"We didn't need to stop for gas."

"I'm not letting you go after the director unless you get something in you."

"What a romantic way to say you wanna have sex, Tony. Really romantic."

"I meant food, Eva. And water." He clarifies in a sarcastic tone. "You've barely eaten all day, so I am forcing you to eat."

"What a keeper." I whisper under my breath, realizing just how stupid of an insult it is.

After stepping out, he slams the car door shut. "I'm gonna fill up on gas 'cause who knows where the director is right now." He takes out his wallet and hands it to me. "White powdered donuts, blue ice gatorade, and whatever you want."

"I can pay for myself."

"But I'm not letting you. Clear?"

Instead of arguing my way through this, I silently oblige.

Soon, we're back on the road after having received an address from McGee and Ziva back home. With the L.A. heat getting to us, Tony and I've stripped to the bare minimum clothing required without flashing anyone.

Within half an hour, we find a building clearly labeled "Diner".

"We saw that S.U.V. back at the gas station, Tony."

I reach a hand into the backseat, clutching our weapons and badges. The two of us walk towards the abandoned building while strapping on our holsters.

"Now do you believe me about my godmother sleeping around?"

"Let's just say if there's a sock on the doorknob, I won't hesitate to say I told you so."

Several holes on the corner of the door — ones only created by fired bullets — and plenty of broken windows tell us something more than just a date went down.

Our guns find their way into our hands as we approach the ajar door.

"You're in." He mutters, giving me a firm nod.

Within the actual diner, there are four dead bodies seen at first glance. Tony clears the kitchen area and back entrance before inching his way back to me.

"No. No, no, no."

Every nerve in my body goes numb at the sight of her. . .drowning in a pool of her own blood.

"Jenny."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Boss, she. . .she hasn't said anything since last night."

Silent tears drip down my cheeks and fall off the edge of my jaw.

Moments after Tony confirmed her death with two fingers to the neck, Gibbs called her cell. Unbeknownst to him. . .he'd never hear from her again.

He, along with Ziva, caught the first flight out to LA the next morning before speedily driving to our location. But Leon Vance arrived merely hours before them.

The night before had been one filled with tears, wordless communication, and insomnia. Neither Tony nor I was able to sleep, the image of her helpless body still freshly imprinted in our minds.

"Tony, take her back to the hotel."

"Boss —"

"No questions. You take care of her first. . .before I lose two agents."

He has me sit in the passenger seat of the Mustang, buckled up and unmoving. While packing the rest of our things, Tony calls McGee to question him about any matches to the tire print.

When he receives a negative response, Tony yells at the probationary agent and hastily hangs up.

"It's not McGee's fault." The words manage to form between my chapped and dehydrated lips.

"No. It's not." He kicks some graveled sand.

"And it's not your fault either."

Only, I'm met with silence.

The next morning, barely recharged or refreshed from yet another sleepless night, Tony, Ziva, and I are back at headquarters while Gibbs returned earlier this morning.

"Hate airport security." McGee grovels under his breath.

"Makes two of us." Tony replies, to which the agent looks up.

"Rough flight?"

"You can say that." Ziva struts off to her desk, shoving her possessions into the top drawer and pushing it shut.

"Um. . .Eva, I saw you went swimming —"

Slam!

Tony kicks the metal bottom of his desk, his computer and cup holder shaking from the harsh movement. I close my eyes with a silent breath as Tony stalks over to McGee.

"What are you saying McGee?"

"No, I was. . .saying I. . .saw that picture of Eva at the pool, and. . ."

Tony slips off his corduroy jacket and tosses it onto McGee's lap. "Say it."

"Say-Say what?" McGee stammers in confusion.

"I. . .I screwed up. You can say it, Probie."

"It was not your fault."

McGee reviews the airport security tapes on the plasmas in the bullpen. One of the passengers in the crowd matches the appearance of a blonde woman Jenny had seen at the funeral.

And in an instance. . .Gibbs is gone.

"Where is he?"

Vance slowly paces around the squad room, staring each and every one of us down.

"Who, Gibbs?" Tony sits with crossed arms, a clueless look on his face. "I honestly don't know."

"Giudice?"

"Don't look at me."

"David?"

"I am sorry, but I do not have the slightest clue where —"

"McGee."

The last of us simply shrugs.

"Photo pops up, Gibbs runs off the reservation, and nobody knows a damn thing."

"Sounds like a typical Wednesday to me."

"And her." Vance points to the plasma while focusing on Tony. "Your director's dead. The director you were assigned to protect is dead. We'll get to that."

And that's the final straw.

However, before I can utter a syllable, Tony discretely tugs me towards him. I keep quiet as Vance assigns us our tasks, clearly trying to be Gibbs in this situation.

But no one can replace Gibbs. Just like no one can replace Jenny.

And so I find Tony sitting by himself in the dark Autopsy room, half a bottle of Ducky's scotch right next to him.

"Why are you doing this, Tony?"

"Doing what? Blowing my protection detail? Blowing my undercover assignment? Blowing my relationship?"

I reach under Ducky's desk and pull out yet another glass. Tony fills it halfway before gliding it over to me.

"She died alone. She never got married. . .she never had any children of her own. Never even heard her talk about it."

"If it's any condolence. . .Jenny never wanted any of those things."

"And how do you know that?"

"Well, after my mom died. . .she and I had these long discussions about our futures. Nineteen-year-old me, fresh out of high school, wanted to marry young and have a big family. She mentioned how she always knew. . .her future didn't hold that."

A single tear cascades from the corner of my eye.

"You know, L.A. could have been our Paris."

"For the two days we were meant to be there?"

Finally letting go of the scotch glass, Tony places a hand over the top of his pant pocket, pulling out a black box.

"Except our Paris. . .would have ended better."

He flicks open the box, revealing. . .an engagement ring. Knowing just how strenuous our daily lives are, Tony opted for a sleeker, more modest style. Something that could easily pass as a family heirloom.

"You were going to propose?"

"I was. But the way Jaiden keeps getting brought up, I. . .I can't help wonder if you're really over him."

"I'd have had to be in love with him to be over him. . .and I never was."

"Is this spontaneous enough for you?"

"More than you'll ever know, Tony."

"Well, then, Evaline Giudice. . ." Daintily, Tony lifts my left hand. "Will you make me the happiest person alive and marry me?"

"Yes. Of course, Tony."

Once the ring is placed on my finger, our lips seal in a tearful but magical kiss. I pull away slightly, lightly giggling to myself.

"What's got you laughing?"

"Who thought Autopsy would be your ideal place to propose?"

"Touché, mademoiselle."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Officer David. The liaison position with NCIS is being terminated. You're going home."

"McGee. I'm moving you across to the Cyber Crimes Unit. You'll be working with Officer Holdsworth starting tomorrow."

"Giudice. Metro P.D. has an open position on their homicide team. You start tomorrow."

"DiNozzo. You've been reassigned. Agent afloat, USS Ronald Reagan. Pack your bags. You fly out tomorrow."

"Agent Gibbs. . .meet your new team."