Purgatory

Chapter 12 – Dreamtime

EJ walked the streets from Bishop's condo back to the naval base, her subconscious mind taking over navigation duties while her conscious mind churned in emotional turmoil. She had been fighting a losing battle against the aching guilt and regret which demanded their release in choking sobs.

She didn't know how long she had been walking when she was startled by a voice breaking through her thoughts.

"ID please, Ma'am."

"What?" she said, confused, as she looked up and realized she had reached the small, security guard house at the entrance to the base.

"Your identification. Please, Ma'am," the sentry repeated himself, eyeing her cautiously.

She shook her head hard, trying to clear her thoughts and forced her attention to the young man in front of her.

"Oh …, yeah. Sorry." she said, as she pulled out her badge and ID, holding them up for his inspection.

She noticed the sailor's curious expression as he inspected her and realized she must look like a mess. She could imagine how her face must appear; flushed red with smeared mascara and makeup tracks running down her cheeks.

After a moment of carefully scrutinizing her identification he nodded his satisfaction and stepped aside, waving her through the narrow gate.

As she walked past him he cleared his throat to speak, "Is everything alright, Ma'am?"

She wiped her palms against her cheeks, then onto her jeans and turned to look back at him. "Yes, everything's fine. Thank you, Petty Officer."

The sentry nodded again, turned and resumed his post, gazing out into the warm summer night. EJ continued her trek toward the base guest quarters.

Turning the key in the lock she opened the door and flipped on the light, staring into the barren guest room. It was small and stark, with only a single bed, a night stand and one small chair next to the door leading into the bathroom. Closing and locking the door she sighed heavily, then turned and put her badge, gun and handcuffs on the night stand. Flopping down on the bed she buried her head in her hands as her sobs returned releasing the dammed-up shame and grief, pushing out through her shuddered and choked breath.

Tears dripped from her eyes, down into her hands and then soaked into the bedspread. Her body continued to shake as she gasped for air in between bursts of emotion and tears. Her stomach was tied-up in knots and the tightness in her chest made breathing even that much more difficult. Grief moved through her slowly, dragging sharp, jagged edges behind it, scraping her insides raw until the pain became almost unbearable.

In between ragged breaths a pleading whisper escaped her lips, "Oh, God … I miss him. I miss him so much. This hurts, so bad. Please God, take this away - just for a minute. That's all. Just for a minute."

The minute of relief did not come. The hurt didn't go away. She tried to relax and force her body to quiet. She tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable as a thin sheen of perspiration covered her arms, shoulders and neck. Her head pushed the pillows up against the headboard as the tie pulled loose from her pony tail and her hair spread out, sticking to her sweat soaked face and neck. Eventually her exhausted mind and body shut down and she finally dropped off into a fitful sleep.

Everything was spinning and she drifting slowly downward toward ... something. The vertigo stopped and she felt like she was standing ... somewhere ... nowhere ..., she wasn't sure. All she could see was white and it was hard to know what was up, down or sideways as she turned around, desperately looking from a reference point for both her body and her mind.

Off in the distance - she couldn't tell how far away in her world of white - she saw a figure, a person, a man. She focused on his shape to ground herself. They were slowly getting closer, though she couldn't tell if she was moving toward him, he toward her, or both were moving simultaneously. As they drew closer she gasped as her view of him crystalized.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Jethro!"

He smiled at her, nodding.

"I miss you. I love you, so much," she sighed.

As he drew closer his hands reached out. She hesitated, looking up into his eyes. He nodded again, encouraging her to take his hands. She brought her hands up, sliding her palms into his.

"I love you too, Munchkin," he said. He cocked his head, his face puzzled. "Erica, how are you here?"

"I ... I don't know," she said, confused. "But I am ... I'm here. I don't want this to end!"

Gazing into his eyes she saw his image flicker just the tiniest bit and she snapped her head down to look at his hands as their touch in her own seemed to fade for a moment. Panic sparked in her and she looked back into his eyes.

"I don't know what's going on. I don't know how long I can be here with you," she said, her voice anxious. "Please, touch me, Jethro. Touch me once more before I have to go."

She felt his hands release hers as they moved up to caress her face. She smiled at him, sighed and closed her eyes. His hands moved over her as she willed every part of her being to embrace him, to let him know - one last time - the depth of her love for him.

EJ woke slowly. Light filtered past the window blinds; daylight on its way to waken the world outside. With her eyes still closed she reached over, searching for the warm body that should be lying beside her. When her hand found nothing but the edge of a bed much narrower than it should be, her eyes opened and looked around the room, trying to make sense out of her disorientation as panic rising in her chest. After a few moments her mind cleared as she recognized the stark but familiar interior of her guest quarters.

Sitting up she dropped her legs over the side of the bed as vivid flashes of the heat and desire from the evening before played across her mind. She could feel Bishop's warm breath on her neck, his strong hands on her body, the desire and need she felt at his touch. She shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts of those visions and the guilt and embarrassment they conjured. Her body began to rebel against her, the trembling staring in her hands and moving up her arms. She sat up straighter and took several deep breaths, letting each out slowly, fighting to regain control. Finally her body calmed, her breathing became soft and steady while the ache that had filled her chest faded to a point where she didn't feel like she might crawl out of her skin.

Although still tired, she felt better, somewhat rested. She knew she had slept because ... and then it hit her ... she had dreamed. But this dream had been so vivid, so real, so alive. She had not just dreamed, she had dreamed about Gibbs. And this dream was different. In this dream he wasn't dead; slipping away from her frantic grasp, sinking out of sight in frigid and murky water. No, in this dream he was alive. In this dream he had spoken to her, had told her how much he loved her. In this dream she had touched him and he had felt real. In this dream she was happy. Tears began to flow freely, a mixture of sadness and gratitude, of love and regret. But the debilitating grief that had been her constant companion for months was nowhere to be found - at least for the moment - and she sent out a silent thank you for the temporary reprieve.

Looking over at the night stand she spied the digital clock radio, the time read 6:15 am. Taking an inventory of herself she realized she was still dressed from the night before. Her body felt clammy, the dried sweat on her skin sticking to her clothes. Heaving a sigh she stood up and peeled off her jeans and blouse, then stripped off her bra and panties. Stepping into the bathroom she turned on the shower, scalding hot as usual.

She let the water run over her, turning her skin red with its warmth, washing away the remnants of the prior evening. She stood in its cascade of heat, thankful for the way it made her skin tingle, feeling revived and refreshed. Her thoughts went back to her dream and Gibbs. Maybe this dream was a good thing - it certainly didn't feel bad. Maybe this was her mind's way of helping her to finally let go of him so she could start to heal from her grief. Maybe the failed intimacy with Bishop was the catalyst her subconscious needed to jolt her out of her self-indulgent pity and spur her on toward regaining her life. Maybe that was why she had been given the opportunity to feel him one more time, to say goodbye and to let him go. Maybe ...

She turned the shower knob, making the water hotter.

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