(There's No Heaven)
Disclaimer: All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters for my own purpose. The title comes from John Lennon's song 'Imagine' – one off my all time favourites.
Genres: Gen, Tragedy, Drabbles
Warnings: Spoilers for Judgement Day
Summary: Five moments that happened after the credits rolled in Judgement Day.
He flicked the light switch and padded down the weary stairs. Stopping at the bottom, he paused and looked at the almost finished boat. Sighing, he took a step forward and nearly tripped over a discarded piece of wood. He pushed it away with the tip of his shoe and made his way over to the work bench. With one hand, he emptied a jar of bolts and with the other, he groped around for his bottle of dark brown liquid. He poured and lifted the jar to his mouth, glancing at the boat.
It was time to start again.
She ran. It was dark, and the trees rushed by her in a blur of hazy colour. A twig snapped underfoot, and her orange beanie glowed under the starry sky. She was breathing heavily, unsure how far she had run. Slowing, she came to an abrupt stop. She leaned over, resting her hands against her knees. Then she lashed out, hitting the tree with the palm of her hand.
'Damn you, Jenny,' she thought.
Sighing, she lashed out again. If it weren't for the tree, she would have collapsed to the ground, exhausted. She didn't even realise she was crying.
He stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him. His fingered were poised over the keyboard, ready to type. It was just . . . he didn't know what to type. A million thoughts were yelling in his head, but he could only hear two words, over and over.
Director. Dead. Director. Dead. Directordead. Directordeaddirectordeaddirectordead . . .
He shook it, willing the voices to go away. If only he could capture them and channel them onto the page, then maybe everything would be okay. But as the words yelled at him, he didn't know. He took a deep breath, and tried again.
She sat on the floor, clutching the hippo to her chest. Her make-up was running, and her pigtails hung limply off her head. The others had gone; gone for good this time, she thought. She let out a sob and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. For the first time since Kate, she really, really wanted her mom to hold her close and tell her that everything would be okay. Gibbs would have made it better, if he had been here. But he wasn't; and she was just a little girl who wanted her mom.
He signalled to the bartender, who didn't even blink an eye. He'd chosen a back alley bar that didn't care about the welfare of its patrons as long as they could still find their wallet. The alcohol was cheap and nasty . . . exactly what he needed, deserved. He downed it in one. Needing the head, he stood. He stumbled from the bar, crashing into something. He looked up, and found himself sprawled on the floor. Snarling, he got to his feet and pushed back.
Later, as he leaned against the wall after being kicked out, he collapsed.