***This is super short. Just something I came up with while trying to distract myself. It hasn't been reviewed by anyone else, so all mistakes are my own. I probably should have fleshed it out more, but that isn't my strong suit, though I imagine it could still be done if it garners any interest.
The usual disclaimers apply. Don't own a thing that is worth suing over other than my pride.***
It had been one year. How could just 365 days make such a difference? 365 days, and a 180 degree turn around. So much time had passed, yet it seemed as if none had passed at all. This time last year they were happier than anyone should be – maybe that was the problem. No one should ever be that happy in their lives, yet they were.
They had gotten together in August, and it was the hottest month on record according to the National Weather Service and if they had anything to say about it, September, October, and November hit record highs too. It was all so new, exciting and the honeymoon stage seemed to last through that first Christmas and well into the New Year. Every day was a gift and they lived it as such until that fateful day in mid May, when the bomb exploded and their almost year was eradicated from his memory as were the past 11.
Just weeks after that horrible day, the mantel was passed on to a new leader, one that did not want the burden or the glory or the in-between. The man just wanted his life, his love back. But the return wasn't to be. Fate had dealt him a hand and he had to play it whether or not he wanted to. Life was cruel and punishing and only because he woke up every morning was the reason he held on.
He fell full force into his job – there was nothing without it for everything else that the job he clung to had been taken away, leaving only the steadfast work in front of him. To every question, he answered "Yes." Yes, he would find the perpetrator of the crime. Yes, he would spy on the aircraft landing at the local airport. Yes, he would woo the daughter of an arms dealer. Yes, yes, yes. It counteracted the inner turmoil that shouted "No, no, no!" No, he would not fall apart and leave his team. No, he would not hate the other man for leaving and most of all, no, he would never again trust another the way he trusted him.
When he came back, Gibbs knew there was something different but couldn't place his finger on it. Something was being withheld from him but he didn't know what and he had no right to ask considering the time that had passed and the gaps in his memory that had yet to be filled. Still, it plagued him. Plague – Interesting word to use and he didn't know why it was fitting.
Pulling up to the restaurant for the mandatory team Christmas gathering, he felt tightness in his chest. An apprehension he could not identify though it was more than the normal distain he held for social gatherings, even if it was with people he cared for.
Walking into the banquet room that had been set aside for just the team, his eyes instantly found Tony and darted to the woman on his arm. Almost immediately, Tony stilled like a rabbit in a hawk's gaze and slowly turned around. Meeting Jethro's eyes with melancholy and infinite sadness, he approached him and said, "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I'd like you to meet Jeanne Beniot."
Suddenly hundreds of images ran through his mind – being slammed to the ground in Baltimore and Tony straddling his hips as he pointed that gun. Watching as Tony was pushed out of the plane and fell to earth; Tony disheveled and dirty from spending time in the sewers of DC, protecting a fellow Marine. The horror of the blood spattered car window after an undercover mission gone awry; the blue lights surrounding Tony as he gasped for breath. The way the light played on his face in the early morning sun as he tried to bat away the rays of the impending daylight; the pure joy in his face when they came out of the theater having just watched the latest Bond film and the sated glazed over look in his eyes after an amazing orgasm.
The gaps were suddenly filled and as he held out his hand in greeting, his heart shattered.