Many more thanks to my reviewers. Although I can't help noticing I seem to get at least ten times as many hits as I do reviews…

There is a very minor crossover in this chapter, but it doesn't matter if you've never seen NYPD Blue…

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Chapter 6: If

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Gibbs looked up as a second visitor arrived, the dregs of Fornell's coffee long cold. It was the detective who'd questioned him earlier, an older man who was clearly sympathetic to his plight.

"Detective Sipowicz," he said warily. "Is the NCIS team here already?"

"Looks like they won't be needed after all. I had a call from the hospital; DiNozzo's not pressing charges. You're free to go, Agent Gibbs."

Wearily, Gibbs rose, his movements stiff and mechanical. He winced, stumbling slightly as the many aches and pains he'd been ignoring made themselves known, and the other man caught at his arm to steady him.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I would have done exactly the same in your position."

"Why?" Asked Gibbs, staring down into the cop's sorrowful brown eyes. "It doesn't change anything; doesn't bring him back. I still have to go home and organise the funeral."

"You're not the only one to have lost a partner; or a child." The detective handed over a card. "I chose the bottle to try and forget; give me a call when you're ready to remember."

"Thanks," replied Gibbs, genuinely grateful.

"You need a ride to the airport?" The cop asked gruffly.

"No; Fornell's still around here somewhere. But I do need a favour."

"Sure; as long as it's legal."

"If you speak to DiNozzo, tell him to stay the hell away from me and my team."

"That, I can do," the detective assured him.

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Almost as soon as Gibbs and Fornell had stepped off the plane at Dulles, both their cell phones rang almost simultaneously. Each had a brief conversation and then hung up.

"I'm sorry, Jethro," said Fornell, apologetically. "That was my boss; he wants me to get my ass back to work and explain exactly how I wound up in New York with you when I should have been here filing paperwork."

"Mine was Morrow," said Gibbs. "He's pissed too. Wants to meet ASAP."

"You gonna be OK?" The FBI agent asked. "You're still pretty banged up."

"I'll be fine, Tobias. And... Thanks, for coming with me."

"Anytime, Jethro. Call me if you need anything else."

"I will."

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Gibbs made his way down to his basement on autopilot, his surroundings barely registering. Morrow had managed to be exasperated, concerned and sympathetic all at once. He'd ordered Gibbs to take a vacation and then stopped dead when the former Marine handed over his badge and gun.

"I'm taking time off, Tom," he said. "You can call it vacation or suspension or whatever the hell you want. And if I decide to come back, you'll be the first to know."

"If?" Asked Morrow, shocked.

"I... I don't know that I can do this any more." Gibbs' voice actually trembled slightly. "I'll stay for the funeral and then... I don't know. Just tell the others I went away for a while. And... Take good care of them?"

"I will, Jethro, as best I can," he promised sincerely.

Gibbs grabbed the bourbon off the shelf and slumped to the ground, leaning back against the hull of his boat. The NCIS agent was numb, inside and out, unable to come to terms with the events of the previous forty eight hours. He removed the cap and took a long swallow of the alcohol, feeling it burn its way down his throat. When the bottle was empty, he flung it away in sudden rage, to smash against the wooden stairs. And then the tears came.

Gibbs hadn't cried since he lost his daughter, Kelly, thirteen years ago. But now he buried his face in his hands while his body shook with the overwhelming force of his grief. The loss of a child was no less painful the second time; and no less because the bond was not of blood. He wept until exhaustion and alcohol finally lulled him to sleep.

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Sorry it was so short and bitty, everyone; I've had a really nasty bug this week and I haven't really felt like writing.