A week had passed or if you were counting 156 hours give or take a minute. Normally a week passed relatively slowly, the routine of a workweek had its ebb and flow. Other times it flew by especially as it was said when one was having fun. And then there were the times in life when time crawled. Gibbs looked around NCIS feeling the impotency of stagnant evidence and no leads. There had been no further revelations in the search for Ziva. Not a hint of where she had been taken to. They didn't even have straws to grasp onto. The emptiness her absence had created was like a living breathing thing that snaked its way through every part of his life. A glance at Tony and McGee told him they felt it too. He wanted to offer them some sort of comfort, any sort of assurance but he had nothing. Nothing to give anyone, he had only vengeance and retribution left in him. Ziva was the most dangerous woman he'd ever known, smart and decidedly clever. If she could have found a way free she surely would have by now.

He managed a sigh the only concession to the constant sadness that ate at him. He'd made friends with the madness that had nearly overtaken him. He shook hands with it every night and morning but he knew those around him watched him carefully waiting for him to break. He could have assured them that there was no way he would break not now, not until whoever had taken her had been made to pay. Only then would he willingly succumb to whatever hell really had planned for him. But it would have required more effort than he was willing to give and he doubted they would have believed him.

Mike watched him closer than the rest and sometimes it was all he could to keep from screaming at him to go back to Mexico. But again it was far more effort than he was willing to expend. He'd convinced his father to go back to Stillwater. He'd had to persuade him he really did need him to manage all the people from there that called, sent flowers, well wishes letting him know that even as briefly as they had visited, Ziva had made an impact on the whole town.

It didn't surprise him, as he glanced out the windows of NCIS he could see the night rapidly falling. There outside the guarded perimeters of the gates hundreds of candles flickered, balloons danced catching the lights of the candles and flowers seemed to grow upon the hard concrete. A veritable shrine had grown honoring the woman whose picture floated here and there in amidst the flowers. Despite the cold hundreds of mourners stood, sometimes praying other times singing and more chilling sometimes standing silently in prayer.

It had started with the group of women she taught self-defense to at the local YMCA. As often as she could she had volunteered her time to help women in the ability to defend themselves. Next had been a seemingly endless number of people from the Synagogue she frequented. Every time he looked out the number of people had grown. It seemed that Ziva had touched many lives. A glance to a cordoned off area revealed the equally ever present mob of press. How he loathed each and every one of them. They camped outside his home, NCIS, anywhere she'd been known to frequent, all except Haven.

Gibbs swallowed back the bitter bile that threatened every time he was reminded of the place that had taken so much from him. From the moment she had been taken his every instinct had been to rush into Haven and demand answers. But the logical part of him knew that wasn't in Ziva's best interests. For which Haven would they choose, what time of day, and with still no clue to who they were looking for what would they find? Tearing open Haven and exposing its secrets would only serve to frighten the killer into deeper hiding and any chance of finding Ziva would be lost entirely.

Biding his time was all he was left with, like an impotent man there was nothing to be done but wait. He silently raged, seethed like a caged lion waiting to attack those who had ensnared him. He prayed but God didn't listen to men like him, men who'd take far too many lives, in cold blood even. Yet still each and every night he hit his knees and begged to both her god and his that she be returned to him. He practiced at the range, worked out in the gym and just last night somewhere around two am he'd finished painting the baby's room. The soft amber he'd chosen had warmed the previously stark white walls and still stained his hands. Tonight he'd intended to put together the bookcase he'd built but the voices whispered far too loudly of death and revenge so instead he would clean the guns that still shined from two nights earlier.

He felt Tony come to stand next to him and with a quick glance around realized he'd missed the departure of nearly everyone else. He wanted to say something anything to comfort Tony, offer him something to make him feel better but there were no words. Nothing he could say would ease Tony's pain just as there was nothing to ease his own. He hadn't touched a drop of Alcohol since Eli had visited his basement. The lure of oblivion was to strong and he had work to do.

Eli for the most part had kept his distance, checking in helping in any way he could. Still even he seemed unable to bear the weight of day and rarely left his hotel suite. Clearing his throat Gibbs tried for words appalled at the ones that came out. "It's a week tonight."

Tony felt the hard knot of emotion in his throat grow larger until he was nearly suffocating on it. He had to bite hard on his lip to keep from letting his emotions spill out over his cheeks. He found he could only nod, to speak would reveal just how much the pain of her loss had worked him over. The damage might not be visible but it was there.

"I promise I will find her Tony no matter the cost I will find her and the bastard that took her." Gibbs felt the words ripped from him, vicious as they stalked the room looking for their prey, only to return and lodge inside the hate that was steadily building.

Tony drew in a deep breath and was finally able to speak. "I never had a doubt." The truth resounded in those simple words nearly an echo in the floor now left empty save the two of them. He stared out the window watching what Gibbs was watching. The choir that came nearly every night was singing it wasn't a song he recognized but it was hauntingly beautiful and something he knew Ziva would have enjoyed hearing.

He stepped back from the window the sounds suddenly too much like a funeral dirge. Pain lanced through him and he was once again nearly brought to his knees. For not the first time he wondered how Gibbs was able to bear it. A subtle glance revealed what a week of grief had done to the man standing next to him. The lines of strain and fatigue were deeper of course. But it was the utter lack of any emotion that as always caught him off guard. His face always held the same impassive expression, neither neutral nor showing any of the rage and sadness he had to be feeling. It was a look Tony knew that Gibbs had to have perfected through his previous loss. The fact he had to endure it yet again left Tony unable to help him or offer anything close to comfort.

Turning away he paused before grabbing his coat and backpack. "Call if you hear anything?" It didn't need to be said but it was better than simply walking away and goodbye was an unspoken word anymore far too final for it to pass any of their lips.

Gibbs nodded still watching the crowds with their candles and prayers of hope. "Of course." He waited for the sound of the elevator doors to swish close and only then did he allow his shoulders to lose their hard fight against gravity. His hand pressed against the glass even as his forehead found purchase against it. It was moments like this when his finely held control nearly deserted him. He had to fight to rein it back into his holding. It took a long moment of breathing deep before he could fully stand.

Again the darkness whispered, it whipped around him following his steps as he approached her desk. He watered her plants, set the bottle down but left everything else untouched. His hands went to the knife firmly strapped to his waist the call was a loud cacophony in his ears. The slide of metal on skin was tempting enough that the blade was fixed surely in his palm. When he might have lost the battle his phone vibrated against his hip breaking the spell of ambient lighting hitting the fine metal of the blade.

"Gibbs." He didn't recognize the number and for a desperate moment he thought it was her, the feminine lilt of the voice almost had him breathing normally again. Grief almost surrendered; settled back around him as he recognized the voice of Faith Coleman.

"Gibbs, any news?" Faith chewed her fingernails knowing he wouldn't tell her even if he had anything.

"No." Gibbs kept his answers short not having the energy for more.

"I tried to stop by both your home and NCIS but the crowds…I didn't want the press to make any sort of connection with JAG. They spin enough bullshit of their own." She waited for some sort of response anything to tell her they had some sort of lead. It was long in coming and the tone of his voice told her more than his words.

"We have nothing." He almost hung up, ended the call and the memory of the way she had been as entranced by Ziva as he was. But his brain forced him to work any angle he could. "Have you been there this week?"

Faith worked hard to hide the way his neutral tone forced tears from her eyes. "Yes, it's something like quiet chaos. Everyone is on edge and waiting for all hell to break loose. That first day when her….when it went public everyone thought." She broke off when the vision of Ziva wrapped as the others had been flickered in her mind.

Gibbs grabbed his coffee cup forcing down the cold stale brew, anything to push away the grief. "No point and I have no desire to ever go there again." On the off chance someone was listening he would give them nothing no hint as to where they were looking.

Faith chewed on another fingernail wishing she had something anything to help him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Gibbs sighed fatigue weighed on him but even as he stepped into the stairwell and made his way toward the gym he knew sleep wouldn't come. "No Faith but thank you." He made it clear he wanted the conversation to end.

"Of course….if at any point I can help, please don't hesitate." She heard the other end of the line cut off and hit the end button on her phone. Any gratefulness that she hadn't been taken had washed away when she'd heard the emptiness echoing in Gibbs voice. Gone was the smiling, laughing, clever man she'd known for years. Glancing at her phone she wondered if he would ever return.

Gibbs stepped into the NCIS gym gratified to find it empty. The first few nights there had been others training. After a few evenings of having awkward eyes watching him as he'd worked the heavy bag he'd considered going elsewhere. Thankfully, the night before it had been as empty as it was now. He changed into workout clothes carrying only his phone and his gun, with him to the heavy bag. It was with an almost eagerness that he set them aside and eyed the equipment before him.

He didn't' have to work to bring the anger to the surface; it always simmered just waiting to be freed of its leash. He'd thought he'd grown used to this level of loss but each day that passed twisted the pain deeper into his soul. As it wrapped around him forcing his wrapped hands again and again into the heavy leather he knew why this darkness was so insidious. Before he'd known with a surety that only a headstone and autopsy reports could bring that they were never coming back. Then nothing in his power could have brought them back. This time there was the soul scraping hollow of the unknown. He had no hint if she still breathed if their child still stirred inside her. The absurdity of the idea that he might never know kept his darkest demons waiting for their chance to feed on what was left of him.

He went through a series of push-ups, pull ups, weights and then he returned to the heavy bag. Exhaustion fought with him, pouring sweat into his eyes until they burned. His only acknowledgment was a shake of his head tossing the droplets to the ground at his feet. He could feel the equal burn of each and every muscle brought to life by his relentless pounding. Only when his rage seemed controllable again was he able to step away from the bag. His breath came in ragged gasps forcing away the taste of ashes in his mouth that came every time he thought of never knowing what had happened to her.

The shower cleansed his skin, the soap trailing away the grime of his fight with a faceless enemy. There was no refuge even under the loud roar of pounding water. The key around his neck caught the light and moved with every pulse of the overhead spray. When the grief again threatened to overtake the anger he roughly twisted off the water and went through the motions of dressing. Throwing on his coat he finally stepped out into the night. The breeze was cold on his still damp hair, he welcomed the cutting wind drawing it into his lungs relishing as it washed away the sharp ignition of grief. Through their own volition his feet took him to the flickering candles he was like the moth to flame despite his determination to stay away.

A glance at his watch told him the toll of midnight fast approached. Even so there remained mourners; thanks to the media he saw the recognition in their eyes. Not a one maintained his gaze just the briefest moment of awareness of who he was and they were looking away again. Some even stepped back making space for him allowing him a false sense of solitude. The press though dwindled in numbers was there shouting out his name, attempting to force their questions into his consciousness. He refused them even a glance. Instead the scent of roses wafted around him, at his feet were hundreds of bouquets notes of prayers attached just enough that they didn't' float away in the wind. Against the recently constructed security fence was a Star of David. Someone with a skill of metal had sculpted it into a work of art. The copper was thick and strong turned and molded into something beautifully feminine, much like Ziva. With one hand he traced the edges of the star; breathing deep he pulled his hand away clenching it tightly when again the beasts of wrath clawed at him.

He stepped away caught site of one of the security guards that had volunteered to watch the memorial. He managed a nod of respect pushing out his breath, a cloud in the night. He took one more deep lungful of the bracing night air before he could fully move. Walking away he let the night embrace him its darkness.