He was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to kiss me, she thought, staring at his back as he bolted down the hallway outside the men's room. His face had been so close to hers, and the way he grabbed her shoulders...she had been sure he was going to kiss her.
She scoffed out a breath at herself. He hadn't been about to kiss her. She had just given him an idea. What could have possessed her to think that he would kiss her, in the middle of a men's room in the center of the NCIS building, itself well-ensconced in the Navy Yard?
Perhaps her psych evaluation had simply not asked the right questions to diagnose her own brand of insanity.
No. Even in a joke to herself, the concept of her being insane was anathema. If there was one thing she knew, that she was sure of after her time in that camp, it was that she was not insane. Foolhardy, yes, and often unwise. But not crazy.
So if she wasn't insane, then why had she been so sure he was going to kiss her?
Because he had stared into her eyes, perhaps. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. That was a concept she was well-acquainted with after the way she had spent her summer. "Wishful thinking" had been all she'd had left after the first two weeks and no rescue. "Wishful thinking" had involved visualizing everyone she loved, had ever loved, surrounding her, helping her. Rescuing her.
But he was the only one who'd actually come. As far as she'd been able to establish without using the most obvious of her contacts, Mossad had made no effort to find or save her. NCIS had not even known she was alive, and they had still found her. He had still found her, she corrected herself. Because while she didn't doubt that the rest of the team had helped, had risked their own lives for her as well, she somehow knew that he had been the driving force behind it.
She wondered if his quick exit indicated that he understood, had forgiven her, or if it simply meant that she had distracted him with whatever insight she had apparently offered him into the case he was working.
She wondered what would have happened in the next moment if what she had said had not triggered some buried thought in the "cop" part of his brain.
She wondered what would happen the next time she cornered him in the men's room.