Snow fell all around her, the cold wind biting into her already numbed flesh as she stumbled along the sidewalk, trying to avoid the icy water puddles from the day's melting warmth. Sometimes she managed to miss the water, but more often than not, she stepped in it. As a result, she could barely feel her feet. If not for the knowledge that she had to keep moving to stay alive, she would have stopped and sank to the middle of the sidewalk, lying down and going to sleep right there.

No one moved in the city. The snow had been falling for the past three hours, heavily and she had been dumb enough to go out into it. Three hours ago, the buses had been running and she'd gotten to the grocery store easily. But, apparently, the city had seen fit to stop the buses from running and declare an emergency. When the electricity had gone out in the store, she'd taken to the sidewalk, determined she could get home on foot in less than thirty minutes. That had been nearly an hour ago and her boots had officially given out, allowing the slushy snow to seep in and numb her feet.

It had been three months since she had arrived here. Washington D.C. had not turned out to be what she expected. When her father had talked about the city with such high regard and love, she had thought it was the perfect place to start over after their deaths. But, her expectations had been far too high. Her apartment was a dump, she couldn't afford a car, and no one seemed to notice her beyond a quick glance. While she didn't want a pile of people snooping in her personal business, a few friends would be nice.

Stopping at a corner, she looked up at the dark street lights before starting to cross, nearly falling as her foot sank deeper into the snow than she had expected. Snow entered the top of her boot, managing to wake her numb foot. The pain was intense and nearly made her stop moving forward, only sheer will

and terror pushed her through the pain. If not for her powerful sense of self-preservation, she would have stopped walking nearly thirty minutes ago, allowing herself to collapse onto the sidewalk and go to sleep.

"Stop thinking about it Bekah," she ordered herself hoarsely, her throat wanting to fight the words.

Ten minutes later and she was standing in front of a dark house, only a few blocks away from the dumpy little apartment she rented for nearly two weeks' worth of pay. It was amazing, how nice the area actually was, she half expected to be evicted any day now, the neighbors demanding the dumpy two story house-turned- apartments be torn down.

Leaning against the front end of a pickup truck, she moaned and closed her eyes, rubbing them with her gloved hand. Pain lanced through her body, especially her fingers and toes. There was little doubt in her mind that she had frostbite. The simple fact that she was still alive was amazing in and of itself. Though, if she stayed where she was, she didn't know how long that would last.

"Keep moving or you're never going to make… just three more blocks," pushing away from the truck, she continued to chant the number of blocks to go under her breath. She didn't even make it past the row of shrubbery that lined the front yard of the house she was in front of. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into the snow in a heap, struggling to force herself into a sitting position. Her jeans were soaked and already starting to freeze in the cold air. Her teeth began to chatter and her body shook from the cold.

Trying to pull herself into a standing position, she failed miserably and collapsed once more; exhausted. When the spots started to form before her eyes, she knew she was done and that she would be seeing her parents far sooner than she had expected. The darkness took her as she recalled the visage of her mother.

Warmth. That was the first thing she noticed as she woke. The next was the sound of a fire crackling, the source of a lot of the heat she was feeling. Moving her arm slightly, she winced and became aware that she was definitely not dead. Opening her eyes slowly, she was looking toward a high, white ceiling. Firelight flickered across the ceiling, drawing her attention as she laid still, listening to the sounds around her; a clock ticking, water running, and sleet hitting a window pane nearby. Moving slightly, groaning as her muscles protested the movement, she realized she was laying on someone's could, a blanket thrown over her body. A coffee table sat before the couch, her coat thrown over it before the fire. Where the rest of her clothes were, she was not sure.

Looking up as someone entered the room, she sat up fast. The movement aggravated the headache that had been hiding at the back of her skull and she wound up leaning forward, her eyes closed. Whoever had entered the room moved closer and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, setting something down on the coffee table, near her knee.

"You know, most people don't try going for a walk in a blizzard," the man spoke calmly with little affliction to his voice, aside from a hint of humor. She rolled her eyes at the comment and bit her tongue. It wouldn't be a good idea to make the guy who'd saved her life mad.

"Come on, sit up and drink this," he set a hand on her shoulder and pushed her up slightly, handing her the hot cup he had set on the coffee table.

Taking it gratefully, she wrapped her fingers around it and took a sip, looking at him for the first time. Her eyes were still gritty and sore, but he was close enough for her to see. He was older with gray hair, cut short in a military style, though it was still shaggy compared to the 'jarheads' she had seen on TV. He was wearing an old gray t-shirt with the letters NIS on the front. His blue eyes were watching her closely as she drank the hot liquid; she had the sense that he was inside of her head, dredging through her darkest secrets. It was a little disconcerting.

"What?" she snapped as she lowered the cup and glared at him.

A small lop-sided grin appeared on his face as he stood up and walked toward the other room once again. She watched him, curious about what was beyond the living room she was in, but not feeling strong enough to stand and follow, so instead, she continued to sip at whatever was in the cup.

Not for the first time, she considered the fact that she was trusting a total and complete stranger. There was no way for her to know this man from Adam, and yet she was trusting him with her life. He came back as she was considering her options, tossing an old t-shirt down on the coffee table, along with a pair of shorts before leaving again. This time, she heard a door creak open and his shoes tapping down a set of stairs.

Setting her cup aside, she slipped the t-shirt and shorts on, trying not to think about the fact that he had taken her clothes off, down to her long underwear – she hadn't been completely unprepared. Dressed now, she got to her feet shakily and walked slowly into the other room, using the walls for support. Entering the next room, a decent sized kitchen, she stopped and looked around. Everything was neat and clean, though a bit barren on anything decorative. At one end of the kitchen was a table, near the wall with four chairs, at the other end was an open doorway, beyond which was a set of wooden stairs. Light filtered up from below, creating a rectangle of yellow on the floor. Sounds came through the opening along with the light. Whatever the sounds were, they were soft, almost a swishing, as though he were wiping something rough against something smooth.

After a moment's consideration, she stepped forward and passed through the door, stopping at the top of the stairs and looking down into the dimly lit basement. Apparently the electricity was out and he was using old lanterns as a light source, there was one near the top of the stairs, casting its yellow glow down the stairway and into the space below.

"A boat?" she couldn't help herself, the shock of seeing a boat in the basement of a house in the city loosened her tongue.

The man looked up from his place on the opposite side of the boat, his movements stopping as he looked at her.

"How are you going to get it out?" she asked, wanting to slap herself in the forehead. She must be feverish, she was never this curious about anything or anyone.

With a soft laugh, the man tossed the sanding block he was holding aside and turned away, lifting a jar with an amber liquid inside.

"Thanks."

She must have startled him by saying it because he turned around and looked at her, his brows were knotted and his lips were drawn in a tight line as he regarded her silently. Looking away from those eyes, she moved away from the railing and walked back into the kitchen, her legs feeling slightly stronger, but still not strong enough. As she walked into the kitchen, she noticed the wet bags from her trip to the grocery store. She'd forgotten she had managed to keep ahold of them at all. Footsteps on the stairs behind her drew her attention away from the bags and back toward the basement door.

"What were you doing out there?" he asked as he stepped around her into the kitchen.

Instead of answering, she moved back to the couch and collapsed with a sigh, pulling her legs up beside herself. Something about this man made her very wary to respond to his questions, she had a feeling it would be impossible to tell him anything but the truth. And her truths were dangerous to her and those around her.

"Who are you?" she asked as he stepped into the living room and sat down in a chair across from.

"Jethro Gibbs," he answered easily, nodding to her, "You?"

"Rebekah Conrad."

"Get some sleep," Gibbs ordered, leaning back in his chair and watching her for a moment before looking at the fire in the fireplace, "We'll talk tomorrow, after you've rested. You can't go anywhere tonight anyway."

As if to prove his point, the sleet began hitting the window harder.

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