Memorial Day

There were several days each year which, understandably, made him remember his time in the service. Today was one of those days. Memorial Day.

It occurred to him that different days reminded him of different memories. The Marine Corps Birthday, for example, always made him think of fond memories - laughing with his buddies at chow, pulling pranks - the good times. Independence Day always made him think of his time at Paris Island.

Memorial Day was always a time of mixed emotions. Sadness would be expected, as would loss, thankfulness, and even empathy. What might be surprising was anger. The way some people had a "Christmas season", with everything all building to one day, was the way Memorial Day was for Gibbs. Every year around this time the sadness and anger built and built until it overcame him on Memorial Day. He spent this Monday, every year, wallowing in his anger and thankfulness in some combination of boat building, bourbon drinking, and cemetery trolling.

This particular year's Memorial Day had started at Arlington National Cemetery and was now in the boat building stage. A particularly painful memory hit him and Gibbs threw down his tools. He walked over to his tool bench, knowing that it was far too early in the day for alcohol and not caring one bit. He was angry. Why did the government dictate that he feel this way every year? How was it their right to demand he spend time remembering his fallen comrades, his fallen friends? When was he ever, ever, going to stop feeling this heavy, sinking, dark feeling deep in his chest when he saw any type of war memorial?

Gibbs was thankful that he came home alive and physically whole. He sympathized with families who lost loved ones to war. He felt the losses of his friends to battle.

And every year he wished it was different. He wished there was no war, no death, no pain. But every year, it was the same. And some years, every once in a while, he wished he hadn't come home.

butterflies

It was one of those mornings when he just felt old. He looked in the mirror. All those years filled with sleepless nights had caught up to him far too long ago. The dark bags and heavy wrinkles around his eyes were testament to that. He looked down at his practically ancient NIS t-shirt and tattered boxers he wore to bed every night. "This is not going to be a good day," he mumbled to himself.

It was one of those mornings when she just felt beautiful. She looked in the mirror. Her skin had that youthful glow that came along with a night of good, long sleep. Her eyes grazed her own figure as her mind ticked off all the things she loved about her body. 'Strong arms, gentle curves, great ass, beautiful face.' "This is going to be a great day," she told no one in particular.

He walked into the office holding his cup of coffee and scanned the bullpen for his agents. He didn't really expect them to be there; it was still early on a Monday. He sat at his desk and began catching up on paperwork. 'Damn, I hate paperwork,' he thought to himself.

She walked into the office carrying her backpack and scanned the bullpen finding only Gibbs. Just as she expected; he was always the first one there. Even though she was across the room, she had to forcibly settle the butterflies that took to flight in her stomach at the sight of the older man, her boss. She smiled: he was doing paperwork. 'He hates paperwork,' she thought to herself. She deposited her things and sat down at her desk.

"Morning Gibbs," she said cheerfully.

He looked up at his most female agent. "Morning Ziva," he said, her good mood leaking into his words. 'Is it possible that she got even more beautiful over the last two days?'

"How was your weekend?" she inquired as usual.

"'Bout the same as always," he smiled. 'Lonely'. His smile slipped. He hid it by looking at his computer. "What about yours?"

"Fair," she smiled. 'Lonely'. She looked at her desk to distract herself from thoughts of what she wished she had been doing that weekend. 'Paperwork. I hate paperwork.'

The remaining two agents arrived with a ding from the elevator. Tony was ribbing Tim about something and McGee just rolled his eyes. Tony threw his backpack over his own desk before taking perch on Ziva's. "Morning. Zee-vah!" he said loudly, chipper by even his own standards. "How was your weekend?"

"Fine," she drawled, still working.

Tony raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to reciprocate. She looked up and asked the question she knew they would all regret. "How was your weekend, Tony?"

"Oh so excellent, my ninja assassin!" he proclaimed to the entire bullpen.

"Tony, please tell me you left the Georgetown campus at some point in the past two days."

"Didn't need to, Zee-vah." He waggled his eyebrows.

She made a noise of disgust.

"DiNozzo, go see if Abby needs help with anything," Gibbs said.

"On it, Boss," Tony replied before sauntering his way to the elevator.

Ziva shot Gibbs a look of thanks.

He nodded back, an amused grin on his face. Somehow, those two always managed to make him smile.

"So, McGee, how was your weekend," Ziva asked.

"Fine," he droned back. "I had this booksigning and-"

"And you did not tell us?" Ziva cut him off.

"No. Those things are so embarrassing. All those people hanging all over me? Ugh." He shook his head.

Ziva chuckled. "Any of those people female, McGee?"

"That's the embarrassing part! All they know about me is my book, yet they say things like they love me!"

Gibbs picked up a file as he exited his desk, "Ah, you'll get used to it, ElfLord."

Ziva laughed, out loud, at Gibbs' remark, before watching his backside as he walked around to the stairs. She quickly looked down at her work when he faced her as he climbed.

Gibbs peered down at his most beautiful 'Stop it' agent as he ascended to MTAC. He knew he had no right to lay eyes on her, but he was, after all, a man, and could not help himself. He punched in his code and glanced back as he waited for the door to open. What he did not expect was to see her peering back up at him.