A/N: I'm aware coolbyrne already did a fic on the 12th about Jack coming back from Afghanistan, but with the changing news since then and everything I've read and seen the last few days, I figured I'd do my own little fic. This is short, and simply focuses on Gibbs' thoughts, so it isn't anything big. But the news has been heartbreaking, and I imagine Jack would really struggle with the whole situation.

He came into their room, holding in his sigh when he saw her. Her knees were up, her arms wrapped around them and her head resting on her legs. She'd stretched his shirt that she was wearing across her bare legs so it covered her. Her laptop was closed and discarded by her feet.

It had been a tough few days since she had gotten back. The Taliban had moved quicker than anticipated, and had taken over officially two days ago. She'd been forced home with a group of troops just a few days before the real crisis had hit. From what little he'd gathered, she'd been practically dragged onto that plane kicking and screaming. She didn't want to abandon the girls. He felt bad that she felt guilty, but he was also so thankful that they'd gotten her out of there.

And now with the news spreading like wildfire of the Afghan collapse, it was hard to make her feel any better. He wished he could keep the news from her, keep her away from her laptop and distract her. He was angry too, sad about the whole event, but most of all he wished he could keep her from hurting. He didn't like to see her like this.

And despite how horrible it all was, he was glad to have her back. He wasn't sure he'd ever see her again. He thought his chance to be with her was gone when she decided to stay in Afghanistan. He carried on his lone wolf existence, barely making it through every single traumatic event that happened after. Emily dying was the worst of it all, and his suspension had been hard. The phone calls he'd had with Jack just made him feel empty after, made his bed feel lonely. He'd avoided some of them because he couldn't handle to feel that hurt after they hung up, and he couldn't handle her feeling sorry for him— or his own worry for her.

He'd felt bad for all the times he'd brushed her off in person. All the times he'd avoided her comfort or avoided her trying to get him to open up. Because he realized he'd take her psychological digging and feelings talk any day in person compared to over the phone.

Then his boat exploded and he'd nearly been killed. The whole serial killer case was a blur, and it really had been the cherry on top of one of the worst years of his life.

But now Jack was back, and things were looking up for him after all these endless months of hell. Even if the rest of the world seemed to be falling to pieces.

He dipped into the bed behind her, propping his legs up around her scrunched figure and wrapping his arms around hers. He pulled her into his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She was quivering lightly against him, and her sniffles broke his heart. There had been a lot of tears over the last couple of days. Her whole experience being there and being drug out had brought back a lot of her trauma from before, from when she was imprisoned and tortured. All of that combined with her current state of feeling guilty over the girls and civilians they'd had to leave behind was not a good mixture. He'd played the role of her comforter and listener before, but this time it was for something more hard hitting and fresh than he'd dealt with before. New griefs combined with old. She was exhausted from the journey, and still adjusting to being back in the States after months in the desert—months in the very desert where she'd experienced her worst hell all those years before.

He'd done his best to give her comfort in any way she needed. To not hover and suffocate her, but to still be a grounding presence when she needed it. He was trying to be there emotionally, even if he wasn't any good at it. Being there physically when she wanted him wasn't as hard. At least he knew he could make her feel good if even for a moment.

The strangest part of it all was carrying on where they left off, but in completely different circumstances. They'd never been like this before, and it was interesting to navigate a new kind of relationship. Before, she'd had her apartment, they'd never lived together. They had both worked at NCIS, and work was always a convenient excuse to be distracted. Now, she had no home, and neither of them worked. Gone were the days where they'd just spend time in her office doing nothing, or she'd sit at his desk and distract him. Gone were the nights at her apartment in her bed. Until she decided what she wanted to do with her life from here, all of her time was here—in his house, with him, in his bed.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He wasn't going to let go of her a second time. Not now that he had her again. All these months he'd been lonely and contemplating if life was even worth it, feeling like he'd destroyed anything good he'd had in his life. Everything felt meaningless. But now she was back and he felt like he was home again. Like he was actually breathing again.

He hoped she'd move in with him. Hoped she would stay. Hoped that it could all be more than his, that it could be their house and their bed. If she wanted to move, take off to Costa Rica like before, he hoped she'd want to take him with her. Home, he'd decided, was wherever she was.

He just hoped she felt the same.

He pressed his lips to her hair, rubbing one of his hands across her arm soothingly. "You need anything?"

She shook her head. He knew there were no words of comfort that would help her. Nothing that would make her feel any better. It was something she'd have to work through and process, and it would take time. She needed to adjust, and he was willing to help her while she did. He'd done a lot of his own adjusting through all the changes over the past year.

She shifted against him, unwrapping herself from her legs and her shirt cocoon, lifting her head up to look back at him. He raised his hand, wiping away the wetness on her face. Her face contorted with emotion again, breaking.

"I let them down," she choked out. "I was supposed to help them."

He dismissed it with a shake of his head. "It wasn't your fault." He twisted her into his arms, pulling her forward into his lap, her chest against his as she cried on his shoulder. All he could do was rub her back and try to soothe her.

She had every right to feel the way she did. They all knew that there was nothing good in store for the women and children who lived in Afghanistan. The progression they had made in education and work for women there would be obliterated. Jack had been reading the news of women already being sent home from school and their jobs. The images of women and children, and innocent men, fleeing to the Kabul airport and trying to find escape. Chasing down planes in desperation, hopeful that they could escape too. It painted a grim picture for the future of these people. The girls Jack had tried to help were most likely doomed, if some of them hadn't perished already. It had already been dangerous for the last several months there, with a large increase in civilian deaths—but now it was practically suicide to be there.

With the way he was feeling about it all, and the way many Americans felt, he knew it was so much worse for Jack. Worse for anyone who had been living there and had fought, who had seen the grim realities in person. Worse for anyone who had lost their sons and daughters. Now all that hung in the air was the feeling that all those lives, that all these years, had been in vain.

He'd been to Afghanistan a few times for cases. Only in short bursts, so short he couldn't claim to really have lived any of it. But in those short times he had still seen a lot. Seen destruction and death and despair. Each time he had left with heaviness in his heart. As a Marine who had done his own time in war-torn deserts, he knew that the troops who had been there would never be the same. That many of them had sacrificed a lot over the years. He knew how angry they were feeling right about now with the current situation.

Jack had done a good job of distracting herself when she'd first gotten back. He was pretty sure she had been too jet-lagged, tired, and shell-shocked to really think too much about the circumstances. They'd done a lot of catching up, both in conversation and in bed. There was still a lot of ground to cover from the last several months. Still many wounds on both of their parts that would take a while to open up about to each other. It had been awkward too, the way she'd left made that inevitable, and he sensed her hesitancy in making herself too comfortable in his home.

But now she couldn't distract herself from the circumstances she'd been pulled away from. She'd had a lot of change in her life in the last week, and now she needed to grieve and to process reality.

He'd give her all the time she needed to adjust. Let her decide on whatever she needed. All he wanted was her happiness.

"Gibbs?"

He looked down at her quiet voice, meeting her spent eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He gave her a smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here for ya, Jack."

She smiled back, pressing her face into his neck as she hugged him again.

She would adjust. He would adjust. Perhaps, this time, they were ready to adjust together.