A/N: I am (hopefully) going to start a good fic with a few chapters. I am hoping to finish it before I go back to school next semester. I'm attempting a theme, but am unsure of how it is going to work out. Each story will be standalone one shots.

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to NCIS.

Walk

Walking gives her time to think. It gives her the time she needs to consider all the events from the past few days as well as mull over what may happen in the coming days. It gives her the time to study the people around her. She can read the joy on their faces or empathize with sadness. The cold air rips through her body opening cracks in her soul that summer heat seals. There is something about walking on a cold day that reminds her of the desolation she has seen in her lifetime.

The trees on the National Mall bare. The slightest breeze sends them shivering. Every mark that time has placed upon those trees is open for all to see. They bear the burden without complaint, ever keeping their branches raised high to the sky, waiting for the moment to blossom in beautiful glory once again. It is in this moment she is relieved that she is not a tree. If the scars on her bark would match the ones on her soul it would be hard to find any smooth surface.

She slowly makes her way past the museums and monuments, choosing instead to keep moving. The cold seeps through the jacket she is wearing numbing her outside, while her thoughts do the same inside. Her world has changed greatly since she moved to the United States. Most days that is enough, but some days it cannot be. Her past haunts her. This same path through the green is the only option she has for healing. Nothing else has proven as effective.

She used to run, focusing only on her footfalls and breathing to prove that she survived this long. Speed is not her friend anymore. The time has come to confront the ghosts hiding in the corners of her mind. Pictures will flood her memory at the most inopportune moments that send her ricocheting into times gone by. Some are long gone involving faces she wishes she could see again one last time, but others are more recent. These are the memories that compel her into motion. Lunch breaks are the usual time for a walk and the Navy Yard is sufficient in a pinch, but on days she is not at her desk, the Mall gives her the activity around her that she needs. It's the sound of English reaching her ears that gives her the best reminder of where she is.

An elderly couple sitting on a bench catches her attention. The couple sits silently studying the people passing by. Their hands are locked together, but creaky fingers prevent interlacing. They don't seem to mind, though. A small smile graces the man's lips, while the woman laughs out loud at some private joke. She feels like an intruder in a world where she does not belong. That is until the woman smiles and greets her. Smiles are exchanged and she continues on her walk.

A child yelling and screaming in glee attracts her eye 30 steps later. Counting steps has become a way for her to refocus her thoughts. Yet the sheer bliss the child is experiencing is intoxicating. Another smile crosses her features as she watches, who appears to be, the father chase his daughter across the grass. He catches the child and tosses the little girl in the air with a hearty laugh. If it is possible, the girl's squeals increase. The mother watches from a bench nearby laughing with her small happy family. It is a sight that she wonders if she will ever witness from the mother's point of view instead of as an outsider.

A sigh escapes her lips when the end of her walk comes into view. Her apartment building looms in front of her. Her body begs her to go inside to revel in the warmth it offers, but her mind relishes the cold. An internal battle ensues, but eventually her quaking body wins. Hypothermia should not be self-induced if only for the sake of thinking. Thoughts can flow inside just as well as out.

She checks her mail before heading to the elevator. For once there aren't any bill collectors seeking to continue to give her what she wants. She could live in a smaller place, but this one suits her better. Tiny rooms with dark corners are no longer her friend. Light is necessary to feel safe in the world she now lives in. She presses the button to call for the elevator and the doors slide open with barely a sound. She steps inside along with a man that lives on the floor above her. He smiles at her and she returns it as the doors close. Each floor they pass is marked by an electronic bell. On her floor the doors slide open to face her door at the end of the hall. She doesn't expect to see a man seated against her door.

"Hey," the man in the elevator steals her attention away. His hand is against the door holding it open. It is clear he has something to say, "Would you want to get a coffee or something sometime?" The question appears harmless, but a whirlwind of options tear through her already tired head. She has talked to him many times and listened when he needed an ear. Is it time to forget what could be and settle for something that is real; for a chance at a life she never thought was possible for her?

"She's busy," a familiar voice says with the hint of a chuckle. The man in the elevator shrugs and nods in what appears to be understanding. She wonders how these men can interact so easily about something that neither has a claim upon, but she doesn't dispute the initial response. With one last smile, the elevator doors close and he is gone. Another chance in her life is gone.

She turns to face the familiar voice. A frown creases his brow. Oddly, it's the first unfriendly face she has seen today. A smile from him would mean more than anything at the moment. His grey coat adds to the darkness of the hall that surrounds them both. Her only wish is for some light. His smiles would bring light to any room. If only she could tell him that she feels that way.

"Where've you been?" he asks her.

"Walking," she answers after an uncomfortable minute.

"For how long?"

She isn't sure how long she was out, but it was longer than she intended. Her coat is not heavy enough for long-term use outside. She knows he can see her shivering, yet he does nothing to alleviate it. He has been doing this more than usual lately. He can read her mind, but he refuses to act upon it. Asking for help or comfort is not a strength of hers.

If asked she will blame the shivering, but eventually she ends up against his broad chest soaking in the warmth he offers. Her hands remain stuffed in her pockets. They may have been reduced to icicles during the time they spent without a proper source of heat. It's frustrating that his arms won't wrap themselves around her of their own accord. For once, she wants him to take the initiative, but he won't. Too many years of fear stand between them for that. Seconds pass and the tension increases. Neither move.

"Let's get inside," he finally offers. She closes her eyes to hold back the tears. Another moment has passed, another chance gone by. Carefully, she raises her head off of his chest. She keeps her eyes downcast to hide the sadness in her eyes. When will they get it right? And if they don't, when will they finally let each other go? Honestly, she's tired of walking.