AN: So I started writing /posting fic around this time last year and this, as it turns out, is my 20th story o.O Just wanted to thank you guys for sticking around and reading, leaving comments and/or liking any of my stories - it's much appreciated!

She saw her dad for the last time on a cold winter's night in January. It wasn't her dad per se; the silver creature that padded into her room – soft, soft thumps on solid wood, the making of paws, not feet – was certainly not human.

The next morning she would wonder how was it that she woke up at all. He was quiet and she wasn't a light sleeper. He treaded the floor like it was silk and she clung to her dreams with the stubbornness of a child (which she was). It could have been the tingling sensation of a presence, the deep-seated awareness she was not alone in her room that made her reach for her wand and murmur, Lumos.

It was not necessary, she thought, as she sat up in bed. The dark room was already illuminated by the silver head of a wolf, which seemed suspended in plain air – a glorious chandelier! - before the nose, his nose, pushed at the door, revealing his full corporeal form.

Kelly gasped. He was a large beauty, a noble animal in all its arctic glory and as he moved toward her, she scooted closer to the foot of the bed. His eyes were a bluish white like the blue light of a flame, and when he gazed at her with all the intensity – and tenderness – that she knew, there was no doubt in her heart. It was him! That was his – guardian.

"Daddy," she whispered, one corner of her mouth lifting into a half smile, a little hesitant at first, then turning into a wide grin. She felt warm bundles of positive energy, – outside her, within her, everywhere – molecules of happiness that made her lighter, more content. She reached up to touch him, to pat the crown of his head, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but paused. She couldn't. Could she?

That's when he spoke in soft tones, in a voice that was his and his alone, "I'm thinking of you. I'll be home soon. " And there he stood, a lone wolf, returning to his family to deliver a message. He smiled – as much as a wolf could smile, bearing his fangs rather gently – and then he was gone.

"I miss you daddy," the girl whispered, repeating those words long after the wolf had vanished and she had curled up in bed to sleep.

Gibbs has lost men in battle before, good witches and wizards, too, great ones. But it's different this time; he lost an Auror, one of his own. And Kate was good – perhaps the best he'd trained – but that's not what hurts the most, no.

His gaze drifts to her empty desk, a force of habit. It's still Kate's desk and whoever says otherwise can simply shove his wand...alright, alright. He takes a deep breath, his hand cradling his chin, and he studies the vacant seat with weary eyes, tries to make out every single detail in the dimness of the room. He shakes his head and looks away, eyes too dry for tears, his throat – even drier for words, for apologies.

It's his fault, all of it. Gibbs sighs shakily, gasps when he feels a furry presence brush its tail against his shin. On instinct, he goes for his side pocket, but his mind reasons, nothing to worry about. He even feels a lopsided grin reach his lips, a pale substitute for the real thing, but this will do, for now.

He looks down and surely, a Bombay cat – all jet-black and wide-eyed – is bumping her head against his leg, demanding his attention. He reaches down and pets her for a while, long fingers trailing a light path from one ear to the other, back and forth, back and forth. Damn, isn't she the purrfect image of innocence?

"You know, Abs, you could have just asked for a hug," Gibbs murmurs, chuckling after she hisses and jumps on top of his desk. He comes to regret his words after a reckless nose sniffs a document pile and pushes it off the table top. "Really?" He shakes his head, but the cat just stares at him and if he didn't know any better, he'd say she was squinting her eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry. I'll give you a hug. Come on now."

Soon enough the cat is jumping off his desk morphing into a black-haired woman mid-flight, one wearing pigtails and a frown. Abby leans over for a hug, arms tightening around him, as she whispers, "You're still here, Gibbs. Thought you said you were going home."

Gibbs smirks when she pulls away. "I am home, Abs." He motions to the cardboard box with leftover Chinese at one end of the table. He almost regrets it when her hand comes in contact with the back of his skull.

"I'm serious. You haven't left the Auror office in ages...weeks!" When he doesn't respond, she looks around, eyes glancing over empty chairs at empty tables, yet her gaze lingers – persistent – at the one sketch tacked to his bulletin board, a portrait of him, which for all its vivacity, for all its likeness comes short in the magic department. It's just an ordinary portrait, that's it. "You would have been spewing slugs into next week, Gibbs, if Kate found out you took her sketches."

He chuckles – a quiet, sad chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless – and tilts his head to one side. "True, but she's not – she's not here anymore. She'll never know. So it doesn't really matter what we do now, does it?" He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, making it stick up, a gorgeous look on him, he's sure – one Kate would have mocked, asked, what's with the hair? There, all roads lead to Rome, or in his case, all roads lead to her because everything reminds him of her."Does it?"

Abby's voice is soft, small when she whispers, "I miss her too, you know." She leans forward from where she's perched on his desk, her hand loosely gripping his forearm. "But staring at her desk won't bring her back, Gibbs."

"Got any better ideas?" he asks, his tone deceptively casual, yet he wipes off a lone tear that threatens to give him away.

She squeezes his arm, ponders his question for a while. "How about we conjure your Patronus?"

Gibbs raises his eyebrows. "My Patronus?"

"Yeah, good old Jethro the Wolf! Some positive thoughts won't hurt..."

Gibbs nods, absent-minded. He's not even sure he can conjure a yapping dog at the moment. "Abs –"

"—can you at least try?"

There's a crack in her voice, a desperation he rarely ever hears and that more than anything makes him bob his head gently. "Alright."

He closes his eyes and tries to remember the good, tries to find joy on a day when grief hovers over them like a keen eagle, ready to swoop down and attack its prey. At last, with a picture in his mind, he fumbles for his wand and whispers the spell, Expecto Patronum.

Neither one moves when the silvery stream shooting off the tip of his wand takes shape and a misty horse appears before them. She's lean and muscular, graceful and strong as she takes a few steps forward. Gibbs swallows against the lump in his throat and a side-glance at Abby tells him she is equally stunned.

He knows it's not her, okay, knows that's not her Patronus. In fact, he is absolutely certain that the words he hears – It's not your fault, Gibbs – are not hers and are just an echo in his mind. This doesn't keep him from reaching for her, from whispering, "I miss you, Kate," welcoming his new Patronus.