***Disclaimer: see previous

After the elevator doors closed, Lizzy stood for a full minute, trying desperately to compose herself. She was shaking slightly, more out of anger than anything else. She turned on her heel to return to her desk and ran head on into a Marine Sgt. The papers that were in his hands fluttered to the ground. Lizzy felt pain shoot through her left arm as she stepped back. She knelt down to help the Marine gather up his papers, apologizing profusely. When the papers had all been collected, they stood.

"Again, I'm really sorry. It's been…a day," Lizzy said as she looked up at the broad shouldered Marine.

"That bad?"

"And it's only 10am."

"I hope it gets better for you, Agent…?"

"Edwards. Sorry. Agent Elizabeth Edwards but most people call me Lizzy," she said as she smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you Agent Edwards. I'm Sgt Rivers. Mike Rivers," he said, extending his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sgt. Rivers. And again I'm sorry about running you over."

"Not a problem. I hope the rest of your day goes better than your morning," he said, slowly letting go of her hand. He smiled at her and made his way to the elevators.

She made it to her desk and sank slowly into her chair. Tears welled up in her eyes. She forced them back. This was neither the time nor the place. Dammit Gibbs, she thought. What had she done? She should have followed him to the elevator, heard what he had to say. But why? It would have been the same conversation, only in a darkened conference room. She had waited two weeks for him. Two weeks to see him. Two weeks to hear his voice. The look had been in anger. The voice had been in anger. And this wasn't her fault. Ok, it was part her fault. She had wanted it just as much as Gibbs. She had wanted the late nights, the early mornings. She had wanted the blue eyes, the silver hair, the tan hands and the coffee that the hands carried. She hadn't said no. She had let curiosity get the better of her. She now understood why the cat had nine lives.

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs stepped into autopsy. Actually, he stepped into the small hallway looking into autopsy. He had needed some air, some room to breathe. She had accused him of… of… The more he paced, the angrier he got. Angry at himself for letting her in. Into his mind, into his bed, and into his heart. His heart? No, he thought. Not his heart. He was too guarded to let anyone tear down that wall. That brick made, concrete enforced, surrounded by stone, wall. But she had. In spades. But now? She had been right. He had hesitated. He had put the team at risk. He had put her at risk. He slammed his fist against the wall. The sound echoed back to him. This ache inside of him had been growing inside of him since that shot was fired. Since he had seen the pool of blood. Since… since he hadn't been able to bring himself to call her, to see her. He fought with his mind. God, he wanted her. All of her. With him. And he had had that. And now it was gone. There was no reversing it, no changing his mind. And so he had to live with his decision. But the voices in his head kept giving him internal head slaps. With Shannon and Kelly he hadn't had a choice. They were gone without his permission. He hadn't been involved in that decision. This decision he had control over. This decision he had made. He could fix it. He could make it better. He could wake up tomorrow with his face buried in her sweet smelling, long, brown hair. He could wake up tomorrow with her naked warmth pressed against his. Or he could let the decision stand and wake up to a cold and empty bed. Again.

***

Back in the bullpen, a stony silence had developed. Tony, Ziva, and McGee wanted to say something. They weren't even sure if they were allowed to speak at this point. What they had just witnessed was unprecedented. Gibbs. Lizzy. Once the team gave it a couple of seconds of thought, they were able to piece it together. They could almost even pinpoint when it all started. When Gibbs demeanor had softened. When the coffee wasn't the only thing that got him through the day. When he had started arriving just a minute or two late. And now it was over. They had witnessed the breakdown of their leader. They had watched him hesitate. And now they would pay for his mistakes. He would come striding back into the bullpen spitting nails. The next few months, possibly even years would be downright miserable and they knew it. But they had gotten through it before. With Kate, with Jenny… This might be worse though. Lizzy was still here and from the looks of it, she wasn't going anywhere, orders or not.

The day passed in silence. Cold, grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard silence. It couldn't end soon enough. Lizzy had rethought her returning to work theory a million times since the blowout with Gibbs but she knew if she ran now, he won. And it wasn't a game necessarily but she wanted to prove to him that this wasn't affecting her work. That he could rip her heart out and do the Mexican hat dance on it and her work would not suffer. Of course, she'd be lying to herself but it sure sounded good. And she knew it would be hard. Damn hard. And if it got too hard, she'd figure something out. But she had to do something to keep the memories from invading her mind. To keep the pain at bay. She had to have something to focus on. Her screen beeped at her. She dragged her attention to her computer. A new IM had popped up. Ziva. Offering drinks after work. She looked over at Ziva and smiled. She sent a message back and Ziva understood. Pain was easier to work through by yourself, in your own space, where nobody can see the tears. Ziva, if anyone, understood that. Lizzy finished the report and printed it out. She stapled it together and put it in a folder. She turned the computer off and stood slowly. She ran her hand through her hair. She had left it down, not for him, but because her arm hurt too much when she tried to put it up. She grabbed her pack and her report and moved around her desk. She dropped her report in the middle of Gibbs desk as she walked by, never bothering to look at him. He never looked up. Tony and Ziva exchanged glances.

At home, she changed into more comfortable clothing. Sweats and a tee. He arm ached as she pulled the shirt over her head. She flopped onto the couch and made a half assed attempt to watch tv but she knew. In the back of her mind, she knew it was time. Time to start another boat. There was enough pain inside of her to make a bigger than one than last time. Maybe that's why Gibbs boats filled his entire basement. She grabbed her phone and headed to the garage.

Gibbs had stayed at the office until there was no one left. He had finished all his work long ago but hadn't wanted to leave. It was just easier to stay. Home reminded him of her. Work reminded him of her. Hell, the damn vending machines, with their little packs of M & M's, even laughed at him every time he walked by. He couldn't go anywhere without seeing her face, hearing her voice, feeling her brush up against him, feel her lips on his. His head dropped into his hands and he let out a deep sigh.

In the garage, she found her starting pieces, stacked neatly in a dusty pile in the far corner, left by her father. He had known. He had known that someday she would need to build another one, with or without him there. She slowly pulled the pieces over to the sawhorses. She went over to the cabinets and took out one shot glass and one mason jar. She walked over to the stereo she had put in after her father had died. He only worked with the radio but she had to have music that fit her mood. She sifted through her cd's until she came to her 'life is shitty' collection. Her favorite angst ridden rock songs that always seemed to help her sink even further into her misery. You gotta start somewhere, she thought to herself. She poured herself a drink, grabbed a piece of sandpaper and hit play.

At home, in the basement, he sat down with his paintbrush and stared at the boat. It stared back. So he stared harder. He wasn't sure what he was hoping would happen. After a few minutes, he stood and walked slowly around the boat, not so much interested in what it looked or felt like but intrigued by what it knew. It knew him. It knew her. This was their passion. This was where their passion had begun. Against the curve of the boat. God, he missed her. He walked over to the shelf and pulled out a bottle. He dumped nails out of a jar, blew it out and filled it. Then drained it. Then filled it again. He had been drinking more lately, even though he knew it would solve nothing. She hadn't given him a chance to explain himself. She had refused to talk to him. He knew he should have had the conversation before she returned to work but that would have meant seeing her. Making the tortuous drive to her house, his mind screaming at him the whole way. His heart begging him not to go, not to speak the words that had to, in his mind, be spoken. And then being there, with her. His mind would have etched the rooms to memory. Engrained them in his thoughts. Her image forever burning against his thoughts making it impossible to sleep, eat, or form any type of coherent thought process. But he hadn't done it. He had stayed secluded to his basement, to his desk, to his past. Anger burned inside of him. Every woman he had cared about had been ripped away, torn from his soul. But he had done this one to himself. He had shredded this relationship out of what? Fear? Guilt? He threw the bottle at the wall and it shattered. The glass reached the far corners of the basement. He grabbed his coat, the glass crunching under his feet, and walked to the stairs.

The music screamed into her brain, echoed through her body. She guided the sandpaper back and forth across the wood. This isn't working, she thought. I can't make it stop this time. Her mind was pulling pain from the physical, the emotional…She stood up and walked to the stereo. She turned the volume button up and walked over to the workbench where her glass stood, waiting. She poured another shot and set the jar down. Her hand shook as she reached for the glass. She slammed her hand flat against the wooden table. This isn't happening she thought. I won't let it. I've gotten through worse. Much worse. Maybe…maybe I can't do this. She slammed her hand down again. She grasped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. She picked up the mason jar and threw it across the room, hearing the glass shatter. She gave an involuntary shiver as she turned back to pick up her glass. She took the shot and let it soothe her mind. And then she felt it. Not it. Him. She felt him as soon as he entered the room. She wondered how much of her scene he had witnessed. It didn't matter. Why the hell was he here, she thought. Wasn't today enough? Wasn't every day from now on going to be enough? She turned to face him.

A/N: Ok short chapter. Ok not even a chapter. A little Gibblet to get through till my daughter returns to school and I can have the time to write complete, mind blowing chapters. Sorry for the wait…