Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with the show. I wish I did, but for now I'll have to content myself with my DVD's.

A/N: Just a little scene that popped into my head. I tried to upload it last night, but my connection was being a pain.


She parks her hearse at the main entrance and walks the familiar pathways of the cemetery. The sun is bright despite the chill in the air, and she's taken the usual precautions; her gloves cover her skin to the elbow and she carries a black lace parasol, twirling it slightly as she walks.

Abby doesn't know where Gibbs is, and doesn't want desecrate the silence by calling his phone. She knows he's here, though. Even before she drove through the gates and spotted his car, Abby knew that he would drive here straight from work. He made the same pilgrimage every year on this day, but this was the first time she followed him, deciding for once not to leave him alone in his vigil.

When she comes to the top of a small rise she sees him. His back is to her, and as she gets closer she can read the name chiseled on the stone he is standing in front of. Lieutenant David Cameron. She know the name, remembers it from a case years ago. She wonders if Gibbs comes to this same grave every year, or if there are others he visits. Abby knows he has more ghosts.

His hands are empty, no flowers or flag to leave in silent memory. It's not the kind of thing he would think of. Moving to his side, Abby slips her arm through his. He doesn't look at her, but he reaches for her hand and weaves his fingers through hers. The warm metal of his bracelet brushes against her skin, and she understands now more then ever why he wears it. It's another way of remembering.

They don't talk, but continue to stand together in a field of fallen soldiers. The sun is setting when Gibbs turns to leave. Abby stands a moment longer, then bends down to place a bouquet of red poppies on the soft grass. Gibbs thanks her with a half smile and a simple sign. They have almost reached the last row of graves when Abby stops once more. She tugs on Gibbs' hand and pulls him over to the fresh turned earth of a recent burial. It's only then that he realizes she still carries a handful of poppies. When he reads the headstone he understand why. Corporal Ernie Yost, USMC. It seems fitting that the man had died on the tenth of November, the birthday of the Marine Corp. When Abby rests the flowers on the dirt, Gibbs salutes. Semper Fi.