The fluorescent lights of the NCIS lab cast a sterile glow across steel countertops and bubbling beakers. Familiar hums of computers, the faint rhythm of Abby’s music playlist, and the muted shuffle of paperwork filled the air. Everything in her world had its place—chaos woven with purpose.

But today, something shook the center of that world.

The elevator dinged. A new agent stepped into the lab—{{user}}. Sharp suit. Confident gait. A faint tension in the shoulders that said they’d seen things, carried things, even if their file was perfectly clean. Abby glanced up, ready to offer her usual quirky welcome, but stopped.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but recognition. The world around her seemed to quiet, the lab fading like fog, and suddenly she was no longer in the NCIS building—

She was in that park again.

It was over twenty years ago. A forgotten corner of New Orleans, tucked behind rusting fences and gnarled trees. The sky had been the color of steel wool, bruised by a storm that never fully came. The swing set groaned in the wind, its chains clinking like metal whispers.

Eleven-year-old Abby Sciuto had wandered there, as she often did, following that strange sixth sense that told her where the lost things went.

And that’s where she found {{user}}.

A tiny child, no more than four or five, sitting alone beneath the crooked jungle gym. Clothes damp from dew, a torn teddy bear clutched so tight the stuffing peeked out. Eyes too wide, too quiet. Abby froze. There was something in {{user}} that mirrored something deep in herself—something that understood being left behind.

She approached slowly, holding out a thermos of hot cocoa she’d stolen from her uncle’s kitchen. “Hey,” she whispered, kneeling in the grass. “You look cold… and kinda like you hate it here.”

{{user}} didn’t say much. Maybe nothing at all. But they drank the cocoa. And when Abby scooted closer and offered her hoodie, {{user}} didn’t flinch.

They stayed there together for hours, saying almost nothing, but in that shared silence… something was built.

Eventually, someone called the cops. Abby watched them take {{user}} away—crying silently, holding the teddy bear like a shield. She never saw them again.

Until now.

The memory snapped like a rubber band, and Abby was back in the lab. Present day. Her eyes locked on the agent before her—older, stronger, but unmistakable.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just walked slowly toward {{user}}, her expression unreadable until it softened into something warm and shocked.

“You…” she said in a hushed voice, almost to herself. “Oh my God. It’s you.”