Disclaimer: same as every chapter before this one.

A/N: the story continues! More hurt and sorrow (sorry. there is something about Tony that makes it lovely to make him hurt I guess) but also: there is light at the end of the tunnel! Yes there is! Don't give up on reading and reviewing people, just wait and see )

Beta'd by NcisRulz, but still: any mistakes are mine. No one is perfect :P

I LOVE season 6 so far. And I've finaly pulled it off: my boyfriend is addicted now too grins evil

It ends tonight

Tony laid his head back against the couch, closed his eyes and let himself being engulfed by the music that boomed out of his surround sound set. He had cranked up the volume, despite his neighbors, but sometimes you just needed something like AC/DC: pure and very loud hard rock. It was music he had used in the gym some times, slamming all the stress into a punching bag to the beat of Thunderstruck. But with the absence of a punching bag he had done a work out with the exercises they had recommended in the hospital. He didn't really see the sense of them, but it felt good to do them. And now he had set the song on repeat and just sat back and relaxed, feeling the stress disappearing from his body. More importantly: the music was so loud there was no room to think. He didn't hear the knocks on his door, or the picking of the lock that followed a few minutes later. He didn't notice the movements of the person who sneaked into the room.

Ziva had knocked on the door until her hands hurt, and had enough of it. The lock was picked in less than a minute, and she let herself in. Not sure what to expect she moved quietly. She felt as if the music was too loud to be a good sign. But when her eyes felt upon Tony, she froze on the spot. He sat on his couch, his eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful and young that she thought for a moment that he was dead. The same moment she noticed his chest moving up and down and a sigh of relief escaped her. With two steps she stood by the stereo and turned it off.

Tony sat up straight immediately, his hand to his non-existent sidearm, before he saw it was Ziva.

'Ziva! That you hate me, fine, but to scare the living daylights out of me is a bit of overkill don't you think?' he growled.

'I didn't mean to scare you. And the daylight is gone already,' Ziva gestured with her hand vaguely to the outside world. Tony wanted to explain the expression when he noticed Ziva's appearance. Her hair was frizzy, she wore a NCIS jogging suit and there was a small bruise on her face.

'What the hell happened to you?'

'We found Field, he escaped with a boat. I dove after him but was too late,'

'You dove . . . after a serial killer . . . in a boat…' Tony summed up; shocked about the risk she had taken.

'Well, technically, I missed the boat. But that was the plan,'

'I'm glad that your plan failed!'

'Really? Because after what I've said today I thought you would hate me. No, don't say anything Tony. I'm sorry. I am really sorry. You of all people are not a coward or a traitor. You aren't pathetic. I should never have said that,' she had talked quickly because she wanted it to get over with. Tony looked at her intently.

'Can you say something?'

'What changed your mind?'

'Gibbs. He walked away, betrayed by his superiors. You walked away, feeling betrayed by your body,' Tony thought about that for a second. Then he leaned back again against his couch.

'There are a few beers in the fridge. And while you're at it, can you turn the music back on?'

'Don't you have something else other than this . . . noise?' Ziva asked after a few minutes. Tony didn't open his eyes but reached blindly for the remote of his stereo. Lazily he pressed the stop button.

'The cd's are on the left shelf of the cabinet under the television,' he gestured. Ziva didn't move, but just looked at him. He opened one eye when nothing happened.

'What?'

'I am so not going to crawl to your stereo to change the music. It's your music, your apartment, you do it,' She felt as lazy as he did, trying to move as little as possible.

'You wanted different music,' Tony replied.

'You want different music too! You lowered the volume, so that means you're getting tired of this,'

'But . . . that's . . . I can't walk! You do it!'

'So now you're going to use your impairment as an excuse? I'm not buying it. So, didn't you have Sinatra or something? I like his voice,' she smiled innocent at Tony.

'Do you like to see me in that chair?' he asked bitterly.

'Nope. But you can still use your arms, so I'm not going to do that for you,' she looked very content with herself, and closed her eyes. Tony looked at her with an expression on his face that lingered between surprised and pleased. She was more lying than sitting on his couch, right beside him. The thought of pushing her off the couch came to mind, but he ignored it and instead he got into his chair and made his way to the stereo. Seconds later the powerful but yet tender voice of Frank Sinatra filled the room.

'If you dove into the water, how did you get that bruise?' Tony suddenly asked.

'That was nothing really. Field escaped from the warehouse he was hiding after Gibbs tried to shoot him. He knocked me down when he left the building. I was standing in his way,'

'Where was McGee?'

'With Gibbs inside the building,'

'And River?'

'Behind the door that Field slammed open. He's in worse shape than I am, really. He was out cool for a few minutes,'

'Out cold,' Tony corrected automatically and he took a swig from his beer. 'Too bad he escaped,'

'Gibbs will get him. Field really pissed him off,'

A few days passed without breathtaking or heart racing events. Field didn't show up again, nor did he make any more victims. Tony tried to find a job, but he didn't feel very happy about it. After posting three letters of application he went to the park. It was a sunny day, a bit cold and windy, but nevertheless sunny. He had enough of being inside all the time, and crossed the park until he found a spot in the sun but out of the wind. Behind him there was a neatly trimmed large green bush. From the left to the right lay a broad sidewalk, and in front of him was nice green lawn. Next to the green lawn lay a big pond where several older people were fishing. It was quiet, after all it was Tuesday, and people were mostly working.

His mind wandered back to the Friday, when Ziva had come by. He had enjoyed her company, and was pleasantly surprised when she refused to do things for him if he could do them himself. They hadn't talked a lot about it, but he appreciated it in a strange way. It gave him the feeling that he wasn't useless. Gibbs had said it to him, but Ziva proved it again. But when she went home again he felt immediately alone. Sombre thoughts ran through his head, and he knew that he wasn't supposed to think like he did. But it was as if dark clouds were hovering in his head, making him feel down and depressed.

Gibbs had come by too, Saturday evening, but that was more awkward than when Ziva had kept him company. Tony had wanted to talk about how he felt about the way things were, but he couldn't find the words. Gibbs hadn't stayed long, he probably felt uncomfortable too. Maybe it just wasn't the time yet. And again, after Gibbs had left, his dark mood came back. His thoughts weren't positive at all but when he tried to think of other things, it didn't work. So he watched a movie to distract himself. And another one and another one. Until he fell asleep in the middle of The Italian Job. He woke up, sweating heavily, after dreaming that he killed himself. It wasn't the first time he had had such a dream. Probably wouldn't be the last.

He remembered the Monday, when he fulfilled his promise to Abby: he had dropped by and with Abby, McGee and Ziva they had lunched in a little coffee shop near NCIS headquarters. It had been fun and they had laughed a lot. But deep down inside, even being reunited like this didn't change his dark mood. He laughed and joked with them but it was more because he wanted to have fun than that he did had fun. Every minute of their lunch he missed his job more. And when they left to go back to their jobs, he felt his heart shattering in thousand pieces. He didn't want to feel that pain again. But what could he do against it? Hell, he couldn't do much at all!

When that thought came to mind he knew he shouldn't be thinking of it. But he couldn't help it. The facade of his happy mood broke down completely when he thought about all the things he couldn't do. Memories from the last year flooded back fast and harsh. The pain in his back before he lost consciousness, the recovering in the hospital, the decision to give up trying. A bitter taste welled up in his mouth and Tony blinked a few times to suppress the tears that were trying to escape his eyes. Would it always be this hard? Would he ever really adjust to the way things were now? How the hell was this going to be worth it? Was this worth living? Could you call this living when you had ended up in a wheelchair, not being able to just get up and walk? Do things that were so normal that when you could them you didn't thought about it? It wasn't that he wanted his job back per se, well it would be great of course, but it wasn't the worst. He was getting sick and tired of people who didn't see him when he was shopping for groceries. Or worse: they did see him but acted like he was some retarded who didn't understand English. He had enough of sitting all day. He knew he had been a bit lazy sometimes, but he thought that if he could walk again he wouldn't sit for days. Just because he was able to use his legs. But this was how it was going to be. Sitting. All day long. In this wheelchair. This was how it was going to be. People who didn't look further than his wheels. He, himself not being able to perform the easiestof tasks. When he needed to get to a top floor of a building, he probably needed the help from someone else to reach for the button. He didn't want to depend on others. And if this was the way hislife was going to end . . .Tony always had had the feeling that he would die in the field. A huge shoot out. Or him catching the bullet for someone else. But if his life ended like this, he knew one thing for sure: he was not going to live it.

His right hand moved to his waist without thinking. He was so used to the feeling of a sidearm there, that he sometimes thought it had grown on him. He had left it at NCIS headquarters though. Gibbs would probably have it by now. But if he had it with him, he could end things. Right here, right now. One shot. It would end everything. No more feeling depressed or down. He wouldn't be a burden no more. To no-one. Not to Gibbs, who needed to be focused in the field. Not to Ziva, who needed to get out more. Keeping an invalid company or working wasn't really the life she deserved. She didn't get out much even before he was shot, but he knew pretty sure it was even less now. Not that he had had a date in . . . Ho, don't even go there DiNozzo, it's bad enough already. He thought about the spare gun in his sock drawer. He knew for a fact that in the same drawer lay a clip of bullets.

He knew he was going on a dangerous path. But getting his spare and the bullets didn't mean immediately that he was going to pull the trigger. Maybe he would end up on the shooting range for a quick session. Or maybe he would set the gun to his head and pull the trigger one last time. That thought somehow brought a strangely reassuring feeling with it.

Gibbs had a gut feeling. He couldn't place where it came from. Field hadn't been seen again. His agents weren't out in the field, they all sat safely behind their desks, doing paperwork. All but one of course . . . it still was strange to see River behind Tony's desk. Tony had always made a mess of it, but River was a neat person. Gibbs remembered the million times he had said something about Tony's sloppiness, but now he missed it. Well, not really the sloppiness. It just came with the whole package, and that was gone. Their last talk had been strange and uncomfortable. Gibbs had wanted to say so much, but he just wasn't the guy to talk about emotions. So he had left. And now he had the idea that there was something going to happen. He reached for the phone to give him a call, but it started to ring. Another case. He would call DiNozzo this evening, he promised himself.

Fifteen minutes after Tony had left the park, he entered his apartment. He didn't waste time and within five minutes he had found the gun and the clip with bullets and placed them at his waist. Without looking back he left his apartment again.

He went back to the park where he had sat before. It was a nice place, quiet and peaceful. The thought of going to the shooting range hadn't crossed his mind once, after getting his gun. In the warmth of the sun he sat. It was as if remembering the past had broken a dam in his head. Past and present were colliding, with a hint of the future mixed within. It was scaring him. He looked down at the gun, took it in his hands. It felt comfortable. The thought of being able to do this made him feel at ease.

Gibbs became grumpier with each minute. They were taking care of the crime scene where a lieutenant was killed. But instead of concentrating on the case, his mind wandered again and again to Tony. He just knew something was off.

His cell phone rang suddenly, DiNozzo.

'Gibbs,'

'Boss, it's me,'

'What's up DiNozzo?'

'Nothing really, just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you've done for me lately. And before that. You were always there for me,'

Gibbs scrunched his brow. This was rather unusual.

'Not a problem Tony. I'm glad I could help,'

'Could you give my greetings to Ziva and Probie?'

'Yeah sure but . . .'

'And don't go to harsh on them, okay?'

Gibbs tried to say something but Tony hung up on him. This really was very strange. It sounded as if Tony had said goodbye. His mind started working at lighting-speed and he made a decision.

'Ziva, call Jenny and tell her to send in another team. We've got more important things to do,' he barked. Ziva looked up and just nodded, grabbing her phone.

'What's wrong Gibbs? Is Field spotted again?' River asked anxiously.

'No, that was Tony. McGee! Trace Tony's cell. Now!'

'Boss . . . we don't have a connection here to the internet . . .'

'Call Abby!'

McGee called and told Abby what she needed to do.

'What's wrong with Tony Tim?'

'I have no idea, just do it as fast as possible okay?'

'Hang on, I'm getting there . . .'

A minute later she had it. Without saying thanks McGee hung up his phone.

'Boss! Found it! He's somewhere in the park near his apartment,'

'Is the new team underway?'

'Yeah, but the Director asked why you dropped the case,' Ziva answered quickly.

'I'll explain later. Get in the car. I'm afraid we haven't much time,'

A minute later they drove away from the crime scene, Gibbs behind the wheel, Ziva driving shotgun and McGee in the back trying frantically to keep his laptop in one piece. Gibbs had ordered River to stay behind so that he could update the new team about the case.

'Gibbs, what's wrong with Tony?' Ziva asked, sitting pretty relaxed in the passenger's seat despite Gibbs' outrageous driving; then again, she drove like that all the time.

'He just called me, saying goodbye,'

'Goodbye? But where is he going,' Gibbs glanced at her, but didn't answer Ziva's question. He couldn't say it out loud. If he said it out loud it sounded much worse than in his head.

Tony didn't look around when he took the gun up. He pulled the safety off and a bark sounded in front of him. Tony looked up, and saw a black dog sitting a few feet away from him, wagging her tail.

'What?'

Another bark was the answer.

'What are you looking at?'

The dog got up, walked over and placed her paws on Tony's lap. With her nose she nudged his hand, and a soft growling escaped between her jaws. Tony froze. If that dog was going to bite him . . . slowly he pulled his hand away. The dog looked at him, head tilted a bit, and barked again, softly. It was as if it gave him a warning.

'I can shoot you and me, you know that right?' Tony asked.

'Woof!' The dog jumped on the ground, and just looked at Tony. Tony didn't know what to think. He had never had a thing for dogs. They didn't really seem to like him that much. The feeling was mutual. But this dog looked and sounded as if she understood him when he talked to her.

'You really think I like what I'm doing?' He asked. God this was stupid. Spilling his guts to a dog! He didn't get an answer from the dog, just a look.

'Yeah, well, you can talk easily. Four paws, no wheels. I'm handicapped. For life. I hate my life, I hate myself, I can't do the things I love most,' a soft howl came asa response. 'No, I'm not talking about sex! Well I miss it, can't argue there. But all those girls, they never meant anything. Ever. But after feeling alone and hated for most of your youth, believe me, it's nice to have someone around who likes you. Even if it's just for a few hours!'

The dog lay down, giving a soft growl as answer as if she wanted him to continue.

'But I'm talking about chasing the bad guys, going over cases, following leads, discussing the evidence and leads, working together long nights to solve a case, messing around with Probie, trying to get Ziva pissed . . . We were more a family than a team sometimes. I miss that the most. And it will never come back. So if you just could leave me alone, I can finish this. Please . . .' Tony's voice broke down, and he got a better grip around the gun. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The blue sedan stopped with shrieking tires before the park entrance. Gibbs got out and started running, followed closely by McGee and Ziva. They stopped at an intersection, trying to figure out which way to go, when a shot rang through the park. Like a bloodhound Gibbs went left and sprinted further. They chased passed a pond, passing several people who looked bewildered, not knowing what had happened. Gibbs almost ran past it, when Ziva yelled at him.

'Gibbs! There!' In a small recess they saw a wheelchair lying on his side, two legs sprawled underneath it and a dog standing nearby it. Seconds later they kneeled beside Tony.

'Tony, are you alright?' Gibbs asked, an unfamiliar tenderness in his voice. There was no blood spilling, which was a big relief.

'I'm fine,' grunted Tony. 'Blame that stupid dog.' The dog looked at them, growling. The gun lay between her paws.

'What the hell happened DiNozzo!' Gibbs asked. Tony didn't answer; he sat up and pushed his wheelchair away.

'Tony . . .' Still no answer. Tony finally set his chair back up, and tried to get in. But it seemed as if all his strength had left his body. His arm started shaking. Without a word, Gibbs pulled him up and settled Tony back in his chair. Two strong arms were put around him. He recognized the smell of wood and coffee. Finally, he gave in. After months putting up a mask, he let it go. He sighed, and leant into the gentle embrace. Tears started to flow down his cheeks, he didn't stop them. It was enough. It had been too much for too long.

Gibbs felt how his shirt became wet from tears. He rocked Tony as if he was a little child. In some ways, he was a little kid, craving comfort. And he finally allowed himself to receive it.

'It's going to be okay, kid, really,' he whispered.

'I can't do it Boss. I don't want to live like this,'

'You don't have to, Tony. But did you really want to end things like this?'

'I don't know any other way,'

'Then we will help you find it. Because I'm done with it. You stop here and now with doing crazy things you don't want to do. It ends tonight Tony. You will talk, and I will listen. I don't care how long I have to push and prod you, you will talk. If I have to lock you up in my basement, fine. If you want to yell or scream or get drunk, fine. If you want to talk to Ziva or McGee or Abby or Jenny, fine. But I'll be there. And you will talk. Because I'm guessing that if it wasn't for that dog, we probably would have been too late. We care too much for you to let you get off that easily. Do you understand that?'

Tony nodded, his face still buried in Gibbs' shirt. McGee and Ziva just stood there, not knowing what to do. Finally Ziva walked to the dog, who still was standing over the gun. Without growling or barking, the dog stepped aside and let Ziva take the gun. Carefully she tucked it away.

They drove to Gibbs' home after leaving the park. It seemed the most obvious thing to do. After a short phone call Abby and Ducky had joined them. And finally, Tony talked. And talked. Until his throat felt sore and he had the feeling he had repeated everything ten times. They sat together in the living room, first with coffee and later something stronger. Tony talked about everything he had felt the last months. The pain in his body, the pain in his soul. The reasons he gave up and the reasons he wanted to end his life. Feeling useless, alone and betrayed made him quit. Quitting made him feeling depressed, and that depressed feeling made him wanting to end things. He cried more than he had ever done in his life, but nobody laughed about that. When things were too tough to talk further he found support in the one who wa

s sitting next to him at that point. With a big hug or a simple touch. It gave him the strength to continue.

But Tony wasn't the only one who talked. They all talked, and for the first time Tony realized how hard it had been for his team members that he was injured. He never had thought that he was important in the team. But they genuinely missed him, and all wanted him back. His heart was filled with happiness and joy and at the same time pain and sorrow when he heard them speaking like that. He wasn't alone or a burden. He was needed. They appreciated him and they loved him all in their own way. And besides that they had felt guilt about not being able to save him, not being able to help him out. They felt lost without him, even though he wasn't their team leader.

'Tony, who was that dog actually?' Abby suddenly asked.

'Don't know Abs. It just showed up. When I wanted to . . . you know, shoot, it jumped at my arm. I lost balance and fell over. When I hit the ground I had pulled the trigger but missed by miles – obviously,'

'We should find that dog. He saved your life,' Abby nodded.

'She,' corrected Tony.

'How do you know that?'

'Have no idea, just a feeling that it was a female dog,'

They sat a few minutes in silence. Tony on the couch with Abby and Gibbs, Ziva curled up in a chair and McGee and Ducky shared the smaller couch.

'Do you think that maybe. . . I don't know, could it be Kate?' Abby asked quietly. 'She would never have agreed with you committing suicide. Maybe she decided to stop you?'

'I'm not really a believer in reincarnation Abs,' Tony said softly. 'But I have to admit that for a dog she didn't act very doglike,'

After hours Tony wanted to go home, but Gibbs simply refused to drive him. He didn't want to let Tony out of his sight so soon after a suicide attempt.

'Gibbs, how do you want me to get up the stairs?'

'I'll take down a mattress or something. You are staying here. A depression you went through is not fixed this easily, got that?'

'But Boss!'

'You are staying here tonight. And that's final!'

Tony rolled his eyes, he felt positive about being able to go home. But wheeling all the way down there wasn't an attractive prospect, so he stayed. Gibbs walked up and down the stairs a few times, and made up a bed in his living room. It was an old stretcher with a mattress that looked like it wasn't used in years. After the doubtful look in Tony's eyes, Gibbs gave him a half smile.

'Kelly used to sleep on this when she was on a school trip or something,' he turned around and walked to his basement.

It was after four in the morning when Gibbs woke up. He didn't know at first what had woke him up, until he heard some moaning. Tony. He crawled away underneath his boat and went up to the living room.

Tony was moaning and talking in his sleep. He clearly was dreaming something and he was completely wrapped up in his blankets.

'Can't do this . . .' Tony mumbled, tossing his head from one side to the other. 'Too hard . . . pain. . .' Gibbs sat next to him, and tried to wake him up.

'Tony, it's all right. Everything will be fine, Tony, I promise,'

'Gun . . . failure . . . dad was right . . .'

'Tony! Wake up!' Gibbs shook his shoulders, and suddenly Tony sat up straight.

'What . . . where am I?'

'At my place. What were you dreaming about?'

'That I tried to kill myself again, and my dad was standing in front of me, and he just laughed when I missed. I tried again, placed the gun at my head, but somehow I missed . . . couldn't even do that right,' he said with a wry smile.

'Your dad, DiNozzo . . . I have the feeling that he isn't really cut out to be a dad. Or maybe he just wasn't good at being your dad. But you can't let him get to you like this. Have you had contact with him lately?'

'Haven't seen him in years,'

'Than why should he be your judge? You are not a failure Tony. Look at the things you've accomplished, and then judge for yourself. And even if you think you've failed at your life, you are the one who can fix that. Because you can do anything you set your mind to. Got that?'

'Thanks Boss,'

'Anytime. Coffee?' Tony laughed. Maybe it wasn't a bad choice to stay at Gibbs' place after all.

Gibbs looked at the building in front of him. It had taken a few phone calls, but he wasn't a team leader at NCIS for nothing so tracing this lady wasn't a big problem. With the standard foam cup of coffee he entered. A woman with red hair, looking like she was in her thirties, sat behind a desk which was covered with papers and maps.

'Can I help you sir?' she asked Gibbs without looking up. A smile crept over Gibbs' face.

'I hope you can, miss . . .'

'Roberts,'

'Well, Miss Roberts, I'm looking for a dog. And if I'm correct, she was brought in here last night?' He smiled at her patiently. Finally miss Roberts looked up. Her eyes travelled from his silver hair to his blue eyes and soft smile. Suddenly she looked a lot happier.

'You can call me Denise, and there were brought in five dogs yesterday. Do you know a name or something?'

'I'm afraid not Denise. I only know that it was probably a female dog, completely black with a little bit grey around the jaws,'

'Very well, if you could walk with me? They are all in the back,'

They walked through a door behind the desk, through a hallway. At the end they went left, and entered a large hall with, on both sides, large kennels. Each kennel contained one or two dogs, depending on the size. Gibbs let his eyes wander over the kennels. Suddenly he saw her: at the last kennel, looking straight at him with her tail wagging.

'That's her,' he pointed out.

'Alright then. She picked up a folder at the door of the kennel.

'She's called Laika. Apparently she's been here before, but got away last week. Every dog that comes in here, or any other shelter for that matter, is chipped, so we can keep track of them. This one was sent to a shelter after her last owner died. A gunnery sergeant, named Joseph Bell. After his second round in Afghanistan he got depressed and committed suicide. Too bad. Laika stayed with him until they found him, that was five days later,'

'A gunnery sergeant that killed himself?'

'I'm afraid so, poor thing,'

'She seems to betrained very well. Why hasn't anyone picked her up?'

'I'm afraid that people think she's too old. Laika is ten years, people like a younger dog better. They think they can't train Laika like they want to,'

Gibbs looked down at the dog who was standing now.

'Sit,' he said. Laika sat down. 'Down,' Laika lay down flat on the floor, her eyes not leaving his. That wasn't bad at all. Gibbs wondered what he could try next. This dog belonged to a marine once. So what should a marine teach a dog? He made a rolling movement with his finger. Laika rolled over. Gibbs went on his knees, and gestured Laika to come closer. She did. He pointed to the left. Laika walked to the left side of the kennel. Gibbs knew enough. He got up again, and smiled at Denise.

'If it's okay with you, I would like to take Laika with me,'

'You'll have to fill out this form, and there may be a check up soon. We like to know for sure that our dogs get a good home. Other than that, you're good to go,'

Tony was bored. He had watched television, but there was nothing on. And Gibbs didn't own any movies, so watching that wasn't an option. Now he was making wheelies in his wheelchair, a trick he had mastered pretty well.

'If you fall flat, it's not my fault,' Tony wheeled around and saw Gibbs standing behind him.

'Couldn't help myself. Where did you go?'

'Out. Had to get something for you. Someone actually,'

'Not my dad . . .' Gibbs whistled on his fingers and moments later a big black hairy something jumped up at Tony.

'Easy Laika, he might think you're crazy,' Gibbs smirked. Laika barked and licked Tony's face.

'Boss, this is that dog from yesterday!'

'Well, I'm glad that your detective skills are still intact,'

'Where did you get her?'

'Found her in a shelter. She's trained by a marine, who committed suicide, so I'm guessing it explains why she doesn't like guns,'

'Did he shoot himself?'

'I didn't asked. But I thought she might be a good way to get your mind off of things,'

Tony looked at Laika, who had sat down at his feet. The dog looked somehow very content and at ease. A dog. He never had had pets, let alone a dog. It would be nice, to have some company when he was alone.

'Yeah, I think I would like her,' Laika barked one more time, as if she wanted to say that that was obvious.

'Good. By the way, I've got the feeling she's more trained than you are,' Gibbs grinned.