So this was originally posted as part of Vowel Sounds, but it wasn't in keeping with the rest of the series so I am posting it separately.

The stone is cold beneath his hands and his fingers start to ache, from the cold or something else he is not sure but he welcomes the pain, taking it as punishment. He hasn't been here for far too long, claiming that he had been too busy, or something had got in the way, truth was, it was just too painful. His hands clench round the stone, as if he wants to break it, crumble it between his fingers, the moisture from the ground seeps into his jeans, and he rests his head against the cold stone.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. A presence from behind him makes him jerk his head up, but he doesn't turn around. He knows who it is without looking. She is always there, she always knows when he is here, even though he doesn't come regularly. The presence is close enough to offer a silent support, but far enough away that he is left alone in his misery.

Her hands tightened on the cuffs on her jacket as she tries to stop herself from reaching out to him and comforting him. She knows that is not what he needs right now though, she always knows, he needs her to stay where she is, offering her form of support, till he has finished and joins her side and his hand finds hers, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. She also knows that they won't talk about it, they never do, it is just another aspect of their "relationship", another aspect that isn't talked about. Its an unspoken agreement between them, one that she knows he appreciates, one that she tolerates.

He slowly stands up on his feet, ignoring his knees that protest. He briefly touches the stone one more time before turning and facing his silent supporter. She gives him a gentle smile and he feels warmer than he has for the last 2 hours. Although she is still just too far off to touch him, she holds out a coffee to him, waiting for him to close the space between them and she can't help thinking that maybe this time, he is closing the spaces between them. He only turns once, the words of the stone glaringly obvious, taunting him, telling him he couldn't have done anything, Shannon and Kelly Gibbs, survived by Leroy Jethro Gibbs, R.I.P. He reaches her side and takes the coffee, fingertips brushing hers, reminding her of all the times that they have done this. His hand is cold and he lifts it to his mouth, blowing warm breath on it, trying to urge the warmth back into it, trying to urge the warmth back into his life. He is not surprised to find the coffee laced with bourbon, but smiles over the rim of the mug at her, his blue eyes sparkling, the sadness falling further away with each second. But she knows it is not gone, not forever, it is always there, lurking beneath the surface. It is part of what makes him so compelling to women, they think they can rescue him. She isn't deluded enough to know that she might be able to save him , he doesn't need rescuing anyway, he needs this; Unspoken support through the hardships.

His hand finds its way to hers and he wraps his fingers round hers, the cold almost gone from them. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze that tells her that he is trying to be ok. She replies with a gentle squeeze of her own that tells him that he doesn't need to try, she understands.

He looks down at their hands, his big rough one cradling her small delicate one. Her hands belie her strength, he knows that. She has strength that is unspoken, strength that she lends him when his is running out, like now.

She knows he can be difficult, can be a bastard, she knows that people think he is unreachable. She pays no attention to others, because she also knows that he isn't unreachable, you just need to know how to reach him. And she does.

I have no idea if Shannon and Kelly were buried or cremated, if they had grave stones or not or even if they were buried together, so sorry if this is wrong.

V!

Xox