DISCLAIMER: NCIS not mine. See earlier disclaimer.

A/N: this chapter came out a bit different than intended – but Gibbs got ahold of it and steered it his way. He figured you might like to know a bit more about what's happened between May and now.

Here's hoping he lets me – and the other characters – have the next chapter. 'Til then, sincere thanks to everyone for your comments, reviews, favorites and alerts. Since this chapter is a bit different, would love to know your thoughts –

...and the Rockets' Red Glare...

The Fourth of July dawned early for Gibbs, as did most mornings, but this time the day ahead held so many competing concerns, and awoke so many dusty memories, he'd been restless through the night.

More than anything, he worried for Abby's insistent hope for this day, the one that had brought a spark of life back to her that he hadn't seen since the bombing, that the reunion would bring happiness and at least a little healing for them all. He hated to think of her being crushed if things didn't go as well as she imagined.

He had his own memories to face, too, from when cookouts were the norm at this house, when his 4th of July backyard held a big, rubbery above-ground pool, with all the accompanying splashes and squeals of delight from neighborhood kids, right there alongside his own, beautiful child. He wondered if the living, breathing visitors he'd have later that day could drown out all the ghosts who would, undoubtedly, be around as well.

But wouldn't they all be struck by the countless the reminders this unusual gathering brought? Just the fact of the cookout, at his home, underscored how different things were now. With every wound and scar, wouldn't each be another painful sign that they had been attacked, struck down, that the team – his team, his people – had been shattered, with no promises for the future? His team – his kids, Ducky – had always been welcome in his home when they needed him, but on his terms, one on one, when they came to him for his guidance, his assurances. Never for a "family cookout."

And at that very moment, Gibbs understood that, just maybe, that was exactly what his kids needed from him right now.

He rose, painfully, pausing to look out the window and to flip on the radio, waiting for an update on the weather. The dawn was hazy but clearer than had been expected, still a hot one ahead, but maybe not so muggy. Maybe Abby's enthusiasm had won over the weather, too.

After convincing him they needed to have a "family" gathering, and at his home, she had gone on her way. But a half hour later – maybe less – his phone rang. It was Abby. "Gibbs..." she began, her voice full of emotion, tears clearly on the brink. If he'd thought her excitement would be dashed so soon he would worked a lot harder to talk her out of her plans.

"Abby, what..."

"I stopped by your house – I realized I should take a look at the yard, you know, to get an idea of size and what we'd need and, oh, Gibbs.." her voice warbled a bit again, emotionally, and he felt a wave of relief when he sensed that she hadn't been shot down after all. "On the deck. There's a ramp there. You put a ramp in..."

"Not me. Jack."

Looking back again, he was almost able to smile at how they must have sounded when the topic first came up, both Gibbses being characteristically stubborn and cantankerous and digging in, even pretty noisy about it, and while he was still in the hospital. By then the nursing staff had suspected that trying to keep their mulish patient from being pissed and surly was more likely to raise his blood pressure than leaving him to vent his anger and frustration was, and generally ignored his rants.

"Your dad? With his bad hip? How'd he...?"

Gibbs felt a soft smile twitch at his lips, remembering her surprise. "That's the first thing I asked him too, when I found it," he'd told her.

"It's a good thing, Gibbs. For you, and for everyone coming over. And now for the cookout, too." She paused, then asked, a bit of her old inquisitiveness peeking out, "did he ever tell you how he managed it, with his hip, if he did it himself?"

"No," Gibbs shook his head slowly as he'd remembered his father's gruff concern with new fondness. "We never got back to the conversation."

"So ask him when you call him again – for me," she said softly. "It's a good thing, Gibbs."

It figured that Abby would side with Jackson, even just instinctively. He remembered his first day back home, and his discovering the damned thing three days after that, when he started moving around his home again some. He'd barely managed a grunt of frustration that his father had gone against his wishes – and his expressly stated refusal to agree to it – when his father had interrupted to bark at his son with a gruffness that sounded awfully close to home. "Leroy, if you'd just stop bein' so angry at the world for bein' on the sidelines, you'd realize that some of us just might come and go a little easier with that ramp outside. And don't tell me you don't want to be out there again as soon as you can, or want people comin' and goin,' because with all the comin' and goin' in that hospital I thought they'd have to put a turnstile in the hallway for sure."

It was still several hours before they would all be there, but while his coffee was brewing, Gibbs went outside to wipe down the shiny new smoker he'd assembled on the deck the day before, and drain the water from the bowl of large wood chunks he'd soaked all night. With more difficulty than he would ever admit to anyone, just the day before, Gibbs had managed to haul out the smoker Stephanie bought him for their anniversary, still in the box, just to see if the damn thing actually worked. To his satisfaction he found that the electric coil worked just fine, and that the smoker itself was actually a fine piece of equipment. After completing the minor bit of assembly, he made a rather self-conscious call to the retiree next door, who just happened to be the neighborhood grill king. With an enthusiasm that almost made Gibbs feel guilty, the man came over to give him a lesson on "Smoking 101." The man's wife soon got into the act, delighted to have some way to mother the wounded agent next door and honor his service, and volunteered to add to her day's shopping list everything Gibbs would need to serve up smoked ribs and chicken at his "party." Only another few hours after that, the Baxters were back in his kitchen as they coached and coaxed Gibbs through all the preparations, assuring him that by the time they were done, all he'd need to do was load in the meat and "plug 'er in..."

Looking across his freshly mowed yard, Gibbs thought about everything Abby had accomplished in the few days she had to plan her party. She'd worked to exhaustion to sort out the smallest of details. She had found some kids to mow Gibbs' lawn and telephoned him several more times with plans for food, noting as she did the current dietary restrictions for each member of the team, for times to start and times to eat, for set up and clean up and far more arrangements for a simple afternoon gathering than he'd used on most of the missions he'd ever undertaken. As she loaded her new IPod and tested its speakers, she'd worried about having enough music to play through the evening that everyone would like, so that if there were fireworks sounding in the area, they might be less abrupt and disruptive to the traumatized bunch, and sound less like the burst of a C4 explosion...

But the cookout had given her purpose and hope and focus, something she could finally do to help them all heal. And, after all – what used to be simple for them wasn't so simple anymore.

"I figure Jimmy will want to bring Breena, and he should – it's only fair," she had said two days before. "Maybe she's not family family but she's an in-law now, and she gave up so much so that Jimmy could be with us right after. And she's family like your dad would be, if he were still down here."

Gibbs had nodded his agreement into the phone. Jimmy's new bride had left a church full of people and a very pricey reception high and dry, without either bride and groom, to send Jimmy packing back to the Yard to help with the casualties. Even more, she'd been at Ducky's side the whole time she would have otherwise been on her honeymoon. Gibbs had actually chuckled, a rusty, unused sound, to grunt, "better than any in-law I've ever known." He was warmed by the sound of Abby's quiet laugh in response. "Of course, Abs," he agreed. "Breena's family if anyone is."

"And Stan?"

She didn't have to say more. "Absolutely," Gibbs' response was immediate. "He's a part of us again. Probably will be for a while yet."

Stan Burley had been back in the District when it happened, at their Pentagon office, and although it was difficult to accept why he had been ordered to remain there on the Yard, and why he would be needed there in the District for some time to come instead of back at his post overseas, they'd all been grateful for his tireless service. Burley had worked long hours with little sleep, giving his all in the hunt to capture Dearing, to be there for his former Boss and the team, to be there for NCIS, when all hands were needed more than at any time in its history. With the team down, there was no one at NCIS Gibbs would have wanted to handle things on the ground more than he did Stan. Burley's frequent visits to Bethesda, to his people, to update them from the inside, was a lifeline to them all. Stan was a part of his team again, maybe even more than ever.

After her last call, Gibbs had not heard from Abby for almost 24 hours, not until her call happened to catch him eye to eye with an uncrated smoker, contemplating his next move.

"Gibbs?" Her voice was subdued again, quiet, but it vibrated with expectation. "I think we're set. All of us. I think we'll have everyone there."

He wanted to believe that whatever promises made to her would be kept, but from all he'd been told, it seemed so unlikely. He waited for more.

"And well, maybe not for the whole time, but any time we can all be together will be so perfect. It's been too long. We all need each other – for most of us, we're all we have."

He'd heard the emotional quaver in her voice and knew she was right, that each of them had come to rely on the others as the family they didn't have. He just hoped that it all worked out as Abby imagined it would. "What's the plan, Abs?"

"Gibbs, Jimmy's been great! He met with the doctors and they worked everything out, and it's all set. The final hang up they had was transporting, because the doctors wanted an ambulance, but once they knew Jimmy had the truck it was all approved."

"Jimmy has a truck?"

"Well, yeah. Or, not Jimmy, but the ME truck, with even more room than an ambulance would have, so there's room for everyone and all the equipment needed. I mean, after everything Jimmy arranged, it didn't seem right to have some stranger's ambulance involved anyway, and once Vance heard about all the plans of course he approved Jimmy's borrowing it for..."

"How did Vance hear 'all about the plans?'"

"Oh. I called him." The old Abby surfaced again, sounding as if he should have assumed she'd get the Director involved. "He thought it was a great idea, and said unless an emergency pops up and it's needed, the truck is ours. Of course, I kinda had to invite him too then, since I called him, and since I invited him I had to invite Mrs. Vance, too. I don't know that they'll come, or for long, but they went through an awful lot, too..."

It was funny how a terrorist and massive destruction could bury a lot of old, insignificant squabbles.

"They're family too, Abs," he'd assured her, "if not before all this, then definitely after."

Gibbs shook away the memories suddenly and gulped down his second cup of coffee, irritated with himself. Ever since the bomb, whether it was because he was sidelined and not doing his job, or because hadn't done his job and his team was scattered and broken, his gut had been tentative, questioning and replaying all kinds of things in his head instead of driving his decisions and letting things go. You need time, everyone said, they need time, we need time...

He hoped Abby was right and that her cookout would help them all. Especially for Ziva and DiNozzo, who for such different and such similar reasons needed others around them who loved them and understood them, he knew that all of them being together again would mean something...

Gibbs' thoughts of the two raised another pang of concern. He hadn't seen any of his agents right after the blast; he and Abby had been extricated through the front, the lab effectively shielding them from the much of the dangers threatening the rest of the building while creating some problems of its own. But it wasn't long before he'd been made aware of the damage to the building – and all the attendant dangers, fire, smoke, chemicals, debris, and the general weakening from the concussive blast – and to his agents, all of whom had still been in the building when the bomb blew, doing what they knew to do to save others.

They'd all ended up at Bethesda, they and so many others. Gibbs fought to see each one as often as he could while he was inpatient, fought for as much information as he could get from Vance and from Breena, Stan and Jimmy. He spent more time on the telephone checking in with all of them when he'd been sent home. Slowly, one by one, his people and others he knew had been released, to recuperate, to seek further treatment, to heal further ... to receive further care.

All but two of his had gone home. And one remaining, to his surprise, did so voluntarily.

Historically, none of his agents was a model patient, and Gibbs had never known any of them to abide willingly by doctor's orders, even Ducky's. They denied and avoided and managed to get away with minimal hospital treatment coupled with concerned oversight by their medical examiner. So when Gibbs heard that one of his team was declining release, he got worried.

And then he got even prouder.

Gibbs had made the phone call as soon as he'd heard, concerned that there was more, some fear or unspoken concern making his agent want to stay. Frustrated that it was only over the phone, Gibbs was in too much of a hurry to interrogate the source to get out there in person. "I have to be out here every day anyway, for a while," Gibbs heard. "And with all the appointments, in a few different departments, and the transportation they were going to send to get me back and forth, they agreed that it's just as easy if I stay."

Gibbs waited, silently, knowing there was more. He wasn't disappointed.

"He won't have to be alone out here this way. I get done with whatever torture they have planned for me, then I can go keep him company. Kind of a visitor in residence." A pause. "I don't think he'll notice the difference if no one says anything. You won't tell him, will you, Boss?"

Gibbs mused at the memory as he opened the smoker and found, as promised, the ribs and chicken smoked to glorious perfection, having slow-smoked overnight. It was always the case that tragedy brought out the best in good people. But damn it, his people had all given plenty already, before this. He'd give anything to not have had to see them step up because of one, this native terrorist...

The smoker had begun to fill with the sweet smell of hickory smoke, and with a sudden, unbidden jolt Gibbs had a flash of memory that took his breath away, remembering a very different sort of smoke that had threatened them all. Gibbs growled a curse at himself for his failure to think about the powerful trigger the smoke would be, relieved to know that both the ribs and chicken should be done early the next morning, long before everyone arrived.

He hoped the taste wouldn't be as likely as the smoke to trigger the memories of fire and charred bodies that the clouds of smoke did. He sighed, looking again around the empty yard. How long would that day haunt them all? How many simple things, every day things, would remind them of the day the madman had won?

Abby believed they could make things better with something as simple as this party, and he realized that he'd been waiting for her to be proven wrong. Right there, he'd given Dearing another victory.

Well, not today, and not him. Not at his home, with his people. He'd thought before maybe his kids needed him to be there for them, and to let Abby bring them all together. He knew now that just that wasn't enough, he needed to help them all put the explosion, and all the aftereffects, as far behind them as they could. He would enjoy the simple pleasure of having everyone together again, at least for a short time, and do what he could to be sure others did, too.

This year, "Independence Day" would have a whole new meaning for his people – his team. It wouldn't be quick or easy, but it would start with him, with their day.

Their Independence Day.