Rule # 8: Never take anything for granted.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs had rules. He had personal rules such as never marry a woman again, and he had work rules as never be unreachable. But most of his rules existed in a place somewhere in-between his work and his personal life, so he had given up trying to separate them a long time ago.
It was a dark day, the sun outside was shining, but nothing of the joy that the sun spread entered the darkness in his heart. It was the end of February and he was doing what he always did this time of year. He thought about his lost family. None of the ex-wives had ever understood.
But he was happy that he had a new family that tried to. Last year, DiNozzo had showed up, he hadn't said anything. He just sat in silence next to his boss, and when Gibbs was so drunk that he couldn't separate his front from his back, Tony was the one that had put him in bed. On his nightstand was a glass of water and aspirin.
The next morning he had found the fridge stocked with food, and he knew it had to be Ziva's work. She didn't like to talk about emotions, or show them to other people. But Gibbs knew she cared
And right now McGee was sitting next to him, just offering him silent comfort. And while he was staring he couldn't help but wonder to think what would have happened if he had been home that day. And his mind wandered back to that awful day 19 years ago.
"Sit down Gunny," his C.O. had ordered.
He had done as he was ordered, he liked orders, they left no room for failure or mistakes on his part.
"I am very sorry, your wife and daughter died in a car crash this morning."
He had waited a moment to make sure that the message was sinking in.
"They witnessed a drug deal gone bad. Shannon saw it happening, and drug dealers don't like it if you witness a murder. So they were put in protective custody. But today the agent protecting them was shot while driving Shannon and Kelly. They died immediately in the crash."
He remembered every word, every smell and every little sound, but most of all he felt pain. He felt overwhelmingpain in his head, overwhelming pain in his heart.
"I've arranged for you to go home gunny," His CO continued. "Your flight leaves in two hours."
It felt like the earth had stopped moving. It was just not possible that his wife and daughter were dead. Theywere alive, and he would see them again in a few weeks. He had no memory of the other things that happened after he heard the news. The first thing he remembers after that is himself waking up in a hospital. He had been blown up by a bomb.
He really hadn't cared about the pain he felt physically. It was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his heart. He wished more than once that he hadn't survived that explosion, that he would be united with his wife and daughter again, and that everything would be better.
But that was not what happened. He stayed in the hospital for a few weeks, and during his rehabilitation he lived with friends. But, he didn't really feel like he was living, it was more like just existing.
Than the day had come that he had learned who the killer was of his family. He had wasted no time and drove off to Mexico to kill him. He had felt a little better when he had done that. But it hadn't filled the void that was in his heart.
He had been avoiding that day as long as possible, but today it was going to happen. He was going to his home. The key had still been underneath the garden statue, the garden was taken care of, probably by one of the neighbors.
When he stepped in to the house a dark cloud filled his mind. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and everything was messy. One of Kelly's shoes had lain abandoned next to the stairs and breakfast things were still on the table.
It was to overwhelming and he ran out of the house.
He wasn't sure how much he could handle. It was like Shannon and Kelly could return any minute, except for the layer of dust, a silent reminder of the time that had passed.
He had been happy that he stocked up on bourbon and went to the basement through the back entrance. He phoned a few friends and asked them to come over and remove all the painful memories. His friends had came and cleared the house without an word, packing everything that could remind him of what he had lost in boxes andputting it up in the attic. Labeling it carefully so he would be able to find things if he wanted something back.
Everyone had said that time would heal the wounds, but it was a lie. It never stopped hurting. It didn't become easier over time. In fact, it felt like it hurt more every single day.
And every year he would sit in his basement, drinking bourbon and staring at pictures. If there was anything that he knew for sure it was that he would never take anything for granted again.
Rule # 8: Never take anything for granted.