You sit in the back.
You had bought her flowers.
That was the least you could do.
You didn’t realize until you stood there in the middle of the flower shop that you didn’t know what kind of flowers she liked.
You had never bothered to notice.
It struck you right in the stomach as you stood there in a sea of flowers.
There were a lot of things about her that you didn’t know.
You thought you would have time.
But one thing this job should have taught you was that there was never time.
You had chosen to ignore that and let all the small things fade into the background.
And now it was too late.
So you bought her a rose, a single red rose.
A plain flower that women get every major holiday would carry your message into her final resting place.
You felt ashamed as you sat there in the back of the church, clutching the rose.
The thorns buried themselves into you the palm of your hand but you didn’t feel the pain anymore.
You had become a master of shutting the pain out.
It was skill you had perfected during the years until the wall around your heart was so huge that nobody would get through.
You told yourself that it was a matter of survival, nothing more.
But then she came along.
She was young and beautiful.
She was everything that you couldn’t have.
You told yourself that you didn’t want it, anyways.
You were too old and she was too out of reach for you.
So you put that feeling away, in the far corners of your heart, and you let her become one of the many faces that had come and gone through NCIS during the years.
She did everything to let you know that she mattered.
And you were proud of her.
You found yourself struggle to shut her out of your heart.
But you were so determined to maintain your balance in the world that you pushed that feeling away.
You told yourself when you lay alone at night that it was nothing and that it would soon go away.
She had her life and you had yours.
They didn’t mix.
But a part of you, the part that was weak, screamed for her.
It kept nagging you during those endless nights when dreams kept you awake.
It blindsided you on some rainy Sunday afternoon when you worked on your boat.
You were weak after all.
And you hated it.
You reacted as you always had done.
You threw yourself into your work.
Women had come and gone but you had never let them break you.
You had been married three times after all.
But what you didn’t want to admit was they had each taken a little piece of your heart when they had left you.
And what was left of your heart was a piece that you guarded with your life.
You couldn’t give that piece away.
The cost was too great.
So you went into battle to maintain the status quo.
Then the day came when Ari returned.
He had become a ghost, a monster that haunted your dreams.
It was a weakness, an open wound.
He threatened you and welcomed it with opened arms because that meant that you had the power to silence the ghost forever.
She had been worried about you.
You had seen it in her eyes as she looked at you.
She had tried to hide it but you had noticed in the way she moved and the way she avoided your eyes as she spoke.
But it was normal after all.
You were partners.
You were her boss.
So you pushed the hope away and locked it away in the back of your heart.
As night wrapped its arms around the office you let yourself be weak for a single moment as you watched her sleep.
You didn’t know then that it would be the last time you would see her.
Then morning came and with the break of day came the end.
You had been so sure as you went into that building.
You wanted Ari.
It had screamed in your ears so loud that you ignored the nagging voice that whispered that something was wrong.
When the first bullet slammed into her chest you thought it was over.
That you had lost her for good.
The feeling slammed into you with such force that it almost knocked you over.
She had sacrificed herself for you.
Taking a bullet in the chest.
But she had worn a west, a west that had saved her.
Relief ran through you as you saw her open her eyes and as she got up.
Then everything happened so fast.
You would remember that moment until the day you die.
It kept playing over and over in your head as a broken record.
It haunted you as you closed your eyes.
Her blood had stained your shirt.
You had noticed it afterwards.
She had smiled at you.
Your eyes had met and you were just about to say something.
But you couldn’t for the life of you remember what.
It didn’t matter now, anyways.
You stood there, on that roof, with the sun warming your face and you watched as her life drained from her body and there was nothing you could do.
But still you reached for your gun.
You reacted like any Agent, any soldier, would do.
But he was already long gone.
They would later say that she died instantly.
She was never in pain.
You stayed with her until they came to take her away.
A part of you knew that you had to go after him.
You wanted it.
You needed it.
Anger boiled in you, it burned in you like a fire you could no longer contain.
But you couldn’t leave her.
Her blood stained your skin and mixed with yours.
Her hand was cold in yours as you held it.
You wanted to hold on.
You needed it.
But you knew that it was too late and the rational part of you knew that you had to let go.
She was gone.
You had seen it happen before.
It was a perfect shot.
You had seen soldiers die in front of you.
You were no stranger to it.
So you would think you would know the drill by now.
But still you wanted to hold her hand; still you wanted to talk to her.
As they wrapped her body and carried her downstairs something inside of you broke into millions of tiny pieces.
You had tried to ignore the pain.
But it was like trying to stop a train.
It was no use.
So you welcomed it willingly.
You sat there in the church, clutching the rose, on the morning of her funeral and that scene kept playing over and over in your head.
You had tried to drown the image out but you knew in your heart that it was no use.
It tore at your center core until you had to gasp for air.
But you took it without question.
You should have seen it coming.
She should have never been up there on that roof.
You should have done something when you sat there, face-to-face with the man you hated.
Then nothing of this would have happened.
So the fault was yours.
Yours to carry alone.
She was dead because of you.
You had brought her in and she was your responsibility.
And now everything was too late.
You couldn’t take it back and there was nothing you could do to change what had happened.
She wasn’t coming back this time.
But still you sat there, staring at her coffin, wishing it to fly open, so she could escape the clutches of death.
It was a childish wish.
You knew that it was over.
You grasped the rose harder.
The thorns pricked your skin and blood stained your cuffs.
But you chose to ignore it as you had chosen to ignore the pain that ate you alive.
The ceremony was over so fast and the mourners rose to follow the coffin to its final resting place.
You rose on weak legs.
A part of you wanted to object.
You weren’t ready yet to say goodbye to her.
But you remained your calm self.
You bowed your head in respect as the coffin passed you by in aisle.
Her family followed it and you avoided their eyes as they burned into you.
You could still hear the scream that escaped from her mother as you told her that her daughter was dead.
It rang in your ears as you followed the rest of the mourners to the grave.
The sun warmed your face as you stepped outside.
You hated it for showing its face today.
You walked the path to the grave with your head bowed in respect.
But the truth was that you couldn’t look them in the eye knowing that you could have spared them their sorrow.
You stood at her grave with the rose as your only company.
You stood in the back.
It’s time to say goodbye now.
It’s time to let go now.
You watched as they said goodbye to her one by one.
Some of them put flowers down.
Some of them cried.
Some didn’t.
You had told yourself that you would not cry for her.
The bitter truth was that you couldn’t remember when you let yourself cry last.
You didn’t cry when your mother died.
You didn’t cry when you followed your father to his grave.
And you were not going to cry now
You were the last one left to say goodbye to her.
The mourners had come and gone, leaving bitter taste of sorrow in the air around you.
You moved towards the coffin.
The petals of the rose were stained with your blood by now.
You felt ashamed as you notice it.
You tried to wipe it away but it was no use.
You were standing at her grave with a rose stained with blood.
You should say something but you didn’t know what.
You had never been good with words.
But still you stood there searching for anything to say to her now.
There were so many things you should have told her.
So many words that you had left unspoken.
You thought time was on your side.
And now it was too late.
But still as you stood there in front of her grave you couldn’t talk to her.
It wouldn’t be right.
So you remained quite.
You would keep the memory of her in locked room in your heart, keeping the memory of her safe.
You would take them out sometime and hold them up towards the light and one day you would let yourself mourn her.
That was the least you could do for her.
Your hands trembled as you laid down the rose on her coffin.
You closed your eyes in a weak attempt of shutting the pain out.
But you had lost that game a long time ago.
Your weak heart ached as you whispered:
“Goodbye, Kate.”
Then you turned and walked away from her.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs POV on losing Kate."You would keep the memory of her in locked room in your heart, keeping the memory of her safe.
You would take them out sometime and hold them up towards the light and one day you would let yourself mourn her."
You would take them out sometime and hold them up towards the light and one day you would let yourself mourn her."