When I return, I keep my eyes closed against the darkness. For a moment, I fear I might be back in the place where my afterlife will begin. It is so quiet. I don't open my eyes until I hear noises. Not voices this time, but a metallic banging that would rattle my teeth if I still had any. Underneath the banging, I catch the faint lashing of wind and rain. The world rocks violently beneath my feet.

I must be back on the USS Telluride.

I wait a few more moments to be sure. That's when I notice another metallic clanging. The first: a loud clang comes at alternating intervals. Then, a quieter, more regular rat-a-tat-tat. Three short taps, three long, three short. Over and over and over. I would recognize the Morse Code anywhere: SOS.

Tim is probably awake because he, ever the Boy Scout, is the only one who knows it. I mean, I know the sounds of SOS—who doesn't other than Tony?—but that's about it.

I never thought I would be so happy to see the dank, depressing innards of a destroyer. The room is the same as when I left. Near pitch dark, but my eyes don't need to adjust. I see Tim and Tony clear as day and I have never been so happy to see them.

Tony stands by the door, wrench raised over his shoulder. His shirt is sweat-soaked and clinging to his back. Something that might be grease is smeared all over his face. Nearby, Tim sits with his back against the wall. He looks as though he isn't sure how he ended up here. The left side of his face is bruised, black-purple in the dark and his left eye is starting to swell shut. His gaze is glassy and far-off. He clutches a small piece of scrap metal, using it to tap out SOS on an exposed pipe.

Finding a place beside him, I slide to the floor and draw my knees to my chest. He glances over, unfazed and nods like I've been here the whole time. As though I never even died.

"Hey Kate," he says. "This is fun, huh?"

And for a moment, I forget too. "Hey McGee. How's the head?"

"It hurts like hell." A sad smile before he gestures between the pipe and Tony. "And this racket isn't really helping."

As if on cue, Tony hurls the wrench against the door again. CLANG.

I feel that one in my bones…my mist…my…whatever I'm made of now.

Violently, Tim winces and closes his eyes against whatever is going on in his brain. Without thinking, I touch his cheek. My hands pass straight through his skin and for a brief moment—maybe it's my imagination—I feel the delicate bones and muscles and blood pumping beneath it.

I feel that longing rise within me again. That longing to be whole again. Gasping, I jerk my hand back. Tim shudders as I retreat. He opens his eyes, clearly as shocked as I am.

His smile is unsure. "That feels better. Thanks, Kate."

Then, he blinks owlishly and the furrow in his brow deepens. He seems to be thinking about something important, something he shouldn't have forgotten. He nods, almost to himself.

Then he announces: "Tony! I'm hallucinating!"

Tony swivels around, frozen mid-swing. At the sight of me, he rests the wrench on his shoulder. He slowly approaches us. Then, he crouches down to study me. I'm not sure what he is looking for. Maybe trying to determine if I'm me and not whatever he was talking about earlier.

I set my jaw and stare up at him.

"Hey Sex Machine," I say.

Tim's eyes dart between the two of his. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

"You know what, nevermind," Tim says. "I don't want to know."

Tony's and my eyes stay locked for a long beat before that broken smile returns to his face. I match it.

Tony chuckles humorlessly. "Don't worry, McGee. I see her too. She was here earlier while you were knocked out." He waggles his eyebrows at me. "Forgot your chains again, Kate?"

Both Tim and I stare at him blankly. The seconds slide past until Tony heaves a sigh and his shoulders drop. The wrench drops to the floor with a resounding thud.

"How did neither of get the Jacob Marley reference?" He stares at us incredulously. "That was an easy one. It's not like I asked you if you were Leo Carroll." He considers me for a moment. "Though I guess Ann Rutherford might be a better fit for you, Kate."

Tim and I share a furtive glance. He raises his eyebrow and mouths, Who? All I have to offer is a scrunched nose and a shrug.

Tony sighs like no one ever understands him. "Has anyone ever seen A Christmas Carol?"

Tim raises his hand. "I've seen the Muppet version."

"I loved the Mickey Mouse one," I say.

Tony looks at us like we're monsters. "Alright, Tiny Tim, we're going to watch the one with Gene Lockhart and Reginald Owen when we get out of here. You can't only watch the Muppet version."

"It was really good." Tim squints at him. "I mean, my sister was obsessed with the Muppets."

Tony opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it. "I'm not even going to justify that with an answer. And I'm sure – " air quotes here " – 'your sister' was obsessed with the Muppets, Tim McHenson."

They're about to delve into some weird squabble I'm used to seeing in the bullpen. One of those fights that are always about everything and nothing at the same time. A pissing match for Tony to show he is in control, but Tim is there to question it every step of the way. My brothers would fight the same way over everything from changing the toilet paper to who had to clear the dishes to who was taller.

I hold my fingers to my lips and whistle. A shrill noise echoes in the tight space and it's enough to make both men stop. They stare at me as though they forgot I was here.

"Maybe we can have this discussion later?" I suggest. "You probably should get out of here."

Tony crosses his arms. "Gee, I wish I'd thought of that earlier."

I flinch at his tone. "Look, I'm trying to help. And disagreeing with Tim about how great A Muppet Christmas Carol is doesn't seem to be doing that."

"Et tu, Kate?" Tony jokingly puts his hand over his heart. "How can you like A Muppet Christmas Carol?"

"It was very good," I counter. "And Michael Caine is a talented actor."

"Where do you know him from? Was it from The Man Who Would Be King or The Italian Job?" His eyes light up in a way only Tony's can. "Maybe from, The Jigsaw Man?"

I half-smile. "I've never seen any of those."

"The Swarm, it is then." I try to tell him I haven't seen that one either, but he holds his finger to his lips and shushes me. "Shhh! I refuse to believe you only like Michael Caine because he was in A Muppet Christmas Carol."

Tim clears his throat. "Are you done, Tony?"

Tony scrubs at his chin in a show of thinking. He smears more of that grease down his chin and across his neck. Finally, he clips a nod.

"I think so," he says.

"Good." Then Tim turns to me: "You look different from last time."

Tony shoots him a sideways glance. "You weren't awake when she was here before."

"No, I saw her right after she died. She was wearing something…different." Tim clears his throat and loosens his tie. His face turns a flaming shade of red. "Something very different."

For a moment, I can't remember exactly what he is talking about. Then, it comes flooding back to me. Right after I died, I returned to visit my teammates. It was a weird time because I could talk to them, but I couldn't really control anything yet. I couldn't change how I appeared or when I came back—not like I can do that at all now. I just sort of showed up in something they might've pictured me in.

I make a face at him. "What was with that leather get-up anyway? I was expecting something like that from Tony, but not you, Timmy."

Somehow, Tim turns even more crimson. He has the decency to look embarrassed as he scrubs his neck and looks at his knees. Something akin to anger blasts across Tony's face. His grip tightens in a fist, knuckles going white. He goes to say something, but I beat him to it.

"Do you really want to go there, DiNozzo? At least, I was wearing clothes during his visit." Even though he isn't looking at me either, I wink at him. "But you were right, I was a Catholic schoolgirl."

Tony flicks his tongue against his teeth, clearly at a loss for words. The color drains from his face until he is as white as a ghost. He looks at the door, the floor, the wall, anywhere to avoid looking at me or Tim. He rubs at the nape of his neck. Tim stares at him, clearly horrified.

I continue: "Look, I'm not sure to discuss how you both fantasized about me after I died. But just so we're clear, you both fantasized about me when I was dead."

The men share an awkward laugh. Neither of them will look at each other or me. I pinch the bridge of nose because this discussion isn't helping. It just feels so normal to be back with my team. I feel alive again and for a moment, I forgot about the world around me.

Tim is the first to move. "Are you a ghost, Kate?"

"I – uh…I don't really know," I reply. "All I know is Ari killed me and I'm still here."

"Like…" Tim's voice trails off.

"Like still hanging around work."

Tim groans at the thought.

Tony sighs heavily. "There goes my plan to sleep when I'm dead."

Tim's laugh is hollow as he rests his head against the wall. I allow myself a tiny smile. Maybe I'm sleeping when I disappear, but I haven't figured that part out yet. I'd like to think about it that way. I'm not ceasing to exist or fading out, I'm just asleep.

"Have you been listening to us?" Tim asks quietly.

I nod. "And I appreciate you keeping me in the loop."

Tim reaches for my hand, but it passes right through. The heat of his palm burns through where my flesh used to be and I yearn to feel that way again. Warm and alive and whole. Trying again, he rests his palm just above mine. I tilt my head for a better look at him. He is stronger and more capable than I ever gave him credit for when I was alive.

"What have you been up to, Kate?" Tim asks.

"Nothing, I'm dead."

He bites his lip, mortified. "Yeah, good point."

"Sorry to break up the reunion, McGee." Tony turns back to me. "Kate, were you able to find Gibbs?"

I nod. "Yeah, I visited him."

I don't have the heart to tell him how Gibbs is too focused on avenging my death to notice they're missing. Thankfully, Tony doesn't ask. I don't know how they would react if they found out Gibbs couldn't understand me. I need them to believe that Gibbs and the cavalry are coming. If they don't have hope, what do they have?

"Hey Kate, do you think you could open the door?" Tim asks suddenly.

I laugh sarcastically. "That's actually a great idea, McGee." Then the realization hits me like a Gibbs' head smack, I look at Tony. "Why didn't we think of that?"

Tony smooths his matted hair even more against his head. If he keeps going, it'll be completely flat by the time they leave. He stares at the door as though he could open it with the power of his mind.

I reach for Tim's hand one last time. I slide through his skin, holding myself just beneath it for a long beat. I savor the feeling of my friend and silently thank him for the time we had. Then, I climb to my feet. I dust off the back of my legs more of habit. I slide past Tony on my way toward the door. I place my hand on his shoulder and he leans towards my touch. The feel of his body is similar to Tim's, but he is more composed, more capable. Less a work in progress and more complete.

I offer him a broken smile. We could have had something when we were alive if we just gave it the chance. Based on his expression, he feels it too.

"I'm sorry," he whispers so low Tim can't hear.

"I am too," I say. Then louder: "Let me see what I can do."

Tony nods, but he doesn't look at me.

I slide through the door easily. The frigid metal bites through me and the feeling is different than that of my friends. I feel hollow and lost. I crave their warmth and safety. I keep moving until I'm through the door. Outside, the hallway is empty. Only a few lights burn in the ceiling. I step fully into the hallway and take a moment to study the door's locking mechanism. A single spoked wheel rests in the middle of the metal doorframe. All it will take is a few turns to release my friends.

Easy peasy…if I still had a body.

I reach for the wheel, but my fingers pass straight through it. Concentrating on my hands, I imagine them to be real and full of life again. I picture that feeling I always took for granted. I imagine my body feeling the same as it did when I touched my friends. I touch the wheel again, but this time the cold metal grazes my fingertips. I hold onto that feeling of being alive, being healthy, being whole. I throw whatever energy I'm made from into turning the wheel.

The wheel jerks ever so slightly. Barely a quarter inch, but it slips slightly under my touch. I try again and it moves a little more. At this rate, I'll free them by sometime next week.

I close my eyes and try to draw from some deeper energy source. I picture Tony quoting those movies I've never seen. Movies, that now, I never will be able to see. I picture Tim, excited and earnest as he talks about a computer thing I'll never understand. Something, that I'll never have a chance to learn. I picture my team, moving on and working cases without me. Cases they should be working with me. Anguish wells inside me and with it, comes strength I didn't know I could possess.

I clutch the wheel like a lifeline. I throw my body to the side; the wheel jerks again. Half an inch, then another inch. I feel the sensations of my body returning. The pitching ground beneath my feet. The smell of stale, moist air locked away for too long. I laugh at the shock of it.

Am I coming back to life?

Someone pounds on other side of the door.

"What's so funny?" Tony yells.

"I can feel again!" I shout back.

I manage to turn the wheel another inch. Then, the familiar buzz returns to my ears. Spots cloud my vision. I stumble backwards and hug my arms to myself.

"Let me stay," I whisper. "Just a little longer."

The buzz kicks up, louder and more incessant.

"No!" I scream.

Tony pounds on the other side of the door. His voice comes, muffled: "What's wrong, Kate?"

"I'm leaving, Tony!" I reply.

"Stay, Kate! Please!" he shouts. "We need you!"

"I don't want to go!" I bury my ears with my hands to stop the buzzing. "I'm trying…"

From somewhere far away, I hear Tim and Tony shouting for me. I frantically try to hold onto the moment because they could be dead by the time I return. I clutch the wheel on the door. I stamp my feet against the floor. I am here. I am real. I am whole again.

Then, it is all ripped away.