Chapter 4: Third time

22 YEARS LATER

Washington DC is not a new city to me. I had to live here on my first two years of training and even before that during my backbreaking time in Quantico.
I just never imagined or wanted to come back here the way and for the reasons I had to come now.

As little disgrace is no fun at all, I just found out two hours ago that the moving company misplaced my things. Instead of sending it to Olive Street NW, Georgetown, they sent it to Olive Street, Georgiatown, Minnesota. Yep.

Just my bloody luck.

So while I am here, on a bar like so many others in America, trying to find the meaning of love, life, stuff and everything on the bottom of my vodka on ice that I still have to take a taste of, I feel it again.

Purity.

It wafts by me and I close my eyes, wondering why of all times this had to happen to me again. Just when I was feeling at lowest point in a long time in my existence.

I open my eyes and I am surprised to notice that the scent comes from a man who sits by my side. Not old, not young, he acknowledges my presence with a nod, which I politely reciprocate. I turn my eyes back to my drink but years of training are not to be ignored so I immediately start profiling him. Clean nails, no wedding ring, nice tailored jacket, not those extremely expensive but a nice one nonetheless, which fits his pale skin and light hair.

He has one of those faces that, regardless of how old he might get, it will always retain a part of his youth on it.

He asks for the drink menu and after some consideration chooses a Cuba Libre. My mind does not catch up with my mouth because before I tell myself to shut up I hear my own voice speaking.

"You are not a drinker."

He looks at me surprised and it is my turn to be surprised. Regardless of his age, he has the most soulful eyes I've ever seen, deep green pools that once directed at me simply freezes my brain.

"Excuse me?"

Duh. I should stop taking lessons from my brothers on how to irritate and alienate people. Be normal, be normal!

"You are not a drinker and whenever you do drink, Cuba Libre is not your drink of choice." I add and I immediately see a calculating and intelligent glint come to his eyes.

The green eyed stranger turns to me and start seizing my person. I have the opportunity to do the same to him. He is not as young as I first imagined, neither as innocent. There is a slight hardness in his soul once he studies me that only comes from deep suffering and that also makes me wonder how he can balance what he has seen with the purity I feel on him.

After a while, he must decided that I am not one of the crazy drunk chicks trying to pick strangers on a bar, like the blondie throwing herself out at the guy in the corner of the bar and answers with a smile.

"No, I'm not a drinker. But then, neither are you." He points to my vodka, now more ice than vodka as I have barely had taken a sip of it.

Gosh, I hate the stuff. I just wanted to drown my pain and my ghosts tonight and vodka seemed like a logical choice.

I refrain from verbally answering him and merely nod. The odds of anything else happening beyond this friendly conversation are close to null. But that does not stop my overactive brain of creating possible scenarios.

Who he is?

Where is he from?

What does he do?

After a few seconds of this I simply scream to my subconscious to shut up. I'm not a profiler anymore. No need to get all worked up for nothing.
But my musings are cut short by the smell of alcohol and sweat which fouls the air on my other side.

"Hey beauty, what a babe like you is doing alone in a place like this, let me … "

I tune down the stranger and use my interrogation voice that made convicted murderers cry:

"If you value your hand, you will remove it NOW". The last word I pronounce it more forcefully, already calculating in my mind how much force would be needed to snap his fingers. He keeps on mumbling and I on a practiced movement catch his hand and twist it. He whimpers like a babe and he must see how close to the edge I am, as after a well placed threat of snapping his arm off he gives up and leaves muttering something.

I hear him calling me bitch once he thinks I can't hear him, but I simply ignore him and return to my vodka. And the green eyed man. I feel my eyes starting to tear up, but I refuse to let any to fall.

I had cried enough these last months to fill rivers.

I'm tired of crying.

"So… Bad day, uh?" He asks trying to start a conversation.

"Bad year." There's no sin in being nice to someone interesting, so I look at him and chuckle lightly.

His drink arrives and he immediately swirls the liquid in his hand, hypnotized by the contents in its glass recipient. I return my eyes to my own glass and accept that our conversation is over.

"I propose a toast."

What the… that was unexpected.

"A toast?"

"Yep." He drops the careless attitude and turns on his sit, facing me completely. His eyes slide over my face and fixate on my eyes. I try to look away but for some reason I can't hide myself and the more he looks at me, the more he really sees me. I struggle to put my barriers up but he has the uncanny ability to see through all my walls and reservations.

"To a better year." He murmurs, trying to break the tension.

"To a better year", I respond raising my glass.

We touch our glasses and sip our drinks.

NCIS NCIS NCIS

I don't think I can describe the next two hours.

We had a silent agreement not to say our last names. His name is Timothy, by the way, but he prefers Tim, but some close friends call him Timmy.

We talked about everything and nothing. Sports, politics, music, movies. We both suck at group sports, we had no real understanding on what the hell they are doing on the Senate, we like completely opposite types of music, and we are both absolutely crazy about Sci-Fi. He told me he is master in RPG and he even has a funny playing name, Elflord, elfling, something like that, and I told him of this time I went to the Lord of the Rings convention in Germany. He laughed himself in stitches when I described to him my father dressed up as Gandalf, my older brother dressed up as Saruman and my mother dressed up as Lady Galadriel waiting for a train in Dusseldorf.

He looked at his watch and sobered a little, it had been a pleasure but he had to work the following morning. I told him I had to leave as well and he gallantly offered to pay my tab which surprisingly had only one vodka glass and two bottles of water.

We walked outside the bar and I hailed a cab in the street. A gentleman to the core, he insisted on waiting until one of the crazy cabbies stopped for me.

Once it happened and I looked at him and thanked him sincerely as he had been a fresh breath of air in a long boring week. Hell, who am I kidding? He had been the only positive thing in months. I'm sincere enough to admit that to myself now. He rolled on the balls of his feet and shoved his hands on his pockets, and he shyly admitted that he too had had a great night.

I looked into his eyes and felt the most extreme case of brain freeze ever. I can speak eight languages fluently, but I could not utter a single word at that time.

The cabbie horned, extremely impatient. "Are you coming or not?"

We smiled at each other and I thought, why not, and leant over to kiss the side of his face.

His eyes became huge and for some reason he turned his face in the very last second. Our lips met. And whatever had been frozen in my heart and body melts. My body molded to his and my arms immediately surrounded his neck. I vaguely recognized that I folded my body into the taxi and dragged him with me inside.

"Where do you live?" I asked between kisses.

"Silver Spring", he managed to answer before kissing me again.

I took his head and brought it to my neck where he started leaving a path of kisses against my feverish skin and with the very last part of my functioning brain cells I turned to the taxi driver who was leering at us.

"Silver Spring. Drive."

After my order, the driver gave us a dirty smile but at least he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts for himself.

I don't remember the taxi ride. I just remember that it was short. Probably too short for the twenty dollar note we gave the driver, but we didn't want to wait for the change.

Before I situate myself I feel him pressing himself at me against the door of his apartment. I have no idea how we got inside. And to be sincere, I don't care.

I'm too short and he is quite tall, and he has to fold himself to simply hug me. I solve this little difference using all my ability of years at the gym to jump and support my weight around his waist.

He mumbles something which I do not understand.

He stops whatever he is doing on my neck (I never knew I was so sensitive there) and stares at my face, like he is looking for something, and repeats himself.

"I don't usually pick strangers on bars," he pauses nervously licking his lips. "I don't usually do one night stands."

I try to filter what he is saying, adding to what I know and what I feel about this man.

I smile and inform him of my situation.

It takes some seconds for him to process the information I just gave him, but I would be proud to think that it might be related to the kisses we were enjoying at the moment.

When he finally grasps what I've told him, his face is comical.

"Four years?"

I don't know if I should be flattered or bothered by the incredulity on his voice. I decide to lean on humor.

"But…"

I silence him with my finger on his moist full lips.

"Who is counting anyway?"

We smile and he carries me to his bedroom, where he proceeds to make me very welcome in DC.

Despite some heartbreaking and life-defining moments, we are finally finished, our bodies wet with our sweat and I can still feel his heart hammering wildly against my breasts. He lifts his upper torso and looks at me with the same astonishment I know is plastered in my face as I can sincerely say I have no idea of where all this emotion came from. He silently and reverently lean down and kisses the old scar on my right shoulder and newly healed one located little above my left breast. Two centimeters down and I would be singing with angels. He raises his head to looks at me with such care that I can't take it anymore and it's like some dam inside of me breaks and I can't hold it inside anymore.

I break down. Huge great sobs shake my body and regardless of how hard I try I can't stop them.

I cry for myself.

I cry for my family.

I cry for my friends.

I cry for the lives lost and for dreams and potential unfulfilled.

I cry for the destroyed lives I could not save, and the lives I've tried so hard but did not wish to be saved.

I cry for the team that for so long had been my family, but in the moment they need me most I was not there to back them up and to protect them. And because of that they were dead.

And I cry for that little girl who was taken from the Pit, grew up and was trained to slay dragons and walk on the brink of the abyss. We hunt monsters, but sometimes, if we are not careful enough, we become one of them.

He did not utter a word. He simply gathered me in his arms and let the storm pass. And for the first time in many months, I was given the chance to mourn and grieve.

a/n: I'm editing and reposting all stories. This is the first of the Buchanan series. Cheers!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.