Oh, y'all. It has been a while, yes? This one is very short, mostly just a way for me to ease back into writing again. I've got a much longer story in the works (thanks to a prompt from one of you wonderful folks!) but in the meantime I wanted to put this up and get some feedback. Let's see if I can still write anything that interests people. :) Warnings - some language and more importantly, major character death.

I don't own NCIS, nor do I have any claim to the Emily Dickinson poem from which the title comes. I simply borrowed some of her wording, because it is lovely.

Please read and let me know what you think. -abby

"Tony."

The voice was soft and very gentle...and completely atypical of its owner. Tony lifted his head to find Gibbs studying him with obvious concern. Tony sat on the curb, elbows resting lightly on his knees. He was filthy, face streaked with sweat and dirt and tears. His jeans were torn and bloody from mid-thigh all the way up to his hip, which throbbed miserably with each intake of breath. Tony knew he looked like absolute shit but didn't care.

He ignored his boss and resumed staring at the puddle between his feet. He watched, entranced, as red and blue alternately flashed across the surface of the shallow water.

This can't be happening.

"Tony." Gibbs spoke again and took a step closer to his senior field agent. The anguish etched in Tony's pale face was scaring the older man more than he wanted to admit, but he knew the expression was mirrored in his own weary features.

It isn't real. It can't be.

For the third time, Gibbs tried to get a response. He sat down on the curb beside Tony, carefully choosing his proximity to the younger man. Close enough to show support, but far enough away to respect his space. "Tony. It's time to go."

No.

Suddenly, violently, Tony reacted. "Go where?" He snapped, laughing bitterly. It was a painful, mirthless sound and Gibbs cringed inwardly as his agent continued, "I mean, really? Is there anywhere else we should be?" Tony closed his eyes, carefully turning away from the flashing lights. From the white sheets. But though he did not look, he could still see. He could see everything from those last few seconds. Recall every detail, hear every sound, smell every smell as it played over and over, doomed to repeat on a nightmarish loop in his mind's eye.

Why? Why not me? What about me?

"It's time to go," Gibbs insisted. He wouldn't allow himself to look at the sheets, to think about what – who – they covered, and could only imagine what DiNozzo was going through. "There's nothing else we can do here, and Ducky needs to have a look at you." Metro PD was going to handle the case, and for once in his life Gibbs didn't put up a fight. He knew there was no way that any of NCIS could be objective.

Not this time.

Tony stood his ground, stubbornly refusing to give in.

If I give in, if I leave, then that's it. It's really over. They're gone...and I'm not.

"No," he said aloud. "No," he repeated in a barely audible whisper.

Gibbs scrubbed a hand down his face. He understood his senior field agent's reluctance, but also knew that being at the scene wasn't doing either of them any good. A dark van arrived and he briefly closed his eyes. A tiny part of him couldn't help but hope that when he opened them, this horrible, excruciating nightmare would be over. But it was not to be, and Gibbs knew.

Instead he saw the horror and despair in Tony's expression. The younger man watched the medical examiners solemnly pull equipment from their van and head toward the scene. His green eyes glittered brightly against pale skin.

I don't understand.

Gibbs tried again, desperate to save his agent - his friend - from torturing himself further. "Tony, please. You don't need to see this. You don't need to be here."

Tony lifted watery eyes to meet Gibbs'. "This is because of me. I couldn't save...I...I...should at least have to...have...to see..." He trailed off helplessly and the devastation on his face was almost more than Gibbs could bear.

He knelt in front of his agent and tried to look the younger agent in the eyes. "Listen to me." When Tony refused eye contact Gibbs grabbed the trembling shoulders and shook once, hard. "Listen to me." Finally Tony looked up and with every bit of sincerity and firmness he could muster, Gibbs said fiercely, "This is not your fault. It was an accident."

Tony shook his head, not caring that hot, angry tears coursed freely down his cheeks at the motion. "I should have done something! I should have...should..." Again he lost the words. Desperate to get away and escape from the nightmare in which he was trapped, Tony abruptly stood.

Gibbs was almost knocked over by the force of his agent's movement but quickly regained his footing, just in time to catch the younger man as his injured leg gave out.

"Why? Why did this happen, Boss?" Tony cried from the safety of his superior's strong grip.

Gibbs eased them both back down to the curb as he spoke softly into Tony's ear. "It was an accident, DiNozzo. Pure and simple. An eighteen-wheeler ran a red light. There's absolutely nothing you could have done differently." Gibbs was fully aware that save for a twist of fate, he easily could have lost his senior field agent too. If Tony had let Tim drive for once, if Ziva had wrestled the keys away as she had done so many times before...

Gibbs would not allow himself the luxury of "what if". There was no point. Two of his agents were far beyond any help he could provide. But the third was very much alive – and very much in need of Gibbs' support.

"They're gone, Boss." Saying the words aloud made it a little more real – and a lot more painful. "God, Boss...they're dead. They're dead," Tony repeated, over and over. "Dead. They're gone."

I'm not.

"I know, Tony." There was nothing more to say. And as his senior field agent continued to tremble and gasp in his arms, all Gibbs could do was hold on. Both for Tony...and for himself.

Ziva and Tim were gone, but the harsh reality was that the world would continue to turn. Fair or not, life would go on.

And so would they.