A/N: Hm, not much to say. Still busy. Sorry if you're waiting on email(s) from me. I'll check them ASAP. Maybe this weekend; definitely by next weekend.

So far, Abby was kidnapped by McGee and taken hostage. Gibbs was given 24 hours to find her unhurt, and another 36 to find her alive. She died within the first 18 hours, and Gibbs is pissed off. He's now en route to his house, hoping to find Ari and/or McGee. And next chapter... The twist. And that, my Loves, is a promise.


Gibbs pulled out of his parking space and began his ten minute drive home on the now-deserted roads. He didn't speed, or at least not as much as he had on the way to headquarters. As he drove, he thought about his gun and how satisfactory it would be to see the bullet going through Ari's head. He had almost begun to believe that Ari would be there. Perhaps it was foolish of him, but he would at least be more than prepared. Gibbs fingered his gun, allowing his anger to seep into it for later, when he would most need it. He was worried, yes, but more than that he was prepared. If Ari could get into Gibbs' house, as Gibbs was fairly certain he could and would, he ought to know that he would be coming out as anything but alive.

Less than ten minutes later, Gibbs pulled off the side of the road about a block from his house. Maybe he was being overly cautious and paranoid, but hopefully it would pay off one way or another. Nevertheless, he pulled out his gun and held it at the ready, just in case. Gibbs crept carefully through his neighbor's lawns, feeling like an intruder as he neared his own house. The door was shut, and the lights were off: just as he had left it all. He slowed his pace and quieted his footsteps. As he darted from shadow to concealing shadow, he watched the house, his own house, for any signs of movement. Rather than risking the creaks and groans of the front porch, he crept to the door on the side of his house leading directly to his basement. Pulling out his keys, Gibbs silently unlocked the door, opened it and slid into the house, breathing silently but heavily. As he pulled the door shut, he listened intently for anyone else.

After standing there for God only knew how long without hearing anything, Gibbs felt along the wall for the light switch. Finding it, he flicked it on. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with the basement. His boat was in the middle of the basement, just where is always had been. Gibbs' eye twitched, as if anyone could move that thing anyway. His tools were all lined up on the bench, untouched.

As Gibbs moved closer, intending to go upstairs and make sure the rest of his house was impeccably in place, he noticed something wrong with his boat. His precious boat that had been the source of release for much of his frustration. His wonderful boat that he had poured so much time, effort and adoration into. His most prized possession now ruined. He let out a choked sob at the deep scars dug mercilessly into what was perhaps the one thing that had kept him going for so many years.

Crudely engraved into the lovingly sanded wood were seven words. So seemingly meaningless on their own, yet so utterly devastating when put together. There were, of course, many other deep grooves in the wood. However, they were comparatively meaningless. They were just lines; their only intention was to inflict more pain on the once proud, but now deteriorating owner of the boat that was now in the same condition.

Gibbs bit his lip, infuriated. He would not let them get to him, no matter what they did. Sure, he would get upset, and of course they would pay. But on the off-chance that they were still somewhere nearby, Gibbs would not let them have the pleasure of seeing him so affected.

He stormed up the stairs, suddenly not caring if he alerted someone that he was in the house. Upstairs was literally untouched. There was nothing moved, everything was in place. He eyed the house carefully as he flooded it with the overhead light by flicking the switch.

Suddenly he noticed what was missing. The only thing that was missing. Two years ago, for his birthday, Abby had playfully bought him a wooden sailboat. It wasn't very big, but it wasn't a toy either. It was a deep black, with elaborate gold lettering. She had lettered it herself, and lovingly named the mini-ship The Silver Fox. It had been on his mantle piece since the day he had found it on his desk, wrapped in bubble wrap, placed in a box, wrapped in silver wrapping paper and tied with a black bow. There had been a card with it, and though they had never spoken of it, the small gift had started an elaborate chain of note passing.

Gibbs was furious now. He darted into his room, hoping they hadn't taken the notes too. He yanked the drawer of his bedside table open and sighed with relief. A collection of varying pieces, colours and sizes of paper filled the drawer over halfway. Sticky notes; ripped pieces of paper; fingerprint cards; Christmas cards, birthday cards, Halloween cards, cards for almost every holiday of the year. All of these were covered in Abby's neat and creative scrawl. He closed the drawer gently, deciding to go and start his project now that his boat was destroyed.

A loud ringing suddenly filled Gibbs' ears. For a minute, he didn't understand what it was. Then, suddenly, he realized it was his cell phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"Yeah, it's Gibbs."

"Jethro, where are you?"

"Where am I? I'm at home. Why Ducky? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I was just calling to make sure you were okay. Was anyone there?"

"No, no one's here. Someone was earlier though."

"Is anything missing?"

"No Duck, nothing's missing…" Gibbs sighed. "They destroyed my boat though."

"Oh my Jethro, I'm so sorry. How did they manage that?"

Gibbs ran his hand over his face. "They dug something into it, probably with a screwdriver or something. I guess I can always sand it down if they're not too deep."

"Well, I'd say it will be at least another hour before we can do… The autopsy. I just thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks a lot. I did want to know, but I don't know if I'll be there or not, to tell you the truth."

"Of course, I understand."

"Bye Ducky."

"Good-bye Jethro."

Gibbs flipped his phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket. He knew he should rest, but he also knew that a one hour nap would only serve to make him worse. So, fatigued though he was, he went down to his basement. Rather than even looking at his boat- in fact, taking great pains not to look at his boat- Gibbs pulled out some wood. Not scrap wood, for that wouldn't ever work in a project such as this, but strong and durable cedar. He didn't often use it, as it was fairly expensive and hard to mold, but he always kept some on hand, just in case. Slowly, he began to piece together a cross. Not just two pieces of wood nailed together, such as the ones in Arlington, but an elaborate cross that would rival any in the National graveyard.

A slow smile spread across Gibbs' face as his cross began to take a noticeable form. He doubted if anyone would know the origin of the cross. But he would. He would go into Arlington every day, and never forget where he had seen it. It was, after all, forever tattooed on Abby's back. And when the wooden one was completely done, it would be just as black as the original.

Gibbs worked for almost an hour, then brushed off the sweet-smelling sawdust and went to his car. As he drove, those eight words on his boat kept coming back to her. You're so worthless you never found her.