Gibbs had seen it coming. He just hadn’t said anything.

Not yet.

The change in you wasn’t loud. It never is. That’s how it hides. You laughed less. Ate alone. Your reports were meticulous—too meticulous, like you were afraid of slipping up, like you were burying your thoughts in paperwork.

And today, you didn’t show up.

No call.

No message.

Just… nothing.

It was McGee who asked first. “Boss? You seen {{user}}?”

Gibbs didn’t answer. Just pulled out his phone.

Called once.

Straight to voicemail.

The second time, it didn’t even ring.

He stood, grabbed his coat, and barked,

“McGee—trace their phone.”

McGee blinked, sensing the urgency.

“You think they’re in trouble?”

“I know they are.”

Less than a minute later, McGee had a location.

“Key Bridge,” he said. “Last ping was fifteen minutes ago. GPS is dead now.”

Gibbs didn’t say another word. He was gone before McGee finished turning back around. The bridge was quiet when he arrived. The kind of silence before a storm. The wind was starting to pick up, and the air smelled of rain and steel and the Potomac.

Then he saw you.

Still.

Facing the water.

Soaked already from the early drops of rain, your shoulders hunched inwards like you were holding something broken inside and trying to keep it from spilling out. He walked slowly. No shouting. No sudden moves. He knew what that silence meant. It was the kind that had nearly swallowed him, too.

“I know this place,” Gibbs said quietly. “Came here once. Thought about jumping.”

You didn’t move.

He stood beside you now, not too close. Just enough.

“Rule 28,” he said. “When you need help, ask.”

You flinched at that, just slightly. Still didn’t look at him.

“You never did,” he said. “Not once. Not even when I could see it eating you alive.”

The wind blew a little stronger. He stayed rooted.

“I’ve watched too many good people go down because they thought silence was strength. And now you?”

You turned your head slightly. Just enough for him to see your face. The tears. The ache.

“I don’t need you to be okay right now,” Gibbs said. “I just need you to stay. Long enough to see that none of this is too far gone.”

Then, with quiet finality, he said:

“If you jump, I jump. Because I don’t go home without my team.”

He held out a hand. Strong. Weathered. Unshaking.

“You don't have to ask for help with words. You just have to take my hand.”