Author's Note: Okay, so I noticed that there was at least 71 people who had read my story in the past 12 hours. Could somebody maybe possibly leave some feedback? I do appreciate constructive criticism. I sorta like this chapter, but I sorta don't. I'm trying to get Gibbs' attitude back to his normal one, but I'm finding it kinda hard to do. Anyways, if you flame, it will be ignored.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story but Lydia Kellogg. But I do think Santa's little helpers might possibly give me full ownership for Christmas this year.

Gibbs was still staring at the body bag, finger ready to squeeze the trigger, when something blocked his line of vision. No, not something, someone. A someone with a very womanly figure and a faint Irish accent.

"Hey!" The girl yelled at him. "What is wrong with you?"

Gibbs felt his arm being tugged on and his gun nearly yanked out of his hand. The foolish girl was trying to take his one permanent pain reliever away from him. What was wrong with him? More like what was wrong with her? It was apparent that she had no idea who he was; if she had, she wouldn't have even tried taking his gun from him. He was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and no one took his gun from him. As he had once said before, the only way anyone could take his gun from him would be by taking it out of his cold, dead fingers.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Gibbs yelled at the girl, yanking his arm, and his gun, away from her.

Putting her hands on her hips, she retorted, "This is my first day here at NCIS and I sure as hell will not have it start off this way!"

The girl stepped forward, putting her face nearly nose-to-nose with Gibbs', and continued, "I understand that you have someone you love currently laying on that autopsy table, but I can promise you that they wouldn't want you ending your life for nothing!"

The girl had a point, even though Gibbs had no desire to admit it. Mike would've thought him a coward and rightly told him so. Gibbs could even hear Mike's voice saying, "Probie, what are you doing? Put that gun down and man up. You have bigger fish to fry, like my killer for instance. There will be time for mourning later. For now, do your job."

After a small head shake, as if it would clear his head, Gibbs scowled at the girl, and in his deepest voice growled, "I suggest you back the hell off."

His blue eyes met with hers and what he saw there shocked him to his core. Not only were her eyes the exact shade of green that Shannon's were, he saw everything he felt at that exact moment reflected in her eyes. Pain, anger, hatred towards humanity, but mostly the sheer emptiness that came with losing nearly everyone someone had loved.

"I will back off as soon as you hand over your gun." The girl was no longer yelling, but the iciness in her voice nearly matched Gibbs' growl. Gibbs knew she was serious. Hell, she'd probably get downright annoying if she had to.

She held out her hand, while the other remained on her hip. Gibbs' eyes trailed from her hand, to his gun, and back to her hand. He sighed, then slapped the gun into her hand. Even though adrenaline was still running through his veins, he no longer felt the overwhelming urge to do himself harm. In fact, he could think much more clearly than he had in the past few hours. Gibbs was suddenly extremely tired and felt much older than he was. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep.

The girl walked to Dr. Mallard's desk, placed the gun on top of it, and walked back, stopping directly in front of Gibbs. Her eyes tried to look into his, but he wouldn't meet them. He couldn't, not after what had just happened. Any reminder of Shannon could send him over the edge again. If that were to happen, he felt that he would do this girl harm just to get to his gun. All she had done was try to help him. He risked a glance at the girl, but unfortunately for Gibbs, it wasn't unnoticed. The girl crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and crossed them again before she said anything.

"Listen," she said calmly. "I'm sorry I had to yell at you, but something tells me that you're rather important around here. Not to mention that I know how you feel, because I have been there."

Gibbs looked at her with his trademark steely gaze. "How would you know anything about what I've been through?"

The girl leaned against an unused autopsy table. "You'e lost a good friend, that much is obvious. From that haunted look in your eyes, I can see that you've lost more than a friend before this."

Gibbs raised up a hand. "Stop. Stop there. You're not going to do any of that touchy-feely headshrink mumbo jumbo on me."

She laughed. "I'm not a therapist, Agent... ?"

"Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs." She paused. "As I was saying, Agent Gibbs, I'm not a therapist, nor am I any sort of doctor. I'm simply someone who also has felt the sharp pain of loss."

"Oh yeah?" Gibbs asked. "And who exactly are you?"

The girl smiled and held out her hand.

"I thought you'd never ask." As Gibbs shook her hand, she continued, "I'm Lydia Kellogg, Dr. Mallard's new intern."

"Ducky already has an intern."

Lydia shook her head. "Jimmy Palmer is not an intern, he's Dr. Mallard's assistant. He'll take over once Dr. Mallard retires. I, on the other hand, am simply learning the tools of the trade. Speaking of which, if you don't mind, I need to call Dr. Mallard and let him know that I am here."

Lydia stepped out of autopsy, leaving Gibbs alone. He turned his back on Mike's body and studied Lydia instead. She was young, couldn't be older than 26, but the way she held herself and viewed the world around her, she seemed much wiser. She had to be smart, she was Ducky's new intern. As Lydia paced, Gibbs noticed a slight limp. The girl was bigger, maybe about Tim's size when he first came on Gibbs' team, but that wouldn't explain why she had a limp. Her size, however, was well-placed in her chest and hips. She was a readhead, but not a fiery-red, like Shannon's, nor were her locks a coppery red, like Jenny's. They were more like a very deep burgundy, with tones of an almost-purple hue. Her hair was wavy, but not frizzy, and pulled back into a long ponytail. She was dressed in a simply gray long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans; the outfit made her seem uncomfortable, like she'd rather be wearing something much dressier. Lydia didn't seem high maintenance, she seemed more like Ducky: raised in a different era than the rest of them. An era full of wisdom and propriety. How she managed to do so being under the age of 60, Gibbs doubted he would ever know.

Gibbs noticed that Lydia was done with her call and was heading back into autopsy, so he quickly looked away. Unfortunately, he happened to look right at Mike's body. His shoulders slumped, his head drooped, and he leaned against the autopsy table behind him. He felt like he was being sucked right back into his suicide mode; he knew it wasn't his time to die, yet he couldn't help the overwhelming feeling to end it all.

He didn't hear Lydia come up behind him, so he nearly jumped when she spoke.

"Agent Gibbs, Dr. Mallard is on his way back down. He told me he had left you alone with Mr. Franks-"

"Mike."

"Mike?"

"The man that lays in that body bag," Gibbs motioned with his hand towards it, "is named Mike. He'd never forgive me if I let you continue on calling him Mr. Franks."

"Oh," was all Lydia said for a moment. She then continued, "He told me he left you alone with... Mike. I told him he should probably come back down here rather quickly."

Gibbs gave Lydia a steely-eyed glare.

"I didn't tell him anything," she said, returning the glare, along with a slight smirk. "I simply told him that you were under emotional duress and should probably have a friend here."

At that moment, Ducky walked in through the autopsy doors. "Jethro," he said, "Why don't you come upstairs with me?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Lydia interrupted him. "Oh, that's ok Dr. Mallard, I can go."

Ducky looked at Lydia and nodded. "Okay, Miss Kellogg. I am terribly sorry your day started out like this, my dear. Perhaps come back tomorrow and we can start with the-" He paused, then corrected himself. "With your training."

Lydia simply said, "Ok, Dr. Mallard," and went to gather her coat and purse. Once she had gathered them, she waved to Gibbs and Ducky and quietly walked out of autopsy.

It wasn't until they heard the elevator go that either of them said anything.

"I am truly sorry, Jethro," Ducky said, sadness in his voice.

Gibbs nodded. "Me too, Duck."

Gibbs began to walk away, but Ducky asked, "Where are you going, Jethro?"

"Going to find the Port-to-Port killer, Duck."

"But, Jethro!" Ducky yelled out. "I really think you should take some time off. Let yourself grieve for awhile. You have lost so much."

Gibbs looked back at Ducky.

"You know, Ducky," he said, "I think you're right."