Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing!
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
The darkness surrounds me. Weaves its way through me. Becomes a part of me. Or rather, I become a part of it. For the first time since I died, I am aware of it. I am no longer fading in and out of existence, I am somewhere in the darkness. The weight of it covers me like a blanket. The sense of peace surrounding me is unlike anything I experience in life. The closest to this feeling I remember is being a child with my parents and my siblings, snowed in during a blizzard and playing board games. I never wanted to leave. That feeling presses against me from every angle. Real, tangible. A place with substance that I could touch, see, and feel…if I would just open her eyes.
I don't open my eyes.
I don't know where I am, but I can guess.
The place after life.
The afterlife.
A place I thought to be a joke, some place concocted by humans to make their stay on this hostile planet more bearable. Except now, I find it actually exists. A place full of wonder, a place where I could be happy and whole and alive. I would never want to leave if just opened her G-damned eyes.
I don't open my eyes. Once, I do I will never leave.
What will become of Tim and Tony if I stay here?
I hear voices. They carry from far away, but I can't understand what they're saying.
"I need more time!" I yell into the darkness. "My team needs my help!"
The voices are still talking, a mish mash of guttural sounds. Rolls and clicks, coughs and hiccups. Noises so unnatural to a human tongue that it makes my ears ring.
They draw closer.
I stand taller. "I have unfinished business!"
The world quiets around me and then, the voices start again.
They are beside me now. I turn my head in their direction, but there is nothing there. The voices come from around me and almost, it feels, as though they are within me. They are everything and nothing at the same time. Male and female. Old and young. Thousands of voices rolled into a individual sounds with their own message until they finally speak a single sentence.
"This unfinished business involves your team?" the voices say together.
I take a shaking breath. "Yes."
"This team, they mean something to you?"
"Yes." I nod cautiously. "I need to help them."
The nothingness studies me. Searches me over as though it could determine my intentions.
"Please," I beg. "Let me help them."
"You would help them, knowing you may never find your way back here?" the voices ask.
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
Slowly, slowly the voices and the darkness recede like an ocean's wave pulled back to sea. Nothingness presses against me and the sense of peace drifts away.
The voices call out: "Finish your business and return to us. You will be welcomed."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
When I return the natural world, I fully expect to be back in the belly of the USS Telluride. I should be scouting the drug ring for Tony, trying to help him and Tim escape before they become fish food.
Instead, I end up in the booth of a diner stuck firmly in the 1950s. While the world around it marched straight into the 21st century, this place hasn't aged a day since the Eisenhower administration. The entire décor is mid-century modern from the off-white, chipped Formica tables to the cherry red stools to the menus on the walls with block lettering advertising the specials. A cutout window reveals a grey-haired cook, hard at work over a sizzling flat top grill. A painfully bored looking waitress with a severe haircut meanders between the elderly patrons and offers refills from her coffee carafe. They don't look up from their newspapers as she pours their drinks.
I soak up the scene in disbelief. I shouldn't be here.
I pound my hands against the table.
"I need to help Tony and McGee," I say, knowing no one will hear me.
Against the window, I notice the salt shaker lays on its side. It rolls back and forth on the tabletop. Nearby, someone releases a surprised exhale. That must have also caught the attention of my tablemate. He stares at it, clearly bewildered.
"Gibbs," I breathe.
His eyes move to the space I occupy. He can't see me, I remind myself. He just stares at me as though he might not be alone. He just doesn't know how right he is.
I glance at the open file on the table. Past the remnants of scrambled eggs and half-eaten white toast, a picture of Ari Haswari watches me. Shivers cascade down my spine. A lump knots in my throat, clawing and seeking escape. I haven't felt anything like this—visceral, in my body and in my soul—since I died.
I should be here with my friends, my family, my team. I should be locked in that closet with Tim and Tony. I should be here with Gibbs, unaware to my friends' fate while eating breakfast.
I should be alive.
And maybe, none of this would've happened if it hasn't been for Ari Haswari and his sniper rifle.
The ache for revenge explodes so quickly it nearly blinds me. I feel myself teetering, tipping at the edge of…of just what, I don't know. Whatever it is doesn't feel good. I know whatever comes next, I won't be coming back from. There are little pieces of myself in here, keeping me in the moment. Keeping me human. Am I ready to let them go for revenge? Hasn't Ari Haswari already stolen enough from me?
"Hi Kate," Gibbs says as I am still very much alive.
He leans forward, hands covering Ari Haswari's face. It is enough break whatever spell the bastard held over me. I blink slowly, struggling to clear the rapidly vanishing thoughts. I'll deal with that later. Right now, Tim and Tony need me more.
I reach to cover his hands with mine. If he fears my touch—or even notices it—he doesn't show it. Instead, he offers a pained smile at where he thinks I am.
"Gibbs," I say.
He gasps. "Kate?!"
Then, his eyes nearly bulge of his head. Raw emotion—surprise, anger, sadness, desperation, that's the one—pass over his face in a moment. He presses his lips into a thin line.
He must be able to see me.
I nearly leap out of the booth from the excitement. He reaches for me, both hands over my forearms. He is grasping, reaching, trying to pull me back into the world of the living.
He wants to bring me back to life. All I have is a moment.
"What's going on, Kate?" Gibbs asks.
"It's Tony and McGee," I blurt out. "They're in trouble. If you don't help them…"
Gibbs stills on his side of the booth. His head is tilted, his expression folded with confusion. He squints at me and leans as far across the table as he can. I mimic the movement. I have never seen Gibbs up close before. He looks tired and old, a life lived for revenge will do that.
"I can't hear you," he says.
"Help Tony and McGee!" I yell.
He narrows his eyes at me. He must be trying to read my lips. When his face turns bleak, I check my hands. They are fading in and out like a television with bad reception. I rapidly cycle through being solid and lifelike to hazy and see through. No wonder Gibbs can't understand me.
"Tony and McGee." I emphasize the words carefully.
Gibbs sighs. "I'm going to put the bastard in the ground. Be sure of it."
"I'm not here about Ari!" I scream.
Gibbs throws himself back as though he was burned. Of course, he heard that.
After a stunned silence, he whispers, "Then why are you here?"
Before I speak, he is blinking at the spot where I sit. I lean my head back against the booth and sigh. Gibbs scratches at his mouth with his hand before he stares unseeing out the window. He must be wondering if I am some vengeful spirit coming for my pound of flesh like the others. I stare out the window with him. The sky is leaden with thick raindrops plummeting from the sky in sheets. Every so often, a gust of whin blows the rain sideways.
I reach after him, thinking maybe I can offer otherworldly comfort. My hand passes right through his. If he notices I'm still here, he doesn't give any indication. I try the only other thing I can think of. I reach towards the salt shaker. With a lot of concentration, I manage to make the container slide in front of me. Then, I move the pepper shaker.
Gibbs' eyes slide across the tabletop as slowly as the containers.
I slide the salt shaker beside the pepper shaker. They are the closest stand-ins to my teammates as I can get. I knock them to their side and point their dented sliver tops in the direction of Norfolk. Then, I knock the sugar container on the table. I try to write the ship name in the sugar, but I feel myself losing hold on myself here. I abandon that action.
Just to be clear with Gibbs, I wrest Ari Haswari's folder from the table. He reaches for it like a drowning man after a life preserver. I chuck it clear across the diner. He is out of his seat, hands scrabbling for the file. The folder flips open and pages rain down all over the floor.
I don't catch the look on his face before I'm gone.