Hello, welcome to my first FF.
Of course I don't own any of the original characters, stories, concepts etc. of NCIS or otherwise, they belong to their respective owners. However any characters and/or storylines that I created for this story are mine.
The story happens during and after episode 5x08, but refers to previous episodes all the way into season 3.
Rereading this story I found some things that needed fixing. So here now the new and improved 'Distorted View' ;)
Chapter 1: Perceptions Collide
„You'll never get it."
I froze. Had she really just said that? Now it was official. She had turned into a sixteen year old high school girl with an inexplicable crush. And she seemed to think that if she just kept hinting at it I would just step forward and say: „Please take me back.".
Take her back - „Pah!"
I realized that I had actually verbalized my own frustration with that exclamation. Still surprised that the sound, meant as a silent sigh of my own frustration, had actually left my lips. It still seemed to be echoing in the room as she spun around, managing to look very hurt and extremely pissed at the same time.
That very instant I became aware that he knew exactly how I felt about him. He had known all along!
Only that his reaction wasn't anywhere close to what I had expected, hoped or even dreamed it to be. I had expected fear, concern or even retreat. I had hoped for understanding or even agreement. And I had dreamed about him just pulling me into his arms, telling me that he loved me, too.
I turned around, seeing both determination and confusion on his face and before I could stop myself I grabbed him and pushed him up against the vending machine he still stood in front of. Only when I heard him groan and saw the glass front of the vending machine break under the pressure his back was exerting on it I realized what was happening, what I was doing. I let him go.
I took a step back, sat down on a chair nearby and buried my face in my hands to hide the hurt expression that I could no longer hold back. I promised myself that I at least wouldn't cry.
Through my hands I asked „Why are you doing this to me?".
My back hurt, during her little outburst I had suffered several small cuts on my back from the broken glass of the vending machine she had pushed me into. And now she actually asked me why I was doing this to her.
„Do you even have the slightest idea where we stand? Do you remember the past year and a half at all?"
„What do you mean? Are you angry that I had to see you happy with someone else to figure out that what we had was more than a fling to me?"
Now I was getting angry, how could two people see the same situation so totally differently? I had to get through to her, tell her how I felt and get her to see my side of things if I wanted to salvage what was left of our relationship. Only, did I really want to do that?
„Did you ever stop to think why I stopped seeing you when I did?", I asked her as mollifyingly as I could.
„The usual?", I had trouble not to sound as upset as I was.
„You know, I never saw you date anybody for more than a couple of weeks since I've met you, so I figured you had lost interest in me."
I had to put all my effort into keeping a neutral expression on my face, or at least not to contort it into a mask of the anger that washed through my head right now. The one person I had ever dated and actually really opened up to, let her see the real me that lay underneath the masks I wore to work or on dates, hadn't understood me at all. At least that explained some of her actions. But an explanation wasn't a justification.
„How dare you calling me that shallow? It was you who screwed up what we hat!", I was shouting at her now, not caring if anybody was listening in on us, „We had something good! And then you had to go ruin it by showing me in no uncertain terms that you neither trusted me enough to ask me for my support, nor that you cared enough about me to give me yours when I needed it! And then you act as though that never happened. You know what: I wish we'd never met."
I've had enough of this, I needed to get out. Pushing past her and the small group of spectators our exchange had attracted I made my way to my car in the parking lot. Driving off, neither caring to tell Gibbs I was leaving for the day, nor where I was going. All I knew was that right now I had to get as much distance between me and NCIS, no between me and her, as possible.
After driving aimlessly for about an hour I approached a deserted parking lot near a small park. I stopped the car, collapsed onto the steering wheel and, for the first time in my live, cried about a woman.