Author's Note: This is my first NCIS fanfic and it's based off of a dream that I had. It's a throwback to Season 8, episode 23/24, when Mike Frank dies. Constructive criticism is appreciated; flames will be used to roast marshmallows.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, though it is on my Christmas List.
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was officially lost. As he leaned against the autopsy table, he stared at the black body bag that held his friend, Mike Franks', remains, and realized that he was completely and utterly lost. He had lost so many in his life; first Shannon, his beautiful Shannon, and his sweet angel, Kelly. Then it was Kate, the mostly level-headed, slightly mouthy agent that had reminded him so much of him when he was younger, he had to offer her a job. Next was Jenny, his boss and former lover. Oh how he wished he had told her how he really felt. He had loved her; not in the ass-over-teacup way that he loved Shannon, but in an almost fiery-passionate way. And now he had lost his long-time friend, and also a former boss, Mike. He had always thought Mike would die of lung cancer; hell, maybe even cirrhosis of the liver from too much drinking. Instead, he had gone down fighting, just like Jenny had.
Slowly but surely, Gibbs' friends (and loves) were dying around him. Who would be next, Ducky? Ducky was getting along in life; not quite old, but definitely not as young as he used to be. Maybe Ziva or DiNozzo? Ziva had one hell of an attitude and a sailor's mouth to go with it. Tony was a player, everyone knew it, and left a string of broken hearts wherever he went. It was only a matter of time before one of his flings turned into a stalker. Abby & McGee were safe, granted Abby had alot of weirdo ex boyfriends and Tim just had no luck at all. But both of them were good people; almost innocent in Gibbs' eyes. Both of them would grow old, have children, and live fulfilling lives.
Gibbs, on the other hand, was tired of having an unsavory life. His sky-blue eyes fell to the gun at his side. After slowly pulling the gun out of its holster, he simply stared at it in his hand, nearly begging it to end it all. After all, he was easily replaceable, Director Vance had even told him so. Sighing, he leaned over and slammed his hands down on the autopsy table where Mike laid.
"Oh, Mike," he sighed, longing in his voice. Not longing as in a lover pining, but longing for what life used to be. Life before death took his family; life before all of the sorrow and pain that had been dumped in his lap. Banging on the autopsy table again, he yelled out with sheer frustration.
Flopping to the ground, he once again examined his gun. It was a Sig Sauer M11 P228 and had gotten him out of many sticky, nearly deadly, situations. And now it would get him out of one last situation, only this time, it would be deadly. He knew how death worked, how quickly rigor mortis set in, who would be notified, blah blah blah. This wouldn't even be investigated, because NCIS didn't investigate suicides. Even if they did, it would be an open-and-shut case. His eyes brimmed with tears that had been needed to shed for a very long time. He clenched the gun harder and jammed it to his temple, willing himself to pull the trigger.
'It will all be over soon,' he thought.
And that was how Ducky's new intern, Lydia Kellogg, found him.