I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth
And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord,
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
Born of the Virgin Mary,
Suffered under Pontius Pilate,
Was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into Hell. On the third day He rose again from the dead.
He ascended into Heaven and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty.
From thence shall He come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.

Kate’s car was in the parking lot of St. Stephen Martyr, just down the road from the White House.

Why would Kate’s car be in the parking lot of a church at just past midnight on a Friday night? Kate should be out with her friends, with Abby and Tony, who he knew had asked her to go out with them, or with the man of the week. She shouldn’t be at some church - and alone, from the look of the parking lot.

Against his better judgment - it’s none of your business, Jethro, his mind whispered - he turned his truck into the parking lot and parked next to her lonely little silver sedan, getting out and checking to make sure she wasn’t in her car. She wasn’t, so he took the next logical step and went inside.

His newest agent was alone except for the Spanish crucifix at the front of the church and the marble saints’ effigies scattered around the huge Gothic sanctuary. She was kneeling in a pew near the front, her arms resting on the back of the pew in front of her. Her hands seemed to be moving just slightly. He dipped his fingers in the little cup of holy water and crossed himself, more out of respect for the traditions of the church than out of any faith - that had died with Shannon and Kelly. Then he stood silently and listened.

At first, he heard nothing but the sound of the church’s ventilation system; then that shut off, and he realized that the quiet whispering noise he’d been hearing actually was whispering. Moving silently as always, he walked closer to her, sliding into a pew a few rows back from her. He strained his ears, and he listened.

“…temptation,” he heard her voice murmur, “but deliver us from evil.” He heard her swallow, the sound loud in the empty space. She took several long, deep breaths and spoke again. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”

He knew the prayers; hearing her recite them took him back to his own childhood and interminable Sundays spent listening to Father Butler thunder from his pulpit about sinners, hypocrites and the all-consuming fires of Hell. He’d hated those sermons. It had always seemed to young Jethro Gibbs that any God worth His salt would be more forgiving of the faults of His creations. But listening to the soft murmur of Kate Todd’s voice repeating those hard-learned catechisms over and over, her tone steady and meditative, he felt himself suddenly relax for what seemed the first time in years.

The monotone of her voice was interrupted as she announced the fifth Sorrowful Mystery - the Crucifixion - and began again. “Our Father,” she recited, “who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name…”

He slipped to his knees almost unconsciously and closed his eyes, feeling the peace of the place settle into his bones, and almost unconsciously joined in with her when she began the next prayer. “Hail Mary,” he spoke with her, his voice almost as soft as hers, “full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”

Her voice froze when his joined hers, and he knew she had spun around to stare at him in shock. He continued to pray, and after a beat or two, she joined him again. He could now hear the rattle of her rosary beads against the wood of the pew. They spoke the last decade together, and he sat back, expecting her to join him now that her praying was done.

She did not.

She raised her face to the crucifix before her then, and he heard her voice speak out again, strong and clear. She was not whispering now - she wanted him to hear her. “I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary, ever virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the Saints and to you, my brother, that I have sinned exceedingly, in thought, word and deed: through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.” She paused, her head falling to her hands, and simply breathed for a moment.

He waited. Finally she raised her head again, looking up at the crucifix, and now her voice was thick with unshed tears. “Therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, all the Saints, and you, my brother, to pray to the Lord our God for me.”

An indifferent Catholic boy who had grown up into a lapsed Catholic man, he knew exactly what she was doing. This week’s case had been particularly difficult, and had culminated in Kate’s realization that she had been fooled - badly - just before Suzanne McNeil had dropped the explosive device that had killed her, her former boss, and nearly killed himself, Kate and Tony. And Kate, a devout Catholic girl who had grown up into a devout Catholic woman, was carrying the guilt and desperate for absolution.

For a long moment, Gibbs simply sat, staring at the face of the martyr on the cross above him and wondering what he should do. It wasn’t in his nature to be nurturing or forgiving or any of the multitudes of things she was clearly begging him to be right now. But neither was he unforgiving, or cold, or as much of a black-hearted bastard as his ex-wives would have him made out to be. His eyes moved from the face of Christ to a statue of St. Mary of Mercy.

He closed his eyes briefly, prayed for guidance, and stood. He moved to her side, sliding into the pew next to her. Then, hoping he was doing the right thing, he took her hand. “Let’s go,” he said softly.

She shook her head, wiping the tears from her face with her other hand. “Can’t. Not yet.”

He raised an eyebrow in question. She tried to smile, and gestured to the lit candle that hung off to one side of the altar, near the door to the sacristy. “Perpetual adoration,” she explained softly. She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got fifteen more minutes.”

Gibbs nodded, squeezing her hand once before settling back into the pew. Perpetual adoration, an old tradition of ensuring that the Sacrament was never alone as penance for the failure of the Apostles in Gethsemane, was something that devout old-tradition Catholics took very seriously. He would wait with her. It was the least he could do, after the day she’d had.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were open, fixed on the altar and its trappings. Her lips moved silently with the prayers she recited to herself. Her face was bruised but strong, and the butterfly bandages almost added to her distant beauty. She might have herself been one of the marble saints, unmoved and unmoving before mortal man.

Gibbs shook himself slightly as he heard the church door open and the next scheduled adorer come in. Obviously the late night and the evening’s activities had made him weird. He needed a drink, and some time with his boat. But first, he needed to make sure his agent was all right. He glanced over at her to see her picking up her purse from the floor and slipping into it the rosary she had been quietly worrying with her fingers since they had fallen silent. He stood, leading the way out, and paused as she genuflected. Then she followed him out, nodding silently to the elderly gentleman who’d come to relieve her.

She followed him in her car to a diner he knew that was not far away. They tucked themselves away into a corner booth and ordered coffee. Gibbs ordered bacon-and-egg sandwiches for both of them, and gave her a look that told her in no uncertain terms she would eat that sandwich or else. She shrugged, not hungry, and poked at her coffee with her spoon when it arrived.

“Are you all right?” he finally asked her softly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I look like I’m all right?”

“Not really,” he replied honestly. “You kinda look like crap, Kate.”

“You sure know how to woo a girl.” Her lip curled sarcastically.

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I’m not trying to woo you, Kate. Believe me when I say I’m not your type. What I’m trying to do is talk to you, and of all people, you ought to know it doesn’t come easy to me, so how about cutting me a little slack, okay?”

She blinked at this uncharacteristic show of honesty from him, sighed, and slumped in her own seat. “Sorry,” she said finally. “I don’t respond well to days like today.”

“Nobody does.” He leaned forward and pinned her with his stare. “Unfortunately, we have a lot of days like today in our jobs. We’re cops, not mind readers. She was an accomplished liar, and she had already gained your trust.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

He shrugged. “You’ve been with us less than six months; before coming to NCIS, you had exactly zero investigative experience. You’re a probie, Kate. Probies make mistakes. It happens. Just thank God you didn’t kill anyone.”

“People died anyway.”

The waitress brought their sandwiches. He waited until she was gone again, pinning Kate with his favorite thousand-yard stare until she picked up a French fry and nibbled it absently, staring back at him. “You didn’t kill anyone,” he repeated. “And I’m gonna tell you something else. I don’t usually play the woulda-coulda game, but I’d be willing to bet that even if you hadn’t trusted her, she’d have found a way to kill Bauer anyway. And she might have gotten away with it.” He pointed a French fry at her. “Tell me you don’t think she’s facing the music for what she did right now.”

Kate was silent for a long moment, studying his face, looking for any sign that he might be saying this just to make her feel better. All she saw was Gibbs, who never said anything that he didn’t believe one hundred percent. She swallowed hard, put down the French fry she’d been mutilating, and picked up half of her sandwich, taking a bite. “Okay,” she mumbled around a mouthful of bacon and egg.

He blinked. Then he smiled. “Okay.” He popped his own French fry into his mouth, picked up his sandwich, and began to eat. “So… you got plans for the weekend?”

She froze in mid-bite, her eyes wide and staring at him. “Uh… not really…?”

His smile turned into a grin. “Good. Then you won’t mind coming over and keeping me from killing DiNozzo tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Thought you weren’t going to let him stay over.”

“I wasn’t.” He rolled his eyes. “You ever take in a pathetic stray?”

She giggled. “More than once.”

“Then you know why DiNozzo is at my house right now. Come on over in the morning. We’ll cook out or something. In fact, call Abby and have her come, too. I’ll call Ducky.”

Kate smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

“Should be.”

As they were leaving the diner, a little after two, he helped her into her coat and clapped her on the shoulder. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

She nodded, and he could see the truth in her eyes. “Yeah, Gibbs. I’ll be fine. And… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, climbing into his truck and waiting until she was in her own car before starting his engine. He gave her a wave as she pulled out and she returned it. They went their separate ways, she with a lighter heart and he with a new respect for her dedication… and her faith. Not bad for a lapsed Catholic.

For your mercies' sake, O Lord my God, tell me what You are to me. Say to my soul: -I am your salvation.- So speak that I may hear, O Lord; my heart is listening; open it that it may hear You, and say to my soul: -I am your salvation.- After hearing this word, may I come in haste to take hold of You. Hide not Your face from me. Let me see Your face even if I die, lest I die with longing to see it. The house of my soul is too small to receive You; let it be enlarged by You. It is all in ruins; do You repair it. There are things in it - I confess and I know - that must offend Your sight. But who shall cleanse it? Or to what others besides You shall I cry out? From my secret sins cleanse me, O Lord, and from those of others spare Your servant.

--
References:

The opening prayer is the Apostle’s Creed.
The prayer Kate says with her Rosary is the Hail Mary.
The confession Kate recites is the Mea Culpa.
The closing prayer is one of the Acts of Hope.

In case anyone was wondering, yes, the author is a lapsed Catholic. :)