Title: Reality Nightmare
NCIS, the rights to the show and its characters do not belong to me. No money was made by this.
English is not my native language. So please forgive me my grammar and spelling mistakes.
slight ones for Aliyah and S7
"All your energy leaves you, and you are faced with the gruesome facts. This is not a nightmare, this is the worst day of your life."
Dark headspace. I have no idea what has gotten into me lately. Perhaps it's some sort of compensation for the forced happysmiley-attitude that I had to put on on Christmas. Maybe I should issue a warning, this was written in less than an hour. Apologies if it does not make any sense.


The room is dark, every light turned off. You have done that, because you cannot stand the brightness of it, cannot walk in the light. You need the shadows; you need darkness to surround you, darkness that matches the darkness, the numbness in your heart.

The metal table is cold as it digs into the small of your back. You shiver slightly, and wrap your arms around you to protect you from a cold that has long crept into your soul, one that you cannot get rid of.

You stare in front of you, unseeing. You know what is lying there, who is lying there, yet you are not able to turn on the lights and face the reality of it. In the darkness, you can pretend that it is not him on that table. In the darkness, you do not have to see all the dried blood on your hands and shirt. His blood, the blood of your partner, the one you could not safe, the one that died because you did not have his back, because you told him that nothing would happen. The one that was lost because he trusted you, like so many have done before, and look where it got them, where it got him.

Tears well up in your eyes and you close them, realizing your mistake too late. Because when you are not seeing your surroundings, you can watch an entire film dance behind your eyelids. How he smiled at you when you walked into work today. How he offered to let you drive. How he nodded before you both stormed into the hallway. How the bullets whizzed around you, how the scent of gunpowder filled up the air, how his gun slammed and how he stumble backwards before you finally managed to take out the last one of the bad guys. How badly the graze at your side burned until you turned to inquire if he was alright and saw him stare at his hand, his hand that he had pressed to his abdomen, the hand covered in blood. He fell forward, and you caught him, his body heavy in your arms, but not as heavy as his gasped name on your lips. You pressed your own hands to his wound, you cursed under your breath, in your native language because English has failed you, failed you once again. He stared at you, his gaze unfocussed before becoming clear again, his smile dazzling before he coughed, before the blood spilt from his perfect lips. And you sat there, stared at him, his face, all the blood, and did not even notice that you were crying, sobbing, that you were yelling for an ambulance in a language no one around you was able to understand but got the meaning nonetheless. His hand on yours cut through the haze and your eyes snapped to his, and you saw the knowledge in them, knowledge you never wanted to see, never wanted to have to face because it meant that it was real, and it could not be real, it had to be a mistake. But it was not, the bullets were real, the wounds were, the blood, the heavy, sticky red substance was more real than anything else, and you wanted to cry, you wanted to take your gun and empty all the left bullets into the men that have killed your dying partner, but you could not leave him, just could not let him go, not just yet, not now, not ever. It was not supposed to be like this, you were the one to go down in a hail of bullets, not him, you were the one that should have died months ago in a foreign country, that should have never survived a whole summer at the hands of terrorists. You are the one that has once put a gun to his chest, a loaded gun with the safety off, but still you could not kill him, were not able to shoot him even in his knee, because through that haze of pain and grief and fury, he was still your partner and there was no way you could betray him like that. But now he is dying, dying in your arms and the light in his eyes is growing dim and there are no sirens in the distance, no paramedic to pull you away from him and take over for you. And you know that there will be no happy ending this time, that this time is the one where one of you has finally gone through the nine lives granted and all the prayers that come to your mind will not change the fact that he will be dead soon, and you will be left alone, alone and cold.

Your eyes open and a sob escapes your lips, makes it past the lump in your throat. If he had known, he would have never let you go into the field with him, he would have taken McGee, and you would not have been there to watch him die, and maybe he would not have died, because McGee does not have that secret to protect, because McGee's mind would not have gone to the life growing inside of him and how to protect his unborn child instead of doing his job immediately. McGee would have had his back, and everything would have ended differently, and you would not be standing here, in the dark, staring at the dead body of your partner, of your Ahuvi, of the man you vowed to love, honor and cherish two months ago. The man that did not even know he was going to be a father when he took his last breath, the man whose child will never know what an amazing father it had, the man that will never get to tuck his daughter in at night or teach his son to throw a baseball.

And you stand there, tears rolling down your cheeks, wondering how you are supposed to manage this without him, how you are supposed to raise your child without him at your side, and you cannot take it anymore, your knees give out under you and you slide to the ground. Hugging your knees to your chest, you cry, cry and scream for hours, curse the Gods that have taken him from you and your child and pray and plead that they may change their mind, that you will wake up any second to realize that this is a dream, a horrible nightmare, before all your energy leaves you, and you are faced with the gruesome fact. This is not a nightmare, this is the worst day of your life, and you will never be able to escape that reality.


Review? Pretty please?