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Author's Chapter Notes:
"This woman had always won my heart with her words. She held me in a strange trance that was growing stronger and stranger with each passing letter. I could easily deduce from this one that our words to each other were having a strong effect on one another."

-Timothy McGee
Tim's POV

Every morning just the same. I couldn't even begin to tell how or why the lyrics from the opening number of Beauty & the Beast were stuck in my head - perhaps it was because, in a sense, my mornings at work were essentially the same. The same mindless chatter from the same narrow-minded people every day. I often wondered if they meant to be so callous and naive, but then again, I've always found my particular field team to be heads and tails above the rest.

Luckily, that morning - it was a Tuesday, I recall - was to be of its own species, a brand new day in the literal sense and it all started with a pile of mail on my desk.

I sifted through the junk mail I often received in hordes and, amid the chaotic pile of bank advertisements, I noticed a familiar envelope and, on it, swirls of handwriting so lovely I could feel my Tuesday morning heart shiver and awaken.

Undoubtedly, such a strong spark of emotion had caused a smile to form on my face, because that had been Ziva's first observation as she and Tony entered our work space.

"Look at that smile, Ziva," Tony teased. "I wonder what marvelous creature is causing the geek to gush out a smile like that."

"Regardless of whether or not McGee's smile is 'gushing,' Tony," Ziva began as her nose crinkled in the way it always had for as long as I had known her, "I think we can both agree he looks very happy today."

"Had a good night, McSmiley?" Tony teased, preceding a jab to the rib cage via Ziva's elbow.

I shook my head, my entire body on edge as I took my seat and opened the envelope. "I forgot this would be coming today," was all I gave them as my fingers quickly removed the parchment cardstock paper from its carrier and slowly unfolded its smooth creases.

"Who is it from?" Ziva questioned, curiosity coating her tone. "A friend?"

"A lover?" Tony harped, and I rolled my eyes in his direction.

"My pen pal," I answered, and the other two shot me looks of dumbfoundedness.

Tony's face scrunched. "That is brand new information..." he said, sounding lost and confused. "Clearly, said 'pal' is a female."

"How would you know that?" Ziva inquired.

"Look at the paper, its envelope, the handwriting - I can practically smell her from here."

"I think McGee would appreciate if you'd stop hitting on his letter-mate, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he wafted himself and his familiar scent - the scent of freshly brewed coffee - into the area.

"Thanks, boss," I thanked, beginning to read the letter in silence.


Dear old friend,

"Oh, the times, they are a-changin'." Such a brilliant song - have you heard it? While I am not particularly a fan of Bob Dylan's, that song is wonderful.

Anyway, I wanted to begin by telling you how ecstatic I became upon receiving another letter from you. Your words are so endearing that even after all these years and countless letters, the first of them still brings tears to my eyes. With my job choice and occupational inheritance, I doubt it comes as a surprise that encouragement can go a long way in my field. Even as I sailed across uncharted oceans and held my starboard watch by night, it has seemed as of late that your letters and writings have made a guardian angel of you.

I know I ramble - then again, you know that already. There are things I have shared with you, dear one, that I have never and will never share outside of these papers.

A part of me wishes that destiny had chosen to be kinder than cruel in our happy-chance mutuality. Do you ever wonder about what was, what is, what could be, what must not? I have faith that one day that planets will align, that stars will burst forth, that God himself will intervene and allow fate to take a physical form, even if but for a moment so I may look into your beautiful eyes - note my confidence - and tell you how grateful I am that your soul exists.

The residual warmth I feel as I read your words is incomparable and non-transferrable to anything I have ever experienced in the physical world. I wish for nothing and yet long for so much. At times, when I feel most alone, or afraid, or lost, I reread your language and your written word soothes my instabilities and placates them, holding back their suffering until they feel the healing power of your language once more.
Moving on, as I tend to digress, I am at port soon - isn't it wonderful? As I have heard you mention a thousand times before, you hail from Bethesda but currently reside in the capitol - am I correct? Perhaps such a time is the hour of fate.

One thing you have never mentioned, my oldest companion, is where you hold your place of work, though I shall not press you or force you into revealing the place in which your occupation is held.
I do hope that someday, perhaps soon, we shall come face-to-face at last.
I hope you have a blessed day.

As always,
L. Hawkitt, POFC

P.S. My ship is the Abraham Lincoln.



My heart sunk. This woman had always won my heart with her words. She held me in a strange trance that was growing stronger and stranger with each passing letter. I could easily deduce from this one that our words to each other were having a strong effect on one another. I smiled gently, warmed by the idea of her carrier coming to port, and in D.C., no less!

"What does she have to say?" Tony asked, his tone bearing that warily curious quality it possessed when the 'just not knowing' was eating him alive.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I answered vaguely, smirking to myself as though I was harboring the absolute best inside joke and, to be honest, I was: it was her.

"That sexy, huh?"

I was preparing a proper rebuttal when Gibbs' phone rang. Upon answering it, he said nothing and then hung up, grabbing his jacket and his coffee.
"Metro police identified the body of a Captain Claire Hawkitt, victim of an apparent hit-and-run accident," he explained, and I could feel the lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe.

Hawkitt... The name was ringing in my ears like an alarm bell, whizzing past the logical approach to an emotional response and, instead, caused my legs to shake as I stood and looked directly at my boss.

"What was that name again?" I asked the worry and nerves in my voice breaking through my months of practiced stoicism.

Gibbs sent me a look of confusion - and minor frustration. "Hawkitt. Captain Claire Hawkitt."

I swallowed hard. Oh, my God. "Marines?"

Gibbs nodded, now suspicious. "Why?"

I closed my eyes briefly before reopening them, the lump in my throat solidifying. "The woman who wrote this letter is her sister."



::::



Lauren's POV

I am so sorry, Petty Officer, so sorry for your loss...

My sister was gone. In the blink of an eye, fifty percent of me dissipated in the early hours of the morning and I had become a shell, hollow and cold.

Claire and I had our set of differences, but what pair of sisters doesn't? We loved each other greatly, almost to a fault, and her decision to go officer-side of the Marines hit me worse than shellshock. I was proven wrong when she joined the ranks among proud men and stood her ground, proving herself to be an asset and a threat.

Still, why her? She would never hurt someone intentionally and was the best the Marines had to show (as far as I was concerned), so why did she have to go? There was, is, and never shall be a "right" time to say goodbye.

The news of her death came to me while I was in the hangar of the carrier I lived on. I was tweaking one of the fuel injector valves on a C-26 Metro III when my XO approached me and gave me the news. I couldn't breathe properly and I felt dizzy. We were getting ready to dock the carrier and I had been looking forward to having dinner with my sister.

"Hawkitt," the voice of Petty Officer Third Class Bagrowski, "you wanna go home when we dock?" He was a strapping man - tall, decent-looking, had a caring soul - and a fellow AME. He always looked out for me, and this moment was no exception.

I did not answer Bagrowski's question up front and, instead, turned my attention to the Rear Admiral addressing me. "Have the details of her death been released yet, sir?" I asked, sniffling back the emotions trying to sway me.

The highly decorated RA shook his head a bit too slowly for my taste.

"There is evidence, they said, that may suggest this wasn't an accident. A Naval investigative group is going to look into it," he said with a sympathetic smile. "If you need any leave time, I won't count it on your record."

"Thank you, sir."

"Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir." I respectfully saluted him and then the RA was gone.

"Think the investigators will contact you?" Bagrowski asked of me.

"I'd be highly surprised if they didn't, Chaz," I responded with a sad shake of my head. "What did he mean when he said there was evidence this may not have been an accident?"

"Could she have been murdered?"

I sincerely hoped not - not my sister, surely. She wasn't harmful by nature, so who could have harmed her over nothing?

"Hawkitt!"

Hearing someone call out my name snapped me back into reality. As they said in my home country, 'keep calm and carry on'. That was a British standard to uphold. I was needed by my fellow AMEs, pilots, and my shipmates so I straightened my spine and did just that: I carried on.

"Yes?" I said, greeting one of our ship's MPOs, which was someone who handled the delivery of mail to the sailors and those on board the vessel.

"This just came through the telegraph for you," the MPO said, handing me a sheet of paper that read:

Dear L,
I just heard about what happened to your sister. I couldn't be sorrier for you! As it turns out, my specific group of agents is being called to the scene. As I just received your latter this morning, I believe you are correct - Fate is smiling down on us today, perhaps even walking among us.

I hope you are able to cope with your loss as I know you are strong in faith and in will, but rest assured and know that I will do all that I can and more to comfort you as you heal.

I will see you soon, cherished one.

With affection always,
T. McGee, Special Agent


My heart soared - a message from him was definitely what my aching heart required to preserve the last of my hope. The bit where he said "I will see you soon" gave me a case of the chills. Was he serious? Would he really be seeing me soon? My soul longed for it to be true so that I could finally have a face and a voice to put to the immensity of fondness I held for him, my oldest and dearest friend.

At the moment, I had no time to mourn my sister - I despised crying in front of those I respected, so I decided to wait until I was alone to be at one with my sad, dark thoughts.

Bagrowski placed his hand gently onto my back and I looked over at him. "Is it from him?" he asked. He knew all of my story about the fifteen-year letter streak with the mysterious T, and i knew he didn't like it one bit, but he cared enough to ask and that was good enough for me.

I nodded. "He sends his condolences about Claire and then said he would see me soon," I explained, feeling Bagrowski withdraw his hand from my back.

"Do you think he will see you soon?"

"Yes."

Bagrowski frowned and cleared his throat upon hearing the ship's whistle signal we were a few miles from land. "We need to finish tweaking - you know what? Go ahead and go back to the barracks and change. I can finish up."

"Are you sure?"

Bagrowski nodded with a smile. "Get a move on, Hawkitt. We're almost home."

I gave his forearm a thankful squeeze before leaving the hangar to change uniforms. I mentally preoccupied myself with thoughts of T and hoped that he would live up to the wondrous expectations of him I had been conjuring up for fifteen long years. Finally, my imagination would collide with reality.
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