Author's note: Just a simple one-shot. I found this lying on my computer so I thought I'd post it.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, unfortunately. :(

It Had to Be You

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Not a day had gone by that she hadn't thought about it.

About him.

The tears kept falling no matter what she did to try and stop them.

It had been two months, six days, and three hours since the accident; his accident.

His death.


She sits now on a park bench thinking about old memories and sometimes she swears she can hear him. Everything reminds her of him; the sidewalks where they used to walk side by side, the deli down the block where they would go eat lunch on a not so busy day.

She looks up and sees a young man and a little boy playing in the nearby fields. The man bears a striking resemblance to her lost friend and she feels the tears burn at her eyes again.

Even the coffee cup she occasionally sips from reminds her of him. He would always bring her a cup of her favorite tea, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The man and little boy start to leave and as they pass her, the boy stops and hands her a small flower.

"Here you go lady." He says and when she takes the little flower, the boy grins and waves goodbye.

Is this your way of telling me everything's going to be okay? She silently asks him, looking upwards.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

She continues to "speak" to him until well into the evening, not caring in the least what people thought about it. Finally she gets up to go home when watching a raccoon battle a squirrel for an acorn becomes too upsetting.

Upon entering the building she climbs the steps one by one and fumbles with her keys. When she finally gets inside her apartment, she locks her door, sheds her jacket and shoes at the foot of the couch and leaves the lights off. She goes straight to her bedroom and over to her closet where she pulls out a small box.

Returning to the couch she plops down, pries the lid off, and pulls out two objects. The first of the two is a grey hooded sweatshirt which she immediately wraps around herself. She had borrowed the sweatshirt from him one day and forgot to return it.

Wearing it now will probably not help her sadness, but it still bears his scent and it relaxes her for at least a little while. She feels like she is wrapped in his arms.

She reaches out to the second object, which is a framed picture of them and their co-workers from a few years back. She loves this picture because they're the only two in the photo not looking at the camera. He's leaning in closer to her, smiling and staring. She's got her hand on his arm and his laughing at something he just said.

She can remember the day vividly and her lips twist upwards into a small smile.

She is sure she's seen that look on his face before. Everybody else told her so. They all had seen it; the relationship between the two of them was different. They had a unique one that only they could understand.

Or so, at least that's what people had said.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door, and she was puzzled because only one person would ever dare to knock at this hour. She placed the photo on the coffee table and slowly walked over to the door.

Not bothering to check to see who it was, she swung open the door and was completely shocked.

He was standing there on her doorstep.

Oh, this had to be a dream!

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where

I love you straightfowardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way,

He didn't move or say anything, just simply stood.

She stared at him for several seconds noticing that his left arm was in a sling, his shirt and jeans were ripped in various places, and there were cuts and bruises all over him.

She needed proof that he was real so she reached out to him. When her hand came in contact with his skin she almost jumped ten feet in the air.

She moved to allow him to enter her small apartment but her eyes never left his.

Time stood still as they held each other's gaze and no words were needed as a whole conversation flew by with just a glance.

Without saying a word, he walked slowly over to her and kissed her softly and she knew.

He had a reason for leaving and they would get to the bottom of it later. None of that mattered at the moment; just being in the same room with him tonight was enough. Knowing that he loved her was all that she needed.

He smiled at her and her world was righted once again.

It had been six minutes and fourteen seconds since he returned.

Six minutes and fourteen seconds since the start of a new life.

Theirs. Together.

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep*

A/N: * Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda