A/N: I started this back during last season and pulled it out a week ago to do some more work on it. It's kind of a trial run to see how it goes. If I like where it goes, I'll continue to post. It's set sometime in the future. It is a deathfic. By the end of the chapter you'll know who it is.

NCIS

In A Blink

Chapter One: The Two-Goal Lead

A thin sheet of grainy, white powder covered a thick layer of heavy, wet snow that already blanketed the seemingly still city. Though the snowfall was light, it felt much heavier at the cemetery. Nevertheless, the funeral was proceeding as planned. The roads had been cleared early that morning allowing for safer passage for the funeral procession from the church to the cemetery. The procession was preceded by local LEOs and led by, at his own insistence, NCIS Director Leon Vance. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been offered to lead the procession but turned it down. For his own, unspoken reasons, he wanted to bring up the rear. Whatever they were, they were, at the moment, neither here nor there. Gibbs may have not been sure himself.

He had been one of the first to arrive at the church for the service and the last to leave the building. He had sat in the second row of the sanctuary, paying no attention to those that were seated in the rows behind him. Nor did he move to look at those that had been seated behind him as he stood with the pallbearers and took his place aside the casket. He did not look back as they carried the casket to the hearse. Gibbs was in his own world. As soon as the casket was in the vehicle, he headed back for the building, lightly brushing past his chief medical examiner.

"Jethro! Where are you going?"

"I'll see you at the gravesite, Duck!"

Ducky sighed. "You're taking this a lot harder than you will ever care to admit to, my friend."

If he had heard what the doctor had said after he left, internally he would have agreed. He was responsible for his team—his entire team. He blamed himself for what had happened, which was of no surprise to anyone that knew him. That reaction was expected, but the remaining members of his team knew there was more to it and of those remaining members the good doctor knew him best. He was grateful that Ducky had kept silent when he very well could have—and probably should have—said something to Gibbs; but the doctor could always discern when it was the proper time to speak, even when it seemed inappropriate to others.

Gibbs had spoken to the preacher briefly and a few friends and relatives of his lost team member before finally heading to his car. He was floored over the length of the procession; he couldn't see the hearse at all. He overheard one of the LEOs mention that he had never seen a funeral procession that long before. Maybe that was good thing. It had to have been an incredible aerial view. There were endless onlookers as the funeral procession made its way to the gravesite. Pedestrians had stopped to watch as the procession went by. For the most part, Gibbs ignored it all; but at certain points, he couldn't help glancing at the passersby. Did any of those people know? Know who it was? What had happened?

The short drive from church service to interment service felt like an eternity. Gibbs felt as if he would never get there. The snowfall and looming gray clouds made him feel wearier than he was already. When he finally pulled into the parking lot, Director Vance was waiting at the entrance. "There's a spot up front for you," he had said to Gibbs as the agent stopped for that brief moment. The five other pallbearers were gathered behind the hearse, awaiting Gibbs' arrival. As soon as he was mere feet away, the driver opened the door.

As they carried the casket to the designated plot, Special Agent Timothy McGee couldn't help noticing his boss's impassiveness. He wanted to say something but it was not the appropriate time. However, it didn't stop the junior agent from wondering what was going through his stoic boss's mind. In his, the events of a week ago had been playing non-stop since the day after, never ceasing; awake, asleep, it made no difference. The sounds of gunshots, the cries of disbelief, reverberated through his mind, and then…the stunned silence, a deathly stillness. He wondered if any of the others were having a similar experience. Ducky and Abby, he knew, were not; they hadn't been there. But those that had…. He closed his eyes tightly, for a moment, then opened them as the casket came to its final resting place. He stared at the casket. This can't be real. He wanted to let go. It's a dream. Only a dream. But….

"Timothy…?"

"I can't…I can't let go, Ducky…. I just can't…"

Ducky placed his hand on McGee's shoulder. "I know."

"I coulda…. I should've…."

"Let it go, Tim."

McGee slowly released that handle he had been gripping so tightly and walked over to where an empty chair next to Abby awaited him.

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo glanced over at his probie. He had been looking over at Gibbs, glancing at him every so often as they carried the casket to the gravesite. He was behind Gibbs, so he couldn't see the expression on his boss's face. McGee, on the other hand, seemed to have a fairly good view and judging by his probie's expression, Gibbs must have been stolid. He knew Gibbs blamed himself. It was understandable. The truth was, DiNozzo put blame on himself. He had an opening, he should have taken it. It was a brief window, but it was there and he should have taken it. He wondered what Gibbs and McGee were thinking. Are they thinking about that day? Whether or not they were, he definitely was. He couldn't escape it. The harder he tried to shut out the images from his mind, the more vivid and intense they became. It didn't have to end that way. It shouldn't have ended that way. DiNozzo felt himself unable to let go of the handle that he, like McGee, had been gripping so tightly. He stared at the casket, eyes fixed at the head. The snow fell lightly onto it, melting as soon as it made contact. His hand started to shake, but he couldn't let go. It was as if releasing the metal handle would make it all final. But maybe, just maybe, if he did let go, he would wake up and it would all be nothing more than a….

"Tony…."

"Yeah, Boss…?"

"Let go."

His hand slowly slid away from the casket. He looked Gibbs in the eyes. "Boss…"

"Go sit down, Tony."

"Right…." He sat down on the chair between Ziva and Gibbs. He stared blankly at the polished mahogany casket before him.

Agent Ziva David sat silently in her seat between the chairs where McGee and DiNozzo would soon be sitting. Silence had been her norm since that day, speaking only when necessary. She watched stoically as they carried the casket from the hearse to the plot. She could see the faces of her colleagues very clearly. Tim was solemn, sad. There was a hint of confusion in his eyes. She understood that. It didn't make any sense to her, either. Tony was trying to hide behind Gibbs. Of course, he would say he was not. Ziva knew better. She had been with them more than long enough to know how to read them; some were harder to read, but she was always able to read enough. Or so she liked to believe. There was one she was unable to read correctly; that was clear now. Tony's expression was flat, but his eyes spoke volumes. There was sadness in them, self-reproach. It was clear that he felt responsible, so did she, even though she knew there was nothing she could have done to stop it. Her training had not prepared her for that day. You could use that colloquialism "expect the unexpected" all you wanted, but it would never prepare you. She wondered why people said that. She also wondered what her co-workers were thinking about that day. She could guess what her fellow agents were thinking, but Ducky…. Ducky hadn't been there. What was going through his mind? And Abby? She glanced over at the Forensics Specialist as the men took there seats. She turned away quickly when she saw a tear trickle down the young woman's cheek.

She told herself over and over that she was not going to cry, not again; but Abby Scuito, Forensics Specialist to NCIS couldn't stop the tears from falling. No, she hadn't been there at the crime scene, but it didn't make the loss any easier. She wiped away the tears as the casket was carried from the hearse to the gravesite, watching in silence. Her eyes were blurry with tears, but she could still see the faces of the pallbearers. She wiped her eyes furiously to clear her vision. She saw Tony's face first. His expression was flat. However, it made little difference what his face showed; she could see right through his faux façade. He hid his feelings well, but his eyes always gave him away. Tim had tried to hide his feelings, but had failed miserably. He had managed to hide his emotions from everyone else, at least for a few days. He couldn't keep them hidden from her, though. Looking at him now, it was clear to her that he had finally given in. It was all over his face now; he was sad, confused; she understood. This should never have happened. She glanced over at Ziva. The former Mossad was sitting, silently, staring straight ahead, obviously watching them. It was likely she, too, was assessing their emotional states. Though she had not personally seen Ziva shed a tear, she was positive that at some point, away from everyone, she had set her emotions free.

Abby sighed, watching the men take their seats. She looked at Ducky. Unlike the others, he had not bothered to hide his emotions from everyone. It was perfectly clear how he felt. Though he was not overly emotional, Abby had seen him cry. She had also observed him in Autopsy, moments that had made her burst into tears. And then there was Gibbs. She knew Gibbs well enough. While he remained stoic and gruff on the outside, like all of them, he was broken on the inside.

His gut wasn't always right; he had admitted that to himself. However, this time, it had been. And he had ignored it. It was a mistake he had made before and vowed to never make again. But vows are not easy to keep. He chided himself. How stupid could he be? He had heard the conversation between his agents as they headed to the crime scene; the fifth body in two days. It was DiNozzo's words that stuck in his mind. They way things are going we should give Palmer a gun. The remark was made half in jest and was forgotten soon after. But the idea itself wasn't brushed aside so easily.

His gut had been telling him something similar.

Ducky was overloaded with bodies, so Palmer was on his own. His gut told him everything was about to go south; that Palmer would somehow be involved. He should've made the assistant ME stay behind, but he needed the kid out there. Maybe he should have given Jimmy a weapon. Would that really have made a difference? But instead, he just expected—no, prayed, that the young man would get lost on his way to the crime scene. This time, however, he would arrive only minutes after they did.

He should have called him and told him to turn back, or at least keep his distance. He wasn't so focused on the gunman hidden in the massive cloud of smoke that he couldn't have done so; but he had made the critical decision of standing his ground. He couldn't risk any sudden moves.

The gunman could have gotten a clear shot at any of them at any time without them ever knowing.

Blackburn had it all planned out. The man wasn't stupid. The murders were nothing more than decoys, something to draw him out, draw his team out. Taking out one of his agents would have been wonderful in Blackburn's book, but his agents could hold their own, armed and ready. So the dirtbag decided to move up a step higher (something Blackburn would refer to as "positively delightful") by taking out one that would be defenseless, one that the agent should have been protecting with everything he had in him. He had seen Palmer come around the building and called out to him, but before he could give further warning, Blackburn fired.

The kid was supposed to have the safe job.

As much as he kept telling himself that and as much as he wanted to believe it true, he always knew better. Palmer may not have been an agent, but no matter who you were out in the field, it was dangerous. Anything could happen at any time, it was the nature of the job. Whether you were an agent or not. Crime scenes were never one hundred percent safe.

Never let your guard down.

That should be easy to live by, right? It's supposed to be. But even the most seasoned veteran will make a mistake. That split-second where he drops his guard and everything around him collapses. A consecutive series of events where all goes as it should can make the untrained fall back a step into the comfort zone. In hockey, players are told to never sit on a two-goal lead; they're the hardest leads to maintain. They fall into a comfort zone, setting on defense alone and foregoing offense. That's when the lead collapses and the opponent takes over.

Everything went as usual those first two days. Nothing out of the ordinary for his team.

The two-goal lead.

NCIS

I'm still working out what exactly goes down when Jimmy is killed. I've had a few ideas zip through my head and I'm still trying to figure out what would work best.

Yes, I know Ducky hasn't had his turn yet. That's coming. I still haven't decided if I want his to be just thoughts like the others or have his by way of a ulogy. The others will (hopefully) have more thought time in future chapters. I really don't know how long this will end up being and there will probably quite a bit of time between updates.

Hope you enjoyed. Please review. That would be very nice.