Author's Note:

New to the NCIS fandom. Needed a break from my usual fandom and thought I'd try my hand at NCIS.

I enjoy the family aspect of NCIS...I've only watched up to Season 7...that might affect my writing if you've watched up-to-date shows.

I'm a fan of Jibbs and see Abby, Ziva, Tony and Tim as Gibb's kids.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs took a long draught from his bottle of bourbon, gritting his teeth as he swallowed and wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand. He stared at his newest structure, still nothing but a skeleton. He closed his eyes as he envisioned the finished project. The image of it sailing briskly across the water brought a brief smile to his lips. The last two boats he'd managed to finish had left him feeling less than fulfilled. Gibbs always felt like he was attempting to create something that was just beyond his reach, like a wisp of something in another dimension. Oh, sure, they served their purpose and allowed him to deal with the stress and emotional upheaval of being an NCIS agent, but deep inside, he still felt an inner void, like a part of him was just going through the motions. Gibbs shook his head as he sat on the bottom step of his basement, feeling much more exhausted than he'd felt in a long time; staring at the skeleton of his new boat only further discouraged him. He'd already managed to break rule number ten. More often than not, he did that. He hated that about himself.

"Damn it," he muttered, anger creeping up on him again.

He pounded his fist into the wall, attempting to beat the feelings down. He was usually more careful with his emotions, but when kids were involved, he always felt sucker-punched. This time was no exception. This time not only kids were involved, but HIS kid too. Bushwhacked square in the gut with all the wind removed from his sails, Gibbs groaned and looked at the bottle in his hand, feeling tempted to down the rest of the retched brown liquid just to numb himself. He shook his head gravely, reluctant to release his tight grip on the bottle. He had been clinging to it like a lifeline since he'd wandered down to his basement to escape. With a guttural sigh, Gibbs set the bottle down on the step beside him, raking a weary hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch and groaned loudly. 0400 hours. Time had escaped him. Apparently, he'd been blankly staring at the blasted boat and drinking for several hours. He'd accomplished nothing in all that time, all the while longing and hoping to become inebriated just to escape. Except he hadn't. Gibbs was still stone sober. The visions in his head hadn't allowed him to become drunk. His anger and outrage hadn't allowed it either. As much as he didn't want to visit his thoughts anymore, his mind berated him with them anyways.

Earlier that day, Gibbs had stridden into the bullpen grabbing his gun and badge while instructing his team to grab their gear. It hadn't been an unusual event; he did it almost weekly. Director Sheppard had told him that there was a murder in Quantico. They were ordered to the scene of what they suspected to be murders of some petty officers. It was definitely nothing out of the ordinary for them; all in day's work for NCIS. Nothing about that day had been out of the ordinary. Nothing at all except the day had turned out to be horrific.

Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck as he felt a tension headache growing in momentum. His gut had let him down. Usually it gave him some kind of inclination that something terrible was about to happen, but this time, nothing. He had no warning. Unbeknownst to them all, Abby had been in mortal danger. The subtle urgency of the murders had stolen his gut instinct. He'd dropped the ball, and Abby had almost been killed. Everything continued just like it always did. His right-hand man, Tony DiNozzo, had goofed around like normal, earning himself a smack in the back of the head. The gesture had become an expected norm between himself and the younger agent, and the act itself always seemed almost cathartic for both of them. Tony was a younger version of himself, and like a son to Gibbs in all the ways that counted. The youngest member of his team, Tim McGee, who was always on the receiving end of Tony's pranks, had stoically put up with the man's antics while attempting to gather his gear. Tim was like the youngest child in the family, always the one being teased and picked on by the older brother. A small smile tugged at the corner of Gibb's lips as he remembered, Ziva David, his third agent, a Mossad officer, and a daughter of his heart, muttering to herself about how they needed to be sat on like babies.

"It's babysit, Zee-vah," corrected Tony, the usual bratty smirk on his face as he corrected her.

Ziva always managed to mix up American idioms. Gibbs would never admit it to her or anyone, but he found it kind of endearing. Instead, Papa Gibbs took the lead and rushed them from the bullpen.

Gibbs and his team arrived at the scene and cautiously entered the house only to stand gaping at the shocking sight. It looked like a massacre. The split-level ranch style home had been ransacked, the front entrance kicked in and the scene that greeted them was appalling. Bodies, or rather the remnants of human bodies, were strewn across the living room floor, blood splattered across the walls and furniture. The four of them stood wide-eyed in shock as they were unwillingly assaulted by the scene before them. Gibbs had felt his stomach churn when he saw a glimpse of a child's remains. He noticed the colour drain from Tony's face as the young man's eyes followed his own. Ziva's cool bravado waned instantly as she digested the horror. Each of them was aghast and speechless. Gibbs hadn't dared to speculate further until Ducky, his chief M.E., arrived. Ducky confirmed three dead; two females and one male, one of the females being a child. Tiny limbs lay scattered across the carpet. Once Ducky identified the fragments, it became all too easy to decipher the child's remains from the adults' making everyone in the room painfully silent. Then, as if that wasn't enough, his phone had rung out adding more insult to injury. A brisk voice on the other end of the line alerted him to the fact that his forensic scientist's car had exploded in the parking lot, very nearly killing her. Torn and shaken to his core, he had stood stark still, struck speechless, his heart racing fiercely in his chest.

Gibbs felt tears burn his eyes as he fiercely blinked them back. He wouldn't allow himself to lose his grip. Not now. Too much was at stake, and he needed to keep his emotions in check. Gibbs looked at the bourbon again, tempted once again to finish the whole damned bottle. His gut was like iron after all these years, surely another sip wouldn't do any more harm. He grasped the bottle firmly in his hands and slowly tipped it to his lips. He again gritted his teeth as the drink washed down his throat, silently wondering why he'd picked bourbon as his drink of choice. It always burned going down and never once had it numbed him like he hoped it would. It left him feeling just as empty as before he drank it. He stood to his feet, overwhelmed with anger and careened the bottle across the room. It shattered instantly as it hit the brick wall. Gibbs watched as the liquid ran down his basement wall. Closing his eyes, his memory assaulted him with the vision of small fingers, detached from the tiny little hand, lying grotesquely on the floor beside a human tongue. There was no doubt in anyone's mind how horrendous the deaths were in that room. The killer had brutally dismembered each victim. Ducky had yet to determine if it was done post-mortem or not. Gibbs didn't even want to hazard a guess. It just made his stomach churn, and he feared it would deceive him.

"Gibbs? May I come down?"

Gibbs felt his whole body startle at the voice from the top of his steps. He looked up into the darkness and squinted an eye. He knew who it was. Relief hadn't stopped washing over him. His kid was safe.

"Why aren't you asleep, Abbs?"

The steps creaked as she took a few steps down. Not all the way.

"Nightmare," she all but whispered. Her voice sounded much smaller and younger than she really was.

"Ziva?"

A few more steps creaked as she continued her journey down the staircase. Gibbs opened his arms and within seconds, the daughter of his heart flew into them, sobs rippling up and down her small frame. Gibbs pulled her in tight to his chest and caressed her dark hair, still tightly bound into high pigtails. He rested his chin on her head, inhaling her sweet scent. She always smelled like cherries, probably from the icy fruit, slushy Caf-pows she consumed daily. Gibbs speculated that if Abby did her own DNA analysis, her blood would be partly made up of Caf-pows.

"S-she's sleeping," muttered Abby, her voice muffled in Gibb's shirt.

He hugged her tighter to his chest, silently thanking the powers that be for her safety. His gut had let him down, and he had nearly lost her. His heart was still trying to recover from that.

"Want to tell me about your dream?" he asked, rubbing gentle circles on her back.

She shook her head, pushing him away. "Gibbs, why did you bring us back here?"

"Need to know you're okay, Abby."

"I'm fine."

Gibbs dropped his hands to his sides, staring intently at his forensics scientist. "Rule number 7, Abbs." His eyes met hers intentionally and she dropped her gaze to the floor. He heard her choke back a few more sobs causing him to pull her into his arms again. He hated to see his girls so upset, but it had been an upsetting night, and he couldn't do anything to make that go away.

"D-director Sheppard is with them. I heard them crying, Gibbs. Such a pitiful sound. I c-can't get it out of my head."

Gibbs held Abby close knowing exactly what she was referring too. He had heard that hopeless cry before, coming from deep within his own soul. A cry only released when someone is in such utter and total despair, having witnessed something too horrible to comprehend. He kissed the top of her pitch black hair. After her car blew up, he'd ordered an agent to bring Abby to where he was. He hadn't known what else to do. He needed to know she was safe as much as she needed to be close to him to feel safe. The only way he could do that was to have her close to him and see her with his own eyes. It had been a bad idea. Her light green eyes quickly filled with tears when she saw the crime scene. Her own plight quickly forgotten once she realized the atrocities of the room. Gibbs hadn't forgotten, however. Someone had dared to hurt his girl. HIS girl. Someone had blown up her car and nearly her person. The horror of the crime scene laid out before him was bad enough, but the thought of losing another daughter shook him to his core. Someone was going to pay dearly for it.

"Do you think they saw it happen?"

"Dunno, Abby."

"Who would do something so awful? And why? She was just a little girl! They're just little girls, Gibbs. I-I-I don't understand." Abby's voice quaked and was muffled. Gibbs had learned to read his little Goth girl a long time ago. Gibbs pulled away and tipped her chin up so he had her eye contact. He looked intently at her.

"You need to get some sleep, Abby. Things will look brighter in the morning light." His voice was firm. He gripped her clammy hand in his own as he led her up the stairs into his kitchen. He continued leading her into his living room and towards the sofa. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other daughter of his heart asleep in his armchair, her lips set firmly in despair. It worried him to see Ziva looking so tense in her sleep. Whatever happened to peaceful slumber? Where ever it was, it wasn't happening in his house tonight.

Gibbs motioned to Abby to lie down. She whimpered her disagreement but lay down. Gibbs covered her with a blanket from the back of the sofa.

"I can't sleep, Gibbs-" He saw her bottom lip quiver. He knew she was frightened and confused.

"You're safe here, Abby. No one is going to hurt you."

"How can you say that?" Her large eyes pleaded with him. She opened her mouth again to speak, but he pressed his finger firmly to her lips.

"Shh..." His look was loving and reassuring. "Lay back, Abby. Try to get some rest."

He leaned into her, kissing her cheek. "No one is going to hurt you, Abbs," he repeated firmly. She looked at him, as her eyes fluttered. He knew she was tired. They were all tired. She nodded and wriggled down further into the sofa. He didn't suppose she would sleep, but he hoped she, at least, would remain where he placed her. He grabbed another blanket and gently placed it on Ziva. He placed a warm hand on her brow and caressed her hair. She didn't stir which was, again, very odd for his older girl. She was always on high alert; always ready to jump into action. He allowed himself a moment to stare at her troubled form. Placing a soft kiss on her head, he looked towards the stairs. He didn't want to mount those dreaded steps, but he would. With one last glance at Abby, letting her know with an intense look to stay put, he slowly made his way up the stairs. As he approached the top of the landing, he could still hear the morose whimpers. The same ones he had attempted to escape from earlier. He hated feeling helpless.

Gibbs came within reach of the handle of the door and hesitated for a moment, leaning his head against the frame. His heart clenched within his chest as he heard Jenny's soft voice speaking words of comfort. He closed his eyes and for a split second, he was ripped back in time hearing his wife, Shannon's, voice speaking those same words to their daughter, Kelly. Gibbs felt his heart speed up in anticipation only to trip on the memory causing him to fall into disillusionment. He shook his head. It wasn't Shannon. She was gone and so was Kelly. It was Jenny's voice he was hearing. Why did he always allow himself to go there? the hurt was supposed to fade, but somehow it hadn't. He quietly opened the door and blinked his eyes in the darkness.

"Jethro?"

"How are they doing, Jenn?" It was a stupid question. He could hear the whimpering. He knew they weren't sleeping.

"They're terrified. I can't get them to settle. It was a bad idea to bring them here. We aren't social workers."

"Let me try."

Gibbs walked towards the bed and flicked on the light. Two sets of eyes blinked at the brightness of the light and stared at him, eyes set into hollow cheeks, open wide in horror and fear. He saw Jenny rise to her feet. Her red hair was askew and her green eyes were bloodshot. She looked exhausted. He shouldn't have allowed her to talk him into leaving her. Jennifer Sheppard knew nothing about children. He just felt that they would accept a woman's presence better than a man's, but maybe he was wrong. He sank to his knees and looked at the little girls in his bed.

"You're safe. No one is going to hurt you," he replied, gently echoing the same words he had said to Abby. He meant them. As long as it was within his power, no one would hurt them or anyone else in his care. That was a solemn oath. One he intended on keeping come what may.

The oldest child's mouth opened to speak but no words came out. Her tear-streaked face was dirt-smudged and mucous ran from her nose and into her mouth as she choked back sobs. Gibbs inhaled a sharp breath as he looked kindly at the child. He didn't reach out to comfort her as much as his heart screamed at him to do so. He had already tried earlier only to have both girls recoil from his touch. The older girl didn't look any older than eight or ten years old. Her blond hair was matted to her forehead from tears, sweat and mucous. She was clinging tightly to the other child, several years younger than herself. Her sister? The younger girl, also blond, wasn't moving. She wasn't crying. She was just staring straight ahead and was covered in dried blood. Who was he fooling? Maybe he should have called child services after all. But somehow Gibbs couldn't do that. His gut was screaming at him to keep them safe. His gut had awakened, and there was no way in hell he was going to ignore it. The girls were witnesses, and he had no idea what they'd seen that evening.

"How's Abby?"

Gibbs looked away from the girls and made eye contact with Jenny. He didn't want to reflect on how frightened Abby must be. He just wanted her close by so he could keep an eye on her. He needed to know his girls were safe. All of his girls.

"Scared."

"Jethro, what the hell happened today?"

Gibbs looked at Jenny, feeling every pound of his 185-pound frame crushing his knees as he remained kneeled in front of the frightened little girls. He licked his dry lips, not knowing how to answer her.

"Dunno, Jenn."

He didn't know. But he was going to do his damnedest find out.