a/n: This is another part in my Daughter!Verse, again with no story-relations with the others in this Verse. So, Gibbs' daughter's name was Kelly and his wife's was Shannon.

My Daughter Afloat

Jethro sat in his empty basement, the lights off, the space silent and cold. It felt empty, the air still with sadness. His house was empty too, the presence of people gone. The love that used to fill the rooms was absent too—like it had just been sucked out. This place seemed like nothing now; didn't seem to have a meaning left for Jethro. It was his fault and sitting here in memories that were painful made it worst, but he couldn't seem to move.

It didn't matter anymore, nothing mattered anymore.

The basement was empty, absence of laughter and heart. That seemed to be gone too, the heart of it all. Because the heart was dead, killed, shot because of him. They were six feet under and it should be him instead of them—instead of his eight year old daughter. She had had nothing to do with it, but she had been caught in the crosshairs any way. He might as well have killed her, to have pulled the trigger—he was the one, it was his fault.

His last memory of Kelly had been when he told Shannon that he was called over seas again, she had cried and her mother had been holding her. Kelly had cried too, clinging to him, trying to prevent him from leaving. It had broken his heart, he didn't want to leave; he loved them, but he had a duty to fulfill. And in the long run it would protect them, but it had seemed to have the opposite effect—hurting them instead and he wasn't there to do anything.

His daughter, only eight years-old, with her mother's red hair, but had gotten his steely-blue eyes.

He had hugged her in turn, not even wanting to let go, to stay there forever; enveloped in her undying love and trust in him. Tears had run down her cheeks, her heart beating fast. He had squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back.

"I'll be back." he had whispered in her ear, "I'll be back soon, Kelly, And it'll be the last time."

He had said to her—promised that to his daughter.

She had nodded her head, pulling back a little to see the promise in his eyes. Jethro had looked at her then, his face always soft and open when he looked at her. He thumbed away the tears from her little cheeks, and leaned forward, planting a lingering kiss on her brow. She hadn't moved a muscle, seemingly to soak in all of the love that was radiating off of him in that moment. When he had pulled back she had wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his into another hug—this one more powerful than the last. This time, when she pulled away, she kissed him on the cheek.

"You take care of your mother, okay?" he had asked her.

Kelly pulled in a breath, sniffing slightly as her steely eyes turned determined and she nodded her head once. Jethro smiled back at her, proud of his brave little girl. He stood up from the ground, pulling her up with him. With a hand on her back, he gave Kelly a little push towards her mother.

"Go on," he told her gently when she had turned to look at him, "I'll be back soon, honey. I promise."

Kelly nodded again before turning and rushing into her sobbing mother's arms, hugging her.

Jethro watched the two for a moment before he climbed into the truck and pulled from the driveway. He waved at Kelly and she had waved back.

Jethro had promised to come back, and he had—but he had come back too late.

Kelly was dead now. The house was empty of her, only memories remained. Nothing real, just in his mind and heart. Maybe in time they would mean something, instead of only causing him pain. He had no one now, and nothing.

Jethro's hair was a mess, his chin covered in stubble. He hadn't showered or changed from the raggy pajama's, let alone left the house. He had hardly eaten, having had no appetite. It was hard, having no one there, the house empty. He had loved Kelly, still loved her with all of his heart. They had been building a boat together, it was a hobby of his, one that she had taken up too. Kelly had always been down in the basement when ever he was, helping with the boat.

She may have been only eight, but she was as good as Jethro was with his hands. It had been her boat, they had been building it for her, so she could have her very own to go sailing out in. It was still her's though; it had her name, it was the last thing that she had touched. He and Kelly had been working on it for weeks and they were almost finished. But then he had left and they hadn't been able to work on it—he hadn't worked on it since.

He hadn't done much of anything since.

Without realizing it, he had stood and walked over to the unfinished boat, his hands tracing along the smooth wood. Wood that had once been rough full of splinters, but was now smooth. He had been teaching Kelly how to sand the wood right; never going against the grain of it. She had taken to it like a fish to water and he had been so proud of her—just like when Kelly had taken her first steps, said her first word, when she had learned how to ride a bike, everything. Jethro was always proud of her, no matter what she did.

Kelly was his first daughter and she would be his only daughter.

Jethro's head was bowed, his eyes squeezed shut as hugged the boat that he and his daughter had made, had created together from scratch. This was the last thing that they had been doing together. This had her presence etched into it, woven into the grains of the wood.

Unbidden tears leaked from his eyes, and splashed down unto the wood. This was herboat, and the memory of his daughter would stay afloat along with it.

note: I know that it was short, but I hoped you liked it. I know Gibbs never cries, but it just seemed right, you know? Any way . . .

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