DISCLAIMER: NCIS not mine. See earlier disclaimer.

A/N: once again, more yaba yaba from the characters than I envisioned! So not the final chapter as I planned, but probably (just?) one more after this. To all of you who have followed, and especially those who have commented, or alerted & favorited, thank you! Love to hear what anyone has to say...


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

In only moments, the small work crew that had clustered around Gibbs' table turned to head back outside and greet the newcomers, leaving Gibbs momentarily with his once-again silent home. It had taken only Ziva's action, alerting him to the arrival, and his own attention to the scene out in his driveway, to bring the others' attention outside as well.

"They're here!" Abby put down the knife she was using to slice fruit into a salad and made a beeline for the deck door. Tony seemed to straighten a bit and, at Ziva's hopeful nod, he grinned for her and tipped his head toward the deck.

"Let's go see Tim."

In only moments, the younger ones were gathering around the back of the van, where Palmer was already opening the back doors as his lovely bride, Breena, greeted the crowd nearing them, both Palmers wearing big, sunny, carefree smiles.

As far as Gibbs knew, none of his team other than DiNozzo had been back to the Navy Yard in the weeks since their HQ had been attacked. His own focus had been on the destruction and irretrievable loss that had followed for each of them, not what lay ahead for NCIS.

... Gibbs saw Stan Burley hop out of the back of the van just as the others came around to peer inside, Stan greeting them all like comfortable old friends, with a peck on the cheek for both ladies and a slap on the shoulder and warm handshake for DiNozzo.

For weeks now, when he wasn't fighting his own injuries, Gibbs found himself looking only to the end of each day – did Tim survive another day? Had Ziva managed to sleep through the night without waking herself screaming? As long as he didn't think about what did – or did not – await them beyond another day, he was able at least to cope, to occasionally pick up the phone to check on one of them, or tolerate a visit from Ducky or a call from Abby.

But the van – Ducky's van – its gleaming blue "NCIS" announcing to the world that Dearing hadn't destroyed them after all, had brought an unexpected lump to his throat ... and, apparently, new energy to the younger ones, as they trooped outside to welcome their teammate. And suddenly his house was again nearly as quiet as it had been all these weeks, the softened but familiar voices of at least part of his team having warmed away some of the ghosts Gibbs hadn't realized were there.

"How good it is to have everyone together again," Ducky sighed at his side, softly, as both men watched the hospital gurney being carefully unloaded onto the driveway.

The youngest member of his team – and the one who suffered most in the blast – was sitting nearly all the way up on the gurney, his eyes shielded from the sun by a pair of aviator sunglasses, and Gibbs felt a surge of hope to see him smiling at the others, clearly as happy as they were to have him there. Tim's survival reminded Gibbs yet again how much they all had benefitted from the proximity of the naval medical center where they had all been treated. Bethesda's staff had more experience with blast injuries than most medical teams did, anywhere, from treating newly wounded on the battlefront as well as designing long-term care back home, and that expertise allowed them all the best outcome they might have in the circumstances. But for McGee, no one doubted it meant literally the difference between life and death, given his cluster of life-threatening primary blast injuries, along with the secondary blast injuries he'd suffered from flying debris and partial cave-in.

Ironically, though, the most painful and long-lasting of his injuries, those keeping him in-patient in the complex' rehab unit and promising even more surgeries ahead, were not those that had most threatened his survival: his serious third degree burns, along with some of lesser severity, were fortuitously limited to less than a quarter of his body along his exposed right side, so that only portions of his arm, his shoulder and neck, and a bit of his leg, were encased in the tight compression bandages he would be wearing for some time to come. From Gibbs' own times in battle, and those troops he knew injured in Desert Storm, the Marine knew there few injuries as painful, or recoveries as extended, as burns like Tim's, and the smile on the young man's face reminded Gibbs of how proud he was of the man.

"He looks good, Ducky," Gibbs offered softly. The elderly doctor understood the question behind it.

"He has been doing well, Jethro. He is rather heavily medicated for this afternoon's festivities, as the transport cannot have been comfortable for him, so he may seem a bit woozy or slow today. But he wanted to come, and with a combination of light sedative and rather strong pain medication, his doctors approved it." Mallard's smile widened as he watched Tony immediately came to Tim's side, squeezing his good shoulder with the confidence of many visits through his Probie's recovery, and leaning in for some private comments than made the younger man's smile grow even wider. The women got in their greetings too, with soft hugs and gentle pecks on his cheek. "And I can't think of a better treatment for him than this, at least for a few hours."

"Prognosis?"

"As it has been. He is out of the woods but has a long road to go. Still, as the burns to his lower extremities and torso were less severe than upper, he is slowly becoming more mobile, and may be able to go home within the month, as long as he is able to get out to the center to continue his therapy. Proper stretching and movement is critical for his healing skin and graphs." The doctor looked at his friend, "you know, you should be asking these questions of Timothy, Jethro – your concern means a lot to him."

Gibbs shrugged. "When I call him, I just try to keep it general. I don't want him to think I'm expecting him to report – or to have to lie about how he's feeling." At the thought, Gibbs was reminded of his conversation with DiNozzo, earlier, and roused a bit to add, "and DiNozzo, Duck? He said he won't be cleared for field status, and that you discussed it with him?" When his answer was simply a slightly guilty look in the older man's eyes, Gibbs felt his frustration rise. "Why didn't you say anything, Ducky? What's happened to him? What else about my team do you know that you haven't told me yet?"

"Jethro, for all the medical proxies you hold, and for all the respect these young men and women have for you," Mallard sighed, "they are all fully capable of making their own medical decisions for now. And that includes what I can and can't share with you." At the surprise he saw on his friend's face, he laughed his own surprise, "don't tell me you hadn't figured out by now that every time you have sent one of them to me to be checked over, following some run in with a suspect or other, part of the exam is my asking them precisely what I am and am not allowed to tell you?"

"Oh, so you've been lying to me all these years about..."

"Not in the least," Ducky scolded. "Your agents rarely asked that I withhold any information from you. On occasion, Anthony asked that the information be soft-pedaled a bit, or that only generalities be offered ... but usually when you were in such a state with a case or your own injuries he did not want you to worry about him."

"Like now?"

Ducky frowned at himself with a small grunt, realizing he had just walked himself back to the topic he'd hoped to avoid. In the next moment he sighed, then offered, "you have been made fully aware of the injuries he sustained, Jethro – but maybe not all of the effects resulting, especially those that have not cleared up yet. Anthony simply wanted to keep some of the information to himself, should we be wrong and he is able to pass the physical in the weeks ahead." Mallard explained, "the Director has indicated that he is keeping all options open, for anyone injured in the blast who wants to come back to work, and will do all he can to accommodate any change in status. As for Anthony, he is talking as if he can live with non-field status, but..." Ducky shook his head, sadly, "it clearly is not something he believes will work out well for him. Much like you, once again, Jethro." The doctor's smile was fleeting. "I believe he deserves all the time he needs to determine whether or not he will recover more fully."

As Ducky spoke, Gibbs had watched not only McGee and the others arriving with him as they greeted his team, but watched Tony closely, assessing his movements, his mood. Once again, DiNozzo struck him as being focused on his people: supporting McGee in a way the younger man knew he'd be there for him, offering Stan, Palmer and Breena a welcome and his obvious thanks for their part in the day, allowing Ziva his presence with unusual calm, gentle contact, small touches and affirming smiles.

"He should have his own team, Duck," Gibbs murmured.

"Sadly, that time may have passed."

"Then he should have had his own team," Gibbs said more forcefully. "I should have pushed him to leave, to take one of those assignments when they came open."

Knowing the answer full well, the Scotsman challenged, "then why didn't you?"

"Didn't want to lose him."

The doctor chuckled softly. "Nor he, you. Or any of them. He could have left, Jethro, a fact of which you are well aware – as is he."

"Yeah, and now here we are." Gibbs shifted uncomfortably. "He should have this team, Ducky."

"Are you retiring?"

The blunt question was unexpected, and, recalling DiNozzo's earlier words, he turned the question back to his friend. "Tony said you weren't so sure I had to leave the field."

"I think it may be up to you – and the Director, given his intention of looking at every person individually as he rebuilds the Service." Mallard saw that the group had begun making their way toward the backyard and, wanting his old friend to stew a bit with the thought he'd just left him, prodded gently, "maybe we should join the others as well."

Gibbs broke eye contact and nodded curtly, biting down on the frustration he felt for them all – Tony, the others – himself. He knew that Abby wanted the day to be a cheerful one and his black moods wouldn't be welcome. "In a minute – you go ahead."

He was aware that the doctor hesitated – by now Ducky could practically read his mind and knew exactly what was in there – but after a pedantic, "only a minute, Jethro, and I'll hold you to that," the doctor went on outside to leave Gibbs to his own thoughts.

Looking outside once again, Gibbs watched Stan and Tony carefully steering McGee's gurney toward the backyard as Abby went ahead to fidget, for the dozenth time, with the chaise she'd set up for him, tugging at the egg-crate foam and comforter on top of it, poking at the pillow. Palmer and his bride hopped in and out of the van, emerging with a cooler and carrying foil-covered pans of something hot, judging from Palmer's haste. Ziva wandered along side the gurney, holding McGee's good hand, and McGee's besotted beam washed over them all.

His kids. His kids, battered and broken, but toughing their way back. He owed them ... but what? Would it be better for them if he fought his way back to work, so field agent or not, he could yell and demand and force them back to life? Or would they be better off if he simply retired and let Tony have that job? Would Tony be given that chance even if he left?

A knock at his front door interrupted his thoughts, and the door swung open to add two new voices.

"Gibbs?"

"Hey, Gibbs! Happy Fourth," Jackie Vance's cheerier voice echoed her husband's. They appeared as she was part-way through her greeting, Jackie carrying a large cake pan. She fearlessly went to the gruff Marine and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "It's not Fourth of July without lemonade cake," she announced, "so we had to stop by."

"Ms. Scuito's invitation was kind, but unnecessary," Vance grinned knowingly. "We're not going to stay, but, in the circumstances, I hope you don't mind our coming over – I want them to know how proud I am of everyone. Of all of you," he added.

"It's mutual, Director." Gibbs took in the still healing scars he could see on the Director's face and hands, and noted how Jackie's usual cheer was a little less easy, a little more emotional, than it had been before their lives had been turned upside down.

"Honey, could we have a minute?" Vance glanced to his wife.

"Everyone's outside, in back. That way," Gibbs offered, nodding toward the deck.

She smiled. "I'll see if I can help." Putting her cake along side the other food spreading across his table, Jackie gave the men a wink and went outside, the sounds of the greetings she received filtering inside as the door closed behind her slowly.

"Haven't seen you for awhile, Gibbs," Vance began. "How're you doing?"

Thinking of the many retorts and come-backs he could offer, about his wounds, his team, about everything else he and they had been through to this point, Gibbs paused a moment, then simply smirked ruefully. "Hell, Leon, I got blown up again and lived to tell about it. What more can a man ask?"

Vance's eyes narrowed a bit, clearly not expecting the response he'd gotten, but quickly decided that for someone as dark as Gibbs, it was an upbeat reply. His lip quirked into a slight smile. "I'm looking at how we're going to rebuild things. You haven't requested retirement yet."

Gibbs actually chuckled.

"...which I'm taking as your interest in coming back. I'd like to talk to you about that in the next week or so."

At the strong show of support from his boss, as undemanding as it was positive, Gibbs felt a sudden appreciation for the man's skills at diplomacy, and wondered if they were why Vance was made Director or something he'd honed on the job. He guessed it was both. "I can do that," he nodded.

"I did want to tell you that we've put a new MCRT in place. We needed to get at least one back working out of the Yard, and since his part of the investigation for the bombing is pretty well wrapped up, I've asked Stan Burley to head the team."

Gibbs nodded immediately. "Good. Stan's a good man."

"He is. I would have considered him anyway, but his work and assistance over the past weeks have been both impressive and invaluable. And for some reason," Vance smirked, "he was anxious to stay in the area, at least for the foreseeable future." The Director watched Gibbs grin again, but added, "Jethro — you know we often have had more than one MCRT on the Yard, and we will again. Stan isn't a replacement for you."

"That's good, because when the time came I'd always hoped it would be DiNozzo."

"Me, too." When Gibbs turned to the Director, his surprise clear on his face, Vance grinned and felt a small flush of victory, that he'd managed to fool the Great Gibbs. "He's good, Gibbs."

"Well, I know that, I just didn't get the impression that you did."

"Gotta keep DiNozzo guessing, don't I? Couldn't have him be complacent." His grin softened slightly. "I'm doing what I can to work with the requirements in place for field agents," he offered. "And if that doesn't work, we might adjust how much field work can be done by someone not ... officially ... a field agent. For the both of you, Jethro."

Gibbs considered that, then nodded. "Rule 5, Leon. I'm glad you're a believer."

TBC...


A/N: Gah, this was supposed to be the last chapter! These guys always have more to say than I think they will. At least the end is in sight. One more after this, and SOON – am trying to meet a deadline!