She can see her reflection in the window, small and pale, curled on the couch. She swallows and tastes mint, and underneath that, the sour bile she wasn't able to rinse entirely away. She knows that despite her shower, despite standing under the water until her skin was flushed and almost burning, she smells of ashes.

Ashes, and death.

God, she feels cold. Not cold like winter, like ice, though certainly she feels some of that. Numb, she thinks. The word she’s looking for is numb. Because she's survived the fire and knows that it was her fault. That it is a result of her actions, that she is the cause. At the very least, she didn't intervene. But penance will not be hers, because Gibbs will explain to the others, will mask her fault in protocol and logic, and he'll think that he's right. And when Tony asks, her reply will be unaffected and cool, and there will be no chance, no time, to apologize.

Mourning will not be hers, either, for there is nothing to mourn, nothing tangible, and she will not cry, not over a mistake like this. It's a mistake, though not a simple one, something deeper and blinding. A mistake, still, and she will not atone with tears.

There was a time, she thinks, when she would have atoned with prayer. When she would have asked forgiveness. Prayer is beyond her now, the words cold and heavy as stone, but she still believes, because she has to.

And so she does.

There is a place, she thinks, where her job is unnecessary. Where people like her aren't needed. Where a moment's hesitation doesn’t end with screams and blood on the floor.

There is a place, or so she's heard, where mistakes aren’t fatal. Where misplaced trust doesn’t end in flames and shattered glass.

There is a place, and sometimes, on good days, she still thinks she'll find it, but those days are harder to come by, harder to find.

There is a place, and with each day that passes, she’s less and less sure it's for her.

And still, she believes.

But now, Abby brushes her hair away from her face and kisses her, careful to avoid the bruises, and it doesn't take away what happened, but it makes it better. She holds Kate, and strokes her hair, and doesn't speak, and if she could stay like this forever, Kate thinks, maybe it would be okay.

The End