Harry could not sleep. The bed was comfortable enough; indeed it seemed almost as if it had never been slept on. The problem was his thoughts. He could not stop the events of the day from running through his mind again and again. He was hardly surprised – it had been an awfully eventful day – but he would still have liked to sleep. Thinking that perhaps a glass of...something...would help, he rose and walked into the kitchen.

Squinting at the clock, he made the time out to be about 1 AM. Trying to step quietly, so as not to wake his host, he opened to fridge to see if Gibbs had some milk. Childish as it may have seemed, he found that warm milk really did help insomnia. Suddenly, he straightened. A muffled sound was coming from the basement. His exhausted and overwhelmed brain instantly suspected intruders and he searched quickly for something to defend himself with. A gargantuan Mag-Lite suited him and he crept downstairs. The light was on, which surprised him. He figured robbers would have the good sense to keep a low profile. Leaping the rest of the way down the stairs, he raised the flashlight/club over his head and yelled, "Freeze!"

Looking back, he realized that his course of action was probably not the wisest. If the intruders had a firearm, he realized belatedly, his club would do little good from 10 feet away. And indeed, when the man swung around his hand was wrapped around a 9mm. The grip was unbelievably steady as Harry noticed with horror that the weapon was pointed directly at his head.

"Ford! What the hell are you doing?" Gibbs snapped, lowering the weapon and looking at Harry strangely.

Harry realized that he was standing in a relative stranger's basement in only his underwear, holding a flashlight above his head. Bringing the flashlight down to his side, he tried not to look too embarrassed as he answered. "I was in the kitchen and I, uh, thought I heard intruders."

Harry was sure that had it not been Gibbs, the man would have been laughing hysterically. As it was, he simply shook his head and went back to work. Harry noticed for the first time the large boat frame dominating the room.

"Wow. You build this?"

"Yeah," Gibbs grunted, working the plane.

Harry was initially surprised at the lack of power tools, then reminded himself what kind of man Gibbs was. "You always work this late?"

"Sometimes." The late hour did not make Gibbs any more loquacious, Harry noted.

"Well, I...guess I'll be going back to bed."

"Okay." Harry was at the bottom of the stairs before Gibbs called out, "Hey, Ford! What were you doing up, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Don't blame you. Need something to help?"

"Well, actually, I was getting a glass of milk when..." Harry trailed off, half-lifting the flashlight in explanation.

"Milk?" Gibbs asked, almost with disgust. "I meant something more like...this." He tossed a bottle to Harry, who turned it over and looked at the label.

"Bourbon?"

"Yeah. Couple of swigs of that and you'll sleep like a baby," Gibbs grinned.

"Then why are you still up?" Harry observed.

"Ha. Just like a lawyer," Gibbs snorted. "Didn't have any."

There was a long silence as Gibbs turned back to his work. Harry gazed at the bottle and thought, What the heck? Opening the top, he took a swig. And choked. He did manage not to spit the stuff out, but it burned like the dickens going down.

"How long have you had this?" he wheezed.

"Probably...couple years. Why?"

"It's...strong," Harry understated. Gibbs chuckled. Harry tried a couple more mouthfuls, finding that it went down easier every time. Gibbs was right, he thought. He was starting to feel pleasantly warm and sleepy.

Heading back to bed, the bourbon began to override the confusion in his mind. Slipping under the covers, he realized just how exhausted he was. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

With sleep came dreams. Some were just silly, like the one where his sister made him dress like a chicken and dance. (She always did have him wrapped around her little finger.) But one stood out from the rest. He would remember this one when he woke.

He was watching from outside himself, a passive observer. He saw himself standing by the park bench on which he had woken up that morning. It was storming, but still he stood there, something in his hands raised above his head. A...lightning rod? He raised the lightning rod a little higher, trying to...trying to...what was he trying to do? It hit him like the bolt of lightning that suddenly illuminated the sky. Finding a suitable target in the lightning rod in his hands, it struck, traveling through the metal and his body. And then his body disappeared.

Harry woke at 7, his body fully refreshed and his mind ready with an answer to his predicament. Dressing quickly, he almost ran through the rest of the house looking for Gibbs. He found him in the basement, working on the boat.

"Did you ever get to sleep?" Harry asked.

"Got a couple hours under here," Gibbs answered.

"I had a dream," Harry blurted, eager to tell someone his solution.

"That one day this nation will rise up..." Gibbs quipped.

"Haha. No, about how to get me home."

"Shoot," Gibbs prompted.

"I stand by the park bench where I woke up this morning, holding a lightning rod, and get myself struck by lightning." Even as Harry said it, he realized that it sounded silly. Gibbs just looked at him. "I know it sounds stupid, but I think it might work. I got here by lightning; makes sense to go back the same way."

"Ford, look. I don't know how you got here. Yes, I expect lightning had something to do with it, but we can't know the details. Assuming you get struck again, what's to say you don't die? Or, maybe even worse, what if you get to the wrong...universe? It's risky."

"I know that! But if you've got any other suggestions, I'm open to them. Besides, I'm willing to take the risk. It's my hide; shouldn't it be my choice?"

Gibbs scrutinized him for a long moment, considering his words. Finally, he shrugged and nodded. "Okay, Ford. Your call."