A/N-This piece is set during the basement scene at the end of "Borderland" and throughout "Patriot Down". And, just like Ziva and Gibbs in "Worth It", this is a father/daughter piece between Abby and Gibbs. It is not a "Gabby" piece. I feel a strong abhorrence to that pairing as much as I do with "Zibbs". That being said, I love the relationship that Abby and Gibbs do have, and the final episodes of Season Seven showed some unfortunate (but I think inevitable) strain between them. So I just had to write a piece about this. And one final thing: This is my first dedication! So Forensic Girl554, this one's for you since you expressed such interest in a story like this :)

I don't know what I'm going to say. I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing or not. But I'm going anyway. Because I can't keep this bottled-up any longer. What I know now is too heavy, and if I don't see him, I think I'm going to collapse under its weight. So I make my way silently down his basement staircase, hoping that the right words will come to me when I need them.

I stop half-way as he looks up from his new project to welcome me. He says, "Hey Abbs," like it's any other day, like I haven't just brought a cloud into his sanctuary. But at the same time, I can see a nervousness creeping over him. His greeting is somehow different, and he's hiding something just below the surface.

So I continue my slow descent, and, eyes lowered, make my way to his side. He gives me a small smile as he continues his work, and I immediately lose my nerve. What do I say? I don't know. I'm stuck. I don't think I can do this right now. I need to get out of here.

"OK... Well, it was nice talking to you," I add clumsily as I turn away. But of course, there is no getting away from this. Because he calls me back. Because he also knows that this can't be buried beneath both our skins much longer. It needs to be settled. But he still won't bring it up. He's faking an ignorance, and he's leaving it up to me to take the next step. And I'm frustrated with him for it.

"You know why I'm here." It's time to let this into the open between us, so I go for it the only way I know how right now: By letting the logical part of my brain take over and just listing the facts. If anything else, it's at least a starting point that I can understand and state clearly. Because I still don't really know how to take this where it needs to go. And I don't really want to say this. I don't want to dredge up old wounds, but I bring up Shannon and Kelly. I don't want to, but I need to. I need to find a way of wrapping my head around this.

"He killed your wife and your daughter. But Gibbs...!" And I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice. My hero is falling before my eyes as I finally put to words what's been eating through my mind. And I can't stop his decline. At this point, I don't even know what to think of him anymore. All of my views, assurances, and assumptions of him are crashing to the ground in a single instant of sheer disillusionment.

So I let the other half of my brain take over. The optimistic half that wishes, hopes, and wants. I close my eyes and cross fingers, willing for the situation to change. But it's no use. Because I can't escape this through my mind. These problems don't have simple fixes. And as I open my eyes, I see my chief problem staring right back at me, a slight smile on his face.

Anger flashes up in me as he keeps his silence. How can he not get this? How can he not understand what I'm going to have to put myself through? In a part of my mind, I beg to know: Why has he let this fall on me? How could he let this fall on me? I thought he loved me more than this. Why would he force me to make the life-shattering choice that now lies in front of me? And yet, to all my concerns, all he has to say is, "I know," and nothing more.

With no answers in sight, my mind is flipping between both halves of my brain, simultaneously wanting an easy way out and knowing that I won't find one. The facts are all here; you can want for something to not be true, but that doesn't change the fact that it is. And the ballistics are the cold, hard evidence of that.

And I'm brought back to my original problem: What do I do with these facts? Do I submit or bury them? I still don't know, and I don't think I ever will. And even though I'm full of frustration and disappointment with him right now, I need some assurance. I need to know that no matter what I choose, he will still care for me and support my decision.

Because he's Gibbs. And no matter how far he's fallen in my eyes, I still want and need the approval that he's always given me.

So I give my demand. "What I really need to know, Gibbs, is if you're gonna love me...no matter what." And I regret it the instant I say it. His eyes fill with such a sadness that I've never seen before, and my heart sinks with his. We stare in silence at each for the briefest of moments before he quietly says, "You know I will always love you, Abbs."

I close my eyes, allowing the burning ache to sear through my chest. Because I know it will soon be in his own. As I lay my eyes upon him once more, a single tear rolls down my cheek as I say in a pained whisper, "I don't think you can." I give him one last anguished look before slowly turning my back on him and picking up my bag without another word. As I make my way up the stairs without a backwards glance, I can feel his eyes on me. And I know they are no longer dry.

It's been a week. And he still won't talk to me. He's avoiding me, only coming down to my lab when absolutely necessary. If it can be handled over the phone, he now prefers this method over visiting me. It's like the past how-many years have counted for nothing. I'm just any forensic scientist now.

I've tried so many times to pull him to the side, to get him to talk to me. But every single time, he has something he needs to do or somewhere he needs to be. He leaves me hanging, and it's the most frustrating thing when I think of how he normally treats me.

Now I'm sitting in my lab, absently hugging Bert to my chest after another failed attempt at cornering him. The moment I brought up Mexico, his eyes just glazed over like he wasn't even listening anymore. He even asked me to repeat myself. So I did. But his only response was to turn and leave without a word. And again, I'm left standing in the middle of my lab, no closer to speaking with him than I was before.

I don't even think he wants to hear what I have to say anymore. And it's tearing me apart. I know I hurt him with what I said in the basement. I could see the pain in his eyes, feel his injured stare as it burned into my retreating back. But I didn't know what to do or where to go. I only spoke the fear that was in my heart. That's all I left him with. And now that I've collected my thoughts, I can't even get a hold of him anymore. And I worry that I won't ever get him back.

Force is the only option. Trap him and just speak. He won't have the chance to get away if I do it this way. And now he's the one standing in the middle of my lab with that what-the-hell-are-you-doing look on his face. But I'm determined this time. And as much as he clearly wants to get away, it's my turn to call the shots. And he isn't leaving until we're finished talking.

"Since when did I become the kid in class that the teacher won't call on?" I know now what I need to say and where I need this to go. But as I state the facts once again, I'm afraid of where this might end. Even so, I keep pushing him, demanding why he won't talk to me about the situation that's landed in both of our hands.

I'm taken aback when he states simply, "I didn't think I needed to." And I'm thrown from the tracks of my carefully-planned speech. Is he really telling me to do what I think he's telling me to do? I'm filled with panic at the thought of what this means for him. And the more it swallows me, the more desperate I am to grasp an out to this, to hold onto him. So I tell him the reason this has been eating me up from the inside for the past week.

"I owe you everything. You're Gibbs! Nobody needs to know the truth about the Hernandez investigation." And I immediately feel the guilt of that statement press in on me. Because burying evidence is something that I just can't do. But it's a rule that I painfully feel I can break. "I'm willing to do anything. For you." And I mean it. I'm willing to abandon my most sacred of forensic guidelines to save him.

But he won't accept this sacrifice. He doesn't want me to help him escape from this. He tells me he's only ever needed me to do my job, to do what's right. Even so, I make one last attempt to pull him from the rising waters. "But it's different this time. It has to be. Right?"

"No. It doesn't." And with that short statement, I feel an indescribable mix of fear and relief. Afraid, because he's telling me to seal his fate. Relieved, because with those three words, he shows me that he's still the Gibbs I know and love. The Gibbs that I know puts justice and what's right above personal desires, wants, and fears. The Gibbs that obliges to fulfill his duty as an officer of the law. No matter what. Even still, that overwhelming sense of panic remains.

But before I can even begin to think of what I must now do, we're interrupted by my computer. The photo-enhancement process has finished, and the face it displays is clear enough. Former Army Ranger Jason Dean. Still distracted, I make an off-handed comment concerning his weapon of choice.

"You know too much, Abby," he sighs next to me. And I can't help but allow a sad smirk to cross my face. Ain't that the truth? I think to myself. It's silent between us, and I turn to him once more. I just need him to affirm to me one last time what he wants me to do. What I need to do.

"You send in the report to the Task Force...All of it." And my hero once again falls before my eyes. Only this time, he's falling on his sword. He's choosing this on his own, and I'm filled with an almost intense pride knowing that he's willing to sacrifice himself. And I know that he loves me. Because he won't allow me to fall like he has. Because he won't allow me to break the highest of my moral codes for his sake.

Because he's Gibbs. And he will always look out for me.

It's late, and I'm just staring at the Director's door, clutching the report to my chest. I'm standing in the borderland between what I know I must do and what I fear will come of this. And though his secretary is gone for the night, the room completely empty, I feel the weight of multiple sets of eyes upon me. Specifically, five sets of eyes. Because what I'm about to do will change everything. And I hold in my hands the weapon of Gibbs' own self-destruction.

But I knock anyway. Because I know I must be the one to bring about the fall of my hero.

A/N-As always, comments and reviews are greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoyed this piece. I do have some vague ideas for future stories floating around my head right now, so we'll see how soon I can put them into a word document. Until next time, happy reading :)