious than I could ever explain.

Tony climbs to his unsteady feet. He shoves his weight against the door, but there isn't any give. The spot there should be a handle—to prevent any lost ensign from getting locked in here—is empty. The shadow of where it had been still outlined in the dark grey paint.

Tony looks over his shoulder. "Does this mean we're in Ghost, Katie? I guess that makes you Patrick Swayze and me Demi Moore." He considers. "I wouldn't mind being Demi Moore. You don't happen to have a pottery wheel, do you?" He winks at me.

I offer a one-sided smile. That's the first movie reference I've heard since I died. At least it's one I've watched at some point.

"I wish," I say. "Though I might have to go find Oda Mae Brown."

"'Molly, you in danger, girl.'" He smiles to himself. "No one could carry that part like Whoopi."

I never knew what to say to his movie tangents and I still don't.

Then he looks over, helpless. "What do I do now, Kate?"

I open my mouth to speak. All I have to offer are platitudes or comforting words. Suddenly, the world starts to grey at the edges. I throw myself at Tony as though that could save him.

"Kate!" he yells.

I fade out before I reach him.