Just a series/collection of drabbles, a little summer project of sorts. No real rhyme or reason, but I hope you enjoy it all the same :)

jae

It's an empty silence that breeds remorse. Mourning. A vacant, hollow feeling.

Her gut turns painfully. His hand tightens over her own.

Out of her peripheral vision, she watches his strong, broad shoulders tighten and straighten, straining under his dark suit.

Black. The color of the day.

Her eyes fall to the young toddler, shifting from between them to approach the beautifully crafted casket. The white pine makes a striking contrast from the sea of dark mourners surrounding it.

The child stumbles on her shiny and new buckled shoes. Though she's no less enigmatic in the dark attire, Ziva thinks that she's too young to be adorned in the color reserved for final goodbyes.

Her partner reaches out for the little girl, but she softly places her free palm over his; her warmth both stilling the action and capturing his attention. She shakes her head to the side with the barest of movements, admonishing the gesture and effectively righting his transgression.

Their eyes speak loudly in a room rendered silent.

He nods in understanding. She squeezes his hand as reassurance.

They've travelled miles to be here today. Crossed a country and states and borders.

But the last few steps separating them from the foreboding coffin will be the longest distance travelled.

Impossible as they are insurmountable.

When the call had come, they collected from far and near.

Their fallen leader has gathered them all together once more. United through loss. Orphaned by choice. Blood may be thicker than water. But their bond was forged by loss and bullets and destruction and the deepest of affection and love.

On the other side of the black sea, an even darker haired woman clings tearily against a boy turned a man. Their probie-no-more grips her just as fiercely back; his other arm wrapped tightly around a woman adorning a matching band on her left ring finger. It flashes under the overhead lights, her hand shifting to clutch a boy with familiar, sandy hair and cherub cheeks.

The boy's eyes follow the little girl's progression toward the casket. His mother doesn't resist as he pulls away from her grasp.

They are accustomed to goodbyes. To tragedy. To loss. The nature of their work breeds the familiar company of death. A casualty of their cause and fight.

She hears the echo of his voice in her head, and a smirk compliments the tears that finally fall from her eyes.

It's different when you have kids.

Even after death, their leader would still always be right.

A generation he would no longer see grow up stand together before his lifeless body. She's sure he would smile if he could see them together now. His kids and their kids.

How far they have come.

Tiny hands intertwine, pulling a choked sob from her throat. Her partner clears his throat, and his arm tightens around her waist, anchoring her as he's always done.

The eulogy names him as one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. But he's known by countless titles.

Each have said goodbye to a parent. She's no stranger to losing a father.

Today, she lays to rest another.

They've come together once again, to mourn and honor a marine. A leader. A friend.

Gathered by grief and love and loss, they will honor thy father.