Gibbs stared in the mirror. It had been nineteen days since she'd been taken. Nineteen days that had twisted into a dark ugly maze he couldn't find his way out of. Every part of his body burned with pain, muscles pushed too far, not enough food and the pain of her loss all weighing heavy on him. Splashing his face with water he went through the ritual of shaving. His arms gave a twinge of protest. The hours that stretched past midnight in the gym were carving out changes on his body. He grimaced he hadn't worked out as much since his thirties. But if he worked out he didn't think as much, plus he could mete out his pain on whatever apparatus was available. He didn't dare spar with a real person, the rage simmered far too close to the edge.

Glancing at his hands he saw a trickle of blood run across his palm and realized he'd broken the razor in his hand. For a moment the blood taunted him reminding him of the smears on his walls. He watched it drip steadily into the drain each drop knifing through him, reminding him of his failure. Tossing the razor in the garbage he rinsed his hands and ignoring the fresh wound moved to their room to dress. He had to work hard not to notice her robe lying across the chair, her hairbrush on the dresser or the book she'd been reading on modern warfare. But it was harder to ignore her mirror. A special find at a swap meet they'd gone to. It stood in the corner mocking him, reminding him of the mornings she'd stood here letting him watch her dress. Turning his back to the mirror before he forced his fist through it he threw on clothes. He didn't care about what he wore but he was careful with the weapons. No less than three guns and two knives were his norm now. It was the knives that hurt to put on, that reminder of her were almost his undoing. He tossed his laundry in the basket, straightened the sheets and moved to lay the comforter down when he caught her scent. He whirled around almost certain she'd suddenly returned only to pause and realize it came from her pillow. Picking it up he held it to his face, at night he caught her scent but it was fading. He hadn't washed it but the delicate perfume she wore had begun to drift away. Still as he pressed the soft cotton to his nose he caught the whiff again. Pain shot through him, grief burning his retinas. With a strength he didn't have he set the pillow back down and finished making the bed.

It took a full five minutes to regain control, to stifle the pain and remove all evidence of his mourning before he could begin to make his way downstairs. Mike waited despite his efforts to make the man leave. There were times he wanted to bodily remove him from his house but most of the time he just didn't care. Mike cooked, Gibbs ate. He drank the coffee he made and sometimes they watched TV most of the time Gibbs hardly noticed him.

As he entered the kitchen he smelled bacon and eggs and felt his stomach roll. Food pissed him off, hell the air pissed him off lately. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at the table trying not to hurl at the sight of the plate in front of him.

"Eat probie." Mike caught the glare Gibbs gave him, watched the other man's fists clench and wondered if it would be an argument. Most of the time Gibbs didn't speak unless he had to, when he did the words were laced with anger, grief or a tone that scared the hell out of Mike. It was hard to scare a man as old as him yet Gibbs managed on a nearly daily basis. Losing Ziva had pushed him over the edge or at the very least had him hanging on by his fingernails and Mike wasn't sure they'd be able to pull him back.

Mike had been certain they'd find her quickly. Ziva was a damn fine agent, powerful, strong, devious and yet they'd found nothing. He had to hide how much that worried him. Every day that the search dragged on Gibbs withdrew more and more. Everyone noticed it was hard not to. Rage clouded his every move.

Gibbs had managed to eat enough at least to satisfy Mike. Pushing his plate away he managed a rough thank you and set his dishes in the sink. Mike was behind him as they moved to the front door. Gibbs grabbed his jacket, trying to ignore the question that always came with that movement. Was she warm, was she cold, had she been fed, was she alive? Her back pack hung on the hook where she'd left it and this time he couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers trail across the buckles. He pushed the questions away forcing the resulting images down into the darkness as well.

They arrived at NCIS but Gibbs had other plans. He let Mike get out and then settled into the driver's seat. "I'll be back."

Mike watched Gibbs drive away and cursed. The team as a whole had been watching him, guarding him but the man wasn't one to be babysat. Sighing deeply he made his way upstairs.

Gibbs parked outside the building he'd spotted on the way into work and just sat there. The clock on the dash along with its accompanying date ground into every pore, Ziva was likely not coming back. He couldn't, didn't want to accept that but it was far more of a reality than the idea that she was still out there somewhere. The thought of living without her and their child made him want to scream in rage, to end the pain that ate at him every waking moment. But he would hold until she was found. Even if it meant finding only her body he would persevere and only then would he surrender. Sighing he pulled himself from the car and stepped into the building.

Max was about to tell the man that walked in that the shop wasn't open yet. But as she focused on him she felt a sadness envelope her. As an artist she studied many things, and she knew people the man in front of her seemed to walk in a dark cloud of pain and anger. "How can I help you?"

For a moment Gibbs glanced around unsure, wondering how he would do this. Should he lie? As soon as the thought was there it was gone. "I need a tattoo.." the words sounded ridiculous considering he was in a tattoo parlor but the woman in front of him only smiled. She was pretty, light brown hair and soft green eyes. She was friendly but just that. She maintained a careful distance and he wondered if he really looked that dangerous.

Max nodded "Of course. What would you like?" She watched naked pain cross the man's face and he looked quickly around. "We're alone. I opened early to do some paperwork." She wanted to soothe his pain, to ease his burden but it was far too heavy.

Gibbs held out a piece of paper showed it to her trying to keep his hand from shaking. "I want to start with this but if…." Gibbs cleared his throat loathing the emotion that had slipped through. "It's likely I will need a new one each day. You probably don't work every day but…" He stopped talking when his throat grew tight.

"I can be here. Do you know for how long?" Max wished she hadn't asked, the grief returned along with rage and a shifting of his demeanor that spoke of vengeance.

Gibbs glanced up at the ceiling and then down again at the woman in front of him. "No."

Max nodded and pointed to a nearby chair at her workstation. "Will you please sit down while I get ready."

Gibbs sat, running his hands across his thighs. His phone beeped, then rang and he ignored it. When he pushed aside his jacket to silence the phone he saw her catch sight of his gun. "I won't hurt you I'm sorry." He moved the other side of his jacket away showing her his badge.

"I already knew that but thank you." She watched his brows meet in confusion and she only smiled. "Where would you like this placed?" she watched as he held out his forearm after rolling up his sleeve. His arms were strong, unmarked by previous ink. "Have you had a tattoo before?"

"No."

"You understand that this will be very visible." It was the same conversation she had with all her clients, even as she spoke she handed him the necessary paperwork.

"That's the idea." Gibbs swallowed around the ever ebbing and flowing tide of grief. "I don't want to ever forget." He voice almost broke, almost gave way to tears but he held himself still. She noticed but said nothing.

"I'm going to sterilize your arm as soon as the ink is ready and then we'll begin. It can hurt."

Gibbs managed a painful crooked smile. "Everything hurts." He almost clapped his hand across his mouth wondering what the hell had possessed him to say such a thing.

"What is your name, if I may ask? I'm Max short for Maxima." She rolled her eyes and watched him almost smile again. "My mother had a thing for powerful names."

"Gibbs." He watched her opening a small container of ink, smelled antiseptic as she opened a bottle. She was putting on gloves prepping the area. The gloves made him think of the ones he wore while working crime scenes. One time Ziva had been in a mood and blown one up like a balloon. He stolen it from her hands and thumped her on the head with it. When no one had been looking he'd stolen a kiss. They'd found no strange prints in his house which meant whoever had taken Ziva had worn gloves. His stomach rolled and he had to breathe deep to fight the nausea.

Max watched the man in front of her nearly disappear in front of her. He was still solid in form but his mind was far from the moment. Lost in something she couldn't put a name to. Suddenly his blue eyes were snapping back to hers filled with the pain she'd come to associate with him. "Would you like me to begin?"

Gibbs could only nod letting his arm rest on the padded area. He felt the cool wash of the antiseptic, heard the buzz of the gun as she turned it on. He watched as the needles met skin, expected to feel something, anything even the faint hint of a sting and found he felt nothing.

Max drew each line with more precision than she ever had before. Whatever the meaning this ink had for him it had him shaking ever so slightly. It wasn't pain at least not from the inking process it was something far deeper. Such simple lines but somehow she knew there was nothing simple about them.

"Just eighteen Max, the days not over yet." He gave a little away then knew it from the way she paused briefly. She nodded in agreement and continued. In only moments she was done. She cleaned it again and he looked down at it. Eighteen black hash marks, one for every day Ziva had been gone. One for every day he'd failed to find her. They worked their way up his forearm and would continue to do so. "Thank you."

Max bit back her own tears uncertain why this man and his grief would affect her so much. Others came with their grief and yet.. "You're welcome." She took in a breath afraid to ask. "You said you wanted to come every day?"

Gibbs watched as she wiped down his arm one last time before tossing aside the trash. He accepted the aftercare instructions and nodded at her. "Will this time work or is later better?"

"This time works." She followed him into the lobby and saw the paperboy leaving. She gave a wave as he ducked out. Gibbs stared at the paper before speaking to her.

"May I?"

"Of course." Max saw him open the paper stare at the front page, swallow hard and then set it back down.

"How much do I owe you?" Gibbs pulled out his wallet only to watch her shake her head.

"When we're done you can worry about it." Again pain flickered in his eyes.

"It may be some time Max." Gibbs hated the words, hated the truth in them.

"I can wait." Max saw him nod he tried to smile then shrugged and left the shop.

Only when she'd seen him leave the parking lot did she allow herself to pick up the newspaper. There on the front page was a picture of a beautiful dark haired woman, and the very man who'd just been in her shop sharing a smile. The story that followed made her understand his grief, his pain and the very reason why he'd come. She watched a drop of water hit the paper, felt the tears running down her face and didn't even bother to try to stop. Never before had she hoped to not have a repeat customer.

Gibbs stepped into NCIS hoping there would be the buzz of noise that accompanied new information. The quiet wasn't surprising but it was unwelcome. Tony looked at him and shook his head indicating there was nothing new. Gibbs grabbed a bottle of water, walked to Ziva's desk watered her plants and walked back to his desk. It was the same routine every day. Next he pulled out the file on Haven once again sorting through the photos trying to decide which of the men locked in the glossy photos had taken his wife, had stolen his child.

Gibbs drove on auto pilot wondering how long it would be before the lack of sleep won the war with his energy reserves. He managed an hour or so here and there but the more days that passed the more elusive the sandman became. Just last night he'd spent most of the night sitting in silence with Eli. There hadn't been much to talk about but the man had been required to return to Israel for over a week so Gibbs had felt it only appropriate to touch base with him. Gibbs had accepted the Torah Eli had silently offered him, form the writing in the margins he could tell it had been Ziva's. That familiar scrawling had bitten deep reminding him of the notes she would leave him. Little yellow stickies of love and affection here and there lost to him now. He shook his head and pulled himself from the car breathing in the early morning air.

Max watched Gibbs pull into the parking lot of her shop. It was day thirty one and she'd hoped against hope not to see him pull in this morning. Late into the night she'd prayed that today would be the day she came to work early for nothing. Yet there was his car, and as he stepped out his demeanor was just that much darker. There was a bite in the air this morning and he wore a jacket to compensate. As always he took a brief look around before stepping into her shop. As had become their routine she had coffee ready. Scalding hot and strong as tar it was a ridiculously small thing to do but the echo of a smile it brought was worth the effort. He carried a bag from a nearby bakery and she smiled even though she knew he wouldn't

Gibbs stepped into the shop and smelled coffee. In another time he might have smiled today he simply nodded and handed the bag over to Max. "Brought you a treat. Hope that's okay." For a moment when he'd stopped to grab a doughnut he'd felt slightly guilty. What would Ziva think of him buying a pastry for someone else a female someone else? But then he'd smacked his head. Max was a friend and nothing more. She happened to be female yes but he had zero romantic feelings for her. She was instead someone who didn't walk on eggshells around him. She talked about her day, her worries, her son and her life. A distraction when every other moment of his life was steeped in grief. Max knew it and he knew it.

"Thanks." Max peeked in the bag and pulled out two sweets and pushed one at him across the reception counter. "Eat and I will."

Gibbs shook his head. "You sound like Mike or Tony." Still he ate and drank the coffee she poured. The gym and long hours were taking their toll and if he didn't eat he couldn't think clearly.

"How is your team doing?" she never held back with him. Asked the hard questions because she knew he needed to talk and she was a virtual stranger that in better moments he might call friend. Someone who didn't judge his every movement.

"Abby is taking it hard, especially as time goes by. Ducky and McGee work the evidence but don't say much. Mike is how he always is watchful, helpful, annoying….good to have around I guess. Tony seems to be taking it the hardest. Not obviously of course but it's wearing on him." He saw Max nod and thought perhaps maybe she really did understand.

"Aside from you that is." Max expected the classic shut down, the strong silence he normally gave her. Instead he nodded and took a sip of coffee.

"I miss her. I thought I would get used to it, or even get to the point where it wasn't like that first night. But it's the same…. exactly the same every day." Gibbs had long since given up on trying to figure out why he could talk to this woman and instead just accepted it. They'd finished eating and as he cleansed his hands he saw her step to the work station. He rolled up his sleeve and sat like he did every morning. She inspected the healing marks and only when satisfied did she turn on the gun. The sound familiar and unwelcome at the same time had him holding in the grief that always threatened to spill over.