A.N.: Basically, a season 10 finale speculation started Wednesday and finished with less than an hour to go. So yeah, I doubt this would happen. The show kind of refuses to let this happen, but I'm still trying! LOL, so yeah, review please?

Gibbs was sitting in his living room staring at a picture of his girls, Shannon and Kelly. He missed them immensely on a normal day, but with the DOD on his back, he felt the weight of their deaths far more than usual.

There was a knock on the door, and he vaguely wondered who it was for a moment. Perhaps Chegwidden? Then he recognized the silhouette.

"The door's not locked, McGee."

McGee opened the door and entered, looking around without really seeing his surroundings. Gibbs stood up. Something wasn't right here.

"McGee, what's wrong?" McGee locked eyes with Gibbs.

"What happened?"

"It's-it's better if I show you, Boss, or uh, can I still you boss?"

"I'm not fired yet. Sit down." McGee listened to these instructions and began to take off his jacket with some difficulty.

"Boss, Ziva... she said that Parsons got aggressive with her. I saw the tape. He didn't get aggressive with her. He got aggressive with me."

"How aggressive is that?" McGee sighed.

"Um, well..."

He was working on tracing Simon Gravy. Parsons walked up to him.

"Agent McGee, I was wondering if I could talk to you in private? There's just a few... technical aspects of the case I wanted to clear up with you."

"Um... okay. Conference room?"

"I was thinking of somewhere without cameras, if you don't mind."

He really didn't have much of a choice in this, did he? He sighed as he followed Parsons into the elevator. The kill switch was flipped. He laughed.

"I swear, one of these days, this thing is gonna just freeze on us, and everyone in it will die." Parsons smiled a little smile before pulling out that stupid notebook he'd had earlier.

"So, let's see, when did you start helping Ziva David track Ilan Bodnar using CIA intel?"

"Excuse me?" he asked. He had no idea how Parsons could know about that. Considering the fact that he was alive and unharmed, he was pretty sure the CIA didn't know about that.

"You know what I said. What was the date?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Parsons punched him in the stomach.

"What was the day?"

He began unbuttoning his shirt; slowly, methodically, as if he was thinking each and every motion threw before doing it. Gibbs' eyes widened as he saw the bruises covering his agent's abdomen. For a moment, all he could think of was the moment when he'd seen the glass. McGee blushed a little.

"I wouldn't tell you if it was just that, Boss. I'm not that weak."

"There's more?" he asked. The agent side of him needed to know all the information. The daddy side of him that saw his kid hurt wanted to go get some ice and tell his son (Because really, for all intents and purposes, they were his kids.) that everything was going to be okay.

"Yeah, there's just the one more. Uh, can you, um, help me with the, uh..." McGee blushed. Understanding the predicament of taking a shirt off when covered in bruises, he took the shirt off of the junior agent's shoulders. The light pink turned into a deep crimson on McGee's face. The younger man leaned forward, taking the shirt off to reveal so many more bruises.

"I know you're lying to me," Parsons said through gritted teeth.

'What would Tony say?' McGee thought wildly, determined not to satisfy the enemy after a few punches. They'd dished out so much worse in high school.

"You have a polygraph built into your briefcase?" he asked, feigning curiosity, "Where can I buy one?"

"I've had about enough of you," Parsons snarled back. McGee stood up to his fullest height.

"No, I've had enough of you." McGee retorted and turned around, ready to leave. In an instant, he felt something cool and metallic enter his back. He felt the warm liquid seeping onto him. For a moment, he panicked, but then, he swiftly kicked Parsons behind his kneecap and pulled the safety switch.

Gibbs stared at the wound. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned at all whatsoever.

"Tim, did you have anyone look at this?" he asked gently. Tim tried to turn his head to look at his boss, but only came about halfway there.

"No. Boss, I needed to figure out who Parsons was after. I could barely stop to hit the head, never mind getting Ducky to check me out."

"You were stabbed. Ducky is checking you out."

"Boss," McGee said innocently, "can I ask you a question?" Gibbs was gently trying to left the younger of his "sons" up so that he could move him to the guest room.

"Yeah," he said, "Go ahead."

"Why did he torture me? Why was it me?" Gibbs looked him in the eye.

"I don't know. Tim, I don't know."

Tim had always thought of Gibbs as a superhero, someone who always knew what was right. There had only been a few times when that had been proven wrong. Although most of those times had been when horrible events from long ago seeped back into his life. But this was totally different.

"Come on, Tim," he said, "Let's get you upstairs." Together, they managed to get him up the stairs before Tim's knees buckled and he almost fell to the ground. Leroy Jethro Gibbs carried his young genius the rest of the way to the guest room. He smiled and brushed a little stray piece of hair into place.

The gunnery sergeant finished reading The Poky Little Puppy to his five-year-old daughter. She smiled up at him.

"Daddy?" she asked, "Why does the mommy like custard so much?" The father laughed a little at this. His daughter had a knack for noticing the small details, like a missing button or a misspelled word.

"I don't know, baby." Her brow furrowed and she looked around the living room.

"I thought you knew everything!" she said. At this, Gibbs did laugh.

"Sweetie, I know a lot of things, but I'm nowhere near knowing everything." Kelly nodded.

"Does anyone know everything?" she asked.

"Well, God," her father said. Shannon would be proud of him for bringing religion into the conversation.

"I mean besides God, Daddy. Isn't there a person who knows everything about everything?" Gibbs shook his head.

"Nope. If there was, everybody would ask them questions, and no one would learn anything."

"They could live up on a big, big mountain," she suggested, "That way, only people with important questions could come." A yawn came from the little girl's mouth.

"I'm sleepy, Daddy," she said, "Can you carry me?"

"You're getting so big! You're such a big girl! I won't be able to carry you soon!" She smiled as he scooped her up. He carefully walked up the stairs and into her room. Gently, he laid his princess amongst the stuffed animals. She wrapped her arms around Tessa, her little blue bunny.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispered just as she fell asleep. He smiled. Her long, beautiful hair was all over the place. He delicately placed a curl back into its proper position.

He sighed. Tim hadn't noticed any of it. How could he? Even if he wasn't half unconscious, he wouldn't know the power of what had just happened. Gibbs placed a gentle hand on his boy's shoulder and called Ducky.

"Jethro! Is everything alright?" Ducky asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Duck. Can you come over here? Tim's hurt."

"Oh, my god, what happened?"

"Parsons interview with him happened. He didn't tell anyone what happened."

"Oh, good God! When will Timothy learn he doesn't have to hide these things from us? I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, Duck."

"Boss?" Tim asked innocently. How anyone could stab him was a mystery to Gibbs.

"Ducky's coming. Just get some rest. Nothing's going to happen to you." Tim nodded as he nodded off.

The older man got up and went to get a drink. Not of his usual bourbon, but water. Getting drunk right now wouldn't help anything. He knew he wouldn't forget anything that had happened that night. Even if he was sent to jail, he'd remember seeing the bruises and the wound; hearing one of his own explain why he'd feigned being perfectly fine. No, he wouldn't forget. He'd remember it until the day he died.