Tony's dark eyes blinked away the red light that dared to spark between the blinds of his apartment windows. His fingers reached to the opposite side of the bed, slowly running over the empty yet soft space where a significant other should be laying. He grunted gently, his eyes closing again as he thought about her brown hair splaying against the white linen. Her tanned and toned body spread out for him to relish in, he wanted to kiss her neck but the neck was neither there nor was it warm with life any more.
She had died, no been murdered months ago and yet he still thought she was among them. Whenever a warm breeze brought the scent of the local deli's vegetable day to his nose his heart ached for her, or even when he saw Ziva take down McGee, it just felt like she was there laughing at how feeble he was. Tony had tried to keep the health food in his system, but every time he found himself staring blankly at the fat free food aisle he felt the warmth of her blood splattering against his face. Saw her body fall over and over in slow motion against the roof, saw the panic set into Gibbs' eyes as he wheeled around, and felt the weakness of being unable to move or do anything at all.
It was a pain he was not used to, the pain of losing a partner was definitely not new, but there was something odd about this one. Maybe it was the sinking feeling in his heart, or the white hot pain that shot through his soul every time he imagined her dark eyes and warm heart. Could he have loved her at one time? Could he have possibly wished to be with her?
Tony shook his head violently, shaking the thoughts from his mind as quickly as he had jumped into action that day worrying about the first shot she had taken and praying to god she was alive. He ran his fingers once more over the coarse linen before pushing himself up and walking to the windows. The sky was blood red, his dark eyes fanning over it before dropping to the floor once more. "Why does everything have to be stained with blood?" He mumbled softly, his hand streaking down the glass as he turned to head towards the shower.
He growled at himself in the mirror, dark lines traced beneath his eyes and wrinkles dared to invade his olive colored skin. Tony raised his fist, throwing it into the mirror with all the power he could muster. The glass shattered around his hand and fell to the floor below, along with it a letter addressed to him. He snatched his hand back, blood dripping down the cut and torn knuckles as he cursed his foolishness. He leaned back against the shower door, and suckled the red meat. His eyes closed, blood...blood stained flesh...
When they opened again they landed upon the crisp yet tattered parchment that had been within the mirror, his bloody fingers gripped it gently and slowly he unfolded the piece of paper. It smelled of her, smelled of that delicate mix of sweat and feminine sex. He smiled gently, he remembered when she had been in his apartment making sure he was alright after being returned home from having Y-Pestis. She had wanted to check on him and found that his mirror needed to be installed, she had done it apparently. For when he was able to get around the house there it was.
The opening line struck him like the bullet had struck her, he slid down the wall of the shower until his rear smacked against the glass covered floor.
Tony, if you are reading this I assume the worst has happened. After the incident with you getting sick, I decided that if something should happen to me I wanted you to know something. Suffice it to say, if I never told you this letter existed I wasn't as strong as you thought I was, but at least I am letting you know now.
Tony, I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on your unkempt hair and your Italian swagger. I know I called you a brother and in a way you were like one, but you knew how to play with each of my heartstrings and furthermore you knew how to piss me off whilst seducing me at the same time. I know it probably never would have worked, but if you even felt the tiniest bit the same I am sure I know it wherever I happen to be. So if you did or if you still do, I understand why you said nothing. It was more than likely for the same reason I didn't.
I wanted you to read something, something that a woman much wiser than me wrote. Her name was Mary Frye.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
His eyes welled up and he dropped the letter, his bloodied fingers had stained red like everything had been as of late. He threw his head back and screamed her name, his fists clenching tight before he spoke through gritted teeth.
"I love you too, Kate. Our little hour, how soon it dies."