Carly was feverish again that night. Tossing and turning in bed while Gibbs alternated between covering her up and getting her to drink water to stay hydrated. By the early morning hours, her fever finally broke and he left her to rest while he went to the basement.

The team still hadn't been called in on another case, so Gibbs drank his coffee while reviewing all the information from their investigation into the death of Private Cook. Abby ran the prints through AFIS and the military database and the only thing that came up was his service record. One year 7 months in service, all stateside. He was one of the lucky ones that hadn't been sent to Iraq or one of several other countries the US were currently stationed in. Not so lucky once you thought it out though. If he had been overseas, he might still be alive. Nothing in the file indicated that there was any reason for someone to kill him.

Gibbs was on his second cup of coffee when he heard the shuffle of Carly's feet as they came into view. She stepped onto the landing leading down into the basement and he could tell by the way she was looking that she was on the road to recovery. He was glad. Seeing her sick had been tough. He hadn't been responsible for the 24/7 care of someone who was sick in a long time. Not that he'd had to take care of her. She had pretty much insisted at first that he take her home and stay away until she was better. But there was no way he could have done that. He watched her walk down the steps to join him beside his work table knowing that he worried about her well-being more than he was comfortable with.

She was staring at the boat. He knew she was proud of it and all the hours he had put into it. He also knew she was curious about the name he had given it. By the way she was biting her lip, he could tell that today was the day for the truth.

"Jet." She started in a voice roughened with sleep and her illness. "I want to ask you a question and if it's none of my business, let me know, ok?"

"She was my daughter." Gibbs said quietly.

Carly's head jerked up and around to look at him. "Your daughter?"

Shutting his eyes, he recalled the memories that were never far below the surface. "She was so young. She and my wife were killed in 1991. I was serving overseas, Desert Storm. Shannon, my wife, had witnessed a crime and reported it. She and Kelly were killed for it, for silence." He opened his eyes to see Carly's filled with tears and pain.

Not moving or reaching out, she whispered, "Oh, Jethro," quietly as tears slid down her cheeks.

He fought back his own tears as he watched her cry for him. Pulling her into his arms, he sat with his head resting on top of hers. Breathing in the scent of the herbal shampoo she used, he continued. "He was Mexican, a drug dealer. He was never brought to trial, never arrested."

Carly squeezed him hard and with an insight into him that frightened him at times, she said, "He deserved what he got, Jethro." She pulled back to look at him and he wondered if she found it in his face. "He wouldn't have been brought to trial here. He died because of the way he lived." She said with a certainty that showed how well she had come to know him.

He pulled her head back down to his shoulder and swallowed hard, thinking about his beautiful baby girl and how happy she had made his life. Holding Carly, hearing her sniffle and feeling her tears falling onto his arm, Gibbs control cracked the tiniest bit and a few tears of his own fell into her hair.